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ACROSS  PERSIA 


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GIFT  OF 
HORACE .  W.  CARPENTIER 


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ACROSS  PERSIA 


For  my  part,  I  travel  not  to  go  anywhere,  but  to  go.  I  travel 
for  travel's  sake.  The  great  affair  is  to  move  ;  to  feel  the  needs 
and  hitches  of  our  life  more  nearly  ;  to  come  down  off  this  feather- 
bed of  civilization,  and  find  the  globe  granite  underfoot  and 
strewn  with  cutting  flints.  Alas  I  as  we  get  up  in  life,  and  are 
more  preoccupied  with  our  affairs,  even  a  holiday  is  a  thing  that 
must  be  worked  for.  To  hold  a  pack  upon  a  pack-saddle  against 
a  gale  out  of  the  freezing  north  is  no  high  industry,  but  it  is  one 
that  serves  to  occupy  and  compose  the  mind.  And  when  the 
present  is  so  exacting  who  can  annoy  himself  about  the  future  ? 

B.  L.  Stevenson  :  Travels  with  a  Donkey. 


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The  Village  of  Yezdikhast. 


t  .  0  ■ 

ACROSS   PERSIA 


BY 

E.    CRAWSHAY    WILLIAMS 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  MAPS 


LONDON 

EDWAKD    AKNOLD 

lPul)U0bcr  to  tbe  5nDia  omcc 

1907 

[All  riffhts  reierved] 


(L-J 


CARPENTIER 


DEDICATED 

BY    PERMISSION 
TO 

THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE      ' 

LOKD   CUEZON   OF   KEDLESTON 

G.C.S.I.,   G.C.I.E.,   ETC.,   ETC. 


Ml9G92i 


PREFACE 

'  Look  in  thy  heart  and  write.' 

Sir  Philip  Sidney. 

A  MAN  who  loves  this  world  of  Nature  and  of  men 
comes  often  to  be  possessed  by  a  restless  longing 
merely  to  study  it, — to  spend  his  time  as  a  spectator 
of  the  great  play  of  life ;  onl}^  to  live  and  see  and  learn 
and  know  and  feel.  And  so  to  travel ;  to  become  a 
citizen  of  the  world,  and  to  have  the  freedom  of  its 
seas  and  forests  and  sandy  deserts  and  seething  streets ; 
to  spend  life  contemplating  its  manifold  aspects  and 
learning  its  countless  secrets. 

It  is  irresistibly  attractive,  this  Travel-hunger :  yet  it 
has  a  somewhat  selfish  end,  in  most  cases.  No  one 
save  the  traveller  is  a  whit  the  better  for  a  life  of 
travel,  if  to  travel  be  the  only  object.  The  artist  loves 
his  life-work,  and  the  world  is  the  richer  for  it ;  the 
poet,  the  musician,  the  author,  the  politician,  all  these 
at  the  same  time  satisfy  their  interests  and  benefit 
mankind  ;  but  the  traveller, — with  him  the  satisfaction 
of  desire  is  barren  of  result  except  to  one  single 
individual  in  all  this  busy  world.  Cannot  he,  then, 
join  his  fellow-mortals  in  letting  mankind  find  itself 
something  the  better  for  his  pursuits  ? 

If  he  travels  intelligently  he  certainly  can,  in  two 
ways.  He  can  apply  the  knowledge  he  has  gained  to 
the  profit  of  his  fellow-men,  and  he  can  describe  his 
experiences  for  their  amusement. 

Surely,  then,  there  should  always  be  something  of  a 
sense  of  duty  for  the  traveller,  and  in  words  or  deeds 

vii 


i  tilK ,:'::..:  /A  - .  »*  PREFACE 

he  should  try  to  render  payment  to  the  world  for  what 
it  gives  to  him  ? 

Such  was  already  my  philosophy  when  four  years 
ago  I  started  from  India  on  an  eight  months'  journey 
home  over  Persia  and  Bussia.  Since  those  days  spent 
among  deserts  and  strange  people,  many  varied  experi- 
ences have  chanced  to  me,  and  other  journey ings  have 
left  their  mark  upon  the  pages  of  my  life  ;  but  I  have 
never  forgotten  the  ideals  with  which  I  set  out  on  that 
November  morning  from  Bombay,  and  now  I  have 
come  to  an  attempt  at  their  further  fulfilment  in 
writing  this  book. 

Looking  back  now,  the  perspective  of  things  appears, 
perhaps,  more  plainly  than  it  would  have  immediately 
after  my  travels  were  over, — it  is  often  better  to  get 
away  from  an  object  in  order  to  see  it  more  clearly  and 
truly.  Nor  has  the  lapse  of  time  endangered  the 
accuracy  of  my  recollections,  because  at  the  time  I  was 
on  the  road  I  kept  a  very  detailed  journal.  Often  it 
was  written  under  rather  trying  circumstances — in 
mud  huts,  in  shaking  rail  way- trains,  in  stuffy  cabins ; 
but  it  at  least  was  a  faithful  first  impression  of 
events,  and  as  such  has  formed  a  valuable  basis  for  a 
later  narrative. 

As  to  the  circumstances  of  my  voyage ;  it  was  made 
in  1903,  after  I  had  resigned  my  commission  in  the 
Royal  Field  Artillery  in  India.  Wishing  to  gain 
experience  and  avoid  the  monotony  of  a  long  and 
uninteresting  sea-voyage,  I  determined  to  travel  home 
by  way  of  the  Persian  Gulf,  Persia  itself,  the  Caspian 
Sea,  Russia,  and  then  by  one  of  the  various  overland 
Continental  routes  to  England. 

Accordingly  I  interviewed  my  Indian  servants  ; 
found  two,  Kishna  and  Kalicha  by  name,  ready  to 
come  with  me;  happened  by  good  fortune  upon  an 
Afghan,  SaifuUashah,  employed  in  the  State  service  at 


PREFACE  ix 

Simla,  who  was  glad  of  a  holiday  in  Persia  and  who 
spoke  Persian  fluently ;  and  collected  the  various  and 
somewhat  numerous  necessaries  incidental  to  travelling 
in  desert  Eastern  lands.  In  addition  to  my  suite  of 
humans  there  was  another  important  member  of  the 
party,  my  little  Scotch  terrier  *  Mr.  Stumps/  who  has 
been  with  me  since  his  puppyhood  at  Oxford. 

All  was  at  length  prepared,  and  one  late  autumn 
day  I  found  myself  at  Bombay,  the  personnel  and 
paraphernalia  of  my  expedition  all  present  and  ready 
to  start. 

Then  came  the  journey  up  the  Persian  Gulf.  This, 
owing  to  the  kindness  of  the  then  Viceroy  of  India, 
Lord  Curzon,  and  of  the  Resident,  Colonel  Kemball, 
was  made  under  the  pleasantest  auspices,  since  I  was 
able  to  accompany  the  Viceregal  party  then  proceeding 
on  a  tour  of  the  Gulf 

Throughout  my  journey,  indeed,  I  met  with  the 
greatest  kindness,  and  I  should  like  here  to  render  my 
deepest  and  most  sincere  thanks  to  all  those  who 
helped  me  on  my  travels.  Especially,  perhaps,  are  my 
thanks  due  to  Lord  Curzon,  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Kemball, 
Major  and  Mrs.  Cox,  Captain  Grey,  Mr.  George 
Grahame,  our  Consul  at  Shiraz  (whose  hospitality  to 
me  was  both  delightful  in  itself,  and  enabled  me  to 
extract  a  profit  from  my  stay  which  would  otherwise 
have  been  impossible),  Mr.  E.  G.  M.  Swifte  (whom  I  met 
at  Ispahan,  and  to  whom  I  owe  a  similar  debt  of  grati- 
tude), and  Sir  Arthur  Hardinge,  then  our  Minister  at 
Teheran,  who,  with  Lady  Hardinge,  made  my  stay  in 
the  capital  of  Persia  as  pleasant  as  it  was  interesting. 
I  should  also  like  to  write  a  special  word  of  thanks  to 
the  officials  of  the  Indo-European  Telegraphs,  whose 
genial  and  generous  kindness  I  shall  never  forget.  Let 
me  say  here  that  nothing  has  struck  me  more  in  my 
visits  to  the  distant  and  desert  places  of  the  earth 


X  PREFACE 

than  the  noble  and  steadfast  courage  of  those  English- 
men who  in  the  most  difficult  circumstances  carry  on 
the  business  of  our  country  with  a  persevering  loyalty 
to  which  no  praise  and  no  reward  could  be  adequate. 

The  Gulf  is  a  place  of  fierce  heat  and  violent  storms, 
of  barren  yellow  coasts  and  dim  pink  hills,  of  desolation 
and  death.  The  wild  scenes  of  the  pirate  days  have 
disappeared  before  the  strong  and  unselfish  influence 
of  Great  Britain  ;  but,  alas !  even  the  power  of  our 
native  land  is  not  potent  enough  to  alter  the  conditions 
of  Nature,  and  the  Gulf  regions  remain  an  inhospitable 
and  unprofitable  place  for  the  white  man. 

Nearly  at  the  head  of  the  Gulf  is  the  chief  port 
thereof,  Bushire,  and  it  is  upon  our  arrival  there  that 
my  story  begins. 

Imagine,  then,  the  sea-voyage  over,  my  little  collec- 
tion of  mortals  and  merchandise  and  my  beloved 
Mr.  Stumps  all  landed  safely  on  the  coast  of  Persia, 
and  the  curtain  ready  to  ascend  on  the  first  scene  of 
my  travels  proper. 

I  can  only  hope  that  what  follows  may  be  as  pleasant 
to  read  as  it  has  been  to  write.  Again  I  have  lived 
and  wandered  in  a  strange  Eastern  land  ;  again  I  have 
felt  the  eerie  fascination  of  the  great,  elemental 
mysteries  of  life  and  Nature  met  with  in  the  Orient. 
The  East  with  its  fierce  blaze  and  parching  heat,  its 
wide-stretching  wastes  bounded  by  far  walls  of  jagged 
peaks  where  shimmers  the  dim  sheen  of  untrodden 
snows  ;  with  its  mysterious  humanity,  so  little  under- 
stood by  us  Western  mortals, — the  East  with  all  its 
glamour  and  charm  has  been  brought  for  me  into  this 
drab  city,  like  some  strange  sweet  dream  of  another 
and  a  more  wonderful  world. 

ELIOT  CRAWSHAY  WILLIAMS. 

London, 
September^  1907. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  FAOB 

I.  THE  LAND  OF  THE  LION  AND  THE  SUN      -  -  1 

IL  THE  OPEN  ROAD       -       -       -       -  -  18 

in.  A  VAGABOND  LIFE     -      -      -      -  -  37 

IV.  THE  KOTALS    -      -      -      -      -  -  56 

V.   A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST    -               -               -                -  -  68 

VI.   A  BACKWATER  OF  THE  PRESENT             -               -  -  95 

VII.   THE   KALIAN         -                -                -                -                -  -  105 

VIIL   BY  THE  WAYSIDE             -               -               -                -  -  110 

IX.   THE  CITY   OF  ROSES   AND  NIGHTINGALES            -  -  123 

X.   BY  MARSH  AND  MOUNTAIN          -                -                -  -  147 

XI.   SOME  INCIDENTS   OF  PERSIAN   LIFE         -                -  -  161 

XII.   THE   ROAD   AGAIN              -               -               -                -  -  176 

XIII.  NAKSH-I-RUSTAM               -               -                -               -  -  191 

XIV.  'THE  COURTS  WHERE  JAMSHYD   GLORIED    AND  DRANK 

DEEP'                -               -               -               -               -  -  214 

XV.   THE  TOMB  OF  CYRUS      -----  224 

XVI.  A  MOUNTAIN  RACE          -               .               -               -  .  236 

XVII.   WINTER  AND   ROUGH   WEATHER                -                -  -  244 

XVIII.   THE  BEGGARS     -----.  249 

XIX.   SOME  SHOOTING  AMONG  THE   HILLS        -                -  -  258 

XX.   THE  EPISODE  OF  THE   *  BAB,*   AND   OTHER  THINGS  269 

XXI.   ISFAHAN                -                -                -               -                -  -  279 

XXII.   A  TWO  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  MILE  DRIVE         -  -  288 

XXIII.  EAST  AND  WEST                .                .               .               .  .  300 

XXIV.  OVER  THE  HILLS  AND  FAR  AWAY           -                -  -  311 
XXV.   THE   LAST  OF  THE  ROAD              ....  324 

INDEX    -               -               -               -               .                -  -  342 


XI 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE  VILLAGE  OF  YEZDIKHAST 

ON  THE  FRONT  AT  BUSHIRE 

DALIKI        ...... 

MY  HOST  AND  HIS  WIVES,  AT  ALIABAD  IN  THE 

ELBURZ  MOUNTAINS    -       .       .       - 

CLIMBING  A  KOTAL      .... 

THE  STATUE  IN  THE  GREAT  CAVE  AT  SHAHPUR  - 

ORMUZD  AND  NARSES,  SHAHPUR  - 

SMALL  ROCK  'ALTAR'  AT  SHAHPUR 

THE  FORT  OF  THE  DAUGHTER,  SHAHPUR  - 

THE  GARDENS  OF  SHIRAZ 

SAADl'S  TOMB     ..... 

the  god  and  the  king,  naksh-i-rustam 

rome  kneels  to  persia,  naksh-i-rustam 

a  tomb  of  the  kings,  naksh-i-rustam  - 

the  way  up  to  xerxes'  tomb   - 

an  ancient  rock-chamber  near  persepolis    - 

the  great  stairway  at  persepolis 

the  gates  of  xerxes,  persepolis 

Cyrus's  tomb       .  .  .  .  . 

stone  altars  at  takht-i-gor     - 

THE  women's  OFFERINGS,  CYRUS'S  TOMB  - 

ILIATS  IN  A  CARAVANSERAI 

BEGGARS     ...... 

IN  THE  PALACE  GROUNDS,  ISFAHAN 
AN  EARLY  MORNING  START  BY  CARRIAGE  ON   THE 
ROAD  TO  TEHERAN  .  -  .  - 


frontispiece 

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Xll 


ACROSS  PERSIA 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  LAND  OF  THE  LION  AND  THE  SUN 

'  Anchoring,  round  she  swings ; 
And  gathering  loiterers  on  the  land  discern 
Her  boat  descending  from  the  latticed  stern. 
'Tis  manned — the  oars  keep  concert  to  the  strand, 
Till  grates  her  keel  upon  the  shallow  sand,' 

Byron  :   The  Corsair^  Canto  I.  4. 

^^  To  most  minds  there  is  something  unutterably  tedious 
about  being  for  long  aboard  a  ship.  A  bad  sailor,  of 
course,  finds  the  sea  a  mere  place  of  torment ;  but 
even  a  good  sailor,  granted  the  best  of  weather  and 
the  pleasantest  of  companions,  usually  comes  to  hail 
the  end  of  a  voyage  with  relief  After  a  time  the  legs 
long  to  stretch  themselves  to  some  further  extent  than 
that  afforded  by  the  planks  of  the  upper  deck.  There 
grows  an  uncomfortable  feeling,  which  not  even  the 
violence  of  aboard-ship  sports  can  dispel,  that  the  body 
is  becoming  slack  and  inert  from  want  of  outlet  for  its 
energy ;  the  senses  weary  of  idle  days  dozed  away  in 
the  lazy  luxury  of  a  deck-chair,  with,  as  a  companion, 
a  book  (which  is  a  mere  excuse,  for  the  mind  suffers 
the  same  demoralization  as  the  body)  or  a  human 
being,  usually  of  the  opposite  sex,  whose  society  is 
apt  to  become  either  unutterably  boring  or  dangerously 
interesting. 

1 


.g"-,-   ::..:.••'•       ACROSS  PERSIA 

Always  there  is  the  monotony  of  an  ever-distant 
horizon,  the  inexorable  and  pendulum-like  appearance 
and  disappearance  of  which  over  the  rail  that  hems  in 
the  tiny  kingdom  of  the  ship  eventually  hypnotizes 
the  brain  into  a  sluggish  lethargy.  Work  of  any  kind 
becomes  repugnant  and  almost  impossible.  To  attempt 
to  break  through  the  spell  of  indolence  brings  about 
the  peculiar  feeling  produced  in  a  nightmare  by  trying 
to  catch  a  train,  while  invisible  forces  seem  to  prevent, 
by  powers  which  are  more  than  human,  the  purpose 
of  the  will. 

From  this  trance  the  end  of  the  voyage  wakes  body 
and  mind  to  a  new  life.  There  is  a  pleasant  sensation 
of  freedom  and  space  about  even  the  most  inhospitable 
shore.  The  mere  steadiness  and  extent  of  solid  ground 
are  things  to  be  thankful  for.  Like  Don  Juan  and  his 
companions,  to  whom 

'  Lovely  seem''d  any  object  that  should  sweep 
Away  the  vast,  salt,  dread,  eternal  deep,"* 

the  eyes  welcome  anything  besides  a  flat  waste  of 
water  as  a  joyous  sight.  Once  on  shore,  the  torpid 
limbs,  feeling  again  the  earth  beneath  them,  are  content 
to  move  merely  for  the  sake  of  motion.  There  is  a 
desire  to  go  far  because  there  is  distance  which  can  be 
traversed,  to  break  bounds  for  sheer  joy  that  they  do 
not  any  longer  exist.  The  very  picturesqueness  of  the 
sea  lying  there,  twinkling  with  that  uneasiness  but 
so  lately  escaped  from,  is  appreciated  the  more  for  its 
remoteness. 

There  are  no  doubt  some  who  take  a  sincere  joy  in 
a  sea  voyage,  and  to  whom  shore-going  is  only  an 
interlude  in  a  *  life  on  the  ocean  wave ';  but  they  do 
not  represent  the  majority.  The  average  Englishman 
likes  the  sea ;  but  he  likes  it  from  the  land.     In  his 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LION  AND  THE  SUN        3 

mind  there  float  snatches  of  Dibdin's  songs  and  names 
of  great  Admirals  and  great  victories,  all  of  which 
make  him  look  upon  the  sea  as  in  some  way  his 
heritage,  something  he  must  be  proud  of.  He  prefers 
to  think  of  the  English  as  a  nation  of  sailors  rather 
than  of  shop-keepers.  But  the  spirit's  willingness 
cannot,  unfortunately,  prevent  the  flesh  from  being 
weak,  and  while  the  Englishman  of  the  imagination  is 
potentially  a  roistering  seaman,  the  Englishman  of  fact 
would  gladly  subscribe  for  a  Channel  Tunnel  if  he  were 
not  even  more  averse  to  the  discomfort  of  certain  and 
prolonged  soldiering  than  to  that  of  possible  and  tem- 
porary sailoring.  No  ;  natural  man  is  not  a  seafaring 
animal,  and,  there  can  be  small  doubt  of  it,  the  end 
of  a  voyage  comes  as  a  relief 

The  coming  to  shore  which  begins  this  book  was  no 
exception  to  the  common  rule.  The  voyage  itself  had, 
indeed,  been  neither  long  nor  uninteresting  ;  on  the 
contrary,  its  length  of  something  over  a  month  had 
been  rendered  delightful  by  pleasant  companionship 
and  broken  by  visits  ashore.  It  had  been  as  comfort- 
able and  as  eventful  as  a  voyage  well  could  be ;  but  it 
had  brought  me  to  a  land  of  such  peculiar  fascination 
that  the  journey  by  sea  could  not  but  be  looked 
upon  as  only  a  delightful  introduction  to  the  real 
subject  of  my  travels. 

Before  me  lay  Persia,  the  Land  of  the  Lion  and  the 
Sun — though  now  the  lion  exists  only  in  the  fertile 
imagination  of  the  Persian,  albeit  the  sun  rages  as 
rampantly  as  ever ;  the  land,  too,  of  much  else  :  of  a 
mighty  yet  lamentable  history,  where  once  monarchs 
ruled  the  world,  and  where  to-day  dwell  the  hill 
shepherd  and  the  bazaar  merchant,  a  people  of  whom 
the  incomparable  Hajji  Baba  is  the  type  and  supreme 
example;  the  land  of  Cyrus,   Darius,  Xerxes,  Alex- 

1—2 


4  ACROSS  PERSIA 

ander,  of  many  a  hero  of  history,  of  many  a  place  of 
fame. 

There  once  lived  Omar  — '  Omar,  the  Mahometan 
Blackguard '  of  Carlyle — Omar,  the  divinity,  almost,  of 
a  creed  to-day  ;  there,  too,  Sa'adi,  Hafiz,  and  many 
another  poet-philosopher,  who  lived  and  sang  and  died 
among  the  rose-gardens  and  cypresses.  There,  to-day, 
lies  many  an  old-world  marvel : — ruins  of  palaces,  great 
sculptured  pictures  on  the  faces  of  cliffs,  tombs  of 
Emperors  hewn  from  the  living  rock. 

To  such  a  land  I  came  at  the  end  of  my  voyage  that 
sunny  winter  morning,  made  familiar  in  my  mind  with 
what  I  was  to  see,  not  only  by  history,  but  by  the 
annals  of  predecessors  in  my  path.  Fryer,  Chardin, 
Le  Bruyn,  and  many  another,  they  have  left  for  the 
amusement  and,  even  to-day,  for  the  guidance  of  the 
pilgrim,  quaint  records  of  their  long  and  laborious 
journeyings  in  days  when  travelling  was  not  the  occu- 
pation of  a  holiday,  but  the  profession  of  a  lifetime. 

History  aided  by  the  accounts  of  these  explorers  of 
old,  and  by  those  of  more  recent  travellers,  had  peopled 
Persia  with  a  multitude  of  interests,  and  as  my 
steamer  drew  into  Bushire,  I  left  with  a  mitigated 
regret  the  pleasant  associations  of  my  days  at  sea. 

My  vagabondage  had  begun.  I  was  free.  For  me 
there  was  no  mapped-out  journey ;  my  path  might  lie 
where  I  willed.  Time  and  space  were  at  my  disposal, — 
I  was  lord  of  both.  I  could  go,  eventually,  west  to 
Damascus,  north  to  Samarcand  or  even  to  far  Siberia, 
or,  should  I  choose,  I  could  make  my  way  east  to  China. 
The  earth  was  mine  and  the  wideness  thereof  But 
now,  here,  immediate,  in  the  present,  was  Persia, 
lying  there  before  me  with  all  its  storehouse  of 
interest. 

The  true  vagabond  has  no  far-reaching  plans,  and  it 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LION  AND  THE  SUN         5 

was  sufficient  for  me  that  I  was  my  own  master,  with 
months  to  fill  and  a  land  to  fill  them. 

The  place  at  which  I  had  arrived  was  nearly  at  the 
head  of  that  great  arm  of  water  between  Persia  and 
Arabia  which,  in  my  school-days,  used  to  confound  me 
by  getting  mixed  up  with  its  next-door  neighbour, 
the  Red  Sea. 

My  course  had  lain  from  Bombay  up  the  Persian 
Gulf  to  Bushire,  my  present  port  of  debarkation,  and, 
on  the  way,  there  had  been  visits  at  Muscat,  Bundar 
Abbas,  Bahrein,  and  other  Gulf  ports.  Zigzagging  to 
and  fro  between  the  north-east  and  south-west  shores 
of  the  Gulf,  we  had  gained  a  very  good  general  idea  of 
the  coast-line  of  both  Persia  and  Arabia.  Passing 
the  gaunt  headlands  of  Musandim  which  guard  the 
portals  of  the  inland  sea,  we  had  steamed  alternately 
southwards  to  the  low-lying  Pirate  Coast,  and  back  to 
the  narrow  strip  of  sun-beaten  sand  which  lies  to  the 
north  between  the  sea  itself  and  the  jagged  rock  wall 
of  Southern  Persia.  Always  there  had  been  one  of 
these  two  features  in  the  view  :  to  the  north  the 
yellow  streak  of  sand  running  back  to  the  dim  pink 
hills,  or  to  the  south  the  barren,  shrub-dotted  desert  of 
Arabia. 

Now  at  last  we  had  definitely  abandoned  this  latter, 
and  had  finally  put  in  to  a  Persian  port. 

Bushire  has  at  least  two  inconveniences — its  climate 
and  its  harbour.  The  former  is  typical  of  the  Gulf ; 
that  is  to  say,  it  is  just  tolerable  in  the  winter  and 
absolutely  intolerable  in  the  summer,  when,  as  Lord 
Curzon  remarks,  '  the  ordinary  thermometer  bursts, 
and  those  graded  high  enough  have  placed  the  solar 
radiation  at  189°  Fahr.'  The  second  is  also  a  type, 
inasmuch  as,  like  almost  all  Persian  harbours,  it  does 
not  allow  ships  of  any  magnitude  to  come  nearer  than 


6  ACROSS  PERSIA 

a  mile  or  so  to  the  actual  landing-place.  Consequently, 
after  a  deal  of  transhipment,  the  last  portion  of  the 
journey  has  to  be  made  in  small  native  craft. 

A  picturesque,  animated  scene  lay  before  me  in  the 
bright  morning  sunshine  as  I  coasted  quietly  by  the 
long,  rude  wharf  at  Bushire,  off  which  lay  scores  of 
huggalows,  loading  or  unloading  oil,  dates,  shells,  and 
other  motley  merchandise  of  the  place.  Past  the 
Belgian  custom-house  buildings  we  went,  and  drew 
in  to  the  landing-place.  A  busy  throng  bustled  to 
and  fro  over  the  wharf :  Persian  soldiers  in  their 
ballet-girl-like  attire ;  natives  in  their  '  handleless- 
saucepan  '  hats  ;  ragged  Arabs  washing  shells,  unload- 
ing canvas-covered  oil-jars,  or  more  generally  sitting 
doing  nothing ;  women  with  their  long  black  or  blue 
gowns  draped  shapelessly  over  their  heads  down  to 
their  feet,  looking  like  so  many  animate  bales  of  stuff ; 
little  *  street '  Arabs — only  they  are  real  Arabs  here — 
much  like  their  fellows  all  over  the  world,  with  their 
devilments  and  mercurial  movements  in  and  out  of  the 
hurrying  mob.  Here,  too,  I  saw  the  khaki-clad  horse- 
men who  form  the  body-guard  of  the  British  Resident 
— fine,  smart-looking  Sikhs.  It  was  good  to  hear  the 
rough  words  of  command  again  as  they  swung  off  at 
a  canter  with  a  clink  and  jostle  that  must  always  send 
a  little  thrill  of  pleasure  through  one  who  has  himself 
ever  clattered  along  to  that  same  tune. 

Bushire  is  a  place  of  narrow  little  white  lanes,  drab 
Eastern  buildings  with  flat  housetops,  dusty,  smelly 
bazaars,  and — a  feature  which  gives  it  no  small 
distinction — a  sea-front.  A  great  place,  this  sea-front ; 
it  is  Bushire  s  boulevard,  Unter  den  Linden,  Hyde  Park, 
and  everything  else  all  in  one  ;  it  is  the  fashionable 
promenade. 

Indeed,  it  is  a  pleasant  place  on  a  bright  morning 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LION  AND  THE  SUN    7 

in  the  cool  of  the  year.  I  used  to  stroll  down  before 
breakfast  and  linger  outside  Gulzad's  to  bask  a  little  in 
the  sunshine  and  watch  the  tide  of  nature  and  of  men. 

A  quaint  place,  Gulzad's.  GulzM  himself  is  quite  a 
character,  and  we  will  step  into  his  shop  for  a  moment 
and  see  him.  Passing  out  of  the  morning  sun,  we  find 
ourselves  in  a  long  passage-shaped  room,  dark,  and 
full  of  the  smell  of  groceries.  Down  the  length  of  the 
shop  sit  silent,  grave  Persians,  apparently  on  no  busi- 
ness whatever,  and  not  objected  to  by  anyone.  Behind 
this  reception  chamber  is  another  room,  full  of  stores, 
wine,  cocoa,  matches,  tea — you  can  get  pretty  well 
anything  at  Gulzad's.  But  this  is  not  a  mere  shop, 
it  is  nothing  so  sordid ;  nor  is  Gulzad  himself  a  mere 
shopkeeper.  This  stubby  little  old  Armenian  is  a 
friend,  philosopher,  politician  ; — not  that,  incidentally, 
he  does  not  appear  to  make  something  out  of  life  and 
his  fellow-creatures.  But  he  is  above  all  a  man  of  the 
world.  The  native,  perhaps,  he  treats  somewhat  as 
an  inferior,  and  in  some  degree  as  his  lawful  prey,  but 
you  are  an  equal,  a  friend ;  to  suggest  you  were  a 
mere  customer  would  be  an  insult.  You  wish  to  buy 
a  razor-strop,  and  point  to  some  that  hang  at  the  back 
of  the  shop.  Gulzad  shakes  his  head  mournfully  : 
*  No,'  he  says,  '  I  would  not  advise  you,  zey  are  not 
good.'  The  inference  is  that  for  the  Persian  they  may 
do  well  enough,  but  with  the  white  man  Gulzad  is  on 
different  terms, — to  be  perfectly  frank,  he  has  nothing 
in  that  line  which  is  good  enough.  But  will  you  have 
a  whisky-and-soda  ?  .  .  . 

Outside  in  the  sunlight  the  tide  is  coming  in  with 
little  grey-green  ripples,  chasing  each  other,  sparkling, 
over  the  brown  sands.  Down  along  the  beach  are 
groups  of  native  washerwomen,  standing  bare-footed 
in  the  little  pools  among  the  rocks  or  in  the  shallow. 


8  ACROSS  PERSIA 

glittering  wavelets,  and  beating  the  weekly  wash  in 
an  unmerciful  manner  which  sends  a  shudder  through 
any  proprietor  of  clothes.    It  is  a  pretty  sight,  though, 
these  graceful  native  women  on  the  brown  sands  bend- 
ing and  rising  over  the  sparkling  water.     Now  and 
again  a  shawl  will  waywardly  float  out  a  few  feet  in 
the  breeze,  and  lure  its  mistress  into  gathering  up  her 
long  draperies  to  display  a  perfectly  moulded  leg  and 
a  tiny  ankle  circled  by  little  silver   rings  ;   occasion- 
ally a  black  shawl  will  fall  from  a  dark-haired  damsel's 
head,  to  display  sometimes  quite  a  beautiful  face.    But  * 
usually  the  washerwomen  are  a  long  vista  of  black- 
shawled  figures  with  only  the  shapely  arms  and  feet 
of  the  wearer  visible  ;  these  little  revelations  must  be, 
of  course,    pure   accidents.      Oh,   perfidy !    to  let   an 
accursed  foreigner  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  hidden  and 
forbidden  face !     (Let  it  be  whispered,  however,  that 
there  is  some  reason  to  suppose  that  a  strict  adherence 
to  the  Oriental  regulations  might  possibly  imply  that 
the  said  countenance  would  gain  nothing  by  further 
disclosures,  for  her  great  brown  eyes  are  generally 
a   Persian   lady's   best   feature.)      The    air    is    filled 
with  a  multitudinous  slapping  of  wet    clothes,  with 
which  mingle  the  shrill  shrieks  of  the  little  half  or 
wholly  naked  children  who  are  common  objects  of  the 
seashore  anywhere  east  of  Suez.     Cosmopolitan  little 
creatures,  they  show  every  variety  of  type  from  the 
coarse,  swarthy  Nubian  to  the  delicate  light  brown 
Persian. 

Of  course  they  play  games,  and  the  games  of  children 
all  the  world  over  seem  to  have  a  singular  resemblance. 
Tip-cat  was  the  fashion  when  I  was  in  Persia.  Taking 
a  stick,  say  2  feet  long  by  ^  inch  across,  a  little  boy 
would  strike  a  smaller  stick,  about  4  inches  long  and 
1  inch  in  diameter,  with  a  knack  that  made  it  jump 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LION  AND  THE  SUN         9 

into  the  air,  when  it  was  hit  as  far  along  the  sands  as  his 
strength  and  skill  could  send  it.  Then  another  little 
chap,  standing  at  the  place  it  reached,  would  take  it 
and  fling  it  with  all  his  force  at  his  companion's  head. 
The  hitter,  seizing  a  couple  of  other  striking  sticks, 
would  throw  the  lot  at  the  missile,  hitting  it  with  one 
of  the  three  much  more  often  than  one  would  imagine. 

Little  girls  have  a  similar  game,  slightly  modified  to 
suit  the  feminine  temperament.  Instead  of  the  small 
stick  being  hurled  at  the  young  lady's  head,  it  is  flung 
from  its  resting-place  at  the  hitting  stick,  which  is 
placed  on  the  ground  by  the  striker,  the  penalty  for 
failing  to  hit  apparently  being  for  the  little  girl  who 
threw  to  carry  her  opponent  on  her  back  from  one  spot 
to  the  other. 

Altogether  it  is  an  animated  scene  in  the  cool 
freshness  of  a  December  morning,  the  twinkling  waves 
lapping  the  shining  sands,  the  groups  of  women  bending 
over  the  water,  the  children,  bright  as  the  morning 
itself,  shouting  at  their  games  ; — Bushire  is  not  so  bad. 

But  there  is  another  side,  the  side  of  filthy  alleys,  of 
dust-heaps,  of  old  withered  hags,  of  the  beggars,  the 
sick  and  the  deformed.  At  every  corner  there  is  some 
terrible  sight ; — a  man,  holding  up  a  withered  stump  of 
an  arm  ; — a  deformed  child  ; — a  woman  whose  sightless 
eyes  peer  into  yours.  Almost  every  other  man  and 
woman  you  meet  has  something  amiss  :  a  contorted 
face,  a  dead-looking  open  eye  which  glares  blindly  out, 
a  sunken  temple,  a  network  of  pitted  scars.  The  East 
is  a  place  of  wild  extremes ;  and  disease,  uncontrolled 
as  it  at  present  is  by  science,  runs  riot  like  some 
luxurious  tropic  growth. 

One  day  I  went  into  the  British  dispensary  in  a 
Persian  town.  A  man  was  sitting  groaning  on  a 
chair  while    the    assistant-surgeon    bathed    his   eyes. 


10  ACROSS  PERSIA 

*  Ophthalmia,'  said  the  surgeon  placidly.  *  A  bad  case  ; 
he  will  never  see  again.'  (Ophthalmia  in  some  form 
or  another  is  so  common  as  to  cause  no  comment  in  the 
East. )  Two  women,  presumably  a  couple  of  his  wives, 
sat  by  and  patted  his  head,  while  he  moaned. 

Then  up  came  an  old  hag  and  said  something  which 
made  my  friend  turn  to  a  man  near  by  who  smiled 
amiably  and  indiscriminately  at  everybody.  '  Mad,  of 
course,'  the  doctor  remarked.  And  then,  turning  to 
the  assistant :  *  Give  him  some  bromide  to  keep  him 
quiet.'  But  he  only  gibbered  harmlessly,  and  wanted 
the  old  woman  to  drink  it ;  so  they  told  her  to  take  it 
and  him  home.  There  were  other  horrors  ;  but  they  are 
common  enough  out  there,  and  are  not  nice  to  describe. 

Such  it  is, — the  East : — a  gorgeous  mixture  of  dazzle 
and  darkness,  luxury  and  misery,  beauty  and  filth, 
bewildering  the  mind  alternately  by  its  majesty  and 
its  horror. 

One  thing  is  certain  :  the  chief  missionary  effort 
needed  throughout  the  Eastern  parts  of  the  world  is 
one  devoted  to  the  spread  of  the  religion  of  science  ; — 
the  doctor  is  the  greatest,  the  best,  and  the  most 
respected  of  missionaries  ;  and  rightly  so.  He  heals 
men's  bodies,  and  it  is  their  bodies  that  chiefly  require 
healing  at  the  present  moment.  Sanitary  conditions, 
knowledge  of  remedies  and  of  the  methods  of  disease- 
prevention,  a  better  and  a  more  healthy  way  of  life  ; 
these  are  the  first  steps  towards  the  regeneration  of 
Oriental  peoples.  No  wonder  the  man  who  can  bring 
comfort  to  their  sufferings  and  make  them  better  human 
beings  is  looked  upon  with  veneration  and  esteem. 

He  deserves  to  be. 

Amidst  horrors  that  are  indescribable  and  diflS- 
culties  that  are  almost  overwhelming,  confronted  with 
prejudice  and  superstition,  and  embarrassed  by  lack 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LION  AND  THE  SUN   11 

of  proper  appliances,  he  has  a  Hfe  to  lead  which  is 
only  enviable  to  those  who  take  their  greatest  joy  in 
seeing  the  world  progress,  even  if  only  in  some  little 
measure,  by  their  efforts.  Would  that  their  numbers 
were  more  and  their  powers  even  greater !  Can  there, 
indeed,  be  any  doubt  that  what  is  needed  in  the  East 
is  to  first  mend  the  body,  then  develop  the  intelligence, 
and  lastly,  if  by  that  time  there  is  any  need  after  this 
religion  of  stern  fact  has  been  dealt  with,  to  turn 
attention  to  the  infinite  and  insoluble  mysteries  of 
theology  ? 

As  we  shall  now  be  concerned  in  many  doings  with 
the  Persian  man,  it  may,  perhaps,  be  as  well  to  give 
some  short  description  to  bring  him  before  the  mental 
eye. 

Mr.  Persian,  then,  is  very  much  the  same  in  appear- 
ance from  the  highest  to  the  lowest  in  the  State.  In 
Mahometan  lands  the  wearing  of  fine  clothing  is 
strictly  forbidden.  Colours,  silk,  in  fact  all  osten- 
tation, is  contrary  to  the  Koran,  and  the  consequence 
is  that  the  inhabitants  present  a  drab  monotony  of 
greys  and  browns  and  blacks,  which  almost  outdoes  even 
the  billycock  banality  of  London.  The  general  effect 
is  not,  however,  quite  so  atrocious,  saved  as  it  is  by 
a  quaint  unconventionality  in  shape,  which  does  much 
to  counterbalance  the  dull  sameness  of  shade. 

The  typical  Persian  is  a  handsome  man  ;  there  are 
few  more  good-looking  races  on  the  face  of  this  earth. 
With  a  fine  nut-brown  and  sometimes  even  lighter 
complexion,  he  has  splendid  eyes,  well-moulded  features, 
and  a  devil-may-care  air  which  carries  off  his  whole 
presence  admirably.  On  the  top  of  his  head  is  stuck, 
among  the  upper  classes,  a  black  lamb's -wool  structure 
of  the  shape  of  a  decapitated  cone,  or  a  circular  one, 
somewhat   resembling   a   top-hat   without    the   brim, 


12  ACROSS  PERSIA 

which  is  the  symbol  of  the  military  man.  The  lower 
classes  affect  a  black  head-dress  of  smooth,  stiff  cloth, 
which  may  be  compared  in  shape  to  an  inverted 
handleless  saucepan.  From  beneath  this,  there  pro- 
trudes at  the  back  a  huge  mass  of  brown  hair,  which 
is  cut  short  at  the  neck  by  a  clean-shaved  line.  This 
mass  of  hair  is  2  or  3  inches  long,  and  generally  curls 
upwards  from  beneath  his  hat,  or  kutah.  The  more 
the  hair  curls,  the  prouder  is  its  Persian  possessor. 
A  loose,  nondescript  garment  falls  from  his  shoulders, 
and  is  gathered  in  by  some  sort  of  a  belt  at  the  waist, 
which  gives  the  wearer  the  appearance  of  having  on  a 
blouse  and  short  skirt.  Over  all  in  the  winter  is  thrown 
a  huge,  furry  jposhteeUy  while,  below,  the  Persian  is  clad 
in  loose  trousers  or  sometimes  knickerbockers  and 
putties.  In  the  cities,  various  holy  men,  professors 
and  others,  wear  turbans  instead  of  the  national  hat, 
and  these  turbans  are  a  sign  of  their  profession.  In 
spite  of  their  unostentatious  mode  of  dress,  the  Persians 
are  certainly  a  striking  race  in  appearance. 

The  women,  when  you  can  see  them  (and  a  pretty 
girl  often  manages  somehow  or  another  to  let  you 
get  a  glimpse  of  her  face),  are  sometimes  quite  good- 
looking  when  they  are  young ;  but,  as  always  in  the 
East,  like  hothouse  flowers,  they  develop  early  and 
fade  quickly.  A  girl  still  in  her  teens  is  in  her  prime ; 
a  woman  of  twenty-five  is  already  'going  off,'  and 
later  in  life  she  becomes  a  veritable  old  hag.  All  have 
beautiful  eyes, — great,  brown  things  with  a  beauty 
that  seems  to  belong  more  to  the  animal  than  to  the 
human  being.  (I  have  seen  such  eyes  in  dogs  more  often 
than  in  men  and  women.)  With  a  certain  acuteness, 
fashion  ordains  that  these  eyes  are  the  only  things 
which  need  be  visible  to  the  outside  world,  for  the  rest 
of  the  face  is  generally  supposed  to  be  kept  studiously 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LION  AND  THE  SUN       13 

covered  up.  Even  these  dangerous  eyes  are  invisible 
in  the  cities,  and  the  women  go  about  clad  from  top  to 
toe  in  a  long  blue  or  black  gown,  whose  monotony  is 
only  broken  in  front,  where  hangs  a  long  white  strip 
of  cloth,  with,  at  the  top,  a  little  window  of  fine  net, 
through  which  the  wearer  can  see,  but  which  the  sight 
of  the  outside  world  cannot  penetrate.  This  long  white 
strip  hangs  down  almost  to  the  ground,  and  is  fastened 
round  the  forehead  over  the  all -enveloping  dark  gown. 
Form  and  fashion  do  not  change  quickly  in  Persia,  and 
things  have  been  very  much  the  same  for  centuries. 
Fryer's  description  in  1676  is  sufficiently  accurate 
to-day  to  merit  quoting  :  '  The  Women  are  fair,  with 
rather  too  much  Ruddinefs  in  their  Cheeks ;  their  Hair 
and  Eyes  moft  black ;  a  little  Burly,  by  reason  they 
wear  their  Cloths  loofe,  yet  not  altogether  fo,  but 
more  at  eafe  than  our  Dames ;  a  Plump  Lafs  being  in 
more  efteem  than  our  Slender  and  Straitlaced  Maidens.' 
The  worthy  traveller  is  not  always  over-gallant,  how- 
ever, for  elsewhere  he  remarks  :  ^  In  thefe  Two  Munfels 
we  only  meet  with  thefe  Servitors,  in  other  Places  Men 
appear  alone,  not  allowing  their  Women  that  Freedom ; 
but  were  they  no  more  tempting  than  thefe  Swains, 
they'd  have  small  caufe  for  the  Beftriction ;  for  they 
are  Strapping  Sunburnt  laffes,  with  little  more  Cloaths 
on  than  a  dark  coloured  Smock,  or  Frock ;  and  for 
their  Meen  it  is  not  enticing.' 

As  for  the  Persian  child,  it  much  resembles  these 
little  animals  in  all  other  countries.  It  is  healthy  and 
generally  happy  ;  it  plays  its  games  and  wonders  at 
the  world  much  as  would  its  brother  or  sister  in 
England,  Japan,  or  the  Fiji  Islands;  it  has  little  to  do, 
for  which  it  is  thankful,  and  in  a  land  where  the 
national  maxim  is  to  do  as  little  and  get  as  much  for 
it  as  possible,  it  has  no  inadequate  training  for  its 


14  ACROSS  PERSIA 

future  career.  Sometimes  it  attends  school,  and  then 
the  noise  it  makes  is  appalling.  Contrary  to  the 
custom  in  England,  the  child  in  Persia  is  quieter  out  of 
school  than  in  it,  for  the  particular  occupation  during 
school  hours  appears  to  be  for  every  child  to  inces- 
santly repeat  everything  it  knows  at  the  top  of  its 
voice.  What  it  learns  or  how  it  learns  it  I  was  unable 
to  comprehend,  but  no  doubt  it  finds  it  sufficient  in 
present  circumstances.  .  .  . 

My  stay  at  Bushire  was  not  long,  and  now,  at  last, 
after  many  arrangements  and  argumentations,  I  had 
contracted  for  some  mules,  negotiated  my  goods 
through  the  customs,  and  having  surmounted  infinite 
impediments  and'  delays,  was  ready  to  start  on  the 
chief  part  of  my  journey. 

It  was  five  on  a  December  morning  when  I  scrambled 
out  of  bed  in  the  hospitable  mansion  in  which  I  was 
entertained,  to  finally  tidy  up  and  depart.  Outside, 
the  E-amazan  moon  was  silvering  the  white  housetops, 
and  the  roofs  of  Bushire,  generally  a  somewhat  un- 
picturesque  prospect,  looked  quite  beautiful. 

Getting  ofi*  is  not  an  easy  matter  in  Persia.  First  of 
all,  the  coolies  were  an  hour  late ;  then,  when  all  my 
things  were  at  last  transported  to  the  wharf  and  put 
in  the  boat  in  which  I  was  to  sail  across  the  little  bay 
to  the  caravan  terminus  of  Shief  on  the  opposite  side, 
the  boatman  stated  that  he  wanted  more  than  double 
the  proper  fare  to  take  me  over.  This  dodge  the  wily 
native  frequently  plays  on  the  innocent  traveller.  He 
gets  him  comfortably  stowed  aboard,  and  then,  pre- 
suming on  his  passenger's  reluctance  to  turn  out  again, 
audaciously  demands  anything  he  pleases.  For  once, 
however,  I  checkmated  him  ; — out  came  all  my  things 
again  on  to  the  wharf  Eventually  another  man 
offered  to  take  me  for  a  fare  and  a  half,  but  I  stood 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LION  AND  THE  SUN       15 

out  for  a  fare  and  a  quarter  as  a  reasonable  compromise. 
At  last  the  original  man  came  round  and  insisted  on 
having  all  my  things  put  back,  and  said  he  would  take 
me  for  what  I  asked. 

Difficulties,  however,  were  not  at  an  end  ;  just  as 
I  was  going  to  get  off,  up  came  a  man  with  a  bill, 
payment  for  which  I  had  left  with  my  host  of  the  last 
few  days.  This  I  told  him,  but  he  was  not  satisfied, 
and,  standing  between  me  and  the  boat,  threateningly 
proclaimed  that  he  would  not  let  me  embark  until  I 
had  actually  delivered  the  money  into  his  hands.  I 
had  already  had  trouble  with  this  same  man  about  the 
money  for  my  coolies,  and  had  informed  him  that  if  he 
gave  me  any  more  unnecessary  bother  I  would  pitch 
him  into  the  water.  I  confess  that  by  this  time  my 
temper  was  rapidly  disappearing,  and  with  this  last 
contretemps  I  fear  it  fled  altogether.  I  eyed  the  man. 
He  was  a  big  man.  I  communicated  to  him  in  the 
most  correct  Persian  at  my  disposal  that  if  he  did  not 
listen  to  reason  and  let  me  pass,  I  in  very  truth  should 
be  forced  to  carry  out  my  threat  in  order  to  get  into 
the  boat.  He  laughed,  and  dared  me  to  throw  him 
off  the  wharf ;  whereupon  I  did  so.  He  unfortunately 
fell  into  the  boat,  and,  leaping  up,  came  for  me.  I 
dislike  warfare,  and  I  am  a  poor  pugilist ;  but  there 
are  times  when  even  one  who  is  not  born  to  fighting 
has  fighting  thrust  upon  him.  When  a  large  and 
angry  man  is  coming  at  you  with  all  the  impetus  he 
has  derived  from  a  short  run  and  a  violent  temper, 
the  time  for  peaceable  discussion  has  passed,  and  the 
only  argument  possible  is  the  argument  that  applies 
immediately  to  the  exterior  of  the  person  addressed. 
I  met  his  onslaught  with  a  fairly  hard  left-hander, 
after  recoiling  from  which  he  came  at  me  with  more 
vigour  than  ever.     I  did  not,  however,  wish  to  become 


16  ACROSS  PERSIA 

involved  in  a  fight,  so  I  seized  his  arms  and  held  him, 
struggling  and  cursing,  until,  somewhat  pacified,  he 
agreed  to  come  again  to  words  instead  of  blows. 
Eventually  I  compromised  by  leaving  the  matter  in 
the  hands  of  a  friend,  and  at  last,  to  my  infinite  satis- 
faction, I  found  myself  putting  off  from  the  wharf  in 
the  boat  with,  actually,  my  late  enemy  among  the 
crew  which  was  conveying  me  across  the  bay. 

The  Persian  is  as  quick  at  forgetting  a  quarrel  as 
he  is  at  making  one,  and  while  I  was  thinking  over  the 
late  incident,  regretting  the  loss  of  my  temper  and 
reflecting  on  Schopenhauer's  dictum  that  such  an  event 
implies  the  superiority  of  your  adversary,  he  was  appar- 
ently engaged  in  a  somewhat  similar  process  at  the  other 
end  of  the  boat.  Presently  he  bobbed  down,  groped 
underneath  a  thwart,  and  then  came  aft  to  where  I  was 
sitting.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  small  piece  of  battered- 
looking  carpet,  which,  without  a  word,  he  presented  to 
me  to  sit  upon.  This  little  act  quite  overcame  me,  and 
I  had  a  desire  to  apologize  to  him,  which  was  only  pre- 
vented by  the  inadequacy  of  my  knowledge  of  Persian 
to  express  my  thoughts.  Dumb  show  does  pretty  well, 
however,  on  most  dramatic  occasions,  and  we  speedily 
and  effectually  made  up  our  late  little  difference. 

The  wind  sank,  and  we  had  to  get  out  oars  in  order 
to  get  along  at  all.  The  dynamics  of  the  art  of  rowing 
as  practised  on  the  Persian  coast  entirely  bewildered 
me.  Fastening  the  oar — a  pole  to  the  working  end 
of  which  is  attached  the  side  of  a  box — to  a  thole-pin 
by  a  piece  of  rope,  the  oarsman  sits  further  down  the 
gunwale,  facing  the  interior  of  the  boat,  and  rows  in 
towards  the  side.  Why  the  boat  goes  forward  at  all 
I  have  not  been  able  to  ascertain.  Theoretically,  the 
efforts  made  should  merely  tend  to  lift  it  in  the  air. 
Somehow  or  another,  however,  the  rowers  do  manage 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  LION  AND  THE  SUN       17 

to  propel  the  boat  along,  and  with  their  feet  planted 
against  bamboos  running  lengthways  down  the  boat, 
work  away  industriously,  aided  by  another  man  who, 
when  he  has  an  opportunity,  endeavours  to  assist  by 
*  punting '  with  a  flimsy  pole. 

In  this  extraordinary  fashion  we  progressed,  while 
to  vary  the  monotony  I  produced  a  pistol  and  had  a 
few  shots  at  various  birds  which  occasionally  drifted 
within  range.  This  impressed  the  boatmen  amazingly, 
but  otherwise  did  not  have  any  tangible  result.  This, 
however,  is  not  necessary  in  Persia,  where  the  process 
of  doing  a  thing  is  always  looked  upon  as  more  im- 
portant than  the  effect  produced. 

Round  a  corner  suddenly  we  came  upon  Shief,  and, 
having  taken  about  two  and  a  quarter  hours  to  do 
eight  miles,  my  servants,  my  baggage,  and  myself 
found  ourselves  deposited  by  a  desolate  stone  building 
on  the  barren  sandy  promontory  which  was  to  be  the 
starting-place  for  our  caravan. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE     OPEN     ROAD 

'  Afoot  and  light-hearted  I  take  to  the  open  road, 
Healthy,  free,  the  world  before  me, 
The  long  brown  path  before  me  leading  wherever  I  choose.' 

Walt  Whitman. 

The  way  to  Persia  lay  open  before  me;  a  brave,  broad 
road,  for  on  every  side,  save  where,  behind  me,  there 
glittered  the  waters  of  the  Gulf,  there  stretched  away 
the  great  brown  desert.  With  a  curious  impression 
of  flat  immensity,  it  lay  there  beneath  the  beating 
glare,  an  unending  monotony  of  sandy,  sun  -  baked 
earth.  Here  and  there  it  dipped  into  undulations 
which  threw  up  sharp  black  shadows  ;  a  sparse  shrub 
or  two — scarcely  to  be  dignified  by  the  name  of  tree 
— stood  out  gaunt  and  lonely  on  the  face  of  the  inhos- 
pitable wilderness.  But  these  breaks  in  the  scheme 
only  served  to  emphasize  the  strange  sameness  of  the 
endless,  desolate  vista.  No, — not  endless ;  for  far  in 
the  dim  north,  above  the  shimmering  haze  which 
trembled  over  the  desert,  there  ran  a  long  boundary- 
wall  of  faint  shadows.  Jagged,  and  forbidding  despite 
the  softening  touch  of  the  pink  distance,  they  rose 
sharp  out  of  the  plain — the  great  rock  wall  of  Persia. 

Thither  lay  our  path  across  the  waste,  and,  looking 
out  to  them  from  the  coast,  I  reflected  that  in  a  march 
or  two  we  should  be  attacking  their  formidable  line, 
and  vaguely  wondered  how  we  should  do  it. 

18 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  19 

The  mules  should  have  arrived  by  now ;  but  that 
means  nothing  in  Persia.  In  a  country  where  the 
motto  is  *  Never  do  to-day  what  you  can  put  off  till 
to-morrow,  and  never  do  anything  at  all  if  it  can 
possibly  be  avoided/  business  habits  and  punctuality 
are  accounted  eccentricities,  if  not  positive  vices. 

Life  is  too  short  to  worry  about  time,  says  the  East. 

*  Unborn  To-morrow  and  dead  Yesterday, 
Why  fret  about  them  if  To-day  be  sweet  ?"* 

sings  our  Persian  philosopher,  and  sings  his  country's 
sentiments. 

The  two  favourite  phrases  in  the  land  are  *  Insh- 
allah  farda'  ('To-morrow,  by  the  grace  of  God'),  and 
'  Aih  neest '  ('  It  doesn't  matter ').  Anyone  who  is  so 
unpleasant,  ill-mannered,  and  unphilosophical  as  to 
say  that  '  it  does  matter,' — well,  he  is  set  down  at  his 
proper  value,  and  is  made  so  uncomfortable  that  in 
a  very  short  time  he  resignedly  accepts,  at  all  events 
as  a  modus  vivendi,  the  custom  of  the  country.  It  is 
all  he  can  do. 

It  is  no  good  for  anyone  to  go  to  the  East  if  he  is 
in  a  hurry.  The  East  is  a  land  of  waiting — he  will 
have  to  wait,  whether  he  likes  it  or  not :  he  cannot 
single-handed  overthrow  a  nation.  Two  years  in  India 
had  taught  me  something  of  this,  and  I  had  begun  to 
absorb  the  soul-destroying  influence  of  Oriental  indif- 
ference. So  I  sat  on  the  sand  beneath  a  little  shrub 
and  patiently  waited  for  the  mules. 

It  was  weary  work.  The  way  lay  clear  and  straight 
before  me ;  my  heart  longed  for  the  road ;  my  mind 
told  me  that  every  hour  of  delay  meant  another  hour 
of  marching  by  night  in  a  strange  land — and  the  mules 
did  not  come. 

Caravan  after  caravan  came  up  out  of  the  desert ; — 

2—2 


20  ACROSS  PERSIA 

first  little  moving  specks  of  black  on  the  brown  sand, 
then  strange  creatures  distorted  by  the  quivering 
shimmer  floating  over  the  desert  into  monstrous  things 
with  bodies  ten  feet  high,  or,  apparently,  cut  clean  in 
half  and  travelling  on  in  two  sections.  Approaching, 
receding,  changing,  at  last  they  resolved  themselves 
into  solid  flesh  of  man  and  beast,  and  came  wearily  up 
with  a  shouting  of  voices  and  tinkling  of  bells  to  unship 
the  burdens  from  their  camels  or  mules,  and  make 
snug  for  the  night.  And  still  my  mules  did  not  come. 
The  sun  swung  across  the  heavens,  the  day  changed 
from  palpitating  heat  to  drowsy  cool,  the  dusk  began 
to  creep  up  from  the  far-off  hills  to  the  north-east — and 
yet  there  were  no  mules. 

At  length,  when  hope  deferred  had  made  the  heart 
entirely  sick,  and,  played  false  over  so  many  an  alien 
caravan,  I  had  almost  ceased  to  speculate  on  the  tiny 
far-off"  strings  of  animals,  now  scarcely  to  be  seen 
through  the  falling  night,  up  came  Saif. 
*  There,  sir,'  said  he,  *  they  come.' 
I  thought  it  prudent  to  doubt ;  but  he  was  right, 
and,  in  a  little,  the  faithless  mules  sauntered 
calmly  in. 

It  was  no  use  to  be  angry — it  is  rarely  any  use 
anywhere,  and  less  so  than  usual  in  the  East ;  so  we 
did  not  vainly  waste  time,  but  got  to  work. 

My  little  camp  sprang  into  astonishing  life  and 
energy. 

Boxes,  packages,  tins  of  every  size,  lay  piled  in  a 
chaotic  heap ; — looking  from  the  heap  to  the  mules, 
and  from  the  mules  to  the  heap,  it  seemed  a  hopeless 
task  to  reconcile  the  two. 

But  mules  were  kicked  towards  boxes,  boxes  dragged 
to  mules ;  by  powers  apparently  miraculous,  packages 
fitted   themselves   into   the   most   impossible   places ; 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  21 

shapeless  edifices  rose  on  the  pack  -  saddles  ;  mules 
became  actually  ready,  and  were  let  loose  to  browse 
aimlessly  about  on  the  peculiarly  unbrowsable  wilder- 
ness ;  and  after  much  struggling  and  swearing  and 
shouting  we  were  in  order  in  a  really  incredibly  short 
space  of  time.  Saif  and  I  were  each  honoured  with  a 
pony — so  let  it  be  called  for  want  of  a  better  name  ;  it 
certainly  was  not  a  mule,  but  that  was  almost  all  that 
could  be  said  for  it.  As  the  pack-animals  were  now 
quite  ready,  we  pushed  enormous  bits  into  our  poor 
little  steeds'  reluctant  mouths — they  seemed  as  if  they 
had  never  had  a  bit  between  their  teeth  before,  and 
never  wanted  it  again — and,  after  *  padding '  a  little 
with  blankets,  contrived  to  make  the  girths  fit  suf- 
ficiently tightly  round  their  thin  carcasses  to  make  it 
at  all  events  improbable  that  we  should  swing  suddenly 
under  them  and  be  deposited  on  the  desert. 

Just  as  night  fell  we  were  ready  to  start ; — Saif  and 
I  bravely  mounted  on  our  Rosinantes ;  the  pack  mules 
in  order  of  march,  tended  by  men  seated  on  donkeys 
so  small  as  to  be  almost  invisible  under  the  mass  of 
blankets  and  man  on  their  poor  little  backs  ;  Kalicha 
and  Kishna,  with  a  mount  between  them  (neither  of 
them  could  ride) ;  and,  last,  my  Mr.  Stumps,  who  was 
afoot  and  in  great  spirits,  as  were  we  all,  at  getting 
away,  at  length,  on  the  first  march  of  our  journey 
through  Persia. 

At  this  moment  there  rode  up  two  picturesque  and 
ruffianly  looking  Persians.  From  their  personal  appear- 
ance, they  might  have  been  members  of  one  of  those 
bands  of  robbers  of  which  one  hears  so  much,  but  of 
which,  in  these  decadent  days  of  railway  trains  and 
Atlantic  liners,  one  sees  so  little.  Each  was  a  swarthy, 
heavily  moustached  man,  clothed  in  the  loose-flowing 
drab  garments  universal  in  this  Mahometan  land,  a 


9St  ACROSS  PERSIA 

black  Iculah  stuck  on  top  of  his  bushy  masses  of  hair, 
and  slung  over  his  shoulder  a  formidable  -  looking,  if 
rather  prehistoric,  rifle.  Delightfully  savage  and  ro- 
mantic, all  this.  But,  alas  !  alas  !  instead  of  the  fleet 
Arab  steed  that  a  robber  should  ride,  each  was  mounted 
on — a  Persian  mule  !  Nor  were  they  robbers  ; — they 
were  policemen. 

To  the  civilized  Englishman  the  word  '  policemen ' 
conjures  up  visions  of  robust,  red -faced  persons,  soberly 
but  smartly  clothed  in  dark  blue  cloth,  and  wearing  an 
unpretentious,  stern-looking  helmet.  These  worthies 
are  invested  with  a  halo,  almost,  of  unflinching  integrity, 
and  wield  authority  which  makes  the  lifting  of  their 
little  finger  respected  by  the  most  trenchant  and 
truculent  bus-driver.  The  champing  dray-horse  and 
the  fiery  steed  between  the  shafts  of  a  London  cab 
are  fiercely  if  reluctantly  pulled  up  to  let  the  nurse- 
maid and  her  charge  find  safe  passage  to  the  Broad 
Walk,  and  nothing  could  be  more  eloquent  of  civiliza- 
tion than  the  respect  and  awe  for  the  powers  of  justice 
which  results  in  this  victory  of  mere  authority  over 
brute  force. 

Nothing,  either,  could  be  further  from  the  Persian 
parallel.  In  the  East  moral  authority  is  at  a  discount, 
and  when  brute  force  does  not  win  it  is  because  cunning 
overcomes  it.  But  the  Persian  policeman  gains  in 
interest  what  he  loses  in  status,  and  although  he  is 
not  such  a  reliable  protector,  he  is  a  good  deal  more 
fascinating  study  than  his  British  brother.  He  is  a 
delightful  ruffian — none  the  less  delightful  because  he 
is  a  ruffian,  and  none  the  less  a  ruffian  because  he  is  a 
licensed  ruffian.  In  fact,  his  being  licensed  adds  to 
his  attraction,  because  his  ruffianly  characteristics  need 
not  then  be  so  seasoned  with  the  petty  fear  of  conse- 
quences, which  makes  the  unlicensed  ruffian  gain  his 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  23 

ends  by  mean  and  underhand  methods,  which  both  in- 
spire the  traveller's  distaste  and  often  altogether  escape 
his  detection.  It  is  thus  both  an  easier  and  a  pleasanter 
task  to  deal  with  the  fairly  flaunting  delinquencies  of 
that  class  of  man  who  in  his  escapades  can,  by  virtue 
of  his  position,  reckon  on  comparative  immunity. 

Our  friend  the  Persian  policeman,  known  in  that 
land  as  the  tufangchi,  will  guard  you  excellently  when 
it  is  to  his  interest  to  do  so ;  he  will  steal  from  you 
when  he  thinks  it  will  be  more  profitable  ;  and,  if 
possible,  he  will  do  both  at  once,  and  thus  obtain  a 
twofold  reward  for  his  services.  His  dexterity,  both 
mental  and  bodily,  is  enormous.  He  is  usually,  even 
for  Persia,  beyond  the  ordinary  expert  in  resource  and 
ingenuity  in  both  words  and  deeds.  In  a  land  where 
lying  is  considered  an  accomplishment  rather  than  a 
fault,  and  the  only  crime  is  to  be  found  out,  he  is 
renowned  for  an  uncommon  proficiency  in  the  national 
art.  He  will  tell  you  that  there  are  robbers  about, 
when  the  only  robbers  within  a  hundred  miles  are 
himself  and  his  companions.  Having  thereby  planted 
himself  upon  you,  he  will  accompany  you  until  you 
have  either  paid  him  or  he  has  paid  himself,  when  he 
will  assert  that  the  extent  of  his  '  beat '  is  now  ended, 
and  will  depart  to  his  home  or  to  some  other  prey. 
To  the  merchants'  caravan  he  acts  impartially  as  pro- 
tector, plunderer,  and  pleasant  companion.  The  system 
of  the  country  is  prey  and  be  preyed  on.  He  is 
preyed  on,  and  he  takes  good  care  to  prey  on  others. 

It  may  seem  curious  to  the  inhabitant  of  a  land 
where  men  pay  for  the  privilege  of  having  policemen, 
to  find  a  country  where  men  pay  for  the  privilege  of 
being  policemen.  This,  however,  is  the  system  in 
Persia.  When  this  is  understood,  it  naturally  accounts 
for  a  good  deal,  and  the  intending  traveller  would  do 


M  ACROSS  PERSIA 

well  to  go  prepared  with  a  knowledge  that  he  may- 
have  to  guard  himself  against  the  police. 

Once  the  position  of  the  guardians  of  the  Persian 
law  is  recognized,  they  may  be  made  interesting  and 
pleasant  companions  for  the  short  distances  they  will 
go  with  you  until  they  find  that  you  refuse  to  be 
swindled.  They  are  a  delightful  mixture  of  bravado 
and  cunning.  To  all  the  Eastern  capability  for  double- 
dealing  they  add  all  the  Eastern  love  of  glitter  and 
bombast.  The  Persian  policeman  is  a  peculiar  blend 
of  the  swashbuckler  and  the  burglar,  and,  as  such,  is 
an  interesting  study  in  both  national  character  and 
scientific  *  crime  ' — if  that  can  be  called  crime  which 
here,  indeed,  may  be  deprecated,  but  in  the  East  is 
one  of  the  recognized  professions.  The  tufangchi  seems 
to  take  an  equal  delight  in  the  midnight  plundering 
of  a  caravan  and  in  dashing  wildly  at  a  full  gallop, 
standing  in  his  stirrups,  his  reins  loose  about  his 
horse's  neck,  to  fire  at,  and  invariably  miss,  a  crow 
which  is  perched  on  a  telegraph-pole.  Like  many  an 
Oriental,  he  is  a  great  child  endowed  with  the  wisdom 
of  ages.  He  is  as  simple  as  a  schoolboy,  and  has 
a  cleverness  which  might,  at  all  events  in  Persia, 
utterly  bafile  a  Cabinet  Minister.  While  the  intelli- 
gent foreigner  is  being  amused  by  his  antics,  he  is  at 
the  same  time  probably  being  confounded  by  his 
cunning.  Poor,  soft-hearted  Pierre  Loti  (the  only 
defect  of  whose  journal  of  a  journey  through  Persia 
is  that,  owing  to  the  season  of  the  year,  he  had  to 
make  it  by  night,  and,  consequently,  saw  for  the 
most  part  only  sunrises,  sunsets,  and  phantoms  of  his 
own  imagination)  appears  to  have  fallen  an  easy  prey 
to  the  wily  Persian  policeman.  He  mad^  the  mistake  of 
believing  what  they  said,  and  consequently  was  not 
only  in  a  perpetual  fear  of  imaginary  robbers,  but  in 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  25 

constant  process  of  paying  for  guards  whom  he  did  not 
need,  and  who  considered  their  duties  done  when  they 
had  received  payment  for  their  unnecessary  services. 

At  length,  however,  he  begins  to  suspect  something 
may  be  wrong,  and  when  his  *  cavaHers,'  for  such  he 
calls  them,  shabbily  leave  him,  by  no  means  for  the 
first  time,  alone  and  undefended  in  the  desert,  he 
pathetically  remarks  :  '  Ici,  mes  trois  cavaliers  d'escorte 
viennent  me  saluer  fort  gracieusement  et  prendre 
conge.  lis  n'iront  pas  plus  loin,  car,  disent-ils,  ce  serait 
sortir  des  limit es  de  leur  territoire.  Je  m'en  doutais, 
qu'ils  me  lacheraient  comme  ceux  d'hier.  Menaces 
ou  promesses,  rien  n  y  fait ;  ils  s'en  retournent  et  nous 
sommes  livres  k  nous-memes !'  Personally,  I  always 
refused  to  meet  the  police  on  a  commercial  or  official 
basis.  As  companions,  I  was  grateful  for  their  com- 
pany ;  as  policemen,  I  refused  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  them.  Up  would  come  two  or  three  of  these 
charming  ruffians  and  pour  forth  their  tales  of 
imaginary  terrors.  It  was  interesting  to  hear  them, 
and  I  always  used  to  listen,  and  get  my  Afghan  inter- 
preter to  translate  what  was  too  deep  for  my  under- 
standing ;  but  when  they  had  finished  I  used  to  point 
to  the  rifles  which  I  and  my  servants  carried,  and  say 
with  a  smile,  '  We  also  are  tufangchis.'  After  a  little 
they  used  to  realize  that  I  meant  what  I  said,  and 
depart  with  many  blessings  on  their  lips,  and,  I  have 
no  doubt,  plenty  of  curses  in  their  heart.  But  that  is 
the  way  of  Persia. 

The  Persian  police  interested  me  so  much  that  I 
conducted  a  little  unofficial  investigation  into  their 
manners  and  methods.  The  results  of  these  investi- 
gations resolved  themselves  into  a  small  treatise  on 
Persian  thieving. 

Thieving  is  practised  in  one  form  or   another   by 


26  ACROSS  PERSIA 

almost  every  one  in  Persia  when  opportunity  offers ; 
but  the  most  skilled  exponents  are  probably  the 
Government  officials,  known  as  tufangchis,  who  have 
just  been  described.  They  are  posted  at  intervals  up 
and  down  the  trade  routes,  nominally  to  guard  the 
road ;  but  actually  they  only  do  this  in  so  far  that  they 
secure  a  practical  monopoly  of  the  available  thieving 
and  extortion  thereon.  For  these  services  it  is  per- 
haps natural  that  they  do  not  receive  pay  from  the 
Government.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  as  I  have  hinted 
before,  they  actually  pay  for  the  privilege  of  their 
official  position,  and  I  understood  that,  just  before  my 
visit,  the  Governor  of  Borazjun,  a  small  town  in  the 
desert  between  the  southern  rock  wall  of  Persia  and 
the  sea,  had  received  450  tomans  from  his  tufangchis. 
In  fact,  they  amount  to  professional,  armed  robbers 
under  the  protection  of  the  powers  that  be.  It  is  not 
to  be  supposed  that  they  will  not  loyally  serve  the 
State  if  they  can  themselves  indulge  in  a  certain 
amount  of  private  malpractice  for  their  own  profit. 
They  will  honestly  do  their  duty  to  those  above  them 
if  they  are  allowed  to  dishonestly  do  their  duty  to 
those  below  them ;  but  that  is  more  or  less  a  principle 
in  the  East,  to  which  portion  of  the  globe  especially 
applies  the  little  rhyme  : 

'  Great  fleas  have  little  fleas  upon  their  backs  to  bite  'em, 
And  little  fleas  have  lesser  fleas,  and  so  ad  infinitum.'' 

That  is  the  system  on  which  the  Government  is  based, 
and  it  is  scarcely  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  voracity 
of  the  flea  is  measured  by  the  extent  to  which  he 
is  preyed  on,  and  the  extent  to  which  he  can  prey 
on  his  smaller  brethren.  So  it  happens  that  the 
official  guards  in  Persia  consider  the  passing  caravan 
as  their  fair  spoil,  and  perform  their  duties  in  ac- 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  27 

cordance  with  that  assumption.  As  to  the  caravans 
themselves,  not  only  do  they  resignedly  acquiesce  in 
the  system  of  extortion  which  is  generally  practised, 
but  the  muleteers,  being  for  the  most  part  not  the 
owners  but  merely  the  carriers  of  the  goods  under 
their  charge,  are  not  disposed  to  be  too  vigilant  with 
a  view  to  preventing  the  other  and  more  secret 
methods  by  which  the  tufangchi  gains  his  living. 
This  is  where  I  found  an  interesting  field  for  investi- 
gation, and  judicious  inquiry  and  observation  resulted 
in  some  curious  revelations. 

The  Persian  police  are  provided  with  the  most 
elaborate  tools  for  the  thieving  which  they  practise  in 
addition  to  their  more  legitimate  exactions  on  the 
road.  Various  goods  are  brought  down  the  main 
trade  routes  of  Persia,  and  they  have  various  methods 
of  appropriating  them.  Even  when  a  consignment  of 
some  utterly  unaccustomed  merchandise  appears,  they 
are  generally  equal  to  the  occasion ;  and  with  regard 
to  this  I  was  told  a  story  eloquent  of  their  ingenuity. 
A  well-known  English  official  in  Persia  had  ordered 
some  champagne  from  Europe,  and  on  its  arrival  he 
gave  a  large  dinner-party.  All  went  well  until  the 
production  of  the  newly  acquired  wine,  which  turned 
out  to  be  a  strange  brand  indeed.  On  removing  the 
cork  the  champagne  appeared  to  be  flat  to  an  unusual 
degree,  and  on  examination  it  was  found  that,  un- 
fortunately, in  place  of  the  excellent  vintage  ordered, 
the  bottles  were  filled  with  nothing  more  or  less  than 
dirty  water.  As  the  corks  were  intact  and  the  bottles 
apparently  whole,  a  miracle  seemed  to  have  taken 
place,  until  an  acute  observer  solved  the  mystery. 
The  tufangchis  en  route  had,  by  means  of  red-hot 
wire,  bored  minute  holes  in  the  bottles,  from  which, 
with,  no  doubt,  great  gusto,  they  treated  themselves 


28  ACROSS  PERSIA 

to  the  luxury  of  breaking  the  laws  of  the  Koran  in  a 
more  than  usually  satisfactory  manner.  They  then 
(or  more  probably  on  the  next  day)  refilled  the  bottles 
from  Ruknabad,  the  Zender  Rud,  or  some  other 
Persian  stream — whose  waters,  however  much  the 
Persian  poets  praise  them,  cannot  be  considered  the 
equal  of  first-class  champagne — neatly  stopped  the 
wire-holes,  repacked  the  cases,  and  sent  them  on  to 
provide  for  the  distinguished  dinner-party  the  little 
surprise  I  have  described.  Such  is  an  example  of  the 
resource  our  Persian  policemen  show  in  dealing  with  a 
novel  situation. 

When  it  is  the  ordinary  trade  of  the  country  with 
which  they  are  concerned,  their  methods  are  complete 
and  comprehensive.  Some  of  the  merchandise  which 
finds  its  way  down  the  main  mule-track  in  Persia 
consists  of  raw  cotton  and  raw  wool.  On  the  road 
there  will  often  pass  a  long  string  of  mules,  each  laden 
with  the  fat,  closely  packed  bales,  from  which  a  stray 
tuft  protrudes  to  show  what  forms  the  contents.  It 
must  be  with  a  peculiar  delight  that  the  tufangchi 
deals  with  these  bales  ;  for  his  method,  in  addition  to 
the  profit  it  brings,  possesses  ingenuity  above  the 
average  and  a  certain  amount  of  humour  to  anyone 
but  the  owner  of  the  goods.  It  is  obvious  that  if  any 
number  of  tufangchis  boldly  cut  open  the  bales  and 
audaciously  took  away  part  of  the  contents,  they 
would  be  soon  found  out  and  their  professional  position 
taken  from  them — for  even  in  Persia  appearances  have 
to  be  kept  up.  They  therefore  have  to  contrive  so 
that  the  abstraction  of  the  cotton  or  wool  shall  not 
be  noticed  until  its  arrival  at  its  destination,  when 
detection  of  any  individual  culprit  will  be  impossible, 
and  the  only  person  to  sufiier  will  be  the  consignee. 
The  procedure  is  therefore  as  follows  :  The  guardian 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  99 

of  the  road  provides  himself  with  a  long  rod  with 
a  roughed  end,  rather  like  the  cleaning-rod  of  a  gun. 
Making  a  small  hole  in  the  canvas  covering  of  the 
bale,  he  pushes  this  rod  into  the  very  centre  thereof, 
and  twists  it  round  and  round  until  it  has  gathered, 
at  the  rough  end,  a  tightly  wound  mass  of  cotton  or 
wool ;  he  then  withdraws  it,  and  the  process  may  be 
repeated  ad  lib.  He  will  do  this  to  every  bale  in  a 
caravan,  and  as,  to  outward  appearances,  everything 
is  exactly  the  same  the  next  morning,  the  charvarda?%  or 
muleteer,  blissfully  loads  them  up  and  goes  on  his  way 
rejoicing,  being  happily  unconscious  of  the  large  hole 
which  is  growing  in  the  middle  of  each  of  his  bales, 
some  of  which,  when  opened,  will  practically  consist 
of  mere  walls. 

Another  merchandise  that  the  tufangchis  are  fond  of 
dealing  with  is  the  cotton  stuff,  cloth,  and  so  on,  which 
goes  up-country  from  England,  India,  or  Russia.  It 
would  seem  rather  a  difficult  matter  to  steal  this,  as 
each  bale  of  goods  is  packed  as  tightly  as  the  stuff  can 
be  rolled  and  pressed,  and  is  secured  by  firmly  clamped 
iron  bands.  Any  attempt  to  drag  a  piece  out  would 
soon  show  that  ordinary  methods  of  thieving  must  in 
this  case  be  abandoned.  This  does  not  disconcert  our 
friend  the  tufangchi.  He  is  the  possessor  of  two  long, 
flat,  iron  slips,  and  with  these  he  approaches  to  do  his 
work. 

It  is  the  clear  stillness  of  the  Persian  night.  The 
bales  are  piled  up  in  the  caravanserai,  or  on  the  sandy 
floor  of  the  desert.  The  charvardar  and  his  men  are 
lulled  in  a  fat  and  comfortable  sleep.  The  only  noise 
is  the  shuffling  of  the  tired  mules  and  the  occasional 
tinkle  of  a  little  bell.  The  tufangchi  quietly  manipu- 
lates a  bale  into  a  convenient  position ;  then  he  deftly 
forces  one  of  the  thin   iron  slips  through   the  cloth, 


30  ACROSS  PERSIA 

finding  a  place  between  two  separate  pieces.  A  little 
further  down,  and  again  between  two  pieces  of  cloth, 
he  pushes  through  the  other  slip,  and  then  with  a 
screw  he  clamps  together  the  ends  of  this  peculiar 
device,  which  looks  like  some  variety  of  trouser  press. 
Sitting  on  the  ground,  he  next  places  his  feet  securely 
against  the  bale,  and,  seizing  the  slips  firmly,  gives  a 
hearty  pull.  Out  comes  the  contrivance,  bringing 
with  it,  of  course,  the  enclosed  piece  of  cloth.  The  re- 
maining pieces,  relieved  a  little  of  their  pressure,  grate- 
fully swell  up,  and  no  trace  is  left  of  the  operation. 

Moist  sugar  is  a  favourite  article  of  theft,  and  is 
extracted  from  the  canvas  bags  it  is  in  in  the  following 
way :  Cutting  an  almost  imperceptible  hole  in  the 
canvas,  the  tufangchi  thrusts  a  pipe  straight  into  the 
centre  of  the  bag.  With  a  little  persuasion,  a  steady 
stream  of  sugar  flows  easily  through  the  pipe,  and 
the  first  intimation  the  charvardar  has  of  this  little 
job  is  when,  after  a  severe  climb  up  one  of  the  kotals, 
he  notices  that  some  of  his  sugar-bags  have  settled 
down  a  little. 

Lump  sugar  falls  an  easy  prey ;  a  few  lumps  from 
every  bale  and  some  pebbles  to  replace  them,  and  the 
thing  is  done. 

Glass  ornaments,  too,  and  beads  are  very  much  the 
same  weight  as  small  stones,  nor  will  anyone  notice 
anything  wrong  until  the  end  of  the  journey,  when,  of 
course,  the  foreign  element  may  not  have  had  a  very 
good  effect  on  the  condition  of  the  original  mer- 
chandise. 

The  specific  gravity  of  tea  and  straw  is  practically 
the  same,  and  so  it  happens  that  very  frequently  at  its 
destination  a  tea-chest  is  found  to  contain  a  mixture 
which  would  produce  a  rather  peculiar  brew  if  put 
straight  into  a  teapot.     But  it  is  obviously  not  the 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  31 

fault  of  anyone  in  particular.  No  one  can  be  brought 
to  book,  and,  after  all,  the  only  loser  is  the  merchant, 
so  what  does  the  charvardar  care  ?  The  charvardar^ 
indeed,  never  cares  very  much ; — as  I  have  said,  he  is 
only  the  carrier,  and  not  the  owner,  of  the  goods,  and, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  is  not  above  aiding  and  abetting 
the  rather  shady  practices  of  his  friend  the  policeman 
if  he  finds  it  makes  life  easier  for  him.  He  often 
manages  to  make  such  things  as  almonds  and  nuts 
'  come  right '  in  weight  at  the  end  of  a  journey,  despite 
some  considerable  '  wastage '  on  the  way.  In  fact,  a 
load  has  been  known  to  have  unaccountably  increased 
in  weight  during  its  journey.  This,  however,  may  be 
explained  by  the  fact  that  wet  almonds  weigh  more 
than  dry  ones. 

The  science  of  thieving  is  probably  far  deeper  and 
more  abstruse  than  anything  indicated  by  the  above 
few  examples,  but  they  will  serve  to  give  some  idea  of 
the  incidents  of  commerce  in  Persia,  and,  indeed,  in 
the  East  generally.  Is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that 
prices  are  high,  commerce  precarious,  and  progress  a 
practical  impossibility  ?  If  the  East  is  to  have  a  com- 
mercial future,  it  must  substitute  the  methods  of 
business  for  those  of  the  bazaar,  and  the  fundamental 
question  underlying  the  whole  is  the  question  of  better 
and  more  upright  government. 

I  have  strayed  far  from  my  two  tufangchis  who 
rode  up  to  me  that  winter  day  on  the  south  coast 
of  Persia.  The  Persian  policeman  and  his  wily  ways 
were  not  then  so  well  known  to  me,  and  I  stood 
in  danger  of  being  added  to  the  list  of  innocent 
foreigners  who  had  fallen  a  prey  to  him  in  the  past. 
Having,  however,  learned  with  regret,  but  with  a 
tolerable  amount  of  certainty,  that  in  the  East,  at  all 
events,  the  first  principle  of  existence  must  be  one  of 


32  ACROSS  PERSIA 

suspicion  and  distrust,  I  was  disinclined  too  readily  to 
accept  their  advances.  They  insisted  on  danger ;  I 
persisted  in  assuring  them  that  I  needed  no  protection. 
At  last,  with  the  help  of  the  faithful  Saif,  I  convinced 
them  that  I  was  equal  to  defending  myself  even  from 
them,  and  they  reluctantly  disappeared  into  the  dusk. 

So  at  length  the  start  was  made.  The  wandering, 
aimless  mules  were  again  collected,  were  given,  as  it 
were,  an  impetus  into  the  desert  to  start  them  on  their 
weary  journey,  and  we  were  off  on  our  first  march  from 
sea  to  sea.  In  the  dim  light  the  wide,  open  plain 
stretched  before  us  to  the  solid  obscurity,  into  which  a 
little  before  the  black  line  of  rocky  hills  had  sunk. 
There  was  a  strange  stillness  as  the  night  came  up 
from  the  East,  and  while  the  whole  world  went  to  bed 
my  little  caravan  pushed  out  into  the  mysterious 
darkness.  The  vague,  level  expanse  into  which  we 
went  was  not  quite  desert,  but  utterly  deserted. 
There  was  no  life,  no  sound ;  all  was  wrapped  in  a 
desolate  silence. 

There  was  something  peculiarly  eerie  in  setting  out 
thus  alone  into  this  strange  Eastern  land.  High  above 
the  stars  came  out,  bringing  with  them  that  ghostly 
light  which  is  almost  more  confounding  than  the  dark 
itself.  I  sat  on  my  pony,  not  guiding,  but  guided. 
Patiently  we  both  plodded  on,  to  the  monotonous  tone 
of  the  caravan  bells.  All  around  there  were  shufEings 
and  scufflings  and  tinklings.  No  one  spoke.  The 
march  was  too  long  to  be  livened  with  words.  The 
only  noise  was  the  noise  of  invisible  feet  and  of  unseen 
bells.  The  Eastern  monotony  soothed  and  drowned  the 
senses  into  a  soft,  wakeful  sleep.  I  curiously  thought, 
*  Eternity  must  be  something  like  this  ' ;  but,  while  I 
was  thinking,  there  came  a  rude  interruption  which 
sent  eternity  and  sleep  flying.     Just  to  the  left  there 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  33 

was  heard  a  hideous  clang,  and  in  a  moment  arose  a 
din  indescribable.  Wild  things  were  heard  rushing 
through  the  darkness.  The  monotonous  tinkle-tankle 
of  the  bells  rose  to  a  sudden  hoarse  clashing.  Even 
my  pony,  which  had  seemed  incapable  of  any  move- 
ment beyond  a  walk,  made  a  valiant  attempt  to  bolt. 
Saif  fell  from  his  charger  heavily,  and  immediately 
begged  my  pardon  ; — why  I  cannot  imagine. 

The  cause  of  this  commotion  was  a  simple  one,  and 
I  had  recognized  it  from  the  first.  Any  Anglo-Indian 
will  know  the  *  bath-tin.'  There  is  not  very  much 
that  an  Indian  native  cannot  make  out  of  an  empty 
kerosine-tin,  and  one  of  the  most  obvious  applications 
thereof  is  a  vessel  for  heating  water  for  *  master's ' 
bath.  A  small  hole  cut  in  the  top  is  all  that  is 
necessary  to  complete  this  useful  article,  and  no  native 
servant  will  go  anywhere  without  it  (from  which  I 
infer,  by  the  way,  that  its  use  is  as  essential  to  his 
own  comfort  as  to  his  master's).  It  was  this  con- 
founded kerosine-tin  which  was  the  source  of  all  our 
trouble.  Persian  mules  do  not  understand  Indian 
bath-tins,  so  when  the  loosely  strapped  thing  fell  to 
the  ground  and  bounced  away  with  that  appalling 
clamour  peculiar  to  large,  empty  tin  vessels,  it  was 
altogether  too  much  for  even  my  sedate  caravan. 
Every  mule  bolted,  anywhere  and  everywhere.  My 
little  procession,  so  orderly  a  moment  ago,  was  forth- 
with scattered  far  and  wide,  straying  about  the  desert. 
My  heart  fell.  Such  a  catastrophe  so  early  in  the  day  ! 
and  the  first  halt  so  far  off !  If  this  were  a  sample  of 
what  to  expect,  when  on  earth  should  we  arrive  ? 

There  is  something  very  paralysing  in  the  dark ; 
and,  sitting  on  my  mule,  alone  but  for  the  dismounted 
Saif,  the  mules  faintly  tinkling  here  and  there  in  the 
black,  still  void,   I  felt  uncommonly  helpless.     Then 

3 


S4  ACROSS  PERSIA 

the  search  began.  The  first  thing  we  found  was  a 
mule  disconsolately  standing  in  the  dark  with  its  load 
abjectly  hanging  under  its  *  tummy.'  Its  disconsolate- 
ness,  I  imagine,  was  due  to  the  fact  that  it  had  been 
prematurely  arrested  in  its  course,  and  immediately  on 
our  disburdening  it,  it  promptly  proceeded  to  carry  out 
its  former  intention,  and  disappeared  into  the  night. 
As  you  cannot  bring  a  load  to  a  mule,  it  is  necessary 
to  bring  the  mule  to  the  load,  and,  what  with  being 
unable  to  find  the  mule,  and  then  being  unable  to  find 
the  load,  it  was  quite  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  even 
this  culprit  was  again  in  order.  Meanwhile,  the  other 
mules  had  been  laboriously  collected,  their  loads  read- 
justed, and  we  were  again  ready  to  set  off.  Just  at 
this  moment  my  servant,  Kishna,  picked  up  the  tin 
with  a  warning  rattle.  I  seized  it  firmly  from  him, 
and  marooned  it  fifty  yards  away  in  the  desert.  It  is 
practically  impossible  to  keep  a  kerosine-tin  quiet,  and 
under  the  circumstances  it  seemed  likely  to  prove  an 
expensive  luxury.  (As,  however,  I  knew  the  mind 
and  habits  of  the  Indian  native,  I  was  not  so  surprised 
as  I  might  have  been  to  find  next  morning  the  tin  had 
come  to  camp.) 

A  shuffling  silence  took  the  place  of  the  hoarse 
shouts  and  cursings  that  had  so  lately  profaned  the 
night,  and  my  little  caravan  resumed  its  persevering 
plodding  into  the  darkness. 

Whether  by  some  intuition  the  other  beasts  knew 
that  my  pony  carried  the  leader  of  the  expedition,  or 
whether  the  animal  itself  was  a  sort  of  *  bell-wether ' 
among  mules,  I  do  not  know  ;  but  the  fact  was  that  I 
found,  to  my  discomfort,  that  to  me  apparently  fell  the 
proud  duty  of  directing  the  whole  expedition.  Where 
I  went  everything  else  went  too,  and  sometimes  so 
faithful  was  their  adherence  that  I  found  myself  jostled 


THE  OPEN  ROAD  35 

and  scraped  by  corners  of  square  boxes,  large  iron  bells, 
and  furry  foreheads.  After  a  time  this  damaged  both 
my  knees  and  my  temper.  It  seemed  impossible  to 
overcome  this  persistent  fidelity ;  nothing  would  rid 
me  of  these  turbulent  beasts.  In  vain  I  slapped  at 
soft  noses  which  came  out  of  the  darkness  and  rubbed 
themselves  upon  me  with  provoking  and  pertinacious 
affection  ;  in  vain  I  first  appealed  to  them  persuasively, 
and  then  used  the  most  threatening  language  I  could 
command  in  every  tongue  I  knew; — they  would  not  go. 
I  suddenly  became  reminded  of  a  ridiculous  *  turn '  I 
had  once  seen  at  one  of  the  London  theatres,  where  a 
wretched  little  man  gets  himself  involved  in  a  piece  of 
fly-paper,  which,  in  spite  of  every  efibrt  to  dislodge  it 
(terminating  in  a  delirious  roll  on  the  hearthrug,  after 
which  it  appears  in  the  middle  of  his  back),  sticks  to 
him  with  a  determination  which,  in  the  end,  almost 
drives  him  past  the  borders  of  sanity.  It  was  too 
ridiculous,  and  in  spite  of  my  sore  knees,  and  temper,  I 
could  not  help  laughing.  But  something  had  to  be 
done, — the  expedition's  afiection  for  their  leader  must 
be  dissembled.  I  determined  to  try  an  experiment. 
Calling  a  halt,  I  gave  orders  that  a  peculiarly  offensive 
bell  which  hung  round  my  pony's  neck  should  be 
reduced  to  silence.  When  we  went  on,  instead  of  the 
blatant  tones  which  before  signalled  my  whereabouts, 
there  only  arose  a  muffled  clank.  The  experiment  was 
a  triumphant  success.  Stripped  of  his  musical  dignity, 
the  rest  of  the  expedition  no  longer  recognized  their 
chief,  and  he  pursued  a  path,  perhaps  less  honoured, 
but  certainly  more  comfortable. 

At  ten  o'clock  on  the  northern  horizon  there  began 
to  dimly  appear  a  jagged  black  line.  A  growing 
radiance  suffused  the  northern  sky,  until,  at  last,  part 
of  the  line  of  peaks  stood  out  sharp-cut  against  a  huge 

3—2 


36  ACROSS  PERSIA 

silver  circle,  which  gradually  lifted  itself  clear  into  the 
black  heavens — the  Ramazan  moon  !  It  was  a  weird, 
lonely  scene.  Ahead,  towering  into  the  sky,  the  gaunt 
black  range  rose  out  of  a  silver  mist ;  all  around,  the 
white,  immeasurable  plain  stretching  away,  so  vague 
and  shimmering  was  the  light,  it  might  be  a  hundred 
yards  or  a  hundred  miles,  and  losing  itself  in  a  dim 
infinity ;  here  and  there,  lurching  along,  the  black 
mass  of  a  mule  ;  straight  in  front  of  me  the  dark  shape 
of  Saif  on  his  plodding  beast,  scuffling  along  and 
scattering  the  dust  into  a  phosphorescent  wake  behind 
him.  .  .  . 

So  we  wandered  on  and  on  interminable  distances 
to  the  monotonous  throbbing  of  the  mule-bells,  until, 
at  last,  dead  tired,  we  rode  into  our  first  camping- 
ground,  Khushab,  a  mere  blot  of  black  outlined  trees 
on  the  dim  sameness  all  round. 

Who  has  arrived  at  the  night's  halt  with  a  caravan 
on  its  first  march, — arrived  at  midnight  ?  Whoever 
has  can  appreciate  what  trials  of  unlading  and  feeding 
mules,  unpacking  and  arranging  goods,  had  to  be  gone 
through  by  us  all  before  I  at  last  found  myself  inside 
a  most  inebriated-looking  tent,  attacking  a  piece  of 
cold  mutton  and  dry  bread.  He  will  also  know  that  I 
cared  nothing  about  the  tent's  appearance  as  long  as 
it  held  up  ! 

It  was  1.30  on  a  clear,  cold  Persian  morning.  Out- 
side, the  moon  shone  from  her  place  high  in  the  sky 
upon  my  little  collection  of  men  and  beasts  and  boxes. 
One  by  one  sounds  died  away  ;  men  moved  no  more  ; 
even  the  mules  only  broke  the  solemn  silence  by  now 
and  then  a  soft  snort. 

At  length  the  little  oasis  in  the  great  desert  sank 
into  profound  stillness  ;  the  dying  night  had  bestowed 
her  long- withheld  *  great  gift  of  sleep.' 


CHAPTER  III 

A    VAGABOND    LIFE 

'  Give  to  me  the  life  I  love, 
Let  the  lave  go  by  me; 
Give  the  jolly  heaven  above 
And  the  byway  nigh  me.' 

R.  L.  Stevenson. 

It  is  good  to  be  a  savage  sometimes  ; — an  ideal  savage. 
The  ideal  savage  is  not  a  rude,  uncultivated,  and 
ignorant  barbarian,  but  a  highly  civilized  man  who 
can  yet  go  back  to  nature  and  live  for  a  time  on  a 
plane  of  primitive  simplicity.  He  will  lead  a  life 
which  is  far  above  that  of  most  others  on  that  plane, 
for  he  has  what  they  have  not :  appreciation — appre- 
ciation of  what  he  possesses  and  of  what  he  is  rid  of; 
appreciation  of  freedom,  of  the  absence  of  petty  trifles, 
of  the  broader,  larger  life,  of  the  great  wonders  of 
nature.  While  he  is  not  ignorant  of  what  that  life 
lacks,  he  does  not,  like  his  uncivilized  brother,  indif- 
ferently take  for  granted  what  that  life  can  give.  The 
ideal  savage  is,  in  fact,  essentially  a  temporary  being, 
a  visitor  in  Savage-land.  Otherwise  there  is  no  ideal 
savage.  As  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells  has  said,  *  That  large, 
naked,  virtuous,  pink,  Natural  Man,  drinking  pure 
spring- water,  eating  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  and  living 
to  ninety  in  the  open  air,  is  a  fantasy — he  never  was 
nor  will  be.  The  real  savage  is  a  nest  of  parasites 
within  and  without ;  he  smells,  he  rots,  he  starves.' 

37 


38  ACROSS  PERSIA 

The  ordinary  savage  is,  in  fact,  simple  with  the  sim- 
plicity of  ignorance ;  the  ideal  savage  must  be  simple 
with  the  simplicity  of  knowledge.    He  is  not  dirty,  be- 
cause he  knows  that  he  can  be  simple  and  yet  be  clean, 
and  that  it  is  better  to  be  clean ;  he  is  not  rough  and 
coarse,  because  he  knows  it  is  necessary  to  be  gentle 
and  civil.     In  fact,  while  he  adopts  the  substance  of 
simplicity,  he  retains  the  soul  of  civilization.     He  is, 
moreover,  a  master  of  the  art  of  doing  without,  and  it 
is  a  great  art  to  know.    It  brings  some  inconveniences, 
but  many  and  great  delights.     It  teaches  what  is  un- 
necessary and  what  is  essential — what,  in  fact,  is  worth 
having  in  the  world.     A  great  number  of  rich  people 
never  learn  this  ;  a  far  greater  number  of  poor  people 
can  never  rise  to  a  position  to  learn  it.     The  latter  are 
the  more  unfortunate,  for  they,  by  always  having  to 
do  without  a  great  deal,  never  attain  much  that  is 
good;   but   the   former  are  almost  as  greatly  to   be 
pitied,  for,  in  the  midst  of  a  chaos  of  good  and  bad, 
they  often  waste  almost  as  much   time  on  what   is 
worthless  as  they  spend  on  what  is  profitable.     Some- 
times, indeed,  these  latter,  like  their  brethren  at  the 
other  end  of  the  scale,  may  be  said  to  be  prevented  by 
their  very  position  from  a  true  knowledge  of  what  is 
best.      By  circumstances,  the  one  class  is  precluded 
from   ever   possessing   the   benefits    of    culture,   and 
the   other   from   ever   attaining   to    the    delights    of 
simplicity. 

I  can  picture  our  ideal  savage  addressing  one  of  the 
human  products  of  this  latest  phase  in  the  world's 
existence  somewhat  in  this  manner  :  *  You,  sir,  have 
great  advantages.  Your  education  has  taught  you  to 
appreciate  what  your  position  enables  you  to  possess. 
For  your  enjoyment  the  world  contributes  its  choicest ; 
to   gratify   your   every   sense,   you   can    obtain    and 


A  VAGABOND  LIFE  39 

thoroughly  delight  in  the  most  delicate  dainties.  You 
no  doubt,  and  very  naturally,  imagine  that  you  have 
attained  the  highest  point,  that  you  are  sucking  the 
best  out  of  life.  And  yet — and  yet — you  are  missing 
a  great  deal.  Very  likely  you  have  never  been  so 
tired  that  your  limbs  will  not  move,  and  then  grasped 
the  bliss  of  sleep.  Perhaps  it  has  never  been  your  lot 
to  feel  clad  for  comfort  instead  of  for  appearance,  the 
joy  of  a  free  world  before  you,  and  a  free  spirit  to 
enjoy  it.  I  do  not  expect  you  have  ever  been  so 
hungry  that  you  have  had  fondly  to  make  the  most  of 
every  morsel  of  a  scanty  dish  of  rice  in  order  that  your 
dog  might  not  go  unfed.  Yet  all  such  things  are 
worth  experiencing.  You  could  with  profit  sometimes 
visit  this  terra  incognita.  You  are  missing  a  part  of 
life.' 

Yes,  indeed,  there  is  a  delight  in  meeting  the  great, 
raw,  elementary  things  of  existence  ;  in  fresh  air  and 
simple  food  ;  in  rising  in  the  keen,  early  morning  with 
a  sense  of  clean  strength  ;  even,  there  is  a  delight  in 
being  disreputable.  Not  in  being  dirty,  that  is  a 
different  matter,  but  in  being  just  disreputable  ;— in 
wearing  a  flannel  shirt  open  at  the  neck,  a  loose,  warm 
jacket,  a  workmanlike  pair  of  trousers,  putties  that  have 
grown  old  by  faithful  service,  and  boots  that  are  meant 
to  stand,  not  criticism,  but  weather.  Yet  there  are 
many  who  I  do  not  think  could  ever  be  comfortably 
disreputable.  I  knew  a  man  once  who  would  even 
mend  a  motor-car  without  crushing  his  waistcoat  or 
soiling  his  immaculate  gloves.  But  as  for  me,  I  have 
always  revelled  in  now  and  again  throwing  off  the 
conventions  and  costume  of  decent  civilization  and 
becoming  a  mere  barbarian. 

