TEHERÁN.
A brilliant ball-room, pretty faces, smart gowns, good music, and
an excellent supper;--thus surrounded, I pass my first evening in
Teherán, a pleasant contrast indeed to the preceding night of dirt,
cold, and hunger.
But it was not without serious misgivings that I accepted the
courteous invitation of the German Embassy. The crossing of the
Kharzán had not improved the appearance of dress-clothes and shirts,
to say nothing of my eyes being in the condition described by
pugilists as "bunged up," my face of the hue of a boiled lobster, the
effects of sun and snow.
One is struck, on entering Teherán, with the apparent cleanliness of
the place as compared with other Oriental towns. The absence of heaps
of refuse, cess-pools, open drains, and bad smells is remarkable to
one accustomed to Eastern cities; but this was perhaps, at the time of
my visit, due to the pure rarified atmosphere, the keen frosty air, of
winter. Teherán in January, with its cold bracing climate, and Teherán
in June, with the thermometer above ninety in the shade, are two very
different things; and the town is so unhealthy in summer, that all
Europeans who can afford to do so live on the hills around the
capital.
The environs are not picturesque. They have been likened to those of
Madrid, having the same brown calcined soil, the same absence of trees
and vegetation. The city, viewed from outside the walls, is ugly and
insignificant, and, on a dull day, indistinguishable at no great
distance. In clear weather, however, the beehive-like dwellings and
rumbling ramparts stand out in bold relief against a background of
blue sky and dazzling snow-mountains, over which towers, in solitary
grandeur, the peak of Mount Demavend, [A] an extinct volcano, over
20,000 feet high, the summit of which is reported by natives to be
haunted. The ascent is gradual and easy, and has frequently been made
by Europeans.
Teherán is divided into two parts--the old city and the new. In the
former, inhabited only by natives, the streets are narrow, dark, and
tortuous, leading at intervals into large squares with deep tanks of
running water in the centre. The latter are characteristic of Persia,
and have in summer a deliciously cool appearance, the coping of the
fountain being only an inch or so in height, and the water almost
flush with the ground. The new, or European quarter, is bisected by
a broad tree-lined thoroughfare, aptly named the "Boulevard des
Ambassadeurs," for here are the legations of England, France, and
Germany. The Russian Embassy, a poor building in comparison with
the others, stands in another part of the town. Hard by the English
Embassy is the Hôtel Prevôt, kept by a Frenchman of that name, once
confectioner-in-chief to his Majesty the Shah. Here we took up our
quarters during our stay in the capital.
At the extremity of the Boulevard des Ambassadeurs is the "Place des
Canons," so called from the old and useless cannon of various ages
that surround it. The square is formed by low barn-like barracks,
their whitewashed walls decorated with gaudy and rudely drawn pictures
of Persian soldiers and horses. Beyond this again, and approached by
an avenue of poplar trees, lit by electric light, is the palace of the
Shah, with nothing to indicate the presence in town of the sovereign
but a guard of ragged-looking, unkempt Persians in Russian uniform
lounging about the principal gateway.
The Persian soldier is not a credit to his country. Although drilled
and commanded by European officers, he is a slouching, awkward fellow,
badly paid, ill fed, and not renowned for bravery. The ordinary
infantry uniform consists of a dark-blue tunic and trousers with red
facings, and a high astrachan busby with the brass badge of the lion
and sun. To a stranger, however, the varied and grotesque costumes
in which these clowns are put by their imperial master is somewhat
confusing. One may see, for instance, Russian cossacks, French
chasseurs, German uhlans, and Austrian cuirassiers incongruously mixed
up together in the ranks on parade. His army is the Shah's favourite
toy, and nothing affords the eccentric monarch so much amusement as
constant change of uniform. As the latter are manufactured in and sent
out from the countries they represent, the expense to the state is
considerable.
