BEASTS, BIRDS, FRUITS, AND FLOWERS.
Tamed pigs—“Marjahn”—Mongoose—Persian cats—Their
value—Van cats—A fierce cat—How to obtain a Persian
cat—Greyhounds—Toolahs—Watch-dogs—Monkeys—Tame
lions—Tame and cage birds—Superstition concerning
house-snakes—I kill a clockwinder—Wild ass—Fighting
rams—Tame partridges—Gardening—Ordinary
flowers—The broom-plant—Vine-culture—Quinces and
pomegranates—Orchards—Garden parties.
Among the curious ideas that the Persians have, is that the presence of
a pig in the stable is good for the horses’ health. They say the “breath
of the pig” does the horses good, and makes them thrive. I fancy that
the real fact is, that the tame pig turns over the “pane,” or dry horse
litter, a great deal, and so prevents its rotting, and consequently saves
the groom a large amount of work, for he has daily to spread the bed of
“pane” used at night in the sun so as to thoroughly redry it. A good
groom has always a large supply on hand, so as to give all the beasts
warm, thick, and dry beds; a bad groom sells it off to the bath-keepers,
and it is burnt by them as fuel.
Almost as soon as I had arrived at Shiraz my groom asked permission to
buy a little pig; a tiny squeaker was brought and carefully nursed by
him. These wild pigs are strangely thin, and as active as a terrier; they
are very affectionate, and show it strongly to the horses and groom, all
answering to the name of “Marjahn” or “Coral;” this is the universal
appellation of tame pigs—much on the principle that all waiters are
William, all boots (or bootses) George, and all chambermaids Mary.
When the horses leave the yard they are accompanied by the pig, who is
inconsolable if left alone in the stable, and shows his grief by piercing
screams and attempting to scratch his way out. As long as even one
horse is in the stable piggy is perfectly happy, and goes on sedulously
rooting and turning over the “pane,” which is his continual amusement and
occupation, and from which he removes any stray grains of barley.
I marched, when we all camped out on account of cholera, some
twenty-eight miles: “Marjahn” never left the heels of my horse, and was
able to keep up when I galloped, but anything over half a mile was too
much for him; he was not, of course, in such high training as his wild
relatives, and when distressed he would commence squeaking and looking
up in an appealing manner. He remained with us in camp, never leaving
my horses, with whom he was on the best of terms. I often used to put
the horse to speed when out for rides, and on “Marjahn’s” beginning to
squeak the horse would look round and attempt to slacken his pace, and
“Marjahn,” if really left behind, would show great distress. The pig
would bathe in the river, and show delight in wallowing and swimming.
As he got bigger he used to charge strange dogs who chased him, and was
always more than a match for them, generally turning aggressor, and
obstinately pursuing them with many grunts and shrieks. “Marjahn,” when a
fine young boar of three years, was following my horse one day as I raced
him against a friend, forgetting in the excitement the distress of the
pig. Our gallop being over, I saw a black spot far away on the plain; it
was poor “Marjahn,” who had burst a blood-vessel in his attempts to keep
up with us; when we reached him he was quite dead. I never cared to keep
another pig, and the groom’s grief was very great.
Another pet I had was an ichneumon, or mongoose; this was one of the
large reddish variety, and had been brought from the Persian Gulf; I saw
a boy dragging the poor beast along by a string; I gave him a shilling
and possessed the mongoose. After the first two days, during which he was
very timid, he became very friendly, and soon learnt to come to call.
His antics were most extraordinary; he would climb almost anywhere,
and he killed all mice, scorpions, flies, beetles, and moths, also
small birds and snakes when he could get them; his great delight was
to get into any cranny or hole, and his activity and fearlessness were
surprising. I had a large white Persian cat; this poor beast the mongoose
was never tired of pursuing; he would erect all his hair and _follow_
the cat, whose steps he would dog for hours; the cat was not allowed by
him to eat, for did he once take his eye off his stealthy pursuer, the
animal would spring on him, give him a severe bite, and disappear like
a ghost under the fender, or in some convenient hole. I had to give the
cat away, as he faded to almost a skeleton, being nearly _haunted_ to
death. The aspect of the mongoose when on the war-path was sufficiently
terrific, the erected hair increased his size three times, while the
bushy tail appeared part of the body, and was like a gauzy wedge: every
now and then he would give a low growl, and when making his spring, emit
a sharp rattling cry that was very startling.
