Árminius Vambéry, his life and adventures
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Title: Árminius Vambéry, his life and adventures
Author: Ármin Vámbéry
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ÁRMINIUS VAMBÉRY, HIS LIFE AND ADVENTURES ***
[Illustration: Portrait, signed "Faithfully yours, A. Vambéry"]
ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY
HIS LIFE AND ADVENTURES
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
WITH INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER
DEDICATED TO
THE BOYS OF ENGLAND
Portrait and Seventeen Illustrations
London
T. FISHER UNWIN
26 PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1889
FIFTH AND POPULAR EDITION.
=ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY=: His Life and Adventures. Written by
Himself. With Portrait and 14 Illustrations. Square
Imperial 16mo, cloth extra, 6s.
"A most fascinating work, full of interesting and
curious experiences."--_Contemporary Review._
"It is partly an autobiographic sketch of character,
partly an account of a singularly daring and successful
adventure in the exploration of a practically unknown
country. In both aspects it deserves to be spoken of as
a work of great interest and of considerable
merit."--_Saturday Review._
"We can follow M. Vambéry's footsteps in Asia with
pride and pleasure; we welcome every word he has to
tell us about the ethnography and the languages of the
East."--_Academy._
"The character and temperament of the writer come out
well in his quaint and vigorous style.... The
expressions, too, in English, of modes of thought and
reflections cast in a different mould from our own
gives additional piquancy to the composition, and,
indeed, almost seems to bring out unexpected capacities
in the language."--_Athenæum._
"Has all the fascination of a lively romance. It is the
confession of an uncommon man; an intensely clever,
extraordinarily energetic egotist, well-informed,
persuaded that he is in the right and impatient of
contradiction."--_Daily Telegraph._
"The work is written in a most captivating manner, and
illustrates the qualities that should be possessed by
the explorer."--_Novoe Vremya, Moscow._
"We are glad to see a popular edition of a book which,
however it be regarded, must be pronounced unique. The
writer, the adventures, and the style are all
extraordinary--the last not the least of the three. It
is flowing and natural--a far better style than is
written by the majority of English travellers."--_St.
James's Gazette._
*** _Over Eighty other English and Foreign periodicals
have reviewed this work._
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN, 26, PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFATORY NOTE xiii
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER xv
I.
EARLY YEARS.
Tutor and Waiter--Vacation Rambles--Literary
Studies--Linguistic Studies 1
II.
THE FIRST JOURNEY.
At Galacz--A Storm at Sea--Penniless in Pera--A Teacher of
Languages--Teaching a Turk--Hussein Daim Pasha--Ahmed
Effendi 15
III.
LIFE IN STAMBUL.
My First Book--Seeking for an Ancient Dialect--My Friends'
Opinion of my Journey--"Reshid Effendi" 34
IV.
FROM TREBIZOND TO ERZERUM.
At Trebizond--On the road to Erzerum 42
V.
FROM ERZERUM TO THE PERSIAN FRONTIER.
The Frontier of Kurdistan--Attacked by Robbers--Tales of
Robbers--An Old Friend 47
VI.
FROM THE PERSIAN BORDER TO TEBRIZ.
On Persian Soil--The Bazaar at Khoy--The Seids 56
VII.
IN TEBRIZ
Study of the Shi-ite Sect--Holy Water--An Old
Acquaintance--A Royal Investiture--An Overworked Embassy 64
VIII.
IN ZENDJAN.
A Persian Medico--A Persian Miracle-Play--Tragedy
Appreciated 77
IX.
FROM KAZVIN TO TEHERAN.
The Atoning Procession 85
X.
IN TEHERAN.
Talking to Turks of Home--Social Contrasts in Asia 89
XI.
THE SALT DESERT OF DESHTI-KUVIR.
Choosing a Companion--Morning Prayer--The Desert of
Devils--The Caravan of the Dead 94
XII.
KUM AND KASHAN.
The City of Virgins--The Tomb of Fatima--Kashan--Murder in
the Desert 104
XIII.
FROM ISFAHAN TO THE SUPPOSED TOMB OF CYRUS.
The Pope of Isfahan--Movable Towers--Tales for
Travellers--Gazelles in the Desert--Fars 113
XIV.
PERSEPOLIS.
Solomon's Throne--A Morning Reverie--Vandalism in
Persia--Embracing the Pilgrims 125
XV.
SHIRAZ.
Fertility of Shiraz--A Linguist's Joke--Persian
Cruelty--Saadi--Europeans Feasting in Persia--An Earthquake
in Shiraz--Desolation 136
XVI.
PREPARATIONS FOR MY JOURNEY TO CENTRAL ASIA.
Chivalrous Dervishes--Scruples--Journey with
Tartars--Committed to His Purpose 150
XVII.
FROM TEHERAN TO THE LAND OF THE TURKOMANS.
Description of the Caravan--Incognito Unveiled--Thieving
Jackals--Unrequited Love--The Slave Trade 161
XVIII.
GOMUSHTEPE.
Receiving the Pilgrims--How to become a Dervish--Learning in
the Wilds--Slavery--A Betrothal Feast--A Robber Chief 174
XIX.
FROM GOMUSHTEPE TO THE BORDER OF THE DESERT.
Threatened by the Wild Boar--An Anxious Moment 187
XX.
IN THE DESERT.
Suspicion Aroused--A Pious Brother--Karendag
Mountains--Little Balkan Mountain--Charm of the
Desert--Thirst!--Hot Weather 192
XXI.
IN KHIVA.
An Army of Asses--Rest and Dread--Making a Friend--The
Khan--A Lion in Khiva--Fierce Barbarism 213
XXII.
FROM KHIVA TO BOKHARA.
Intoxicated Dervishes--A Khivan Fair--Flying from
Tekkes--Thirst and Despair--Among Slaves 233
XXIII.
IN BOKHARA.
Life in Bokhara--More Suspicions--Theology in Bokhara--The
Slave Trade--The Road to Samarkand 244
XXIV.
IN SAMARKAND.
Tombs of the Saints--Ambition and Prudence--A Royal
Cross-Examiner 254
XXV.
FROM SAMARKAND TO HERAT.
Taken for a Runaway Slave--A Scorpion Bite--Saved by
Prayers--Redemption of Slaves--Exorbitant Tolls 263
XXVI.
IN HERAT AND BEYOND IT.
A City in Ruins--Yakub Khan--Freezing Weather 275
XXVII.
IN MESHED.
A Meshed Crowd--An Unceremonious Visitor--A Welcome--A
Meshed Monument--Persecution of Jews--The Tomb of Firdusi 283
XXVIII.
FROM MESHED TO TEHERAN.
An Old Friend--Saddle _v._ Cushions--A Curious
Phenomenon--Alone in the Desert--An Englishman--A Snug
Berth--Confounding the Disturbers--Reputation without
Foundation 297
XXIX.
FROM TEHERAN TO TREBIZOND.
The Discomforts of Civilization--Presented to the
Shah--Persian Official Corruption--A Character--An Expensive
Photographer 314
XXX.
HOMEWARDS.
