Behind the Veil in Persia and Turkish Arabia
by M. E. Hume-Griffith · English · Gutenberg #39463 · 509,604 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Behind the Veil in Persia and Turkish Arabia
Author: M. E. Hume-Griffith
A. Hume-Griffith
Release date: April 16, 2012 [eBook #39463]
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEHIND THE VEIL IN PERSIA AND TURKISH ARABIA ***
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BEHIND THE VEIL IN PERSIA AND TURKISH ARABIA
An Account of an Englishwoman's Eight Years' Residence Amongst the
Women of the East
By
M. E. HUME-GRIFFITH
With Narratives of Experiences in Both Countries
By
A. Hume-Griffith, M.D., D.P.H.
With 37 Illustrations and a Map
Philadelphia
J. B. Lippincott Company
London: Seeley & Co. Ltd.
1909
I DEDICATE
THIS BOOK
TO
MY HUSBAND
IN LOVING REMEMBRANCE OF
EIGHT HAPPY YEARS
1900-1908
PREFACE
I have endeavoured in this book to give some account of that inner life
of the East of which a traveller, however keen-sighted and intelligent,
seldom gains more than a passing glimpse. In a residence of eight years
in Persia and Turkish Arabia I have become intimate with a large circle
of friends whose life is passed behind the veil, and as the wife of
a medical missionary I have had unusual opportunities of winning
their confidence and becoming acquainted with their thoughts. Of
direct missionary effort I have said very little, but I hope that
the picture I have given may arouse interest in lives spent amongst
surroundings so different from our own.
It is impossible for any one, however unversed in politics, who has
lived so long in Mesopotamia, not to be deeply interested in the future
of the country. While all Europe has been filled with astonishment at
the bloodless revolution in Turkey, we who have become familiar with
its inner life are touched with a feeling of admiration and something
akin to awe. Whatever misgivings there may be as to the permanence
of this reformation we hope and trust that it will endure.
Of one imminent change the effect is likely to be far-reaching. The
new government has secured the services of Sir William Wilcox as
their adviser in great irrigation schemes. Irrigation in Mesopotamia
will change the whole face of the country; vast stretches of desert
will be transformed into a garden, ruined villages will be restored,
a new kingdom may be born, and Babylon possibly rebuilt. Mosul,
practically on the site of ancient Nineveh, will become easy of
access from Europe by means of the Baghdad railway and the restored
navigation of the Tigris. Its waste places may be filled with corn,
and the city be crowned once more with some of its ancient glory.
I should like to take this opportunity of thanking all those who
have kindly allowed me to use their photographs, amongst them the
Rev. C. H. Stileman, Dr. Saati of Mosul, and the Publishing Department
of the Church Missionary Society.
I am indebted to Professor Brown's valuable book entitled "A Year
amongst the Persians" for information on the Babi religion, and to
Sir A. H. Layard's classical work on the excavations of Nineveh,
which I have frequently had occasion to consult.
M. E. H.-G.
CONTENTS
Part I
Chapter I
Early Impressions
Page
Start for Persia--Arrival at Isphahan--Departure for
Kerman--The Land of the Lion and the Sun--A rainy day and its
effects--Eclipse--Locusts--Sand-storms--Land of cats--Modes of
conveyance--Inhabitants 17
Chapter II
Kerman
Short history of Kerman--Its overthrow--City of beggars--Story
of the fort--The jackal's "tale of woe" 30
Chapter III
Persian Industries
Carpet-making--How to tell a good carpet--How
to make a carpet--The cry of the children--Shawl
manufactures--Calico-printing--Brass-work--Agricultural
industries--Water disputes--Kanats--Poppy crops--Wheat and
corn--Tobacco-growing 40
Chapter IV
The Climate of Persia
Resht, Teheran, Isphahan--Dryness of atmosphere--Cellars--Roof
life--Children attacked by jackals--Chequered history of work in
Kerman 50
Chapter V
Holidays in Persia
How to ensure a prosperous journey--Natanz--Astonishment of natives
at sight of hairpins--Pulivagoon--Mahoon--Aliabad--Prince under
canvas--Visit from a Persian princess--A Persian deer hunt 59
Chapter VI
Social Life in Persia
Kerman--House-hunting and building--White ants--Housekeeping
in Kerman--Servant question--Truth v. falsehood--Abdul
Fateh--Bagi--Recreations--Some exciting rides--Persian
etiquette--Dinner at the governor's 71
Chapter VII
The Women of Persia
Home Life--Anderoon, women's quarters--Jealousy in
the anderoon--Anderoon of Khan Baba Khan--Two days in an
anderoon--H.R.H. Princess Hamadane Sultane--Visit to the anderoon
of H.R.H. the Zil-es-Sultan 84
Chapter VIII
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 95
Chapter IX
Some Points in the Moslem Faith
Fasts and feasts--Seyyids, Dervishes, Mullahs--Legends of the
drowning mullah, and the yard-square hole 106
Chapter X
Other Religious Sects
The Bab and Babism--Short sketch of life of the Bab--His
imprisonment and execution--Parsees, or Zoroastrians--Persecutions
of Parsees in seventh century--Sacred writings of Parsees,
Zendavesta--Fire-worshipping--Fire temples--Holy fire--Parsee
wedding--Costume of women--Death customs--Burial customs 116
Chapter XI
Desert Delights
Songs of the desert--Sunsets, sunrises, mirages--Illness in the
desert--Mehman khanehs, caravanserais--Chappa khanehs--Lost in
the desert--Its cruelties and sadness 130
Chapter XII
Persian Medical Missions
The need of them--Work in Isphahan--The "little devil" transformed
into a boy--Amputation--Brothers in adversity--H.R.H. Zil-es-Sultan
as a patient--Fanaticism overcome 140
Chapter XIII
Pioneer Medical Mission Work in Kerman
Waiting for drugs and instruments--Native assistant proves
a broken reed--First operation in Kerman--An anxious
moment--Success--Doctrine of "savab" convenient to the
Moslem--Fanaticism tempered with prudence--Opium slaves--Persian
therapeutics--Persian quacks and their methods--Sure way of curing
cancer--Hysteria 151
Chapter XIV
Medical Mission Work in Yezd
A hospital--A friendly governor--A suspicious
case--Superstition--The opium habit--A case of cataract--We return
to England 164
Part II
Chapter I
The City of Nineveh
The fast of Jonah--The bridge of boats--Traditions as
to ancient history of Mosul--Elkos, birthplace of Nahum
the prophet--Shurgat--Climate of Mosul--Cultivation and
industries--Importance of Mosul 173
Chapter II
The People of Mosul
Population--Moslems--Christians--Chaldeans--Nestorians--Jacobites
--Arabs--Kurds--Jews--Yezidees--Recreations--Warfare
of the slingers--Hammam Ali--The recreation ground of Mosul men
and women 186
Chapter III
The River Tigris
Ancient historical interest--Garden of Eden--Origin of name
unknown--Swiftness--Sources--Navigation--Keleqs--Bathing, fishing,
washing--Crossing rivers 198
Chapter IV
The Children of Mosul
Spoiling process--Despair of the parents--The "god" of the
hareem--Death by burning--Festivities at birth of boy--Cradles
and cradle songs--School life--Feast in honour of a boy having
read the Koran through--"Only a girl"--Girl life--Girl victims
of Naseeb--Marriage 208
Chapter V
The Moslem Women of Mosul
Beauty behind the veil--Types of beauty--My dear old friend of 110
years of age--Aids to beauty described--Pretty children--Beauty
tainted with sin--Imprisonment of women--Peeps into some
hareems--Warm receptions--A visit from the ladies of a select
hareem--Love the magic key to open hearts 219
Chapter VI
Moslem Family Life
No home life--Women equal with the beasts--Evils
of divorce--Naseeb--The will of God--Truth and
falsehood--Honesty prevalent--A thief caught--Swearing and
anti-swearing--Fighting--Hair-tearing and biting--Hammam, the
ladies' club 231
Chapter VII
Customs of Mosul
Wedding ceremonies--Great expense to parents--Method of
procedure--Funeral customs--Customs at birth--Some other customs
244
Chapter VIII
Dreams and Visions
Ezekiel's vision by the river Chebar--Our vision by the river
Khabour--Rivers identical--"A wheel within a wheel"--Babylonish
emblem of divinity--Origin of the cherubim--Dream of a woman
suffering from cataract--Effect of dream on her character--Watch
and chain recovered by means of a "faked" dream--Illustration
of the doctrine of Kismet or Naseeb--"Ghosts" in our
compound--Atmosphere of ghosts bad for fowls 257
Chapter IX
Manners and Superstitions in Mosul
Characteristics of inhabitants of Mosul--Social habits--Love of
drink--An effectual cure--Gambling--Tel Kaif: a story of Uncle
Goro--The Angel of Death, and other titles--Difficulties over
name and age--Some superstitions--Effect of scent on women--Birds
of good omen--Thieves--Sheep-killing--Sheikh Matti--An angel's
visit--Medical superstitions--Cure for hydrophobia 269
Chapter X
The Yezidees
Gratitude to the English--Persecutions--"Devil-worshippers"--Sun
and fire worship--Priesthood--A visit to Sheikh Adi--Peacock
wands--A sacred shrine 284
Chapter XI
Travelling in the Desert
Monotony of desert travelling--A puppy and a kitten
tragedy--Accident by the river Euphrates--Riots in Mosul--Robberies
and murder excited by love of gold 294
Chapter XII
The Pleasures of Desert Travelling
Desert blossoms as a rose--Flowers of the desert--Arabs, their
occupation and women--Arab dancing--Robbers of the desert--An
army of 10,000--Five hundred armed men--False alarms--Lost in
the desert--Delights and disturbances of travelling 307
Chapter XIII
Pioneer Medical Mission Work in Mosul (Nineveh)
Winning the confidence of the people--Native surgery--Difficulties
to be overcome--Backward patients--Encouraging work--Prevalent
diseases--Lunatics--Possible future of Mesopotamia 317
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
The Author and her Husband in Bakhtian Costume Frontispiece
Persian Conveyances 26
A Halt for Lunch 26
A Novel Drying Ground 46
Persian Mode of Irrigation 46
A "Chimney" of Yezd 54
A Korsi Or Heating Contrivance 54
House-building in Persia 72
Persian Shops 72
Scene from the Roof of our House at Kerman 76
A Street in Kerman 76
The Mosque Gate, City of Kerman 86
A Mountain Pass 132
A Caravanserai 132
A Very Ancient Bridge 142
A Typical Street in Baghdad 142
Using the X Rays in Julfa Hospital 148
A Ward in the Julfa Hospital 148
Opium Making 158
The Rich Beggar 158
Types of Persian Jews 166
The Water Square 166
Our Home in Nineveh 174
A Bridge of Boats 176
The Bridge of Boats Over the Frozen Tigris 180
A Picnic Party 188
Mutrar Paulus, Syrian Roman Catholic Bishop 192
Dr. Hume-Griffith's Study in Mosul 210
Our Drawing-room in Julfa 210
A Group of Persian Girls 216
The Camera in Mosul 222
Tired of Play at a Picnic 222
An Itinerant Cook preparing Kabobs 224
Bread-making 240
A Mosul Bride 246
A Wonderful Vision 259
Travelling in Winter 296
PART I
"So, after the sore torments of the route,
Toothache and headache, and the ache of mind,
And huddled sleep and smarting wakefulness,
And night and day, and hunger sick at food,
And twenty-fold relays, and packages
To be unlocked, and passports to be found,
And heavy well-kept landscape--we are glad
Because we entered (Persia) in the Sun."
D. G. Rossetti.
BEHIND THE VEIL IN PERSIA AND TURKISH ARABIA
CHAPTER I
EARLY IMPRESSIONS
Start for Persia--Arrival at Isphahan--Departure for
Kerman--The Land of the Lion and the Sun--A rainy day and its
effects--Eclipse--Locusts--Sand-storms--Land of cats--Modes of
conveyance--Inhabitants.
"'Tis the sight of a lifetime to behold
The great shorn sun as you see it now
Across eight miles of undulant gold
That widens landward, weltered and rolled
With patches of shadow and crimson stains."
Lowell.
"Shadow maker, shadow slayer, arrowing light from clime to clime."
Lord Tennyson.
Our life in Persia extended over a period of three years, dating from
the spring of 1900 to that of 1903.
It was with great joy I heard the news, early in February of 1900,
that my husband had been appointed by the Church Missionary Society
to open medical work in Kerman, and that we were to start almost at
once. Within a month we were married, had bought our outfit, bid
sorrowful farewells to our relations and friends, and started for
the romantic land of Persia. From London to Isphahan took us just
nine weeks, as we were delayed by illness for some weeks both in
Russia and in the Persian Desert. However, on 9th May we entered the
beautiful city of Isphahan, to find a warm welcome awaiting us from
friends there. This place will always have a very warm corner in my
heart, for it was there we made our first home. The doctor in charge
of the work at Julfa (the Christian quarter of Isphahan) having left
on furlough, my husband was asked to remain there till his return,
which he accordingly did. It was not till the following spring that
we left for Kerman. Thus our first impressions of this land of light
and darkness were gathered from Isphahan and its neighbourhood. There
is no after time so full of interest to those who live abroad as the
first year spent in a new life and country, gleaning fresh ideas,
seeing new sights, gaining experiences often dearly bought, but which
must be purchased ere the newcomer can settle down to life in the
East with any comfort or peace of mind.
The native servants love to obtain posts with fresh comers, knowing
that for the first few months, at any rate, they will have an
exceedingly good time, being able to make a huge medaqal (profit)
from the unsuspecting Feringhi. I sigh to think of the many ways in
which we were cheated those first few months of our life in Persia,
but no one breathed a word to us, realising that our eyes would be
opened only too soon, and that experience was the most effectual
teacher. It is a strange fact that all housekeepers new to the land
think their servants are perfect till they find out, perhaps when
too late, their foolish delusion.
From the very first my heart went out in affection to the dear Moslem
women, and now, after eight years spent amongst them, I can truly
say that my love has deepened, and my sympathies become enlarged,
for these charming but, alas, too often unhappy followers of Mohammed.
Our knowledge of Persia extends especially to three cities, in each of
which we spent a year. Isphahan, as we have seen, was our first home,
then came a year at Kerman, a distance of some 500 miles separating
the two cities. Finally we spent a very happy year at Yezd, that
City of Sand, situated midway between Isphahan and Kerman. Of each
of these cities we shall hear more in other chapters.
Persia has well been called the Land of the Lion and the Sun. Certainly
the latter name is well deserved, for the sun is almost always shining,
and without the brilliant sunshine we should hardly recognise it as
the land of Persia.
The symbol of the Lion and the Sun originated in the days when the
Zoroastrians were the inhabitants of the land. The Sun, being the
emblem of the Fire Worshippers, was taken as their national badge. The
Lion was added later because Ali, the grandson of Mohammed, was called
"The Lion of God." The woman's face in the Sun was inserted some years
later by one of the Persian kings as a tribute to his favourite wife.
The sunshine of Persia forms one of its greatest attractions. Even in
winter the dull, cloudy days are few and far between. When by chance
a rainy day does come, the people are so surprised and taken aback
that they seem paralysed for the time being, and are unable to go
about their usual business.
The remembrance of our first experience of a rainy day still lingers
in my memory. We had awakened one morning much later than usual to
find the sky clouded over and the rain coming down in torrents. I was
surprised to find that we had not been called as usual, but imagined
the servants had forgotten to do so. Upon entering the dining-room,
what was my surprise to find no preparations for a meal. Calling the
servant, I asked him why breakfast was not ready. At this he seemed
quite hurt, as he answered, "But, Khanum (lady), it is raining!" This
fact was to his mind quite sufficient reason for everything. As long
as the rain lasted the servants could be prevailed upon to do nothing
except crouch over the fire and shiver! The moment the rain ceased
and the sun once more shone out they resumed their normal state.
This constant sunshine is a great boon to the beggars and poor, helping
to make life endurable for them; they need very little clothing,
as a rule, to enable them to keep warm. So long as they can lie and
bask in the sunshine, picking up bread enough to sustain life, they
trouble very little about working or earning money.
There is only one place where there is very little sunshine, and that
is in the hearts and lives of the people. Especially, perhaps, is this
true in the case of the women of the land, as we shall see presently.
A Persian gentleman once visited England, and on his return to his
native country was questioned by his friends as to which was the
better land to live in. His reply was to the effect that in England
the houses were grander, the scenery more beautiful, but that there
was no sunshine! This lack, to his mind, far outweighed all the other
advantages which might belong to England, and his friends decided that,
after all, Persia was the better country to live in.
When there happens to be a cloudy day or night in summer, the result
is anything but cooling, for the air becomes terribly oppressive,
it is almost impossible to breathe, and during the night it is quite
useless to think of or hope for sleep till the clouds have rolled away.
The natives are very much alarmed when an eclipse of the sun
takes place, as they are afraid they are going to lose their
benefactor. Once, while we were in Yezd, the sun was eclipsed. Suddenly
hundreds of guns and cannons were fired off from all parts of
the town. We ran out to see what had happened, and were met by our
frightened servants carrying their guns, who told us that an enormous
fish was trying to swallow the sun, and that they hoped, by making a
terrific noise, to frighten it away! Great was their joy and relief
when the shadow began to pass from the sun.
Sand-storms are terrible trials in Persia. Quite suddenly, without
any warning, the light disappears, clouds upon clouds of dust come
rushing in. Before you have time to shut all the doors and windows,
everything in the house is covered with a fine white dust. Sand-storms
are disagreeable and trying to the patience when they find you in
the house, but when you are caught in a heavy sand-storm out in the
desert, it is often a source of great danger. If riding, the only
possible thing to do is to dismount, cover your head and face as well
as possible, turn your back to the storm, and hope for the best.
