HAMADAN.
Antelope—Hunting and hawking—Shooting from the
saddle—Thief-catching—The prince offers his services
as head-servant—Our hunting party—The prince takes the
honours—Kabobs—A provincial grandee—His stud—Quail-shooting—A
relative of the king—Persian dinner—Musicians and
singers—Parlour magic—The anderūn—Cucumber-jam—Persian
home-life—Grateful Armenians—Lizards—Talking
lark—Pigeon-flying—Fantails—Pigeons’ ornaments—Immorality of
pigeon-flying—Card-playing—Chess—Games—Wrestling—Pehliwans—Gymnastics.
The “poor prince,” Abu Seif Mirza, called one day and suggested our going
the next morning to hunt antelope, promising to show us sport. When
posting from Teheran we had seen several herds of antelope, generally
five or six animals together; and on one occasion, as I have noted, a
string had suddenly crossed the road within ten yards of us—a thing
very unusual, and which never occurred to me since. The hunting of the
antelope is a favourite pastime among the grandees of Persia, and is
also practised by the villagers, who will frequently get a pot-shot from
behind a stone when the animals visit their drinking-places. They are
either pursued with relays of dogs, shot from the saddle, or, rarely,
hawked with a specially large kind of falcon, who always succeeds in
stopping them till the dogs pull them down. Our plan was the second one.
After drinking tea, we started one afternoon and marched out some seven
farsakhs into a sandy wilderness; the shah-zadeh (or prince), who was a
well-known shikari, shooting several small birds from the saddle while at
full gallop, to show his skill.
Abu Seif Mirza, after holding small offices at the courts of the
different Governors of Hamadan, such as mirshikar (or chief huntsman),
ser-cashikji-bashi (or chief of the guard), etc., had given up the life
of a courtier, and tried to support himself by agriculture; this did not
answer, for the prince, though a sober man, was a spendthrift. He told us
an anecdote, which we found on inquiry to be quite correct.
On one occasion the Governor of Hamadan sent for him, and offered him
a present of forty pounds and a dress of honour if he would rid the
environs of the town of a certain highway-robber. The grandson of a king
did not hesitate, and set about the matter in a business-like way.
“My great object,” said he, “was to obtain the reward intact, and so the
only thing was to do the job myself, as going out in a party in search of
the robber would have been expensive, and he would have got wind of it
and kept out of the way. I consequently put on the dress of a substantial
villager, disguised myself as a man of the pen by a big turban and huge
slippers down at heel, mounted a donkey provided with a big pair of full
saddle-bags, and started for the neighbourhood where the robber carried
on his trade. At the first stage I purposely started after all other
travellers had left, so as to make myself a conspicuous mark for attack,
and as I apparently carried no weapons, I seemed, doubtless, an easy prey.
“On getting some half-way to the village to which I was proceeding, I was
suddenly pounced upon by two men armed to the teeth, who rushed out from
behind a ruined wall and covered me with their guns. I placed my donkey
whom I was driving between us, and immediately simulated abject fear.
‘Amān, amān!’ (‘Mercy, mercy!’) ‘Oh, masters!’ I cried out; ‘I am a poor
priest.’
“The men, seeing me apparently unarmed, lowered their guns and demanded
my money; with many protestations I thrust each hand into the long
pockets of my outer garments, and whipping out a brace of pistols before
they had time to raise their weapons, I had shot one through the heart,
and now rushed on the other, ordering him to drop his gun or I would
fire; he was too astonished to resist. I bound him firmly, and informing
him that on the first attempt to escape I should either hamstring or
shoot him, I proceeded to reload my discharged pistol. I now searched
them both, but only found a few kerans on them. I laid the dead man
across my donkey—he it was on whom the price had been set; I shook the
priming out of their guns and removed the flints, and we got safely back
to the caravanserai from which I had started. The next morning I brought
my prisoner and the dead man into Hamadan. Of course the fellow was duly
executed, but the dog of a Governor never gave me anything but a colt
worth some fifty kerans—a bad business, sahib; and though the catching
the thieves did not cost me much, on other occasions I didn’t get off so
cheaply.” Here he showed us several scars of sword-wounds.
The prince now changed the subject to that of servants. Addressing
Pierson, he asked him what wages he gave his head-man (nazir).
Pierson told him he gave two pounds a month.
“And he robs you, I suppose?”