The first Europeans to instruct this rabble were Frenchmen, but
England, Russia, Germany, and Austria have all supplied officers and
instructors within the past fifty years, without, however, any
good result. Although the arsenal at Teherán is full of the latest
improvements in guns and magazine rifles, these are kept locked up,
and only for show, the old Brown Bess alone being used. The Cossack
regiment always stationed at Teherán, ostensibly for the protection of
the Shah, and officered by Russians, is the only one with any attempt
at discipline or order, and is armed with the Berdán rifle.
The Teherán bazaar is, at first sight, commonplace and uninteresting.
Though of enormous extent (it contains in the daytime over thirty
thousand souls), it lacks the picturesque Oriental appearance of those
of Cairo or Constantinople, where costly and beautiful wares are set
out in tempting array before the eyes of the unwary stranger. Here
they are kept in the background, and a European must remain in
the place for a couple of months or so, and make friends with the
merchants, before he be even permitted to see them. The position is
reversed. At Stamboul the stranger is pestered and worried to buy;
at Teherán one must sometimes entreat before being allowed even to
inspect the contents of a silk or jewel stall. Even then, the owner
will probably remain supremely indifferent as to whether the "Farangi"
purchase or not. This fact is curious. It will probably disappear with
the advance of civilization and Mr. Cook.
[Illustration: TEHERÁN]
Debouching from the principal streets or alleys of the bazaar, which
is of brick, are large covered caravanserais, or open spaces for the
storage of goods, where the wholesale merchants have their
warehouses. The architecture of some of these caravanserais is very
fine. The cool, quiet halls, their domed roofs, embellished with
delicate stone carving, and blue, white, and yellow tiles, dimly
reflected in the inevitable marble tank of clear water below, are
a pleasant retreat from the stifling alleys and sun-baked streets.
Talking of tanks, there seems to be no lack of water in Teherán. I was
surprised at this, for there are few countries so deficient in this
essential commodity as Persia. It is, I found, artificially supplied
by "connaughts," or subterranean aqueducts flowing from mountain
streams, which are practically inexhaustible. In order to keep a
straight line, shafts are dug every fifty yards or so, and the earth
thrown out of the shaft forms a mound, which is not removed. Thus
a Persian landscape, dotted with hundreds of these hillocks, often
resembles a field full of huge ant-hills. The mouths of these shafts,
left open and unprotected, are a source of great danger to travellers
by night. Teherán is provided with thirty or forty of these aqueducts,
which were constructed by the Government some years ago at enormous
expense and labour.
As in most Eastern cities, each trade has its separate alley or
thoroughfare in the Teherán bazaar. Thus of jewellers, silk mercers,
tailors, gunsmiths, saddlers, coppersmiths, and the rest, each
have their separate arcade. The shops or stalls are much alike in
appearance, though they vary considerably in size. Behind a brick
platform, about three feet wide and two feet in height, is the shop,
a vaulted archway, in the middle of which, surrounded by his wares,
kalyan [B] or cigarette in mouth, squats the shopkeeper. There are no
windows. At night a few rough boards and a rough Russian padlock are
the sole protection, saving a smaller apartment at the back of each
stall, a kind of strong-room, guarded by massive iron-bound doors,
in which the most valuable goods are kept. There is no attempt at
decoration; a few only of the jewellers' shops are whitewashed inside,
the best being hung with the cheapest and gaudiest of French or German
coloured prints. The stalls are usually opened about 6.30 a.m., and
closed at sunset. An hour later the bazaar is untenanted, save for
the watchmen and pariah dogs. The latter are seen throughout the day,
sleeping in holes and corners, many of them almost torn to pieces from
nightly encounters, and kicked about, even by children, with impunity.
It is only at night that the brutes become really dangerous, and when,
in packs of from twenty to thirty, they have been known to attack and
kill men. Occasionally the dogs of one quarter of the bazaar attack
those of another, and desperate fights ensue, the killed and wounded
being afterwards eaten by the victors. It is, therefore, unsafe to
venture out in the streets of Teherán after dark without a lantern and
good stout cudgel.