Constantinople--London 325
XXXI.
IN ENGLAND.
Sir Henry Rawlinson--Sir Roderick Murchison--Lord
Strangford--A Lion in London--At Burlington House--The
Sorrows of Authorship 330
XXXII.
IN PARIS.
Napoleon III.--French Suspicions 343
XXXIII.
IN HUNGARY.
In Hungary 349
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR Frontispiece
PRESSBURG 3
PESTH--THE STARTING PLACE 11
GALACZ 17
THE BOSPHORUS 23
MOUNT ARARAT 57
CITY OF TEBRIZ 65
TRAVELLING IN PERSIA 97
TAKH-TA-RA-WAN 127
MAKING FRIENDS WITH THE TARTARS 151
A DERVISH FEAST 163
A LIGHT FOR THE COMPASS 197
THE KARENDAG HILLS 201
A WELL IN THE DESERT 209
AN ASININE ARMY 215
AUDIENCE WITH THE KHAN OF KHIVA 223
ROAD IN CENTRAL ASIA 229
SAMARKAND 255
PREFATORY NOTE TO FIRST EDITION.
The following pages contain a strictly personal narrative of my Travels
and Adventures in Asia and in Europe. They make no pretence whatever to
be a geographical and ethnological description of the actual Central
Asia. Upon these points recent works have greatly added to the knowledge
we possessed twenty years ago, when I performed my dangerous pilgrimage
from Budapest to Samarkand. A _résumé_ of the various publications of
Russian, English, French and German travellers in this region would have
formed a separate book, but these have nothing to do with the variegated
adventures of my own career, of which I here propose to give the first
complete picture to the English reader.
ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY.
BUDAPEST.
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER
TO THE BOYS OF ENGLAND.
In presenting this narrative of my adventures in Europe and in Asia to
the juvenile reader in England, I must add a few remarks which have not
been embodied in the autobiographical reminiscences of this book. I
must, in the first place, state that the desire to see foreign countries
awoke in me at the tender age of six years. Playing with my younger
comrades on the green before our village, I tried, with a crutch under
my left arm--for I was lame--to run races with more lissome lads.
Remaining usually far behind my rivals, and being jeered at by my
comrades for my failures, I would go crying to my dear mother and
bitterly complain of the shame which had befallen me. She used with all
maternal tenderness to console me, saying, "Never mind that, my dear. If
you grow older and stronger, you will beat them all by force of
perseverance. I am sure you will yet be far in advance of them all."
With firm reliance on the words of my good mother, I did not henceforth
care very much for the scoffing of my playmates; I looked forward with
great impatience to the time when I should be _in advance of them all_.
With similar encouragements I was spurred on to my elementary studies,
and, seeing that by dint of exertion I became one of the most
industrious of students, I was fully prepared for the same success in
physical competitions. But, alas! here I was to a certain extent
disappointed, for my quick motion was generally hindered by the crutch,
which I still used at the age of ten, not so much from necessity as from
having become too accustomed to it to walk without it, but which I
intended to lay aside as soon as possible. It was one day, whilst
visiting the tomb of my father in the cemetery, that I made up my mind
to walk without that troublesome instrument under my arm. Having thrown
away the crutch, I walked, or I should rather say, I jumped, upon one
leg a few paces, in order to try locomotion without a wooden support. It
was a hard, nay, an exhaustive work; and, as the village was nearly a
quarter of an hour's journey from the cemetery, I began to despair, and
jumped back to fetch again the despised support. Having taken it in hand
and being ready to start again for home, I suddenly felt an
extraordinary agitation awakening in my breast; a desire for immediate
ease was fighting fiercely with determined resolution, and it was only
upon my remembrance of the good advice of my mother that the latter got
the upper hand. In order to avoid any future temptation, I broke the
crutch asunder, and using one half of it as a walking stick, I returned
home, of course with great fatigue and nearly bathed in perspiration.
I relate this incident in order to prove to the young reader that a
resolute will is able to accomplish even seemingly impossible things,
and that, through persisting in our decisions, we nearly always reach
the goal of our desires. With the motto, "Forwards and never backwards!"
I, a lame man, destitute of all name, was able to see distant countries
in Asia, and to visit such places and peoples as I was anxious to know
from the time that I first read of them. For we Hungarians are, as you
must know, Asiatics by descent; our ancestors came thousands of years
ago from the East to the banks of the Danube, and it is very natural
that with us a voyage to Asia is connected with a good deal of national
piety.
To Englishmen travels in Asia have another kind of attraction. To one,
that continent is the cradle of our holy religion, the ancient seat of
civilization; to another, it is a region for adventure, or the far
country where he may satisfy his curiosity by witnessing habits and
customs so different from his own. To the vast majority of Englishmen
Asia is a field for commercial and industrial enterprise, where a noble
and grateful task awaits the European, and where a holy duty may be
fulfilled.
Now I can assure my young friends in England that Asia is worth seeing
and studying. There are many, many features in the character and the
social life of the Asiatic which deserve our admiration, although there
are also others which will rouse our compassion and instigate us more
greatly to love our own country and to cling the more closely to our own
religion and institutions. What will strike us most is the difference of
opinion and of view we meet at every step in the interior life of the
Asiatic. It is not only his physical appearance, his dress and language,
his food and habitation, but also his manner of thinking, nay, his mode
of walking sitting and lying, which will seem strange to our eyes, and
offer to us a spectacle such as we are unaccustomed to in our European
world. Of fine scenes, of queer looking towns, of wonderful buildings
and old monuments I will not speak at all, but I will repeat what I said
before: "A journey to Asia is quite worth the trouble involved in it."
It would be indeed unfair should I conceal from you the fact that
travelling in the interior of Asia does not at all belong to the class
of enterprises called pleasure trips or vacation tours; for it involves
a good deal of trouble and fatigue, of privation and suffering. A man
brought up under better circumstances and accustomed to lead a
comfortable life must be prepared to nourish his body on the most
incredible food, to front all inclemencies of weather, and, what is most
difficult, to renounce his notions of cleanliness. Of course a European
is only gradually trained for such an extraordinary life of hardships;
it is only by getting gradually from bad to worse that we are able to
withstand the most trying situations; and if, reading the following
pages, you should be astonished at what I went through and what I had to
suffer, please to note that in spite of the great poverty in which I
spent my childhood my task would not have come to a successful end if my
progress from Hungary to Central Asia had not taken place gradually and
after a temporary sojourn in the countries I had to pass on my way.
Well, the preparation was certainly lengthy and wearisome, but in spite
of that preparatory school the whole undertaking was extremely
hazardous, and my sufferings were really such as could hardly be
described. The account, which you will read in the following pages and
all that I have written, contains scarcely the half of the adventures I
went through in Europe and in Asia, and ought to be taken only for the
outlines of a career I intend to sketch, but will not publish in my
lifetime.
