MORE ABOUT PERSIAN WOMEN
Costumes--Wedding festivities--Wedding dinner--Kindness of Persian
husbands--Story of brutality--Divorce--Aids to beauty--Degradation
and cruelty of women.
"Women are made by men:
The nations fade that hold their women slaves:
The souls of men that pave their hell-ward path
With women's souls lose immortality."
John Davidson.
The indoor costume of the Persian women is not at all pretty or
graceful. It consists of a short, loose jacket, generally made of
some gaily coloured material, and in the case of rich women of bright
brocaded silk or velvet, and a very short skirt, just the length of a
ballet dancer's. In fact their dress is an exact copy of the Parisian
ballet dancer. Many years ago all the women wore those picturesque
baggy trousers, with long flowing garments over them, but while one
of the late Shahs was visiting Europe he saw the ballet dancer,
and his fancy was so taken by the costume, that on his return he
ordered all the inmates of the royal harem to adopt the same dress;
and as royalty always sets the fashion for the country, in a short
time all the Moslem women of Persia had adopted this hideous fashion.
I remember so well the first time I saw this costume; it was the
evening of the day on which we first arrived in Isphahan. After dinner
Miss Stuart (the bishop's daughter) and I were walking on the roof
of their house, when suddenly a woman appeared on the other side
of a wall and began chattering with Miss Stuart. I felt inclined to
look the other way, thinking the good lady had forgotten to complete
her toilet, but seeing that Miss Stuart did not seem surprised,
I supposed it was all right, and so began to feel more at ease;
but certainly the first sight of these costumes is rather alarming,
especially if the woman is not wearing the long stockings, as they
generally do, but often leave off in very hot weather. On their heads
they wear a square of white muslin, and flowing down their backs,
and attached by a pin to their hair, is a long, graceful chuddar,
generally made of a pretty muslin or silk; and as the women walk
about the house, these chuddars flow behind, and look very graceful
indeed. The ladies do not like the fashion of the short skirts,
and many were the requests made to me to cut out dresses such as I
was wearing, and if I had wished, I could have had my time in Kerman
fully occupied in cutting out dresses according to European fashion;
but with the exception of pleasing two or three of my special friends,
I always told them I had no time for dressmaking, but would always be
pleased to lend them patterns. So ashamed were some of the women of
their short skirts, that they would often take their long, flowing
chuddars from their heads and wrap them round their waists, giving
the appearance of a draped skirt.
The outdoor costume of the Persian women is much more becoming than
the indoor, though it is decidedly hot in the warm weather. It is made
up of three pieces; the big voluminous trousers which slip over the
feet and cling closely to the shape of the foot, but above the ankle
fall full and baggy; over these are worn the large black chuddar,
the poor wearing black calico and the rich silk; and then, covering
the face, is the veil. This veil is a long strip of white calico with
open work for the part covering the eyes, and fastened together at
the back of the head by brass, silver, or gold and jewelled clasps,
according to the rank of the wearer. Through the open work part of
the veil the woman is able to find her way about, and see all that
there is to be seen, while no one can see the face behind the veil.
To see a group of Persian ladies decked out in their silks and satins
is a sight not easily forgotten. There is nothing these women love
more than some festivity at their own or a friend's house, which
gives them an opportunity of showing off their finery, and also
of meeting all their acquaintances, and having a good "gufti goo"
(chat). I was often invited when in Kerman upon these occasions,
but found, if I accepted all invitations, my time would be taken up
with going to betrothal feasts, weddings, &c., and so I used to look
in for a few minutes and then excuse myself. On one occasion I went
to a wedding at the house of one of the chief mullahs of the town. I
was asked to go at sunrise, but did not put in an appearance till
about nine o'clock. When I arrived, all the guests had been there
already some hours; it was certainly a very pretty sight. Two large
compounds were given up to the entertainment of the bride's party,
while the bridegroom was holding his reception in another house.
As I entered the door leading into the anderoon, I could but stand and
admire the scene before me. Quite two hundred ladies were present, each
one dressed in gorgeous silks and satins, and all wearing the graceful
chuddar falling from the head. The majority of these chuddars were of
silk--Indian, Japanese, or Persian silks, all vying with each other
in their brilliancy and beauty. Some were rainbow silks, all colours
merging into each other; then again, others were gaily flowered,
and others "shot" or lustre silks--the whole forming a wonderfully
harmonious and striking picture, and I longed for a camera that might
give a true representation, both in colour and vivacity, of this
butterfly scene before me. To add to the gayness of their attire,
each married lady was wearing a spray or wreath of flowers in her
hair, and many carried or wore bouquets of roses. The whole effect
was charming, and formed a marvellous study of colour, gracefulness,
and Eastern beauty.
