through several smaller places, where nothing worthy of note could be
seen, we came to _Kashan_, after a fatiguing march of two days. My
Persian fellow-travellers, long before we arrived in Kashan, were
praising up, in the most extravagant style, as usual, the beauty and
attractions of that town. For my part, the only thing of note I saw
there was the bazaar of the braziers, where the celebrated kettles of
Kashan are being manufactured. About eighty braziers' shops are standing
close to each other in a line, and in each of them muscular arms are
hammering away the whole blessed day. The brass wares manufactured here
are considered to be without rivals in point of solid workmanship and
elegance. Those highly polished bricks, which retain the brilliancy of
their shining colours for centuries, are said to have been invented in
this town. Formerly they were called bricks of Kashan, but now they are
known only by the name of Kashi, and serve as the chief ornaments in all
architectural monuments throughout Central Asia. The inhabitants had
also a great deal to tell about a dangerous species of scorpion, which
made Kashan their home, but from motives of hospitality never hurt a
stranger. I never came across any of these scorpions, but I had a great
deal to suffer from a no less annoying tribe of animals, the _lutis_
(strolling comedians), who attack every stranger coming to Kashan, and
from whose clutches nothing can save you except a ransom in the shape of
some gift. About ten of them stood there looking out for me as I was
entering the caravansary, and immediately made a rush upon me, some
producing hideous earsplitting music with their fifes, drums and
trumpets, others showing off a dancing bear; and one of them, seating
himself opposite to me, engaged in a declamation, at the top of his
voice, of a panegyrical poem, in my honour, in which, to my utter
astonishment, I heard my name mentioned. Of course, he had managed to
ferret out my name from my companions. I bore the infliction for a
little while patiently enough, listening to this charivari of sounds,
but finally retired. But it was not an easy thing, by any means, to
effect my retreat, for I was followed, on the spot, by one of the
artists, evidently the chief of the strolling company, insisting upon
some remuneration; and although I argued with him that I was but a
beggar myself, he would not listen to reason, but bravely stood his
place until I had given him something.
Leaving Kashan we had to proceed along a narrow mountain pass, flanked
by gigantic rocks and mountains of strange and fantastic shapes. The
moon shed a light almost as clear as that of the day, and the wonderful
tints in which the landscape before me was clothed seemed to vary and
change at every step we took. When we arrived beneath the great Bend, as
is called the large water-basin cut by Shah Abbas the Great into the
solid rock, in order to convey the waters produced by the snow melting
on the mountains to the sterile plain not far off, the scene before us
was startling in its rare and exceeding beauty. Although it was late in
autumn, the oval-shaped basin, formed by the enclosed valley, was
brimful of water, and the waterfall rushing down the rocky wall from a
height of fifty feet looked in the moonlit night, to borrow a Persian
phrase, like a river of diamonds. The deep roar of the waterfall is
heard far off in the stilly night, and the tired traveller coming from
the desert and quenching his thirst at the limpid waters of the basin,
would not exchange the refreshing and crystal-like fluid for all the
costly wines in the world.
The road from _Kuhrud_ goes uphill for a time, and then inclines with a
rather abrupt slope towards the plain lying on the other side of the
mountain, where our next station was to be. The mornings had grown
rather chilly and the travellers used to dismount on the way and pick up
stray sticks of _buta_, a species of gumwood growing in bushes, which
burns very well in its green state, but blazes with a loud crackling
sound when dry. It is usual to raise a large pile of these sticks and
then kindle it; the travellers range themselves round the blazing fire
and afterwards resume their journey. We were standing for the second
time, on the same morning, around this sort of fire when we were
suddenly startled by the sound of voices, in the rear, mingling with
savage exclamations, as if people were quarrelling, and upon listening
attentively we heard two reports from firearms, and the loud yelling of
some person badly hurt. The whole caravan was thoroughly alarmed, and,
running in the direction whence the report of the firearm had proceeded,
found there lying on the ground one of our companions, with a shattered
arm. The affray had happened in this way. Several horsemen who were
conveying the annual taxes from Shiraz to Teheran had come up with a
couple of Jewish shopkeepers, whom they first insulted, and afterwards,
passing from insult to injury, were about to lay violent hands upon. One
of our company, a Persian, happening to be present, had pity on the poor
Jews, stood up in their defence and took the impudent fellows from
Shiraz rather roughly to task for their unbecoming conduct. One of the
horsemen, a hotheaded young fellow, became so enraged at this
interference, that he lifted his rifle and shot at the Jews. He
afterwards pretended that the whole thing had been a joke, that he
intended only to frighten one of the Jews by sending a bullet through
his tall fur cap, but that unluckily he missed his aim and hit, instead,
the Persian's arm. The incident so exasperated the whole caravan that
our men at once started in pursuit of the culprit, who had meanwhile
turned his horse's head and galloped away for his life, at a break-neck
speed, but he was finally overtaken, dreadfully beaten, spit at amid
loud curses, securely tied and brought back to the caravansary. Both the
Shiraz man, who was bruised all over, and our wounded companion being
unable to proceed either on foot or on horseback, they were placed side
by side each in a basket, upon the back of a mule, and in the course of
half an hour they were chatting away in the friendliest manner. They
tied up each other's wounds, consoled one another, and went so far in
their newborn friendship as to kiss each other; for according to the
Eastern way of thinking neither of them was to be held responsible for
what had happened. Fate had willed it so, and in its decrees every one
must acquiesce.