I do not need to add that I do not repent at all of having spent the
best portion of my life in visiting different Asiatic countries, and of
having been an eye-witness of many strange and highly interesting
customs and habits of men. The joy and in most satisfaction which I felt
whilst looking on the scenes for which my earliest juvenile fancy
longed, that same joy I derive now from the recollection of those bygone
adventures, and I feel really happy in unfolding the delightful and
variegated picture of my former life. Should my young readers in England
find an enjoyment in these pages, and should I have succeeded in
imparting to them any knowledge of the distant Asiatic world, I shall
feel certainly the more happy; for, according to the Oriental, to
receive is only a single pleasure, but to give is a twofold one.
ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY.
BUDAPEST.
I.
EARLY YEARS.
When my father died in 1832 I was but a few months old. My mother was
poor, very poor indeed. By marrying again, however, she fondly hoped she
might be enabled to give her helpless and fatherless orphans a better
bringing up. But in this expectation she was sadly mistaken. Our
stepfather, although a very excellent man, did but very little towards
relieving the pressing needs of our small household. In due time, too,
our family circle got fresh additions; the number of the little ones who
stood in need of food and clothing was increasing. The consequence was
that our parents, in their solicitude for the welfare of the smaller
children, turned the older ones adrift to seek the best way they could
their own livelihood as soon as they were supposed to have attained an
age ripe enough to take care of themselves.
My turn came when twelve years old. My mother then thought I had reached
a period of my life when I ought to look after myself. Although I had
been afflicted since my birth with a lameness from which I began to
suffer when three years old, and which compelled me to carry a crutch
under my left arm up to the time my mother declared me to be of mature
age, I was yet, on the whole, a tolerably hearty and healthy boy. The
simple fare, often barely sufficient to still the cravings of hunger,
the exceedingly scanty clothing allowed to me, and my want of
familiarity with even the meanest comforts of life had, already, at this
early stage of my life, hardened my body, and inured it to the most
adverse climatic conditions.
I had then been attending school for about three years; and as my
teachers were lavish in their praises of my extraordinary memory,
enabling me to learn by heart, with great ease, almost anything, even
passages in Latin which I did not understand at all, I thought of going
on with the pursuit of my studies, in order to become a physician or
lawyer,--the two professions which, at that time, were considered in the
rural parts of Hungary as the goal of the most exalted ambition of an
educated man.
My mother, too, had some such future in view for me, but inexorable
poverty stood in the way of all such ambitious schemings. I had to stoop
lower, much lower indeed. I was apprenticed to a ladies' dressmaker.
When I had got so far as to be able to stitch two pieces of muslin
together, a feeling overcame me that Dame Fortune had something better
in store for me than stitching away all my life long. I soon left the
shop of the ladies' dress artist, and was engaged by the inn-keeper of
the village to be the private teacher of his only son. I was to initiate
him into the mystery of reading, writing and arithmetic. But my duties
did not end there; I had to perform, besides, such unusual offices as
the cleaning of the boots of the family on Saturday evenings, and
occasionally waiting on thirsty guests, and handing them a glass of wine
or whiskey.
[Illustration: PRESSBURG.]
There was, undoubtedly, some slight incongruity between my tender age
and the position of a teacher, nor was it easy for one who stood in sore
need of instruction himself to impart it to another,--and, indeed, the
master of the house did not fail to remind me of this anomaly by a
treatment anything but in keeping with the dignity of my position as the
mentor of his son.
But I received even worse treatment at the hands of the young master--my
pupil. The lad was two years my senior, and on one occasion, when
carried away with my pedagogic zeal I had given him a severe reprimand
for his rude doings, he, nothing loth, fell on me and would have given
me a sound thrashing but for the timely appearance of his mother.
My tutorship proved thus a school of hardship for me; but I bravely
persevered until I could carry away with me from the Island of Schütt,
where I had spent the first years of my childhood, the large sum of
eight florins, which represented my net earnings. With this sum I
hastened to St. George, in the vicinity of Pressburg, in order to begin
there my studies at the gymnasium.
The money I had brought with me was just sufficient to purchase me the
necessary books, and kind and charitable people helped me on in many
other ways. Seven different families each gave me one day in the week a
free meal, adding to it a big slice of bread for breakfast and another
for luncheon. I also got the cast-off clothes of the wealthier
schoolboys. By dint of application, and owing, perhaps, to the quick and
easy comprehension which was natural to me, I succeeded in passing my
examination at the first Latin class, as the second at the head of the
class. My whole heart was in my studies; I was soon able to speak Latin
with tolerable fluency; my professors remarked me and showed me some
favour, which greatly assisted me in my struggles.
I passed, also, at St. George my examination in the second Latin class,
successfully. My fondness for roving gave me no rest. I began to long
for a change and was particularly desirous of going to Pressburg, where
there were schools of a higher grade. I therefore left St. George,
although I had my livelihood almost assured there, and the year 1846 saw
me, at the age of fourteen, within the walls of the ancient City of
Coronation.
There began anew my struggling and striving and desperate exertions to
support myself. It became clear to me from the very first that, as
buildings became taller and crowds larger, the difficulty of making
acquaintances was increasing and the interest of others in my fortunes
was diminishing. I remained here, for three years, now in the capacity
of a servant, and then teaching she-cooks, chambermaids, and other
individuals thirsting for knowledge. Every stone of the pavement of that
beautiful little town on the blue Danube, could it but speak, might tell
some sad tale of misery which I endured there. But youth is able to bear
anything and everything!
I continued my studies, undaunted by want and privations, and was
steadily advancing towards the object I had proposed to myself; at the
end of the first term of school I was reckoned amongst the best
scholars. In recalling these sad days, I never cease to wonder at the
never-failing cheerfulness and the high spirits which were my constant
companions throughout and helped me through all the adversities of life.
My sturdy health aided me in the good fight and did not allow my
good-humour to desert me.
In spite of my frugal fare, consisting of bread and water only, I could
boast of the healthiest of complexions, and was the life and soul of all
fun and mischief in the schoolroom as well as at play. Every time our
school term drew to its end, I was sure to be among the first to seize
my travelling-stick, and launch at random out into the world, limping
but always on foot, without a penny in my pocket. In this manner I had
already visited Vienna, Prague, and other cities and towns in the
Austrian monarchy. Often, when tired as I was marching along the road, I
would indulge in a good-humoured parley with the driver of a waggon or
carriage that happened to pass me, and get, in return for my pains, a
lift in his vehicle for a short distance. At night I usually put up at
the houses of the reverend clergy of the place, where my Latin
conversation was sure to earn for me some regards and a few kreutzers
for my travelling expenses; and by a few happy neatly turned
compliments, bestowed upon their housekeepers, I generally succeeded in
having my travelling-bag filled with provisions for the next day. Truly,
politeness and a cheerful disposition are precious coins current in
every country; they stand at a high premium with the young and the old,
with men and women; and he who has them at his disposal may very well
call himself rich, although his purse be empty.
These rambles were a preparatory school for my wanderings as a dervish
in after years, and it was always with a heavy heart that I put my
walking-stick into a corner at the end of the vacation. Whether or not
it was because I suffered from want and had to struggle hard to eke out
a livelihood in town, one thing is certain, I disliked living in cities
from my earliest childhood. Upon entering the narrow street with its
rows of tall houses, and watching the diminishing sky over my head, my
youthful spirits sank within me, and only the hope of standing at the
end of the school term again a free man under God's bright heaven
communing freely with Nature rendered my stay in town bearable.