At other times the light is obliterated in the daytime by a swarm of
locusts passing overhead. Till I saw this myself I could hardly believe
it was possible for these little insects to obscure the light of the
sun as they did. One day in Kerman we were just ready to set off for
a ride, when suddenly the light vanished, and I thought a fearful
thunderstorm was about to burst upon us. On looking up we saw what
appeared to be a huge black cloud hovering overhead: presently this
descended and resolved itself into myriads of flying insects. As some
fell to the earth we found them to be locusts from two to three inches
long. The natives were dreadfully alarmed lest they should settle on
their fields, as it was springtime, and the ground was already green
with promise of harvest. Had the locusts settled, it would have meant
ruin and starvation to many. Fortunately, they passed over that time.
We have seen that Persia is a land of sunshine, we must not forget
that it is also a land of cats.
I was amused the other day to see how differently two people can see
the same thing. In the course of a conversation with a friend who was
for some years in Persia, I asked him if he did not admire the Persian
cats very much. "Never saw one," was his answer, and he maintained
that the whole time he was in Persia he never saw a long-haired
cat. My experience was quite the reverse, for I hardly remember ever
seeing an ordinary short-haired one during the three years we were in
Persia. We had some beautiful white ones, but they were very delicate,
and generally came to an untimely end. We tried to take one to Kerman,
but it met with a sad death when only half way there.
Cats are exported on quite a large scale to India and other
places. They are taken to the coast by horse-dealers, who tether them
in much the same way as they do their horses.
One of the late Shahs is said to have been very devoted to cats,
and always took one with him when he travelled, a special baggage
animal being reserved for the cage of this favourite pet.
There are many ways of journeying in Persia, and the would-be
traveller can take his choice according to his own ideas of comfort
and convenience. To my mind the most pleasant way of all is to have
your own horses for riding, and thus be able to set your own pace and
not have to be bound down to the slow, wearying, never-changing rate
of the caravan.
For those who do not care for, or are not strong enough for riding,
there are many conveyances. Here, again, the traveller has quite a
large choice of good things. First of all there is the "kajavah." This
consists of two cage-like boxes, suspended one on each side of the
animal: the interior of these boxes sometimes boasts of a little
low seat, but as a rule is innocent of any such luxury. Two people
of about the same weight must sit on each side, or the result is
disastrous. I remember once being with a large caravan. In one of
these kajavahs was travelling a Government official and his wife. He
was very tiny, she was quite the reverse, the result being that the
little man was generally up in the air while the opposite side of the
kajavah was weighed down nearly to the ground. They tried all manner
of experiments in their endeavour to strike the balance, gathering
stones and depositing them in the lighter side, tying bags of fuel,
&c., to the outside of the kajavah, but all of no avail. At last,
in disgust and anger, the woman jumped out without giving her husband
any warning: the result to onlookers was ludicrous! The wife refused
all that day again to enter the kajavah, preferring to walk, till
one of the muleteers offered her a seat on the top of one of the
baggage mules. The little man was soon balanced with stones picked
up by the wayside, and travelled for the rest of that day in peace
and comfort. At the end of the stage, however, his wife would not
speak to him or cook his dinner for him! and the man (who was quite
the reverse of an ordinary Moslem man) came to one of my husband's
assistants, begging him to act as mediator. In this case the man and
woman seem to have exchanged places as regards character, the wife
being decidedly the master, and he, poor man, looked as if he hardly
dared call his soul his own. Even amongst Moslems there doubtless
are some strong-minded women.
I have travelled many miles in one of these kajavahs, finding them
very comfortable and restful, after riding for hours. My husband had a
pair specially made for me, with seats inside, and nicely cushioned:
these always went with us on our journeys in Persia, so that, when
I tired of riding, I could rest awhile. While I was not using them
our servants had to take my place, a favour they did not always
appreciate. When travelling by night, I have slept for hours at a
stretch in one of these kajavahs, the steady measured walk of the
mule favouring slumber. Sometimes, however, the monotony is broken
by the mule suddenly dropping on to its front knees, and you find
yourself deposited on the ground, shot out like an arrow from its bow.
If this form of conveyance does not appeal to the traveller then there
is the "takhtiravan." This is a most luxurious mode of conveyance, and
is, as a rule, only used by invalids or high-class Moslem ladies. It
consists of a box, with doors and windows, measuring about six or seven
feet by four in length and five in height. The top is covered with
heavy felt or some material which will keep out the sun or the rain,
according to which season of the year you are travelling in. Inside
is placed a mattress with plenty of cushions: the whole is built
on shafts which are slung between two mules, one in front and one
behind. The motion is rather like that of a rolling ship, and, unless
the occupant is a good sailor, the experience is not always a pleasant
one. I once travelled for a week in one of these conveyances, and on
arriving at our destination found my back was a mass of bruises. The
takhtiravan is very good for night travelling, as you can lie flat
down and sleep, provided the animals keep in step and the road is
good. On an uneven road the sensation is not too comfortable.
We once had a never-to-be-forgotten week of torture in a springless
wagon; it really was too terrible. Oh, the jolting, the jarring,
and the bone shaking! Each day the misery increased, till every bone
in our bodies was bruised and aching, and every nerve racked to its
utmost. I should not recommend this mode of conveyance to any one
contemplating a journey in Persia. When we first went to the Land of
the Lion and the Sun, carriages were very scarce and very expensive
south of Teheran. Now they are becoming much more generally used,
at any rate as far as Isphahan. When we left Kerman in 1902 we drove
to Yezd in a carriage kindly lent to us by one of the Kerman native
gentlemen. Albeit the wheels came off occasionally and various other
accidents took place, still it was a very luxurious way of travelling,
comparatively speaking. Then, when we finally left Persia in 1903,
we drove from Isphahan to Teheran in a private carriage belonging to
a friend who lent it to us for the journey; so that I fully expect
by now that travelling by carriage has become quite the ordinary mode
of journeying in Persia.
The last part of that drive into Teheran has left a vivid remembrance
on my mind. It was a Saturday, and we were very desirous of reaching
Teheran that night, otherwise it meant spending Sunday at a village
near the city, as we did not like travelling on that day. So we
determined to push on at all costs. To add to our difficulties it began
to pour with rain soon after starting in the morning, and continued
a steady drench the whole day. Long before we reached the end of our
stage we were both wet through to the skin. Sunset found us still some
twenty miles out of Teheran, and, the horses beginning to show signs of
fatigue, we perforce had to rest them for a while. When we were within
five miles or so of the city, we found the road all flooded, and it
was difficult to know where the road ended and the ditch began which
ran parallel to the road on both sides. It was by then pitch dark, so
there was nothing to be done but let the horses take their own way,
hoping their instincts would lead them and us safely. All went well
till we were within sight of the lights of Teheran, when suddenly smash
went the carriage, and down fell the horses into a deep ditch. One poor
horse (our own, which we were taking to Teheran to sell) never moved,
and we thought he was dead. I jumped down from the dogcart and landed
in the ditch nearly up to my waist in water! The lamps had gone out,
and we were in total darkness. We called and called for help but no
one came, so my husband and I walked on a little to see if we could
find any one to help, leaving the horses and carriage in charge of
the driver, who was half beside himself with fear.
Presently we came across a little wayside coffee-house, and found
some men who were willing to go and help extricate the poor horses
from their dangerous position, while we walked on to the gate of
the city and waited in the porter's lodge. After about an hour the
carriage came along, the horses looking none the worse for their
escapade. Our kind friends of the American Mission were waiting up,
and had prepared hot baths and hot drinks for us, knowing that if we
did arrive that night at all we should be in a terrible plight. Thanks
to their kindness and thoughtfulness, we suffered no harm from our
damp and adventurous drive.
The inhabitants of Persia are: Moslems, the Persians of to-day;
Zoroastrians (Parsees), the Persians of yesterday; Armenians, and
Jews. Of the two former I will not speak now, as we shall make their
acquaintance a little later. A few words will suffice for Armenians
and Jews. The former were brought from Julfa in Armenia many years ago
by some former Shah on account of their industry and workmanship. He
gave them a suburb of Isphahan to live in, and very soon a large
Armenian settlement sprang up. Julfa of Persia is about three miles
from Isphahan. Here all the Armenians live, and until quite lately
the Europeans also, as it was not considered safe for them to reside
in Isphahan. However, of late years this is all changed, most of the
Europeans now having houses in Isphahan.
The Armenians are very clever workmen in all crafts and trades. Also to
their shame be it said that they are the wine and spirit makers for the
Isphahanis. A true Moslem is not allowed to make or drink wine. Thanks
to the Armenians, however, the temptation is ever at hand ready for
him, with plenty of opportunities afforded him of indulging in secret.
The Armenians make very good assistants for hospital work, some
of them turning out quite good doctors. One young fellow was with
my husband for two years. After we left he went to India, where he
took a medical course, and is now a fully qualified doctor practising
in India. They have plenty of "push" in them, and once they make up
their minds to get on, no obstacle is too great for them to overcome.
The Jews of Persia are a miserably poor, degraded class of
people. Their lot is a very hard one; despised and oppressed by the
Moslems, hated and cursed by all, their life is not enviable. They
are to be found everywhere, in Isphahan, Yezd, Kerman, and many other
cities. My heart often ached for these poor, wretched people as they
flocked to the dispensaries. Fortunately for them, there is a Mission
amongst the Jews in Persia which helps in no small way to brighten
the lives of the poor, downtrodden people.
We have taken a fleeting glance at the Land of the Lion and the Sun;
we must now try and become more intimately acquainted with some of
its towns and their inhabitants.
CHAPTER II
KERMAN
Short history of Kerman--Its overthrow--City of beggars--Story
of the fort--The jackal's "tale of woe."
"A little red worm--the gard'ner's special dread."
V. Fane.
The first view we had of Kerman was a very picturesque one. We had
been travelling for about twenty days, and on Easter Eve reached a
lovely garden some four or five hours' ride from Kerman, and here we
decided to stay for Easter Day. Early on Monday morning we started
for the last stage of our journey. Just as the sun was rising we
came to the top of a hill, and there away in the distance lay the
city of Kerman, the city towards which our hopes and thoughts had
been tending for so long, as it was the goal to which we had been
pressing for the past twelve months, and which we fondly hoped was
to have been our home for many years; but God ordered otherwise.
Kerman is a very interesting old city, having passed through many
vicissitudes and seen many changes during its varied and chequered
history. It is also a very pretty place, especially as seen from a
short distance, surrounded on three sides by the eternal mountains,
with their ever-changing shades and shadows, and forming a magnificent
background to the city nestling at their feet. On the fourth side
the desert stretches away to Yezd and Isphahan.
Kerman is said to have derived its name from a Persian word Kerm,
meaning a worm, and the legend connected with it is as follows. The
princess who founded the city was one day walking with her followers
over the site of the future town, and plucked an apple from a tree:
upon eating it she found to her disgust and annoyance a worm at
its core. As she threw it away in anger, she declared that the new
city should be called Kerm-an, a worm. Kerman is certainly a very
ancient city: the inhabitants claim that it was a large town in the
time of Solomon. Whether this is so I do not know. The first time it
is mentioned in history is by Herodotus. Alexander is said to have
marched his army through Kerman on his way to India, and Cyrus passed
that way on his return from India. Perhaps few places have suffered
more at the hands of invaders than Kerman. It has been sacked at least
six times, and in 1794 the city was almost entirely destroyed by Agha
Mohammed Khan. The city was bravely defended by the prince-governor,
who was one of the last of the Zend dynasty; he sustained a long
and severe siege, till two-thirds of his troops had perished from
starvation, and then the city was betrayed treacherously into the
hands of the enemy and its brave defenders obliged to flee, only to
meet with a cruel death some two years later from the hands of the
same oppressor. This incarnation of cruelty, Agha Mohammed Khan, gave
the city over to the will of his soldiers, who resembled their leader
in cruelty and barbarity. There was no compassion in his heart, and he
would listen to none of the entreaties of the unfortunate inhabitants
for mercy, nor would he withdraw his troops from the city till he had
received a gift of twenty thousand pairs of human eyes. When these
were brought to him, he insisted on counting them over himself to
see if the number was correct, and is reported to have said to the
trembling man who carried the baskets piled high with these awful
trophies: "It is a good thing the number is correct; if it had not
been, your eyes would have gone to make up the exact number." The
city never recovered from this terrible blow, and to-day Kerman is
a byword among Persians for its poverty and extraordinary number of
beggars. If you were to ride through the bazaars you would be struck
by the tremendous number of beggars, all holding out their hands,
beseeching you for the love of God to give them a copper.
There is a quaint saying among the beggars which one hears very often;
it is as follows:--
"Khuda guft, 'Beddeh,'
Shaitan guft, 'Neddeh'"
(God says, "Give"; Satan says, "Don't give").
Just outside Kerman are the remains of two old fortresses, the larger
of which is called the Galah i Doukhta, or the Fort of the Maiden,
doubtless on account of the story connected with it.
These fortresses were built on small hills, and so alike are they in
formation and colour to the soil that it is difficult to see where
the castle begins and the hill ends. Between these two old fortresses
lie the ruins of ancient Kerman. This city was the last to fall under
the Moslem sway in its invasion of Persia, and the legend connected
with it is interesting.
The city was surrounded on all hands by the Moslem invaders, and it
seemed as if the enemy would be obliged to retreat, as its defenders
had withdrawn themselves into the castles or fortresses already
mentioned. These had been well provisioned for a long siege in
case of need, and also were connected with the outer world by means
of underground passages, known only to those in the castles. All,
perhaps, might have gone well but for the fact that there lived in
the fortress a beautiful woman--alas! as treacherous as beautiful. She
was the idolised daughter of the king of the castle; nothing was too
good for this loved and spoilt beauty. Her father showered gifts upon
her--gold, jewellery, silks, all were hers; and it is said that just
before the siege began her father had planned and designed a beautiful
garden for her, such as never had been seen before.
Being so loved and such a favourite of all, she was allowed to roam at
will within the castle walls, and often beguiled the time by watching
the besiegers who lay far below in the plain. One day her attention
was attracted by a handsome Arab general, who always seemed to be
foremost in all that was going on, leading his men into the most
dangerous and exposed parts. Where the arrows fell fastest and most
often, there this Arab prince was sure to be seen, always brave and
courageous. His bravery, added to his good looks, so appealed to this
spoilt and petted woman that she immediately fell in love with him. Day
by day this love increased, till her whole soul was afire with all the
abandon of an Eastern love, and she felt that nothing could or should
keep her from her hero. "Love" soon found means of communicating
with the object of its affection, for love is stronger than barred
or barricaded fortresses. By some means, known only to herself and
one other, she gave this Arab to understand that if only he would
promise to marry her, she would deliver the castle into his hands.
The Eastern as well as the Western agree that "All is fair in love
and war," so this general of the East consented to this plan, and
agreed to accept victory at the hands of treachery.
Accordingly, all was arranged satisfactorily to both parties,
and one dark, moonless night the deed was done. The lady of the
castle, the idolised and beloved of all, became the betrayer of her
people. After all had retired to rest that night, and the sentinels
were lost in the dense darkness, she stealthily crept out of the
castle, safely passed the sleeping men supposed to be on guard, and
opened the secret gate to her lover and his soldiers--the enemies
of her father and her country. A terrible massacre ensued, in which
the father was slain, fortunately dying without the knowledge of his
daughter's base action. The prince-general had given strict orders
to his men that on no account was the girl to be touched during the
attack on the castle, but that she was to be conducted to a place of
safety till all was over. At last, in the early hours of the morning,
the general had time to think of his ward.
Tired out with his work of bloodshed and slaughter, but rejoicing in
his unexpected victory, he sent for the girl to find out the reason
of her willingness to thus betray her own people and land into the
hands of the enemy. When brought into his presence he was amazed at the
beauty and loveliness of the girl before him, and his heart went out in
great love and admiration towards her. She, still thinking only of her
own wicked infatuation, was congratulating herself that now her heart's
desire was to be granted her, and she would soon become the wife of
the man so long idealised and idolised. But alas! for her fair hopes.
The general, notwithstanding her beauty, desired to find out what
her motive was for doing as she had done, and so he plied her with
questions. "Was she very unhappy?" "Was her father very cruel to
her?" or "Had she done this to avenge herself for some wrong?" To all
these she replied in the negative. "Then, in the name of wonder, what
was your reason for sacrificing father, home, country and all?" cried
the general. "For love of you," answered the now frightened girl,
and she then told him how kind her father had been to her, how he
had done all in his power to make her happy, and how nothing was ever
denied her that he could possibly procure, but assured him that all
this was as nothing to her compared to the great love which she felt
towards him, her lover, and ended by beseeching him, now that she
had sacrificed all for him, not to cast her away.
At this the general was so disgusted and enraged with her, that he
determined that she must die, and cast about in his mind for some means
of death worthy of her selfishness and wickedness, "for," said he,
"you are not a woman, you are a fiend, and therefore must die."
He therefore ordered his men to bind her with cords, face downwards,
on to the back of a wild horse, and to turn horse and its rider into
the desert. This order was carried out amidst heartrending cries
and entreaties for mercy from the girl, but to all the general paid
no heed, declaring that she was only suffering a just death for the
abominable behaviour to her own people. The soldiers followed the
horse for some distance into the desert to prevent its returning,
and thus perished the beautiful traitress of Kerman.
I may say here that this form of death is not unknown even now in
Persia, and I heard a story of a man who treated his wife in much
the same way, only the idea was perhaps a little more diabolical. He
was angry with her for some reason, and desired to rid himself of
her, so he caught a cow, and kept it shut up without water for some
days. Then he bound his wife under the body of the animal and sent
it off. Of course the cow made for the nearest stream, and we can
imagine better than describe the fate of the poor woman.
The Kerman of to-day is a large walled-in city of about forty thousand
souls. This wall is pierced by some dozen gates, some of which are
in good repair, but others are fast falling into ruin. In fact,
most of the buildings in Kerman, as well as other parts of Persia,
are "kharab shodeh"--that is, either in ruins, or fast falling into
that state. The "kharab" buildings outside the town are the abode of
jackals, hyaenas, owls, and other creatures of the desert.
