TRAVELLING—ART WORK—FOODS.
Travelling—Difficulties of posting—Saddles and
bits—Cruel joke—Old stories—Pastimes—Enamels—Persian
pictures—Curio-buyer—Carvings—Metal-work—Calligraphy—Kahtam—Incised
work on iron—Embroideries—Silver-work—Washing of
linen—Ironing—Needlework—The bath—Washing the hair with
clay—Bread and baking—Unleavened bread—Other kinds—Travellers’
food—Inordinate appetites—Food of the poor.
Of marching with a native caravan I have no experience—Europeans as a
rule avoid it—and having usually enough luggage and servants to occupy a
string of mules of their own, generally travel by themselves. A specimen
of daily life upon the road when marching will be given in my journal
on our road home, when we did twenty-eight days’ marching over some
twenty-five to thirty miles a day, with only two days’ rest.
Of travelling post I have said enough: I have ridden myself from
Ispahan to Teheran, seventy farsakhs, in thirty-nine hours twenty-five
minutes, the horses being mostly full of grass: taking three miles and
three-quarters to the farsakh, this gives two hundred and sixty miles as
the distance, or a continuous speed of over six and a half miles an hour,
allowing for stoppages, sleep, etc., _in that time_. Probably the actual
rate is an average of eight miles, but it requires some resolution to
keep it up. When it is remembered that the roads are vile in the extreme,
being mere mule-tracks, and that _horses can only be changed every twenty
to twenty-six miles_; that a heavy kit is carried; also that saddling,
to be done well, has to be done by oneself, the horses paid and haggled
for, half the time being at night, and that the post-people have to be
awakened; it is not perhaps, after all, bad going. Much faster journeys
than this however are made when the rider is _expected_, or prepared to
liberally grease the palms of the post-people.
As a rule the European always outrides the native, the baggy “shulwars”
of the latter rendering the wearer sore after prolonged cantering, and
the native saddle and short stirrups being unfitted for long and rapid
journeys. How a Persian can ever be thrown, as they are frequently, is
very wonderful. Packed into the deeply-forked saddle, with a tremendous
pommel, to which they cling, a fall ought to be impossible.
The native bits are “ab khori,” or watering-bit, a common snaffle; and
“danah,” a most severe ring-bit. These are made like the letter H, very
small, and having a plate, to which a ring is attached, affixed to the
middle of the centre bar. This ring acts as does the curb-chain; a horse
can be _certainly_ stopped with one, but they are cruel though effectual;
being made _square_, they cut like a knife, and are the frequent cause
of very hard mouths. In fact, when one buys a horse he is always a
puller, and, if an old horse, it takes a long time to accustom him to the
snaffle. Of course in posting the native bit is the best to use, unless
one wishes to be quite powerless.
Endless yarns are told in Persia of the road and its vicissitudes, every
one has had his special experiences; a few sweet, many bitter, and each
man starts fully determined in his heart to make the fastest time on
record, but a succession of bad horses, an ugly fall, or a very wet day,
often upset the most careful plans; or the dearness of grain, or a series
of couriers, may provide the rider with a number of half-starved or tired
horses, or he may lose his way and find himself “on the road to nowhere.”
I travelled once with one Malek Mahommed Beg, one of the couriers of the
English Legation: this man was a celebrated rider, and I well remember
my astonishment at seeing him get down from the saddle and deliberately
place a sharp stone under it, in order to get an extreme turn of speed
out of a wretchedly knocked-up post-horse. On going into Teheran I was
horrified to see the post-house guide deliberately whip a bit of cord
round his knife-blade, thus making a goad of three-quarters of an inch
in length, with which he urged on his wretched steed; remonstrance was
useless, and, as he went on ahead, he called to me to follow his example.
Among the stock yarns told amongst Europeans in Persia is that of the
most cruel and elaborate hoax I have ever heard of. One of the Teheran
residents was in the habit of snubbing a quiet little man, who had come
to the country as private secretary to the manager of an enormous scheme
for the regeneration of Persia; the little man bore the rough jokes
and rudeness of his tormentor for a year, and then, as even worms will
turn, got huffy and vowed revenge. Unluckily for the habitual snubber,
he had revealed in a moment of confidence that he was proprietor of some
tickets in an Austrian lottery scheme, and that a drawing was imminent:
also he gave some of his numbers, even exhibiting the bonds or tickets.
