Born 1586.—Died 1652.
Pietro della Valle, who, according to Southey, is “the most romantic in
his adventures of all true travellers,” was descended from an ancient
and noble family, and born at Rome on the 11th of April, 1586. When his
education, which appears to have been carefully conducted and liberal,
was completed, he addicted himself, with that passionate ardour which
characterized all the actions of his life, to the study of literature,
and particularly poetry; but the effervescence of his animal spirits
requiring some other vent, he shortly afterward exchanged the closet
for the camp, in the hope that the quarrel between the pope and the
Venetians, and the troubles which ensued upon the death of Henry IV. of
France, would afford him some opportunity of distinguishing himself. His
expectations being disappointed, however, he in 1611 embarked on board
the Spanish fleet, then about to make a descent on the coast of Barbary;
but nothing beyond a few skirmishes taking place, he again beheld his
desire of glory frustrated, and returned to Rome.
Here vexations of another kind awaited him. Relinquishing the services
of Fame for that of an earthly mistress, he found himself no less
unsuccessful, the lady preferring some illustrious unknown, whose name,
like her own, is now overwhelmed with “the husks and formless ruin of
oblivion.” Pietro, however, severely felt the sting of such a rejection;
and in the gloomy meditations which it gave birth to, conceived a plan
which, as he foresaw, fulfilled his most ambitious wishes, and attached
an imperishable reputation to his name. The idea was no sooner conceived
than he proceeded to put it in execution, and taking leave of his friends
and of Rome, repaired to Naples, in order to consult with his friend,
Mario Schipano, a physician of that city, distinguished for his oriental
learning and abilities, concerning the best means of conducting his
hazardous enterprise. Fortunately he possessed sufficient wealth to spurn
the counsel of sloth and timidity, which, when any act of daring is
proposed, are always at hand, disguised as prudence and good sense, to
cast a damp upon the springs of energy, or to travesty and misrepresent
the purposes of the bold. Pietro, however, was not to be intimidated. The
wonders and glories of the East were for ever present to his imagination,
and having heard mass, and been solemnly clothed by the priest with
the habit of a pilgrim, he proceeded to Venice in order to embark for
Constantinople. The ship in which he sailed left the port on the 6th of
June, 1614. No event of peculiar interest occurred during the voyage,
which, lying along the romantic shores and beautiful islands of Greece,
merely served to nourish and strengthen Pietro’s enthusiasm. On drawing
near the Dardanelles the sight of the coast of Troy, with its uncertain
ruins and heroic tombs, over which poetry has spread an atmosphere
brighter than any thing belonging to mere physical nature, awoke all the
bright dreams of boyhood, and hurrying on shore, his heart overflowing
with rapture, he kissed the earth from which, according to tradition, the
Roman race originally sprung.
From the Troad to Constantinople the road lies over a tract hallowed by
the footsteps of antiquity, and at every step Pietro felt his imagination
excited by some memorial of the great of other days. On arriving at
the Ottoman capital, where he purposed making a long stay, one of his
first cares was to acquire a competent knowledge of the language of the
country, which he did as much for the vanity, as he himself acknowledges,
of exhibiting his accomplishments on his return to Italy, where the
knowledge of that language was rare, as for the incalculable benefit
which must accrue from it during his travels. Here he for the first time
tasted coffee, at that time totally unknown in Italy. He was likewise
led to entertain hopes of being able to obtain from the sultan’s library
a complete copy of the Decades of Livy; but after flitting before him
some time like a phantom, the manuscript vanished, and the greater
portion of the mighty Paduan remained veiled as before. While he was
busily engaged in these researches, the plague broke out, every house in
Galata, excepting that of the French ambassador, in which he resided, was
infected; corpses and coffins met the sickened eye wherever it turned;
the chief of his attendants pined away through terror; and, although at
first he affected to laugh and make merry with his fears, they every
day fed so abundantly upon horrors and rumours of horrors, that they at
length became an overmatch for his philosophy, and startled him with
the statement that one hundred and forty thousand victims had already
perished, and that peradventure Pietro della Valle might be the next.
This consideration caused him to turn his eye towards Egypt; and although
the plague shortly afterward abated, his love of motion having been
once more awakened, he bade adieu to Constantinople, and sailed for
Alexandria. Arriving in Egypt, he ascended the Nile to Cairo, viewed the
pyramids, examined the mummy-pits; and then, with a select number of
friends and attendants, departed across the desert to visit Horeb and
Sinai, the wells of Moses, and other places celebrated in the Bible.
This journey being performed in the heart of winter, he found Mount
Sinai covered with snow, which did not, however, prevent his rambling
about among its wild ravines, precipices, and chasms; when, his pious
curiosity being gratified, he visited Ælau or Ailoth, the modern Akaba,
and returned by Suez to Cairo. Among the very extraordinary things he
beheld in this country were a man and woman upwards of eight feet in
height, natives of Upper Egypt, whom he measured himself: and tortoises
as large as the body of a carriage!
His stay in Egypt was not of long continuance, the longing to visit
the Holy Land causing him to regard every other country with a kind of
disdain; and accordingly, joining a small caravan which was proceeding
thither across the desert, he journeyed by El Arish and Gaza to
Jerusalem. After witnessing the various mummeries practised in the Holy
City at Easter by the Roman Catholics, and making an excursion to the
banks of the Jordan, where he saw a number of female pilgrims plunging
naked into the sacred stream in the view of an immense multitude, he
bent his steps towards Northern Syria, and hurried forward by the way
of Damascus to Aleppo. In this city he remained some time, his body
requiring some repose, though the ardour and activity of his mind
appeared to be every day increasing. The journey which he now meditated
across the Arabian Desert into Mesopotamia required considerable
preparation. The mode of travelling was new. Horses were to be exchanged
for camels; the European dress for that of the East; and instead of the
sun, the stars and the moon were to light them over the waste.