The story of how the jackals came to be inhabiters of the desert is
told by the Kermanis with great gusto, and they quite sympathise with
them in their banishment from the civilisation of town life. When
in Kerman our house was outside the city, so we had the full benefit
of the cries and wailings of these jackals, and at first it used to
make me feel quite creepy, but after a time we became more accustomed
to the weird music of the night, and missed the evening concerts when
absent from Kerman. Sometimes the jackals would come right up into our
garden, at other times their howling would come from the desert, like
the far-away cry of a soul in torment, or the wailing of the banshee;
but all night and every night the wailing, wailing went on, always
crying for what they had not and never could have--never satisfied,
and always letting people know the fact!
The story of the dispute between the jackals and the dogs of Kerman was
told me soon after our arrival there. It is said that, in olden days,
the jackals were the domesticated pets of the inhabitants of the town,
and lived quite happily and contentedly in their respective homes,
always enjoying security and peace within the closed gates, while
the dogs had to be content to be dwellers of the desert and ruins,
outside the walls of the city. One day the dogs awoke to the fact
that the jackals had much the better time of it, and they did not
see why this unequal state of things should remain. They were tired
of being always outsiders, always short of food, and exposed to all
the chances of wind and weather--so they resolved to make a great
effort to obtain a position inside the gates, where there was plenty
of everything. Being Socialists, they believed in the maxim of "share
and share alike," so they called a committee to consider by what means
they could oust the jackals from their comfortable quarters and install
themselves in their places. After due thought and much discussion,
they determined to send some leading representatives to the city to
interview the jackals. This they accordingly did, telling them that
many of the dogs had been ill, and the doctor had ordered change of
air for three days. Would not the noble jackals allow their humble
neighbours the dogs to exchange places with them just for three days,
in order that the invalids might have a chance of recovering their
strength and health. At the same time they enlarged upon the beauties
of the desert air, which they said would be so good for those who
had been cooped up in the stifling city for so long. The jackals,
after long and careful consideration, agreed to this proposition,
arranging to leave their comfortable homes for three days only, at the
expiration of which time all were to return to their original places.
The next night the change was accomplished, and in the morning the
people were all surprised to see dogs where the night before there
had been jackals. However, they did not object very much. At the end
of the three nights, the jackals came to the gates of the city and
demanded admission, longing to return to their own haunts and homes,
having found three days in the desert quite enough, there being no
comparison between the comforts of the town and the dreariness and
cold of the outside life. The dogs appreciated the change so much
that they answered, "No, thank you, we prefer to stay where we are,
and do not wish ever to return to the desert." So the poor jackals
saw that they had been fooled, and went away sad and sorrowful, and
every night since then have come howling for admission to the gates,
and on the dogs answering "No," they go away wailing. And that is
the reason why every night we can hear the howling and wailing of
these disappointed creatures. And they will probably go on howling
and wailing till the end of time, for the dogs are never likely to
wish to return to the desert life.
Such is the legend of the jackals and the dogs of Kerman.
CHAPTER III
PERSIAN INDUSTRIES
Carpet-making--How to tell a good carpet--How
to make a carpet--The cry of the children--Shawl
manufactures--Calico-printing--Brass-work--Agricultural
industries--Water disputes--Kanats--Poppy crops--Wheat and
corn--Tobacco-growing.
Saying in Persia--"One plum gets colour by looking at another."
"Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years;
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,
And that cannot stop their tears;
... the child's sob in the silence curses deeper
Than the strong man in his wrath."
E. B. Browning.
The subject of the industries of Persia is such an extensive one that
I cannot even attempt to discuss it here at any great length. I only
wish to describe a few of the manufactures and industries which came
under our notice while in Persia.
By far the most interesting of them all, to my mind, are the carpet
manufactories to be found in many parts. Very few Europeans live for
any length of time in Persia or other carpet-manufacturing countries
without being affected by the carpet craze. They may try to fight
against it, but they are almost sure to succumb, sooner or later!
When choosing a carpet the first thing to do is to make sure that
the colours are fast. This is done by moistening a handkerchief or
small piece of white cloth and rubbing the carpet. If the slightest
tinge of colour comes off, the carpet is not a good one. So much
depends upon the nature and durability of dyes used. In olden days,
the only dyes used were indigo, madder, and vine leaves. From these
three ingredients they were able to mix and make most delicate and
artistic shades, all of which were "fast" colours. Now, however, the
aniline dyes are so commonly used that it is difficult to find a carpet
in which all the colours are permanent. Europeans are often deceived
when buying carpets, but natives seldom! When the latter invests in
a carpet he expects it to last the whole of his lifetime, and not
only of his life, but also of that of his children, grandchildren,
and great-grandchildren, and perchance be more valuable at the end
of that period than the day he purchased it. As a rule he realises
his expectations. When a native buys a new carpet the first thing he
does with it is to put it down in the bazaars for all the traffic to
pass over it. The more muddy and filthy the shoes of the passers-by,
the greater will be the beauty of the carpet afterwards, provided the
colours are fast. This statement may perhaps refer more especially to
Syria and Turkish Arabia, but I believe it is also true of Persia. I
have, myself, often seen carpets laid down in this way in the bazaars
of Damascus, Beyrout, Baghdad, and Mosul. I could never quite make
up my mind to allow our carpets to be subjected to this treatment,
though my husband always assured me it was the only way for the
carpets to acquire that beautiful silky gloss, so dear to the heart
of the carpet-lover. As a matter of fact that gloss is maintained
by the native custom of leaving the shoes at the door. The constant
walking upon the carpet with bare or stockinged feet tends to bring
about this desirable finish: whilst, on the other hand, our barbarous
custom of wearing dirty shoes in a room is not so good for the carpet,
nor are tables and chairs great carpet-improvers. Before the time of
exporting carpets from Persia in any great number only good carpets
were made, but now the demand is so great that to keep up the supply
a good deal of shoddy work is manufactured and sent out of the country.
To be a good judge of a carpet you need to be quite an expert. Many
things have to be taken into consideration. First the dyes, as we
have already seen; then the number of stitches to the inch must be
counted, and it is said that a good carpet contains about 10,000
stitches to the square foot, while some of the better ones have
as many as 40,000. Another point to notice is to see whether both
ends are the same width. This is done by doubling the carpet: if
the ends do not coincide it is not a well-made carpet. Then, again,
it should lie perfectly flat on the floor, otherwise it will crease
in a very short time, and be worthless. My husband had a beautiful
Kerman carpet given to him once: it was valued at L20, and, but for
the fact that it does not lie flat on the floor, would be worth a
good deal more. As it is, we have to keep it hanging on the wall,
where it cannot get "rucked" or creased.
Prices vary, of course, according to the size and make of the
carpets. Very fair ones, the size of an ordinary hearthrug, can be
had from L2, 10s. to L8 or L10. Silk ones cost a great deal more,
but are worth the money. A small silk rug can be bought for L50,
but they can be obtained any price up to L500 or L1000. A mixture
of wool and silk is now made to suit the European market, but is not
so durable as the pure silk ones. It is generally acknowledged that
the Kurdistan carpets are the best: they are the most expensive,
being about L3 the square yard. The chief attraction of these lies
in the fact that they are alike on both sides, and are very smooth
and fine. Next to these come those made at Kerman, the design being
quite different to those of Kurdistan. In the Kerman carpets it is
not at all uncommon to find figures of men and animals, sometimes
almost life size. Whilst in Kerman we visited one or two of the carpet
manufactories, and were very much interested in watching the process.
All carpets are, of course, made without machinery of any kind. The
warp is stretched on a loom, which is merely a frame. The woof
consists of short threads woven and knotted by hand without the
aid of a shuttle. When a row is finished it is pressed tightly to
the rest of the web by means of a comb inserted into the warp. The
"pile" is regulated by the amount clipped off. For a velvet pile the
woof is clipped very close, till a perfectly smooth, even surface is
obtained. The weaver does not see the pattern as he works, as he sits
with the reverse side of the web towards him. The looms are generally
kept in an underground vaulted room, often with water running through
the centre. At each loom three or four workers sit, according to the
size of the carpet. Sometimes the workers consist of one man and two
children, and occasionally the owner uses boys and girls only for
the weaving, one man acting as overseer to the children.
I sat on the high stool by the side of a tiny girl whose fingers
were working away so fast I could hardly follow her movements. The
overseer was walking up and down the room, calling out instructions
to the workers. To me it sounded a horrible, incoherent jumble,
but the children seemed to understand it perfectly. The overseer
held in his hand a paper, from which he was apparently reading out
instructions. Not having a very thorough knowledge of the Persian
language, it was impossible to follow, but as far as I could make
out it was something as follows: To No. 1. Three blue threads, one
white, two green; No. 2. Four yellow, one white; and so on, each child
repeating after the "master" the instructions given. As it was all said
in a high-pitched monotone, the result was confusing and deafening,
but there the little weavers sit, day in, day out, week after week, in
this damp, gloomy cellar, kept hard at it by the unrelenting overseer.
The children are taken on as "weavers" when very young, some even
starting when five or six years old. Their hours of work are from
sunrise to sunset in the summer, and until two or three hours after
sunset in the winter, and they are paid at the enormous rate of about
2d. a day, sometimes starting with even less, whilst learning the work.
The consequence of this abominable sweating system is that to-day there
are hundreds of little children in Kerman, from eight to nine years
of age, confirmed cripples from rheumatism and other diseases. From
sitting so long in one position, while still of tender years, amid
such damp surroundings, their little feet and hands become knotted and
deformed. They can no longer earn their daily bread, so perforce must
help to swell the great multitude of beggars who throng the streets
and bazaars of Kerman.
I once saw a little girl about seven years old sitting by the roadside
just outside our house. On asking her why she was sitting there all
alone, her reply was, "Mother sent me to my work (carpet-weaving),
but my feet hurt me so, I can't walk." She was waiting there whilst
a companion in work and sorrow ran to try and find some one who would
carry her friend to the workroom.
When we think of the sufferings of these hundreds of poor innocent
children, do not our hearts ache with sadness for them? Surely the "Cry
of the Children" of Kerman will go up to God, and He will have mercy.
In the meantime, because people want cheap Persian carpets, these
little martyrs must be willing to sacrifice childhood's happy days,
health, aye, and often life itself, on the altar of cheapness.
Major (now Colonel) Phillott, then acting British Consul in Kerman,
was so horrified at what he saw of the state of these little sufferers,
that he determined to start a loom of his own, employing men only to
do the weaving. This he accordingly did, finding, of course, that
the expense was enormous, as men's wages were so much higher than
the children's, and also that they would not consent to such long
hours. So long as children are to be had for a mere nominal wage,
so long will the weavers use them, caring nothing for their sorrows,
only bent on making money--the god of the Persian.
A soft kind of felt carpet is also made in Persia, specially in
Isphahan and Yezd. These are called Namads. The materials used are
wools of all kinds, chiefly camel's hair. The colour is a light ochre
shade of brown, and there is generally a pattern woven in the centre of
different colours, red predominating. Some of these Namads are an inch
or more in thickness, and are delightfully soft for walking on. They
make a splendid foundation in a room for laying carpets on. There
is yet another kind of rug much used, called the Galeem. These are
much cheaper than carpets, and are suitable for rough use, such as
travelling. They wash well, but do not improve with use as carpets do,
having no pile.
There are still shawl-manufactories to be seen in Kerman, though
they are rapidly on the decrease. The best kind of shawl sells for
fifty tumans (about L10) each, but there are others less expensive,
which resemble the famous Cashmere shawls of India. These "shawls"
are given as coats of honour by the governor or other high official,
and are sought after and valued by all. They are woven in much the
same manner as the carpets, and are made from the under hair of a
special kind of white goat called "koork," which is only found in
the neighbourhood of Kerman.
The silks of Persia are very pretty and durable. They are woven
principally at Yezd, Kashan, and Resht. The latter place is noted, too,
for its patchwork and embroidery. This work consists of tiny pieces
of cloth pieced together into some floral or other design. I had two
or three pieces of this work given me by a Persian gentleman of high
rank. One is a study in red, and the other consists chiefly of black
and green, enlivened here and there by bright patches of other colours.
Another rather interesting industry to be seen in Isphahan is the
calico-printing; this is done by means of blocks, and, as a rule,
one design covers the whole piece. These prints are used very much
as curtains, table-cloths, &c., and have the advantage of being
inexpensive. The natives often use them as shrouds for the dead,
for which purpose special ones are manufactured, bearing suitable
quotations from the Koran.
During the summer in Isphahan the bed of the river may be seen
covered with these prints, laid out to dry in the sun after having
gone through the process of dyeing and "blocking."
Space forbids my mentioning all the many other articles manufactured
in Persia--the brass-work of Isphahan, copper-work of Kashan, silver
of both Isphahan and Shiraz, mosaic also from Shiraz. But enough has
been said to show that the Persians are a very clever and artistic
race of people, and considering the primitiveness of their methods and
implements, the results are astonishingly beautiful and charming. The
agricultural industries of Persia, too, are considerable--the water
supply necessary for these being a fruitful source of quarrelling and
fighting, which sometimes leads even to murder. The labourers whose
duty it is to look after the watering of the crops are armed with long
spades, for the purpose of digging trenches and clearing a way for the
water, &c. In a dispute these spades become very formidable weapons,
and many a broken head have they caused.
Often when riding in the desert we have met a company of these men
returning from their labours, each carrying his murderous-looking
implement on his shoulder, and in the gloaming they resembled an army
of soldiers marching. The water supply is very often conducted into
a town or village from the mountains by means of kanats, or long
underground passages. Pits are dug at a distance of about 25 feet
apart, each one being connected with the other by a subterranean
passage, and so on till the place is reached where the water is
needed. Sometimes these tunnels extend for many miles, and as the
mouth of each pit is surrounded by mounds of earth thrown up, it gives
the appearance of a succession of huge mole-hills running across the
country. Great loss of life is associated with the sinking of these
shafts from the constant falling in of the sides; on this account
very high wages are given to compensate for probable loss of life.
One of the principal crops around Isphahan is that of the poppy. It
is a beautiful sight to see field after field of these lovely white
flowers, stretching away for miles, maybe. How sad to think that such
beauty should lead to misery, wretchedness, and degradation! When the
poppy is ripe, the "head" is scratched at sunset with a kind of comb
in three places; from these gashes the opium oozes out. It is then
collected in the morning before sunrise, dried, and rolled into cakes
ready either for use in the country or for export. It is calculated
that about 8000 cases of opium, each case containing some 200 cakes,
are exported from Persia every year.
Although the growth of opium enriches those directly concerned,
yet it tends to impoverish the country; for the ground which before
was cultivated with wheat and corn is now required for the poppy,
thus making grain much dearer.
There is also a large quantity of tobacco grown in Persia, which is
used for the "kalian" (or water-pipe) and cigarette smoking. The best
kind is grown in the neighbourhood of Shiraz.
Wheat and barley are largely grown, and are always reaped with the
sickle. The land is very fertile, and with very little trouble a good
crop is obtained, provided the water supply is good.
It has been said of Persia that "it is only necessary to tickle the
land and it will laugh into blossom."
CHAPTER IV
THE CLIMATE OF PERSIA
Resht, Teheran, Isphahan--Dryness of atmosphere--Cellars--Roof
life--Children attacked by jackals--Chequered history of work
in Kerman.
"The climate's delicate, the air most sweet."
Shakespeare.
When speaking of the climate of Persia, Cyrus is supposed to have said,
"People perish with cold at one point, while they are suffocated
with heat at another," and this may be applied equally well to the
climate of Persia to-day, for every town has a different climate
according to its height above sea-level. When we land on Persian
soil from the Caspian we find ourselves some feet below sea-level,
consequently the climate is very damp, and vegetation is profuse. The
rainfall in Resht is so great that the wells are often overflowing,
rain falling during quite two-thirds of the year. Always having
thought of Persia as a very dry, parched land, our surprise was
very great on reaching Resht, the port on the Caspian, to see such
lovely forests of trees, and flowers in abundance, both wild and
cultivated. Primroses, anemones, periwinkles, cyclamen, and many
other kinds of flowers, all were in bloom as we drove through Resht
on our way to Isphahan. The ferns, too, were splendid, maiden-hair and
ox-tongue being especially beautiful. With all these homelike flowers
and ferns around us, we could hardly realise that we were not driving
through some dear Devonshire lane in Old England. But as we mounted,
higher and ever higher over the Elburz Mountains, we soon lost this
English type of scenery. The climate became dry and warm, till by the
time we reached Teheran we were thankful indeed for the shelter of the
comfortable quarters of our American friends, who extended to us the
most hospitable kindness during our stay in that city. The climate of
Teheran is very good; its winters are pleasantly cold, and the summer
heat is not so overpoweringly great as in other places. Then, too,
there are lovely summer gardens near at hand, whither the residents can
retire during the warm months of the year. And for those who love the
mountain heights there is the beautiful and picturesque Mount Demavend,
rising some 19,400 feet above sea-level. This mountain adds greatly
to the beauty of Teheran, both as regards its scenery and climate. It
stands as a sentinel guarding the valley in which Teheran lies, and
has an ever-changing beauty of its own, with its eternal snows catching
and reflecting all the radiant hues of the rising and setting sun. It
also forms a most valuable health resort and summer retreat for all the
heat-wearied ones of the neighbourhood. This is the highest mountain
in Persia, but there are many others from 10,000 to 13,000 feet high,
so, if necessary, a cool climate is to be found at all times of the
year. Once over the Elburz, the whole of Persia is a high plateau land,
till we descend once more to the shores of the Persian Gulf.
