AT A PERSIAN WEDDING
Visit to the Sheikh of Mohammerah--A Persian banquet.
A few miles below Basra, on the Persian shore, at the point where the
Karun River joins the Shatt el Arab, are the semi-independent
dominions of the Sheikh of Mohammerah. His territory is part and
parcel of the moribund Persian Empire, but the Sheikh has long held
independent sway, and has ruled his little kingdom with Oriental
grandeur and benevolent despotism. He is a firm and convinced friend
of the British, and even at the darkest hour of our military fortunes
in the Gulf, when it seemed as if we might be driven from the lower
Tigris itself, the Sheikh was proof against Turkish intrigue and the
corrupting influence of Hun gold.
His Excellency the Khazal Khan, K.C.S.I., K.C.I.E., to give him his
full title, like most Persian potentates in the tottering, crumbling
Empire of Iran, where the writ of the present "King of Kings" does
not run beyond the walls of Teheran, held undisputed sway over his
little state, and his authority was enforced by a nondescript army of
retainers. But he was a {29} generous host, a firm friend, and an
unforgiving enemy.
One week-end while at Basra I was one of a few British officers
invited to assist at the elaborate festivities which precede a
Persian marriage. The contemplated matrimonial alliance was intended
to unite the family of the Sheikh and that of Haji Reis, his Grand
Vizier or Prime Minister. In the small party that dropped down the
river on one of His Majesty's gunboats, were the Admiral of the
Station, one or two generals, the Political Officer, the liaison
officer between the Indian Government and the ruler of Mohammerah,
and my friend Akhbar, a Persian from Manchester who had joined up
early in the War. As we dropped down stream past the Palace, a
salute was fired in our honour by the Sheikh's artillery-men with a
couple of old six-pounders. An antediluvian Persian gunboat dipped
her ensign as we steamed past. It was the first time I had seen a
warship or indeed any other vessel flying the Persian flag, and I
regarded her with interest. Akhbar, who despite his British uniform
and his long residence amongst us, remained always an ardent Persian,
professed to be very much hurt by some chance observations of mine
directed at the river gunboat and the Persian navy in general.
The Palace was a rectangular building, with stuccoed front, standing
back from the water and approached by a winding stone staircase. On
landing we were received by the chief dignitaries of the {30} place
with the Grand Vizier at their head. There was much bowing and
salaaming, and it was here that I first made acquaintance with that
elaborate code of official and social ceremony which surrounds every
act of one's life in Persia. A guard of honour from the Sheikh's
household troops made a creditable attempt to present arms as we
stepped ashore. More soldiers lined the stairway leading to the
reception room. They wore a variety of uniforms, and were armed with
everything in the way of rifles, from antiquated Sniders to modern
Mausers and Lee-Enfields. Like most of the irregulars that we
encountered in Persia afterwards, they fairly bristled with
bandoliers stuffed full of cartridges. A Persian on the war-path, be
he tribal chief or simple armed follower, is generally a walking
arsenal. He is full of lethal weapons which nearly always include a
rifle of some kind and a short stabbing sword with an inlaid hilt.
He often displays a Mauser pistol as well, and usually carries enough
ammunition hung round him to equip a decent-sized small-arms factory.
The Sheikh himself received us in the main reception hall, which was
covered with rare Persian carpets, any single one of which would be
worth a small fortune in London. The Prime Minister and his son, we
found, spoke excellent English, and the former, who was wearing the
conventional frock coat of the Occident, but no shirt collar,
presented each visitor in turn to our Arab host, a man just past {31}
middle life with all the stately grace and dignity of his Bedouin
forebears. He was dressed in native costume; his manners were easy
and full of charm. He had a dark, olive-tinted face, black beard and
wonderful lustrous black eyes. A strict adherent of the Shi'ite
sect, and an abstainer from strong drink himself, he was,
nevertheless, not averse to supplying it to his Western guests. The
Grand Vizier during his sojourn in Europe had evidently studied our
customs and civilization _au fond_. Apart from a knowledge of the
English language and literature, he had brought back with him a fine
and discriminating taste in the matter of aperitifs, knew to a nicety
the component parts of a Martini cocktail, and was a profound
connoisseur of Scotch whisky. Our party had few dull moments with
the Grand Vizier as cicerone, and our admiration for his versatility
rose by leaps and bounds.