“Of course.”
“Why not engage an intelligent and honest man?”
“You know, Prince, I can’t find such a man in Persia.”
“Don’t call me ‘Prince,’” he said. “A man so poor as I am should do as
I have done and drop the title; I only call myself ‘Khan’”—and here the
tears were in his eyes—“till—till I can find myself in bread and my
horse in food. Let me see; five tomans a month, the usual modakel—say
ten tomans, my commission say twenty tomans; thirty-five tomans—a noble
position! try _me_.”
Pierson was amused, and treated the matter as a joke.
“No,” said the prince, “it is real earnest. I will come to you the day
after to-morrow.”
Pierson pointed out that it was impossible.
“I can’t see it,” said the prince; “in Persia the servants of the king
may attain the highest offices of the State; there is no degradation in
being a servant. What is the chief vizier but the king’s head-servant?”
The matter passed over, and Pierson did not engage a King of Persia’s
grandson as his domestic.
We put up for the night in a village, and were sufficiently comfortable.
At two A.M. we rose, and started at three. Abu Seif Khan (as I may now
call him, for so he desired to be addressed) directed us to load with
slugs, which he declared much more favourable than a bullet, and gave us
his directions, which Pierson explained to me. They were, first, that it
is no use to follow an antelope unless he is hit; second, to be sure not
to fire until near enough; third, to keep our eyes open, and note the
animals ere they could see us. The antelope, the prince told us, always
make straight for their lairs, avoiding the mountains, and the only way
to get a shot is to attempt to cross their track, and to fire at the
point where the animal is actually nearest. He particularly warned us as
to the futility of _following_ the animal, unless wounded, and definitely
instructed us always to fire on the slightest chance, and to keep the
horse at his greatest speed when doing so, “as unless he is really going
_ventre à terre_ it is impossible to attain accuracy. If you do make a
hit, follow the beast as long as you can see him, then follow his track
if you can find it.”
It was now nearly dawn, and we were going straight for a range of low
hills, and as yet had seen nothing. Our Nimrod now stopped, and directed
our two grooms to continue slowly straight towards the hills, now three
miles off, in order to disturb the animals, while we turned our horses’
heads to a direction nearly parallel with the range, but tending towards
it, going at an amble.
Every now and then we saw groups of antelope in the distance, on the
plain on our right, but nothing between us and the hills. Abu Seif Khan
explained that to follow these would be hopeless, and that our chance
was that the servants, with whom were the dogs, would put something up,
and that we should attempt to head them, in which we should certainly
fail, but that we should have a chance for a shot. All the dogs had been
sent with the servants except the Persian’s, which, though of strange
appearance, could both, _so the prince said_, hunt by sight and scent,
and would find an antelope if we had the luck to wound one.
The ground was good going, a plain of sand and gravel, a few loose stones
lying about, and a rock or two protruding occasionally; the whole having
a greenish tinge from the tufts of young spring grass growing here and
there, and as yet undried by the fierce sun: patches of thorn-bushes
(bhuta) were frequent, but there was no cover of any kind. The sun now
rose, and the few antelope we had seen, which before had appeared black,
now became white, but they were all on the open plain and quite out of
our reach, of which they seemed well aware, as they continued grazing.
Our leader adjured us to keep a sharp look-out, and kept himself
carefully watching the space between the hills and us, more especially in
our rear.
At last we saw four rapidly moving spots: to dash for the hills was the
work of a moment. The spots on our left became galloping antelope. How
we thirsted for their blood, and we raced apparently with them as to who
should attain first a point half-way between us and the hills. On they
came, and on we went; our horses needed no stimulus, our guns were on
full cock. Pierson, who had borne too much to the left, came near them
first, or rather, they came near him, for they seemed to fly. He did not
raise his gun.
Now was my turn. I was, I fancy, some hundred or perhaps ninety yards
from the animals, and I should have fired as they crossed me, bearing
to my left, and thus had them broad-side on, but I forgot the Persian’s
caution; my horse was going well, and I thought I must get nearer. I bore
to my right and followed; but, alas! I found my “Senna” seemed, having
made a supreme effort, to die away; the antelope were doubtless well out
of range when I fired my two barrels, without effect of course.