He was now unconsciously touching upon the most important point of his
career. In the caravan with which he departed from Aleppo, September
16, 1616, there was a young merchant of Bagdad, with whom, during the
journey, he formed a close intimacy. This young man was constantly in
the habit of entertaining him, as they rode along side by side through
the moonlight, or when they sat down in their tent during the heat of
the day, with the praises of a young lady of Bagdad, who, according to
his description, to every charm of person which could delight the eye
united all those qualities of heart and mind which render the conquests
of beauty durable. It was clear to Pietro from the beginning that the
youthful merchant was in love, and therefore he at first paid but little
regard to his extravagant panegyrics; but by degrees the conversations of
his companion produced a sensible effect upon his own mind, so that his
curiosity to behold the object of so much praise, accompanied, perhaps,
by a slight feeling of another kind, at length grew intense, and he every
day looked upon the slow march of the camels, and the surface of the
boundless plain before him, with more and more impatience. The wandering
Turcoman with his flocks and herds, rude tent, and ruder manners,
commanded much less attention than he would have done at any other
period; and even the Bedouins, whose sharp lances and keen scimitars kept
awake the attention of the rest of the caravan, were almost forgotten by
Pietro. However, trusting to the information of his interested guide, he
represents them as having filled up the greater number of the wells in
the desert, so that there remained but a very few open, and these were
known to those persons only whose profession it was to pilot caravans
across this ocean of sand. The sagacity with which these men performed
their duty was wonderful. By night the stars served them for guides;
but when these brilliant signals were swallowed up in the light of the
sun, they then had recourse to the slight variations in the surface of
the plain, imperceptible to other eyes, to the appearance or absence of
certain plants, and even to the smell of the soil, by all which signs
they always knew exactly where they were.
At length, after a toilsome and dangerous march of fifteen days, they
arrived upon the banks of the Euphrates, a little after sunrise, and
pitched their tents in the midst of clumps of cypress and small
cedar-trees. On the following night, as soon as the moon began to
silver over the waters of the Euphrates, the caravan again put itself
in motion; and, descending along the course of the stream, in six days
arrived at Anah, a city of the Arabs, lying on both sides of the river,
whose broad surface is here dotted with numerous small islands covered
with fruit-trees. They now crossed the river; and the merchants of the
caravan, avoiding the safe and commodious road which lay through towns in
which custom-house officers were found, struck off into a desolate and
dangerous route, traversing Mesopotamia nearly in a right line, and on
the 19th of October reached the banks of the Tigris, a larger and more
rapid river than the Euphrates, though on this occasion Pietro thought
its current less impetuous. The night before they entered Bagdad the
caravan was robbed in a very dexterous manner. Their tents were pitched
in the plain, the officers of the custom-house posted around to prevent
smuggling; the merchants, congratulating themselves that they had already
succeeded in eluding the duties almost to the extent of their desires,
had fallen into the sound sleep which attends on a clear conscience; and
Pietro, his domestics, and the other inmates of the caravan had followed
their example. In the dead of the night the camp was entered by stealth,
the tents rummaged, and considerable booty carried off. The banditti,
entering Pietro’s tent, and finding all asleep, opened the trunk in which
were all the manuscripts, designs, and plans he had made during his
travels, carefully packed up, as if for the convenience of robbers, in a
small portable escrutoire; but by an instinct which was no less fortunate
for them than for the traveller and posterity, since such spoil could
have been of no value to them, they rejected the escrutoire, and selected
all our traveller’s fine linen, the very articles in which he hoped
to have captivated the beauty whose eulogies had so highly inflamed
his imagination. A Venetian, who happened to be in the camp, had his
arquebuse stolen from under his head, and this little incident, as it
tended to show that the robbers had made still more free with others than
with him, somewhat consoled Pietro for the loss of his linen. As the
traveller does not himself attach any suspicion to the military gentlemen
of the custom-house, it might, perhaps, be uncharitable to deposite the
burden of this theft upon their shoulders; but in examining all the
circumstances of the transaction, I confess the idea that their ingenuity
was concerned did present itself to me.
Next morning the beams of the rising sun, gleaming upon a thousand
slender minarets and lofty-swelling domes surmounted by gilded crescents,
discovered to him the ancient city of the califs stretching away right
and left to a vast distance over the plain, while the Tigris, like a huge
serpent, rolled along, cutting the city into two parts, and losing itself
among the sombre buildings which seemed to tremble over its waters. The
camels were once more loaded, and the caravan, stretching itself out into
one long, narrow column, toiled along over the plain, and soon entered
the dusty, winding streets of Bagdad. Here Pietro, whose coming had been
announced the evening before by his young commercial companion, was met
by the father of the Assyrian beauty, a fine patriarchal-looking old
man, who entreated him to be his guest during his stay in Mesopotamia.
This favour Pietro declined, but at the same time he eagerly accepted
of the permission to visit at his house; and was no sooner completely
established in his own dwelling than he fully availed himself of this
permission.
The family to which he became thus suddenly known was originally of
Mardin, but about fourteen years previously had been driven from thence
by the Kurds, who sacked and plundered the city, and reduced such of the
inhabitants as they could capture to slavery. They were Christians of
the Nestorian sect; but Della Valle, who was a bigot in his way, seems
to have regarded them as aliens from the church of Christ. However,
this circumstance did not prevent the image of Sitti Maani, the eldest
of the old man’s daughters, and the beauty of whom he had heard so
glowing a description in the desert, from finding its way into his
heart, though the idea of marrying having occurred to him at Aleppo, he
had written home to his relations to provide him with a suitable wife
against his return to Italy. Maani was now in her eighteenth year. Her
mind had been as highly cultivated as the circumstances of the times
and the country would allow; and her understanding enabled her to turn
all her accomplishments to advantage. In person, she was a perfect
oriental beauty; dark, even in the eyes of an Italian, with hair nearly
black, and eyes of the same colour, shaded by lashes of unusual length,
she possessed something of an imperial air. Pietro was completely
smitten, and for the present every image but that of Maani seemed to be
obliterated from his mind.
His knowledge of the Turkish language was now of the greatest service to
him; for, possessing but a very few words of Arabic, this was the only
medium by which he could make known the colour of his thoughts either
to his mistress or her mother. His passion, however, supplied him with
eloquence, and by dint of vehement protestations, in this instance the
offspring of genuine affection, he at length succeeded in his enterprise,
and Maani became his wife. But in the midst of these transactions, when
it most imported him to remain at Bagdad, an event occurred in his
own house which not only exposed him to the risk of being driven with
disgrace from the city, but extremely endangered his life and that of all
those who were connected with him. His secretary and valet having for
some time entertained a grudge against each other, the former, one day
seizing the khanjar, or dagger, of Pietro, stabbed his adversary to the
heart, and the poor fellow dropped down dead in the arms of his master.
