with several smaller caravans, consisting mostly of pilgrims, who were
either bound for Kerbela, in the west, or Meshed, in the east. In Persia
the number of pilgrims, especially during the seasons of spring and
autumn, amounts to hundreds of thousands. The poorest Persian will spend
all his savings, nay, even starve, in order to take part in such a
pilgrimage. The caravan we met with had come from the neighbourhood of
_Bender Bushir_, and was going to Kerbela. The journey there takes sixty
days, and the journey back as much again. The lively intercourse on the
highways of Persia is chiefly dependent upon these pious travellers. It
is no rare thing to see amongst them children ten years of age, and aged
women eighty years old. If two such caravans meet on the road, those
returning generally tell the pilgrims on their way to the holy places,
"Pray for me;" and receive for an answer, "May thy pilgrimage be
blessed." Both parties are deeply moved, and generally embrace each
other upon these occasions; indeed the most indifferent will feel
somewhat affected upon hearing, far off, in the stillness of the night,
the _Illahie_ (hymns) of the pilgrims. I had heard much to excite my
curiosity with regard to our next station. Many notable ruins of ancient
times may be seen in _Maderi Suleiman_, and the Persians think that the
tomb of King Solomon's mother is amongst them; but I had no difficulty
in identifying the village of Maderi Suleiman, lying in the plain of
_Passargada_, as the one where the tomb of _Cyrus_ is supposed to be. In
descending the gentle slope of the low range of mountains and entering
the open valley before us, I was delighted to discover on the right of
our road several statues gilded by the first rays of the rising sun. The
slow pace of the caravan rendered me impatient, and I finally left them,
hastening by myself through thin and thick towards the mausoleum, which
rose higher and higher as I approached, and when the caravan with their
deliberate gait at last reached the station, I was found there seated
already on a huge marble step.
XIV.
PERSEPOLIS.
The first thing that strikes the eyes of the traveller on the flat land
of ancient Passargada is that mausoleum, of which Persians say that it
contains the remains of King Solomon's mother, but which some
antiquarians allege to be the tomb of Cyrus, whilst others, denying
this, maintain that it commemorates some unknown hero of antiquity. It
is built of huge marble blocks, and stands upon a marble base formed by
six marble slabs of enormous thickness placed one upon the other; each
slab terrace-like diminishing the higher it is placed, and the whole
forming six steps. The structure above it is a room, the floor and
ceiling of which consists each of one enormous block of marble. The
narrow low entrance is always open. The Mohammedans use the interior of
the room for their devotions, and several Korans are always lying about
for that purpose. After I had with great difficulty clambered up the
huge steps and gained admission to the interior of the mausoleum, I was
struck with awe at the sight before me. I gazed for some time with
astonishment at the huge blocks, to move which from their places seemed
an utter impossibility. The names of numerous celebrated European
travellers could be seen carved into the marble steps, whilst the walls
were covered with a great many Arabic and Persian inscriptions. I was
just engaged in deciphering the latter when a Persian, apparently
belonging to the nomadic tribes living in tents in this part of the
country, came up to me, evidently in the hope of earning a few pennies
by doing a guide's business, and said, "Hadji, there are no such huge
blocks to be seen in Bagdad, are there? But come with me, I shall show
thee others like them. Come and look at the ruins of ancient Guzi." I
immediately followed him to the ruins of the ancient palace, popularly
called "Solomon's Throne." At some distance may be seen a large arch of
a gate, built of black marble. If a Persian sees a stranger admiring the
beauty of these ruins, or astonished at the size of the stones, he
invariably volunteers the following remark: "Art thou not aware that
Solomon could freely dispose of the _divs_ (devils) and all the spirits
of the lower regions? It cost him but a nod of his head, and the spirits
sailing through the air brought him the largest stones and the most
costly objects from India, Tchin-u-Matchin (China) and from Kuhi Kaff."