In 1847, besides continuing my regular studies at school, I began to
devote myself to private studies; for it must be owned that the
gymnasiums were rather badly managed in Hungary at that time. In
addition to reading the greatest variety of literary productions, on
travels, which I all-eagerly devoured, I was learning French. Besides my
native language, Hungarian, I had acquired German early in life. At
about nearly the same time I had mastered Sclavonian, and as my studies
at school had rendered me familiar with Latin and Greek, I found myself,
not quite sixteen years old, conversant with so many principal languages
that acquiring the idioms kindred to them had become a comparatively
easy task for me.
I always took special delight in memorizing. Children have very vague
ideas about natural gifts, and when I was able to increase the number of
words which I could master in one day from ten to sixty and even to a
hundred, my exultation knew no bounds. I must frankly own, however, that
I had not at that time the faintest conception as to what the result of
these successful exertions, which so flattered my vanity, might be.
Thus it happened that from the private study of French I gradually
passed over to the study of the remaining branches of the Latin family.
I did the same thing with the Germanic languages, and, beginning with
English, I soon eagerly extended my studies to Danish and Swedish. I
pursued the same method with the Sclavonic dialects, and as I never
omitted, in the zeal of learning, to read out loud and to hold
conversations with myself in the languages I was learning, I had
acquired, in a surprisingly short time, a certain kind of proficiency in
all these languages which my youthful conceit made me imagine was
perfection itself; and I am afraid I had rather an exalted opinion of
myself at that time.
Vanity injures the character of a man in most cases, but it proves at
times a very wholesome incentive to exertion. In this instance the
conceit which was the result of my undisciplined imagination made me
abandon the path of public studies I had entered upon, and induced me to
continue my studies by myself. The friendly reader will ask what was the
object of this self-education. Indeed I myself did not then know.
"_Nulla dies sine linea_" ("No day without a line") was the maxim ever
present in my mind, and even when I was devoting from eight to ten hours
daily to teaching, I contrived to make such good use of the remaining
time as considerably to improve in my own studies.
The pleasures of general literature had now taken the place of the dry
and monotonous memorizing of different languages of former years. I drew
to my heart's content from the rich and varied fountain of the mental
products of nearly all the European nations. The bards of Albion, the
troubadours of Servia, the minstrels of Spain and the inspired poets of
Italy; Lomonosoff, Pushkin, Tegnér, Andersen, Ochlenschlaeger, nearly
all the muses of the present age and of the past ages beguiled my hours
of leisure. I always read out loud, and frequently noted down in writing
on the margin of the pages I read my feelings whenever any passage
happened to strike my imagination.
Owing to this habit of loud reading and the violent gestures with which
I would often accompany it, the plain people who were about me often
thought me wrong in the mind; and upon one occasion this conviction had
so grown upon them that I actually lost my position as a teacher, on
that account. But what cared I for the small criticisms of these people,
so long as my mind was peopled with Tasso's struggle before Jerusalem,
Cid's valiant deeds, and Byron's heroes and heroines? Yet, I must
confess, no scenes had such a charm for me as those acting in the land
of the rising sun, Asia--which then seemed to me so very far away--with
her gorgeously brilliant robe, richly covered with pearls and gems,
constantly floating before my eyes. How could it be otherwise with one
who, in his youth, had read "The Arabian Nights," and who, as in my
case, was by birth and education half an Asiatic himself.
I knew Asia as the land of the most fantastic adventures, as the home of
the most fabulous successes; and, having led an adventurous life at an
age when I was a child still, and being already in pursuit of some great
good fortune, my first yearnings after distant lands pointed already to
Asia.
In order to be enabled soon to gratify this longing, I thought it
necessary to make myself, in the first place, familiar with the
languages of Asia; and I began at once with the Turkish language. The
Ural-Altaic dialect gave me less trouble than it would have given most
Occidental people owing to its affinity with the Magyar language. I
found it all the more difficult to master its strange characters without
a teacher or any direction. For whole days I went on drawing the letters
with a stick on the sand, until I became, at length, familiar with the
value of the diacritical points, that is, the distinguishing marks
indispensable to a correct pronunciation of the letters and words. In
this way I steadily improved. I was in want of a dictionary, but I could
not afford to pay the high price asked for it, a "Bianchi" costing then
nearly forty florins; and as I was compelled to trace the meaning of the
single words through the labyrinth of the Turkish text by the aid of a
so-called literal translation, "Wickerhauser's Chrestomathy," it did
happen to me that after I had got through with the study of a bulky
volume, I found out that I had been doing it all in a wrong way, and was
obliged to do it all over again. Such bitter disappointments occurred to
me more than once in the course of my autodidactic career; but what
labour or task will ever restrain the ardour of youth or damp its
enthusiasm?
[Illustration: PESTH--THE STARTING PLACE.]
I had now reached my twentieth year, and I was richly rewarded for all
the pains I had taken when I was able for the first time to read and
understand, without the aid of a dictionary, a short Turkish poem. It
was not, indeed, the contents of the Oriental muse, quite inaccessible
as yet for me, which kindled my enthusiasm, but rather the fruits, the
sweet fruits of my labours, which afforded me such abundant
satisfaction, and acted as an incentive spurring me to press forward
into the field of Oriental science. All my musings, endeavours, thoughts
and feelings tended towards the Land of the East, which was beckoning to
me in its halo of splendour. My spirit had been haunting ever so long
its fairy fields, and, sooner or later, my body was sure to follow it.
For one who had still to struggle for his daily bread, in his European
home, it required considerable boldness to think of a journey to the
East, a land many hundred miles away. I will not deny that even the
boldest flights of youthful enthusiasm, and the all-powerful desire of
getting to know strange countries and customs, had to halt at the
stumbling-block raised by poverty, and that luring fancy kept dazzling
my eyes for many a day before I seriously set to work to carry out my
cherished scheme. But a firm resolve with me is almost always like the
avalanche which is being precipitated from the lofty summits of the
Alps--beginning with but an insignificant ball of snow set in motion by
a favourable breeze, but soon swelling into a tremendous mass which
carries before it every impediment, crushing and driving before it with
irresistible force everything standing in its way. Such was the impulse
which I received through the patronage of Baron Joseph Eötvös, known in
Europe as a writer of high merit. This generous countryman of mine was
not a man of wealth, but his influence procured me a free passage to the
Black Sea. He gave me also a modest obolus and some old clothes. My
knapsack, bursting with books, was soon buckled on, and I embarked in a
steamer for Galacz, from which place I was to go to Constantinople, the
immediate object of my journey.
II.
THE FIRST JOURNEY.