I did not attempt to reload, but watched the prince, who with loud cries
had kept well to the right, fire first one barrel and then the other;
at the second discharge the third antelope swerved, but kept on his
course, and the animals were soon out of sight, Abu Seif Khan tearing
after them in hot pursuit, loading as he went. Pierson now galloped up,
and we cantered after the prince, although we were doubtful if his eager
pursuit was aught but mere bounce. But, no; after a smart canter of about
two miles, we saw the Persian stop behind a low sandhill, dismount, look
carefully to his gun, ramming down his charge again for precaution’s
sake, and flinging off his huge, loose riding-boots and his heavy coat,
he commenced climbing the mound, crouching as he went. He had previously
by a gesture warned us to remain where we were.
As soon as he reached the top of the mound he fired and disappeared on
the other side. We cantered up, and found him cutting the throat of a
fine buck ahū (antelope). He now set to in a sportsman-like manner to
disembowel the animal, and it was soon slung _en croupe_ on his horse.
It appeared that his first shot was unsuccessful, but the second had
injured the fore-leg of one of the herd. As he instantly followed, he
noticed that one lagged a little behind, and that _four_ passed behind
the sandhill but only _three_ reappeared. The sequel we had seen.
The sun was now high, and it was close on eight; we marched slowly back
to the village and breakfasted on antelope kabobs; that is to say,
small lumps of meat of the size of a half walnut skewered in the usual
manner—of a piece of meat, a shred of onion, a piece of liver, a shred of
onion, a piece of kidney, and so on; they were impaled on a long skewer
and turned rapidly over a fierce fire of wood-ashes until cooked; and
very tender they were.
The Persians always cook an animal before it is yet cold, and thus ensure
tenderness, otherwise antelope-meat must hang ten days to be eatable, for
we do not boil venison as they do in Persia.
We started from the village at midnight, and marched till nine A.M.,
arriving at a large village by a river, called Mahrand, thirty miles
from Hamadan, the owner of which, Mahommed Houssein Khan, Mahrandi, had
invited us to visit him for a few days; we were to hunt the antelope and
have some quail-shooting. Our host, a great friend of Pierson’s, was
an enormous man of great wealth, whose life was a harmless one, passed
generally in his own village, and he was liked by his acquaintances,
and adored by his ryots (villagers). Simple-minded in the extreme, he
had, save a fondness for the bottle—a fault common with the wealthy in
Persia—no vices such as are usual in the Persians of towns.
We stayed with him four days; the first morning some fifty horses were
paraded for our inspection, for our host bred very fine animals, and
among other taxes had to find yearly three fine beasts fit for the royal
stables. As we sat at a window just raised from the ground, the entire
string were led or ridden past us; but as the clothing was on, one could
not see much of them.
This clothing consists of a perhan (shirt) of fine woollen blanketing,
which envelops the whole body of the animal, being crossed over the
chest, but all above the withers is bare. Over this is the jūl, or day
clothing; this the horse wears summer and winter, save during the midday
time in summer, when he is either naked or has only the perhan on. The
jūl is of the same shape as the perhan, but is of coarser texture and
lined with felt. Over the jūl is the nammad,[13] or outer felt.
This is a sheet of felt half or three-quarters of an inch thick, and
so long that it can be drawn over the horse’s head and neck while the
quarters are still well covered, thus completely enveloping the animal
in a warm and waterproof covering, and enabling him to stand the cold
of winter in the draughty stables of the caravanserai, or even, as is
frequently required, to camp out. (During all the summer months in Persia
the horses sleep outside.)
This nammad is held in its place by a long strip of broad cotton webbing,
which is used as a surcingle, and usually, except at night, the part of
the nammad used to cover the neck is doubled down over the animal’s body.
As the procession went by we gave free vent to our admiration; as Pierson
acknowledged, he had never seen such a collection of horses. I, too,
was surprised. Some dozen of the finer animals were stripped, and as
we admired each, the usual empty compliment of “Peishkesh-i-shuma” (“A
present to you”) was paid us.
The quail-shooting was good fun; we marched through the green wheat in
a row of some ten, horses and servants following, and the birds got up
in every direction, a very large bag being made, though probably as many
more were lost in the high wheat. The peculiar cry of the bird resounded
in every direction.
Several princes were among the guests of Mahommed Houssein Khan, and he
and his sons showed us and them the greatest kindness and attention.
In the afternoon suddenly arrived Suleiman Mirza (literally Prince
Solomon), a near relative of the king, who was returning from a
pilgrimage to the burial-place of the saints at Kerbela, near Baghdad.