We continued our journey toward _Sivend_, going for several hours
through a mountain gap. We did not visit the village, but went up to an
eminence near by, where its inhabitants lived during the summer. We
found there about 120 huts standing in a line, close to each other. The
whole settlement resembled a bazaar; and as the huts were closed on
three sides and always remained wide open on the fourth, the huts and
everything in them were open to every one alike, as much as if all the
huts had formed but one house. One hundred and twenty families live here
together in simple patriarchal fashion; and although there be rich and
poor amongst them, a theft rarely occurs. Indeed people said that the
population of the whole village were the descendants of one common
ancestor, and lived together on terms of the most intimate relationship;
and that, even to this day, they were governed by the head of the
family, who was both judge and priest to them, and lived apart in a
white tent.
[Illustration: TAKH-TA-RA-WAN (A Moving Throne used by the Persian
Nobility).]
In leaving this place, on the 2nd of October, we proceeded towards the
most interesting parts of Persia. The caravan was not far from _Kenare_,
in the vicinity of which the celebrated ruins of Persepolis are to be
seen. With the prospect of soon seeing these ruins before me, I found
the progress of the caravan rather slow, and determined to visit them by
myself, after having inquired of some of my companions, who knew the
country throughout, the shortest road leading to them. The caravan had
left Sivend before midnight, and when we arrived at the promontory where
the extensive plain of _Mardesht_ begins, I separated from them, and,
keeping continually to the left, I followed the mountain track. For some
time yet I heard through the calm night the monotonous jingling of the
caravan bells. I marched on with watchful eyes, looking out all the time
for the much-mentioned ruins, the remarkable architectural monuments of
remote antiquity. After lapse of about a quarter of an hour there loomed
up in the dubious light of the dawning morning tall forms, looking like
so many spectres. The stillness around me seemed awful, and the clatter
of my animal's small shoe sounded far away in the unpeopled solitude. I
now came to the celebrated steps, so familiar to most people through
engravings of them. At sight of them I paused, deeply moved, and stood
motionless for a few minutes. I dismounted, and, drawing nearer, I went
up the steps with feelings of piety and profound veneration, then passed
through the gigantic gate to the row of columns. I sat down on a large
block and, sunk in deep reverie, gazed upon the columns and the ruins
around me; and sitting there for a long time without stirring, it seemed
to me as if the spectacle of these ruins of four thousand years ago had
turned me, too, into a statue. The sublimity of the ancient monuments of
Persepolis cannot fail deeply to affect the traveller from whatever
point of view he may have approached them for the first time, even if he
has seen them in broad daylight. My feelings, then, may be easily
imagined, who had been longing to see them with feverish impatience, and
saw them suddenly burst upon my sight in the spectral twilight of the
early dawn. As I sat gazing with wrapt attention at the tall columns,
they appeared to me like gigantic forms which had risen from the remote
past of forty centuries to tell me, the traveller who had strayed here
from the far West, in language mute but eloquent, of the marvels of past
ages in the East. I did not awake from my reverie until the sun had
risen from behind the mountains and touched with golden tints the heads
of the columns, showing their exquisite workmanship. And in a moment, as
if a huge curtain had been suddenly drawn aside, a very different
spectacle presented itself to my dazzled eyes--Persepolis bathing in a
sea of brilliant light. The sombre blocks of marble, the darkling
columns and walls all disappeared as if by enchantment, and in their
places, glowing in a flood of golden sunshine, beckoned to me on every
side exquisitely carved capitals of columns, reliefs of wonderful
beauty, all so natural, so fresh as if the last sounds of the chisel had
just died away. One sculptured relief shows a solemn procession, in
which every man is walking with measured step; on another a troop of
prisoners, chained to each other by their necks, are advancing slowly in
front of the proud victor; another again represents a gigantic man
struggling with a monster. Looking up you see, in several places, a king
sitting, with earnest mien, on his throne, before him the sacred fire
blazing, and at back of him standing two servants, one holding a long
staff, and the other a sun umbrella. The finished accuracy shown in the
dresses and the figures is truly admirable; but the wonderful art
exhibited in the shaping of the features and in the various expressions
of the human countenance is what lends such a peculiar charm to these
reliefs, and makes one almost imagine that the cold marble will speak.