One morning the monotony of Teheran life was broken with the news that
X⸺ had won a fortune. It appeared that a bogus telegram was brought to
a gentleman in Teheran requesting him to ascertain if the holder of a
certain number in the lottery was in Teheran, as he was believed to be a
Mr. X⸺.
No sooner was the news communicated to X⸺ than he went to his strong box
to verify the number, and, to his delight, found that he was the actual
holder of the winning bond.
A castle, one hundred thousand gulden, and the territorial rank of Count
was, I believe, the prize, as stated in the telegram.
X⸺ sent an immediate invitation to his friends to come to his house,
and was congratulated generally on his good fortune; no one being taken
into the secret, everybody’s pleasure was sincere, and they became
accomplices unawares, in the carrying out of the elaborate trick. Just
as the excitement was at its height, and the clock was five minutes to
twelve, the perpetrator of the hoax arrived; he was received by the
victim with open hands, and bursting to tell his news: this was heard,
and the expected congratulations given. “I have made up my mind to return
to Europe at once,” said the doomed one: “we shall buy a two hundred
ton yacht and live a good deal abroad,” etc., etc. “By the bye, what is
to-day?” said the hoaxer.
The FIRST OF APRIL!
Tableau! I regret to add, though, that this very cruel joke caused an
attack of hysterics to the victim’s wife.
X⸺ was the hero of many tales, one of which was too good not to be
perpetuated. An American missionary at a large breakfast party was
suddenly accosted by X⸺, from the other end of a long table, with—“I say,
P⸺, I don’t believe in hell.” The parson took no notice, but the remark
was repeated in a loud tone after a dead silence.
“I say, P⸺, I don’t believe in hell.”
The pale Yankee drew himself up, and, in the national drawl, quietly
replied, “Waal, for your sake, X⸺, I hope you’re right.” That parson was
more than a match for his opponent.
Another Persian tale of these latter days is the answer of a lady as
witty as she was prepossessing. On the high-road to the capital from the
Caspian, the members of the expedition sent by the German Government to
observe the transit of Venus met a lovely vision in habit and hat, on a
prancing steed. They halted, saluted, and declared their errand.
“To observe the transit of Venus, ah—well, you can go home now,
gentlemen; _your duty is done_; good-bye;” and the pretty vision
disappears at a smart canter “away in the ewigkeit,” as Hans Breitmann
says. _That_ joke dawned on those Germans after some hours.
There was once a little paper published in the Persian Gulf, called the
_Jask Howl_, to which I was a contributor, but it died a natural death,
after becoming very personal.
Theatricals, too, had their day, both in the capital and down country.
Lawn tennis, played on a ground of prepared mud, was the great amusement
when I left Teheran.
Riding, however, is the never-failing pastime, and the poorest European
can afford a horse.
Photography was to me a pleasant way of beguiling the tedium of Persian
down-country life. I spent many hours a day, and obtained a fair
proficiency; but finding myself becoming a slave to it, I gave it up,
though reluctantly. In the meantime I had taken innumerable likenesses,
and some two hundred types. I had also had the barren honour of having
large photographs reproduced in the _Graphic_ and _Illustrated_.
I patronised art in Persia to the extent of having some enamels painted
on small gold plaques. This art is rapidly being lost, and the continued
marring of an otherwise pretty picture by errors of drawing and
perspective is very annoying.
I also commenced having illustrations to the wonderful novel of ‘Hadji
Baba,’ by Morier, executed by native artists; but the men I employed
raised their prices in almost geometrical progression as each fresh
picture was executed. They are, however, very spirited, and well exhibit
Persian life.
While I was in Ispahan, M. P⸺ was sent by the ‘Magazin du Louvre’ to buy
curios, china, etc., of every description.
He bought with a vengeance, doubtless knowing what he was about. All was
fish that came to the net; and to see the little Frenchman gesticulating
to a crowd of excited Persians, each anxious to dispose at a fancy price
of his own wares, was very amusing. Since that time it has been difficult
to get anything really good in the curio way in Persia, each man thinking
his own article an unappreciated treasure.
The Abadeh carvings, generally ornamental sherbet spoons and boxes,
carved from pear-wood with a common knife, and very beautifully done, are
still to be had; but the work is deteriorating, and the attempt to copy
European drawings is destroying its originality.
Very beautiful carving, or rather engraving, on metal is still done
in Ispahan; and I have some cups of brass, and others of silver, that
are probably unique in this kind of metal-work. But that, too, is
deteriorating; the good artists find it pays them better to do a quantity
of coarse work for the exporting curio-dealers than finer and more
delicate engravings, which are paid for at a higher rate, but which tax
their sight and skill to the uttermost.
