_Tchuruk_, our nearest station, when we were startled by a peculiar kind
of barking and howling, coming from the depths of the mountains before
us. We had just reached an eminence on the road. Our little company of
travellers halted at once, and our Persian escort, bending their eyes
anxiously upon the entrance of the deep road, prepared their arms for
action. The howling grew louder and louder, and suddenly a magnificent
stag burst upon our sight, hotly pursued by two wolves. The Persians,
who are very fond of the chase, were electrified by this sight, and two
of them springing forward advanced in a run towards the animal--one of
the two, although running, took such excellent aim at it, that upon his
firing the beautiful deer fell lifeless to the ground. The wolves were
scared by the shooting and ran away. One of the wolves however, as soon
as everything became quiet again, either pushed by hunger, or feeling
sore at the loss of his prey, soon reappeared to our great surprise. The
hunters allowed him to approach, unmolested, within a few paces from the
lifeless stag, and then fired at him, killing him on the spot. Every
member of our small company was delighted with the adventure. We
dismounted, stripped off the skin of the deer, cut him up and set to
work at once to roast the best parts on the spit, leaving the rest of
the carcass and the wolf behind us.
The first place of note the traveller from the west comes to, in Persia,
is called _Khoy_. I was particularly struck by its bazaar. The life and
commotion in it was marked by that primitive quaintness and splendour of
ancient times which are, to a great extent, wanting in the Stambul
bazaars, owing to the influence of the Europeans. Any one who has
witnessed in Khoy, during the hours of the forenoon, the stir and bustle
in the cool and narrow streets, watched the gesticulations of buyers and
sellers, seen the variety of splendid fabrics and arms, and the food
offered for sale, and observed the behaviour of the thronging and
screaming crowd, must own that in the matter of Oriental
characteristics, at least, the bazaar of Constantinople is inferior to
that of Khoy.
The first impression was a truly bewildering and bewitching one, I could
hardly tear myself away from the strange spectacle; the peculiar sounds,
the strange din and noise, the seething life everywhere, were things I
had never witnessed before. As I was entering a place, topped by a
cupola, where about thirty braziers were striking away, with a will,
each at a kettle or pan, I was struck with astonishment upon seeing
that, in the midst of this infernal din, there were, in an unoccupied
portion of the building, two schools in full blast. There sat the
school-master--amongst the children who were ranged round him in the
shape of a half moon--armed with a long stick probably in order to
enable him to reach the children sitting on the hind-most forms. I went
quite near them and listened with the utmost attention, but could not
catch a solitary word, although both teacher and pupils were screaming
at the top of their lungs. The exertion told on them, too, for with
their inflated red faces and starting veins they looked like so many
infuriated turkeys. They pretend, nevertheless, that an improper stress
laid upon any Arabic word in the Koran, by any children, is immediately
observed and duly rebuked by the master.
I was surprised, even more agreeably, by the neat little caravansary
which we entered. The traveller meets everywhere in Arabia and Turkey
with dirty khans only; but here, in Persia, where, from ancient times,
much care has been bestowed upon the comfort and facilities of
intercourse, the caravansaries will be found to be inns which--I am
speaking, of course, of Eastern pretensions--leave nothing to be
desired. These inns stand mostly in the due centre of the bazaar, and
generally form a square building, each side of which is divided off into
a certain number of cells. A half circular opening, doing service both
as a door and window, leads to a terrace-like elevation running round
the building. Beneath it are placed the stables, so that a traveller,
living on the first floor, can be ostler to his own horse, on the ground
floor. This terrace is from four to six feet high, and leads to what is
in reality the yard, in the centre of which there is a well, often
surrounded by a small flower-garden. The cells offer a cool and pleasant
retreat during the day, and a place of safety, for travellers, during
the night. The _dalundar_ (door-keeper), who is stationed at the
cupola-shaped entrance-door, is charged with maintaining order. This
person is quick in discerning the rank and station of a traveller, by
his horse and saddle-gear, and he provides him with corresponding
accommodation. Sentinels are stationed on the flat roofs during the
night, who are scaring away with their monotonous cries all evil-doers,
and it is a rare thing for theft or robbery to be committed at the
caravansaries.
