Part 5

Kizil-dize is the name of the first village on Persian soil. Leaving it we came to the base of _Ararat_. Mount Ararat, whose tapering head is covered with snow even in summer, was at that season clad in its wintry garb to more than half its height. The inhabitants of the surrounding country all insist that the remains of Noah's Ark may still be seen on its top, and many a _vartabet_ (priest), rich in grace, boasts of having seen with his own eyes the precious relics of the holy Ark in the waters, clear as crystal, of a lake on the top of the mountain. Others, again, produce chips from the remains of the Ark, and recommend it highly against pain in the stomach, sore eyes, and other maladies; and woe to him who would dare to cast the slightest doubt upon the existence, to this day, of at least two planks and a couple of masts of Noah's Ark on mount Ararat. During my travels in Asia I came across four other places, of which sacred tradition tells that Noah's Ark had rested there, and at least four other places, again, where people have discovered the unmistakable traces of the scriptural Paradise.

After we crossed the Turco-Persian border line the country became visibly more and more beautiful, as if Nature meant to support the haughty presumptuousness of the Persians. The most modest and reserved of my Persian fellow-travellers kept on saying during the whole journey, "Iran is a land very different from thine, Effendi! Look out, thou shalt see wonders." The faces of the Persians beamed with indescribable joy from the moment they had set their eyes upon the first Persian village, for the poor fellows had a great deal to suffer, all the way from Erzerum, in the numerous Armenian villages. According to the rigid Shi-ite law, not only is the Christian impure, but he defiles everything he touches, and the pious Shi-ite will rather starve than eat of any food a Christian had come in contact with.

We slept for the first time on Persian soil, in _Ovadjik_. Here, in Iran, I thought it advisable to part with my dignity of Effendi, for in the country of the Shi-ites, everything that approaches, in the least, the Sunnite faith of the Turks, is hated and despised, although both sects are professors of Islam.

We started early in the morning, on the 5th of June, and as our way was to lead us, on that day, through the _Karaayne_ mountains, which did not enjoy the best reputation for safety, my Armenian companions thought it proper to provide themselves with the escort of a small number of mounted armed men. Fortunately nothing unpleasant happened. We came to _Karaayne_ early in the afternoon, and I was delighted to hear issuing, from the house opposite to our quarters, sounds of music, the report of firearms, and shouts of merriment. They were celebrating a wedding, and, upon my question, if the wedding folks would have any objection to my going over and looking at them, I was taken there, at once, by the son of my host. A numerous troop of groomsmen had just arrived when we entered, in order to conduct the bride from the paternal house to her husband. They gave notice of their arrival outside by the report of firearms, then entered, wrapped a red-coloured veil round the bride, led her out into the street, and two of the groomsmen assisted her to mount her horse. Although her wide dress, falling down in many folds, impeded her movements, she sat quite firmly in the saddle. The bride was then surrounded by the women, singing in chorus a very curious song, the burden of which, repeated at the end of each stanza, was: "Let friend remain friend, and the enemy turn blind, O Allah!" At last, the procession started for the house of the bridegroom. I, too, mixed with the crowd, accompanying them, and was afterwards invited to take a prominent seat at the table. Wedding gifts were collected of the guests during the meal. The marriage rites agreed in every particular with those used by the Turcomans.

We had proceeded about two hours on the road leading from Karaayne to _Tchuruk_, our nearest station, when we were startled by a peculiar kind of barking and howling, coming from the depths of the mountains before us. We had just reached an eminence on the road. Our little company of travellers halted at once, and our Persian escort, bending their eyes anxiously upon the entrance of the deep road, prepared their arms for action. The howling grew louder and louder, and suddenly a magnificent stag burst upon our sight, hotly pursued by two wolves. The Persians, who are very fond of the chase, were electrified by this sight, and two of them springing forward advanced in a run towards the animal--one of the two, although running, took such excellent aim at it, that upon his firing the beautiful deer fell lifeless to the ground. The wolves were scared by the shooting and ran away. One of the wolves however, as soon as everything became quiet again, either pushed by hunger, or feeling sore at the loss of his prey, soon reappeared to our great surprise. The hunters allowed him to approach, unmolested, within a few paces from the lifeless stag, and then fired at him, killing him on the spot. Every member of our small company was delighted with the adventure. We dismounted, stripped off the skin of the deer, cut him up and set to work at once to roast the best parts on the spit, leaving the rest of the carcass and the wolf behind us.