Who can describe the feelings of a young man, barely twenty-two years
old, who up to this day had been buffeted about by fortune, finding
himself all of a sudden hastening towards the goal of his most cherished
wishes, with (say) fifteen Austrian florins in his pocket, and about to
enter upon a life full of uncertainty, in a distant region, amongst a
strange people, who were rude and savage, and were beginning only then
to seek a closer acquaintanceship with the nations of the West? My soul
was agitated alternately by feelings of fear and hope, of curiosity and
pain. Nobody accompanied me to the landing-place to see me off, nobody
was there waiting for me, no warm presence of a friendly hand nor a
mother's loving kiss cheered me on in the journey on which I was to
start.
I had, thus, reason enough to feel somewhat depressed; nor could I
entirely shake off this feeling; but I had no sooner come on deck, and
begun to mix with the people, forming the national kaleidoscope one is
always sure to meet on a voyage along the Lower Danube, and got an
opportunity of conversing in Servian, Italian, Turkish and other
languages of which I had had hitherto only a theoretical knowledge, than
every vestige of my former downheartedness gradually vanished. I was now
in my element. Add to this that I soon became the object of general
admiration owing to the fluency of my conversation in different
languages; the crowd being always sure to stand in a sort of awe of
every polyglot. They formed a ring around me, trying to guess at my
nationality, and received rather sceptically my statement that I had
never been abroad.
I was, of course, very much amused at the gaping crowd, but I managed to
derive some more solid advantages from the manifestation of the good
opinion which my fellow travellers entertained for me; for, when the
dinner-bell was rung, and I preferred to remain behind on the deck with
a perturbed expression of countenance, some enthusiastic disciple of
Mercury was sure to get hold of the so-called youthful prodigy and pay
him his meal.
In the absence of such well-disposed stomachic patrons, I would lounge
about in the neighbourhood of the kitchen of the ship, the masters of
which are for the most part Italians. A few stanzas from Petrarca or
Tasso sufficed to attract the attention of the _cuoco_ (cook). A
conversation in pure Tuscan soon followed, and the upshot was a
well-filled plate of maccaroni or risotto, capped by a piece of boiled
or roasted meat. "Mille grazie, signore" (a thousand thanks, sir), meant
that I would come in the evening, to claim a continuation of the favour
shown me. The good Italian would shove his barrett of linen on one side,
give a short laugh, and proved by his answer, "Come whenever you
like," that the seed of my linguistic experiments had not fallen on a
barren soil.
[Illustration: GALACZ.]
My constant good-humour and happy disposition were of great help to me
in all my straits, and, assisted by my tongue, were the means of
procuring for me many a thing upon occasions when the attempts of others
would have proved fruitless. In this manner I reached Galacz, a dirty,
miserable place at this day even, but at that time much more so. During
my voyage on the Lower Danube, the shore on the right-hand side, with
its Turkish towns and Turkish population, entirely absorbed my
attention. To me every turbaned traveller, adorned with a long beard,
upon entering the ship became a novel and interesting page meant for my
particular study, and, at the same time, a never failing object of
pleasurable excitement.
When the sun was setting, and the truly faithful sat, or rather knelt
down for prayer in the abject attitude peculiar to them on those
occasions, I followed with my eyes every one of their movements with the
most feverish and breathless attention; watching intensely the very
motion of their lips, as they were uttering Arabic words, unintelligible
even to them; and not until after they were done did I again breathe
freely.
The interest which I so plainly showed could not escape the notice of
the fanatic Moslem. We then lived in the era of the Hungarian refugees.
Some hundreds of my countrymen made believe that they had been converted
to Islam. A popular belief had got abroad that the whole Magyar people
would acknowledge Mohammed as their prophet, and whenever a Mohammedan
came across a Madjarli, the fire of the missionary was blazing fiercely
in his heart.
Such an interest, or a kindred one, must have entered into the
friendship shown to me during my voyage to Galacz by some Turks from
Widdin, Rustchuk and Silistria. In this supposition of mine I may
possibly be mistaken, and it is quite as likely that their sympathies
were excited by the deep national feeling, which then manifested itself
everywhere in the Ottoman empire, in favour of the Magyars, who had been
defeated by the Russians. This state of affairs, at all events, was of
excellent service to me, not only during this passage, but during my
entire stay in Turkey.
I was drawn by curiosity towards the half-Asiatic Turks, my fellow
travellers, and these very men were the first to introduce me into the
Oriental world. I need not say that, after having been with them for a
day or two, I improved in my Turkish, to such an extent, that at Galacz
I was already able to serve a countryman of mine as an interpreter.
The Oriental, and, I may say, the Mohammedan element was decidedly
preponderating amongst the passengers, in whose company I went from
Galacz to Constantinople. The reader will not be surprised to learn that
I was booked for the cheapest place on the ship, namely, the deck, and
that, even for that place, I often paid only half fare. I placed my
meagre knapsack near the luggage of the Turks, who were sitting apart
from the others, and most of whom were on their pilgrimage to Mecca; I
was impatiently looking out to catch a glimpse of the long-hoped-for
sea, which I had never seen before.
He who has got his first impressions of the sea, through the reading of
Byron's aquatic scenes, Camoen's "Lusiade," or Tegnér's "Legend of
Frithjof," will be overcome by feelings of no common order in finding
himself, for the first time in his life, on the boundless watery
expanse, especially of the Euxine--gliding along its bosom and being
rocked by its waves.
At an hour's distance from the mouths of the Sulina, I gazed, in a
reverie, at the awful grandeur of the sea, not in the least disturbed by
the deep guttural sounds and savage groans which came from the sea-sick
people around me.
Father Poseidon had done no manner of harm to my health. I had rather
reason to complain of an unusually keen appetite; the excessive
chilliness of the evenings, too--we were then in the month of
April--cooled my blood more than I thought it desirable. I began to
shake with the cold, in spite of a surplus carpet, placed at my disposal
for a covering by the kind care of a Turk; and after having feasted my
eyes on the bright, star-covered sky for a considerable time, I fell, at
length, asleep.
I was suddenly and rudely roused from my dreams towards midnight by
peals of thunder and flashes of lightning, accompanied by a violent
shower. I had been all day long wishing for a storm; I own my wish was
gratified at night in such a thorough manner as fully to satisfy my
romantic disposition.
How my heart throbbed upon seeing the ship dance up and down the
towering, mountain-like waves, like a nimble gazelle! The creaking of
beams, the howling of the wind, with which the shouts of despair from
the passengers were mingling, the everlasting appeals to Allah, which
resounded everywhere, could not destroy the halo of poetry with which I
surrounded a scene, otherwise commonplace enough. Only after getting
soaking wet with the chilly rain did I shift my place.
I got up and tried to keep myself warm by taking a walk, but the chaos
of legs stretched out, of travelling-bags, bundles, firearms and turbans
which were littering the ground rendered the walk well-nigh
impracticable. I longingly looked at the open space close by the deck,
reserved for the promenading of first-class passengers, where I
observed, in the darkness of the night a man hurrying to and fro. I had
at first thoughts of entering into a conversation with him; but, my
courage to do so failing me, I hit upon another expedient to attract his
attention. I commenced declaiming, in the midst of the violent storm,
one of the epic poems I knew by heart. My choice fell on Voltaire's
Henriade--
"Je chante ce héros qui régna sur la France
Et par droit de conquête et par droit de naissance!"[1]
[Footnote 1: I sing of the hero who reigned in France,
by right of conquest and by right of birth.]