In a village, called _Murtchekhar_, the judge of that place, evidently
desirous of currying favour with the governor of Shiraz, attempted to
liberate him, but the caravan stoutly refused to give him up, and only
delivered him over, later, into the hands of justice, at Isfahan.
On the 13th of September I saw Isfahan, the former capital of Shah
Abbas, through the thin mist of the morning. Whenever a Persian, and,
especially a native of Isfahan, sets his eyes, after an absence of some
time, upon his native town he is sure to exclaim: "Isfahan is half the
world, but for Lahore," meaning thereby that Isfahan is, after Lahore,
the largest city in the world. But its beauty is only on the surface;
its streets are small, dirty and miserable.
XIII.
FROM ISFAHAN TO THE SUPPOSED TOMB OF CYRUS.
The bazaar here, as in other cities, attracted my attention, it being
the centre of every Eastern town. For hours one can wander through these
lofty and covered streets, branching off in every direction and leading
to every part of the town, and a stranger, unless conducted by a
practical cicerone, may very easily lose his way. The sight of this
bazaar must have been a truly magnificent one while the town was in a
flourishing condition, but now it is almost deserted, and in the many
splendid and spacious shops only stray water-melon sellers still linger.
A road leads from the bazaar to the celebrated _Meidani Shah_ (the
Shah's chief public square). This is an immense square, enclosed on
every side by shops, which were in olden times the marts for the most
costly articles of luxury, but are now crumbling into dust. I then
visited the mosque of Lutf Ali, the gates of which are said to have been
covered in ancient times with silver. From the balcony of this building
the view is a splendid one, and I enjoyed a truly impressive sight.
There lay stretched out before me the immense square of Meidani Shah,
and in my imagination I conjured up the ancient splendour of the city
and repeopled the square with surging crowds. I fancied I saw the great
Shah Abbas review from this very balcony thousands of his warriors who
had gathered from every part of Asia to pay homage to their powerful
king; the Persians who had inherited the horsemanship of the Parthians,
the Turkomans on their swift Arab steeds, the Afghans, the Georgians,
the Indians, the Armenians--these savage and stalwart forms of
antiquity, they all used to gather here. And to-day it is a sad and
forlorn desert, the silence of the grave brooding over it. One corner of
the square serves twice a week as a market-place for dealers in asses,
and occasionally, on a holiday, a green turbaned procession headed by
the chief priest may be seen passing through it.
I had an opportunity of getting acquainted with all classes of the
inhabitants of Isfahan at the house of the Imam Djuma, _i.e._, the high
priest. He was the most influential priest in Persia, and at the capital
he went by the name of _Aga Buzurg_ (great lord). Indeed he was the real
Pope of the Shi-ite sect, and the letters of recommendation, brought
with me from Teheran, procured me admission to his house. I was very
cordially received by him and invited to call on him on the evening of
the following day. Aga Buzurg is one of those Seids whose descent from
the house of Ali is least doubted, and very proud he is of his origin.