From 11 to 12 a.m. is perhaps the busiest part of the day in the
bazaar. Then is one most struck with the varied and picturesque types
of Oriental humanity, the continuously changing kaleidoscope of
native races from Archangel to the Persian Gulf, the Baltic Sea to
Afghanistán.
Nor are contrasts wanting. Here is Ivanoff from Odessa or Tiflis, in
the white peaked cap and high boots dear to every Russian, haggling
over the price of a carpet with Ali Mahomet of Bokhára; there
Chung-Yang, who has drifted here from Pekin through Siberia, with a
cargo of worthless tea, vainly endeavouring to palm it off on that
grave-looking Parsee, who, unfortunately for the Celestial, is not
quite such a fool as he looks. Such a hubbub never was heard.
Every one is talking or shouting at the top of their voices, women
screaming, beggars whining, fruit and water sellers jingling their
cymbals, while from the coppersmiths' quarter hard by comes a
deafening accompaniment in the shape of beaten metal. Occasionally a
caravan of laden camels stalk gravely through the alleys, scattering
the yelling crowd right and left, only to reassemble the moment it has
passed, like water in the wake of a ship. Again it separates, and a
sedan, preceded by a couple of gholams with long wands, is carried
by, and one gets a momentary glimpse of a pair of dark eyes and
henna-stained finger-tips, as a fair one from the "anderoon" [C]
of some great man is carried to her jeweller's or perfumer's. The
"yashmak" is getting very thin in these countries, and one can form a
very fair estimate of the lady's features (singularly plain ones) as
the sedan swings by. Towards midday business is suspended for a while,
and the alleys of the bazaar empty as if by magic. For nearly a whole
hour silence, unbroken save by the snarling of some pariah dog, the
hiss of the samovar, and gurgle of the kalyan, falls over the place,
till 2 p.m., when the noise recommences as suddenly as it ceased, and
continues unbroken till sunset.
On the whole, the bazaar is disappointing. The stalls for the sale of
Persian and Central Asian carpets, old brocades and tapestries, and
other wares dear to the lover of Eastern art, are in the minority,
and must be hunted out. Manchester goods, cheap calicoes and prints,
German cutlery, and Birmingham ware are found readily enough, and form
the stock of two-thirds of the shops in the carpet and silk-mercers'
arcade.
It is by no means easy to find one's way about. No one understands
a word of English, French, or German, and had it not been for my
knowledge of Russian--which, by the way, is the one known European
language among the lower orders--I should more than once have been
hopelessly lost.
Europeans in Teherán lead a pleasant though somewhat monotonous life.
Summer is, as I have said, intolerable, and all who can seek refuge in
the hills, where there are two settlements, or villages, presented by
the Shah to England and Russia. Winter is undoubtedly the pleasantest
season. Scarcely an evening passes without a dance, private
theatricals, or other festivity given by one or other of the
Embassies, entertainments which his Imperial Majesty himself
frequently graces with his presence.
There is probably no living sovereign of whom so little is really
known in Europe as Nasr-oo-din, "Shah of Persia," "Asylum of the
Universe," and "King of Kings," to quote three of his more modest
titles. Although he has visited Europe twice, and been made much of in
our own country, most English people know absolutely nothing of the
Persian monarch's character or private life. That he ate _entrées_
with his fingers at Buckingham Palace, expressed a desire to have the
Lord Chamberlain bowstrung, and conceived a violent and unholy passion
for an amiable society lady somewhat inclined to _embonpoint_, we are
most of us aware; but beyond this, the Shah's _vie intime_ remains, to
the majority of us at least, a sealed book. This is perhaps a pity,
for, like many others, Nasr-oo-din is not so black as he is painted,
and, notwithstanding all reports to the contrary, is said, by those
who should know, to be one of the kindest-hearted creatures breathing.