We left Khoy towards evening, on the 8th of June, for fear of being
interrupted in our journey, on account of the feast of _Kuram Bairam_
(the month of merry-making after the fast), and stopped at the village
of _Hadji Aga_, inhabited altogether by _Seids_, that is, descendants of
the prophet. These men are the most pretentious men in all Persia in
their pride of descent, but they are especially arrogant in their
behaviour towards strangers, and indeed one must have Job's patience to
bear their impertinences meekly. No matter how rich they are, they will
beg wherever they see a chance of getting something. Indeed they do not
ask for any alms, but they impose a tax, due to them as the descendants
of the head of Islam. They commit capital crimes, under the plea of
sanctity, and the people rarely dare to call them to account. The
authorities seem to be less indulgent, for I was told that the governor
of Tebriz, to the horror of the whole world, condemned a Seid who had
committed robbery to death by fire. The Mollahs fell to protesting, but
the governor gave them the following reply: "If he is a true Seid he
will not be touched by the flames," and caused the culprit to be cast
into the blazing pile.
VII.
IN TEBRIZ.
Tebriz is a town of remote antiquity, and is said to have been built by
the wife of Harun el Rashid. But of the ancient greatness and splendour
in which Tebriz was said to have once vied with the city of Raghes, very
little is now to be seen. Its commerce, however, is quite as flourishing
to-day as it was reputed to have been in ancient times. The grand life
of the bazaar had surprised me already at Khoy, but compared to that of
Tebriz, it was only a picture in miniature. Here the din and noise, the
stir and bustle, the pushing and elbowing, the stifling crowds are
magnified a hundredfold. At the recommendation of several persons I put
up at the Emir Caravansary, which, however, it took me over an hour to
find. Not being used to this deafening noise, and to pushing through
such dense crowds of people and mules without number, which seemed
perilous to both life and limb, I was apprehensive lest I might at any
moment ride over somebody with my horse. In recalling how the
dervishes were dancing onward ahead of me through this dire confusion,
uttering their unearthly screams, brandishing high, and casting up, into
the air their sharp axes, seizing them again by their handles upon
coming down, I wonder, to this day, how I ever got safely to the Emir
Caravansary.
[Illustration: CITY OF TEBRIZ.]
My Armenian companions ordered a modest cell for me, and, as they had
already reached their place of destination, they parted, with the
promise of returning the next day and installing themselves as my guides
through their native city. I sat down at the door of my narrow little
room and remained there until late in the evening, partly to take some
rest after my previous fatigues, partly to watch the life stirring about
me. Very soon, true to the custom of their country, a curious crowd
gathered around me; by some I was taken to be a merchant and was offered
goods by them, by others a money changer and was asked if I had any
Imperiales or Kopeks which I wished to exchange; others, again, offered
me their services, judging me by my attire to be a member of the embassy
of Teheran. It is wearisome work for a newly-arrived stranger at a
caravansary, this being catechised from all sides.
I passed two entire weeks in Tebriz; I desired to rest after the
fatigues of my long journey, making, at the same time, excellent use of
my leisure in studying the peculiarities of the Shi-ite sect, a study
which revealed to me a great deal that was novel and interesting. I did
so with all the more pleasure as my uninterrupted stay, for many years,
among all the Sunnite circles, my perfect knowledge of their modes of
life, customs, and dispositions, had especially fitted me for
instituting relevant comparisons.
