Part 8

The members of the little caravan had now been travelling together for three days, and this short time was amply sufficient to establish the friendliest feelings of good fellowship amongst them. Of course, no one entertained the faintest suspicion of my being one of those Europeans, the barest touch of whom renders a Shi-ite unclean, and with whom to eat out of the same plate is a capital sin. In their eyes I was the Effendi from Constantinople, the guest of the Turkish Embassy, who instigated by a desire to travel was about to visit imperial Isfahan and Shiraz, the paradise-like. I rapidly made friends with most of the company, although some of the most obdurate Shi-ites could not refrain, at times, from casting in my teeth the manifold wrong-doings of the Sunnites. One man in particular, a shoemaker, whose tall green turban denoted his descent from Ali, annoyed me with his everlasting reiterations of the sinful usurpations of the three Caliphs. The quieter members of the company would try to soothe his ruffled spirits on such occasions, and turn the conversation into calmer channels; but my man very soon came back to the charge, and waxing warm with his favourite topic, he would take hold of the horse's bridle and talk with as much animation about the case of succession mooted a trifle of twelve hundred years ago, as though the whole affair had happened but yesterday.

_Kum_, with its green cupolas, loomed up before our eyes on the fourth day of our march. It is the sacred city of the Persian female world, for here, in the company of 444 saints, repose in eternal sleep the remains of Fatima, a sister to Imam (Saint) Riza, who, longing to see her brother, undertook for that purpose a journey from Bagdad to Meshed, but, on her way, was attacked by sickness in Kum, and died there. Kum, like Kerbela, is a favourite place of burial for Persian women, who cause their remains to be brought to this place from all parts of the country. But the town of Kum enjoys the less enviable distinction of being known as the abode of numerous evil-doers, owing to its having the privilege of sanctuary; and he who is lucky enough to escape the hands of the executioner, and to find a refuge within its sacred walls, is safe from all molestation.

Every member of our caravan was eager to visit Kum, some wanting to take part in the penitential processions as pilgrims, others to make purchases and to attend to their affairs. At a considerable distance from Kum, the environs, like those of all places of resort for pilgrims, are dotted by small heaps of stones, which are raised by the hands of pious pilgrims, amidst the chanting of sacred psalms. Here and there a bush can be seen, too, decorated with the gaudiest kind of rags which are hanging on it. Every one is anxious to leave some mark of his devotion in the neighbourhood; according to their inclinations, some resort to stones, others to rags in the accomplishment of their devotional duties. It is said that in former times another custom prevailed by which travellers might pay their tribute of respect--every passer-by would drive a nail into some tree on the road. I, too, dismounted and hung upon a bush a red silk tassel from my keffie. What a wonderful collection of fabrics from all parts of the world! On these bushes are represented the costly handiwork of India and Cashmere, the manufactures of England and America, and the humble frieze and coarse linen of the nomadic Turkoman, Arab and Kurdistan tribes. Now and then the eye is caught by a magnificent shawl suspended on the branches of a bush, exciting no doubt the cupidity of more than one pious pilgrim passing by; but it is perfectly safe, as no one would dare to touch it, it being considered the blackest act of sacrilege to remove any of these tokens of piety.

Before reaching the town we had to pass a cemetery of extraordinary dimensions, almost two English miles in length. My fellow-travellers, however, perceiving my astonishment at the extent of the burial ground, assured me that in point of size it could not be compared to that of Kerbek. We were in Kum at last; our caravan put up at the caravansary in the centre of the bazaar, and I learned with pleasure that we were to take a two days' rest here.

As pious pilgrims we allowed ourselves but little time for rest, and shortly after our arrival, having washed and brushed our clothes, we repaired to the holy tomb. No European before me ever saw the interior of this sanctuary, for there is no power on earth to procure admission to it for a Frengi.

Innumerable Seids, entrusted with the custody of the tomb of their "first ancestress," are camping in the outer courtyard, planted with trees. A chapel with a richly gilded cupola rises in the centre of the inner court. Twelve marble steps lead up to the door. The pilgrims remove their shoes at the first of these steps; their arms or sticks are taken away from them, and not until they have kissed the marble threshold are they permitted to enter. The beholder is struck with the extraordinary splendour of the interior of the chapel. The coffin, enclosed by a strong trellised bar of solid silver, remains always covered with a costly carpet. From the enclosure are suspended tablets containing prayers, which the faithful either read themselves, or have read to them by one of the numerous Seids who are loitering about. Any amount of shouting, singing, weeping, and moaning, and vociferous begging of the Seids is going on in the chapel; but this infernal din does not interfere with the devotions of a great number of pious pilgrims, who, leaning their foreheads against the cold bars of the enclosure, gaze with fixed eyes upon the coffin, and mutter their silent prayers. I particularly admired the many valuable and precious objects, ornaments of pearls and diamonds, arms inlaid with gold, which were laid down upon the tomb of St. Fatima as sacrificial gift-offerings. My Bagdad costume offended the eye of many a person in the fanatic Shi-ite crowd, but, thanks to the kindness of my fellow-travellers, I experienced no annoyance whatever. From the tomb of Fatima the pilgrims frequently go to the tombs of some of the great ones of the earth; and I followed my companions to the tomb of Feth Ali Shah and his two sons, who for some reason or other stood in particularly high favour with the devout. The tomb was of the purest alabaster, and the portraits of the departed ones were very cleverly carved into it on the outside. After having thus accomplished our pious devotions, we felt at liberty to wander back to the town and look at its remarkable sights.