And having roared out, with a good will, into the darkness of the night,
several verses, I had the satisfaction of seeing the much-envied
first-class passenger stop, near a crowd of Turks, in a listening
attitude; and after a while he joined me and began a conversation with
me.
With Voltaire, acting as master of ceremonies, questions about rank and
nationality seemed to be out of place. I discovered next morning that
the figure, wrapped in the shadows of night, belonged to a gentleman, a
Belgian by birth, a diplomat by his calling, who was going to
Constantinople in the capacity of a Secretary of Legation. If the
gentleman felt some surprise at the rage of declamation prompting a
person wet to the skin to recite verses at night, his astonishment
increased considerably upon seeing me next morning in broad daylight
shabbily attired. He, nevertheless, seemed to have formed no mean
opinion of me; he asked me to come and see him in Pera, and promised me
his protection to the extent of his power.
We were favoured by the fairest weather from Varna to Constantinople,
and nothing more charming could be imagined than this our voyage. The
sailing through the most delightful sea road of the world, vulgarly
called the Bosphorus, is apt to affect the dullest spirit, and
roused--it is needless to say--the utmost enthusiasm in me. But upon
looking about me, and seeing before me the dense forest of masts and
flags in the Golden Horn, I fancied I was placed, as it were, in the
very centre of the world; and as my fellow passengers were dropping
away, one by one, all hurrying in different directions to the shore, a
feeling of my forlornness burst upon me. My spirits were damped and I
felt anxious and ill at ease.
[Illustration: THE BOSPHORUS.]
Of the fifteen florins I had brought with me from Pesth, I had left just
enough to pay my fare on the boat which took me to the shore. I now set
my foot on Turkish ground, if not with a light heart, certainly with a
very light purse, and sauntered pretty recklessly up the narrow street
leading to the heights of Pera.
With a spirit less adventurous and at a more sensible age than mine, I
should have asked myself: "Where will you sleep to-night, what will you
eat--and, altogether, what will you begin to do?" But I never put these
questions to myself--I was blind in my enthusiasm. I was quietly
stopping to look at some signs, covered with Turkish inscriptions, and
was busy deciphering them, when a stranger, a Hungarian, whose curiosity
had been roused by the long ribbon which floated from my Hungarian hat,
stepped up to me. He inquired in Italian about my nationality and my
place of destination, and upon learning that I was a Hungarian he, as a
countryman and a political refugee, of course, immediately addressed me
in Hungarian, much to the delight of both of us.
Mr. Püspöki had been an honest mechanic in his own country; he was
earning a living in Turkey by being, in turn, an officer of the line, a
sutler during the Crimean war, an accounting clerk on board of a ship,
and, finally, when I met him, a cook. He was occupying a small,
poverty-stricken room, on the ground floor, in the dirty quarter of the
town which lies in the rear of the walls of the palace of the English
Embassy; its modest furniture consisting solely of a mattress, running
along the wall, which he shared with me, like a brother.
I shall never forget my first night on this couch. My hospitable
countryman had been fast asleep for some time, whilst I, unable to close
my eyes, was still pondering over the strange beginning of life in
Turkey. I became, all of a sudden, aware that now one, and again the
other, of my boots were moving about, by themselves.
"Friend," I said, first in a whisper, and gradually raising my voice, "I
think they are carrying away my boots."
He only muttered something unintelligible in reply. I repeated my
remark, and the good man finally exclaimed with some ill-humour:
"Do sleep! It is nothing but rats playing."
A very amusing game, indeed, I thought, provided they do not chew up my
boots; and I turned to sleep again.
I spent about three days in that miserable hole. I soon extended my
acquaintance with my countrymen, and obtained, through them, permission
to live in one of the rooms occupied by the "Magyar Club," which was at
that time already nearly deserted. At this place I met with fewer
frolicsome animals, but the skipping animals were all the more numerous;
and one evening, when, suffering from the chilliness of the night, I
ventured to ask the secretary of the club to give me something to cover
myself with, that worthy gentleman took the tricolour off the flagstaff,
and handed it to me, apostrophizing me in the following touching
manner:
"Friend! this flag has fired the hearts of many in their heroic flights,
it was itself once full of fire; wrap yourself up in it, dream of
glorious battlefields, and maybe it will keep you warm too."
And, oddly enough, I wrapped the old rag around me, shivered yet for a
little while, and then fell into a sound sleep.
Several days had passed in this manner. Day by day the circle of my
acquaintances was increasing, and all of them were particularly struck
with the varied knowledge I exhibited in the matter of languages, and my
being able to speak fluently and read easily the language of the
country, without having lived in Turkey, was to them a subject of
special wonder.
To give instruction in the languages used in the country, with a view to
earning my daily bread, suggested itself as the most natural thing.
Written advertisements of my desire were distributed, and the first
lesson I was to give was, oddly enough, in Danish.
Mr. Hübsch, a noble-minded gentleman of culture, whom I shall always
remember with pleasure, had been for some time back in search of a
Danish master, and was really glad to meet me; indeed, he made such
rapid progress as to be able, in the course of a few months, to read,
under my direction, Andersen's "Spilleman" and "Berlingske Tidninger."
Beginning with this odd lesson, I soon obtained other engagements as a
teacher, which I should never have hoped to obtain. The all-promising
advertisements did not fail to produce their effects; and one day, when
I happened to be at the book-shop of Mr. S., a young Turk, whose large
retinue showed him to be a man of means, came in and inquired after the
Madjarli, whose name he had seen in the shop-window--and whom he wished
to engage as a "Khodja," or teacher of the French language.
The young Bey was, as I had afterwards occasion to learn, a "Miraskhor,"
that is, a person who has just come into possession of a rich
inheritance, and is trying to acquire the external attributes suitable
to his wealth. In Turkey, at that time, these attributes were as
follows: (1) a suit of the finest broadcloth, after the latest cut and
fashion; (2) tight patent leather shoes; (3) a small, jaunty fez,
rakishly worn on one side of the head, and, as a matter of course,
gloves, too; (4) an easy, graceful step, accompanied by a fashionable
carriage of the arms and hands; and (5) French conversation. European
tradesmen had provided him with the first four ingredients for the
make-up of a Turkish gentleman, and I was to furnish him with the fifth.
I was, accordingly, engaged on the spot as his teacher, the remuneration
stipulated for being ten piastres for one hour's lesson daily, besides
my expenses of going to his house and returning, as our dandy was living
at some distance in Skutari.
This lesson procured me the opportunity of gaining admission for the
first time into a genuine Turkish house. I arrived every day punctually
at the appointed hour, but generally found my pupil, who had just roused
himself from his slumbers, still suffering from the effects of last
night's debauch, and scarcely able to lift his heavy eyelids; nor did I
discover in him the slightest disposition to acquire the language of the
Gauls. It took him an entire month to master the alphabet.