We have kept our hostess waiting quite a long time while we have been
admiring her guests, but now we must hasten to pay our respects to her,
and take our seat amongst this gay throng. I was alone that day, being
the only European woman in the town; but it will be much more pleasant
if my readers will come with me in imagination to that wedding feast.
We are ushered into a large room full of gay ladies, who immediately
all rise from the ground as we enter, and salaam us. It is rather
difficult to know which is our hostess amongst so many, so we must be
impartial in our salutations, and pray God that "their kindnesses may
never grow less," or "their hands never pain them," &c. Then we all
take our seats, and conversation is resumed. The ladies will begin
with a series of questions, such as--
"How old are you?" "Have you a mother?" "Why do you not black your
eyebrows?" "Are you happy?" "Is your husband kind to you?" "Do
you like him?" "How much did your dress cost?" and so on, like a
group of children--and when you think they have finished, they will
begin again. After a short interval tea is handed round. Tea, did I
say? well, it is dignified by that name, but in reality Persian tea
is not much more than sweetened water coloured with a drop of tea. To
begin with, the cups are very tiny, generally made of glass. They are
first filled up with three or four lumps of sugar, then a teaspoonful
of tea is poured over these, and water added until the cup is full,
and the result is--Persian tea! However, it is rather pleasant to
drink, and helps to pass the time. After a short interval more tea
is handed round, and then glasses of sherbet, made from juices of
different fruits, and then, for a change, coffee is served.
About noon, just as I am afraid we are all feeling very tired and
sleepy, a welcome change comes; a stirring and commotion begins in
the courtyard, women rush about with enormous trays on their heads
and carrying all kinds of dishes: this is but a prelude to dinner
being announced. Two large rooms are laid out for dinner; in each room
about one hundred guests sit down. I was taken in by the mother of the
bridegroom, so we will all pass in under her protection. (The mother
of the bride is not in evidence on these occasions, being supposed to
be overwhelmed with grief at losing her daughter.) The "table" is the
ground, so we must gracefully (?) sit on our heels. On the "table" are
over two hundred different dishes--pillaus, chillaus, chicken, kabobs,
vegetables, fruits--all laid out in tempting array. The hostess having
pronounced the Moslem benediction, "Bismi'llah" (In the name of God),
all the guests fall to work in real earnest: very little talking is
done, eating being the business of the moment. Spoons and forks were
provided for me, but I preferred to do as they did, and so ate with
my fingers, though it requires a good deal of practice to do it neatly
and gracefully. As a mark of respect and honour, the hostess from time
to time breaks off pieces of meat from her portion and places them
on my plate, and once as a special mark of favour placed a dainty
morsel of chicken in my mouth. I hope my readers have enjoyed their
dinner as much as I have, for to my mind a Persian feast is a most
delectable entertainment.
After dinner we all washed our hands in a basin brought round for
the purpose, the water being poured from an ewer on to our hands by a
servant. Then we all retired to our reception-room of the morning, and
again tea and sherbet were handed round, and the kalian or water-pipe
was much in request, each lady taking a whiff and passing the long
tube to her neighbour.
But where is the poor little bride all this time? We have neither
seen nor heard her all day long, and yet the feast is supposed to
be in her honour. All through the long, hot June day she has been
cooped up in a tiny room, and as sunset approaches her friends and
relations go to dress her and to decorate her from head to foot with
jewellery and finery. Into her hair is woven a quantity of golden
thread, so that in the distance it looks like a mass of gold, and
must be very heavy on the poor tired little head. She is brought
out into a large room, and seated on a chair in the middle of it;
then every one goes up to her, and after kissing her, says, "May
you be blessed." The poor little mite (she might be thirteen years
old, but hardly looks it) seems absolutely wretched and miserable,
and when food is brought to her refuses to eat. Just at sunset she
is taken to her husband's house in a closed carriage, and our hearts
must ache as we think of what is in store for her. Even if her husband
is kind to her at first, yet she has nothing much to look forward to
but misery and degradation, and if by chance she goes to an anderoon
already containing two or three wives, then may God take pity on her,
for her fate will be a sad one. As soon as a man marries a girl she
is absolutely his property, and he may do exactly as he pleases with
her; there is no redress for the poor unfortunate girl. If the man
is a brute and half kills his wife no one dare say a word to him,
or if perchance there is one brave enough, he will only be told that
"the girl is his wife, and he can do as he likes with his own," and
so it is no wonder if the shadow of the future lies darkly on the
faces of those poor little children, as they leave their mother's
home as brides to go out into the unknown which lies before them.