The government of Persia is that of an absolute monarchy. The Shah
alone has power of life and death, and, even in the most remote
districts, the assent of the sovereign is necessary before an
execution can take place. The Shah appoints his own ministers.
These are the "Sadr-Azam," or Prime Minister; the "Sapar-Sala,"
Commander-in-chief; "Mustof-al-Mamalak," Secretary of State, and
Minister of Foreign Affairs. These are supposed to represent the Privy
Council, but they very seldom meet, the Shah preferring to manage
affairs independently. The total revenue of the latter has been
estimated at seven million pounds sterling.
Nasr-oo-din, who is now sixty-five years of age, ascended the throne
in 1848. His reign commenced inauspiciously with a determined attempt
to assassinate him, made by a gang of fanatics of the Babi sect. The
plot, though nearly successful, was frustrated, and the conspirators
executed; but it is said that the Shah has lived in constant dread of
assassination ever since. He is hypochondriacal, and, though in very
fair health, is constantly on the _qui vive_ for some imaginary
ailment. The post of Court physician, filled for many years past by
Dr. Tholozan, a Frenchman, is no sinecure.
The habits of the Shah are simple. He is, unlike most Persians of high
class, abstemious as regards both food and drink. Two meals a day,
served at midday and 9 p.m., and those of the plainest diet, washed
down by a glass or two of claret or other light wine, are all he
allows himself. When on a hunting-excursion, his favourite occupation,
the Shah is even more abstemious, going sometimes a whole day without
food of any kind. He is a crack shot, and is out nearly daily, when
the weather permits, shooting over his splendid preserves around
Teherán. There is no lack of sport. Tiger and bear abound; also
partridge, woodcock, snipe, and many kinds of water-fowl; but the
Shah is better with the rifle than the fowling-piece. The Shah is
passionately fond of music, and has two or three string and brass
bands trained and conducted by a Frenchman. When away on a long
sporting-excursion, he is invariably accompanied by one of these
bands.
Were it not for the running attendants in scarlet and gold, and the
crimson-dyed [D] tail of his horse, no one would take the slim, swarthy
old gentleman in black frock-coat, riding slowly through the streets,
and beaming benignly through a huge pair of spectacles, for the
great Shah-in-Shah himself. Yet he is stern and pitiless enough when
necessary, as many of the Court officials can vouch for. But few have
escaped the bastinado at one time or another; but in Persia this is
not considered an indignity, even by the highest in the land. The
stick is painful, certainly, but not a disgrace in this strange
country.
Nasr-oo-din has three legal wives, and an unlimited number of
concubines. Of the former, the head wife, Shuku-Es-Sultana, is his own
cousin and the great-granddaughter of the celebrated Fatti-Ali-Shah,
whose family was so large that, at the time of his death, one hundred
and twenty of his descendants were still living. Shuku-Es-Sultana is
the mother of the "Valliad," or Crown Prince, now Governor of Tabriz.
The second wife is a granddaughter of Fatti-Ali-Shah; and the third
(the Shah's favourite) is one Anys-u-Dowlet. The latter is the best
looking of the three, and certainly possesses the greatest influence
in state affairs. Of the concubines, the mother of the "Zil-i-Sultan"
("Shadow of the King") ranks the first in seniority. The Zil-i-Sultan
is, though illegitimate, the Shah's eldest son, and is, with the
exception of his father, the most influential man in Persia, the
heir-apparent (Valliad) being a weak, foolish individual, easily led,
and addicted to drink and the lowest forms of sensuality.
With the exception of eunuchs, no male person over the age of ten is
permitted in the seraglio, or anderoon, which is constantly receiving
fresh importations from the provinces. Persians deny that there are
any European women, but this is doubtful. The harems of Constantinople
and Cairo are recruited from Paris and Vienna; why not those of
Teherán? The indoor costume of the Persian lady must be somewhat
trying at first to those accustomed to European toilettes. The
skirt, reaching only to the knee, is full and _bouffé_, like an
opera-dancer's, the feet and legs generally bare. The only becoming
part of the whole costume is the tightly fitting zouave jacket of
light blue or scarlet satin, thickly braided with gold, and the gauze
head-dress embroidered with the same material, and fastened under the
chin with a large turquoise, ruby, or other precious stone.