He exhibited great affection to me personally, and would allow me to do
anything with him; would cling on my finger by one paw and swing, or
sleep on my shoulder as I read. At bedtime he would jump on the table
and emit a plaintive cry, attempting to attract one’s attention to the
fact that it was time to retire, and on my rising would precede me
gambolling to my bedroom, sit on a chair when I undressed, and on my
finally retiring jump into his little kennel. The animal was much cleaner
than a cat, and made an interesting pet. He never would make friends with
the servants, who teased him, or with the dogs, who, after all being
smartly bitten in the muzzle, went in deadly fear of him. So tame did
he get that on my leaving Shiraz for Ispahan I carried him the fifteen
marches _in my holster_, turning him loose while I breakfasted on the
road; at night he slept on the bedding, and when a stranger entered the
post-house rooms he used to bolt up the chimney (these chimneys had no
soot in them). He had a great fancy for warmth, and would sleep for hours
under the fender. On one occasion this desire for warmth was nearly the
cause of his death; he jumped into a brazier of live charcoal, doubtless
deceived by the white appearance of the ashes on the top; of course the
poor beast was much burnt, but I managed to save him, and his affection
was, if possible, enhanced. I am sorry to say that his fate was a sad
one: the Armenians caught him and killed him for his skin. I was happily
able to cause the fellow who did it to be punished. On reaching England
I obtained a mongoose of a similar kind from the Zoological Gardens,
Regent’s Park: he too became a great pet with us all, but he used to
terrify the neighbours, in whose houses he would suddenly appear, and
on several occasions I had to rescue him from the clutches of a mob of
British boys. He had an epileptic fit, to which he was subject, and died.
He too manifested the same extraordinary affection far exceeding that
of the dog, and while we had him we never had a mouse or black-beetle.
These animals, like the weasel and ferret, are inordinately fond of meat,
and it is dangerous to attempt to take it from them, especially if the
beast be hungry. Neither my wife, myself, nor my English nurse was ever
bitten, and the mongoose, as I knew it, showed far more affection and
intelligence than most pets.
Something in an account of Persian life must be said of Persian cats.
The fact is, that long-haired cats are very seldom seen; the usual cat
is similar to the regular London cat of the leanest variety, and the
village cat resembles most the half-starved beasts found in empty houses.
Long-haired cats are generally only seen in the houses of the rich,
and they are eagerly purchased for ten to fifteen shillings, when good
specimens and _white_, by the horse-dealers, who take them to India in
cages; they there find a ready market for them.
The best cats are Van cats, which are not really Persian; these, _if well
bred_, are deaf, and also have eyes of different colours—a pink and a
yellow eye, or a blue on one side and yellow on the other. They will not
catch mice, show no affection whatever, their hair sticks to everything
in spring, and they are in every way objectionable. A few long-haired
cats are ash-coloured—these are rare. I saw one belonging to the wife of
the late Major Pierson. While Pierson and I looked on, we saw this cat,
which was a male, fight with and _kill_ another cat upon the roof. But
the cat was tame and almost affectionate to his mistress. The fact is,
if you want a Persian cat of the finest kind, _you can best get one in
Paris_, at any of the numerous bird-shops on the quays.
Dogs are not kept as pets by Persians, though they are used for hunting
and as sheep-dogs. The greyhound is an exception; the Persians will pet
and fondle these animals, and even pay a long price for one. They are
of two kinds, the Arab dog, similar in all respects to a small English
greyhound, but deficient in bottom: the Persian dog, with longer hair
and feathered ears, feet, and tail, with immense bottom, but deficient
in speed: these are often crossed with each other. The ears, feet,
and tail of the Persian variety are often dyed magenta or yellow, and
a sufficiently ludicrous appearance is the result. The “tazzies,” or
greyhounds, are not looked upon as unclean, and the term of sag or
“cur-dog” is never applied to them. The “toolah” is any kind of dog that
is not exactly a pariah, and is much affected by sporting Persians, who
attempt to hunt game with him; he is never of any use, and generally is
only kept as swelling his master’s importance. These “toolahs” remind me
of a curious definition I once heard from a well-known dog-fancier, now
dead.
Years ago I, with many other of my fellow-students, used to keep
bull-dogs and terriers; it was a common foible enough in those days. My
landlady, of course, would not permit a dog of apparently ferocious breed
to be kept on her premises, so I boarded my dog with a dog-fancier. This
man constantly used the term “tyke” when he wished to speak disparagingly
of an animal. I asked him what the word “tyke” really meant: and his
definition of a “tyke” comprehends the Persian “toolah.” “A tyke,” he
replied, “is a dawg as ain’t no sort of breed, and ain’t no sort of use!”