The company I met there treated me as Shi-ites generally treat their
Sunnite guest--they could not refrain from occasionally launching out in
satirical and biting remarks. The master of the house only made a few
condemnatory remarks, blaming the government of Constantinople for its
friendship with the European Powers. But he did not omit to praise the
tolerance of the Sultan towards the Shi-ites, who could now journey,
unmolested, to Mecca and Medina, without being exposed to the annoyances
and outrages they had formerly to submit to. To avoid familiarity and
for the purpose of preserving his dignity, he was very chary of his
words, and retired very soon after supper was over.
I found the middle classes of Isfahan to be remarkably cultivated. There
were shoemakers, tailors and shopkeepers who knew hundreds of verses of
their best poets by heart, and were quite familiar with the masterpieces
in the literature of their country. They are, as a rule, very
intelligent, poetic, and quick at a telling retort. Malcolm, the
excellent English writer on Persia, relates the story how, at the time
when most of the high offices in the Persian towns were filled by
relatives of the Vezir Hadji Ibrahim, a merchant who was unable to pay
his taxes was summoned to the presence of a brother of Hadji Ibrahim,
the governor of Isfahan, and upon entering was addressed by the latter,
in an angry tone of voice, as follows:
"If thou art not able to pay like the others, begone, get thee gone!"
"Where shall I go?" asked the merchant.
"Go to Shiraz or Kashan."
"Oh, sir, then it would be going from the frying-pan into the fire, for
thy cousin is governing in one place, and thy uncle in the other."
"Then go to the king and make complaint."
"This would not help me much, either, for there again thy brother is
prime minister."
"Then go to h----," thundered at him the irate governor.
"Oh, sir, it is not so very long that thy sainted father, the pious
Hadji, is dead," retorted the witty Persian.
The governor thereupon burst out laughing, and said: "Since thou findest
it so hard to be reconciled to my relatives, I will pay thy debts for
thee."
I occupied in Isfahan the same lodgings as my fellow-traveller, the
singer of elegies. He found here ample opportunity to practise his art,
and exhibited his performances several times during the day, at the
bazaar and in the courtyards of the mosques. He yelled, bellowed, wept,
indulged in the most heartrending lamentations, and could, at his
pleasure, set going "the fruitful river in the eye" and shed a shower of
veritable tears. But on returning home, after the day's hard work was
over, the spirit of tragedy deserted him at once, and he gave way to the
merriest and most rollicking humour. I went, in his company, amongst
people of every kind and rather mixed societies, but he was a man
commanding respect everywhere. He would at first sing a sacred song or
two and then pass over to worldly ones; and although he wore a green
turban in token of his descent from the family of the Prophet, he drank
like a trooper.
The inhabitants of Isfahan are very proud of their city; they are rather
conceited, and think themselves better than the rest of the Persians.
The king and the royal family, with their Turkish soldiery, are dreaded
and hated by them. They look upon the authority of Imam Djuma as
superior to that of the king. Fabulous accounts are circulated about the
immense wealth of that chief priest, who keeps a thousand _lutis_
(strolling players) in his hire. These lutis spread amongst the people
wonderful accounts of the chief priest's miraculous power, and it is
they who scatter broadcast the vilest slanders concerning the royal
family, for the king having power over everybody except the chief priest
of Isfahan, the relations between him and Imam Djuma were never of the
friendliest kind.
I passed two weeks in Isfahan and had an excellent opportunity to see
the noteworthy sights and to observe all the classes of society in the
town. We made arrangements with the same leader of the caravan who
brought us to this place concerning the continuation of our journey, and
almost the entire company met at the appointed time at a caravansary
outside the town. We wasted three more days here, and I employed the
time in making short excursions in the neighbourhood. Of the remarkable
things I saw I will mention only the movable towers of _Munare
Djomdjom_. The two towers are on the mosque of the village of
_Khaledan_, about an hour's distance from Isfahan. They are about twelve
feet high and stand about twenty paces apart. I stepped with my guide on
the terrace, and upon his seizing hold of, and shaking with all his
might, one of the towers, I became sensible of a motion like that caused
by an earthquake not only in the other tower, but in the entire front of
the building. This remarkable building, the secret of whose architecture
has descended into the grave with its builder, has been considerably
damaged by the frequent exhibition of its movableness. The Persians
attribute the miracle to the saint reposing beneath it.