I passed three days among these remarkable ruins, which kindle not only
the fervid imagination of the young traveller, but rouse the enthusiasm
of grave thinkers and antiquarians rich in knowledge and experience. One
is at a loss to know which more to admire, the extraordinary manual
skill, or the exquisite taste visible everywhere, in every part of the
preserved ruins. Here, as in Egypt, may be seen huge blocks of stone,
from forty to fifty feet long, fitted together, in spite of their
enormous weight, with such nicety that one can only with great
difficulty discover the place where they are joined.
I met in the immediate neighbourhood of Persepolis with nomadic Turks,
who were overjoyed at seeing me, a supposed countryman of theirs. The
Turkish language is not spoken much in Fars, and these poor people
seemed so delighted with the chance of having a talk in their own
language, that in the kindness of their hearts they provided me, during
my whole stay, with bread and milk, and even took care of my ass. Some
of these men advised me strongly not to remain over night at the ruins
on account of the innumerable evil spirits that haunted them, and told
me that the devs and djins were making an infernal noise. They said that
_Thakhti Djemshid_ (Djemshid's Throne)--the native name for
Persepolis--was the work of the fabled king Djemshid.
This king is said to have had a cup, with which he had only to touch his
lips, in order to realize all his heart's desires; at the mere touch of
the cup, stones would come flying from the east, and artists from the
west. The numerous verses and inscriptions on every part of the walls
testify to the great respect entertained by the Persians for Persepolis.
The legend has it that these buildings stood intact and strong for ever
so long a time, and that during that time Persia was happy and
flourishing, and no sort of harm or misfortune ever befell her. Later on
the Arabs came, and they envied the Shi-ites for these wonderful
buildings, and in their envy they mutilated the statues and figures,
threw down the columns and left everywhere the traces of their
destructive spirit. After them came the Frengis, over Bender Bushir
(from India), to gratify their passion for treasures; they ransacked the
place and took away with them immense quantities of gold and diamonds.
The Frengis carried away besides large blocks of stone for talismans.
Since that time adversity and misery had been the lot of Persia; Shiraz
was visited by an earthquake, then came the cholera, the famine, and so
forth.
This is the account the Persians give of the ruins, but the Turkish
Nomads, the remains of the former Seldjuk armies, look at them in a
very different light. To them the masterpieces of architecture and
sculpture are objects of the utmost indifference, and they will often
pull down the proudest and most admirable monument for the sake of
obtaining a few ounces of the lead which holds together the several
segments or portions of the gigantic columns. The children are delighted
to see one of these columns come down by itself; they immediately make a
rush at it, and scoop the lead out of the crevices of the stones.
Sometimes they manage to obtain, after all this wanton destruction, lead
enough for a couple of bullets; but the vandalism of the Turks cares
very little about the damage done to works of art.
I felt a special interest in the names of the older and more recent
Asiatic travellers, which I found carved in many places about the ruins.
I met with even Hebrew inscriptions dating, it is alleged, from the time
of the first captivity of the Jews, and written by the unfortunate men
then dragged into slavery. Most names were those of renowned English
travellers; of German names there were comparatively few, and I grieved
at not being able to find a single Hungarian after two days' search. I
asked myself if I were the first of my countrymen who had visited this
interesting country with its remarkable ruins. Next day, I was delighted
to come across the following Hungarian inscription, "Maróthi István,
1839," in a recess of a window, as I was examining the base of an
immense structure, built of black marble. I examined my countryman's
writing with a childish triumph; and to relieve its loneliness, I added
my own name for companionship, writing above the latter, "Eljen a
Magyar!" (Hungary for ever!)