So  it  was  with  a  little  thrill  of  pleasure  that  I  woke 
in  the  early,  shining  morning  at  Kushab,  and  realized 


40  ACROSS  PERSIA 

I  was  free,  my  own  master,  and  chief  of  a  little  caravan 
setting  forth  into  a  strange  land. 

Shivering  into  my  clothes  after  a  semi-sponge-down, 
which  is  all  the  tribute  that  the  would-be  savage  can 
sometimes  pay  to  the  virtue  which  comes  next  to 
godliness,  I  sat  down  to  the  first  real  meal  I  had  had 
the  fortune  to  taste  for  some  thirty  hours.  It  was 
not  sumptuous  ;  it  was  curry  prepared  in  a  peculiar 
manner  by  my  younger  servant,  who  was  learning 
cooking,  and  practising  upon  me.  But  one  of  the  joys 
of  intelligent  savagery  is  that  it  teaches,  perhaps,  the 
greatest  lesson  that  can  be  learned  :  that  it  is  not  the 
thing,  but  you  yourself,  that  are  of  first  importance  in 
life.  So  it  comes  about  that  a  crust  or  a  curry,  when 
you  are  in  the  proper  frame  of  mind,  is  worth  a  Lord 
Mayor  s  banquet  when  your  soul  is  sick  and  your 
digestion  out  of  order.  Just  as  Stevenson  said  that 
to  wash  in  one  of  God's  rivers  in  the  open  air  seemed 
to  him  '  a  sort  of  cheerful  solemnity  or  semi-pagan  act 
of  worship,'  and  that  *  while  to  dabble  among  dishes  in 
a  bedroom  might  perhaps  make  clean  the  body,  the 
imagination  took  no  share  in  such  a  cleansing,'  so  a 
meal  under  the  open  sky  off  homely  fare  and  in  the 
simplest  manner  acquires  some  sort  of  added  virtue. 
It  is  not  only  that  it  is  more  enjoyable  (and  where, 
inside  a  house,  will  you  find  the  zest  it  brings  ?),  but 
that,  to  the  imagination  of  our  cultured  barbarian,  it 
presents  the  idea  of  some  kind  of  primitive  rite,  some 
little  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  nature. 

I,  at  all  events,  enjoyed  my  breakfast  under  the 
palm-trees  upon  the  sand,  and,  after  a  period  of  pack- 
ing and  loading,  rather  prolonged  by  reason  of  its 
novelty,  my  caravan  again  set  off  into  the  scorching 
desert. 

Always  ahead,  and  scarcely  ever  any  nearer,  rose 


A  VAGABOND  LIFE  41 

the  great  mountain  wall.  Little  by  little  the  eyes 
had  to  be  raised  higher  to  scan  the  topmost  peaks  ; 
that  was  the  only  sign  that  we  were  approaching  the 
time  when  it  would  be  or.r  duty  to  assault  their  for- 
bidding flanks.  Now  and  again  there  came  a  blessed 
relief  to  the  surrounding  yellow  desolation  in  the  form 
of  a  little  patch  of  green  date-palms ;  otherwise  there 
stretched  before,  behind,  and  around  in  the  midday 
heat,  a  sweltering,  scentless,  soundless  expanse  of 
barren  sand. 

By  the  cruel  irony  of  nature,  however,  it  has  been 
ordained  that  when  the  heart  of  a  traveller  is  most 
overwhelmed  by  the  lonely  desolation  on  every  side, 
when  most  his  lips  crave  for  moisture  and  his  ears  for 
the  sound  of  running  water,  there  comes  to  his  eyes  a 
dim  mocking  prospect  of  a  wonderland  which,  like 
some  Tantalus-feast,  always  before  him,  can  never  be 
enjoyed. 

Far  in  the  distance,  as  I  plodded  patiently,  hour 
after  hour,  over  the  desert,  the  horrid  monotony  of 
sand  and  stone  faded  into  a  lovely  glassy  sea,  dotted 
with  islets  of  palm.  Dancing  and  changing,  it  was 
there,  incredibly  real,  before  my  eyes.  Often  I  could 
swear  that,  not  two  miles  away,  there  lay  before  me  a 
vast  lake.  The  trees  were  reflected  in  its  still  waters  ; 
out  of  it  rose  a  tiny  isle  crowned  with  a  temple  which, 
so  wonderful  is  this  fantastic  trick  of  nature,  had  its 
counterpart  faithfully  mirrored  below  it.  As  I  ap- 
proached, it  danced  away  and  away,  and  ever  away 
before  me,  until  suddenly  I  came  to  the  tiny  isle — a 
patch  of  barren  rock — and  saw  close  to  me  my  fairy 
temple — the  gaunt  white  bones  of  some  long-dead 
beast. 

It  is  not  only  an  Eldorado  the  mirage-master  can 
produce.     What  was  this  vast  army,  this  multitude 


42  ACROSS  PERSIA 

of  men,  marching  on  in  a  twinkling,  ever- changing 
mass?  What  were  those  strange,  tall,  superhuman 
creatures,  with  their  ten-foot  limbs  and  huge  heads? 
Nearer,  and  a  little  nearer  ; — suddenly,  lo  !  a  caravan 
of  a  few  mules  and  a  couple  of  Persian  mule-drivers. 
That  was  all. 

At  last  to  my  eyes,  weary  and  amazed  with  the 
fantastic  freaks  played  upon  them,  there  appeared  a 
fortress  behind  some  date-palms,  which  did  not,  like 
the  wonders  which  had  played  before  my  eyes  for  the 
last  hours,  melt  away  as  I  rode  up  to  it. 

At  Borazjun — for  that  was  the  name  of  the  village 
which  lay  near  the  '  fortress  '  (which  turned  out  a  fine 
caravanserai) — I  found  the  first  rest-house  of  the  Indo- 
European  Telegraphs.  These  rest-houses,  primarily 
intended  for  the  superintendents  of  the  line,  are  dotted 
at  intervals  all  the  way  up  the  main  trade  route  from 
Bushire  to  the  Caspian,  and  the  officials  are  most 
generous  in  allowing  travellers  to  make  use  of  them 
on  their  journey ings.  Sometimes  they  are  detached 
buildings,  sometimes  they  are  specially  apportioned 
parts  of  the  common  caravanserai ;  but,  in  any  case, 
it  is  a  great  benefit  to  be  allowed  to  camp  in  them, 
instead  of  in  the  frequently  filthy  little  rooms  other- 
wise available.  I  had  often  occasion  to  bless  those  who 
so  kindly  enabled  me  to  make  use  of  the  advantages 
of  these  havens  of  refuge.  There  is  generally  a  man 
who  has  the  special  duty  of  keeping  them  clean.  They 
are  neat  and  whitewashed;  the  doorway  has  a  door, 
and  it  will  actually  shut  and  even  lock,  while  even  in 
the  most  out-of-the-way  places,  they  usually  run  to 
the  extravagant  luxury  of  a  wash-hand  basin.  There 
are  fables  of  one  rest-house  where  there  is  actually  a 
tooth-brush — chained  to  the  wall ! 

I  passed  a  peaceful  evening  at  Borazjun  in  spite  of 


A  VAGABOND  LIFE  43 

the  ruffianly  looking  appearance  of  the  inhabitants, 
who,  apparently  because  they  have  many  feuds,  con- 
sider it  essential  to  load  themselves  with  rifles,  pistols, 
and  knives.  They  brought  a  madman  for  me  to  see ; 
but  after  some  difficulty  I  made  them  understand  that 
I  was  not  a  doctor,  and  they  sadly  took  him  away. 

To  my  horror,  on  waking  after  a  night  of  the  dream- 
less sleep  that  comes  after  severe  bodily  fatigue,  I 
found  it  was  already  half-past  six,  and  that  my 
retinue,  as  tired,  apparently,  as  myself,  showed  no  signs 
of  life. 

On  such  a  journey  as  I  was  making,  in  order  to  com- 
fortably arrange  matters  after  arrival  at  the  end  of  a 
long  march,  and  to  give  time  for  the  proper  preparation 
of  a  meal,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  make  an  early 
start.  I  gave  orders,  therefore,  that  loading  was  to 
be  completed  by  daybreak,  and  also  that  everything, 
except  what  was  definitely  wanted,  was  to  be  packed 
overnight.  I  was  beginning  to  find  that,  even  with 
the  greatest  forethought,  there  are  many  unimagined 
difficulties  to  be  overcome.  It  was  necessary  to  deal, 
not  only  with  things — the  laws  of  which  are  more  or 
less  comprehensible — but  with  men,  who  are  a  law  unto 
themselves. 

Here  it  is  that  any  military  training  in  which  the 
art  of  understanding  and  managing  human  beings'  is 
acquired  becomes  most  valuable.  A  true  officer — one 
who  does  not  look  upon  the  body  of  men  under  him  as 
merely  so  much  machinery,  but  as  a  collection  of  human 
beings  to  be  governed,  not  by  clockwork,  but  by  tact 
and  understanding — will  always  make  a  good  traveller. 
He  has  the  knack  (with  which  he  is,  perhaps,  endowed 
mainly  by  the  position  he  has  been  used  to  occupy)  of 
commanding  men,  and  he  has,  in  addition,  the  know- 
ledge of  human  nature  which  only  dealings  with  it  can 


44  ACROSS  PERSIA 

give.  He  is  handy  and  resourceful,  can  cheerfully 
face,  and  generally  overcome,  difficulties,  and  has  a 
practical  acquaintance  with  many  little  tricks  and 
expedients  which  he  has  learned  in  the  course  of  his 
military  duties.  But  let  no  one  imagine  that  mere 
authority  is  all  that  is  necessary,  and  that  a  man  who 
can  repeat  the  drill-book  by  heart  and  has  a  loud  voice 
and  authoritative  manner  will,  by  these  qualities  alone, 
find  himself  able  to  make  a  success  of  such  a  business 
as  running  a  caravan.  He,  indeed,  is  not,  in  the 
strictest  sense,  a  good  officer.  He  may  do  very  well 
while  nothing  more  than  machinery  is  wanted,  but  in 
a  situation  calling  for  the  higher  powers  of  the  true 
officer  he  will  fail.  Probably,  on  a  journey  in  Persia 
he  would  often  find  himself  in  great  difficulties.  There 
are  no  men  who  need  more  patience  and  more  tact,  if 
they  are  to  be  properly  managed,  than  the  Persians. 
Independent,  high-spirited,  usually  lazy  and  always 
cunning,  they  sometimes  reduce  the  traveller  to  sheer 
despair  of  ever  getting  anything  done  at  all.  If,  how- 
ever, he  can  win  their  friendship  and  attain  their 
respect,  things  are  not  so  hopeless.  If  he  can  shoot, 
if  he  shows  a  knowledge  of  men  and  affairs,  a  readiness 
in  surmounting  difficulties  and  picking  up  knowledge, 
and  an  astuteness  which  makes  it  difficult  for  them  to 
swindle  him,  the  Persians  will  help  him  where  they 
would  drive  others  to  the  verge  of  lunacy.  One  thing 
our  friend  had  better  learn  from  the  start — and  it  is  a 
lesson  that  is  useful  in  more  places  than  Persia — that 
if  he  wishes  to  get  a  thing  done  he  should  first  know 
how  to  do  it  himself  He  need  not  necessarily  be  so 
proficient  that  he  can  do  it  with  the  speed  he  requires 
from  others,  nor  need  he  indeed  ever  actually  do  it  him- 
self (to  learn  how  to  do  a  thing  and  then  get  others  to 
do  it  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  success),  but  he  should  at 


A  VAGABOND  LIFE  45 

least  know  the  method  and  manner  of  its  accomplish- 
ment. Let  him,  for  instance,  study  the  science  of 
loading  a  mule,  and  even  try  to  do  it  with  his  own 
hands ;  he  will  then  be,  at  the  same  time,  more  reason- 
able in  his  demands  and  more  exacting  in  requiring  a 
proper  fulfilment  of  them. 

Would  that  people  throughout  life  would  put  this 
theory  a  little  more  into  practice,  and  endeavour  by 
this  and  other  means  to  realize,  at  all  events  to  some 
extent,  the  tasks  that  they  impose  upon  others.  The 
world's  work  would  then,  perhaps,  proceed  with  less 
friction  and  more  eflSciency. 

Following  out  my  preaching,  I  had  myself  already 
looked  into  the  matter  of  mule-loading.  The  oppor- 
tunities of  doing  this  are  frequent — too  frequent, 
perhaps,  especially  on  the  passes — and  the  study,  if 
discouraging,  is,  at  all  events,  profitable.  The  actual 
packing  of  the  beast  is  not  all  that  is  to  be  learned. 
The  faculty  for  perceiving  the  precise  place  for  each 
individual  article  is  in  itself  an  art.  By  lending  a 
hand  in  the  loading  a  few  times 'as  an  unabashed  tyro, 
and  by  displaying  a  cheerful  interest  in  such  homely 
matters,  T  not  only  became  more  able  to  command  and 
criticize,  but  got  on  much  more  friendly  terms  with 
my  mule-drivers,  whom  I  found  to  be  good,  kindly 
men,  and  as  honest  as  could  be  expected  of  Persians 
of  their  class. 

We  were  now,  in  good  truth,  getting  close  up  under 
the  mountains.  The  ground,  from  a  sandy  desert,  be- 
came an  undulating,  stone-strewn  wilderness,  dotted 
everywhere  with  a  little  shrubby  tree,  called  guz,  of 
which,  so  I  was  told,  the  leaves  can  be  boiled  to  pro- 
duce a  khaki  dye.  At  this  point  persistent  plodding  on 
a  Persian  mule  for  many  miles  had  begun  to  make  me 
unpleasantly  aware  of  the  fact  that  man  is  in  posses- 


46  ACROSS  PERSIA 

sion  of  a  rudimentary  tail,  and  a  walk,  even  on  the 
abominable  cross  between  a  pebbly  beach  and  a  desert 
which  did  duty  for  soil,  was  a  relief 

Thus  tramping  and  stumbling  along,  I  happened 
to  look  round  upon  my  beast,  which  was  tramping  and 
stumbling  behind  me,  and  noticed  that  its  nostrils 
were  slit.  I  have  heard  it  explained  that  this  is  done 
in  order  to  allow  the  mules  *to  breathe  more  freely 
ascending  the  kotals.'  But,  in  reality,  I  believe  the 
reason  is  that  sometimes  when  he  is  drinking  a 
mule  gets  little  leeches  up  his  nostrils,  and  that  it 
is  in  order  to  extract  these  creatures  that  they  are 
cut. 

The  man  who  goes  through  a  foreign  country  as  a 
sightseer  through  a  picture-gallery,  dumbly  gazing  at 
nature  and  at  man,  as  though  it  all  were  a  mere  spec- 
tacle instead  of  a  living  problem,  loses  much  of  the 
interest  of  his  voyage.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  long 
ago  that,  in  whatever  countries  of  the  world  I  travelled, 
I  would  try  as  far  as  possible  to  absorb,  not  only  the 
sights,  but  also  the  spirit  of  the  land.  This  is  only  to 
be  done  by  much  laborious  and  painstaking  effort ;  by 
struggles  to  understand  and  overcome  prejudice ;  by 
patience  with  foreign  customs  and  steady  perseverance 
in  the  acquisition  of  a  foreign  tongue  ;  by  taking  the 
trouble  to  try  and  become  acceptable  to  even  a  chance 
acquaintance ;  by  endeavours  to  initiate  stray  con- 
versations and  by  skill  in  sustaining  them ;  by  an  un- 
failingly cheerful  and  friendly  demeanour ;  by  acute 
observation,  quick  perception,  and  omnivorous  interest. 
By  such  means,  and  by  such  alone,  can  a  true  know- 
ledge of  a  foreign  land  be  attained — can,  that  is  to  say, 
the  object  of  travel  be  truly  realized.  So  now,  as  we 
jogged  along,  assisted  by  my  friend  Saif,  I  made  some 
first  raw  efforts  at  a  chat  with  my  muleteers  and  a 


A  VAGABOND  LIFE  47 

casual  wayfarer,  whose  path  happened  to  be  the  same 
as  ours. 

I  was  beginning  to  reaUze  the  Persians  more.  At 
first  their  method  of  conversation  proves  a  trifle 
annoying,  and  apt,  with  a  stranger,  to  lead  to  mis- 
understandings. The  Persian  whom  you  will  meet  on 
the  road  generally  talks  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  as  if 
engaged  in  an  excited  argument.  He  cranes  his  head 
until  his  face  is  within  a  few  inches  of  yours,  and  then 
bellows  in  an  aggressive  voice  some  perfectly  inoffen- 
sive remark.  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  in  the 
case  of  muleteers  this  must  come  of  trying  to  talk 
above  the  concert  of  mule -bells,  which  renders  the 
progress  of  a  caravan  audible  for  several  miles,  and 
the  tones  of  an  ordinary  voice  inaudible  at  any  distance 
above  a  foot.  Whatever  the  reason,  the  result  is  at 
first  painful,  and  until  I  began  more  easily  to  under- 
stand the  gist  of  their  remarks,  I  was  under  the  im- 
impression  that  my  friendly  conversationalists  were 
perpetually  insulting  me. 

Another  thing  I  began  to  discover  about  this  time 
was  that  in  Persia  it  is  apparently  considered  a  breach 
of  etiquette  to  speak  the  precise  truth.  Even  in  the 
highest  circles  exaggeration  is  a  politeness,  and,  as 
might  be  expected,  this  leads,  lower  down,  to  lying 
becoming  an  accomplishment  and  a  pride.  Even  in 
matters  in  which  no  possible  benefit  could  accrue  from 
being  inexact,  the  Persian  will  rarely  so  far  depart 
from  the  national  code  as  to  speak  the  miserable, 
inglorious  truth.  At  first  this  proves  irritating,  and 
frequently  disconcerting ;  but  after  a  time  what  might 
be  termed  the  scale  of  Persian  equivalents  is  arrived 
at,  and  then  things  become  more  easy. 

An  instance  was  not  far  to  seek  to-day.  In  the 
course  of  my  conversation  with  my  fellow-wayfarer, 


48  ACROSS  PERSIA 

who,  I  found,  was  travelling  to  Kazerun,  I  happened 
to  mention  that  I  had  heard  that  there  was  petroleum 
to  be  found  somewhere  near  where  we  were  at  the 
moment.  The  Kazeruni  immediately  became  animated, 
and  jabbered  away  to  Saif  in  a  manner  which  was 
quite  unintelligible  to  me.  I  asked  what  he  said. 
*  He  says,'  replied  Saif,  '  that  an  Englishman  lived 
here  for  two  years  not  long  ago,  and  brought  five 
hundred  men  to  carry  out  some  borings  for  petroleum. 
He  says  ten  thousand  men,  but  it  is  really  five 
hundred.' 

The  trusty  Saif  had  reduced  the  gentleman's  remark 
to  English  and  fact  at  the  same  time — without 
comment — by  the  aid  of  the  aforesaid  scale  of  Persian 
equivalents. 

I  was  singularly  unversed  in  Persian  religious 
history,  and  I  grieve  to  confess  that  I  had  never 
heard,  until  our  conversation  touched  on  the  fact,  that 
the  Persians  are  waiting  for  the  Twelfth  Imam.  He 
is  the  last  of  these  prophets,  and  he  has  been  on  earth 
once  already  ;  but  they  are  now  waiting  for  him  to 
come  back,  when  he  will  rule  all  Persia  and  do 
wondrous  deeds.  Everything  will  then  be  set  right, 
and  the  way  of  the  world  will  run  smooth.  It  will  be 
the  Persian  millennium.  This  theological  theory  may 
perhaps  explain  the  prevailing  inclination  in  Persia  to 
do  nothing.  What  is  the  use  of  doing  anything  if  the 
Twelfth  Imam  may  turn  up  the  next  moment  and  do 
everything  for  you  ?  It  seems  a  satisfactory  explana- 
tion. Until  this  I  had  been  forced  to  imagine  that 
the  Persian  frame  of  mind  was  only  an  accentuation 
of  the  prevailing  sentiment  of  the  East,  where  the 
maxim  is,  'Everything  comes  to  him  who  waits,'  and 
so  everybody  waits  for  things  to  come. 

Thus,  riding  until  it  became  necessary  to  walk,  and 


A  VAGABOND  LIFE  49 

walking  until  it  was  pleasanter  to  ride,  we  plodded  on 
until  there  became  no  doubt  that  we  were  approaching 
some  very  unusual  natural  phenomenon.  This  was 
signalized  by  a  most  unpleasant  smell.  It  must  not 
be  imagined  that  an  unpleasant  smell  is  an  unusual 
occurrence  in  Persia ;  in  the  civilized  portions  it  is 
the  rule  and  not  the  exception.  But  this  was  such  a 
peculiar  and  unique  smell  that  it  was  at  once  set 
down  as  something  out  of  the  ordinary  Persian  reper- 
toire. Sulphuretted  hydrogen  combined  with  petroleum 
would  convey  some  idea  of  its  distinctive  character- 
istic, and  with  feelings  of  mingled  interest  and  disgust 
we  awaited  the  explanation  of  the  mystery.  In  a 
moment  or  two  it  came,  when  we  rode  up  to  a  brilliant 
green  stream  running  over  slimy  pink  stones  between 
crumbling  yellowish-white  banks.  Dipping  the  hand 
into  it,  the  water  was  warm.  Despite  the  really 
terrible  odour,  we  tracked  the  stream  to  its  source. 
Some  pools  of  hot  sulphurous  water  bubbled  out  from 
among  green  slime  and  mud  fringed  with  a  yellow 
crystalline  deposit.  I  myself  could  only  struggle 
against  an  inclination  to  be  ill  long  enough  to  take  a 
photograph,  but  Saif  seemed  to  revel  in  it,  took  off  his 
clothes,  bathed  in  the  almost  boiling  water,  and  said 
he  felt  much  refreshed.  As  I  passed  thankfully  back 
again  to  the  track  down  a  decrescendo  of  smell,  I 
noticed  black  lumps  of  bitumen  bobbing  down  the 
current.  Undoubtedly  there  is  petroleum,  but  where 
no  one  has  hitherto  been  able  to  discover. 

Another  stream,  smelling  less  of  sulphur  but  more 
of  oil,  burst  from  under  the  rocks  a  little  further  on, 
and  it  is  near  here  that  attempts  have  been  made  in 
the  past  to  tap  the  petroleum  reservoir  which  probably 
exists  somewhere  beneath  the  ground.  Some  day  a 
happy   man   may   hit   the   right   spot,   and  then  his 

4 


50  ACROSS  PERSIA 

fortune  is  made ;  but  it  is  a  speculative  business. 
Half  a  dozen  inches  to  the  right  or  left,  and  you  are, 
as  Fate  may  decide,  a  pauper  or  a  millionaire.  More- 
over, it  is  quite  possible  that  the  oil  is  inextricably 
mixed  with  the  hot  springs  which  bubble  from  the 
rock,  in  which  case  it  would  be  at  present  beyond  the 
power  of  man  to  make  any  profitable  use  of  it. 

By  the  way,  it  has  occurred  to  me,  as  doubtless  it 
has  occurred  to  others  before  me,  although  I  have 
never  seen  the  idea  set  down,  that  the  ancient  religion 
of  fire-worship  which  the  Persian  so  long  professed 
may  have  had  some  connexion  with  these  great 
reservoirs  of  oil  that  exist  in  various  parts  of  the  Near 
East.  Various  things  incline  to  confirm  this  theory. 
At  Baku,  on  the  Caspian,  I  saw  fountains  of  oil  spray- 
ing into  the  air  and  trickling  away  in  sickly,  sluggish 
black  streams.  Moreover,  once,  when  I  was  in  Canada, 
sitting  one  evening  in  the  club  at  Calgary,  close  by 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  I  heard  a  tale,  sufficiently 
authentic,  from  a  gruff,  tanned  pioneer  who  had 
travelled  much  in  that  land  of  mysterious  possibilities 
which  lies  to  the  far  north-west  of  Canada.  There, 
he  said,  he  had  once  heard  a  strange  roaring  as  of  a 
distant  fall  of  water.  On  nearer  approach,  it  turned 
out  that  fire,  and  not  water,  was  the  cause  of  the 
sound.  A  fountain  of  flame  and  smoke — a  pillar  of 
cloud  by  day  and  of  fire  by  night — shot  into  the  air 
with  a  thunder  of  noise  that  could  be  heard  for  several 
miles.  How  it  had  come  no  one  seemed  to  know,  but 
there  it  was,  and  there  it  had  been  for  years. 

Is  it  not  possible  that  on  a  smaller  scale  some  such 
phenomenon  might  have  given  rise,  in  the  days  when 
men  marvelled  more  and  knew  less,  to  at  all  events 
the  first  miracle  of  the  eternal  fire,  and  that  from  this 
beginning  arose  and  spread  the  worship  of  the  god  of 


A  VAGABOND  LIFE  51 

the  perpetual  flame  ?  This  seems  the  more  possible 
inasmuch  as  there  appears  to  have  been  one  supreme 
centre  of  fire-worship,  wherefrom  the  other  shrines 
took  their  sanctity. 

Dr.  Fryer  in  his  Journal  says  of  this  sacred  fire  : 
*  If  by  Chance  they  fhould  let  it  go  out,  they  muft 
take  a  Pilgrimage  to  Carmania,  where  their  moft 
Sacred  Fire  was  never  extinguished,  as  if  it  were  a 
Piacular  Wickednefs  to  attempt  the  renewing  of  it 
elfewhere,  that  being  preferved  by  a  more  than  Veftal 
Care,  from  the  firft  time  the  Sun,  their  Chief  Deity, 
was  pleafed  to  enlighten  it  with  Sparks  from  its  own 
Rays.'  The  flame  itself  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
any  very  great  affair.  Ta vernier  relates  :  *  One  day, 
being  at  Kerman,  I  defir'd  to  fee  that  Fire,  but  they 
anfwer'd  me,  they  could  not  permit  me.  For  fay  they, 
one  day  the  Kan  of  Kerman  being  defirous  to  fee  the 
Fire,  not  daring  to  do  otherwife,  they  f  hew'd  it  him. 
He  it  feems  expected  to  fee  fome  extraordinary  Bright- 
nefs ;  but  when  he  faw  no  more  then  what  he  might 
have  feen  in  a  Kitchen  or  a  Chamber  fire,  fell  a 
fwearing  and  fpitting  upon't  as  if  he  had  been  mad. 
Whereupon  the  Sacred  Fire  being  thus  profaned,  flew 
away  in  the  form  of  a  white  Pigeon.  The  Priefts  con- 
fidering  then  their  misfortune,  which  had  happen'd 
through  their  own  indifcretion,  fell  to  their  Prayers 
with  the  People,  and  gave  Alms  ;  upon  which,  at  the 
fame  time,  and  in  the  fame  form  the  Sacred  Fire 
return'd  to  its  place,  which  makes  them  fo  fhy  to  f hew 
it  again.' 

My  theory  may  not  be  worth  much,  but  it  might, 
perhaps,  be  worth  the  while  of  prospectors  to  pay  a 
casual  glance  to  those  spots  in  which  tradition  says 
there  once  existed  a  sacred  flame  of  the  fire- 
worshippers. 

4—2 


52  ACROSS  PERSIA 

After  all,  however,  no  elaborate  explanation  is  really 
necessary  to  account  for  primitive  fire-worship.  The 
sun  surely,  the  great  giver  of  warmth  and  comfort, 
the  force  that  makes  the  grass  to  spring  from  the 
earth  and  the  flowers  to  burst  into  bloom,  the  power 
that  represents  all  that  is  most  pleasant  and  profitable 
to  the  primitive  mind ; — surely  the  sun  is  the  most 
obvious  object  of  worship  for  a  savage  whose  mind 
knows  little  of  science,  and  whose  imagination  is 
awaking  from  sleep  ? 

Speculating  on  such  matters,  mundane  and  philo- 
sophical, I  rode  away  from  the  strange  freaks  Nature 
has  indulged  in  in  this  region,  and  found  that  my  *  pony,' 
influenced  possibly  by  the  desire  to  get  away  from 
such  ofiensive  odours,  was  actually  capable  of  moving 
at  more  than  a  walk.  Indeed,  when,  as  the  sun  just 
passed  the  zenith,  we  rode  into  the  date-groves  of 
Daliki,  the  pace  had  risen  to  what  might  almost  be 
called  a  canter. 

The  little  green  oasis  is  set  close  at  the  foot  of  the 
outlying  buttresses  of  the  great  mountain  wall.  Nature 
runs  riot,  indeed,  in  this  strange  place.  It  is  as  if  she 
had  taken  out  her  colour-box,  intending  to  paint  some 
splendid  scene,  and  in  a  fit  of  carelessness  had  strewn 
her  paint  here  and  there  among  the  hills  and  over  the 
plains.  Yellow  sulphur  ridges  stand  out  clear  against 
pale  green  hills  beyond,  while  behind  the  whole  runs 
a  pink  vista  of  more  distant  peaks.  The  rivers  are 
green  or  tinged  with  a  sickly  yellowish-white,  patches 
of  vivid  verdure  are  scattered  over  the  brown-yellow 
plain,  and  over  all  stretches,  like  some  gorgeous  painted 
canopy,  the  unflecked  dome  of  the  dark  blue  Eastern 
sky.  A  wild  chaos  of  colour  this.  It  is  something 
else  ; — it  is  an  advertisement,  for  Nature  does  not 
paint  without  a  reason,  and  there  is  more  in  all  this 


A  VAGABOND  LIFE  5S 

than  empty  colour  effect.  As  Pierre  Loti  remarks, 
descending  for  once  and  a  way  from  the  heights  of 
picturesque  imagination  to  the  plane  of  commonplace 
reality  :  *  II  doit  y  avoir  d'immenses  richesses  metallur- 
giques,  encore  inexploitees  et  inconnues,  dans  ces 
montagnes/ 

Enterprise  which  could  defy  the  climate  and  over- 
come the  Persian  disinclination  to  work  could,  it  can 
scarcely  be  doubted,  find  good  use  for  the  resources 
which  Nature  advertises  in  such  striking  mode.  But, 
alas !  he  who  sets  himself  to  develop  the  unexploited 
potentialities  of  Persia  has  to  contend  with  great 
difficulties.  Once  upon  a  time,  in  the  days  of  the 
nation's  greatness,  the  Persian  must  have  been 
industrious  and  energetic.  The  mere  fact  that  the 
land  in  those  days  was  productive  is  sufficient  to  show 
that  this  was  so  ;  but  to-day  he  prefers  to  see  the  land 
waste  and  his  country  decaying,  as  long  as  he  can 
exist  in  idleness,  rather  than  put  himself  to  trouble  in 
order  to  develop  his  nation  s  possibilities  and  build  up 
its  fortunes. 

There,  just  before  me,  in  Daliki  was  an  instance  of 
this.  Down  the  valley  there  ran  a  river,  to  which,  as 
the  sun  descended,  I  went  down,  and  in  whose  ice-cold, 
limpid  waters  I  had  a  refreshing  bathe.  In  the  clear 
depths  moved  great  fishes,  untroubled  by  any  interfer- 
ing fishermen,  and  the  channel  along  which  the  water 
flowed  so  smoothly  was  cut  through  untilled  fields 
and  barren  ground.  As  I  thought  of  the  great 
dusty  plains  of  India,  painfully  and  laboriously  made 
fruitful  by  the  exertions  of  countless  oxen  patiently 
dragging  water  by  cupfuls  from  the  recesses  of  the 
earth,  and  by  the  tedious  care  of  millions  of  men, 
perpetually  toiling  that  each  drop  should  find  its  use, 
I  felt  a  kind  of  bitter  resentment  against  a  people  who 


54  ACROSS  PERSIA 

so  carelessly  neglected  riches  which  others  would  so 
eagerly  welcome.  There  was  a  people  poverty-stricken, 
a  country  waste,  and  the  precious,  precious  water  idly 
flowing  by.  It  was  very  sad.  The  material  was 
there,  but  the  mind  was  asleep.  Will  the  mind  ever 
awake  ? 

Behind  the  town  again,  from  the  Eastern  hills, 
there  bubbled  forth,  as  I  found  when  pursuing  a 
chance  partridge  a  little  later,  a  spring,  which  from 
time  immemorial  had  perennially  poured  its  waters 
down  through  the  village  into  the  larger  stream  in 
the  valley.  All  its  apparently  unfailing  resources  are 
put  to  just  two  uses  :  the  turning  of  a  single  mill,  and 
the  irrigation  of  one  little  patch  of  half-cultivated 
land.  One  wondered  that  the  very  waters  did  not 
cry  out  as  they  bubbled  between  their  tiny  banks,  and 
that  the  grassy  turf  which  lined  those  banks  did  not 
tell  the  eyes  of  the  idle  villager  of  his  wasted  wealth. 
Such  turfy  banks  they  were !  No  one  who  has  not 
lived  in  lands  where  the  earth  cracks,  and  the  poor 
blades  of  grass  grow  yellow  and  die,  can  realize  the 
joy  of  a  few  square  feet  of  green  English  turf  and  the 
music  of  a  running  stream.  I  stood  still  and  gazed  at 
it.  I  trod  delicately  upon  it  as  though  it  were  a  fine 
carpet ;  I  even  stooped  down  and  patted  it  with  my 
hand;  I  had  not  seen  turf  for  very  many  months. 
Then  I  drank  of  the  stream.  I  do  not  think  I  was 
really  thirsty,  but  the  chance  of  drinking  running 
water  was  too  precious  to  be  thrown  away.  All  this 
sounds  very  ridiculous  to  an  English  ear,  but — it  is 
never  until  we  lose  what  we  have  that  we  understand 
its  value,  and  we  little  realize  that  many  of  the  things 
we  accept  unthinkingly,  without  gratitude,  every  day 
of  our  lives  are  practically  unknown  luxuries  to  count- 
less less  fortunate  mortals. 


A  VAGABOND  LIFE  55 

I  did  not  shoot  my  partridge ;  it  disappeared  up  the 
mountains  and  into  the  dusk  ;  but  I  was  rewarded  for 
my  chase  by  a  magnificent  view  of  the  broad  sea-Hke 
plain  below  me,  fading  dimly  away  to  the  real  sea  into 
which,  as  I  looked,  sank  the  red  rim  of  the  sun. 

Daliki  lay  below,  clad  in  a  blue  haze,  and  through 
the  dark  meidan  was  drawn  the  silver  thread  of  my 
beloved  river. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   KOTALS 

'  I  got  up  the  mountain  edge,  and  from  the  top  saw  the  world 
stretched  out — comlands  and  forest,  the  river  winding  among 
meadow-flats,  and  right  oflP,  like  a  hem  of  the  sky,  the  moving 
sea,  with  snatches  of  foam,  and  large  ships  reaching  forward, 
out-bound.  And  then  I  thought  no  more,  but  my  heart  leapt 
to  meet  the  wind,  and  I  ran,  and  I  ran.  I  felt  my  legs  under 
me,  I  felt  the  wind  buffet  me,  hit  me  on  the  cheek ;  the  sun 
shone,  the  bees  swept  past  me  singing ;  and  I  too  sang,  shouted, 
"  World,  world,  I  am  coming  !"" ' — Maurice  Hewleit  :  Pan  and 
the  Young  Shepherd. 

In  the  little  village  close  under  the  mountains  we 
spent  the  night,  and  next  day  came  the  kotals  at  last. 
We  had  got  off  with  the  first  light  after  an  hour 
of  darkness  cut  by  the  yellow  gleam  of  lanterns  and 
the  myriad  confused  sounds  of  mule-loading.  I  came 
down  early  and  superintended  the  general  bustle 
(what  was  as  near  an  approach  to  a  bustle,  that  is  to 
say,  as  a  Persian  can  be  incited  to).  A  little  way  on 
our  journey  we  turned  north-east  into  the  hills; — we 
were  embarked  on  the  first  of  the  great  steps  which 
lead  to  the  high  tableland  of  Persia  proper. 

A  kotal  is  not  a  nice  thing  to  fall  in  with  on 
a  journey.  The  hysterics  into  which  some  writers, 
both  ancient  and  modern,  have  gone  into  over  these 
passes,  the  horrors  they  have  described,  and  the  fears 
to  which  they  were  subject,  are  perhaps  a  trifle  over- 
done.    But  certainly  these  almost  indescribable  paths 

m 


THE  KOTALS  57 

which  creep  up  what,  at  a  short  distance,  appear  to  be 
quite  inaccessible  precipices,  well  merit  vituperation. 
Imagine  a  rough,  dry  watercourse,  filled  with  debris 
and  stones  of  various  shapes  and  sizes,  ascending  in  a 
tortuous  manner  the  sides  of  an  almost  vertical  slope. 
Sometimes  this  *  watercourse '  leads  through  a  wilder- 
ness of  gigantic  boulders,  steadily  rising,  and  winding 
vaguely  and  uncertainly  as  the  forces  of  Nature  direct. 
A  little  after,  and  the  way  lies  close  under  a  towering 
precipice,  while  beneath  on  the  right  is  a  sheer  drop 
into  a  great  rocky  chasm,  the  opposite  wall  of  which 
is  another  abrupt  precipice,  streaked  with  the  twisted 
lines  into  which  some  great  contortion  of  elemental 
forces  has  bent  the  rock-strata.  There  is  no  vegeta- 
tion, no  green  thing,  no  life  of  any  kind.  The  whole 
place  is  like  some  rude,  unfinished  attempt  at  creation, 
and  the  track  itself  is  an  efibrt  rather  of  Nature  than 
of  man. 

Amid  such  an  impressive  and  dreadful  wilderness 
we  wandered,  overshadowed  by  the  jagged  peaks, 
crawling  laboriously  up  the  sheer  precipices.  Our 
wretched  ponies,  even  those  who,  as  riding  animals, 
were  unburdened  of  their  human  loads,  progressed 
with  heaves  and  lurches  up  the  uncouth  rocky  stairs. 
The  other  less  fortunate  beasts,  staggering  under  their 
packs,  which  now  and  again  would  strike  the  walled 
side  of  the  path,  moved  the  heart  to  pity.  Now  and 
again  one  would  fall,  and  lie  there  inert  and  panting 
until  some  muleteer  came  up  and  got  it  to  its  feet  again. 

Persians  do  not  seem  to  consider  animals  anything 
more  than  a  convenience  destined  by  Allah  to  be  used 
or  ill-used,  as  the  case  may  be,  by  man.  I  do  not 
think  this  attribute  can  be  set  down  as  exactly  a  vice ; 
they  simply  do  not  recognize  that  there  is  any  other 
point  of  view.     An  animal,  they  say,  is  a  means  of 


58  ACROSS  PERSIA 

locomotion  or  method  of  traction,  and  they  treat  it 
exactly  as  they  would  any  other  means  of  locomo- 
tion or  method  of  traction.  If  a  steam-engine  goes 
wrong,  we  do  not  pity  it,  we  simply  are  annoyed 
at  it,  and  it  is  the  same  way  with  a  Persian  and 
a  dumb  animal. 

What  is  wanted  is  a  change  in  the  moral  sense  of 
the  people. 

In  Persia,  however,  as  in  the  wide  world  outside, 
the  individual  is  lamentably  powerless  against  the 
feeling  of  the  nation,  and  however  much  he  may  resent 
and  remonstrate,  while  humanity  at  large  stands  firm, 
he  will  only  be  reckoned  an  amiable  lunatic,  who, 
perhaps,  some  may  humour  from  interest  or  com- 
passion. 

It  is  very  horrible  and  painful,  this  disregard  in 
Persia  for  even  common  kindness  to  a  dumb  animal, 
and  the  most  callous  of  travellers  must  sometimes 
shudder  at  what  he  sees. 

I  noted  down  some  of  the  methods  employed  by 
mule-drivers  to  get  their  caravans  to  the  end  of  their 
marches, — it  is  altogether  a  brutal  business. 

There  are  various  ways  in  which  a  reluctant  mule 
can  be  incited  to  drag  his  weary  limbs  and  heavy  load 
the  faster  up  a  kotal  or  across  a  desert.  They  are 
generally  varieties  of  sticks,  kicks,  and  pricks ;  but 
the  most  popular  and  seemingly  the  most  effective 
expedient  would  seem  to  be  the  following  : — The 
muleteer  takes  a  stout  packing-needle,  attached  to  a 
piece  of  string  to  avoid  loss  en  route ,  and  searches  for 
a  sore  on  the  animal.  This  will  not  prove  difficult  to 
discover ;  but  if  by  any  chance  the  poor  beast  should 
actually  be  free  from  such,  or  one  should  not  exist  in 
a  convenient  spot,  he  makes  one.  Then,  on  signs  of 
the  mule  flagging,  he  inserts  the  needle  sharply  at  the 


My  Host  and  his  Wives— at  Aliabad  in  the  Elburz  Mountains. 

~7^ 


Climbing  a  Kotal. 


THE  KOTALS  59 

appropriate  spot ; — this  has  the  double  effect  of  urging 
the  animal  on  and  keeping  the  place  in  excellent 
condition  for  further  use.  Should  a  mule  absolutely 
collapse  or  slip  down  under  its  load  on  a  more  than 
usually  precipitous  or  ice-clad  kotal,  the  driver  pulls 
out  the  large  clasp-knife  which  every  muleteer  pos- 
sesses, and  gives  the  animal  some  sharp  digs  on  the 
shoulder.  Should  this  fail,  he  unloads  the  pack  and 
repeats  the  process.  If  even  this  is  unavailing,  the 
troublesome  beast  must  be  left  to  die,  and  its  load 
distributed  among  its  more  fortunate,  or  possibly  more 
unfortunate,  companions. 

It  is  not  in  accordance  with  custom  to  kill  a  beast 
which  is  unfit  for  further  work ;  it  must  be  just 
abandoned  to  its  fate.  A  more  than  usually  kindly 
mule-driver  will  sometimes  put  a  handful  of  hay  before 
it,  that  it  may  die,  as  he  likes  to  imagine,  in  slightly 
greater  comfort. 

The  Persian  is  not  above  making  some  profit  out  of 
the  distress  of  a  dumb  animal,  and  the  traveller  must 
beware  of  letting  his  compassion  lead  him  to  finish  off 
some  poor  beast  he  sees  starving  by  the  wayside.  It 
is  quite  possible  that  from  somewhere  in  the  locality 
there  will  suddenly  appear  a  man  who  will  assert  that 
he  is  the  owner  of  the  beast.  It  is  hard  to  prove  him 
wrong,  and  when  he  goes  on  to  complain  that  you 
have  destroyed  a  valuable  piece  of  his  property,  and  to 
claim  substantial  compensation,  it  is  quite  probable 
that  compensation  will  have  to  be  paid.  In  some 
cases,  however,  the  deed  would  seem  almost  worth  the 
price. 

As  I  have  said,  little  can  be  done  by  the  individual 
in  the  cause  of  humanity  ;  the  traveller  who  pro- 
tests will  be  thought  mad,  and  will  serve  the  poor 
mules  little ;  but  if  every  traveller  were  to  make  up 


60  ACROSS  PERSIA 

his  mind  to  do  his  small  best  to  show  the  disgust  and 
abhorrence  he  feels,  and  to  make  the  Persian  under- 
stand that  the  white  races,  whom,  if  they  do  not  love, 
they  at  all  events  respect,  possess  a  code  of  morality 
in  which  cruelty  is  considered  unworthy  of  a  man, 
then  possibly  in  time  something  might  be  accomplished 
towards  a  better  state  of  things. 

The  kotals  are  four  in  number  :  The  Kotal-i-Mallu, 
— the  Accursed  Pass  ;  the  Kotal-i-Kumarij  ;  the  Kotal- 
i-Dokhter, — the  Pass  of  the  Daughter;  and  the  Kotal- 
i-Pir-i-Zan, — the  Pass  of  the  Old  Woman.  No  one 
will  quarrel  with  the  name  of  the  first,  and  the  *  Old 
Woman's '  Pass  is  an  appropriate  designation,  as  Lord 
Curzon  observes,  for  so  *  peculiarly  uninviting,  time- 
worn,  and  repulsive '  a  place.  Kumarij  is  the  name  of 
a  place,  and  its  pass  is  naturally  named  after  it.  But 
when  we  come  to  the  *  Pass  of  the  Daughter,'  which  is 
the  worst  of  all,  a  protest  must  be  entered,  and  the 
only  suggestion  as  to  an  explanation  of  a  title  appar- 
ently so  singularly  inapposite  is  that  the  coyest 
young  woman  could  not  resent  advances  with  greater 
firmness  than  this  unfriendly  pass. 

The  four  kotals  are  ascended  by  the  ordinary 
traveller  on  different  days ;  but  a  detailed  description 
of  each  would  be  tedious.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  they 
all  bear  a  striking  resemblance  to  each  other  as  regards 
unpleasant  difficulty,  and  the  last  is  invariably  the  least 
obnoxious  whichever  way  the  traveller  may  be  going. 

To  return  to  my  little  caravan,  just  started  on  the 
beginning  of  the  first  or  *  accursed'  pass,  the  first 
ascent  was  a  comparatively  innocent  slope  of  about 
30  degrees,  where  my  *  pony '  only  fell  down  once. 
Then  it  was  up  and  down  over  rocks  and  stones,  among 
rugged  ranges,  looking  as  if  they  had  been  cleft  with 
some  gigantic  knife,  till,  suddenly,  round  a  corner  we 


THE  KOTALS  61 

came  again  on  my  friend,  the  Daliki  River.  Alas!  there 
was  no  time  for  a  much-longed-for  bathe  in  this  mag- 
nificent spot ;  a  drink  of  what  the  imaginative  Pierre 
Loti  calls  cette  riviere  empoisomiee  had  to  suffice,  and 
we  passed  on. 

The  pass  was  now  upon  us  with  all  its  *  accursed  '- 
ness,  and  to  my  inexperienced  mind  it  seemed  to 
deserve  some  more  definitely  vituperative  epithet. 
The  path  up  which  the  mules  literally  climbed  wound 
among  rocks  which  were  frequently  so  large  and  so 
closely  placed  that  the  packs  had  frequently  much 
ado  to  get  past  at  all. 

In  a  little  there  came  into  sight  an  imposing  zigzag 
of  masonry  running  up  a  peculiarly  precipitous  place  ; 
— actually  a  man-made  road.  But,  characteristic  of 
things  Persian,  this  magnificence  is  all  show,  for  the 
nature  of  this  road  prohibits  traffic  thereon,  it  being 
composed  of  large  and  slippery  cobble-stones  bounded 
by  walls  about  3  feet  high.  Any  effort  to  keep  to  this 
unfortunately  useless  piece  of  engineering  would  have 
ended  in  disaster  for  the  mules,  so  they  corkscrewed 
painfully  up  outside  the  grand  concern,  which  Saif  and 
I  ascended  in  solitary  state. 

At  last,  at  last,  the  summit  was  reached,  and  we 
came  out  on  a  great  level  plain,  half-way  across  which 
appeared  the  welcome  sight  of  the  night's  caravanserai 
at  the  village  of  Khonar-takhteh.  Dripping  with  per- 
spiration, we  halted  at  the  top  to  look  out  over  the 
stretch ed-out  world  below  us,  and  our  little  caravan 
came  together  for  a  few  moments'  rest.  There  was  a 
rain-water  reservoir,  a  cool,  echoing,  cellar-like  place, 
and  while  I  and  the  Afghan  drank  in  the  view  and 
thanked  heaven  for  the  flat  earth  with  a  fervency 
which  only  those  who  have  experienced  the  sensation 
of  ascending  a  kotal  can  realize,  our  retinue  refreshed 


62  ACROSS  PERSIA 

themselves  by  going  down  the  flight  of  steps  to  the 
dark,  refreshing-looking  water  under  the  arched  roof, 
and  with  many  indescribable  noises  lapping  it  up  in  all 
imaginable  ways. 

The  little  plain  we  were  on  was  the  flat  part  of  the 
first  '  step '  up  to  Persia  proper.  The  country  here  is 
bare,  but,  as  usual,  the  fault  lies,  not  with  nature,  ,but 
with  man,  for  there  is  a  stream  which,  running  through 
the  village,  is  put  to  no  manner  of  use,  but  flows  aim- 
lessly away  across  the  plain. 

The  village  itself  is  a  picturesque  and  not  more  than 
usually  filthy  little  place,  set  among  groves  of  date- 
palms,  from  which  rises  a  tomb, — that  of  a  brother  of 
the  Imam  Eeza — at  least,  so  say  the  MuUas,  to  whose 
obvious  interest  it  is  that  Imams  should  have  as  large 
families  as  possible,  and  that  they  should  be  buried  in 
as  many  places  apiece  as  the  credulity  of  the  Persian 
will  allow. 

Next  day  came  another  kotal,  that  of  Kumarij. 
Just  as  we  approached  this  second  obstacle  there 
appeared  by  the  side  of  the  road  countless  small  heaps 
of  stones,  somewhat  such  as  are  seen  by  an  English 
road  in  course  of  repair.  Now,  no  one  who  had  the 
slightest  acquaintance  with  Persia  would  ever  imagine 
that  the  inhabitants  would  ever  repair,  or,  indeed,  even 
create,  a  road,  and,  moreover,  the  size  of  the  stones 
was  so  great  as  to  banish  any  idea  that  they  were  to 
be  put  to  such  a  use.  So  I  inquired  of  Meshed-i- 
Kamba,  the  strapping  six-foot  giant  who  was  my 
under- muleteer,  what  these  little  heaps  meant.  I 
found  they  were  cairns  formed  by  the  pilgrims  who 
travel  to  the  various  holy  shrines,  a  visit  to  which 
constitutes  a  step  up  the  ladder  to  the  Mahometan 
heaven,  and  allows  the  pilgrim  to  prefix  to  his  name 
the  coveted  title  of  *  Meshed-i,'  '  Hajji,'  etc.,  as  the  case 


THE  KOTALS  63 

may  be.  Each  man  contributes  his  small  offering  of  a 
stone  to  some  heap  which  appeals  to  his  imagination, 
and  so  there  rise  along  the  pilgrim  routes  these  little 
monuments  to  the  nameless  passers-by. 

The  scene  during  the  ascent  of  the  Kumarij  kotal 
was  magnificent.  On  one  side  of  a  huge  chasm  the 
path  wound  tortuously  upward  ;  the  other  was  a  sheer 
precipice,  down  which  Nature  in  a  fantastic  mood 
had  fashioned  vertical  strata-seams  straight  down  the 
face  of  the  rock.  Behind,  there  grew  an  ever-widening 
prospect  of  mountain-land,  splendid  in  its  desolate 
bleakness.  Half-way  up  there  came  a  tiny  spring, 
gently  oozing  out  of  the  rock  wall,  and  just  enough  to 
provide  the  thirsty  traveller  with  a  draught  of  the 
coldest  water. 

Climbing  with  renewed  energy  to  the  top,  we  came 
upon  the  guard-house  of  the  Kashgai  mountain  guard, 
where  swarthy  men  armed  with  rifles  came  out  to  us 
with  tiny  glass  vases  of  tea.  The  Persian  always 
drinks  his  tea  without  milk,  but  he  makes  up  for  it  by 
nearly  half  filling  his  cup  with  sugar,  which  makes  the 
compound  seem  like  some  flavoured  syrup  rather  than 
the  beverage  we  know  in  England. 

When  first,  on  such  an  occasion  as  I  have  described, 
the  traveller  meets  a  polite  Persian  offering  him  a  cup 
of  tea,  he  will  be  surprised,  and  probably  overcome 
with  gratitude,  at  this  unsolicited  attention.  But  let 
him  beware  ;  it  is  not  gratitude  that  the  Persian 
wants,  but  money.  Such  politenesses  are  strict  busi- 
ness, and  it  is  as  well  to  recognize  as  early  as  possible 
that,  unless  under  exceptional  conditions,  the  principle 
in  Persia  is  *  Give  nothing  for  nothing,  and  as  little  as 
possible  for  as  much  as  you  can  get.'  Politeness,  it  is 
only  fair  to  say,  is  indeed  par  excellence  a  Persian 
virtue,  and  when  it  costs  the  giver  nothing,  he  expects 


64  ACROSS  PERSIA 

nothing  in  return.  If,  however,  it  entails  some  material 
sacrifice,  some  material  recompense  is  necessary,  and 
the  Persian  is  clever  enough  to  have  learnt  that  one 
cup  of  tea  offered  with  an  airy  disregard  of  sordid 
bargaining  is  worth  two  disposed  of  on  commercial 
principles.  He  has  learnt  the  lesson  that  if  you  throw 
your  bread  upon  the  waters,  it  frequently  comes  back 
ham  sandwiches  ;  indeed,  he  expects  it  to  do  so.  It  is 
hardly  too  much  to  say  that  courtesy  in  some  instances 
may  be  regarded  as  quite  a  marketable  commodity  in 
Persia,  a  sort  of  tax  on  the  usual  price  of  things. 
With  practice,  however,  it  is  possible  to  repay  the 
Persian  in  his  own  coin.  He  prefers  money,  but  if 
you  repay  courtesy  with  courtesy  he  cannot  grumble. 
Thus,  one  cup  of  tea,  plus  a  polite  wish  that  Allah  will 
take  care  of  your  health,  may  be  repaid  either  by  the 
price  of  two  cups  of  tea,  or  the  price  of  one  cup  of  tea 
plus  a  flowery  speech  as  to  the  goodness  of  the  tea- 
giver.  A  small  orange  which  is  sour  and  uneatable, 
handed  to  you,  as  is  the  Persian  custom,  with  both 
hands,  and  accompanied  by  remarks  as  to  your  nobility, 
may  either  be  purchased  at  the  extravagant  price  of  a 
penny,  or,  since  it  probably  cost  the  giver  nothing,  may 
simply  be  acknowledged  by  a  wish  that  the  Lord  will 
eternally  grant  the  orange-grower  protection.  The 
unskilled  wayfarer  had  very  much  better  go  cautiously, 
at  all  events  until  he  has  learnt  the  different  way  in 
which  gratitude,  politeness,  and  such  virtues  are  looked 
upon  in  Persia,  and  the  precise  value  they  possess. 
Otherwise  he  wiU  find  himself  drinking  tea  and  eating 
sour  oranges  until  he  becomes  extremely  unwell,  and 
distributing  unnecessary  rewards  with  a  prodigality 
which,  apart  from  its  proving  a  serious  matter  to  him- 
self, spoils  the  market  for  those  who  come  after  him. 
Let  him  not  be  afraid  ;  the  Persian  will  not  be  offended 


THE  KOTALS  65 

at  his  refusing  what  appears  to  be  a  gratuitous  kind- 
ness. The  '  gratuitous  '  kindness  is  a  speculation,  and 
it  has  not  come  off.     That  is  all. 

So  I  smiled  politely  at  the  little  vase  of  tea,  and 
said  :  *  Your  goodness  is  too  great  *  {Marhmat-i-Shuma 
ziyad) ;  whereupon  the  soldier  who  offered  it  smiled 
back  and  returned  :  '  God  give  you  protection '  {Khuda 
Hafiz). 

One  thing  is  certain  ;  however  much  the  traveller 
may  be  swindled  by  the  cunning  of  the  Persian,  he 
must  be  charmed  by  their  courtesy,  and  the  *  fleecing ' 
operation  loses  much  of  its  unpleasantness  if  it  is 
conducted  in  so  delightful  a  manner. 

Just  over  the  top  of  the  pass,  Kumarij  itself  came 
into  view  from  behind  a  bluff ; — a  mass  of  little  mud 
huts,  a  couple  of  stone  buildings,  and  a  sprinkling  of 
date-palms.  Here  is  the  usual  '  stage,'  but  I  had 
determined  to  push  on  to-day  as  far  as  I  could,  for 
to-morrow  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  visit  Shahpur, 
the  first  of  the  great  relics  of  the  past  which  it  was  to 
be  my  fortune  to  see  during  my  travels. 

Lord  Curzon  advises  the  traveller,  on  his  way  from 
the  Gulf,  who  wishes  to  spend  a  day  among  these 
ruins  to  take  his  night's  rest  at  Kumarij,  '  starting 
from  there  very  early  in  the  morning  in  order  to  have 
a  long  day  at  Shahpur,  where  there  is  no  accommoda- 
tion, and  to  get  at  nightfall  to  Kazerun.'  To  my  mind 
the  day  would  be  altogether  too  short  for  this  plan, 
and  would  allow  of  so  little  time  at  the  ruins  and  entail 
so  late  an  arrival  at  Kazerun  that  the  whole  business 
would  be  unsatisfactory.  When  I  was  on  the  spot 
myself  I  made  a  note  of  how  best  it  seemed  to  me  a 
visit  to  the  ancient  city  might  be  arranged,  and  I  will 
quote  here  what  I  wrote  then  :  '  Press  on  from 
Kumarij  over  the  long  plain  through  the  abominable 

5 


66  ACROSS  PERSIA 

stony  pass  of  Tang-i-Turkan,  down  a  sloping  gorge 
strewn  with  rocks,  boulders,  pebbles,  every  variety  of 
geological  impediment,  into  the  plain  of  Kazerun. 
There,  where  the  road  leads  round  to  the  east,  you 
will  see  below  you,  just  as  you  pass  a  small  useless- 
looking  round  tower,  a  river  running  through  the 
valley  beneath.  Behind  the  hill  you  have  just  passed 
is  a  picturesque  little  village  set  in  a  green  oasis. 
There  you  can  get  a  chicken — but  I  got  no  eggs — and 
if  you  descend  straight  down  to  the  river  below,  and 
by  it  pitch  a  camp,  you  will  be  at  no  loss  for  water. 
You  will,  moreover,  be  near  enough  to  the  aforesaid 
hamlet  to  obtain  easily  supplies,  and  far  enough  away 
to  avoid  being  bothered  by  its  inhabitants.  In  my 
tent,  pitched  close  beside  the  running  water,  I  am 
writing  these  words,  and,  starting  hence  early,  I 
propose  to-morrow  to  visit  the  ruins,  which  should 
only  be  about  six  miles  distant.  I  shall  send  my 
luggage  straight  on  to  Kazerun,  about  twelve  miles  off, 
where  I  hope  to  rejoin  my  caravan  at  nightfall.' 

Should  the  traveller  have  no  means  of  camping,  he 
would  surely  obtain  accommodation — of  a  kind — in  the 
little  village  not  far  from  my  camping-ground. 

I  used  to  find  that  the  time  from  my  arrival  after  a 
march  until  (sometimes  late  at  night)  a  meal  was  ready 
was  usefully  employed  in  jotting  down  the  day's 
doings  in  my  diary,  and  perhaps  writing  a  letter  in 
the  hope  that  some  day  soon  it  might  be  posted. 
The  only  way  to  keep  a  journal  on  such  a  pilgrimage 
is  to  put  down  everything  and  thin  out  afterwards ; 
and  so  great  and  small,  insignificant  and  important, 
all  went  down  as  far  as  I  could  set  it  down.  Even 
culinary  matters  were  not  neglected,  as  will  be  seen  by 
the  following  extract : — 

*  By  the  way,  here  is  a  good  way  of  using  up  rice 


THE  KOTALS  67 

over  from  curry  by  making  rice-cakes.  Take  enough 
rice  (already  boiled,  of  course)  to  make  a  couple  of 
round  cakes  4  inches  in  diameter  and  ^  inch  thick. 
Take  also  an  egg  and  beat  it  up.  Then  mix  lightly, 
and  if  the  rice  does  not  cling,  add  more  egg  till 
it  does.  Butter  a  frying-pan,  and  pour  the  rice  out  of 
whatever  it  is  in  into  the  pan  in  two  round,  flat  heaps 
— do  not  mould  it.  Then  let  it  fry  till  you  can  turn 
the  cakes  with  a  knife,  which  do,  and  leave  till  they 
are  brown  and  tasty.  I  am  afraid  the  style  of  my 
recipe  is  not  up  to  Household  Magazine  form  ;  still,  it 
may  be  explicit  enough  to  make  rice-cakes  from,  which 
is,  after  all,  its  object. 

*  My  housekeeping  is  a  most  distributed  affair — 
every  one  offers  suggestions  or  helps,  including 
Stumps,  who  I  have  reason  to  believe  cleans  the 
plates.  .  .  . 

'  I  wish  my  chicken,  now  dead  and,  I  hope,  nearly 
cooked,  would  make  its  appearance  ;  I  want  to  get  to 
bed — as  a  last  resource  to  get  warm.  Ah  I  here 
it  is.' 


5—2 


CHAPTEH  Y 

A    VISIT   TO   THE   PAST 

TOnPOCfinONTOYTOMACAACN  0  Y0EO  Y 

[2]Am2POYBACIAEi2CBACIAEI2N[APIA]NfiN 

KAIANAPIANfiNEKrENOYCeE12[NEKrONOY] 

MAC[AA]CN0YeE0YAPTAKAPCY[PBACIAE12C] 

BACIAE12NAPIANi2NEKrENO[YCeE12N] 

EKrONOYeEOYnAnAKOYBAClA[EfiC]. 

'This  is  the  image  of  the  Ormuzd  -  worshipper,  the  god, 
Shahpur,  King  of  Kings,  Arian  and  non-Arian,  of  the  race  of 
the  gods,  son  of  the  Ormuzd- worshipper,  the  god,  Artakarsur,* 
King  of  Kings  Arian,  of  the  race  of  the  gods,  the  offspring  of 
the  god  Papak  the  King/ 

Copy  and  translation  of  the  inscription  in  PeJdevi  and 
Greek,  on  the  breast  of  Shahpur' s  horse  in  the  rock 
picture  at  Naksh-i-Rejeh. 

The  King  who  gave  his  name  to  the  ancient  city 
which  I  was  to  visit  was  a  mighty  man.  In  his  own 
day  he  was  more — he  was  a  mighty  god.  His  statue, 
which  now  lies  prone  at  the  mouth  of  the  great  cave 
high  up  in  the  cliff  behind  the  ruined  city,  was  once 
worshipped  by  the  Persian  people.  The  inscriptions 
which  stare  out  from  their  panels  in  the  rocky  sides  of 
the  gorge  speak,  not  of  a  man,  but  of  a  deity.  Indeed, 
there  was  more  excuse  for  a  belief  in  the  divinity  of 
Kings  in  those  days  of  unbridled  autocracies  than  in 
these  of  representative  governments  and  limited 
monarchs.     After  all,  it  was  only  a  small  step  down 

*  Ardeshir. 
68 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST  69 

from  the  Olympian  deities  of  Greece  to  the  god 
Shahpur.  There  was  no  little  resemblance  between 
them  —  in  their  tremendous  powers,  their  human 
passions,  their  awe-inspiring  deeds. 

This  Shahpur,  indeed,  was  no  unworthy  rival  of  an 
ancient  deity,  and  it  is  not  incongruous,  when  his 
works  are  known,  to  see  him  figuring  side  by  side  and 
on  equal  terms  with  Jupiter  in  the  rock  pictures  on 
the  cliffs  which  overshadow  the  city  which  he  founded, 
and  vaunting  himself  in  the  language  of  a  god  in  the 
inscriptions  which  record  the  incidents  those  rock 
pictures  represent.  Second  of  the  great  Sassanian 
race  of  Kings,  Shahpur  made  the  middle  of  the  third 
century  after  Christ  a  period  which  rivalled  in  splen- 
dour the  era  of  the  mighty  Achsemenian  monarchs, 
eight  centuries  before.  Resolute,  resourceful,  a  warrior 
and  a  statesman,  letting  no  opposition  and  few  scruples 
stand  in  the  way  of  the  accomplishment  of  his  purpose, 
he  not  only  developed  his  empire  by  conquests  abroad, 
but  established  it  more  firmly  by  reforms  at  home.  He 
had  the  fortune  to  see  a  E-oman  army  and  a  Roman 
Emperor  surrender  to  his  forces,  and  he  had  the  satis- 
faction of  knowing  that  by  his  initiative  his  country's 
material  prosperity  increased  step  by  step  with  its 
fame. 

It  is  scarcely  to  be  wondered  at  that  such  a  King 
wished  to  leave  some  indelible  record  of  his  deeds  for 
the  benefit  of  future  generations.  Shahpur  took  care 
that  he  did  so.  Scattered  up  and  down  the  country 
he  has  left  memorials  that  have  long  withstood,  and 
will  long  withstand,  the  touch  of  time. 

He  founded  stately  cities,  ruined  now,  but  in  their 
decay  almost  more  majestic  than  they  could  have  been 
in  their  prime.  He  chose,  too,  to  depict  the  scenes  of 
his  conquests,  and  the  pictures  still  stand  for  us  to  see. 


70  ACROSS  PERSIA 

It  was  not  paper  or  paint  that  he  trusted  to  tell 
posterity  of  his  great  deeds.  With  magnificent 
inspiration  he  chose  as  his  medium  the  living  rock. 
At  Naksh-i-Rustam  and,  above  all,  at  Shahpur,  his 
own  city,  these  pictures  still  tell  the  tale  of  a  Persian 
King  triumphant  over  a  Roman  Emperor.  The  ruined 
cities  are  not  less  impressive  than  other  such  monu- 
ments of  the  past ;  but  it  is  these  deep-hewn  illustra- 
tions of  a  bygone  page  of  history  that  most  keenly 
impress  the  senses  and  appeal  to  the  imagination.  .  .  . 

A  wild  picture  of  Nature's  majesty  and  uncouth 
human  art  strikes  the  eye  at  the  approach  to  the  city 
of  Shahpur.  From  up  the  gorge  dashes  between 
banks  thick  with  undergrowth  and  stunted  trees  a 
beautiful  torrent  of  water  leaping  and  sparkling  in  the 
sunlight.  There  by  the  side  of  the  stream  stand  out 
in  the  morning  sunlight  the  old  rock  pictures;-— 
Valerian  trampled  underfoot  by  the  Persian  monarch ; 
— the  captives  with  their  look  of  infinite  pathetic 
resignation,  marvellously  portrayed  in  the  time-worn 
stone  ; — Ormuzd  and  Narses  on  their  chargers,  meeting 
with  set  lips  and  outstretched  hands,  all  beneath 
towering  cliffs  of  rugged  grandeur. 

What  of  the  ancient  city  itself?  Stones,  white 
stones,  acres  upon  acres  of  stones  in  irregular  lines, 
squares,  oblongs — only  stones.  That  is  all.  Here  is 
a  half-dilapidated  wall ;  there  what  might  have  been 
a  cellar ;  but  everywhere — stones,  level  with  the 
ground.  This  is  the  royal  city,  the  city  of  the  king- 
god.  The  goats  climb  among  its  ruins,  weeds  fill  the 
crannies  of  what  walls  remain,  bushes  people  the 
courts  where  once  feasted  the  retinues  of  Kings. 
Right  and  left  above  the  gorge,  looking  over  the  white 
stone  fields,  stand  the  mouldering  ruins  of  two  sentinel 
forts — the  Towers  of  the  Son  and  Daughter.    Beneath, 


'^.«.^''-;'^^-','*^" '«,^ir  ^.^;"     — 

4mS'^-      JjL      m 

M^^^Qm. 

JL^'  '-''1 

A '  ^i 

r 

fe 

n 

■^^^^jjgi^^H 

Thk  Statue  in  thk  Great  Cave  at  Shahpur. 


Ormuzd  and  Narses     SllAHrUR. 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST 


71 


ever  gazing  upon  the  sparkling  stream  as  they  gazed 
when  it  sparkled  before  the  eyes  of  the  Princes  and 
people  of  old,  stand  out  the  rigid  stone  features  of 
those  giant  Kings  and  captives. 

Somehow  it  is  very  sad,  these  graven  survivors  of 
greater  days  staring  out  through  times  of  desolation 
and  decay  ;  staring  out,  still,  on  a  degenerate  people, 


Ruined  Bath 


Ruins 

Plain    of    Kazerun 

ROUGH   MAP   Oy   SHAHPUR. 

a  ruined  city,  a  fallen  nation ;  doomed  to  stare  on, 
whatever  may  come.  The  irony,  too,  how  pathetic  ! — 
that  proud  King  trampling  underfoot  the  Emperor  of 
the  great  Roman  world,  and  dumbly  watching  the 
ruins  of  his  former  glory  growing  ever  more  desolate, 
the  sons  of  his  great  people  always  descending  the 
scale  of  mankind,  his  pomp  and  power  growing  per- 
petually more  remote  and  more  unreal. 


72  ACROSS  PERSIA 

The  city  is  situated  in  the  plain  of  Kazerun,  close 
under  the  range  of  mountains  which  borders  it  on  the 
north-east  side.  Just  behind,  the  hills  are  cleft  by 
the  great  ravine,  down  which  runs  the  Shahpur  Biver, 
and  on  whose  walls  are  engraved  the  six  rock  pictures. 
The  city  stretches  over  more  than  a  square  mile  of 
ground,  and  was  evidently  surrounded  by  moats  on 
the  south-west  and  south-east.  The  north-east  side 
runs  close  up  to  the  hill  upon  which  the  Tower  of 
the  Daughter  {Kileh-i-Dohhter)  was  built,  and  the 
north-west  extremity  is  bounded  irregularly  by  the 
river. 

The  ravine  behind  leads  through  into  a  little  plain 
lying  like  a  waterless  lake,  surrounded  by  great 
mountains.  On  the  side  of  one  of  these  mountains, 
high  up,  there  is  a  small  black  dot.  That  is  the 
entrance  to  the  cave  of  Shahpur,  at  the  mouth  of 
which  lies  prostrate  the  great  statue  of  the  King. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  I  arrived  at  the  ruins, 
after  an  hour  and  a  half  s  ride  over  the  plain  which 
lay  between  them  and  my  camp — we  could  not  find  a 
guide,  or  perhaps  the  journey  might  have  been  a 
shorter  one.  After  passing  into  the  entrance  of  the 
gorge,  from  which  the  four  northern  pictures  were 
plainly  visible,  we  suddenly  came  upon  the  two 
southern  ones,  those  of  Shahpur  triumphant  over 
Valerian  and  of  Shahpur,  Valerian,  and  Cyriadis  with 
the  royal  body-guard. 

The  hand  of  time,  aided  by  the  hand  of  man  in  the 
shape  of  the  ruthless  Mahometan  invader,  who  in  the 
eighth  century  overran  the  land  and  desecrated  and 
despoiled  all  he  encountered,  has  sadly  mutilated  the 
great  Persian  works  of  art  which  have  been  left  to  us 
from  early  days.  With  all  their  savage  iconoclasm, 
however,  neither  time  nor  the  Mahometans  have  been 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST  7S 

able  to  rob  the  pictures  at  Shahpur  of  their  magnifi- 
cence, their  beauty,  and,  in  some  cases,  their  pathos. 

In  the  picture  which  shows  the  Persian  King 
triumphant  over  the  Roman  Emperor  Valerian,  the 
figure  of  the  suppliant  Roman  kneeling  before  the 
horse  of  the  conquering  Persian  still  conveys  with  its 
outstretched  arm  the  whole  idea  of  a  passionate  appeal 
for  mercy.  Over  against  it  on  the  other  side  of  the 
stream,  the  Captives,  despite  the  brutal  treatment 
which  has  been  accorded  them  by  the  aqueduct  which 
a  later  age  has  run  straight  through  the  centre  of  the 
picture,  still  preserve  their  atmosphere  of  plaintive 
submission.  The  processions  in  the  triumphal  investi- 
ture of  Cyriadis  of  Antioch  are  redolent  of  pomp  and 
power.  Where  Narses  is  represented  in  the  act  of 
receiving  the  cydaris  or  royal  emblem  from  Ormuzd, 
the  god  of  the  ancient  Persians,  the  faces  of  both, 
with  their  strong  features  and  compressed  lips,  still 
bespeak  a  sacred  majesty.  Even  the  last  of  the  six 
tablets,  half  obscured,  as  it  is,  by  a  bushy,  dark  green 
tree,  still  conveys  a  living  idea,  with  its  crowd  of 
Persian  nobles,  and,  above,  King  Chosroes  himself  and 
his  Court. 

It  did  not  take  me  long  to  make  up  my  mind  that 
in  the  few  hours  that  were  at  my  disposal  justice  could 
not  be  done  to  Shahpur.  I  therefore  determined  to 
come  back  from  Kazerun  and  camp  among  the  ruins 
for  two  or  three  days.  To-day  I  commenced  by 
fording  the  stream,  which  divides  itself  into  two 
channels  round  a  long  islet  straight  opposite  the 
sculptures  on  the  north  wall  of  the  rock.  This  islet 
forms  the  best  position  from  which  to  take  photo- 
graphs of  the  rock  tablets,  and  I  spent  some  little 
time  obtaining  what  turned  out  to  be  very  satisfactory 
pictures.     Down  each  side  of  the  gorge  runs  an  old 


74  ACROSS  PERSIA 

aqueduct  carved  out  of  the  rock.  These  aqueducts 
are  evidently  of  a  much  later  date  than  the  rock 
pictures  themselves,  and  it  is  that  on  the  north  side 
which  so  cruelly  defaces  one  of  the  sculptures.  It  is 
big  enough  for  a  man  to  crawl  through  where  it 
burrows  into  the  rock,  and,  making  my  way  on  my 
hands  and  knees,  I  followed  it  beyond  the  pictures, 
until  I  eventually  came  out  into  the  open  again,  and 
met  a  hill  tribesman,  who  said  he  could  show  me 
where  the  great  cave  was.  There  was  no  time  to-day, 
so  I  told  him  to  return  in  two  days. 

Next  I  climbed  the  north  wall  of  the  Kileh-i-Dokhter, 
scrambling  up  the  steep  slope,  with  its  massive  walls 
ten  and  more  feet  thick,  till  I  attained  the  summit  and 
a  magnificent  view. 

At  noon,  time  would  allow  of  no  longer  delay,  and 
we  had  to  set  off  for  Kazerun,  about  fifteen  miles 
distant  to  the  south-east.  The  sun  had  set,  and  the 
night  was  closing  in  before,  following  the  telegraph 
wires  (a  sure  way,  it  may  not  be  superfluous  to  remark, 
of  reaching  the  telegraph  rest-house),  we  came  to  our 
destination. 

Thus  we  left  for  the  present  the  wild  valley  with 
its  walls  of  scarred,  barren  hills  merging  into  the 
dusk,  and  entered  the  little  city,  which  rose  in  islets 
of  house-tops  and  palm-trees  out  of  the  misty  blue  sea 
of  its  own  smoke,  looking  in  the  half-light  like  some 
phantom  mirage. 

Two  days  later  I  found  myself  back  at  Shahpur, 
and  pitched  my  camp  by  a  ruined  building  just 
through  the  mouth  of  the  gorge  and  in  the  opening  of 
the  little  lake-like  valley  beyond.  This  was  the  day 
on  which  I  had  decided  to  visit  Shahpur's  cave  in  the 
mountains.  Of  course  my  guide  was  not  there  ;  it 
would  have  been  against  Persian  principles  if  he  had 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST  75 

been.  This,  however,  was  not  going  to  deter  me  from 
my  project,  and  at  nine  o'clock  Saif,  my  muleteer,  a 
pony  laden  with  various  accessories,  and  I  myself 
sallied  forth. 

South-eastwards  we  plodded  along  the  valley,  till, 
after  going  something  over  a  mile,  high  above  us  and 
slightly  in  front,  there  appeared  a  dark  mouth-shaped 
opening  in  the  rock.  Close  on  our  left  under  the 
mountain  were  the  black  tents  of  some  Iliats,  and 
hoping  to  find  the  faithless  Jowal — our  errant  guide — 
we  made  for  this.  No,  he  was  not  there,  but  they 
knew  of  him.  While  the  others  waited  for  him  to  be 
brought,  Saif  and  I  went  on  a  wild-goose  chase. 

Looking  up  the  face  of  the  cliff  from  below,  we  had 
seen  a  panel-like  piece  of  rock  which  seemed,  from 
where  we  were,  strangely  like  another  rock  picture. 
Field-glasses  did  not  aid  us  to  decide  what  it  was,  and 
so  we  set  out  to  climb  up  and  discover  for  ourselves. 
After  700  feet  of  the  most  atrocious  scrambling,  we 
found  it  was  nothing  more  than  an  effort  of  Nature, 
and  wiping  our  perspiring  brows,  we  pretended  that 
we  were  well  rewarded  for  our  climb  by  the  magnificent 
view. 

In  front  and  far  below  ran  the  river,  and  beyond  was 
a  huge  green  amphitheatre  of  verdant  land  dotted  with 
little  trees  sloping  gently  up  to  the  bleak  surrounding 
semicircle  of  hills  behind.  To  the  south-east — that  is, 
at  the  opposite  end  of  the  gorge  to  that  in  which  lay 
my  little  camp  —  there  was  an  abrupt  break,  and 
through  this  we  could  see  a  plain  beyond  with  still 
the  same  river  wandering  through  it.  Beyond  that, 
again,  rose  still  more  mighty  hills,  backed  by  one 
round- topped  giant  of  many  thousand  feet,  on  whose 
crest  glistened  a  belt  of  snow.  Above  us  the  cliffs 
rose  sheer  a  thousand  feet,  scarred  and  pitted  with 


76  ACROSS  PERSIA 

caves,  cut  by  break-neck  torrent  courses,  and  stretching 
away  past  our  cave,  a  mile  away,  till  they  hung  sheer 
over  the  further  gorge. 

In  Persia  a  valuable  maxim  is  that  if  you  ever  wish 
to  finish  anything  you  must  begin  early,  and  now  time 
was  precious ;  so  as  soon  as  our  breath  was  regained, 
we  had  to  be  off.  We  had  the  choice  either  of 
scrambling  back  the  way  we  had  come,  walking  along 
the  valley  and  again  ascending  the  cliifs  to  the  cave, 
or  of  picking  a  difiicult  and  arduous  way  straight  along 
the  side  of  the  mountain  to  the  little  black  opening 
that  was  our  destination.  We  chose  the  latter  course, 
and  it  need  hardly  be  said  we  afterwards  cursed  our- 
selves for  doing  so.  Of  two  bad  things,  the  one 
chosen  invariably  seems  the  worst,  and  until  the 
time,  situated,  alas !  somewhere  between  the  Greek 
kalends  and  the  millennium,  when  it  will  be  possible 
to  try  both  of  two  alternatives  and  compare  the 
results,  this  unfortunate  state  of  things  will  have  to 
continue. 

We  had  at  all  events  the  benefit  of  an  exciting, 
if  somewhat  unpleasant,  experience  during  our  climb. 
The  way  we  chose  lay  close  under  absolutely  precipi- 
tous cliffs,  and  as  we  were  crossing  a  moraine  above 
which  the  jagged  line  of  rock  was  broken  by  a  dry 
watercourse,  suddenly  there  came  a  swiftly  swelling, 
thundering  noise  from  aloft,  a  pause,  and  then  between 
us  there  plunged  a  huge  stone,  which  pitched  among 
the  scattered  stones  with  a  crash,  and  dashed  headlong 
down  the  slope  beneath.  Just  as  I  looked  up,  down 
came  another  boulder,  to  be  shattered  on  the  rocks 
behind  us.  I  did  not  wait  to  further  investigate  what 
was  happening,  but,  as  fast  as  was  possible  over  such 
abominable  ground,  scrambled,  followed  by  Saif,  to  a 
place  where  the  overhanging  cliifs  sheltered  us  from 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST  77 

farther  danger.  As  we  made  our  way  thither,  rock 
after  rock  came  hurtling  down,  till  the  valley  echoed 
with  the  roar.  Once  we  were  in  safety,  I  looked  up, 
trying  to  ascertain  what  it  all  meant.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  seen,  and  Saif,  when  a  partial  recovery 
of  his  breath  made  it  possible,  gasped  :  '  This,  sir,  is 
some  terrible  cataclasm  of  Nature.'  (Saif  never  used 
a  short  word  when  a  long  one  would  do,  and  his 
inventive  genius  always  came  to  the  rescue  if  by  any 
chance  his  memory  was  deficient.  I  remember  once  I 
found  him  putting  a  blanket  over  my  horse  when  it 
seemed  to  be  entirely  unnecessary  to  do  so.  *  Saif,'  I 
said,  *  w^hy  put  the  blanket  on  the  pony  V  '  Sir,'  he 
said  solemnly,  'your  horse  is  extremely  perspirited.' 
I  have  entered  the  word  in  my  dictionary.) 

Saif  s  *  cataclasm '  did  not  seem  to  be  a  plausible  or 
sufficient  reason  for  what  had  occurred,  and,  indeed, 
was  still  occurring,  so,  pulling  out  a  pistol  which  I 
always  had  on  me,  and  which  I  knew  carried  a 
considerable  distance,  I  fired  a  shot  at  the  top  of  the 
precipice  whence  the  avalanches  of  rock  had  come.  I 
fancy  I  was  right,  and  that,  in  spite  of  Saif's  protest 
that  *  no  man  would  be  possible  to  hurl  such  terrific 
things,'  human  agency  had  at  all  events  started  them 
in  their  course,  for  after  my  little  warning  the  '  cata- 
clasms '  ceased. 

Speaking  generally,  the  dangers  of  Persia  are  largely 
a  matter  of  the  imagination  and  of  the  past.  Time 
was  when  the  country  was  infested  with  savage  hordes, 
and  by  no  means  destitute  of  dangerous  beasts ;  but 
to-day  the  savage  hordes  have  dwindled  to  an  occasional 
robber,  or  a  still  more  occasional  band  of  raiders,  and  the 
sportsman  will  complain  rather  of  the  scarcity  than  of 
the  profusion  of  big  game.  Even  in  Tavernier's  day  the 
place  had  become  fairly  free  from  dangers  of  this  latter 


78  ACROSS  PERSIA 

kind.  *  Some  parts  of  Persia,'  he  says,  *are  perplex'd  alfo 
with  wild  beafts,  as  Lyons,  Bears,  and  Leopards,  but 
there  are  but  very  few ;  nor  have  we  heard  that  ever 
they  did  any  great  mifchief.'  To-day  the  lion  is  a  thing 
of  the  past,  and  the  bear  and  the  leopard,  unless  he  is 
in  a  tight  corner,  will  not  generally  attack  a  man  if  the 
man  does  not  first  provoke  him.  There  are  stories 
even  to-day  of  old  women  who  have  been  snatched 
from  the  middle  of  a  caravan  by  some  marauding 
lion,  but  I  fancy  that  if  an  old  woman  vanishes,  the 
Persian  imagination  is  by  no  means  unequal  to  pro- 
viding a  dramatic  reason  for  her  disappearance,  and 
though  lions  are  still  said  to  live,  and  certainly  do  so, 
in  the  fertile  Persian  mind,  it  is  a  suspicious  fact  that 
they  are  never  seen  dead. 

As  regards  the  danger  from  human  sources,  I  never 
found  that  the  Persians  were  in  any  way  ready  to 
show  themselves  actively  hostile  to  a  foreigner.  They 
do  not  love  the  Englishman,  looking  upon  him,  as  they 
do,  as  a  somewhat  offensive  intruder,  whose  presence 
augurs  them  no  good ;  but,  as  I  have  said,  they  usually 
respect  his  powers,  both  physical  and  mental.  They 
are,  however,  far  more  like  Europeans  than  are  other 
Eastern  nations,  such  as,  for  instance,  the  Hindoos, 
and  their  sturdy  independence  and  sporting  spirit 
make  them  men  who  can,  if  they  like,  be  excellent 
friends  or  formidable  foes.  The  sporting  instinct, 
though  scarcely  on  quite  the  same  plan  as  an  English- 
man s,  is  very  captivating.  It  is  the  predominant 
trait  in  the  Persian  character,  and  sometimes  leads 
him  into  difficulties.  To  a  man  with  a  rifle  the  small 
white  insulators  on  the  telegraph-poles  must  always 
offer  a  most  tempting  mark,  and  for  a  long  time  the 
Persian  was  utterly  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  to 
try  his  skill  upon  them.     But  this  sport  is  not  good 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST  79 

for  telegraph-wires,  and  after  a  time  it  had  to  be 
discontinued.  It  was  naturally  impossible  to  take 
measures  against  every  individual  Persian  ragamuffin 
who,  in  the  comfortable  solitude  of  the  desert,  chose 
to  have  a  little  practice  in  marksmanship,  and  so  the 
only  way  was  to  make  the  chief  men  of  the  district 
responsible.  This  is  a  most  efficient  way  of  appealing 
to  the  Persian  sense  of  law  and  order,  and  after  a  time 
the  little  white  insulators  were  left  in  peace. 

It  is  the  sporting  instinct  more  than  any  actual 
dislike  to  the  traveller  that  leads  the  shepherd,  as  he 
'  homeward  plods  his  weary  way,'  inspired  by  the 
sight  of  a  small  white  tent  in  the  distance,  to  loose  off 
a  shot  thereat,  as  he  has  before  now  done  when  I  have 
been  inside  it.  In  fact,  our  dear  Persian  child -man  is  a 
very  good  fellow  if  he  is  taken  in  the  right  way,  and  in 
few  cases  will  he  attempt  to  do  the  traveller  any  actual 
bodily  injury.  It  is  well,  however,  to  travel  pretty 
well  armed.  The  Persian  rifles  cannot  compete  with 
modern  arms,  and  the  sight  of  a  good  weapon  inspires 
a  remarkable  amount  of  respect  for  the  owner. 

If  the  Persian  is  fairly  scrupulous  as  regards  persons, 
he  is  no  respecter  of  things.  His  views  on  property 
would  be  received  with  marked  disapproval  in  this 
country,  his  maxim  being  that  '  God  helps  those  who 
help  themselves,'  which  precept  he  follows  out  by 
helping  himself  to  anything  he  can  lay  his  hands  on. 

At  Shahpur  we  had  a  little  experience  of  this,  for 
one  morning  my  servant,  Kishna,  came  to  me  with 
a  look  of  horror  and  penitence,  which  in  an  Indian 
servant  invariably  betokens  that  something  has  gone 
wrong.  *  Sahib,'  he  said,  'there  has  been  a  robber.' 
Visions  of  rifles  stolen,  of  my  little  store  of  money 
gone,  flashed  through  my  mind.  But  it  was  not  so 
bad  as  all  that.     The  man  had  apparently  entered  the 


80  ACROSS  PERSIA 

servants'  tent  while  they  were  there  asleep,  and  taken 
at  random  all  that  he  could  find  and  dispose  of.  The 
net  *swag,'  therefore,  was  found  to  consist  of  all  the 
kitchen  utensils,  some  eggs,  and  a  pair  of  putties. 
Not  a  robbery  on  a  very  large  scale !  The  kitchen 
utensils,  indeed,  were  a  very  serious  matter,  and 
raised  a  grave  problem ;  but  our  robber  was  a  gentle- 
manly fellow.  Having  no  possible  use  for  kitchen 
utensils,  when  he  discovered  what  they  were,  he 
considerately  put  them  by  the  river,  where  they  were 
discovered  the  morning  after. 

At  the  beginning  of  this  digression  I  left  Saif  and 
myself  perspiring  under  a  precipice  near  the  cave 
of  Shahpur.  We  plodded  on,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  we  at  last  found  ourselves  just  beneath  the 
cave,  whence  we  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
muleteer  and  the  Iliats — mere  specks  below.  In  an 
hour  they  were  with  us,  and  we  were  ready  to  effect 
the  last  precipitous  ascent  to  the  cave  itself.  Though 
this  is  a  steep  climb  of  about  25  feet  up  the  sheer  face 
of  the  rock,  with  a  little  agility  it  is  easy  to  scramble 
to  the  top  by  means  of  the  cracks  worn  in  the  stone. 
Once  there,  the  entrance  of  the  cave  gapes  straight 
ahead.  I  walked  up  a  rough  slope,  and  there,  about 
50  yards  down  the  incline  which  descended  into  the 
gloom  of  the  great  caverns,  lay  before  me  a  huge 
uncouth  monster,  torn  from  off  the  rough  stand  where 
still  remained  his  sandalled  feet.  The  body  of  the 
giant  Shahpur  lay  miserably  abject,  the  noseless  face 
turned  upwards,  the  head  sunk  in  the  soft  earth,  its 
luxuriant  curls  buried  ;  his  body  aslant ;  his  legs  a 
few  feet  higher  than  his  head,  and  resting  on  their 
ancient  throne.  The  20 -foot  body  was  clad  in  a  kind 
of  tunic,  crossed  with  two  sashes,  from  one  of  which, 
at   his   left   side,  once  hung  his  sword  ;   an  armless 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST  81 

hand  rested  on  his  right  hip,  while  above,  a  broken 
shoulder  protruded  horribly.  The  left  arm  was  broken 
off  above  the  wrist;  its  hand,  no  doubt,  once  rested 
upon  the  hilt  of  the  sword. 

Thus,  with  mutilated  features  and  fragments  of 
limbs,  lay  Shahpur — the  Ormuzd-worshipper,  the  god, 
Shahpur,  King  of  Kings,  Arian  and  non-Arian,  of  the 
race  of  the  gods,  son  of  the  Ormuzd-worshipper,  the 
god,  Artakarsur,  King  of  Kings. 

There  was  an  impressive  pathos  about  this  great 
grotesque  image,  once  bowed  down  to  and  worshipped 
as  a  god,  now  lying  dishonoured  in  its  lonely  cave 
above  the  ruins  of  a  dead  city.  The  weird  solemnity 
was  heightened  by  the  surroundings.  The  image  was 
set  in  the  centre  of  the  lofty  sloping  hall  which  formed 
the  mouth  of  the  cave  ;  in  front  shone  the  gap  of  blue 
sky  ;  behind,  yawned  the  desolate  gloom  ;  all  around 
lay  the  relics  of  a  dead  civilization — it  was  a  scene  to 
see  by  twilight  in  the  falling  dusk,  with  the  great  King 
looking  like  a  white  giant  against  the  inky  depths 
behind,  and  the  sky-patch  fading  from  crimson  to 
grey.  Then  it  would  not  be  hard  to  imagine  the  dead 
people  of  the  strange  old -world  city  stealing  from  the 
uncanny,  musty  nooks  within  to  do  reverence  to 
Shahpur.  The  natives  fear  this  place ;  they  will  not 
go  there  alone,  and  refuse  altogether  to  enter  the 
black  recesses  of  the  cave.  Nor  is  it  hard  to  under- 
stand their  feelings,  for  well  might  this  chasm  with 
its  ruined  tanks,  huge,  damp,  tomb-like  halls,  and  long, 
evil-smelling  passages,  be  the  abode  of  ghosts,  as  it  is 
of  bats  and  strange  owlish  birds. 

The  men  I  was  with,  tufangchis  and  Iliats,  were,  in 
fact,  in  a  deadly  terror  of  the  cave,  the  dark,  and 
everything  else.  There  were  ghosts,  they  protested, 
and  when  I  did  not  appear  to  set  much  store  by  ghosts, 

6 


ACROSS  PERSIA 


they  told  tales  of  leopards  to  dissuade  me  from  my 
purpose  of  exploring  the  place.  Leopards  were  more 
likely  than  ghosts,  but  neither  seemed  sufficiently 
probable  to  keep  me  from  going  in,  so  I  laughed  at 
their  fears  and  went  on.  After  some  murmuring, 
they  consented  to  follow  me,  and  when,  in  the  centre 
of  the  great  subterranean  hall  which  I  found  within,  I 
fired  off  a  flashlight  in  order  to  obtain  a  photograph. 


Lcwest  point  in  Cave 
say  50  ft.  lower  than  ttie 
passage  next  on  the 
left,(S  100  ft.  lower  ttjan 
ttie  Entrance. 


Mouth  of  Caye 
leading  to 

CLIFF 


N 

\ 


2W 


Scale  (Roughly)  in  Yards. 
THE    CAVE  AT   SHAHPUE. 

they  recovered  their   spirits   to   quite    a   remarkable 
extent ; — but  they  were  very  glad  to  get  out. 

As  Lord  Curzon  remarks  that  the  cave  has  never 
been  properly  explored,  and  as  I  can  vouch  for  the  fact 
that  I  went  into  every  penetrable  corner,  it  may  be 
worth  while  giving  in  full  the  description  I  wrote  at 
the  time. 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST  83 

'Passing  the  statue,  at  about  100  yards  from  the 
entrance  there  is  a  small  depression,  on  the  far  side  of 
which  is  situated  an  old  tank.  Fifty  yards  further 
on  gapes  a  huge  pit,  from  whose  slopes  there  branch 
numerous  dark  passages.  The  only  one  on  the  left 
hand  leads  immediately  into  a  circular  hall,  apparently 
untouched  by  man,  about  50  yards  in  diameter.  The 
next,  immediately  ahead,  begins  as  a  broad  passage,  in 
which  are  the  remains  of  another  and  smaller  ruined 
tank,  behind  which  the  passage  branches,  only  to 
reunite  after  a  few  yards  and  lead  into  a  small  hall,  at 
the  far  end  of  which  two  narrow  passages  run  a  short 
distance  into  the  rock,  that  to  the  left  coming  to  a 
stop  rather  sooner  than  the  one  on  the  right.  All  the 
way  along  the  right-hand  side  of  the  great  pit  there 
branch  off  passages  which  lead  into  a  huge,  lofty  hall, 
sloping  steeply  down  to  a  depression  which  must  some 
time  have  been  an  underground  lake.  This  hall, 
after  descending  precipitously  for  about  50  yards, 
rises  again  steeply,  and,  continuing  for  some  distance, 
ends  in  various  short  ramifications.  To  explore  this 
part  needs  much  scrambling  over  greasy  ground, 
and  involves,  generally,  several  slips  and  falls.  The 
great  hall  must,  from  end  to  end,  be  300  or  400 
yards  in  length,  and  in  places  fully  100  feet  high. 
The  last  or  right-hand  passage  from  the  pit,  that 
nearest  the  entrance,  does  not  lead  into  the  hall,  but, 
running  uphill  for  about  100  yards,  ends  in  a  chamber 
whose  roof  is  blackened,  apparently  by  smoke  or  some 
chemical  agency,  and  in  the  centre  of  which  is  a  large 
irregular  stone.  Throughout  the  cave  the  formation 
is  stalactite,  and  on  the  far  slope  of  the  great  hall  rise 
two  or  three  pillars  thus  constructed  by  Nature. 
»  *  The  soil  is  singularly  soft  and  loose  notwithstanding 
its  dampness,  and  does  not  make  mud.     It  is  dotted 

6—2 


84  ACROSS  PERSIA 

in  places  with  mushroom-like  stone  *  flowers/  having 
round  white  centres  fringed  with  frosty  irregularities. 
There  are  in  the  bottom  of  the  dry,  subterranean  lake 
fragments  of  coarse  pottery,  which  also  are  found  up 
the  near  slope,  which  seems  to  partake  of  the  nature 
of  a  rubbish-heap.  Bones  lie  about,  and  in  places  are 
curious  remains  of  what  appears  to  be  some  extremely 
light  burnt  substance. 

*  The  cave  would  seem  to  have  been  used  as  a  place 
of  worship,  and,  I  should  say,  possibly  as  a  place  of 
interment  or  cremation.  Probably  it  was  the  home  of 
a  few  priests,  but  beyond  this  does  not  appear  to  have 
felt  the  touch  of  man.  The  galleries  are  all  natural, 
and  there  are  no  signs  of  human  work  save  the  statue 
at  the  entrance  and  the  two  tanks,  which  were  pre- 
sumably used  for  ceremonial  ablutions  or  possibly  for 
washing  the  dead.  There  were  no  evidences  of  recent 
exploration  save  a  couple  of  names  (one  "Hyde,  1821 ") 
cut  on  the  statue.  I  made  a  rough  map  of  the  cave, 
and  I  think  I  explored  every  part  of  it ;  the  '  ramifica- 
tions '  spoken  of  by  Lord  Curzon  did  not,  I  am  afraid, 
repay  the  trouble  of  scrambling  along  them.' 

With  a  curious  feeling  of  depression  I  came  out,  as 
it  were  from  a  gloomy  vault  into  the  fresh  outside 
air  again.  It  was  sunset,  and  the  dark  was  rapidly 
closing  in ; — there  was  no  time  to  be  lost  in  making 
our  descent  to  the  plain.  We  each  took  our  own  path, 
and  when  I  got  to  the  bottom  I  found  myself  alone. 
By  this  time  night  was  close  at  hand,  and  I  set  off 
towards  the  distant  camp,  hoping  to  get,  at  all  events, 
in  sight  of  the  camp-fire  before  it  was  quite  dark. 
Alas !  I  had  no  such  luck.  Before  I  had  turned  the 
bluffs  between  myself  and  my  little  encampment,  the 
night  had  fallen  like  a  velvet  curtain.  There  is  nothing 
affiicts  a  man  with  such  a  sense  of  impotence  as  being 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST  85 

alone  in  a  strange  place  in  absolute  darkness.     The 
brain  becomes  bewildered,  and  the  simplest  problems 
seem  blankly  impossible  of  solution.     I  blundered  and 
fell  about  among  ruins  and  little  ridges  until  at  last 
I  felt,  with  a  sort  of  helpless  annoyance,  that  I  was 
actually  lost  not  a  mile  from  home.     The  blackness 
had  a  kind  of  impenetrable  solidity  ;  I  felt  my  way  a 
foot  at  a  time,  until  at  last  I  fell  into  a  river.     This 
pleased  me,  because  now,  I  imagined,  I  had  only  to 
follow  the  river  and  I  should  reach  camp.     I  endea- 
voured to  keep  by  the  stream  ;  but  the  hills  closed  in, 
masses  of  bushes  suddenly  appeared,  and  soon  further 
progress  was  impossible.     Shahpur  has  an  unenviable 
reputation  for  its  robbers,   and   hitherto   I   had   not 
shouted,  because  I  did  not  know  what  species  of  person 
my  shouts  would  bring  to  me.     But  it  now  appeared 
impossible  for  me  to  find  my  way  home  unguided,  so  I 
shouted,  hoping  that  the  people  whose   attention  I 
might  attract  would  not  be  two  extremely  ruflBanly- 
looking  men  whom  I  had  met  just  before  nightfall,  and 
who  had  showed  a  disposition  to  refuse  to  let  me  pass, 
only  being  overcome  by  a  show  of  placid  miscompre- 
hension upon  my  part.     I  might  have  made  my  mind 
quite  easy  ;  my  shouts  brought  no  one  at  all.     Then  I 
sat  down  and  thought.    If  I  could  keep  within  reason- 
able distance  of  the  river  and  go  in  the  same  direction 
I  was  bound  to  reach  camp,  so  I  crawled  up  the  slope 
on  my  right  until,  to  my  joy,  I  found  a  flat  piece  of 
ground,  along  which  I  stumbled.    Just  as  I  was  begin- 
ning to  wonder  if  I  was  going  in  the  right  direction 
after  all,  from  behind  the  black  hill  (no  blacker,  indeed, 
than  the  night  itself)  there  suddenly  came  into  sight 
the  tiny  dot  of  a  fire,  flashing  on  my  bewildered  brain 
like  a  ray  of  sunshine.     All  that  remained  was  never 
to  lose  sight  of  that  light,  and  I  made  a  bee-line  for  it 


86  ACROSS  PERSIA 

over  every  sort  of  obstacle,  reaching  it  at  last  after 
about  half  an  hour.  I  found  that  the  others  also  were 
lost,  but  they,  too,  crawled  miserably  in  after  a  little, 
quite  ready  for  the  substantial  meal  which  the  good 
Kishna  had  thoughtfully  prepared. 