Isphahan has a very pleasant climate; the winters are cold and bright,
and it is possible to enjoy sitting out in the sunshine most of the
winter months. The mornings and evenings are cold, but the days are
delightful during the sunshine. The atmosphere here, as elsewhere in
Persia, is very dry, and one's skin gets very cracked and "chapped,"
not from the cold, but from the dryness of the air. This is the
cause, too, of much "nerve" trouble amongst the Europeans, especially,
perhaps, with the ladies. In the winter the natives warm themselves and
their rooms by means of a "korsi" (literally, a chair). This "korsi"
is a contrivance for giving warmth at a minimum cost. A hole is dug in
the floor of the room in which the whole family live. Into this hole
is put a clay or iron firepan full of lighted charcoal: above this,
the "korsi," a wooden frame varying in size according to the number
of the family, is placed, and over all is spread a large "lahaf" or
padded quilt. All round the "korsi" are placed soft mattresses and
cushions, and here the family pass the time eating, sleeping, talking;
the "korsi" acting as a dining-table and the "lahaf" as a covering
by day and night. This arrangement is very unhealthy, but the natives
love it, and the more friends and relations they can gather round the
"korsi" the happier they are.
The summers at Isphahan are rather warm, but there are many places near
by, which are cool, pleasant, and within easy distance for those whose
business keeps them in the vicinity of the town during the hot season.
There is always plenty of ice to be had during the summer here--perhaps
not always of the cleanest, but still good enough for the purpose
of cooling fruits and drinks. The native method of making ice is
rather clever. A "yakh khaneh" or ice-house is generally situated
outside the town or near some running water: a trench is dug some two
or three feet deep, and a wall from twenty to forty feet is built
facing north and south, thus shielding the trench from all rays of
the sun. As soon as frost sets in, an inch or two of water is let
into the trench: this freezes during the night, and the next day
more water is diverted into the hole, on top of the ice. This is
repeated several days in succession, till about a foot or more of
ice is formed. This is then broken up and stored in deep caverns or
wells for use during the summer. The process is continued as long
as the frost lasts, and thus there is generally enough to keep the
town supplied with ice during the great heat. Well-to-do Persians
have their own "yakh khanehs," and others use them for a means of
livelihood. If the supply runs short before the hot season is over,
frozen snow is brought from the mountains; but this is very expensive,
as it has to be brought such a long distance.
Yezd has a much warmer "hot season" than Isphahan, and the heat is
much more trying and of longer duration. The houses are essentially
summer houses. The winters being shorter and much less severe, little
attention is paid to the comforts necessary for cold weather, but
everything is considered which will add to the coolness and airiness
of the houses.
As a traveller approaches Yezd he cannot fail to be struck by the
number of tall "chimneys" rising from the city, and he almost fancies
he is approaching some large manufacturing town, and speculates perhaps
as to the nature of the manufactures possible in such a sandy city of
the desert. But as he draws nearer he sees there is no smoke rising
from these "chimneys," and so concludes that, after all, they are
not for manufacturing purposes. What, then, is the purpose of all
those tall, square, chimney-like buildings, appearing from the roofs
of nearly all the dwelling-places of Yezd? They are air shafts, built
with the hope of bringing a little cool air into the houses during the
hot season, when the atmosphere below is so stifling that it seems
impossible to breathe. These structures are called "bad geers," or
"wind-catchers." There was a very large one connected with the house
in which we lived in Yezd, and even on the hottest days, some air
was always to be felt coming from the "bad geer." It was so arranged
in our house that after the air had been caught and brought down by
means of the chimney, it passed over a "hoze" (tank of water), and
in this way was cooled before circulating through the house. Another
aid to bearing the heat in Yezd is the custom of spending the middle
part of the day underground in cellars.
Some of these cellars are quite palatial, the walls and floors
being made from the famous Yezd marble, which closely resembles
alabaster. One such I remember very well: it was a room about 40 feet
by 30 feet, very lofty, and lit from the top by windows on a level with
the ground above. In the centre of this room was a "hoze" (water tank),
of which the Persians are so fond, and rising from the water was a
fountain capable of playing to the height of 30 feet; a large bowl
turned upside down had been fixed on the ceiling to catch the spray
and prevent it from becoming damp. Here the inmates of the house took
their mid-day siesta, and very charmingly cool it was compared to the
upstairs world. Some cellars are not at all healthy, and, if slept in
during the day, the sleepers are very liable to contract malaria or
some other fever. When dry and well ventilated no harm seems to come
from this custom of retiring underground during the great heat of
the day, and certainly a good cellar is a great boon to a European,
and a great blessing when the thermometer registers 110 in the shade
upstairs, while in the cellar it rarely goes above 86 or 90 degrees.
Scorpions, centipedes, tarantulas, and suchlike creatures have a good
time in Yezd. The climate agrees with them, and they thrive and enjoy
life to an alarming extent. One day my husband killed three scorpions
within the hour, two of which were the poisonous black kind. Tarantulas
abounded inside the house and out. They always seemed to make a point
of running across my path during prayer times; to say the least it is
very disconcerting to see one of these creatures glide softly past you
with the evident intention of seeking shelter under your skirt! Our
cat always used to make a dart directly he saw any of these tarantulas,
just to draw our attention to them, but he would never kill one.
From life in the cellar we pass to life on the roof. This was often
the most enjoyable part of the day. It is lovely, when the heat of
the day is over, to lie and watch the stars, knowing that the same
stars were watching over our loved ones in the Homeland.
Sleeping on the roof had its disadvantages as well as its attractions
and advantages. One great disadvantage is the fact that the sun
wakes you up so early; another, the talking and singing which goes on
all round you from the adjoining roofs, often make it difficult to
sleep. In addition there is this very serious drawback, that often
the jackals visit the roofs of the houses at night, seeking for
something wherewith to appease their hunger, and if they cannot find
anything else to satisfy them will attack sleeping children. On several
occasions poor little mites have been brought to the hospital terribly
mutilated and torn by the jackals, some just slightly bitten on the
face, others so mauled and eaten as to be quite unrecognisable. One
especially sad case I remember; the poor mother was wild with grief,
for her child, a baby of only a few weeks old, had been almost eaten
up by these abominable creatures.
Life on the roof begins soon after sunset. It is very interesting to
watch, from a height, roof-life springing into existence. First one
and then another will bring out the family bedding, spread it on the
floor of the roof or on low wooden benches, and then sit and chat
till dinner-time. Very often the evening meal is eaten on the roof,
and shortly after the family retires to rest. A Moslem takes great
pains to have his roof well shielded from the gaze of onlookers, and
if he is at all suspicious that he is overlooked he will immediately
raise his wall. This being the case, the roofs in a Moslem quarter
are generally very much shut in by high walls, which keep out the
air and make the nights much less bearable.
The climate of Kerman is almost perfect for those who can stand
it. Situated about 6500 feet above the sea, surrounded on all sides
by mountains and deserts, the result is a delightful bracing air
and invigorating climate. In Kerman there is no need of resting in
cellars by day or sleeping on roofs by night. Indeed the climate would
be hard to beat anywhere. The winters are charming, bright and cold,
with snow-covered mountains always in view. For a month or two in the
summer it becomes fairly hot, when flies and mosquitoes nearly drive
one wild, but it is generally possible to get away for a little time,
and during the remainder of the year the climate is all that could be
desired. And yet it seems strange that in spite of all this Europeans
have found it difficult to live there.
Our mission in its infancy had a very chequered career, owing to the
breaking down in health of its missionaries. The first to open the
work there was a Mr. Carless, a clergyman of the Church of England. He
went there a young man in the vigour of youth, and at the end of three
years, having gained the love and admiration of Moslem and Parsee
alike, he was laid in a solitary grave away in the desert, in a valley
surrounded by hills. After a short time his work was taken up by a
Mr. and Mrs. Blackett, but the latter was able to remain only a few
short months, at the end of which time she returned to England, broken
down and shattered in health. Then my husband was appointed to open
Medical Mission work there. Unfortunately, before the year was out,
we too had to leave, this time on account of my health. During our
stay there an English engineer came to seek for artesian wells. After
two or three months he contracted fever and died at our house, and he
too is resting in that quiet spot amongst the mountains by the side of
Mr. Carless. On our leaving, another doctor was appointed to take my
husband's post, but his stay in Kerman was not even as long as ours had
been. And so it seemed as if the work there could not be carried on,
but fortunately this chapter of accidents has now come to an end,
for our missionaries have been living and working there for some
three or four years. All agree, too, in saying that the climate is
a very healthy one, provided the people living there have sound hearts!
CHAPTER V
HOLIDAYS IN PERSIA
How to ensure a prosperous journey--Natanz--Astonishment of natives
at sight of hairpins--Pulivagoon--Mahoon--Aliabad--Prince under
canvas--Visit from a Persian princess--A Persian deer-hunt.
"If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work."
Shakespeare.
In a climate such as has been described in the foregoing chapter,
it is necessary for the sake of health to get away during a part of
the hot season. Fortunately there are suitable places near at hand to
each of the large cities, so it is no very difficult matter to get
away for a few weeks. The difficulties lie rather in reaching these
places, and in transporting all one's belongings--at least all those
that are absolutely necessary--to the place chosen.
After having decided upon the desirability of having a holiday, the
next thing is to fix a day of departure. This sounds easy to say. Yes,
it is quite a simple matter for you to say, "We will start on such
and such a day," but you are perhaps reckoning without considering
your muleteer. On the morning appointed you rise early, see that
everything is in readiness, and then sit down to wait for the baggage
animals to arrive. Time goes on, the sun begins to get hot, and no
sign of the muleteer or mules, so by-and-by you send your servant to
investigate matters, and he brings back with him the muleteer, who
smiles sweetly and says, "Ensha'allah farda (to-morrow, God willing)
we will start on our journey." His mules have gone to a village, and
will be back "ensha'allah farda." We can console ourselves that very
likely the same thing will occur again on the next day. It is always
"farda" with these people, so we must try to possess our souls in
patience, and hope for the best. Persians are never in a hurry, and
cannot understand why it should make any difference whether we start
"to-day" or "to-morrow." Oh, those endless "fardas"! how tired we got
of them before we had been very long in the land. But it is good to
learn patience, and the sooner you have mastered this lesson well,
the happier will you be living in the East.
Preparing for a holiday in Persia is rather a different matter to
starting off at home for the seaside or elsewhere. Everything has to
be taken--pots and pans, tables, chairs, beds and bedding--in fact,
everything that is necessary for four or five weeks' stay in a house
where nothing is provided but the bare walls. It is wonderful what a
number of things are necessary even for a short stay, in the so-called
simple life.
The natives are very superstitious about many things when starting on
a journey. For instance, it is very unlucky, in their eyes, to proceed
if any of the party happens to sneeze on the point of starting. They
would much rather postpone the start for a more propitious occasion,
than disregard this bad omen. I heard of one man who insisted on
continuing his journey in spite of the warning given in the form of
a sneeze, and the consequence was he fell off his mule and broke his
leg! The natives also are careful to have a good supply of copper coins
ready when starting on a journey, to give to the beggars. Whenever
we left home our servants always distributed freely to the poor who
were living around, to ensure a blessing on our journey, but they
never forgot to put the amount down in the daily account!
While in Persia we had some very enjoyable holidays, but as I could
not endure the altitude we were never able to go to the mountains,
which of course make the ideal summer resorts. However, we managed
to find some very pretty and fairly cool places in the plains or on
slightly elevated ground. Our first holiday in Persia was spent in a
very pretty little village called Natanz. I had been taken ill on our
way to Isphahan, and the lady doctor who came out to meet us suggested
our going for a week or so to this little village before entering
Isphahan. Spring was already well advanced, and it is difficult to
recruit in the hot season.
Natanz is a picturesque little village, slightly off the general route,
so that the natives had not then become very much used to Feringhis
staying with them, and our coming caused no little excitement. We
arrived there about twelve o'clock one night, and were conducted to
our room by an admiring throng, and this throng continued to "admire"
for the whole time we were there. The windows of our room were
composed of lattice work only, so all interested could always have a
good view of our movements. On waking in the morning there were our
faithful followers to be seen with their faces flattened against the
trellis work, waiting for us to wake, and see what we were going to
do next! At times this interest shown on the part of the inhabitants
was a trifle embarrassing, but as often as they were driven away by
our servant just as often did they return again whenever his back
was turned. For the first day or two I did not leave the room, but
when I felt stronger I used to sit in a chair outside the window
reading or writing. The moment my husband left me the women all
swarmed round like bees, full of curious questions. Unfortunately at
that time I was not able to talk to them, not knowing the language,
but I could make out what they were saying to a great extent from
their gestures. My fountain pen was a cause of great amusement and
astonishment, as were also my hairpins. The delight of some of the
women on being presented with a hairpin was very funny. They seemed to
think I stuck them into my head, as into a pincushion. At first the
women were rather shy, as they could not be quite sure whether I was
a man or a woman, but one of them came and peeped under my hat and
seeing I had long hair concluded I was a woman. My husband received
a visit from the governor of the village, who was very delighted to
see an English hakeem. We were quite sorry when our little holiday
in Natanz was over, but being anxious to push on to Isphahan, did
not care to prolong our stay longer than was necessary.
Our next holiday was in the summer of the same year 1900. This time
we went only a few hours' drive out of Isphahan to a place called
Pulivagoon. It was a very pretty little village, and a nice house,
belonging to the Zil es Sultan, had been lent to us for a month. The
house was built practically on the river, as our windows hung right
over the water, and the sound of its rushing torrent reminded us of the
lapping of the waves on the seashore in dear Old England. There were
some lovely woods near by, to which we often used to take our tea,
and pass the time pleasantly paddling, bathing, and fishing in the
river. The following year we were at Kerman, and went for our holidays
to a lovely garden about nine hours' ride from the city. Mahoon lies
very high; it must be at least 6700 feet above sea-level. The climate
is beautiful, but the altitude proved too high for me to enjoy it
much. We had a very tiring ride from Kerman; starting one day soon
after noon we rode for three or four hours, then had a refreshing cup
of tea under the shadow of a large spreading tree. But we could not
afford to linger, for we still had a good half of our journey before
us, so once more we mounted our respective steeds, hoping to reach
our destination about nine o'clock, but alas for our hopes! Nine
o'clock came and went, and still we seemed no nearer; ten o'clock,
and still no sign of our village. It was now pitch dark, and we
were all very tired and hungry, and I was so dead beat that I could
hardly sit upright on my animal. My husband rode close by my side,
to be in readiness in case I should fall off in my sleep. To the
oft-repeated question, "How much farther?" the answer always came,
"Ensha'allah--only half-an-hour." Oh, those half-hours, how wearisome
they became! I did so wish that they would say two hours or three hours
for a change, for the everlasting half-hour was so tantalising. Our
servants told me afterwards that they said this to keep up my spirits,
as they thought, if they told the truth about the distance, "the
Khanum's heart would melt within her." At last, just after midnight,
we heard a very energetic coo-ing ahead of us, and knew that at
last we were within sound of rest and food. It was so dark that we
could not find the path leading to the garden, and our animals went
floundering about over great boulders of stones or stumbling into
ditches, and of course all in the wrong direction, till some one met
us and conducted our tired party into the house. Here we found that
our baggage animals, with Bagi and the other servants, had not yet
turned up, though they had started an hour or two before us. They did
not arrive till morning, so there was nothing for it but to lie down
on bare boards and go to sleep supperless. The only drinking vessel
to be found was a saucepan, from which we had a most refreshing drink
of water and retired to our luxurious couch, sleeping as well and as
soundly as if we were lying on beds of softest down. We were awakened
about eight o'clock next morning by the sound of bells, and knew that
our belated caravan had come in. While they were settling disputes
and unpacking we strolled off into the garden to dip our faces into
the cool water that was flowing through the grounds. It was, or rather
had been, a magnificent garden, but, like everything else in Persia,
was even then fast falling into decay. There was water in abundance,
flowing on both sides, and fountains playing on the top terrace and
also at the foot of the garden. The whole garden was built in a series
of terraces, and steps led from one level to the next. The houses and
gardens had been built by H.H. Farman Farma, at one time governor of
Kerman, and must have cost a great deal of money.
We took up our quarters in the house at the top of the garden, and
after a few days our consul came out from Kerman and occupied the
lower one. We spent a very enjoyable month here, riding, shooting,
bathing, &c. My husband opened a dispensary for the villagers,
to which he went two mornings each week, and the people appreciated
this very much, as I do not think they had ever had an English doctor
amongst them before. We much enjoyed the use of the Persian "hammam"
(bath) while there. It comprised a series of rooms built a little way
off from the house; each room was built of marble and blue tiles. The
first or outer room was simply for resting in, having a fountain in
the centre; passing through this, you entered a large vaulted room,
which was used for a dressing-room and "cooling-down" place; from this
you passed to the actual hammam, which was a large tank of water about
15 feet by 10 feet, and from 1 to 6 feet deep, shelving gradually in
depth from the edge. This had not been used for some years apparently,
but my husband had it cleaned out and filled with fresh water, and
we were very thankful for it during the hot weather. At first we
tried taking our afternoon siesta in the outer or resting-room, but
found it too feverish; however, we were able to sit in it during the
early part of the day, and generally had our Persian lesson there,
as it was easier to work in the cool. We always made our holidays
a time for language study, as my husband rarely could find time for
it while at work in the city, and we both longed to be able to speak
Persian properly. I must say the natives were always wonderfully good
and patient over our mistakes, and never laughed, however terrible
and feeble our attempts at conversation might be. Unfortunately,
just as we were beginning to feel our way in Persian a little, we
had to start learning a new language, so to a great extent we have
forgotten our Persian.