A caravan, camping outside the village and consisting mostly of pilgrims
returning from Kerbela, was starting a little after midnight. I joined
it, and on the following morning I was glad to learn that I had every
reason to be satisfied with having done so, for all of the travellers
came from _Zerkum_, the place nearest to Shiraz. They had passed the
night here, although it is not far from their native place, in order to
afford time to their relatives and friends, to whom they had sent
information of their approach, to make the necessary preparations for
their festive reception. As we drew near the village we were met by
crowds of people, who were constantly reinforced by newcomers, and there
was no end to shaking of hands, embracing and kissing. Every one of the
pilgrims from Kerbela was surrounded by a group of village people, and
not only he himself, but his ass, too, were carried home in triumph. As
we were marching along the streets of the village, I could not help
admiring the patience with which the pilgrims bore the ever-increasing
felicitations of the villagers. Some of them, especially the stouter
ones, were freely perspiring from the many embraces, but they all
heroically endured the infliction; nay, they delighted in it, for to
have visited Hussein's the beloved martyr's tomb, was tantamount to
having been raised above the common herd, and to embrace such a lucky
mortal was worth nearly half a pilgrimage to Kerbela.
I left Zerkum in the company of a _tcharvadar_ (owner of animals of
burden) and his men, and we proceeded together to Shiraz. These people
were from Shiraz, and having been absent from their native place for a
long time, they were impatient to get there. Every Persian is given to
exaggeration in speaking of the sights and wonders of his native city,
but these men went beyond anything I had yet experienced in the way of
civic glorification, and I could not help looking forward to something
extraordinary in Shiraz. The recollection of some verses by Hafiz, full
of praises of the shores of _Ruknabad_ and the flowery places of
_Musalla_, which I had retained in my memory, contributed to raise my
expectations to the highest pitch. We had been advancing for about half
an hour when the shout of "Ruknabad! Ruknabad!" burst simultaneously
from the lips of my companions. I immediately dismounted, thinking we
should have to pass over the bridge, crossing the river, and wishing, in
doing so, to lead my animal by the bridle; but my pains were all wasted.
The Ruknabad river, of which poets deemed it right to sing, had shrunk
into an insignificant brook hardly three spans wide, the shallow waters
of which gaily leap over its gravel bottom.
I own my expectation about Shiraz received, at this sight, a slight
shock, nor were my drooping spirits revived by the appearance of the
surrounding country. Cold, bare rocks were staring at me on every side;
there was not the slightest trace of vegetation of any kind; yet my
companions kept assuring me that we were quite near to Shiraz. We
reached at last an opening, called _Tenghi Allah Ekber_ (the pass of
Allah Ekber) by the Persians. From this place the traveller obtains his
first view of the wide-spreading valley below him, in the centre of
which rises the city of Shiraz.
XV.
SHIRAZ.
The sight of Shiraz, standing in the midst of groves of thickly planted
cypress trees, is quite a relief for the eye, wearied with the
monotonous look-out upon the barren desert and bare rocks. The natives
say that looking at the enchanting capital of Southern Persia from the
spot whence I first saw it, the stranger in his admiration involuntarily
bursts out into the customary "Allah Ekber" (God is greatest), and that
the place owes its appellation to this exclamation. The eye, wandering
over the extensive valley, meets everywhere, as far as it can reach, the
exquisite dark green of the cypress. The city is fringed by a garland of
cypress gardens, through which a wide brook meanders like a silvery
ribbon. Proud edifices rear their heads both inside and outside the
walls of the city, the brilliant cupola of the Shah Tchirag mosque
looming up most conspicuously. Beyond and opposite to it the
far-stretching plain is bordered by a lofty chain of mountains
stretching through Kazerun as far as the shores of the Gulf of Persia.
Thus the valley is screened by natural walls of rock both to the north
and south, and Shiraz stands foremost amongst all the cities of Persia
in the matter of climate, fertility and purity of air.
Shiraz owes its fertility especially to its great abundance of water.