The murderer fled. What course to pursue under such circumstances it
was difficult to determine. Should the event come to the knowledge of
the pasha, both master and servants might, perhaps, be thought equally
guilty, and be impaled alive; or, if matters were not pushed to such
extremities, it might at least be pretended that the deceased was the
real owner of whatever property they possessed, in order to confiscate
the whole for the benefit of the state. As neither of these results was
desirable, the safest course appeared to be to prevent, if possible, the
knowledge of the tragedy from transpiring; a task of some difficulty, as
all the domestics of the household were acquainted with what had passed.
The only individual with whom Pietro could safely consult upon this
occasion (for he was unwilling to disclose so horrible a transaction to
Maani’s relations) was a Maltese renegade, a man of some consideration in
the city; and for him, therefore, he immediately despatched a messenger.
This man, when he had heard what had happened, was of opinion that the
body should be interred in a corner of the house; but Pietro, who had
no desire that so bloody a memorial of the Italian temperament should
remain in his immediate neighbourhood, and moreover considered it unsafe,
thought it would be much better at the bottom of the Tigris. The Maltese,
most fortunately, possessed a house and garden on the edge of the river,
and thither the body, packed up carefully in a chest, was quickly
conveyed, though there was much difficulty in preventing the blood from
oozing out, and betraying to its bearers the nature of their burden.
When it was dark the chest was put on board a boat, and, dropping down
the river, the renegade and two of his soldiers cautiously lowered it
into the water; and thus no material proof of the murder remained. The
assassin, who had taken refuge at the house of the Maltese, was enabled
to return to Italy; and the event, strange to say, was kept secret,
though so many persons were privy to it.
When this danger was over, and the beautiful Maani irrevocably his,
Pietro began once more to feel the passion of the traveller revive, and
commenced those little excursions through Mesopotamia which afterward
enabled Gibbon to pronounce him the person who had best observed that
province. His first visit, as might be expected, was to the ruins of
Babylon. The party with which he left Bagdad consisted of Maani, a
Venetian, a Dutch painter, Ibrahim a native of Aleppo, and two Turkish
soldiers. For the first time since the commencement of his travels,
Pietro now selected the longest and least dangerous road, taking care,
moreover, to keep as near as possible to the farms and villages, in
order, in case of necessity, to derive provisions and succour from their
inhabitants. Maani, who appears to have had a dash of Kurdish blood in
her, rode astride like a man, and kept her saddle as firmly as any son
of the desert could have done; and Pietro constantly moved along by her
side. When they had performed a considerable portion of their journey,
and, rejoicing in their good fortune, were already drawing near Babylon,
eight or ten horsemen armed with muskets and bows and arrows suddenly
appeared in the distance, making towards them with all speed. Pietro
imagined that the day for trying his courage was now come; and he and his
companions, having cocked their pieces and prepared to offer a desperate
resistance, pushed on towards the enemy. However, their chivalric spirit
was not doomed to be here put to the test; for, upon drawing near, the
horsemen were found to belong to Bagdad, and the adventure concluded in
civility and mutual congratulations.
Having carefully examined the ruins of Babylon, the city of Hillah, and
the other celebrated spots in that neighbourhood, the party returned to
Bagdad, from whence he again departed in a few days for Modain, the site
of the ancient Ctesiphon, near which he had the satisfaction of observing
the interior of an Arab encampment.
His curiosity respecting Mesopotamia was now satisfied; and as every
day’s residence among the Ottomans only seemed more and more to inflame
his hatred of that brutal race, he as much as possible hastened his
departure from Bagdad, having now conceived the design of serving as a
volunteer in the armies of Persia, at that period at war with Turkey, and
of thus wreaking his vengeance upon the Osmanlees for the tyranny they
exercised on all Christians within their power. Notwithstanding that war
between the two countries had long been declared, the Pasha of Bagdad
and the Persian authorities on the frontier continued openly to permit
the passage of caravans; and thus, were he once safe out of Bagdad with
his wife and treasures, there would be no difficulty in entering Persia.
To effect this purpose he entered into an arrangement with a Persian
muleteer, who was directed to obtain from the pasha a passport for
himself and followers, with a charosh to conduct them to the extremity
of the Turkish dominions. This being done, the Persian, according to
agreement, left the city, and encamped at a short distance from the
walls, where, as is the custom, he was visited by the officers of the
custom-house; after which, Pietro caused the various individuals of his
own small party to issue forth by various streets into the plain, while
he himself, dressed as he used to be when riding out for amusement on the
banks of the Tigris, quitted the town after sunset, and gained the place
of encampment in safety.
When the night had now completely descended upon the earth, and all
around was still, the little caravan put itself in motion; and being
mounted, some on good sturdy mules, and others on the horses of the
country, they advanced at a rapid rate, fearing all the way that the
pasha might repent of his civility towards the Persian, and send an order
to bring them back to the city. By break of day they arrived on the
banks of the Diala, a river which discharges itself into the Tigris; and
here, in spite of their impatience, they were detained till noon, there
being but one boat at the ferry. In six days they reached the southern
branches of the mountains of Kurdistan, and found themselves suddenly in
the midst of that wild and hardy race, which, from the remotest ages, has
maintained possession of these inexpugnable fastnesses, which harassed
the ten thousand in their retreat, and still enact a conspicuous part
in all the border wars between the Persians and Turks. Living for the
most part in a dangerous independence, fiercely spurning the yoke of its
powerful neighbours, though continually embroiled in their interminable
quarrels, speaking a distinct language, and having a peculiar system of
manners, which does not greatly differ from that of the feudal times,
they may justly be regarded as one of the most extraordinary races of
the Asiatic continent. Some of them, spellbound by the allurements of
wealth and ease, have erected cities and towns, and addicted themselves
to agriculture and the gainful arts. Others, preferring that entire
liberty which of all earthly blessings is the greatest in the estimation
of ardent and haughty minds, and regarding luxury as a species of Circean
cup, in its effects debasing and destructive, covet no wealth but their
herds and flocks, around which they erect no fortifications but their
swords. These are attracted hither and thither over the wilds by the
richness of the pasturage, and dwell in tents.