This man was quite a Daniel Lambert, moving with difficulty, very old,
but of a very merry disposition; a good deal of joking took place after
his arrival.
[Illustration: PERSIAN BAND.]
After an apparently interminable Persian dinner, which consisted of some
hundred _plats_, among which may be favourably mentioned the _pillaws_ of
mutton or fowls, boiled and smothered in rice, in rice and orange-peel,
in rice and lentils, in rice and haricots, in rice and “schewed,” a herb
somewhat resembling fennel; the fizinjans of fowls and boiled meats;
also partridges _boiled_ and served with the concentrated juice of the
pomegranate and pounded walnuts; kabobs of lamb and antelope; a lamb
roasted whole, stuffed with dates, pistachios, chestnuts, and raisins;
salt fish from the Caspian; extract of soup with marrow floating in it;
dolmas, or dumplings, made of minced meat and rice, highly flavoured and
wrapped in vine leaves and fried; rissoles; wild asparagus boiled; new
potatoes, handed round cold, and eaten with salt; while roast quails,
partridges, and doves were served with lettuces, drenched with honey and
vinegar.
Each guest was supplied with a loaf of flat bread as a plate, and another
for eating.
We sat on the ground, some twenty in all, round a huge tablecloth of
red leather, if I may use that expression, for a large sheet of leather
laid on the ground. Suleiman Mirza, as the king’s relative, occupied the
place of honour. On the other hand of our host sat Pierson, and I next
him, while Abu Seif Mirza, as a prince, took his position by right on the
other side of the great man, and was by him punctiliously addressed as
prince, and generally treated as one. Huge china bowls of sherbet were
placed down the centre of the sūfrah (tablecloth), and in each bowl was
an elaborately-carved wooden spoon, which were used indiscriminately;
these spoons held a gill, and were drunk from, no glasses being used.
During the time the dinner was progressing little conversation took
place, everybody being engaged in eating as much of as many dishes
as possible. But a band of villagers played the santūr, a sort of
harmonicon; the tūmbak, or small drum, played on with the tips of the
fingers—there were two tūmbak players; the neh or flute, or, more
properly speaking, reed; and the deyeereh, literally circle, a kind of
large tambourine, played, like the tūmbak, with the tips of the fingers.
As soon as every one had (literally) eaten his fill, Suleiman Mirza, the
king’s relative, rose, and we all got up.
In lieu of grace each man said, “Alhamdillilah!” (“Thank God!”) and from
_politeness_ most of the guests _eructated_, showing that they were
thoroughly satisfied.
This ceremony is common through the East, and it is considered the
height of rudeness to the host to abstain from it. Coffee was now handed
round, and pipes were brought. A singer, too, commenced a ditty, which he
shouted as do costermongers when crying their wares in England; he put
his hand to the side of his mouth to increase the sound, his face became
crimson with his efforts, the muscles and veins stood out in relief on
his neck, and his eyes nearly started from their sockets. He frequently
paused to take breath, and ceased amid loud applause. The singing and
music were kept up till a late hour.
Politeness prevented our retiring, but we longed for rest; and on
Pierson’s being tormented into a long disquisition on magic, he seized
the opportunity to get away by stratagem. Telling the fat prince that,
as he insisted on seeing the magic of the West, he would gratify him,
he placed the old gentleman on a mattress, and putting four princes
(he insisted on royal blood), standing each _on one leg_ at the four
corners, with a lighted lamp in _each hand_, he gravely assured them that
we should retire and perform an incantation, while, if no one laughed
or spoke, _on our return_ the lights would burn blue. We got to bed,
barricaded ourselves in our room, and tried to sleep. After some few
minutes, loud shouts announced the discovery of the ruse, and a party
arrived to bring us back, but too late, for we had retired.
Next morning I was asked to see some of the ladies of the family. So
little does this village khan observe the Mahommedan rule of veiling
the women, that I was allowed to pass my whole morning in his anderūn.
My host’s wife, a huge woman of five-and-forty in appearance, but in
reality about thirty-five, was intent on household cares; she was making
cucumber-jam. The cucumber having been cut into long slices the thickness
of an inch, and the peel and seeds removed, had been soaked in lime-water
some month; this was kept frequently changed, and the pieces of cucumber
were now quite transparent. They were carefully put in a simmering
stew-pan of strong syrup, which was placed over a wood fire, and, after
cooking for a quarter of an hour, the pieces of cucumber were carefully
laid in an earthen jar, and the syrup poured over them, spices being
added.