What a number of tykes we see in England, and why do people keep and pay
tax on them?
Watch-dogs are kept and kindly treated; they are let loose on the roof
at nights. The wandering tribes have some fine dogs—short-haired, tawny,
with black muzzles, having all the characters of mastiffs; they are very
fierce, and it is difficult to obtain them. Near Hamadan, and also at
times near Ispahan, are found big sheep-dogs, of no particular breed,
generally long-haired and tawny with black muzzles. These are a match for
wolves, and are often savage; of this kind was our big dog “Jarge.”
Monkeys and baboons are kept and trained by the lutis, or professional
buffoons, as are bears, and even lions. It is usual when the wife of a
man of any substance brings him a son, that these men should bring the
lion, with song and music, to the house. The delighted lady invariably
gives a present. Should there be any disinclination to give it, the
buffoons threaten to loose the lion, which generally has the desired
result: if this be ineffectual they carry out the programme, and
themselves simulate terror.
[Illustration: LION AND LUHLIS.]
They brought the lion to me in Shiraz, and played me the trick of loosing
him in my courtyard.
As I had not been presented with an heir, and the joke was very
unpleasant, I simply told my groom to let loose my dogs. These flew at
the lion, and he put his head in a drain and roared. I afterwards found
that he had been starved, and teeth and claws drawn. The lutis were glad
to apologize, and quickly removed the king of beasts.
Of pigeons I have previously spoken. Nightingales, goldfinches, talking
larks, parrots, singing larks, and starlings, are all seen in cages.
Snake-charmers are not often seen, and then with only a few harmless
snakes in a box. The Persians do not like to destroy house-snakes, for
two reasons: first, because they say they do no harm; and secondly,
because they suppose them to be tenanted by the spirit of the late master
of the house. In my first house in Shiraz—an old and handsome one—I was
continually annoyed by a buzzing, as of the winding of clockwork. This,
I was told, proceeded from the snakes. I, however, never saw one, though
the buzzing was frequently heard in all parts of the house.
One morning I heard a great twittering of birds, and on looking out,
I saw some thirty sparrows on the top of a half-wall. They were all
jumping about in a very excited manner, and opening their beaks as if
enraged, screaming and chattering. I was at first at a loss to understand
the cause of the commotion, but I saw a pale-yellow coloured snake
deliberately advancing towards them from the ornamented wooden window
from which he hung. They _all_ appeared quite fascinated, which much
surprised me, and none attempted to fly away. The snake did not take the
nearest, but deliberately chose one and swallowed him. I, too glad to get
rid of one of my buzzing annoyances, got my gun, and, notwithstanding
the entreaties of my servants, some of whom wept, assuring me that the
reptile was inhabited by the spirit of the late master of the house,
I gave him a dose of duck-shot. He was a big snake, some four feet
long. I cut him open and extracted the sparrow. After some ten minutes’
exposure to the sun, the bird got up, and, after half an hour, flew away,
apparently unhurt. The snake was not a venomous one, nor do we find
venomous ones in houses in Persia.
Shortly after, a servant of my landlord came, and took away the snake’s
body, and all my servants sulked and looked black for a week. But,
on speaking to my landlord, an educated man, he laughed, and simply
congratulated me, and told me that the clock-winding snake had annoyed
him for years. They are supposed to live in pairs, but I only saw the
one, and never heard the noise again.
The wild ass (“goor-khur”) has been kept as a pet, and even ridden; but
they generally begin to be very wild before reaching puberty; of course
the adults are quite untamable. They are very rare, and do not generally
live long in captivity; they are also very fleet indeed, and a very fine
mule is produced by their union with a mare.
Rams are kept as pets, and trained to fight, as are bulls. These rams may
be seen chained outside the shops of the owners, and on Thursday evenings
they are fought, generally for a dish of pillaw. They charge each other
with great fierceness, and the one driving the other from the field is
proclaimed the winner. The fights are often for considerable sums. The
rams wear large leathern collars, having bells attached to them; the
collars are ornamented with cowries.
Partridges are often allowed to run in gardens, being fed like fowls;
they become very tame; they are the red-legged variety.
There is now a close time for game generally enforced throughout Persia;
this is a wholesome measure of the present Shah’s.
One of our pastimes in Persia was gardening, but the dryness of the
climate and the great heat of summer render one’s previous experience in
England nearly useless.