In Kurdistan, as elsewhere, the winning manners of Della Valle procured
him a hospitable reception. The presence of Maani, too, whose youth
and beauty served as an inviolable wall of protection among brave
men, increased his claims to their hospitality; so that these savage
mountaineers, upon whom the majority of travellers concur in heaping the
most angry maledictions, obtained from the warm-hearted, grateful Pietro
the character of a kind and gentle people. On the 20th of January, 1617,
he quitted Kurdistan, and entered Persia. The change was striking. A
purer atmosphere, a more productive and better-cultivated soil, and a far
more dense population than in Turkey, caused him, from the suddenness
of the transition, somewhat to exaggerate, perhaps, the advantages of
this country. It is certain that the eyes of the traveller, like the
fabled gems of antiquity, carry about the light by which he views the
objects which come before him; and that the condition of this light is
greatly affected by the state of his animal spirits. Pietro was now in
that tranquil and serene mode of being consequent upon that enjoyment
which conscience approves; and having passed from a place where dangers,
real or imaginary, surrounded him, into a country where he at least
anticipated safety, if not distinction, it was natural that his fancy
should paint the landscape with delusive colours. Besides, many real
advantages existed; tents were no longer necessary, there being at every
halting-place a spacious caravansary, where the traveller could obtain
gratis lodgings for himself and attendants, and shelter for his beasts
and baggage. Fruits, likewise, such as pomegranates, apples, and grapes,
abounded, though the earth was still deeply covered with snow. If we
add to this that the Persians are a people who pique themselves upon
their urbanity, and, whatever may be the basis of their character, with
which the passing traveller has little to do, really conduct themselves
politely towards strangers, it will not appear very surprising that Della
Valle, who had just escaped from the boorish Ottomans, should have been
charmed with Persia.
Arriving at Ispahan, at that period the capital of the empire, that is,
the habitual place of residence of the shah, his first care, of course,
was to taste a little repose; after which, he resumed his usual custom
of strolling about the city and its environs, observing the manners, and
sketching whatever was curious in costume and scenery. Here he remained
for several months; but growing tired, as usual, of calm inactivity, the
more particularly as the court was absent, he now prepared to present
himself before the shah, then in Mazenderan. Accordingly, having provided
a splendid litter for his wife and her sister, who, like genuine amazons,
determined to accompany him to the wars should he eventually take up arms
in the service of Persia, and provided every other necessary for the
journey, he quitted Ispahan, and proceeded northward towards the shores
of the Caspian Sea. The journey was performed in the most agreeable
manner imaginable. Whenever they came up to a pleasant grove, a shady
fountain, or any romantic spot where the greensward was sprinkled with
flowers or commanded a beautiful prospect, the whole party made a halt;
and the ladies, descending from their litter, which was borne by two
camels, and Pietro from his barb, they sat down like luxurious gipsies to
their breakfast or dinner, while the nightingales in the dusky recesses
of the groves served them instead of a musician.
Proceeding slowly, on account of his harem, as he terms it, they arrived
in seven days at Cashan, where the imprudence of Maani nearly involved
him in a very serious affair. Being insulted on her way to the bezestein
by an officer, she gave the signal to her attendants to chastise the
drunkard, and, a battle ensuing, the unhappy man lost his life. When the
news was brought to Pietro he was considerably alarmed; but on proceeding
to the house of the principal magistrate, he very fortunately found that
the affair had been properly represented to him, and that his people were
not considered to have exceeded their duty. His wife, not reflecting
that her masculine habits and fiery temperament were quite sufficient to
account for the circumstance, now began to torment both herself and her
husband because she had not yet become a mother; and supposing that in
such cases wine was a sovereign remedy, she endeavoured to prevail upon
Pietro, who was a water-drinker, to have recourse to a more generous
beverage, offering to join with him, if he would comply, in the worship
of Bacchus. Our traveller, who had already, as he candidly informs us, a
small family in Italy, could not be brought to believe that the fault lay
in his sober potations, and firmly resisted the temptations of his wife.
With friendly arguments upon this and other topics they beguiled the
length of the way, and at length arrived in Mazenderan, though Maani’s
passion for horsemanship more than once put her neck in jeopardy on
the road. The scene which now presented itself was extremely different
from that through which they had hitherto generally passed. Instead of
the treeless plains or unfertile deserts which they had traversed in
the northern parts of Irak, they saw before them a country strongly
resembling Europe; mountains, deep well-wooded valleys, or rich green
plains rapidly alternating with each other, and the whole, watered by
abundant streams and fountains, refreshed and delighted the eye; and he
was as yet unconscious of the insalubrity of the atmosphere.
Pietro, who, like Petronius, was an “elegans formarum spectator,” greatly
admired the beauty and graceful figures of the women of this province,—a
fact which makes strongly against the idea of its being unhealthy; for
it may generally be inferred, that wherever the women are handsome the
air is good. Here and there they observed, as they moved along, the
ruins of castles and fortresses on the acclivities and projections of the
mountains, which had formerly served as retreats to numerous chiefs who
had there aimed at independence. A grotto, which they discovered in a
nearly inaccessible position in the face of a mountain, was pointed out
to them as the residence of a virgin of gigantic stature, who, without
associates or followers, like the virago who obstructed the passage
of Theseus from Trœzene to Athens, formerly ravaged and depopulated
that part of the country. This and similar legends of giants, which
resemble those which prevail among all rude nations, were related to
our traveller, who rejected them with disdain as utterly fabulous and
contemptible, though not much more so, perhaps, than some which, as a
true son of the Roman church, he no doubt held in reverence.