The dinner was _à la fourchette_. It is not always so in hospitable
Persia where, as a rule, host and guests sit in a circle on the floor
and help themselves with the aid of their fingers. Here everything
had been arranged in European fashion, and the long table was topped
by a rampart of specially prepared dishes with a lavishness that was
truly Oriental. It is a Persian custom to supply five times more
food than one's guests can possibly consume. What remains becomes
the perquisite of the servants of the household.
According to Persian etiquette a son may not sit {32} down in the
presence of his father, so the bridegroom-elect had no place at the
board, and his active participation in the banquet was limited to
carrying out the duties of chief butler and waiting upon the guests.
It was hot and exhausting work, in the intervals of which he
liberally helped himself from a black bottle which stood on a table
behind the Grand Vizier's chair. Barefooted servitors passed nimbly
along the table, and saw to it that their master's guests wanted for
nothing. A plate was emptied only to be speedily replenished.
We saw nothing of the bride-to-be. She played but a minor part in
the evening's entertainment. Nor were any other women of the
household to be seen. At one end of the banqueting hall was a
heavily curtained aperture. Occasionally this was furtively drawn
aside an inch or two, and a woman's veiled face would appear for an
instant, and as quickly disappear. It was the private view allowed
to the bride and her girl friends.
The menu was inordinately long. Dish succeeded dish, and eat we must
unless we wished to cause dire offence to our host. He himself,
seated at the middle of the table, ate sparingly and drank but water,
his air of quiet impassivity giving place to a smile from time to
time as he listened to some Persian _bon mot_ or other from one of
his neighbours.
The Sheikh excelled as a host. No sooner was the banquet at an end
than he told us that a display of {33} fireworks had been arranged in
our honour. Seats had been placed for the visitors on the long
veranda at the back of the palace and facing the extensive grounds.
No Persian feast is held to be complete without a pyrotechnic display
of some kind, and that organized for our pleasure would have done
credit to the best efforts of Brock or Pain.
There were Catherine-wheels, rockets, and welcoming mottoes in
Persian and English which flared up merrily, until the whole grounds
were one blaze of light.
The retainers entered fully into the spirit of the affair. Clad in
fireproof suits, they were hung round with squibs which were set
alight, and then the human Catherine-wheels carried out an
astonishing series of somersaults, to the intense delight of the
native portion of the audience. An English gunnery instructor, aided
by native workmen with material from the Sheikh's arsenal, had been
responsible for the pyrotechnic part of the entertainment.
In the meantime the banqueting hall had been cleared, and presently
we were conducted thither, where, to the strains of a Persian
orchestra, native dancing boys showed their skill in a series of
emotional and highly sensuous gyrations. These youths were of a
distinctly effeminate appearance in their long flowing Persian robes,
and there was a look of brazen abandon in their more than suggestive
evolutions as they whirled round and round on the floor.
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To these succeeded a quartette of Armenian girls in bright-hued
raiment and low-necked dresses, their bare bosoms covered with cheap
jewellery, their hair and costumes studded with glittering sequins,
and their ankles encircled by gilt metal bracelets giving them an air
of tawdriness and unspeakable vulgarity. Their movements were
graceful, with a certain artistic crudeness. To the clash of
cymbals, and with a jingling of their sequins and anklets, two would
whirl round the dancing hall, until sheer physical exhaustion
compelled them to seek a temporary respite on a divan; whereupon they
would be succeeded on the floor by the other pair who had been
awaiting their turn. This dancing by relays went on until the early
hours of the morning, and we began to be alarmed lest it should
continue for the duration of the War. Etiquette forbade us to leave,
so we did our best and stuck it out to the end. In the tobacco-laden
atmosphere, with the temperature distinctly sultry, and the windows
hermetically sealed I made a desperate but ineffectual attempt to
fight off drowsiness. At last I succumbed and dreamt that I was in
the Paradise of Mahomet listening to the music of the houris
entertaining some of the newly arrived Faithful.
I woke with a start, for someone had prodded me in the ribs and told
me it was time to go, and by a swift transition I found myself back
at Mohammerah and our party bidding adieu to our kindly host and his
Grand Vizier.
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It was too dark to attempt the passage of the river back to Basra, so
we crossed over to the house of Mr. Lincoln of the British Consulate
on the right bank of the Karun river and spent the remainder of the
night under his hospitable roof.
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