The first place of note the traveller from the west comes to, in Persia, is called _Khoy_. I was particularly struck by its bazaar. The life and commotion in it was marked by that primitive quaintness and splendour of ancient times which are, to a great extent, wanting in the Stambul bazaars, owing to the influence of the Europeans. Any one who has witnessed in Khoy, during the hours of the forenoon, the stir and bustle in the cool and narrow streets, watched the gesticulations of buyers and sellers, seen the variety of splendid fabrics and arms, and the food offered for sale, and observed the behaviour of the thronging and screaming crowd, must own that in the matter of Oriental characteristics, at least, the bazaar of Constantinople is inferior to that of Khoy.

The first impression was a truly bewildering and bewitching one, I could hardly tear myself away from the strange spectacle; the peculiar sounds, the strange din and noise, the seething life everywhere, were things I had never witnessed before. As I was entering a place, topped by a cupola, where about thirty braziers were striking away, with a will, each at a kettle or pan, I was struck with astonishment upon seeing that, in the midst of this infernal din, there were, in an unoccupied portion of the building, two schools in full blast. There sat the school-master--amongst the children who were ranged round him in the shape of a half moon--armed with a long stick probably in order to enable him to reach the children sitting on the hind-most forms. I went quite near them and listened with the utmost attention, but could not catch a solitary word, although both teacher and pupils were screaming at the top of their lungs. The exertion told on them, too, for with their inflated red faces and starting veins they looked like so many infuriated turkeys. They pretend, nevertheless, that an improper stress laid upon any Arabic word in the Koran, by any children, is immediately observed and duly rebuked by the master.

I was surprised, even more agreeably, by the neat little caravansary which we entered. The traveller meets everywhere in Arabia and Turkey with dirty khans only; but here, in Persia, where, from ancient times, much care has been bestowed upon the comfort and facilities of intercourse, the caravansaries will be found to be inns which--I am speaking, of course, of Eastern pretensions--leave nothing to be desired. These inns stand mostly in the due centre of the bazaar, and generally form a square building, each side of which is divided off into a certain number of cells. A half circular opening, doing service both as a door and window, leads to a terrace-like elevation running round the building. Beneath it are placed the stables, so that a traveller, living on the first floor, can be ostler to his own horse, on the ground floor. This terrace is from four to six feet high, and leads to what is in reality the yard, in the centre of which there is a well, often surrounded by a small flower-garden. The cells offer a cool and pleasant retreat during the day, and a place of safety, for travellers, during the night. The _dalundar_ (door-keeper), who is stationed at the cupola-shaped entrance-door, is charged with maintaining order. This person is quick in discerning the rank and station of a traveller, by his horse and saddle-gear, and he provides him with corresponding accommodation. Sentinels are stationed on the flat roofs during the night, who are scaring away with their monotonous cries all evil-doers, and it is a rare thing for theft or robbery to be committed at the caravansaries.

We left Khoy towards evening, on the 8th of June, for fear of being interrupted in our journey, on account of the feast of _Kuram Bairam_ (the month of merry-making after the fast), and stopped at the village of _Hadji Aga_, inhabited altogether by _Seids_, that is, descendants of the prophet. These men are the most pretentious men in all Persia in their pride of descent, but they are especially arrogant in their behaviour towards strangers, and indeed one must have Job's patience to bear their impertinences meekly. No matter how rich they are, they will beg wherever they see a chance of getting something. Indeed they do not ask for any alms, but they impose a tax, due to them as the descendants of the head of Islam. They commit capital crimes, under the plea of sanctity, and the people rarely dare to call them to account. The authorities seem to be less indulgent, for I was told that the governor of Tebriz, to the horror of the whole world, condemned a Seid who had committed robbery to death by fire. The Mollahs fell to protesting, but the governor gave them the following reply: "If he is a true Seid he will not be touched by the flames," and caused the culprit to be cast into the blazing pile.

VII.

IN TEBRIZ.

Tebriz is a town of remote antiquity, and is said to have been built by the wife of Harun el Rashid. But of the ancient greatness and splendour in which Tebriz was said to have once vied with the city of Raghes, very little is now to be seen. Its commerce, however, is quite as flourishing to-day as it was reputed to have been in ancient times. The grand life of the bazaar had surprised me already at Khoy, but compared to that of Tebriz, it was only a picture in miniature. Here the din and noise, the stir and bustle, the pushing and elbowing, the stifling crowds are magnified a hundredfold. At the recommendation of several persons I put up at the Emir Caravansary, which, however, it took me over an hour to find. Not being used to this deafening noise, and to pushing through such dense crowds of people and mules without number, which seemed perilous to both life and limb, I was apprehensive lest I might at any moment ride over somebody with my horse. In recalling how the dervishes were dancing onward ahead of me through this dire confusion, uttering their unearthly screams, brandishing high, and casting up, into the air their sharp axes, seizing them again by their handles upon coming down, I wonder, to this day, how I ever got safely to the Emir Caravansary.