At length, after considerable fatigue, they arrived at Ferhabad, a small
port built by the Shah Abbas on the Caspian Sea. Here the governor of
the city, when informed of his arrival, assigned him a house in the
eastern quarter of the city, the rooms of which, says Pietro, were so
low, that although by no means a tall man, he could touch the ceiling
with his hand. If the house, however, reminded him of the huts erected by
Romulus on the Capitoline, the garden, on the other hand, was delightful,
being a large space of ground thickly planted with white mulberry-trees,
and lying close upon the bank of the river. Here he passed the greater
portion of his time with Actius Sincerus, or Marcus Aurelius, or
Ferrari’s Geographical Epitome in his hand, now offering sacrifices to
the Muses, and now running over with his eye the various countries and
provinces which he was proud to have travelled over. One of his favourite
occupations was the putting of his own adventures into verse, under a
feigned name. This he did in that _terza rima_ which Dante’s example
had made respectable, but not popular, in Italy; and as he was not of
the humour to hide his talent under a bushel, his brain was no sooner
delivered of this conceit than he despatched it to Rome for the amusement
of his friends.
Being now placed upon the margin of the Caspian, he very naturally
desired to examine the appearance of its shores and waters; but embarking
for this purpose in a fishing-boat with Maani, who, having passed her
life in Mesopotamia, had never before seen the sea, her sickness and the
fears produced in her mind by the tossing and rolling of the bark among
the waves quickly put an end to the voyage. He ascertained, however,
from the pilots of the coast, that the waters of this sea were not deep;
immense banks of sand and mud, borne down into this vast basin by the
numerous rivers which discharge themselves into it, being met with on all
sides; though it is probable, that had they ventured far from shore they
would have found the case different. Fish of many kinds were plentiful;
but owing, perhaps, to the fat and slimy nature of the bottom, they were
all large, gross, and insipid.
The shah was just then at Asshraff, a new city which he had caused to
be erected, and was then enlarging, about six perasangs, or leagues, to
the east of Ferhabad. Pietro, anxious to be introduced to the monarch,
soon after his arrival wrote letters to the principal minister, which,
together with others from the vicar-general of the Carmelite monks at
Ispahan, he despatched by two of his domestics; and the ministers,
according to his desire, informed the shah of his presence at Ferhabad.
Abbas, who apparently had no desire that he should witness the state of
things at Asshraff, not as yet comprehending either his character or his
motives, observed, that the roads being extremely bad, the traveller had
better remain at Ferhabad, whither he himself was about to proceed on
horseback in a day or two. Pietro, whose vanity prevented his perceiving
the shah’s motives, supposed in good earnest that Abbas was chary of his
guest’s ease; and, to crown the absurdity, swallowed another monstrous
fiction invented by the courtiers, who, as Hajjî Baba would say, were
all the while laughing at his beard,—namely, that the monarch was so
overjoyed at his arrival, that, had he not been annoyed by the number of
soldiers who followed him against his will, he would next morning have
ridden to Ferhabad to bid him welcome!
However, when he actually arrived in that city, he did not, as our worthy
pilgrim expected, immediately admit him to an audience. In the mean
while an agent from the Cossacks inhabiting the north-eastern shores of
the Black Sea arrived, and Della Valle, who neglected no occasion of
forwarding his own views, in the shaping of which he exhibited remarkable
skill, at once connected himself with this stranger, whom he engaged to
aid and assist by every means in his power, receiving from the barbarian
the same assurances in return. The Cossack had come to tender the shah
his nation’s services against the Turks; notwithstanding which, the
business of his presentation had been negligently or purposely delayed,
probably that he might understand, when his proposal should be afterward
received, that, although the aid he promised was acceptable, it was by no
means necessary, nor so considered.
At length the long-anticipated audience arrived, and Della Valle, when
presented, was well received by the shah; who, not being accustomed,
however, to the crusading spirit or the romance of chivalry, could not
very readily believe that the real motives which urged him to join the
Persian armies were precisely those which he professed. Nevertheless, his
offers of service were accepted, and the provisions which he had already
received rendered permanent. He was, moreover, sumptuously entertained
at the royal table, and had frequently the honour of being consulted upon
affairs of importance by the shah.
Abbas soon afterward removing with his court into Ghilan, without
inviting Della Valle to accompany him, the latter departed for Casbin,
there to await the marching of the army against the Turks, in which
enterprise he was still mad enough to desire to engage. On reaching this
city he found that Abbas had been more expeditious than he, and was
already there, actively preparing for the war. All the military officers
of the kingdom now received orders to repair with all possible despatch
to Sultanieh, a city three days’ journey west of Casbin; and Pietro, who
had voluntarily become a member of this martial class, hurried on among
the foremost, in the hope of acquiring glory of a new kind.
The shah and his army had not been many days encamped in the plains of
Sultanieh, when a courier from the general, who had already proceeded
towards the frontiers, arrived with the news that the Turkish army was
advancing, although slowly. This news allowed the troops, who had been
fatigued with forced marches, a short repose; after which they pushed
on vigorously towards Ardebil and Tabriz, Pietro and his heroic wife
keeping pace with the foremost. In this critical juncture, Abbas, though
in some respects a man of strong mind, did not consider it prudent to
trust altogether to corporeal armies; but, having in his dominions
certain individuals who pretended to have some influence over the
infernal powers, sought to interest hell also in his favour; and for
this purpose carried a renowned sorceress from Zunjan along with him to
the wars, in the same spirit as Charles the First, and the Parliament
shortly afterward, employed Lily to prophesy for them. Their route now
lay through the ancient Media, over narrow plains or hills covered with
verdure but bare of trees, sometimes traversing tremendous chasms,
spanned by bridges of fearful height, at others winding along the
acclivities of mountains, or upon the edge of precipices.
Notwithstanding his seeming ardour to engage with the Turks, Pietro,
for some cause or another, did not join the fighting part of the army,
but remained with the shah’s suite at Ardebil. This circumstance seems
to have lowered him considerably in the estimation of the court. A
battle, however, was fought, in which the Persians were victorious; but
the Turkish sultan dying at this juncture, his successor commanded his
general to negotiate for peace, which, after the usual intrigues and
delays, was at length concluded. Abbas now returned to Casbin, where the
victory and the peace was celebrated with great rejoicings; and here
Della Valle, who seems to have begun to perceive that he was not likely
to make any great figure in war, took his leave of the court in extremely
bad health and low spirits, and returned to Ispahan.