I fancy that about a hundredweight of this preserve was made that
morning. When cold the cucumber was quite crisp; the result satisfied
our hostess, and she presented me with a seven-pound jar.
Our host’s young son, a youth of seventeen, caused considerable commotion
among the two or three negresses by his efforts to get his fingers into
the cooling jam-pots; while his two sisters, nice-looking girls of
fifteen and sixteen, tried to restrain his fancy for preserves in vain.
We all laughed a great deal, and mother and daughters were full of fun,
while the grinning negresses thoroughly enjoyed the noise and laughing.
Not having seen a woman’s face for three months, these girls seemed to me
perhaps better looking than they really were, but I confess returning to
the outer regions of the berūni with regret; and Pierson envied my good
fortune in having, as a medico, had a glimpse of Persian home-life which
he could never hope for. Really the patient was, as it often is, a mere
excuse for entertaining so strange a being as a Feringhi, and getting
thus a good look at him.
We went out twice after antelope, which we hunted with relays of dogs;
but as we were not successful, there is little to tell. We returned to
Hamadan, regretting the end of a very pleasant visit.
On our arrival a grateful patient among the Armenians sent me eighty
kerans (three pounds ten) in a little embroidered bag. As the woman could
ill afford it, I told her that I would accept the bag as a keepsake, and
returned the money. So unheard-of a proceeding astonished the Armenian
community, and the priest, a wealthy old sinner, saw his way, as he
thought, to a stroke of business. I had treated him, too, and he brought
me a similar sum in a similar bag. Great was his disgust when I thanked
him for the money and politely returned the bag, and he confided to my
servant that, had he thought this would have been the result, he would
never have paid a farthing.
One day a villager brought us two large lizards, some three feet from
snout to the tip of the tail, and we secured them for a couple of kerans.
They ran about the place for a week or two, interfering with no one, but
did not get tame. The dogs chased them when they were not on the face
or top of a wall, and they at first used to bolt; but after a time they
stood still, allowed the dog to get within range, and then—thwack—the
tail was brought down with tremendous force, and the dog retired
howling. After a day or two no dog would go near the lizards. They were
uninteresting as pets, and as Pierson once got a severe blow on the shin
from one he stumbled over in the dark, we sent them away. They were huge
beasts, of a yellow-ochre colour, and lived on flies and chopped meat;
they were never seen to drink.
I purchased about this time a _talking_ lark: he seemed the ordinary lark
such as we see in England; “torgah” is the Persian name. The bird never
sang, but said very plainly, “Bebe, Bebe Tūtee,” which is equivalent to
“Pretty Polly”—being really “Lady, lady parrot;” he varied occasionally
by “Bebe jahn” (“Dear lady”). The articulation was extremely clear. There
are many talking larks in Persia. The bazaar or shopkeeper class are fond
of keeping larks, goldfinches, and parrots, in cages over their shops.
Sitting, too, on our roof, we could see the pigeon-flying or kafteh-bazi.
A pigeon-fancier in Persia is looked upon as a lūti (blackguard), as his
amusement takes him on the roofs of others, and is supposed to lead to
impropriety; it being considered the height of indecency to look into
another’s courtyard.
The pigeons kept are the carrier, which are very rare; the tumbler, or
mallagh (mallagh, a summersault), and the fantail, or ba-ba-koo. The
name exactly represents the call of the fantail. It was this bird which
was supposed to bring the revelations to the prophet Mahommed, and
consequently keeping a fantail or two is not looked on as discreditable.
They are never killed. These fantails do not fly with the rest, keeping
in the owner’s yard and on the roof. The yahoo is the other ordinary
variety, and is only valued for its flesh, being bred, as we breed fowls,
by the villagers. It has a feathered leg, and will not fly far from home.
The pigeons are flown twice a day, in the early morning and evening, and
it is a very pretty thing to watch.
The owner opens the door and out fly all the pigeons, perhaps thirty,
commencing a circular flight, whose circles become larger and larger.