My Armenian companions ordered a modest cell for me, and, as they had already reached their place of destination, they parted, with the promise of returning the next day and installing themselves as my guides through their native city. I sat down at the door of my narrow little room and remained there until late in the evening, partly to take some rest after my previous fatigues, partly to watch the life stirring about me. Very soon, true to the custom of their country, a curious crowd gathered around me; by some I was taken to be a merchant and was offered goods by them, by others a money changer and was asked if I had any Imperiales or Kopeks which I wished to exchange; others, again, offered me their services, judging me by my attire to be a member of the embassy of Teheran. It is wearisome work for a newly-arrived stranger at a caravansary, this being catechised from all sides.

I passed two entire weeks in Tebriz; I desired to rest after the fatigues of my long journey, making, at the same time, excellent use of my leisure in studying the peculiarities of the Shi-ite sect, a study which revealed to me a great deal that was novel and interesting. I did so with all the more pleasure as my uninterrupted stay, for many years, among all the Sunnite circles, my perfect knowledge of their modes of life, customs, and dispositions, had especially fitted me for instituting relevant comparisons.

I had been often told that the Shi-ites were the Protestants of Islam, and their superior intelligence and industry led me to at one time share this supposition. I was therefore quite astonished to find, on the very day of my arrival, wherever I turned, instances of a fanaticism far more savage, and of a sanctimoniousness far more glaring, than I had ever met with in Turkey. First of all I was disagreeably impressed with the reserve and spirit of exclusiveness shown by the Persians towards Europeans. They are commanded by their law, for instance, in case the hem of a European's garment but happens to touch the dress of a Persian, that the Persian immediately becomes _nedjiz_, that is, unclean, and must forthwith resort to a bath to regain his purity. My faith in their cleanliness, of which they were so fond of boasting, very soon received a rude shock, in witnessing the following scene. In the centre of the yard of the caravansary, as everywhere else, is placed a basin full of water, originally intended for the performance of ritual lavations, but, as I was watching their proceedings at the basin, I saw that whilst at one side of the reservoir some were washing their dirty things, others placing half-tanned skins into the same water for soaking, and a third was cleansing his baby, there were standing men on the opposite side of the basin, gravely performing their religious washings with the identical water, and one of them, who must have been very thirsty indeed, crouched down and eagerly drank of the dark green fluid. I could not repress at the sight a manifestation of loathing. A Persian, standing near, immediately confronted me and reproved me for my ignorance. He asked me if I did not know that according to the _Sheriat_ (the holy law) a quantity of water, in excess of a hundred and twenty pints, turns blind, that is, it cannot become soiled or unclean.

In mentioning their fanaticism I cannot omit citing a remarkable instance of it in the person of one of their wonderful dervishes. This man happened to pass just then through Tebriz, and was an object of general admiration at the bazaar. He was thoroughly convinced that the divinity of the Caliphate, after the death of Mohammed, ought, by right, to have devolved upon Ali, Mohammed's son-in-law, and not upon Abubekr, the prophet's brother-in-law. Acting upon this conviction, he had solemnly vowed, more than thirty years before, that he would never employ his organs of speech otherwise but in uttering, everlastingly, the name of his favourite, _Ali! Ali!_ He thus wished to signify to the world that he was the most devoted partisan of that Ali who had been defunct more than a thousand years. In his own home, speaking with his wife, children and friends, no other word but "Ali!" ever passed his lips. If he wanted food or drink, or anything else, he expressed his wants still by repeating "Ali!" Begging or buying at the bazaar it was always "Ali!" Treated ill or generously, he would still harp on his monotonous "Ali!" Latterly his zeal assumed such tremendous proportions that, like a madman, he would race, the whole day, up and down the streets of the town, throwing his stick high up into the air, and shriek out, all the while, at the top of his voice, "Ali!" This dervish was venerated by everybody as a saint, and received everywhere with great distinction. The wealthiest man of a town presented him once with a magnificent steed, saddle, bridle and all. He immediately vaulted into the saddle and sped along the streets uttering his customary fierce cry. The colour of his dress was either white or green, and the staff he carried corresponded in colour with the dress he wore. When he came to the front of the Emir Caravansary, he stopped and lifted his voice, midst the frightful din of the bazaar, with such tremendous power, shouting "Ali! Ali!" that the veins on his head and neck started out like strings.