Our last holiday in Persia was spent in Aliabad, a dear little village
about ten hours' drive from Yezd. H.R.H. the Jalal el Dowleh (nephew
of the late Shah) kindly lent us a house there, and as it was rather
a small one, he erected a large tent in the garden for us, which did
duty as dining and sitting-room combined. The Jalal also kindly lent
us one of his carriages to drive from Yezd to Aliabad. The first part
of the way the road was very good. We left Yezd just before sunset,
reaching our half-way place shortly before midnight. Here we had to
rest the horses till morning, so we spent the night in a garden by
permission of the owner. Spreading a rug on the ground, and using
two of the carriage cushions as pillows, we spent a very comfortable
night, and awoke in the early morning fresh and ready for the second
part of our journey. We were off before sunrise, as we wished to reach
our destination before the great heat of the day began. I shall never
forget that drive. For the greater part of the way there was not even a
semblance of a road, and the whole path was strewn with huge stones and
boulders; it was a marvel to me how the carriage ever got safely over
them. But oh, the jolting and the shaking! Driving up the Pyramids
would be smooth and easy compared to the horrors of that road! We
repented often of having accepted the kind offer of the carriage, as
the saddle is much more preferable on such roads. However, all things
come to an end to those who have patience; so at last this memorable
drive ended, and we were very thankful, about ten o'clock, to see the
trees of our village rising on the horizon. We found the little house
very comfortably arranged and breakfast waiting for us in the tent,
as our servants had pushed on instead of resting during the night.
Aliabad contained, I suppose, some fifty houses, all of which were
occupied by Moslems of rather a fanatical type. It was surrounded on
all sides by mountains and hills, and this gave it a rather shut-in
feeling at times. After sunset, too, it was very chilly and damp, as
there were so many gardens lying under water at that time, this being
the usual method of irrigation. I wanted to make the acquaintance of
the village women, so I let it be known that I should generally be
in the garden during the morning, and should welcome all who came
to see me. In this way I saw most of the women, but they were not
very responsive on the whole. It was here, sitting in the garden one
morning, that I tried to learn from them how to "tell the beads"
according to the Moslem method, but I found it too intricate and
difficult. I managed, however, to master one very simple method of
trying the beads for good or ill fortune. This was as follows: holding
the rosary before you in both hands, you separate a certain number of
the beads; then, closing your eyes, you "tell" them, repeating the
mystic words "Adam, Eve, Satan," until the last bead is reached. If
this happens to be "Adam," the luck is sure to be of the best; if
"Eve," the result is neutral, and the beads must be counted again;
while "Satan" indicates the worst of fortune, and would absolutely
prevent any one from undertaking any contemplated action.
It was no uncommon sight to see the women counting their beads and
mumbling to themselves, "Adam, Hava, Shaitan (Adam, Eve, Satan), Adam,
Hava, Shaitan," before making up their minds as to whether they should
drink their medicine or not. Or perhaps some patient has been advised
an operation, and he is trying his beads to see whether the doctor's
advice is to be taken or not. It is a strange thing that, when they
very badly want to do a thing, they can generally make it come to
"Adam," or else they keep on repeating the words till it does come
to the lucky name, and then they are happy.
When we had been in Aliabad some days the prince-governor of Yezd
brought his "anderoon" to the same village. Of course there was no
accommodation for them in the village, so they erected a town for
themselves. It sprang up in one night, and looked in the morning as
if a large company of soldiers had suddenly come along and fixed their
camp. The ladies' quarters consisted of about twenty large tents, and
were enclosed by a huge canvas wall, quite shutting them off from the
outside world. The prince had his reception tents and others outside
the wall, but quite near to it.
A day or two after their arrival the princess sent down her carriage
for me, with a request that I would go and see her, which I gladly did,
and found her surrounded by all her home comforts, and dressed, as
usual, in some lovely silk costume. After this she always sent for me
about three times a week, and we had walks and talks together. Whenever
we came to a garden, she and her ladies always gathered the cucumbers
and onions and ate them, thoroughly enjoying the impromptu picnic,
and never giving a thought to the poor unfortunate owner, who dared
not voice a remonstrance, however much his garden was stripped of
its produce.
A eunuch or two always went before when the princess walked out, to
warn off any of the dreaded menkind who happened to be about. One
day the prince gave permission for his wife to come and call upon
me. This was the first time she had ever been allowed to pay a
visit. I was sorry we were not in our own house, as I should have
liked to show her an English home. However, we made the place as
tidy and home-like as possible for her reception. My husband had to
be banished, and also all the men-servants. Bagi (our woman servant)
prepared all the refreshments, but the princess's own servants handed
them to her, as Bagi was a Parsee, and it would have meant defilement
for a Moslem to take food from a despised follower of Zoroaster.
The prince spent most of his time hunting, and my husband went with
him on several occasions. The sport did not seem to be very exciting,
from all accounts. The Jalal would take with him about thirty to forty
of his followers, and form a kind of cordon round the spot where the
gazelles were known to be; they then gradually closed in, each rider
knowing and keeping his own position. At last the gazelles would be
sighted, and all would gallop madly towards the spot, and shoot as
they got within range.
We were kept so well supplied with venison during those holidays that
I felt I never wanted to taste it again!
Quite near to Aliabad there were some large caves in which the natives
had stored frozen snow, so that even in the height of summer we were
able to have a large block of ice every day.
Altogether our time at this little village was very enjoyable, and
we were quite sorry when our holiday was over and we had to return
to the broiling heat of Yezd.
CHAPTER VI
SOCIAL LIFE IN PERSIA
Kerman--House-hunting and building--White ants--Housekeeping
in Kerman--Servant question--Truth v. falsehood--Abdul
Fateh--Bagi--Recreations--Some exciting rides--Persian
etiquette--Dinner at the governor's.
"Society is no comfort to one not sociable."
Shakespeare.
The social life of Europeans in Persia differs very much according to
the town lived in. In some parts much life and gaiety are to be found,
and in others this element is conspicuous by its absence. In Teheran,
where we have our Legation, of course social life is at its height. At
Isphahan, too, there is quite a large European community. When we were
there in 1900 and 1903 there must have been at least fifty Europeans,
and very happily and sociably all lived together. From Isphahan we
went to Kerman, where for some five or six months we were the only
foreigners, but in spite of having none of our own countrymen to call
upon or visit, we were very happy. After a time a British consul was
appointed, and we felt quite gay, and I at once started a European
"at home" day, and every Wednesday our consul was a most regular
visitor. He was always very homesick, and liked anything that helped
to remind him of dear Old England.
On one occasion we actually mustered four Englishmen to dinner,
as two travellers happened to be passing through at the same time,
one of whom was Mr. Savage Landor, who entertained us with most
harrowing accounts of his time amongst the Thibetans. Just before
we left two English ladies arrived, so the social life at Kerman
began to grow, and to-day it boasts of quite a number of Europeans,
consisting of consuls of various nations, as well as missionaries,
bank and telegraph employees.
When we arrived at Kerman we found great difficulty in choosing and
leasing a house. Many were only too anxious to show us their houses,
and to assure us that all their property belonged to us, to do what we
liked with; but when it came to making definite arrangements it was
quite a different matter. So long as it was only "talk" the various
would-be landlords were willing to promise everything and anything,
but it was quite another question when suggestions were made as to
the desirability of committing those promises to paper. At last we
settled on a house outside the town, which possessed a nice large
garden, but the house itself only consisted of about two rooms,
and these were in a very tumble-down and filthy condition.
The landlord (a Parsee) promised to build according to our plans,
and to spend the whole of the first three years' rent in making
improvements and additions to the house. The consequence of this
delightful arrangement was that during the greater part of our time
in Kerman building operations were going on, and only just as we were
leaving was the work completed and the house made inhabitable. But
in the end a very fairly comfortable house was built, and has been
occupied ever since, I believe, by our C.M.S. missionaries.
Our garden was very large, but only half of it had been cultivated;
the further end we had hoped to have made into a tennis court,
but unfortunately we had to leave before it was possible to do
so. All the bricks used for building were made from the earth of
the garden. The process is simplicity itself. Water is mixed with
the earth till it becomes a thick mud, then it is stamped into the
required shape by means of a wooden block, and then left in the sun
to dry. Sometimes straw is mixed with the mud, when it is necessary
to have very strong bricks.
Directly we moved into our house I found to my horror that it was
infested with white ants. This was my first experience of these
wretched little creatures, and I hope it may be my last. They are
disturbers of one's peace of mind, for once they are settled in a
house it is impossible to get rid of them, and the only thing to
hope for is that by continually waging war against them you may keep
them slightly in subjection. I remember so well the day I first made
the acquaintance of these noxious things. I had with much difficulty
succeeded in finishing our drawing-room, and considering all things
I may be forgiven if I confess to having felt a certain amount of
pride as I looked at the result of my labours. Certainly it was
not too luxurious; but it was comfortable and "homey." Alas! my
pride soon had a fall. After a day or two my husband had need of
some book, and upon taking it from the shelf found it eaten half
through! I then began to hunt about, and found the room was swarming
with these abominations, under the carpets, behind the pictures,
cosily ensconced in books--everywhere they were having a right royal
time. From that moment almost to the day we left, I never ceased to
hunt and destroy these ubiquitous ants. We were having two new rooms
built, and I said to my husband, "One comfort is that the ants cannot
be in the new rooms;" but, alas, my hopes were vain! The builders had
used an old piece of wood for a beam on which the ceiling rested,
and this was infested with white ants, and so in a very short time
they had that room, too, to revel in. I tried all manner of things
to get rid of them, but found the most successful remedy was pouring
petroleum down the holes from which they came. This drove them away
from that hole, but they only burrowed a little further, seeking
for a new outlet. Nothing could or can destroy them. As long as the
queen ant remains they can never be exterminated. An English engineer
who came to Kerman told me that, when he was living in India, he was
building a house, and before he laid the foundations he offered large
rewards for all queen ants found in the grounds near, for, said he,
"This is the only way to ensure freedom from these pests." He also told
me that one night he left his evening shoes out in his room, and in
the morning the leather was eaten half away. I can quite believe this
now, after having seen for myself their tremendous digestive powers.
One of our missionaries had to leave Kerman quite suddenly while we
were there. Before leaving he packed all his most valued books into
tin-lined cases and had them soldered down, thinking they would be safe
against the intrusions of white ants. Shortly after his departure we
suspected these wretches of being at work amongst the books, and so
came to the conclusion we had better open and see. There, sure enough,
they were, and busily they had been engaged too, for like "Mother
Hubbard who went to the cupboard," when we went to the box we found
it bare! if not quite, almost so; for, with the exception of a few
stout leather covers, all trace of Mr. Blackett's valuable library
was gone! Such are the literary instincts of white ants. But indeed
nothing comes amiss to their tastes--books, boots, pictures, carpets,
clothes, papers--all vanish under the business-like efforts of these
horrible creatures. What with white ants and bad servants to contend
and combat with, housekeeping in Kerman was enough to turn one's hair
grey! The struggle was unequal, and I generally got the worst of it.
To begin with, the servants we had brought with us from Isphahan
refused to stay in such an out-of-the-world spot as Kerman, so
no sooner had we begun to unpack than first one and then another
declared his intention of going, until we were left stranded. Then
began the joys of servant-hunting. In some parts of Persia this is
not a difficult task, but in Kerman it was practically impossible to
find a decent servant, or one that knew anything about his work.
The chief drawback to Kerman domestics is the fact that they are all
opium-smokers. The native saying in Kerman is, "That every fourth
man out of three" is an opium-smoker. Although this may be a slight
exaggeration, yet it was decidedly hard to find any one who was not
addicted to this terrible habit. Awful specimens presented themselves
as "cooks," but one look at them was enough! At last a veritable
"Uriah Heep" offered his valuable services to us; he came armed with
wonderful credentials and menu cards. These latter he claimed to
have successfully negotiated when in the employ of some Frenchman,
but I have grave doubts as to the veracity of this statement. On the
strength of these menus we thought we could not do better than engage
him; so he came, and proved himself to be a most aggravating specimen
of humanity, specially formed, I believe, to try the patience and
tempers of poor unsuspecting foreigners. Nothing ever put him out
or ruffled his sweet amiability. How I wished it would, and that he
would depart in wrath and anger at my repeated complaints against
him! But no, nothing of the kind; he came to stay, and stay he did,
till he bade us an affectionate and touching farewell on our departure
from Kerman. His money accounts were always atrociously high, but so
cleverly did he manage them that I could rarely detect him cheating,
and at last I gave it up as a hopeless task, concluding the game was
not worth the candle.
When we were alone his cooking was passable--at least it was generally
eatable; but if ever we had friends to dinner he always managed to
surpass himself with some act of stupidity or wickedness, I never
could make out which it was.
On one occasion the English consul and one or two others were dining
with us. We had safely reached the "sweet" stage, and I was just
beginning to congratulate myself that this time, at any rate, our
lovely cook was not going to disgrace himself or play any trick. Just
then a "chocolate cream" was handed round. It looked all right. The
consul took some, tasted it, and promptly laid down his fork; his
example was followed by others. I hastily called the "boy" to bring
me some, and on tasting it found to my horror that the chocolate
cream was highly flavoured with naphthalene! We had lately received
a box from home; in it was some of this useful stuff for destroying
moths; doubtless the cook thought it was a nice and specially delicate
flavouring for puddings! On another occasion I had been experimenting
on some dessert dish, which necessitated part of the ingredients
soaking for an hour or two over a slow fire. I put everything ready,
and left strict injunctions with "Uriah" that he was to touch nothing,
and so I left. Shortly after, feeling rather uneasy as to the welfare
of my concoction, I returned to the kitchen, just in time to see the
wretched man pouring my "Dream of Delight" down the sink! I confess
to having been guilty then for the first and last time of boxing a
servant's ears; but really was the provocation not great?
Another of our "treasures" was a man called Neamat 'allah. He was
a splendid "show man," but no good for work of any kind. He shone
when visitors came, as he felt the dignity of his Sahib depended in
a great measure on him.
Then there was an awful boy, Rustem. I did my best to make him into a
decent parlour-maid, but utterly failed. Although only about eighteen
years of age, he was a confirmed slave to the opium habit. His chief
forte was smashing crockery and telling lies. Of course we never
expected our servants to speak the truth, but this boy seemed the most
incorrigible of all. One day he said to me, after I had been trying to
instil into his mind some idea as to why we should speak the truth,
"Well, Khanum, what is the use of my speaking the truth, for if I
did you would not believe me, and would only say it was a lie?" This
is true, I am afraid, to a great extent, for after being deceived so
often one gets sceptical about the possibility of a native speaking the
truth, especially if he is an opium-smoker too. And yet sometimes they
look at you so innocently, with such an air of injured righteousness,
that you begin to wonder if after all they are not for once speaking
the truth; but, alas, the wonder soon passes!
Shortly before leaving Kerman we were fortunate enough to secure
the services of a real treasure in the person of an Indian. He came
to Kerman with his master, Mr. Patrick Duncan, whose object was to
sink artesian wells, but unfortunately he died before his work was
completed. His man, Abdul Fateh, was heartbroken at the death of his
master, as he had been with him for many years. He begged my husband
to engage him, and very gladly we did so, and he proved a great comfort
to us all our time in Persia, acting as "pishkhedmat" (chief servant),
not only being good and honest himself, but keeping the others up to
their work, and not allowing them to cheat us too much. Before leaving
the subject of servants I must say just a word about our woman servant;
she was such a dear little body--a Parsee. We called her Bagi, which
means a female servant. She had been with Miss Sykes for a time,
so knew a little about Feringhi ways. She was a picturesque figure,
waddling about the house in her big baggy trousers and her gaily
coloured overall reaching to her knees, while on her head she wore
the usual number of coverings, in compliance with the Zoroastrian
idea that a woman's head must be well covered! It is a great "shame"
for a Parsee woman to be seen with her head uncovered. One day Bagi
had been washing her hair, and the doctor happened to see her in
passing before she had replaced her many coverings. She came to me
in great distress to know what was she to do. The Sahib had seen her
with her head uncovered!
The recreations of Kerman are confined almost entirely to horse
riding. There are many very good picnic places near by, and an
excellent stretch of desert for a canter or gallop, but not so good
as the desert outside Yezd. When we first went to Kerman I was told
that I must on no account ride through the bazaars, as no Englishwoman
had ever been seen in them. I might ride outside the town and view the
bazaars from a safe distance, but this did not fall in with my ideas at
all, and as soon as we were fairly settled down in our house I asked
my husband to take me to see the bazaars. So one afternoon we started
off to try the experiment, taking with us two servants, one to walk
in front and one behind, my husband and I riding our horses. I will
not say that as we entered the dark, dreary-looking archways leading
to the bazaars my heart did not beat a little faster than usual,
as I thought of all the horrible things which had been told me as
to what might happen when first an Englishwoman was seen in the open
bazaar. After a few minutes, however, I saw there was nothing to fear,
for beyond a good stare and a few curses from some of the people,
nothing happened. I had, of course, taken the precaution of wearing
a thick veil. My second ride through these same bazaars was much more
exciting. It was during the time of the Passion Play in the month of
Mohurram, referred to in another chapter. As we were riding quietly
along we suddenly came across the whole company of excited, maddened
creatures returning to their homes after the play was over. The crowd
was headed by about a hundred men, whose garments were streaming with
blood, their heads and faces covered with gashes of all sorts and
sizes. In their hands they held and waved frantically their swords
or daggers.
Our servants were fearfully alarmed, and hurriedly turned our
horses' heads into a narrow passage, and hoped the crowd would
not notice us. But unfortunately they did, and with a wild cry of
"Feringhi! Feringhi!" they immediately formed up just in front of the
opening to our passage and began their wild dance for our benefit. It
was rather a gruesome sight in the dimly-lighted bazaars to see
a hundred or more naked swords flashing, blood on everything and
everybody, men yelling, shouting, cursing, and dancing. We were not
sorry when in a few minutes they took it into their heads to move on,
thinking, no doubt, that they had paid great honour to the Feringhis
by this exhibition for their special benefit. After this experience
I felt there certainly was no longer any need for fear, and since
then we have all ridden and walked quite freely in and through the
bazaars. Only once was I spat upon in Persia, and that was in Yezd.
Persians have often been called the Frenchmen of the East.