During  the  night  there  had  been  sundry  strange 
noises  in  the  darkness,  and  next  morning,  as  Saif  and 
I  were  on  our  way  to  explore  more  thoroughly  the 
great  Fort  of  the  Daughter  which  frowned  down  from 
above  us,  we  found  that  the  dead  body  of  a  donkey, 
left,  as  is  the  Persian  custom,  casually  lying  on  the 
path  a  short  distance  away,  had  been  eaten  by  leopards. 
With  a  regret  that  our  friends  had  not  completely 
finished  off  the  remains  of  the  unfortunate  beast,  we 
set  about  our  rather  arduous  climb  up  to  the  old 
ruins. 

The  fort  stands  on  the  extremity  of  the  lower  or 
south-eastern  rock  wall  of  the  gorge,  and  is  in  an 
advanced  stage  of  decay.  Only  a  few  walls,  the 
remains  of  a  few  rooms,  and  two  or  three  buttresses 
remain,  all  the  rest  being  merely  heaps  of  stones  scat- 
tered down  the  steep  slopes.  Ascending  from  the 
north-west,  among  the  dilapidated  remains  of  walls  on 
that  side  we  found  many  pieces  of  enamel  pottery — 
either  jars  or  tiles.  It  was  beautiful  work ;  the  colours 
were  still  very  rich,  and  ranged  from  dark  blue  to  dark 
green,  passing  all  the  intermediate  stages  of  light 
blues,  bluish-greens,  and  light  greens.  There  were 
also  pieces  of  pure  white  and  a  few  streaky  specimens  ; 
some  of  the  enamel  was  quite  transparent.  Unfortu- 
nately, none  of  the  pieces  were  of  any  size,  and  I 
collected  a  haversack  full  from  this  slope,  the  only  one, 
it  eventually  appeared,  on  which  they  are  to  be  found. 

Presumably,  the  royal  ladies'  apartments  were  here, 
the  more  business-like  portion  of  the  fort  lying  to  the 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST  87 

south-east,  where  are  two  large  and  exceedingly  mas- 
sive buttresses,  the  remains  of  a  strong  wall,  and  a 
block  of  masonry,  within  which  there  must  be  rooms 
to  which  the  entrances  are  now  stopped  by  the  debris 
of  the  other  walls. 

Down  the  cliff  to  the  north-west  run  massive  ram- 
parts, terminating  in  ruined  towers,  while  along  the 
south-eastern  face  must  have  been  carried  tiers  of 
fortifications,  the  ruins  of  which,  interspersed  with 
small,  half-dilapidated  rooms,  cover  the  slopes  on  that 
side. 

In  our  explorations  we  eventually  reached  the  wall, 
buttresses,  and  block  of  masonry  which  have  been 
already  mentioned.  This  is  the  best  preserved  portion 
of  the  fort,  but,  although  in  some  places  the  ruins  are 
upwards  of  50  feet  in  thickness,  no  access  can  be 
obtained  to  the  rooms  which  undoubtedly  must  exist 
in  the  interior.  A  small  depression  on  the  flat,  grass- 
grown  top  of  a  part  of  the  buildings  seemed  to  indicate 
a  subsidence  of  the  roof  of  some  chamber  beneath,  but 
efforts  to  penetrate  this  were  useless. 

The  two  buttresses,  from  the  most  southerly  of  which 
a  great  mass  has  become  detached  and  slopes  at  an 
imminent  angle,  are  very  puzzling  from  their  extreme 
thickness  and  the  absence  of  any  apparent  windows  to 
anything  within.  There  are  the  remains  of  what  look 
like  the  narrow  slits  typical  of  castles  built  in  the  days 
of  bows  and  arrows,  but  they  either  lead  nowhither, 
or  appear  to  be  merely  the  residue  of  further  architec- 
ture which  has  disappeared. 

Rounding  in  our  explorations  the  foot  of  this  portion 
of  the  fort,  there  appeared  still  more  inexplicable 
problems. 

First,  right  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  was  a  curious 
stone  altar,  the  flat  top  of  which  had  been  hollowed 


88  ACROSS  PERSIA 

into  a  kind  of  ^  bath,'  just  large  enough,  as  I  found  by 
trial,  to  contain  the  body  of  a  good-sized  man.  About 
4  feet  high  and  8  feet  long,  the  whole  of  this  had  been 
cut  out  of  the  solid  rock,  and  now  stood  there  on  the 
verge  of  the  precipice,  a  permanent  and  striking 
memorial  of  some  custom  or  ceremony  of  the  past. 

Hard  by  were  other  relics,  which  surely,  I  thought, 
should  have  some  connexion  with  this  solitary  altar. 
Further  up  the  rapidly  ascending  cliff  to  the  north- 
east there  were  other  such  graves  or  *  baths ' ;  but 
these  had  not  the  dignity  of  a  raised  altar,  being 
merely  hollowed  out  of  the  naked  rock.  In  some 
cases  there  was  at  a  corner  a  little  hole  leading  to  a 
cut  channel  in  the  stone,  obviously  for  carrying  off 
fluid  of  some  kind.  Besides  this,  there  were  many 
slightly  raised  '  tables,'  also  fashioned  out  of  the  rock 
itself,  and  looking  like  some  kind  of  memorial  tablets. 

What  are  these  strange  works  ?  For  what  rites  or 
customs  were  they  used  ?  Personally,  I  think  it  prac- 
tically certain  that  these  places  were  used  in  some  way 
for  the  burial  rites  of  the  dead.  My  knowledge  of 
archaeology  is,  unfortunately,  not  sufficient  for  me  to 
offer  any  definite  or  enlightening  opinions  on  the 
subject.  I  can  only  give  facts  and  offer  suggestions 
in  the  hope  that  others  with  greater  knowledge  and 
experience  may  be  able  to  employ  them  usefully. 

The  most  important  point,  and  one  which  affects 
the  whole  question  intimately,  appears  to  be,  How  did 
these  people  of  old  dispose  of  their  dead  ?  Round 
Shahpur  there  are  apparently  no  remains  of  tombs  or 
graveyards,  and  it  is  unlikely  that  all  the  bodies  of 
those  who  died  would  have  been  indiscriminately 
buried  without  any  indication  of  the  place  of  burial. 
This  seems  to  point  to  the  fact  that  the  bodies  were 
not  buried  at  all.     Two  alternatives  remain — exposure 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST  89 

and  cremation.  The  peculiar  open  graves  and  the  flat 
stone  tables  cut  in  the  rock  seem  equally  suited  to 
either  way  of  the  disposal  of  dead  bodies.  Since,  how- 
ever, the  religion  of  the  ancient  Persians  was  fire- 
worship,  and  at  the  time  of  Shahpur  Zoroastrianism, 
recently  revived,  was  probably  enjoying  considerable 
vigour,  it  appears  to  me  that  the  more  likely  sugges- 
tion is  that  the  Sassanian  Persians  burnt  their  dead, 
and  that  these  curious  graves  and  tablets  were  em- 
ployed in  crematory  rites.  The  cave  itself  may  have 
been  used  as  a  religious  temple  and  burning-place,  and 
the  tanks  there  were  probably  sacred  baths.  Possibly, 
indeed,  there  were  lustrations  of  various  kinds  to  be 
performed  before  the  dead  body  was  ready  for  burning, 
in  which  case  the  stone  *  baths  '  and  *  channels  '  by  the 
Fort  of  the  Daughter  were  probably  used  for  this  pur- 
pose, while  the  stone  tables  were  employed  for  the 
offices  of  fire  which  followed. 

While  I  am  talking  of  the  disposal  of  the  dead,  I 
cannot  resist  telling  a  little  story  which  was  recounted 
to  me  by  my  Persian  guide  on  my  journey  to  the  cave. 
A  short  way  up  the  valley  through  which  lies  the  first 
part  of  the  way  there  is  a  smooth  recess  in  a  large 
rock.  '  In  the  old  days,'  said  the  Persian,  pointing  to 
this,  ^  men  lived  for  ever.'  (Why  they  were  not,  there- 
fore, alive  now  he  disdained,  with  true  Persian  dis- 
regard of  sordid  detail,  to  explain.)  Apparently, 
however,  while  under  ordinary  circumstances  their 
lives  never  ended,  it  was  possible  to  put  people  to 
death  by  force  or  starvation.  *  When  a  man  or 
woman  became  very  old  or  helpless,'  went  on  my 
friend,  *  they  became  a  burden  upon  their  families. 
One  of  their  children,  therefore,  when  their  father's  or 
mother's  perpetual  life  began  to  become  tedious  and 
annoying,  used  to  take  their  parent  away  and  quietly 


90  ACROSS  PERSIA 

leave  him  or  her  in  this  cavity  in  the  rock.  It  hap- 
pened one  day  that  a  young  man  was  taking  off  his 
father  in  a  basket  in  order  to  dispose  of  him  in  this 
fashion.  Having  comfortably  settled  him  in  a  corner 
of  the  recess,  the  young  man  prepared  to  depart,  but 
just  as  he  was  going,  he  heard  the  feeble  voice  of  his 
old  father  calling  him  to  stop.  *  Well/  said  the  young 
Persian,  putting  his  head  round  the  corner,  *  what  is 
the  matter  V  *  Are  you  not  going  to  take  away  the 
basket  V  said  the  old  man.  '  No,'  replied  his  son,  *  it 
is  an  old  basket,  and  it  will  not  be  wanted.'  *  Who 
knows,'  was  the  reply,  '  but  that  it  may  come  in  useful 
for  you  one  day  V  This  remark,  they  say,  so  struck 
the  son,  that,  taking  up  the  basket,  he  carried  both  it 
and  his  old  father  home  again,  and  in  that  family  the 
custom  from  that  time  was  discontinued.'  Pity,  after 
all,  in  other  countries  besides  Persia,  is  often  induced 
by  a  reflection  on  self  in  other  less  fortunate  cir- 
cumstances. 

From  the  Fort  of  the  Daughter,  there  lies  spread 
out  before  the  eye  a  magnificent  view  of  the  Kazerun 
Valley.  Like  a  map  the  little  winding  paths  and 
the  watercourses  wander  through  the  landscape,  while 
close  beneath  the  great  wall  stretches  away  the 
bleached  skeleton  of  the  city  of  Shahpur  in  a  confused 
mass  of  endless  white  ruins  pitted  with  the  black 
openings  of  wells. 

Only  two  ruins  catch  the  eye  out  of  all  the  square 
mile  of  dilapidation.  One,  to  the  south,  seems  to  be 
the  remains  of  an  old  fort ;  the  other,  those  of  a  large 
*  bath '  or  '  room.'  This  latter,  which  I  afterwards 
descended  to  inspect,  is  finely  constructed  of  blocks  of 
stone  (4  feet  by  2  feet  by  1  foot),  and  the  north-west 
wall  is  still  almost  entire,  though  I  could  not  discover 
Lord  Curzon's  '  section  of  an  arched  window  and  the 


r-** '^i-z^'i."*'*   ■  •'*^'"'-"'-'^^jSi3»  ' "  -'1 '-, 


Small  Rock  "Altar"  at  Siiahpur. 


The  Fort  ok  the  Daughter— Shahpur. 

(Sho7vi»g  the  stone  ''altar"  at  the  edge  of  the  clijf  on  the  right.) 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST  91 

remains  of  some  bull-headed  capitals,  no  doubt  an 
imitation  of  those  at  Persepolis,  that  probably  once 
supported  an  architrave  or  roof/  True,  on  the  top  of 
the  massive  wall  are  three  formless  projections,  but 
only  by  a  stretch  of  the  imagination  could  they  be 
identified  as  *  bull-headed  capitals/  and  evidences  of  a 
window  there  are  none.  What  appears  most  likely  is 
that  it  once  was  a  *  bath '  or  a  *  room '  for  summer 
residence,  there  being  no  suspicion  of  such  another 
wall  as  that  remaining,  to  face  it  on  the  south-east, 
and  it  being  at  all  events  possible  that  instead  there 
were  steps  down  to  the  level  of  the  floor,  which  is 
sunk  about  20  feet  below  the  ground  level.  The  one 
wall  extant  is  about  40  feet  high,  and,  towering  over 
the  court,  now  overgrown  with  the  dark  green  wych- 
elm,  has  a  melancholy  and  striking  grandeur. 

The  ruined  city  is  everywhere  honeycombed  with 
wells,  or  those  series  of  underground  water-passages 
called  kanats^  usually  about  50  feet  deep.  I  dropped 
my  most  beloved  pipe  down  one  of  these  wells  while 
measuring  it,  so  the  information  cost  me  dear. 

Behind  the  ruined  bath  there  is  a  broad  open  space 
with  a  mound  of  ruins  in  the  centre.  It  is  similar  to 
many  other  such  mounds,  and  it  appears  probable  that 
each  one  is  the  ruins  of  a  house,  and,  were  the  mounds 
excavated,  the  interiors  of  rooms  would  be  laid  bare. 
There  is  now,  however,  no  possibility  of  getting  to 
them,  since  they  have  been  closed  by  the  debris,  as  in 
the  Kileh-i-Dokhter ;  but,  standing  on  the  perfectly 
flat  top  of  one  mound,  I  was  able  to  trace  the  square 
outlines  of  the  old  walls,  ten  feet  thick,  outside 
which  the  ruins  sloped  to  the  ground  in  a  grassy 
incline. 

The  Kileh-i-Dokhter  and  the  objects  which  surround 
it  had  taken  the  whole  day  to  examine.     My  next 


92  ACROSS  PERSIA 

day,  the  last,  was  devoted  to  the  opposite  (north- 
western) side  of  the  gorge,  which,  except  for  its  four 
pictures,  contains  little  that  is  now  of  interest. 

High  aloft,  and  guarding,  with  its  sister  fort  straight 
opposite,  the  portals  of  the  gorge,  stands,  or  rather 
stood,  for  it  is  nothing  more  now  than  a  crumbling 
ruin,  the  Fort  of  the  Son  (^Kileh-i-Pisar).  Far  above 
the  Daughter  it  towers,  and,  alas !  it  is  in  a  far  more 
advanced  stage  of  decay,  for  there  only  remain  a  few 
lines  of  wall  and  two  ruined  towers. 

Clambering  up  the  rough  rock  face,  and  passing  a 
solitary  raised  *  tablet  *  in  the  rock,  we  soon  came  on 
the  ruins  of  the  first  line  of  walls,  a  mere  crumbling 
mass  of  stones,  strewn  with  fragments  of  rude  pottery, 
on  some  pieces  of  which  I  was  able  to  trace  portions  of 
rough  designs. 

At  the  summit  of  the  spur,  on  an  impregnable  bluff, 
stand  the  two  ruined  towers,  almost  overhanging  the 
valley  on  one  side,  a  precipitous  descent  falling  away 
from  the  two  others,  while  the  steep  path  we  came  up 
by  was  guarded  by  line  upon  line  of  mouldering  walls. 
Looking  down,  the  scene  was  magnificent :  first,  the 
gorge  with  its  sparkling  stream  ;  beyond,  the  grey 
ruins  of  the  Daughter's  Fortress,  and  beyond  that, 
again,  the  plain  stretching  away,  a  green  expanse 
streaked  with  wandering,  silver  lines  of  water,  to  the 
hazy  blue  hills  on  the  horizon. 

Paying  a  visit  to  a  place  on  the  slope  whence  the 
people  of  old  must  surely  have  obtained  those  huge 
slabs  of  building  stone,  so  symmetrically  square  and 
oblong  were  the  great  boulders,  T  descended  and  walked 
back  along  the  valley  to  camp. 

It  may  seem  that  I  have  paid  a  disproportionate 
amount  of  attention  to  this  old  city  of  Shahpur;  but  I 
must   confess  that   there  were   few  places  in  Persia 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  PAST  93 

which  more  excited  my  interest  and  awakened  my 
imagination.  I  have,  in  addition,  the  defence  that 
this  place  has  been  strangely  neglected  by  travellers. 
Few  of  the  old  writers  make  any  mention  of  it,  and 
the  attractions  of  its  famous  rival,  Persepolis,  have 
served  to  divert  from  it  that  regard  which  is  undoubt- 
edly its  due.  I  am  certain  that  the  city  and  all  around 
it  would  well  repay  thorough  exploration. 

Much  undoubtedly  remains  to  be  discovered  in  this 
city  of  the  dead.  Up  to  the  present  nothing  has 
apparently  been  done  in  the  way  of  excavating,  yet 
where  so  many  thousand  souls  lived  and  died  there 
must  be  plenty  of  scope  for  such  work,  and  I  strongly 
believe  that  it  would  repay  those  who  undertook  it. 
The  parts  I  would  suggest  as  being  especially  worthy 
of  attention  are  certain  portions  of  the  Kileh-i-Dokhter, 
the  obvious  sites  of  ancient  houses  in  the  ruined  city, 
and  the  floor  of  the  cave  around  the  statue.  There 
are  also  wells  and  subterranean  passages  which  should 
be  explored,  and  several  other  caves  besides  the  large 
one  might  be  worth  excavating. 

The  Kileh-i-Pisar  is  not,  perhaps,  so  promising,  but 
the  tower  at  the  top  might  be  tried.  No  doubt  the 
bed  of  the  river  might  contain  much  of  interest,  and 
the  inhabitants  of  Nur  Illah,  the  little  present-day 
village  close  to  Shahpur,  say  they  can  show  several 
spots  where  coins  are  to  be  found,  although  anything 
they  say  must  be  treated  with  caution,  and  their 
attempts  at  extorting  money  for  pointing  out  patches 
of  ground,  in  which  there  is  nothing  more  than  their 
imagination  to  suggest  any  reason  for  supposing  that 
there  are  buried  coins,  must  be  firmly  withstood. 
There  are,  nevertheless,  undoubtedly  gold  and  silver 
coins  to  be  found,  for  I  have  seen  them. 

In  any  case,  the  archaeologist  will  find  here  a  field 


94  ACROSS  PERSIA 

which  has  been  practically  untouched,  and  which,  it  is 
quite  possible,  has  many  treasures  to  give  up. 

My  four  days  at  Shahpur  had  proved  full  of  interest, 
and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  unsatisfied  desire  and  real 
regret  that  I  left  the  old  place.  On  the  day  of  my 
departure,  the  reluctant  sun  had  hidden  behind  some 
rare  clouds,  from  which  there  poured  a  cold  rain. 
Through  the  wet  the  old  tablets  seemed,  somehow, 
more  clear-cut  than  usual,  and  stood  out  with  a  dull 
distinctness.  It  was  a  sad,  dreary  scene,  yet  one,  in  a 
way,  more  befitting  the  story  of  the  place,  the  tale  of 
melancholy  decay  and  desolation.  There  was  an 
uncanny  gloom  over  everything,  and  as  I  passed  the 
great  figures  on  the  first  tablet,  down  the  scarred 
cheek  of  the  pathetic  suppliant  Roman,  praying  on  his 
knees,  with  outstretched  hands,  for  mercy,  there  trickled 
a  drop  of  water,  which  it  needed  little  imagination  to 
make  into  a  tear. 


CHAPTER  YI 

A   BACKWATER   OF   THE   PRESENT 

'  Iram  indeed  is  gone  with  all  his  Rose, 
And  Jamshyd's  sev'n-ring'd  Cup  where  no  one  knows ; 
But  still  a  Ruby  kindles  in  the  Vine, 
And  many  a  Garden  by  the  Water  blows/ 

Fitzgerald  :  Dinar  Khayyam. 

Could  there  be  anythiDg  more  depressingly  disgusting 
than  to  be  awakened  amid  the  darkness  of  a  winter's 
morning  in  a  cold  little  valley  close  under  the  snow- 
line by  the  furious  rattle  of  rain  driven  before  an  icy 
wind  on  to  a  tent  beneath  which  you  lie,  momentarily 
expecting  to  be  overwhelmed  by  the  descent  of  your 
frail  roof?  Such  was  my  position  in  the  early  hours  of 
the  day  on  which  I  had  to  start  out  again  from  Shahpur. 
Visions  of  tent-pegs  pulled  up,  poles  breaking, 
canvas  collapsing,  wandered  through  my  semi-dormant 
mind.  In  the  indecision  common  to  such  moments  I 
debated  feebly  whether  it  might  be  better  to  surrender 
to  such  fears,  take  off  what  clothes  I  had  on,  run 
hastily  out  in  the  dark  and  make  sure  of  safety, 
returning,  shivering,  to  a  rub  down  and  bed  again 
(this  is  always  preferable  to  putting  on  more  clothes 
for  the  expedition  and  getting  them  wet),  or  whether 
I  should  lie  snug  and  trust  to  Providence.  Eventu- 
ally I  did  the  latter,  and  Providence  just  held  out 
till  daybreak.  Then,  peeping  out,  I  found  that  in 
truth  several  tent-pegs  were  drawn,  the  walls  of  my 

95 


96  ACROSS  PERSIA 

tent  were  sloppily  subsiding,  and  the  whole  edifice  was 
in  a  most  precarious  condition.  In  spite  of  continued 
efforts  to  set  things  right,  at  last,  while  I  was  making 
a  hasty  meal,  like  the  traditional  old  man  of  Norwich, 
off*  cold  porridge,  there  was  an  ominous  crack,  and  the 
whole  tent  gently  came  down  upon  me.  I  yelled  for 
Kishna,  Kalicha,  anyone,  and  succeeded  in  holding 
things  up  until  they  came.  Once  more  matters  were 
patched  up,  and  a  hurried  packing  began.  But,  alas  ! 
in  the  middle  of  this  there  came  a  crash,  and  the 
tent-pole  snapped  in  half  I  caught  it  as  it  came 
down,  and  held  the  two  pieces  together  till  my  fingers 
were  numb  with  the  cold  and  wet.  Meanwhile,  every- 
thing was  thrown  together,  extricated  and  dumped 
on  the  sodden  earth,  with  a  mackintosh  sheet  thrown 
over  the  more  precious  articles.  Next  the  mules  were 
loaded,  a  dreary,  chill  process,  and  at  last  my  draggled 
caravan  was  ready  to  start,  and  we  were  off  through 
the  driving  rain  on  our  fifteen-mile  march. 

The  plain  of  Kazerun,  which  I  was  now  traversing 
for  the  third  time,  was  by  far  the  most  picturesque 
piece  of  landscape  I  had  hitherto  met  with  in  Persia. 
Besides  the  attractions  of  antiquity,  it  forms  a  singu- 
larly delightful  contrast  to  the  deserts  and  desolations 
further  south. 

The  watercourses  are  fringed  with  sedgy  banks, 
and  the  whole  expanse  of  the  plain  is  dotted  with  little 
tilled  fields  and  picturesque  walled  gardens.  Nor  are 
these  the  only  attractions  of  the  plain.  It  is  rich  in 
game,  and  the  sportsman  will  find  snipe,  duck,  geese, 
and  plover  ready  for  his  delectation  and  his  dinner. 

By  the  irony  of  fate,  it  happened  that  just  as  I 
arrived  at  this  comparative  paradise  my  gun  had 
snapped  off  short  at  the  stock,  and  I  was  left  with  a 
pair  of  barrels  ending  in  a  jagged  piece  of  wood.     This 


A  BACKWATER  OF  THE  PRESENT  97 

fact  seemed  to  be  by  some  mysterious  means  imme- 
diately communicated  to  the  animal  world.  The  game 
of  the  place  became  infected  with  malicious  devils. 
Snipe  would  get  up  at  my  very  feet  and  corkscrew 
away  at  what  seemed  to  me  about  half  their  usual 
pace.  Duck  would  calmly  fly  a  few  feet  over  my  head 
and  splash  into  a  pool  within  easy  range.  Plover  sat 
a  few  feet  off"  the  road  and  scrutinized  me  with  infuriat- 
ing nonchalance  as  I  passed. 

One  day  of  this,  and  then  I  was  able  to  take  my 
gun  to  the  bazaar  at  Kazerun,  so  that  on  my  return 
to  Shahpur  I  set  off  with  what  I  fondly  imagined  to 
be  a  thoroughly  efficient  weapon.  Now,  thought  I  to 
myself,  let  the  snipe  rise  under  my  nose,  and  the  duck 
fly  over  my  head,  and  the  plover  sit  and  look  at  me ! 
But,  alas  !  I  had  reckoned  without  my  host,  or,  rather, 
without  the  Persian  artificer's  methods.  Bent  on 
sport,  I  had  separated  myself  from  my  caravan,  and 
was  walking  along  waiting  for  the  chance  of  a  shot, 
my  gun  resting  carelessly  on  my  shoulder.  It  con- 
tinued to  rest  there  until  I  approached  that  part  of 
the  plain  where  I  had  formerly  been  insulted  by  the 
aforesaid  birds.  Then,  without  the  slightest  warning, 
the  barrels  fell  heavily  to  the  ground  behind  me,  and 
I  was  left  idiotically  marching  along,  grasping  my  old 
friend,  the  broken  piece  of  stock. 

When  I  looked  into  matters  a  little  further  I  was 
not  surprised  at  what  had  happened,  for  I  found  that 
the  plate  which  I  had  supposed  securely  riveted  the 
two  pieces  together  was  skilfully  stuck  on  with 
nothing  more  permanent  than  glue.  Not  at  all  a  bad 
sample  of  Persian  work  ! 

Naturally,  the  game  was  now  even  more  offensively 
impertinent  than  before,  and  my  soul  was  particularly 
distressed  by  a  certain  snipe  which  acted  as  a  sort  of 

7 


98  ACROSS  PERSIA 

advance-guard  to  my  progress,  flying  in  front  of 
me  for  20  yards,  then  settling,  and  repeating  the 
process  when  I  got  within  a  little  distance.  After  a 
time  this  became  too  much  for  me  to  bear,  and,  thought 
I  to  myself,  I  can  at  least  stop  him  doing  this  ;  so, 
stuffing  two  cartridges  into  the  stockless  barrels  of  my 
gun,  the  next  time  he  rose,  I  held  them  straight  in 
front  of  me,  fired  as  far  as  possible  in  his  direction, 
and  missed  him.  He  did  not,  however,  further  trifle 
with  my  feelings.  One  cartridge  was  left  in  the 
barrel,  and  as  at  the  moment  a  small  flock  of  teal 
presumed  on  my  oflenceless  position  to  fly  over  my 
head,  I  let  it  off*  at  them,  and  was  rewarded  for  the 
sore  hand  that  the  recoil  of  the  jagged  end  caused  me 
by  bringing  down  two.  Dinner  for,  at  all  events,  that 
night  and  the  next  was  assured. 

On  my  return  journey  in  the  rain,  the  weather  as 
well  as  the  condition  of  my  gun  forbade  any  thoughts 
of  sport,  and,  indeed,  except  for  one  day's  shooting 
with  a  borrowed  weapon,  I  had  to  refrain  therefrom 
until  at  last,  at  Shiraz,  I  found  a  workman  capable  of 
replacing  the  old  stock  by  an  altogether  new  one. 

It  was  weary  work,  trudging  away  through  the 
rain,  and  our  hearts  rejoiced  when  at  last  we  reached 
Kazerun,  warmth,  food,  and  a  night's  rest. 

In  and  all  around  Kazerun  there  are  gardens,  the 
first  that  we  had  seen  on  our  travels.  I  had  long 
looked  forward  to  making  the  acquaintanee  of  those 
places  of  roses  and  nightingales  with  which  Omar  and 
Fitzgerald  and  many  a  poem  and  song  had  made  the 
mind  familiar.  Who  has  not  pictured  the  Persian 
poet  of  old  basking  at  ease  in  some  shady  nook, 
whither  cool  breezes  would  bring  the  fragrance  of 
flowers ; — at  hand,  perhaps,  his  *  jug  of  wine,'  and 
possibly  something  more   than  a   '  loaf  of  bread  ' ; — 


A  BACKWATER  OF  THE  PRESENT  99 

certainly  a  *  thou  '  to  companion  him  in  his  lazy  ease, 
the  while  he  set  down  thoughts  that  in  generations  to 
come  would  delight  the  minds  of  men  ?  I  had  not  the 
fortune  to  visit  such  a  scene  in  the  month  of  roses  ; 
but  even  in  the  winter-time  the  charm  of  the  Persian 
garden  has  not  departed. 

I  think  if  I  were  to  be  asked  to  draw  a  typical 
Persian  scene,  it  would  be  a  soft  symphony  in  browns 
and  dark  greens,  backed  by  hazy  pink  hills  and  vivid 
blue  sky.  On  the  right  there  would  be  a  little  grove 
of  trees — firs,  I  think,  or  possibly,  if  our  garden  is 
further  south,  palms, — and  towards  the  centre  of  the 
picture  would  be  set  a  Persian  garden.  The  high 
brown  walls,  topped  by  the  dark  green  spires  of  the 
glorious  Persian  cypresses,  would  rise,  maybe,  from  a 
little  open  Mahometan  graveyard,  which,  with  its 
quaint,  decaying  tombstones  and  tiny  huts  of  the  dead, 
would  run  far  down  into  the  foreground.  On  the  left  a 
rough  winding  track  would  wander  away  over  a  long 
dusty  plain  and  lose  itself  in  a  distant  line  of  pink 
hills. 

Let  us  step  into  the  picture, — and,  picking  a  path 
between  the  little  graves,  make  our  way  up  to  the 
broad  doorway  in  the  tall,  square  gatehouse,  which  is 
the  only  break,  save  the  cypress-spires,  in  the  long 
monotony  of  brown  wall.  There  may  be  a  guardian 
at  the  entrance  of  our  garden,  some  solemn  Persian 
half  asleep  in  a  corner  of  a  dark  little  room.  If  there 
is,  he  will  come  out,  and,  bowing  courteously  to  us, 
bid  us  welcome  and  pass  through. 

Inside  the  square  of  walls  there  is  perfect  peace. 
Beyond,  the  world  may  do  what  it  likes  ;  kingdoms 
may  rise  and  fall,  men  live  and  fight  and  love  and  die ; 
but  inside  our  Persian  garden  there  is  only  the  sun 
and  the  trees,  the  oranges  and  the  roses.     It  is  a 

7—2 


100  ACROSS  PERSIA 

place  of  Oriental  content,  the  content  that  knows  not 
time  nor  incident,  but  only  lives  on  until  at  last  it  just 
drops  asleep  and  is  gone.  The  high  walls  keep  out  all 
the  noise  and  bustle  of  the  world,  and  the  only  sounds 
that  break  the  lazy  stillness  are  the  hum  of  the  bees 
and  the  song  of  the  nightingales. 

In  such  a  place,  surely,  the  civilization  of  the  East 
takes  a  new  meaning,  and  there  is  no  more  wonder 
that  in  these  strange  lands  men  are  satisfied  merely  to 
live  and  to  be  at  peace,  content  to  let  the  rest  of  the 
world  fight  wearily  for  what  is  never  worth  the  winning. 
Omar  is  right : — 

'  Perplext  no  more  with  Human  or  Divine, 
To-morrow"'s  tangle  to  the  winds  resign, 
And  lose  your  fingers  in  the  tresses  of 
The  Cypress-slender  Minister  of  Wine. 

And  if  the  Wine  you  drink,  the  Lip  you  press, 
End  in  what  All  begins  and  ends  in — Yes ; 
Think  then  you  are  to-day  what  yesterday 

You  were — to-morrow  you  shall  not  be  less.' 

Our  garden  is  no  prim  English  place  with  well- 
mown  lawns  and  gravel  walks.  It  is  a  place  of 
rambling  little  paths,  fringed  with  a  wealth  of  orange- 
trees  and  bushes  ; — a  secluded  wilderness  of  green 
restfulness.  Even  in  the  most  ungentle  season  there 
are  oranges  hanging  from  the  boughs  and  verdure  to 
comfort  the  eye,  while  later,  in  the  vivid  heat  of 
spring,  the  roses  load  the  heavy  air  with  their  perfume. 

Under  the  blazing  summer  sun,  the  gardens  must, 
I  fancy,  lie  void  of  movement  in  the  throbbing  heat ; 
only,  there  are  corners  where  by  some  pool  of  still 
water,  which  by  its  very  presence  gives  refreshment, 
it  is  possible  to  lie  and  doze  through  the  panting  day. 
Then,  in  the  evening,  when  the  sun  has  sunk  and  the 
great  Eastern  moon  has  peeped  over  the  black  line  of 


A  BACKWATER  OF  THE  PRESENT  101 

wall,  to  bathe  the  whole  garden  in  a  silvery  flood  of 
light  and  cast  a  sharp  network  of  leafy  shadows  on 
the  white  paths  ;  when  the  air  itself  abates  its  hot 
breath  and  caresses  the  face  with  soft  warm  lips — who, 
then,  would  not  lie  in  our  garden  and  dream  of  this 
world  and  the  next  ? 

I  remember  my  first  visit  to  a  Persian  garden ;  no 
roses,  no  nightingales,  only  the  oranges  were  there, 
and  the  little  paths  and  the  bushes  and  the  cypresses. 
The  sun  streamed  through  the  branches  and  made  the 
rich-coloured  fruit  glow  as  it  nestled  among  the  green. 
Heavens  !  it  was  so  hot,  and  I  was  so  thirsty  ;  yet  it 
was  not  my  garden,  and  not  knowing  as  yet  much  of 
Persian  etiquette,  I  stood,  a  very  Tantalus,  gazing  at 
the  feast  above  my  head.  At  last  my  Persian  host 
casually  suggested  that  I  might  try  the  flavour  of  his 
oranges.  The  first  was  a  practical  joke.  He  handed 
me  with  a  sweet  smile  a  luscious-looking  little  thing, 
which,  when  I  took  a  bite  of  it,  seemed,  indeed,  by  no 
means  to  belie  its  appearance.  But  wait  a  moment. 
Just  as  I  was  congratulating  him,  the  most  appalling 
bitterness  began  to  make  itself  felt  in  my  mouth,  a 
bitterness  more  of  medicine  than  of  anything  else. 
My  congratulations,  drowned,  perhaps,  by  this  flood  of 
bitterness,  hung  half- delivered  on  my  lips,  not  so  much 
from  want  of  politeness  as  from  the  bewilderment  of 
surprise.  My  evident  consternation  vastly  pleased  my 
host,  who  roared  with  laughter  at  the  success  of  his 
little  trick,  and  hastened  to  remedy  it  by  offering  an 
orange  of  such  admirable  flavour  that  I  gratified  my 
own  appetite  and  his  vanity  by  consuming  no  less  than 
three. 

A  little  later  in  the  day  there  came  the  turn  of  the 
pomegranates.  To  my  mind  a  pomegranate  rivals  the 
strawberry,  in  that  '  God,  indeed,  might  have  made  a 


102  ACROSS  PERSIA 

better  fruit,  but  He  never  did/  Let  no  one  take  his 
idea  of  a  pomegranate  from  the  miserable  specimens 
usually  met  with  in  this  country.  It  would  be  fairer 
to  judge  of  a  fresh  herring  from  a  kipper. 

The  eating  of  a  pomegranate  in  its  native  land  on  a 
hot  day  is  a  thing  to  be  remembered ;  but  is  also  a 
thing  to  be  done  in  private.  There  is  a  saying  that  a 
custard  apple  should  only  be  eaten  in  a  bath  ;  nothing 
less  capacious  is  appropriate  to  the  consumption  of 
pomegranates.  Some  people,  it  is  true,  wantonly  cut 
through  its  hard  skin  and  pick  out  with  a  spoon  the 
mass  of  pink  jelly  and  pips,  thus  sacrificing  the  flavour 
of  the  fruit  to  a  fastidious  politeness.  The  truth  is 
that,  as  I  say,  the  pomegranate  should  only  be  eaten 
in  secret.  There  is  only  one  satisfactory  method, 
and  that  is  the  one  which  Nature  has  pointed  out  as 
obvious,  and  needs  no  appliances  of  civilization.  Take 
the  pomegranate,  which  is  rather  larger  than  an  orange 
and  has  a  thick,  horny  skin,  firmly  in  both  hands  and 
bite  a  small  hole  in  its  hide ;  then,  treating  it  exactly 
as  a  small  boy  treats  an  orange  (into  which  he  has 
thrust  his  finger,  filling  the  hole  thus  made  with  a 
lump  of  sugar),  suck  out  the  juice  of  the  fruit.  In 
this  way  you  do  not  pollute  the  flavour  by  any  contact 
of  metal,  you  escape  the  trouble  of  the  innumerable 
pips,  and,  incidentally,  you  cannot  avoid  covering  a 
considerable  portion  of  your  face  with  a  pink  stain. 

This,  however,  is  the  only  truly  delectable  way  of 
eating  a  pomegranate. 

At  Kazerun  I  enjoyed  the  first  civilized  dinner  I 
had  had  the  fortune  to  meet  with  for  a  good  many 
days.  It  was,  indeed,  quite  a  ceremonial  aflair,  and 
was  due  to  the  courtesy  of  the  hospitable  gentleman 
who  was  here  in  charge  of  the  telegraph.  I  was  not 
the   only  guest.     An  Armenian  Archbishop  and   his 


A  BACKWATER  OF  THE  PRESENT  103 

retinue  were  making  the  journey  down  to  the  Gulf 
with  the  intention  of  travelling  to  India,  and  these 
dignitaries  were  the  chief  persons  at  the  banquet  I 
had  the  honour  to  attend.  The  party  at  the  table 
actually  consisted  of  the  Archbishop  himself,  his  right- 
hand  man — Father  Jacob,  another  priest,  our  host, 
and  myself 

The  Archbishop  was  a  genial,  patriarchal  old  gentle- 
man with  an  immense  brown  beard.  He  could  not 
speak  English,  so  all  our  communications  had  to  be 
carried  on  through  Father  Jacob,  who,  in  fact,  himself 
carried  on  nothing  but  a  vicarious  conversation  through- 
out dinner.  Our  host  spoke  little,  and  the  other 
priest  confined  his  efforts  to  dumbly  absorbing  the 
conversation  and  the  food. 

Considering  the  rather  difficult  conditions,  our  talk, 
which  I  remember  dealt  mainly  with  archaeology,  was 
interesting  and  fairly  fluent.  To  make  a  remark  was 
rather  a  complicated  process.  First  the  Archbishop, 
he  looking  at  me  and  I  at  him,  would  deliver  himself 
of  a  sentence  which  was  utterly  incomprehensible  as 
far  as  I  was  concerned.  Then  we  would  both  of  us 
turn  and  look  at  Father  Jacob,  who  would  translate 
it,  with  assistance  from  our  host,  for  my  benefit. 
Having  arrived  at  an  idea  of  the  gist  of  the  Arch- 
bishop's remark,  I  would  then  think  out  an  answer. 
We  would  both  look  at  one  another,  I  would  say  it, 
and  then,  respectfully  turning  to  Father  Jacob,  we 
would  await  his  rendering  thereof.  It  was  a  solemn 
business,  and  somehow  or  another  it  is  difficult  not  to 
feel  the  futility  of  a  remark  when  it  is  heard  wander- 
ing round  the  table  disguised  in  various  languages. 

The  dinner  itself  I  have  advisedly  described  as 
civilized,  for  it  was  certainly  not  European.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  was  an  extremely  good  Persian  meal. 


104  ACROSS  PERSIA 

First  came  a  dish  of  fesinjun^ — a  fat  capon,  partly 
grilled  and  then  stewed  in  a  mixture  of  pomegranate 
juice  and  powdered  walnut.  This  was  the  piece  de 
resistance  of  the  meal,  and  the  only  other  thing  I  can 
remember  as  being  worthy  of  notice  on  account  of  its 
distinctly  Persian  characteristic  was  the  bread,  a 
peculiar  black  variety,  warm  and  spongy. 

After  dinner  the  Archbishop  smoked  a  Kalian. 

Now,  the  Kalian  is  such  an  important  feature  in 
Persian  life  that  I  think  it  must  have  a  little  chapter 
to  itself 


CHAPTER  Yll 

THE   KALIAN 

'  Sublime  tobacco  !  which  from  east  to  west 
Cheers  the  tar's  labour  or  the  Turkman's  rest ; 
Which  on  the  Moslem's  ottoman  divides 
His  hours,  and  rivals  opium  and  his  brides ; 
Magnificent  in  Stamboul,  but  less  grand, 
Though  not  less  loved,  in  Wapping  or  the  Strand ; 
Divine  in  Hookas,  glorious  in  a  pipe, 
When  tipped  with  amber,  mellow,  rich,  and  ripe ; 
Like  other  charmers,  wooing  the  caress. 
More  dazzlingly  when  daring  in  full  dress ; 
Yet  thy  true  lovers  more  admire  by  far 
Thy  naked  beauties — Give  me  a  cigar !' 

Byron  :  The  Island,  Canto  XIX. 

To  the  sane  mortal  it  must  sometimes  seem  a  strange 
thing  that  men  can  take  a  delight  in  filling  their 
mouths  and  lungs  with  the  smoke  made  by  the  burn- 
ing of  a  dried  leaf.  But  when  heroes  have  deigned 
to  introduce  it,  philosophers  to  use  it,  and  poets  to 
laud  it,  who  shall  criticize  the  custom  ?  Certainly 
no  one  in  Persia  would  presume  to  be  guilty  of  such 
sacrilege.  From  the  earliest  times  the  Persian  has 
been  a  devotee  of  the  god  of  tobacco.  Thus  testifies 
Ta vernier : — 

*  The  Persians  both  men  and  women  are  fo  addicted 
to  take  Tobacco  that  to  take  Tobacco  from  them,  is  to 
take  away  their  lives.  So  that  if  the  King  should 
prohibit  Tobacco  for  any  time,  he  would  lofe  a  good  part 
of  his  revenue.     However,  Sha-Sefi  in  a  humor  having 

105 


106  ACROSS  PERSIA 

once  forbidden  Tobacco  to  be  taken  in  any  part  of  his 
Dominion,  his  Spies  (that  are  in  every  City)  found  in 
the  Indian  Inn  two  rich  Merchants  of  that  Nation 
fmoking  their  nofes.  Immediately  they  were  feiz'd, 
bound  and  carry 'd  to  the  King,  who  commanded  forth- 
with that  Juftice  f  hould  be  done  upon  them  in  the 
Meidan,  which  was,  that  they  fhould  pour  melted  lead 
down  their  throats  till  they  were  dead/  So  Tobacco 
has  its  martyrs,  too  ! 

Again,  says  the  old  traveller  : — '  They  fuck  and 
fmoke  of  their  Tobacco  through  water  in  a  long  glafs 
bottel,  by  which  means  it  comes  cool  into  their 
mouths ;  elfe  they  would  never  be  able  to  take  it  all 
day  long  as  they  do.  They  fmg  very  little  in  their 
Cups  ;  but  they  recite  a  vast  number  of  wicked  Verfes, 
which  they  rehearfe  with  a  great  deal  of  gravity. 
They  are  fo  accuftomed  to  take  Tobacco,  both  men 
and  women,  that  a  poor  tradefman  that  has  not  above 
five  sons  to  fpend,  will  lay  out  three  of  them  in 
Tobacco.  If  they  have  none,  they  fay  that  they 
fhould  not  have  damaque,  that  is,  gladnefs  in  their 
hearts.  Many  will  confefs  that  the  excessive  taking 
Tobacco  is  hurtful ;  but  if  you  tell  them  of  it,  they 
anfwer  in  a  word,  Adedeboud,  'Tis  the  cuftome.* 

I  in  my  small  way  did  my  best  to  observe  and  set 
down  the  details  of  this  important  portion  of  Persian 
life.  The  Kalian  is  the  national  Persian  pipe,  and  a 
very  imposing  affair  it  is.  I  bought  one  when  I  was 
in  Persia  and  brought  it  home,  where  it  has  been 
smoked  by  various  people,  —  with  various  eifects. 
Most  of  the  smokers  after  a  few  whiffs  absented  them- 
selves on  some  inadequate  excuse.  It  is  true  that 
some  acclimatization  is  needed  before  the  Kalian  can 
be  enjoyed,  but  when  its  peculiarities  are  understood, 
and  the  smoker  becomes  practised  in  the  art,  it  is 


THE  KALIAN  107 

undoubtedly  a  cool  and  refreshing  way  of  taking 
tobacco. 

In  appearance  the  Kalian  looks  like  a  compound  of 
a  jar  and  a  walking-stick,  the  whole  being  surmounted 
by  a  miniature  brazier  full  of  tobacco  and  charcoal. 
The  Kalian  smoked  by  my  Archbishop  was  a  huge 
silver  and  wood  device  about  3  feet  high.  At  the 
bottom  was  a  silver  bottle-shaped  vase  containing 
water.  Into  this  was  thrust  a  stopper  pierced  by  a 
wooden  tube  extending  down  into  the  water  and 
rising,  ornamented  externally  by  lavish  carving,  until 
it  terminated  in  a  small  silver  head,  the  top  of  which 
was  hollowed  through  to  contain,  first,  one  solitary 
piece  of  charcoal  laid  across  the  opening  into  the  stem 
itself,  then  a  carefully  piled-up  heap  of  tobacco,  and, 
lastly,  a  little  mound  of  red-hot  charcoal  embers,  con- 
tained within  a  silver  circlet.  From  the  silver  bowl 
there  projected  at  an  angle  a  plain  wooden  mouthpiece 
about  2  feet  long. 

To  enjoy  a  smoke  in  Persia,  when  the  Kalian  is 
ready  (and  it  needs  considerable  preparation),  the 
smoker  places  a  silver  bowl  on  a  little  footstool,  so  that 
the  end  of  the  mouthpiece  is  at  a  comfortable  height 
for  his  mouth,  and  exhausting  his  lungs  of  air,  applies 
his  mouth  thereto.  Then  he  sucks  in  breath  as  hard 
as  he  can,  a  bubbling  sound  is  heard,  and  after  three 
or  four  hearty  pulls  he  will  have  the  satisfaction  of 
finding  his  mouth  and  lungs  full  of  smoke.  (Needless 
to  say,  it  would  be  useless  to  attempt  to  smoke  a 
Kalian  without  inhaling.)  The  air,  of  course,  descends 
through  the  charcoal  and  tobacco  down  the  central 
chimney  into  the  water,  bubbling  through  which  it 
finds  its  way  up  the  mouthpiece  into  the  smoker  s 
mouth. 

To  prepare  a  Kalian  is  a  work  of  art.     The  Persian 


108  ACROSS  PERSIA 

grandee  often  takes  infinite  pains  to  find  an  expert 
man — or,  more  generally,  a  boy — who  shall  do  nothing 
but  prepare  Kalians,  and  he  is  no  mean  personage  in 
the  family  when  found.  Here  are  the  directions 
roughly — it  needs  an  artist,  though,  to  carry  them 
out  successfully. 

The  tobacco  is  generally  native  Shirazi — a  light 
brown,  dry,  mild  variety.  Powder  a  small  saucerful 
carefully,  then  damp  it  till  it  clings.  Fill  the 
*  reservoir,'  or  bottle-shaped  vase,  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Kalian  with  water  till,  by  the  bubbling  sound  when 
you  suck,  you  know  enough  has  been  poured  in.  If 
there  is  too  much  you  will  probably  get  a  mouthful  of 
it,  in  which  case,  blow  down  the  tube,  and  the  water 
will  spout  out  of  the  stem  (from  which,  of  course,  you 
have  removed  the  top  part)  and  fall  over  the  wooden 
parts.  The  plug  of  compressed  cloth  which  surrounds 
the  base  of  the  wooden  stem,  which  is  to  fill  the  mouth 
of  the  *  reservoir,*  should  be  moistened  to  make  it  stop 
the  aperture  completely.  Then  fill  the  tobacco  bowl. 
This  is  where  true  skill  comes  into  play.  Select  a 
small  piece  of  cold  charcoal,  large  enough  to  just  fall 
into  the  narrow  inlet  and  semi-stop  it.  This  is  to 
prevent  the  tobacco  from  falling  into  the  stem.  Then 
pour  moist  tobacco  evenly  into  the  bowl ;  it  should 
form  a  mass  rising  about  an  inch  above  the  rim.  Next, 
keeping  the  first  fingers  on  the  rim,  gently  press  the 
tobacco  down  all  round,  leaving  a  cone  about  an  inch  in 
diameter  unpressed  in  the  centre.  When  finished  it 
should  present  a  level  plain  about  half  an  inch  above 
the  rim,  with,  in  the  centre,  a  small  hillock.  Round  this 
lightly  place  the  silver  circlet  (which  is  something  like 
a  large  napkin  ring),  and,  selecting  half  a  dozen  little 
pieces  of  live  charcoal,  place  them  inside  the  circlet  on 
top  of  the  little  hillock  of  tobacco. 


THE  KALIAN  109 

Now  you  may  '  draw  ' — and  for  about  two  minutes 
you  will  spend  a  vast  amount  of  breath  in  vain,  at  last 
being  rewarded  by  a  cool  mouthful  of  smoke ; — your 
Kalian  is  in  full  blast.  Of  course,  only  the  tobacco  in 
the  centre  is  consumed,  and  that  outside  the  silver 
circlet  can  be  used  again — but  not  too  often  or  it  will 
make  the  Kalian  foul,  which  also  will  result  if  the 
latter  is  not  frequently  cleaned. 

The  Kalian  is  not  so  much  a  personal  as  a  social 
pipe,  and  after  a  dinner-party  one  Kalian  serves  the 
whole  company.  It  is  handed  from  one  guest  to 
another,  and  it  is  the  host  who  gives  himself  the  labour 
of  sucking  until  the  apparatus  is  in  good  going  order. 
When  passing  the  Kalian  it  is  etiquette  to  first  remove 
the  top  half  of  the  instrument  and  take  a  few  *  pulls ' 
in  order  that  fresh  air  may  find  its  way  into  the 
'  bowl' 

Such  is  the  nature,  method,  and  etiquette  of  the 
Persian  pipe. 

Personally,  with  Byron,  '  Give  me  a  cigar.' 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BY     THE     WAYSIDE 

'  The  earth  expanding  right  hand  and  left  hand, 
The  picture  alive,  every  part  in  its  best  light. 
The  music  falling  in  where  it  is  wanted,  and  stopping  where  it 

is  not  wanted, 
The  cheerful  voice  of  the  public  road,  the  gay  fresh  sentiment 
of  the  road.' 

Walt  Whitman. 

Soon  after  leaving  Kazerun  came  the  cold  and  repel- 
lent *  Daughter's  '  Pass.  Cold  she  was  in  very 
truth  when  I  visited  her,  for  she  was  clad  in  ice  and 
snow. 

Crossing  a  causeway  over  a  marsh  and  passing  an 
ill-executed  stone  picture  in  the  rock — a  late  imitation 
of  the  great  Sassanian  works  —  we  set  about  the 
ascent.  A  fine  piece  of  work,  this  road,  up  the 
precipitous  rock,  zigzagging  with  turn  after  turn, 
until  at  last,  at  the  top,  it  bursts  out  upon  an  undu- 
lating piece  of  ground  from  which  there  is  to  be 
seen  a  view  which  is  ample  reward  for  the  painful 
climb. 

After  dealing  with  the  *  Daughter  *  there  still 
remains  to  be  surmounted  one  last  kotal, — the  Pass 
of  the  Old  Woman,  and  between  the  young  lady  and 
the  old  lady  there  is  a  little  valley  thickly  dotted  with 
oak-trees,  which  forms  a  welcome  relief  to  the  tired 
men  and  beasts  ere  they  commence  the  second  ascent. 

110 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE  111 

This  is  not  so  steep  in  any  part  as  those  formerly 
encountered,  but  it  compensates  for  this  by  the  un- 
utterable vileness  of  the  track.  Half-way  up  the  pass 
is  the  little  caravanserai  of  Mian  Kotal,  and  as  we 
reached  this  at  the  end  of  our  hard  day,  the  sun  sank 
in  a  glory  of  silver  and  green  and  blue.  The  long- 
looked-for  crescent  moon,  hanging  in  the  purple  sky 
to  show  that  Ramazan  was  over,  and  the  shimmer 
of  snow  over  all  the  hills  around,  promised  a  bitter 
night. 

Here,  as  I  was  unable  to  make  use  of  the  telegraph 
rest-room,  I  had  to  avail  myself  of  the  ordinary 
hospitality  extended  to  travellers  by  the  Persian 
caravanserai. 

To  the  European  traveller  there  is  something  very 
curious  in  the  idea  of  a  public  rest-house  opening  its 
doors  to  all  and  sundry  wayfarers.  The  prince,  the 
beggar,  the  native,  the  foreigner,  all  have  one  ending 
to  their  journey,  all  have  the  same  accommodation  for 
their  reception.  No  wonder  the  Persian  mind  has 
compared  life  to  a  journey  and  death  to  its  caravan- 
serai, at  which  all  in  turn  must  inevitably  arrive, 
and  where  all  conditions  and  classes  find  themselves 
brought  to  an  equality. 

Imagine  a  great  square  courtyard  littered  with  filth, 
crowded  often  with  beasts  of  all  kinds  and  packages 
of  every  description.  Round  the  four  walls  run  a 
series  of  little  arches  sheltering  scanty  thresholds 
raised  a  few  feet  above  the  level  of  the  courtyard,  from 
which  narrow  doorways  lead  to  dark  little  rooms,  ill- 
ventilated  and  often  smelly  and  dirty.  The  walls  are 
generally  mud-plastered,  and  the  provisions  for  venti- 
lation and  light  conspicuous  by  their  absence.  Some- 
times there  is  a  second  tier  of  these  small  dwellings, 
and  if  so  they  will  generally  be  found  more  habitable, 


112  ACROSS  PERSIA 

since  the  Persian  so  far  values  ease  above  trouble 
that  he  will  rather  sleep  handily  in  a  stuffy  and 
unclean  lower  room  than  take  the  extra  trouble 
necessary  to  obtain  fresh  air  and  cleanliness  upstairs. 
Into  the  courtyard  the  way  lies  through  an  imposing 
gateway,  flanked  sometimes  by  two  towers.  There  is, 
of  course,  no  arrangement  made  for  anything  except 
mere  housing  accommodation.  The  little  cells  are 
destitute  of  everything  except  dirt.  As  Fryer  quaintly 
puts  it  in  language  which,  if  it  is  rather  strong  for 
present  ears,  is  scarcely  too  strong  for  present  con- 
ditions in  Persia. 

*  Coming  to  our  Inns,  we  have  no  Hoft,  or  young 
Damofels  to  bid  us  Welcome,  nor  other  Furniture 
than  Bare  Walls  ;  no  Rooms  Swept,  nor  Cleanly 
Entertainment,  Tables  neatly  Spred,  or  Maidens  to 
Attend  with  Voice  or  Lute  to  Exhilarate  the  Weary 
Paffenger;  but  inftead  of  thefe,  Apartments  covered 
with  Filth ;  Mufick  indeed  there  is  of  Humming  Gnats 
pricking  us  to  keep  an  unwilling  Meafure  to  their 
Confort :  So  that  here  is  neither  Provifion  for  Man 
or  Beaft,  only  an  open  Houfe,  with  no  enlivening 
Glafs  of  Pontack,  or  Poinant  Cheer  to  encourage 
the  Badnefs  of  the  March  ;  but  every  Four  or  Five 
Pharfangs,  i.e.  Parafangce,  a  German  League,  on  the 
King's  High  way,  a  Caravan  Ser  Raw,  as  dirty  as 
Augeus  his  Stable,  thofe  before  always  leaving  the 
next  comer  work  enough  to  cleanfe  where  they  have 
been  ;  that  after  coming  in  Tired,  they  are  more 
intent  to  fpread  their  Carpets  for  Repofe,  than  remove 
the  incruftated  Cake  of  Sluttery,  the  conftant  Nurfery 
of  Flies  and  Bees,  they  often  bringing  their  Horfes 
into  the  fame  Bed- Chamber.' 

Perhaps  the  walls  of  its  rooms  are  the  most  interest- 
ing part  of  a  caravanserai. 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE  113 

Ever  since  the  pre-historic  cave-dweller  learned  to 
scratch  irreverent  images  of  the  beasts  of  his  day 
upon  the  sides  of  his  dwelling-place,  the  habit  of 
leaving  some  inscription  to  tell  of  his  sometime 
presence  has  inflamed  the  breast  of  man  (when  the 
Garden  of  Eden  is  discovered,  no  doubt  Adam's  name 
will  be  found  inscribed  in  a  prominent  place).  True 
to  man's  ancient  habit,  the  Persian  rivals  'Arry  of 
'Ampstead  'Eath  in  his  effort  to  tell  the  traveller  who 
shall  come  after  him  that  he  has  had  a  predecessor. 
Where  my  friend  the  Persian  shows  his  superiority  to 
'Arry,  however,  is  in  the  place  and  material  of  his 
inscription.  Instead  of  desecrating  without  discrim- 
ination everything,  from  a  park  paling  to  a  statue, 
which  he  can  lay  pencil  upon,  the  Persian  reserves 
his  efforts  for  the  walls  of  a  caravanserai,  or  some 
such  innocent  place,  and  instead  of  merely  defacing 
the  place  with  his  own  unimportant  name  or  some 
alleged  witticism,  the  Persian  either  quotes  some 
apposite  verse  from  a  great  poet,  or  himself  composes 
a  few  little  lines  inspired  by  the  surroundings, — 
frequently  not  even  appending  his  name  thereto. 
Thus  it  comes  about  that  the  walls  of  a  caravan- 
serai are  a  book  which  he  who  runs  may  read,  and 
a  man  might  do  worse  than  make  a  collection  of 
couplets,  stanzas,  and  sentences  culled  from  such 
places. 

Among  the  lines  of  Arabic  lettering  that  surrounded 
my  head  when  I  lay  on  my  little  camp-bed  in  the 
caravanserai  at  Mian  Kotal,  one  particular  couplet 
caught  my  eye  in  the  candle-light.  It  aroused  my 
interest,  although  I  could  not  wholly  translate  it, 
and  so  I  got  Saif  to  fully  explain  it  for  my  benefit. 
Name  and  date  there  were  none.  Here  is  a  literal 
translation  of  the  words,  and  here  is  a  little  para- 


114  ACROSS  PERSIA 

phrase  that  I  dared  to  make  in  the  metre  of  Omar 
himself. 

'  To  whatsoever  place  I  come, 
In  whatsoever  house  I  lodge, 
With  water  o'  mine  eyes  I  write : 
"  Beloved,  empty  is  thy  place."  ' 

'  Whithersoe*'er  my  lonely  wandYings  lie. 
Upon  the  white- walled  caravanserai 
This  with  the  water  o"*  mine  eyes  I  write  : 

"  Beloved,  O  !  that  it  were  Thou  and  I."  ^ 

Maybe  the  story  was  worth  the  hearing,  maybe 
not ;  at  any  rate,  I  drowsily  wondered  over  the  lonely 
Persian  lover  and  his  mistress.  Where  were  they 
now,  these  two  ?  Was  she  very  beautiful  ?  Was 
their  love-story  ever  finished  ?  Were  they  dead  long 
ago,  or  did  there  in  some  little  Persian  town  still  live 
an  old  dotard  and  a  withered  hag  who  once  were  the 
young  gallant  and  his  beloved  ?  And  so,  wondering, 
I  fell  asleep.  .  .  . 

When  the  mind,  disconnected,  as  it  were,  from  its 
workaday  machinery  and  wandering  irresponsibly  in 
the  strange  land  of  dreams,  is  rudely  called  back  by 
some  sudden  noise  or  movement,  the  immediate  result 
is  to  invariably  produce  an  unpleasant  sensation  of 
startled  unreadiness.  When,  even  after  the  first  swift 
shock  has  passed,  and  the  mental  machinery  is  again 
connected  up,  the  impression  of  some  unusual  and  ill- 
omened  happening  still  remains,  the  situation  becomes, 
if  anything,  worse.  Unaccustomed  surroundings, 
strange  men  talking  in  a  strange  tongue,  the  dim 
light  of  lanterns  uncertainly  showing  uncouth  figures 
and  casting  flickering  inhuman  shadows, — I  started 
up  into  a  sitting  position,  and  in  a  voice  that  was 
not  yet  quite  ready  to  speak  asked  what  was  the 
matter. 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE  115 

The  little  group  clustered  round  my  bed  ceased 
their  muttering  and  left  the  explanation  to  Saif. 
*  Sir,'  he  said,  '  Khan  Khana,  the  under-muleteer,  fell 
off  his  mule  when  he  was  watering  the  beasts,  and  he 
is  very  bad.  Will  you  come  and  see  him  and  give 
him  medicine  V  I  put  my  boots  on  and  a  coat  over 
my  nightclothes,  and  then  was  led  across  the  filthy 
yard  to  the  little  arched  room  where  my  retinue  had 
disposed  themselves.  Stooping  down  under  the  door- 
way, I  entered.  In  a  corner  was  the  man  who  was  ill, 
lying  on  a  bag  of  straw  and  some  litter,  and  groaning 
persistently  and  loudly.  There  is  a  strange  and 
almost  frightening  feeling  of  paralysing  helplessness 
which  comes  over  one  who  has  no  medical  knowledge 
on  the  occasion  of  some  accident  to  the  wonderful  and 
mysterious  mechanism  of  the  body.  It  is  a  horrible 
exaggeration  of  the  impotent  ignorance  with  which  a 
tyro  sees  the  motor-car,  which  he  is  driving,  slowly 
come  to  a  stop  and  refuse  utterly  to  budge  afterwards. 
He  knows  there  is  something  wrong,  but  where — 
heaven  knows.  He  vaguely  taps  and  pulls  and 
uncertainly  searches  ;  but  the  business  is  above  him. 
So  it  was  with  me.  There  was  a  man,  evidently 
seriously  injured,  but  where,  I  was  not  competent  to 
determine.  I  knelt  down  and  asked  him  where  the 
pain  was,  and  amid  his  groans  he  pointed  to  his  right 
side.  I  did  not  like  to  pull  him  about  much,  but  I 
tried  gently,  by  pressing  with  my  fingers,  to  find  the 
seat  of  the  injury,  which  was  soon  indicated  by  the 
increased  anguish  of  the  sufferer  as  I  approached  it. 
After  a  little,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  at 
all  events  quite  likely  that  he  had  incurred  no  internal 
injury,  but  that  he  had  either  broken  or  badly  bruised 
his  hip-bone.  In  this  situation,  I  was  practically 
powerless,   but   I   cheered   him   up,   gave   him  some 

8—2 


116  ACROSS  PERSIA 

ointment  and  a  tabloid  or  two  of  sulphonal  to  send 
him  to  sleep,  and  possibly  to  effect  a  faith  cure,  for  the 
Persian  believes  in  medicine  almost  as  much  as  in 
doctors.  Then,  thanking  my  stars  that  things  were 
not  worse,  I  went  back  to  bed  with  the  nightmare 
feeling  much  diminished. 

Next  day  was  a  bad  time  for  Khan  Khana  ;  he  had 
to  be  transported  through  the  day's  march,  and  every 
movement  roused  him  to  agonized  groans.  Saif  and  I 
shared  a  pony  so  that  he  might  ride  the  whole  way  ; 
but  a  score  of  miles  uneasily  balanced  on  a  saddle  with 
a  broken  hip-bone  is  a  dreadful  experience,  and  when 
the  poor  chap  at  last  reached  Dasht-i-Arzin,  he  was 
worn  out  with  pain  and  fatigue. 

This  day,  which  dawned  bright  and  keen,  was  to 
bring  me  to  the  highest  point  that  I  reached  before 
crossing  the  Elburz  mountains  to  the  Caspian.  We 
had  steadily  climbed  up  and  up  the  gigantic  stairway, 
until  now  we  stood  many  thousand  feet  above  the  sea. 
All  around,  the  snow  lay  deep,  while  the  path  itself 
was  a  slippery  mass  of  ice  and  frozen  mud.  The  mules 
continually  collapsed,  and  had  to  be  unloaded  and 
helped  to  their  feet,  and  the  journey  was  a  slow  and 
infinitely  laborious  one.  At  last  the  summit  was 
reached,  and  we  looked  down  upon  a  great  snow- clad 
plain,  of  which  the  right  portion  was  covered  by  a 
desolate  frozen  lake.  Away  into  the  distance  through 
the  great  white  desert  there  meandered  the  black  line 
of  our  little  path,  until  it  faded  altogether  out  of  sight 
in  the  far  distance.  Down  into  this  plain  we  slowly 
made  our  way,  the  descent  of  the  pass  being  only  one 
degree  less  arduous  than  the  ascent  thereof.  The  sides 
of  the  hill  were  clothed  with  scrubby  trees  denuded  of 
all  leaves,  and  stretching  gaunt,  unfriendly  arms  to 
the  dull  sky.     It  was,  indeed,  a  dreary  scene,  and  the 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE  117 

hearts  of  all  of  us  were  glad  when  we  passed  through 
a  graveyard  decked  with  grotesque  stone  lions,  close 
under  the  rocky  heights  of  the  far  extremity  of  the 
plain,  and  came  in  to  the  welcome  sight  of  a  blazing 
fire  at  the  telegraph  office  of  Dasht-i-Arzin. 

By  the  great  kindness  of  the  official  who  usually 
resided  in  this  little  place,  but  who  now  was  away, 
and  whom  I  had  met  at  an  earlier  stage  of  my  journey, 
I  was  privileged  to  have  access  to  his  special  part  of 
the  telegraph  building.  He  had  entrusted  to  me  the 
secret  of  the  letter-lock  upon  his  private  door,  and 
had  told  me  I  should  find  there  a  twelve-bore  gun, 
with  which,  since  my  own  was  out  of  action,  I  could 
enjoy  some  shooting  on  the  frozen  lake.  True  enough, 
there  it  was,  and  there  also,  among  some  other  books, 
was  the  third  volume  of  Disraeli's  '  Curiosities  of 
Literature.'     I  devoured  Disraeli  and  dinner  together. 

It  turned  out  that  the  frozen  lake  gave  good  sport ; 
there  were  duck,  snipe,  and  geese,  while,  had  I  been 
so  inclined,  by  turning  right  or  left  to  the  mountains, 
I  could  have  had  the  satisfaction  of  at  all  events 
pursuing,  if  not  bringing  down,  a  Persian  ibex  or  a 
moufflon,  with  the  possible  chance  of  a  leopard  or 
bear.  However,  I  only  tried  the  lake,  and  the  morning 
after  my  arrival  sallied  forth  with  a  couple  of  Persians. 

The  sun  blazed  back  from  the  unsullied  snow  with 
a  blinding  light,  which  much  tried  the  eyes  ;  but  after 
a  considerable  walk  in  the  keen  morning  air  over  the 
crisp  snow  the  hunting-grounds  were  reached,  and 
then  ih  the  excitement  of  stalking  duck,  and  putting 
up  snipe  among  the  sedgy  frozen  pools  and  reedy 
marshes,  hot-blooded  excitement  overcame  all  other 
sensations.  I  wanted  particularly  to  enjoy  some 
snipe-shooting,  but  in  spite  of  all  my  effiorts,  my 
guides  led  me   steadily  away  from  what  I  felt  sure 


118  ACROSS  PERSIA 

must  be  the  best  snipe-grounds,  into  places  where  the 
only  game  to  be  found  was  duck  and  geese.  After  a 
little  I  found  that  a  suspicion  which  had  been  growing 
upon  me  was  correct ; — they  thought  a  man  mad  who 
wanted  to  go  and  chase  wretched  little  birds  like 
snipe,  when  there  were  to  be  had  large  and  important 
creatures  such  as  duck  or  geese.  In  this,  as  in  a  great 
many  other  things  in  Persia,  appearance  is  everything, 
and,  with  no  considerations  as  to  skill,  shikar  is  rated 
according  to  size. 

There  are  other  inhabitants  of  this  place  besides 
feathered  ones,  for  at  one  time  through  the  tall  rushes 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  black,  moving  bodies,  which 
turned  out  to  be,  as  I  had  imagined,  wild  boar,  which 
at  our  approach  scuttled  with  gradually  subsiding 
wallowings  and  splashings  deep  into  a  great  marsh. 

As  the  short  day  came  to  a  close,  the  cold  seemed 
to  descend  like  a  mantle  from  the  hills  and  cling  over 
the  low-lying  land  and  water.  The  mixture  of  ice, 
snow,  and  mud  in  which  I  had  been  tramping  all  day, 
took  ever  a  more  bitter  grip  of  my  flesh,  and  when, 
after  a  weary  plod,  I  again  reached  *  home,*  I  felt,  as  I 
sat  on  the  floor  by  the  fire,  that  infinite  satisfaction  of 
repose  which  comes  after  hard  and  well-rewarded 
labour.  The  reward,  indeed,  came  up  to  my  expecta- 
tions, for  when  I  counted  the  bag,  it  turned  out  to 
total  thirty  head — fourteen  duck  and  sixteen  snipe, 
which  provided  me  and  my  followers  with  many  a 
good  meal  for  some  days  to  come.  They  were  pur- 
chased, however,  at  the  cost  of  some  little  physical 
discomfort,  for  it  was  only  just  as  I  fell  asleep  that  my 
feet  at  length  woke  up. 

The  next  stage  was  an  uninteresting  one  among  a 
wilderness  of  barren  hills,  and  then  came  the  march 
into  Shiraz.     The  country  about  here,  at  all  events  at 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE  119 

the  time  of  year  that  I  traversed  it,  cannot  be  pro- 
nounced a  success  in  any  way.  As  scenery  it  is  a 
decided  failure — a  billow-like  succession  of  barren 
hillocks,  running  back  into  grim  round-shouldered  hills 
flecked  with  snow,  while  as  far  as  convenience  for 
travelling  is  concerned,  let  him  decide  who  has  spent 
five  hours  stumbling  over  a  track  which  has  the 
appearance  of  winding  its  way  in  and  about  the 
newly  mended  road  of  some  careless  giant  who  has 
omitted  to  put  the  steam  roller  over  it. 

All  this  changes  with  the  first  glimpse  of  the  valley 
of  Shiraz.  Bound  a  corner,  I  remember,  it  suddenly 
came  into  sight.  There  it  lay,  far  ahead  and  beneath, 
stretching  away  into  the  distance,  a  long,  misty,  open 
plain,  flecked  with  the  black  patches  of  its  famous 
gardens. 

After  two  long  days  of  plodding  constantly  down- 
wards, we  had  now  come  to  the  final  descent,  and  at 
last,  by  the  caravanserai  of  Chinar,  my  caravan  came 
out  upon  a  broad  vista  of  stone -strewn  earth  stretching 
away,  to  be  lost  among  the  wooded  gardens  ahead. 
Along  this  stony  pretence  at  a  road  was  straggling  at 
the  moment  I  came  upon  it,  a  portion  of  the  Persian 
army,  starting  on  its  first  march  to  Bushire.  For 
several  miles  we  continued  to  pass  this  military 
pageant ;  but  pray  do  not  let  it  be  thought  that  this 
implies  an  army  of  unusual  size.  It  was  not  the 
numbers  but  the  disposition  of  these  forces  which  led 
to  their  occupying  so  considerable  a  space.  There 
must  have  been  about  400  Persian  soldiers  in  all,  and 
I  regret  that  I  cannot  give  any  particulars  as  to  the 
formation  of  their  advance,  for  to  the  outward  eye 
there  was  none.  Little  groups  of  two  or  three 
wandered  by  at  irregular  intervals,  sometimes  morosely 
plodding  along,  sometimes  enlivening — or  depressing — 


120  ACROSS  PERSIA 

their  companions  by  singing  at  the  top  of  their  voices 
the  peculiar,  monotonous  cadences  of  the  East.  An 
attempt  to  decide  on  the  regulation  uniform  of  the 
Persian  soldier  also  ended  in  failure,  as  no  two  men 
appeared  to  be  dressed  alike.  However,  by  a  system 
of  deduction  from  the  number  of  instances  in  which 
various  garments  occurred  in  conjunction,  I  arrived  at 
the  following  picture  of  that  seemingly  visionary 
person,  the  fully  equipped  Persian  private.  The 
individual  (of  a  brown  colour,  and,  as  it  may  be, 
moustached,  bearded,  or  with  the  growth  of  a  more  or 
less  indefinite  period)  is  surmounted  by  an  astrachan 
hat  shaped  like  a  saucepan  without  a  handle,  in  the 
front  of  which  is  set  the  badge  of  the  Lion  and  the 
Sun,  varying  in  brightness  in  the  inverse  ratio  of  the 
number  of  days  it  has  been  left  uncleaned.  The  tunic 
is  of  a  coarse  blue  cotton  cloth,  sometimes  slashed  with 
red,  and  frequently  worn  open,  displaying  the  presence 
or  absence  of  the  wearer's  shirt.  The  *  pants ' — of  which 
the  wearing  would  seem  a  matter  of  individual  taste, 
the  substitutes  being  too  various  to  allow  of  separate 
mention  (which  is  perhaps  as  well) — are  of  a  like 
material,  with  a  broad  red  stripe.  Descending  lower, 
it  appeared  the  custom  to  wear  stockings — again  the 
taste  of  the  wearer  being  consulted  ;  and  beneath  all 
protruded  the  regulation  boot.  Those  most  adapted 
to  fighting  carried  rifles  of  an  antique  pattern  slung 
over  their  shoulders,  the  remainder  wandered  along 
singly  or  in  twos  and  threes,  chatting  convivially. 
The  only  military  fact  I  am  able  to  state  with  absolute 
certainty  is  that  there  was  no  band,  the  only  form  of 
music  we  came  across  being  a  man  who  made  a  vocal 
noise,  fluctuating  between  two  or  three  notes.  He 
passed  by  a  foot  or  so  away,  so  wrapped  up  in  this 
performance  that  he  seemed  entirely  unaware  of  our 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE  121 

presence,  and  continued  while  he  stumbled  past  over 
the  loose  stones  to  pour  forth  his  soul  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  into  the  air  immediately  in  front  of  him. 

The  whole  affair  gave  the  impression  of  some  huge 
go-as-you-please  picnic.  Long  after  the  army  had  at 
last  wandered  by,  we  came  upon  its  officer, — apparently 
its  solitary  officer.  He  was  preparing  to  mount  an 
excellent  Arab  horse,  and  was  quite  smartly  attired  ; 
in  comparison  to  his  troops,  indeed,  he  was  an  exquisite 
dandy.  As  we  came  up,  he  and  the  gentleman  to 
whom  he  was  saying  farewell,  indulged  in  one  last 
pathetic  kiss,  after  which  our  military  friend  scrambled 
to  the  saddle,  and,  leaning  over  his  horse's  mane  in 
the  customary  Persian  fashion,  lolloped  off  after  his 
command. 

The  foregoing  must  not,  perhaps,  be  taken  as  quite 
a  fair  description  of  the  Persian  soldiery  under  all 
conditions,  for  I  have  seen  them,  on  ceremonial  duty, 
when  their  conduct  and  appearance  showed  great 
improvement.  The  army  is  then  dressed  more  or  less 
alike,  and  it  walks  most  correctly  in  single  file, 
irresistibly  suggesting  a  serious  game  of  follow  my 
leader.  At  Teheran,  indeed,  it  went  so  far  as  to  ^  form 
fours,'  and  presented  a  quite  imposing  spectacle — but 
we  shall  hear  more  of  this  when  we  come  to  that  city. 

Nor  must  it  be  imagined  that  the  Persian  himself 
forms  bad  material  for  a  soldier.  The  hill  tribes,  with 
their  independent  fearlessness,  given  proper  training, 
would  make  a  magnificent  body  of  hardy  and  efficient 
troops,  while  the  Persian  man  is  throughout  a  fine 
specimen  of  humanity,  and  could,  with  proper  care, 
very  probably  make  a  useful  soldier.  The  spirit, 
indeed,  is  wanting,  but  the  flesh  is  strong,  and  were 
the  spirit  to  increase  in  vigour  no  doubt  the  flesh 
would  respond  to  its  inspiration. 


122  ACROSS  PERSIA 

Dark  was  just  closing  in  as  we  passed  between  the 
high  walls  of  the  rose  gardens  of  Shiraz.  As  we 
neared  the  end  of  the  first  portion  of  our  journeyings, 
anticipation,  aided  in  my  own  case  by  a  certain  amount 
of  excitement,  had  a  wonderful  vivifying  effect  upon 
us.  Saif  was  inspired  to  gallop  ahead.  My  muleteers 
chatted  enthusiastically,  and  even  raised  their  voices 
in  discordant  song.  Even  poor  Khan  Khana,  still  in 
agony,  cheered  up  with  the  prospect  of  attaining  in  a 
few  hours  a  house  whence  he  would  not  have  to  move 
on  next  morning. 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  spend  some  short  time 
in  this,  the  first  truly  Persian  city  I  came  to,  and  was 
prepared  to  take  a  little  native  house  to  live  in  during 
my  stay.  But  as  I  was  riding  in  to  the  telegraph 
rest-room,  where,  till  arrangements  could  be  made  the 
next  day,  I  should  have  to  stay,  events  occurred  which 
caused  an  alteration  in  my  plans.  Fate,  to  whom  I 
shall  be  always  grateful  for  her  kindness,  had  brought 
to  me  a  new  friend,  to  whom  I  am  indebted,  not  only 
for  interesting  experiences  and  pleasant  recollections 
of  Shiraz,  but  for  a  friendship  which,  I  trust,  neither 
time  nor  distance  will  ever  affect. 

So  it  was  that  on  this  first  night  my  course  was 
diverted,  there  was  extended  to  me  a  hospitality 
which,  if  it  could  have  gained  anything,  would  have 
gained  by  its  spontaneity,  and  it  was  among  unspeak- 
able luxuries, — carpets,  table-cloths,  vases  of  flowers, 
furniture,  and  a  bed  with  brass  knobs, — that  I  spent 
my  first  night  in  the  City  of  Roses  and  Nightingales. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   CITY   OF  ROSES  AND   NIGHTINGALES 

*  The  world  to  me  has  been  a  home ; 

Wherever  knowledge  could  be  sought. 
Through  differing  climes  I  loved  to  roam, 

And  every  shade  of  feeling  caught 
From  minds,  whose  varied  fruits  supply 
The  food  of  my  philosophy. 
And  still  the  treasures  of  my  store 

Have  made  my  wanderings  less  severe ; 
From  every  spot  some  prize  I  bore, 

From  every  harvest  gleaned  an  ear. 
But  find  no  land  can  ever  vie 
With  bright  Shiraz  in  purity ; 
And  blest  for  ever  be  the  spot 
Which  makes  all  other  climes  forgot  f 

Frovi  Hafiz. 

Shiraz  is  not  only  the  city  of  roses  and  nightingales. 
It  is  the  city  of  poets — the  city  of  wine — the  city  of 
fair  women — of  all  that  is  soft  and  sweet  and  seduc- 
tive. It  is  the  traditional  abode  of  conviviality  and 
ease — and  of  the  accomplishments  and  failings  that 
spring  therefrom.  Perhaps  there  is  no  city  in  the 
whole  of  Persia,  and  indeed  few  in  the  annals  of  a 
nation's  history,  that  have  been  held  up  to  fame  more 
whole-heartedly  and  perennially  than  Shiraz.  Its 
gardens,  its  vintages,  and  its  sweet  singers  have  sur- 
rounded it  with  a  pleasant  mist  of  romance,  through 
which  the  hard  facts  of  reality  have  seldom  power  to 
pierce.  Nor,  indeed,  j9ac^  Lord  Curzon,  who  explains 
the  fame  of  Shiraz  by  the  undoubted  fact  that  '  every 


124  ACROSS  PERSIA 

local  goose  is  a  swan/  is  it  at  all  impossible  for  even 
the  casual  traveller  from  foreign  parts  to  understand 
and  even  to  become  possessed  of  some  of  the  spirit 
which  has  cast  its  glamour  about  this  city  of  the 
South. 

Like  Lord  Curzon  himself,  I  visited  the  city  when 
the  roses  were  dead  and  the  nightingales  dumb.  Even 
then,  however,  the  glorious  sunshine  and  the  superb 
air,  the  curious  fascination  of  the  broad  panorama  of 
plain  studded  with  dark  green  patches  of  garden  and 
surrounded  by  majestic  hills,  the  clear  moonlight 
nights  with  their  Eastern  harmonies  of  silver  and 
black, — all  these  material  surroundings  added  to  the 
traditions  of  the  place  and  the  memory  of  its  person- 
ages, certainly  made  a  powerful  appeal  to  the  senses 
and  imagination.  When,  later,  the  roses  bloomed, 
the  nightingales  sang,  and  the  whole  place  took  on  the 
garment  of  spring,  it  is  easy  to  imagine  how  the  Persian 
could  find  himself  excited  to  the  enthusiasm  which 
found  its  expression  in  the  rhapsodies  of  two  famous 
poets,  and  which  is  a  living  sentiment  at  the  present 
day. 

It  is  not  only  from  its  natives  that  Shiraz  has 
derived  its  reputation;  the  praises  of  the  traveller 
have  been  added  to  those  of  the  poet,  and,  indeed,  in 
their  extravagance  the  former  sometimes  even  exceed 
the  latter.  The  excellent  Fryer  ends  an  elaborate 
eulogy  in  his  inimitable  style,  by  a  delightful  tribute. 
'  The  Nightingal,*  he  says,  '  the  fweet  Harbinger  of 
the  Light,  is  a  Conftant  Chearer  of  thefe  Groves, 
Charming  with  its  Warbling  Strains  the  heavieft  soul 
into  a  pleafing  Extafy.' 

Not  only  the  city  but  the  country  round  has  had  its 
meed  of  praise,  for  n^ar  by  are  the  bowers  of  Mosellay 
and  the  famous  stream  of  Euknabad. 


THE  CITY  OF  ROSES  AND  NIGHTINGALES     125 

The  climate,  even  the  Englishman,  with  his  proud 
possession  of  a  patchwork  of  all  weathers  and  atmo- 
spheres, must  acknowledge  to  have  its  excellences. 
Rain  rarely  falls,  snow  scarcely  ever,  and  while  in 
summer  the  heat  is  perhaps  a  little  overdone,  on  the 
whole  it  may  be  said  that  here  may  be  met  with  the 
serenity  of  the  Indian  climate  without  its  violence. 

Apart  from  all  these  considerations,  Shiraz  has 
another  claim  to  attention  in  the  purity  of  its  speech. 
Long  ago  Chardin  observed :  *  From  Ebber  to  the 
Indies  they  fpeak  Perfian,  more  or  lefs  neat,  as  the 
people  are  more  or  lefs  at  a  diftance  from  Shiras,  where 
the  purity  of  the  Perfian  Language  is  fpoken.' 

And  to-day  his  words  hold  good.  Shiraz,  indeed, 
with  justice  holds  itself  the  Persian  abode  of  learning. 
Even  in  these  days,  when  its  extent  is  circumscribed 
and  its  condition  deteriorated ; — days  when  there  is  a 
touch  of  pathos  in  the  proud  boast  that  '  when  Shiraz 
was  Shiraz,  Cairo  was  one  of  its  suburbs'; — together 
with  its  roses  and  its  nightingales  and  its  wine,  Shiraz 
preserves  more  than  any  other  city  its  pride  of  intel- 
lect. To  this  its  traditions  help  in  no  small  measure. 
Although  Meshed,  the  birthplace  of  '  Firdausi,  of 
Essedi,  of  Ferid-ud-din  'Attar,  of  Jalal-ud-din  Rumi, 
of  Jami,  of  Hatifi,  and  many  others,'  may  have  a 
strong  claim  to  be  considered  the  Persian  Parnassus, 
yet  the  two  great  poets  who  were  born  and  died  at 
Shiraz  may  almost  be  said  to  compensate  in  quality 
their  want  of  quantity. 

Saadi  and  Hafiz,  since  they  unfortunately  lack  their 
Fitzgeralds,  are  not  in  England  the  household  word 
that  Omar,  far  less  known  to  the  Persian,  has  become, 
and  that  they  themselves  are  in  their  native  land. 

But  in  Persia  the  amount  of  attention  their  writings 
receive  and  the  way  in  which  they  are  known  and 


126  ACROSS  PERSIA 

quoted  alike  by  prince  and  peasant,  strikes  a  stranger 
with  astonishment  and  admiration.  The  honour  in 
which  they  are  held  is  well  exemplified  in  a  little 
incident  narrated  by  Malcolm  in  his  'Sketches  of 
Persia.' 

*  Have  you  no  laws,'  said  I  one  day  to  Aga  Meer, 

*  but  the  Koran,  and  the  traditions  upon  that  volume?' 

*  We  have,'  said  he,  gravely,  '  the  maxims  of  Sadee.' 

*  Were  I  to  judge  from  my  own  observations,'  Malcolm 
himself  goes  on,  '  I  should  say  that  these  stories  and 
maxims,  which  are  known  to  all,  from  the  King  to  the 
peasant,  have  fully  as  great  an  effect,  in  restraining 
the  arbitrary  and  unjust  exercise  of  power  as  the  laws 
of  the  Prophet.' 

Of  the  two  poets,  Saadi  was  the  earlier,  and,  born 
at  Shiraz  in  A. D.  1193,  he  led  a  long  and,  for  a  Persian, 
an  energetic  life. 

To-day  he  lives  chiefly  by  his  two  collections  of 
poems  —  the  *  Gulistan '  (the  Rose  Garden)  and  the 

*  Bostan '  (the  Fruit  Garden).  These  poems  of  philo- 
sophy and  imagination,  of  Nature  and  of  man,  are  still 
on  the  lips  of  the  Persian  nation,  and  the  frequenter  of 
little  tea-taverns  and  out-of-the-way  villages  will  be 
surprised  to  hear  from  some  uncouth-looking  barbarian 
quotations  from  one  of  his  national  poets.  It  is  as 
though  in  the  slums  of  London  or  the  by-ways  of  a 
Midland  county,  the  loafers  and  labourers  were  to  be 
found  quoting  Shakespeare. 

If  Saadi  is  popular,  Hafiz  is  scarcely  less  so.  Almost 
as  soon  as  Saadi's  hands  relaxed  from  the  lyre,  Hafiz 
arose  to  take  it  up,  and  from  it  called  a  song  as  sweet  as 
Saadi's, — if  slightly  less  conventional.  Hafiz,  indeed, 
like  our  friend  Omar,  broke  the  bonds  of  true  Ma- 
hometanism  and  strayed  into  the  pleasant  land  of 
voluptuous  heresy.      Love  and  wine  were  the  chief 


THE  CITY  OF  ROSES  AND  NIGHTINGALES     127 

themes  of  his  song,  and  the  consequence  was  the 
inevitable  one.  In  these  more  indulgent  times,  and 
in  these  less  exigent  parts  of  the  earth,  Mrs.  Grundy 
would  have  been  shocked  and  Hafiz  would  have 
become  a  hero.  But  in  his  time  and  in  his  land,  there 
was  more  than  Mrs.  Grundy  to  cope  with.  Hafiz  had 
set  himself  up  against  the  recognized  religion  of  his 
time.  In  those  days,  to  preach  the  doctrine  of  plea- 
sure as  he  did,  was  to  preach  the  forbidden,  and  the 
consequence  was  that,  popular  as  he  might  be  among 
the  people,  he  incurred  the  censure,  and  ultimately 
almost  the  excommunication,  of  the  priests.  After  his 
death,  indeed,  in  1388,  the  true  Mahometan  of  the  day 
refused  to  let  this  errant  poet  be  honoured  with  the 
proper  rites  of  burial.  Even  in  those  days,  however, 
there  appears  to  have  been  a  party  in  the  land  which 
imagined  that  genius  condoned  a  certain  amount  of 
Bohemianism,  and  so  it  happened  that  an  agreement 
was  come  to  by  which  a  lot  should  be  drawn  from 
Hafiz's  own  works,  which  was  to  regulate  the  disposal 
of  his  dead  body,  and  to  decide  the  knotty  point  as  to 
whether  he  was  to  be  for  all  time  an  infidel  or  a  true 
believer.  To  obviate  any  possible  connivance  a  small 
child  was  selected  to  determine  the  fateful  question. 
Fate  was  kind,  and  this  is  the  passage  to  which  it 
directed  the  hand  of  the  child  : — 

*  Turn  not  away  from  the  last  rites  of  Hafiz,  for 
know  that,  though  plunged  deep  in  sin,  he  yet  will 
rise  to  paradise.' 

So  his  body  got  its  burial  and  his  soul  is  accounted 
blessed.  His  works,  however,  luckily  remain  just  as 
they  were. 

There  are  some  who  to-day  try  to  read  into  Hafiz 
as  into  Omar,  an  allegorical  meaning.  They  strain 
the  sense  of  words  in  order  to  prove  that  when  Hafiz 


128  ACROSS  PERSIA 

talked  of  love  and  wine  he  meant  something  very 
much  more  respectable  and  very  much  less  natural. 
In  the  same  way  that  the  obvious  and  beautiful  mean- 
ing of  the  magnificent  love-song  of  Solomon  has  been 
distorted  to  bring  it  into  accordance  with  the  theo- 
logical precepts  of  a  later  age,  so  those  who  can  never 
imagine  that  anything  is  great  that  is  not  in  accord- 
ance with  their  own  opinions,  and  that  anything  is 
good  which  does  not  confirm  to  a  dogmatic  asceticism, 
have  endeavoured  to  show  that  both  Omar  and  Hafiz 
concealed  the  spirit  of  a  devout  theologian  beneath  the 
expression  of  an  amorous  poet.  Possibly,  influenced 
by  the  most  kindly  motives,  they  think  they  are  doing 
their  hero  a  service  by  developing  his  righteousness  at 
the  expense  of  his  reason.  Personally,  however,  it  is 
enough  for  me  to  give  their  songs  their  obvious  mean- 
ing, to  find  in  them  merely  the  Divine  expression  of 
quite  mundane  things.  So  I  will  continue  to  believe 
that  the  writings  of  Hafiz  and  Omar  that  we  possess, 
are  quite  satisfactory  taken  at  their  face  value,  and 
that  there  [is  no  need  to  distort  a  single  poem  into 
that  which  the  little  girl,  who  was  asked  to  define  an 
allegory,  aptly  described  as  '  an  earthly  story  with  no 
earthly  meaning.' 

Now,  as  to  the  wine  of  Shiraz,  that  chief  source  of 
old  Hafiz's  delights  and  troubles. 

There  are  two  varieties,  the  red  and  the  white,  and 
having  tasted  both,  my  verdict  is  in  favour  of  the 
white.  The  description,  however,  I  will  leave  to  the 
excellent  Fryer,  to  whose  experience  and  ability  I  do 
not  pretend. 

*The  Wines  of  the  Growth  of  this  Country  are 
efteemed  the  moft  Stomachial  and  Generous  in  all 
Perfia  and  fitteft  for  common  drinking,  when  allayed 
a  little  with  Water,  otherwife  too  heady  for  the  Brain, 


THE  CITY  OF  ROSES  AND  NIGHTINGALES     129 

and  heavy  for  the  Stomach,  their  Paffage  being 
retarded  for  want  of  that  proper  Vehicle  :  It  is  in- 
credible to  fee  what  Quantities  they  drink  at  a  Merry- 
meeting,  and  how  unconcerned  the  next  day  they 
appear,  and  brisk  about  their  Buiinefs,  and  will  quaff 
you  thus  a  whole  Week  together.* 

Despite  the  injunctions  of  the  Koran,  the  Persians 
seem  to  have  never  manufactured  their  wine  for  purely 
export  purposes.  On  the  point  of  the  generous  con- 
viviality of  the  natives  travellers  are  unanimous,  and 
they  seem  to  speak  from  considerable  personal  ac- 
quaintance with  the  subject. 

Chardin's  description  of  '  the  Cuftom  of  the  Country ' 
in  drinking  is  quite  delightful,  while  Tavernier,  speak- 
ing of  the  wine  of  Shiraz's  traditional  rival,  remarks  : 
'  They  fay  that  the  Wine  of  Ispahan  is  cold  upon  the 
Stomach,  but  that  it  fumes  into  the  Head.  For  its 
coldness  upon  the  Stomach  I  can  fay  little,  but  / 
know  it  will  warm  the  Head,  if  a  Man  takes  too  much 
of  it.' 

Alas,  alas  !  I  fear  that  all  this  gives  very  little  sup- 
port to  those  who  insist  on  the  '  spirit '  of  Hafiz  being 
rather  of  an  animal  than  a  vegetable  nature. 

In  appearance  Shiraz  was  certainly  the  most  beau- 
tiful city  with  which  it  was  my  lot  to  meet  in  Persia  ; 
— let  us  just  take  a  general  view  of  the  city  from  the 
heights  to  the  North,  which  Le  Bruyn  chose  *  as 
commodious  for  me  to  make  a  Draught  of  the  city.' 

The  plain  of  Shiraz  lies  spread  out  before  us  like  a 
map.  Straight  below  is  the  city  itself,  still  roughly 
enclosed  by  its  mouldering  walls  and  long  useless 
moat.  Away  to  the  right  the  little  wandering  lanes 
and  thickly  packed  brown  houses  thin  out  into  stately 
gardens,  surrounded  with  long,  monotonous  walls. 
Just  now  these  gardens  are,  but  for  their  evergreens, 

9 


130  ACROSS  PERSIA 

grey  and  leafless.  But  everywhere  the  cypresses  with 
the  tall,  shapely  spires  of  dark  green  stand  out  vividly 
from  among  the  multitude  of  their  smaller  comrades. 
There  also,  relieving  the  brown-grey  sameness,  show 
in  delicate  silver  lines  the  trunks  and  tracery  of  the 
birches.  The  irregular  brownness  of  the  city  is  relieved 
by  scattered  blue  domes, — the  great  Shah  Chiragh 
and  its  brother  mosques,  rising  above  the  smaller  fry 
like  monster  ninepins.  All  around,  the  plain  is  walled 
with  mountains,  and  far  under  the  opposite  hill  there 
is  a  glint  of  water.  In  the  dim  distance  to  the  left 
is  an  infinity  of  snow-like  whiteness  merging  in  the 
misty  horizon  ; — a  strange  sea  of  salt  with  headlands 
of  rock  projecting  into  its  unfriendly  waters.  Every- 
where the  horizon  is  cut  by  jagged  lines  of  hills,  on 
the  topmost  crests  of  which  glisten  patches  of  snow, 
sinking  softly  into  snowy  masses  of  cloud.  Above  all 
the  sun  shines  keenly  down  from  the  open  blue. 

Scrambling  down,  let  us  make  our  way  along  the 
broad,  ill-made  road  over  the  bridge  that  spans  the 
little  river  into  the  city  itself  Our  entrance  is  an 
unsavoury  business.  The  Persian  intelligence  has  not 
yet  risen  to  drainage,  and  when  in  addition  it  is 
remembered  that  if  anything  except  a  human  being 
dies,  to  the  Shirazi  mind  the  obvious  place  to  dispose 
of  it  is  the  dry  moat  which  now  serves  no  other 
useful  purpose,  it  is  not  surprising  that  we  hurry  as 
quickly  as  possible  over  this  part  of  our  journey.  Dead 
bodies,  skulls  and  bones  of  animals,  even  the  skull  of 
a  man,  and  endless  rubbish-heaps,  we  fly  by  them  and 
enter  more  savoury  regions. 

Once  upon  a  time  near  the  gate  of  Kassab  Khana 
there  used  to  be  several  pillars  of  mortar  in  which 
some  outlaws  in  the  seventies  were  built  in  alive  as  a 
punishment  for  their  crimes.     They  apparently  took 


THE  CITY  OF  ROSES  AND  NIGHTINGALES     131 

*  an  unconscionable  long  time  dying,*  and  after  their 
death  the  pillars  remained  there  as  a  warning  and  a 
monument  until  quite  recently ;  but  they  have  dis- 
appeared now,  and  our  feelings  need  not  be  harrowed 
by  the  sight  of  such  dismal  portals  to  our  approach. 

Entering  from  the  North  we  pass  into  the  heart  of 
the  city,  through  a  little  scrubby  market.  Then  we 
plunge  straight  into  those  great  bazaars  for  which, 
above  all  Persian  cities,  Shiraz  is  famous.  Shady  at 
the  height  of  noon  on  the  hottest  summer's  day,  dusk 
and  gloomy,  as  now,  in  the  winter  s  evening,  these 
imposing,  vaulted  thoroughfares  are  indeed  worthy 
of  admiration  and  deserving  of  description.  Franklin 
describes  the  Vakils  Bazaar,  the  greatest  in  the  city, 
in  the  following  words  :  *  It  is  a  long  ftreet,  extending 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  built  entirely  of  brick,  and 
roofed  fomething  in  the  ftyle  of  the  Piazzas  in  Covent 
Garden ;  it  is  lofty  and  well  made  ;  on  each  fide  are 
the  fhops  of  the  tradefmen,  merchants  and  others,  in 
which  are  expofed  for  fale  a  variety  of  goods  of  all 
kinds.' 

At  the  busiest  time  of  day  the  scene  in  the  long 
avenue  and  the  shorter  ones  which  cross  it  at  right 
angles  is  a  strange  one.  Each  trade  has  its  appointed 
portion  of  the  bazaar.  In  one  corner  the  copper- 
smiths and  brass-workers  are  raising  a  tumultuous 
and  reverberating  din,  which  renders  conversation  an 
absolute  impossibility ;  in  another  are  the  leather- 
workers  laboriously  hammering  out  patterns  and 
stitching  trappings.  Other  places  are  given  up  to  the 
wool-workers,  the  hat-makers,  the  dyers,  the  bankers, 
and  all  the  different  trades  which  are  necessary  to 
supply  the  needs  of  civilization. 