After passing a few days at Tebriz, it dawned upon me that this, indeed, was genuine Eastern life, and that distant Stambul, the gaudily painted curtain of the Eastern world, presented but a tame and lifeless and somewhat Europified picture of the Orient. True, after the first excitement at the great variety of wonderful sights was over, my mind immediately reverted to the sweets of Western life, and right glad was I, therefore, to meet, at the caravansary, with two Swiss gentlemen of culture, Mr. Würth and Mr. Hanhardt. They at once insisted upon my moving my quarters to their lodgings, but I declined with thanks, availing myself, however, at times, of their cordial invitation to take my meals with them. Through them I became acquainted with other Europeans residing here, and it was to me a source of great delight to change about, and after having passed with Europeans a considerable time discussing Western ideas and conversing in a Western tongue, all of a sudden to become an Effendi again in some Persian society. My fancy was tickled by this almost theatrical transition from the East to the West and back again; I used to indulge in this pastime with great pleasure while in Stambul.

The Persian world rather wondered at my intimacy with the Europeans, but refrained from making any comments upon it to me, knowing that the Sunnites, to whom I was supposed to belong, were far less rigorous than the Shi-ites in their intercourse with persons differing from them in faith. If my European friends communicated to me their views of certain local institutions and customs, I did not accept them unconditionally; I looked at them, again, in the light shed upon them by the observations and feelings of the natives on the subject. Should some kind reader wish to rebuke me for my seeming double-facedness, I have only to say that I shall meekly submit to it, but that, at the same time, I am indebted to the acting of this double part for the satisfaction I had in obtaining a proper insight into native life, and being able to gather many and varied experiences about the nations of the East, from the Bosphorus to Samarkand.

It was here, in the Caravansary Emir, that I met with a rather curious adventure, which I must relate. One afternoon, whilst the heat was rather unbearably strong, I sat at the door of my cell, and engaged myself, as is usual with dervishes, in delivering my linen of certain animals which intrude upon the poor traveller in the East in spite of all his efforts after cleanliness. Two Englishmen, whom I recognized by their Indian hats, and who were strolling in the caravansary, stopped suddenly before me, and after admiring for a while my patient and untasteful occupation, the younger one said to the older, "Look at the hunting zeal of this fellow!" I raised my eyes and said in English, "Will you join, sir?" Amazed, nay bewildered, one of them immediately asked me, "How did you learn English, and what countryman are you?" From reasons formerly explained, I abstained from a further conversation, and notwithstanding all the exertions, I did not utter another English word, nay, withdrew altogether to the interior of my cell.

Years passed, and after returning to Europe I happened to be at an evening party in the house of an English nobleman at Whitehall. Whilst at dinner I recognized in one of the guests present my interlocutor of Tebriz, but unsure of my discovery I did not address him. After dinner, however, the lady of the house asked me to relate something of my perilous adventures, and seeking courage, I asked her to introduce me to the man in whom I supposed a former acquaintance. "Oh, that is Lord R----," said the lady. "Well, I don't know his name, but I have seen him," was my answer. Lord R---- received me politely, but denied the fact of a former acquaintance. Upon my saying, "My lord, you have been to Tebriz, and you do not remember the dervish who addressed you in English?" The extraordinary surprise of Lord R---- was indescribable; he recognized me at once, and related the whole adventure to the highly amused company.

The days I spent in Tebriz passed quickly and pleasantly owing to my intercourse being partly with Europeans and not being exclusively confined to Asiatics. While I was there, an interesting festival took place, to which I succeeded in obtaining admission. The solemn investiture of the recently nominated Veli Ahd (heir apparent to the throne) gave me an opportunity of gazing upon the pageant and pomp of the Orient in all its splendour. Muzaffar-ed-din Mirza, the son of the king, now nine years old, but who, according to the custom of the country, had been elected, in his childhood, successor to the throne, was to be publicly invested with the Khalat, the royal parade robe. The whole town was on the alert. The festival lasted several days, and when, on its first day, I entered through the gate of the Ala Konak (the royal residence), which was surrounded by a dense crowd of people, into the interior court, my curiosity rose to the highest pitch. What a strange contrast of squalor and splendour, of pomp and misery! There, in the covered hall, opposite the gate, were seated the grandees of the land, and amongst them the prince with the principal officers of his household. Every face wore a solemnly grave expression, and the bearing of their manly forms, wrapped in flowing garments, the dignified motion of their arms, the proud carriage of their heads, everything indicated that they were well versed in the art of exhibiting a public pageant. Around the interior of the court were ranged two lines of _serbasses_ (soldiers), sad-looking fellows, in European uniforms and with Persian fur caps on their heads, looking as uncomfortable and awkward as possible in their foreign clothes. The most comical things about them were their cravats, some tied in front, others at the back, and others again anywhere between those two points.

One of the sides of the garden was entirely occupied by loaves of sugar and various Persian cakes and sweetmeats, which it is the custom to place upon huge wooden platters, and without which any festive occasion in Persia would be considered incomplete.