They certainly are a most courteous and polite people, outwardly at
all events, and are masters in the art of paying compliments to one
another. But to a novice it is no light matter to know just the right
amount of flattery to deal out, as it is almost as bad a mistake
to give any one a great deal too much flattery as not to give him
enough. The art lies in knowing just what is due to each person,
according to the rank of life he occupies. When you wish to visit
any one it is not polite to send word to say, "I am coming." You must
couch your message in much more flowery language, such as, "I want to
honour myself by coming to see your nobleness." The answer will be
"Bis'millah--Please bring your tashrif (dignity)." There is great
etiquette, too, over the kalian-smoking and tea-drinking, each one
deprecatingly suggesting that his neighbour should partake first and
the other declining the honour with a sweeping bow; but every one knows
who is entitled to the first whiff of the kalian or the first cup of
tea, and no one would dare to think of defrauding him of his right.
It seems such a pity that Persians of high class are gradually falling
into European ways, for they do not suit these Frenchmen of the East
half so well as their own manners and customs.
While we were in Kerman the governor was one who had lived in Europe
a good deal, and liked everything done a la Feringhi; he much enjoyed
English afternoon teas, home-made cakes, &c. Soon after our arrival
there an invitation came from the governor for dinner the following
week. On the evening appointed a carriage came for us and drove us
to the "Arg," as the house of the governor is called. We found a
splendid dinner waiting for us, served in French style, about twenty
courses of excellently cooked dishes. After dinner we were amused
by Persian musicians and singers. We were entertained by the nephew
of the governor, who apologised for the absence of his uncle, who,
he said, was suffering from a bad attack of fever which prevented his
presiding at the table. We heard afterwards that the real reason of
his non-appearance was not fever, but a fear of being laughed at. He
knew how things ought to be done according to European fashion, and
was afraid that he had not all the necessaries to carry out a dinner
successfully, and so preferred not to show himself. However, when he
saw how splendidly the first dinner-party went off he decided to give
another, so in about a week's time we received a second invitation to
dinner. This time the governor himself took the head of the table,
and did the honours of it well, too. He certainly had nothing to be
ashamed of, for everything was served in perfect French style. From
the soup to the dessert, with all the intermediary courses, everything
was dished up in perfect taste and on good china. The glass and table
decorations would not have disgraced a European table.
The Governor of Yezd, on the other hand, preferred to hold more to his
own traditions, and I have much enjoyed a meal there with his family,
served and eaten in true Persian style.
CHAPTER VII
THE WOMEN OF PERSIA
Home life--Anderoon, women's quarters--Jealousy in
the anderoon--Anderoon of Khan Baba Khan--Two days in an
anderoon--H.R.H. Princess Hamadane Sultane--Visit to the anderoon
of H.R.H. the Zil-es-Sultan.
"The more your prayers to me, the more will your wives be in Paradise."
From Life of Al-Jazuli.
"Women are weak, as you say, and love of all things to be passive,
Passive, patient, receptive, yea, even of wrong and misdoing,
Even to force and misdoing, with joy and victorious feeling,
Patient, passive, receptive; for that is the strength of their being,
Like to the earth taking all things and all to good converting."
A. H. Clough.
Whilst in Persia I had a good many opportunities of becoming well
acquainted with some of the Moslem women, especially in Kerman,
as there I was for some time the only Englishwoman, and naturally
the women liked to see as much of me as possible, in order to see
and hear about life amongst the Feringhis. The Persian women are
much more volatile and genial than their Arab sisters, but on the
whole I prefer the latter, perhaps because I have had so much more
to do with them. The Persian lady is ready, the moment she sees you,
to shower compliments upon you and to tell you how much she loves you,
while her more austere sister of Arabia takes time to consider whether
you are a person to be trusted or not; and if after a time she does
give you her love, it is something worth the having.
When I first went to Persia I found the questions of the women most
disconcerting, but after a time, if their conversation became too
objectionable, I always told them it was not our custom to talk on
such subjects, and they generally took the hint, at any rate for the
time being. When in Kerman I started an "At Home" for Moslem ladies,
and in this way I got to know some of them very well, and also by
visiting them in their homes. They quite liked the idea of an "At Home"
day, and I well remember our first one. About twenty ladies came, each
one attended by a slave or two and a small boy to guard their shoes,
which of course they left at the door. It was quite a business unrobing
all these ladies from their black silk "chuddars," and arranging each
lady in her respective place, according to the honour due to her. We
had in our drawing-room a long divan, about 12 feet by 6, occupying
the whole of one end of the room, and cushioned according to Eastern
ideas. On this about twelve of the ladies seated themselves and looked
very comfortable and at ease, while the rest sat on chairs arranged
round the room, and looked most uncomfortable and uneasy. By-and-by
I noticed first one foot being tucked up and then another, till most
of the ladies were sitting native fashion on their chairs, and it
looked so curious I could hardly keep from smiling. After all were
settled, and their chuddars and veils carefully folded up and put
aside by the slaves, then the kalian or water-pipe was brought in,
each slave preparing the pipe for her own mistress.
I had arranged that my woman-servant, Bagi, should hand round tea,
but the ladies were horrified at the idea of taking tea which had been
poured out by a Parsee, as they believed it would make them unclean
for I don't know how long; so my poor Bagi had to take a back seat
and see others take her place. My next "At Home" day I was wiser, and
secured the services of the mother of our syce, who was a Moslem, as I
did not like to see a strange woman doing the honours of the tea-table.
Amongst the ladies that day was the wife of one of the ex-governors of
Kerman, and the good lady did not let any one forget that fact! They
were always most interested in seeing and hearing all about Feringhi
life, and were specially interested in photographs and pictures. One
lady said to me directly she was seated, "I want to see a picture of
Jesus Christ;" and on my showing her one, she most reverently kissed
it and put it to her forehead. They much enjoyed listening to our
little organ, and one lady was so delighted that she gave her husband
no peace till he bought her one, and then nothing would satisfy her
but I must go and teach her how to play. As her instrument arrived
from Teheran with half its notes missing, it is easy to imagine
that her musical talent (?) was somewhat put to the test. However,
she was very proud of her instrument, and quite happy playing with
one finger an accompaniment to some weird Persian song.
Of "home life" in Persia there is none; there is no word in their
language for "home," and so it plays no part in their lives. Life in
the home varies very much according to the rank of the husband. The
poorer wives and village women are blessed by being obliged to work,
but the better class have absolutely nothing to do, from morning
till night, but smoke, drink tea, and talk scandal. The poorer wife
is certainly the better off of the two, for she has to rise early in
the morning to get her husband his early cup of tea before he goes
off to work; then she has the house to look after and the children
to think of and sew for; and last, but not least, the evening meal
of pillau or kabob to cook ere her lord and master returns from his
labours; while her less fortunate neighbour has nothing to do but to
talk of the latest scandal of the anderoon, and then to pay a visit
to another anderoon to tell and receive the latest news there.
The anderoon is that part of the house which is given up to the women,
and is as a rule the best part of the house, for there the men of the
house retire when their work is done, to be waited on and fussed over
by the womenfolk.
When a man is well off and has more than one wife, he generally keeps
them in separate compounds; but often two will be living together in
the same anderoon, and as a rule they do not love each other very much.
The great and chief causes of jealousy in the anderoon are the
children, or rather lack of children. For instance, a young bride is
brought to her husband's house, and for a time she is the pet and
favourite of her husband, and all is well; but if as time passes
no child comes to cheer her heart, then the husband soon tires of
his new plaything and looks about for a new and prettier one, till
one sad day the poor young wife hears that her husband is about to
bring home another to share her life and home. We can imagine what
rage and jealousy will burn in her heart, and how she will hate the
new inmate of the anderoon, and especially if after a time her enemy
becomes the mother of a boy. Then her hatred reaches a climax, and
it is by no means uncommon for her to have recourse to the "cup of
coffee" either for herself or her enemy. That "cup of coffee" is a
most useful (?) institution in Persia, as it is often very difficult
to detect the poison hidden therein.
It is impossible for us even to think of the miseries through which
some of these poor women pass; and if we see how unhappiness and
wretchedness is fostered in an anderoon containing two wives, how
much more miserable and awful must be the life when the number of
wives is multiplied by two or even more.
But while there are many unhappy anderoons, yet as "the exception
proves the rule" in most cases so it does here. For I remember one
home in which two wives were living in apparent peace and happiness;
but here, again, there was reason for their unity, as neither of
them had any children, and so there was no cause for jealousy. Their
husband was an aristocratic old man of about seventy years of age,
and he had taken these two young wives to cheer his old age. He had a
little son by one of his many former wives, of whom he was passionately
fond, and this boy was very ill for some months, suffering from heart
disease. His two young wives nursed this boy day and night in a most
devoted manner, and apparently really loved the boy, and were very
sorry when he died. It was owing to this boy's illness that we had the
opportunity of spending two days in the anderoon of Khan Baba Khan,
and very pleasant and interesting days they were too. It was the
year that we were in Kerman, and we had just gone away for our summer
holiday to that lovely garden of Mahoon, when one day a very urgent
messenger came to my husband from Khan Baba Khan begging him to go
and see his boy, who was very ill. The old man had sent his carriage
for us, with instructions to his man to drive the doctor straight to
his garden, situated some sixteen miles on the other side of Kerman,
where the boy had been taken ill. As soon as we were ready we started
off, but could only reach Kerman that night, where we rested, and
the next day arrived at the garden of the Khan.
It was a very pretty garden, with plenty of trees and running water. On
our arrival we were ushered into the room prepared for us, and in
a few minutes the poor little invalid was brought in, and even then
he seemed to have the mark of death on his face; but he was a very
self-willed boy, and every one had to humour him in everything, as the
fits of temper which he indulged in were very dangerous for him in his
weak state of health. While the doctor was examining and prescribing
for the invalid in another room the two ladies came to see me, and
brought a very appetising dinner; chickens cooked to perfection and
pillaus formed the staple part of the meal. The ladies then retired,
and my husband and I thoroughly enjoyed our first meal taken together
in a Persian anderoon.
After dinner my husband again visited the patient, and the ladies
came to prepare our room for the night. This was quite an elaborate
undertaking. First of all, a huge mosquito net was fixed up by
attaching the four corners to tapes and nailing them to the wall. The
underneath part of the net rested on the floor; on this the mattresses
were placed, so that once you were inside the net you were in what
seemed like a good-sized room. In fact, during the next two days we
used to sit inside the net reading or writing, as outside there was
no respite from the plague of mosquitoes and sandflies. Sleeping on
the floor is very comfortable; in fact, I don't quite see the need of
bedsteads, unless the room is infested with rats or other creeping
creatures! The next two days passed very pleasantly; whenever my
husband went out of the room, almost simultaneously I would hear a
voice at the window asking permission to enter, and the ladies would
come in for a chat. We became great friends, and this friendship lasted
till we left Kerman some months later, and then the Khan lent us his
carriage to drive to Yezd, as he wished to express his gratitude for
all my husband had done for his boy. Unfortunately the boy even then
was past human aid, and after two or three months of suffering he died.
I have always been glad of these two days actually spent in a Persian
home, as it enabled me to see what their everyday life really was;
but as I have said, this was quite an exceptionally happy anderoon,
with none of the wrangling and quarrelling generally connected with
the homes of Persian women.
While in Yezd I met and soon became very friendly with a most charming
Persian lady. She was a daughter of one of the late Shahs, and thus
was a princess in her own right; her husband was a nephew of the late
Shah, so she was doubly connected with Persian royalty.
H.R.H. Princess Hamadane Sultane was in many ways quite unlike the
majority of Persian ladies. She was a strong-minded, clever woman, and
was very anxious that her children should be brought up in European
fashion. These children certainly had a very good time compared
with other Persian children, as their mother refused to let them
become little women before they had passed out of childhood's days,
and although they were then nine and ten years old were generally
playing with their dolls or other toys brought from Paris for their
amusement. The princess very much wished her children to learn English,
but I suggested that she should learn it herself first and then teach
it to her children. To this she gladly consented, and so twice a
week I used to go up and give her lessons. She quickly got over the
A B C stage, as she had some slight knowledge of French, and took
a great delight in picking out the words of an easy English reader,
and in a very short time she greeted me in very quaint broken English:
"Good morning; I hope you are well." Unfortunately, I had to leave my
interesting pupil at this stage, as we were leaving Persia for England,
and I never saw her again; but I have heard that she continued her
English lessons for some time. I do not think I ever knew any one
with so many dresses as this princess had; every time I saw her she
appeared in a different costume, and always in rich silks, satins, or
brocades. I asked her once if she knew how many gowns she possessed,
and she confessed that she had no idea, and added that it would not be
at all right for me to see her more than once in the same dress! And
I certainly never did, although I was visiting her twice weekly for
some months.
This good lady exercised a very great influence over her husband
(a most unusual thing in Persia), partly, perhaps, on account of
her social position and also because she possessed a large amount of
property in her own right. Before she came to live with her husband in
Yezd she said she would only come with the understanding that she was
to be the only wife, and I believe the prince kept to the agreement as
long as she was with him. But he must have found it very hard, for I
have heard that before his wife came no girl dared be out after dusk,
so afraid were they of the prince and his courtiers.
One day I was visiting in the anderoon in company with the lady doctor
who was attending one of the children, and lunch was announced; so
the prince made us sit down with them and partake of the mid-day
meal. After lunch the prince amused himself by vaccinating all
the children he could lay hands on (not his own, but those of the
servants). The children did not seem to see the joke quite so much
as the prince did! They were much too frightened to run away, and
stood trembling in their shoes waiting for their turn to come. At
that time, too, no one in the anderoon dared say they had toothache,
for if they did immediately the prince would call for his forceps, and
out would come a tooth. Perhaps it might happen to be the offender,
but just as likely it would be an innocent tooth which had never
given its owner a moment's pain!
I shall never forget the delicious coffee which was always served
when visiting at this house. It was a mixture, I believe, of coffee
and chocolate; and I have never tasted anywhere such coffee. I asked
the princess to give me the recipe, but my make never came up to the
original, and I think perhaps they did not mean it to!
The princess was very fond of sending to Paris for boxes of goods
on approval, and it was rather amusing to be there when the things
arrived. Sometimes most beautiful Parisian blouses would come, quite
unsuitable for her; but she loved to try them on and then put them
away, never, perhaps, to be looked at again. I have very pleasant
memories of my friendship with Princess Hamadane, and have as a yad
gari (remembrance) a lovely silver tray of Persian work, which she
presented to me on our leaving Yezd; also the photographs of her
three children--two girls and a boy.
It is quite impossible to tell of all the interesting visits paid to
different anderoons; but I should like to mention some visits paid
to the anderoon of the Zil-es-Sultan, a brother of the late Shah. He
was then Governor of Isphahan, and my husband at that time was taking
charge of the medical work there for a year.
The governor one day sent his carriage, with the request that the
English doctor would go to see one of his wives, and also bring
his wife with him; so we went, and had a very pleasant three-mile
drive from Julfa to Isphahan. Arriving at the palace, we were met by
the chief eunuch and conducted to the anderoon, into a large room
surrounded by glass mirrors. Here in a far corner, seated on the
ground, was "something" covered with what looked like a large white
sheet. This "something" turned out to be one of the ladies of the
anderoon, who was suffering from dimness of sight. She was one of the
prince's favourite wives, and so he had taken the trouble to allow
her to see the doctor. After a great deal of palaver she consented
to lift a corner of her chuddar, and, while shielding the other part
of her face, to uncover her eyes. Her husband was very anxious for
her eyes to be thoroughly examined, and he ordered a dark room to be
speedily prepared, so that the examination should be as complete as
possible. While we were waiting for the room and lamp to be ready
the prince took out a little pocket-mirror from his waistcoat and
carefully looked to see if his hair was in perfect order, and then,
having satisfied himself that all was as it should be, he entered
into conversation with my husband over the state of his wife's eyes.
Another day I paid quite an informal friendly visit to two or three
of his wives. Each wife had a separate compound to herself, and her
own set of servants and slaves, and no wife was allowed to visit
another without special permission from the chief eunuch or from the
prince himself.
That afternoon two or three had asked for and received permission
to drink tea in the house to which we had been invited, so we had
quite a nice little tea-party, and a very gay one too so far as the
costumes were concerned; but the subject of dress being so stupendous,
we will leave it for another chapter.
CHAPTER VIII
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.
CHAPTER IX
SOME POINTS IN THE MOSLEM FAITH
Fasts and Feasts--Seyyids, dervishes, mullahs--Legends of the
drowning mullah, and the yard square hole.
"Religion's all or nothing."
R. Browning.
There are five things which every true Mohammedan must either
believe or do. The first is the declaration of their faith or
"Kalimat." "I declare that there is no God but God, and Mohammed is
His Apostle;" "La Allaha il Allah wa Mohammed rasool Allah," this is
the all-important witness, and must be continually recited by all true
believers. Secondly, Moslems are bound to repeat prayers five times
a day--at daybreak, noon, shortly before sunset, during twilight,
and an hour after dark. I do not say all Moslems do repeat prayers at
each of these times, but that is their rule, and those who consider
themselves good Moslems adhere most righteously to these set times
for prayers. Needless to say, it is but a form of words and position,
any slight error in posture taking away all the benefit to be derived
from the prayer. Often in Persia women have said their prayers in
our drawing-room, if the call to prayer sounded while they were
visiting me.
Living in the East, one gets very fond of the call to prayer, heard
from some neighbouring minaret. The first sound that catches the ear
at daybreak is "Allah, Allaho Akhbar" (God is most great), repeated
four times. "La Allaha il Allah wa Mohammed rasool Allah"--this is
said twice, and then other calls and invocations, always finishing
up with the final declaration of "Allah, Allaho Akhbar."
There is a great difference in the way this call to prayer is chanted,
some men having most melodious voices, others harsh and grating; but
wherever a true Moslem may be when he hears this call, he lays aside
his work at once and begins to repeat his prayers, bowing, prostrating,
touching the ground with his forehead, &c., till the duty is finished,
when he returns to his work, perhaps to his cheating and his lying,
for this repetition of prayers has no effect on his life or manner
of living.
Thirdly, all good Moslems are supposed to give voluntarily to the
mullahs a tithe of all they possess, also alms to the poor. In the
Koran we read, "Prayer carries us half way to God, fasting brings us
to the door of His palace, but giving of alms procures admission." In
many cases the mullahs are provided for entirely by the freewill
offerings of the people, all gifts being sent anonymously.