I had been often told that the Shi-ites were the Protestants of Islam,
and their superior intelligence and industry led me to at one time share
this supposition. I was therefore quite astonished to find, on the very
day of my arrival, wherever I turned, instances of a fanaticism far more
savage, and of a sanctimoniousness far more glaring, than I had ever met
with in Turkey. First of all I was disagreeably impressed with the
reserve and spirit of exclusiveness shown by the Persians towards
Europeans. They are commanded by their law, for instance, in case the
hem of a European's garment but happens to touch the dress of a Persian,
that the Persian immediately becomes _nedjiz_, that is, unclean, and
must forthwith resort to a bath to regain his purity. My faith in their
cleanliness, of which they were so fond of boasting, very soon received
a rude shock, in witnessing the following scene. In the centre of the
yard of the caravansary, as everywhere else, is placed a basin full of
water, originally intended for the performance of ritual lavations, but,
as I was watching their proceedings at the basin, I saw that whilst at
one side of the reservoir some were washing their dirty things, others
placing half-tanned skins into the same water for soaking, and a third
was cleansing his baby, there were standing men on the opposite side of
the basin, gravely performing their religious washings with the
identical water, and one of them, who must have been very thirsty
indeed, crouched down and eagerly drank of the dark green fluid. I could
not repress at the sight a manifestation of loathing. A Persian,
standing near, immediately confronted me and reproved me for my
ignorance. He asked me if I did not know that according to the _Sheriat_
(the holy law) a quantity of water, in excess of a hundred and twenty
pints, turns blind, that is, it cannot become soiled or unclean.
In mentioning their fanaticism I cannot omit citing a remarkable
instance of it in the person of one of their wonderful dervishes. This
man happened to pass just then through Tebriz, and was an object of
general admiration at the bazaar. He was thoroughly convinced that the
divinity of the Caliphate, after the death of Mohammed, ought, by right,
to have devolved upon Ali, Mohammed's son-in-law, and not upon Abubekr,
the prophet's brother-in-law. Acting upon this conviction, he had
solemnly vowed, more than thirty years before, that he would never
employ his organs of speech otherwise but in uttering, everlastingly,
the name of his favourite, _Ali! Ali!_ He thus wished to signify to the
world that he was the most devoted partisan of that Ali who had been
defunct more than a thousand years. In his own home, speaking with his
wife, children and friends, no other word but "Ali!" ever passed his
lips. If he wanted food or drink, or anything else, he expressed his
wants still by repeating "Ali!" Begging or buying at the bazaar it was
always "Ali!" Treated ill or generously, he would still harp on his
monotonous "Ali!" Latterly his zeal assumed such tremendous proportions
that, like a madman, he would race, the whole day, up and down the
streets of the town, throwing his stick high up into the air, and shriek
out, all the while, at the top of his voice, "Ali!" This dervish was
venerated by everybody as a saint, and received everywhere with great
distinction. The wealthiest man of a town presented him once with a
magnificent steed, saddle, bridle and all. He immediately vaulted into
the saddle and sped along the streets uttering his customary fierce cry.
The colour of his dress was either white or green, and the staff he
carried corresponded in colour with the dress he wore. When he came to
the front of the Emir Caravansary, he stopped and lifted his voice,
midst the frightful din of the bazaar, with such tremendous power,
shouting "Ali! Ali!" that the veins on his head and neck started out
like strings.
After passing a few days at Tebriz, it dawned upon me that this, indeed,
was genuine Eastern life, and that distant Stambul, the gaudily painted
curtain of the Eastern world, presented but a tame and lifeless and
somewhat Europified picture of the Orient. True, after the first
excitement at the great variety of wonderful sights was over, my mind
immediately reverted to the sweets of Western life, and right glad was
I, therefore, to meet, at the caravansary, with two Swiss gentlemen of
culture, Mr. Würth and Mr. Hanhardt. They at once insisted upon my
moving my quarters to their lodgings, but I declined with thanks,
availing myself, however, at times, of their cordial invitation to take
my meals with them. Through them I became acquainted with other
Europeans residing here, and it was to me a source of great delight to
change about, and after having passed with Europeans a considerable time
discussing Western ideas and conversing in a Western tongue, all of a
sudden to become an Effendi again in some Persian society. My fancy was
tickled by this almost theatrical transition from the East to the West
and back again; I used to indulge in this pastime with great pleasure
while in Stambul.
The Persian world rather wondered at my intimacy with the Europeans, but
refrained from making any comments upon it to me, knowing that the
Sunnites, to whom I was supposed to belong, were far less rigorous than
the Shi-ites in their intercourse with persons differing from them in
faith. If my European friends communicated to me their views of certain
local institutions and customs, I did not accept them unconditionally; I
looked at them, again, in the light shed upon them by the observations
and feelings of the natives on the subject. Should some kind reader wish
to rebuke me for my seeming double-facedness, I have only to say that I
shall meekly submit to it, but that, at the same time, I am indebted to
the acting of this double part for the satisfaction I had in obtaining a
proper insight into native life, and being able to gather many and
varied experiences about the nations of the East, from the Bosphorus to
Samarkand.