The fancier watches them eagerly from his roof, and when he has given
them a sufficient flight and there are none of his rival’s birds in view,
he calls and agitates a rag affixed to a long pole. This is the signal
for feeding, and the weaker birds generally return at once to their
cupboard, the stronger continue their flight, but lessen the diameter
of the circle, and one by one return, the best birds coming back last.
As they come over the house they commence to “tumble” in the well-known
manner, falling head over heels as if shot; some birds merely make one
turn over, while others make twenty. It is a very curious and a very
pretty sight. The birds are extremely tame, and settle on the person of
the fancier.
Hitherto there has been nothing more than a flight of pigeons, but in the
afternoon, about an hour or two hours before sunset, the real excitement
commences. Up goes a flight of some twenty pigeons, they commence to make
circles; no sooner does their course extend over the house of a rival
fancier than he starts his birds in a cloud, in the hope of inveigling an
outlying bird or two into his own flock; then both owners call, whistle,
and scream wildly, agitating their poles and flags.
The rival flocks separate, but one bird has accompanied the more
successful fancier’s flight. As it again passes over the house of the
victimised one, he liberates two of his best birds; these are mixed with
the rest, but ere they have completed half a circle they, with the lost
one, rejoin their own flight. Their delighted owner now calls down his
birds, and in a few moments envelops a pair of his rival’s in a crowd of
his own.
Then again commence the cries, the whistlings, the agitating flags,
and the liberation of single or pairs or flights of birds. As one of
Mr. A.’s birds is being convoyed towards B.’s roof with a pair of his,
Mr. C. envelops the three in a cloud of pigeons, and the whole flock
alight—C.’s flight in his own dovecot, and A.’s bird and B.’s pair, as
timid strangers, on a neighbouring wall; A. and B. vainly screaming while
their two flocks keep circling high in air. C., B., and A. simultaneously
run over roofs and walls to get near the birds. But B. and A. have a
long way to travel, while happy C. is close by; he crouches double, and
carrying in one hand a kind of landing-net, makes for the birds; in his
bosom is a fantail pigeon, in his left hand some grain. Artful B. throws
a stone and his two birds rise and fly home, and with a fancier’s delight
he watches C.; but A. is too far off for this manœuvre, and hurries over
roof after roof. Too late! C. has tossed his fantail down near A.’s bird,
the fantail, struts about calling “Ba-ba-koo, ba-ba-koo!” The prize has
his attention taken and stoops to peck the seed that C. has tossed over
a low wall. As he does so C.’s landing-net is on him, the fantail flies
lazily home, and C., shouting and brandishing his capture, makes the best
of his way to the roof of his own premises.
Then the flights begin again, rival fanciers from distant roofs liberate
their flocks, flags are waved, and the drama, with endless variations, is
repeated. Once a fancier always a fancier, they say.
A. repairs to C.’s house to buy back his bird at six or more times its
intrinsic value, for to leave a bird in the hands of a rival fancier
might cost the man his whole flock on a subsequent occasion, the captured
birds, of course, acting as the best of decoys.
The favourite birds are ornamented with little rings or bracelets of
silver, brass, or ivory, which are borne like bangles on the legs (the
mallagh, or tumbler, has no feathers on the leg) and rattle when the bird
walks; these bangles are not ransomed, but remain lawful prize.
As the colours of the birds are very different, one soon recognises the
individual birds of one’s neighbours’ collections, and the interest one
feels in their successes and defeats is great. Our high roof, towering
over most others, made us often sit and watch the pigeon-flying; and the
circling birds as they whirred past us, flight after flight, against the
blue, cloudless sky near sunset, was a sight worth seeing. The fanciers
were many of them old men, and some actually lived on the ransom exacted
from the owners of their captives.
These pigeon-fanciers had a slang of their own, and each coloured bird
had a distinctive name. So amused were we that I ordered my groom to
buy a flight of pigeons and commence operations; but Syud Houssein, the
British Agent, pointed out that it would be _infra dig._ to engage in
a practice that was considered incorrect. It is strange that sporting,
or what is called sporting, generally leads, even in the East, to
blackguardism.
Card-playing, too, is only indulged in by the less reputable of the
community; there is only one game, called Ahs an Ahs; it is played with
twenty cards—four kings, four soldiers (or knaves), four queens (or
ladies), four latifeh (or courtesans), and four ahs (or aces). This
latter is shown generally by the arms of Persia, “the Lion and Sun.” The
lion is represented couchant regardant, bearing a scimitar, while the sun
(“kurshid,” or head of glory) is portrayed as a female face having rays
of light around it; this is shown as rising over the lion’s quarters.