Here repose, and the conversation of the friends he had made in this
city, once more put him in good-humour with himself and with Persia; and
being of an exceedingly hasty and inconsiderate disposition, he no sooner
began to experience a little tranquillity, than he exerted the influence
he had acquired over the parents of his wife to induce them, right or
wrong, to leave Bagdad, where they lived contentedly and in comfort,
and to settle at Ispahan, where they were in a great measure strangers,
notwithstanding that one of their younger daughters was married to an
Armenian of that city. The principal members of the family, no less
imprudent than their adviser, accordingly quitted Mesopotamia with their
treasures and effects, and established themselves in the capital of
Persia.
This measure was productive of nothing but disappointment and vexation.
One of Maani’s sisters, who had remained with her mother at Bagdad,
while the father and brothers were at Ispahan, died suddenly; and the
mother, inconsolable for her loss, entreated her husband to return to her
with her other children. Then followed the pangs of parting, rendered
doubly bitter by the reflection that it was for ever. Pietro became ill
and melancholy, having now turned his thoughts, like the prodigal in
the parable, towards his country and his father’s house, and determined
shortly to commence his journey homeward. Obtaining without difficulty
his dismission from the shah, and winding up his affairs, which were
neither intricate nor embarrassed, at Ispahan, he set out on a visit
to Shiraz, intending, when he should have examined Persepolis and its
environs, to bid an eternal adieu to Persia.
With this view, having remained some time at Shiraz, admiring but not
enjoying the pure stream of the Rocnabad, the bowers of Mesellay, and the
bright atmosphere which shed glory on all around, he proceeded to Mineb,
a small town on the river Ibrahim, a little to the south of Gombroon and
Ormus, on the shore of the Persian Gulf. Maani, whose desire to become a
mother had been an unceasing source of unhappiness to her ever since her
marriage, being now pregnant, nothing could have been more ill-judged in
her husband than to approach those pestilential coasts; especially at
such a season of the year. He quickly discovered his error, but it was
too late. The fever which rages with unremitting violence throughout all
that part of the country during six months in the year had now seized not
only upon Maani, but on himself likewise, and upon every other member of
his family. Instant flight might, perhaps, have rescued them from danger,
as it afterward did Chardin, but a fatal lethargy seems to have seized
upon the mind of Pietro. He trembled at the destiny which menaced him,
he saw death, as it were, entering his house, and approach gradually
the individual whom he cherished beyond all others; time was allowed
him by Providence for escape, yet he stood still, as if spellbound, and
suffered the victim to be seized without a struggle. His wife, whose
condition I have alluded to above, affected at once by the fever, and
apprehensive of its consequences, was terrified into premature labour,
and a son dead-born considerably before its time put the finishing
stroke, as it were, to the affliction of her mind. Her fever increased
in violence—medical aid was vain—death triumphed—and Maani sunk into the
grave at the age of twenty-three.
A total change now came over the mind of Della Valle, which not only
affected the actions of his life, but communicated itself to his
writings, depriving them of that dashing quixotism which up to this point
constitutes their greatest charm. A cloud, black as Erebus, descended
upon his soul, and nine months elapsed before he could again command
sufficient spirits or energy to announce the melancholy event to his
friend Schipano. He, however, resolved that the body of his beloved wife
should not be consigned to the earth in Persia, where he should never
more come to visit or shed a tear over her grave. He therefore contrived
to have it embalmed, and then, enclosing it in a coffin adapted to the
purpose, placed it in a travelling trunk, in order that, wherever his
good or bad fortune should conduct him, the dear remains of his Maani
might accompany him to the grave. Certain circumstances attending this
transaction strongly serve to illustrate the character of Della Valle,
and while they tell in favour of his affection, and paint the melancholy
condition to which his bereavement had reduced him, likewise throw some
light upon the manners and state of the country. Dead bodies being
regarded as unclean by the Mohammedans, as they were in old Greece and
Rome, and most other nations of antiquity, no persons could be found to
undertake the task of embalming but a few old women, whom the _auri sacra
fames_ reconciled to the pollution. These, wrapping thick bandages over
their mouths and nostrils, to prevent the powerful odour of the gum from
penetrating into their lungs and brain, after having disembowelled the
corpse, filled its cavities with camphor, and with the same ingredient,
which was of the most pungent and desiccating nature, rubbed all its
limbs and surface until the perfume had penetrated to the very bones.
Pietro, at all times superstitious, was now rendered doubly so by sorrow.
Having somewhere heard or read that the bodies of men will be reanimated
at the general resurrection, wherever their heads happen to be deposited,
while, according to another theory, it was the resting-place of the heart
which was to determine the point, and being desirous, according to either
view of the matter, that Maani and himself should rise on that awful
day together, he gave orders that the heart of his beloved should be
carefully embalmed with the rest of the body. It never once occurred to
him that the _pollinctores_ (or undertakers) might neglect his commands,
and therefore he omitted to overlook this part of the operation; indeed
his feelings would not allow him to be present, and while it was going
on he sat retired, hushing the tempest of his soul in the best manner he
could. While he was in this state of agony, he observed the embalmers
approaching him with something in their hands, and on casting his eyes
upon it he beheld the heart of Maani in a saucer! An unspeakable horror
shot through his whole frame as he gazed upon the heart which, but a few
days before, had bounded with delight and joy to meet his own; and he
turned away his head with a shudder.
When the operation was completed, the mummy was laid out upon a board,
and placed under a tent in the garden, in order to be still further
desiccated by the action of the air. Here it remained seven days and
nights, and the walls being low, it was necessary to keep a strict and
perpetual watch over it, lest the hyenas should enter and devour it. Worn
down as he was by fever, by watching, and by sorrow, Pietro would intrust
this sacred duty to no vulgar guardian during the night, but, with his
loaded musket in his hand, paced to and fro before the tent through the
darkness, while the howls of the hyenas, bursting forth suddenly quite
near him, as it were, frequently startled his ear and increased his
vigilance. By day he took a few hours’ repose, while his domestics kept
watch.