Fourthly, every true believer is expected to undertake, if at all
possible, a pilgrimage, preferably to Mecca, but if that is out
of the question then to Kerbela or Meshed. The former, of course,
brings the greatest merit, and men and women will do all they can
to perform this pilgrimage. On their return they are treated with
great respect, and looked up to as little gods. They generally think
so much of themselves after having performed this wonderful act of
self-denial that they become quite unbearable to their friends. There
is an Arabic proverb which shows the effect this pilgrimage to Mecca
is supposed to have on the pilgrim. It is as follows: "If your friend
has been to Mecca, trust him not. If he has been there twice, avoid
him. But if he has made the pilgrimage three times, then flee from
him as you would from Satan himself."
Women often undertake these pilgrimages, spending weeks or months
it may be over the journey, but resting for ever afterwards in the
great glory and honour resulting from it.
The fifth point to be observed by Moslems is that of fasting during
the month of Ramadan. This lasts for thirty days, and is a real
hardship for the poorer people when the fast falls during the summer,
as from sunrise to sunset not a morsel of food or drop of water may
pass their lips--or, as the Koran expresses it, from "the time you
can distinguish between a white thread and a black, then keep the
fast until night." For the rich and idle it is no great effort,
for they simply feast and revel all night and sleep by day, but
for the servants and labouring class it comes harder, as they must
work by day and cannot sleep properly at night. Children are always
very anxious to begin fasting, and often little mites of five or six
will tell you with great pride that they are keeping the fast. They
generally start by fasting for half days, and how proud they are,
and how they gloat over other children who have not yet begun this
work of devotion! Perhaps what the people who fast miss more than
anything else during Ramadan is their smoking: they are such slaves
to this habit, both men and women, that it is almost life to some
of them, and they find it very hard to go without. When the cannon
booms forth the hour of sunset, giving the Prophet's permission to
his faithful ones to break their fast, generally the first thought,
after moistening their lips with water, is that now they may enjoy
their smoke, either of a cigarette or kalian.
Mohurram is the month of mourning, when all the country mourns for
Hassain and Hussein, the martyred sons of Ali, who are looked upon
by the Shiahs as the rightful successors of the Prophet. During this
season the majority of the people go into deep mourning, and the
bazaars are sometimes draped in black. It is in this month that the
great Passion Play of Persia is enacted, and while in Kerman we were
fortunate enough to have an opportunity of witnessing this "tazieh,"
as the Passion Play is called. It certainly was a sight worth seeing
at least once in a lifetime.
The tenth day of this month of Mohurram is the one set aside for this
festival, and is kept as a general holiday, so that all might go to
see the great spectacle enacted on that day in memory of the death
of Hassain and Hussein, the two grandsons of Mohammed.
The Governor of Kerman had kindly invited us to view the performance
from his house, and accordingly that morning at about eight o'clock he
sent his carriage for us, and we were driven through the packed bazaars
till we arrived at his house, or "Arg," as the governor's residence
is called in Kerman. We were at once admitted by a private entrance,
and ushered into a large verandah, which had been set apart for the use
of Feringhis. As my husband and I were the only Europeans in the city
at that time, we had it to ourselves. Here, before the commencement
of the Play, we were regaled with tea, coffee, jam, bread, cheese, and
cakes. Looking out, the sight was a wonderful one. In front of us was
a large garden in which I suppose some 10,000 people were gathered. At
one end of the garden was a large "hoze" or tank of water, over which
was spread a huge awning, and near by a large pulpit from which the
mullahs preached to the people, and tried to rouse their feelings
to a high pitch of excitement. One man was specially successful in
doing this, causing the women to wail wildly and beat their breasts
frantically, and the men to smite their heads. After a delay of about
an hour, the performance began with a long procession, which entered
the garden at the far end and wound in and out till it had traversed
the whole garden. This procession represented the family travelling
as captives after the death of Hassain and his brother.
First of all came six gaily decorated camels, with men riding
upon them, beating drums and making a tremendous noise. Then
came more camels carrying the tent furniture and other goods,
followed by horses and mules laden with heavy loads. After these
came four stretchers borne by men, on which lay four dead bodies
(figures stuffed) representing Hassain and his three brothers, who
perished from want of water, which had been cut off from them by their
enemies. On each dead body sat a dove, supposed to be mourning. Then
came a horrible sight, one which I never wish to see again. About a
hundred madly excited men dressed in long white robes, armed with
swords, were slashing their heads until the blood was streaming
down their faces on to the robes, white, alas, no longer! As they
reached the tank of water they formed into a line all round it, and
kept up for some length of time a horrible kind of war dance. It was
a ghastly sight. The dancers looked more like demons than men. One
poor man fainted from loss of blood, and had to be carried away,
and a little boy of about eight years of age also collapsed. It was
bad enough to see grown men cutting themselves, but to see the little
children being wounded in this way was terrible. This is, of course,
looked upon as a work of great merit. The more numerous and deeper
the gashes, the greater the merit they accrue to themselves. The
wild dance was continued till a sign was given to the dancers by
the governor, that he had seen enough to satisfy him. Then they all
lined up in front of the verandah where the governor was sitting, and
demanded that five notorious prisoners should be released from the
prison close by. He at once acceded to their request, as it was the
custom at this festival for the governor to release from the prison
any prisoners who are interceded for by these wild, fanatical dancers.
After this ghastly sight came a motley crowd of men and children on
horses, all beating their breasts or heads. Some of the riders were
so tiny that they had to be held on to their steeds by men-servants.
Then came another body on a bier, with a man dressed in a lion's skin,
embracing and fondling the dead body. It looked so weird to see the
pseudo-lion kissing and hugging the remains of its late friend and
master, and expressing in various ways great sorrow and anguish over
its loss.
After this came several batches of boys stripped to the waist, all
beating their breasts. It was really a very pretty sight, for the
boys kept such perfect time, one boy acting as leader, like a group of
children performing gymnastic exercises. As their hands simultaneously
clapped their breasts, there was a sharp report, at which they all
shouted "Hassain! Hussein! Hassain! Hussein!" The whole proceeding
was an interesting but sad spectacle, which I shall never forget. The
clash of swords, the beating of drums, the weird wailing of the women,
accompanied by their spasmodic shrieks, the shouting and yelling of
the fanatical mob, all contributed to the making up of one of the
most notable scenes of Eastern life. And yet it made one's heart
ache to watch this crowd of human beings for whom Christ died, and
who as yet know nothing of Him, but are only anxious to obtain merit
for themselves by taking part in these gruesome religious performances.
All over Persia "religious men" are much looked up to and
respected. Of these the dervish is one very much to the fore. He is
a religious mendicant, having taken a vow either for a certain time
or permanently. The vow is not a very strict one, only consisting
of poverty and obedience to a chief, to whom a portion of the alms
received must be paid.
These dervishes wander from place to place, chanting, singing, and
begging. The natives do not like to refuse them anything, from fear
more than love, perhaps, as it is considered meritorious to give alms
to these religious people.
They generally dress in dirty white, wear their hair long, and carry
an axe or club, more often than not beautifully chased and inlaid, also
the well-known dervish bowl, which is made from a huge nut, carved and
decorated. Often these dervishes will come and seat themselves in the
courtyard and begin their monotonous chant, and it is very difficult
to get them to move, as the servants will never use force, and their
reiterated requests to "move on" meet with no success whatever till
the dervish is satisfied that he has extracted all the "backsheesh"
likely to be forthcoming.
The Seyyids are another class of people much respected in the
country. They claim to be the direct descendants of the prophet
Mohammed, and are allowed many privileges on account of this. They
wear a green turban or waistband, to be known of all men. Looked upon
as a religious body, the natives are afraid to offend them in any way.
Then there are the "mullahs," or priests of the Islamic faith. They
exercise a great deal of power over the people, but are not, as a rule,
loved by them over much.
The Persians are Shiah Mohammedans, whilst the Arabs and Turks are
Sunnis. As the former know very little Arabic, the reading of the
Koran is to them an unknown tongue, and they regard their "mullahs" as
"sacred men," able to interpret the "Holy Book." Thus the Shiah priest
gains great influence, not to say considerable wealth, in Persia, and
the Shah himself fears the influence of the priesthood. The Sunnis, on
the other hand, know Arabic, as a general rule, and many of them are
able to consult the Koran for themselves, the result being that the
"mullah" gains but little influence compared to the "Shiah" priest,
and is often quite poor. Briefly, the Shiah priesthood is comparable
with that of the Roman Catholic Church of Christendom, while "Sunni"
mullahs do not claim, or would claim in vain, any such authority, thus
more nearly resembling the "status" of Church of England clergy. The
result is obvious: Persia is a priest-ridden country; in "Sunni"
lands the people are freer, and dare think for themselves. It is
a well-known fact that a Persian mullah will exact the uttermost
farthing from his followers, but will never lend a helping hand to
them in their need. For instance, if a man dies without an heir, his
property according to law goes to the poor, but unfortunately it has to
be done through a medium, and that medium is the mullah. He promptly
pockets the property and gives its supposed value (valued, mark you,
by himself) to the poor. We can imagine what a large percentage the
poor receive of that property.
Here is a story which was told us in Kerman, illustrating how loath
the mullahs are to give anything away. The scene is a large pool of
water, in it a mullah struggling to reach the bank, and in danger
of drowning. A passer-by, seeing his distress, runs to his aid and
cries, "Give me your hand, oh my lord, and I will pull you out." "No,
indeed," answers the mullah, "I have never yet given anything to
any one, and I certainly will not begin now." The kindly passer-by,
not liking to leave the mullah in his sad condition, tries to think
of another way out of the difficulty. Suddenly a bright idea strikes
him, and running to the priest, he calls out, "Will you take my hand,
then, oh my lord?" "Gladly," says the mullah, and allows himself to
be drawn out of his perilous position.
Another rather good story is told, showing the meanness of the
priests. A man had agreed to pay a workman eight krans (2s. 8d.) for
digging a hole one yard square. At the end of the day the workman had
only dug a hole half a yard square, so the master went to a mullah to
ask him how much he ought to pay the workman. "Why, of course," says
the mullah, "half the sum agreed upon, that is, four krans." After
deliberating awhile he said, "No, two krans is enough," and this
decision he gave as final, although he impressed upon the man that
one kran was all he could legally claim, as he had scientifically
only done one-eighth of his work!
In the next chapter we shall see a little of another religious sect,
which is fast becoming a power in Persia.
CHAPTER X
OTHER RELIGIOUS SECTS
Other religious sects--The Bab and Babism--Short sketch of
life of the Bab--His imprisonment and execution--Parsees, or
Zoroastrians--Persecutions of Parsees in seventh century--Sacred
writings of Parsees, Zendavesta--Fire-worshipping--Fire
temples--Holy fire--Parsee wedding--Costume of women--Death
customs--Burial customs.
"How many crimes have in religion's name been wrought."
Lucretius.
"Too oft religion has the mother been
Of impious act and criminal."
Lucretius.
The founder of Babism was a native of Shiraz, by name Mirza Ali
Muhammed, born in 1820; it was not till 1844 that he publicly
proclaimed himself to be The Bab or Gate, through which all who wished
for peace and happiness might pass into the inner chambers of mysticism
and sacred mysteries. He soon gathered a large following around him,
and in an astonishingly short time the fame of the Bab was noised
abroad throughout the length and breadth of Persia. At first the
Government and mullahs paid little attention to this new religion,
thinking and believing it to be only a passing fancy of the people,
but in its second year it took such rapid strides that they began to
be alarmed, and to look about for means of checking its progress. The
Bab was placed in prison, and his followers were forbidden, on pain
of death, to teach or discuss their new religion. Soon afterwards,
however, the Bab escaped, and fled to Isphahan, where the governor
of that city protected him for some months, but on the death of the
governor the Bab was again cast into prison. During his imprisonment
he was not idle, for he wrote many books, setting forth his doctrines,
and exhorting his followers to remain firm to their new faith in the
face of all opposition and persecution.
While the Bab was busy in prison, his followers were also busy,
preaching and teaching, and by all means trying to extend the doctrines
of their leader, and so great was the opposition and strife raised
that the Government decided that the Bab must forfeit his life as a
means of putting a stop once and for all to this new and dangerous
sect. Accordingly the Bab was brought from Tabriz, where he had been
imprisoned, and after a mock trial was sentenced to death. On the day
appointed for his execution an enormous crowd gathered to witness his
end--many from curiosity, and also many from love and pity for the
youthful martyr, who to the last maintained the calmness and courage
which had characterised his whole term of imprisonment.
To make the lesson more emphatic, it was decided that two of the
Bab's chief disciples were to be executed with him. One of these
at the last moment recanted, and so was allowed to go free. It was
said that his recantation arose not from cowardice or fear of death,
but from a special revelation given to him, whereby he was commanded
to recant in order to be able to carry away all books and papers
belonging to the Bab, and deposit them in a safe place: however that
may be, it is known that after an interval of two years he too became a
martyr. Efforts were made to entice the other disciple to recant, but
all proved unavailing, and he and his master the Bab were suspended,
by ropes placed under their arms, to a beam placed a few feet from
the ground. As they hung thus the disciple was heard to say, "Master,
art thou satisfied with me?" and then the order was given to fire. When
the smoke cleared away the body of the disciple was found to be riddled
with bullets, but no Bab was visible. What had happened? Had a miracle
been performed, and an angel been sent to rescue him from the hand of
his persecutors? This was the thought of some, and, indeed, a miracle
had been performed, for in spite of the many bullets which had been
aimed at him not one had touched the Bab, but had only brought him
deliverance by severing the ropes which bound him, so that he fell
to the ground unhurt. At first it seemed as if the multitude would
have pity on the unfortunate man, and spare him a second attempt,
but these feelings were only of short duration, and the Bab was again
dragged forth from his hiding-place, where he had taken refuge, and
was a second time suspended. A fresh batch of soldiers had to be told
off for the execution, as the first company absolutely refused to fire
again. This time there was no intervention, and in a second or two
the body of the young martyr of Shiraz was pierced with bullets. The
bodies were cast out to the jackals, but were afterwards recovered
and buried in Teheran by the order of the new Bab, Mirza Yahya.
This event took place in 1850, and in spite of persecutions,
oppositions, and cruelties, the Babis continued to grow in number and
strength, and to-day they form a very large and important community
throughout Persia. In fact, by the very barbarity of the persecutors
their own end was defeated, for all the people were astonished at the
heroism and fortitude displayed by the martyrs. Professor Brown [1]
says, "Often have I heard Persians who did not themselves belong to
the proscribed sect tell with admiration how Suleyman Khan, his body
pierced with well-nigh a score of wounds, in each of which was inserted
a lighted candle, went to his execution singing with exultation." The
effect of such courage and heroism was only to stir up more people
to be disciples of the Bab, as the following story shows.
During the persecutions in Yezd, a young man went to scoff and jeer,
but when he saw with what courage the martyrs endured torture,
and met death, he called out, "I am a Babi, kill me too." While we
were in Yezd the Babis were keeping very quiet, but, nevertheless,
a great work was going on amongst them, but none dared say, "I am
a Babi." A year or two after our departure from Persia we heard of
terrible cruelties and persecutions enacted against these suffering
people, but in spite of all, their number continues to grow and
increase throughout the whole land of Persia, and to-day the Babis
are stronger and more numerous than ever before.
The Parsees of Persia are another most interesting and important
sect: they live chiefly in Yezd and Kerman. They are a people within
a people, living in Persia, and with the Persians, yet keeping quite
distinct from the present inhabitants of the land. Only a few thousand
of this large and influential body of people, who up till the seventh
century were the inhabitants of the land, now remain in Persia. When
the armies of Mohammed conquered Persia, most of these people fled to
India; others preferred to adhere to the new religion, while a few
remained faithful to their old belief, and refused either to flee
to a new and strange country, or to change their creed, and so they
remain till this day a distinct people, following their own customs,
and holding to their own religion amidst a new and domineering nation.
The founder of the Parsee religion was one called Zoroaster. Very
little is known of his life; his birthplace is uncertain, though it
is known he lived for many years in Bactria of Eastern Persia, and it
is probable that it was in this place that he thought out the idea,
from which in later years he constructed his religious system. The
priests of this religion were the "magi" of the Old and New Testament,
and it is very likely that at least one of the "wise men of the East"
who went to offer their adoration to the new-born King was from these
Parsees of Persia.
The date of Zoroaster is very uncertain too. It is known, however,
that in the sixth century B.C., when Cyrus was king, the Zoroastrian
religion was firmly established in Western Persia. Some historians
give him a date between 1000 and 1400 B.C.
The sacred writings of the Parsees are called the Zendavesta, and are
said to be inspired by God through one of their priests. This priest,
having cleansed and bathed himself in the most careful manner, lay
down to sleep clothed in pure white linen. He is said to have fallen
into a deep sleep, from which he did not awake for seven days; at the
end of which time he awoke and recited the faith of the Zoroastrians,
while priests in waiting committed the whole to writing. In this way
was the Zendavesta reduced to the form of a book.
While fire-worshipping forms a large part of their religion, it is
quite a mistake to suppose it comprises the whole, for Zoroaster laid
down many laws concerning morality and the duties and destiny of man.
The Parsees of to-day, as seen in Kerman and Yezd, are a fine race;
their commercial ability is very much above that of the ordinary
Persian, and they are a much cleaner and more moral set of people
than their conquerors. They regard fire as something sacred, as being
the symbol of their god, and nothing will induce them to treat fire
lightly. For instance, we could never persuade our Parsee servants
to blow out a candle; and smoking is prohibited on account of their
religious principles, though nowadays many do smoke in secret. Their
habits of cleanliness and continual personal ablutions have perhaps
contributed to make them the healthy race they are to-day. A good
Parsee will wash many times a day, always before and after praying,
as well as on many other occasions.