I remember a poor little girl who was brought to the hospital in Julfa,
while we were there. She had been married to a brutal man, when about
eleven years old. Being very unhappy with him, she often used to run
away and take refuge with her mother, who lived in a village a mile
or two away from her husband's house. On many occasions he had beaten
her severely for some childish fault, and each time she had fled to
her mother, and stayed with her till her husband came and carried
her off again by force. This went on for some time, till the poor
child's life was nothing but wretchedness and misery.
One day she displeased her husband by not cooking the dinner to
his liking, and he was so enraged with her that he behaved in the
following abominable manner.
First of all he saw that the windows of his house were barricaded and
the door locked: then he stripped the trembling, frightened child,
and deliberately poured paraffin oil all over her body, and finally set
a light to her and left her to her fate, taking care to lock the door
after him, as he went out. The neighbours, hearing the girl's screams,
rushed to the house, but the doors being locked and the windows
fastened much precious time was wasted. When they finally smashed
open the window it was only to find the child a mass of flames. They
picked her up and rushed wildly with her into the street, and dropped
her into the nearest stream to quench the flames! It was a marvellous
thing to think that after all this there was any life left in the
poor child. The neighbours took her to her mother, who plastered all
her wounds with red earth and left her lying in the corner of the
room for some ten days. Then, taking the advice of some friends,
they procured a cradle and lifted the poor wee child into it, and
hoisted the cradle and its occupant on the back of a donkey, and took
her some five days' journey to Julfa. They had heard of the Mission
Hospital through some of their villagers, who had been treated there,
and so they brought this little victim of Persian cruelty to the lady
doctor, who took her in, dressed her wounds, and laid her in a clean,
comfortable bed. All that human love and kindness could do was done to
alleviate her sufferings, but nothing could save her life, and after
three days she passed away--a martyr indeed to the creed of Islam,
which enables and allows men to treat their women as something lower
than the beasts of the field.
Ought not the cries of distress and agony from the poor women of Persia
so to rouse us, their sisters in England, that we shall determine to
do all that lies in our power to lighten their burdens and to bring
some rays of light into the dark lives of our Eastern sisters?
One thing which adds greatly to the misery of these women is the
ease with which their husbands can divorce them. A wife never knows
from day to day whether or no her lord may not divorce her. Often
for most trivial matters a man will cast away his wife. This being
the case, the woman will lie and deceive her husband in order to
escape divorcement. If the wives of Persia could only be raised to
the level of true womanhood I believe they would become good wives
and mothers, but while they are what they are, how can there be any
hope for them? There is nothing but utter darkness till the true
Light shines into their lives, and then and then only will the day
break for these downtrodden, degraded beings.
The Persian ladies are great beauty specialists, and bestow a good
deal of attention upon their complexion and general make-up. They do
not believe in beauty unadorned, for even when quite young they use the
rouge-pot very freely, and often use it to great advantage too! I have
often known a girl who was quite ordinary-looking, sallow and dark in
complexion, but when dressed for her wedding I hardly recognised her,
so changed was she by all the numerous "aids" to beauty. Her cheeks
were now a lovely rose tint, and her eyebrows darkened and lengthened
till they almost met in the middle, and the edges of her eyelids were
also blackened with "kola," and really the effect was very good.
They also spend much time and trouble in dyeing their hair with henna,
not only from a fear of grey hair, but also because the dull red tint
produced by henna is the fashionable colour.
The Persian lady has very little in her life to elevate or refine
her mind, and so we cannot wonder if at times we see in her many
revolting characteristics. When we think of all she has to endure,
and how little happiness comes to her lot, our wonder is that she
retains even a semblance of womanhood. Should we be any better under
like circumstances?
If a woman is treated continually as if she was nothing but a beast
of burden, is it to be wondered at that in some cases her nature
becomes almost as the beasts of the field? Weird stories are told of
the extremities to which women have been driven, and the cruelties
which they have perpetrated.
The following is one which I heard when in Persia. It was in the days
when famine was rampant throughout the land. There was a certain man of
high position who collected and stored all the corn he could gather,
and then refused to sell at anything but famine prices; finally he
was arrested and sent to Teheran, where he was tried and condemned
to death. The Shah could not determine on the manner of death to be
ordered for this rascal, but at last decided to hand the unfortunate
man over to the mercies of the royal anderoon to be put to death by
them. The ladies and women servants consulted together, and decided
to keep the wretch in their quarters and kill him by inches, day by
day. The method they chose was to cut him to pieces with scissors
till he died!
I cannot vouch for the truth of this story, and I trust it is not
true, but I give it to you as I heard it. But one thing I know to
be true, and that is, when a Persian woman is once roused to anger,
jealousy, and passion, there is hardly anything too dreadful for her
to contemplate doing, in her longing for revenge.