Each  shop  is  a  little  arched  recess,  raised,  like  the 
small  dwelling-places  in   a   caravanserai,  a   few  feet 

9—2 


132  ACROSS  PERSIA 

above  the  level  of  the  centre  path,  and  leading  back 
into  recesses  stored  with  goods,  and  darkly  odorous  of 
the  commodity  in  which  the  merchant  trades. 

Down  the  centre  throngs  a  motley  multitude  ;  afoot, 
on  horse,  rich  and  poor,  seller  and  buyer,  there  jostle 
one  another  here  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men, 
jabbering,  pushing,  and,  above  all,  haggling.  Without 
his  haggling  the  Persian  merchant  would  be  unrecog- 
nizable. It  is,  indeed,  haggling  that  separates  by  a 
wide  gulf  the  commerce  of  the  East  from  that  of  the 
West.  There  are  no  labels  on  the  goods  in  what 
answers  in  Persia  to  the  shop-window.  There  are, 
indeed,  no  fixed  prices  for  anything.  The  price  of  an 
article  is  what  the  seller  will  take  and  the  buyer  will 
give,  and  the  process  of  sale  is  an  endeavour  to  make 
these  two  coincide.  Let  no  one  imagine  that  he  could 
blithely  step  into  a  shop  in  Persia,  ask  the  price  of  a 
thing,  receive  an  answer,  and  pay  his  money.  That 
would  not  be  the  method  of  the  East,  where  there  is 
plenty  of  time,  and  a  bargain  may  just  as  well  take 
ten  days,  as  ten  hours  or  ten  minutes. 

One  purchase  cost  me  three  weeks.  I  had  the  time 
to  spare  and  the  curiosity  to  see  whether  and  when 
my  Persian  friend  would  meet  my  terms.  It  was  in 
the  matter  of  a  small  scimitar  in  a  velvet  case  and 
with  a  carved  ivory  handle.  I  think  it  was  twenty- 
five  tomans  (about  £5)  that  he  asked  for  this  on  the 
first  occasion  that  I  inquired  after  it.  I  offered  him 
five.  He  smiled  with  a  Persian  shrug  of  his  shoulders 
as  if  to  imply  *  the  gentleman  is  jesting.'  But  the 
gentleman  was  not  jesting,  and  after  a  little  he  went 
away  without  the  scimitar.  Day  after  day  as  I  passed 
my  friend  I  inquired  the  price  of  his  scimitar.  Day 
after  day  the  price  decreased.  At  last  one  day  I  said, 
— it  was  when  the  price  had  reached,  I  think,  seven 


THE  CITY  OF  ROSES  AND  NIGHTINGALES    133 

tomans — *  To-morrow  I  leave  Shiraz.'  I  was  sorry ; 
the  little  affair  of  the  scimitar  had  become  quite  an 
event  in  my  daily  life,  and  our  discussions  as  to  its 
price  had  led  to  a  pleasant  friendship  springing  up 
between  me  and  my  commercial  antagonist.  The 
cheerful  and  habitual  inquiry  after  the  price  of  the 
scimitar  had  almost  come  to  represent  some  little 
attention.  I  am  sure  *  How  do  you  do  ?'  or  *  I  hope 
your  wife  is  well '  could  have  not  pleased  him  more. 
(The  latter  inquiry,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  would  have 
been  a  studied  insult,  for  in  Persia  it  is  not  permitted 
to  ask  after  the  health  of  a  Persian  gentleman's  wife. 
You  may  only  say,  *  How  is  your  family  V  such  is  the 
Persian  strictness  with  regard  to  even  the  mention  of 
a  lady's  name.)  We  indulged  in  one  last  haggle.  No, 
he  could  not ;  five  tomans  was  a  loss ;  was  not  only 
giving  it  me,  he  would  do  that,  but  it  meant  a 
sacrifice  ;  and  so  we  parted.  But  just  as  I  was  turn- 
ing from  the  main  bazaar  into  a  side  street,  somebody 
tapped  me  on  the  arm.  I  turned  round.  '  The 
scimitar,  here  it  is,'  said  he ;  *  where  is  the  five 
tomans?'  It  had  been  a  useful  little  experience  in 
Persian  trading.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  always 
necessary  to  divide  by  at  least  three,  and  sometimes 
as  much  as  five,  in  order  to  ascertain  in  a  commercial 
transaction  what  should  be  given.  After  this  pre- 
liminary proceeding  all  that  is  necessary  to  conclude 
a  bargain,  which  at  all  events  will  not  result  in  an 
extravagant  swindle,  is  time  and  patience. 

Engaged  in  such  processes  on  a  greater  or  smaller 
scale  the  mob  jostles  and  jabbers  on.  Here  is  a  violent 
altercation,  probably  about  a  question  of  a  penny- 
farthing  or  some  such  sum.  There  a  calm  and  quiet 
matching  of  wills  between  two  courteous  individuals, 
upon   which    may   probably   depend    a    considerably 


1S4  ACROSS  PERSIA 

larger  amount.  While  we  are  watching,  suddenly  a 
furry  head  bobs  into  us  behind,  and  we  are  nearly 
knocked  over  by  a  great  package  strapped  on  a  lusty 
mule.  There  is  no  '  by  your  leave';  you  must  get  out 
of  the  way  if  you  do  not  want  to  be  knocked  over. 
You  must  take  care  of  yourself  if  you  are  to  be  taken 
care  of  at  all.  Farther  or  nearer,  as  the  case  may  be, 
there  arises  the  din  of  the  copper-smiths'  bazaar,  and 
everywhere  there  is  the  confused  buzz  of  voices, 
streaked  here  and  there  with  shouts  and  rough  oaths ; 
it  is  a  kaleidoscope  of  sound.  The  air  is  filled  with 
spices  and  scents  and  the  odour  of  humanity  ;  it  seems 
to  have  a  veritable  consistency  of  its  own,  and  to  hang 
like  some  sort  of  all-enveloping  medium  full  of  smell 
and  noise.  Even  the  light  itself  can  scarcely  penetrate 
this  resistant  atmosphere.  The  corners  are  black  with 
a  solidity  of  darkness,  and  even  the  sunshine,  which 
streams  through  the  little  windows  in  the  vaulted  roof, 
has  to  force  its  way  through  the  teeming  air  in  shafts 
of  light  along  which  dance  a  multitude  of  motes.  The 
East,  if  it  does  not  trade  well,  trades  at  least 
vehemently. 

Leading  off  this  great  central  artery  with  its 
throbbing  tide  of  life,  there  are  the  broad  caravan- 
serais to  which  constantly  come  in,  and  in  which  abide 
during  their  stay,  the  caravans  of  the  merchants. 
Here,  too,  around  the  central  square  are  shops,  and 
always  in  particular,  one  shop, — '  the '  shop.  Every 
one  who  has  ever  lived  in  a  country  village  knows 
*  the '  shop.  It  contains  everything ;  you  can  buy 
bootlaces,  matches,  and  lucky-bags,  and  cheeses  ;  they 
bake  bread  and  mend  boots,  and  if  you  like  they  will 
come  and  put  the  pump  right  when  it  goes  wrong. 
The  Eastern  parallel  to  this  is  *  the '  shop  in  a 
caravanserai.     It  is  the  furnishing  place  for  the  native 


THE  CITY  OF  ROSES  AND  NIGHTINGALES     135 

traveller,  and  he  can  get  there  all  that  goes  to  make 
a  journey  possible  and  pleasant.  There  he  can  obtain 
clothes,  biscuits,  tinned  fruits,  all  varieties  of  food  and 
raiment ; — all,  let  it  be  remarked,  fairly  bad  and 
generally  extremely  dear  {e.g.,  two  shillings  for  a  small 
tin  of  biscuits).  The  tinned  fruits  have  a  tendency  to 
be  what  is  left  over  from  somebody  else's  stock  of 
several  years  ago.  The  clothes,  though  to  outward 
appearances  satisfying  anyone  who  is  not  unreasonably 
fastidious  as  to  '  cut,'  will  suddenly,  when  the  traveller 
is  at  a  safe  distance  from  *  the '  shop,  display  startling 
and  unsuspected  weaknesses.  But  that  is  the  traveller's 
business,  and  after  all  *  the '  shop  is  a  great  convenience. 
I  should,  however,  recommend  the  English  traveller  to 
go  elsewhere,  when  he  can. 

Now  for  the  great  glory  of  Shiraz — its  gardens. 

The  garden  of  a  great  city  differs  from  its  rural 
neighbours  in  that  it  is  less  wild  and  more  pretentious. 
There  is  generally  in  the  centre  a  *  summer- house ' ; 
not  a  mere  wooden  shanty  overgrown  with  creepers, 
but  a  solid  stone  edifice  which  literally  takes  the 
place  of  a  house  in  the  summer,  and  in  which,  during 
the  hot  months,  it  is  possible  to  live  coolly  and  com- 
fortably. This  summer-house  consists  generally  of  a 
large  central  hall  flanked  by  smaller  apartments.  In 
the  centre  of  the  hall  itself,  there  will  likely  enough 
be  a  clear  pool  of  water,  and  possibly,  if  the  owner  is 
more  than  usually  luxurious,  a  playing  fountain.  Here, 
propped  on  cushions  and  surrounded  with  the  various 
modern  adjuncts  which  correspond  to  Omar's  book  of 
verses  and  other  paraphernalia,  shaded  from  the  heat 
of  the  midday  sun  and  soothed  by  the  murmuring  of 
running  water,  it  is  no  doubt  possible  to  successfully 
cope  with  the  various  discomforts  with  which  the 
summer  in  Eastern  climates  is  associated. 


136  ACROSS  PERSIA 

Outside,  the  paths  are  more  trimly  kept,  and  the 
trees  are  allowed  to  run  less  luxuriantly  wild  than 
in  the  garden  we  have  already  visited.  Primness, 
however,  thank  goodness,  would  be  an  impossibility 
to  the  Persian  temperament,  and  even  the  town- 
bred  garden  is  a  delightfully  untamed  and  unkempt 
thing. 

Such  a  garden  is,  of  course,  left  a  place  of  pleasant 
seclusion  for  its  owner.  But  this  is  not  the  case  with 
the  more  historic  gardens  of  Shiraz.  I  remember 
going  to  a  little  place  called  Chehel  Tan,  the  Garden 
of  the  Forty  Bodies.  It  takes  its  name  from  the  forty 
little  unlettered  stone  slabs,  which  are  arrayed  down 
one  side  close  under  the  wall,  and  which  mark  the 
resting-places  of  as  many  men,  whom,  so  tradition 
says,  were  murdered  and  buried  here.  Now  it  has 
become  a  kind  of  tea-garden — the  Persian  has  a  taste 
for  taking  his  pleasures  among  the  dead,  which  well 
accords  with  his  somewhat  morbid  temperament,  and 
is  quite  consonant  with  his  habit  of  introducing  a 
strain  of  religious  philosophy  into  all  the  doings  of  his 
everyday  life.  And  so  it  comes  about  that,  as  in  this 
case,  he  frequently  converts  a  cemetery  into  a  place 
of  entertainment  for  himself  and  his  friends,  and  as  a 
tea-table  the  top  of  a  tombstone  is  found  as  appropriate 
to  the  living  as,  in  another  capacity,  it  is  to  the 
dead. 

*  In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death,'  says  the 
Persian.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  goes  so  far  as  to  build 
his  '  tomb '  during  his  own  life,  surround  it  with  a 
garden,  and  pass  his  declining  days  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  his  last  resting-place.  To  the  mind  that  is 
capable  of  forgetting  that  it  matters  no  more  after 
death  what  becomes  of  the  body  than  it  does  what 
happens  to  any  other  inanimate  piece  of  earth,  there  is 


THE  CITY  OF  ROSES  AND  NIGHTINGALES     137 

something  rather  attractive  in  this  preliminary  getting 
used  to  a  dwelling-place  for  eternity. 

To  an  enemy,  however,  this  gives  an  obvious  opening 
for  an  unpleasant  remark,  which  was  not  neglected  by 
a  certain  acquaintance  of  a  great  but  unpopular  man. 
After  he  had  constructed  a  really  magnificent  tomb 
for  himself,  and  entertained  largely  therein,  he  was 
much  annoyed  to  receive  from  some  ill-mannered 
persons  a  note  which  said  :  *  You  may  be  assured  that 
the  city  appreciates  the  work  which  you  have  done 
in  making  your  magnificent  mausoleum.  All  that 
is  now  wanting  to  complete  the  good  work  is  your 
decease.* 

The  scene  in  our  tiny  garden,  for  it  is  very  small,  is 
a  picturesque  one.  Entering  through  a  little  gate  in 
the  wall,  we  come  into  a  square  plot  planted  with 
cypress-trees,  and  surrounded  with  a  high  wall,  over 
which  peep  the  tops  of  the  outside  trees,  backed  by 
an  undulating  horizon  of  barren  hills.  There  are  not 
only  cypresses,  although  they  are  the  most  prominent 
feature,  as,  indeed,  they  must  be  wherever  they  exist. 
There  are  tall  firs  and  little  scrubby  bushes,  and  the 
whole  profusion  of  foliage  casts  a  twinkling  shimmer 
of  shadow  and  light  over  the  paths  and  walls  and 
flower-beds.  At  the  far  end  the  wall  is  elaborated 
into  a  series  of  little  recessed  rooms,  raised  a  few  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  ground  like  those  in  a  caravan- 
serai. These  small  stage-like  places  are  tea-shops  and 
smoking-dens.  Inside  they  are  panelled  round  with 
faded  frescoes  of  absurd-looking  monarchs  (or  perhaps, 
after  all,  they  may  be  mere  ordinary  men,  though  the 
Persian  imagination  would  certainly  convert  them  into 
monarchs  in  a  few  years  even  if  they  were).  Round 
about  squat  little  groups  of  Persians  sipping  tea  out 
of  tiny  glass  cups  or  bubbling  away  at  Kalians.     In  a 


138  ACROSS  PERSIA 

corner  is  a  little  group  smoking  opium.  Grave,  sober- 
looking  Persians  in  their  drab  clothing  and  black  hats, 
they  stand  out  in  excellent  contrast  to  the  more  vivid 
colouring  of  Nature,  while  the  white  turban  of  a  Seyid 
strikes  here  and  there  a  sharp  note  in  the  harmony  of 
colour.  The  clear  air  and  the  brilliant  sunlight  make 
the  whole  an  effective  picture  painted  with  all  the 
incisive  colouring  of  the  East.  Away  to  the  right 
underneath  the  wall  stretch  the  forty  little  graves, 
two  long  rows  of  smooth  tombstones  with,  at  the  end, 
a  Sheik's  grave.  Evidently  he  was  a  very  holy  man, 
for  at  the  foot  of  the  stone  stands  a  cheap-looking 
lantern,  which  is  the  sign  of  especial  adoration  in  the 
East.  The  stone  is  broken  in  the  centre,  and  the  sides 
have  split  away.  It  is  a  very  crumbling  remnant  of  a 
thing,  but  in  Persia,  as,  indeed,  in  certain  other  climes, 
the  more  crumbling  a  remnant  is,  the  more  it  acquires 
sanctity  ; — often,  indeed,  its  state  of  honourable  decay 
is  its  chief,  and  sometimes  its  sole,  claim  to  respect. 
In  this  case  there  is  added  evidence  that  such  respect 
is  at  all  events  here  paid,  for  overshadowing  the  tomb 
is  a  curious  object.  A  barren,  dead-looking  tree  grows 
almost  out  of  the  grave  itself,  and,  standing  sentinel- 
like over  the  dead  Sheik,  presents  a  peculiar  appear- 
ance. Its  withered  branches  are  clad  not  by  Nature, 
but  by  man,  for  each  is  hung  with  countless  small 
fragments  of  rag,  till  the  lower  part  of  the  tree  looks 
as  though  it  had  become  covered  with  a  strange  sort 
of  icicles.  When  I  saw  all  this,  I  had  a  peculiar 
feeling  of  having  seen  the  same  thing  before.  That  is 
a  feeling  which  often  comes  without  apparently  any 
substantial  reason,  unless,  as  some  say,  one  half  of  our 
brain  is  just  a  fraction  of  a  second  in  front  of  the  other, 
which  thereupon  welcomes  the  sensation  of  the  moment 
as  an  old  acquaintance.      This  time,  however,   there 


THE  CITY  OF  ROSES  AND  NIGHTINGALES     139 

was  a  more  solid  reason  for  my  impression,  for  it  sud- 
denly flashed  on  my  mind  that  close  to  my  home  in 
Wales  I  had  seen  practically  the  identical  tree.  Just 
under  a  hedge  in  a  green  corner  of  a  meadow  there  is 
a  deep  icy-cold  pool,  rudely  walled  round  with  stone, 
and  called  *  The  Well  in  the  Pig's  Field.'  There  is  a 
tradition  that  those  bathing  in  this  pool  will  be  freed 
of  various  ills,  the  one  thing  necessary  besides  the 
bathe  being  the  tying  up  of  a  small  rag  on  the  branches 
of  the  tree  which  overshadows  the  water.  Thus  it 
happens  that  at  the  present  day  the  tree  over  *  The 
Well  in  the  Pig's  Field '  is  hung  with  a  motley  array  of 
rags,  just  as  is  this  little  tree  so  many  thousand  miles 
away  in  the  garden  of  the  Forty  Bodies  at  Shiraz. 
So  are  we  mortals  much  the  same  on  this  little 
world  of  ours,  be  it  East  or  West  or  North  or  South. 
So  does  humanity  differ  in  degree  rather  than  in 
substance. 

There  is  a  pathetic  power  about  the  thought  of 
home  to  a  traveller  in  a  distant  land,  and  as  I  gave  a 
coin  to  the  beggar  by  the  grave  and  went  from  the 
garden,  my  eyes  saw  not  the  grey  and  brown  and 
black  of  a  Persian  garden,  but  the  soft  green  of  a  little 
field  in  Wales. 

The  same  day  we  went  to  the  tomb  of  Hafiz.  It 
has  been  often  described ; — the  marble  stone  beauti- 
fully carved,  enclosed  within  a  kind  of  cage  of  iron 
bars,  at  the  corners  of  which  fly  horrible  iron  pennons. 
The  whole  of  this  affair  is  inside  a  square  cemetery 
packed  with  the  graves  of  those  who  wished  to  be 
buried  *  under  the  shadow  '  of  the  great  man.  Enter- 
ing the  iron  cage,  we  gazed  on  the  stone,  in  the  centre 
of  which  stood  a  common-looking  candlestick.  It  is 
not  the  original  tombstone, — that  is  just  without  the 
building  on  the  side  farthest  from  the  door, — but  it  is, 


140  ACROSS  PERSIA 

nevertheless,  a  finely  carved  slab  covered  with  an 
inscription  of  the  poet's  verses.  Somehow  it  did  not 
strike  me  as  quite  impressive  enough  ;  the  surround- 
ings were  not  worthy  of  the  hero  of  Persian  poetry. 
Personally,  I  prefer  to  think  of  Omar's  grave  over- 
shadowed by  the  wild  rose-tree,  though,  alas  !  even 
that  delightfully  romantic  tradition  has,  I  believe, 
now  been  ruthlessly  made  havoc  of  Over  beyond  the 
gate,  close  under  the  cemetery  wall,  was  a  little  altar 
covered  with  a  red  cloth  and  decked  with  tiers  of 
shining  candlesticks,  the  candles  burning  even  on  the 
brightest  day.  Round  this  knelt  in  prayer  some  half- 
dozen  women  in  their  all-enveloping  black  gowns, 
divided  in  front  with  the  long  white  slips,  and  ending 
in  the  little  cotton  lattice-work  openings  over  the  eyes. 
Very  leper-like  and  unpleasant  they  looked.  Sick 
people  they  were,  and  soon  they  huddled  together 
before  the  mullah,  had  something  pronounced  over 
them,  and  then  departed. 

Far  more  fitting  is  the  tomb  of  Saadi.  Close  by 
Dilkhusha — *The  Garden  of  Hearts'  Delight' — the 
valley  to  the  north-east  opens  out,  and  there  in  the 
centre,  set  in  the  midst  of  the  great  barren  hills,  is 
the  little  garden,  with  its  fir-trees,  dark  cypresses, 
and  white  buildings,  which  marks  the  poet's  resting- 
place.  Never  in  my  life  have  I  seen  a  place  more 
perfectly  suited  to  its  object  or  in  more  harmonious 
surroundings.  There,  surely,  he  can  rest  in  peace, 
close  to  his  beloved  city,  away  from  the  bustle  and 
change,  reposing  in  his  quiet  little  garden  amid  the 
hills.  Inside,  in  a  small  chamber,  just  off  the  peaceful 
plot  of  verdure,  surrounded  with  its  high  white  walls, 
is  the  tomb  itself  Within  a  bare  lattice-windowed 
room,  peeping  into  which  the  sunlight  traces  a  pattern 
on   the  clean-swept   floor,   there  rises  a  simple   blue 


■  •      "       • 


."•.    ••••• 


THE  CITY  OF  ROSES  AND  NIGHTINGALES     141 

railing  round  a  block  of  marble  chiselled  with  a  few 
immortal  verses.     That  is  all. 

But  outside  there  are  things  which,  perhaps,  even 
more  beautifully  keep  the  poet's  memory  green. 

Just  behind,  and  to  the  north  of  the  garden,  there 
suddenly  appears  an  opening  in  the  earth,  from  which 
steps  lead  down  into  a  little  subterranean  passage, 
which  ends  in  a  tiny  rock  chamber,  open  above  to  the 
heavens.  From  the  north  side  there  bubbles  out  a 
spring,  to  form  a  crystal  pool,  straight  into  which 
there  lead  some  rude  stone  steps.  Passing  through 
this  little  pool,  the  water  babbles  away  beneath  the 
rock  opposite.  Numberless  little  iish,  once  held  sacred 
to  Saadi,  dart  to  and  fro  in  the  limpid  waters,  while 
at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  you  may  chance  on  a  group 
of  Persian  girls  filling  water-skins  with  a  pretty 
splashing  and  chattering.  Behind,  the  worn  grey 
steps  lead  to  a  blaze  of  blue  sky  and  sunlight ;  below, 
flows  the  clear  lucent  stream ;  above,  rise  the  well's 
stone  walls  clean  into  a  patch  of  heaven.  It  all 
forms  a  sweet  little  scene,  somehow  more  fitly  reminis- 
cent of  the  Persian  poet  than  the  chill  slab  of  marble 
over  his  dust. 

Not  far  away  is  another  very  different  well.  It  is 
high  on  the  mountain  that  overhangs  Saadi's  tomb, 
and  I  climbed  there  one  splendid  afternoon.  After  a 
long  struggle  up  steep,  grassy  slopes,  and  little  winding 
paths,  I  reached  the  summit  of  the  hill-crest.  A 
glorious  picture  of  the  plain  of  Shiraz  lay  before  me, 
grandest,  perhaps,  to  the  south-west,  where  above  the 
sea  of  salt,  now  a  splendid  blue,  rose  purple  mountains 
flecked  with  shadow  and  sun,  lost  in  tier  upon  tier  of 
woolly  grey  and  white  clouds,  sped  by  the  south  wind, 
which  caught  my  face  as  I  came  over  the  ruin-clad 
slopes; — and  there  below  me,  in  a  little  hollow,  was 


142  ACROSS  PERSIA 

the  well.  It  was  a  great  oblong,  clean-cut  chasm, 
descending  into  gloomy  depths,  only  fathomed  by  the 
pigeons,  which  made  weird,  thunderous  noises  in  its 
abyss.  Grim  it  looked,  and  grim  was  its  history. 
No  one  has  ever  been  able  to  sound  its  depths  From 
earliest  times  the  traveller  has  tried,  but,  in  spite  of 
all  his  efforts,  the  matter  is  still  unsolved.  Cornelius 
le  Bruyn,  indeed,  in  1704,  with  admirable  nicety,  fixed 
its  depths  at  429  feet  and  11  inches  ;  but  his  minute 
accuracy  is  disputed  by  every  one  else  who  has  made 
any  attempt  at  measurement.  Dr.  Wills  much  more 
recently  was  unable  to  find  the  bottom  at  600  yards. 
Such  is  the  well,  and  its  uses  have  been  as  dreadful  as 
its  depth  is  mysterious ;  for  down  this  unfathomable 
chasm,  until  quite  recently,  used  to  be  thrown  the 
faithless  wives  of  Shiraz.  Looking  about,  I  found 
some  stones,  and,  leaning  over,  hurled  them  into  the 
black  void.  I  heard  the  hollow  noises  gradually  die 
away  for  over  thirty  seconds,  but  at  the  end  there  was 
no  splash  or  heavy  echo  to  announce  the  coming  to 
rest  of  my  envoys.  As  I  lay  flat  on  my  face,  peering 
down  into  the  fearsome  pit,  and  heard  the  distant 
rumblings  from  below,  a  shudder  passed  over  me  at  the 
thought  of  the  bodies  which  had  cleft  those  depths 
and  roused  those  echoes.  From  the  very  stone  upon 
which  I  lay  they  had  been  cast ;  this  slab  of  white 
rock  was  their  last  step  to  eternity.  I  pictured  some 
poor  thing  urged,  quivering  and  shrinking,  over  the 
brink ;  —  the  breathless  drop,  then  a  horrid  crash 
and  a  cry  ; — silence  ; — then,  further  away,  a  dull 
thud; — a  long  pause; — afterwards  a  crescendo  of 
multitudinous  reverberations  from  below; — at  last  a 
dull  mumbling  far  beneath,  dying  into  a  long,  dark 
silence. 

I  drew  back  and  went  away  from  the  place  with  a 


THE  CITY  OF  ROSES  AND  NIGHTINGALES     143 

cold  feeling  at  my  heart,  thinking  of  what  my  missiles 
had  reached  at  the  end  of  their  journey. 

In  these  days,  when  the  enfranchisement  of  woman 
is  an  accomplished  fact  in  many  of  our  colonies,  and  a 
thing  of  the  not  distant  future  even  in  this  conserva- 
tive land,  it  is  painful  and  even  difl&cult  to  imagine 
the  bondage  that  still  holds  the  sex  in  Eastern  lands. 
In  the  West  itself,  there  is  still,  unfortunately,  a 
somewhat  prevalent  feeling  that  woman  is  some  sort 
of  superior  domestic  animal ;  but  we  have,  at  all 
events,  as  George  Meredith  puts  it,  '  rounded  Seraglio 
Point,'  even  if  we  have  not,  '  doubled  Cape  Turk.'  In 
the  country  in  which  I  was  travelling  they  are  still 
the  far  side  even  of  Seraglio  Point,  and  a  woman  is 
looked  upon  as  a  mere  chattel,  a  thing  specially 
invented  for  man's  amusement  and  to  beget  and  take 
care  of  his  children  ; — something  with  only  half  a  soul 
and  no  claims  to  recognition  at  all,  except  those  she 
can  enforce  by  virtue  of  her  cunning  or  her  attractions. 
They  pay  their  own  penalty  for  it,  the  race  suffers  ; 
but,  unfortunately,  the  more  the  race  suffers,  the  less 
likely  is  it  to  arrive  at  any  more  desirable  state  of 
affairs.  At  present,  indeed,  her  lot  is  little,  if  at  all, 
preferable  to  that  of  a  dumb  animal,  except  that,  if  she 
is  tolerably  well  favoured,  she  will  undoubtedly  escape 
any  actual  ill-treatment,  and  may,  by  her  blandish- 
ments, even  obtain  considerable  power.  By  the  very 
religion  of  the  country,  however,  she  is  doomed  to  a 
perpetual  position  of  inferiority.  On  earth  she  is 
established  as  man's  plaything  from  the  very  fact  that 
there  is  permitted  a  plurality  of  wives,  while  even  in 
heaven,  however  virtuous  and  long-suffering  she  may 
have  been  in  this  world,  the  imagination  of  the 
Persian  has  only  credited  her  with  half  the  rewards 
to  be  attained  by  the  most  mediocre  man,  who  just 


144  ACROSS  PERSIA 

manages  to  scrape  into  a  happy  hereafter.  In  Persia 
and  in  the  Persian  paradise  alike  a  woman  is  indeed 
considered  half-price. 

To  return  to  our  gardens  ;  one  of  the  most  delightful 
visits  I  paid  while  at  Shiraz  was  to  a  little  place  set 
high  up  in  the  hills  behind  the  city.  It  was  called 
the  Well  of  Baba  Kuhi — Baba  of  the  Hill — and  it  was 
a  weary  and  a  hot  climb  to  reach  the  tiny  pool  and 
rude  hut  where  once  lived,  or  is  said  to  have  lived,  the 
old  hermit  who  gave  his  name  to  the  spot.  On  the 
way  I  was  regaled  with  a  story  so  admirably  Persian 
in  character  that  it  shall  be  here  put  down. 

In  Persia,  the  first  word  which  the  traveller  learns 
is  *  Insh'allah.'  *  Insh'allah  '  means  *  If  God  is  willing,' 
and  it  is  interjected  on  every  possible  occasion  by  the 
average  Persian,  indicating  almost  equally  his  habit 
of  introducing  religion  into  everything,  and  his 
national  characteristic  of  unreliability  and  indefinite- 
ness.  The  Persian  will  never  commit  himself,  not,  at 
least,  while  there  is  anyone  else  who  can  be  committed 
instead,  and  if  he  can  throw  the  responsibility  for  a 
statement  or  a  promise  upon  a  Creator  to  whom 
appeal  on  this  earth  is  impossible,  he  is  only  too  happy 
to  do  so. 

The  occasion  of  my  being  told  the  excuse  which  the 
Persian  has  invented  for  this  practice  of  hedging 
everything  about  with  *  If  God  is  willing '  was  a  ques- 
tion I  put  as  to  whether  we  should  arrive  at  the  well 
of  Baba  Kuhi  before  the  sun  had  sunk  too  low  to  allow 
of  my  photographing  the  place.  With  a  religious 
uncertainty  came  the  answer,  '  Insh'allah,  we  shall  be 
there  in  time.'  *  You  Persians  use  too  much  Insh'allah,' 
says  Saif  with  his  usual  abruptness  and  customary 
contempt  for  foreigners.  Whereupon  we  are  favoured 
with  a  story  of  Insh'allah. 


THE  CITY  OF  ROSES  AND  NIGHTINGALES     145 

It  would  seem  that  on  the  day  of  creation  (to  the 
Persian  there  is  nothing  like  founding  his  argument  as 
far  back  as  possible,  adding,  as  this  does,  to  its  weight 
and  detracting  from  its  liability  to  contradiction) 
the  newly  feathered  birds  had  not  yet  tried  their 
wings.  Apparently  it  was  getting  late  in  the  day, 
and  at  a  council  they  resolved  (it  is  obvious  that  the 
creation  took  place  in  Persia)  to  put  off  the  experiment 
till  the  next  morning ;  so  they  all  went  to  bed  (a 
cheerless  proceeding,  presumably,  since  there  had 
scarcely  been  time  for  them  to  prepare  a  comfortable 
nest),  and  as  they  went,  they  murmured,  '  Insh'allah, 
we  will  fly  to-morrow '  (*  We  will  fly  to-morrow,  if  God 
is  willing ').  All,  that  is,  except  the  cock  and  the  hen, 
who,  either  from  mere  impertinence  or  else  from  sheer 
haste  to  get  to  bed,  omitted  their  Insh'allah,  only 
murmuring  with  assurance,  'We  will  fly  to-morrow.' 
This,  the  Persians  assert,  the  Creator  unfortunately 
overheard,  and  thus  it  happened  that  next  day, 
when,  at  the  eventful  moment,  all  the  birds  soared 
into  the  air,  the  poor  cock  and  hen  were  left  feebly 
flapping  their  futile  wings,  unable  to  raise  themselves 
more  than  a  few  inches  from  the  ground.  So  now 
everything  is  hedged  about  with  Insh'allah,  to  avoid, 
so  says  the  Persian,  again  provoking  another  lesson  in 
proper  humility. 

Every  evening  a  curious  performance  is  gone  through 
in  Shiraz.  The  scene  is  the  courtyard  of  the  Governor's 
palace  in  the  city,  a  bare,  open  space  surrounded  with 
gloomy-looking  walls  ;  the  end  of  the  day  is  at  hand, 
and  the  still  dusk  is  settling  over  plain  and  hill. 
Suddenly,  at  the  precise  hour  of  sunset,  there  arises 
from  one  of  the  towers  which  overlook  the  square  a 
weird  and  very  Oriental  din.  It  is  the  Persian  'band' 
playing-down  the  sun.      With  a  wild  tom-tomming 

10 


146  ACROSS  PERSIA 

and  a  rhythmic,  and,  to  a  Western  ear,  a  discordant, 
concert  of  trumpetings  and  whistlings,  they  herald  the 
departure  of  daylight. 

It  was  the  same  in  1787.  Franklin  says  :  *  Opposite 
to  the  citadel  in  a  large  handfome  fquare  is  a  gallery 
where  the  Khan's  mufic,  conlifting  of  trumpets,  kettle 
drums,  and  other  inftruments,  plays  regularly  at  fun- 
rise  and  funset.'  There  they  are, — the  three  kettle- 
drums ;  the  trumpet,  which  has  two  notes  and 
resembles  a  coach-horn  in  appearance  ;  and  the  *  other 
instrument,'  a  whistle,  from  which  the  performer 
extracts  a  series  of  intermittent  scales ; — banging  and 
blowing  just  as  they  did  a  hundred  and  sixteen  years 
ago,  when  the  shrill  runs,  punctuated  by  the  hoarse 
blasts  from  the  trumpet  and  accompanied  by  the 
incessant  roll  of  the  kettle-drums,  beat  upon  the  ears 
of  that  traveller  who  leaves  an  account  of  his  *  tour ' 
from  Bushire,  which  might  serve  as  a  guide  to  the 
traveller  of  to-day — such  is  the  rate  of  progress  in 
this  Eastern  land. 


CHAPTER  X 

BY   MARSH   AND   MOUNTAIN 

'We 

Are  mere  usurpers,  tyrants,  and  what's  worse. 
To  fright  the  animals  and  to  kill  them  up 
In  their  assigned  and  native  dwelling-place.' 

Shakespeare  : 
As  Ymi  Like  It,  Act  II.,  Scene  ii. 

It  is  not  only  the  poet  and  the  artist  who  can  indulge 
their  tastes  in  Shiraz.  The  sportsman  will  find  that 
the  plain  in  which  the  city  is  set  and  the  mountains 
which  surround  it  afford  him  abundant  hunting- 
grounds.  Geese  and  duck  are  plentiful;  the  wily 
snipe,  who,  perhaps,  can  test  his  skill  best  of  all,  will 
almost  embarrass  him  by  their  numbers,  while,  if  he 
despises  such  small  prey,  he  may  take  his  rifle  and 
stalk  the  ibex,  moufflon,  and  even  leopard,  or,  with  a 
pony  and  a  spear,  ride  after  the  wild  boar. 

My  journey,  being  undertaken  in  the  true  spirit  of 
travel,  was  concerned,  not  only  with  seeing  things, 
but  doing  them,  and  I  had  come  prepared  to  make  use 
of  any  opportunities  of  sport  which  might  present 
themselves.  On  several  occasions  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  find  myself  with  a  companion  shooting 
small  game  among  the  marshes,  while  by  the  courtesy 
of  a  Persian  friend  I  was  able  at  Shiraz  to  indulge 
also  in  the  pursuit,  if  not  in  the  capture,  of  larger 
beasts. 

147  10—2 


148  ACROSS  PERSIA 

One  day  in  particular  proved  fertile  in  incident ; — 
but  I  will  let  my  diary  speak  for  itself : 

'  I  awake  this  morning  to  find  it  just  seven,  and, 
despite  my  minute  instructions  the  night  before  con- 
cerning an  early  start,  there  is  not  a  soul  about. 

'  After  sallying  forth  into  the  morning  air  to  make 
a  chilly  attempt  at  summoning  the  servants,  I  give  it 
up,  leap  into  an  icy  cold  tub,  and,  dragging  my  clothes 
from  various  hiding-places,  eventually  find  myself 
ready  to  start. 

*  At  last  a  servant !  I  strain  my  Persian  vocabulary 
to  its  utmost,  and  eventually  manage  to  make  it  clear 
that  he  is  to  send  on  everything  to  my  friend's  house. 
Then  my  own  pony  comes  round,  and  I  set  out.  To- 
day I  have  brought  some  number  "  fours  "  for  duck, 
some  "  eights  "  for  snipe,  and  a  rifle  for  anything  large 
that  may  turn  up,  for  the  possibilities  of  these  parts 
are  delightfully  uncertain. 

*  It  is  a  glorious  morning.  A  white  frost  picks  out 
the  landscape  in  glistening  brightness  as  the  dawn 
breaks  in  the  south-east.  In  the  heaven  there  hangs 
a  long,  rippling  sheet  of  crimson  clouds,  like  wave- 
marked  sands  of  the  sky,  glowing  with  a  splendid 
radiance  over  the  still  purple  hills.  The  air  is  keen 
and  exhilarating ;  it  nips  with  a  pleasant,  playful 
little  bite, — not  the  cruel  gnaw  of  a  black  winter  s 
day,  but  just  sheer  good  spirits  which  will  sober  down 
later  into  a  steady  warmth.  I  feel  that  it  is  good  to 
be  alive — to  breathe — to  move — and  apparently  my 
pony  feels  as  happy  as  I  do,  for  he  caracoles  about  as 
we  wind  through  the  slippery,  cobble-stone  alleys  and 
thread  the  winding  maze  of  bazaars  out  on  to  the 
broad  plain  beyond. 

'Across  this  plain  we  wend  our  way  past  curious 
deep  clay-pits  and  close  to  little  gardens  with  their 


BY  MARSH  AND  MOUNTAIN  149 

slender  cypress-trees  and  white  birches.  On  and  on, 
until  over  a  long  bare  ridge  we  sight,  beyond  a  dark 
mass  of  gardens  in  the  valley  beneath,  the  gleam  of 
water.  There  lie  our  hunting-fields,  and  after  a  plod 
down  the  stone-strewn  slopes  we  find  in  one  of  the 
gardens  a  little  house,  the  summer  resort  of  some 
Persian  grandee.  Inside,  there  is  the  welcome  sight 
of  a  table  spread  with  a  white  cloth,  whereon  are  set 
eggs,  tea,  and  the  brown  Persian  bread  called  sang  eh 
(This  sangeh  is  a  flat,  indented  sheet  of  brown-papery- 
looking  substance.  It  derives  its  name  from  sang,  a 
small  stone,  for  it  is  baked  on  tiny  pebbles,  one  of 
which  occasionally  appears  in  the  bread  itself,  to  the 
eater's  discomfort  and  surprise.) 

*  After  a  hearty  attack  on  the  food,  we  buckle  on  our 
cartridge-bags  and,  accompanied  by  a  Persian  apiece, 
set  off  across  the  heathy  plain  for  the  gleam  that  we 
spied  far  off. 

*  Game  is  already  in  evidence ;  a  fine  duck  gets  up 
out  of  shot,  and  immediately  afterwards  we  put  up 
a  greyish  nondescript  bird.  I  have  never  seen  an 
animal  of  this  kind  before,  so  I  uncertainly  raise  my 
gun  to  my  shoulder  and  then  drop  it.  My  friend  is 
apparently  equally  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  bird, 
for  he,  too,  lets  it  fly  out  of  range  without  a  shot. 
We  turn  to  our  Persian  and  ask  what  it  is.  He  tells 
us  it  is  a  bustard !  Another  missed  opportunity  I 
However,  it  has  gone,  and  it  is  no  good  crying  after 
lost  bustards,  and  so  we  plod  away  until  we  come  to 
some  little  marshy  streamlets.  Here  we  both  take  our 
different  paths,  and  at  last — sca-a-a,  and  the  little  brown 
bird  flits  away  on  its  zigzag  course,  too  far  ahead,  alas  ! 
for  a  shot.  However,  this  is  encouraging,  and  from  my 
right  comes  a  sound  of  heavy  firing,  showing  that  my 
friend  at  all  events  is  having  sport.     I  press  on  in- 


150  ACROSS  PERSIA 

spirited.  The  sun  glints  up  from  the  water  as  I  splash 
through  the  mud  and  marsh,  and  soon  once  again 
comes  the  harsh  little  noise,  and  another  snipe  gets 
up.  I  have  struck  some  good  country  now.  Plenty 
of  others  follow  the  first  two,  either  into  the  distance 
or  into  the  bag  which  my  Persian  carries,  and  my 
attention  is  soon  very  fully  engaged.  In  fact,  I  am 
feeling  fairly  happy  when  I  enter  a  long,  shallow 
strip  of  marsh  about  thirty  yards  wide  and  thick  with 
reeds.  I  have  just  dropped  a  snipe,  which  has  sunk 
struggling  into  a  bed  of  reeds  behind,  and  another 
zigzags  out  of  shot  and  settles  in  a  little  patch  some 
way  up  the  nullah  I  have  described.  I  mark  the 
place,  and  approach  cautiously  along  a  green  island  of 
sedgy  turf  which  runs  up  the  middle  of  the  marshy 
creek.  Here  are  the  reeds  into  which  he  went ;  now 
only  a  few  more  steps  and  he  ought  to — gr-ou-ff-gr-unt- 
unty  and,  with  a  prodigious  snorting  and  grunting  and 
splashing,  there  hurtles  out  of  the  green  bed  five 
yards  in  front — not  my  snipe,  but  a  black  mass,  an 
impression  of  little  twinkling  eyes,  a  broad  snout,  and 
angry  black  bristles, — a  wild  boar.  He  comes  straight 
for  me,  and  my  heart  gives  a  sudden  bound  ;  curious 
thoughts  flash  through  my  brain  in  an  infinitesimal 
space  of  time  :  "  Firing  will  only  provoke  him — I  have 
nothing  but  snipe-shot ;"  then,  "  He  is  coming  at  me, 
anyhow — he  can't  very  well  be  more  provoked  than 
he  is."  All  this  while  I  snatch  my  gun  to  my 
shoulder,  and  even  before  I  empty,  one  after  the  other, 
both  barrels  straight  into  his  face,  and  then  hit  out 
blindly  at  him  with  my  empty  gun. 

*  It  is  all  over  before  I  have  really  comprehended  any- 
thing, and  I  find  myself  lying  on  my  back  in  the  marsh, 
with  a  vision  of  the  beast  flashing  by,  strange  sounds 
in  my  ears,  and  a  thankful  realization  that  he  has  not 


BY  MARSH  AND  MOUNTAIN  151 

wounded  me  with  his  tusks.  My  first  thought  is  of  my 
assailant.  "  Tufang,  tufang  /"  ("  My  rifle,  my  rifle  !")  I 
shout  to  the  Persian  who  comes  rushing  up  and  thrusts 
it  into  my  hand, — not  very  steady,  I  fear,  at  this  moment. 
The  low  bank  of  the  nullah  prevents  my  kneeling  to  get 
a  shot,  so,  standing  up,  I  send  a  Mauser  bullet  whizzing 
after  the  boar,  by  now  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  away. 
Whiff, — a  little  puff  of  dust  rises  just  beyond  him.  I 
hastily  eject  the  cartridge  and  send  another  shot,  to 
raise  another  little  puff  of  dust  just  to  his  right.  A  third 
— and  there  is  no  dust — only  a  dull  thud,  and  he  staggers 
a  little.  Then  he  recovers,  and  blunders  on  out  of  shot 
towards  the  marshes  to  the  east.  After  him  we  go, 
tracking  his  course  by  scattered  patches  of  blood  on  the 
brown  sand,  till,  alas  !  they  lead  straight  into  the  dense 
depth  of  a  great  field  of  high  reeds.  To  pursue  a 
wounded  boar  into  his  lair  in  such  a  spot  would  be,  not 
only  stupid,  but  very  probably  futile,  so  we  abandon 
the  chase,  and  I  at  last  pause  to  scrape  off  the  mud 
with  which  I  am  plentifully  covered. 

'  Whether  my  snipe-shot  at  close  quarters  turned 
the  boar  sufficiently  from  his  course  to  prevent  him 
hurting  me,  or  whether  he  was  as  much  startled  as  I 
was,  and  only  knocked  me  over  in  his  attempt  to  get 
away,  I  do  not  know  ;  but  I  register  a  vow  that  next 
time  I  go  shooting  a  boar  it  shall  not  be  with  number 
"  eight  "  shot  if  I  can  help  it. 

*  Now,  on  a  small  pool  ahead,  I  see  little  black 
forms  moving  about ; — geese.  I  dumbly  curse  myself 
for  not  bringing  some  number  "  two "  shot,  thrust  a 
couple  of  "fours"  into  the  barrels  of  my  gun,  and, 
worming  along  flat  on  my  face,  manage  to  get  within 
fifty  yards,  when,  flapping,  screeching,  and  splashing, 
up  they  get.  I  loose  ofi*  both  barrels  with  about  as 
much  effect  as  if  I  had  used  a   pea-shooter.     Con- 


152  ACROSS  PERSIA 

found  them !  sailing  away  in   a  beautiful  V  to  the 
south. 

*  It  is  time  to  retrace  my  steps,  and  to  make  my  way 
from  the  deeper  waters  to  which  I  have  penetrated, 
back  to  the  shallow  snipe  marshes  and  my  friend.  It 
is  blowing  almost  a  gale  by  this  time ; — a  clean, 
cutting  wind,  down  which  the  wild  snipe  come  like 
feathers  blown  hither  and  thither.  My  companion  tries 
a  little  corner  just  under  the  mountain,  while  I  crouch 
in  the  rushes  to  get  a  shot  at  the  birds  he  puts  up  as 
they  come  madly  down  the  gale.  It  is  good  sport, 
but  unremunerative,  so  at  last  we  turn  back,  when 
things  become  more  exciting.  It  is  an  ideal  spot ; 
soft  tufts  of  grass  dotted  about  among  oozy  mud  and 
short  reeds.  Here  and  there  the  glint  of  water,  and 
everywhere  the  dainty  little  birds  with  the  long  slender 
bills  rising  from  the  green  patches  and  boring  into  the 
heart  of  the  wind.  The  labour  of  splashing  through 
the  swamp  is  forgotten ;  distance  is  nothing ;  the 
mind  only  cares  for  the  gleam  of  the  barrels,  the 
sparkle  of  the  water,  the  continual  breathless  expecta- 
tion of  a  little  brown  bird  appearing  and  zigzagging 
away.  We  splash  on  and  on  until  at  last,  alas  !  there 
comes  the  end, — a  tapering  away  of  the  beautiful  mud 
into  odious  solid  ground. 

*  Further  on  there  is  another  bit  of  evil-smelling, 
sulphurous  marsh,  with  a  sickly  green  scum  on  the  top 
of  the  little  pools  of  water.  But  the  birds  like  it  none 
the  less,  and  what  is  good  enough  for  them  is  good 
enough  for  me. 

'  At  length  the  day's  shooting  is  finished,  and  I  am 
left  with  a  long  plod  over  dry  land  whitened  with  a 
deposit  of  sulphur.  The  excitement  of  the  last  few 
hours  falls  away  like  a  garment,  and  there  takes  its 
place   a   calm   content   in   the    peaceful   wonders    of 


BY  MARSH  AND  MOUNTAIN  153 

nature.  It  comes  almost  as  a  relief;  it  seems  some- 
how better  than  the  late  mad  exhilaration.  There  is 
a  feeling  that  there  is  something  finer  in  the  world 
than  the  mere  lust  of  excitement  and  the  joy  of 
triumphant  endeavour.  Peace,  after  all,  is  better 
than  passion,  however  full  of  zest  that  passion  may- 
be.    Peace  is  the  good  end  of  everything. 

'Tired  with  the  day,  I  give  myself  up  to  the  sunset 
scene ; — the  wind  has  died  down,  the  plain  stretches 
away  brown  and  green  to  the  pink  mountains  crowned 
with  snow,  and  the  glorious  air,  despite  the  sun's 
eiforts,  is  keen,  cutting,  and  crisp. 

*  Back  at  the  little  garden  we  find  those  material 
comforts  without  which,  alas  !  on  this  earth  the 
keenest  spiritual  delights  are  often  less  perfect.  We 
eat,  indeed,  a  very  hearty  meal  before,  just  as  the  sun 
drops  behind  the  hills,  we  start  off  on  our  eight-mile 
journey  home.  My  pony  has  cast  a  shoe,  so  I  take 
turns  at  riding  one  of  my  servant's  beasts,  which 
labours  under  the  disadvantage  of  having,  instead  of 
a  rein,  a  piece  of  rope  fastened  to  its  nose-band,  which 
only  provides  for  pulling  its  head  to  the  near  side.  It 
is,  moreover,  an  uncomfortable  experience  to  have  to 
sit  astride  the  article  termed  a  khurzin^  which  consists 
of  two  large  saddle-bags  stuffed  to-day  with  a  confused 
mass  of  boots,  clothes,  crockery,  etc.  Still,  I  ride  a 
couple  of  miles  and  walk  the  other  six ; — walking,  at 
all  events,  keeps  the  cold  out. 

*The  moon  is  up,  and  we  pass  through  a  ghostly 
land  of  dim,  misty  distances,  with  here  and  there, 
looming  large,  a  dark  garden  with  its  clean  black 
spires  of  cypress.  One  of  these,  "  the  haunted 
garden,"  bears  an  evil  name  and  lies  deserted,  falling 
into  ruins  and  peopled  only  by  ghosts  and  robbers. 
At  last  appears  Shiraz,  a  city  of  dim  lights  overhung 


154  ACROSS  PERSIA 

with  a  white  pall  of  smoke,  and  then  come  the  little 
narrow  lanes,  filled  with  darkness  up  to  the  point 
where  the  shadows  of  the  high  walls  suddenly  emerge 
into  radiant  moonlight,  while  in  the  end  there  shines 
from  a  certain  window  that  red  glow  so  redolent  to  a 
weary  wanderer  of  comfort  and  of  home.  .  .  .' 

Small  game,  however,  is  looked  upon  by  the  Persian 
with  a  certain  amount  of  contempt ;  it  is  the  large 
animal  he  enjoys  pursuing.  To-day  he  adopts  various 
methods  of  hunting,  according  to  his  taste  and  the 
quality  of  the  game.  He  will  shoot  leopard  ;  stalk 
ibex  ;  ride,  or  even  course,  antelope.  He  will  also  say 
he  has  shot  lion  ; — but  this  is  not  so. 

In  the  old  days  they  would  go  a-hawking  after  deer, 
and  Monsieur  Ta vernier  gives  us  some  account  of  this 
sport. 

*  The  king,'  he  says,  *  takes  great  delight  to  hunt 
the  Boar  and  Hart ;  and  if  it  come  to  pafs  that  the 
Game  out-run  the  dogs,  they  then  let  fly  one  of  their 
hawkes,  who  prefently  feizes  the  head,  and  while  fhe 
is  continually  pecking,  and  difturbing  the  Beaft,  the 
Dogs  are  prefently  at  his  heels.  The  Hawkes  are 
taught  to  ftop  like  a  Horfe  at  full  fpeed  :  elfe  they 
would  never  quit  their  prey,  which  they  prefently  do, 
as  foon  as  ever  the  Falconer  fhews  them  their  reward. 
Now  their  way  of  ord'ring  or  making  the  Hawk  is 
this.  They  take  the  skin  of  a  Hart,  head,  body,  and 
legs,  and  ftuff  it  with  ftraw,  to  the  end  it  may  be  like 
the  Beaft  which  they  intend  to  reprefent  in  the 
nature  of  a  Quarry.  When  they  have  fet  it  in  the 
place  where  they  ufually  train  up  the  Hawk,  they  lay 
meat  upon  the  head  or  in  the  holes  of  the  eyes,  to  the 
end  the  Bird  may  be  fure  to  feize  thofe  parts  at  his 
downcome.  Being  accuftomed  to  feed  in  this  manner 
for  fome  days  together,  they  fix  the  Beaft  upon  a  Plank 


BY  MARSH  AND  MOUNTAIN  155 

with  four  Wheels,  and  caufe  it  to  be  drawn  with  long 
cords  by  certain  men,  that  mend  their  pace  every  day, 
'till  at  length  it  is  drawn  by  a  Horfe  at  full  speed, 
whereby  the  Bird  is  accuftomed  by  degrees  not  to 
forfake  her  prey.  After  the  fame  manner  they 
counterfeit  all  other  forts  of  Quarrys  to  enter  their 
Hawks,  as  well  Wild  Boars,  wild  affes,  as  Hares  and 
Foxes.  Some  there  are  that  will  order  a  Crow  with 
the  fame  induftry  as  you  would  make  a  Hawk.  They 
have  alfo  a  certain  Beaft  which  they  call  Once,  which 
has  a  fpotted  fkin  like  a  Tiger,  but  which  is  neverthe- 
lefs  very  gentle  and  tame  ;  this  a  Horfeman  will 
carry  behind  him,  and  when  he  fees  a  wild  Goat,  he 
fets  down  the  Once,  which  is  fo  nimble,  that  in  three 
leaps  he  will  be  upon  the  back  of  the  wild  Goat ; 
though  the  wild  Goat  be  a  very  fwift  creature.  The 
Once  immediately  ftrangles  him  with  his  fharp  teeth. 
But  if  by  accident  the  wild  Goat  get  from  him,  the 
Once  will  ftand  ftill  in  the  fame  place  abafh'd  and 
troubrd,  fo  that  an  Infant  may  take  him  and  kill  him, 
without  the  leaft  refiftance  made  in  his  own  defence. 

'  The  Kings  of  Perfia  take  great  delight  in  Hunting, 
and  in  that  fport  it  is  that  they  love  to  fhew  them- 
felves  magnificent  :  Infomuch  that  Sha-Seji  defirous  to 
treat  all  the  Ambaffadors  then  at  his  Court,  which  at 
that  time  were  the  Tartarian,  Mufcovite,  and  Indian, 
carry 'd  them  along  with  him  into  the  field,  and  having 
tak  n  a  great  number  of  Harts,  Fallow  deer.  Hinds, 
and  wild  Boars,  he  caus'd  them  all  to  be  made  ready 
to  be  eat'n  the  fame  day  ;  And  while  he  was  feafting, 
an  Architect  had  order  to  raife  a  Pyramid  of  the 
heads  of  thofe  Beafts  in  the  middle  of  Ispahan,  of 
which  there  are  fome  remains  to  this  day.  When  the 
Architect  had  rais'd  it  to  a  confiderable  height,  he 
came  very  pleafantly  to  the  King,  and  told  him  he 


156  ACROSS  PERSIA 

wanted  nothing  but  one  head  of  fome  great  Beaft  to 
finish  the  Work.  The  King,  whether  in  his  wine,  or 
to  shew  the  Ambafladors  how  abfolute  he  was  over 
his  subjects,  turning  briskly  towards  the  Architect ; 
"  Thou  fayTt  well,"  said  he,  "  nor  do  I  know  where  to 
meet  with  a  Head  more  proper  than  thy  own."  There- 
upon the  miferable  Architect  was  forc'd  to  fubmit  his 
own  Head,  the  King's  command  being  prefently  put  in 
execution.' 

My  own  experience  of  big  game  (it  would  be  mis- 
leading to  call  it  a  *  shoot,'  because  on  this  occasion 
nothing  was  shot)  was  an  interesting  experience  of 
Persian  methods  and  manners,  so  I  will  extract  it 
from  my  diary. 

*  Shortly  after  daybreak  we  set  off,  attended  by  a 
suite  of  about  ten  men  on  horseback,  in  charge  of  a  very 
pleasant  youth  who  is  an  outrider  to  the  illustrious 
Persian  who  has  so  kindly  provided  us  with  the 
facilities  for  making  this  expedition. 

*A11  our  retinue  are  armed  to  the  last  molar,  and 
they  ride  horses  which  answer  perfectly  to  the  popular 
conception  of  the  "  Arab  steed." 

*  One  of  the  most  delightful  characteristics  of  the 
Persian  is  his  childlike  lightheartedness  : — off  we  go, 
our  followers  laughing,  joking  ;  now  cantering,  now 
galloping  wildly, — riding  one  another  off,  and  scutter- 
ing  over  the  most  fearful  collections  of  loose  stones. 

*  Just  beyond  the  Isfahan  gate,  without  a  word  of 
warning,  an  amiable  lunatic  gallops  furiously  past,  un- 
slinging  his  gun  from  his  shoulder,  and  as  he  comes  to  a 
little  dip  in  the  road  two  reports  and  a  cloud  of  smoke 
explain  his  conduct.  The  lazy  plover  wings  away  un- 
harmed, but  it  is  all  very  prettily  done  and  charmingly 
Persian. 

*  The  dull  cloudiness  resolves  itself  into  a  fine,  drift- 


BY  MARSH  AND  MOUNTAIN  157 

ing  snow  as  we  follow  Hafiz  s  beloved  Ruknabad  north, 
and  I  am  half  frozen  when,  after  about  eight  miles,  we 
halt  to  allow  our  mounted  beaters  to  get  ahead. 

*  Just  here  we  have  another  illustration  of  the  sweet 
casualness  of  the  native.  As  the  beaters  ride  off,  one 
is  slinging  his  gun  over  his  shoulder  when,  half-way- 
there,  bang !  it  empties  a  charge  of  shot  downwards, 
luckily  into  the  ground  a  few  feet  on  my  left.  A 
great  joke — I  can  enjoy  it  now  it  is  over ; — but  after 
this  I  look  a  little  anxiously  down  the  barrels,  when, 
as  is  frequently  the  case,  I  am  covered  by  one  or  more 
carelessly  swinging  firearms. 

*We  make  our  way  down  a  precipitous  descent, 
where  even  the  Persian  condescends  to  walk.  Far 
below  us  is  a  broad,  scrubby  plain,  where  we  see  those 
who  went  ahead  of  us  moving  under  the  distant  hills 
like  little  toy  figures. 

*  Suddenly  they  start  into  violent  motion,  scud  here 
and  there  wildly,  and  gallop  along  the  foot  of  the 
mountain.  "  What  is  it  ?"  we  ask.  "  Oh,  only  they 
have  put  up  an  ibex  or  moufflon,  and  are  riding  it !" 
More  fun  for  them  than  for  us ; — they  will  shoot  it  if 
they  can  ;  the  Persian  brings  down  such  beasts  with 
slugs  from  a  shot-gun  fired  off  his  horse,  thus  com- 
bining a  hunt  and  shoot  in  one.  We  have  only  rifles 
to-day,  and  our  horses  are  not  trained  to  such  sport, 
so  we  plod  tamely  on  to  the  far  side  of  the  plain,  envy- 
ing our  beaters. 

'At  last  a  man  dismounts  and  ties  his  horse  to  a 
little  bush ;  this  is  our  first  "  stop,"  the  end  of  a 
line  running  up  into  the  mountains.  After  this  a 
horse  is  left  every  200  yards  till,  by  a  little  nullah 
coming  down  from  the  hills,  we  all  dismount  and  pro- 
ceed on  foot.  Along  this  nullah  are  sangars — little 
shelters  of  stone  3  feet  high,  behind  which  the  sports- 


158  ACROSS  PERSIA 

man  stations  himself  to  await  the  arrival  of  the 
driven  game.  Leaving  a  friend  and  myself  at  the  two 
lowest  ones,  our  two  comrades,  the  outrider  and  a 
Persian  pupil-doctor  who  has  joined  us  and  taken  com- 
mand of  the  expedition,  go  on  further  up  the  rising 
ground  towards  the  mountain  to  other  posts.  I  have 
extracted  a  bundle  from  my  khurzin,  and  my  friend 
and  I  hurriedly  indulge  in  eggs  and  pomegranates, — 
then  retreating  behind  our  little  shelters  to  watch. 
In  front  of  me  I  can  see  a  couple  of  hundred  yards ; 
then  a  rise  in  the  ground  obstructs  further  view. 

*  For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  keep  my  eyes  glued  to 
the  skyline  of  this ; — nothing  moves,  and  when  I 
myself  try  to  do  so  I  realize  my  right  leg  has  decided 
that  this  is  boring,  and  has  retired  to  slumber.  I 
cautiously  awake  it  and  give  the  weight  of  my  body 
to  its  companion,  who  evinces  as  much  indisposition  to 
take  an  interest  in  things  as  number  one.  Still  no 
sign  on  the  ridge  in  front.  I  begin  to  wonder  if  my 
hat  is  very  visible  over  the  top  of  my  sangar,  and,  in 
endeavouring  to  make  sure,  run  my  head  into  a  piece 
of  bush  stuck  on  the  top,  with  a  noise  which  makes 
my  neighbour  on  the  right  look  round. 

*  Confound !  my  rifle  slips  down  and  buries  its  sight 
in  the  earth.  After  I  have  dusted  the  contrary  thing 
there  is  another  uneventful  ten  minutes,  till,  in  trying 
to  ascertain  if  my  legs  are  still  there,  I  lie  back  on 
part  of  a  pomegranate  and  ineradicably  stain  my  khaki 
coat.  But  no  ibex — and  the  wind  is  getting  colder 
than  ever  : — more  snow,  I  suppose.  My  legs  have 
now  apparently  departed  altogether,  and  my  hands 
also  are  on  their  way,  presumably,  to  find  them. 

*  Ha !  a  faint  howl  in  the  distance.  This  enlivens 
things  for  quite  five  minutes,  when  the  old  uncomfort- 
able feelings  return,  and  I  am  just  wishing  ibex  were 


BY  MARSH  AND  MOUNTAIN  159 

in  quarters  decidedly  warmer  than  my  present  ones 
when  something  really  does  come  over  the  skyline, — a 
man  on  horseback — one  of  the  beaters.  I  stand  up 
after  several  eflPorts,  and  we  collect  and  ask  him  what 
has  been  seen.  **0h  yes,  we  saw  seven  ibex"  (the 
usual  plan  of  dividing  Persian  statements  by  four  does 
not  here  produce  entirely  satisfactory  results — but  call 
it  two),  "  and  here  are  two  partridges,"  bringing  forth 
a  couple  of  beautiful  birds,  much  larger  than  a  part- 
ridge ;  grey-brown,  with  some  little,  shot,  steel-grey 
feathers,  and  in  places  others  striped  brown  and 
yellow  ;  a  large,  hooked,  red  beak,  and  red  legs.  The 
other  visible  result  of  the  beat  is  a  cow  !  They  assert 
that  they  found  a  thief  in  possession,  drove  him 
off,  and  gallantly  rescued  the  fair  captive !  I  dare  say 
there  may  be  thieves  about — even  nearer  than  the 
villains  of  the  heroic  story. 

*  It  is  now  time  to  "  feed."  Round  a  corner  a  fire  has 
been  made,  and  when  we  arrive  a  Persian  luncheon  is 
produced. 

*  This  is  a  most  elaborate  affair.  Tin  pans  of  every 
shape  and  size  are  brought  forth  and  arranged  on  a 
large  drugget,  round  which  are  strewn  flat  slabs  of 
snngeh  bread  as  edible  napkins.  Two  immense  cauldron- 
like receptacles  hold  respectively  white  and  many- 
coloured  rice — pilau  and  chilau.  The  smaller  pans 
contain  stewed  chicken,  lumps  of  '*  made-up "  meat, 
preserved  quince,  preserved  citron,  etc.  Expectations 
of  having  to  use  our  fingers  for  feeding  purposes  are 
dispelled  by  the  sight  of  knives  and  forks,  and  we  sit 
down  with  a  sense  of  our  inadequacy  to  grapple  with 
this  immense  array  of  foods. 

*  It  is  evidently  the  Persian  fashion  when  you  have 
got  a  fork  to  use  it  right  along  for  everything,  includ- 
ing  selecting,  individually,  choice   morsels   from   the 


160  ACROSS  PERSIA 

dish.  (Incidentally,  I  am  glad  I  have  had  "  first  go  " 
at  the  teapot  of  water,  for  I  afterwards  observed  our 
Persian  friend  apply  the  spout  to  his  mouth.)  How- 
ever, it  all  goes  off  very  well,  and  afterwards,  as  they 
assure  us  it  is  no  use  beating  any  more,  as  the  ibex 
won't  come  out  (where  from  I  don't  know,  but  I  do 
not  blame  them),  we  set  oif  home,  and  have  a  twelve- 
mile  drive  through  driving  rain  and  a  bitter  wind, 
after  which  tea  and  a  fire  are  indeed  warming  to 
the  cockles  of  our  hearts.' 


CHAPTER  XI 

SOME   INCIDENTS   OF  PERSIAN   LIFB 

'  He  that  would  travel  for  the  entertainment  of  others  should 
remember  that  the  great  object  of  remark  is  human  life.' — 
Dr.  Johnson  :  Ths  Idlers  No.  97. 

'  Ceremonies  and  forms/  says  Malcolm,  *  have  and 
merit  consideration  in  all  countries,  but  particularly 
among  Asiatic  nations/  Certainly  it  is  so  in  Persia, 
and  Malcolm  himself  well  knew  the  importance  there 
attached  to  the  strict  observance  of  etiquette.  With 
an  adroitness  which  had  much  to  do  with  the  success 
of  his  expeditions,  he  himself  studied,  and  made  his 
retinue  study,  the  utmost  punctiliousness  in  according 
their  due  honours  to  those  whom  they  met,  and  in 
exacting  in  return  those  marks  of  respect  to  which 
they  were  themselves  entitled.  Little,  indeed,  im- 
presses the  native  of  any  country  more  than  the 
unexpected  knowledge  and  observance  of  his  customs 
by  a  foreigner,  and  he  that  would  attain  his  object 
without  friction  and  with  effect  will  do  well  to  always 
bear  this  in  mind.  It  is,  of  course,  possible  to  gain 
ends  by  force,  but  surely  it  is  better  and  easier  to  do 
60  by  the  fair  exercise  of  courteous  skill.  He  who 
does  in  Rome  as  the  Romans  do  will  find  paths  open 
to  him  where  others  only  encounter  obstacles. 

As  to  the  ceremonies  and  customs  themselves,  these 
differ  with  every  patch  of  territory  and  each  race  of 

161  11 


162  ACROSS  PERSIA 

mankind,  all  countries  being  only  alike  in  the  appar- 
ently immaterial  and  often  absurd  character  of  the 
observances  to  which  they  attach  importance.     It  is 
as  well  to  remember,  especially  in  a  strange  land,  that, 
just  as  one  man's  meat  is  another  man's  poison,  so 
what  is  considered  necessary  in  one  country  in  another  is 
either  laughed  at  or  discountenanced.     It  seems  ridicu- 
lous to  the  Englishman  that  in  Persia,  if  you  present 
anything  to  another  person,  it  is  polite  to  do  so  with 
both  hands  rather  than   with   one,   and   that   when, 
owing  to  the  small  size  of  the  object,  it  cannot  con- 
veniently be  taken  in  both  hands,  it  must  be  presented 
with  one  hand,  and  that  hand  held  with  the  other. 
But  it  is  no  less  ridiculous  to  the  Persian  that  English 
ladies  and  gentlemen  should  walk  in  to  dinner  arm-in- 
arm, and  there  is  really  no  more  reason  in  one  custom 
than  the  other.     Just  as,  moreover,  the  Englishman 
may  err  by  ignorance  of  the  custom  of  Persia,  so  the 
Persian  comes  to  grief  over  that  of  England.     Exalted 
personages  at  Teheran  have,  indeed,  been  seen,  on  the 
occasion  of  an  English  dinner-party,  walking  into  the 
dining-room  in  a  simple  and  childlike  manner  hand-in- 
hand  with  their  partners,   while  on   one   occasion   a 
certain  Persian  gentleman,  with  reminiscences,  it  is 
to  be  supposed,  of  a  past  ball,  adopted  the  pleasant 
but  unusual  course  of  clasping  the  lady   round   the 
waist  as  he  conducted  her  to  dinner.     Once,  indeed, 
reason  is  called  in  in  these  matters,  the  game  is  up  ; 
the  only  reason  for   the  continued  existence  of  most 
customs  (except  that  most  invalid  of  all  excuses,  blind 
conservative  prejudice)  is  that,  while  they  are  pleasantly 
traditional,  they  are  also  harmless, — and  this  is  quite 
reason  enough. 

Why  in  shaking  hands  do  we  give  the  right  and 
never  the  left  hand  ?     Because  in  those  times  glorified 


SOME  INCIDENTS  OF  PERSIAN  LIFE  163 

by  the  name  of  the  *  good  old  days '  it  was  impossible 
to  be  certain,  unless  we  had  hold  of  a  man's  right 
hand,  that  he  was  not  going  to  give  us  a  dig  in  the 
ribs  with  a  dagger  when  he  attained  sufficiently  close 
quarters.  But  nowadays  no  one  would  dream  of  their 
society  friends  treating  them  in  this  manner,  and  the 
fashion  has  no  more  actual  use  than  that  of  wearing 
bows  on  our  shoes,  which  also  was  once  dictated,  not 
by  caprice,  but  by  necessity.  No,  our  customs,  like 
our  appendices,  have  survived  their  use.  They  can 
now  be  defended  by  nothing  more  substantial  than 
taste  and  tradition,  so  from  our  glass  house  let  us  not 
presume  to  throw  stones  at  others  because  theirs  is  a 
different  fashion  in  conservatories. 

Certainly  some  of  the  Persian  fashions  might  well 
be  considered  an  improvement  upon  our  own.  What 
could  be  more  neat  and  simple  than  the  Persian  con- 
vention that  one  cup  of  tea  is  served  on  the  guest's 
arrival  and  another  when  his  host  thinks  he  has  stayed 
long  enough  ?  Such  a  custom,  carried  out  in  the 
matter-of-fact  manner  that  it  is  in  its  native  land, 
would  be  a  godsend  in  a  good  many  other  countries. 
To  reason  about  such  matters  has,  however,  already 
been  pronounced  irrational ;  they  must  be  simply  left 
as  ornamentations,  decorating  to  taste  the  plain 
masonry  of  material  life. 

No  more  moralizing,  then,  but  only  a  few  instances 
of  the  Persian  way  of  life  which  I  happened  to  have 
the  opportunity  of  observing  for  myself  while  I  was  in 
Shiraz. 

The  first  concerns  a  traditional  and  peculiar  institu- 
tion called  *  hast'  Bast  is  the  system  of  Sanctuary, 
familiar  in  history  and  actually  existent  to-day  in  the 
East. 

There  are  certain  places  in  Persia  in  which,  when  he 

11—2 


164  ACROSS  PERSIA 

has  reached  them  any  man,  be  he  rich  or  poor,  noble  or 
shepherd,  minister  or  criminal,  is  safe,  nor  can  anyone 
touch  him  as  long  as  he  is  under  the  protection  of  the 
sanctuary  afforded  him  by  his  position.  In  lands 
where  violence  can  override  the  law,  the  safety  of 
the  subject  often  depends  on  some  such  rudimentary 
institutions. 

At  the  entrance  to  a  mosque  there  frequently  hangs 
a  chain  ;  this  is  hast  Touching  this  or  past  its  barrier 
a  man  is  safe.  Other  places  of  hast  are  the  guns  of 
the  artillery,  the  tails  of  the  horses  belonging  to 
royalty,  the  telegraph  offices,  and  the  above-mentioned 
precincts  of  the  consulates  and  legations.  It  may  be 
noticed  that  the  idea  of  sanctuary  accompanies  a 
respect  or  reverence  for  the  place  therewith  invested. 
A  Persian  reverences  his  saints,  he  respects  or  fears 
the  European  and  all  his  works,  such  as  telegraphs 
and  cannons,  and  anyone  who  has  been  in  the  East 
will  understand  the  high  opinion  in  which  the  Oriental 
holds  the  horse.  There  is  something  curiously  fascinat- 
ing and  savouring  of  another  age  about  this  tradition 
of  hast;  but  in  actual  practice,  like  a  great  many 
picturesque  institutions,  it  sometimes  becomes  slightly 
inconvenient.  On  the  occasion  of  my  visit  to  Shiraz 
the  Governor  became  wrath  with  one  of  his  subjects, 
and  sent  for  him  in  order  to  cut  off  his  hands.  Instead 
of  obeying  the  command,  the  wretched  man  hurriedly 
fled  to  the  grounds  of  his  British  Majesty's  representa- 
tive, whence  nothing  could  dislodge  him.  This  was 
hardly  to  be  wondered  at,  since  as  long  as  he  stayed 
within  the  sacred  precincts  his  hands  remained  on  him, 
while  once  he  ventured  outside  they  would  be  cut  off. 
The  Governor  raged  impotently,  but  could  do  nothing. 
Oriental  tempers,  however,  though  hot,  are  more 
passionate  than  long-lived, — indeed,  it  may  be  with 


SOME  INCIDENTS  OF  PERSIAN  LIFE  165 

a  view  of  allowing  sufficient  time  for  hasty  temper  to 
cool  that  a  temporary  asylum  is  always  available  to 
the  Eastern  culprit.  In  this  case,  at  all  events,  time 
brought  wiser  counsels  to  the  mind  of  the  Governor, 
and  after  several  days'  sojourn  our  friend  was  told  he 
could  leave  his  place  of  hast  without  fearing  the  loss 
of  his  hands.  Such  is  the  history  of  one  occasion  on 
which  this  Persian  custom  undoubtedly  served  its 
purpose. 

Another  incident  which  gave  me  some  insight  into 
the  manners  of  the  land  in  which  I  was  travelling  was 
a  call  I  paid  upon  the  Governor  from  whose  wrath  the 
hero  of  the  last  story  was  fugitive. 

Before  describing  the  visit,  the  Governor  himself 
merits  attention.  In  character  he  was  a  typical 
Oriental  despot.  In  a  great  many  instances  it  is  a 
true  saying  that  the  position  makes  the  man,  and 
when  the  position  is  one  of  autocratic  sovereignty 
over  those  below  and  occasional  oppression  from  those 
above,  the  result  is  likely  to  be  such  a  man  as  is 
usually  found  at  the  head  of  a  province  in  an  Eastern 
land.  Hasty  but  good-hearted  ;  violent  yet  generous ; 
erratic  but,  nevertheless,  able  ;  combining  the  cruelty 
of  a  tyrant  with  the  geniality  of  a  good  fellow,  our 
Governor  displayed  many  of  the  characteristics  tradi- 
tionally associated  with  Haroun-al-Raschid  of  the 
*  Arabian  Nights.'  This  hero,  indeed,  the  Governor 
seemed  to  have  specially  set  himself  up  to  imitate  ;  or 
perhaps  he  only  copied  him  second-hand  from  the 
great  Shah  Abbas,  Haroun-al-Raschid's  Persian 
parallel.  There  was  undoubtedly  some  similarity 
between  all  three.  Like  the  potentate  of  the  *  Arabian 
Nights,'  the  Governor  of  Shiraz  took  a  delight  in  dis- 
guising himself  and  going  incognito  about  the  bazaars, 
during  which  expeditions,  no  doubt,  he  was  able  to 


166  ACROSS  PERSIA 

profit  by  many  pieces  of  useful  information,  including 
occasional  observations  about  his  august  self. 

Shah  Abbas  also  followed  this  fashion  of  becoming 
acquainted  with  men  and  affairs.  *  Among  the  reft  of 
the  cunning  knacks/  says  Ta vernier,  '  that  Shah  Abbas 
made  ufe  of,  to  know  how  fquares  went  in  his  Kingdom, 
without  trufting  too  much  to  his  Minifters,  he  oft'n 
difguis'd  himself,  and  went  about  the  City  like  an 
ordinary  inhabitant,  under  pretence  of  buying  and 
felling,  making  it  his  builnefs  to  difcover  whether 
Merchants  us'd  falfe  weights  or  meafures  or  no.  To 
this  intent  one  evening  going  out  of  his  Palace  in  the 
habit  of  a  Countryman,  he  went  to  a  Bakers  to  buy  a 
Man  of  Bread,  and  thence  to  a  Cook  to  buy  a  Man  of 
Roaft-meat,  (a  Man  is  fix  Pound,  fixteen  Ounces  to 
the  Pound).  The  King  having  bought  his  Bargains 
returned  to  Court,  where  he  caus'd  the  Athemadoidet 
to  weigh  both  the  Bread  and  the  Meat  exactly.  He 
found  the  Bread  to  want  fifty-feven  Drams,  and  the 
Meat  forty-three.  The  King  feeing  that,  fell  into  a 
great  chafe  againft  three  or  four  of  them  that  were 
about  him,  whofe  bufmess  it  was  to  look  after  thofe 
things ;  but  efpecially  againft  the  Governor  of  the 
City,  whofe  Belly  he  had  caused  to  have  been  ript  up, 
but  for  the  interceflion  of  certain  Lords.  Befides  the 
reproaches  that  he  threw  upon  them  for  being  fo 
negligent  in  their  Employments ;  and  for  their  little 
affection  to  the  publick  good,  he  laid  before  them  the 
injuftice  of  falfe  weights  ;  and  how  fadly  the  cheat  fell 
upon  poor  men,  who  having  great  Families,  and  think- 
ing to  give  them  eight  hundred  Drams  of  Bread,  by 
that  fraud  depriv'd  them  of  a  hundred  and  forty-three. 
Then  turning  to  the  Lords  that  were  prefent,  he 
demanded  of  them,  what  fort  of  juftice  ought  to  be 
done  to  thofe  people  ?     When  none  of  them  daring  to 


SOME  INCIDENTS  OF  PERSIAN  LIFE  167 

open  their  mouths,  while  he  was  in  that  paffion,  he 
commanded  a  great  Oven  to  be  made  in  the  Piazza, 
together  with  a  Spit  long  enough  to  roaft  a  man ;  and 
that  the  Oven  fhould  be  heated  all  Night,  and  that 
they  fhould  make  another  fire  to  be  kindled  hard  by 
the  Oven.  The  next  morning  the  King  caus'd  the 
Baker  and  the  Cook  to  be  apprehended,  and  to  be  led 
quite  through  the  City,  with  two  men  going  before 
them,  who  cry'd  to  the  people,  We  are  going  to  put 
the  Baker  into  a  red-hot  Oven  made  in  the  Piazza, 
where  he  is  to  be  bak'd  alive,  for  having  utter  d  Bread 
by  falfe  weights  ;  and  the  Cook  is  to  be  roafted  alive, 
for  having  fold  meat  by  falfe  weights.  Thus  thofe 
two  men  ferv'd  for  an  example  not  only  to  Ifpahan^ 
but  to  all  the  Kingdom,  where  every  one  dreaded  the 
fevere  juftice  of  Shah- Abbas.' 

A  Persian  Governor,  indeed,  even  at  this  day,  is 
mightily  concerned  with  the  prices  of  commodities  in 
the  city  over  which  he  is  set.  He  is  a  kind  of  '  little 
father'  to  the  place,  and  has  powers  undreamt  of  in 
less  autocratic  lands. 

When  I  was  at  Shiraz  on  one  occasion  all  the 
butchers  were  flogged  in  pairs  because  the  price  of 
meat  was  too  high.  I  believe  they  protested  that 
sheep  were  dear,  and  that  therefore  they  could  not 
sell  meat  at  a  low  price ;  whereon  the  Governor 
retorted  that  they  had  better  wait  to  kill  the  sheep 
until  they  were  cheaper  again.  The  main  point  was, 
however,  that  the  price  of  meat  came  down. 

It  may  have  been  gathered  from  some  of  the  inci- 
dents and  narratives  already  quoted  that  where  the 
exercise  of  punishment  is  left  wholly  in  the  hands  of 
an  Eastern  autocrat,  penalties  become  peculiar  and 
severe.  That  is  indeed  the  case.  The  day  I  came  to 
Shiraz  some  thieves  were  caught,  and  shortly  after- 


168  ACROSS  PERSIA 

wards  they  were  punished.  In  other  days  the  penalties 
for  thieving  were  more  severe  than  to-day.  The  old 
writers  mention  them  with  a  cold-blooded  and  matter- 
of-fact  unemotion.  *  Thieves  find  no  mercy  in  Persia/ 
says  Tavernier,  *  only  they  are  variously  put  to  death.' 
He  then  goes  on  to  mention  some  of  the  various 
methods,  such  as  tying  them  to  camels'  tails  by  the 
feet,  leaving  them,  buried  alive,  to  starve  to  death, — 
in  which  torment,'  he  says,  *  they  will  fome times 
defire  a  paffenger  to  cut  off  their  heads,  though  it  be  a 
kindnefs  forbidden  by  the  Law.' 

There  were  other  punishments  ;  but  enough  has  been 
said  to  show  the  type  in  vogue  some  time  ago.  To- 
day, custom  is  more  merciful ; — our  thieves  only  had 
their  hands  cut  off.  At  this  operation,  the  executioner 
is  clothed  in  red  for  obvious  reasons,  and  after  the 
ceremony  is  over,  the  victims  are  immediately  sent  out 
to  their  assembled  relatives.  These  have  at  hand  a 
basin  of  boiling  lard,  into  which  the  hand-less  stumps 
are  plunged  to  stop  the  unfortunate  men  from  bleeding 
to  death. 

In  the  East  a  good  deal  depends  upon  the  temper 
of  the  Governor  at  the  moment  a  criminal  is  brought 
in  to  be  sentenced.  One  man  may  have  his  hands  cut 
off,  while  the  next,  for  precisely  the  same  offence,  may 
only  be  bastinadoed  or  ham-strung.  An  outburst  of 
severe  punishment  has  apparently  the  same  calming 
effect  upon  a  hasty  temper  as  a  dose  of  cooling 
medicine ;  and  happy  is  the  criminal  who  comes  at 
the  end  of  a  long  list.  There  seems  to  be  no  recog- 
nized principle  underlying  the  whole  system  ; — while 
the  punishment  for  stealing  is  such  as  has  been 
described,  murder  may  be  atoned  for,  occasionally, 
by  a  payment  to  the  dead  man's  relatives.  Lapses  of 
morality  are  severely  dealt  with,  and  it  is  only  a  little 


SOME  INCIDENTS  OF  PERSIAN  LIFE  169 

over  a  hundred  years  ago  that  Tavernier  describes 
how,  while  he  was  at  Shiraz,  the  Governor  had  a  fair 
culprit  *  torn  to  pieces  by  his  doggs  which  he  keeps  a 
purpofe  for  fuch  chasftifements/ 

Nowadays  things  are  better ;  but  the  Governor  is 
still  an  autocrat,  possessing  for  his  citizens  fearful  and 
uncertain  potentialities,  and  it  was  with  no  small 
interest  that  I  looked  forward  to  an  interview  with 
our  modern  Haroun-al-Raschid. 

A  Persian  interview  is  a  matter  of  strict  ceremony. 
It  has  to  be  conducted  in  becoming  garments  and  with 
a  becoming  grace.  Even  if  you  have  no  top-hat,  you 
must  wear  a  frock-coat,  and,  if  you  ride,  it  is  a  mark 
of  your  own  importance  and  of  respect  to  your  host 
to  approach  his  residence  as  slowly  as  possible  ;  for 
the  more  deliberately  you  go  in  Persia,  the  more  noble 
you  are  supposed  to  be. 

During  conversation  with  the  Governor  it  is  neces- 
sary to  scrupulously  observe  certain  forms  of  speech. 
Your  title  and  his  title  must  be  correctly  and  fre- 
quently used.     He  will  be,  perhaps,  *  Hazarat-i-ali,' — 

*  your   high   mightiness ' ;    you,    '  Bandeh-i-shuma,' — 

*  your  slave.*  The  interview  will  begin  with  the 
stereotyped  Mahometan  greeting,  '  Peace  be  with 
thee/  in  Arabic,  and  after  that  *  your  slave '  must  wait 
for  *  your  high  mightinesses '  next  remark,  which  will 
be  an  inquiry  as  to  '  your  slave's '  health.  You  will 
then  retort,  *  The  health  of  your  slave,  thanks  to  the 
presence  of  your  high  mightiness,  is  very  good.  The 
health  of  your  high  mightiness,  please  Allah,  is  also  very 
good  V  *  Your  slave '  will  then  be  bidden  to  sit,  and 
conversation  will  begin,  during  which  it  is  necessary 
to  constantly  remember  that  you  are  a  slave  and  that 
he  is  a  high  mightiness.  After  two  cups  of  tea, 
neither  more  nor  less,  since  the  second  is  a  signal  for 


ITO  ACROSS  PERSIA 

departure,  you  may  go ;  but  before  you  do  so,  it  is 
necessary  to  inquire,  '  Does  your  high  mightiness 
enjoin  permission  to  depart?'  Then,  the  desired 
permission  being  afforded,  you  remark,  *  Your  slave 
has  given  much  trouble,'  which  he  will  politely 
disclaim.  After  that,  all  that  is  left  to  say  before 
actually  getting  off  the  premises  is,  *  Your  slave  has 
been  highly  honoured/  Such  are  the  rules  of  the 
game. 

According,  then,  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  we 
reined  our  horses  in  on  the  occasion  of  our  visit  to  the 
Grovernor  as  soon  as  we  got  to  the  courtyard,  and  in 
our  subsequent  advance  we  should  have  been  easily 
beaten  by  a  funeral.  Eventually,  however,  we  arrived 
at  the  gateway,  where  we  were  met  by  some  rather 
dowdy-looking  officials,  two  men  with  silver  maces, 
and  two  Persian  cossacks.  After  wandering  through 
really  delightful  gardens,  dotted  with  pools  of  water, 
patches  of  undergrowth,  and  beds  of  cabbages,  and 
passing  by  walls  sculptured  in  the  reign  of  Kerim- 
Khan  with  ferocious  Persian  grandees  depicted  in 
colours,  we  penetrated  through  little  undersized  door- 
ways and  passages  (one  of  which  had  an  iron  door  like 
that  of  a  safe,  in  case  of  emergency)  to  a  flight  of 
steps,  where  we  were  left  by  our  escort,  and,  lonely, 
faced  the  lion  in  his  den. 

A  Persian  room  is  much  like  an  English  one,  save 
in  some  minor  details.  There  is  nearly  always  an 
array  of  pictures  on  the  walls,  and  if  the  Persian  taste 
runs  to  cheap  knick-knacks  instead  of  works  of  art 
and  objects  which  appeal  to  our  taste,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  the  Persian  has  travelled  slowly  on 
the  path  over  which  we  have  long  been  hurrying. 
One  thing  which  will  often  strike  the  foreigner  as  he 
enters  a  Persian  living-room  will  be  a  number  of  little 


SOME  INCIDENTS  OF  PERSIAN  LIFE  171 

heaps  of  bolsters  in  odd  corners  and  recesses.  These 
are  beds ;  for  it  frequently  happens  that  the  drawing- 
room  is  also  a  dining-room  and  bedroom  in  addition  to 
its  more  regular  duties.  There  will  inevitably  be  a 
luxuriant  carpet  underfoot,  a  rather  necessary  luxury 
when  it  is  remembered  that  it  has  to  be  slept  on. 

The  particular  room  I  entered  was  filled  with  a  dim 
twilight,  in  which  for  the  moment  I  was  unable  to 
distinguish  anything.  Then  I  saw  that  from  a  settle 
by  the  fire  a  rather  dowdily-dressed  person  had  come 
forward.  My  companion  made  for  him  with  words 
of  welcome.  This,  then,  was  his  highness,  the  autocrat 
of  Shiraz. 

As  always  in  these  Mahometan  lands,  his  attire 
showed  no  signs  of  magnificence.  From  head  to  foot 
he  was  clothed  in  sombre  cloth.  In  face  and  figure 
he  was  a  plump,  good-looking  man  with  the  usual 
heavy  moustache.  On  his  head  he  wore  a  black 
astrachan  hat  (hats  in  Persia  are  worn  indoors  and 
out) ;  then  came  a  far  from  smart,  brownish -green 
coat ;  European  trousers,  by  no  means  in  their  first 
youth  ;  and,  lastly,  the  elastic-sided  boots,  commonly 
known,  I  believe,  as  'Jemimas.' 

I  confess  that  the  prospect  of  sustaining  a  conversa- 
tion, or  anything  approaching  a  conversation,  under 
the  conditions  I  have  described  had  filled  me  with  a 
certain  amount  of  apprehension.  But  as  a  matter  of 
fact  it  was  not  nearly  so  dreadful  as  it  seemed  likely 
to  be. 

His  highness  came  forward  with  a  smile,  and  I  had 
been  introduced,  had  murmured  my  introductory 
series  of  remarks,  and  had  been  waved  graciously  to 
a  seat  before  realizing  things  had  commenced  at  all. 

The  conversation  which  followed,  thanks  to  the 
assistance  of  my  friend,  passed  off  without  a  hitch. 


172  ACROSS  PERSIA 

I  could  only  catch  a  few  of  the  Governor's  remarks, 
but  the  rest  were  translated  for  my  benefit,  and  the 
occasional  attempt  I  made  at  interpolating  an  answer 
on  my  own  appeared  to  please  and  amuse  his  highness. 
I  remember  we  talked  about  the  Army,  and  the 
Governor  remarked  that  he  went  into  the  army  when 
he  was  ten  (in  what  capacity  I  cannot  imagine),  and 
that  his  admiration  for  the  service  was  very  great, 
*  since  politics,  indeed,  needed  brains,  but  the  army 
brains  plus  bodily  powers.'  This  gave  me  something 
to  think  about — afterwards ;  I  was  too  busy  keeping 
my  end  up  in  the  conversation  to  do  any  thinking  at 
the  time.  After  a  typical  Persian  exchange  of  the 
most  flowery  compliments,  I  congratulated  him  on  the 
garden,  Shiraz  generally,  its  climate,  its  ruler,  etc.,  all 
of  which  seemed  to  please  him,  so  that  when  we  rose 
to  go  (I  actually  remembered  to  ask  permission!)  it 
was  difficult  to  recognize  in  the  beaming  person  before 
us  the  man  who  sliced  off  people's  hands  and  battered 
the  soles  of  their  feet. 

The  concluding  conversational  ceremonies  were  suc- 
cessfully negotiated,  and  we  at  last  tore  ourselves 
away,  feeling,  I  am  glad  to  say,  none  the  worse  for 
the  cups  of  tea,  the  attar-of-rose-perfumed  coffee,  and 
the  Russian  cigarettes  which  we  had  had  to  consume. 

What  struck  me  most  about  the  interview  was  the 
simplicity  and  directness  of  the  Governor.  His  unos- 
tentatious manner  and  appearance,  the  absence  of  all 
pomp  and  ceremony  (I  remember  he  smoked  a  plain 
earthenware  Kalian),  all  came  as  a  surprise  after  the 
ideas  of  Oriental  magnificence  and  arrogance  which 
somehow  or  another  are  inbred  in  most  English  minds. 
Autocratic  our  friend  undoubtedly  was,  as  a  spoilt  and 
high-spirited  child  might  be  autocratic ;  but  there  was 
a  sturdy  simplicity  about  him  which  at  once  dismissed 


SOME  INCIDENTS  OF  PERSIAN  LIFE  173 

any  comparison  with  a  pampered  child.  He  was,  in 
fact,  a  strong  and,  I  should  say,  an  able  man  who  filled 
his  place  well,  and,  according  to  Oriental  notions,  was 
an  excellent  ruler. 

In  connexion  with  the  subject  of  crime  and  punish- 
ment and  the  powers  that  be  in  Persia,  there  will 
always  live  in  my  mind  a  curious  dramatic  scene  which 
I  witnessed  at  Shiraz.  It  took  place  in  the  court- 
yard before  the  Governor's  palace.  The  sun  was  just 
dropping  behind  the  roofs  opposite,  and  a  little  stone- 
banked  lake,  a  mere  patch  of  water  under  a  tree  before 
the  main  gate  into  the  palace,  lay  sparkling  in  the  last 
light  of  day.  Close  by  this  little  pool  a  knot  of  men 
was  gathered  as  I  rode  up.  For  a  moment  the  reason 
was  not  clear.  Then  I  caught  a  glimpse  there  on  the 
ground  of  a  white-sheeted  thing  lying  upon  something 
of  a  stretcher.  I  walked  up  ; — yes,  it  was  a  dead  body 
wrapped  in  blood-stained  white  cloth.  At  its  foot 
stood  a  Persian,  shouting  something  hoarsely;  his 
brown  clothes  were  dabbled  in  red.  It  was  a  murder. 
That  was  all  I  could  make  out.  Then  from  opposite 
there  came  a  wild  crying,  and  there  rushed  across  the 
empty  square  a  body  of  black-veiled  women,  headed 
by  one  who  madly  dashed  on  with  leaps  and  bounds, 
shrieking  horribly  and  beating  her  bare  breasts  with 
her  hands.  Down  on  the  dead  body  she  fell,  patting 
it  and  clasping  it,  moaning  and  calling  to  it,  then 
falling  back  to  strike  herself  again  and  call  vainly  to 
the  unhearing  heavens. 

Suddenly  there  came  the  clatter  of  hoofs ;  all  fell 
back ; — it  was  the  Governor.  Cossacks,  silver  maces, 
then  the  unpretentious-looking  man  on  a  white  pony, 
less  remarkable  in  appearance  than  all  his  attendant 
crowd. 

The  scene  was  a  moving  one.     It  was  profoundly, 


174  ACROSS  PERSIA 

almost  sensationally,  dramatic.  It  seemed  like  some 
situation  of  the  stage.  Surely  here,  to  round  off  the 
drama,  there  must  come  some  act  befitting  the  elements 
of  life  and  death  which  here  lay  bare  in  all  their  crude 
nakedness.  The  atmosphere  was  electric  with  a  peculiar 
breathless  excitement  which  seemed  to  cry  for  some 
great  thing  to  happen  and  relieve  the  pent-up  forces. 
But,  alas  I  Nature  is  not  so  clever  as  Art ;  the  appro- 
priate rarely  happens.  The  threads  are  left  hanging 
loosely  in  the  plays  of  life  where  they  are  deftly 
gathered  up  in  the  plays  of  man.  Comedy,  tragedy, 
farce,  drama,  they  all  seem  to  wander  on  in  a  slovenly 
and  unending  way  in  this  world  of  ours,  without  apt 
justice  or  a  fitting  end.  There  is  no  plot,  no  pictur- 
esque consecution,  no  climax.  The  characters  come 
and  go,  unregarding  art  and  reason  alike.  A  super 
lingers  on  the  stage  after  the  principal  has  been 
snatched  behind  the  scenes  ;  the  wicked  triumph 
without  even  the  palliation  of  skill  to  make  their 
triumph  tolerable  ;  the  stupid  *  succeed,'  the  clever 
'  fail ';  there  is  no  meaning,  no  moral,  in  it  all ;  yet 
still  across  the  stage  during  their  short  act  the  count- 
less players  press  on  aimlessly,  eternally.  All  that 
most  of  them  can  do  is  to  act  their  small  part  in  the 
great  play  that  has  no  beginning,  no  end,  and  of  which 
they  know  no  object,  seeking  not  effect,  not  even 
justice,  —  merely  striving  on  in  their  unimportant 
places.  To  do  the  best,  that  is  indeed  all  that  is  to 
be  done, — save,  perhaps,  now  and  then  to  wonder 
whether,  after  all,  there  may  not  be  somewhere  a 
Stage  Manager. 

So  my  tragedy  came  to  no  fitting  end. 

The  Governor  stopped  ;  with  a  gesture  he  sum- 
moned one  of  his  Court.  He  was  angry ;  it  was 
unbecoming,    unpleasant,    to   trouble   him   with  such 


SOME  INCIDENTS  OF  PERSIAN  LIFE  175 

unsavoury  things.     What  business  had  they  there? 

*  What  is  all  this  V  he  asked,  pointing  angrily  to  the 
scene  before  him.  They  told  him ;  the  husband  of 
this  woman  had  been  robbed  and  shot,  that  was  all. 

*  Send  them  away,'  said  he,  and,  turning,  walked  into 
the  palace. 

So  the  body  was  carried  off,  as  also  the  woman,  for 
she  had  fainted.  Justice,  however,  had  its  way  in  the 
end,  for  I  heard  that  afterwards  the  murderer  was 
blown  from  a  cannon. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    ROAD    AGAIN 

'  There's  a  bower  of  roses  by  Bendemeer's  stream, 
And  the  nightingale  sings  round  it  all  the  day  long ; 
In  the  time  of  my  childhood  'twas  like  a  sweet  dream, 
To  sit  in  the  roses  and  hear  the  bird's  song. 
That  bower  and  its  music  I  never  forget, 
But  oft  when  alone,  in  the  bloom  of  the  year, 
I  think — is  the  nightingale  singing  there  yet  ? 
Are  the  roses  still  bright  by  the  calm  Bendemeer  ?' 

Moore  :  Lalla  RooJch, 

The  way  to  the  north  leaves  Shiraz  through  Tang-i- 
AUah  Akbar,— ^The  Pass  of  God-is-Great.'  To  the 
traveller  from  Isfahan  his  first  sight  of  the  beautiful 
plain  of  Shiraz  is  framed  by  the  great  gateway  which 
bars  the  mouth  of  this  pass.  So  overwhelmed  with 
joy  and  astonishment  is  the  weary  wayfarer  supposed 
to  be  at  so  pleasant  a  sight  that  the  exclamation 
*  God  is  great  !*  rises  involuntarily  to  his  lips,  whence 
the  name  the  place  goes  by. 

It  was  a  dull,  misty  day,  hovering  on  the  verge  of 
rain,  when  I  approached  this  gateway  of  Shiraz, — from 
the  wrong  direction,  of  course,  to  gain  this  supreme 
moment  of  joy.  Over  the  hills  there  hung  a  white 
pall;  a  colourless  gloom  beset  everything; — I  could 
have  wished  that  I  had  left  the  city  of  nightingales 
and  roses  in  a  happier  mood. 

My  caravan,  too,  was  in  rather  a  sore  temper. 
There  had  been  some  little  difficulty  about  getting  off. 

176 


THE  ROAD  AGAIN  177 

We  had  arranged  to  start  early  (that  is  to  say,  about 
seven),  in  order  to  comfortably  manage  our  march  : — 
seven  o'clock  saw  no  mules  there.  At  7.30  I  grew 
impatient,  even  though,  by  now,  I  was  becoming  some- 
what Persianized.  Going  out,  I  found  Saif  in  his  little 
house,  half  dressed.  I  asked  him,  I  fear  in  rather 
vigorous  language,  firstly  why  the  mules  had  not 
come,  and  secondly,  when  they  ought  to  have  been 
there  an  hour  ago,  why  he  was  not  apparently  worry- 
ing himself  about  the  matter  at  all.  His  answer, 
divested  of  '  because's '  and  '  and  so's,'  was,  '  I  don't 
know.'  My  inquiries,  however,  roused  his  feelings, 
and  when,  shortly  afterwards,  I  went  back  to  make 
sure  that  all  that  could  be  done  in  the  absence  of  the 
mules  was  completed,  I  saw  him  stride  forth  with  a 
determined  look  which  boded  ill  for  the  muleteer. 