Its vegetation is so luxuriant that roses and other flowers are blooming
throughout the whole year, the plants renewing their sweet-smelling
crops every month. The fields are covered with a green sward, and whilst
in other parts of Persia the favourite mutton can be got but twice in
the year, it can be obtained here throughout all seasons. But what
challenges most the admiration of the Western traveller is the
exquisitely pure air, the beauty of its blue sky, excelling in these all
other parts of Persia, the whole of Asia and, I may add, every country
in the world. The air in Shiraz, in spite of its southern position, is
bracing enough, and I do not at all wonder that the people, under the
influence of their benign climate, are fond of pleasure, and pass their
lives in continual amusements and everlasting merry-making. They have a
proverb which says:
"In Isfahan many scholars and artists may be,
But dancers, singers and drinkers only in Shiraz you see."
And, indeed, I do not know of a town in Persia, the inhabitants of which
are as merry and jovial as those of Shiraz. Centuries have passed by
since Hafiz, the glorifier of wine, sung his odes here, but a sojourn of
a very few days in the capital of Fars will convince any one that the
people of Shiraz have not modified a hair's breadth their views of life
since the time of Hafiz. Everybody indulges freely in wine in spite of
the rigid inhibition of the Mohammedan law. The poor journeyman, the
mechanic, the official, and even the priests, begin their libations as
soon as the dusk of evening sets in, and keep up their merry-making
until midnight, and even later.
As I had now reached the end of my immediate journey, and intended to
make a protracted stay, I took lodgings at the large court of the
mosque. I sold my animal, and although the funds I had brought with me
were considerably reduced, my future gave me little concern,
considering, especially, the abundance and cheapness of food. True to my
part of a dervish, I wandered through the streets of the city, on the
first day of my arrival, and made the acquaintance of a great many
people. Of course, my acquaintances, being zealous Shi-ites, never
neglected an opportunity in my presence of cruelly vilifying Omar and
his associates; but seeing that I bore their vituperations of my saints
very meekly, they were highly pleased with me, and I made so many
friends during the first weeks of my stay that they rendered my life
very agreeable.
One day, I happened to learn that a European, a native of Sweden, was
living in the city and practising as a physician. My love of adventure
immediately suggested to me the propriety of paying him a visit; but I
determined, as a matter of precaution, to keep up my incognito and to
appear before him as a dervish. When I entered his room with the
dervish's salutation of "Ya hu! Ya hakk!" the good doctor immediately
put his hand in his pocket, in order to get rid of me by a gift of a few
coins, the usual way of dismissing a dervish.
"What, dost thou give me money?" I exclaimed. "I come to seek thy
confidence, not thy money. I come from a far-off country. I am sent to
thee by my chief, to convert thee from the false religion that thou
followest and to lead thee to the path of the true faith. I am charged
by the Sheikh of Bagdad to make a Mussulman of thee."
The doctor to whom such attempts at proselytizing were by no means new,
replied with a suppressed smile:
"This is all very fine, very fine, my dervish, yet it is not usual to
try conversion in such a commanding way, but by convincing, affecting
and eloquent speech. How canst thou prove to me that thy chief has sent
thee to me, and that he can work miracles?"
"Hast thou any doubts about it? One syllable from my master is enough to
bestow the knowledge of all the sciences and languages of the world.
Thou art a Frengi, and speakest probably many tongues. Put me to trial
in any language."
The doctor stared at me, and I had some difficulty in maintaining my
reserve. Finally he addressed me in Swedish, his native language.
"Swedish," I said, "I know that language as well as thou dost." As a
proof I recited to him a few verses from Tegnér's "Frithiofs Saga,"
which, having been my favourite reading in my youth, came vividly back
to my memory. The doctor's surprise knew no bounds. He began to try me
in German, and to his astonishment I readily answered him in German,
too. He did not fare any better with his attempt to upset me with French
and English; and after having exchanged with him a few words in various
languages, I returned to Persian and recited very impressively a verse
from the Koran for the good of his soul. The poor man was utterly
stupified, but when he began to take to guessing at my real nationality,
I abruptly rose and made the following farewell speech: "I will give
thee time to reflect until eight o'clock to-morrow morning; either thou
wilt turn Mussulman, or thou shalt feel the power of my master."