Some of the women (even among the concubines) are highly educated; can
play on the "tar", [E] or harmonica, sing, and read and write poetry;
but their recreations are necessarily somewhat limited. Picnics,
music, story-telling, kalyan and cigarette smoking, sweetmeat-making,
and the bath, together with somewhat less innocent pastimes, form the
sum total of a Persian concubine's amusements. Outside the walls of
the anderoon they are closely watched and guarded, for Persians
are jealous of their women, and, even in the most formal social
gatherings, there is a strict separation of the sexes. Its imperial
master occasionally joins in the outdoor amusements of his harem;
indeed, he himself invented a game a few years since, which sounds
more original than amusing. A slide of smooth alabaster about twenty
feet long, on an inclined plane, was constructed in one of his
bath-houses. Down this the Shah would gravely slide into the water,
followed by his seraglio. The sight must have been a strange one,
the costumes on these occasions being, to say the least of it, scanty!
[Illustration: PERSIAN DANCING-GIRL]
The Shah's greatest failing is, perhaps, vacillation. He is constantly
changing his mind, on trifling matters chiefly, for his northern
neighbours take care that he is more consistent in affairs of state.
Two or three times, between his visits to Europe in 1871 and 1889, he
has started with great pomp and a large retinue for the land of the
"Farangi," but, on arrival at Résht, has returned to Teherán, without
a word of warning to his ministers, or apparent reason for his sudden
change of plans. These "false starts" became a recognized thing after
a time, and when, in 1888, his Majesty embarked on his yacht and set
sail for Baku, it came as a surprise, pleasant or otherwise, to his
subjects at Teherán. The final undertaking of the journey may
have been advised by his astrologers, for the Shah is intensely
superstitious, and never travels without them. Nor will he, on any
account, start on a journey on a Friday, or the thirteenth day of the
month.
The palace of Teherán is, seen from the outside, a shapeless,
ramshackle structure. The outside walls are whitewashed, and covered
with gaudy red and blue pictures of men and horses, the former in
modern military tunics and shakos, the latter painted a bright red.
The figures, rudely drawn, remind one of a charity schoolboy's
artistic efforts on a slate, but are somewhat out of place on the
walls of a royal residence. The interior of the "Ark," as it is
called, is a pleasant contrast to the outside, although even here, in
the museum, which contains some of the finest gems and _objets d'art_
in the world, the various objects are placed with singular disregard
of order, not to say good taste. One sees, for instance, a tawdrily
dressed mechanical doll from Paris standing next to a case containing
the "Darai Nor," or "Sea of Light," a magnificent diamond obtained
in India, and said to be the largest yet discovered, though somewhat
inferior in quality to the "Koh-i-noor." A cheap and somewhat
dilapidated cuckoo-clock and toy velocipede flank the famous globe of
the world in diamonds and precious stones. This, the most costly and
beautiful piece of workmanship in the place, is about eighteen inches
in diameter, and is said to have cost eight millions of francs. The
different countries are marked out with surprising accuracy and
detail,--Persia being represented by turquoises, England by diamonds,
Africa by rubies, and so on, the sea being of emeralds.
The museum itself is about sixty feet in length by twenty-five feet
broad, its ceiling composed entirely of looking-glasses, its parquet
flooring strewn with priceless Persian rugs and carpets. Large
oil-paintings of Queen Victoria, the Czar of Russia, and other
sovereigns, surround the walls, including two portraits of her Majesty
the Ex-Empress Eugenie. It would weary the reader to wade through a
description of the Jade work and _cloisonné_, the porcelain of all
countries, the Japanese works of art in bronze and gold, and last, but
not least, the cut and uncut diamonds and precious stones, temptingly
laid out in open saucers, like _bonbons_ in a confectioner's shop. The
diamonds are perhaps the finest as regards quality, but there is
a roughly cut ruby surmounting the imperial crown, said to be the
largest in the world.