On getting into a new house, the garden is usually found in a very
neglected state. It consists of a number of beds, which are sunk to a
greater or less depth in the bricked courtyard.
These gardens are at times of considerable size, the one in my Ispahan
house being a regular parallelogram, some fifteen yards by twenty. The
place had nothing in it but three or four fine apricot trees. I turned
it over to a Persian gardener from the town, who commenced operations by
making a raised path six feet wide, lowering the garden itself to get the
earth; this path was in the form of a cross, and divided the large plot
into four equal beds. These were mapped out into ornamental flower-beds,
and sown with various seeds; each bed, containing a different kind, was
carefully sprinkled with strong manure, and then the whole was flooded
with water from the town watercourse.
Each bed communicated with the other by a narrow trench; some six inches
of water was let on to the bed, filling it to the top of the little bank
of mould surrounding it; then the opening was closed, and the water
allowed to proceed to the next bed. In this way each bed got thoroughly
wetted once or twice a week.
The seeds were generally soaked for some days before sowing, often being
tied up in a damp rag till they germinated; and, as a rule, seeds sown
dry, save very minute ones, did not germinate.
The flowers sown were of the commonest description. They were scattered
very thickly, and never thinned.
Convolvulus (Lulufer, or Neelufer), Marvel of Peru (Lalah basi), aster,
zinnia of a uniform brick red, wallflower (or Gul-i-Kher, lit. asses’
flower), portulacca (Gul-i-naz-nazi, flower of coquetry), a kind of
common cockscomb (Zūlf-i-aroos, bride’s locks), the dahlia and _Lilium
candidum_ (Gul-i-Mariam, Mary’s flower)—these two latter were looked on
as rare flowers, and of great price—the larkspur and the sweet-William,
the China rose (or Gul-i-Resht, flower of Resht), the nastorange, a
lovely whitish, orange-scented, single climbing rose, the moss-rose (or
Gul-i-Soorkh), of which the rose-water and attar of commerce is made,
blooming only every other year, and the single orange and yellow rose,
with the narcissus, pink, and the wild Lallah or tulip, formed the
principal garden ornaments; while a useful background and edging was made
of the Jarroo or broom-plant. This sows itself, and when cut in autumn
and allowed to dry, it makes the usual carpet-broom of Shiraz and Ispahan.
The iris, both white and purple, are great favourites; the edges of the
trenches had broad beans pricked in in twos and threes, forming the
earliest green leaf of spring. At irregular intervals would be a pumpkin
or gourd vine, or a vegetable-marrow; here, there, and everywhere were
inserted fruit trees; while a few planes and poplars were planted to give
shade and rest for the eye. The lilac and vine, too, were planted freely,
but without any attempt at symmetry; while little patches of herbs, as
mint, aniseed, fennel, parsley, etc., were grown in shady corners. No
attempt at thinning out was made; the things came up, and the larger
plants grew, while the smaller ones were dried up by the sun. The whole
place was flooded once or twice a week.
At Shiraz the gardening was still more primitive; a few orange trees, the
border planted with narcissus and a thick jungle of convolvulus, with an
occasional rose tree, was all that one could manage.
In Teheran there is a French gardener, and was an English one, to the
Shah, but their influence had not been of much avail. Mr. Finn, our
consul at Teheran, was very successful with geraniums, which flourish in
Persia; but the natives are too careless to preserve them through the
winter, or to take cuttings; a flower, in fact, having no real commercial
value.
Taking cuttings, save for the tobacco plant, is unknown; but the grafting
of fruit trees is practised, also budding.
The Persians well understand the culture of the vine, and large harvests
of fine grapes are the almost invariable rule; they never thin the fruit,
but keep the vines very closely cut, resorting to a new vine in a very
few years.
Manuring in some parts of the country is done on a very liberal scale,
particularly in Ispahan, where the traditions of market gardening have
been handed down from father to son. The profitable opium crop is now,
however, engaging the attention of the Ispahani to the exclusion of
almost everything else.
Persia has particularly fine quinces and pomegranates. The latter I have
seen of four pounds’ weight. The Ispahan quinces are sent all over the
country, packed in cotton, as presents. They give forth a very strong
and agreeable perfume, which is much delighted in by the natives; and
they are passed from hand to hand, and savoured like a sweet-scented
flower. The Attar-beg pomegranates have no perceptible seeds, and their
flavour is very delicious. Their variety is great—sweet, sour, or
sour-sweet; they vary, too, from white to almost black in the pulp. As
the pomegranate flourishes throughout Persia, it seems strange that it
is not cultivated in England. It is very handsome as a shrub, and the
scarlet bloom most effective as a garden ornament. The fig is small, but
luscious, and innumerable varieties are found. Gooseberries and currants
are unknown.