When this melancholy task had been duly performed, he departed, in
sickness and dejection, for the city of Lâr, where the air being somewhat
cooler and more pure, he entertained some hopes of a recovery. Not many
days after his arrival, a Syrian whom he had known at Ispahan brought him
news from Bagdad which were any thing but calculated to cheer or console
his mind. He learned that another sister of Maani had died on the road
in returning from Persia; that the father, stricken to the soul by this
new calamity, had likewise died a few days after reaching home; and that
the widow, thus bereaved of the better part of her family, and feeling
the decrepitude of old age coming apace, was inconsolable. Our traveller
was thunderstruck. Death seemed to have put his mark on all those whom he
loved. Persia now became hateful to him. Its very atmosphere appeared to
teem with misfortunes as with clouds. Nothing, therefore, seemed left him
but to quit it with all possible celerity.
Pietro’s desire to return to Italy was now abated, and travelling more
desirable than home; motion, the presence of strange objects, the
surmounting of difficulties and dangers, being better adapted than
ease and leisure for the dissipating of sharp grief. For this reason he
returned to the shore of the Persian Gulf, and embarked at Gombroon on
board of an English ship for India, taking along with him the body of his
wife, and a little orphan Georgian girl whom he and Maani had adopted
at Ispahan. As even a father cannot remove his daughter, or a husband
his wife, from the shah’s dominions without an especial permission,
which might not be granted without considerable delay, Pietro determined
to elude the laws, and disguising the Georgian in the dress of a boy,
contrived to get her on board among the ship’s crew in the dusk of the
evening, on the 19th of January, 1623.
Traversing the Indian Ocean with favourable winds, he arrived on the 10th
of February at Surat, where he was hospitably entertained by the English
and Dutch residents. He found Guzerat a pleasant country, consisting,
as far as his experience extended, of rich, green plains, well watered,
and thickly interspersed with trees. From Surat he proceeded to Cambay,
a large city situated upon the extremity of a fine plain at the bottom
of the gulf of the same name. Here he adopted the dress, and as far as
possible the manners of the Hindoos, and then, striking off a little from
the coast, visited Ahmedabad, travelling thither with a small cafila or
caravan, the roads being considered dangerous for solitary individuals.
At a small village on the road he observed an immense number of beautiful
yellow squirrels, with fine large tails, leaping from tree to tree; and a
little farther on met with a great number of beggars armed with bows and
arrows, who demanded charity with sound of trumpet. His observations in
this country, though sufficiently curious occasionally, were the fruit of
a too hasty survey, which could not enable him to pierce deeply below the
exterior crust of manners. Indeed, he seems rather to have amused himself
with strange sights, than sought to philosophize upon the circumstances
of humanity. In a temple of Mahades in this city, where numerous Yoghees,
the Gymnosophists of antiquity, were standing like so many statues behind
the sacred lamps, he observed an image of the god entirely of crystal.
On the banks of the Sabermati, which ran close beneath the walls of the
city, numerous Yoghees, as naked as at the moment of their birth, were
seated, with matted hair, and wild looks, and powdered all over with the
ashes of the dead bodies which they had aided in burning.
Returning to Cambay, he embarked in a Portuguese ship for Goa, a city
chiefly remarkable for the number of monks that flocked thither, and for
the atrocities which they there perpetrated in the name of the Church of
Rome. Della Valle soon found that there was more security and pleasure in
living among pagans “suckled in a creed outworn,” or even among heretics,
than in this Portuguese city, where all strangers were regarded with
horror, and met with nothing but baseness and treachery. Leaving this
den of monks and traitors, he proceeded southward along the coast, and
in a few days arrived at Onore, where he went to pay a visit to a native
of distinction, whom they found upon the shore, seated beneath the shade
of some fine trees, flanked and overshadowed, as it were, by a range
of small hills. Being in the company of a Portuguese ambassador from
Goa to a rajah of the Sadasiva race, who then held his court at Ikery,
he regarded the opportunity of observing something of the interior of
the peninsula as too favourable to be rejected, and obtained permission
to form a part of the ambassador’s suite. They set out from Onore in
boats, but the current of the river they were ascending was so rapid and
powerful, that with the aid of both sails and oars they were unable to
push on that day beyond Garsopa, formerly a large and flourishing city,
but now inconsiderable and neglected. Here the scenery, a point which
seldom commanded much of Della Valle’s attention, however picturesque
or beautiful it might be, was of so exquisite a character, so rich, so
glowing, so variable, so full of contrasts, that indifferent as he was on
that head, his imagination was kindled, and he confessed, that turn which
way soever he might, the face of nature was marvellously delightful. A
succession of hills of all forms, and of every shade of verdure, between
which valleys, now deep and umbrageous, now presenting broad, green,
sunny slopes to the eye, branched about in every direction; lofty forests
of incomparable beauty, among which the most magnificent fruit-trees,
such as the Indian walnut, the fawfel, and the amba, were interspersed,
small winding streams, now glancing and quivering and rippling in the
sun, and now plunging into the deep shades of the woods; while vast
flights of gay tropical birds were perched upon the branches, or skimming
over the waters; all these combined certainly formed a glorious picture,
and justified the admiration of Pietro when he exclaimed that nothing to
equal it had ever met his eye. On entering the Ghauts he perceived in
them some resemblance to the Apennines, though they were more beautiful;
and to enjoy so splendid a prospect he travelled part of the way on foot.
The Western Ghauts, which divide the vast plateau of Mysore from Malabar,
Canasen, and the other maritime provinces of the Deccan, are in most
parts covered with forests of prodigious grandeur, and in one of these
Pietro and his party were overtaken by the night. Though “overhead the
moon hung imminent, and shed her silver light,” not a ray could descend
to them through the impenetrable canopy of the wood, so that they were
compelled to kindle torches, notwithstanding which they failed to find
their way, and contented themselves with kindling a fire and passing the
night under a tree.
Ikery, the bourn beyond which they were not to proceed towards the
interior, was then an extensive but thinly-peopled city, though according
to the Hindoos it once contained a hundred thousand inhabitants. Around
it extended three lines of fortifications, of which the exterior was a
row of bamboos, thickly planted, and of enormous height, whose lifted
heads, with the beautiful flowering parasites which crept round their
stems to the summit, yielded a grateful shade. Here he beheld a suttee,
visited various temples, and saw the celebrated dancing girls of
Hindostan perform their graceful but voluptuous postures. He examined
likewise the ceremonial of the rajah’s court, and instituted numerous
inquiries into the religion and manners of the country, upon all which
points he obtained information curious enough for that age, but now,
from the more extensive and exact researches of later travellers, of
little value. Returning to the seacoast, he proceeded southward as far
as Calicut, the extreme point of his travels. Here he faced about, as it
were, turned his eyes towards home, and began to experience a desire to
be at rest. Still, at Cananou, at Salsette, and the other parts of India
at which he touched on his return, he continued assiduously to observe
and describe, though rather from habit than any delight which it afforded
him.