Calligraphy as a high art is dying the death. A single line by a great
calligrapher was worth a fabulous amount, and large sums were often paid
for a good manuscript of Hafiz or the Koran. Printing has destroyed
all this, and the cheap volumes from Bombay presses tend to eradicate
calligraphy as an art.
A kind of inlaid work similar to our Tonbridge ware is made in Persia;
it is to be seen at both Ispahan and Shiraz; though not so chaste as the
Indian work, it is much more varied in pattern, and the effect is good.
Metal is freely used with the coloured woods, but brass, and not silver,
is employed. It is called “Kahtam.” Glove and handkerchief boxes are made
for the European market, and tables, chairs, chess and backgammon boards,
and mirror frames for the wealthy Persians. The Shiraz work is the best.
Ispahan is celebrated for its incised work on iron. This “pūlad,” as it
is termed, is beautifully veined and cleverly damascened, being inlaid
with thin plates of gold. The specimens are, however, very expensive;
as the work is the monopoly of a family, prices are almost prohibitive.
This, too, is a dying art.
Of painters and paintings I have spoken. The copying of doubtful European
works is their bane, and they fail in their rendering of the nude, in
which they delight. For pretty faces and good colouring, the Persian
artist has a deserved reputation. He is especially great in miniatures,
some of these being almost microscopic.
The embroideries of Resht, on the Caspian, are too well known to need
description. They are very florid, but cheap and effective. The price is
about two pounds a square yard for _very_ elaborate ones, if a large one
is ordered, and paid for by instalments as the work proceeds. Aniline
colours, used to dye the silks employed, are the curse of the modern
work, the showy tints of which soon fade. These, however, can be avoided
by specifying that they are not to be used.
The gold and silver work, except that of Zinjan, is poor in the extreme,
but solid; while, for filigree-work especially, Zinjan rivals Malta.
There are, however, _some_ great artists. Stones are clumsily set, and
often even strung and bored. A few clever gem-setters have come from
Constantinople to the capital.
The use of starch is unknown in Persia, and the laundresses very bad. As
in most Eastern countries, the washing is done at the side of a stream,
the minimum amount of soap and the maximum of beating being employed.
Such rough washing rapidly destroys one’s linen. Nowadays most Europeans
keep a laundress, or what is called a washerman, of greater or less
skill, and their shirts are “got up” as in Europe.
The Persians understand ironing, and the trade of ironer is a common one.
The dresses of the common people are ornamented by lines drawn on them
parallel with each other, by means of a kind of iron. The garment is laid
on a large jar of clay, and, holding this between his knees, the ironer
(“ūtū-kesh”) makes his pattern upon the new garment of silk or cotton.
The same means are used to mark the stuffs for quilting, which is much
in fashion. A Persian wears always at least one quilted garment, and
his quilts (“lahaf”) are simply large sheets of thick quilting. New
cloth clothes are also carefully ironed, a box-iron, filled, with live
charcoal, being generally employed.
The needlework of the Persians is very beautiful, silk being used
for sewing to the total exclusion of cotton. Some of the patterns of
embroidery, particularly those on silk, are very original; while the
networks of white silk, done with the needle on the “rubanda,” or veils,
at the part covering the eyes, being done wholly with the needle, are
almost monuments of art work.
Women as well as men smoke the kalian, and the aged ladies are often
opium-eaters to a large extent.
The great amusement of the Persian women of every rank is the bath.
Generally three or four hours in the week are passed by the very poorest
in the “hammām.”[32] As for the wealthier, they have baths in their
own houses, and use them almost daily. The middle classes make parties
to go to the hammām, and assist each other in the various processes of
shampooing, washing with the “keesa,” or rough glove, and washing the
hair with pipe-clay of Shiraz—a plan, by the way, which it is worth while
to follow, for the hair is rendered thereby cleaner than when eggs are
used. The pipe-clay is made up in little round cakes much resembling
biscuits.
A traveller of the pessimist type, who was posting through the country
to India, once showed me a pocketful of these cakes of clay, and drew my
attention to the “beastly native biscuits, that a fellow couldn’t eat!”
He had got a large handful for a copper as he passed through a roadside
bazaar.