I usually found my pupil in the company of a venerable mollah, who
fairly shuddered whenever the sounds of a language of the Giaours
reached his ears, for the father of my pupil was a notoriously pious
Mussulman, and the walls of the room in which we sat had only re-echoed
until now the canting recitals of the Koran, the sacred hymns, and other
prayers.
I often heard the mollah muttering in his beard, "This is the way in
which the spirit of infidelity is being smuggled into our houses."
I need not say that the instruction I imparted was highly profitable to
myself. We did at first some French, but later on we glided from the
French lesson into explanatory sketches of European life and European
ideas. I told the Bey of our social, political, and scientific
institutions, decking them out, as a matter of course, in their
brightest colours, for the European, during his first stay in the East,
is always looking back with fondness to the West he has just left, and
the very things he used to condemn look to him charming at a distance.
My information was almost always received with approval and admiration.
Turkey had just seen a good specimen of Europe in her Anglo-French
allies who had come to her assistance against the Russians; the Turks
were, therefore, eager to learn all the particulars having reference to
the Western land, and if the descriptions of these excited now and then
their envy, roused them to disapproval or called out their conceit, they
were always listened to, and that with pleasure.
At the close of the lesson a well-prepared and abundant breakfast was
always brought in, and I must own that from the very first the cooking
of the better classes in Constantinople had enlisted my gastronomic
partiality. It frequently happened, too, that we started immediately
after breakfast for a ride on horseback, my pupil making his calls in my
company; in short, I passed a considerable portion of the day in the
society of Turks, and I used to return to Pera, that is, to European
life, in the evening only.
My permanent stay amongst Turks dates, however, from the time when, at
the recommendation of a countryman of mine, I was invited by Hussein
Daim Pasha, general of a division, to enter his house as the teacher of
his son, Hassan Bey.
I removed my quarters from Pera to the charmingly situated row of houses
at Fyndykly; there I got a separate room, and enjoyed for the first time
the amenities of Oriental quiet and Turkish comfort. The life in a
strictly Mohammedan part of the town, in the vicinity of a mosque, from
whose slender minaret the Ezan resounded with gloomy melancholy,
affecting my ears with its weird-like sounds; the grand prospect from my
window taking in the sea near by, with its thousand crafts, and the
magnificent Beshikash palace; and the dignified and patriarchal air
which pervaded the whole house--were all things which had the charm of
novelty for me, and which I can never forget.
The figure of the major domo (Vekilkhardj), a gray-bearded Anatolian,
however, has perhaps made the deepest impression upon my memory. The
good man was particularly indulgent towards me upon all occasions when I
happened to sin against the strictly Oriental customs; he took great
pains to teach me how to sit decorously, that is, with crossed legs; he
taught me to carry my head and to use my hands with propriety, and how I
should yawn, sneeze, and so forth. His attention embraced the merest
trifles.
"You are, for the first time, in a large city; you have just entered
polite society," he benignly said, "and you must learn everything."
Of course the old man looked upon me as a person coming from the land of
"black infidelity," a land to which, in his opinion, decency, good
manners, and morals were utter strangers, and he seemed to think that a
stranger hailing from those parts needed to be educated quite as much as
a Turkish peasant from the neighbourhood of Kharput and Diarbekir.
The pasha himself, my chief, was a much more interesting personage. It
was he who afterwards became known as the leader of the celebrated
Kuleili conspiracy, a conspiracy whose object was nothing less than the
removal of Sultan Abdul Medjid and of all his grandees; the conspirators
flattering themselves with the belief that all the causes of the decay
of Turkey would be thereby extirpated, and that, with one stroke, the
old and infirm Ottoman Empire could be restored to its ancient power.
I was an inmate of his house at the time when this notorious conspiracy
was being hatched and the plans for its consummation formed. A mollah
from Bagdad, by the name of Ahmed Effendi, a man of rare mental gifts,
immense reading, ascetic life, and boundless fanaticism was the life and
soul of the whole conspiracy. He had taken part in the whole of the
Crimean war as a Gazi (a warrior for religion), bareheaded and
barefooted, and clad in a garb whose austere simplicity recalled the
primitive ages of Islam. His sword never left his lean loins, nor his
lance the firm grasp of his clenched fist, either by day or by night,
except when he said his prayers, five times a day. Through the snow, in
the storm, in the thickest of the fight on the battlefield, during
toilsome marches, everywhere could be discovered the ghost-like form of
this zealot, his fiery eyes scattering flames, and always at the head of
the division, under the command of my chief.
It was quite natural that such a man should please Hussein Daim Pasha.
The acquaintance begun in the camp, had here grown into a sort of
relationship by consanguinity; for the lean mollah, who was walking
about barefoot in Constantinople, had the privilege of crossing even the
threshold of the harem, where, under the protection of the sacredness of
Turkish family life, unwelcome listeners could be most conveniently got
rid of. There was something in the appearance of Ahmed Effendi which
terrified me at first, and only, later, upon my allowing myself to be
called by my pasha, for the sake of intimacy, Reshid (the brave, the
discreet), came this terrible man near me, with some show of
friendliness; he probably concluding, from my having adopted this name,
that I was very near being converted to Islam. A very false inference!
But I did not destroy the hopes of the zealot, gaining thereby his
good-will, and getting him to give me instruction in Persian.
Ahmed Effendi allowed me even to visit him in his cell in the yard of
the mosque. And oh! how interesting were those hours which I spent,
sitting at his feet, with other youths who were eager to learn! It
seemed as if I had got hold of a fairy key unlocking, to my dazzled eyes
in one moment, the whole of Mohammedan Asia.
Ahmed Effendi had an astonishing, almost supernatural memory; he was a
thorough Arabic and Persian scholar, and knew a whole series of classics
by heart. I had only to begin with a line from Khakani Nizami or Djami,
in Spiegel's Persian Chrestomathy, and he would at once continue to
recite the whole piece to the end. Indeed he would have been able to go
on with his declamation for hours.
To this Ahmed Effendi I was indebted, more than to anybody else, for my
transformation from a European into an Asiatic. In speaking of my
transformation, I trust the friendly reader will not suppose, for one
moment, that a more intimate acquaintance with Asiatic modes of thought
had led my mind away from the spirit of the West. A thousand times, no!
Rather the reverse was the case. The more I studied the civilization of
Islam and the views of the nations professing it, the higher rose, in my
estimation, the value of western civilization.
III.
LIFE IN STAMBUL.
In the year 1860, I was, perhaps, the only European who had an easy and
uninterrupted access to all classes of Turkish society, and, probably,
saw at that time more of genuine Stambul life than any one before me.