We left Isfahan at last, and proceeded on our way in the direction of
the mountains lying to the south. Upon reaching an eminence I took
another look at the endless mass of houses, gardens and ruins. Our
caravan, which consisted of three divisions, two having joined us for
our journey to Shiraz, now numbered above 150 animals and about sixty
passengers, and even on this much-travelled road we were looked upon as
a caravan of considerable size. The combining of the three caravans
into one was caused by the fear of certain nomadic Persian tribes who
were camped amongst the mountains to the right, and who were in the
habit of attacking and plundering smaller caravans either from avarice
or as a pastime. Only a few days had passed since a smaller caravan had
been roughly treated by them. In the East, however, people are fond of
inventing such stories. Many a time one is told, "At this place ten men
were killed yesterday," "The day before, at another place, a merchant
was set upon and robbed;" but the traveller need not take fright at
these accounts, for he may be sure that the events related either
happened ten years ago, or did not occur at all. Indeed our party of
travellers had no need of the frightful stories with which they had been
regaling each other on the eve of their departure to make their courage
ooze out, for to a man they were remarkably deficient in that valuable
article, the virtue of courage. Since the Persian in general is looked
upon in all Asia as a most cowardly creature, who is scared to death by
his own shadow, one may easily imagine the state of mind of a caravan
consisting chiefly of pilgrims, merchants and mollahs. It was rather
amusing to see them keeping close to, and crowding, each other in their
fright, although we were only at a distance of two hours from the town.
They were conversing in whispers as if a single loudly spoken word might
have brought down upon them the most frightful calamities. One man who
was conveying wine with which he had loaded four of his mules, was
peremptorily made to leave our ranks at the instigation of a devout
mollah, lest his sinful merchandise might bring bad luck to the entire
company of the truly faithful. It was in vain the poor mule driver
whiningly insisted that he had never tasted a drop of wine all his
life, and that he was conveying this abhorred beverage to Bombay where
the godless Frengis would drink it; in vain he swore by all the saints
of the calendar he did not even know if the wine were red or white; he
had to leave the caravan and keep a distance of a hundred feet between
himself and it.
Next day we arrived at _Kumisheh_, which is near to the dangerous place
about which we had heard so many frightful stories. About an hour before
our departure my Arab friend, the sacred singer, thought that this was a
fitting moment to collect about him the whole company and to chant one
of his elegies, in order, as he said, to invoke the prophet's protection
on our perilous journey, but in reality that a few coins might wander
from the pockets of the deeply affected faithful into his own. The
rawzekhan's proposition was immediately acquiesced in. The Persian is
prepared at any moment to lament the death of his favourite prophet,
particularly of the martyred Hussein; and it does not give him the
slightest trouble, though the moment before he may have been in the
merriest of moods, to shed copious tears in listening to the singer's
elegy. The songster from Bagdad was soon surrounded by the whole
company, and he hardly came to the end of the fourth canto of his
morning song, when there arose such a wailing and weeping as if the
nearest relation of every one of the listeners were lying stark dead
before him. The performer usually seizes this moment to rise, tear away
his dress from his breast, and to exclaim, clenching his fists: "O ye
true believers, behold thus I shall strike my breast with penitence and
pity for poor Hussein, yes, for Hussein!" His last words are repeated by
all the men of the company; gigantic fists are soon pounding away at
stalwart chests, frequently keeping in the pounding such excellent time
as to resemble the regular tramp of an approaching troop of horsemen. A
pious fellow happened to observe that, with Sunnite perverseness, I did
not thump my chest with sufficient violence, and having attentively
listened to the sound produced by my fist and not finding it hollow
enough, he furiously exclaimed: "Look at this Sunnite dog; he does not
consider our Hussein worthy of more powerful strokes on his breast. Just
wait; I shall show him how to strike his breast." With this he
approached me with his uplifted fist of iron. If he had struck me I
should, probably, have had reason to remember it all my life; but thanks
to the kind offices of my friends, particularly the Seid, the matter
proceeded no further. A friend of mine held his arm back in the nick of
time, quieting him by saying: "Let that Sunnite be! though he do not
strike his breast in this life, Azrail (the Angel of Death) will beat it
all the more for him in the next world."