Serious matters are the dyeing of the hair and beard, the use of the
depilatory, and the smoothing of the soles with pumice, and, lastly,
the dyeing of the soles and palms of the hands with “henna.” The very
poor seize the opportunity to wash their rags in the public bath at the
same time that they bathe. These public baths are open free of charge
and without distinction to rich and poor. A few coppers are given to the
“delaks,” or bath attendants, male and female. These pay for fuel, hot
water, etc. Certain hours are appropriated to each sex. The whole bath
can be always exclusively hired for a few kerans.
As to bread, it is of three varieties, and is all made from leavened
dough. The “sangak” is of the thickness of a finger, some three feet long
and a foot wide. This is baked in a peculiar manner, and from the word
“sang,” a stone, it obtains its name. A huge arched oven is half filled
with small pebbles from the river. Upon these pebbles is placed a pile of
brushwood; this is fired and fed till the stones are sufficiently hot;
the fire is then pushed into a corner, and the flaps of dough are placed
on the heated stones by means of a peel, as many as twenty loaves being
put on at a time. Batch after batch is baked in this way, the stones
being stirred occasionally when they get too cool to bake well, and the
fire is raked forward and fed again, and so on. Or at times the fire is
simply shifted from place to place in the oven, the loaves being placed
on the stones as they are heated. Thoroughly good bread is the result,
crisp, appetising, and satisfying. Eaten hot with butter, it is the
finest of breads after the Russian. Of course it is absolutely pure. The
term “flap-jack” is applied to this form of bread by the Europeans in
Persia.
The next variety is mostly baked by the smaller bakers of the various
suburbs of the towns, who have a slower sale. Your Persian likes his
bread hot from the oven, save the thrifty Ispahani, who prefers it cold,
thus gaining in the weight. This is the “tannūr” bread. The “tannūr,”
or oven, is simply a huge jar fixed into the earth, and usually placed
against a wall. This is constantly fed with pieces of camel-thorn, which
catch from the flames at the bottom, and keep the walls of the jar hot,
as well as maintaining a high temperature inside. The loaf is the same
thickness as the “sangak,” and about two feet by one, oval in shape. They
are flung against the inside of the heated jar by a peculiar motion of
the hand of the “shartir,” or baker’s oven-man. In a few seconds they are
thoroughly done and browned. They are then quickly removed by a fork, and
others placed in their stead.
The third kind of bread is that usually baked by villagers or tribesmen.
It is a thick circular loaf, some foot or more in diameter, and is a sort
of griddle-cake.
It is baked on a hot plate of iron, or at times a pot-lid covered with
live ashes is placed over it, or the cake is turned over.
The unleavened bread, which is best prepared by Armenians and Kūrds, is
merely a paste of flour and water, rolled to the thinness of a wafer,
and of great size. It is baked on a hot plate, and is hung out to air
and dry; it is then folded, when not quite dry, into four. It will keep
for several months if kept dry, and is damped prior to using, when it
loses its brittleness, and becomes easily rent, but unbreakable. It is a
capital bread for the road, and is invariably carried by Persians when
marching, being very portable, and as palatable after a couple of months
as on the day it was made.
Rusks, biscuits, and a peculiar form of very dry bread, called
“twice-fired,” are specially made for travellers; and the Armenians
prepare a kind of bun, which is made with flour and ghee, slightly
sweetened and sprinkled with sesamum seeds. Sesamum and poppy seeds are
often used to ornament and flavour the breads, especially the “tannūr”
variety. Hard-boiled eggs are also sold, dyed red or yellow, for the use
of travellers. A lump of cheese, a few raisins, and a dozen of eggs are,
with some of the “twice-fired” bread, a sufficient and cheap provision
for the native traveller.
The appetite of some of the lower orders for bread is very extraordinary.
I have often been surprised to have a servant ask for an increase of
wages, _because_ he had a large appetite. Persians invariably pay their
servants so much in cash, so much (by weight) of bread, two suits a year,
and what is left at meals divided among them. This the European does not
do; he gives it all in coin. I have seen a boy eat fourteen pounds of new
bread and, as a sauce to the bread, a dozen hard-boiled eggs. I _saw_
this, and I left him—_still eating_.
Bread, eggs, “mast” (curds), and cheese form the staple food of the
labouring classes in Persia; occasional onions, eaten in chunks as
a boy eats an apple with us, render the _menu_ tasty, and the eater
insupportable.
Meat the poor seldom eat. When they do get it, they make soup of it,
pounding up the meat after it is boiled to rags, and mixing it anew with
the soup; they dip bits of bread in the mess till it is consumed. Of
course, in the fruit, lettuce, cucumber, grape, and melon seasons, these
form a large portion of their diet.