Though it was very cold, and the snow lay deep upon the ground, my
stay at Teherán was not unpleasant. The keen bracing air, brilliant
sunshine, and cloudless blue sky somewhat made amends for the sorry
lodging and execrable fare provided by mine host at the Hôtel Prevôt.
I have seldom, in my travels, come across a French inn where, be the
materials ever so poor, the landlord is not able to turn out a decent
meal. I have fared well and sumptuously at New Caledonia, Saigon, and
even Pekin, under the auspices of a French innkeeper; but at Teherán
(nearest of any to civilized Europe) was compelled to swallow food
that would have disgraced a fifth-rate _gargotte_ in the slums of
Paris. Perhaps Monsieur Prevôt had become "Persianized"; perhaps
the dulcet tones of Madame P., whose voice, incessantly rating her
servants, reminded one of unoiled machinery, and commenced at sunrise
only to be silenced (by exhaustion) at sunset, disturbed him at his
culinary labours. The fact remains that the _cuisine_ was, to any but
a starving man, uneatable, the bedroom which madame was kind enough to
assign to me, pitch dark and stuffy as a dog-kennel.
A long conference with General S--, an Austrian in the Persian
service, decided my future movements. The general, one of the highest
geographical authorities on Persia, strongly dissuaded my attempting
to reach India _viâ_ Meshéd and Afghanistán. "You will only be stopped
and sent back," said he; "what is the use of losing time?" I resolved,
therefore, after mature deliberation, to proceed direct to Ispahán,
Shiráz, and Bushire, and from thence by steamer to Sonmiani, on the
coast of Baluchistán. From the latter port I was to strike due north
to Kelát and Quetta, and "that," added the general, "will bring you
across eighty or a hundred miles of totally unexplored country. You
will have had quite enough of it when you get to Kelát--if you ever
_do_ get there," he added encouragingly.
The route now finally decided upon, preparations were made for a start
as soon as possible. Portmanteaus were exchanged for a pair of light
leather saddle-bags, artistically embellished with squares of bright
Persian carpet let in at the side, and purchased in the bazaar for
twenty-two keráns, or about seventeen shillings English money. In
these I was able to carry, with ease, a couple of tweed suits, half a
dozen flannel shirts, three pairs of boots, and toilet necessaries, to
say nothing of a box of cigars and a small medicine-chest. Gerôme
also carried a pair of bags, containing, in addition to his modest
wardrobe, our stores for the voyage--biscuits, Valentine's meat juice,
sardines, tea, and a bottle of brandy; for, with the exception of eggs
and Persian bread, one can reckon upon nothing eatable at the Chapar
khanehs. There is an excellent European store shop at Teherán, and had
it not been for limited space, we might have regaled on turtle soup,
aspic jellies, quails, and _pâté de foie gras_ galore throughout
Persia. Mr. R. N----, an _attaché_ to the British Legation at Teherán,
is justly celebrated for his repasts _en voyage_, and assured me that
he invariably sat down to a _recherché_ dinner of soup, three courses,
and iced champagne, even when journeying to such remote cities as
Hamadán or Meshéd, thereby proving that, if you only take your time
about it, you may travel comfortably almost anywhere--even in Persia.
[Footnote A: The word _Demavend_ signifies literally "abundance of
mist," so called from the summit of this mountain being continually
wreathed in clouds.]
[Footnote B: A pipe similar to the Turkish "hubble-bubble," wherein
the tobacco is inhaled through plain or rose water.]
[Footnote C: Harem.]
[Footnote D: A badge of royalty in Persia.]
[Footnote E: A stringed instrument played in the same way as the
European guitar.]