There is only this one game of cards played with the gungifeh (or cards);
they can hardly be called cards, as they are made of papier-maché an
eighth of an inch thick, and elaborately painted. As much as ten tomans
can be given for a good pack. European cards are getting generally used
among the upper classes, who, under the name of bank or banco, have
naturalised the game of lansquenet. But as Persians have an idea that
all is fair at cards, like ladies at round games, they _will_ cheat, and
he who does so _undetected_ is looked on as a good player (“komar-baz
zereng,” _clever_ gamester).
Chess (“shahtrenj”) is much played by the higher classes, but in the
Indian manner, the pawn having only one square to pass and not two at the
first, as with us. Backgammon, too, is in great vogue; the dice, however,
are thrown with the hand, which leads to great “cleverness,” an old hand
throwing what he likes; but as the usual stakes are a dinner or a fat
lamb, not much harm is done.
The lower orders have a kind of draughts played on a board (marked
somewhat similar to our Fox and Geese), and at each angle of which is
placed a mor (seal), _i. e._ piece. This game is generally played on a
brick or large tile, the board being chalked, the pieces stones; they are
moved from angle to angle. I never could fathom _how_ it is played, the
rules being always different and seemingly arbitrary.
Another game is played on a wooden board or an embroidered cloth one;
this is an ancient one called takht-i-pul. I have a very old embroidered
cloth forming the board, the men being of carved ivory, given me by Mr.
G⸺, of the Persian Telegraph Department, but I never could find two
Persians who agreed as to the rules. Pitch-and-toss is constantly engaged
in by the boys in the bazaar.
Rounders (a bastard form of it) are played by the Ispahan boys, and they
also play at a species of fives. Marbles are unknown, but I have seen
the primitive game of “bonse,” which is played by our boys with “bonses”
(large marbles), large pebbles being the substitutes for the bonses in
Persia, as they are with street-boys here.
Wrestling is in great favour; the gymnasia (Zūr Khana) are frequented
by the youth and manhood of all ranks, _who meet there on an equality_.
Wrestling bouts are common among the boys and youths on every village
maidān.
In each gymnasium (Zūr Khana, literally “house of force”) the
professional “pehliwan,” or wrestlers, practise daily; and gymnastics,
_i. e._ a course of attendance at a gymnasium, are often prescribed by
the native doctor. Generally an experienced and retired pehliwan acts as
“lanista,” and for a small fee prescribes a regular course of exercises.
Dumb-bells are much used; also a heavy block of wood, shield-shape,
some two feet by three, and three inches thick, with an aperture in the
middle, in which is placed a handle. The gymnast lies on his back, and
holding this in one hand makes extension from side to side; a huge bow
of thick steel plates, with a chain representing the string, is bent and
unbent frequently.
But the great and most favourite implements are the clubs (what we call
Indian clubs); these the professional athlete will use of great size
and weight; and after going through the usual exercises will hurl them,
together or alternately, to a great height, and unfailingly catch them.
The wrestling is carried on, as a rule, good-temperedly; but when done by
professionals for reward, awkward tricks are employed, such as suddenly
thrusting the fingers into the eye of the adversary, and others still
more dangerous.
As a preventive against these, the wrestler always wears knee breeches
of stiff horsehide, some of which are beautifully embroidered with blue
thread; all above the waist and below the knee being bare. A good deal
of time is, as a rule, lost in taking hold and clappings of hands, and
then generally the bout commences with one hand grasping the adversary’s,
while the other clutches the body. The object is not a clean throw, but
to make the knees of the opponent touch the ground, and consequently
agility tells more than strength and size. The pairs are always made with
regard to skill, size and weight being little considered.
The gymnasia are merely darkened rooms (for coolness), with a sunken ring
in the centre, where the wrestling takes place. The floor is nearly
always of earth only, to render falls less severe.
A Persian has no idea of the use of his fists. When a street-fight takes
place, the combatants claw and slap at each other, and end by clutching
each other’s “zūlf” (long love-locks, which most wear), or beards, or
clothing. Then comes a sort of wrestle, when they are generally separated.
Every great personage retains among his favoured servants a few pehliwans
or wrestlers; and among the artisans many are wrestlers by profession,
and follow at the same time a trade.