Here, as elsewhere, the first thing to look at was the bazaar. We were just then in the season of ripe fruit, and the whole bazaar was filled with the water-melons, which are so celebrated throughout all Persia. The water-melon is, during autumnal months, the almost exclusive food of one portion of the people of Iran, and its juice is frequently used in case of sickness for its medicinal properties. The Kum bazaar is remarkable not only for the abundance and delicacy of its water-melons, but also for its earthenware, one variety of which in particular, a long-necked pitcher, manufactured from potter's clay taken from the soil of the sacred city, is highly valued in trade. As I was making my rounds in the bazaar, examining everything, I happened to stop before a muslin dyer's shop. The Persian tradesman was industriously engaged in stamping and printing the rude stuff spread out before him, by means of stencils, which had been previously dipped in a blue dye, pressing them down with all his strength; and as he observed me looking at his doings, he turned upon me angrily, and evidently taking me for a Frengi, exclaimed: "We shall get rid of your expensive cotton fabrics, and will by and by know all your tricks of trade; and when the Persians will be able to do without Frengistan manufacture, I know you will all come begging to us."

We left Kum on the third day after our arrival there, and passing through several smaller places, where nothing worthy of note could be seen, we came to _Kashan_, after a fatiguing march of two days. My Persian fellow-travellers, long before we arrived in Kashan, were praising up, in the most extravagant style, as usual, the beauty and attractions of that town. For my part, the only thing of note I saw there was the bazaar of the braziers, where the celebrated kettles of Kashan are being manufactured. About eighty braziers' shops are standing close to each other in a line, and in each of them muscular arms are hammering away the whole blessed day. The brass wares manufactured here are considered to be without rivals in point of solid workmanship and elegance. Those highly polished bricks, which retain the brilliancy of their shining colours for centuries, are said to have been invented in this town. Formerly they were called bricks of Kashan, but now they are known only by the name of Kashi, and serve as the chief ornaments in all architectural monuments throughout Central Asia. The inhabitants had also a great deal to tell about a dangerous species of scorpion, which made Kashan their home, but from motives of hospitality never hurt a stranger. I never came across any of these scorpions, but I had a great deal to suffer from a no less annoying tribe of animals, the _lutis_ (strolling comedians), who attack every stranger coming to Kashan, and from whose clutches nothing can save you except a ransom in the shape of some gift. About ten of them stood there looking out for me as I was entering the caravansary, and immediately made a rush upon me, some producing hideous earsplitting music with their fifes, drums and trumpets, others showing off a dancing bear; and one of them, seating himself opposite to me, engaged in a declamation, at the top of his voice, of a panegyrical poem, in my honour, in which, to my utter astonishment, I heard my name mentioned. Of course, he had managed to ferret out my name from my companions. I bore the infliction for a little while patiently enough, listening to this charivari of sounds, but finally retired. But it was not an easy thing, by any means, to effect my retreat, for I was followed, on the spot, by one of the artists, evidently the chief of the strolling company, insisting upon some remuneration; and although I argued with him that I was but a beggar myself, he would not listen to reason, but bravely stood his place until I had given him something.

Leaving Kashan we had to proceed along a narrow mountain pass, flanked by gigantic rocks and mountains of strange and fantastic shapes. The moon shed a light almost as clear as that of the day, and the wonderful tints in which the landscape before me was clothed seemed to vary and change at every step we took. When we arrived beneath the great Bend, as is called the large water-basin cut by Shah Abbas the Great into the solid rock, in order to convey the waters produced by the snow melting on the mountains to the sterile plain not far off, the scene before us was startling in its rare and exceeding beauty. Although it was late in autumn, the oval-shaped basin, formed by the enclosed valley, was brimful of water, and the waterfall rushing down the rocky wall from a height of fifty feet looked in the moonlit night, to borrow a Persian phrase, like a river of diamonds. The deep roar of the waterfall is heard far off in the stilly night, and the tired traveller coming from the desert and quenching his thirst at the limpid waters of the basin, would not exchange the refreshing and crystal-like fluid for all the costly wines in the world.