On the 15th of November, 1624, he embarked at Goa in a ship bound for
Muskat, from whence he proceeded up the Persian Gulf to Bassorah. Here he
hired mules and camels, and provided all things necessary for crossing
the desert; and on the 21st of May, 1625, departed, being accompanied by
an Italian friar, Marian, the Georgian girl, and the corpse of Maani.
During this journey he observed the sand in many places strewed with
seashells, bright and glittering as mother-of-pearl, and in others with
bitumen. Occasionally their road lay over extensive marshes, covered
thickly with reeds or brushwood, or white with salt; but at this season
of the year every thing was so dry that a spark falling from the pipe of
a muleteer upon the parched grass nearly produced a conflagration in the
desert. When they had advanced many days’ journey into the waste, and
beheld on all sides nothing but sand and sky, a troop of Arab robbers,
who came scouring along the desert upon their fleet barbs, attacked
and rifled their little caravan; and Della Valle saw himself about to
be deprived of his wife’s body, after having preserved it so long, and
conveyed it safely over so many seas and mountains. In this fear he
addressed himself to the banditti, describing the contents of the chest,
and the motives which urged him so vehemently to desire its preservation.
The Arabs were touched with compassion. The sight of the coffin,
enforcing the effect of his eloquence, interested their hearts; so that
not only did they respect the dead, and praise the affectionate and pious
motives of the traveller, but also narrowed their demands, for they
pretended to exact dues, not to rob, and allowed the caravan to proceed
with the greater part of its wealth.
On arriving at the port of Alexandretta another difficulty arose. The
Turks would never have allowed a corpse to pass through the custom-house,
nor would the sailors of the ship in which he desired to embark for
Cyprus on any account have suffered it to come on board. To overreach
both parties, Pietro had the body enveloped in bales of spun cotton, upon
which he paid the regular duty, and thus one further step was gained.
After visiting Cyprus, Malta, and Sicily, where he remained some short
time, he set sail for Naples. Here he found his old friend Schipano still
living, and after describing to him the various scenes and dangers
through which he had passed, moved forward towards Rome, where he arrived
on the 28th of March, 1626, after an absence of more than twelve years.
His return was no sooner made known in the city than numerous friends
and relations and the greater number of the nobility crowded to his
house, to bid him welcome and congratulate him upon the successful
termination of his travels. His presentation to the pope took place a few
days afterward, when Urban VIII. was so charmed with his conversation
and manners, that, without application or intrigue on the part of the
traveller, he was appointed his holiness’s honorary chamberlain,—a
compliment regarded at Rome as highly flattering. In order to induce the
pope to send out missionaries to Georgia, Pietro now presented him with
a short account of that country, which he had formerly written; and the
affair being seriously taken into consideration, it was determined by the
society _De Propaganda Fide_ that the proposed measure should be carried
into effect, and that Pietro should be regularly consulted respecting the
business of the Levant missions in general.
Early in the spring of 1627, he caused the funeral obsequies of his wife
to be celebrated with extraordinary magnificence in the church of Aracœli
at Rome. The funeral oration he himself pronounced; and when, after
describing the various circumstances of her life, and the happiness of
their union, he came to expatiate upon her beauty, his emotions became
so violent that tears and sobs choked his utterance, and he failed to
proceed. His auditors, according to some accounts, were likewise affected
even unto tears; while others relate that they burst into a fit of
laughter. If they did, the fault was in their own hearts; for, however
extravagant the manner of Della Valle may have been, death is a solemn
thing, and can never fail properly to affect all well-constituted minds.
However, though his love for Maani’s memory seems never to have abated,
the vanity of keeping up the illustrious name of Della Valle, and the
consequent wish of leaving a legitimate offspring behind him, reconciled
a second marriage to his mind, and Marian Tinatin, the Georgian girl whom
he had brought with him from the East, appears to have been the person
selected for his second wife. M. Eyriès asserts, but I know not upon what
authority, that it was a relation of Maani whom he married; but this
seems to be extremely improbable, since, so far as can be discovered from
his travels, no relation of hers ever accompanied him, excepting the
brother and sister who spent some time with him in Persia.
Though he had exhausted a large portion of his patrimony in his numerous
and long-continued journeys, sufficient seems to have remained to enable
him to spend the remainder of his life in splendour and affluence. He
had established himself in the mansion of his ancestors at Rome, and the
locomotive propensity having entirely deserted him, would probably never
have quitted the city, but that one day, while the pope was pronouncing
his solemn benediction in St. Peter’s, he had the misfortune to fall into
a violent passion, during which he killed his coachman in the area before
the church. This obliged him once more to fly to Naples; but murder not
being regarded as a very heinous offence at Rome, and the pope, moreover,
entertaining a warm friendship for Pietro, he was soon recalled. After
this nothing remarkable occurred to him until his death, which took place
on the 20th of April, 1652. Soon after his death, his widow retired to
Urbino; and his children, exhibiting a fierce and turbulent character,
were banished the city.
As a traveller, Della Valle possessed very distinguished qualities. He
was enthusiastic, romantic, enterprising. He had read, if not studied,
the histories of the various countries through which he afterward
travelled; and there were few dangers which he was not ready cheerfully
to encounter for the gratification of his curiosity. Gibbon complains
of his insupportable vanity and prolixity. With his vanity I should
never quarrel, as it only tends to render him the more agreeable: but
his prolixity is sometimes exceedingly tedious, particularly in those
rhetorical exordiums to his long letters, containing the praises of
his friend Schipano, and lamentations over the delays of the Asiatic
_post-office_. Nevertheless, it is impossible to peruse his works
without great instruction and delight; for his active, and vigorous, and
observant mind continually gives birth to sagacious and profound remarks;
and his adventures, though undoubtedly true, are full of interest and the
spirit of romance.