Just  before  breakfast,  up  trotted  the  mules  uncon- 
cernedly. I  had  learned  that  for  a  foreigner  to  attempt 
to  express  his  feelings  in  Persian  on  such  an  occasion  was 
both  futile  and  undignified,  so  I  awaited  Saif.  He  came 
up  almost  immediately,  and  this  evidently  was  his  first 
meeting  to-day  with  the  false  muleteer,  for,  pushing 
past  me  as  I  ineffectually  endeavoured  to  make  a 
remark,  he  seized  the  scoundrel  by  the  nape  of  the 
neck  and  commenced  to  shake  him,  cuff  him,  and 
address  him  in  language  which  is  best  described  as 
shrill  and  strong.  I  must  confess  that  the  little  scene 
was  not  wholly  without  its  satisfaction,  and  it  was 
only  about  the  fifth  cuff  that^  I  mildly  remonstrated, 
and  shortly,  to  the  muleteer's  obvious  relief,  managed 
to  abate  my  trusty  interpreter's  wrath.  As,  however, 
he  was  still  in  no  condition  to  do  anything  but  curse 
at  the  top  of  his  voice,  I  left  him  doing  so,  and  went  in 
to  breakfast,  while  the  mules  were  dispatched  on  their 
journey  so  as  to  get  a  good  start ;  we  ourselves  intend- 

12 


178  ACROSS  PERSIA 

ing  to  overtake  them  perhaps  half-way  through  the 
march. 

Here  I   feel   I   must  pay  a  small  tribute  to  Saif. 
What  I  should  have  done  without  him,  I  do  not  know ; 
for  not  only  did  he  assist  me  at  the  beginning  in  my 
conversations  and  negotiations  with  the  Persians,  but 
throughout  my  journey,  until  at  Isfahan  we  parted,  he 
looked  after  my  affairs  with  a  zeal  and  fidelity  which 
was  sometimes   quite   pathetic.      I  believe,  however, 
that  he  always  imagined,  quite  wrongly,  that  I  under- 
valued his  services,  and  this  impression,  coupled  with 
the  deep  resentment  he  felt  whenever  I  hurt  his  feel- 
ings, as  I  sometimes  did  by  rebuking  him  when  things 
went  wrong,  occasionally  led  to  outbursts  which  were 
as  unnecessary  as  they  were  vehement.     The  fact  that 
this  morning  I  had  been  annoyed  with  him  for  not 
rising    sufficiently    early   touched    his    dignity   very 
deeply.     Perhaps  I  had,  indeed,  been  a  little  hasty^ 
and  Saif,  as  my  confidential  guide,  philosopher,  and 
friend,  certainly  was  in  a  position  towards  me  very 
different  to  the  rest  of  my  retinue.      Anyhow,  the 
incident  rankled,  and  very  shortly  came  the  crisis.     It 
was  just  as  I  looked  back  through  the  Tang-i-AUah 
Akbar  to  get  my  last  view  of  the  city  I  was  leaving. 
Turning  to  get  a  farewell  view  of  Shiraz,  my  attention 
was    riveted    by   something   very   different.      There, 
serenely  sauntering  up  behind  us,  were  the  mules.     I 
had  fondly  imagined  them  four  miles  or  so  on  the  road,, 
since  they  had  been  given  at  least  an  hour's  start. 
'  Go  back,'  I  said  firmly  to  Saif,  '  and  ask  them  what 
this  means.'    With  the  aspect  of  a  thunderstorm  about 
to  break,  he  silently  pulled  his  pony  round  and  clat- 
tered over  the  stones  towards  the  rest  of  the  caravan. 
Presently   he   returned,  and   said,  '  They  have   been 
buying  meat  and  bread.'     I  am  afraid  my  comments 


THE  ROAD  AGAIN  179 

were  more  appropriate  than  polite ; — we  were  now 
scarcely  likely  to  reach  our  night  s  halt  before  dark, 
and  the  events  of  the  day  had  altogether  been  of  such 
a  nature  as  to  by  no  means  improve  the  temper.  Saif  s 
wrath,  too,  had  been  rising  by  slow  degrees  since  day- 
break. The  accusation  of  late  rising,  in  particular,  had 
aggravated  affairs,  and  now  came  the  explosion.  First 
he  was  respectfully  indignant :  *  You  say  it  is  my  fault.' 
(I  had  not.)  *  Very  well,  sir,  I  wish  you  good  day,* 
and  he  pretended  to  go  away.  I  gently  but  firmly 
told  him  not  to  be  foolish,  and  this  incited  him  to  at 
last  break  forth  volubly  at  the  top  of  his  voice  : 
*  I  tell  you,  we  blessed  Mahometans ' — tapping  his 
chest — *get  up  for  praying  at  the  sun-up,  I  tell 
you,  your  exalted  excellency,  for  praying.  I  have 
served  you  faithfully,  I  swore  I  would,  and  tell  me,  I 
will  shed  the  last  drip  of  my  blood,  I  will  die  till  I 
drop  before  you,  only  tell  me.  And  these  cursed  dogs, 
I  know  a  way  I  will  manage,  I  will  burn  their 
fathers.  Your  excellency  shall  have  no  more  trouble  ; 
leave  it  to  me,  you  need  not  trouble.  And  I  say 
to  you,  we  blessed  Mahometans  must  rise  for  praying 
at  sun-up,  your  noble  excellency.'  Eventually  I 
pacified  him,  mainly,  I  believe,  by  venting  my  dis- 
pleasure on  a  stray  servant.  But  the  storm  did  not 
at  once  subside,  and  he  at  intervals  viciously  whacked 
his  poor  little  pony  and  any  odd  donkey  he  could 
reach. 

My  friend  Stumps  had  by  this  time  become  the 
proud  inhabitant  of  a  basket,  precariously  poised  on 
top  of  one  of  the  loads,  and  in  it  he  actually  conde- 
scended to  remain,  except  when  he  was  thrown  out  by 
a  specially  violent  lurch,  or  when  I  would  go  very 
close  and  he  would  wildly  fall  off  and  almost  get 
trodden  on  in  his  efforts  to  reach  me.     However,  he 

12—2 


180  ACROSS  PERSIA 

stood  his  travelling  nobly  : — I  believe  he  was  the  only 
one  of  the  expedition  with  a  temper  just  now. 

Accompanied  by  all  its  appurtenances  and  a  general 
gloom,  the  caravan  plodded  sullenly  up  through  the 
raw  morning  to  the  summit  of  the  pass  ;  thence  we 
descended  a  precipitous  path  to  the  caravanserai  of 
Bajgah,  wound  across  the  plain  and  in  among  the 
mountains  beyond.  The  weather  had  slightly  cleared, 
and  the  day  was  at  least  passable,  when  we  sighted 
suddenly  on  the  left  the  marvellously  tinted  slope  of 
mountain,  to  which  the  chemicals  in  the  soil  had  given 
a  rainbow-like  appearance ; — blue,  yellow,  red,  and 
brown,  all  in  fanciful  stripes. 

Away  to  the  east  there  was  a  curiously  fascinating 
picture.  A  high  valley  sloped  up  between  two  stately 
hills,  whose  summits  were  clad  in  a  garb  of  mist 
stretching  from  one  peak  to  the  other  in  a  sharp  line 
of  white,  and  mingling  above  in  the  grey  monotony  of 
the  sky.  Beneath,  starting  out  in  vivid  contrast,  was 
a  patch  of  unclouded  blue,  which  threw  the  sky-line  of 
the  valley  into  brilliant  relief.  In  the  surrounding 
world  of  drab  colours,  this  little  corner  of  colour  and 
light  was  set  like  some  picture  of  Nature.  But  the 
drab  canvas  and  the  glowing  tints  were  real ; — it 
would  have  been  possible  to  step  into  the  picture,  as 
the  mind  steps  sometimes  into  a  painter's  work,  and 
wanders  there  at  will.  That  sloping  valley  looked  as 
though  it  led  to  a  brighter,  lovelier  land,  and  just  over 
the  line,  drawn  sharp  beneath  the  blue,  there  surely 
should  have  lain  some  beauteous  lowland  basking  in  the 
sunlight.  Ah !  those  wondrous  lands  we  have  to 
leave  unseen  while  we  pass  on  our  way, — the  places 
we  can  never  visit, — the  deeds  we  can  never  do ! 
Perhaps,  after  all,  they  are  better  unseen,  unvisited, 
undone,  and  perchance  we  should  be  thankful  that 


THE  ROAD  AGAIN  181 

we  can  never  look  over   the  sky-line — of  nature  or 
of  life. 

Suddenly,  round  a  corner,  there  opened  out  a  valley 
to  the  north,  and  there,  snug  under  a  magnificent 
grey  wall  of  sheer  cliff,  lay  Zarghun  ; — tier  upon  tier 
of  little  mud  houses,  for  all  the  world  like  the 
auditorium  of  some  immense  amphitheatre.  Here 
was  our  night's  halting-place,  and  through  the  tiny 
bazaar  we  rode  to  the  chapar  hhaneh  This  little 
'rest-house,'  like  most  of  its  kind,  had  two  stories. 
The  hala  khaneh,  or  upper  chamber,  was  (and  is 
generally  in  such  places)  made  with  a  view  to  summer 
accommodation  only.  It  consisted  chiefly  of  windows 
and  doors,  and  on  a  cold  night,  like  that  on  which 
I  found  myself  at  Zarghun,  seemed  calculated  to 
project  a  draught,  or  rather  a  gale,  to  any  quarter  of 
its  interior.  The  whole  effect  was  that  of  a  rather 
windy  stable.  The  chimney,  too, — mud,  like  the  rest 
of  the  hut — was  also  obviously  a  summer  affair,  and 
seemed  capable  of  dealing  with  about  a  quarter  of  the 
smoke  produced  by  the  fire,  the  other  three-quarters 
making  its  way,  so  it  seemed  to  me,  mainly  into  my 
eyes.  It  may  be  useful  to  the  traveller  to  know  that 
in  such  a  case  the  difficulty  can  be  partially  overcome 
by  pushing  the  fire  a  few  feet  up  the  chimney,  which, 
although  it  sacrifices  heat,  is  a  gain  in  general  comfort. 
The  absence  of  a  table  sounds  a  trifle,  but  it  is 
wonderful  how  disconcerting  it  is  at  first  to  have  to 
eat  food  lying  down,  unless  European  prejudices 
concerning  knives  and  forks  are  wholly  thrown  to  the 
winds.  Hunger,  however,  has  a  way  of  its  own,  and 
I  remember  that  on  this  occasion  there  was  not 
much  except  the  bones  and  the  fat  left  for  little 
Stumps. 

Next   morning   I   awoke  with  a  joyous  feeling  of 


182  ACROSS  PERSIA 

being  friends  with  all  the  world.  The  tableland  of 
Persia  is  about  5,000  feet  above  the  sea,  and  this  con- 
duces to  the  most  pleasant  and  exhilarating  sensations. 
Like  oxygen  or  like  some  sparkling  wine,  the  air  fills 
a  human  being  with  strange  exuberant  spirits.  It  is 
akin  to  the  *  stimulation  of  the  Alps,*  which  Stevenson 
describes  with  all  his  marvellous  power.  *  You  wake 
every  morning,  see  the  gold  upon  the  snow  peaks, 
become  filled  with  courage,  and  bless  God  for  your 
prolonged  existence.  The  valleys  are  but  a  stride  to 
you ;  you  cast  your  shoe  over  the  hill-tops  ;  your  ears 
and  your  heart  sing;  in  the  words  of  an  unverified 
quotation  from  the  Scotch  psalms,  you  feel  yourself  fit 
"  on  the  wings  of  all  the  winds  "  to  "  come  flying  all 
abroad."  Europe  and  your  mind  are  too  narrow  for 
that  flood  of  energy.' 

I  had  never  read  that  when  I  was  in  Persia,  but  I 
tried  to  describe  it,  and  my  words,  though  inade- 
quate in  their  expression,  are  a  curious  verification  of 
Stevenson's  feelings. 

'In  these  high  places,'  I  find  written  in  my  diary, 
*  a  strange  ecstasy  comes  over  a  man, — the  phantom 
of  all  the  greatness  on  earth.  He  would  be  all  things, 
the  greatest  in  all  things,  for  the  glory  of  them  is 
upon  him.  His  soul  cries  out  for  all  the  mightinesses 
in  the  world ; — nay,  this  world  is  too  small.  Beyond 
the  universe  he  flies  :  he  is  with  the  gods.' 

There  is  another  feeling  which  comes  upon  the 
traveller,  the  feeling  of  'home,'  about  which  I  have 
had  a  word  before.  Now,  I  was  back  on  the  old 
winding  path  with  the  old  feeling  of  freedom, — that 
the  world  was  at  my  service  for  my  use  and  enjoy- 
ment ;  but  at  the  end  there  was  always  home.  It  was 
sometimes  an  immeasurable  distance  off, — a  goal,  like 
death,  that  would  come  at  the  end  of  things,  it  did 


THE  ROAD  AGAIN  183 

not  much  matter  when, — indeed,  the  mind  hardly 
thought  or  could  realize  when.  Yet  it  was  there, 
something  comfortable  and  restful  and  unworried 
about,  drawing  the  feet  quietly,  resistlessly  on.  It 
seems  strange  to  talk  about  a  sentiment  for  *  home ' 
in  these  days  of  flats  and  *  the  Continent ' ;  but  there, 
somewhere  or  other,  in  every  well-constituted  human 
heart,  there  lurks  the  old  feeling.  It  may  be  enlarged 
to  a  land  or  contracted  to  an  attic,  home  will  always 
exist,  and,  alas  !  for  the  man  who  has  no  definite  point 
to  which  to  fasten  down  his  longing  affection.  Yet  it 
may  be  said,  paradoxically  enough,  that  there  is  no 
home  unless  you  are  away  from  it.  It  is  only  in  the 
deserts  and  the  jungles  and  the  far-away  mountains 
and  valleys  that  there  comes  the  true  sensation  of 
home.  Then,  indeed,  it  sometimes  comes  very  keenly. 
It  is  aroused  by  a  little  thing ;  a  shade  of  green,  the 
trickling  of  water,  the  breath  of  the  wind,  a  chance 
cry  or  a  stray  odour, — and  the  whole  yearning  desire 
for  the  old  associations  and  the  old  places  floods  over 
the  heart.  '  My  thoughts  to-day  are  all  of  home,'  I 
once  wrote  on  my  travels.  '  Sometimes  an  overpowering 
longing  to  be  there  comes  over  me,  a  great  dragging 
at  the  heart  that  makes  the  thought  of  all  the  weary 
miles  almost  too  much  to  bear.  I  fall  into  a  day- 
dream on  some  monotonous  march,  and  for  a  little 
there  are  about  me  friends  and  familiar  things  ;  then 
with  a  start  I  awake,  and  there,  all  around,  is  the 
white,  lonely  waste,  bounded  by  the  far  snow-clad  hills, 
and  I,  who  was  a  moment  ago  thousands  of  miles 
away,  am  back  again  plodding  my  tiny  inches  forward 
on  my  little  pony.' 

So  in  all  our  journeyings  there  is  always  somewhere 
far  away  the  magnet  drawing  us  forward  with  varying 
force  to  the  end, — be  it  home  or  death. 


184  ACROSS  PERSIA 

But  now  there  was  life  and  Persia,  and  I  was  friends 
with  all  the  world.  I  lavished  films  on  picturesque 
wells  and  dirty  little  boys.  I  would  like  to  have 
given  all  my  money  to  an  old  beggar  woman — and 
compromised  with  twopence.  The  world  was  ideal, 
and  even  the  mules  were  in  time. 

We  were  close  to  Bendemeer,  the  '  calm  Bendemeer ' 
of  '  Lalla  Rookh.'  To  a  poet  has  always  been  accorded 
a  certain  licence  of  diction.  His  business  is  to  obtain 
his  effect,  and  if  he  does  so — well,  we  must  not  inquire 
too  narrowly  into  his  methods.  He  can  always  say 
that  he  really  sees  more  in  the  ordinary  objects 
of  this  world  than  those  who  are  not  blessed  with 
a  poetic  mind.  In  dealing  with  the  past,  more- 
over, he  is  on  even  surer  ground.  He  has  time  in 
his  favour.  What  is  now  may  not  have  been  so  at 
the  period  of  which  he  is  singing.  He  can  make 
verdant  a  desert,  people  desolate  places  with  heroes 
and  heroines  and  their  Courts,  nor  needs  a  shred 
of  present  evidence  to  support  what  he  has  done. 
It  is  not, — but  it  might  have  been;  time  is  his 
defence. 

Few  poets  have  more  liberally  availed  themselves  of 
their  privileges  in  this  respect  than  Moore,  who,  in 
addition  to  writing  about  the  past,  also  took  the 
precaution  to  write  about  a  land  that  was  far  away 
and  visited  by  few.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  trans- 
gresses further  than  even  his  privileges  will  warrant. 
He  defies  natural  laws  which  even  a  poet  should  obey. 
Men  may  alter,  but  Nature  remains  disobligingly  the 
same.  So,  when  the  poet  talks  of  'Kishmas  amber 
vines,'  referring  to  an  island  which  is  as  desolate  as 
the  Sahara,  and  which  by  no  conceivable  process  could 
ever  be,  or  have  been,  transformed  by  man  into 
anything  else,  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  except  to 


THE  ROAD  AGAIN  185 

remark  that  there  are  lengths  to  which  even  a  poetic 
licence  will  not  stretch. 

With  regard  to  Bendemeer,  Moore  has  a  stronger 
case.  There  certainly  is  no  '  bower  of  roses  by  Bende- 
meer's  stream  '  to-day,  and  the  nightingale  would  find 
it  a  sorry  business  to  eke  out  a  living  in  the  barren 
desert  which  lies  around ;  but  then,  here  there  is 
certainly  a  possibility  that  in  ages  past  a  different 
state  of  things  existed.  Time  was  when  the  great 
plain  through  which  runs  the  Biver  Bendemeer,  and 
which  stretches  straight  away  to  the  pillars  of  Perse- 
polis  and  the  rock-tombs  of  Naksh-i-Bustam,  was 
evidently  a  fertile  and  populous  place.  Persepolis  was 
the  capital  of  a  great  empire.  It  was  the  residence  of 
Kings  and  their  Courts,  and  all  around  it  lay  the  homes 
and  properties  of  thousands  who  dwelt  in  the  great 
city  or  cultivated  the  surrounding  fields.  Even  in 
Le  Bruyn's  days,  a  mere  two  hundred  years  ago,  there 
were  scattered  about  the  plain  over  eight  hundred 
villages  ; — to-day  there  are  not  more  than  a  couple  of 
score. 

Nowhere  does  Persia  more  surely  show  the  record 
of  her  fallen  greatness  than  in  this  plain  of  Merv- 
Dasht.  Those  who  would  care  to  gain  some  idea  of 
the  magnificence  of  the  place  in  the  old  days  have  only 
to  turn  to  the  delightful  and  essentially  Oriental  drama 
depicted  in  the  Book  of  Esther.  The  scene  is  laid  at 
Persepolis,  *  in  those  days  when  the  King  Ahasuerus  ' 
(who  was  Xerxes)  *  sat  on  the  throne  of  his  kingdom.* 
The  drama  opens  with  a  description  of  a  great  feast  in 
the  palace  of  Shushan,  which  was  Persepolis  itself;  a 
feast  *  both  unto  great  and  small,  seven  days,  in  the 
court  of  the  garden  of  the  king's  palace  ;  where  were 
white,  green,  and  blue,  hangings,  fastened  with  cords 
of  fine  linen  and  purple  to  silver  rings  and  pillars  of 


186  ACROSS  PERSIA 

marble:  the  beds  were  of  gold  and  silver,  upon  a 
pavement  of  red,  and  blue,  and  white,  and  black 
marble.  And  they  gave  them  drink  in  vessels  of 
gold  (the  vessels  being  diverse  one  from  another),  and 
royal  wine  in  abundance,  according  to  the  state  of  the 
king.'  It  was  in  the  palace  that  the  King  and  Haman 
sat  down  to  drink  when  they  had  ordered  the 
destruction  of  the  Jews,  and  in  some  little  house  under 
the  high  hills  lived  Mordecai  and  Esther,  his  adopted 
daughter,  who  secured  their  safety  and  the  downfall 
of  Haman  himself.  It  was  in  the  palace  that  the 
fateful  banquet  took  place  at  which  Esther  accused 
Haman,  and  it  was  in  the  city  just  below  that  they 
hung  Haman  on  the  gallows  he  had  prepared  for 
Mordecai.  So  it  is  not  hard  to  believe  that  long  ago 
the  great  plain  watered  by  the  River  Bendemeer  pre- 
sented a  very  different  appearance  from  the  present ; 
that  roses  were  to  be  seen  and  nightingales  to  be  heard 
around  its  banks,  and  that  here,  at  least,  friend  Time 
has  an  excuse  for  coming  to  the  poet's  assistance. 

Certainly  there  is  to-day  no  suggestion  of  the  scene 
painted  in  'Lalla  Rookh.'  Through  a  desert  plain, 
barren  alike  of  verdure  and  of  population,  varied  here 
and  there  by  some  grey  marsh,  from  which,  at  the 
approach  of  the  traveller,  rise  countless  thousand 
ducks  with  a  great  whirring  of  wings,  to  swish  away 
overhead  and  circle  ever  lower  again  into  settling- 
places  in  the  soft  sedgy  recesses  ; — through  such  a 
land  there  winds  a  sluggish  little  river  between  ugly 
mud  banks.  That  is  my  Bendemeer ;  a  sad  contrast 
to  the  picture  drawn  by  the  poet. 

Crossing  the  river,  I  rode  on  across  the  plain  until, 
away  beneath  the  hills  far  ahead,  I  saw  a  dim,  terrace- 
like shadow.  Could  that  be  Persepolis  ?  The  march 
was  half  accomplished,  and  I  sat  down  to  let  my  pony 


THE  ROAD  AGAIN  187 

feed  and  rest  and  to  eat  some  dates.  Suddenly  I 
chanced  to  look  over  to  the  north-east ; — the  changing 
light  had  thrown  a  shadow  on  the  hills,  and  against  it 
upon  that  dim  terrace  stood  out  delicate  finger-like 
pillars — yes,  it  was  the  city  of  the  great  Kings.  Just 
a  few  little  thin  threads  of  white  under  the  barren 
hills  looking  over  the  deserted  plain — that  was  all. 

As  I  rode  on,  I  pictured  to  myself  what  once  upon 
a  time  would  have  met  the  eye  of  a  traveller  coming, 
as  did  I,  from  the  south-west.  I  reclothed  the  plain 
in  green,  repeopled  it  with  men  and  women,  recon- 
structed the  mighty  city,  rehabilitated  in  their  glory 
the  decaying  halls  of  the  ancient  palace.  Rich  fields, 
well-built  houses,  the  prospect  afar  of  a  thousand 
roofs,  the  motion  and  glitter  of  many  men,  the  pomp 
of  processions,  and  the  myriad  magnificences  of  a  royal 
city — all  this  I  might  have  ridden  through  in  those 
old  days  ;  and  now — those  few  forlorn  lines  of  white 
scarcely  visible  against  the  unchanging  hills. 

The  road  was  devoured  under  my  horse's  feet,  the 
pillars  grew,  took  shape,  sometimes  vanishing  in  the 
alternations  of  light  and  shade,  and  then  standing  out 
with  a  cleaner  vividness.  Formless  masses  of  black 
appeared  to  the  south  of  the  white  columns — the 
palace  of  Darius  ;  dark  blots  sprang  up  on  the  hill-side 
— the  tombs.  Then,  far  away  to  the  north,  there 
became  visible  dim  shadowy  crosses  recessed  in  the 
cliffs,  each  with  a  black  dot  in  the  centre — the  sepul- 
chres of  the  Achsemenian  monarchs.  Through  plough 
and  waste  and  river  I  pushed  on  straight  for  Persepolis 
itself,  and  at  last  the  shadow  of  the  great  terrace 
walls  lay  across  the  path,  and  the  hoofs  of  my  pony 
clattered  up  the  wide  flights  of  steps  and  over  the 
paved  courts. 

I  was  quite  alone.     My  pony,  glad  to  take  its  ease, 


188  ACROSS  PERSIA 

nibbled  the  scanty  grass  while  I  looked  around.  All 
about  was  the  silent  impressiveness  of  departed 
grandeur.  There  was  a  sense  of  awe  at  the  careless, 
lavish  tremendousness  of  the  majestic  ruins  ;  a  feeling 
of  pitiful  reverence  for  the  outraged  glory  left,  unheeded, 
to  decay. 

Somehow  there  was  a  peculiar  pathos  about  this 
place  that  I  have  never  felt  elsewhere  ; — I  think  it  is 
half  what  it  is  and  half  where  it  is  that  gives  Persepolis 
its  strange  sadness.  It  is  not  only  the  thoughts  of  the 
grandeur  that  man  has  mutilated,  of  the  great  past 
that  has  fallen  to  such  dire  decay ;  it  is  that  it  all 
stands  so  utterly  solitary,  so  deserted.  Bereft  of  all 
its  surrounding  life,  abandoned  as  much  by  humanity 
and  by  Nature  as  by  its  glories,  in  its  supreme  desola- 
tion Persepolis  forms,  indeed,  a  fitting  chord  to  close 
the  dirge  of  the  dead  past.  Apt  reading  in  such  a 
place  would  be  Omar  or  Ecclesiastes, — the  *  vanity  of 
vanities '  of  the  preacher  would  be  re-echoed  from  every 
corner  and  court. 

There  is  a  something  in  the  very  old  which  thrills 
in  an  indefinable  way ; — it  takes  a  thousand  years  to 
make  a  college  lawn  ;  it  had  taken  two  thousand  to 
fashion  what  I  was  looking  at.  To  such  a  work — a  few 
hundred  years,  what  do  they  mean  ?  Some  of  us  men 
and  women  gone  and  others  come ;  a  pillar  more  or 
less;  a  little  eaten  by  the  wind  and  the  rain  from  this 
massive  gateway  ;  a  word  defaced  ;  a  figure  mutilated. 
Curious  irony,  is  it  not,  that  we  poor  humans  that 
moralize  and  wonder  about  time  and  eternity  and 
mortality  are  ourselves  so  much  less  permanent  than 
our  works  ?  Persepolis  will  still  see  many  generations 
of  travellers  standing  where  I  once  stood,  and  gazing 
on  its  pillars  and  inscriptions,  when  my  eyes  are  long 
ago  closed  for  ever.  .  .  . 


THE  ROAD  AGAIN  189 

There  was  only  time  for  a  brief  wander  through  the 
fallen  palaces  before  I  had  to  make  my  way  back 
under  the  hills  to  the  little  mud  hut  which  was  to  be 
my  home  for  the  next  few  days.  On  my  way  I  came 
across  things  I  have  not  seen  mentioned  elsewhere. 
About  half-way  towards  the  chapar  khaneh  of  Puzeh, 
for  which  I  was  bound,  a  long  tongue  of  land  runs  up 
between  the  hills.  In  a  bay  on  the  north-east  side  of 
this,  a  short  way  up  the  rocks,  I  saw  some  square 
openings  in  the  stone  ;  one,  under  a  projecting  eave  of 
rock,  looking  for  all  the  world  like  the  front  of  a  little 
thatched  cottage  with  an  open  door.  I  clambered  up, 
and  found  that  each  opening  gave  access  to  a  small 
chamber  about  6  feet  long  by  3  feet  high,  into  which  it 
was  just  possible  to  creep.  There  were  three  complete 
chambers  and  two  more  unfinished  ones.  None  had 
any  inscription ;  only,  in  front  of  the  largest  and  of  the 
two  unfinished  ones,  there  was  carved  in  the  stone  a 
trough,  the  largest  being  6  feet  by  2  and  1^  feet  deep. 
Inside  the  little  huts  was  a  small  groove  two  feet  long 
at  an  angle  from  the  doorway,  which  I  imagined  to 
have  been  connected  with  the  process  of  closing  some 
door  which  used  to  exist.  There  were  also  recesses  at 
the  top  of  the  doorway  inside,  presumably  for  a  hinge 
of  some  sort.  The  unfinished  huts  had  only  the  trough 
completed  and  a  rough  indication  that  more  work  was 
intended.  In  the  rock  above  the  largest  hut  there 
was  cut  a  trough  6  feet  by  2  and  li  feet  deep,  sloping 
slightly  downwards.  There  was  also  a  deeper  trough 
in  the  rock  a  little  lower  towards  the  east.  Two  of 
the  finished  chambers  were  on  the  south  side,  one  on 
the  north. 

Night  was  falling  as  I  passed  along  the  foot  of  the 
cliffs,  and  it  was  in  the  misty  dusk  that  I  arrived  at 
my  mud  house.     Coming  from  the  grey  ghosts  without. 


190  ACROSS  PERSIA 

the  flickering  of  the  fire  on  the  brown  walls  was  very- 
cheering,  and  my  little  room  was  quite  home-like.  In 
such  matters  the  frame  of  mind  makes  a  great  difier- 
ence,  and,  maybe,  others  less  ready  to  be  satisfied  than 
I  was  at  this  moment  would  have  taken  exception  to 
their  abode.  Saif,  indeed,  quite  expected  me  to  do  so 
myself,  and  when  I  asked  where  my  room  was,  he 
remarked  with  well-meaning  and  indignant  irreverence : 
*  My  God,  where  is  it  V  Certainly  the  accommodation 
was  limited.  There  was  no  mat,  no  table,  no  chair, 
even  the  *  crazy  hingeless  door '  of  which  Lord  Curzon 
speaks  had  gone,  and  between  the  two  gaping  door- 
ways there  blew  a  shrill  wind,  to  which  a  couple  of 
round  holes  in  the  wall  contributed  their  own  individual 
little  draughts.  However,  the  two  holes  were  stopped 
with  haversacks,  mackintosh  sheets  were  hung  over 
one  doorway,  which  at  all  events  stopped  the  wind 
blowing  through  the  room,  and  my  bed  made  a  really 
excellent  seat.  A  wooden  box,  used  to  contain 
kitchen  utensils,  was  pressed  into  service  as  a  table, 
and  after  a  hearty  meal  I  covered  myself  with  my 
military  great-coat  as  an  extra  compensation  for  the 
unobstructed  doorway  which  was  half-way  down  my 
bed,  and  thus  laid  myself  to  sleep,  almost,  perhaps, 
where  long  ago,  and  amid  rather  different  surround- 
ings, had  slept  Xerxes  or  Darius. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

NAKSH-I-RUSTAM 

*  Vanity  of  vanities,  saith  the  Preacher ;  vanity  of  vanities,  all 
is  vanity. 

*  What  profit  hath  a  man  of  all  his  labour  which  he  taketh 
under  the  sun  ? 

'One  generation  passeth  away,  and  another  generation 
cometh  :  but  the  earth  abideth  for  ever.' — Ecclesiastes. 

I  WAS  now  in  the  presence  of  some  of  the  wonders  of 
the  earth,  great  memorials  of  an  ancient  civilization, 
works  which  had  lasted  through  generation  after 
generation,  and  seemed,  like  the  earth  itself,  made  to 
abide  for  ever. 

Round  about  the  plain  wherein  was  set  the  little 
rest-house  which  formed  my  home  there  are  scattered 
no  less  than  three  chief  groups  of  ancient  remains. 
First  of  all,  there  is  the  city  of  Persepolis  itself,  then 
the  rock-tombs  and  sculptures  at  Naksh-i-Rustam,  and, 
lastly,  the  scattered  ruins  of  the  old  city  of  Istakhr. 

To  the  traveller  who  comes  from  Shiraz,  the  chapar 
khaneh  of  Puzeh  lies  straight  ahead  in  the  middle  of 
the  valley  through  which  runs  the  road  to  Isfahan. 
Standing  at  the  chapar  khaneh  and  looking  up  the 
valley  towards  Isfahan,  Persepolis  lies  to  his  right  a 
mile  or  so  distant.  To  the  left — that  is,  northwards — 
lie  the  tombs  and  tablets  of  Naksh-i-Rustam,  not  much 
further  off,  perhaps,  than  Persepolis  itself,  but  more 
difficult  of  access  by  reason  of  the  circuitous  route  by 
which  they  have  to  be  approached.     Immediately  in 

191 


192 


ACROSS  PERSIA 


front  and  quite  close  by  are  the  straggling  remnants 
of  Istakhr.  Besides  these  chief  places  of  interest, 
there  are  one  or  two  of  minor  importance.  Behind 
the   chapar  hhaneh    towards   Shiraz,  a   few   hundred 


IV 

\ 


FireAltars°,^ 


^'^^'^%///. 


""'"^'J^o 


Persepolts 


Tomb 


THE   NEIGHBOURHOOD   OF   PERSBPOLIS. 


yards  will  take  the  explorer  to  a  curious,  flat  stone 
platform  called  Takht-i-Taous, — *  the  Peacock  Throne.' 
Close  on  his  right,  under  the  cliffs,  is  a  little  bay  in 
the  rock,  almost  undiscoverable  unless  carefully  looked 


NAKSH-I-RUSTAM  193 

for,  wherein  are  three  panels  of  rock  sculpture.  This 
place  is  called  Naksh-i-Rejeb,  and  beyond  it,  towards 
Persepolis,  will  be  found  the  rock  chambers  which  have 
been  already  described.  Beyond  this,  again,  there  are 
the  tracks  of  two  old  roads,  which  lead  by  a  short  cut 
over  the  mountains  down  behind  Persepolis.  Such  is, 
roughly,  the  geography  of  the  area  within  which  relics 
of  the  past  are  to  be  found. 

A  word  of  history  is  also  necessary.  It  is  of  first 
importance  to  remember  that  there  are  two  entirely 
different  periods  to  which  the  remains  belong,  and 
that  some  of  them  are  probably  separated  by  almost  a 
thousand  years  in  time. 

The  two  periods  which  have  left  their  mark  on  this 
part  of  Persia,  and,  indeed,  on  Persia  as  a  whole,  are, 
first,  the  Achaemenian,  which  extended  from  558  B.C. 
to  331  B.C.,  and,  second,  the  Sassanian,  which  lasted 
from  A.D.  226  to  a.d.  651.  There  are,  of  course, 
certain  remains  which  probably  date  jfrom  even  before 
Achsemenian  times,  and  there  are  certainly  some  which 
are  post- Sassanian  ;  but,  generally  speaking,  the  whole 
of  those  in  the  plains  about  Persepolis  fall  into  the  two 
periods  named.  Into  these  two  periods  they  shall  be 
briefly  catalogued,  and  in  so  doing,  I  will  also  cata- 
logue with  them  the  other  historic  ruins  by  which  my 
path  lay  on  my  journey ings. 

First  of  all,  then,  in  the  dim  past,  probably  before 
the  great  Kings  of  the  Achsemenian  dynasty  had  been 
born,  there  were  made  two  fire-altars,  a  short  way 
round  the  corner  northwards  from  Naksh-i-Hejeb. 
They  go  back  to  legendary  times,  and  of  their  history 
there  is  little  that  can  be  said.  To  some  such  period, 
too,  there  may  belong  the  curious  rock  dwellings  at 
Keneh,  which  I  afterwards  saw  when  passing  through 
the  Elburz  Mountains. 

13 


194  ACROSS  PERSIA 

Next  we  come  to  the  Achsemenian  period  itself,  and 
this  may  be  divided  into  two  portions.  First,  the  time 
of  Cyrus,  during  which  was  built  Pasargadse,  which 
lies  a  little  farther  on  the  way  to  Isfahan  than  Per- 
sepolis,  and  which  will  shortly  come  to  be  described. 
There  are  Cyrus's  tomb,  the  remains  of  his  palace,  and 
the  celebrated  monolith,  famed  for  its  figure  of  the 
King  and  the  historic  inscription  once  engraved 
thereon.  The  second  portion  of  the  Achsemenian 
period  includes  the  reigns  of  all  the  later  monarchs, 
Darius,  Xerxes,  and  their  successors.  Persepolis  was 
their  city,  and  at  Naksh-i-Rustam  they  built  their 
tombs.  To  this  period  also  may  possibly  belong  some 
of  the  older  remains  at  Shahpur,  but,  of  course,  it  was 
long  before  Shahpur's  day,  and  the  city  and  rock 
tablets  had  no  existence  until  hundreds  of  years  after- 
wards. The  stone  tables  and  troughs,  however,  seem 
as  though  they  were  coeval  with  undoubtedly  Achse- 
menian  remains,  and  it  seems  most  probable  that 
centuries  before  Shahpur  had  built  there,  the  site  wa& 
occupied  by  another  city.  Istakhr  is  also  of  this  period, 
and  there  are  other  scattered  remains,  such  as  Naksh-i- 
Rejeb,  and  probably  the  Takht-i-Taous,  which  are  also 
Achaemenian.  After  331  B.C.  there  comes  a  great  gap 
of  time,  during  which  no  substantial  works  were 
bequeathed  to  generations  to  come.  Then,  with  the 
revival  of  the  fortunes  of  Persia,  under  Ardeshir 
Babegan  and  Shahpur,  and  with  the  restoration  of 
Zoroastrianism,  came  new  artistic  vigour. 

Great  deeds  merited  great  memorials,  and  it  is  little 
to  be  wondered  at  that  the  Sassanian  monarchs  should 
have  chosen  as  a  place  in  which  to  record  their  deeds 
the  site  of  the  great  relics,  already  monuments  of  anti- 
quity, which  were  fashioned  hundreds  of  years  before 
by  their  mighty  predecessors,  the  Achsemenian  Kings. 


NAKSH-I-RUSTAM  195 

So  it  came  about  that  under  the  tombs  of  Xerxes  and 
Darius  and  Artaxerxes,  and  all  along  the  cliiF  to  the 
west,  Shahpur  and  the  Kings  who  followed  him  cut 
their  great  rock  pictures.  Another  Sassanian  relic  is 
the  series  of  inscriptions  in  the  cave  of  Hajiabad,  not 
far  from  Naksh-i-Rustam.  To  the  Sassanian  period 
also,  of  course,  belong  the  sculptures  and  ruins  at 
Shahpur,  which,  in  several  cases,  are  almost  identical 
with  those  at  Naksh-i-Rustam,  and  also  the  statue 
which  lies  prone  in  the  great  cave. 

After  the  end  of  the  Sassanian  period,  there  is  prac- 
tically nothing  which  has  been  left  to  attract  the 
attention  of  later  times.  Recently  some  attempts 
have  been  made  by  later  Kings  to  imitate  the  works 
of  Shahpur  and  his  successors,  but  the  attempts  are 
miserably  inferior  in  execution  and,  it  must  be  added, 
in  subject. 

From  what  has  been  written,  it  will  be  evident  that 
I  was  now  in  the  very  centre  of  a  storehouse  of  the 
past.  My  riches,  indeed,  embarrassed  me,  and  I 
hardly  knew  which  way  to  turn  during  the  few  days 
which  I  was  able  to  spend  here.  The  first  morning 
dawned  most  disappointingly  ;  driving  misty  rain  beat 
across  the  plain  and  up  the  valley,  but  time  would 
allow  of  no  delay,  and  about  nine  o^ clock  Saif  and  I, 
escorted  by  a  knowledgeable  Persian,  set  off  for 
Naksh-i-Rustam.  The  place  is  only  to  be  approached 
by  a  considerable  detour  to  the  east  or  west,  and  we 
chose  the  latter  way.  Just  westwards  from  the 
chapar  Mianeh  the  river  is  fordable,  and,  crossing  here, 
we  rode  along,  sliding  and  stumbling  over  slippery 
tracks,  to  a  little  village.  There  we  turned  sharp  to 
the  north,  and  after  an  uncomfortable  ride  through  the 
wind  and  rain,  we  saw  standing  out  on  the  rocks  close 
ahead  the  tablet  of  Ormuzd  and  Ardeshir. 

13—2 


196  ACROSS  PERSIA 

It  will  have  been  made  clear  that  at  Naksh-i-Rustam 
there  are  three  complete  sets  of  ancient  works.  First, 
the  fire  altars  of  hoary  and  legendary  age,  then  the 
tombs  of  the  Kings  and  a  mysterious  fire  temple,  to 
which  I  will  refer  later,  and,  last,  the  series  of  sculp- 
tured panels  which  celebrate  the  Sassanian  monarchs 
and  their  works. 

It  is  an  impressive  sight ;  above,  cut  sheer  out  of 
the  rocks,  stand  the  great  cross-like  tombs,  carved  and 
recessed,  with,  in  the  centre  of  each,  the  small  black 
door  which  leads  to  the  centre  galleries  and  vaults. 
Below,  scattered  along  the  base  of  the  cliff*,  are  the 
panel  pictures  of  the  Sassanian  Kings.  Set  in  a  small 
dip  straight  before  the  tombs  squats  a  square,  solid- 
looking,  stone-built  temple,  while  to  the  left,  where 
the  cliff  grows  lower,  is  a  solitary  pillar  of  stone,  a 
little  way  behind  which  are  the  ancient  fire  altars. 

There  are  four  tombs  and  seven  rock  pictures.  Both 
tombs  and  pictures  have  been  described  with  such 
minuteness  of  detail  and  accuracy  of  description  by 
Lord  Curzon  that  it  would  be  only  possible  for  me  to 
repeat  again  what  he  had  already  said  were  I  to 
attempt  anything  more  than  a  rough  impression  of  the 
scene.  I  will,  therefore,  only  give  some  such  rough 
impression,  together  with  any  small  details  of  indi- 
vidual interest  in  my  explorations. 

First,  then,  as  to  the  rock  pictures,  and  in  describing 
both  these  and  the  tombs  themselves,  they  shall  be 
numbered  from  the  right — that  is,  the  east.  We 
approached  from  the  west,  and  rode  straight  up  under 
the  tombs  to  the  far  end,  where  the  first  tomb  looks 
out  at  right  angles  to  the  rest.  It  is  between  the  first 
and  second  tombs  that  there  is  carved  the  first  rock 
panel.  This  is  of  especial  interest,  as  it  contains  what 
is  said  to  be  the  only  figure  of  a  woman  which  is  to  be 


NAKSH-I-RUSTAM  197 

found  in  such  carvings  in  Persia.  The  figure  is  that 
on  the  right,  and  from  its  large  hips  and  feminine 
contour  the  matter  of  its  sex  is  certainly  placed 
beyond  doubt.  The  whole  tablet  is  generally  taken 
to  represent  either  Varahran  II.  or  Varahran  V. 
and  his  Queen.  Some,  indeed,  assert  it  is  in  com- 
memoration of  the  Kings  marriage.  The  Sassanian 
monarch  himself,  with  his  huge,  busby-looking  crown, 
holds  solemnly  the  royal  circlet,  the  other  side  of 
which  is  grasped  by  his  lady.  Behind  stands  a 
faithful  retainer,  and  between  the  King  and  Queen  is 
a  tiny  and  much-mutilated  figure,  which  may  be 
presumed  to  be  that  of  a  child  (which,  by  the  way, 
rather  militates  against  the  idea  that  the  whole 
picture  represents  the  King's  marriage).  Personally, 
I  like  to  think  that  here  we  have  Varahran  V. — 
Bahram  Gur — *  Bahram  of  the  wild  ass  ' — and  his 
Queen.  He  it  is  whom  Omar  has  introduced  into  one 
of  his  most  mournful  images — 

'  And  Bahram,  that  great  hunter,  the  wild  ass 
Stamps  o'er  his  head,  but  cannot  break  his  sleep.' 

He  was,  indeed,  killed  out  hunting  over  this  very 
plain  the  gur,  from  which  he  took  his  name.  If  it  is 
he,  however,  the  Queen  offers  some  little  difficulty,  for, 
alas  !  he  was  no  true  lover.  It  is  fabled,  indeed,  that 
he  had  seven  mistresses,  each  in  her  own  castle,  to 
each  of  whom  he  was  faithful,  presumably,  in  turn. 
However  it  be,  it  pleases  me  at  least  to  think  that  in 
our  picture  we  have  the  great  hunter  and  the  royal 
lover  whose  name  we  know  in  poetry,  history,  and 
romance. 

Next  come  twin  tablets,  the  second  and  third,  one 
over  the  other.  In  these  and  in  the  fifth  we  see 
depicted  the  combat  of  horsemen  with  lances.   Whether 


198  ACROSS  PERSIA 

it  be  in  battle  or  in  the  lists  I  know  not ;  but,  lance  in 
hand,  the  King  meets  his  foe  at  close  quarters.  There 
is  a  vigour  and  sense  of  movement  about  these  pictures 
which  makes  them  live  with  a  strange  vividness  after 
all  these  fifteen  hundred  years.  The  steeds  are  stretched 
at  a  gallop,  to  the  left  the  King  leans  forward  on  his 
lance,  over  against  him  whirls  up  his  adversary.  That 
is  the  first  picture  of  the  three.  Look  above  to  the 
second  panel ; — they  have  met.  The  King  !  the  King  ! 
the  victory  is  with  the  King !  The  foe  reels  ;  his 
lance,  quivering,  recoils;  his  horse,  thrown  on  its 
haunches,  staggers  as  the  rider  is  forced  from  the 
saddle,  and  the  King  careers  proudly  on.  Look  again 
to  the  left,  where  the  fifth  tablet  stands  out.  It  is  a 
little  later  in  the  tale  of  the  King's  triumph  ;  and  now 
his  enemy  will  ride  no  more,  for  see,  his  horse  is  over- 
thrown, his  lance,  shattered,  droops  idly  in  his  hand, 
while  the  King  pierces  his  throat  as  he  sinks  inert 
from  the  saddle. 

Such  is  the  story  of  the  three  pictures.  Their  hero 
is  said  to  be  Yarahran  IV. 

Now  we  must  go  back  to  the  fourth,  for  to  follow 
our  story  we  have  had  to  miss  a  tablet.  The  King 
receives  homage  ;  Persia  receives  homage  from  Rome. 
Caesar  kneels  before  Shahpur,  his  great  features  wrought 
in  strenuous  supplication,  the  lips  formed  to  pour  forth 
a  prayer.  Up  to  him  rides  the  King,  his  left  hand  on 
his  sword,  his  right  hand  outstretched  to  grant  in 
royal  scorn  to  the  lowly  fugitive  Cyriadis,  who  stands 
before  him,  that  which  he  has  denied  the  kneeling 
Emperor.  It  is  almost  a  repetition  of  what  appears  on 
the  cliff  walls  at  Shahpur  and  at  Darabjird.  There  is 
the  same  pathos  in  the  suppliant  Roman's  attitude 
and  features  ;  there  is  the  same  proud  contempt  in  the 
carriage  of  the  Persian  King.     A  worthy  record,  this, 


The  God  and  the  King— Naksh-i-Rustam. 


Rome  kneels  to  Persia— Naksh-i-Rustam. 


NAKSH-I-RUSTAM  199 

of  the  Persian  triumph.  Maybe  Shahpur  brought 
Valerian  captive  in  chains  to  Persia;  maybe  he 
stepped,  as  they  say,  on  his  bent  back  to  mount  his 
horse ;  maybe  he  bound  the  Emperor's  body  and 
dragged  him  before  the  Persian  mob  ;  maybe  he  hung 
his  stuffed  skin  from  a  temple  roof  when  death  had 
freed  his  old  body  from  torture  ; — maybe  he  did  all 
these  things.  But  Shahpur — the  wise  Shahpur, — did  no 
work  which  more  excellently  commemorated  his  triumph 
than  these  stone  pictures  of  the  Roman's  shame  and 
humiliation,  for  they  live  for  us  to-day,  and  shall 
live  for  our  children  and  for  our  children's  children. 
Through  all  the  centuries  they  say,  and  will  say, 
*  Behold  the  power  of  Shahpur,  behold  the  humbling 
of  the  pomp  of  Bome.' 

The  fifth  tablet  is  the  third  of  the  equestrian  series 
which  has  been  described.  The  sixth  is  a  peculiar 
one.  It  runs  round  a  bend  in  the  rock,  and  is  a 
picture  of  Varahran  II.  and  his  courtiers, — unfinished, 
except  for  the  King,  who  stands  at  full  length.  Lord 
Curzon  suggests  that  the  reason  that  only  the  heads 
and  part  of  the  shoulders  of  the  courtiers  are  visible  is 
that  they  are  standing  behind  *  a  species  of  barrier  or 
pew ' ;  but  I  certainly  incline  to  the  opinion  (which 
Lord  Curzon  mentions  in  a  footnote)  that  the  picture 
is  an  unfinished  one,  and  that  it  was  originally  intended 
to  portray  all  the  figures  at  full  length.  There  are 
two  facts  which  tend  to  disprove  the  *  pew  or  barrier  ' 
theory :  first,  the  line  beneath  which  the  stone  is 
unsculptured  is  an  absolutely  plain,  square,  and  un- 
ornamented  one,  whereas  had  it  represented  the 
edge  of  a  '  pew '  it  would  have  either  been  rounded, 
decorated,  or  bevelled :  secondly,  round  the  corner  to 
the  west  it  becomes  irregular  and  uneven,  finally 
wandering  vaguely  into  the  rock— more  a  suggestion 


200  ACROSS  PERSIA 

of  an  unfinished  work  than  of  the  termination  of  a 
*  barrier  or  pew.'  Beneath  this  picture  is  an  oblong 
smooth  space,  destined,  I  should  say,  for  an  inscription, 
since  the  size  of  this  empty  tablet  is  so  small  that 
were  another  picture  engraved  it  would  have  to  be  on 
an  entirely  difierent  scale  to  anything  we  have  yet 
seen.  Just  round  the  corner  to  the  east,  on  part  of 
the  space  smoothed  for  the  main  picture,  but  separate 
from  it,  is  the  figure  described  by  Morier  and  Porter. 
It  is  a  rude,  ill-designed  affair,  apparently  either  of 
much  later  date,  or  merely  a  rough  unfinished  sketch, 
for  the  relief  is  very  small,  and  it  presents  a  peculiar 
flat  appearance. 

The  seventh  and  last  tablet  is  that  of  the  god 
Ormuzd  presenting  the  royal  circlet  to  Ardeshir 
Babegan.  The  god — a  majestic  figure,  with  his  clean- 
cut  features  and  square  beard — holds  out  the  circlet 
with  his  right  hand,  while  his  left  grasps  the  sceptre 
emblematic  of  divinity.  The  King  approaches  from 
opposite,  and  with  outstretched  arm  grasps  the  other 
side  of  the  circlet.  Each  is  mounted,  and  the  horse 
of  each  tramples  a  figure  underfoot.  That  under  the 
King's  charger  is  said  to  be  Artabanus  ;  the  other, 
beneath  the  hoofs  of  Ormuzd's  horse,  Ahriman,  the 
spirit  of  evil.  The  figures  are  finely  executed,  but, 
alas  !  the  horses  detract  from  the  effect.  The  typical 
processional  horse  of  Sassanian  sculpture  is  very 
difierent  from  those  battle-steeds  which  we  have  seen 
in  the  pictures  of  mounted  combat.  There  is  no 
impression  of  life  about  the  sturdy,  compact,  and 
usually  proportionless  animal  which  does  duty  on 
State  occasions  in  rock  sculpture.  He,  indeed,  presents 
an  appearance  which,  if  not  ridiculous,  is  certainly 
incongruous.  On  the  chest  of  the  god  Ormuzd's  chubby 
charger  is  engraved : 


NAKSH-I-RUSTAM  201 

TOYTOnPOCftnONAIOCeEOY 
'  This  is  the  image  of  the  God  Zeus.' 

(Ormuzd  being,  of  course,  translated  to  Zeus  in  the 
Greek.) 

The  inscription  on  the  King's  horse  is  more  illegible. 
I  deciphered  it,  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  as  follows : 

TOYTOnPOC12nON(MACAACNOY) 
eEOYAPTA[KAPCY-BACIA]E12C[BA]CIAE12N 
APIANi2N[EKr]E[NOY]CeEfiN(EKrONOY) 
eE0YnAnA[K0YB]A[CIA]E12p]. 

With  the  missing  letters  (in  brackets)  supplied 
from  those  clearly  visible  on  the  third  tablet  at 
Naksh-i-Rejeb  it  would  read  thus  : 

'  This  is  the  image  of  the  Ormuzd-worshipping  God  Artakar- 
sur  (Ardeshir),  King  of  Kings  Arian  of  the  race  of  the  Gods, 
son  of  the  God  Papak  the  King.^ 

The  cliff  of  Husein  Kuh,  the  hill  in  the  face  of 
which  are  cut  the  tombs  and  sculptures,  runs  down 
from  800  feet  and  more  at  the  north-eastern  extremity 
till  it  peters  out  into  the  plain  of  Merv-Dasht  to  the 
west.  The  end  of  the  hill  comes  soon  after  the  last 
rock  picture,  and  round  the  corner,  where  the  ground 
slopes  gradually  into  the  plain,  are  set  the  two  fire 
altars  which  are  taken  to  be  among  the  oldest  relics 
in  Persia.  The  worship  of  fire  has  had  a  chequered 
and  curious  history  in  this  land.  Its  origin  is  lost  in 
the  lists  of  legendary  antiquity.  For  long  it  was  the 
supreme  religion  of  a  mighty  empire  ;  then,  in  331  B.C., 
caime  the  conquest  of  Alexander,  the  sacking  of  Perse- 
polis,  the  crushing  of  the  national  religion,  and  the 
destruction  of  its  documents  and  books.  Next  followed 
a  long  period  of  subjugation  and  of  foreign  creeds,  but 
with  the  revival  of  Persia's  fortunes  under  Ardeshir 


202  ACROSS  PERSIA 

in  A.D.  226,  fire-worship  found  a  new  life,  and  its 
books  were,  in  some  form,  again  published.  Through 
the  long  period  of  Sassanian  Kings  it  maintained  its 
power,  and  it  was  not  until  the  Arab  invasion  of 
A.D.  650,  and  the  sweeping  victories  of  Islam,  that 
at  last  the  historic  religion  of  Persia  fell  for  ever 
beneath  another  faith.  Mahometanism,  with  its  brute 
strength  and  young  vitality,  effectually  subdued  the 
flame  that  was  once  so  bright  and  so  ardent.  Even 
to-day,  however,  a  few  embers  of  the  old  creed  yet 
survive  the  quenching,  and  there  are  still  about  eleven 
thousand  Zoroastrians  in  Persia,  besides  those  who, 
scattered  over  the  world,  still  maintain  the  traditions 
of  their  ancestors.  They  have  had,  naturally,  to  cling 
to  their  faith  through  many  trials  and  persecutions, 
and,  until  very  recently,  the  disobligations  and  the 
actual  sufferings  inflicted  upon  them  sound  almost 
incredible  to  those  among  whom  religious  toleration, 
even  if  it  is  not  always  observed  in  the  spirit,  is  at  all 
events  acknowledged  in  the  letter.  In  Yezd,  the 
centre  of  the  Zoroastrian  community,  up  to  1885  no 
Parsee  was  allowed  to  carry  an  umbrella.  Up  to  1895 
they  had  to  wear  a  torn  cap.  Up  to  1891  they  had 
to  walk  in  town,  and  even  in  the  desert  they  had  to 
dismount  if  they  met  a  Mahometan.  Up  to  1895 
they  were  not  allowed  to  wear  eyeglasses  or  spectacles, 
and  up  to  1898  there  was  a  prohibition  against  white 
stockings.  I  quote  the  following  from  Mr.  Napier 
Malcolm's  'Five  Years  in  a  Persian  Town,'*  to  which 
I  am  also  indebted  for  the  preceding  facts. 

'About  1891  a  mujtahid  caught  a  Zoroastrian  mer- 
chant wearing  white  stockings  in  one  of  the   public 
squares   of  the   town.     He   ordered   the   man  to  be 
beaten  and  the  stockings  taken  off.     About  1860  a 
*  '  Five  Years  in  a  Persian  Town ' :  J.  Murray,  1905. 


NAKSHJ-RUSTAM  203 

man  of  seventy  went  to  the  bazaars  in  white  trousers 
of  rough  canvas.  They  hit  him  about  a  good  deal, 
took  off  his  trousers,  and  sent  him  home  with  them 
under  his  arm.* 

•  Besides  legalized  annoyances,  there  were  also 
illegal  persecutions,  which  often  did  not  stop  short 
at  murder. 

Such  is  a  short  sketch  of  the  religion  for  the 
ancient  rites  of  which  were  built  the  two  fire  altars 
just  round  the  western  corner  of  the  Husein  Kuh  at 
Naksh-i-Rustam.  The  altars  are  queer-looking  little 
things  about  5  feet  high,  set  close  to  one  another. 
They  are  carved  from  the  solid  rock,  and  taper 
slightly  from  their  base  to  form  a  crown  a  little  over 
3J  feet  square.  This  is  hollowed  out  into  a  kind  of 
basin,  presumably  for  holding  the  materials  to  be 
burnt.  To  the  question  as  to  what  the  rites  were,  or 
on  what  occasions  they  were  performed,  even  conjecture 
cannot  frame  an  answer.  All  that  we  can  be  certain 
of  is  that  they  are  fire  altars,  and  that  they  were  prob- 
ably closely  related  to  those  which  we  see  depicted 
upon  the  sculptures  of  the  great  tombs  themselves. 

Up  the  rocks  here  there  are  several  sights  to  see. 
First,  a  lonely  pillar,  nearly  6  feet  high,  standing  on 
a  bluff,  without  base,  without  capital,  without  carving 
of  any  kind, — just  a  solitary  stone  post.  A  little 
farther  up,  among  various  evidences  of  man's  work, 
are  flat  tables,  or  daJchmas,  similar  to  those  at  Shahpur. 
Here  also  are  many  of  those  curious  troughs  which 
are  also  to  be  seen  at  the  Sassanian  city,  and  several 
odd  little  basins  cut  here  and  there  in  the  stone. 
From  the  analogy  of  the  basin-like  tops  of  the  fire 
altars,  these  may  possibly  have  been  used  for  Zoroas- 
trian  rites  in  fire-worshipping  days.  Further  on  are 
the  'little  holes  or  windows'  that  Morier  speaks  of, 


204  ACROSS  PERSIA 

but  Ker  Porter  was  right  in  saying  that  there  are  no 
traces  of  inscriptions. 

Descending  the  hill  which  we  had  partially  climbed, 
and  coming  back  beneath  the  tombs  and  the  pictures, 
there  stood  before  us  the  mysterious  square  stone 
building  which  has  been  the  occasion  of  so  much 
controversy.  No  one  has  been  able,  apparently,  to 
fathom  its  meaning,— at  least,  whenever  anyone  has 
professed  to  do  so,  there  has  always  been  somebody  to 
contradict  him,  and  it  still  remains  a  matter  upon  which 
everybody  is  entitled  to  his  own  opinion.  The  edifice, 
which  a  young  Persian  we  met  here  called  'Nakkara 
Khaneh,'  or  *  The  Drumhouse,'  is  nearly  at  the  base  of 
a  little  hillock  facing  the  tombs  (and  not  at  its  summit, 
as  Lord  Curzon  says),  and  is  a  square  tower  built  of 
blocks  of  white  limestone.  Hideously  ugly,  it  rears 
aloft  a  grim  square  form,  pitted  with  little  recesses  and 
small  windows,  mere  panels  in  the  stone  wall.  On  the 
side  facing  the  cliff  is  the  doorway,  which  is  about  a 
dozen  feet  above  the  ground,  and  which  can  be  easily 
entered  after  a  scramble.  Inside  is  a  little  room 
floored  with  blocks  of  stone  and  roofed  by  two  huge 
slabs.  It  is  a  dripping,  dirty  little  place  ;  the  flagged 
floor  is  partly  uprooted,  and  the  roof  is  blackened. 
The  walls  are  at  least  6  feet  thick. 

I  made  some  detailed  notes  as  to  the  various 
problems  presented  by  this  curious  building,  but  they 
deal  mainly  with  archaeological  technicalities.  One 
theory,  however,  which  I  arrived  at  by  a  comparison 
of  this  structure  with  an  evidently  similar  one  at 
Pasargadse,  was  that  a  considerable  portion  of  this 
Naksh-i-E,ustam  temple  has  been  earthed  up  in  the 
course  of  ages,  and  that  excavation  might  disclose  that 
underneath  the  little  room  I  have  just  described  there 
is  another  chamber, — possibly  a  tomb. 


NAKSH-I-RUSTAM  205 

We  have  now  passed  from  the  Sassanian  pictures 
to  the  prehistoric  fire  altars  and  back  to  the  reUcs  of 
the  Achsemenian  age,  and  there  only  remains  to  be 
described  the  tombs  of  the  Achsemenian  monarchs 
themselves.  Surely,  I  thought,  as  I  stood  beneath 
them  and  gazed  at  these  marvellous  works,  no  more 
impressive  means  could  have  been  devised  by  man  for 
perpetuating  his  fame  and  memory,  and  no  more  mag- 
nificent resting-place  found  for  his  dust.  Three  of  the 
tombs  stare  out  across  the  plain  towards  Persepolis. 
The  fourth  stands  at  right  angles  to  the  others,  where 
the  cliflf  turns  sharply  out  to  the  south.  All  the 
sepulchres  are  very  similar,  the  isolated  easternmost 
one  being,  perhaps,  the  best  preserved  by  reason  of  its 
position.  Three  of  them  have  never  been  identified, 
but  the  second  from  the  east  we  know  now,  from  the 
cuneiform  inscriptions  thereon,  to  be  the  resting-place 
of  Darius. 

Each  is  a  stupendous  work  of  art.  A  gigantic  cross 
has  been  recessed  in  the  rock,  the  base  some  30  feet 
up  the  clifi",  the  cross  itself  rising  to  100  feet  from  the 
ground.  The  limbs  are  about  35  feet  in  breadth,  and 
along  the  ledge  which  runs  across  the  centre  at  the 
bottom  of  the  transverse  limbs  there  rises  a  row  of 
four  semi-detached  pillars,  supporting  on  their  bull- 
headed  capitals  a  mighty  moulding.  Above  this 
portico  comes  the  top  limb  of  the  cross,  and  this  is 
filled  with  sculptured  figures.  Fourteen  little  images 
bear  on  their  upraised  arms  a  huge  platform.  On  this 
stand,  again,  fourteen  more,  upholding  yet  another 
platform,  upon  which  stands  the  King  himself  in  his 
royal  vestures.  His  hand  is  held  aloft  in  invocation 
to  the  god  Ormuzd,  who,  represented  by  a  curious 
image  of  a  head  and  shoulders  rising  from  a  scroll  of 
wings,  floats  above  his  head,  holding  out  in  his  hands 


206  ACROSS  PERSIA 

the  royal  circlet.  Beneath  the  god  and  in  front  of  the 
King  flames  a  fire  altar,  while  in  the  far  backgi'ound 
hangs  the  disc  of  the  sun. 

Between  the  centre  pillars  of  the  portico  gapes  the 
black  void  of  a  door,  once  closed  with  a  great  stone, 
now  for  ever  open,  and  disclosing  within,  faintly  seen 
through  the  obscurity,  a  prospect  of  stonework.  The 
upper  compartment  of  the  doorway  is  solid  stone,  the 
lower  portion  only  being  pierced  to  give  access  to  the 
tombs. 

Such  is  the  impression  of  any  one  of  the  four 
sepulchres. 

There  is  little  to  differentiate  them,  except  the 
inscription  upon  that  of  Darius.  Within,  as  we  shall 
see,  no  vestige  remains  of  all  the  regal  appointments 
of  the  dead ;  there  are  only  the  bare  stone  vaults  and 
empty  coffins.  Still,  though  the  dust  and  ashes  have 
gone,  and  all  the  proud  trappings  of  the  kingly  corpses, 
the  tombs  remain  a  splendid  monument,  and  shall  tell 
for  countless  years  of  those  in  whose  honour  they  were 
fashioned.  They  have  looked  out  on  many  races  of 
men  and  heard  many  strange  tongues ; — they  will  look 
out  on  many  a  race  and  speech  to  come.  Perhaps  they 
may  again  see  the  vale  of  the  Polvar  smile  into  green- 
ness and  prosperity.  Again, — who  knows  ? — they  may 
watch  the  greenness  fade  and  the  prosperity  wane. 
There  they  will  stay  on  while  men  come  and  vanish, 
until  the  earth  grows  cold  and  lifeless,  until,  maybe,  a 
waterless  void  of  air,  it  shall  be  whirled  round  the  sun, 
another  dead  moon.  *  One  generation  passeth  away 
and  another  generation  cometh,  but  the  earth  abideth 
for  ever.' 

Truly,  if  to  have  his  name  remembered  profiteth  a 
man  anything,  these  old  Kings  were  wise  in  their 
generation. 


NAKSH-I-RUSTAM  207 

I  was  possessed  with  a  desire  to  climb  the  chff  and  enter 
the  actual  sepulchre  of  an  Achaemenian  monarch,  so  I 
called  to  Nasr-uUa-Khan,  my  aforesaid  Persian  friend. 
*  Can  we  climb  up  into  the  tomb  V  we  asked.  He  replied 
yes, — all  had  been  climbed  into  except  the  first,  or 
easternmost,  and  even  into  this,  so  it  is  said,  a  Feringhi 
once  managed  to  get  up  by  a  scaffolding.  To  testify 
to  the  accuracy  of  this  statement,  one  of  my  Persian 
friend  s  suite  at  once  swarmed  up  arduously  into 
Darius  s  tomb,  first  removing  his  boots  and  superfluous 
clothing.  I  followed  as  far  as  the  base  of  the  cross, 
but  they  would  not  let  me  ascend  the  next  piece,  even 
if  I  would  (they  were  loth  enough  to  let  me  do  what  I 
did),  as  they  said  they  would  be  held  responsible  for 
my  decease  if  I  happened  to  slip.  I  extracted  a 
promise  that  they  would  come  back — *  Insh'allah,'  of 
course, — the  next  day  and  haul  me  up,  and  then,  in 
company  with  Nasr-uUa-Khan,  we  all  set  forth  in  the 
drizzle  along  the  base  of  the  cliffs  towards  the  east, 
bound  for  the  cave  of  Hajiabad.  After  a  dreary  two 
miles'  ride,  we  arrived  at  the  mouth  of  a  fine  gorge, 
running  north-west,  at  the  entrance  to  which,  on  the 
right,  is  the  cave,  a  lofty  recess  in  the  limestone,  now 
used  by  shepherds  as  a  shelter.  On  entering,  there 
are  cut  upon  the  right-hand  wall  an  irregular,  smoothed 
patch  and  six  tablets,  four,  equally  large,  in  a  row 
some  6  feet  from  the  ground,  with,  above,  two  larger 
ones,  and,  to  the  left,  the  irregular  patch.  Two  tablets 
are  engraved,  and  contain,  according  to  Mr.  Thomas, 
evidence  in  Pehlevi  of  Shahpur  I.  s  conversion  to  Chris- 
tianity. 

This  cave  is  called  Tang-i-Shah  Sarvan,  so  my 
friend  told  me,  and  he  conducted  me  up  the  gorge  to 
another  and  smaller  cave,  where  is  the  grave  of  one 
Sheikh  Ali,  a  holy  man.     It  is  a  broken  Mahometan 


208  ACROSS  PERSIA 

tomb  with  a  Persian  inscription,  and  is  remarkable 
chiefly  for  its  picturesque  position  and  the  difficulty  of 
getting  there.  I  wished  to  examine  a  row  of  what 
appeared  to  be  little  '  votive '  holes  in  the  cliff  to  the 
north-east,  but  my  friend  was  anxious  to  get  back, 
and  it  was  raining  hard,  so  we  made  our  way  down  to 
the  village  of  Hajiabad,  where  Nasr-ulla-Khan,  our 
friend,  its  owner,  asked  us  to  tea.  After  deliberation, 
I  accepted,  and  very  grateful  the  warmth  was.  Mr. 
Nasr-ulla-Khan  patronized  more  largely  than  the  tea- 
pot a  glass  bottle  filled  with  a  white  liquid,  pronounced 
to  be  arrackf  which  he  first  offered  me,  and  then 
applied  to  his  mouth  and  '  pulled '  till  the  old  man 
who  had  given  it  him  remonstrated.  He  was,  how- 
ever, mutely  waved  aside,  the  process  of  drinking 
continuing  meanwhile  uninterruptedly. 

After  a  smoke,  I  took  leave,  and  arriving  at  Puzeh 
chapar  Jchaneh  about  four,  I  started  off  at  once  with 
my  gun  to  look  for  something  for  to-morrow  night's 
dinner.  I  will  quote  the  account  of  my  little  walk  as 
I  set  it  down  in  my  diary :  *  First  I  take  a  peep  at 
Naksh-i-Rejeb,  close  by  the  chapar  khaneh,  and  then 
climb  the  rocks  a  short  distance  and  make  my  way 
along  through  the  rain.  The  crest  of  the  hill  is  clad 
in  mist ;  the  rain  falls  steadily  and  noiselessly ;  there  is 
a  hushed  dampness  over  all.  As  I  move  quietly  along 
I  might  be  a  hundred  miles  from  a  human  being — it  is 
eerie,  this  soundlessness.  Can  there  be  ghosts  about — 
the  spirits  of  those  old  people  who  once  lived  and 
moved  with  Darius  and  Xerxes  ?  I  stand  and  listen.  .  .  . 
A  little  bird  gives  a  sudden  chirrup,  then  all  is  silence 
and  mist.  .  .  .  Suddenly  from  in  front,  faintly  but 
unmistakably,  comes  the  woof  of  a  panther  .  .  .  then, 
again,  utter  silence.  I  think  of  my  recent  episode  with 
the  wild-boar,  look  at  my  number  '*  seven's,"  and  make  a 


NAKSH-I-RUSTAM  209 

slight  detour  when  I  move  on.  Meanwhile,  I  am 
treated  to  quite  a  little  concert  of  hill  melody.  Far 
overhead  the  crows  float  lazily  through  the  mist,  with 
hoarse,  sharp  croaks,  to  settle  on  the  rocks  above, 
long  silhouetted  lines  of  black  blots  against  the  white 
mist.  From  up  the  cliffs  comes  a  soft  hoo-hoo,  the 
fifth,  then  the  keynote  above,  scarcely  breaking  the 
silence,  rather  melting  into  it.  It  is  some  beast  or 
bird,  I  know  not  which,  mellow-voiced  as  a  dove,  yet 
not  a  dove,  for  there  from  away  to  the  right  comes 
the  coo-coo-coo,  and  again  coo-coo,  that  Pehlevi  where  ? 
where?  which  the  doves  gently  croon  (and  who  can 
answer  their  question  ?).  Then  back  comes  silence, 
till  out  of  the  distance  there  rises  a  faint  whirring 
note,  rising,  rising,  ever  rising,  till  at  the  climax  of 
the  scale  there  swoops  overhead  a  wide  phalanx  of 
geese,  and  the  note  falls  and  falls  till  it  sinks  away 
into  the  silence  and  they  into  the  gloom. 

'  The  dark  is  drawing  nigh  ;  a  far  jackal  rudely 
breaks  the  harmony  with  his  weird,  inhuman  howl — 
ha-ha,  ha-aa,  ha-ha-ha-a-a,  h-a-a-a-a,  ha-eee — and  I 
must  leave  my  symphony  to  the  night.  So  I  pass  on 
down  to  the  great  inlet  of  land  I  have  mentioned  as 
running  up  into  the  hills  half-way  to  Persepolis.  Here 
I  come  across  the  work  of  man :  a  great  causeway, 
just  visible,  following  the  line  of  the  little  valley ; 
mighty  blocks  of  stone  placed  to  enclose  a  scarce 
visible  path.  I  trace  this  upward; — all  around  are 
giant,  uncouth  rocks,  huge  shapes  stare  down  at  me 
from  the  mist  above  like  stage  faces  in  a  pantomime  ;  I 
am  beset  by  horrid  things  ogling  through  the  chill 
dimness.  On  I  walk  through  this  eerie  land  towards 
a  strange  calf-headed  giant,  who  looks  to  heaven  from 
the  summit  of  the  pass,  and  changes  to  a  mere  mass 
of  stone  as  I  come  up  to  find  my  road  stretching  away 

14 


210  ACROSS  PERSIA 

before  me  down  a  dip  and  up  on  to  a  moor  beyond. 
There  I  lose  it,  and,  crossing  to  the  west,  look  round, 
to  find  it  just  behind  me.  It  has  crossed,  too,  beneath 
the  ground,  and,  joining  another  from  the  westward, 
leads  over  the  hill,  while  I  follow  till,  of  a  sudden,  over 
a  bluff,  I  see  what  brings  me  to  a  halt.  There  below, 
in  the  half-light,  lie  the  stupendous  ruins  of  Persepolis. 
My  road  has  led  me,  all  unconscious,  to  this ; — truly  a 
well-planned  road.  I  stand  looking  down,  drinking  in 
the  magnificent  sight. 

'  In  a  moment  there  is  a  quick  scutter,  a  glimpse  of 
two  frightened  little  eyes,  and  a  hare  leaps  up  with  a 
sudden  realization  of  my  presence,  dodges,  and  makes 
off.  The  first  barrel  misses,  but  the  second  lays  him 
kicking  on  his  back — poor  little  beast ! — truly  an  ill- 
planned  road  for  you.  But  to-morrow's  dinner  is 
provided  for. 

*  How  curiously  quick- varying  are  moods  of  thought  I 
The  world  is  changed  in  a  trice,  and  it  is  some  time 
before,  walking  back  through  the  fast-falling  night, 
the  old  eerie  feeling  resumes  its  sway,  to  be  dispelled 
again  by  the  shouts  of  Saif  as  I  near  home, — he  has 
come  out  in  fear  lest  I  lose  my  way  in  the  night. 
And  surely,  it  is  likely  enough, — I  had  some  thoughts 
of  it  myself;  that  half- fear  of  a  strange  darkness  had 
already  quickened  my  steps,  and  the  fire  in  the  little 
mud  hut  is  gratefully  cheery.  Outside,  the  misty 
companions  of  my  lonely  walk  may  seek  their  night 
haunts  in  the  darkness, — I  am  at  home.' 

I  leaped  out  of  bed  next  morning  to  find  the  sun 
shining  over  a  crisp,  sparkling  world.  Before  long, 
we  were  off,  by  a  shorter  route  this  time,  to  Naksh-i- 
Bustam,  where  soon  arrived  Nasr-uUa-Khan  and  his 
crew.  Then  began  the  business  of  hauling  us  up  to 
the  tomb  of  the  Achsemenian  King.     First  an  active 


^ 

^ 

■  ^ 

)4 
■A 

o 

I 

NAKSH-I-RUSTAM  211 

Persian  climbed  the  cliff-face,  then  another,  with  ropes, 
and  next  my  friend  Nasr-ulla-Khan  himself  was 
dragged  up.  Now  it  was  my  turn.  It  looked  very  un- 
comfortable, and  if But  I  tightened  the  rope  round 

my  chest,  knotted  it  to  another,  and  gave  the  signal. 
Kicking  with  my  legs  against  the  wall  to  avoid  being 
grazed,  I  rose  quickly  through  the  air ;  the  ground 
seemed  to  fall  away  beneath  me,  and  I  was  soon 
hanging  half-way  between  Xerxes'  tomb  and  solid 
earth  ; — Xerxes'  tomb,  for  he  it  was  whose  body  most 
probably  once  lay  in  the  place  to  which  I  was  ascend- 
ing. As  has  been  said,  the  only  sepulchre  of  which 
we  have  certain  knowledge  is  that  of  Darius,  the 
second  from  the  east.  But  it  seems  probable  that  the 
next  constructed  was  the  third  from  the  east,  the  one 
from  which  I  hung.  After  this  the  fourth  from  the 
east  was  constructed,  and  then,  there  being  no  more 
room  to  the  west,  they  added  the  lonely  tomb  in  the 
easternmost  angle  of  the  rock.  In  that  case,  after 
Darius's,  which  is  certainly  the  oldest  tomb,  would 
come  Xerxes' ;  then  Artaxerxes,  who  would  have  been 
buried  in  the  westernmost  sepulchre ;  and,  lastly, 
Darius  II.,  whose  tomb  would  have  been  the  eastern- 
most. 

So  we  will  presume  that  it  was  beneath  the  burial- 
place  of  Xerxes  that  I  hung  suspended.  As  I  gradu- 
ally came  nearer  and  nearer  the  centre  ledge  and  the 
prospect  of  the  plain  grew  more  distant  and  more 
extensive,  I  had  time  to  reflect  with  peculiar  vividness 
on  a  little  story  concerning  Darius's  father  and  mother. 
They  had  expressed  a  wish  to  visit  the  great  tomb 
which  their  son  had  prepared  for  himself,  and,  accord- 
ingly, forty  priests  had  been  told  off  to  haul  them  up, 
exactly  as  I  was  being  hauled  up,  in  order  that  they 
might  see  the  work.     Just  as  they  were  reaching  the 

14—2 


212  ACROSS  PERSIA 

top,  for  some  reason  or  another  (I  believe  tradition 
says  a  snake  ran  out  from  some  corner)  the  priests 
unfortunately  let  go  their  hold  on  the  rope,  and 
Darius's  ill-fated  parents  were  dashed  to  the  ground 
and  killed, — while,  so  goes  the  story,  afterwards  the 
forty  priests  were  forced  to  follow  them  in  their  fatal 
descent.  A  better  fate  attended  me,  and  very  soon 
the  jamming  of  my  fingers  between  the  rope  and  the 
rock  announced  that  I  was  at  the  top.  With  various 
abrasions  of  my  hands  (which  were,  I  remember,  pain- 
fully evident  as  I  wrote  the  account  from  which  this 
is  taken),  I  scrambled  over  the  edge,  and  stood  at  last 
on  the  ledge  of  the  transverse  portion  of  the  cross. 
Along  past  the  pillars  I  edged,  and,  passing  through 
the  low  doorway,  I  was  in  the  Tomb  of  the  Great 
King.  At  first  there  was  only  a  stifling  smell  of  bats 
and  birds,  a  blinding  darkness,  and  a  dim  vision  of  a 
stone  vault.  Then,  as  my  sight  adjusted  itself,  I  saw 
before  me,  under  a  vaulted  roof,  three  deep  sepulchres 
cut  from  the  living  rock.  Everything,  indeed,  was 
cut  from  the  living  rock.  The  gallery  in  which  I 
was  standing,  the  pillars  outside,  the  cross  itself,  all 
were  painfully  and  minutely  carved  out  of  the  cliff 
face.  The  gallery  was  22  yards  from  end  to  end 
and  over  6  feet  in  breadth  ;  and  from  it  branched 
off  three  vaults,  each  containing  three  tank  -  like 
sepulchres.  These  were  about  4  feet  high,  and  once 
had  huge  stone  lids  rising  to  an  apex,  of  which  lids 
the  remains  can  even  now  be  seen.  The  roof  of  the 
gallery  was  flat,  save  at  the  far  end,  where  it  was 
vaulted.  Although  the  stone  lids  remain,  the  tank- 
like sepulchres  have  been  broken  into,  and  inside,  when 
I  climbed  there  with  a  candle,  there  was  nothing  to  be 
seen  but  an  accumulation  of  filth,  a  dead  pigeon,  and 
the  bones  of  sundry  birds  ; — a   noisome,  suffocating 


NAKSH-I-RUSTAM  213 

place  it  was  now,  this  burial-place  of  Kings.  I 
scrambled  out  of  the  sepulchre  and  returned  to  the 
entrance.  This  was  about  a  third  of  the  total  distance 
from  the  right  end  of  the  gallery,  looking  in,  and  it 
showed  signs  of  having  once  been  closed  by  a  huge 
stone,  since  there  were  grooves  in  the  floor  by  the 
doorway.  To  the  right  I  was  confronted  at  the  back 
of  the  gallery  by  a  blank  wall,  unrelieved  save  where, 
high  up,  a  recessed  panel  showed  that  possibly  an 
inscription  was  once  intended.  At  this  end  there  was 
a  curious  little  hole  in  the  floor,  presumably  for  drain- 
age, of  which  I  could  not  see  the  bottom.  The  whole 
place  was  stufly,  filthy,  and  begrimed.  It  was  in  the 
sepulchre  next  to  this  that  Darius 's  devoted  slave  lived 
for  seven  years  after  his  master's  death.  Maybe  that 
then  a  tomb  was  a  pleasanter  dwelling.  But  now — 
ugh! — a  gloomy,  foul  place,  fit  lodging  for  ghouls  and 
bats,  which  sent  a  shudder  down  the  back  and  made 
death  seem  a  dank  and  horrid  thing.  It  was  good 
to  be  out  in  the  sunlight  again  and  swinging  down  to 
the  earth. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
'the  courts  where  jamshyd  gloried  and  drank 

DEEP* 

'  The  Palace  that  to  Heaven  his  pillars  threw, 
And  Kings  the  forehead  on  his  threshold  drew — 
I  saw  the  solitary  Ringdove  there, 
And  "  Coo,  coo,  coo,"  she  cried ;  and  "  Coo,  coo,  coo." ' 

[This  quatrain  Mr.  Binning  found,  among  several  of  Hafiz 
and  others,  inscribed  by  some  stray  hand  among  the  ruins  of 
Persepolis.  The  ringdove''s  ancient  Pehlevi  '  Coo — coo — coo ' 
signifies  also  in  Persian  '  Where — where — where  ?'] 

Fitzgerald. 

Of  course  it  was  not  really  Jamshyd  that  'gloried 

and  drank  deep  *  in  the  palaces  of  Persepolis.     That  is 

only  the  Persian  account  of  affairs,  and  the  Persian 

always  prefers  poetry  to  precision.     Of  history  he  has 

the  most  elementary  conception ;  a  thing  is  generally 

either  *  old '  or  *new.'     It  is  true  he  has  two  divisions, 

into  which  he  separates  old  things — the  old  and  the 

very  old.     And  he  classes  them  generally  by  assigning 

them  to  the  period  of  two  of  the  most  famous  Persian 

monarchs,  who  happily  reigned  at  convenient  dates  for 

the  purpose.     Anything  that  is  old  (Jcadim)  is  vakhti- 

Shah-Abbas  (time   of  Shah  Abbas).      Anything  that 

is  very  old  (kheili  kadim)  is  vahht-i- Jamshyd  (time  of 

Jamshyd).      Shah  Abbas  reigned  at  the  end  of  the 

sixteenth  century  a.d.,  and  Jamshyd  in  a  legendary 

period  long  before  600  B.C.,  so  the  division  is  sufficiently 

marked. 

^14 


'THE  COURTS  WHERE  JAMSHYD  GLORIED'    215 

Persepolis  is  kheili  kadim,  and  therefore  classed  in 
the  Jamshyd  period.  Indeed,  its  Persian  name  is 
Takht-i-Jamshyd — that  is  to  say,  *  the  throne  of 
Jamshyd.'  This  simple,  if  rather  inaccurate,  historical 
method  has  its  advantages  from  the  point  of  view  of  a 
poet  or  a  child,  and  as  the  Persian  often  somewhat 
resembles  a  combination  of  the  two,  it  seems  admirably 
adapted  to  the  national  use.  Not  that,  indeed,  the 
West  has  any  great  excuse,  even  here,  for  throwing 
stones  at  the  East.  Until  quite  recently  the  history 
and  origin  of  Persepolis  were  the  subject  of  the  wildest 
conjecture  to  the  whole  world.  Indeed,  as  Lord  Curzon 
remarks,  during  the  last  two  centuries  only  the  ruins 
of  Persepolis  have  been  *  variously  interpreted  as  the 
work  of  Lamech  and  the  tomb  of  Noah,  as  due  to 
volcanic  eruption  and  the  worship  of  idols,'  and  their 
date  has  been  *  promiscuously  bandied  about  over  a  space 
of  three  thousand  years.'  But  the  difference  between 
East  and  West  was  that  East  did  not  know  and  did 
not  care  what  Persepolis  meant,  and  West  certainly 
did  not  know,  but  was  anxious  to  find  out.  Archaeo- 
logist after  archaeologist,  at  varying  intervals,  visited 
the  place,  and  gradually  the  information  with  regard 
to  its  details  became  more  and  more  perfect.  Then, 
suddenly,  after  centuries  of  patient  work,  there  came 
the  sudden  solution  of  all  doubts  and  difficulties.  The 
secret  of  the  cuneiform  alphabet  was  discovered,  and 
then  there  was  no  doubt  left  as  to  the  origin  and 
meaning,  not  only  of  Persepolis,  but  of  all  the  other 
great  works  of  old,  whose  founders  had  engraven  their 
names  and  deeds  thereon.  There,  from  Persepolis, 
there  had  stared  forth  through  all  the  years  its  story, 
waiting  only  for  the  man  who  could  read  it.  He  had 
come  at  last,  and  the  message  was  revealed.  With 
one  swift  stroke  Noah  and  Lamech  and  volcanoes  were 


216  ACROSS  PERSIA 

all  for  ever  banished  from  the  stage,  and  Darius  was 
left  the  undisputed  founder  of  Persepolis,  as  was 
Cyrus  of  Pasargadse.  Since  then,  by  the  inscriptions 
on  doorways  and  pillars,  man  has  been  able  to  give 
names  to  almost  every  portion  of  the  great  collection 
of  palaces  on  the  platform  at  the  base  of  the  hills. 
From  mystery,  Persepolis  has  turned  to  history,  and 
if  it  is  no  less  a  wonder  to-day  than  it  was  a  little 
over  half  a  century  ago,  it  is  a  wonder  of  a  different 
kind. 

Nowadays  the  way  to  Persepolis  lies  along  the  base 
of  the  hills  to  the  south  of  the  chapar  khaneh  of  Puzeh. 
In  old  times,  as  I  discovered  on  my  solitary  afternoon's 
walk,  there  were  roads  which  led  over  the  hills  down 
behind  the  great  platform.  The  ways  I  followed  on 
that  walk  undoubtedly  were  the  works  of  the  people  of 
old.  They  led  by  a  short  route  to  the  hill  north  of  Perse- 
polis, and  although  to-day  they  end  at  the  summit  of 
the  hill  on  the  verge  of  an  almost  precipitous  descent, 
and  seem  as  though  they  could  only  be  meant  to 
conduct  men  to  that  hill  alone,  centuries  ago  there 
may  have  been  works  which  have  now  perished, 
but  which  then  continued  them  down  to  the  plain 
itself 

The  whole  hill-side  round  about  Persepolis  is  covered 
with  evidences  of  quarrying,  and  some  half-squared 
blocks  betray  the  method  of  the  mason's  work.  This 
was  apparently  to  cut  a  chain  of  small  square  holes  in 
the  stone,  which,  weakened  by  this  process,  was  then 
easily  broken  off.  Past  these  hills  we  rode  to  Perse- 
polis on  the  afternoon  of  my  ascent  to  Xerxes'  tomb. 
The  day  had  cleared  into  a  glorious  sunlit  afternoon, 
and  after  the  rain  the  far-off  pillars  stood  out  clean 
and  clear. 

From  the  plain  beneath,  the  platform  of  Persepolis 


'THE  COURTS  WHERE  JAMSHYD  GLORIED'    217 

is  gained  by  a  magnificent  double  flight  of  steps. 
These  steps  are  generously  shallow  and  broad,  and 
although  they  are  falling  into  decay  after  their 
centuries  of  disuse  and  disrepair,  it  is  still  possible 
to  ride  up  them  without  dismounting.  The  platform 
itself  is  a  huge  parallelogram,  over  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
long  and  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  broad,  built  out 
from  the  base  of  the  mountain.  From  the  front  it 
presents  the  appearance  of  a  solidly  built  wall,  some- 
times fifty  feet  in  height,  composed  of  gigantic  blocks 
of  stone.  On  the  comparatively  flat  surface  aflbrded 
by  this  platform,  there  stands  the  great  collection  of 
palaces,  which,  built  by  successive  Kings,  went  to  form 
the  completed  marvel  of  Persepolis.  Constructed  of 
a  limestone  of  such  peculiar  beauty  that  it  has  been 
mistaken  for  marble  or  porphyry,  these  palaces  are  set 
on  the  platform  at  different  levels,  and  are  in  various 
stages  of  decay.  The  great  staircase  up  which  we 
ride  is  near  the  north-west  angle  of  the  platform. 
There  are  two  flights  diverging  from  the  bottom  and 
meeting  again  at  the  top  to  form  a  diamond-shaped 
figure,  and  the  stairs  are  not  single  slabs,  but  some- 
times as  many  as  sixteen  or  seventeen  are  cut  from 
one  block  of  stone.  At  the  top  we  are  confronted  by 
an  imposing  spectacle.  Facing  us  is  the  porch  of 
Xerxes,  a  huge  structure  consisting  of  two  mighty 
gateways  with,  between,  a  pair  of  lofty  pillars  crowned 
by  magnificent  carved  capitals.  One  gateway  stands 
immediately  fronting  the  staircase,  flanked  with  two 
bull-headed  monsters,  who  used  to  stare  out  across  the 
plain  before  Time  robbed  them  of  their  heads  (and 
much  of  their  bodies  too).  Straight  behind  are  the 
two  pillars, — once  there  were  four, — and  then  comes 
the  other  gateway  facing  the  mountain,  and  also 
tremendous    with    a    pair    of    monsters,    this    time 


218  ACROSS  PERSIA 

winged.     Such  was  the  fitting  approach  to  this  place 
of  palaces. 

The  worthy  Fryer  describes  his  impressions  on  his 
first  visit  to  Persepolis  in  language  which  calls  to  be 
reproduced  here. 

*  We  clambred  a  spacious  Staircafe  united  fome 
part  of  the  Way  up,  when  on  each  hand  it  led  to  the 
feveral  Apartments  two  different  Ways ;  at  top  were 
the  Portals,  and  the  Heads  of  the  Columns  worn  with 
Age  (damnofa  enim  quid  non  imminuit  dies)  which 
confumes  everything ;  whofe  Bodies  were  Corinthian, 
but  the  Pedeftals  and  Capitals  of  Donck  Order,  as 
might  be  gained  from  what  had  refifted  the  corroding 
Jaws  of  Time,  hardly  lifting  up  their  Reverend  Crowns, 
though  of  moft  durable  Stone. 

*  Being  entred  the  Pomcerium  of  Cambyfes  Hall  (if 
Faith  be  to  be  given  to  the  moft  learned  of  thefe 
Relators),  at  the  Hall  Gates  we  encountered  two 
horrid  Shapes  both  for  Grandeur  and  Unwontednefs, 
being  all  in  Armour,  or  Coat  of  Mail,  ftriking  a  Terror 
on  thofe  about  to  intrude;  their  Countenances  were 
of  the  fierceft  Lions,  and  might  pafs  for  fuch,  had  not 
huge  wings  made  them  flying  Gryffons,  and  their 
Bulk  and  Hinder -Parts  exceeded  the  largeft  Ele- 
phants. 

*  In  this  Auguft  Place  only  Eighteen  Pillars  of 
Forty  remain,  about  Fifty  Foot  high,  and  half  an 
Ell  Diameter,  of  the  diftance  of  eight  Paces  one  from 
another,  though  we  could  count  the  Twenty  two 
Bafes  ;  which  agree  with  the  Perfian  Memoirs, 
who  therefore  ftill  call  it  Chutminm^  the  Palace  of 
Forty  Pillars :  Thefe  may  be  feen  on  the  Plain  a  great 
way,  and  at  prefent  are  the  Refidences  only  of  the 
Tyrants  of  the  Lakes  and  Fens,  Storks  only  keeping 
their  Court  here,  every  Pillar  having  a  Neft  of  them.' 


An  ancient  ko(  k-chambkr  near  Persepolis  (and  Saifullashah.) 


Thk  Great  Stairway  at  Persepolis. 


'THE  COURTS  WHERE  JAMSHYD  GLORIED'    219 

That  was  over  two  centuries  ago.  To-day  there 
are  only  thirteen  pillars  of  the  Hall  of  Xerxes  left 
standing ; — the  last  two  hundred  years  have  dragged 
down  five.  This  hall,  the  greatest  and  most  noble  of 
those  on  the  platform,  and  that  which  has  left  us  the 
most  striking  relics  of  its  former  beauty,  is  approached 
from  the  porch  through  which  we  passed  by  a  stair- 
way at  right  angles  thereto.  Being  on  a  higher  level 
than  the  porch  itself,  the  smaller  platform  on  which  it 
stands  has  a  sunk- walled  front,  covered,  as  are  the 
stairways  themselves,  with  the  finest  sculptures. 
Processions  of  warriors,  of  men  carrying  offerings,  of 
courtiers,  march  all  along  this  wall,  which  raise  the 
palace  of  Xerxes  above  the  rest  of  the  platform. 
Wherever  a  staircase  occurs,  in  the  triangular  panel 
it  forms  with  the  ground  there  is  to  be  seen  a  lion 
attacking  a  bull,  and  all  are  sculptured  in  high  relief. 
Cuneiform  inscriptions  dedicate  the  palace  to  Ormuzd 
himself  in  the  name  of  *  Xerxes  the  great  King,  the  King 
of  Kings,  the  son  of  Darius,  King  of  the  Achsemenians.' 
The  whole  of  the  sculptured  processions  are  evidently 
intended  to  represent  the  ceremonies  which  took  place 
in  the  city  of  Persepolis  before  the  Achaemenian 
monarchs  themselves,  when  tribute  was  brought  by 
conquered  peoples,  homage  was  paid  by  loyal  subjects, 
and  all  the  pomp  and  power  of  a  great  empire  was 
collected  and  manifested.  Now  all  that  is  left  is  these 
thirteen  pillars  desolately  standing  above  dilapidated 
ruins.  Once,  so  says  Lord  Curzon,  there  must  have 
been  seventy-two  of  these  magnificent  columns ; — even 
the  scattered  few  that  remain  are  suflScient  to  excite 
a  sense  of  amazed  admiration  at  their  great  concep- 
tion. Rearing  their  great  bull- headed  capitals  nearly 
seventy  feet  into  the  air,  sixteen  feet  in  circumference 
at  their  base,  and  composed  of  huge  drums  of  solid 


220  ACROSS  PERSIA 

stone,  they  are,  indeed,  worthy  reHcs  of  Persia's  past. 
Now  the  only  occupants  of  these  great  halls  are  the 
pigeons  whom  Binning's  old  traveller  heard,  and 
inscribed  his  little  verse  on  some  chance  stone.  Once, 
when  I  was  wandering  through  the  deserted  courts, 
one  of  the  little  blue  birds  swayed  from  off  the  capital 
of  a  great  pillar.  My  gun  sprang  to  my  shoulder, 
and  then  came  into  my  mind  the  scribbled  quatrain. 
Even  thoughts  of  dinner  succumbed  to  it,  and  I 
watched  the  bird  wing  its  way  up  the  great  hills 
unharmed.  Indeed,  it  were  sacrilege  to  kill  the 
priestess  of  such  mystery  and  pathos  on  her  very 
altar. 

Beyond  the  hall  of  Xerxes  to  the  southwards  is  the 
palace  of  Darius  himself,  a  solid  little  collection  of 
doorways  and  walls  placed  high  up  on  the  centre  of 
the  platform,  and  not  nearly  so  impressive  or  lordly 
as  the  hall  of  the  later  King.  Beyond  this,  again, 
still  further  to  the  south,  is  the  palace  of  Arta- 
xerxes  III.,  rising  sheer  above  the  south-west  corner 
of  the  parallelogram  of  palaces.  The  names  of  all 
these  have  been,  of  course,  ascertained  from  the  cunei- 
form inscriptions  found  on  the  walls  of  each.  Behind 
the  palace  of  Artaxerxes  III.  is  the  palace  of  Xerxes 
himself,  and  a  little  to  the  north-east  of  this  is  a  lonely 
unnamed  portico.  Xerxes'  palace  is  in  a  sad  state  of 
decay ;  only  a  few  solitary  doors  and  pillars  remain  to 
tell  of  its  departed  grandeur,  and  yet  this  must  have 
been  one  of  the  largest  of  the  buildings  upon  the 
platform.  Straight  behind  this  palace  to  the  east  are 
the  half-buried  remains  of  another  edifice,  some  un- 
identified royal  palace  or  hall. 

Throughout  all  these  buildings  the  carvings  are 
frequent  and  impressive.  Doorways  are  always 
sculptured  with  some  typical  scene  :  a  King  killing  a 


'THE  COURTS  WHERE  JAMSHYD  GLORIED'    221 

gryphon,  a  couple  of  lance-bearers,  or  a  monarch  pro- 
ceeding in  state,  attended  by  a  follower,  who  holds 
over  his  head  a  peculiar  Japanesey-looking  umbrella. 
Concerning  the  origin  of  this  last,  Le  Bruyn  remarks  : 
*  The  parafol  was  antiently  in  ufe  among  the  Perflans, 
and  Xenophon  feems  to  fix  the  invention  of  it  to  the 
time  of  Artaxerxes,  the  brother  of  Cyrus  the  Younger, 
and  not  to  that  of  Cyrus  the  Great,  in  whofe  reign 
the  Perfians  imitated  the  habits,  ornaments,  and 
manners  of  the  Medes,  without  having  recourfe  to  any 
precautions  againft  the  heat  of  the  sun,  or  the  violence 
of  winds  and  feafons.  But  this  was  changed  in  the 
reign  of  Artaxerxes,  who  addicted  himself  to  wine  and 
debaucheries,  with  his  whole  court,  and  funk  into  fuch 
an  effeminate  foftnefs,  that  the  fhade  of  trees,  and 
refreshing  coolnefs  of  caverns  and  grots,  were  no 
longer  thought  a  fufficient  fhelter  from  the  heat  of 
the  fun,  parafols  therefore  became  neceffary,  and 
domeftics  to  carry  them.' 

The  walls  themselves  are  covered  with  inscriptions ; 
each  column  and  cornice  has  its  appropriate  carving. 
It  would  take  days  to  do  justice  to  the  wonders  that 
can  be  seen  and  books  to  picture  their  features  fully. 