In Hamadan the vines are grown on the edges of deep trenches; the snow
filling these trenches preserves the roots, while the vines themselves
are often protected with earth during winter.
In the south of Persia, and also in the north, the very slightest
cultivation is employed, yet in good years the harvests of every kind
are very heavy. In all cases it is the abundance, or the reverse, of the
supply of water that regulates the amount of harvest. Given plenty of
water, the harvest must be large.
The melon has been spoken of in another place. The water-melons and the
white-fleshed melons of Gourgab, near Ispahan, are the finest in the
world. I have seen melons weighing twenty-eight pounds of the former
variety; these were, however, phenomenal.
In the orchards of Ispahan clover is sown under the trees to break the
fall of the fruit, which is only plucked when a choice dish of it is
required as a present. The usual way is simply to pick up the droppings.
The Persian never thins the fruit. I have often recommended their doing
so, but on two occasions when I tried the experiment and marked the
trees, it did not succeed: the trees where the fruit had been thinned
merely giving fewer fruit, _of the same size_ as the unthinned trees
under the same conditions and of the same variety.
Nothing can be more delightful than these cool and silent gardens in the
summer in Ispahan. The thick foliage keeps out the sun, and the deep
green of the short clover refreshes the eye. Tea in a garden, with pipes
and fruit, is a pleasant way of spending a warm afternoon. Unfortunately
the Persian or Armenian usually looks on a fruit garden merely as a good
place to get drunk in, and the frequent sounds of music and singing show
the passer-by that this idea is being carried out.
Garden parties are, however, often given by Persians who never touch
liquor, and they are as enjoyable a form of entertainment as may be. An
invitation to one is generally given without any preparation, as during
the paying of a call; it is accepted, and forthwith an immediate start is
made. A few carpets and pillows are rolled up and placed on a mule, with
the samovar or Russian urn in its leather case, and the tea equipage in
its travelling box. The cook, on his pony, takes his whole _batterie de
cuisine_, and hurries to the garden indicated by his master, probably
buying a lamb and a couple of fowls, as he passes through the bazaar.
The entertainer, his wife and children too, if we are very intimate,
the former on his horse, the latter astride on white donkeys, proceed
at a leisurely pace in the direction of the garden; while the servants,
all smiles, for they enjoy the outing as much as the family, accompany
them on foot or horseback, carrying water-pipes, umbrellas, and odds
and ends. On reaching the garden, fruit is eaten; then the whole party
roam unrestricted among the shady paths while tea is prepared. This is
partaken of, and then a musician, or a singer, or perhaps a story-teller,
makes his appearance and diverts us all. Or some servant, who has a good
voice, sings or plays on the flute to us.
Often a grave and reverend merchant will produce a “tarr,” a species of
lute, or a “santoor” (the dulcimer), a kind of harmonica, and astonish
us by really good Eastern music. Few will consent to sing; it is _infra
dig._ The nightingales sing merrily, and dull care is effectually
banished. In these thoroughly family parties, wine or spirits are never
introduced. Chess or backgammon (Takht-i-Nadir, the camp of Nadir Shah)
are constantly played for a nominal stake of a lamb or fat pullet.
The party is collected on a raised daïs in the open air, and sit on
carpets or lean on huge pillows. Candles are lighted in the lallahs or
Russian candle-lamps; these are convenient, as they are not extinguished
by wind. At about nine dinner is brought, after innumerable kalians or
water-pipes have been smoked: this is eaten in comparative silence; host,
guest, wives, and children, all sitting round the leathern sheet which
represents a table, and dipping their hand in the platters. At about ten
all retire, the bedding of each is spread in a separate nook, on one’s
own carpet—all of course being in the open air—and at dawn one smokes a
pipe, drinks a little cup of black coffee, and takes one’s leave.
Our host and his guests go about their several businesses, while the
women and children and servants generally breakfast in the garden and
return home together in the cool of the evening, bringing back fruit and
huge bouquets of the moss-rose with them.
These impromptu entertainments are most enjoyable: there is no sense of
restraint, and their absolute suddenness, absence of formality, and true
hospitality, form a remarkable contrast to the more formal pleasures
of European life and the regularity of entertainments which hang over
one, till their very thought becomes insupportable. Of course, such
entertainments are only possible in a country where the gardens are
freely thrown open to everybody.