The road from _Kuhrud_ goes uphill for a time, and then inclines with a rather abrupt slope towards the plain lying on the other side of the mountain, where our next station was to be. The mornings had grown rather chilly and the travellers used to dismount on the way and pick up stray sticks of _buta_, a species of gumwood growing in bushes, which burns very well in its green state, but blazes with a loud crackling sound when dry. It is usual to raise a large pile of these sticks and then kindle it; the travellers range themselves round the blazing fire and afterwards resume their journey. We were standing for the second time, on the same morning, around this sort of fire when we were suddenly startled by the sound of voices, in the rear, mingling with savage exclamations, as if people were quarrelling, and upon listening attentively we heard two reports from firearms, and the loud yelling of some person badly hurt. The whole caravan was thoroughly alarmed, and, running in the direction whence the report of the firearm had proceeded, found there lying on the ground one of our companions, with a shattered arm. The affray had happened in this way. Several horsemen who were conveying the annual taxes from Shiraz to Teheran had come up with a couple of Jewish shopkeepers, whom they first insulted, and afterwards, passing from insult to injury, were about to lay violent hands upon. One of our company, a Persian, happening to be present, had pity on the poor Jews, stood up in their defence and took the impudent fellows from Shiraz rather roughly to task for their unbecoming conduct. One of the horsemen, a hotheaded young fellow, became so enraged at this interference, that he lifted his rifle and shot at the Jews. He afterwards pretended that the whole thing had been a joke, that he intended only to frighten one of the Jews by sending a bullet through his tall fur cap, but that unluckily he missed his aim and hit, instead, the Persian's arm. The incident so exasperated the whole caravan that our men at once started in pursuit of the culprit, who had meanwhile turned his horse's head and galloped away for his life, at a break-neck speed, but he was finally overtaken, dreadfully beaten, spit at amid loud curses, securely tied and brought back to the caravansary. Both the Shiraz man, who was bruised all over, and our wounded companion being unable to proceed either on foot or on horseback, they were placed side by side each in a basket, upon the back of a mule, and in the course of half an hour they were chatting away in the friendliest manner. They tied up each other's wounds, consoled one another, and went so far in their newborn friendship as to kiss each other; for according to the Eastern way of thinking neither of them was to be held responsible for what had happened. Fate had willed it so, and in its decrees every one must acquiesce.

In a village, called _Murtchekhar_, the judge of that place, evidently desirous of currying favour with the governor of Shiraz, attempted to liberate him, but the caravan stoutly refused to give him up, and only delivered him over, later, into the hands of justice, at Isfahan.

On the 13th of September I saw Isfahan, the former capital of Shah Abbas, through the thin mist of the morning. Whenever a Persian, and, especially a native of Isfahan, sets his eyes, after an absence of some time, upon his native town he is sure to exclaim: "Isfahan is half the world, but for Lahore," meaning thereby that Isfahan is, after Lahore, the largest city in the world. But its beauty is only on the surface; its streets are small, dirty and miserable.

XIII.

FROM ISFAHAN TO THE SUPPOSED TOMB OF CYRUS.

The bazaar here, as in other cities, attracted my attention, it being the centre of every Eastern town. For hours one can wander through these lofty and covered streets, branching off in every direction and leading to every part of the town, and a stranger, unless conducted by a practical cicerone, may very easily lose his way. The sight of this bazaar must have been a truly magnificent one while the town was in a flourishing condition, but now it is almost deserted, and in the many splendid and spacious shops only stray water-melon sellers still linger.

A road leads from the bazaar to the celebrated _Meidani Shah_ (the Shah's chief public square). This is an immense square, enclosed on every side by shops, which were in olden times the marts for the most costly articles of luxury, but are now crumbling into dust. I then visited the mosque of Lutf Ali, the gates of which are said to have been covered in ancient times with silver. From the balcony of this building the view is a splendid one, and I enjoyed a truly impressive sight. There lay stretched out before me the immense square of Meidani Shah, and in my imagination I conjured up the ancient splendour of the city and repeopled the square with surging crowds. I fancied I saw the great Shah Abbas review from this very balcony thousands of his warriors who had gathered from every part of Asia to pay homage to their powerful king; the Persians who had inherited the horsemanship of the Parthians, the Turkomans on their swift Arab steeds, the Afghans, the Georgians, the Indians, the Armenians--these savage and stalwart forms of antiquity, they all used to gather here. And to-day it is a sad and forlorn desert, the silence of the grave brooding over it. One corner of the square serves twice a week as a market-place for dealers in asses, and occasionally, on a holiday, a green turbaned procession headed by the chief priest may be seen passing through it.