One  more  building  remains  to  be  described,  perhaps 
the  most  noticeable  of  all.  This  is  the  Hall  of  the 
Hundred  Columns,  certainly  the  largest  of  the  edifices 
on  the  platform  of  Persepolis.  It  lies  close  under  the 
mountain,  on  the  same  level  as  the  porch  of  Xerxes, 
and,  as  its  name  implies,  originally  boasted  a  hundred 
columns,  set  in  the  form  of  a  gigantic  square.  Eight 
doorways,  magnificently  carved,  afford  entrance  to  the 
great  hall,  which  itself  is,  alas !  a  sad  scene  of  ruin. 
Everywhere  lie  heaped  and  huddled  the  remains  of 
lofty  pillars  and  massive  walls  ;  luxuriantly  carved 
capitals  lie  prone  by  sculptured  bases.     The  earth  is 


222  ACROSS  PERSIA 

strewn  with  a  pathetic  mass  of  debris.  Still,  however, 
stand  the  gateways,  with  their  wealth  of  sculpture, 
here  more  abundant  than  anywhere  else  in  Persepolis. 
On  one,  the  King  plunges  his  dagger  into  a  dragon's 
side,  while  the  beast  in  return  snatches  him  by  the 
arm  and  claws  his  knees.  On  another  is  depicted  the 
King,  sitting,  staff  in  hand,  supported  by  a  double 
row  of  warriors  and  attended  by  a  slave  with  a  fly- 
flap.  Again,  he  sits  in  state,  surrounded  by  guards 
and  attendants,  receiving  ambassadors  from  a  foreign 
land,  in  front  of  whom  are  set  two  smoking  censers  ; 
beneath,  are  five  rows  of  warriors  armed  with  spears 
and  all  the  other  paraphernalia  of  war,  fit  tribute  to 
the  far-reaching  power  of  the  monarch  seated  above  ; 
in  the  air  above  floats  the  mystic  symbol  of  God, — the 
strange,  open- winged  image  with  its  half-body  and 
grey,  reverend  head. 

Through  these  courts  and  gateways  I  wandered  that 
sunny  afternoon,  gazing  at  the  images  of  long  days 
ago,  treading  the  ground  trodden  by  the  giants  of 
history,  touching  the  walls  brushed  by  their  garments 
and  touched  by  their  flesh.  Past  the  gates  of  Xerxes 
with  the  wonderful  Beasts  I  went,  along  the  terrace 
of  the  many  figures,  up  the  little  low  steps  to  that 
greatest  glory,  Xerxes'  lofty  hall,  with  the  thirteen 
gaunt  pillars  standing  like  white  ghosts  of  the  past, 
and  then  through  the  courts  of  Darius, — the  doors 
sculptured,  the  windows  thick  with  cuneiform  lettering. 
Down  the  ornate  steps  I  passed,  up  more,  and  into 
the  palace  of  Xerxes,  crumbling  and  decayed,  but  still 
glorious  in  its  ruin.  Treading  on  half-buried,  fallen 
columns,  stooping  under  the  tottering  architraves,  I 
went  on  and  on  until  my  head  whirled  with  the 
magnificence  of  the  scene,  and  my  heart  thrilled  with 
sadness  for  the  desolation  of  such  great  beauty. 


The  Gatks  of  Xerxes — Persepolis. 


Cyrus'  Tomb. 


'THE  COURTS  WHERE  JAMSHYD  GLORIED'    22S 

It  was  hard  to  leave,  just  realizing  what  an 
infinitesimal  morsel  I  had  seen,  and  what  volumes 
could  be  read  from  those  great  stone  pages  of  the 
past.  But  the  sun  was  sinking  :  I  had  only  time  for  a 
visit  to  the  north  tomb,  with  its  two  sepulchres  and 
rounded  roof ;  for  one  last  look  at  the  splendid  vista  of 
steps,  rising  in  a  gathering  beauty,  to  be  crowned  at 
the  summit  by  the  vision  of  those  grim  beasts  that 
guard  the  wonderful  terraces,  and  then  I  looked  my 
last  on  Persepolis. 

'  I  saw  the  solitary  Ringdove  there, 
And  "  Coo,  coo,  coo,"  she  cried  ;  and  "  Coo,  coo,  coo."" ' 

The  lines  haunted  my  brain  as  the  tall  pillars  waned 
and  faded,  until  at  length  the  hill-side  hid  them  from 
my  sight. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   TOMB   OF   CYRUS 

'O  Man,  whosoever  thou  art,  and  whensoever  thou  comest 
(for  I  know  thou  wilt  come),  I  am  Cyrus,  who  founded  the 
Empire  of  the  Persians.  Grudge  me  not,  therefore,  this  little 
earth  that  covers  my  body.' 

Inscription  stated  by  Plutarch  to  have  been  engraved 
by  order  of  Alexander  on  the  tomb  of  Cyncs  when 
it  hMd  been  violated  by  Polymachus, 

From  Persepolis  my  path  lay  still  over  classic  ground, 
for  the  roads  between  here  and  Pasargadse  were  not 
only  trodden  by  the  great  Cyrus  himself,  but  were  the 
scene  of  Alexander's  military  exploits. 

The  two  marches  between  Persepolis  and  the  city  of 
Cyrus  are  somewhat  arduous.  *  We  proceeded  on  our 
journey,'  says  Le  Bruyn  of  this  part  of  his  travels, 
*  after  fun-fet,  and  by  break  of  day  ftruck  into  a  road 
between  the  mountains  that  are  very  lofty  and  rocky  ; 
and  the  ways  are  fo  narrow,  that  they  are  hardly 
paffable  by  horfes,  and  other  beafts  of  burden.  They 
are  likewife  fo  fteep  and  ilippery  in  feveral  places, 
that  the  poor  animals  are  frequently  overthrown  with 
all  their  load;  and  they  are  altogether  as  fatiguing 
to  travellers,  who  are  not  able  to  fit  their  horfes, 
and  are  continually  obliged  to  alight  and  remount. 
This  place  called  to  my  remembrance  thofe  defiles, 
which  Quintus  Curtim  fays  Alexander  jpaSed  in  this 
tract.' 

On  the  first  of  these  marches  I  set  out  at  seven  in 

^24 


THE  TOMB  OF  CYRUS  225 

the  morning,  in  the  customary  sunhght  of  a  Persian 
day.  Before  taking  to  the  road  in  earnest,  and  in 
order  to  let  the  pack-mules  get  a  good  start,  and  so 
arrive  somewhat  at  the  same  time  as  myself,  I  paid  a 
visit  to  a  little  place  of  old-world  remains  which  I  have 
not  yet  described  in  detail.  This  was  Naksh-i-Rejeb, 
the  tiny  sculptured  bay  in  the  rocks  close  to  the 
chapar  khaneh.  The  sun  peeped  over  the  hill,  throw- 
ing into  shadow  two  of  the  three  pictures,  and 
making  the  third  stand  out  in  brilliant  relief.  The 
first  tablet  on  the  south-eastern  side  represents  the 
scene  we  have  already  beheld  at  Naksh-i-Rustam, — 
the  investiture  of  Ardeshir  by  Ormuzd.  The  second 
also  depicts  the  god  and  the  King,  but  this  time  they 
are  afoot ;  while  the  third  (that  which  showed  so  clean- 
cut  in  the  morning  sunlight)  is  Shahpur  and  his  Court. 
In  front  rides  the  King,  and  behind  is  a  row  of 
servitors,  with  tall  *  busby  '  hats  and  masses  of  curly 
hair,  their  clasped  hands  resting  on  their  grounded 
swords.  On  the  chest  of  Shahpur's  horse  are  two 
inscriptions,  one  in  Pehlevi  and  the  other  in  Greek. 
Both  are  exceedingly  well  preserved,  and  I  photo- 
graphed and  copied  them.  Here  is  a  copy  and  trans- 
lation of  what  is  written  there  : 

TOnPOCftnONTOYTOMACAACNOY0EOY 

CAm2POYBACIAEI2CBACIAE(2N[APIA]NflN 

KAIANAPIANi[2NEKrENOYC0E12[NEKTONOY] 

MAC[AA]CNOYeEOYAPTAKAPCY[?][BACIAEOC] 

BACIAEi2NAPIANfiNEKrEN0[YCeEftN] 

EKrONOYeEOYnAnAKOYBACIA[EflCJ. 

'  This  is  the  image  of  the  Ormuzd- worshipping  God  Sapor, 
King  of  Kings  Arian  and  non-Arian  of  the  Race  of  Gods,  son  of 
the  Ormuzd- worshipping  God  Artakarsu[r],  King  of  Kings 
Arian  of  the  Race  of  Gods,  son  of  the  God  Papak  the  King.' 

While  I  was  deep  in  the  copying  of  these  inscrip- 
tions, there  suddenly  came  down  upon  me  from  the 

15 


226  ACROSS  PERSIA 

hill-side  three  Persian  girls.  They  wore  no  veils,  and 
evinced  unashamed  interest  in  what  I  was  doing. 
Clearly  they  were  of  one  of  the  hill-tribes,  the  black 
tents  of  which  I  could  see  not  far  off.  With  a  very 
un-Persian  absence  of  shyness,  they  came  up  to  me 
and  entered  into  conversation.  One  asked  what  my 
camera  might  be,  another  what  I  was  doing.  The 
trusty  Saif  was  not  by  my  side,  and  so  I  had  to 
struggle  to  satisfy  their  curiosity  with  my  very  ele- 
mentary Persian.  Two  of  the  young  ladies  then 
departed  to  fetch  their  respective  babies  from  the  camp 
for  me  to  admire,  which,  with  all  the  air  of  a  parlia- 
mentary candidate  canvassing  for  votes,  I  dutifully  did. 
The  third  girl  evidently  was  unmarried,  and,  by  way  of 
improving  the  occasion,  asked  me  whether  I  had  a 
wife.  I  told  her,  No,  whereupon  she  smiled  sweetly, 
and  asked  whether  I  would  like  to  marry  her  !  This 
was  so  sudden  that  my  Persian  was  absolutely  unable 
to  rise  to  the  occasion,  so  I  hastily  produced  my  watch, 
which  had  the  desired  effect  of  interesting  both  babies 
and  their  mothers  enormously.  I  think,  in  fact,  that 
the  young  ladies  were,  if  possible,  even  more  taken 
with  it  than  were  their  babies,  and  it  was  with  great 
reluctance  that  they  let  me  take  it  away,  when,  after 
a  friendly  farewell  and  an  inquiry  from  them  whether 
I  would  be  coming  back,  I  mounted  my  pony  and  rode 
away  towards  Isfahan. 

On  our  way  from  Puzeh  we  made  a  little  detour  to 
inspect  the  ruins  of  Istakhr.  There  is  to  be  found 
another  Takht-i-Taous  (the  first  of  that  name,  it  will 
be  remembered,  is  the  stone  throne  to  the  west  of  the 
chapar  khaneh),  and  there,  besides,  are  the  bases  of 
pillars,  and  one  whole  pillar  still  standing,  and  possessed 
of  its  twin  bull-headed  capital.  There,  also,  are  some 
massive  fragments  of  wall,  and  all  around  the  earth  is 


THE  TOMB  OF  CYRUS  227 

littered  with  pieces  of  pottery.  It  seems,  indeed,  as  if 
excavation  should  unearth  plenty  of  evidences  of  the 
ancient  city,  although  to-day  the  scene  is  one  of  utter 
desolation.  To  the  south,  on  the  mule  track,  are  the 
remains  of  a  great  gateway,  and  this,  save  for  some 
niches  in  the  rock  a  little  further  on,  is  the  last  of  the 
Achsemenian  remains  hereabouts.  So,  passing  through 
the  portals,  we  left  Persepolis.  There  was  a  feeling  oi 
riding  out  of  the  past  into  the  present  as  we  went 
beneath  the  great  archway ;  the  glamour  of  antiquity 
fell  away,  and  we  were  back  in  a  country  of  deserts 
and  squalor. 

To  vary  the  monotony  of  the  march,  I  used  occasion- 
ally to  make  efforts  to  properly  train  the  little  pony 
which  I  had  bought  (after,  of  course,  a  huge  haggling) 
from  a  dealer  in  Shiraz.  He  only  cost  £10,  and  he 
was  a  bargain  at  the  price,  for  although  he  had  appa- 
rently never  had  a  bit  in  his  mouth  until  the  day  on 
which  he  was  reluctantly  led  round  for  me  to  examine, 
he  soon  trained  into  quite  a  respectable  little  animal. 
To-day,  I  remember,  I  had  got  as  far  as  shooting  from 
his  back  at  crows  with  my  pistol,  upon  which  he,  at 
first,  generally  tried  to  bolt,  but  even  to  this  he  after- 
wards became  resigned. 

A  long  march  is  a  curious  mixture  of  reflection  and 
action.  The  interminable  hours  of  travel  provoke  long 
and  profound  reveries,  out  of  which  the  absorbed  mind 
is  startled  by  some  sudden  external  incident.  Thoughts 
that  are  wandering  among  Achsemenian  surroundings 
are  suddenly  dashed  down  from  their  lofty  heights  to 
the  aggressive  presence  of  some  obtrusive  Persian  or 
of  some  evasive  beast  or  bird.  Talking  of  the  very 
spot  where  I  was  riding,  Malcolm  has  provided  an 
admirable  instance  of  this  sudden  descent  from  the 
lofty  plains  of  abstract  philosophy  to  the  level  of  con- 

15—2 


228  ACROSS  PERSIA 

Crete  action.  '  The  day  we  left  the  ruins,'  he  says, 
'  Aga  Meer,  as  we  were  riding  together,  expressed  his 
surprise  at  men  devoting  their  time  to  such  pursuits ' 
(as  archaeology).  "  What  can  be  the  use,"  said  he,  *'of 
men  travelling  so  far  and  running  so  many  risks  to 
look  at  ruined  houses  and  palaces,  when  they  might 
stay  so  comfortably  at  home  ?"  I  replied,  with  some 
feeling  of  contempt  for  my  friend's  love  of  quiet,  "  If 
the  state  of  a  man's  circumstances,  or  that  of  his 
country,  does  not  find  him  work,  he  must  find  it  for 
himself,  or  go  to  sleep  and  be  good  for  nothing. 
Antiquaries,"  I  continued,  "  to  whose  praiseworthy  re- 
searches you  allude,  by  directing,  through  their  labours 
and  talents,  our  attention  to  the  great  names  and  mag- 
nificent monuments  of  former  days,  aid  in  improving  the 
sentiments  and  taste  of  a  nation.  Besides,  although 
no  antiquary  myself,  I  must  ever  admire  a  study  which 
carries  man  beyond  self.  I  love  those  elevating  thoughts 
that  lead  me  to  dwell  with  delight  on  the  past,  and  to 
look  forward  with  happy  anticipations  to  the  future. 
We  are  told  by  some  that  such  feelings  are  mere 
illusions,  and  the  cold,  practical  philosopher  may, 
on  the  ground  of  their  inutility,  desire  to  remove 
them  from  men's  minds,  to  make  way  for  his  own 
machinery ;  but  he  could  as  soon  argue  me  out  of  my 
existence  as  take  from  me  the  internal  proof  which 
such  feelings  convey,  both  as  to  my  origin  and  desti- 
nation." 

*  "  There  goes  a  goor-kher  "  (wild-ass),  said  Mahomed 
Beg,  the  Jelloodar,  who  was  riding  close  behind  ;  and 
away  he  galloped.  Away  I  galloped  also,  leaving  un- 
finished one  of  the  finest  speeches  about  the  past  and 
the  future  that  was  ever  commenced.' 

Our  resting-place  was  Sivand,  another  little  village 
nestling  under  tall  clifi*s,  whence,  over  a  ground  laid 


THE  TOMB  OF  CYRUS  9S& 

with  hoar-frost,  we  started  at  daybreak  for  Pasargadse, 
and  soon  entered  the  long  pass  known  as  the  Tang-i- 
Turkan,  of  which  Le  Bruyn  speaks  so  vigorously. 
Here,  I  remember,  I  lost  my  haversack.  There  is  a 
peculiar  annoyance  about  the  loss  of  even  the  most 
unimportant  article,  especially  if  there  is  no  hope  of 
ever  retrieving  it,  just  as  there  is  a  ridiculously  extra- 
vagant delight  in  finding  again  the  most  trumpery 
object,  of  whose  recovery  we  have  given  up  all  hope. 
The  world  is  still  the  woman  of  the  parable  when  there 
is  a  lost  piece  of  silver  in  question.  Even  now  I  some- 
times see  my  little  brown  haversack  lying  in  the  midst 
of  a  Persian  wilderness,  its  cartridges  sodden,  its  map 
decaying,  and  the  small  treatise  on  political  economy, 
which  I  carried  to  while  away  dull  moments,  wasting 
its  sweetness  and  gradually  strewing  its  substance  on 
the  desert  ground.  Perhaps,  however,  a  better  fate 
befell  it,  after  all,  and  the  cartridges  long  ago  brought 
down  a  duck  for  some  fat  Persian's  supper,  the  map 
is  still  a  much-discussed  mystery,  and  the  treatise  on 
political  economy,  being  entirely  incomprehensible,  has 
become  the  creed  of  some  tribal  religion. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  a  scene  of  striking  splendour 
that  I  discovered  my  loss.  The  track  here  is  cut  sheer 
through  the  living  rock ;  the  river  rushes  below ; 
great  cliffs  hang  above  ;  and  over  against  the  path 
lies  a  gloomy  mountain.  It  is  a  very  place  of  dark- 
ness and  dread.  No  wonder  that  even  to-day  the 
villagers  people  this  place  with  ghouls  and  deeves,  and 
have  strange  stories  of  weird  beasts  that  snatch  the 
traveller  and  his  goods  away  to  deep  dungeons  in  the 
rocks. 

I  rode  on  a  few  yards,  and  suddenly  in  front  there 
opened  out  the  plain  of  Murghab,  bounded  to  the  far 
north  by  snow  mountains,  and  there,  shining  in  the 


230  ACROSS  PERSIA 

light  of  the  setting  sun,  rose  the  white  dot  of  Cyrus's 
tomb  and  the  dim  ruins  of  Pasargadae. 

Lord  Curzon  has  dealt  so  fully  with  these  remains 
(save  for  one  notable  exception,  as  I  shall  afterwards 
point  out)  that  more  than  a  passing  note  or  two  would 
be  superfluous. 

The  first  and  the  most  notable  object  of  all  that 
remains  of  the  ancient  city  of  Cyrus  is  the  tomb  of 
the  King  himself  Desolate  and  solitary  in  the 
surrounding  desert,  there  rises  a  seven-terraced  altar 
of  stone,  on  the  top  of  which  stands  the  tomb  ; — a 
massive,  almost  square  building  with  a  rounded  stone 
roof  Like  a  green  plume,  a  little  bush  grows  from 
between  the  interstices  of  the  stone,  while  another 
huddles  under  the  shelter  of  the  south  wall.  Around 
lie  the  ruins  of  an  enclosure,  of  which  the  sepulchre 
itself  does  not  occupy  the  centre,  being  slightly  to  the 
north  thereof  Access  is  gained  to  the  tomb  by  a  low 
door,  which  leads  into  a  tiny  stone  cell,  bare- walled, 
and  with  a  smoke-blackened  roof  There  is  no  trace 
now  of  any  inscription,  although  there  is  no  reason  to 
doubt  that  when  Alexander  visited  the  tomb  he  both 
found  one  and  left  another.  It  may,  indeed,  have 
been  where  the  prayer-niche  now  is,  but  I  could  find 
no  traces  of  Stolze's  'holes  above  the  door,  where 
inscribed  tablets  could  have  been  fixed.'  So  much  of 
the  stone  has  decayed,  however,  that  without  invent- 
ing tablets  it  is  quite  conceivable  that  the  inscriptions 
might  have  existed  and  been  either  worn  away  or 
obliterated  by  the  prayer-niche.  There  is  no  furniture 
to  the  tomb,  save  where,  on  the  left,  in  another  niche, 
are  several  cJiiragha,  or  small  lamps,  and  where,  at  the 
far  end,  there  is  hung  a  string,  from  which  depend 
innumerable  little  offerings,  principally  tin  pots  and 
pans.     Close  by,  in  another  corner,  is  a  Koran,  and,  to 


_  i 


Stone  Altars  at  Takht-i-Gor. 


The  Women's  Offerings— Cyrus'  Tomi 


THE  TOMB  OF  CYRUS  231 

its  right,  the  recessed  prayer-niche  cut  in  the  stone. 
Outside,  around  the  enclosure,  are  the  remains  of 
pillars  and  of  three  gateways,  none  of  which  directly 
front  the  door  of  the  tomb.  That  on  the  north  side 
once  led  to  a  colonnade,  the  remnants  of  which  are  still 
evident.  Close  by  to  the  north  is  a  little  village,  built 
among  ancient  remains. 

Such  is  the  sepulchre  of  the  King  of  Kings  to-day. 
But  let  it  not  be  imagined  that  its  story  is  known  to 
the  inhabitants  of  the  country.  No,  indeed,  that 
were  an  historical  effort  far  too  great  for  the  present- 
day  Persian.  Always  he  appears  to  prefer  legend  to 
history  and  superstition  to  both.  So,  to-day,  the 
tomb  of  Cyrus  goes  in  his  own  land  by  the  name  of 
'  Takht-i-Mader-i-Suleiman '  (the '  Tomb  of  the  Mother 
of  Solomon'). 

After  all,  what  is  history  to  the  Persian  of  to-day  ? 
What  could  it  be,  indeed,  did  he  realize  it,  save  a 
reproach  ?  It  is  little  credit  to  a  nation  to  have  a 
proud  past  if  it  has  not  a  worthy  present.  Still,  if 
from  ignorance  the  Persian  were  to  develop  knowledge, 
and  from  indifference,  interest,  his  own  national 
records,  surely,  should  do  no  little  to  raise  his  country 
again  to  a  position  of  independent  prosperity  ?  To- 
day, however,  the  people  neither  know  nor  care  about 
their  history,  and  their  interest  centres,  not  in  the 
records  of  the  past,  but  in  the  superstitions  of  the 
present.  So  it  comes  that  the  *  Mother  of  Solomon ' 
is  vaguely  endowed  with  Cyrus's  sepulchre,  and  to 
the  supposed  presiding  deity  is  ascribed  supernatural 
power.  To  the  tomb  come  all  the  Persian  maids  and 
matrons  who  are  unhappy  in  love  or  who  desire 
continuance  of  happiness  therein.  These  superstitious 
and  love-sick  ladies  offer  to  their  goddess,  that  they 
may  gain  their  ends,  various  little  trinkets,  and  it  is 


232  ACROSS  PERSIA 

these  that  we  have  seen  hanging  on  the  cord  inside 
the  tomb.  Judged  by  the  quality  of  the  gifts,  the 
ends  to  be  gained,  or  the  faith  of  the  votaries,  cannot 
be  worth  very  much. 

Needful,  indeed,  were  the  simple  yet  proud  words 
of  the  King's  own  inscription  on  his  tomb  :  '  I,  Cyrus, 
King  of  Kings,  lie  here.'  Needful,  indeed,  was  Alex- 
ander's later  inscription,  quoted  at  the  beginning  of 
this  chapter.  Needful,  and  yet, — so  time,  with  its 
ironic  disregard  of  great  men's  wishes,  has  contrived, — 
in  vain.  For  the  inscriptions  have  gone,  and  the 
tomb,  deprived  of  its  rightful  owners,  has  descended 
to  be  a  shrine  for  the  shabby  offerings  of  an  ignorant 
people  to  a  fabled  deity.  As  I  looked  upon  the 
clustering  mass  of  rags  and  tin  trumperies,  I  found 
myself  wondering  if  Cyrus  knew — and  whether  Cyrus 
cared. 

From  the  tomb  the  way  lies  north-east  to  the 
palace  of  Cyrus.  All  that  remains  is  a  tall  unfluted 
pillar  and  some  masonry.  Another  pillar  lies  buried 
to  the  north,  and  there  are  evidences  that  here  was  a 
considerable  building.  The  ground  rises  in  a  mound, 
which  would  repay  excavation,  as  would  the  other 
mounds  on  which,  in  every  case,  the  remains  are 
situated.  Even  now  the  feet  of  carved  figures  may  be 
seen  on  portions  of  the  exposed  masonry.  East  of  all 
this  rises  the  solitary  block  whereon  is  sculped  the 
figure  of  Cyrus,  four-winged,  and  originally  surmounted 
by  an  inscription,  now  lost,  identifying  the  figure. 
North  of  the  palace  is  a  single  square  column  with  a 
cuneiform  inscription  stating  it  is  the  work  of  Cyrus, 
and  north  of  this,  again,  stands  one  wall  of  a  building, 
which  is  at  once  recognized  as  similar  to  the  mystifying 
structure  in  front  of  the  tombs  at  Naksh-i-Bustam. 
In  this  case  the  true  height,  over  40  feet,  is  apparent. 


THE  TOMB  OF  CYRUS  233 

I  climbed  up  to  the  still-existent  doorway,  but  could 
find  no  niches  such  as  are  to  be  seen  in  the  other 
building  near  Persepolis,  nor  any  evidences  of  the 
grooves  before  mentioned,  though  the  usual  small 
groove  at  an  angle  of  45  degrees  to  the  doorway,  and 
presumably  connected  with  the  manipulation  of  a  stone 
door,  is  plainly  visible. 

I  may  mention  that,  in  addition  to  the  other  dif- 
ferences touched  on  between  the  two  structures  in 
question,  the  doorstep  in  that  at  PasargadaB  is  on  a 

—  Cyrus  Figure 
^  dUCyi's  Paiace 

Temp/e 


Stream       ,    -   ,  

Stream  -^ 

Takhf-  /  -  Gor 

— .     Mound 

4i-x7'C=i  — \-^  N 

' — '  Remains 

THE    NEIGHBOURHOOD    OF   PASARGADiE. 

level  with  the  indicated  floor,  while  at  Naksh-i- 
Eustam  it  either  was  always  at  a  lower  level  or  has 
disappeared. 

To-day  there  is  only  a  solitary  wall  left  standing, 
and  I  was  struck  by  the  apparent  impossibility  of  such 
gigantic  blocks  of  stone  as  were  used  in  the  construc- 
tion of  this  building  at  Pasargadse  having  utterly 
vanished,  leaving  the  small  amount  of  debris  visible  on 
the  plain.  This  fact  it  is  which  inclines  me  to  suspect 
that  in  the  apparently  solid  mass  of  masonry  which 


234  ACROSS  PERSIA 

forms  the  base  of  the  similar  '  temple '  at  Naksh-i- 
Rustam  there  may  be  concealed  a  hidden  chamber. 
Certainly  the  mystery  of  these  two  buildings  is  a 
fascinating  one,  and  any  excavation  or  examination 
which  should  solve  it  would  be  interesting  and 
important. 

North  of  the  ruin  just  described  is  found  the  great 
terrace,  known  now  as  Takht-i- Suleiman,  partly  buried 
in  the  hill-side,  but  still,  in  spite  of  the  ravages  of  time 
and  man,  a  splendid  work.  Here,  again,  excavation 
might  disclose  much. 

There  remains  one  notable  evidence  of  ancient 
handiwork,  which  I  have  not  seen  mentioned  even  in 
Lord  Curzon's  exhaustive  account  of  Pasargadse. 

Far  to  the  west — perhaps  a  mile — behind  a  little 
hill,  are  two  most  curious  structures,  close  to  a  small 
and  artificial-looking  mound,  and  between  it  and  the 
hill.  A  stream  flows  close  under  the  latter,  and  on 
the  other  side  of  this  stand  what  look  like  two  colossal 
altars,  one  of  which  is  led  up  to  by  a  detached  flight 
of  steps  hewn  out  of  another  enormous  stone. 

On  closer  inspection  these  huge  relics  prove  hollow — 
each  is  one  stone,  the  interior  of  which  has  been 
removed,  but  left,  it  would  appear,  without  entrance, 
the  side  whence  the  excavation  had  been  made  being 
turned  downwards.  Now,  however,  a  piece  has  been 
forcibly  broken  out  of  the  side  of  each,  exposing  the 
interior.  They  stand  in.  what,  from  the  ruined 
remains  of  walls,  must  have  been  a  large  enclosure. 

I  ,  found  on  inquiry  that  the  place  was  called 
Takht-i-Gor— Gor  in  this  case  being  apparently  a 
lady's  name. 

Of  these  curious  objects  and  of  their  surroundings  I 
made  a  minute  examination,  and  I  found,  moreover, 
the  plain  to   be   strewn  with  undoubted  remains   of 


THE  TOMB  OF  CYRUS  235 

ancient  buildings.  There  would  seem,  indeed,  to 
have  been  some  sort  of  a  palace,  or  even  a  city,  here 
in  the  past. 

As  to  the  two  monoliths  :  without  pretending  to 
any  archaeological  ability,  I  would  venture  to  suggest 
that  they  were  indeed  altars  either  for  fire-worship  or 
for  sacrifices. 

My  home  for  the  night  was  a  little  mud  outhouse  in 
the  village  of  Deh-i-Nau.  A  horse  had  been  turned 
out  to  make  room  for  me,  and  the  only  outlet  for 
smoke  (it  was  a  bitter  night)  was  by  the  cracks  of  the 
door,  through  which,  apparently,  more  cold  air  came 
in  than  fumes  got  out.  I  had,  however,  begun  to 
appreciate  the  presence  of  four  walls  of  any  kind,  and 
to  consider  a  roof  even  of  mud  and  straw  a  thing  to  be 
devoutly  thankful  for. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A    MOUNTAIN    RACE 

'  The  happy  man's  without  a  shirt.' 

John  Heywood. 

To-day  we  met  one  of  the  Persian  postmen,  and  to 
him  I  entrusted  a  letter  to  my  late  host  at  Shiraz, 
which,  I  afterwards  heard,  reached  its  destination 
without  hitch  or  delay.  Of  this  I  was  very  glad,  for, 
to  put  it  in  Saifs  way,  he  had,  indeed,  been  very 
*  considerable '  to  us,  and  to  his  *  considerableness '  (or 
should  it  be  *  considerability  '  ?)  I  owed  a  great  deal. 

It  is  little  use  writing  letters  on  the  march  in 
Persia — there  is  nowhere  to  post  them.  Still,  there  is 
just  a  chance  that  occasionally  there  may  come  along 
one  of  the  riders  who  carry  the  mails  to  and  fro 
between  the  principal  cities,  and  to  him,  if  you  cannot 
afford  to  wait  till  the  next  post-town  and  are  sufficiently 
confiding,  you  may  entrust  your  correspondence.  But 
it  is  well  in  Persia  never  to  put  too  much  trust  in 
your  letter,  under  any  circumstances,  arriving  at  its 
destination  within  any  specified  time,  and  never  to 
count  upon  receiving  a  letter  yourself  at  all.  It  is  not 
improbable,  too,  that,  in  the  rare  event  of  the  receipt 
of  one,  others  will  have  taken  an  earlier  opportunity 
than  yourself  of  looking  inside  the  envelope.  These, 
however,  are  details  when  civilization  is  a  memory  and 
England  a  hazy  vision. 

236 


A  MOUNTAIN  RACE  <e37 

The  road  from  Deh-i-Nau  to  our  night's  munzil  was 
the  dreariest  I  had  yet  struck  in  Persia,  lying  as  it 
did  among  grey  and  brown  undulations,  which  cut  off 
all  view,  and  seemed  interminable  in  their  monotonous 
convolutions.  Lord  Curzon  tells  of  '  an  English  trout 
stream '  which  '  rushes  out  into  the  plain,'  but  I  took 
the  wrong  path  to  meet  with  it.  So  I  was  left 
alone  with  my  own  thoughts  and  the  uninspiring 
scenery. 

There  come  moments,  I  believe,  in  the  lives  of  most 
of  us  when  there  rushes  over  the  mind  a  sudden  con- 
viction of  the  utter  vanity  of  existence.  It  comes 
sometimes  in  the  early  morning  hours,  when  the  bustle 
of  the  day  has  not  yet  begun,  and  the  whole  mental 
and  physical  fabric  is  below  par.  It  comes  again  in 
soulless  and  sordid  places  and  conditions,  and  some- 
times it  comes  with  utter  fatigue  at  the  end  of  a  hard 
yet  unprofitable  day.  Always  it  seems  to  descend 
upon  the  mind  with  a  curious,  sudden  vividness,  an 
abrupt  sense  that  we  are  all  moving  uselessly  and 
inexorably  on,  nearer  and  nearer  a  certain  doom.  It 
is  like  some  living  nightmare  in  its  appalling  horror. 
In  these  dreary  valleys  under  the  grey  sky  I  remember 
that  feeling  seized  me  with  the  same  strange  sense  of 
newness,  although  I  recognized  it  as  an  old  enemy. 
There  is  only  one  way  to  throw  it  off,  and  that  is 
work.  Work  with  the  body  or  work  with  the  brain, 
it  does  not  matter  which,  but  active  distraction  of 
some  kind,  the  more  violent  the  better.  Then  after  a 
time  the  soul,  so  to  speak,  struggles  to  the  surface  and 
breathes  again. 

In  this  case,  I  did  the  only  thing  that  seemed 
possible  to  relieve  the  horrid  tediousness  of  plodding 
on  my  solitary  path  through  the  endless  vista  of  brown 
and  grey.     I  got  off,  fed  my  pony,  and  ate  a  piece  of 


238  ACROSS  PERSIA 

chocolate  !  Not  much  distraction,  but  it  sufficed,  and 
it  was  with  renewed  activity  of  mind  and  body  that  I 
set  off  on  the  road  again.  At  last  there  came  a  break 
in  the  grim  succession  of  earth-folds,  and  I  was  soon 
climbing  down  into  a  great  plain  girt  with  hills  of 
snow.  There  below  was  the  caravanserai  of  Khaneh 
Zerghoon,  and  in  a  little  I  was  resting  my  limbs  in 
the  bare,  whitewashed  rest-room. 

Down  from  the  mountains  and  their  summer 
quarters  there  had  come  into  this  caravanserai  a 
whole  tribe  of  that  hill  race,  the  Iliats.  Every  nook 
or  corner  had  its  inhabitant,  and  their  belongings 
filled  every  chance  space  that  was  left  empty  of 
humanity.  The  scene,  indeed,  was  such  that,  as  I  sat 
in  my  little  mud  room  and  looked  out  on  it,  I  was 
inspired  to  jot  down  my  impressions. 

'  The  devil  of  a  row. 

*  Children,  calves,  lambs,  puppies,  kids,  all  in  the 
most  abundant  profusion  ;  all  apparently  in  the 
extreme  of  youth  and  for  that  reason  the  noisier ;  all 
maliciously  and  purposelessly  interfering  with  each 
other  ;  children  dragging  puppies  about  by  the  neck ; 
lambs  worrying  kids  ;  calves  stepping  on  both  ; — 
everything  productive  of  one  discordant  clamour.  The 
sun  just  peeps  over  the  caravanserai  wall  and  shows 
as  mixed  a  scheme  of  colour  as  there  is  of  sound. 
Predominant  is  black ; — the  cloaks  of  the  men,  the 
great  Iliat  tent  blankets,  the  saucepan  hats,  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  caravanserai  arches — the  eyes  of  the 
girls.  Then  red; — the  women's  shawls,  the  small 
boys'  kerchiefs;  and  after  that  the  various  greens, 
browns,  and  yellows  of  the  stable-household-farmyard, 
which  is  my  abiding-place. 

*  Best  of  all  the  Persians  I  love  the  Iliats.  They 
are  a  rough,  rude  mountain  race,  with  all  the  blunt 


A  MOUNTAIN  RACE  239 

independence  of  free  men.  The  women,  unveiled, 
bold,  sometimes  fiercely  man-like,  with  a  proud  in- 
difference, a  defiant  audacity,  seem  very  delightful  in 
a  country  of  timorous  subjugation  and  veiled  vice. 
The  children  are  just  little  devils, — all  the  spirits  of 
the  street  arab  with  the  wild  untamedness  of  his  true 
namesake, — hardy,  full  of  life,  fearless. 

*  These  last  are  playing  a  game  when  I  look  out. 
In  the  centre  of  the  caravanserai  court  there  lies, 
heaped  up  upon  the  litter  -  covered  ground,  what 
appears  to  be  a  collection  of  the  formless  black  coats 
the  Persian  never  seems  to  be  without.  From  this 
issues  a  short  string  grasped  by  one  boy,  who  can  thus 
run  round  the  mass  of  coats  within  a  limited  area. 
Three  other  young  Iliats  are  each  furnished  with  a 
weapon  best  described  as  a  hard  bunch  of  cloth  tied 
to  the  end  of  a  cord  about  2  feet  long.  This  they 
incessantly  whirl  round  their  head  like  a  sling,  until, 
seizing  their  opportunity,  one  dashes  in  and  strikes 
the  coats  a  sounding  whack  with  his  flagellator — 
evading  dexterously  the  "captive's"  efibrts  to  touch 
him.  This  goes  on  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
when,  on  their  stopping,  to  my  amazement  the  seem- 
ingly inanimate  mass  in  the  centre  gives  a  heave. 
What  is  coming  out?  Can  it  be  a  prostrate  mule 
after  all  ?  No ;  at  length  from  the  recesses  of  the 
coats  emerges  a  hot  and  dusty  little  ragamuffin,  clearly 
relieved  at  gaining  the  open  air  and  taking  his  turn 
outside,  while  in  creeps  one  of  his  companions. 

*  I  take  a  photograph,  after  some  difficulty  in  col- 
lecting a  group  representative,  as  far  as  possible,  of  all 
the  species  which  inhabit  the  place.  The  ladies  at 
first  are  obdurate,  but  eventually  "come  in, " obviously 
blushing  as  far  as  their  complexions  will  admit,  though 
one,  curiously  European-looking,  is  so  coy  that  I  have^ 


240  ACROSS  PERSIA 

out  of  pure  "  cussedness,"  to  take  a  separate  one  of 
her,  unawares. 

'Directly  I  say,  ''Bus;  shuda  ast^^  ("It  is  over"), 
they  all  rush  up  and  want  to  see  the  picture  !  I 
explain, — to  their  disappointment.  The  men  are  very 
keen  on  my  going  out  on  the  hills  shooting  to-morrow, 
but  I  cannot  spare  a  day.  However,  I  show  them  my 
rifle,  and  they  bring  forth  one  of  theirs  for  my  opinion. 
Mine  impresses  them  much,  the  more  when  I  knock  a 
small  stone  off  the  top  of  the  wall  with  a  shot  from  it. 
Then  one  man  makes  quite  a  sporting  offer.  He  will 
tie  up  a  hen,  and  if  I  can  hit  it  at  a  hundred  yards  I 
shall  have  it — if  not  I  pay  him  ten  shaliis  (2|^d.). 
Farmyard  fowls  are  not  noble  game,  but  it  means 
skill  and  supper,  so  I  take  his  wager,  and,  later,  the 
chicken. 

'  I  have  not  done  with  my  Iliats  for  to-night  yet. 
I  am  glad  I  am  getting  used  to  Persian  ways,  or  I 
might  misconstrue  them  and  be  rude!  For,  as  I  sit 
writing  in  my  bare  little  room,  the  door  suddenly 
opens,  and  a  tall  man  wanders  into  the  room  and 
stands  there  dumbly  looking  at  me.  I  know  pretty 
well  by  now  what  to  expect,  but  look  up  and  ask  him, 
"  What  is  it  ?" 

'  "  Hich  "  is  his  oracular  response,  and  he  continues 
to  blankly  gaze.  I  am  quite  prepared  to  find  he 
wants  "  nothing,"  and  know  he  means  no  harm,  so,  as 
he  does  not  disturb  me,  I  do  not  hurt  his  feelings  by 
ordering  him  out,  but  calmly  resume  my  writing. 
After  a  moment  or  so,  another  sudden  entrance  and 
another  dumb  spectator.  Again:  '' ChlstT  Again  the 
reply,  *'  Rich,^'  and  again  I  continue.  But  when  a 
third  individual  joins  the  two  blankly  gazing  Iliats  in 
front  of  me,  I  feel  it  time  to  interfere  and  ask  them 
rather  pointedly  if  I  can  do  anything  for  them  and 


A  MOUNTAIN  RACE  241 

why  they  have  come.  They  look  at  one  another  as 
if  telepathically  considering  the  matter,  and  at  last 
one  bursts  out :  "  Tamasha  mikunem "  ("  We  have 
come  to  see  the  sight").  Then  one  remarks  that  I 
write  nicely,  and  I  get  up  and  in  my  politest  Persian 
ask  them  to  be  pleased  to  remove  themselves.  They 
go  at  once,  filing  stoically  out  without  the  slightest 
indication  of  an  expression  of  any  kind  on  their  faces 
— and  I  set  to  again. 

*  But  not  for  long.  A  man  makes  the  ordinary  un- 
ceremonious entrance  who  really  has  some  business : 
viz.,  a  pain  in,  to  be  polite,  his  lower  chest.  With  a 
great  show  of  consideration  I  give  him  a  rhubarb  pill 
and  full  instructions  for  the  use  thereof,  with  a  few 
little  extras  of  my  own  respecting  a  draught  of  hot 
water  before  bed,  etc. 

*  Back  to  work.  Confound — another  man  : — my 
fame  must  be  spreading.  "What  is  it?"  "May 
Allah  protect  you,  I  have  a  pain  in  my  head,  and  I 
drink  too  much  water."  H'm  !  Another  rhubarb  pill, 
with  slightly  varied  instructions,  and  he  is  dis- 
posed of. 

*  But  I  am  to  have  no  peace  to-night.  Almost  im- 
mediately there  enters  a  tall,  mournful-looking  man, 
who  explains  that  he,  too,  has  a  headache,  and  in 
addition  cannot  eat  properly. 

*  I  am  getting  a  little  impatient.  Two  rhubarb  pills, 
and  he  must  drink  hot  water  to-night  and  to-morrow 
morning. 

*  Just  as  I  really  think  I  am  going  to  settle  down  I 
look  up,  and  there  before  me  see  a  young  woman  with 
a  child  in  her  arms.  I  must  confess  I  am  not  prepared 
for  this — Persian  ladies  do  not  generally  pay  un- 
chaperoned  visits  to  the  rooms  of  travelling  bachelors 
— their  particularly  cautious  male  relatives  see  to  that 

16 


242  ACROSS  PERSIA 

very  carefully.  However,  I  recover  my  presence  of 
mind,  and,  when  I  can  remember  enough  Persian,  ask 
her  to  sit  down.  She  promptly  does  so — on  the  floor, 
after  punctiliously  shutting  the  door.  Then  she 
announces  that  her  baby  drinks  too  much  water. 
This  does  not  sound  a  serious  complaint.  I  then 
begin  to  collect  data.  Beginning  at  the  beginning,  I 
ask  her  how  old  she  is.  "  Twenty,  Sahib."  "  And 
how  long  have  you  had  a  husband  ?"  As  she  replies 
**  thirty  years  "  to  this,  I  presume  she  thought  I  was 
asking  how  old  her  husband  was.  "  How  old  is  the 
baby  ?"  *^  A  year."  I  know  nothing  of  babies,  but 
after  thinking  over  various  innocuous  medicines, 
eventually  decide  on  half  a  rhubarb  and  soda  tabloid, 
since  I  cannot  break  a  rhubarb  pill.  Then  come  the 
conditions,  far  the  most  important  part  to  a  Persian. 
*'  When  am  I  to  give  it  ?"  I  told  her  to-night.  "  All 
of  it?"  "Yes."  "Powdered?"  "Yes."  (How  on 
earth  does  she  expect  the  infant  to  swallow  it  whole 
without  choking  ?)  "  How  am  I  to  give  it  ?"  "In 
anything  warm."  "  Milk  ?"  "  Yes,  in  anything  you 
like."  And  then,  as  the  conversation  gets  too  deep  for 
my  powers  of  Persian,  I  politely  bow  the  patient  and 
its  mother  out  into  the  night — not  without  vague 
reminiscences  of  a  scene  in  Sterne's  "Sentimental 
Journey." ' 

*  Next  moj'ning. 

*  Really  this  is  too  much.  I  am  not  able  to  perform 
many  ablutions,  but  the  ones  I  do  go  through  require,, 
to  put  it  mildly,  a  certain  deshabille.  It  is  unfor- 
tunate that  the  only  light  to  my  room  is  admitted 
via  the  door,  which  consequently  has  to  be  left  partially 
open  at  all  times  ;  still,  I  must  say,  I  did  not  expect, 
even  after  last  night,  to  meet,  when  I  turned  round 


A  MOUNTAIN  RACE  243 

for  the  towel,  the  gaze  of  the  coy  young  lady  who  had 
such  an  unconquerable  dislike  to  being  photographed, 
and  who  is  calmly  standing  inside  the  door  evidently 
much  interested  in  me.  I  secure  the  towel,  and  beg 
her  to  depart,  which  she  reluctantly  does,  to  reappear, 
with  suspicious  punctuality,  on  the  completion  of  my 
toilet.  It  appears  that  her  unnatural  pallor  is  due  to 
a  disease  for  which  I  can  do  nothing.  However,  I 
give  her  a  rhubarb  pill  for  luck,  and  leave  her  not 
wholly  desolate.' 

Such  are  some  of  the  little  incidents  in  a  Persian 
traveller's  everyday  life ;  a  life  which  may  be  rough, 
but  which  is  certainly  full  of  quaint  experiences. 

I  had  a  real  liking  for  my  companions  in  the 
caravanserai,  and  I  wished  I  could  go  shooting  with 
them,  as  they  so  heartily  invited  me  to,  but  time 
would  not  allow,  and  after  many  assurances  that  I 
had,  as  the  Persians  put  it,  *  come  happily ' — in  which 
even  my  disappointed  opponent  in  the  wager  joined, 
I  pushed  on  across  the  plain. 


16—2 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WINTER  AND   ROUGH   WEATHER 

*  It  ain't  no  use  to  grumble  and  complain ; 
Ifs  jest  as  cheap  and  easy  to  rejoice ; 
When  God  sorts  out  the  weather  and  sends  rain, 
W'y,  rain's  my  choice.' 

James  Whitcomb  Riley. 

We  had  arrived  at  what  is  popularly  known,  I  believe, 
as  the  coldest  place  on  the  plateau  of  Persia  ;  and,  by 
the  ordering  of  Fate,  it  was  precisely  here  that  we 
were  favoured  with  quite  the  worst  weather  I  chanced 
on  in  my  travels. 

All  went  well  for  the  greater  part  of  the  first  march 
after  leaving  my  friends,  the  Iliats.  I  walked  the 
whole  fourteen  miles  on  the  chance  of  sport,  but 
bagged  not  a  single  living  thing.  That  there  is  game 
here  I  can  vouch,  since  at  the  beginning  of  the  day  I 
saw  some  pigeons  in  the  distance,  followed  and  lost 
them,  but  at  the  same  time  blundered  on  a  flock  of 
duck,  unluckily  out  of  range.  These  I  next  tracked  ; 
but  just  as  I  was  approaching  the  place  I  suspected 
them  to  have  made  for,  I  spied,  immediately  ahead, 
two  wolves  sneaking  off.  Kishna  was  twenty  yards 
behind ;  I  signalled  silently  to  him.  He  ran  up,  and 
they,  taking  alarm,  were  far  away  before  I  got  hold  of 
my  weapon,  while  at  that  moment,  warned  that  some- 
thing was  happening,  up  got  the  duck  from  a  little 
creek  fifty  yards  ahead,  squawking  and  splattering. 

244 


WINTER  AND  ROUGH  WEATHER  245 

Persian  swearing  is  more  thorough  and  erudite  than 
English,  but  it  is  not  so  soHd  and  satisfactory. 

The  rest  of  the  way  was  a  weary  plod  over  bleak 
desert,  and  I  arrived  at  Dehbid  glad  to  get  to  my 
night's  home,  and  still  more  glad  to  find  there  a 
hospitable  official  of  the  Telegraphs  and  his  charming 
wife. 

Dinner  off  a  tablecloth  again  ! 

Apparently  Dehbid  is  a  fairly  difficult  place  to  live 
in.  Besides  being,  as  Lord  Curzon  calls  it,  *the  coldest 
inhabited  place  in  Persia,'  it  also  can  boast  of  having 
practically  no  inhabitants  and  no  supplies.  In  fact, 
its  name,  '  There  was  a  village '  {deh,  a  village ;  hild, 
was)  very  fairly  represents  it,  the  chief  object  of 
interest  being  a  large  mass  which  first  appears  to  be  a 
rock,  but  which  turns  out  to  be  the  remains  of  a  fort. 

What  inhabitants  there  are,  seem  to  be  among  the 
biggest  rogues  in  Persia,  to  judge  by  the  stories  I  was 
told.  Bullets  have  whistled  round  the  telegraph 
office  ;  Europeans  have  been  robbed  ;  a  missionary  not 
so  long  ago  was  beaten,  stripped,  and  left  on  the  road ; 
— my  hosts  themselves  were  once  attacked  and  their 
caravan  partly  looted,  only  one  robber  being  captured 
and  sent  to  Shiraz  to  be  blown  from  the  cannon's 
mouth.     Truly  a  nice  neighbourhood  ! 

Next  day  I  found  that  the  inhabitants  had  appar- 
ently been  giving  a  special  exhibition  of  their  talents 
for  my  particular  benefit.  During  the  night  they  had 
cut  open  boxes,  extracted  several  of  the  articles  therein, 
had  taken  my  horse  out  of  his  stable,  robbed  him  of 
his  blanket,  and  turned  him  loose  in  the  plain,  whence, 
luckily,  he  was  retrieved  by  Saif  early  next  morning. 

There  had  been  a  little  rain  the  day  before,  and 
to-day,  evidently,  they  were  preparing  behind  the 
scenes  of  the  sky  for  something  more  definitely  dis- 


246  ACROSS  PERSIA 

gusting.  A  bitter  wind  arose.  Ominous  clouds 
gathered  to  the  south-east,  and,  just  as  I  was  making 
for  the  road  a  few  miles  on  our  march  from  an  excur- 
sion after  a  wolf,  down  came  the  veil  of  the  storm. 
The  mules  had  gone  on  ahead,  and,  wandering  through 
the  driving  blizzard,  it  was  some  time  before  I  got  a 
glimpse  of  the  welcome  line  of  telegraph-poles,  of  which 
I  had  prudently  taken  the  bearings  by  my  compass, 
having  no  wish  to  emulate  those  travellers  who  in  like 
circumstances  have  been  found  dead  a  week  or  two  after- 
wards in  the  desert.  Soon  afterwards  I  dimly  saw  forms 
through  the  snow, — Saif  and  one  of  my  muleteers,  who 
had  been  left  behind  to  inquire  into  the  robbery. 
Nothing  had  been  recovered; — but  I  had  expected 
that  nothing  would. 

On  we  plodded  down  a  dreary  pass  through  the 
storm,  until,  at  length,  we  sighted  a  lonely  collection 
of  huts  and  a  white  caravanserai,  which  marked 
Khoneh  Khoreh,  and  cantered  in,  to  find  that  the 
mules  which  started  an  hour  before  us  had  not  arrived. 
We  had  not  passed  them.  Even  with  that  blizzard 
blowing  I  was  sure  of  that.  Where  had  they  dis- 
appeared to  ?  I  asked  whether  there  were  two  roads  ; 
— apparently  there  were,  so  we  comforted  ourselves 
as  best  we  could  with  the  thought  that  our  baggage 
might  have  taken  the  other  way,  and  made  ourselves 
as  cheery  as  might  be  in  the  empty  mud  hut  with  a  fire. 
Outside  the  snow  still  drove  relentlessly  along,  and 
when,  after  an  hour,  no  sign  of  the  mules  was  apparent, 
I  sent  out  two  horsemen  to  scout  for  them ;  one  back 
towards  Dehbid,  the  other  down  the  branch  road  to 
Yezd. 

Two  hours  ; — still  no  news  of  the  mules,  and  dark- 
ness was  closing  in.  Three ; — then  our  horsemen 
returned  without  tidings.     Four, — and  I  prepared  for 


WINTER  AND  ROUGH  WEATHER  24T 

a  night  in  damp  clothes  and  a  dinner  of  what  could  be 
obtained  in  the  tiny  village.  First  there  was  the 
question  of  warmth.  Clad  in  snow-drenched  clothes, 
and  lying  in  a  draughty  room,  sleep  seemed  no  easy 
matter.  At  last  I  acquired  a  carpet  and  a  blanket, 
and,  with  a  fire,  things  did  not  look  so  bad.  As  to 
food,  there  was  nothing  in  the  little  village  besides 
four  eggs,  some  bread,  a  peculiar  kind  of  cheese,  and  a 
substance  like  biltong^  composed  of  dried  meat.  I 
ordered  some  of  each.  Presently  it  came  in  the  hands 
of  the  farrashy  or  caravanserai  attendant ; — the  cheese 
bore  trace  of  having  been  moulded  or  rolled  by  the 
said  hands,  likewise  the  biltong.  The  bread  was  in 
large  flat  discs,  and  was  extremely  salt;  the  eggs 
could  not  be  pronounced  on  at  the  moment,  but  I 
ordered  them  to  be  boiled  and  hoped  for  the  best. 
Dinner  was  ready.  Sitting  on  the  carpet,  Saif  and  I 
ate,  while  Kishna,  in  an  excess  of  sybaritism,  toasted 
the  bread.  The  procedure  was  as  follows  :  I  grasped 
one  side  of  a  toasted  disc  of  bread,  Saif  the  other,  and 
we  pulled.  Then  I  detached  a  piece  of  cheese,  a 
curious  white  substance,  from  the  main  mass  with  my 
fingers;  the  biltong  was  subjected  to  a  like  process. 
We  were  all  ravenous ;  we  had  had  nothing  but  a 
morsel  of  breakfast  for  twenty-four  hours.  The  eggs, 
I  remember,  turned  out  well,  and  we  reserved  one  and 
a  piece  of  bread  for  the  next  morning.  Then  making 
up  the  fire,  I  took  off  my  boots  and  prepared  to  wrap 
myself  up  in  the  carpet  for  the  night. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  all  of  a  sudden  the  door 
opened,  letting  in  a  blast  of  icy  wind.  The  small  boy 
who  had  lent  me  the  carpet  popped  his  head  in,  sub- 
jecting me  to  severe  physical  discomfort  from  the 
bitter  draught  (the  door  did  not  fit  the  doorway,  and 
fell  open  now  and  then,  but  it  was  better  than  nothing). 


248  ACROSS  PERSIA 

'  What  is  it  V  I  asked. 

*  The  mules.' 

I  sHpped  on  my  boots  and  went  into  the  snow.  It 
certainly  was  the  mules.  In  a  few  moments  the  mule- 
teer was  explaining ; — he  took  the  Yezd  road  and  went 
fifteen  miles  before  finding  his  mistake.  Joy  at  their 
appearance,  and  the  fact  that  they  had  had  a  long 
and  extremely  hard  march,  prevented  even  Saif  from 
descending  upon  their  heads  in  wrath  for  having  been 
fools  enough,  as  he  put  it,  to  '  mislay  the  road,'  and 
soon  I  was  contemplating  with  a  relief  I  can  scarcely 
describe — my  bed.  Truly  one  must  lose  a  thing  to 
appreciate  it  properly.  Poor  little  Mr.  Stumps  rushed 
in,  cold  and  hungry  ;  he  had  had  a  hard  day,  and 
deserved  the  hearty  dinner  I  watched  him  eat.  Then 
(thank  goodness,  by  this  time  dry)  he  curled  himself 
up  on  my  bed,  and  had  hardly  buried  his  nose  in  his 
fur  before  he  was  asleep,  as,  shortly  afterwards, — and 
with  a  deep  thankfulness  that  I  was  under  my  own 
woolly  blankets  instead  of  wrapped  up  in  a  carpet  on 
the  floor, — was  I  also. 


CHAPTER  XYIII 

THE   BEGGARS 

*  Have  pity  upon  me,  have  pity  upon  me,  O  ye  my  friends ; 
for  the  hand  of  God  hath  touched  me.' — Joh  xix.  21. 

Put  it  what  way  you  will,  in  the  end  there  can  be 
only  one  true  object  in  life — to  increase  the  happiness 
of  the  world ;  and  in  proportion  as  a  man  does  this,  so 
may  he  be  said  to  have  fulfilled  his  purpose.  It  is 
possible  to  attain  this  end  in  a  positive  or  a  negative 
way,  for  it  is  possible  either  to  increase  happiness  or 
to  diminish  pain ;  but  to  diminish  pain  is,  after  all, 
only  another  way  of  increasing  happiness. 

The  main  point  is  that  if,  when  he  comes  to  die,  a 
man  can  think  that,  during  his  life,  the  credit  side  of 
the  world's  balance-sheet  of  joy  and  sorrow  has 
benefited  by  his  presence  here;  or,  better  still,  that 
he  has  added  something  to  the  permanent  store  of 
human  happiness,  then  he  may  close  his  account  with 
the  satisfying  consciousness  that  in  his  case,  at  all 
events,  life  has  not  been  a  failure. 

There  are,  of  course,  a  thousand  ways  whereby  we 
may  set  about  our  business  of  increasing  happiness. 
First  of  all,  we  may  be  happy  ourselves  (has  not 
Stevenson  told  us  that  it  is  a  better  thing  to  find  a 
happy  man  or  woman  than  a  five-pound  note  ?),  and,  by 
being  so,  we  can  not  only  add  that  little  mite  to  the 
great  total,  but  can  be  sure  the  effect  will  not  be  lost 

249 


250  ACROSS  PERSIA 

on  others  beside,  for  true  happiness  is  not  attained 
without  much  else  that  is  good. 

Then,  again,  we  may  be  the  direct  cause  of 
happiness.  We  may  create  great  works  of  art ;  write 
immortal  books ;  compose,  or  play,  or  sing  divine 
music  ; — leave,  in  fact,  something  that  will  not  only 
give  pleasure  to  others  in  our  own  day,  but  be  a 
source  of  joy  for  the  generations  that  are  to  come. 
We  may  invent  processes  and  machines  which  shall 
enable  a  man  to  save  his  body  from  unnecessary 
fatigue,  or  which  shall  supply  the  world  with  comforts 
hitherto  unknown.  There  is,  indeed,  practically  no 
end  to  the  way  by  which,  with  our  brains  or  our 
bodies,  we  can  aid  the  life  of  the  world  by  the 
removal  of  sorrow  or  the  addition  of  happiness.  But 
perhaps  there  are  no  more  noble  or  efficient  instru- 
ments in  this  great  cause  of  humanity  than  states- 
manship, by  which  can  be  bettered  the  condition  of 
whole  peoples  ;  and  science,  particularly  medical 
science,  by  whose  means  all  mankind  is  gradually 
more  and  more  relieved  from  its  burden  of  disease  and 
pain. 

In  Persia  there  is  an  ample  field  for  both  the 
statesman  and  the  scientist.  Social  disorder  and 
bodily  disease  oppress  the  common  welfare  like  some 
stifling  cloud,  while  the  soul  of  the  people  and  the 
resources  of  the  land  lie  alike  uncared  for  and 
uncultivated.  There  is  a  vast  load  of  unnecessary 
pain  and  sorrow  to  be  removed  ;  there  are  wide  fields 
of  unexploited  happiness  waiting  for  the  hand  of  man 
to  develop  their  potentialities.  Persia  is  essentially  a 
place  of  neglected  opportunity  and  undisturbed  decay ; 
there  is  much  material  there  for  the  man  who  wishes 
to  work  out  his  life  to  the  full. 

The  pressing  need  is  for  legislation  and  administra- 


THE  BEGGARS  251 

tion  that  shall  deal  with  the  political  condition  of  the 
people  ;  and  for  science  and  sanitation,  which  shall 
remedy  their  physical  maladies. 

It  would  seem,  indeed,  with  regard  to  these  needs, 
that  we  are  scarcely  in  a  position  to  offer  criticism 
or  advice.  With,  as  the  outcome  of  our  system  of 
civilization,  slums  which  a  Persian  beggar  would 
shrink  from ;  with,  as  the  result  of  our  physical 
conditions  of  life,  diseases  which  are  the  peculiar 
product  of  our  special  conditions,  and  which  are  often, 
indeed,  created  by  ourselves  in  some  complex  process 
of  a  twentieth-century  trade,  we  surely  can  have  little 
to  suggest  to  a  country  where  the  social  condition  of 
the  people,  if  unsatisfactory,  is  at  all  events  simple  ; 
and  where  disease,  if  prevalent,  is  at  least  uncom- 
plicated by  the  ingenuity  of  man. 

Our  defects,  however,  arise  largely  from  our  diffi- 
culties, and  from  those  difficulties  Persia  is  in  a  great 
measure  free.  In  Persia  there  is  a  so  much  better 
chance  for  a  happier  state  of  affairs  than  there  is  in 
our  England  of  great  cities  and  complex  problems. 
Matters  are  so  much  easier  there,  in  a  land  which 
suffers  only  from  ignorance  and  apathy,  and  has  not, 
in  addition,  to  contend  with  what  are  almost  impos- 
sibly intricate  conditions.  Such  a  land  might  be  so 
good;  it  could  be  set  right  so  simply.  It  needs 
only  a  few  great  men  and  a  few  great  measures  ;  it  is 
all  very  pathetic.  Yet  to-day,  where  there  might  be 
clean,  wholesome  cities,  there  are  places  which  as 
nearly  approach  to  slums  as  their  circumstances 
permit.  In  a  land  where  a  house  would  last  a  man 
twice  as  long  as  in  England,  and  would  be  twice  as 
habitable,  the  only  habitations  to  be  seen  are  mud  huts. 
The  advantages  of  a  climate  which  almost  compels 
to  health  are  annihilated  by  uncleanliness  of  living 


252  ACROSS  PERSIA 

which  inevitably  leads  to  disease,  and  by  a  sanitary 
system  which  is  so  far  abandoned  to  individual  uncon- 
cern that  each  house  drains  its  refuse  into  a  pit  over 
which  it  stands.  Untrammelled  by  our  problems  of 
master  and  workman,  there  is  no  industry  in  the 
whole  of  Persia  which  is  a  conspicuous  success ;  and, 
even  in  the  absence  of  any  of  the  horrors  of  our  great 
cities,  there  has  been  developed  a  class  of  poor  as 
penniless  as  the  lowest  of  the  submerged  tenth  in 
England  to-day. 

The  ubiquitousness  of  poverty  is  only  rivalled  by 
that  of  disease,  and  their  joint  consequence  is  that 
mendicity,  like  stealing  and  doing  nothing,  has  become 
one  of  the  recognized  professions  in  Persia,  and  is  a 
patent  and  appalling  evil  in  every  city  and  by  every 
wayside. 

The  beggars — it  is  they  who  appeal  most  to  the 
imagination  and  the  pity  of  the  traveller  ;  it  is  they 
who  are  the  most  striking  advertisement  that  there  is 
something  rotten  in  the  state  of  Persia. 

All  day  they  stand  in  the  sunshine  or  in  the 
showers,  their  backs  patiently  resting  against  the  long 
lines  of  brown  walls.  All  day  the  blind  wait,  gazing 
with  upturned  faces  and  blind  eyes  into  the  night  of 
noon.  The  cripples  sit  hunched  up  ;  the  palsied  lie 
where  they  have  been  put,  stark  beneath  some 
sheltering  angle.  The  aged  creep  and  crawl  feebly 
about,  crying  for  alms,  that  the  dying  light  of  their 
life  may  be  allowed  to  flicker  itself  out  in  peace.  I 
remember,  and  shall  always  remember,  Verestschagin's 
picture  in  the  Tretiakoff  Gallery  at  Moscow  which  so 
vividly  pictures  a  sunny  wailful  of  these  poor  frag- 
ments of  humanity.  At  night  they  wander,  or  are 
taken,  home  to  huddle  themselves  in  some  corner,  and 
dream  through  the  darkness  into  another  day. 


THE  BEGGARS  253 

Such  are  their  lives — such  they  themselves.  The 
mind  vainly  tries  to  conceive  what  they  are  for — v^hat 
is  the  object  of  existences  which  have  no  use  and  so 
little  enjoyment.  No  wonder  Omar  cried  a  despairing 
creed : 

'  And  that  inverted  Bowl  we  call  The  Sky, 
Whereunder  crawling  coop't  we  live  and  die, 
Lift  not  thy  hands  to  It  for  help — for  It 
Rolls  impotently  on  as  Thou  or  I."* 

Could  there  be  any  other  conclusion  for  the  Persian 
beggar  (or  the  English  beggar  either)  ? 

There  is  a  curious  ironic  horror  about  the  life  of  the 
poor  in  Persia.  If  you  are  destitute,  it  is  as  well  to 
be  also  diseased.  The  loss  of  an  eye,  the  paralysis  of 
the  limbs,  the  infirmities  of  age — all  these  are  assets 
from  which  money  can  be  made. 

*  Have  pity  upon  me,  have  pity  upon  me,  O  ye 
my  friends,'  cries  the  beggar  in  very  truth,  '  for  the 
hand  of  God  hath  touched  me.' 

One  particular  visit  from  the  poor  of  Persia 
remember  very  vividly.  As  I  sat  in  the  chapar 
khaneh  at  Surmek,  the  next  resting-place  after 
Khoneh  Khoreh,  Stumps  suddenly  barked.  I  looked 
up,  and  there,  at  the  door,  was  a  blind  old  man  led  by 
a  wee  creature  of  a  few  years  old ;  a  beautiful  little 
girl.  They  were  a  strange,  pathetic  couple,  the  sight- 
less old  man  and  his  tiny  guide  and  guardian.  The 
mite  said  nothing,  but  looked  mutely  appealing  from 
beneath  her  long-lashed  eyes.  She  was  shivering, 
and  the  little  red  lips  quivered  with  the  cold.  Inside, 
I  had  a  fire,  so  inside  they  came,  with  a  curious 
absence  of  constraint  or  comment.  From  beginning 
to  end  the  child  uttered  not  a  word  ;  but,  while  she 
warmed  her  icy  hands  before  the  blaze,  her  father 
conversed  with  me  with  courteous  Persian  readiness. 


254  ACROSS  PERSIA 

At  last  the  girl's  lips  ceased  to  tremble,  and  her  hands 
lost  their  numbness,  and  then  I  gave  them  two  krans, 
and  they  went  out  into  the  sunlight — the  sunlight 
that  he  had  never  seen. 

Persia  is  no  place  for  the  tender-hearted,  there  is 
too  much  to  grieve  over ; — at  least,  it  is  too  obvious. 
Probably  there  is  just  as  much  in  England  ;  but  here 
we  have  a  way  of  hiding  it  away  where  it  is  not  seen, 
and  most  of  the  world  goes  on  its  path  quite  un- 
troubled and  untroubling.  Yet,  after  all,  perhaps  it  is 
a  matter  of  temperament,  and  the  tender-hearted  can 
live  neither  in  England  nor  in  the  East,  but  their  lives 
are  made  sadly  uneasy.  Indeed,  this  world  itself 
would  seem  no  place  for  one  whose  heart  is  torn  by 
the  sorrows  of  life ;  to  whom  the  beggar  by  the  way- 
side, the  drunkard  in  the  gin-shop,  the  drab  on  the 
pavement,  are  matters  not  merely  observed,  but  grieved 
over.  The  thick-skinned  fellow  has  the  best  of  it. 
On  his  tough  hide  the  miseries  of  life  shoot  their  darts 
harmlessly,  he  pursues  his  path  serene  and  well  assured 
that  *  God's  in  His  heaven,  all's  right  with  the  world.' 

Yet,  does  he,  after  all,  do  so  much  for  that  world  as 
his  less  pachydermatous  brother  ?  Is  it  possible  to  do 
good  in  the  absence  of  a  comprehension  of  the  evil  to 
be  remedied  ?  Is  happiness  to  be  diffused  where  un- 
happiness  is  unrecognized  and  uncared  for  ? 

Perhaps,  too,  the  balance  is  not  so  uneven,  after  all, 
between  the  thick  and  the  thin  of  hide ;  for,  just  as  a 
man  is  more  alive  to  sorrow,  so  do  his  finer  feelings 
appreciate  more  keenly  joys  as  well ;  and,  maybe, 
unless  he  is  an  unbalanced  emotionalist,  the  sensitive 
man  is  as  well,  or  better,  off  than  his  fellow,  to  whom 
life  is  a  matter  of  beef  and  beer  and  hoist erousness,  or 
a  place  of  selfish  aloofness. 

Perhaps  the  moral  is  that  the  extreme  is  an  evil  on 


Beggars. 


In  Tin-:  Talack  Grounds— Isfahan. 

{With  Mr.  Stumps  in  foreground.) 


THE  BEGGARS  255 

either  side ; — again,  we  reach  our  aurea  mediocritas ; — 
something  between  horny-hidedness  and  hysteria. 

But  to  get  back  to  Persia.     What  can  be  done  ? 

Can  we  do  anything  ? 

The  maxim,  which  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if  many 
earnest  ImperiaHsts  and  devoted  humanitarians  would 
more  frequently  call  to  mind,  is  that  '  Charity  begins 
at  home.*  This  is  not  a  narrow  precept.  It  is,  indeed, 
part  of  the  widest  creed  possible,  the  creed  which  takes 
as  its  primary  motive  the  advancement  of  human 
happiness.  All  it  means  is  that  very  frequently  the 
surest  way  to  add  to  the  happiness  of  mankind  is  to 
add  to  the  happiness  of  those  who  are  at  hand  and 
who  can  be  most  certainly  and  most  copiously  bene- 
fited. Nor  must  it  be  forgotten  that  the  doing  of 
this  renders  a  very  actual  service,  and  confers  a  very 
real  benefit  upon  the  rest  of  the  world.  It  supplies 
an  excellent  example. 

No  doubt,  then,  we  may  take  every  opportunity  of 
giving  to  others  what  we  have  attained  of  knowledge 
and  experience.  We  can  send  them  doctors  and  show 
them  in  some  ways  the  fruits  of  long  practice  in  state- 
craft ;  but  it  is  a  duty  to  ourselves  and  it  will  be  a 
benefit  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  if  before,  or,  at  all 
events,  while,  we  concern  ourselves  in  the  affairs  of 
others,  we  set  our  own  house  in  order.  Let  us  help 
ourselves,  and  we  may  be  certain  we  shall  be  helping 
others. 

What  is  more,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world, 
we  cannot  do  very  much  towards  the  regeneration  of 
Persia.  That  must  come  from  within.  It  must  come 
by  Persian  men  and  Persian  measures,  and  it  must  be 
accompanied  by  a  development  of  a  new  spirit  in  the 
Persian  nation.  Perhaps  what  is  most  urgently  needed 
at  the  present  moment  is  a  strong  and  wise  statesman. 


256  ACROSS  PERSIA 

National  feeling  frequently  needs  forcibly  awaking, 
and,  even  when  it  is  roused  from  slumber,  it  needs  a 
centre  or  focussing-point  to  render  it  really  potent. 
That  rousing  force  and  that  focussing-point  are  alike 
to  be  found  in  the  personality  of  a  great  man.  The 
national  potentialities  may  be  lying  latent,  only  wait- 
inor  for  a  leader  to  excite  them  into  action. 

The  present  moment  seems,  indeed,  the  opening  of 
a  new  era  in  Persia.  Events  have  recently  happened 
which  may  mean  fresh  life  for  the  country,  if  they  are 
only  followed  up  with  wisdom  and  energy.  A  peaceful 
revolution  has  come  about,  which,  in  its  results,  may 
be  as  far-reaching,  or  even  more  far-reaching,  than  that 
great  peaceful  revolution  which  happened  in  England 
in  1832.  The  Persian  nation  is  on  its  trial.  The 
tools  of  responsible  government  are  lying  to  the 
people's  hand.  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether  they 
will  grasp  them  and  use  them  well.  If  they  do  so, 
there  is  national  future  for  Persia.  If  they  do  not, 
they  will  cast  away  the  hopes  of  their  native  country, 
and  with  them  those  of  the  whole  East. 

Behind  the  people  of  Persia  is  a  long  history  of 
selfish  autocracy.  Around  them  is  a  state  fertile  in 
ignorance,  poverty,  and  disease.  Before  them  are  vast 
possibilities.  To  the  beggar,  to  the  shepherd,  to  the 
merchant,  to  all  from  highest  to  lowest  in  the  land, 
their  hope  lies  in  the  experiment  which  will  be  worked 
out  in  the  next  few  years.  That  experiment,  more- 
over, needs  a  great  character,  or  more  than  one  great 
character,  to  bring  it  to  a  successful  conclusion.  Thus 
Persia  must  work  out  her  own  salvation.  The  rest  of 
the  world  can  only  pray  that  the  men  and  measures 
will  be  adequate  thereto. 

One  last  word.  Looking  upon  the  whole  scheme  of 
things,  as  it  were  from  above  or  outside,  it  is  obvious 


THE  BEGGARS  257 

that  Persia,  like  certain  other  countries,  lags  behind  in 
the  march  of  progress.  But  the  march  must  not  stop 
because  of  that.  Those  in  front,  while  always  ready 
to  lend  a  helping  hand  where  they  can,  must  fulfil 
their  duties  as  pioneers  of  progress.  The  chief  among 
these  duties — and  at  the  same  time,  perhaps,  the  most 
helpful  of  all  helping  hands,  is  the  business  which  lies 
before  every  nation  of  finding,  by  practical  efforts  at 
national  self-improvement,  the  way  farther  forward 
to  that  great  end  of  life  itself,  the  happiness  of 
humanity. 


17 


CHAPTEE  XIX 

SOME   SHOOTING  AMONG   THE   HILLS 

'  There  be  some  sports  are  painful/ 

Shakespeare  :  The  Tempest^  III.  i.  1. 

Perhaps  the  most  enjoyable  sport  I  have  ever  had 
was  that  which  Fate  and  the  kindness  of  a  Persian 
village  chief  granted  me  while  I  was  at  Surmek.  Cer- 
tainly it  was  the  hardest,  and  never  shall  I  forget  the 
sufferings  my  poor  limbs  went  through  for  nearly  a 
week  after  the  occasions  on  which  I  went  in  pursuit  of 
ibex  and  moufflon  among  the  mountains. 

When  I  rode  into  the  little  village,  late  in  the 
evening  though  it  was,  the  Khan  courteously  came 
round  to  receive  me,  and  said  that  *  Insh'allah,'  we 
would  shoot  to-morrow,  if  I  cared  to.  I  need  hardly 
say  that  I  accepted  his  invitation  with  gratitude  and 
alacrity,  and  by  so  doing  obtained  no  little  experience 
and  excitement. 

I  shall  always  look  back  upon  the  days  I  spent  in 
this  little  place  as  among  the  most  delightful  in  my 
travels,  and  on  the  genial  young  man  of  fifty  (for  so  I 
am  compelled  to  call  one  whose  energy,  spirits,  and 
youth  of  heart  utterly  belied  the  evidence  of  mere 
years)  as  one  of  the  most  charming  and  courteous  of 
the  persons  whose  friendship  I  made  in  Persia. 

As  I  wrote  while  they  were  fresh  in  my  memory 

258 


SOME  SHOOTING  AMONG  THE  HILLS        259 

detailed  accounts  of  the  two  days'  hunting  I  enjoyed, 
I  will  let  my  diary  here  speak  for  itself 

'Morning  dawns  brightly,  and  I  am  up  early,  to 
wait  long  for  my  friend,  the  Khan.  I  walk  up  and 
down  in  the  sun  on  the  mud  roof  of  the  stables  just 
outside  my  hala-hhaneh,  gaze  at  the  magnificent  line 
of  snow  mountains,  and  endeavour  to  get  warm.  At 
length  up  comes  the  jolly  old  chap — a  keen,  energetic 
sportsman,  despite  his  "  bump  of  gastronomy,"  his  fifty 
years,  and  his  grey  hairs. 

*  A  string  of  salutations,  a  mutual  inspection  of  rifles, 
and  we  are  ofi"; — in  front,  his  son  and  another  man, 
armed  as  if  for  a  campaign,  and  both  mounted  on  the 
same  horse,  a  sturdy,  white  animal  which  does  not 
seem  in  the  least  affected  by  its  double  load,  but  goes 
curvetting  unconcernedly  along  ;  then  the  Khan  him- 
self, his  rifle  (one  barrel  12-bore,  the  other  -450)  slung 
over  his  shoulder  in  a  way  I  can  never  manage,  as  it 
seems  to  need  a  peculiar  natural  formation  of  body ; 
then  myself,  gun  in  hand,  on  my  pony ;  while  the  rear 
is  brought  up  by  Saifullashah  on  a  yabu^  and  Kishna 
carrying  my  rifle,  on  a  mule.  This  last  is  the  cause  of 
our  progress  being  much  retarded,  the  mule  not,  appa- 
rently, having  ever  moved  out  of  a  walk  before. 

*  The  morning  is  occupied  by  various  vain  efforts  after 
a  flock  of  moufflon,  which  we  spy  silhouetted  on  the 
sky-line  of  a  mountain.  Our  forces  are  scattered  over 
hill  and  plain  with  a  view  to  the  outwitting  of  this 
little  company  ;  but  they  are  too  clever  for  us,  burst 
through  at  a  point  where  our  defences  are  weak,  and, 
despite  a  long  shot  or  two  after  their  scurrying  forms, 
get  safe  away. 

*  After  this,  the  Khan  asks  if  I  have  had  enough, 
saying  we  can  try  one  piece  of  stalking  in  the  hills, 
but  that  as  night  is  falling  it  will  be  cold.     I  say,  if 

17—2 


260  ACROSS  PERSIA 

there  will  be  light,  let  us  go, — and  we  do  go, — all  but 
Saif,  whom  I  dispatch  home,  as  he  is  obviously  very- 
bored. 

*  After  half  an  hour's  ride,  steadily  upward,  we  reach 
a  gully  steeply  running  up  to  the  north-east,  apparently 
into  the  heart  of  the  mountain.  Here  we  dismount,  I 
and  the  Khan  start  up  the  gully,  the  son  and  Kishna 
lead  off  the  horses  round  the  foot  of  the  hills.  The 
gully  is  quite  easy  to  negotiate,  and  delightfully 
picturesque.  Not  a  trace  of  green  anywhere,  only  the 
grey  little  shrubs  and  the  great  grey  mountains  tower- 
ing above  us  ; — over  all  a  solemn  silence.  The  sun  is 
behind  the  hills  to  the  north-west,  and  though  the 
summits  of  the  peaks  to  our  right  are  bathed  in  his 
beams,  we  walk  up  a  valley  of  shadows.  My  guide 
stops, — points  to  the  shingly  sand  beneath  what  was, 
once  upon  a  time,  a  waterfall.  There,  clear  enough 
and  made  to-day,  are  the  "  pugs "  of  a  panther. 
"  Pulang"  smiles  the  Khan. 

*  On  up  the  barren  glen  ; — here  and  there  a  cautious 
advance  ending  in  a  peep  round  a  corner  or  over  a 
rock,  to  find  nothing ;  till  a  great  heap  of  shale,  from 
which  we  see  stretched  before  us,  far  beneath,  in  the 
light  of  the  setting  sun  the  valley  to  the  north-east, 
announces  that  we  have  reached  the  summit  of  the 
gully,  and  we  prepare  to  retrace  our  steps.  First, 
however,  a  detour  to  the  right  to  peep  round  a  corner 
at  a  little  offshoot  of  the  main  valley.  The  Khan 
looks  over,  then  bobs  down  with  a  hasty  gesture  for 
silence  and  stillness.  I  lie  quiet  as  a  mouse.  Then  he 
whispers,  ''Shikar — straight  ahead — on  the  hill — look!" 
I  take  off  my  topee  and  peep  over.  There,  outlined 
against  the  sky,  I  see  a  solitary  form — a  deer  of  some 
kind.  I  lower  myself  again  and  dumbly  nod.  *'  Very 
far,"  whispers  the  Khan.     "  Never  mind.     Can  I  get 


SOME  SHOOTING  AMONG  THE  HILLS        261 

a  little  higher  V  I  whisper  back.  We  creep  cautiously 
up  till,  though  we  are  not  much  nearer,  we  are  almost 
on  a  level  with  the  animal — still  unconsciously  feeding, 
— and  then  we  come  to  a  low  wall  of  roughly  piled  up 
stones.  I  look  through  a  crack, — the  little  form 
(really  only  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  away)  looks 
very  small.  However,  I  push  the  barrel  of  the 
rifle  through,  and,  after  a  steady  aim,  press  the 
trigger. 

'Nothing  happens — I  have  not  turned  over  the  safety 
catch. 

*  This  remedied,  I  again  press. 

*  As  the  report  echoes  away  down  the  glen  the  hill- 
side below  my  mark  seems  to  wake  to  life,  and  against 
the  dark  background  I  see  small  black  shapes  moving. 
Ibex  ; — I  had  not  seen  the  herd,  and  chose  the  most 
difficult  shot  I  could  have.  However,  now  I  see  them, 
and,  thank  goodness,  they  have  not  found  whence  the 
shot  came,  for,  instead  of  disappearing  over  the  ridge 
in  front,  they  make  up  the  hill  to  the  left.  The  light 
is  atrocious.  The  sun  is  directly  behind  the  hill,  and 
over  the  sights  the  faint  black  forms  are  scarcely 
visible  as  they  clamber  up  the  steep  rocks.  Keeping 
under  cover,  I  fire  shot  after  shot  at  the  ascending 
ibex,  till  I  must  have  got  rid  of  half  a  dozen  cartridges, 
with  the  visible  result  of  one  ibex  laid  out  and  another 
wounded  and  making  back  to  the  east.  I  turn  my 
attention  to  him,  but,  already  out  of  range,  he  speedily 
disappears  over  a  crest.  Then  I  get  up  and  run  to 
finish  off  the  beast  that  lies  among  the  rocks.  *'  Ta- 
masha,  sahib,  tamasha"  says  the  highly  excited  Khan, 
who  has  shot  and  missed.  "  Tamasha  bibin — see  the 
sight."  And  taking  my  hunting-knife  from  me,  he 
halals  the  wretched  animal. 

*  Then  we  look  about.    Plenty  of  blood,  some  leading 


262  ACROSS  PERSIA 

over  the  hill  behind.  I  follow  the  tracks,  and  do  not 
have  to  go  far.  Just  round  a  pretty  stiff  corner  I 
come  upon  the  victim.  He  is  lying  down  not  a  yard 
away  in  a  niche  in  the  rocks,  his  mouth  open  (I  find 
out  why  presently),  his  eyes  closed,  his  head  on  his 
fore-paws.  I  take  him  for  dead,  and  am  just  turning 
to  tell  the  Khan,  when,  with  a  startled  glance,  he  is 
off  round  the  corner. 

*  But  a  hundred  yards  away  he  comes  into  sight,  and 
in  a  lovely  light  I  give  him  a  shot  behind  the  shoulder 
which  sends  him  helplessly  toppling  from  rock  to  rock 
down  the  hill-side,  to  lie  very  still  under  a  bush  fifty 
feet  below. 

*  I  have  wounded  one  more,  but,  after  toiling  up  the 
cliffs  till  the  Khan  is  almost  ill,  and  has  to  explain  he 
has  heart  disease  or  something,  we  are  forced  to  give 
up  hope  of  finding  him,  and  return  to  grapple  with  the 
problem  of  disposing  of  the  two  we  have.  I  have  hit 
both  twice — the  first  in  the  quarters  and  leg  ;  the 
second  has  his  jaw  broken  (whence  his  open  mouth) 
and  is  shot  through  the  heart. 

*  With  the  help  of  a  tufangchi  we  clean  the  animals 
and  cart  them  down  the  hill- side,  whither  the  horses 
have  been  brought,  where  we  dispose  them  on  Kishna's 
mule. 

'  A  photograph  of  the  lot,  and  we  move  off  just  as  the 
sun  sinks  behind  the  line  of  snow  mountains,  changing 
them  from  a  glory  of  white  to  a  black  wall,  with 
wonderful  purple  shadows  and  hollows,  clean  -  cut 
against  the  yellow  sky. 

'  Nea!t  Bay, 

'  I  have  arranged  to  stop  here  to-day.  It  is  not 
often  that  there  comes  a  chance  of  this  sort  of  shoot- 
ing, and  I  want  to  make  the  most  of  it.     So  when  the 


SOME  SHOOTING  AMONG  THE  HILLS        263 

Khan  comes  round,  fat  and  cheery,  I  propose  an  imme- 
diate start  for  the  hills.  He  wants  me  to  shoot  small 
game,  but  politely  falls  in  with  my  ideas,  merely 
remarking  that  we  ought  to  have  started  earlier — a 
fact  I  have  been  aware  of  for  the  last  hour  or  so. 
However,  we  are  soon  riding  over  the  plain,  this  time 
taking  the  muleteer  Kamba,  who  seems  to  be  able  to 
get  the  maximum  pace  out  of  any  beast,  despite  his 
riding  not  less  than  15  stone. 

'  A  futile  galloping  shot  at  a  sitting  crow  by  the 
Khan  enlivens  our  eight-mile  ride  to  the  hills.  To-day 
we  are  to  go  out  farther  than  yesterday,  and  work 
part  way  back  on  foot  over  the  mountains. 

'Just  as  we  pass  the  scene  of  yesterday's  exploits 
with  the  moufflon,  without  a  word  the  Khan  gallops, 
loading  his  gun  the  while,  to  the  foot  of  the  slope 
100  yards  away ;  dismounts ;  leads  his  horse  a  few 
yards  up  a  gully ;  aims ;  fires,  and  down  the  hill 
rolls  a  partridge.  A  sitting  "pot,"  but  the  feat  of 
spotting  the  bird,  as  he  did,  while  riding  by  deserves 
the  prey. 

*  No  Saif  to-day,  so  I  have  to  get  along  as  best  I  may 
with  my  limited  Persian. 

'  As  we  trot  along  I  tell  the  Khan  I  have  just  left 
the  Artillery  ; — the  characteristically  Persian  comment 
comes  at  once — "What  was  your  pay  ?"  Another  touch 
of  Persia  follows  when,  meeting  a  charvadar  walking 
after  his  mules,  sucking  at  a  chibooh,  or  small  pipe,  our 
friend — who  is  to  the  charvadar  what  a  rich  squire 
would  be  to  a  labourer  at  home — stops  him,  takes  a 
couple  of  puffs  at  the  chihook,  and  rides  on  with  a 
"  God  be  thy  protection."  (By  the  way,  I  have  now 
learnt  not  to  think  who  has  drunk  last  out  of  a 
Persian  tea-glass.) 

'We   ride   into   the    hills   and,  after  a   little,  the 


264  ACROSS  PERSIA 

Khan,  looking  ahead,  suddenly  bursts  out :  "  Shikar  ! 
shikar  /" 

*  There,  on  a  solitary  island-hill  in  front,  very  faintly, 
are  to  be  seen  tiny  figures. 

*  A  look  through  my  field-glasses  discovers  them  to 
be  ibex,  browsing  unconcernedly  on  the  edge  of  a 
precipice.  Our  plan  is  settled  in  a  moment,  and  I 
make,  on  foot,  for  the  mountains  to  the  east,  there  to 
creep  quietly  up  to  a  peak  opposite  the  hill  the  game 
are  on,  while  the  Khan  gallops  off  round  to  the  back 
of  the  same.  He  will  drive  them  off,  ride  them, 
chancing  a  shot,  and  endeavour  to  bring  them  round 
to  me. 

*  It  is  a  mile's  walk  up  a  valley  in  between  the  hills 
before  I  reach  my  peak  and  ensconce  myself  where  I 
can  get  a  view  of  the  plain  and  yet  be  hidden. 

'  No  signs  of  the  ibex.  Ah  !  there  is  the  Khan 
coming  round  the  far  end  of  the  hill,  a  toy  like  little 
figure.  He  halts,  then  suddenly  puts  his  horse  to 
the  gallop  and  heads  straight  for  me.  I  see  no  game 
— can  he  be  only  coming  to  tell  me  they  are  gone  ? 

'  Nearer,  nearer,  till  I  can  hear  the  beat  of  his 
horse's  hoofs,  and  then  —  all  at  once  I  see  them 
1,000  yards  away,  a  scattered  bunch  of  little 
brown  animals  galloping  over  the  brown  plain  and 
heading  well  south  of  me. 

'  Too  late  to  move  now  :  I  simply  shift  round  till  I 
can  cover  the  country  to  my  left  rear,  and  wait. 

*  There  they  come,  with  the  beat  of  the  horse's  hoofs 
ever  louder,  and  there  they  go  bounding  easily  along 
300  yards  away.  Shall  I  try  a  desperate  shot?  I 
glance  them  over  swiftly — apparently  not  a  decent 
horn  amongst  them,  and  though  it  is  a  hundred  to  one 
against  my  hitting,  I  decide  not  to  waste  a  cartridge, 
since,  even  should  I  succeed,  the  prize  is  hardly  worth 


SOME  SHOOTING  AMONG  THE  HILLS        265 

it — except  for  the  larder.  So  I  watch  the  Khan's 
efforts  to  "  close  '*  with  them,  till  they  clamber  up  the 
mountain-side,  to  disappear  among  the  rocks. 

*  I  climb  down  to  meet  my  host,  who  tells  me  that 
**  if  I  had  fired  "  I  should  "  certainly  have  hit,"  more 
a  compliment  than  a  conviction,  I  fancy.  But  I  think 
he  would  have  liked  me  to  have  tried  a  shot. 

*  His  son  now  appears,  from  nowhere  in  particular, 
and  we  all  ride  on  together  a  mile  to  the  foot  of  a 
steep  gully,  where  we  dismount,  and  the  Khan  and  I 
strike  up  the  hill.  It  is  a  most  infernal  climb, — 
generally,  loose  shale  which  slips  beneath  the  feet  and 
loses  a  foot  in  every  two.  Perspiring,  I  dimly  think 
of  the  problem  of  the  snail  who  every  day  climbed  up 
two  feet  and  every  night  (by  some  mysterious  agency) 
slipped  down  one,  and  mentally  conjecture  when  I 
shall  "  get  to  the  top." 

*  One  last  effort  and  we  surmount  the  ridge — and 
are  rewarded,  for  there  beneath  us  is  a  view  unsur- 
passable. Like  a  great  sea  the  plain  to  the  east 
stretches  away  in  a  vast  brownness,  broken  only  by 
a  patch  of  yellow  wherein  is  set  a  tiny  hamlet,  and 
fading  into  a  misty  pinkish-blue  line  of  hills  topped 
with  snow,  behind  which  lies  Yezd.  To  our  rear, 
across  the  valley  we  have  come  up,  rise  clean-cut  peaks 
wholly  swathed  in  dazzling  white.  The  sun  is  over 
against  the  hills,  and  the  snow  has  the  peculiar  sheen 
only  snow  can  have,  the  shadows  that  deep  purple 
only  snow  shadows  possess.  To  the  right  and  left 
runs  the  brown,  barren  mountain  range  we  are  on, 
dropping  sheer  to  the  arid  plains  beneath,  where,  tiny 
dots,  our  horses  can  just  be  seen. 

*  We  halt — the  Khan  mainly  to  breathe,  I  to  drink 
in  the  glorious  scene.  Meanwhile  the  Khan,  borrow- 
ing my  glasses,  scans  the  peaks  around.     "  No  shikar,'' 


^66  ACROSS  PERSIA 

he  murmurs  ;  and  we  turn  to  the  north  along  the 
crest,  every  now  and  then  stopping  to  rest  and 
scrutinize  the  precipitous  slopes.  It  is  hard  going — 
and  uncomfortably  insecure — but  not  dangerous. 

'  We  have  covered  perhaps  a  mile,  and  are  on  the 
sunny  western  slope,  when,  topping  a  ridge,  we  both 
simultaneously  see  two  ibex  disappear  round  a  corner 
in  front.  One  at  least  has  a  good  head.  We  leap  up, 
and  I  take  the  east  slope  of  the  hill,  the  Khan  the 
west,  along  which  they  have  gone.  The  going  on  my 
side  is  the  worst  we  have  struck,  but  I  get  along 
somehow,  till  I  see  the  Khan  above  me  on  the  crest  of 
the  hill.  He  waves  me  forward  and  I  persevere,  the 
climbing  becoming  more  and  more  difficult,  and  forcing 
me  once  or  twice  to  retrace  my  steps,  as  I  am  absolutely 
"  hung  up." 

'  At  last  a  really  ticklish  bit — to  me.  Beneath,  a 
drop  of  perhaps  500  feet,  only  some  little  two-inch 
ledges  for  foothold, — and  these  covered  with  small 
pieces  of  stone  which  make  them  rather  precarious. 
However,  I  keep  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  rock,  refuse 
to  look  down,  and  scramble  somehow  to  slightly 
better  ground, — to  hear  a  scuffling  noise  ahead  and 
catch  a  glimpse  of  two  brown  forms  disappearing  round 
a  corner. 

'  Very  out  of  breath,  I  steady  myself  as  best  I  can 
in  my  insecure  position,  and  wait  to  see  if  I  can  get  a 
shot  at  them  further  on.  In  a  moment  one  appears 
far  away ; — but  there  were  two,  I  could  swear  to  it, 
and,  just  as  I  am  thinking,  sure  enough,  there  above 
me,  perhaps  100  yards  away,  appears  an  ibex,  scaling 
the  cliff.  I  have  to  shoot  standing,  and  without 
waiting  to  ascertain  much  about  the  beast  (let  it  be 
confessed,  I  think  after  the  last  hour's  work  I  would 
shoot  almost  anything  animate  !).     So  I  pantingly  let 


SOME  SHOOTING  AMONG  THE  HILLS        267 

drive,  to  see  my  quarry  answer  to  the  shot,  but  scramble 
on  up.  Ejecting  the  cartridge  and  ramming  home  the 
bolt,  I  plant  another  cartridge, — two  inches  above  his 
head, — and  he  disappears. 

*  I  know  I  have  hit  him,  but  he  is  the  deuce  of  a 
way  above  me,  in  a  most  inaccessible  place,  and  making 
back. 

*I  make  back,  too,  down  below, — getting  over,  I 
know  not  how,  ground  I  had  shuddered  at,  coming, — 
and  am  rewarded  by  seeing  my  ibex  at  last,  ahead 
and  above  me.  Yes,  indeed,  I  have  wounded  him,  for 
he  goes  trailing  behind  a  track  of  blood.  I  kneel 
down,  and,  despite  my  breathless  condition,  put  a 
bullet  behind  his  shoulder  and  bring  him  down  the 
rocks  stone  dead.  The  Khan,  coming  over  the  crest, 
exultantly  cries,  "  Praise  be  to  God  !"  and  remarks  that 
the  dead  beast  will  "  eat  "  well. 

*  A  trip  forward  to  search  for  more  game,  in  vain ; 
an  attempt  to  scramble  up  the  cliffs  to  the  top,  which 
nearly  ends  in  my  premature  decease  ;  and  I  return, 
to  find  the  Khan  sitting  by  my  victim. 

*  He  explains  we  must  get  the  body  to  the  top  and 
down  the  other  side  and,  giving  me  both  rifles,  starts 
off  with  the  dead  ibex  slung  over  his  shoulders. 

*  Have  you  ever  tried  to  scale  a  precipice  carrying  a 
rifle  in  each  hand  ?  It  is  not  a  pleasant  experience. 
Several  times  I  have  to  rely  on  the  butt  of  a  rifle  dug 
into  a  niche  in  the  rock  to  save  myself  from  going — 
for  I  have  "  no  hands  " ;  and  it  is  with  more  relief  than 
I  can  express  that  I  at  length  reach  the  top.  The 
descent  of  the  other  side  is  tedious,  but  not  dangerous, 
and  we  at  length  reach  the  horses  in  the  gully 
beneath. 

*  Thank  Heaven  I  have  my  water-bottle  !  By  the 
way,  half  the  india-rubber  tube  of  the  "  bulb  *'  of  my 


268  ACROSS  PERSIA 

camera  serves  capitally  to  suck  water  out  of  the  bottle 
while  it  is  still  strapped  on  the  horse,  and  so  to  obviate 
the  necessity  of  undoing  the  straps  every  time  a  drink 
is  wanted.  I  hand  the  contrivance  to  the  Khan  ;  but 
after  a  couple  of  sucks  he  decides  it  is  unsatisfactory, 
and  hands  it  back  with  a  "  iVe  mi  tawanam'' — *' I 
can't." 

*  So  the  straps  have  to  be  undone,  after  all. 

*  No  time  for  more ; — if  only  we  had  not  had  to 
retrieve  the  ibex  the  probabilities  were  in  favour  of 
more  sport ;  but  now  we  must  push  on  "  home." 

*  Through  some  steep  ravines,  past  an  old  fort  on 
the  top  of  a  most  inaccessible-looking  crag,  and  out 
into  the  plain  to  the  east.  Crossing  this  at  a  canter, 
the  Khan  suddenly  pulls  up,  and,  dismounting,  walks 
up  to  a  small  bush.  Out  jumps  a  hare  ;  to  be  missed. 
"I  saw  it  asleep,"  explains  the  Khan,  remounting. 
Yes,  saw  it  asleep  under  a  bush  while  he  was  canter- 
ing past ! — I  wish  I  had  such  eyes. 

'  Soon  after,  another  hare  getting  up,  provides  a 
good  gallop  and  an  opportunity  for  ineffectually  loosing 
off  some  ammunition  on  the  part  of  the  two  Persians  : 
— then  comes  a  long  ride  in,  while  the  night  falls  and 
the  purple  hills  fade  into  the  gloom. 

*  The  Khan  and  his  son  come  to  tea,  and  I  give  him 
some  cartridges.  He  wants  to  know  my  name,  but 
cannot  get  nearer  it  than  "  Willimus  "  : — I  manage  his 
all  right— ^'  Akbar  Khan  of  Surmek." 

'  Before  dinner — in  which  yesterday's  venison  figures 
prominently — he  departs,  and  so  ends  (let  us  hope 
only  for  the  present)  my  experience  of  big -game 
shooting  and  my  acquaintance  with  the  j  oiliest  old 
man  and  the  best  sportsman  I  have  yet  met  among 
the  Persians.' 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   EPISODE   OF   THE    *  BAB/   AND   OTHER   THINGS 

'  Things  that  are  m^'sterious  are  not  necessarily  miracles.' — 
Goethe  :  Spruche  in  Prosa, 

Only  a  little  over  fifty  years  ago,  a  certain  man  had 
the  opportunity  of  executing  a  genuine,  well-attested, 
first-class  miracle. 

In  the  middle  of  the  nineteeth  century,  in  a  land 
where  the  mysteries  of  the  East  are  forgotten  and  the 
wonders  of  the  West  not  yet  learnt,  substantial  flesh 
and  blood  would  have  been  dissipated  into  space,  and 
afterwards  resurrected,  live  and  identical  beyond  a 
doubt.  After  a  dramatic  and  entire  disappearance,  it 
would  have  reappeared  when  and  where  it  willed,  not 
for  an  hour  or  a  day,  but  for  the  remainder  of  a 
natural  lifetime.  What  is  more,  the  whole  religious 
thought  of  the  East  might  have  been  profoundly 
afiected  by  this  marvel ;  for  the  hero  of  this  possible 
prodigy  was  the  head  of  a  vigorous  and  ardent 
religious  body.  Persecuted,  but  undaunted,  this  sect, 
already  endowed  with  a  creed  more  advanced  and 
more  attractive  than  its  parent,  Mahometanism  itself, 
would  have  received  such  encouragement  and  such 
an  apparently  divine  certificate  by  their  prophet  B 
miraculous  feat,  that  it  is  exceedingly  doubtful  whether 
it  would  not  have  conquered,  by  the  agency  of  this 
tour  de  force,  the  religious  fields,  not  only  of  Persia, 
but  of  a  far  wider  area. 