We safely left the place alleged to be dangerous without having come to
harm, and the caravan, now considerably relieved, proceeded on their
journey towards _Yezdekhast_. The country around us became more and more
flat; the desert, in the centre of which the celebrated city of Yezd is
situated, extending to the east. The sun had already risen high when we
passed through the arid grass-covered plain, its level stretch being
interrupted only here and there by gently undulating ground. I had been
informed by my companions that the country abounded in game and
especially in gazelles. And, indeed, in looking steadily at a dark dot
in the distance, I soon discovered it to be a whole herd of these timid
creatures of the desert, who scent the approach of a caravan from afar
and fly from them with the swiftness of a bird. I had some difficulty at
first in recognizing the gazelles at a distance, the colour of their fur
resembling that of the sun-dried grass of the plain; and when my
companions called out "The ahuan, the ahuan!" (The gazelles, the
gazelles!), I could see nothing, until my eyes became accustomed to
distinguish their white hind parts from the dry grass. Just as with us
the hare is supposed to be the embodiment of timidity, even so the
gazelle is looked upon in the East as the hare's counterpart in this
particular. A herd of above a hundred gazelles is seized with a panic at
the sudden rising of a bird, or the mere stirring of a leaf. If the
hound but approaches the gazelle, it throws itself upon its back with
its legs up and looks at one with such a pitiful expression out of its
lustrous melancholy eyes, that one cannot help feeling for the poor dumb
animal. As my eyes were following the flight of the gazelles, I suddenly
caught sight of a mirage rising in the south-east. These deceptive
illusions of the air are by no means of infrequent occurrence in the
Persian plain. Although they do not equal in grandeur similar
atmospheric phenomena in the great desert of Turkestan, yet, even in
that fainter form, they never fail to strike the imagination of the
traveller. As I was gazing upon the floating forms and buildings, it
seemed to me as if they were the same which had delighted my eyes years
ago on the great plain of the beautiful Hungarian Alföld (Lowland).
Then, too, leaning against the tall pole of a well, I was gazing at the
far-stretching plain which, panting and thirsting, was "dreaming of the
sea." The mirage recalled my own beautiful country, so far off, and when
suddenly a rising cloud of dust concealed the fairy spectacle from my
view, it seemed to scatter my day-dreams to the winds.
The province of Fars begins beyond Yezdekhast, and its inhabitants
differ from the Persians as much, I should say, as the Neapolitans do
from the inhabitants of Northern Italy; their complexion is darker, they
are more vivacious, their feelings are more excitable, and they are
more quickwitted. The greater portion of the inhabitants make a living
by the caravans that are passing through their country. _Shulghistan_,
our first station in Fars, is noted for the tomb of a saint, supposed to
be the son of Imam _Zein ul Abedin_. Of this tomb it is told that, some
time ago, it had been attacked by enemies, who were all struck blind
upon entering the sanctuary. A blind beggar at the gate of the tomb was
shown as one of the sacrilegious band, who desired to end his days
repenting. I was sufficiently interested to wish to hear the account
from the lips of the blind beggar himself, and questioned him about this
occurrence; but he admitted to me that his blindness proceeded from
other causes, and that he had never been connected with a band of
robbers. Yet he willingly passed himself off for an evil-doer punished
by God in order to get his share of the alms distributed by the devout.
In leaving Shulghistan we were joined on our way by a horseman of
distinguished appearance, followed by a number of servants, whose place
of destination was the same as ours. He seemed to be mustering closely
the members of the caravan, as if trying to make up his mind whom he
should choose for his associate during the journey. After a while he
approached me with the friendliest salutation. I soon found out that he
was going to visit the governor of Fars, by orders of the Shah, in order
to collect last year's arrears, amounting to 50,000 ducats. The Shah had
been repeatedly urging the remittance of the sum, but it was never sent.
The Khan was now ordered by the Shah to send the unremitting governor to
prison for a few days; and should this punishment fail to produce the
desired effect to withdraw for a couple of days his _kallian_
(water-pipe) from him. This peculiar method of collecting debts is by
no means rare in Persia. The Khan was a person of refinement and
culture; he was very tolerant, and to him Sunnite or Shi-ite was the
same thing. He saw in me the most travelled and experienced man in the
caravan, and had therefore joined me, of which I was all the more glad,
as it had procured for me a very agreeable fellow-traveller. When we
arrived at our next station, Abade, we took a lodging together, and also
took our meals together.