It was here, in the Caravansary Emir, that I met with a rather curious
adventure, which I must relate. One afternoon, whilst the heat was
rather unbearably strong, I sat at the door of my cell, and engaged
myself, as is usual with dervishes, in delivering my linen of certain
animals which intrude upon the poor traveller in the East in spite of
all his efforts after cleanliness. Two Englishmen, whom I recognized by
their Indian hats, and who were strolling in the caravansary, stopped
suddenly before me, and after admiring for a while my patient and
untasteful occupation, the younger one said to the older, "Look at the
hunting zeal of this fellow!" I raised my eyes and said in English,
"Will you join, sir?" Amazed, nay bewildered, one of them immediately
asked me, "How did you learn English, and what countryman are you?" From
reasons formerly explained, I abstained from a further conversation, and
notwithstanding all the exertions, I did not utter another English word,
nay, withdrew altogether to the interior of my cell.
Years passed, and after returning to Europe I happened to be at an
evening party in the house of an English nobleman at Whitehall. Whilst
at dinner I recognized in one of the guests present my interlocutor of
Tebriz, but unsure of my discovery I did not address him. After dinner,
however, the lady of the house asked me to relate something of my
perilous adventures, and seeking courage, I asked her to introduce me to
the man in whom I supposed a former acquaintance. "Oh, that is Lord
R----," said the lady. "Well, I don't know his name, but I have seen
him," was my answer. Lord R---- received me politely, but denied the
fact of a former acquaintance. Upon my saying, "My lord, you have been
to Tebriz, and you do not remember the dervish who addressed you in
English?" The extraordinary surprise of Lord R---- was indescribable; he
recognized me at once, and related the whole adventure to the highly
amused company.
The days I spent in Tebriz passed quickly and pleasantly owing to my
intercourse being partly with Europeans and not being exclusively
confined to Asiatics. While I was there, an interesting festival took
place, to which I succeeded in obtaining admission. The solemn
investiture of the recently nominated Veli Ahd (heir apparent to the
throne) gave me an opportunity of gazing upon the pageant and pomp of
the Orient in all its splendour. Muzaffar-ed-din Mirza, the son of the
king, now nine years old, but who, according to the custom of the
country, had been elected, in his childhood, successor to the throne,
was to be publicly invested with the Khalat, the royal parade robe. The
whole town was on the alert. The festival lasted several days, and when,
on its first day, I entered through the gate of the Ala Konak (the royal
residence), which was surrounded by a dense crowd of people, into the
interior court, my curiosity rose to the highest pitch. What a strange
contrast of squalor and splendour, of pomp and misery! There, in the
covered hall, opposite the gate, were seated the grandees of the land,
and amongst them the prince with the principal officers of his
household. Every face wore a solemnly grave expression, and the bearing
of their manly forms, wrapped in flowing garments, the dignified motion
of their arms, the proud carriage of their heads, everything indicated
that they were well versed in the art of exhibiting a public pageant.
Around the interior of the court were ranged two lines of _serbasses_
(soldiers), sad-looking fellows, in European uniforms and with Persian
fur caps on their heads, looking as uncomfortable and awkward as
possible in their foreign clothes. The most comical things about them
were their cravats, some tied in front, others at the back, and others
again anywhere between those two points.
One of the sides of the garden was entirely occupied by loaves of sugar
and various Persian cakes and sweetmeats, which it is the custom to
place upon huge wooden platters, and without which any festive occasion
in Persia would be considered incomplete.