269 


270  ACROSS  PERSIA 

All  this  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

But  the  miracle  just  failed  of  accomplishment.  A 
moment  s  hesitation,  a  faulty  move,  and  the  thing 
was  done,  and  what  might  have  been  the  central 
episode  of  a  mighty  creed  became  what  was  practically 
the  finale  of  a  comparatively  unimportant  sectarian 
agitation. 

The  man  to  whom  was  granted  the  unprecedented 
opportunity  for  performing  so  transcendental  a  miracle 
as  his  own  disappearance  and  resurrection  was  the 
Bab,  and  one  of  the  centres  of  his  still  remaining 
disciples  is  Abadeh,  the  little  village  to  which  I 
journeyed  from  Surmek. 

The  Bah  was  the  title  of  Mirza  ali  Mahomet,  and 
it  signifies  *  the  Gate.' 

The  prophet,  who,  like  all  his  predecessors,  thus 
claimed  to  be  the  portal  of  a  royal  road  to  heaven,  had 
turned  from  commerce  to  the  cure  of  souls.  *  His 
religious  views,'  says  Professor  Jackson,  'were  some- 
what eclectic;  his  doctrine  leaned  toward  a  mystic 
pantheism,  with  elements  of  gnosticism,  and  were  of  a 
highly  moral  order,  and  so  liberal  as  to  include  steps 
toward  the  emancipation  of  woman.' 

Mahometanism,  however,  would  tolerate  nothing 
of  this  kind  ;  and  when,  attracted  by  a  broader  and 
more  liberal  creed,  increasing  numbers  of  Persians 
flocked  to  the  standard  of  its  preacher,  the  Mullahs 
set  themselves  to  work  to  nip  the  new  heresy  in  the 
bud. 

Conflicts  and  persecutions  taught  the  reformers  that 
fire  and  the  sword  were  still  the  motto  of  Mahomet. 
In  the  end  the  Bah  himself  was  captured,  taken  to 
Tabriz,  and  there  condemned  to  be  shot  in  the  presence 
of  a  great  crowd. 

He  was  hung  by  cords  from  the  wall  over  a  shop  in 


THE  EPISODE  OF  THE  'BAB'  271 

the  city  square,  a  squad  of  soldiers  was  marched  up  in 
front  of  him,  and  the  order  was  given  to  fire. 

Those  were  not  the  days  of  smokeless  powder,  and 
for  a  few  moments  after  the  volley  the  smoke  hung 
thick  over  the  scene  of  the  tragedy.  When  it  cleared 
away,  the  Bab  was  not  there. 

What  if  his  devotees  could  have  said  that  he  had 
been  rapt  up  to  heaven  by  the  god  whose  prophet  he 
was  ?  What  if  they  had  been  able  to  exult  a  few  days 
or  a  few  weeks  later  over  the  resurrection  of  their 
divine  master  ?  Surely  the  preaching, — not  only  for 
an  hour  or  for  a  day,  but  for  the  remainder  of  a  life- 
time ;  not  only  upon  scanty  occasions  and  to  a  few 
favoured  disciples,  but  continually  and  to  all  who 
cared  to  hear, — of  one  who  in  the  most  undoubted  and 
authentic  way  had  been  shot  and  resurrected,  must 
have  produced  a  stupendous  effect  upon  the  Eastern 
mind  ?     It  so  nearly  happened. 

When  the  soldiers  had  fired,  by  what  amounted  to 
little  less  than  a  miracle  indeed,  their  shots  had  actu- 
ally cut  the  cords  which  bound  the  Bah,  He  dropped 
unharmed  to  the  ground,  and,  under  cover  of  the 
smoke,  took  refuge  in  a  little  shop.  Had  he  then  had 
the  presence  of  mind  to  fly  by  a  back  way,  it  would 
have  needed  little  further  aid  from  fortune  to  have 
taken  him  safe  out  of  his  peril  and  rendered  him  a 
power  for  life  and  a  saint  for  all  time.  But  when 
Fate  was  doing  her  best  for  him,  he  failed  to  second 
her  exertions.  Dazed  very  possibly  by  his  fall,  he 
remained  in  the  shop  until  he  was  discovered  and 
dragged  out ;  and  next  time  the  volley  was  fired  it  did 
its  work. 

So  perished  the  Bab,  and  so  was  lost  to  mankind  a 
miracle  which,  even  in  these  days  of  telegraphs  and 
newspapers,  would   have  proved  a  staggering  event,. 


272  ACROSS  PERSIA 

and  if  it  had  happened  nearly  two  thousand  years  ago 
would  have  been  an  accepted  and  everlasting  evidence 

Divine  power. 

Babism  is  to-day  a  living  creed,  and  it  possesses 
worshippers  not  only  in  Persia,  but  all  over  the  Near 
East  and  even  in  America,  that  generous  almshouse 
for  afflicted  creeds. 

Abadeh  has  another  title  to  attention  besides  its 
Babism.  In  the  bazaars  there  sit,  in  their  little  stalls, 
men  who  carve  from  wood  curious  spoons  and  boxes, 
for  which  the  place  is  famous.  But  for  these  two 
items  of  interest  with  which  the  village  is  associated, 
there  is  little  worthy  of  remark  in  the  lonely  patch  of 
houses  bleakly  situated  in  this  desert  many  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea. 

Nor  is  there  much  to  be  said  about  Shulgistan,  the 
next  day's  resting-place,  of  which  all  I  remember  is  an 
ancient  mud  fort  and  the  decaying  blue  dome  of  an 
Imamzadeh,  behind  which  lay  heaped  up  a  white  drift 
of  snow. 

The  third  march  from  Surmek,  however,  brought  me 
to  a  place  which  deserves  more  notice — ^Yezdikhast. 

'  Shiraz,'  says  an  old  Persian  proverb,  '  is  famous  for 
wine,  Yezdikhast  for  bread,  and  Yezd  for  women.' 
But  there  is  more  than  bread  to  see  at  Yezdikhast. 
Truly  it  is  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  villages  of 
the  world.  From  afar,  as  the  traveller  rides  over  the 
plain  from  Shulgistan,  there  appears  a  little  line  of  mud 
houses,  set  apparently  upon  the  plain  a  few  miles 
ahead.  The  illusion  continues  until  he  is  within  a  few 
hundred  yards  of  the  village  itself  Then  he  sees  the 
true  situation.  The  mud  village  level  with  the  ground 
changes  suddenly  to  a  strange  dovecot-like  collection 
of  houses  poised  on  the  top  of  an  immense  rock,  which 
:stands  like  a  great  island  in  the  centre  of  a  narrow 


THE  EPISODE  OF  THE  'BAB'  273 

ravine,  about  the  bottom  of  which  meanders  a  rivulet, 
and  which  must  once  have  been  the  bed  of  some 
tremendous  torrent.  On  either  side  the  cliffs  rise 
100  feet  to  wall  in  this  little  valley,  set  in  which  is  a 
nest  of  wooded  gardens  and  fertile  patches  sunk  far 
below  the  level  of  the  desolate  plain  without. 

The  whole  scene  is,  indeed,  a  strangely  delightful 
break  in  the  bleak  monotony  of  the  desert.  Down  a 
steep  path  which  descends  the  cliff  I  made  my  way 
into  the  depths  of  the  valley,  and  rode  across  to  the 
hamlet.  I  was  well  ahead  of  my  mules,  and  I  spent 
the  time  until  they  came  up  in  exploring  the  place. 

*  The  extraordinary  village,'  I  find  in  my  diary,  as  a 
result  of  these  explorations,  '  is  only  connected  with 
the  "  mainland "  by  a  small  bridge,  and  upon  the 
island  rock  are  piled  up  tiers  of  mud  huts,  underneath, 
at  the  foot,  being  caverns  for  sheep.  There  is  one 
street — a  narrow  alley,  sometimes  completely  arched 
over :  indeed,  more  of  a  tunnel  than  a  road,  rather  of 
the  style  of  "  the  Underground  "  at  home.  From  this 
main  artery  branch  off  other  smaller  and,  if  possible, 
smellier  ones,  often  to  disappear  in  dark,  noisome 
depths.  I  go  into  a  mosque,  where  is  a  wooden  screen 
carved  in  places  with  unintelligible  Arabic  characters, 
then  out  on  to  a  roof-top,  whence  there  greets  me  a 
splendid  view  up  and  down  the  valley.  There  follow 
the  usual  crowd  of  little  boys,  more  than  usually 
interested  in  my  camera ;  indeed,  I  have  to  whirl  the 
case  round  at  the  end  of  its  strap  to  clear  a  road  for 
my  "views." 

*  Outside  again,  I  descend — still  attended  by  the  per- 
sistent little  boys  and  a  still  more  persistent  man  who 
has  constituted  himself  a  totally  unnecessary  guide, 
^nd  to  whom  I  shall,  I  suppose,  have  to  give  two  krans, 
— down  to  the  chapar  khaneh  under  the  high-perched 

18 


274  ACROSS  PERSIA 

village.     Saif  has  just  arrived,  and  after  a  short  time 
I  see  the  first  of  my  mules  top  the  crest  opposite. 

'  Later. 

*  I  have  just  been  out  on  the  mud  roof  in  the  twilight. 
It  is  a  glorious  evening ;  the  frost  nips  keenly,  the  sky 
is  a  splendid  harmony  of  greenish-blue  and  pink  over 
the  dark  hills,  with  their  snow  fighting  to  be  seen 
despite  the  setting  sun's  silhouetting.  Over  above 
towers  Yezdikhast,  like  some  gigantic  blunt-nosed 
warship  bearing  down  the  valley  with  tier  upon  tier 
of  portholes,  and,  far  aloft,  the  multitudinous  hatch- 
ways and  gun  bastions. 

'  Darkness  falls — the  swish  of  the  water  from  the 
stream  in  front  keeps  up  the  illusion,  and,  cleaving  the 
sea  with  her  stem,  the  ironclad  Yezdikhast  drives  on 
through  the  night.  .  .  .' 

Experience  by  this  time  had  taught  me  one  thing  : 
that  it  was  not  an  atom  of  good  getting  out  of  bed 
before  the  men  had  begun  to  load  the  mules.  It  only 
meant  waiting  about  in  the  cold,  whereas,  if  I  got  up 
just  as  they  commenced  loading,  the  last  of  my  goods 
were  packed  just  as  I  finished  breakfast,  and  just  as 
the  last  mule  w^as  ready  to  be  loaded. 

Reflection  upon  domestic  arrangements  induced  me 
to  put  down  in  my  diary  at  this  time  a  few  more 
maxims  of  the  march. 

After  again  emphasizing  the  necessity  for  first 
obtaining  an  accurate  knowledge  of  how  to  do  a  thing 
before  attempting  to  oversee  others  in  the  business,  I 
continued  : 

*  When  once  you  have  discovered  the  best  way  to  do 
a  thing — either  from  others  or  by  doing  it  yourself — 
always  insist  on  having  it  done  that  way. 

'  Never  be  hard  upon  others  beneath  you,  but  when 


THE  EPISODE  OF  THE  'BAB'  275 

you  have  decided  what  is  right  and  reasonable,  never 
overlook  a  departure  from  that  standard.  You  need 
not  be  severe,  but  you  can  at  all  events  show  yourself 
observant. 

*  Worry  as  little  as  possible,  take  things  good- 
humouredly,  but  be  wisely  firm.  Above  all,  realize 
that  if  those  around  you  think  you  are  fair,  reason- 
able, and  just ;  insistent,  not  from  foolish  obstinacy, 
but  from  knowledge  and  experience ;  then  you  will 
obtain  their  best  service  and  their  sincere  respect.' 

In  the  morning  I  rode  to  Mahsud.  All  that 
happened  to  me  was  an  encounter  with  a  dervish. 
He  was  not  formidable,  and  the  encounter  was  an 
entirely  peaceable  one.  He  was  the  typical  holy  man 
of  the  lower  orders  in  Persia,  with  a  small  boy  and  an 
infinitely  smaller  donkey,  upon  which  latter  he  uncon- 
cernedly and  inhumanly  persisted  in  plodding  upon 
his  way.  Of  course  he  wanted  money,  but  he  did  not 
seem  to  mind  not  getting  it,  and  we  all  progressed 
together,  chatting  as  far  as  my  Persian  would  allow. 
At  length  my  friend  the  dervish  broke  into  a  weirdly 
wild  noise,  which  I  really  cannot  call  a  song.  This 
was  too  much  for  me,  so  I  got  off  to  feed  the  pony  and 
myself  Unfortunately  this  appeared  to  possess  a 
peculiar  attraction  to  the  good  man,  who  lost  quite  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  in  stolidly  watching  us,  as  we 
respectively  ate  our  oats  and  our  biscuits,  while  the 
charvardars  woolly  dog,  which  had  refused  to  leave 
my  side  even  when  I  galloped,  lay  panting  in  the 
pony's  shade. 

At  length  came  Mahsud,  the  usual  collection  of 
mud  walls,  and  a  solitary  chapar  khaneh ; — '  to  my 
delight  furnished  with  a  table  and  a  chair,  on  which  I 
write  this.  The  woolly  dog  seems  ill — I  am  afraid  he 
has  over-exerted  himself 

18—2 


276  ACROSS  PERSIA 

At  Kumeshah,  the  last  stage  but  one  before  reach- 
ing Isfahan,  I  happened  on  a  hospitable  inspector  of 
telegraphs,  who  entertained  me  royally,  and  gave  me 
news  again  of  the  outside  world.  Somehow,  when  a 
man  is  travelling  in  desert  places  without  tidings,  he 
expects  the  rest  of  the  world  to  stand  still, — and  gets 
in  time  to  care  not  much  whether  it  does  or  not.  If, 
indeed,  when  he  reaches  an  outpost  of  civilization,  he 
finds  some  momentous  event  has  happened,  and  he 
not  there  to  know,  his  surprise  is  only  equalled  by  his 
indifference.     These  things  are  not  of  his  world. 

There  was  news  indeed  when  I  reached  Kumeshah  ; 
there  had  been  great  happenings  in  the  lives  of  men  ; 
but  I  remember  with  what  comparative  indifference  I 
heard  of  events  which,  detailed  in  the  morning  paper 
on  a  London  breakfast-table,  would  have  disturbed 
the  day's  round  of  the  most  serious-minded  of  men. 
It  is  wonderful,  indeed,  how  man  can  live  his  life, 
quite  cut  off  from  communication  with  the  world 
without,  and  never  feel  the  loss  of  it.  It  tempts  one 
to  think  sometimes  that  the  *  book  of  verses  under- 
neath the  bough '  theory  of  life  is,  after  all,  not  far 
wrong,  and  that  the  daily  paper  and  the  telegraph 
wire  are  but  serpents  in  the  terrestrial  paradise. 
That  is,  however,  more  likely  to  be  a  man's  view  in 
Persia  than  in  England. 

Through  winding  alleys,  down  long  walls  with  the 
beggars  sitting  in  the  sun,  past  the  blue  domes  of  the 
great  mosque,  out  on  to  the  open  plain  again,  I  made 
my  way  next  morning,  on  the  last  march  before  that 
which  was  to  end  my  present  journey ings  on  foot  and 
in  the  saddle. 

After  a  bad  night  I  was  very  weary,  and  half-way 
through  the  long  miles  I  hitched  the  pony  to  a  stray 
stone  on  a  little  low  hillock,  and  there  lay  down  in 


THE  EPISODE  OF  THE  'BAB'  277 

the  broad  sunlight  in  the  fresh  air  to  doze  away  an 
hour. 

Sleep  in  the  open  air  with  the  wind  and  the  sun 
and  Nature  is  the  best  sleep  of  all.  Better  even  than 
the  night's  sleep  under  the  stars,  for  it  is  lighter  and 
more  delicious ;  softer,  and  less  solemn  and  profound. 
To  drowse  off  into  a  soft,  hazy  unconsciousness,  with 
the  faint  breeze  just  brushing  gently  over  eyes  it  is 
too  tender  to  awake  from  under  their  lids, — to  sleep 
thus  is  to  sink  into  a  warm,  delicious,  downy  nest  of 
restfulnsss,  waking  from  which  is  no  violent  leap  from 
torpor  to  a  dazed  consciousness,  but  a  gentle  transi- 
tion from  a  dreaming  to  a  waking  tranquillity.  After- 
wards there  is  no  heavy-headedness,  no  screwing  up 
of  eyes  and  stretching  of  limbs.  In  an  instant  the 
body  is  ready  and  the  mind  alert.  It  is  a  refined 
essence  of  sleep,  the  cream  of  peacefulness. 

So  I  slept  by  the  wayside  with  the  earth  for  my 
bed  and  the  breeze  for  my  coverlet,  until  at  last  my 
pony  brought  me  back  to  the  world  by  gently 
rubbing  his  nose  on  a  stone  near  by.  Then  we  were 
up  and  off  again,  not  along  the  road,  but  down  a 
streamlet  fringed  with  willows,  until  the  dancing 
mirage  in  the  distance  hardened  into  mud  huts  and 
the  grey  caravanserai  of  Shah  Abbas,  and  I  rode  into 
Maiar. 

There  was  no  cha'par  khaneh,  so,  meeting  Saif,  I  left 
him  to  bring  on  the  mules,  and  plodded  another  seven 
miles  to  a  lonely  little  place  on  the  plain,  where 
carriages  stopped  to  change  horses. 

A  miserable  hostel  truly  !  only  a  dark  mud  chamber, 
where  I  managed  to  make  a  fire  while  I  waited  for 
the  caravan.  Suddenly  there  was  a  rattle  and  jingle 
outside,  and  in  came  the  post  carriage — a  rude 
wagon  drawn  by  four  horses — to  halt  for  a  quarter 


278  ACROSS  PERSIA 

of  an  hour  on  its  way  to  Shiraz.  (You  can  travel  by 
the  post  with  your  letters  if  you  like ;  but  it  is  better 
not  to,  for  a  man  needs  more  comfort  than  his  corre- 
spondence.) And  then  at  last  in  wandered  the  mules 
— poor  weary  beasts  I 

A  tiny  kotal  intervenes  on  the  last  march  to 
Isfahan,  but  it  is  a  feeble  little  thing,  and  with  the 
goal  so  near  can  cause  the  traveller  small  trouble. 

By  Marg  chapar  khaneh  I  fell  in  with  some 
Persians,  with  whom  I  chatted,  and  who,  as  usual, 
asked  me  the  price  of  everything  I  had.  They  took 
it,  moreover,  as  almost  a  personal  affront  that  I  was 
leading  my  pony  instead  of  riding  it.  In  Persia  no 
one  can  understand  a  man  walking  when  he  could  be 
riding.  Humanitarianism  is  there  an  undiscovered 
virtue,  and  energy  an  unknown  vice.  Moreover, 
there  is  something  lacking  in  the  Persian  sense  of  the 
ridiculous,  a  sense  which  would  in  England  prevent 
some  equestrian  oddities  there  common  enough.  To 
see  a  corpulent  old  gentleman  of  fifty  bestriding  a 
puny  little  donkey  whose  height  is  such  that  the  rider 
has  to  hold  his  legs  tucked  up,  in  order  to  keep  his  feet 
off  the  ground,  would  occasion  ribald  remarks  in  this 
country.  In  Persia  it  calls  for  no  comment,  except 
that  So-and-so  at  all  events  has  the  self-respect  not 
to  go  afoot. 

Suddenly,  just  at  noon,  I  topped  a  crest,  and  there 
spread  out  before  me  lay  Isfahan. 

A  vista  of  brown  houses  and  blue  domes,  flecked 
with  the  darker  tints  of  the  gardens,  stretched  away, 
a  welcome  sight,  over  the  plains  to  where,  in  the 
distance,  rose  the  great  snow  mountains. 

A  little  halt  by  a  spring  to  give  my  mouth  and  my 
eyes  alike  an  opportunity  of  drinking  their  fill,  and  I 
cantered  into  the  city. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

ISFAHAN 

'  From  this  avenue  we  had  a  fair  Profpect  of  the  City,  filling 
the  one  half  of  an  ample  Plain,  few  Buildings,  (befides  the  High 
Towers  of  the  Mofques  and  Palace  Gates)  f he  wing  themselves 
by  reafon  of  the  high  Chinors,  or  Sicamores  f  hading  the  choiceft 
of  them ;  yet  the  Hills  begin  to  keep  a  more  decent  diftance, 
and  we  paflTed  part  of  a  fpacious  Field  before  we  Saluted  the 
City;  into  which  we  entered  by  Two  fair  Rows  of  Elms,  on 
each  hand  one,  planted  by  the  fides  of  the  Chryftal  Streams, 
reaching  a  long  way  through  a  broad  Street,  whose  paved 
Cawfeys  Conducted  us  to  the  River ; 

Sic  Anguftiis  a  nobis  devictis 
Ad  Augufta  ferimur.' 

T  A  VERNIER  talks  of  *  Ispahan,  Sphahan,  or  Sphoan,  as 
the  Perfians  pronounce  it,  which  fome  Travellers  have 
too  unwarily  affirm'd  to  be  a  fine  City,'  and  there  may 
be  to-day,  as  far  as  the  foreigner  is  concerned,  both 
the  same  trouble  concerning  the  pronunciation,  and 
no  less  reluctance  to  acquiesce  in  the  verdict  of  those 
who  have  indulged  in  ecstasies  over  the  city. 

With  regard  to  the  pronunciation,  it  is  never  said 
as  it  is  spelt,  '  Ispahan.'  *  Isfahan  '  is  the  way  it  is 
pronounced,  and  it  is  the  way  in  which  I  shall  take 
the  liberty  of  spelling  it,  considering  it  permissible  to 
indulge  in  phonetics  when  a  little  known  name  is  in 
question. 

As  to  the  city  itself,  it  answers  very  much  to  old 
Tavernier's  rather  unenthusiastic  description.      Once 

279 


280  ACROSS  PERSIA 

upon  a  time,  indeed,  it  was  the  capital  of  Persia — the 
royal  city  ;  and  even  in  Tavernier's  day  he  says  :  *  The 
Circuit  of  Ispahan,  taking  the  Suburbs  all  in,  is  not 
much  lefs  than  that  of  Paris ;  but  the  number  of 
Inhabitants  is  ten  times  greater  at  Paris  than  at 
Ispahan' 

The  proportion  has  changed  now;  but  Isfahan 
remains  very  much  the  same,  at  all  events  in  its 
nature.  Two  centuries  ago  the  streets  were  *  narrow 
and  unequal,  and  for  the  most  part  dark,' — there  are 
the  same  unsavoury  smells  and  unseemly  sights ;  the 
walls  are  still  *  of  earth  to  which  do  belong  some 
pittiful  Towers  without  Battlements  or  Platforms, 
Bastions,  or  Redouts,  or  any  other  Fortification ' ;  in 
fact,  it  is  an  Eastern  town,  and  Eastern  towns  have 
remained  the  same  for  a  good  deal  more  than  two 
hundred  years. 

The  two  chief  glories  of  Isfahan  are  the  great  bridge 
of  Ali- Verdi  Khan,  over  which  runs  the  road  entering 
the  city  from  Shiraz,  and  the  spacious  central  square, 
or  Meidan,  from  which  lead  the  chief  bazaars.  The 
bridge  is,  indeed,  a  splendid  structure,  with  its  double 
tier  of  arches  spanning  the  broad  Zender  Rud.  It  is 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long  and  has  three  distinct 
stories,  along  which  used  to  run  three  separate  roads, 
the  uppermost  of  which  is  now,  however,  disused. 

The  lower  passage  is  vaulted  and  runs  through  the 
centre  of  the  lower  arches.  The  middle  road  is  the 
chief  one  for  traffic,  and  it  is  itself  a  triple  affair,  having 
on  each  side  a  covered  arcade.  The  uppermost  pro- 
menade, which  runs  along  the  tops  of  the  second  tier 
of  arches,  is,  as  has  been  said,  now  no  longer  used. 

There  are  no  less  than  four  other  bridges  which 
span  the  Zender  Rud,  and  they  all  possess  a  peculiar 
beauty. 


ISFAHAN  281 

I  remember  riding  out  one  afternoon  round  the 
south  of  the  town,  along  the  river.  As  we  approached 
one  of  these  bridges,  the  sun  caught  the  gold-work 
thereon,  and  the  effect  was  striking  in  the  extreme, 
the  arches  blazing  forth  in  pure  gold  from  a  setting  of 
brown,  thrown  against  the  blue  sky,  while  in  the 
distance  stood  out  the  dazzling  white  of  the  snow 
mountains. 

After  this  gorgeous  sight,  the  way  through  the 
bazaars,  now  dark,  save  where  the  naked  flames  cast 
a  circle  of  crude  light,  came  as  an  effective  contrast. 

The  Meidan-i-Shah  is,  as  Lord  Curzon  says,  *  un- 
doubtedly one  of  the  most  imposing  piazzas  in  the 
world.'  It  is  560  yards  long  and  170  wide,  and,  all 
around,  it  is  enclosed  like  a  huge  caravanserai,  with 
long,  regular  lines  of  buildings,  recessed  with  a  multi- 
tude of  archways  in  two  tiers.  Over  the  horizon  of 
these  rise  blue  enamelled  domes  and  dark  green 
cypresses.     It  is  a  magnificent  Eastern  picture. 

In  the  old  days  this  great  square  was  the  scene  of 
many  revelries.  Even  to-day  there  still  stand  the 
sturdy  stone  posts  set  for  the  old  polo  matches  (at  the 
sight  of  which  the  polo-player  will  shudder  when  he 
thinks  of  a  galloping  rush  for  goal). 

There,  too,  in  the  times  of  M.  Tavernier,  there  were 
conducted  many  other  sports.  *  In  the  midst  of  the 
piazza,'  he  tells  us,  *  ftands  a  kind  of  May-Pole,  or  Maft 
of  a  Ship,  where  the  People  exercife  fhooting  at  Birds. 
When  the  King  comes  to  f hoot,  they  fet  a  Cup  of  Gold 
upon  the  top  of  the  Maft,  which  he  is  to  ftrike  down 
with  an  Arrow.  To  which  purpofe  he  muft  ride  full 
fpeed,  nor  is  he  permitted  to  fhoot  till  he  has  paft 
the  May-Pole,  turning  himfelf  upon  the  crupper  of  his 
Horfe :  a  remain  of  the  ancient  cuftom  of  the  Par- 
thians,  that  kill'd  their  Enemies  flying. 


282  ACROSS  PERSIA 

*  The  Cup  belongs  to  him  that  ftrikes  it  down ;  and 
I  have  feen  Sha-Sefiy  Grandfather  of  the  prefent  King, 
in  five  Courfes  ftrike  down  three  Cups.  .  .  . 

*  From  the  Pole  to  another  Mofquee,  to  the  South, 
juft  again  the  Sun-Dial,  is  the  place  for  all  the  Poul- 
terers. The  reft  of  the  Piazza  toward  the  Palace,  is 
always  kept  clean,  without  any  Shops,  becaufe  the 
King  comes  often  abroad  in  the  Evening  to  fee  Lions, 
Bears,  Bulls,  Rams,  Cocks,  and  all  other  fort  of  Crea- 
tures fight,  which  are  brought  thither.  .  .  . 

*  There  are  a  fort  of  Tumblers  alfo,  that  after  Dinner 
fet  up  their  Stages  in  the  Meydan,  and  toward  the 
Evening,  they  that  play  the  Maid-Marians  come  and 
encompafs  a  fquare  place  with  a  courfe  piece  of  Calicut ; 
and  then  through  another  very  fine  Cloth,  the  Wenches 
shew  a  thoufand  tumbling  Tricks  and  antick  Poftures. 
When  they  have  done,  they  come  and  ask  the  Spec- 
tators for  Money,  who  give  them  every  one  what  they 
think  fit.' 

Just  across  the  river  is  Julfa,  the  city  of  the 
Armenians.  Lord  Curzon,  in  his  account  of  this  place 
and  by  the  quotations  he  makes  regarding  it,  contrives 
to  leave,  I  think,  a  rather  too  unfavourable  impression 
of  its  character  and  of  its  inhabitants.  Certainly  the 
place  is,  as  he  says,  *  cribbed,  cabined,  and  confined.' 
But  the  picture  his  words  leave  behind  of  a  series  of 
slums  frequented  by  drunken  men  and  drabs  is  scarcely 
a  fair  one.  On  the  contrary,  the  streets  are  infinitely 
better  kept,  the  smells  far  fewer,  and  the  shops  a  deal 
more  civilized  than  is  usually  the  case  in  the  Persian 
quarters,  while  the  visible  inhabitants  are  mainly  fat 
and  respectable  shop-keepers,  pallid  young  men  of 
business,  small  schoolboys  in  the  universal  black  *  field- 
service  cap '  of  astrachan,  and  young  ladies,  who,  as 
far  as  can  be  seen  from  glimpses  of  faces  peeping  from 


ISFAHAN  283 

behind  half-closed  doors,  are  frequently  not  at  all  ill- 
favoured. 

The  Armenian's  great  sin  is  his  Jew-like  business 
ability,  to  which  may  be  often  added  his  no  less  Hebraic 
avarice  and  cunning.  That  is  why  he  is  oppressed,  and 
always  has  been,  in  almost  every  quarter  of  the  globe ; 
that  is  why  his  church  lands  are  seized  by  the  Russian  ; 
that  is  why.  he  is  massacred  in  thousands  by  the  Turk. 
No  doubt  he  is  sometimes  a  reprehensible,  grasping, 
extortionate  person, — still,  he  presumably  makes  his 
money  because  his  brains  are  better  than  those  of  other 
persons,  and  he  makes  it  legitimately.  For  this  crime, 
however,  he  often  is  not  allowed  to  live. 

While  I  was  at  Isfahan  I  had  an  opportunity  of  an 
interview  with  the  Governor  of  the  province,  the  Zil-i- 
sultan. 

Zil-i-sultan  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  in 
Persia.  His  history  reads  like  some  romance  out  of 
the  *  Arabian  Nights.'  Prevented  from  succeeding  to 
his  natural  right  of  succession  as  eldest  son  of  Nasr- 
ud-din  by  the  plebeian  origin  of  his  mother,  in  his 
early  days  he  set  himself  to  accumulate  by  his  efforts 
the  power  which  he  could  never  attain  by  mere  posi- 
tion. Clever,  brave,  cruel,  his  rule  was  respected  and 
feared  throughout  the  South  of  Persia.  His  dominion 
extended  over  nearly  half  Persia  ;  the  army  which  he 
raised  was  great  and  efficient ;  his  policy  and  projects 
were  many  and  extensive.  Educated  and  intelligent, 
powerful  and  strong,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  he 
was  the  greatest  character  in  Persia.  But,  alas  !  in 
the  East  it  is  not  wise  for  a  subject  to  lift  his  head  too 
high.  In  1888  the  downfall  came.  Province  upon 
province  was  subtracted  from  his  rule.  His  army  was 
deprived  of  regiment  after  regiment,  until  all  but  a 
mere  fraction  of  its  former  glory  had  gone.    His  power 


284  ACROSS  PERSIA 

was  fettered,  his  strength  crippled,  and  he  was  left  a 
harmless  ruler  instead  of  a  mighty  potentate.  He 
accepted  all  quietly.  He  did  not  use  his  wits,  his 
strength,  and  his  men  to  fight  against  his  fall.  He 
did  not  even  plot  after  his  submission.  When  I  went 
to  Isfahan,  he  was  there,  acute  and  intelligent  as  ever, 
but  in  outward  circumstances  not  the  man  who  used 
to  sway  the  South.  I  recollect  well  the  day  on  which 
I  saw  him.  It  was  a  bright  autumn  afternoon  that  I 
drove  through  the  narrow  streets  and  bazaars  of  the 
city  to  the  Bagh,  or  garden,  where  the  Zil-i-sultan  was 
to  receive  me. 

After  a  moment's  wait  at  the  entrance,  I  was 
ushered  in.  Before  me  there  extended  a  long  narrow 
gallery,  almost  like  a  conservatory,  walled  entirely 
with  glass  down  one  side.  Glass  chandeliers  hung 
from  the  ceiling,  and  on  the  walls  there  were  coloured 
lithographs  of  various  celebrities.  At  the  far  end  of 
the  gallery  sat  the  Zil-i-sultan,  a  plump,  heavy-looking 
man,  with  a  resolute  yet  not  unpleasant  face.  The 
heavy  moustache,  a  droop  in  the  left  eye,  and  the 
usual  thick  Persian  lips,  may  be  added  to  complete  his 
description.  The  essential  feature  would  be  omitted, 
however,  did  I  not  mention  the  '  life '  there  was  in  his 
face.  Nothing  of  the  solid  ferocity  usually  typical  to 
the  Eastern  potentate  ;  but  vivacious  expression.  His 
Highness,  indeed,  looked  quite  capable  of  ferocity 
Avhen  he  liked,  but  to  me  he  only  showed  a  counte- 
nance lightened  by  intelligence  and  good -humour. 
He  made  jokes,  listened  to  jokes,  roared  with  laughter, 
paid  compliments,  discussed  politics.  I  was  particu- 
larly struck  by  the  interest  he  showed  in  the  political 
situation  of  the  day,  an  interest  singularly  foreign  to 
the  usual  Persian  mind,  which  finds  it  hard  to  conceive 
and  tedious  to  discuss  problems  outside  the  scope  of 


ISFAHAN  285 

its  immediate  view.  With  all  his  Western  thought, 
the  Zil-i-sultan  has  preserved  his  Eastern  manner. 
Persia  is  a  land  of  punctilious  politeness.  The  way  a 
thing  is  done  is  frequently  more  important  than  the 
thing  itself.  If  you  would  succeed  in  the  East,  you 
must  be  able  to  do  the  most  unpleasant  as  well  as  the 
most  acceptable  deeds  with  an  air  of  conferring  a 
favour,  and  to  the  deadliest  enemy  as  to  your  dearest 
friend  you  must  outwardly  be  the  same  urbane  indi- 
vidual. So  it  occurred  that,  after  politics,  the  subject 
became  polite  personalities.  My  dress  was  approved 
of,  my  age  was  asked,  and  various  pegs  were  manu- 
factured to  hang  pretty  compliments  upon,  at  which 
business,  I  fear,  I  was  no  match  for  the  courteous 
Persian.  Hunting  was  the  next  topic.  His  Highness 
has  been,  and  is,  a  great  sportsman,  and  we  discussed 
Indian  shooting.  Lastly,  we  had  a  word  or  two  about 
superstition.  The  Zil-i-sultan  was  starting  for  a 
journey,  a  thing  only  to  be  done  in  the  East  on  a  very 
auspicious  occasion.  *  I  take  no  notice  myself  of  these 
things,*  he  said,  *  but  the  women  and  people  about  me 
will  not  let  me  start  till  I  have  a  favourable  star  in 
front,  another  on  each  side,  and — one  behind  the  hill 
there,'  with  an  expressive  gesture  and  a  laugh. 

It  was  time  to  go,  and  we  entered  on  the  pre- 
liminary skirmishes  necessary  to  my  departure,  which 
eventually  occurred  without  a  hitch. 

I  do  not  think  any  human  spectacle  during  my 
travels  impressed  me  more  than  the  sad  sight  of  this 
strong,  able  man,  with  so  great  a  past  and  so  great  a 
potentiality,  sitting  there,  fretting  and  brooding  as  he 
must,  over  the  things  that  had  been  and  the  things 
that  could  never  be.  Of  the  details  of  his  life,  I,  of 
course,  could  have  no  knowledge ;  all  I  saw  was  the 
man  himself,  and  all  I  can  speak  of  must  come  from 


286  ACROSS  PERSIA 

the  pages  of  history  and  the  impression  received  in  a 
brief  interview.  History  and  impression  alike,  how- 
ever, show  a  character  full  of  interest  and  worthy  of 
respect,  and  a  career  as  great  in  its  possibilities  as  it 
had  been  sad  in  its  results. 

During  my  stay  at  Isfahan,  as  at  Shiraz,  it  was  my 
great  good-fortune  to  fall  in  with  a  fellow-countryman, 
who  not  only  provided  me  with  every  hospitable 
comfort,  but  also  generously  devoted  himself  to  helping 
me  acquire  information  and  add  to  my  experience  of 
Persian  manners  and  customs. 

In  his  delightful  home,  the  best  appointed  of  its 
kind  I  saw  in  Persia,  I  met  alike  English  residents 
with  the  accumulated  knowledge  of  years,  and  Persians 
with  the  cultivation  of  a  lifetime  to  set  forth  their 
native  talents  and  disposition.  The  little  parties  and 
impromptu  chats,  in  which,  under  my  host's  kind 
auspices,  I  shared,  did  much  to  show  me  the  Persian 
side  of  life  in  a  way  which  is  usually  denied  to  a 
stranger,  and  I  shall  always  look  back  with  pleasure 
and  gratitude  on  the  days  I  spent  at  Isfahan  with  one 
whose  friendship,  I  am  glad  to  say,  I  have  since  had 
the  opportunity  of  continuing  nearer  home. 

I  recollect  a  typical  little  scene  of  my  Isfahan  life. 
To  us,  lounging  in  the  afternoon  of  a  sunlit  day  and 
the  luxury  of  a  room  furnished  with  soft  Persian 
carpets  and  great  comfortable  chairs,  there  enter  an 
English  resident  and  a  Persian  friend.  The  latter 
cheerfully  greets  us  with  *Good  night'  on  his  entrance, 
and  his  conversation,  when,  as  is  usually  the  case,  he 
persists  in  talking  in  English,  is  distinctly  amusing. 
He  embarks  at  once  on  a  discourse  on  religion,  which 
I  wish  I  could  reproduce.  I  remember  he  had  a  most 
mixed  set  of  commandments,  beginning  '  I  must  not 
stole*  and  'I  must  not  take  the  wife  which  is  my 


ISFAHAN  287 

neighbour's,'  and  ending  *  I  must  not  drink  wine  when 
anyone  is  seeing/  Impelled  by  this  outburst,  the  con- 
versation moves  swiftly.  Others  drop  in,  first  another 
Englishman,  then,  perhaps,  a  Persian  Prince,  son  of 
Zil-i -sultan,  and  we  pass  such  an  evening  as  it  gives 
me  an  envious  pang  of  regret  to  look  back  upon,  when 
I  think  that  now,  probably,  such  times  will  never  come 
again.  So  day  followed  delightful  day,  until  I  had  to 
be  pushing  on  towards  Teheran. 

From  Isfahan,  and,  indeed,  from  farther  towards 
Shiraz,  the  road — for  by  such  a  name  it  now  becomes 
possible,  if  not  appropriate,  to  call  that  part  of  the 
desert  over  which  traffic  passes — becomes  fit  for  car- 
riages. So,  in  order  to  economize  time,  I  resolved  to 
leave  here  my  mules  and  the  greater  part  of  my 
retinue,  including  Saif — I  now  knew  enough  Persian 
to  interpret  for  myself, — and,  as  the  accommodation 
in  the  peculiar  kind  of  '  victoria '  in  which  the  traveller 
journeys  is  limited,  to  set  off  to  Teheran  with  only  one 
of  my  Indian  servants,  Stumps,  and  a  few  necessary 
articles  of  luggage. 

After  a  visit  to  the  capital  of  Persia  I  hoped  to 
return,  and  possibly  make  my  way  back  to  the  south 
by  another  road,  maybe  to  Ahwaz ;  but  afterwards 
my  plans  had  to  be  changed,  and,  to  my  regret,  I 
never  saw  again  those  I  had  left  behind  at  Isfahan. 

It  now  became  necessary  to  make  arrangements  for 
a  droshhi,  the  afore-mentioned  vehicle  in  which  I  was 
to  make  my  way  north.  These  are  not  always  avail- 
able, and  the  traveller  will  frequently  have  to  wait  a 
few  days  before  he  can  depart,  so  it  is  advisable 
to  arrange  well  beforehand  for  the  journey.  At  last  I 
heard  that  a  carriage  was  to  be  had,  and  one  evening 
I  reluctantly  packed  my  baggage  ready  for  an  early 
start  next  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A   TWO   HUNDRED   AND   FIFTY   MILE   DRIVE 

Allons !  we  must  not  stop  here, 

However  sweet  these  laid-up  stores,  however  convenient  this 

dwelling,  we  cannot  remain  here ; 
However  shelter'*d  this  port  and  however  calm  these  waters,  we 

must  not  anchor  here ; 
However  welcome  the  hospitality  that  surrounds  us,  we  are 

permitted  to  receive  it  but  a  little  while/ 

Walt  Whitman. 

Travelling  by  carriage  in  Persia  is  almost  as  exciting 
and  interesting  an  experience  as  travelling  by  caravan. 
To  the  ordinary  incidents  of  the  road,  the  peculiarly 
Persian  nature  both  of  that  road  and  of  those  who 
take  charge  of  the  journey  add  a  diversity  and 
uncertainty  which,  if  it  sometimes  exasperates,  never 
fails  to  interest. 

I  do  not  think  I  can  do  better  in  describing  my  two 
hundred  and  fifty  mile  drive  than  make  another  dip  or 
two  into  my  diary. 

*  I  am  up  about  sunrise,'  begins  the  account  on  the 
day  of  my  departure  from  Isfahan.  *  Of  course  there 
is  no  carriage.  Still,  by  the  time  I  have  everything 
packed  and  ready  it  rolls  up — actually  only  two  and  a 
half  hours  late. 

*  But  do  not  imagine  that  I  start  immediately.  That 
would  not  be  Persia. 

*  In  fact,  the  events  which  follow  are  so  characteristic 
of  the  nation  that  they  really  must  be  given  in  full. 

288 


A  TWO  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  MILE  DRIVE  289 

'Last  night  I  was  told  that  80  tomans  (about  £16) 
was  the  right  price  for  a  droshki  to  Teheran.  Con- 
sequently, I  tell  the  man  who  brings  it  that  I  will  only 
pay  him  this.  He  immediately,  of  course,  objects, 
saying  no  one  ever  goes  up  under  100  tomans,  and 
referring  me  to  the  *'  Ras-i-Bank,"  whom  he  knows  to 
be  sound  asleep  and  unget-at-able.  However,  I  check- 
mate him  there  by  telling  him  it  was  the  Ras-i-Bank 
himself  who  told  me  on  no  account  to  give  him  more 
than  80. 

'He  then  drops  the  Ras-i-Bank,  and  repeats  that 
no  one  gets  to  Teheran  for  less  than  100  tomans,  upon 
which  I  remark  that  he  told  me  a  kaliska  (or  landau) 
was  120,  a  droshki  (or  victoria)  100,  whereas  a  friend 
of  mine  went  up  in  a  kaliska  for  100,  so  obviously  a 
droshki  should  be  80.  After  a  moment's  thought  he  in- 
vents a  long  story  of  how  that  friend  had  overpaid  them 
before,  and  thus  got  it  cheaper,  ending  up  that  anyhow 
a  droshki  has  as  much  accommodation  as  a  kaliska,  and, 
in  fact,  is  in  every  way  quite  as  good,  if  not  a  better 
vehicle.  It  would  be  useless  to  ask  him  why,  then, 
there  is  20  tomans  difference  in  the  price,  so  I  merely  go 
to  my  host,  whom  I  find  in  bed,  and  he  very  kindly 
comes  to  the  attack.  Now  the  man  produces  a  sort  of 
licence,  which  says  *' a  carriage  to  Teheran  is  110 
tomans."  This  (an  obviously  fudged-up  thing),  he 
•explains,  does  not  mean  that  either  a  kaliska  or  a 
droshki  is  110  tomans,  but  that  the  mean  between 
them  is  110  tomans.  However,  by  this  time  about  an 
hour  has  gone,  and  we  at  length  agree  to  a  satisfactory 
compromise. 

'  Then  we  repair  to  my  room  to  complete  the  trans- 
action. But  even  now  we  are  not  in  smooth  water. 
My  compromise  has  contemplated  the  possibility  of  my 
returning  to  Isfahan,  and  he  wants  the  whole  return 

19 


290  ACROSS  PERSIA 

fare  down.  Of  course  I  refuse,  and  offer  90  tomans. 
He  objects,  and  negotiations  again  look  like  being 
broken  off,  but  at  last  he  consents,  90  tomans  are 
handed  over,  and  I  step  outside.  There  comes  yet 
another  hitch.  He  says  my  luggage  is  over  the 
regulation  weight.  I  say  I  have  chartered  the 
carriage,  and  can  carry  in  reason  what  I  please  in  it. 
He  insists  I  can  only  carry  10  maunds. 

'  I  am  getting  annoyed,  and  absolutely  refuse  to  pay 
another  shahi,  asking  SaifuUashah  in  Persian  when  the 
*'  post  '*  goes,  and  if  I  can  go  by  that.  This  has  the 
desired  effect ;  the  man  says  I  can  pay  anywhere  I 
like  if  I  will  only  have  it  weighed  here  ;  and  my  host's 
servant  at  this  moment  telling  me  there  is  some 
breakfast  ready,  I  give  in,  and,  leaving  them  to  weigh 
it,  go  off.  My  host  joins  me  (in  pyjamas),  and  just  as 
we  are  finishing,  we  are  told  all  is  ready.  So  at  last  I 
go  off — hardly  able  to  get  into  my  carriage  for  the 
crowd  of  beggars — and,  with  a  last  farewell  to  my  host 
and  Saif,  whom  I  here  leave  behind,  bowl  off  down 
the  Chahar  Bagh,  accompanied  in  my  "  victoria  "  by 
Kishna  and  Mr.  Stumps. 

*It  might  be  thought  that  I  now  was  really  on 
my  way  to  Teheran.  That  would  be  a  mistake,  for 
the  presumption  would  omit  to  reckon  with  the  fact 
that  the  driver,  being  a  Persian,  did  not  know  his  way. 

*  With  a  confidence  of  which  I,  with  two  and  a  half 
months'  experience  of  this  land,  should  be  ashamed,  I 
trust  to  him;  and  the  consequence  is,  that  we  gaily 
drive  at  least  three  miles  before,  from  a  casual  question, 
our  coachman  discovers  he  is  nowhere  near  on  the  right 
road — in  fact,  that  we  are  at  right  angles  to  it.  Of 
course  this  means  going  all  the  way  back,  and  it  is 
about  eleven  o'clock  before  at  last  we  see  Isfahan 
dwindling  behind  us.' 


A  TWO  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  MILE  DRIVE  291 

After  this,  I  remember,  scenery  and  incidents  were, 
alike,  commonplace,  and  the  miles  dragged  rather 
wearily.  The  mud  post-houses  of  Gez  at  twelve  miles, 
and  Amirabad  at  about  twenty-four,  were  both  mere 
centres  of  uninteresting  wastes. 

Not  wishing  to  travel  all  night,  I  decided  to  occupy 
the  rather  squalid  chajpar  khaneh  at  Murchakar,  after  a 
journey  of  something  like  forty  miles,  and  my  notes 
respecting  the  start  from  this  miserable  little  place 
the  next  morning  give  some  idea  of  the  material 
circumstances  of  travelling  by  carriage  in  Persia. 

'  Despite  rising  myself  and  rousing  everybody  else 
at  an  early  hour,  the  sun  is  well  up  when  we  leave  the 
village — with  three  horses.  My  vehicle  by  rights,  and 
when  fortune  favours,  is  drawn  by  four  horses  abreast ; 
but  frequently  three,  and  sometimes  only  two,  are 
forthcoming.  The  driver  (by  which  complimentary 
title  one  is  forced  to  recognize  the  man  who,  in 
Persia,  attempts  to  control  the  horses)  usually  exercises 
his  very  limited  powers  from  the  box. 

*  To-day's  coachman  seems  more  incapable,  even,  than 
usual,  and  while  still  in  the  town  runs  the  carriage 
violently  into  a  fort  wall. 

*  I  may  mention  that  if  anything  goes  wrong,  such  as 
a  plunge  into  a  ditch  or  wall ;  if  a  wrong  turning 
is  taken ;  or  if  the  horses  happen  to  have  decided 
to  head  the  wrong  way ;  it  is  the  procedure  for  every  one 
to  alight,  when  the  carriage  is  placed  bodily  in  the 
required  position  and  the  coachman  again  remounts. 
If  possible,  he  does  this  without  disturbing  the  horses, 
as,  should  he  do  so,  they  immediately  turn  the  wrong 
way,  and  a  repetition  of  the  performance  becomes 
necessary.  In  fact,  no  manoeuvre  of  the  least  in- 
tricacy is  conducted  from  the  box,  the  approved 
method  in  such  cases  being  to  move  either  the  carriage 

19—2 


292  ACROSS  PERSIA 

or  the  horses  themselves  by  physical  force.  In  default 
of  a  brake,  and  with  a  commendable  regard  for  the  small 
control  of  the  driver  over  his  steeds,  when  descending  a 
hill,  a  man,  preferably  armed  with  a  whip,  is  deputed  to 
walk  in  front  of  the  animals  to  scare  them  back  from 
going  too  fast. 

'  **  A  hill "  may  vary  from  a  slope  of  1  in  100 
to  a  precipice  with  a  sharp  turn  in  it  :  the  former  is 
usually  descended  at  a  walk,  the  latter  at  a  gallop. 

*In  this  case,  since  we  are  embedded  in  the  fort 
wall,  the  carriage  has  to  be  put  on  the  road  again,  the 
horses  being  dragged  with  it,  and,  having  apparently 
even  less  confidence  in  his  powers  than  I  have,  our 
driver  unhooks  one  of  the  three,  and  gets  Kishna 
to  lead  it  until  he  arrives  at  a  point  where  the  nearest 
thing  to  run  into  is  ten  miles  away,  and  it  is  im- 
material whether  the  road  be  kept  to  or  not,  as  it 
leads  over  a  vast,  smooth  prairie.  There  our  third 
gee-gee  is  triumphantly  hooked  in,  and  we  proceed  on 
our  tortuous  course  rejoicing. 

'  For  about  ioMvfarsahhs  we  run  steadily  up  the  plain, 
which  shelves  like  some  great  beach  to  the  foot  of  the 
mountains,  just  before  which  we  come  to  Nismabad, 
where  we  exchange  our  driver  for  one  even  worse,  for 
at  the  very  caravanserai  door  he  involves  us  in  a  large 
ditch,  from  which  we  are  only  extricated  by  simul- 
taneously pushing  the  pole  and  beating  the  horses' 
noses.  However,  we  get  along  pretty  fast  after  this, 
as  the  horses,  being  fresh,  bolt  every  five  minutes  or  so. 
Since  the  road  is,  as  I  have  said,  merely  a  polite 
fiction,  any  other  part  of  the  prairie  being  equally  good, 
this  is  decidedly  an  improvement. 

*  Soon  we  wind  up  into  the  hills,  and  after  three 

farsakhs  and  the  summit  of  our  journey,  reach  Targ. 

Here  a  cup  of  tea,  some  biscuits  and  sardines,   and 


A  TWO  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  MILE  DRIVE  293 

another  change  of  horses.  This  time  only  two  are 
forthcoming,  and  the  road  is  very  bad.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  we  have  only  had  two  horses  for  some  time, 
as,  when  we  began  the  descent  into  Targ,  our  third 
animal  was  "  cut  loose,''  and  contentedly  proceeded  in 
front  of  us,  now  and  again  getting  driven  into  from 
behind,  at  which  he  would  show  his  resentment 
by  lashing  out  furiously. 

*  Still  among  mountains — likely  spots  for  big  game, 
they  look,  though  without  my  glasses  I  can  **spot" 
none — till  three  farsahhs  bring  us  to  Abiazan,  a  lonely 
post-house  near  a  white  dome. 

*  Here  the  interesting  bit  of  news  is  imparted  that 
there  are  no  horses  : — some  can  be  got  in  a  few  hours — 
will  we  wait  ?  No,  I  say,  certainly  not ;  feed  the  ones 
we  have,  and  we  can  take  them  on  to  the  next  stage. 
So  we  wait  perhaps  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 

*When  we  go  on,  there  is  an  extra  man  on  the 
box,  the  purpose  of  whom  is  soon  discovered  : — when 
we  go  downhill  it  is  he  who  has  to  frighten  the 
horses  back  in  the  way  I  have  described.  Plenty 
of  hills  there  are,  too.  We  are  in  the  midst  of  the 
most  wild  scenery.  Desolate  mountains  rise  all  around 
in  great  ridges ;  those  on  our  left  show  us  their  north- 
eastern slopes,  clad  in  snow ;  those  to  the  right 
are  merely  bleak,  scarred  precipices.  Ahead,  a  giant 
saw-edge  of  rock  cuts  sheer  into  the  air,  seeming  an 
impassable  barrier,  till  the  road  takes  a  sudden  turn  and 
plunges  into  an  unforeseen  canyon.  It  is  a  picture 
of  barren  grandeur,  and  the  effect  is  heightened  by  the 
dim,  uncertain  light : — the  sun  has  sunk  behind  the 
hills,  the  sky  is  overcast  with  clouds,  some  tinged  with 
a  wild  red  from  the  hidden  sunset,  others,  to  the  east, 
grim,  black,  and  forbidding.  Over  all  is  an  ominous 
silent  murkiness.     I  am  not  sorry  when  we  pass  seven 


294  ACROSS  PERSIA 

ghostly  willows — their  lightning-blasted  trunks  rising 
through  the  dusk  like  the  pillars  of  some  ruined  temple 
— and  come,  just  as  darkness  closes  in,  down  into 
Khafr,  after  three  as  desolate  farsakhs  as  can  be 
imagined.  The  road  on  further,  I  hear,  is  bad — it  has 
been  atrocious  lately — so  here  we  stay  the  night.' 

The  next  morning  dawned  golden  over  the  hills  of 
snow,  and  when  I  walked  out  into  the  crisp  sunlit  air, 
there  lay  before  me  a  splendid  view,  stretching  from 
the  barrier  line  of  peaks  to  the  south  over  the  valley, 
which  rose  like  a  great  shore  to  another  mountain 
range  far  away  to  the  north. 

The  people  of  Khafr  were  very  hospitable  ; — would 
but  the  Persians  see  that  such  pleasantness  is  worth 
far  more  than  their  money-grubbing,  parsimonious 
avarice, — for  I  remember  that  I  presented  the  man  who 
had,  unasked,  brought  all  I  wanted  and  rendered  no 
extortionate  account  with  double  what  I  used  to  pay 
the  insolent  swindlers  who  thought  that  a  sahib 
was  only  created  to  give  them  money  and  get  as  little 
as  they  could  contrive  in  return. 

OiF  we  went  down  the  hill,  but  after  200  yards 
came  a  stop,  as  the  carriage  had  stuck  in  a  mud- 
hole.  We  all  got  out,  and  by  dint  of  Kishna 
*  manning  the  wheels,'  the  driver  pulling  the  horses  by 
sheer  brute  force,  and  my  flogging  them  and  avoiding 
kicks  from  behind,  we  managed  at  last  to  extricate  the 
contrivance,  and  rolled  off  again  to  the  post-house 
of  Dehabad,  sixteen  miles  below  in  the  valley. 

While  we  halted  there  I  had  a  talk  with  a  very 
agreeable  Persian,  who  asked  the  time — presumably 
to  obtain  an  opportunity  of  displaying  a  watch  of 
which  he  was  evidently  very  proud.  Holding  it  to  his 
ear  to  be  sure  it  was  going,  he  smoothed  it  gently  over, 
and  offered  it  to  me,  asking  my  opinion.     The  hands 


A  TWO  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  MILE  DRIVE   295 

pointed  to  4.30,  the  right  time  being  10  a.m.  I 
remember  being  irresistibly  reminded  of  the  mad  tea- 
party  in  '  AHce  in  Wonderland,'  and  when  I  opened  the 
back  quite  expected  to  find  *  the  best  butter '  inside. 

Passing  the  post-house  of  Mohamedye  and  Gaz, 
Kashan  came  in  sight  over  an  undulation  in  the  sand, 
and  we  were  soon  threading  the  narrow  lanes  of  this, 
one  of  the  largest  business  places  of  Persia.  The  most 
interesting  thing,  however,  that  I  could  find  with 
regard  to  Kashan  was  the  tradition  narrated  of  it  by 
Chardin :  'The  city  of  Cafhan,'  he  says,  *ftands  in 
a  good  Air,  but  violently  hot,  infomuch  that  it  is 
ready  to  ftifle  yee  in  the  Summer.  Which  extream 
Heat  is  occafion'd  by  its  Situation ;  as  lying  near 
a  high  Mountain  opposed  to  the  South.  The  Rever- 
beration of  which  fo  furioufly  heats  the  place  in  the 
Dog-Days,  that  it  fcalds  again.  Befides  there  is 
one  greater  Inconvenience  more  troublefome  and  more 
dangerous,  which  is  the  great  number  of  Scorpions 
that  infeft  thofe  parts  at  all  times,  efpecially  when  the 
Sun  is  in  Scoiyio:  Travellers  are  terribly  threatned 
by  'em :  And  yet  for  my  part,  (thanks  be  to  God) 
I  never  faw  any  in  all  the  time  that  I  pafs'd  through 
the  Country.  Neither  could  I  hear  of  any  great 
Mischief  that  they  had  done.  It  is  faid,  that  Abas  the 
Great's  Aftrologers  in  the  Year  1623  invented  a 
Talifman  to  deliver  the  City  from  thofe  Vermin ; 
fince  which  time  there  has  not  appear'd  fo  many 
as  before.  But  there  is  no  Credit  to  be  given  to  thefe 
idle  ftories ;  no  more  then  to  that  fame  other,  that  if 
Travellers  ftopping  at  Cafhan  are  but  careful  at  their 
entrance  into  their  Inns,  to  fpeak  thefe  words, 
Scorpions,  I  am  a  Stranger,  meddle  not  with  me,  no 
Scorpion  will  come  near  'em.' 

Personally,  I  did  not  give  the  scorpions  a  chance  of 


296  ACROSS  PERSIA 

proving  or  disproving  their  courtesy ;  but,  as  the  sun 
was  sinking,  pushed  on  past  Nasrahad,  and  eventually 
drove  up  to  our  night's  rest-house  at  Sin-Sin  through 
a  world  bathed  in  floods  of  magnificent  moonlight. 

Next  morning  I  saw  for  the  first  time  the  great 
mountain  of  Demavend  rising  with  its  19,000  feet 
of  height,  a  majestic  giant  among  the  peaks  of  the 
Elburz  range.  From  here  it  looks  like  a  great  cone  of 
white  sugar,  singularly  resembling  Japan's  Fuji  Yama. 

The  road  here  possesses  little  interest  for  any  travel- 
lers save  sportsmen,  who  would  probably  find  in  the 
mountains  round  Pasangun  a  certain  amount  of  big 
game ; — at  Sin-Sin  my  driver  dragged  forth  from  a 
corner  two  weird  beasts,  stuffed  grotesquely,  which 
he  had  shot ;  a  kind  of  panther,  I  should  say. 

And  now  on  the  far  brown  horizon  there  glittered 
in  the  midday  sunlight  a  golden  dot,  seeming  like 
some  solitary  star  set  there  in  the  plain  to  guide  the 
weary  traveller.  Guide  him,  indeed,  it  does,  according 
to  the  Mahometan  religion,  not  only  to  home,  but  to 
heaven.  For  the  golden  dot  is  the  dome  of  the  great 
and  most  sacred  mosque  of  Kum. 

Kum  is  one  of  those  cities  to  which,  renowned  for 
their  sanctity,  pilgrims  flock  on  their  earthly  journey 
towards  Paradise.  Here  is  the  burial-place  of  Fatima, 
sister  of  the  great  and  holy  Imam  Reza,  eighth  of  the 
eleven  prophets.  Here,  too,  are  buried  countless 
saints  and  Kings  and  Princes  ;  the  place  is  the  West- 
minster Abbey  of  Persia.  Sanctity  and  insubordina- 
tion, however,  have  a  close  connexion  in  a  land  where 
the  priests  are  powerful  and  the  people  superstitious, 
and  Kum  is  one  of  the  spots  most  dreaded  by  the  con- 
stitutional Sovereign  of  the  kingdom  ;  for  from  such  a 
holy  place  may  some  day  spring  a  fire  of  revolution 
that  shall  sweep  the  land. 


A  TWO  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  MILE  DRIVE  297 

The  golden  dot  grew  greater  and  more  glittering, 
and  at  last,  knocking  down  various  commodities  and 
persons,  we  drove  through  the  picturesque  bazaars  and 
streets  of  the  city  of  saints. 

But  for  its  mosque,  however,  with  the  beautiful 
dome  and  little  minarets,  there  is  little  to  distinguish 
this  most  holy  place  from  others  of  less  repute,  and, 
without  staying  for  more  than  a  quick  glance  at  the 
shrines,  I  pushed  on  over  the  great  bridge  which  spans 
the  E.ud-i-Anarbar  way  again  into  the  desert. 

By  Manziliye  darkness  set  in  ;  but  it  was  necessary 
to  do  twenty  miles  more  before  bed.  Calling  a  halt, 
therefore,  for  rest  and  refreshment,  I  entered  the  little 
coffee-house  for  a  cup  of  tea,  and  exercised  my  Persian 
in  a  political  discussion  regarding  Russian  influence. 
Great  as  is  the  power  of  E-ussia  in  this  part  of  Persia, 
and  well  as  it  is  deserved  (since  they  have  done  any- 
thing that  has  been  done  to  introduce  civilization),  the 
Russians  are,  nevertheless,  apparently  not  over-beloved 
by  the  people.  Nor  need  this  be  a  mark  of  anything 
save  some  spirit  of  nationality  on  the  part  of  a  Persian, 
who  wishes  his  own  people  to  rule  his  own  country 
without  interference  from  neighbouring  Powers. 

Such  a  sentiment,  whether  it  be  directed  against  the 
Russians,  the  Turks,  or  the  English,  is  perfectly  natural 
and  entirely  praiseworthy.  Therein,  I  believe,  lies  the 
solution  of  one  of  the  great  problems  of  the  Near  East, 
and  no  better  fate,  both  for  Persia  and  for  the  rest  of 
the  world,  could  be  desired  than  that,  on  the  basis  of 
such  inspiration,  there  should  rise  a  prosperous  country 
and  an  independent  people. 

The  chief  thing,  I  remember,  which  made  an  im- 
pression upon  my  Persian  friend  in  the  coffee-house 
was  the  information  I  gave  him  respecting  the  pay  of 
an  English  soldier.    At  this,  indeed,  he  was  thoroughly 


298  ACROSS  PERSIA 

amazed,  and  not  unnaturally,  since,  apparently,  his 
soldier  friends  got  practically  no  pay  and  one  suit  of 
clothes  a  year.  Wages  are,  after  all,  only  comparative, 
and  the  much-abused  shilling  a  day  of  the  English 
*  Tommy '  would  be  wealth  to  his  Persian  comrade. 
But  then,  Persia  is  not  England. 

Now  the  horses  were  ready,  the  driver  refreshed, 
and  with  a  hearty  farewell  from  my  new-found  friend, 
I  had  to  set  off  again. 

The  closing  scene  of  the  long  day's  stage  shall  be 
told  in  the  words  I  wrote  at  the  time. 

*  Away  through  the  night  we  jolt  and  rattle,  with 
the  glorious  moon  and  the  tiny  twinkling  stars  above ; 
away  on  the  last  twenty  miles  of  our  drive,  till  my 
head  nods  and  I  doze  off  despite  the  jerks  and  lumber- 
ings of  the  carriage.  Blank  oblivion  ; — then  a  sudden 
awakening  to  the  rumble  and  bump  and  rattle  ; — still 
the  pale  light,  and  the  white  interminable  road  ; 
Kishna  asleep  on  my  left ;  the  driver  asleep  on  the 
box;  even,  I  think,  at  least  two  of  the  horses  are 
asleep  !  I  wake  the  driver ;  but  he  is  soon  asleep 
again,  and  so  we  roll  on  through  the  night  till  at  last 
''home" — and  we  draw  up  by  the  post-house  of 
Khushk. 

*  I  look  out ;  and  away,  far  down  below  in  a  valley, 
shows  a  wide  expanse  as  of  an  inland  sea  stretching 
away  in  the  misty  night,  while  close  by  rise  the  moun- 
tains, from  which  bubbles  a  stream,  rippling  by  at  my 
feet.  Seen  by  the  crisp  moonlight,  it  is  a  strange, 
weirdly  Persian  scene.' 

On  the  last  seventy  miles  of  my  journey  to  Teheran 
I  found  no  adventures  and  little  interest. 

Qaleh  yi  Mahomet  Ali  Khan,  which  is  only  about  the 
size  of  its  name,  was  the  scene  of  the  longest  process 
of  *  hooking  in '  that  I  had  yet  been  favoured  with, 


■4^^'Si'S«rS 


A  TWO  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  MILE  DRIVE  299 

and  our  driver  was  both  insolent  and  lazy ;  but  at 
Hoseinabad  a  handsome  ruffian  in  a  great  shako 
actually  condescended  to  hasten  himself  (I  found  he 
came  from  Tiflis ;  I  thought  he  could  not  be  a  real 
Persian),  and  after  a  long,  tedious  ascent  there  opened 
out  before  us  a  great  plain  with  Teheran  dimly  seen, 
far  under  the  snow  mountains.  Now  there  was  only 
one  more  stage,  from  Kahrizak  to  the  present  goal  of 
my  journeyings,  a  mere  twenty  miles.  But  in  spite 
of  the  obliging  willingness  of  my  last  driver,  we 
seemed  almost  destined  to  have,  as  the  Persian  would 
put  it,  *  the  cup  of  realization  snatched  from  the  lips 
of  anticipation,'  for  directly  we  set  off  at  a  speed 
which  was  encouraged  by  my  offer  of  a  small  reward 
if  we  did  the  distance  in  an  hour  and  a  half,  we  drove 
straight  into  a  wall  twenty  yards  from  the  post-house. 
Our  willing  but  incompetent  coachman  then,  despair- 
ing, said  that  he  could  not  manage  the  horses  ;  but  at 
last  I  persuaded  him  to  make  another  effort,  first 
driving  them  a  few  yards  myself  to  show  it  really 
could  be  done  (I  found,  by  the  way,  that  they  were 
perfectly  easy  to  drive  if  only  the  right  rein  were 
pulled).  On  a  collision  with  a  bridge,  however,  he 
refused  to  go  further,  said  the  horses  were  un- 
manageable, and  turned  back  for  others.  After  a  delay 
these  were  procured — three  of  them — and  when  we 
started  again,  madly  careered  off  straight  in  the 
direction  whence  we  had  come,  our  driver's  efforts  to 
even  stop  them  being  of  no  avail  for  some  time. 
However,  once  turned  in  the  right  direction,  they 
proved  excellent  animals,  and  in  one  and  a  half  hours 
we  were  driving  through  the  semi-civilized  streets  of 
Teheran. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

EAST  AND   WEST 

'  O,  East  is  East  and  West  is  West,  and  never  the  twain  shall 
meet.' 

RuDYARD  Kipling  : 
T^e  Ballad  of  East  and  West, 

The  only  place  I  ever  found  to  make  any  attempt  to 
belie  the  dictum  of  the  poet  regarding  the  impos- 
sibility of  the  assimilation  of  East  and  West  was 
Moscow.  There,  indeed,  there  appeared  a  curious 
blend  of  Orient  and  Occident  which  made  me  gravely 
doubt  his  statement.  But  certainly  in  Teheran  it 
holds  good.  The  city  is  a  combination  of  East  and 
West,  but  it  is  not  a  blend.  The  two  lie  parallel, 
mixing  as  little  as,  at  their  confluence,  do  the  waters 
of  the  White  and  the  Blue  Nile.  There  are  the  tram- 
lines of  the  West  ,*  but  there  are  the  bazaars  of  the 
East.  There  are  incongruous  modern  signs  projecting 
from  tiny  mud  houses.  There  are  European  roads 
fringed  with  Asiatic  houses  and  tailing  off  into  a 
purely  Oriental  confusion  of  ruts  and  rubbish  heaps. 
There  are  glittering  gates  with  fancy  mosaic  work  of 
tawdry  patterns  on  a  brown  mud  ground,  and,  just 
round  the  corner,  are  the  refuse-pits  and  smells  and 
horrors  which  are  the  most  prominent  feature  of  any 
town  *  somewhere  east  of  Suez.' 

White  men  who  know  the  drawing-rooms  of  London 

800 


EAST  AND  WEST  301 

or  the  salons  of  Paris  brush  shoulders  with  the  brown 
mob  that  throngs  the  alleys  and  bazaars.  Trim  stone 
houses  stand  in  the  midst  of  purely  Persian  gardens. 
It  is  all  a  medley,  but  it  is  not  a  mixture.  East  is 
still  East,  and  West  is  still  West. 

About  it  all  there  is  a  ridiculous  impression  of  some 
cannibal  King  who  has  adorned  himself  with  a  top-hat 
and  tail-coat  of  civilization,  but  has  forgotten  or  is 
ignorant  of  any  further  vestments.  On  the  whole,  it 
is  not  a  success. 

There  is  no  doubt,  however,  that  in  Teheran  East 
predominates.  The  general  appearance  is  Eastern, 
with  the  blue  domes,  brown  walls,  and  sparse  trees  of 
most  other  Persian  towns. 

There  can  be  no  need  to  describe  the  city  ;  it  has 
been  described  more  often  and  more  fully  than  perhaps 
any  other  Persian  place.  But  when  I  was  at  Teheran, 
the  kindness  of  my  hospitable  host,  who  contrived  to 
make  my  stay  in  the  city  as  instructive  as  it  was 
delightful,  afforded  me  an  opportunity  of  seeing  several 
ceremonies  and  incidents  which  to  me  were  of  no  small 
interest. 

The  first  of  these  was  the  Sacrifice  of  the  Camel. 
This  ceremony  commemorates  the  sacrifice  on  Mount 
Moriah,  and,  owing  to  its  religious  importance,  the 
priest-executioner  used  in  the  old  days  to  be  no  less  a 
person  than  the  King.  *  The  Daroegay  says  Le  Bruyn, 
'  or  Bailif  of  the  city  and  fometimes  the  King  himfelf, 
gives  him  the  firft  blow  with  a  great  launce,  after 
which  they  difpatch  him  with  fabres  and  knives. 
After  this  they  cut  him  up  into  pieces,  and  divide  him 
among  the  officers  of  the  feveral  diftricts  of  the  city  ; 
and  as  every  one  is  eager  to  have  his  fhare,  diforders 
arife,  and  fometimes  many  remain  dead  on  the  fpot, 
as  it  happened  that  day  ;  for  every  one  goes  armed 


302  ACROSS  PERSIA 

either  with  fabres  or  clubs,  and  there  is  fuch  a  throng 
of  horfemen  it  is  impoffible  to  move.' 

It  was  this  event  which  it  was  given  me  to  see 
during  my  visit  to  Teheran.  The  streets  were  thronged ; 
it  was  a  public  holiday,  and  I  had  had  difficulty  in 
pushing  through  the  masses  of  people  on  the  spirited 
horse  I  was  riding.  Crowds  are  much  the  same  all 
the  world  over ;  but  a  Persian  crowd  has  certain 
peculiarities  of  its  own.  The  dress  of  the  women 
combines  with  the  Oriental  apathy  of  the  men  to  make 
individual  movement  very  difficult. 

Arriving  at  my  destination,  a  house  at  one  side  of 
the  square  wherein  the  sacrifice  was  to  be  performed, 
a  farrash  conducted  me  upstairs  into  a  small  room 
which  gave  upon  the  open  space  in  front.  This  was 
thick  with  people,  some  of  whom  had  clambered,  and 
were  still  clambering,  into  the  trees  which  fringed  the 
meidan.  Beyond,  swarmed  a  drab  mass  of  Persian 
humanity,  and  between  the  two  crowds  lay  the  path 
of  the  procession. 

First  came  some  Persian  soldiers  ('  marched ' 
would  be  an  inappropriate  word  to  describe  their 
method  of  progression),  to  the  beat  of  a  solitary 
drum.  Then  there  appeared  some  mounted  men  and 
a  most  extraordinary  brass  band,  making  noises  which 
probably  in  Persia  might  be  mistaken  for  music. 
Next  came  various  beef-eater-like  persons  with  strange 
hats  surmounted  with  feathers.  After  them  there 
lounged  along  the  wretched  hero  of  the  day,  the 
-camel,  decked  in  gorgeous  trappings  of  red,  and  bliss- 
fully unconscious  of  the  extremely  short  time  he  had 
still  to  exist.  Behind  him  came  his  executioner,  also 
clad  in  red  for  obvious  reasons  ;  and  lastly  there 
swarmed  a  collection  of  nondescripts  on  horses,  ponies, 
mules,  donkeys,  and,  failing  any  other  means  of  loco- 


EAST  AND  WEST  303 

motion,  their  own  feet.  I  did  not  see  the  actual 
sacrifice,  as  it  took  place  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  up 
the  road ;  but  after  a  wait  of  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  there  came  back  practically  the  same  procession  ; 
but  instead  of  the  camel  lounging  along,  it  was  carried 
in  small  furry  fragments  on  the  tops  of  pikes  and  in 
men's  hands.  It  is  still  thought  that  anyone  who  can 
secure  a  bit  of  camel  on  this  day  will  be  lucky  for  the 
next  year,  and  so  the  poor  animal  is  subdivided  into 
extremely  small  portions. 

Now  the  procession  had  passed  ;  the  crowd  streamed 
aimlessly  away  ;  the  sacrifice  was  over. 

The  next  event  it  was  my  fortune  to  attend  was  a 
royal  Salaam  in  the  Palace  itself,  and  the  account  of 
this  I  will  take  straight  from  my  diary. 

'  About  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  drive  off, 
attended  by  an  escort,  to  the  Palace.  On  our  arrival 
we  are  conducted  into  a  garden  with  trees  and  stone - 
girt  ponds,  whose  borders  are  dotted  at  intervals  with 
lamps,  supported  by  coloured  figures  of  young  ladies 
in  a  sort  of  toreador  costume,  who,  unfortunately,  owing, 
I  believe,  to  a  flaw  of  some  kind  in  the  casting,  have  a 
universally  inebriated  appearance. 

^  Contrary  to  the  palaces  I  have  seen  elsewhere  in 
Persia,  here  all  is  in  repair,  and  there  is  not  when 
you  see  the  backs  of  buildings  that  impression  of 
stage  scenery  irresistibly  conveyed  by  most  things 
Persian.  Indeed,  here  in  Teheran  is  presented  the 
obverse  of  the  coin, — luxury,  extravagance,  pomp, — 
the  reverse  of  which  I  have  already  seen  in  the 
squalor,  poverty,  and  dirt  of  the  country  en  route  fi:om 
Bushire. 

'  We  go  upstairs  into  a  magnificent  room  plastered 
with  mirrors  and  chandelier-like  decorations,  paved 
with  luxurious  carpets,  ornamented  with  giant  vases — 


304  ACROSS  PERSIA 

a  palatial  apartment  indeed,  whence  we  look  out 
through  huge  plate-glass  windows  on  to  the  fountains 
and  pools  of  the  garden  we  have  just  left. 

'  Below  us  soon  will  take  place  the  display  we  have 
come  to  see,  but,  alas  !  the  central  figure  will  be 
hidden  from  us,  for  the  Shah  will  merely  come  out 
into  a  covered  balcony  or  terrace,  running  in  the  same 
line  as  our  room.  Still,  we  shall  see  all  but  the  King 
himself. 

*  While  waiting,  I  inspect  a  beautifully  tiled  room 
used  to  store  those  presents  collected  by  the  Shah 
which  are  not  in  the  great  Museum. 

'It  is  a  quaint  assemblage  of  magnificent  lumber. 
Stored  in  no  order, — priceless  curiosities  thrown  down 
by  the  side  of  valueless  rubbish,  glorious  works  of  art 
reposing  under  the  shadow  of  domestic  furniture, — it 
is  itself  an  epitome  of  Persia  and  the  Persians  in  its 
strange  incongruity,  its  pitiful  disorder,  its  combination 
of  departed  glory  and  present  decay. 

'In  one  corner  is  an  untidy  pile  of  velvets  and 
ermines ;  close  by,  a  collection  of  very  inferior  photo- 
graphs; in  the  opposite  corner  a  beer-machine,  on 
which  reposes  an  oil-painting. 

*  A  bookcase  filled  with  volumes  fronts  a  table  covered 
with  curiosities  of  natural  history,  which  in  turn  looks 
on  to  a  slab  where  lie  specimens  of  ancient  pottery. 
Then  comes  a  musical-box.  Typewriters  lie  neglected, 
magnificent  tea-sets  and  services  of  glass  have  never 
seen  a  table-cloth,  great  vases  merely  contain  the  dust 
of  years,  a  map  of  the  British  Isles,  hung  upside  down, 
averts  in  this  way  its  gaze  from  a  picture,  hung  below, 
whose  breadth  of  subject  is  redeemed  by  no  beauty  of 
execution.  Violins  mutely  appeal  for  the  touch  of  a 
hand  which  shall  unseal  their  hidden  harmonies,  forlorn 
mandolins  cry  for  fair  fingers  and  sweet  moonlit  hours 


EAST  AND  WEST  305 

— the  very  musical- boxes  seem  to  pray  to  be  taken 
where  the  babble  of  childish  laughter  shall  greet  their 
long-dumb  tinkle. 

*  In  a  room  beyond,  more  china,  more  glass,  unused, 
unwanted. 

*  All  is  chaos,  neglect,  pathetic  waste. 

*  I  leave  with  an  ache  at  the  heart — all  this  rich  use- 
lessness,  and,  outside, — the  people — poverty — desola- 
tion. 

*  Next  to  the  museum  itself  in  a  huge  glittering  room 
are  glass  cases  filled  with  a  collection  almost  as  com- 
posite as  that  I  have  just  left,  with  at  the  end  the 
Peacock  Throne, — for  that  is  its  name,  though  in  reality 
it  is  no  more  that  relic  rapt  from  Delhi  than  is  the 
chair  on  which  I  sit  to  write  this.  Still,  it  is  very  fine, 
and  its  jewels  and  enamel,  if  they  fail  to  excite  a 
historic  interest,  at  all  events  appeal  to  the  imagina- 
tion in  other  ways. 

*  A  stuffed  bird  which  warbles  in  a  cage  is  over 
against  a  cabinet  in  which  are  artistically  hung  six- 
penny hand-glasses,  sometimes  with  broken  handles. 
Originally,  I  am  told,  there  were  even  more  extra- 
dinary  dispositions  of  things  ;  but  I  did  not  see  Lord 
Curzon's  tooth-brushes,  though  it  is  quite  likely  they 
were  somewhere  about. 

'  The  chief  delight  of  the  attendants  was  a  musical- 
box  with  moving  figures,  which  they  wound  up  for 
our  benefit, — I  think  my  favourites  were  the  sixpenny 
looking-glasses. 

*  At  length  sounds  recall  us  to  the  first  room,  where 
our  party  has  been  augmented  by  the  addition  of  a 
Cossack  officer  and  a  French  actress  from  a  company 
which  is — wonder  of  wonders — touring  in  Persia. 

*Now  here  comes  the  display.  It  consists  almost 
entirely  of  soldiers, — I  fancy  it  eases  the  Shah's  mind 

20 


306  ACROSS  PERSIA 

to  sometimes  see  outward  and  visible  proofs  of  his 
immense  strength.  He  should  pay  a  visit  to  the 
South. 

'  The  principal  feature  of  each  regiment  is  its  band, 
though  the  soldiers  are,  really,  mostly  clothed  alike, 
and  generally  have  some  sort  of  weapon. 

'  But  the  bands  are  the  most  formidable  ; — they 
come  in  at  the  two-hundred-yard  intervals  occupied  by 
a  regiment  with  a  furious  and  awe-inspiring  clamour, 
which  they  continue,  regardless  of  any  other  rival 
band,  without  cessation  (except  a  temporary  one, 
caused  by  each  rank  in  turn  stumbling  over  a  small 
step,  which  has  the  effect  of  interrupting  and  slightly 
disconcerting  their  efforts),  until  they  come  to  rest  in 
a  their  appropriate  parts  of  the  garden. 

/I  am  not  able  to  ascertain  whether  the  various 
bands  are  playing  the  same  tune  at  different  times  or 
different  tunes  at  the  same  time ;  but  in  either  case 
the  result  is  a  combination  of  discords  vastly  superior 
to  that  caused  by  the  puny  efforts  of  any  individual 
collection  of  instrumentalists  I  have  yet  met  in 
Persia. 

*  I  have  mentioned  the  little  diflBculty  of  the  small 
step.  Another  appeared  to  be  the  trees.  It  was 
interesting  to  watch  whether  the  standard  -  bearer 
would  entangle  the  colours  in  the  tree  immediately 
opposite  the  entrance,  and,  a  little  further  on,  to  count 
how  many  men  had  to  "  fall  out  "  owing  to  catching 
their  bayonets  in  a  branch.  In  this  latter  case  some- 
times a  serious  commotion  was  caused  by  the  unfor- 
tunate man's  helmet  being  dislodged  owing  to  his 
efforts  to  extricate  himself,  and  his  having  to  rescue  it 
from  among  the  feet  of  his  fellows. 

'  The  uniforms  of  the  men  apparently  do  not  vary 
much,  except  in  the  case  of  certain  regiments,  who  at 


EAST  AND  WEST  307 

first  sight  resemble  fire  brigades,  owing  to  the  peculiar 
construction  of  their  helmets.  On  closer  and  indi- 
vidual inspection  this  is  sometimes  modified  to  a  strong 
likeness  to  Tweedledum — or  was  it  Tweedledee  ? — with 
the  coal-scuttle  on  his  head.  The  fashionable  way  to 
wear  this  head-dress  would  seem  to  be  to  adjust  it  as 
far  back  as  possible.  This,  though  it  imparts  a  peculiar 
rakish  appearance  to  the  wearer,  could  doubtless,  as 
remarked  one  of  the  Tweedles,  be  very  useful  "  to 
guard  against  having  one's  head  cut  off"  ("one  of  the 
most  serious  things,"  I  believe  were  his  words,  "  that 
can  happen  to  one  in  a  battle  "). 

'  There  are,  perhaps,  three  thousand  soldiers,  and  for 
about  half  an  hour  they  stream  in  and  take  up  their 
positions  in  the  garden  : — I  actually  detected  some 
marching  among  one  or  two  of  the  regiments. 

'  Meanwhile  various  people  have  passed  immediately 
under  our  windows. 

*  First  a  perfectly  resplendent  officer,  who  is  so  covered 
with  decorations  that  he  has  had  to  let  them  encroach 
on  a  light  blue  cordon  he  wears,  despite  the  fact  that 
the  whole  upper  part  of  his  body  is  devoted  to  a 
parade  of  stars.  Orders,  and  medals. 

'Then  a  poet — the  most  poetic  poet  I  have  ever 
seen.  He  is  long-haired,  moderately  venerable,  clothed 
in  a  long  brown  robe,  and  wears  a  peculiar  muff-shaped 
hat.  In  his  hand  is  the  scroll  of  the  poem  he  is 
shortly  to  read  to  the  Shah  (which,  I  may  remark 
here,  has  to  be  exclusively  devoted  to  eulogies  of  His 
Imperial  Majesty). 

*  After  him  comes  a  collection  of  officials,  plainly 
dressed,  and  also  wearing  peculiar  hats,  while  in  the 
distance  is  an  aged  and  infirm  royalty  in  a  bath-chair. 

'  Now  here  comes  the  climax  of  the  display — the 
Cossacks. 

20—2 


308  ACROSS  PERSIA 

'  Preceded  by  a  very  different  band  playing  a  well- 
known  march,  in  file  the  smart,  frock-coated  men 
with  a  swing  and  dash  and  striking  appearance  which 
form  a  strong  contrast  to  the  scene  just  witnessed. 

*  Here,  too,  come  their  officers,  just  under  our 
window  ;  file  after  file  of  grim,  black- coated,  lavishly 
decorated  men  swinging  past  in  perfect  step  and  abso- 
lute silence.  Certainly  the  Cossacks  are  the  feature 
of  the  day. 

*  The  stream  has  ceased ;  all  are  in  their  place. 
Sudden — a  fanfare  of  trumpets ; — His  Imperial  Majesty 
has  appeared  on  the  balcony  to  our  left. 

*  Silence.     Then  steps  forward  the  poet. 

'  In  a  high,  sing-song  voice  he  recites  to  the  King 
upon  the  platform  the  King's  praises  ;  mellifluous, 
high-sounding  titles,  extravagant  Arabic  epithets ; — 
then  the  Name.  All  bend  their  heads  ; — the  King's 
Majesty  is  sacred. 

'  Twice,  after  the  flood  of  speech,  comes  that  Word 
and  that  obeisance  ;  then,  with  a  deep  reverence,  the 
poet  steps  aside,  and  again  the  trumpets  blare  forth 
their  brazen  notes.  And  now  back  pour  the  troops, 
this  time  under  his  gaze,  and  beneath  our  window. 

*  It  is  over.' 

My  visit  to  Teheran  took  place  before,  at  the 
beginning  of  this  year,  the  new  Shah  came  to  the 
throne. 

Riding  one  day  to  the  Zoo  just  outside  Teheran,  I 
met  Mozufier-ed-Din,  the  reigning  monarch.  Up  the 
road  there  appeared  a  dim  cavalcade  approaching. 
First  came  men  with  maces,  then,  behind  them,  we 
faintly  saw  a  motor-car.  It  was  the  *  Point  of  Adora- 
tion of  the  Universe ' — the  Shah.  He  stopped  to 
speak  to  us,  so  that  I  obtained  an  excellent  view  of 
His   Majesty.      He  was   a   handsome,   heavy -looking 


EAST  AND  WEST  309 

man  with  a  large  moustache,  almost  exactly  like  his 
likeness  on  the  postage  stamps.  In  the  car  with  him 
was  a  small  boy,  and  after  a  moment  or  two's  conver- 
sation, they  were  whirled  oif  back  into  the  city. 

The  Zoo  itself  was  a  combination  of  a  Persian 
garden  and  an  inferior  copy  of  the  institution  in 
Regent's  Park. 

A  path  lined  with  gaudy  red  and  blue  lamp-posts 
led  down  a  garden  through  a  gorgeous  apartment, 
and  up  to  a  long  line  of  cages,  the  home  of  several 
leopards  and  a  lion.  Outside,  three  large  bears  and 
one  small  one,  a  monkey,  and  a  woolly  sort  of  goat, 
were  leading,  at  the  time  I  was  there,  what  was,  I 
should  say,  a  fairly  miserable  existence. 

Visits  to  Gulahek,  the  summer  quarters  of  the 
Legation  ;  Rhey,  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  Rhages ;  and 
other  places,  occupied  pleasant  afternoons  ;  but,  keep- 
ing to  my  intention  of  not  describing  what  has  been 
already  over-described,  I  will  not  enter  into  an 
account  of  these  places. 

Near  Rhey  is  a  Parsee  tower  of  silence,  and  by 
climbing  up  the  hill  it  is  possible  to  see  down  into 
the  interior  of  the  burying-place  where  the  dead 
bodies  are  exposed  on  a  grating  for  the  birds  and  the 
elements  to  destroy. 

My  travels  in  Persia  were  now  almost  at  an  end. 
There  were  only  a  few  hundred  miles  of  land  and  sea 
between  me  and  Russia,  and,  had  I  wished  it,  I  could 
have  reached  Baku  in  a  few  days,  for  there  is  quite  a 
respectable  carriage  road  to  Resht,  on  the  Caspian, 
whence  the  way  lies  by  steamer. 

This,  however,  appeared  dull  to  me  ;  so,  although 
it  was  still  early  in  the  year,  I  determined  to  make 
my  way  by  caravan  over  the  passes  of  the  Elburz 
Mountains,  and  reach  the   sea  at  the  little  port   of 


310  ACROSS  PERSIA 

Meshed- i-Ser.  Both  from  inclination  and  by  necessity 
my  return  to  Isfahan  had  to  be  abandoned,  and,  after  a 
few  days  of  preUminary  arrangements,  I  found  myself, 
my  servants,  and  my  little  dog,  setting  out  on  the 
road  again,  amidst  all  the  pomp  and  ceremony  of  a 
caravan. 


CHAPTER  XXIY 

OVER   THE   HILLS   AND   FAR   AWAY 

*  On  every  hand  the  roads  begin, 
And  people  walk  with  zeal  therein  ; 
But  wheresoever  the  highways  tend, 
I  Be  sure  there's  nothing  at  the  end. 

'  Then  follow  you,  wherever  hie 
The  travelling  mountains  of  the  sky. 
Or  let  the  streams  in  civil  mode 
Direct  your  choice  upon  a  road  ; 

'  For  one  and  all,  or  high  or  low, 
Will  lead  you  where  you  wish  to  go  ; 
And  one  and  all  go  night  and  day 
Over  the  hills  and  Jar  away.'' 

R.  L.  Stevenson. 

Here  was  I  on  the  road  again  at  last  (for  I  do  not 
count  my  excursion  by  carriage),  and  again  there 
came  the  old  curious  sensations  ; — the  new  apprecia- 
tion of  space  and  time  ; — the  feeling  of  having  slipped 
back  into  another  age ; — the  oppression  of  an  intermin- 
able silence,  only  broken  by  thoughts  ; — and  always,  as 
a  continual  accompaniment,  the  grey-brown  hills  and 
plains, — the  strange  fascination  of  unvarying,  barren 
immensity,  a  dull,  monotonous  note  underlying  and 
permeating  all. 

Due  east  we  went ;  first  along  the  great  plain 
outside  Teheran,  plodding  parallel  to  the  snow-clad 
range  ;  then  abruptly  we  dived  into  the  hills.  My 
new    charvardar^   Meshed- i-AstuUa,    the   best   little 

311 


312  ACROSS  PERSIA 

chap  of  his  kind  I  met  in  Persia,  had  waited  behind 
when  the  rest  of  the  caravan  went  on,  and  was  now 
following  and  overtaking  them  with  me.  We  very- 
soon  made  friends  (any  friendship  that  is  worth 
making  is  worth  making  quickly),  and  before  we  had 
caught  up  the  mules  we  were  on  as  familiar  terms  as 
imperfect  Persian  and  ignorance  of  English  could  be. 

Winding  among  the  bare,  bleak  mountains,  we  ever 
ascended  until,  over  a  crest,  there  opened  out  a  long 
panorama  of  gaunt  snow-sprinkled  hills.  We  were 
in  among  the  first  beginnings  of  the  great  range  of 
the  Elburz,  which  stretches  in  a  towering  rock  wall 
along  the  southern  shores  of  the  Caspian,  and  which 
culminates  in  the  lofty  white  cone  of  Demavend. 

Many  a  thousand  feet  of  climb  were  before  us,  but 
here  the  way  was  in  and  out  and  up  and  down  a 
switchback  series  of  low  ranges. 

From  this  first  summit,  the  false  climax  of  the  day's 
march,  we  descended  a  steep  track  by  the  side  of  a 
mountain  torrent,  in  which,  half-way  down,  a  dog  was 
gnawing  a  carcass.  (Why  does  a  Persian  always 
throw  a  dead  body  into  a  stream  if  Nature  has  pro- 
vided him  with  one  ?)  There,  at  the  bottom,  was  a 
delightful  prospect  of  little  green  patches  of  cultiva- 
tion and  the  curious  light  greenish-grey  streaks 
which  show  the  delicate  plantation  of  a  Persian 
garden. 

Most  of  the  places  where  a  moment's  halt  in  this 
hustle  of  the  world  would  be  delightful  have  to  be  left 
inexorably  behind,  and  with  a  regretful  backward 
glance  at  this  little  green  jewel  in  the  rough  setting  of 
the  hills,  we  crossed  the  quite  moderate-sized  river  at 
the  bottom  of  the  valley,  and  climbed  the  winding  road 
which  mounted  beside  a  tributary  to  the  east. 

Night  was  spent  in  a  filthy  lower  room,  windowless 


OVER  THE  HILLS  AND  FAR  AWAY  313 

and  almost  doorless,  at  the  tiny  village  of  Kamar,  and 
early  the  next  morning  my  caravan  set  forth  again  on 
its  arduous  business. 

Truth  to  tell,  I  was  not  quite  easy  about  this  last 
expedition.  It  was  early  in  the  year,  the  passes  were 
scarcely  negotiable,  and  I  had  left  myself  a  march  for 
every  day  which  remained  until  the  steamer  I  had 
to  catch  should  touch  at  Meshed-i-Ser.  It  was  a  race 
against  time  and  a  tussle  with  Nature  and  with  Fate 
in  her  capacity  as  mistress  of  the  weather. 

The  first  miles  of  to-day's  journey  lay  in  and  out 
of  desolate  rising  hills,  with  now  and  then  the  glimpse 
of  a  vista  of  snow-crowned  peaks.  As  we  rose  it 
grew  very  cold,  and  an  ungenial  weather-god  came 
to  the  assistance  of  Nature  in  her  attacks  on  our 
comfort. 

So  we  wandered  on  through  patches  of  snow,  down 
steep  paths  across  dirty-white  torrents,  until  at  last  at 
a  tea-shop  we  gratefully  turned  in  to  rest  during 
a  passing  snowstorm.  Just  beyond  our  little  haven 
of  refuge  we  turned  sharp  to  the  north,  leaving 
the  main  road  to  Firuzkuh,  and  taking  the  track 
over  the  mountains  direct  to  Barferush.  We  were  now 
well  off  the  beaten  paths  of  men  ;  the  road  became 
a  mere  mule  path,  winding  upward  amid  ever-in- 
creasing snow,  till  at  last  we  were  tramping  through  a 
track  of  slush  a  foot  wide  and  quite  a  foot  deep, 
cut  through  snow  two  or  three  feet  thick.  At  length 
came  the  summit  of  the  pass — only  another  fictitious 
climax,  the  real  range  of  the  Elburz  still  lay  ahead — 
and  then  we  steadily  descended  into  a  most  picturesque 
valley,  where  thin  light  stems  of  trees,  brown  mud 
roofs,  and  a  blue  dome,  showed  where  lay  the  village 
of  Demavend.  This  was  yet  another  of  the  places 
there  is  no  time  for  in  this  world,  and  we  pressed  on 


314  ACROSS  PERSIA 

round  a  corner  down  a  villainous  miniature  kotal 
and  then,  striking  east,  entered  the  hamlet  of 
Ahmedabad. 

Here  came  a  pleasant  little  surprise,  for  as  we 
approached  there  rode  out  to  us  *  Mirza  Ali,  son 
of  Karbal-i-Ismal,'  the  chief  of  the  village,  who 
hospitably  insisted  on  my  returning  to  his  little 
house  and  occupying  for  the  night  his  hala  kkaneh,  or 
upper  room.  My  host  was  a  decent-looking  young 
Persian,  and  I  shall  always  remember  with  interest 
and  appreciation  the  night  I  spent  under  his  roof. 
This  is  what  I  find  concerning  the  matter  in  my  diary  : 

*  The  room  to  which  I  am  conducted  is  most 
luxuriously  furnished  with  cheap  crockery  and  lamps, 
which  gives  it  a  flavour  of  the  seaside  lodging-house. 
About  the  floor  are  rugs  and  pillows,  the  latter  arranged 
in  neat  little  piles  round  the  walls  ;  a  samovar  stands  in 
the  grate,  while  sheet-like  curtains  can  be  drawn  across 
door  and  window.  All  round  the  top  of  the  room  run 
shelves  crowded  with  the  aforesaid  cheap  crockery  ; 
lower  down,  ledges  on  which  stand  the  lamps  and 
candlesticks.  An  artificial  flower  in  a  vase  on  the 
mantelpiece  recalls  more  than  ever  the  King's  Road, 
Brighton. 

'  I  take  off"  my  boots  and  enter.  Seeing  the  pillows, 
a  vague  fear  seizes  me — but  I  am  reassured,  no  one 
else  will  occupy  the  room  but  me^-Stumps  even,  much 
as  they  admire  him,  may  not  enter.  So  I  have  my 
things  sent  up  and  get  them  ready  for  the  night. 
While  I  am  down  below  I  gather  that  my  friend  has  by 
no  means  a  bad  eye  for  beauty,  for  I  see  various  of  his 
wives,  who  are  not  at  all  shy,  but  stand  unveiled 
gazing  at  the  strange  sight.  The  youngest,  a  girl  of 
perhaps  seventeen,  is  quite  pretty,  and  none  are  at  all 
bad-looking — they  have  not  the  coarse,  heavy  lips  and 


OVER  THE  HILLS  AND  FAR  AWAY  315 

generally  unprepossessing  lower  part  of  the  face  so 
common  in  Persian  women.  [See  illustration  facing 
page  58.] 

'  Upstairs  I  change  my  socks  and  put  on  bath-room 
slippers — of  course,  before  every  one,  it  is  a  tamasha — 
**  a  sight." 

*  However,  my  feet  are  cleaner  than  might  have 
been  expected,  considering  all  things,  and  do  not 
disgrace  me — in  fact,  they  seem  to  impress  the  populace, 
and  I  am  irresistibly  reminded  of  the  "  beautiful  white 
legs  "  in  "  King  Solomon's  Mines  "  when  I  hear  some- 
one whisper  :  "  Like  milk,  aren't  they  ?" 

'  Then  another  tamasha — I  set  up  my  folding-bed  and 
make  it. 

'The  blankets,  etc.,  amuse  them  much — I  explain, 
India  is  hot,  Persia  cold. 

'The  table  also  proves  of  enthralling  interest,  as 
also  do  my  pistol,  glasses,  watch,  knife,  and  compass, 
but  the  climax  is  reached  when  I  open  my  desk  to  get 
this  diary  out. 

'  My  watch-chain,  writing-paper,  note-books,  ink, 
all  are  eagerly  examined — the  last  being  eventually 
upset  over  the  table  by  a  small  boy  who  does  not 
understand  it,  and  attempts  to  look  at  the  bottom  of 
the  bottle.  He  is  immediately  hounded  out  of  the 
room  with  oaths,  but  returns  on  my  intercession.  The 
man  on  my  right  cannot  understand  my  refraining 
from  an  outburst  of  fury,  and  quietly  mopping  the 
mess  up  ;  he  says  with  a  touch  of  irony  or  awe,  I  am 
not  sure  which  :  "  A  good  man,  truly." 