All Parsees wear a girdle round their waists, twisted into three
knots in a most complicated and intricate way. Whenever they wash
they must take this off, and after their ablutions are over they
replace the girdle, repeating certain prayers for each knot. These
three knots represent the threefold cord, which is not easily broken,
of good thoughts, good words, good deeds.
There are said to be some thirty or forty fire temples still existing
in Yezd, and in these the holy fire is always burning; the light is
never allowed to go out, it being the work of the priests to keep it
continually bright and trimmed.
The office of priesthood descends from father to son, and besides
attending to the religious needs of the people, the priest is also
supposed to look after their temporal necessities, especially in the
case of poverty-stricken families.
Parsee women have a much freer life than their Persian sisters;
they go about the streets quite openly, never veiling their faces,
and altogether enjoy a much better position than the Mohammedan
women. In some cases the women are even allowed to eat with the men
of the house--a great concession indeed! The children are bright, and
in many cases clever. When seven days old an astrologer is consulted
as to the future of the infant; and when seven years old a boy is
blessed by the priest, who invests him with the sacred girdle, at the
same time throwing upon the child's head portions of fruit, spices,
and drops of perfume.
Girls are married when quite young, and the astrologer is again
consulted on this important matter. When in Yezd we were invited
to a Parsee wedding, and a very interesting sight it was. The
invitation--which was written in letters of gold, and arrived some days
before the date fixed for the ceremony--was acknowledged and accepted
by us with much pleasure, as we were anxious to see something of the
customs of these interesting people.
When the day arrived we arrayed ourselves in gala attire, and set
out to the house of the bride. It was just midnight when we arrived,
and already the guests, some hundreds of them, had been feasting
for hours--in fact, I might say "days," for this was the seventh
and last day of the wedding festivities, and many of the guests
had been present each day. They all looked thoroughly worn-out and
tired. A room had been set apart for the Europeans to dine in, and
just after midnight a most sumptuous dinner was served, consisting
of about a dozen courses. When this had been satisfactorily disposed
of we dispersed to visit the different rooms occupied by the guests,
my husband remaining with the men, while I and another English lady
sought out the bride to give her our salaams and good wishes. The
confusion was terrible--drums beating, cymbals clashing, women dancing
and singing, children yelling and crying, and amid it all, seated
upon the ground, sat the poor little bride-elect. No one seemed to
be taking much notice of her, every one apparently aiming to amuse
herself in the most noisy way possible.
By-and-by a large, silk-covered cushion was brought out from a
back room, and on this the bride was placed, and covered entirely
with a large silk shawl. I wondered what was going to happen next,
when suddenly a group of men appeared at the door. These were the
representatives of the bridegroom, who came to ask formally for the
hand of the bride. They came and stood in front of the covered-up
bride, and called in a loud voice, "Oh, my daughter, will you
consent to be the bride of this man?" (naming the bridegroom). This
was repeated six times amidst a silence which could be felt, all
listening for the answer of the bride. On their repeating the question
the seventh time, a very timid "Balli" (Yes) was heard coming from
the region of the shawl, upon which the commotion started again with
redoubled vigour, in the excitement caused by the acceptance on the
part of the bride of her bridegroom. Of course this was a mere form,
as everything had been arranged long beforehand. I shocked one good
old lady by asking what would happen if the bride had said "No"
instead of "Yes" to the oft-repeated question!
After receiving this very satisfactory answer to their inquiries the
men went off, and the women began to prepare the bride for the last and
most important part of the programme--viz. that of taking her to the
home of the bridegroom. They covered her with a large silk chuddar,
and over her head threw a thick shawl, so that the poor girl could
see nothing, and had to be led and supported on each side by her
proud relatives. The distance between the two houses might perhaps
have taken five minutes to walk in an ordinary way, but that night
we took quite an hour. The procession was headed by two "vakeels"
(agents), who were bargaining the whole way as to the dowry of the
bride. Every now and then they would come to a standstill, and the
bride's vakeel would refuse to go a step further till more money had
been paid, and after a great deal of shouting, gesticulating, and
wrangling, the bridegroom's vakeel would end by throwing some coins
into the other's hand, and then the procession would proceed for a few
steps till blocked once more, while the whole process of bargaining
was gone through again. Fireworks were going off the whole time,
and were apparently laid along the route, for every now and then we
were startled by having a rocket fly up from beneath our feet. About
every twenty yards or so we came across huge bonfires of dried faggots
right in our path, and the whole procession had to wait till these
had died down before they could pass on. Arriving at the door of the
bridegroom's house, a final and most exciting scene took place between
the two vakeels, the one threatening even then to take the bride away,
and the other, getting more wildly angry every minute, declaring he did
not want the bride, and would not pay a "para" (1/2d.) more for her,
and ending up by giving the sum bargained for. If we had not known
it was all part of the ceremony, we might have expected the two men
to come to blows; but it all ended happily, and we trooped into the
new home of the bride. Then came a long time of weary waiting, during
which my sympathies went out to the tired, frightened bride; but just
as we thought there was nothing more to wait for, three interesting
scenes took place. The first was the actual marriage ceremony, in
which a priest read many long prayers from a book, and then tied the
couple together with a silk thread and pronounced a blessing upon them.
The second scene took place in the open courtyard, in the centre of
which was burning the sacred fire placed on a pedestal. The priest
and parents of the bride and bridegroom now joined hands with the
happy couple and walked in solemn single file round and round the
fire, the priest chanting the whole time; this was done seven times,
and then all retired quietly, leaving the fire burning in the court.
To the third and final scene only a favoured few were admitted;
fortunately I was amongst that number. Into the room prepared for the
newly-married couple the little wife was now led, and for the first
time the coverings were taken from her head and face. She was placed
on a huge silk-covered mattress, then the husband came and took his
seat by her side: both of them were looking thoroughly miserable! One
of the women then brought a copper basin and ewer filled with milk,
and the bridegroom proceeded to wash his wife's feet in milk, and she
in her turn washed his hands. This done, we all bade farewell to the
newly-married couple and the wedding ceremony was at an end. Hastily
saying good-bye to our host and hostess, and expressing our good
wishes for the welfare and happiness of the young people, we made
our way homewards, to find it was not very far off dawn, but having
thoroughly enjoyed our first experience of a Parsee wedding ceremony.
The costume of the Parsee women is rather quaint and pretty; it
consists of very baggy trousers gathered in at the ankle. These
trousers are often made of very pretty pieces of embroidery joined
together. As soon almost as a girl can sew she begins to embroider
strips of brightly-coloured materials in order to have them ready
for her wedding trousseau. Over these garments they wear a loose
shirt reaching to just below the knees; this is also made of strips
of different coloured materials, or in the case of a bride is also
embroidered. Then comes the head-dress: it is far beyond my powers
to say of how many pieces this is composed, or as to how they are
arranged. The number of coverings on their heads is legion! First comes
a little tight cap fitting closely over the head and ears. Over this is
arranged in a most marvellous way some six or seven different pieces
of calico or linen, the top one of all generally being a very bright
calico, a mixture of red and yellow being the favourite pattern. The
men are obliged to wear dowdy colours as a mark of submission to the
powers that be. For the same reason also they are not allowed to ride
through the bazaars, and if a Parsee is riding outside the city and
meets a Moslem he promptly has to dismount and walk till he has passed
his more fortunate neighbour; then he may resume his riding. This is,
I believe, the case even if the Moslem be a poor man and the Parsee
a flourishing merchant.
To pass from life to death. A Parsee when he is dying sends for
the priest, who anoints him with sacred juice, repeats some verses
from the "Avesta," and prays for a safe crossing of the "bridge" and
admission into Paradise. As soon as the breath has left the body,
a dog is brought in from the street to ascertain if life is really
extinct. This idea originated evidently from the old Zoroastrian
idea that the evil spirit is expelled from a dead body by means of
a "four-eyed dog" being brought in and made to look at the dead,
the extra "two" eyes being represented by two black spots over the
brow of the dog. The body is then placed on a bier and carried to the
Towers of Silence, or "dakhmehs," by men specially set apart for that
purpose. These men are looked upon as unclean from their contact with
the dead, therefore only those whose work it is to do so will touch
the body, the cleansing necessary after defilement from contact with
the dead being so exacting and laborious.
On arriving at the dakhmeh, prayers are recited by the priests and
the body laid on an iron grating, so that when the vultures and other
birds of prey have done their horrible work, the bones fall down and
are safe from molestation by dogs and jackals.
The dakhmehs, always some distance from the town, are built in
a circular shape, some of the largest being 200 or so feet in
diameter. They are generally built on rising ground, and form a
landmark for many miles around.
Prayers for the dead are said for three or four days after the death,
and holy fire is kept burning in the house of the deceased during
the whole of that time, as the soul is not supposed to leave the body
till the fourth day after death.
The better-class Parsees "mourn" for a year after the death of a near
relative; that is, they keep up certain ceremonials for that length
of time, and offer flowers and fruits on behalf of their dead.
The Parsees have a governing body called the Anjiman. This consists of
a number of leading men, representatives of each class of society. The
Persian Government acknowledges the Anjiman, and accepts one of its
number to act as its representative.
CHAPTER XI
DESERT DELIGHTS
Songs of the desert--Sunsets, sunrises, mirages--Illness in the
desert--Mehman khanehs, caravanserais--Chappa khanehs--Lost in
the desert--Its cruelties, and sadness.
"The desert wide
Lies round thee like a trackless tide
In waves of sand forlornly multiplied."
F. W. Faber.
To a lover of the desert a journey across its boundless tracts is
always full of interest and delight. It is strange what an attraction
the desert has for some people, and stranger still is the fact that
this magnetic power increases as time passes, and instead of wearying
of the wilderness, they love it more and more. And any one who has once
heard the call of the desert is always longing to answer that call, and
to fly once more, as a needle to its magnet, to that great, wondrous
world. For it is a world of its own, this great, boundless ocean of
sand--a world altogether different from any other part of God's earth.
I once heard an address on "The Desert," and the speaker said that
he did not think it possible for any one with an uneasy conscience
to bear the solitariness of the desert. Be this as it may, one thing
is sure: no one can live and travel in the desert without feeling
the majestic Presence of God. Everything speaks of Him, the great
sea of sand, the flowers springing into blossom at His word, the
tiny lizard darting across your path, and other countless creatures,
all finding life and sustenance in the desert, each telling of the
wonderful Creator who watches over and cares for all.
The songs of the desert, too, are fascinating; songs which, heard
elsewhere, would seem incongruous and lacking in harmony. The camel
or mule bells, booming out in the silence of the night, remind one
of home and loved ones. Often have I been awakened in the night
by the sound of the caravan bells, and for a moment thought they
were the bells of the dear old church in Devonshire. Then, again,
the crooning songs of the muleteer, as he trudges along hour after
hour, have a peculiar charm, which grows on one wondrously after a
while. And what can be said of the marvellous mirages--visions which
come as messengers of hope and leave us victims of despair? For who
has not experienced relief and joy at the sight of some beautiful
mirage, resembling the welcome sight of a village with trees and
water, all apparently within easy reach of the weary traveller,
but which in a moment of time vanish, leaving blank disappointment
behind. And where can be seen such glorious sunset effects as in
the desert? especially when, as is so often the case in Persia, the
desert is surrounded by mountains and hills, which catch the after
glow, and reflect all those indescribable shades of crimson, gold,
and blue, all merging into a beatific and not easily forgotten vision.
But to come to the more practical side of desert life. Travelling in
the desert is not all a path of roses, but, given good health, fine
weather, and pleasant company, it is a very enjoyable way of passing
two or three weeks. On the other hand, I know of nothing more wretched
than being overtaken by illness when far away in the desert. Then you
feel how utterly alone and helpless you are, for it is impossible to
travel on, and at the same time well-nigh impossible to stay where
you are! We have had this experience more than once during our many
travels, and found it not at all pleasant. Once I was taken ill in this
way, and the only place to be found as shelter was a filthy stable,
full of rats, cockroaches, and other horrible creatures.
If you wish thoroughly to enjoy a journey across the desert, you must
choose your time well and wisely. The best time is the early spring,
before the great heat begins. If it is essential to travel during
the summer, all the stages have to be done by night, and this is much
more tiring, as it is seldom possible to sleep during the day owing
to the pest of flies, mosquitoes, and other lively companions.
The rest-houses of Persia are of three grades or kinds, viz. "mehman
khanehs," "chappa khanehs," and caravanserais. The first of these
three are found between Resht and Teheran. They are supposed to
be run after the plan of a European hotel! Beds are supplied, and
sometimes a tooth-brush and comb! The traveller is shown into a room
in which the beds are kept ready for all passers-by: it is not thought
necessary to change the bedding too often! The furniture consists of a
washstand, table, and couple of chairs, and everything is as dirty as
can be. I much prefer the ordinary caravanserai, which is found all
over Persia. These are generally built by a wealthy man who wishes
to do some "good deed," to make a name for himself, and gain merit
in Paradise. A caravanserai is not the cleanest spot on earth! But
after travelling a little you get used to a certain amount of dirt,
and are very much surprised if by chance you come across a fairly
clean rest-house. These caravanserais are built, as a rule, in the
form of a square, the sides of which are occupied by rooms leading off
the courtyard, the centre being the resting-place of mules, donkeys,
horses, and all other kinds of animals. At the end of the stage you
fix on the cleanest of these rooms, and your servant sweeps all the
accumulated dirt and dust of ages into one corner, thus raising a
cloud of dust and disturbing the peace of myriads of "pilgrims of the
desert." After waiting a few minutes to allow the dust to settle a
little, you then furnish your room for the night by spreading a rug on
the filthy floor, and setting up your travelling beds, chair, tables,
&c. As likely as not, there will be no door to the room, so you knock
in a couple of nails and fasten a curtain over the doorway to keep
out the prying eyes of your too near and inquisitive neighbours. Then
you begin to think about your evening meal, and your servant goes off
to bargain and wrangle over some unfortunate fowl, the result being
that in about an hour's time your dinner is ready, and shortly after
you very thankfully retire to rest, hoping for the best.
The chappa khanehs, or post-houses, are often a trifle cleaner than
the caravanserai. Here the animals are kept for the post, and any
one travelling "chappa" is supposed to find fresh relays of horses
at each of these places, but very often the number is short, and the
poor, wretched, underfed animal has to do duty for a second stage: a
"stage" is anything from fifteen to thirty miles. My husband once rode
"chappa" from Yezd to Kerman, a distance of 250 miles, in 2 1/2 days,
to attend an English doctor who was very ill with typhoid fever. It
was very hard and rough riding; the roads were bad, the horses worse,
some of the animals being blind, others lame, while the majority of
them were so over-worked and badly fed that it seemed impossible
that they could ever do the stage. A doctor once riding in this
way to visit a European, is said to have arrived at one of these
post-houses, and finding no horse, demanded a mule. On this beast
he made the next stage, to be told on arrival that there was only
a donkey available. Nothing better presenting itself, he accepted
this mount, and in time reached the next stage, where he was met
with the comforting announcement that the only animal at liberty was
a cow! History seems uncertain after this point, so we will draw a
veil over it!
Sometimes these caravanserais and chappa khanehs are the only signs
of life to be seen at the end of a stage. There they stand, alone,
surrounded on all hands by vast stretches of desert, and form a
landmark for miles around. One such I remember very well, as each
time we passed that way it seemed to have become more lonely and
desolate. Visible from a distance of 5 farsakhs (18 miles), it made
the stage seem very long! The atmosphere is so rarefied that distant
objects appear near, and the buildings, which were in reality 15 miles
away, looked quite close at hand. In this chappa khaneh we were once
guilty of inscribing our names on its already well-filled walls. Some
years after a lady was visiting us in Mosul, and told us she had read
our names in that far-distant chappa khaneh.
It is not a very pleasant sensation to be lost in a desert. Only once
did this experience befall us, and then we were glad when it was over.
We were on our way from Yezd to Kerman, and had reached the second
stage out. We had arranged with our muleteer to start at a certain
hour that morning, but when we came down from the "bala khaneh"
(upstairs room) where we had been sleeping, we found no signs of our
caravan being ready to start. After loitering about for some time, we
decided not to wait any longer, but to ride on ahead. This was quite
contrary to our usual custom, as we always found it wiser to see the
caravan off first, otherwise the muleteers dawdled half the morning
away. However, we thought this once we would alter our plans, as the
dawn was even then breaking, and we knew that in a very short time
the sun would be scorchingly hot. So off we went, telling our servant
to follow as soon as possible. We received minute instructions as to
which direction we were to take, and thought we could not possibly
mistake our road.
Outside the town, on the edge of the desert, we came to two roads, one
leading straight ahead, the other branching to the left. We decided
to take the former, thinking it looked more trodden, thereby showing
more signs of traffic. So we went gaily on. My husband occasionally
remarked, "I hope we are on the right road," and I always lightly
answered, "Oh yes, I am sure we are," as I pointed out to him the
fact that we were following the same path along which another caravan
had evidently passed a few hours before. Howbeit we were not on the
right road, as we very soon found to our cost. By this time the sun
was blazing down upon us, and we began to wonder why our servants and
caravan had not caught us up. Time went on, and not a sign of life
was to be seen. Standing in our stirrups, we scanned the horizon, but
nothing could we see but the scorching sand. We then began seriously to
think that we had taken the wrong turning and were lost. Lost in the
desert, without a drop of water or a scrap of food! Pleasant thoughts
these were as companions! We could not go back: to go forward was
worse than useless. After considering a little as to the best thing
to be done, we decided to gallop on till we came to a small hill to
be seen in the distance. This we accordingly did, and as we neared
the summit saw to our great thankfulness a tiny speck on the horizon
in the direction from which we had come. This "speck" soon developed
into a moving object, and by-and-by we could see the figure of a
man and horse galloping hard. As the horse and rider came nearer,
our thankfulness was indeed great to see that the rider was our own
servant, George. If ever we had cause for thankfulness it was then,
and we certainly said, and felt from ou
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