In the centre rose the throne, upon which the young boy-prince, looking
feeble and pale, took his seat, surrounded by his splendid retinue. When
he was seated, the loud booming of cannon was heard, the military band
struck up a martial march, and immediately afterwards appeared the royal
envoy bearing the robe of honour, which he placed upon the shoulders of
the young prince in token of his new dignity. The envoy then produced
the insignia of the diamond order of Shir-ú-Khurshid, fastened it upon
the breast of the princely heir apparent, concluding the ceremony by
suddenly removing a costly carpet which had concealed the portrait of
the king, painted in oil upon canvas. At this moment the whole company
rose to their feet; the young prince rushed forward and imprinted a kiss
upon the portrait, which was then immediately covered up again with the
carpet. Upon the prince returning to his seat from the ceremony of
osculation, the deafening roar of cannon and the swelling sounds of
music were heard again. A high priest came forward and invoked a
blessing upon the prince, the royal order was loudly proclaimed, and
finally a young poet stepped forward, and, taking a seat opposite to the
prince, recited to his glorification a _Kascide_ (glorifying song). The
proceedings of the young poet were quite new to me, and struck me even
more than the bombastic tenor of his poetical effusion. He compared the
prince to a tender rose, to the brilliant sun, and finally to a precious
pearl fished out of the sea of the royal family, and destined to become
now the most precious ornament in the crown of Iran. Then he called him
a powerful hero, who with a single blow of his sword destroys whole
armies, at whose glance the mountains tremble, and the flame of whose
eyes makes the rivers run dry.
The prince then joined the great lords, who were in the background, and
the sweetmeats were removed from the enormous platters and divided
amongst the guests present, the master of ceremonies expressing to each
of them, besides, his thanks for their appearance. And, now, the pageant
was over.
These festivities were followed by the reception of Cerutti, the Italian
ambassador, who, at the head of an embassy consisting of twenty-five
members, was passing through Tebriz, on his way to Teheran. Their
arrival caused a great ferment both amongst the members of the native
government and the European colony. The former, the Persian officials
with the viceregent Serdar-Aziz-Khan, at their head, were delighted to
have an opportunity afforded them to indulge in their passionate
fondness for display, and the latter were gratified to set their eyes
upon the representatives of the new Italian kingdom. I joined the latter
in order to be present at the reception. In the early morning of a
sultry day in June we rode out of the town, a distance of about two
hours, to meet them, and when we came up to them they were just changing
their dresses. They wished to appear before the Persians in full parade,
and it took considerable time for twenty-five Europeans, diplomatists,
military men, merchants, and men of science, to accomplish the task of
donning their best attire. It was not far from noon, the heat being
intolerable, when these gentlemen entered the gates of the town, in
their highly ornamental uniforms and costumes, their breasts resplendent
with the insignia of the various orders, in plumed helmets and
magnificent swords. Of course the sight was to us Europeans a very
attractive one, but wishing to hear the opinion of the natives, I left
my company and mixed with the crowd. During the whole procession I heard
nothing but ironical remarks, the Persians looking upon things
considered by us splendid, as ridiculous. According to their notions,
our short coats, fitting the body, are the most indecorous things,
without any taste, and everything plain, tightfitting, and unassuming in
dress looks to them mean and insignificant. Their idea of the beautiful
in dress consists in what is ample, flowing in rich folds and showy.
Their prudery and mock modesty make them regard as indecent any mode of
dressing which sharply defines the limbs and outlines of the human body,
whilst Europeans affect that style, and thereby rouse the displeasure of
the Asiatics. They also criticise the stiff carriage of the Europeans on
horseback, and in this they are not far from wrong, for the European
with his protruding chest looks like a caricature besides one who sits
with easy grace, yet proudly, on his steed.
The Embassy, on the day of their arrival, were worked very hard indeed.
For two hours they were dragged through the town, in every possible
direction, in order to gratify the curiosity of the populace. When they
got at last to the place assigned to them for their residence, they were
far from being allowed to rest. For three whole days they were besieged
by a host of polite visitors, each of them attended by a troop of
servants who were to bring back to their master's house, in return, the
ampler and more valuable presents which they expected to receive from
the Embassy.
The roads leading from Tebriz into the interior of Persia were fairly
swarming with caravans and troops of travellers. I, therefore, deemed
the roads sufficiently safe, and resolved to continue alone my journey
to the capital of the country, accompanied only by a _tcharvador_, a man
who lets horses and animals of burden for hire. I hired from him a
rather sorry-looking nag, corresponding to the modest sum I paid for its
use, placed my scanty baggage on it, and said good-bye to Tebriz.
VIII.
IN ZENDJAN.