'  I  give  sheets  of  note-paper  to  various  people,  who 
seem  most  pleased  with  them,  and  exclaim  over  the 
excellence  thereof  Also,  I  divide  a  half-loaf  of  white 
bread  among  them.  They  do  not  know  what  white 
bread  is.     The  ladies,  who  have  by  this  time  quite 


316  ACROSS  PERSIA 

taken  me  into  the  family,  sit  in  front  unveiled,  and 
one  dares  to  take  a  piece  of  bread  before  her  turn. 

*  "  Pidar  sag''  cries  mine  host,  "  hiro  " ;  which  being 
interpreted  meaneth,  "  Daughter  of  a  dog — get  out ;" 
and  the  wretched  girl  flies  for  her  life  out  of  the 
door. 

'  But,  of  course,  that  is  the  natural  attitude  towards 
women  in  Persia — they  are  inferior  beings,  have  half 
a  soul  or  none  at  all,  according  to  taste,  and  are  only 
created  for  the  enjoyment  of  man,  to  be  merely 
mistresses  and  child-begetters. 

*  Among  other  things  in  my  desk  appears  a  photo- 
graph of  myself,  which  Mirza  Ali  begs  of  me,  so  I 
eventually  give  it  to  him,  writing,  to  the  best  of  my 
powers,  my  name  on  it  in  Persian.  This  he  studies 
carefully,  repeating  it  like  a  child  learning  a  lesson, 
and  eventually  goes  out  with  the  rest,  murmuring, 
"  Iliat  Kramshahi  Willias — ne  kheir — Iliat  Krarshahi 
Williarms  "  ;  having  set  the  photograph  in  a  place  of 
honour  underneath  the  imitation  flower  on  the  mantel- 
piece. 

*  Perhaps  it  is  a  little  troublesome  at  times  to  have 
people  bursting  in  at  any  minute,  but  it  would  offend 
them  to  order  them  out ;  they  mean  no  harm,  and 
cannot  understand  anyone's  not  wanting  to  see  them  ; 
and  besides,  I  like  to  see  as  much  as  I  can  of  the 
Persian  as  he  is. 

'  So  I  do  not  complain  when,  soon  after,  Mirza  Ali 
comes  in  and,  after  a  word  of  salutation,  sits  down  at 
my  elbow  as  I  am  writing,  and  silently  gazes  at  this 
book  and  the  words  as  they  come  on  it.  Presently 
another  man  joins  him :  **  Writes  well  ?"  says  one. 
"H'm!"  says  the  other,  and  again  silence  reigns 
supreme.  After  ten  minutes  one  asks  why  I  am 
writing ; — five   minutes   after,    what    I    am   writing. 


OVER  THE  HILLS  AND  FAR  AWAY  317 

Then  all  is  stillness  till  the  arrival  of  my  dinner 
interrupts  the  orgie,  and  they  file  out. 

*  After  dinner  I  hold  quite  a  reception  : — all  the 
wives,  Mirza  Ali,  two  other  men,  and  the  small  boy 
who  spilt  the  ink.  We  talk  over  all  sorts  of  matters ; 
— hearing  I  am  going  to  Russia,  one  asks,  "  Is  there 
war  between  England  and  Russia  ?"  I  say  no,  of  course 
not,  and  describe  as  well  as  I  can  the  political  situa- 
tion. At  last  I  feel  I  must  sleep — I  am  dead  tired, 
have  a  bad  headache,  and  have  to  get  up  at  four  to- 
morrow— so  I  tell  them  ''they  are  permitted  to  go" 
— and  this  being  in  Persia  a  polite  command — 
they  go.' 

Of  all  the  days  I  have  ever  lived,  I  think  none  has 
been  more  arduous  or  called  for  a  greater  combination 
of  mental  and  physical  strength  than  the  day  I  left 
Ahmedabad.  Awaking  at  3.30,  I  got  up  at  4,  for 
the  events  of  the  day  demanded  a  very  early  de- 
parture. 

To-day  we  had  to  make  our  way  across  the  highest 
pass  between  Teheran  and  the  Caspian,  and  the  path  lay 
over  deep  snow.  If  the  sun  were  to  come  out,  by  the 
afternoon  the  road  might  be  impassable,  owing  to  the 
state  of  the  snow  across  which  we  had  to  travel ;  so 
I  dragged  my  clothes  on  and,  half  asleep,  folded  my 
blankets,  collapsed  the  bed,  and  packed  both  in  their 
valise.  The  table  followed,  and  then  the  rest  of  my 
paraphernalia,  after  a  hasty  meal  of  a  plateful  of 
porridge  and  a  couple  of  eggs. 

By  this  time  it  was  beginning  to  get  light  (talking 
of  light,  when  I  went  to  shut  my  window  last  night 
before  going  to  sleep,  looking  out,  I  saw  a  light  in  the 
room  below,  and  there  were  all  the  ladies  of  the  family 
cosily  sitting  with  their  legs  under  a  big  central  rug, 
beneath  which   there  was  burning   a   little   charcoal 


318  ACROSS  PERSIA 

stove ;  a  better  and  cheaper  way,  they  consider,  of 
keeping  warm  than  by  blankets). 

Snow  had  fallen  heavily  during  the  night,  and  still 
drove  relentlessly  down.  The  grey  dawn  only  made 
everything  look  more  wretched,  and  I  must  confess  I 
did  not  feel  very  cheerful  at  the  prospect  which  lay 
before  us.  The  march  is  ordinarily  a  bad  one,  and 
under  the  conditions  looked  like  being  formidable,  if 
not  actually  dangerous. 

We  loaded  up  in  the  heavy  snow,  and  set  off  on  foot 
about  half-past  six.  It  was  bitterly  cold  ;  the  ground 
was  at  first  a  mere  bed  of  slush  covered  with  the 
recent  fall,  and  so  featureless  had  everything  become 
that,  after  going  a  little  way,  my  charvardar  said  he 
would  not  go  on  without  a  guide.  I  was  thinking 
that  to  get  lost  was  a  likely  and  most  unpleasant 
event,  so  I  assented,  and  we  eventually  procured  no 
less  than  three.  The  road  was  quite  undistinguishable 
from  the  rest  of  the  country,  as,  owing  to  the  blind- 
ing snow  storms,  was  the  rest  of  the  country  from  the 
sky,  so  that  the  first  mile  or  so,  an  arduous  ascent  of 
a  steep  slope,  was  both  tiring  and  uninteresting.  No 
riding  to-day  ;  for  the  road  was  so  evil  that  every 
effort  had  to  be  made  to  relieve  the  mules  of  every 
pound  of  baggage  possible,  and  the  loads  had  been 
distributed  over  every  available  animal. 

After  an  hour  or  two,  the  snow  suddenly  stopped, 
the  clouds  lifted,  and  disclosed  behind  us  a  glorious 
white-sheeted  panorama  stretching  away  to  dim  snow- 
clad  peaks,  lifting  into  the  blue  sky  summits  wreathed 
with  clouds.  The  toilsome  ascent,  the  hideous,  per- 
petual rise  and  fall  of  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  on  the 
narrow  track  immediately  in  front,  all  were  forgotten, 
and  there  came  a  sense  of  magnificent  elation.  We 
were  on  the  roof  of  the  world,  and  it  seemed  as  though 


OVER  THE  HILLS  AND  FAR  AWAY  319 

all  lands,  all  seas,  all  things,  might  lie  stretched  out 
before  us.  But  soon  down  came  the  snow  again  ;  the 
landscape  once  more  became  a  great  white  uncertainty, 
merging — where  it  was  impossible  to  tell — into  a  great 
white  infinity  in  which  the  only  real  things  were  the 
myriad  hurrying  flakes, — the  footprints  of  the  mules, 
— now  and  again  a  black  dot  of  rock  ; — and  oh  !  so 
bitterly  cold.  Up  and  on, — on  and  up,  with  never  a 
sight  of  any  goal,  never  a  glimpse  of  any  summit.  At 
last  definite  outlines  started  out  of  the  dimness — the 
tiny  hut  which  marked  the  top,  and  now  we  began  to 
descend. 

In  all  the  long  tedious  ascent  of  this  Pulur  Pass, 
save  for  a  fleeting  vision  of  the  roof-tops  of  the  world, 
there  was  only  one  circumstance  which  broke  the 
horrid  monotony.  It  would  be  a  farce  to  call  it  music, 
for  it  was  Persian.  But  it  was  a  grateful  noise.  One 
of  our  acquired  guides  was  evidently  a  singer,  and,  in 
spite  of  his  breathless  condition,  the  attractions  of  his 
Muse  were  too  strong  for  him,  and  he  gasped  out  to 
the  utmost  extent  of  his  depleted  lungs  a  wild  native 
refrain,  which,  I  believe,  did  much  to  enable  us  to 
reach  the  top  at  all.  It  was  not  beautiful,  but  it  was 
vigorous,  and  it  cut  like  a  ray  of  sunlight  into  the 
tempestuous  gloom  around.  At  the  top  of  a  peculiarly 
rasping  voice  he  panted  out  a  never-ending  refrain, 
the  sentiment  of  which  was,  despite  the  incongruous 
rendering,  undoubtedly  an  amorous  one. 

Now"  and  again  the  first  phrase  of  his  song  would 
continue  indefinitely,  like  a  gramophone  out  of  order, 
and  sometimes,  at  a  particularly  steep  ascent,  the 
performance  would  be  overwhelmed  by  a  gasp.  Our 
artist,  indeed,  was  quite  a  character  ;  a  cheery  fellow, 
who  did  much  to  keep  up  the  spirits  of  our  caravan. 
Despite  the  weather,  he  preserved  his  spirits,  chaffed 


320  ACROSS  PERSIA 

every  one,  pulled  and  pushed  mules  about,  and,  gener- 
ally, was  the  life  of  the  party.  Such  a  companion  is 
something  to  be  profoundly  grateful  for  on  our  journey- 
ings  in  gloomy  places,  whether  it  be  in  the  Elburz 
Mountains  or  along  the  road  of  life. 

At  this  point  my  diary  shall  take  up  the  account  : 

'  Still  we  descend  ;  nothing  further  than  6  yards 
away  can  be  seen  in  any  direction.  The  blinding, 
hurrying  flakes  beat  against  my  face,  get  into  my 
ears,  down  my  collar  ; — my  nose  becomes  a  thing  that 
has  to  be  felt  for,  to  be  sure  it  is  there,  until  my 
fingers  grow  too  numb  to  feel  it  ; — feet  are  mere 
instruments  of  progression,  and  only  appreciable  by 
the  sense  of  sight.  So  we  plough  on  in  the  blizzard, 
along  the  narrow  trodden  path  through  the  banks  of 
snow,  until  there  comes  a  shout  from  in  front — and  we 
halt. 

'  White-clad  figures  emerge  from  the  obscurity  ; — we 
have  met  another  caravan.  Nothing  very  dreadful  it 
sounds  ; — but  wait.  Our  little  path  is  not  solid 
ground,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  merely  a  hard  crust 
over  unknown  depths  of  snow,  and  it  is  only  a  couple 
of  feet  wide.  To  pass,  one  of  us  must  leave  it,  and 
make  a  detour  in  the  treacherous  tracks  to  the  side. 
So  there  is  a  deal  of  probing  in  the  snow  with  sticks, 
much  furious  altercation  in  strident  tones  (every  one 
in  Persia  always  talks  at  the  same  time  as  somebody 
else,  if  possible,  and  endeavours  to  shout  him  down  ; — 
if  there  are  more  than  two  engaged,  all  the  better). 

*  Eventually  it  is  they  who  have  to  go  round.  Two 
mules  at  once  "go  through,"  and  remain  helplessly 
floundering  in  the  snow.  This,  of  course,  produces  a 
very  babel  of  epithets,  arguments,  curses,  and  so  on, 
and  as  it  appears  to  be  going  to  be  some  time  before 
we  move  on,  I  get  out  a  few  biscuits  and  a  piece  of 


OVER  THE  HILLS  AND  FAR  AWAY  321 

chocolate,  turn  my  back  to  the  bhzzard,  and  make  an 
effort  at  "  lunch."  It  is  a  piteous  affair — with  the 
driving  snow  turning  the  biscuits  to  pulp,  my  fingers 
scarcely  able  to  hold  the  handkerchief  it  is  all  tied  up 
in,  the  drips  from  the  blankets  over  the  mule-loads 
and  from  my  hat  turning  to  icicles  ;  everything 
desolate,  wretched — and  the  thought  of  another  fifteen 
miles  of  it  all. 

'  When  I  see  poor  little  Mr.  Stumps  curled  up  in  a 
bank  of  snow  trying  to  sleep,  it  is  the  climax.  I  put 
on  my  gloves  (such  big  holes  in  the  fingers)  and  turn 
to  give  a  hand  with  the  mules.  At  last  we  set  off — 
more  bitterly  cold  than  ever ;  only,  after  a  mile  or  so, 
to  meet  another  caravan.  This  time  it  is  we  who 
have  to  move  out  of  the  way,  and  all  our  mules  but 
one  are  soon  wallowing  and  rolling  in  the  snow. 
They  are  pulled  out,  and  we  start  on  again — but  only  to 
meet  yet  another  lot  of  mules  :  I  should  say  we  passed 
three  hundred  in  a  day,  all  carrying  Russian  goods 
from  Meshedi  Ser — mainly  sugar,  I  believe.  Gracious 
Providence  at  last  sends  a  gleam  of  sunlight,  and  in  it 
we  pass  through  steep  gorges,  beneath  huge  smooth 
snow-fields,  whence  now  and  again  roll  miniature 
avalanches,  until  of  a  sudden,  on  looking  up,  there 
right  above  the  belt  of  clouds  looms  a  cone-shaped 
mass  of  white  with  a  smoke-like  cloud  issuing  from 
it, — Demavend.  At  first  it  almost  startles — there 
far  above  where  any  earth  should  be,  an  island  in 
cloud-country.  Then  slowly  the  veil  rolls  away,  and 
its  bare  white  flanks  stand  out  one  by  one — great 
slopes  of  lava  streaked  with  snow — till  the  whole 
gigantic  half-symmetrical  mass  is  discovered.  Despite 
its  being  rather  too  sugar-loaf  in  aspect,  its  huge, 
overwhelming  stature  has  a  vast,  solemn  impressive- 
ness.     We,  down  here,  ourselves  at  no  small  altitude, 

21 


322  ACROSS  PERSIA 

yet  seem  to  have  merely  crawled  up  an  inch  or  two 
after  all. 

Down  still  further,  and  we  come  to  a  lonely  tea- 
house— a  not  unwelcome  sight — and,  looking  back 
to  the  grim  chasm  we  have  just  emerged  from,  I 
sip  a  glass  of  tea  with  a  devout  thankfulness  that, 
Insh'-allah,  I  shall  never  repeat  to-day's  experiences. 

But  they  are  by  no  means  over  yet.  Half  an  hour's 
rest,  and,  just  at  midday,  on  we  go — we  have  about 
ten  miles  still  left. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  hill  comes  a  bridge  over  a 
little  stream  ;  then  another  descent  into  a  magnificent 
gorge  whence  rushes  a  torrent  from  between  two 
great  walls  of  rock.  We  cross  by  a  stone  bridge — 
like  all  such,  of  one  arch — and  start  on  a  long  ascent, 
with  everywhere  around  us  a  prospect  of  giant  snow- 
flecked  peaks  rising  out  of  the  undulating  white 
plains,  all  bathed  in  dazzling  sunlight.  But  alas  !  this 
does  not  last. 

Just  over  the  top,  as  we  are  crossing  a  long,  desolate 
plateau  of  snow,  the  sun  suddenly  disappears,  and  I 
have  only  time  for  a  glimpse  of  a  Himalaya-like  vision 
of  range  on  range  of  mountains,  intersected  by 
fathomless  valleys,  before,  with  a  shriek  and  a  roar, 
down  on  us  comes  another  blizzard. 

I  wrap  a  scarf  over  my  ears,  and  we  struggle  on 
over  the  bleak  desolation  through  the  fierce  driving 
snow  until  we  reach  a  place  where  the  path  cuts 
obliquely  down  the  face  of  a  precipice  with,  to  the 
left,  a  wall  of  rock  rising  sheer  from  the  inner  side  of 
the  path,  to  the  right,  an  awful  chasm  descending  a 
thousand  feet,  to  be  lost  in  a  gloom  whence  sounds 
the  roar  of  a  torrent,  and  from  which  blow  furious 
gusts  of  wind  whirling  the  snow-flakes  up  relentlessly 
before  them  into  our  faces  as  we  battle  along.     Mile 


OVER  THE  HILLS  AND  FAR  AWAY  323 

upon  mile,  till  at  last  the  wind  dies,  the  clouds  lift, 
and,  just  before  we  reach  Reneh,  our  halting-place, 
the  sun  comes  out  and  illumines  a  magnificent  scene. 

*  We  are  on  the  side  of  a  mighty  mountain,  which 
towers  over  us.  Behind,  rise  giant  crests  glistening 
with  snow,  while  opposite,  others  descend  sheer  to 
where,  far  below,  foams  the  river  whose  roar  we  have 
heard  for  long.  There  beneath,  by  the  stream,  row 
upon  row  of  mud  roofs  and  a  curious  tent-like  mosque 
show  the  village  of  Ask,  while  straight  ahead  on  a 
plateau  lies  Reneh — our  destination.  There  we  arrive 
about  4.30 — ten  hours'  hard  walking,  and  I  think 
twenty-six  of  the  most  infernal  miles  I  have  ever  come 
across — or,  please  Heaven,  ever  will. 

*  I  soon  set  to  and  make  my  bed  in  a  little  mud  hut 
(really  not  quite  so  dirty  as  usual),  and,  taking  off  my 
wet  boots  and  socks,  sit  down  by  the  light  of  a  candle, 
and,  I  am  afraid  rather  too  tired  for  the  result  to  be 
very  much  good,  to  write  this  diary,  until,  about  eight, 
just  as  my  eyes  are  giving  out,  in  comes  my  dinner — 
some  rather  tasteless  soup,  half  a  tin  of  fried  "  bully- 
beef"  (one  of  my  most  important  discoveries),  and 
some  boiled  rice,  also  two  stewed  apples. 

*  To  bed  at  nine — dead-beat.' 


21—2 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   LAST   OF   THE   ROAD 

*  I  think  heroic  deeds  were  all  conceiv''d  in  the  open  air,  and  all 
free  poems  also ; 
I  think  I  could  stop  here  myself  and  do  miracles ; 
I  think  whatever  I  shall  meet  on  the  road  I  shall  like, 

And  whoever  beholds  me  shall  like  me  ; 
I  think  whoever  I  see  must  be  happy. 

***** 
I  inhale  great  draughts  of  space ; 

The  east  and  the  west  are  mine,  and  the  north  and  the  south 
are  mine.' 

Walt  Whitman. 

The  open  road  was  leading  me  to  a  new  land,  to 
another  Persia,  to  a  different  world  from  the  one  I  was 
leaving.  Already  the  transformation  scene  was  taking 
place.  The  air  was  changing.  Trees — live  green 
trees,  like  those  of  a  Western  land,  began  to  dot  the 
slopes  of  the  mountains.  The  haunting  barrenness 
of  the  great  solitudes  of  the  Persian  plateau  was 
gradually  disappearing,  and  with  the  new  earth  and 
the  new  air  there  came  new  life  and  new  vigour  of  soul. 
Instead  of  the  arid  exaltation  of  the  high  deserts, 
there  came  green  expanding  freshness,  a  joyous  glow 
at  heart ;  no  lofty  serenity,  but  a  pulsing,  leaping 
fervour,  the  feeling  that  in  England  comes  with  the 
spring.  It  was  another  phase,  another  aspect  of  this 
great  and  wonderful  world,  which,  wherever  we  turn, 
offers  us  some  new  marvel.     The  mood  of  the  East 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  ROAD  325 

was  merging  into  the  mood  of  the  West,  and  both 
were  glorious  and  good.  No  less,  but  perhaps  even 
more,  was  the  open  road  a  continually  unfolding  joy 
and  everlasting  inspiration  than  it  had  been  in  all 
the  long  marches  through  sandy  wastes,  over  rugged 
mountains,  by  ancient  ruins,  and  through  strange 
cities. 

It  was  with  a  sense  of  regret  at  a  surely  approaching 
parting  from  an  old  friend  that  I  set  out  every  day  on 
these  last  marches  of  my  travels. 

Next  morning  we  were  up  at  four,  for  there  were 
seven  long  farsaMis  in  to-day's  journey.  The  farsakh 
is  a  measure  peculiarly  suited  to  the  Persian  character. 
One  man  can  say  one  and  another  two,  and  both  may 
be  right — or  wrong.  Generally,  indeed,  it  is  something 
approaching  four  miles  ;  but  up  here  the  farsakh  is 
always  more  than  a  southern  farsakh,  and  seems  to 
approach  ^yq  miles.  Things  are,  indeed,  here  altogether 
on  a  bigger  scale,  and  those  who  rave  about  the 
difficulties  of  the  Kotals  in  the  south  should  try  the 
Pulur  Pass  ;  I  will  warrant  they  will  afterwards  think 
the  Kotals  a  carriage-road. 

It  was  sir-i-aftab — the  first  ray  of  sunlight — when 
we  eventually  got  off;  at  least  the  snow  summits  of 
the  hills  opposite  were  bathed  in  a  blaze  of  radiance  ; 
but  down  here  we  were  still  in  a  chill  shadow.  Truly 
it  was  a  glorious  sight.  To  the  south  the  array  of 
giant  white  crests,  all  dazzling  in  the  morning  sun, 
showed  of  what  a  scene  of  splendour  yesterday's  snow- 
storms had  deprived  us,  while  down  from  them  ran 
this  great  ravine  with,  far  below,  its  white  and  green 
waters  dashing  between  steep  hill- walls.  It  was  all 
reminiscent  of  such  scenery  as  is  to  be  found  on  the 
lower  slopes  of  the  Himalayas,  at  Naini  Tal  or  beyond 
Simla  at  Mahasu  or  Mashobra. 


326  ACROSS  PERSIA 

The  air,  too, — crisp,  frosty,  glorious ;  the  seven 
farsakhs  did  not  seem  appalling.  Down  and  ever 
down  we  went  until,  turning  a  corner,  there  suddenly 
burst  on  my  sight  a  curious  and  wonderful  scene. 
From  farther  up  the  mountains  I  had  seen  some 
strange  black  dots,  spotting  the  face  of  a  cliff  which 
ran  at  right  angles  across  our  path.  Now  at  close 
quarters  I  saw  the  explanation  of  what  had  puzzled  me 
at  a  distance.  They  were  a  mighty  collection  of  rock 
dwellings.  I  stood  gazing  at  them  in  amazement ; 
then  I  counted  ;  there  were  fifty  and  more  various 
chambers  in  the  rock  wall.  I  felt  that  I  could  not 
pass  this  place  without  making  a  more  detailed 
examination  of  these  strange  relics  of  a  primitive  race, 
and  so,  telling  the  charvardai'  to  go  slowly  on  with  the 
mules,  I  proceeded  to  explore  and  make  notes,  from 
which  I  afterwards  put  together  a  short  account  for 
the  Journal  of  the  Royal  Asiatic  Society. 

For  a  space  of  about  50  yards  the  cliff  was  honey- 
combed with  the  entrances  to  these  dwellings.  All 
but  the  lowest  were  practically  impossible  of  access, 
and  far  above  me  there  temptingly  yawned  black 
openings  which  led  obviously  to  little  suites  of  rooms. 
I  found,  however,  that  by  scrambling  I  could  just 
reach  a  couple  of  the  lowest  apartments.  It  was  a 
difficult  business  ;  but  I  was  well  rewarded  for  sundry 
bruises  and  for  almost  slipping  just  as  I  gained  the 
threshold  by  finding  a  small  set  of  rooms  almost  un- 
touched. Passing  through  a  passage,  I  came  to  a  sort 
of  shaft  about  15  feet  in  height  and  4  feet  square 
leading  up  inside  the  cliff  to  still  other  chambers,  in 
one  of  which  was  an  ancient  rubbish-heap. 

I  much  regretted  that  I  had  to  make  so  cursory  an 
examination  of  these  rock  dwellings,  and  I  certainly 
think  that  they  would  repay  closer  inspection.     The 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  ROAD  mi 

upper  and,  at  present,  inaccessible  suites  of  rooms 
might  be  reached  by  a  ladder  or  rope,  and  there  might 
there  be  valuable  finds.  From  the  natives  of  the 
district  I  could  find  out  nothing  except  that  the 
dwellings  were  '  very  old ' — in  this  case,  '  Vakht-i- 
Jamshyd' — which  means  to  say  that  the  Persian 
has  no  idea  at  all  of  their  date,  and  puts  them  in  a 
legendary  period. 

The  mules  by  now  were  far  ahead.  I  hurried  after 
them,  and  when  I  eventually  overtook  them,  the  old 
charvardar  shook  his  head  at  me  as  if  I  were  an  errant 
child  whom  he  could  not  have  the  heart  to  scold,  and 
then  smiled  when  I  told  him  it  was  khuh  tamasha — 
a  fine  sight. 

Where  it  could,  the  road  followed  the  river,  but 
since  engineering  is  an  art  practically  unpractised  in 
Persia,  whenever  there  was  an  obstacle  in  the  path,  it 
dashed  wildly  up  the  hill  and  down  again,  to  get 
round  it,  by  which  we  gained  picturesqueness  at  the 
expense  of  rapid  progress. 

Strikingly  picturesque  the  scene  certainly  was.  On 
the  opposite  side,  a  little  further  down  the  gorge,  was  a 
tiny  hamlet,  nestling  under  the  shade  of  what  at  first 
appeared  to  be  a  huge  detached  mass  of  rock,  with, 
behind,  the  mountains  towering  up  to  their  snowy 
summits.  But  on  a  second  look,  there,  on  the  isolated 
peak,  appeared  ramparts,  towers,  battlements;  while 
under  the  cliffs  extended  massive  outworks  and  walls. 
It  was  a  gigantic  fortress,  separated  from  the  main 
rock  by  a  narrow  chasm,  down  which  poured  a  stream 
in  a  thin,  white  streak  of  foam.  In  those  ages  when 
it  was  built  it  might  well  have  been  impregnable,  and, 
even  now,  what  was  left  inspired  astonished  admiration 
of  its  marvellous  strength  of  position.  As  we  went 
along  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  from  it ;  it  was  such 


328  ACROSS  PERSIA 

a  perfect  work  of  art  in  such  a  perfect  setting,  and 
while  I  looked  I  asked  its  history.  It  was  '  Amorat 
Malik  Shah,'  built  *  ten  thousand  years  ago ' — and  now 
there  was  no  access  to  it.  Once  there  was  a  great 
causeway,  but  now  it  is  makruhat — ruined — and  none 
can  enter.  I  would  have  given  much  to  cross  and 
explore  the  place — but,  alas  !  it  was  not  to  be,  and 
we  pressed  on,  amid  the  most  splendidly  magnificent 
scenery,  until  the  hills  closed  in  and  towered  higher, 
and  we  entered  a  canyon,  where,  once,  only  the  river 
flowed,  while  above  sheer  walls  of  rock  towered  to  a 
thousand  feet.  Now  a  roadway  has  been  built  in  the 
cliff-side — there  are  the  remains  of  an  older  one 
opposite — and  side  by  side  with  the  roaring  torrent, 
now  tossed  from  boulder  to  gigantic  boulder,  now 
running  swift  and  smooth  and  deep  where  the  straight 
black  rock  dived  into  it,  we  passed  in  a  midday  gloom 
through  the  windings  of  this  huge  chasm. 

In  a  little  we  passed  Baijun,  where,  close  by  the 
tiny  village,  there  was  a  hot  spring,  wherein  some 
women  were  washing  clothes.  Our  path  lay  still 
along  the  river,  now  this  side  of  it,  now  that,  and 
always  under  the  great  overshadowing  mountains.  At 
last  a  little  white  edifice  appeared  among  some  thin 
trees  far  down  the  gorge.  *  Siawisha  V  I  asked  ;  that 
being  our  destination,  and  I  having  been  told  an  hour 
and  a  half  ago  that  it  was  two  farsakhs  distant.  No — 
this  was  Aliabad.  Siawisha  was  two  farsakhs!  I 
mentally  cursed  all  things  Persian,  and  the  farsakh  in 
particular.  Only  an  hour  to  dark,  so  this  must  be 
our  *  munzil,'  and  Siawisha  still  eight  miles  away. 

Soon  after  three  next  morning  my  little  expedition 
was  awake,  and  about  dawn  we  started  again,  down 
by  the  side  of  the  river-bed  in  the  gorge. 

Yesterday's  lost  time  had  to  be  made  up,  and  so  we 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  ROAD  329 

hurried  along,  flinging  stones  at  flagging  mules,  switch- 
ing the  pony  from  behind,  which  made  him  kick, 
bustling  away  still  along  by  the  running  water — of 
which  the  name  was,  I  found,  Haras  River — and  still 
under  those  great  mountains,  now  beginning  to  be 
dotted  with  trees,  and  growing  more  than  ever  like 
the  Simla  hills.  There  was  sport  about.  A  pigeon 
flew  out  from  the  rocks ;  but  it  was  for  big  game 
that  the  place  looked  best  fitted.  The  wooded  slopes 
should  hide  panther  and  bear,  and,  likely  enough, 
ibex  too. 

It  was  three  hours  before  we  reached  Siawisha, — I 
thanked  Heaven  we  had  not  attempted  it  last  night, — 
and  as  the  charvardar  insisted  on  a  cup  of  tea,  I 
pushed  on  alone  with  the  mules,  telling  him  to  catch 
us  up  afterwards. 

On  the  whole,  my  experience  as  head  muleteer  was 
not  unsatisfactory,  although  possibly  I  did  not  quite 
observe  the  rules  of  the  road.  Somehow,  when 
Meshed -i-Astulla  was  in  command,  we  always  seemed 
to  have  to  wait  while  other  people  passed.  By  a  very 
simple  expedient,  I  contrived  that  now  the  other 
people  should  wait,  or  get  out  of  the  way  somehow, 
while  my  little  string  of  mules  wandered  by.  This  efiect 
was  produced  by  my  going  on  in  front,  and  whenever 
a  caravan  appeared,  waving  my  stick  in  the  face  of  the 
leading  mule,  which  made  him  run  into  the  wall  or 
down  into  the  river,  followed  by  his  companions  ;  and 
so  we  got  along  at  an  admirable  pace. 

I  have  no  doubt,  however,  I  should  not  have  been 
permanently  popular  on  the  road. 

My  charvardar  s  '  cup  of  tea '  must  have  been  a  mere 
euphemism,  for  I  felt  myself  quite  an  experienced  mule- 
driver  before  he  and  his  boy  eventually  overtook  us. 
I  remember  producing  some  of  my  finest  Persian  objur- 


330  ACROSS  PERSIA 

gations,  mingled  with  threats  that  their  ijiam,  or 
reward,  was  rapidly  diminishing  ;  but  my  thoughts 
were  soon  diverted  by  other  matters,  for  it  was  at 
this  point — but  it  is  better  told  in  the  words  I  wrote 
that  night. 

'The  hills  have  been  becoming  more  and  more 
thickly  wooded  until  even  their  summits  are  clad  in  a 
warm  garb  of  firs  rising  from  out  the  dull  white  snow, 
while  at  last  has  come,  at  a  bend,  a  vista  of  great 
brown  mountains,  their  lower  slopes  bare,  but  aloft  clad 
in  a  forest  of  trees,  and,  far  at  the  end  of  the  valley,  a 
peak,  head  to  foot  a  mass  of  foliage.  We  have  steadily 
come  down  and  down,  the  wind  has  died  away 
gradually,  even  our  torrent  has  imperceptibly  become 
a  river — still  the  change,  when  it  does  come,  is  over- 
whelming. 

*  Round  a  corner,  and  we  have  left  Persia.  Before 
turning  it — the  dry  aridness  we  have  seen  and  got 
used  to  the  whole  way  from  the  Gulf,  redeemed 
perhaps  by  those  fir-clad  summits,  but  still,  Persia. 
Then, — there  is  a  hazy  look  about  the  far  hills  instead 
of  that  unnatural  sharpness  of  the  East,  a  dim  blue- 
ness  softening  everything  beautifully.  And,  surely, 
the  air  is  moist  ?  Not  wet — moist,  a  delicate  grada- 
tion between  wet  and  dry.  Yes,  it  is  so,  and  can  it 
be  ?  the  breeze  breathes  an  odour,  an  odour  of  earth 
and  the  trees  ;  of  the  soft  brown  earth,  the  green  trees. 
This  faint  fragrance  that  sends  a  curious  thrill,  as  only 
a  scent  can,  through  the  whole  body, — why,  that  must 
be  may  !  Yes,  may ! — down  there,  see,  a  dazzling 
white  mass,  and  again,  nearer,  but  less  noticeable  at 
first  glance,  a  tree  covered  with  pink  blossoms.  Can 
that  be  grass? — green  grass?  a  field?  A  field  with 
a  brown  path  through  it, — how  strange, — that  gives 
another  thrill.     So  does  a  faint  divine  odour  of  violets, 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  ROAD  331 

and  the  sight  of  the  little  blue  blossoms  and  their 
white  sisters  nestling  in  the  bank  of  a  tiny  stream 
flowing  amid  moss  through  a  glade  of  trees.  So  does 
the  delicate  green  of  the  tree — the  buds  ; — and  all  of 
a  sudden  the  truth  flashes — this  is  spring,  an  English 
spring,  and  as  a  bird  breaks  into  song  from  a  little 
thicket,  the  tears  come  into  my  eyes. 

*  It  is  so  long — three  long  years — since  I  was  at 
home  and  saw  it  all.  After  that,  the  cruel  magnificent 
East — and  now  in  a  moment  it  is  all  back  again,  and 
all  so  vividly  sudden.  I  draw  the  breath  of  spring 
into  my  nostrils — glorious — glorious  ; — I  go  out  of  my 
way  to  tread  on  a  piece  of  soft  green  turf — oh  1  the 
feel  of  it  underfoot ; — I  stop  to  hear  the  song  of  the 
bird ; — I  could  sing  myself ; — I  am  intoxicated  by  the 
joy  of  it  all  after  these  weary  years.  The  half-dead, 
withered  feelings  come  to  life  ; — some  shrivelled  thing 
in  my  heart  grows  green,  expands,  blossoms  ; — oh,  the 
world,  the  sweet,  soft  world, — it  is  very  good. 

'  And  out  to  the  world  goes  my  soul ; — I  am  too 
little  for  it — it  overflows,  enters  all  things,  inspires  all 
things.  This  man  who  comes — surely  he  is  my  friend, 
a  good  straight  fellow,  such  as  I  have  not  seen  the 
like  of:  "Peace  be  with  thee": — "And  with  thee 
peace  "  ; — oh,  my  friend,  the  joy  in  my  heart,  I  would 
you  could  feel  it. 

*  We  stop  at  a  little  tea-house  in  a  village, — was 
there  ever  such  a  tea-house  or  such  a  village  ! — and 
I  catch  a  flufly  puppy  from  among  some  sacks,  and 
simply  make  it  eat  biscuits.  How  could  it  not  ? — it 
must ;  and,  as  it  does,  I  wonder  is  it  really  such  a 
delightful  puppy, — such  a  sweet  woolly  thing, — or  is  it 
all  the  spring  ? 

*  To  have  missed  a  precious  thing — and  of  a  sudden 
to  find  it — can  there  be  such  joy  ?     Down  along  the 


332  ACROSS  PERSIA 

valley,  by  the  stream  through  woods — real  woods — 
past  mossy  pools,  till,  there  in  the  bank,  a  yellow  eye 
looks  a  welcome  at  me, — a  primrose.  One, — a  hundred, 
and  among  them  the  violets,  deep  purple,  lightest 
blue,  pure  white,  and  that  ravishing  scent  mingling 
always  with  the  may. 

*  It  is  the  essence  of  all  the  springs,  the  perfection 
of  all  their  beauties,  a  dream  springland.  .  .  / 

I  was  in  a  little  islet  of  valley  buried  deep  in  the 
mountains,  and,  soon,  the  hills  closed  in  to  form 
another  gorge.  But  now  the  steep  rocks  blossomed 
with  trees,  between  which  an  emerald  mantle  of  moss 
softly  shone.  Below,  the  shadow-flecked  waters  glided 
over  pebbly  shadows  or  slept  in  dim,  mysterious 
pools. 

The  beauty  all  around  took  the  whole  attention — 
which  was,  perhaps,  as  well,  for  the  road  was  so 
execrable  that,  were  one  to  have  thought  of  it,  one 
would  surely  have  grown  worried  and  weary.  Imagine 
a  mass  of  boulders,  generally  the  size  of  a  football, 
dotted  with  others  as  large  as  cricket  balls,  and 
planted  loosely  in  slush  and  mud  ; — that  was  the  best 
part  of  the  road.  The  worst  was  composed  of  acci- 
dental steps  up  and  down,  perhaps  a  foot  high,  and 
varied  by  holes  about  as  deep,  filled  with  mud.  Along 
this  plodded  the  wretched  mules,  struggling  and 
labouring ; — why  they  did  not  collapse  altogether  I 
could  not  make  out. 

For  oneself,  it  was  almost  impossible  to  walk  ;  the 
foot,  however  carefully  planted,  was  nearly  sure  to 
slip  on  the  invariably  slime-coated  stone,  and  to  step, 
as  the  mules  did,  in  the  mud-filled  hollows  was  simply 
not  to  be  contemplated. 

At  last  we  reached  a  place  where  the  gorge  finally 
widened  ; — this  was  the  end  of  the  mountains.     In 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  ROAD  333 

front,  low,  jungle-clad  hills  still  closed  the  mouth  of 
the  valley,  but  it  was  plain  we  had  finished  with 
climbing. 

The  river-bed  grew  broader,  its  waters  took  three 
channels  amid  the  pebbly  waste,  and  we  entered  on 
great  damp  expanses  under  trees,  with  now  and  then 
a  stream  of  water  intersecting.  The  sun  was  covered 
by  clouds  ;  there  was  a  jungle  all  around,  gloomy 
and  mysterious;  and  over  all  hung  a  moist,  marshy 
pall. 

A  moment's  halt  for  a  cup  of  tea  at  a  little  house  in 
a  green  patch,  and  we  pressed  on,  refreshed,  until, 
through  a  clump  of  trees,  I  saw  a  great  dim  stretch  of 
dusky  wooded  land,  extending  away  to  where,  on  the 
horizon,  an  almost  imperceptible  grey  line,  with  a 
curiously  regular  contour,  made  my  heart  suddenly 
leap.     Yes,  it  was  the  sea. 

I  remember  thinking  that  with  some  such  feelings 
Xenophon's  army  must  have  come  over  the  hill- 
crest  two  thousand  years  ago,  and  raised  the  shout, 
9aAa(T(7a  !  OdXaacra  ! — *  The  sea  !  the  sea  !' 

Just  three  months  ago  I  had  looked  my  last  on  the 
glittering  waters  of  the  Persian  Gulf,  and  it  was  with 
a  strange  sensation  that  I  stared  at  the  dim  grey  line 
across  which  lay  my  way — home. 

Fording  the  three  channels  of  the  river,  we  came 
out  on  a  marshy,  reed-grown  track,  thick  with  bracken. 
Here  and  there  was  a  clump  of  trees  already  in  bud. 
Sometimes  there  came  a  great  tree  of  may,  and  every- 
where lay  low,  mossy  banks,  a  mass  of  violets  and 
primroses. 

Just  as  dark  was  closing  in  we  came,  after  over 
twelve  hours  of  marching,  to  our  destination,  the  little 
village  of  Katabusht ;  a  group  of  thatched  cottages 
set  down  in  the  midst  of  a  country,  which,  but  for  that 


334  ACROSS  PERSIA 

bank  of  forest-clad,  snow-crowned  peaks  behind,  might 
well  have  been  England  itself 

In  such  places  one  comes  across  curious  companions. 
Next  door  to  me,  in  a  bare  mud  room,  I  heard  groans, 
and  going  in,  found  a  man  sick  with  rheumatic  fever.  I 
could  only  give  him  some  quinine  and  return  to  my  own 
hovel,  where,  however,  I  was  not  to  be  alone  for  the 
night,  for  just  as  I  sat  down  to  write  my  diary,  a 
rustle  in  the  corner  made  me  start,  and  looking  into 
the  shadows,  I  saw  an  old  hen  placidly  sitting  on  a 
nest  of  eggs. 

Next  morning  we  left  the  village,  which  looked  in 
the  first  rays  of  sunlight  a  pretty  picture  of  moss  and 
may  and  thatched  cottages  among  the  trees.  The 
way  lay  first  over  swampy  ground — great  bushy  reeds 
and  marshy  wastes  ;  but  in  a  little  we  were  passing 
along  what  was  almost  an  English  lane.  Banks  on 
each  side  were  decked  with  primroses,  violets,  and 
anemones  ;  the  warm,  moist  air  was  filled  with  scent, 
and,  actually,  round  about  there  were  hedged  fields. 

After  twenty  miles  came  Barferush,  and  just  after 
crossing  a  river  by  a  magnificent  bridge  of  many 
arches,  there  opened  out  before  our  eyes  a  delightful 
picture.  In  the  centre  of  a  lake,  reed-clad  and  peopled 
with  wild-fowl,  who  seemed  to  know  no  fear,  was  a 
green  island,  thick  with  orange-trees,  covered  with 
fruit,  and  poplars  ;  while  between  the  foliage  was  seen 
what  appeared  to  be  a  white- walled,  red- tiled  mansion, 
like  an  English  country  seat.  Across  the  lake  to  this 
lovely  island  led  a  long,  low  bridge,  whose  pointed  stone 
arches  were  mirrored  in  the  still  waters  below.  The 
whole  had  an  old-time  picturesqueness — and  one  might 
have  imagined  one  had  strayed  into  a  dream  of  some 
backwater  of  the  Thames,  endowed,  in  true  dream 
fashion,  with  the  atmosphere  of  the  East. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  ROAD  335 

Passing  over  the  little  arched  causeway,  I  paid  a 
visit  to  this  place,  one  of  the  Shah's  palaces,  while  my 
muleteer  foraged  after  his  lunch.  Since  it  was  the 
Shah's,  it  was,  of  course,  ruined.  The  red-tiled  roof 
was  dilapidated,  the  many-paned  windows  were  half 
destroyed,  the  courtyard  in  the  centre  had  long  been 
overgrown  with  trees.  It  was  all  a  striking  picture 
of  the  desolation  of  the  work  of  man  and  the  triumph 
of  Nature's  beauty.  The  garden,  with  its  wealth  of 
fruit-laden  orange-trees,  its  dark  glory  of  stately 
poplars,  all  set  on  a  green  carpet  of  turf  and  in  a 
glittering  frame  of  reed-fringed  waters,  lay  basking  in 
the  sunlight.  A  soft  breeze  just  rippled  the  lake,  and 
the  warm  delight  of  a  summer-like  spring  breathed 
everywhere.  I  spent  a  quarter  of  an  hour  wandering 
through  the  ruins  looking  idly  at  the  traces  that  those 
who  had  long  ago  lived  there  had  left  behind  them, 
and  at  the  inscriptions  left  on  the  walls  by  many  more 
recent  visitors.  None  were  English,  only  one  French  ; 
*  le  Docteur  de  Bar  farouche.' 

Eeturning  from  this  delightful  garden,  half-way 
across  the  bridge  I  met  some  strange  men,  who,  to 
my  surprise,  addressed  me  in  Hindustani.  They 
were,  I  found,  from  Kelat,  and  were  *  pilgriming.' 
One  of  them  had  been  once  in  the  6th  Punjab 
Infantry  (he  saluted  me  at  first,  and  I  guessed  he  had 
served  somewhere),  so  the  mystery  was  solved.  With 
a  parting  '  God-speed '  and  another  salute,  they  passed 
on,  and  the  paths  of  our  lives  which  chance  had 
brought  together,  again  separated  for  ever. 

The  men  of  Barferush  had,  I  should  think,  not  often 
seen  a  European,  certainly  they  had  never  seen  a  dog 
like  Stumps,  and  he  attracted  first  attention,  then 
insult,  and  at  last  was  in  danger  of  being  attacked. 
It  happened  in  the  bazaar,  and  after  the  poor  little 


336  ACROSS  PERSIA 

fellow  had  been  hunted,  until  I  came  to  his  rescue, 
by  some  loutish  ruffians,  the  interest  of  affairs  was 
enlivened  by  the  advent  of  a  cow,  which  at  once  went 
for  Stumps,  until  I  rode  her  off,  to  the  best  of  my 
ability.  The  crowd  now  began  to  show  signs  of 
unpleasant  intentions.  Some  threw  stones ;  but  I 
made  a  friend  hand  up  the  little  dog  to  me  as  I  sat 
on  my  pony,  and  eventually  I  passed  on  peacefully. 

To-night's  resting-place  was  Meshed-i-Astulla's 
home,  for  he  lived  just  beyond  Barferush.  As  we 
came  up,  a  little  boy  scrambled  over  a  hedge  and  ran 
after  us.  *  Chiz-i-mun  ' — '  My  thing,  this ' — said  old 
Meshed- i-Astulla,  catching  him  in  his  arms  and  sling- 
ing him  over  his  shoulder  ;  and  so  we  entered  his 
house. 

The  place  was  like  an  English  farmhouse,  and  I  was 
honoured  by  the  chief  room  therein.  It  was  evidently, 
on  ordinary  occasions,  the  anderoon^  or  women's  apart- 
ment, and  in  the  centre  of  the  floor  was  the  grating 
on  which  would  stand  the  little  charcoal  stove  used  to 
warm  the  air  under  the  rugs,  beneath  which  the 
feminine  members  of  the  household  tuck  their  legs  so 
snugly.  On  one  side,  it  had  no  wall,  but  a  white 
sheet,  which  could  be  let  down  at  night  and  furled  in 
the  daytime.  At  the  moment  it  kept  out  the  light, 
but  not  the  air,  which,  though  a  very  desirable  condi- 
tion of  affairs  in  summer,  was  trying  on  the  afternoon 
of  a  chilly  winter's  day. 

Asking  my  permission  first,  Meshed-i-AstuUa  stopped 
behind  at  his  home,  when  I  set  off  on  my  last  march 
to  the  Caspian.  I  had  got  to  like  the  old  chap 
immensely.  He  was  a  dear,  fatherly  old  man,  hard- 
working and  kindly  and  honest,  to  boot.  Also  he  was 
as  nearly  energetic  as  it  is  possible  for  a  Persian  to  be, 
and  it  was  with  a  real  touch  of  regret  that  I  said 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  ROAD  3S7 

good-bye,  he  grasping  my  hand  and  shaking  it  up  and 
down  for  nearly  a  minute,  while  he  uttered  words  of 
goodwill  for  my  journey.  He  left  his  little  son  to  go 
with  us,  an  imp  of  perhaps  six,  who,  half  as  high  as 
the  leading  mule,  strode  manfully  along  in  front  of  it, 
the  rope  in  his  hands,  his  father's  lash  wound  round 
his  waist,  adjuring  the  beast  now  and  then  with  a 
would-be  charvardar's  cry — that  strange  vicious  *er-r-r' 
ending  shortly  and  abruptly,  generally  with  a  cut  at 
some  unfortunate  animal's  legs.  His  air  of  superb 
importance  as  he  swung  his  little  arms  from  side  to 
side  and  stalked  along  made  all  the  muleteers  coming 
the  other  way  (their  mules  to-day  laden  with  blue- 
papered  sugar -cones)  look  at  us  with  an  amused 
smile,  until,  after  a  couple  of  miles,  the  little  chap 
told  me,  *  I  am  tired,'  and  I  had  him  put  on  the  top  of 
a  load. 

Our  way  lay  along  the  river,  now  running  sluggishly 
between  steep  banks.  In  the  midst  of  their  little 
gardens  of  blossoming  may  and  fruit-laden  orange- 
trees,  thatched  cottages  were  sprinkled  plentifully 
about  the  wooded  country.  In  the  gardens  were  also 
tiny  edifices  resembling  summer-houses,  which,  with 
their  bare  floors  raised  on  piles,  and  their  picturesque 
tiled  roofs,  much  puzzled  me,  until  I  learnt  that  in 
these  the  silkworms  were  set  to  spin  their  cocoons, 
after  being  warmed  from  torpor  to  life  next  the  body 
of  some  swarthy  damsel. 

Round  a  corner  suddenly  came  into  view  an  irregular 
line  of  quite  European  buildings,  a  widening  estuary, 
and  beyond,  the  sea. 

Across  Persia, — from  sea  to  sea  ;  it  was  accomplished. 

One  of  the  houses,  which  possessed  a  sign-board  in 
Bussian,  looked  like  an  hotel.  Going  up  to  it,  I  asked 
the  apparent  proprietor  if  he  spoke  English,  French, 

22 


338  ACROSS  PERSIA 

or  German.  No,  only  Russian  and  Persian.  So  in 
the  latter  tongue  I  inquired  if  I  could  get  a  room  for 
the  night.  Saying  '  I  can  do  so,'  he  conducted  me 
upstairs.  But  my  quarters  were  not  to  be  here,  for 
as,  a  little  afterwards,  I  made  some  inquiries  in  the 
custom  house  about  the  steamer,  up  there  bustled 
the  hospitable  French  superintendent  of  customs,  a 
delightful  little  man,  whose  heart  was  obviously  in 
Paris,  though  his  body  might  be  in  Meshed-i-Ser. 
He  insisted  on  my  transferring  to  his  house  from  my 
quarters  at  what  turned  out  to  be,  not,  after  all,  an 
hotel,  but  an  *  agency.' 

His  home  was  snug  and  admirably  furnished.  The 
room  in  which  I  was  introduced  to  ^  Madame '  contained 
some  exquisite  antiquities,  which  my  heart  defied  all 
commandments  in  coveting.  There  were  two  tables, 
the  surfaces  of  which  consisted  of  china  pictures,  one 
of  which  showed  Fath  Ali  Shah  and  his  councillors 
drinking  sherbet ;  the  other,  a  wedding,  the  young 
man  on  a  horse  surrounded  by  his  friends,  being  con- 
ducted towards  the  young  lady,  veiled,  also  on  a  horse, 
and  also  accompanied  by  a  crowd  of  intimates. 

There  were,  I  heard,  only  four  such  in  Persia,  and 
they  particularly  attracted  me — they  were,  I  may 
add,  about  4  feet  long  and  2  wide.  Near  by  was  a 
tile  of  reflet  metallique,  which  had  been  pronounced 
by  a  friend  of  my  host's  to  be  worth  1,000  francs. 
There  were  other  tiles,  mostly  very  old  and  in  relief, 
depicting  various  scenes,  such  as  the  shoeing  of  a 
horse,  two  courtiers  with  hawks  on  their  arms,  etc., 
which  pleased  me  still  more.  Two  complete  sets  of 
chain  mail  adorned  one  wall,  and  some  ancient  fire- 
arms and  swords  surrounded  them.  In  my  room  was 
a  really  beautiful  and  apparently  very  old  picture, 
unmounted,  the  shape  of  an  arch,  about  four  feet  high 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  ROAD  339 

and  two  broad,  representing  two  figures  holding  each 
other's  hands  ;  very  finely  executed. 

After  long  and  arduous  journeying,  it  takes  several 
meals  to,  as  it  were,  bring  up  the  average,  and  I  fear 
my  appetite  for  lunch  astonished  my  excellent  hosts. 
One  of  the  dishes  was  some  local  caviar,  the  best  I 
had  ever  tasted.  These  coasts  are  one  of  the  chief 
sources  of  supply  for  this  Russian  delicacy. 

Afterwards  came  a  little  conversation,  of  which  a 
last  extract  from  my  diary  shall  speak  : 

'My  host  does  not  love  this  land ; — fever,  rheumatism, 
ague,  no  society,  no  comforts,  and  as  for  the  country  : 
"  They  are  a  set  of  dolts — they  do  nothing,  they  know 
nothing.  They  could  do  anything  with  this  land — it 
produces  two  crops  a  year  ;  but  they  are  too  unenter- 
prising to  even  plough  it ;  they  do  nothing  but  grow 
some  rice.  There  is  nothing  to  be  got  here  but  eggs, 
chickens,  and  rice — no  meat,  no  anything." 

*  Having  seen  so  much  sugar  coming  in  from  Russia, 
I  ask  if  it  could  not  be  grown  here.  "  It  grows  wild," 
is  the  answer,  "  but  they  are  such  dolts.  As  to  the 
road, — the  Government  will  do  nothing.  If  it  is  wet, 
it  takes  two  days  to  cover  the  fifteen  miles  from 
Meshed-i-Ser  to  Barferush" — and  I  have  had  some 
experience  of  what  it  is  like  beyond. 

*  Altogether  an  unlucky  land,  a  land  of  possibilities, 
negatived  by  the  apathy  and  ill-health  of  its  inhabi- 
tants.' 

My  journeyings  were  at  an  end ;  the  long  marches 
were  over.  No  more  was  there  the  thought  every 
day  of  a  new  home  at  night.  No  longer  was  there  the 
care  of  obtaining  food  and  the  primitive  methods  of 
eating  it.  I  was  back  in  a  world  of  white  table- 
cloths and  sparkling  silver ;  of  china  and  glass,  and 
sheets  and  chairs  and  tables.     It  was  curious  and  it 

22—2 


UO  ACROSS  PERSIA 

was  delightful.  It  is  a  pity  that  novel  sensations 
wear  off  so  soon.  Could  they  only  be  preserved,  they 
would  make  life  a  very  different  business.  To-day  I 
revelled,  but  I  knew  that  in  a  week  or  so  I  should 
have  sunk  again  into  the  same  old  state  of  things  that 
I  had  long  ago  left ; — everything  done  for  me  instead 
of  having  to  do  everything  for  myself.  The  luxury  of 
not  having  to  get  food,  make  beds,  pack,  and  walk 
thirty  miles  every  day,  would  not  be  appreciated — 
indeed,  that  other  life  would  by  then  seem  an  enviable 
dream;  so  discontented  and  unpleasable  a  thing  is 
man.  Yet  I  knew,  and  still  know,  that  a  past  thickly 
peopled  with  pleasant  and  interesting  recollections  is 
no  small  joy  in  life.  In  a  way,  indeed,  the  present  is  but 
the  preparation  process  of  the  past.  The  present  is 
everything,  and  yet  it  is  nothing.  The  past  is  always 
something.  Bemembrance  is  the  only  abiding  thing 
in  existence  ;  it  is,  indeed,  the  essential  part  of  any 
connected  existence.  Although  my  travels  were  over, 
they  would  surely  remain  a  definite  and  solid  asset  until 
the  day  of  my  death.  '  To  travel  hopefully,'  as  says 
Stevenson,  *  is  better  than  to  arrive' ;  but  the  best  of  all 
is  to  be  able  to  look  back  on  that  hopeful  travelling. 

The  closing  scene  will  always  live  vividly  in  my 
memory. 

I  leave  Persia  in  a  country  barge  which  is  to  take 
me  to  the  two-funnelled  paddle-boat  lying  half  a  mile 
out.  Kishna  comes  with  me  to  say  good-bye,  and  to 
say  good-bye  also  to  little  Stumps,  whom  I  think  he 
loves  a  great  deal  better  than  he  does  myself ! 

The  wharf  is  crowded.  My  host  is  surrounded  by  a 
collection  of  various  disreputable  persons  as  I  say 
good-bye,  and  I  step  from  Persia,  as  I  stepped  into  it, 
with  a  surrounding  air  of  bustle  and  hurry,  which 
completely  belies  the  true  tone  of  the  country. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  ROAD  341 

The  sail  rises ;  the  rowers  lay  down  their  paddles ; 
the  creek,  the  little  houses,  grow  smaller  and  yet 
smaller  behind  us  ; — there  is  a  ripple  of  water  at  the 
bows ;  and  at  my  heart,  in  spite  of  all,  a  feeling  of 
sorrow  at  leaving  the  land  where  I  have  spent  those 
months  that  even  now,  with  only  a  strip  of  shining 
water  between  me  and  Persia,  seem  a  curious  shadowy 
dream.  I  am  going  back  to  civilization.  I  am  leaving 
the  East.  I  am  flying  forward  on  the  wings  of  time. 
For  I  have  spent  a  little  w^hile  in  another  age, — a 
sleepy,  old-world  age,  in  a  forgotten  corner,  where  the 
great  eye  of  time  has  forgotten  to  look,  and  the  dust 
has  collected.  The  dust  must  be  swept  away  ;  it  will 
be  swept  away  ;  but  yet  it  seems  somehow  a  pity. 
There  comes  a  not-to-be-denied,  unreasoning  regret 
for  the  gently  moving,  placid  life,  the  idle,  wasteful 
hours  spent  in  the  sun  and  the  soft  wind  :  for  the 
unthinking  days  lazed  away  far  from  the  bustle  of  the 
world,  with  only  the  strange  old  thoughts  to  brood 
over ; — a  life  of  peaceful  pondering,  of  drifting  on  until 
death  come  and  solve  all  things  ; — the  same  death  in 
the  great  city,  on  the  lone  plain — the  same  death,  so 
what  does  it  matter  in  the  end  ?     And  yet 

A  grating  bump ; — the  black  sides  of  the  steamer, 
overhanging,  bring  me  to  myself  and  to  a  new  world. 


INDEX 


Abadeh,  village,  followers  of  the  Bab 
at,  270  ;  wood  carvings  of,  272 

Abiazan,  post  -  house,  wild  scenery 
near,  293 

Achaemenian  Kings  of  Persia,  their  era, 
193,  and  its  remains  194  et  seq.,  205 
et  seq. 

Ahasuerus.     See  Xerxes 

Ahmedabad,  and  its  hospitable  chief, 
314-7 

Akbar  Khan,  of  Surmek,  good  sport 
with,  259-68 

Alexander  the  Great,  inscription  by,  on 
Cyrus's  tomb,  194,  224,  230,  232 

Aliabad,  328 

Amirabad,  post-house,  291 

Amorat  Malik  Shah  fortress,  ruins  of, 
327-8 

Animals,  Persian  attitude  towards  and 
treatment  of,  57-9,  278 

Archbishop,  Armenian,  and  his  Kalian, 
102-4 

Ardeshir  Babegan,  1 94  ;  investiture  of 
by  Ormuzd,  sculptures  of,  Naksh-i- 
Rejeb,  225  ;  Naksh-i-Rustam,  195, 
200,  201 

Armenians,  of  Julfa,  282 ;  why  un- 
popular, 283 

Artaxerxes  and  the  invention  of  the 
parasol,  221 ;  tomb  of,  Naksh-i- 
Kustam,  211 

Ask,  village,  323 

Author,  the,  arrives  in  Persia,  3,  4  ; 
stay  at  Bushire,  5 ;  departure  for 
Shief,  14,  arrival  at  and  delay  at 
starting  from,  17-21 ;  a  visit  from  the 
•  police, '  their  aid  dispensed  with,  21 
et  seq.  ;  the  start  actual,  32  ;  a  com- 
motion and  its  cause,  33  ;  the  author 
an  unwilling  leader,  34  ;  arrival  at 
Khushab,  the  first  halt,  distant 
mountains  seen  beyond,  36 ;  the  bliss 
of  savagery,  ideal,  37-40 ;  mirage 
and  its  magic,  41-2  ;  the  journey  to 
Borazjun,  comfortable  rest-house  at, 
42,  rufl&anly  inhabitants,  43  ;  a  late 
start,  43 ;  military  training  and  its 
advantages  to  the  explorer,  43, 
patience  and  practicality  needed, 
44-5  ;  drawing  near  to  the  mountains, 
45  ;  how  to  absorb  the  local  spirit  of 
a  land,  46-7  ;  Persian  conversational 
methods,  47,  untruthfulness,  47-8, 
the  percentage  to  deduct  from  state- 
ments, 48 ;  he  discovers  one  reason  for 
Persian  inertia,  48  ;  sees  a  petroleum 
and  sulphur-impregnated  stream,  49 ; 
a  digression  on  fire-worship,   50-1, 

842 


and  on  its  practical  possibilities,  51 ; 
arrival  at  Daliki — instances  at,  of 
Persian  inertia,  53-4  ;  the  waters  of 
Daliki,  53-4  ;  he  attacks  the  kotals, 
their  aspect  described,  56-7,  60-1, 
a  summit  plain  attained,  61,  the 
village  on,  61-2 ;  the  next  kotal,  cairns 
beside,  62,  the  scenery,  63,  the 
guard-house  halt,  politeness  as  cash- 
extractor,  63-5  ;  a  view  of  Kumarij, 
65 ;  the  visit  to  Shahpur  planned,  65, 
and  carried  out,  68,  a  second  visit, 
74,  a  theft  at,  80,  the  great  statue  of 
Shahpur  in  the  cave,  80-4  ;  an  inci- 
dental recipe,  66-7  ;  he  is  lost  on  the 
way  to  camp,  84-6  ;  leopard  near 
camp,  86  ;  the  old  forts  visited,  86  ; 
a  feast  for  archseologists,  93-4  ;  the 
start  thence,  95  ;  across  the  Kazerun 
plain  once  more,  96  ;  why  no  game 
could  be  shot,  97  ;  Kazerun  at  last, 
charms  of  its  gardens  described,  98- 
102,  a  dinner-party  at,  conversa- 
tional difficulties,  102-4,  the  Kalian 
smoked  after,  104,  105-9  ;  the  last 
two  kotals,  110-11  ;  a  Persian  cara- 
vanserai, 111-14  ;  a  sick  muleteer, 
115,  his  painful  journey,  116;  arrival 
at  Dasht-i-Arzin,  116,  sport  at, 
117-8  ;  on  to  Shiraz,  118  ;  the  final 
descent,  119  ;  Persian  soldiers  met  en 
route,  119-21  ;  hospitality  at  Shiraz, 
122,  charm  and  associations  of  the 
city,  124  et  seq.,  t\i%  business  quarter, 
130-5,  haggling  essential,  132-3,  the 
caravanserai  'shop,'  134-5;  the 
glory  of  Shiraz,  135,  gardens,  tea- 
shops,  and  tombs,  136  et  seq.;  why 
the  Persians  say  '  Insh'allah!'  144-5; 
sunset  music,  145-6  ;  sport  near 
Shiraz,  147  etseq.  ;  Ta vernier  on  old- 
time  deer-hawking,  154-6  ;  a  Persian 
shooting-lunch,  159 ;  some  Persian 
manners  and  customs,  161  et  seq.  ;  a 
visit  to  the  Governor,  165,  his  powers 
and  their  exercise,  167-9,  173-5, 
details  of  ceremonial  during  inter- 
view, 169-72;  the  departure  from 
Shiraz,  176-8  ;  scenery  en  route,  180; 
the  rest-house  at  Zarghun,  181  ;  the 
ecstasy  of  'high  places,'  182;  the 
'home'  longing,  182-3;  Bende- 
meer,  of  Moore  and  of  reality,  184-6 ; 
the  plain  of  Merv-i-Dasht  and  its 
history,  185-7,  arrival  at  Persepolis, 
187  ;  rock  chambers  near  Puzeh,  189, 
193  ;  the  Puzeh  rest-house,  190,  and 
its    surroundings,    191-3  ;    a    little 


INDEX 


343 


history,  193-5,  and  its  evidences, 
195 ;  ancient  works  at  Naksh-i- 
Rustam,  196,  tablets,  196,  fire 
altars,  201 ,  other  antiquities,  203-4  ; 
the  Nakkara  Khaneh,  204 ;  the 
Achsemenian  tombs,  205,  their  carv- 
ings and  inscriptions,  205 ;  ride  to 
the  cave  at  Hajiabad,  205-7  ;  visits 
to  the  great  tombs  at  Naksh-i-Rus- 
tam,  207,  210-13  ;  a  walk  near  Puzeh, 
207-10 ;  Persepolis  and  its  associa- 
tions, 214,  its  palaces,  217,  220,  221, 
stairs  and  carvings,  217,  its  columns, 
218-9,  its  pigeons,  219,  220,  223  j 
he  sets  out  from  Persepolis  to  Pasar- 
gadse,  tales  of  arduous  marches,  224 ; 
a  visit  to  Naksh-i-Rejeb  and  its 
sculptures,  225 ;  a  startling  offer, 
226  ;  a  visit  to  Istakhr,  226  ;  the 
author's  cheap  pony,  227  ;  mental 
attitude  induced  by  a  long  march, 
227 ;  Malcolm  cited,  228  ;  a  rest  at 
Sivand,  229  ;  the  gloomy  pass  beyond 
and  the  lost  haversack,  229  ;  the 
Murghab  plain  and  view  of  Pasar- 
gadai,  229-30 ;  the  tomb  of  Cyrus, 
230-1,  present-day  attribution  of, 
231,  the  inscription,  232  ;  the  palace 
of  Cyrus  and  other  remains,  232-5 ; 
the  night's  rest,  235  ;  a  chance  for 
*  posting  letters,'  236  ;  on  from  Deh- 
i-Nau,  a  word  on  morbid-mindedness, 

237  ;  the  Iliats  at  Khaneh  Zerghoon, 

238  ;  photography,  239-40  ;  a  sport- 
ing offer,  240 ;  an  unintelligible 
visitor,  240,  and  others,  241-3 ; 
adventures  at  Dehbid,  and  after,  245 ; 
a  digression  on  beggars  and  on 
Persian  affairs  in  general,  249  et  seq. ; 
sport  at  Surmek,  258  et  seq. ;  on 
Babism  and  its  founder,  269  e^  seq.  ; 
he  passes  Abadeh,  Shulgistan,  and 
Yezdikhast,  272,  peculiar  position  of 
the  last,  273-4  ;  more  '  maxims  of 
the  march, '  274-5  ;  news  and  hospi- 
tality at  Kumeshah,  276  ;  joys 
of  sleep  in  the  open  air,  277  ;  by 
Maiar  and  Marg  to  Isfahan,  278, 
the  city  and  its  features,  279  et  seq.  ; 
the  Armenians  of  Julfa,  282-3  ;  a 
visit  to  the  Zil-i-Sultan,  his  romantic 
history,  283-6  ;  British  hospitality  at 
Isfahan,  286-7 ;  the  droshki  drive 
to  Teheran,  287,  hiring  difficulties, 
289-90,  the  coachmen's  methods, 
290,  291-3,  299;  farewell  to  Saif, 
290  ;  dull  scenery,  291  ;  up  and  down 
hill,  292-3 ;  wild  scenery  beyond 
Targ,  293  ;  hospitable  folk  at  Khafr, 
294  ;  Kashan  and  its  scorpions,  295  ; 
a  first  sight  of  Demavend,  296  ;  on 
past  Kum  and  its  holy  tombs,  296-7  ; 
across  the  Rud  -  i-  Anarbar,  297  ; 
a  political  talk  at  Manziliye  rest- 


house,  297  ;  arrival  at  Teheran,  299, 
characteristics  of  the  city,  300-1, 
the  camel  sacrifice  at,  301,  a  Royal 
Salaam  at,  303  ;  the  Shah's  palace, 
303-5;  a  sight  of  the  Shah,  308; 
departure  from  Teheran,  route  chosen 
across  the  Elburz  Mountains,  309  ; 
course  of  the  journey,  311  et  seq.; 
hospitality  at  Ahmedaljad,  314  ;  the 
crossing  of  the  Pulur  Pass,  317-9  ; 
arrival  at  Reneh,  323  ;  the  last  stages 
of  the  journey,  324,  scenery  along, 
325,  330  ;  rock  dwellings,  326-7  ;  a 
ruined  fortress,  327-8  ;  the  hot  spring 
of  Baijun,  328  ;  arrival  at  Siawisha, 
329  ;  the  author  as  caravan  leader, 
329  ;  the  caravan  enters  a  new  Persia 
— delights  of  spring  once  more,  330-2, 
334  ;  the  first  sight  of  the  Caspian, 
333  ;  arrival  at  Barferush,  its  charms 
and  palace,  334-5  ;  *  Mr.  Stumps  '  is 
mobbed,  335-6  ;  the  home  and  family 
of  Meshed-i-Astulla, 336-7  ;  silkworm 
culture  near  Barferush,  337  ;  arrival 
at  Meshed-i-Ser,  French  hospitality 
at,  338-9  ;  the  end  of  the  journey 
and  its  harvest,  340-1 

Baba  Kuhi  well,  near  Shiraz,  144 
Babism,  its  founder,  his  doctrines,  and 

his  fate,  270-1,  his  followers,  271, 

272 
Bahram  Gur,  '  that  great  hunter,'  his 

possible  portrait,  197 
Baijun,  hot  spring  at,  328 
Baker  and  user  of  false  weights,  how 

punished  by  Shah  Abbas,  166-7 
Baku,  oil-fountains  at,  50  ;  route  to, 

from  Teheran,  309 
Barferush,   mountain   track  to,    313  ; 

arrival    at,   beautiful    surroundings 

of,    334  ;    ruined    palace    at,    335  ; 

adventures    of   *  Mr.    Stumps '    at, 

335-6  ;  silkworm  culture  near,  337 
'  Bast,'  the    institution    of,    and    its 

working,  163-5 
Bazaars  of  Shiraz,  131 
Beggars,  the,  252 
Bendemeer,  according  to  Moore  and  to 

fact,  184-6 
Birds,  the  new-made,  a  story  of,  145 
Borazjun  village,  fortress,  etc.,  police 

tribute  received  at,  26  ;   rest-house 

of  Indo-European  telegraphs  at,  42  ; 

its    much-armed    inhabitants,    43  ; 

petroleum  waters  beyond,  48,  49 
Bridges  in  Isfahan,  280 
Bushire,  port  of,  climate  at,  5  ;  features 

of,  6-10 ;  the  author's  start  from,  14 

Camel,  Sacrifice  of,  at  Teheran,  301 
Canada,  petroleum  springs  on  fire  in, 

50 
Caravanserai,  a,  described,  111  et  seq. 


344 


ACROSS  PERSIA 


Caspian  Sea,    author's  first  sight  of, 

333  ;  his  arrival  at,  337 
Cave  at  Hajiabad,  207  ;  at  Shahpur, 

explored  by  author,  80-4,  the  statue 

of  the  King  in  it,  80-1 
Chardin,    cited    on  the    scorpions    at 

Kashan,  295 
Children,  Iliat,  games  of,  239  ;  Persian, 

13,  14,  games  of,  8-9 
China  pictures,  set  in  tables,  rarity  of, 

338 
Chinar,  caravanserai,  last  before  Shiraz, 

119 
Chosroes,  King,  in  rock  pictures,  73 
Cock  and  hen,  why  they  cannot  fly,  145 
Crosses,  carved,  in  tombs  of  Achseme- 

nian  Kings,  Naksh-i-Rustam,  205 
Cuneiform  alphabet,  the  key  to  Perse- 

polis,  215 
Curzon,    Lord,    of    Kedlestone,    cited 

passim 
Cyriadis  of  Antioch  in  rock  pictures, 

72,  73 
Cyrus,   founder    of   Pasargadse,   216  ; 

tomb,  etc.,  of,   at  that  place,  194, 

224,  230-2 

Dakhmas  (flat  tables),  at  Naksh-i- 
Rustam,  203  ;  at  Shahpur,  194 

Daliki  oasis  and  its  surroundings,  52-5 ; 
mineralogical  possibilities  in  the 
neighbouring  mountains,  53  ;  petro- 
leum near,  48,  49 

Darabjird,  rock  sculptures  at,  of 
Valerian  conquered  by  Shahpur,  198 

Darius  I.,  founder  of  Persepolis,  216  ; 
his  tomb  at  Naksh-i-Rustam,  205-6, 
fate  of  the  monarch's  parents  at, 
211-12  ;  tomb-dwelling  of  his  slave, 
213 

Darius  II.,  tomb  of,  Naksh-i-Rustam, 
211 

Dasht-i-Arzin,  highest  point  of  first 
part  of  journey,  116  ;  the  telegraph- 
house  at,  117  ;  sport  on  the  frozen 
lake  near,  117-8;  scenery  beyond, 
118-9 

Dead,  disposal  of,  in  olden  days, 
problem  of,  88-90 

Deer-hawking,  Tavernier  on,  154-6 

Dehabad,  valley  post-house,  294 

Dehbid,    the    journey    to,    244 ;     its 

J)eculiar    people,    245 ;    the    mules 
ost  after  leaving,  246 
Deh-i-Nau,    bivouac    at,    235  ;    the 

country  beyond,  237 
Demavend,   mountain,   as   seen    from 

Sin-Sin,  296  ;  its  cone,  312  ;  as  seen 

from  the  Pulur  Pass,  321 

village,  313 

Domestic  economy,  how  to  make  rice 

cakes,  66-7 
Droshki  hire,  for  journey  to  Teheran, 

a  diflicult  transaction,  287-90 


Early  starting,  importance  and 
difiiculty  of,  in  Persia,  76,  274-5 

Elburz  Mountains  (see  also  Demavend), 
the  journey  across  decided  on,  309, 
and  begun,  311  ;  the  route  followed, 
312  ;  rock  dwellings  in,  193,  326  ; 
scenery  beyond,  325,  327  et  seq. ; 
the  end  of,  332-3 

Essedi,  birthplace  of,  125 

Esther,  The  Book  of,  the  light  it 
throws  on  Persepolis,  185 

Farsakh,  Persian  measure  of  distance, 
325 

Fatima's  tomb,  at  Kum,  296 

Ferid-ud-din  'Attar,  birthplace  of,  125 

Firdausi,  birthplace  of,  125 

Fire-altars  near  Persepolis,  193 

Fire,  sacred,  Persian,  Fryer  and  others 
on  the  care  taken  to  preserve,  51 

Fire  -  worship,  Persian,  history  of, 
201-3  ;  suggested  connexion  of,  with 
the  petroleum  springs,  50  ;  a  prac- 
tical deduction,  51 

Franklin,  cited  on  sunset  band-play- 
ing, Shiraz,  145-6 

Fryer,  Dr.,  cited  on  nightingales  of 
Shiraz,  124  ;  Persepolis  and  its 
ruins,  218 ;  Persian  inns,  112,  women 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  13,  sacred 
fire,  51  ;  Shiraz  wine,  128-9 

Games  of  Iliat  children,  239,  of  Per- 
sian children,  8,  9 

and  sports    at   Isfahan  in  olden 

times,  281-2 

Gardens  of  Kazerun,  98;  of  Shiraz, 
129-30,  135,  graves  in,  136 

Gaz,  post-house,  295 

Gez,  post-house,  291 

Graves  in  gardens,  Persia,  98,  136 

Gulzad  and  his  store,  7 

Guz-tree,  dye  from,  45 

Hafiz,  birthplace  of,  125  ;  his  poems, 
126-8  ;  his  tomb,  139 

Hajiabad,  cave  of,  inscriptions  in, 
period  of,  195.  207 

Hall  of  the  Hundred  Columns,  Perse- 
polis, 221  ;  its  rich  sculptures,  222 

Haras  River,  game  near,  329 

Haroun-al-Raschid,  a  modern  parallel, 
165 

Hatifi,  birthplace  of,  125 

Hoseinabad,  a  bustling  driver  at,  299 

Husein  Kuh  (hill),  Naksh-i-Rustam, 
site  of  the  rock  sculptures  and 
tombs,  fire-altars  at  foot  of,  201,  203 

Ibex,  154 ;  near  Surmek,  261,  264, 
266-8 

Iliats,  tent-dwellers,  met  near  Shah- 
pur, 75,  81  ;  and  at  Khaneh  Zerg- 
hoon,  238,  games  of  the  children. 


INDEX 


345 


239.  clothing  of,  238,  239,  pride 
of  their  women,  239 

Imam  Reza,  tomb  of  his  brother  at 
Khonar-tahkteh,  62 ;  that  of  his 
sister,  at  Kum,  296 

Indo-European  telegraphs,  rest-houses 
of,  comforts  of,  42 

'  Insh'allah  !'  Persian  interjection,  and 
its  employment,  144  ;  the  story  of, 
145 

Isfahan,  first  view  of,  278  ;  pronuncia- 
tion and  spelling  of  the  word,  279  ; 
its  beauties  and  drawbacks,  279-81 ; 
the  Meidan-i-Shah,  280,  and  sports 
held  there,  281-2  ;  a  visit  to  the 
Zil-i-Sultan,  283-6  ;  British  hospital- 
ity at,  286-7  ;  the  start  for  Teheran, 
287 

Istakhr,  ruined  city,  191  ;  date  of, 
194  ;  visited  by  author,  a  probable 
mine  of  archaeology,  226-7 

Jacob,  Father,  Armenian  Arch- 
bishop's right-hand  man  at  Kazerun, 
103 

Jalal-ud-din  Rumi,  birthplace  of,  125 

Jami,  birthplace  of,  125 

Jamshyd's  courts,  a  cold-blooded  cor- 
rection, 214 

Journals  e^i  route^  how  to  keep,  QQ 

Julfa,  city  of  the  Armenians,  facing 
Isfahan,  282 

Justice  in  Shiraz,  164,  167-8 

Kahrizak,  last  stage  before  Teheran, 
299 

Kalian,  or  Persian  pipe,  a  chapter  on, 
104,  105  et  seq. 

Kalicha,  author's  servant,  21 

Kamar  village,  halt  at,  313 

Kashan,  a  large  business  town.  Char- 
din's  tradition  concerning,  295 

Kassab  Khana  gate,  Shiraz,  old  pillars 
once  at,  tale  of,  130 

Katabusht  village,  English  aspect  of 
surroundings,  333-4 

Ka^erun  plain,  66 ;  picturesqueness  of, 
and  game  on,  96-7 

town,  its  gardens  and  graves,  98  ; 

a  first  visit  to,  and  a  practical  joke, 
101  ;  its  pomegranates,  102  ;  a  civil- 
ized dinner  at,  102 ;  the  Archbishop 
and  his  Kalian,  102-4  ;  a  chapter  on 
the  Kalian,  104  et  seq. 

Kelat  pilgrims  met  with  at  Barfenish, 
335 

Kerman,  source  of  the  Persian  sacred 
fire,  51 

Khafr,  hospitable  folk  at,  294 

Khaneh  Zerghoon,  caravanserai,  Iliats 
at,  238 ;  photography  and  sport, 
239-40  ;  visitors  and  medicme,  240-3 

Khan  Khana,  muleteer,  his  accident, 
115-6,  122 


Khonar-takhteh,  village,  a  rest  at,  61 ; 

its  holy  tomb,  62 
Khoneh   Khoreh,  a  strange  meal  at, 

246-7 
Khushab,  the  first  halt  at,  mountains 

seen  beyond,  36,  41 
Khushk,  post-house,  weird  view  from, 

298 
Kishna,  author's  servant,  21,  290,  340 
Kotal  -  i  -  Dokhter    (pass),     60  ;     the 

journey  through,  110 
Kotal-i-Kumarij,  60,  62 
Kotal-i-Mallu,  60 
Kotal  -  i  -  Pir  -  i  -  Zan    (pass),   60  ;    the 

journey  through.  111 
Kotals,    or    passes,    the    features    of 

described,  57  ;    names  of  the  four, 

60  ;  compared  with  Pulur  Pass,  325 
Kumarij  kotal,  60  ;  roadside  cairns  of, 

62-3 ;  scenery  along,  63  ;  the  summit 

rest-house  and  its  soldier  hosts,  63-5 

village,  65 

Kum,    holy    city,    golden    dome    of, 

sacred  tombs  in,  296-7 
Kumeshah,    welcome    hospitality    at, 

276 

Le  Bruyn,  cited  passim 

Loti,  Pierre,  experiences  of,  with  Per- 
sian policemen,  24-5  ;  cited  on  the 
mineralogical  probabilities  in  the 
mountains  near  Daliki,  53 

Mahsfd,  the  dervish  met  en  route  to, 

275 
Maiar,  no  chapar  khaneh  at,  277 
Malcolm,  cited  passim 
Manziliye,  rest  at,  and  political  talk, 

297 
Marg,  rest-house  at,  278 
Merv-i-Dasht  plain,  records  shown  in, 

of  Persia's  former  greatness,  185 
Meshed-i-Astulla,  author's  charvardar 

across  the  Elburz  Mountains,   311, 

his  home  and  family,  336-7,  author's 

farewell  to,  336 
Meshed-i-Ser,  author's  objective  after 

leaving  Teheran,  310,  313  ;  author's 

arrival  at,    French    hospitality    at, 

338-9  ;  the  end  of  the  journey,  339- 

41 
Meshed,  noble  men  born  at,  125 
Mian  Kotal  caravanserai  described,  111 
Military  training,  advantages  of,  to  an 

explorer,  43 
Mirage  and  its  magic,  41 
Mirza  Ali,  chief  of  Ahmedabad  village, 

hospitality  of,  314-7 
Mirza  Ali  Mahomet.     See  Bab 
Mohamedye,  post-house,  295 
Monoliths  at  Takht-i-Gor,  234-5 
Moore,  'Tom,'  and  the  land  of  '  Lalla 

Rookh,'  184-6 
Moriah,  Mount,  Abraham's  sacrifice  on, 


S46 


ACROSS  PERSIA 


how    commemorated    at    Teheran, 

301-3 
Moscow,  blend  of  East  and  West  in, 

300 
Mosellay,  bowers  of,  locale  of,  124 
Moufflon,  near  Surmek,  259,  263 
Mozuflfer-ed-Din,    the    then    reigning 

Shah,  a  sight  of,  308-9 
Mules'  nostrils,  why  slit,  46 
Murchakar,  the  start  from,  for  Teheran, 

291 
Murghab  plain,  the.  229 
Musical  instruments  of  Persian  bands, 

146 

Nakkara  Khaneh,  or  'Drumhouse' 
temple,  Naksh-i-Rustam,  204  ;  a 
similar  ruin  at  Pasargadse,  problems 
of.  232-4 

Naksh-i-Rejeb,  near  Persepolis,  rock 
sculpture  at,  and  fire-altars  near,  193, 
date  of,  194  ;  the  tablets  at,  201,  225 

Naksh-i-Rustam,  rock  tombs  and  sculp- 
tures of,  191,  three  sets  of,  196, 
builders  of,  194,  author's  explora- 
tions of,  195  et  seq. ;  other  sights, 
203  et  seq.;  the  tombs  themselves, 
including  that  of  Darius,  205-6,  the 
author's  climb  into,  207 

Narses,  in  rock  pictures,  73 

Nasrabad,  post-house,  296 

Nasr-ud-din,  his  eldest  son  and  his 
story,  283 

Nasr-ulla-Khan,  a  Persian  friend  at 
Naksh-i-Rustam,  204,  207,  208, 
210-11,  236 

Nightingales  of  Shiraz,  124 

Nismabad,  post-house,  292 

Nur  lUah,  villagers  of,  cited  on  coins 
to  be  found  near  Shahpur,  93 

Omar  Khayyam,  the  *  Rubaiyat '  of, 
cited  passim  ;  his  poems,  127-8 

Once^  the,  Tavernier  on,  155 

Open  road,  joys  of,  325 

Oranges,  64,  101 

Oriental  poetry,  Occidental  allegorizing 
of,  127-8 

Ormuzd  and  Ardeshir,  rock  sculpture 
and  tablet  of,  Naksh-i-Rustam,  195, 
200,  its  translation,  201 ;  another 
sculpture  at  Naksh-i-Rejeb,  225 ; 
another  with  Narses,  at  Shahpur,  73 

Pack     animals,     Persian     attitude 

towards,  57 
Panther,  near  Surmek,  260 
Parasols  of  State,  Persian,  Le  Bruyn 

on,  221 
Parsees  in  Yezd,  disabilities  of,  202 
'  Parthian  shots, '  old  game  involving, 

281 
Pasangun,  game  probable  near,  296 
Pasargadse,   founded  by  Cyrus,  216 ; 


locale  and  date  of,  194  ;  its  relics, 
194 ;  the  square  temple  at,  204 ; 
incidents  of  the  march  to,  224-30  • 
its  notable  objects,  Cyrus's  tomb, 
230,  modern  ascription  of,  231-2, 
the  original  inscription,  232  ;  that 
of  Alexander,  194,  224,  230,  232  ; 
the  palace  of  Cyrus,  the  mysterious 
building  near,  232-4,  the  great 
terrace,  two  curious  structures,  234 

Passes.  See  Kotals,  Pulur,  and  Tang- 
i-Turkan 

Peacock  Throne  (see  also  Takht-i- 
Taous),  at  Teheran,  305 

Persepolis,  circa  Xerxes,  185-6 ;  the 
first  sight  of,  186  ;  arrival  at,  187  ; 
its  pathos,  188  ;  rock  chambers  near, 
189,  ruins  of,  191 ;  historical  periods 
associated  with,  193,  214,  how  as- 
certained, 215  -  6  ;  its  founder, 
Darius  I.,  216  ;  ancient  quarries  near, 
216,  approach  to  from  the  plain, 
217  ;  the  palaces,  pillars,  carvings, 
and  monsters,  217  et  seq. ;  the  pigeons 
of,  214,  220 

Persia  and  its  associations,  34  ;  beyond 
the  Elburz  Mountains,  324  ;  Caspian 
provinces,  delight  at  coming  to, 
330  et  seq.;  constitutional  govern- 
ment on  its  trial  in,  256  ;  dangers  of, 
largely  reminiscent  or  imaginary, 
77-9  ;  disposal  of  the  dead  in  former 
times,  problem  of,  and  story,  88-90  ; 
former  greatness  of,  traces  of,  185 ; 
a  land  of  delays,  19  ;  large  game 
scarce  in,  77,  78  ;  national  spirit  in, 
297  ;  pressing  needs  of,  250-1,  255-7  ; 
regeneration  of,  how  we  can  help, 
255 ;  Russian  influence  in,  297  ; 
sanctity  closely  linked  with  insub- 
ordination in  (see  Bab),  296 ;  sport 
in,  148  et  seq.,  154  et  seq.,  259  et 
seq. ;  polygamy  in,  143  ;  tableland 
of,  elevation  of,  its  pleasant  air,  182 

Persian  band,  sunset  music  of,  145-6  ; 
beggars,  252-4  ;  caravanserai  de- 
scribed, 111,  the  couplet  on  the 
wall,  113-4  ;  characteristics,  53-4, 
57-9,  63-5,  78-9,  79-80,  136,  144, 
278,  294,  a  French  summary  of 
(northern  provinces),  339  ;  children, 
13,  14,  games  of,  8-9  ;  coachmen, 
strange  methods  of,  290,  291  et  seq.  ; 
desert  north  of  Shief,  18,  an  oasis, 
36,  the  mountains  beyond,  36,  41, 
mirage  illusions,  41-2,  changed  as- 
pect after  Borazjim,  45,  conversa- 
tional methods,  47  ;  etiquette  and 
politeness  and  untruth,  47,  how  to 
reduce  a  statement  to  its  true 
equivalent,  48,  its  ultimate  aim, 
63-5,  importance  of,  161,  some 
instances  of,  162  et  seq.,  285  ;  fruits 
—oranges,    64,    101,   pomegianates, 


INDEX 


347 


101-2  ;  games  and  sports  at  Isfahan 
in  bygone  days,  281  ;  gardens  at 
Kazerun,  98  et  seq.,  and  at  Shiraz, 
129,  135, 136  ;  gunsmith,  his  simple 
methods,  97 ;  hats,  171  ;  history, 
the  two  great  eras  of,  193,  native 
divisions  of,  214  ;  justice,  164-8  ; 
language,  purest  at  Shiraz,  125  ; 
measure  of  distance  (farsakh), 
325  ;  men,  costume  and  appearance 
of,  11,  as  material  for  soldiers,  121  ; 
musical  instruments,  146  ;  police 
practically  licensed  robbers,  22-6, 
some  of  their  methods,  27-31  ; 
postal  arrangements,  vagueness  of, 
236 ;  religion,  fire-worship,  history 
of,  201-3,  suggested  connexion 
with  the  petroleum  wells,  50,  traces 
of,  near  Persepolis,  193,  Twelfth 
Imam,  expectation  of,  48  ;  roads  and 
road-making,  61,  119,  327  ;  rooms, 
170-1  ;  silkworm  culture,  337 ;  smells 
a  feature  of  the  land,  49  ;  soldiers, 
121,  bands  (musical)  of,  146-6,  302, 
306,  clothing  or  uniforms  of,  120, 
marching  of,  119-21,  302.  307,  pay 
of,  297-8  ;  tea,  how  prepared,  63  ; 
treatment  of  animals,  57-9,  278 ; 
women,  seventeenth  century.  Fryer 
on,  13,  present  day,  7,  8,  9,  12-13, 
position  of,  143  ;  young  women  at 
Naksh-i-Rejeb,  226 

Persian  Gulf,  ports  in,  5 ;  shores  of, 
near  Shief,  18 

Persians  (see  also  Iliats),  qualities 
needed  in  dealing  with,  44 

Personnel  of  the  author's  caravan,  21 

Petroleum-impregnated  waters  beyond 
Borazjun  by  Daliki,  49  ;  springs, 
connexion  of  with  fire-worship  sug- 
gested, 50-1,  perpetually  -  burning, 
Canada,  50 

Pipe.     See  Kalian 

Police,  Persian,  21-2,  licensed  robbers, 
22-6  ;  some  of  their  methods,  27-31 

Pomegranates  '  at  home,'  delights  of, 
101-2 

Pulur  Pass,  difficult  crossing  of, 
317-23,  325 

Punishments,  a  fine  fancy  in,  166, 
168-9.  172.  175 

Puzeh  rest-house,  an  evening  walk 
near.  208-10  ;  rock  chambers  near, 
189,  193  ;  old  roads  from.  216 

Qaleh  yi  Mahomet  Ali  Khan,  post- 
house,  298 

Qualifications  for  a  traveller  in  Persia, 
44-5 

E.AOS,  votive,  on  trees  and  on  tombs, 
Wales  and  Persia,  138-9,  231-2 

Religion  in  Persia.  See  Fire-worship  ; 
see  also  Twelfth  Imam 


Reneh,  in  the  Elburz  Mountains,  rock 
dwellings  at,  193,  326 ;  view  near, 
323 

Resht,  carriage-road  to,  309 

Rhey,  Parsee  '  tower  of  silence '  near, 
309 

Roads  in  Persia,  61,  119,  327 

Rock  dwellings  in  the  Elburz  Moun- 
tains, 193,  326 

Rock  pictures.  See  Naksh-i-Rustam 
and  Shahpur 

Rowing,  Persian  method  of,  16 

Rud-i-Ananbar  River,  bridge  over,  near 
Kum,  297 

Ruknabad,  stream,  locale  of,  124 

Saadi,  his  birthplace  and  poems,  125-6 ; 
his  tomb,  140,  141 

Sacrifice  of  the  Camel,  Teheran,  301-3 

Saif,  author's  interpreter,  20  et  passim; 
a  tribute  to,  178  ;  his  wrath  and  its 
pacification,  179  ;  his  vocabulary,  77 ; 
left  with  the  main  body  at  Isfahan, 
287-8 

Salaam,  a  royal,  at  Teheran,  303 

Sanctuary.     See  *  Bast ' 

Sassanian  Kings  of  Persia,  their  era 
and  its  relics,  19S  et  seq. 

Savagery,  real  and  ideal,  joys  of  the 
latter,  37-40 

Scorpions  at  Kashan,  the  tradition  of, 
Chardin  cited  on,  295 

Shah  Abbas,  his  incognito  investiga- 
tions and  their  outcome,  165-7  ; 
period  of,  an  epoch  in  Persian 
(native)  history,  214 

Shah  Abbas,  caravanserai.  277 

Shahpur.  city,  68  ;  neglected  by  travel- 
lers, a  field  for  the  archaeologist, 
93-4  ;  possible  date  for  older  remains 
at,  194 

Shahpur  I.,  his  city  and  its  inscrip- 
tions, rock  pictures,  ruins,  tablets, 
etc.,  68  et  seq.;  his  statue  and  its 
cave,  80-4  ;  his  conversion  to  Chris- 
tianity, tablet  about  at  Naksh-i- 
Rustam,  207  ;  his  Court,  sculpture  of, 
at  Naksh-i-Rejeb,  and  the  inscrip- 
tion, 225  ;  his  victory  over  Valerian . 
recorded  in  rock,  69.  70,  71,  72,  73, 
94,  195,  198-9 
Shah,  the  late  (see  also  Mozuff'er-ed- 

Din),  303-8 
Shaking  hands,  raison  d'Stre  of,  163 
Sha-Sefi  and  his  mound  of  '  beasts' ' 

heads,  155-6 
Sheikh  Ali,  cave  tomb  of,  Naksh-i-Rus- 

tam,  207-8 
Shief,  caravan  terminus,  14  ;  arrival 
at,  17  ;  the  start  from.  19-21,  32 ;  a 
commotion  and  its  cause,  33.  the 
author  to  the  fore,  malgrd  lui,  34-5  ; 
distant  mountains  beyond  Khushab, 
36.41 


ACROSS  PERSIA 


Shiraz,  city  (see  also  Governor  of, 
infra),  associations  and  history  of, 
and  hospitality  met  with  by  the 
author,  122 ;  its  climate,  pure  dic- 
tion, and  poets,  125-8  ;  its  pride  of 
intellect,  125 ;  its  wine,  128-9  ;  its 
beauty,  and  that  of  its  surroundings, 
129  ;  the  business  quarter,  130 ;  the 
bazaars,  131  ;  the  need  for  haggling, 
132-4 ;  the  caravanserais  and  their 
shops,  134  ;  the  gardens,  135  et  seq.; 
wells  on  hill  near,  142, 144  ;  playing- 
down  the  sun  at,  145-6  ;  game,  furred 
and  feathered,  near,  147  ;  a  day's 
sport,  148  et  seq. ;  a  dramatic  scene, 
173-5  ;  the  way  north  from,  176  ; 
the  usual  belated  start,  177 

,  Governor  of,  his  character,  165, 

172-3,  powers,  167, 169,  and  methods, 
164-9,  173-8  ;  etiquette  of  a  visit  to, 
169  et  seq.,  his  abode,  170;  and 
attire,  171 

,  plain  of,  seen  from  the  city,  129, 

141 ;  beauty  of,  176  f? 

,   valley,    descent    into,    Persian 

soldiery  on  march  near,  119-21, 
clothing  of,  120 

Shulgistan,  halt  at,  272 

Shushan.     See  Persepolis 

Siawisha,  328  ;  rest  at,  339 

Silkworm  culture  near  Barferush,  337 

Sin-Sin  rest-house,  view  from,  of  Dema- 
vend,  296 

Sleep  in  the  open,  bliss  of,  277 

Speeding  the  parting  guest,  Persia,  163, 
169-70,  238 

Steps,  the  great,  at  Persepolis,  217 

*  Stumps,  Mr.,'  the  author's  dog,  21, 
179,  290,  335-6 

Surmek  village,  sport  at,  259-68 

Tables,  flat,   Dakhmas,   at  Naksh-i- 

Kustam,  303  ;  at  Shahpur,  194 
Tablets  at  Naksh-i-Rustam,  195  et  seq. 
Tabriz,  the  sad  end  of  the  £db  at,  270-1 
Takht-i-Gor,  monoliths  at,  234-5 
Takht-i-Mader-i-Suleiman.  See  Cyrus's 

Tomb 
Takht-i-Suleiman  terrace,  Pasargadse, 

234 
Takht-i-Taous  (Peacock  Throne),  near 

Persepolis,  192;  rock  sculptures  near, 

193,    date    of^    194  ;    another,    at 

Istakhr,  226 
Tang-i- Allah  Akbar  Pass,  176 
Tang-i-Shah  Sarvan.     See  Hajiabad 
Tang-i-Turkan  Pass,  66 ;  fine  scenery, 

229 
Targ,  post-house,  293 
Tavernier  cited  passim 


Teheran,  author's  carriage  journey  to, 
287  et  seq.  ;  first  glimpses  of,  and 
arrival  at,  299  ;  odd  mixture  at,  of 
East  and  West,  300-1  ;  ceremonies 
witnessed  at,  301 ;  Palace  at,  303  et  seq. 

Thalassa  !  333 

Thieves,  punishments  of,  167-8 

Tobacco,  Persian  addiction  to,  Tavernier 
on,  105,  and  on  their  pipes,  106 

Tomb-building  during  lifetime,  Persia, 
136-7 

Tomb  of  Artaxerxes,  at  Naksh-i- 
Rustam,  211  ;  Cyrus,  at  Pasargadae, 
194,  224,  230-2  ;  Darius  I.,  at  Naksh- 
i-Rustam,  205-6,  211  ;  Darius  11. , 
same  place,  211  ;  Xerxes,  same  place, 
211,  author's  climb  to,  212-13 

Tower  or  Fort  of  the  Daughter, 
Shahpur,  70,  72,  92,  view  from,  74, 
90 ;  leopards  near,  86  ;  examination 
of,  86  et  seq. ;  enamel  pottery  in, 
86  ;  problems  presented  by,  86-8 

of  the  son,  Shahpur,  70,  72 ;  a 

visit  to,  92 

Ti-ees  and  tombs,  rags  hung  on,  "Wales 
and  Persia,  138-9,  231-2 

Troughs  and  basins  in  the  rock,  at 
Naksh-i-Rustam  and  at  Shahpur, 
their  possible  uses,  203 

Twelfth  Imam,  expected  advent  of,  48 

Valerian,  Roman  Emperor,  rock  re- 
cords of  Shahpur's  victory  over,  69, 
70,  71,  72,  73,  94,  195,  198-9 

Varahran  II.,  IV.,  and  V.,  in  rock 
sculptures,  Naksh-i-Rustam,  197-9 

Water,  waste  of,  at  Daliki,  53-4 

Wells,  sacred,  Wales,  139  ;  Persia,  141, 
142,  144 

Wine  of  Shiraz,  128,  129 

Women,  Iliat,  pride  of,  239  ;  Persian, 
present  day,  7 ,  8,  9,  12,  13,  position 
of,  143  ;  at  Naksh-i-Rejeb,  226 

Xerxes,  ^the  '  Great  King, '  and  the 
Book  of  Esther,  185  ;  palace,  hall, 
and  porch  of,  Persepolis,  217-20  ; 
tomb  of,  author's  climb  to,  210-13 

Ykzdikhast  village,  272 

Zarghun,  Iliats  at,  180-1 
Zender  Rud,  river,  at  Isfahan,  280 
Zil-i-Sultan,  Governor  of  Isfahan  pro- 
vince, story  of,  283  ;  interview,  283-5 
Zoroastrianism,  history  of,   201  ;    re- 
established   under    Ardeshir,    194 ; 
present-day,   Persia  and  elsewhere, 
202 


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