I had an opportunity of getting acquainted with all classes of the inhabitants of Isfahan at the house of the Imam Djuma, _i.e._, the high priest. He was the most influential priest in Persia, and at the capital he went by the name of _Aga Buzurg_ (great lord). Indeed he was the real Pope of the Shi-ite sect, and the letters of recommendation, brought with me from Teheran, procured me admission to his house. I was very cordially received by him and invited to call on him on the evening of the following day. Aga Buzurg is one of those Seids whose descent from the house of Ali is least doubted, and very proud he is of his origin. The company I met there treated me as Shi-ites generally treat their Sunnite guest--they could not refrain from occasionally launching out in satirical and biting remarks. The master of the house only made a few condemnatory remarks, blaming the government of Constantinople for its friendship with the European Powers. But he did not omit to praise the tolerance of the Sultan towards the Shi-ites, who could now journey, unmolested, to Mecca and Medina, without being exposed to the annoyances and outrages they had formerly to submit to. To avoid familiarity and for the purpose of preserving his dignity, he was very chary of his words, and retired very soon after supper was over.

I found the middle classes of Isfahan to be remarkably cultivated. There were shoemakers, tailors and shopkeepers who knew hundreds of verses of their best poets by heart, and were quite familiar with the masterpieces in the literature of their country. They are, as a rule, very intelligent, poetic, and quick at a telling retort. Malcolm, the excellent English writer on Persia, relates the story how, at the time when most of the high offices in the Persian towns were filled by relatives of the Vezir Hadji Ibrahim, a merchant who was unable to pay his taxes was summoned to the presence of a brother of Hadji Ibrahim, the governor of Isfahan, and upon entering was addressed by the latter, in an angry tone of voice, as follows:

"If thou art not able to pay like the others, begone, get thee gone!"

"Where shall I go?" asked the merchant.

"Go to Shiraz or Kashan."

"Oh, sir, then it would be going from the frying-pan into the fire, for thy cousin is governing in one place, and thy uncle in the other."

"Then go to the king and make complaint."

"This would not help me much, either, for there again thy brother is prime minister."

"Then go to h----," thundered at him the irate governor.

"Oh, sir, it is not so very long that thy sainted father, the pious Hadji, is dead," retorted the witty Persian.

The governor thereupon burst out laughing, and said: "Since thou findest it so hard to be reconciled to my relatives, I will pay thy debts for thee."

I occupied in Isfahan the same lodgings as my fellow-traveller, the singer of elegies. He found here ample opportunity to practise his art, and exhibited his performances several times during the day, at the bazaar and in the courtyards of the mosques. He yelled, bellowed, wept, indulged in the most heartrending lamentations, and could, at his pleasure, set going "the fruitful river in the eye" and shed a shower of veritable tears. But on returning home, after the day's hard work was over, the spirit of tragedy deserted him at once, and he gave way to the merriest and most rollicking humour. I went, in his company, amongst people of every kind and rather mixed societies, but he was a man commanding respect everywhere. He would at first sing a sacred song or two and then pass over to worldly ones; and although he wore a green turban in token of his descent from the family of the Prophet, he drank like a trooper.

The inhabitants of Isfahan are very proud of their city; they are rather conceited, and think themselves better than the rest of the Persians. The king and the royal family, with their Turkish soldiery, are dreaded and hated by them. They look upon the authority of Imam Djuma as superior to that of the king. Fabulous accounts are circulated about the immense wealth of that chief priest, who keeps a thousand _lutis_ (strolling players) in his hire. These lutis spread amongst the people wonderful accounts of the chief priest's miraculous power, and it is they who scatter broadcast the vilest slanders concerning the royal family, for the king having power over everybody except the chief priest of Isfahan, the relations between him and Imam Djuma were never of the friendliest kind.

I passed two weeks in Isfahan and had an excellent opportunity to see the noteworthy sights and to observe all the classes of society in the town. We made arrangements with the same leader of the caravan who brought us to this place concerning the continuation of our journey, and almost the entire company met at the appointed time at a caravansary outside the town. We wasted three more days here, and I employed the time in making short excursions in the neighbourhood. Of the remarkable things I saw I will mention only the movable towers of _Munare Djomdjom_. The two towers are on the mosque of the village of _Khaledan_, about an hour's distance from Isfahan. They are about twelve feet high and stand about twenty paces apart. I stepped with my guide on the terrace, and upon his seizing hold of, and shaking with all his might, one of the towers, I became sensible of a motion like that caused by an earthquake not only in the other tower, but in the entire front of the building. This remarkable building, the secret of whose architecture has descended into the grave with its builder, has been considerably damaged by the frequent exhibition of its movableness. The Persians attribute the miracle to the saint reposing beneath it.