And, surely, no one will find fault with me, if I recall now, in the
midst of my European life, with undisguised pleasure, the generous
hospitality I have met with, at the hands of the noblest Turks, in their
own houses. The easy affability of persons of high positions in the
State, the utter absence of all pride or over-bearing superciliousness,
are virtues, indeed, which would often be looked for in vain in our
civilized West. The stupid pomposity, ridiculous arrogance and pitiable
ignorance of certain aristocracies present a miserable picture, when
contrasted with the behaviour of the Asiatic grandees, whom it is the
custom to sneer at in Europe. The Oriental is particular about nobility
of blood only in the matter of his horses and sporting dogs, whereas,
with us, the select are boasting of such "animal advantages" that I
should like to know in what country of Europe an unknown stranger might
succeed, solely by dint of his eagerness to learn, in obtaining access
to the most distinguished circles, and gaining their good-will and
protection. With us, to be sure, there is no lack either of protectors
and patrons of exalted station, who assist the man of books and art, but
in this they never approach the intimacy and close friendship which
patrons bestow in the East upon intellectual pursuits. In Europe, the
possessors of long pedigrees, the owners of family trees with decayed
roots and worm-eaten bark, have frequently assigned to them the
leadership in society, but not so in Asia. The Arabs will boast of the
heroic deeds and generous actions of their ancestors, but not for their
own exaltation, as is the case in many countries of Europe.
In passing over to my literary pursuits, during my stay in Stambul, I
will only mention that I published, in 1858, a German-Turkish
dictionary, a small volume, of the imperfections and shortcomings of
which, I am by no means unaware; but it was the first that had been
written, and is, to this day, the only available one which a German
traveller, coming to Constantinople, can get. There were two main points
which I had principally in view in my studies of Turkish literature. I
had, in the first place, found, in the history of the Ottoman Empire, so
much that was of interest to the history of my own country, that I felt
impelled to make a translation of it. Through these translations, I
entered, at an early period, into relations with the Hungarian Academy.
The Ottoman historians are wanting, for the most part, in critical
judgment, but the laborious and circumstantial completeness of their
information frequently proves useful. It may not be generally known
that the Turkish Sultans who, at the head of their destructive armies,
made inroads into the South-eastern part of Europe, and against whom so
many Crusades were preached, were constantly accompanied, at every step
they took, by imperial historiographers, and have done more for Clio,
the Muse, than many a truly Catholic prince of that time.
I had found, in the second place, in the course of my linguistic
researches in the study of Eastern Turkish, a field which had been, at
that time, barely cultivated, and devoted to it my full attention.
Besides the manuscripts I got hold of in the various libraries, which
were of great assistance to me in my studies, I frequented the _Tekkes_
(cloisters), inhabited by the Bokhariots, and provided myself, moreover,
with a view to attaining to a thorough understanding of these works,
with a teacher who was a native of Central Asia. Mollah Khalmurad, as my
teacher was called, acquainted me with the customs and modes of thought
of Central Asia. I used to hang passionately on his lips when he was
relating stories about Bokhara and Samarkand, and told of the Oxus and
Taxartes, for he had travelled a great deal in his own country. He had
already made two pilgrimages to the holy cities of Arabia, and
possessed, to a high degree, the cunning and clearsightedness peculiar
to every Asiatic, but particularly to the much-travelled Asiatic.
This perspicacity of theirs caused me to tremble for my life more than
once during my wanderings as a dervish.
Apart from a scientific, I felt an engrossing national, interest in the
study of the Eastern Turkish language, on account of the rich Eastern
Turkish vocabulary to be met with in the Magyar language, my own beloved
mother tongue.
Stambul life with all its attractions and interesting phenomena
produced a feeling of weariness in me after a while. My frequent visits
to Pera, my passing, in less than half an hour, from the innermost
recesses of Asiatic life to the turmoil of European stir and bustle,
might have continued attractive to me, as giving me an opportunity for
the comparative study of the two civilizations. But amongst the very men
whom I happened to meet, in this Babel of European nationalities, there
were some who fanned the fire within me, and who incited me, that had
remained a thorough European in spite of an Orientalizing of several
years, to the execution of the boldest feats. And did I require these
urgings on--I, who, at the bare mention of the names of Bokhara,
Samarkand, and the Oxus, was in a fever of excitement? Certainly not;
their encouragement seemed to me only a proof of the practicability of
my designs. Indeed, I was quite familiar with the literature of travel
of that day, and the only misgivings I felt were on the score of the
perils of the undertaking.
I had just been revolving in my mind the plan of a journey through Asia,
when I was nominated, quite unexpectedly, corresponding member of the
Hungarian Academy. This nomination was to be a reward for my translation
of Turkish historical authorities, but it proved an all-powerful
incentive, urging me on to the consummation of my plans for the future.
Considerable changes had by this time taken place in the political life
of Hungary; and when, upon returning in the spring of 1861, after an
absence of several years, I went to Pesth, in order to deliver my
Academic address, it required but a gentle intimation on the part of the
then President of the Academy, Count D., to procure me a travelling
stipend of a thousand florins in bank notes, amounting to six hundred
florins in silver. At home, of course, there were many sceptics who
expressed their doubts as to the success of my undertaking. I was asked
how I could accomplish such a long journey, with scanty means and a
frail body. These gentlemen were not aware that travelling in Asia
required neither legs nor money, but a clever tongue. I paid, however,
but slight attention to such comments.
The "Academy" gave me a letter of introduction and recommendation,
addressed to all the Sultans, Khans, and Begs of Tartary, and drawn up,
for the surer enlightenment of the Tartars, in the Latin tongue! A ready
gallows or executioner's sword, forsooth, this document meant, if I had
produced it anywhere in the desert or along the Oxus. The then
government, too, that is, the viceroyalty, were generous enough to
furnish me with a passport for my journey to Bokhara. I did not thwart
those manifestations of good intentions, and left Pesth, after a stay of
three months, for Constantinople, from which place I was to start, in
the following spring, on my wanderings through the extensive regions of
Central Asia.
My preparations, which took me another six months, had eaten up nearly
one half of the six hundred silver florins, and consisted, chiefly, in
visits to places, where travellers and pilgrims from Central Asia
congregated and could be met with. These people, who were, for the most
part, poor, I remunerated as well as I could, for every piece of
information and for every hour of conversation that I got from them; for
I must observe, here, that already, at the outset, I was tolerably well
acquainted with the colloquial language of the countries on the Oxus.
Indeed, I may add, that many a quarter of a town and region in the
distant Mohammedan East was as familiar to me, from hearsay and reading,
as is the capital on the Seine to a European who has been a reader of
French novels for many years.
Very remarkable and, at times, very amusing was the manner in which my
worthy Stambul friends looked upon my preparations for far-off
Turkestan. A journey prompted merely by a thirst for knowledge is
characterized by the modern Mohammedans as, to say the least, eccentric;
for the days of Masudi, Yakut, Ibn Fozlan and Batutah have passed away,
ever so long ago. But if any one purposes to undertake a journey through
inhospitable, barbarous and dangerous countries, they declare such an
enterprise a piece of sheer madness. I can very well recall how these
effeminate Effendis shuddered, and the look of unspeakable pity they
bestowed upon me, when I was expatiating, with the most intense
satisfaction, upon my passage through the deserts. "Allah Akillar" (God
lend him reason), was the pious wish they were all muttering. A person
who will voluntarily leave the delightful Bosphorus, give up the
comfortable life at the house of a Turkish grandee, and resign the
charms of sweet repose, must be, to their thinking, a madman.
And, yet, these good people were deeply concerned to smooth my rough
path, and to retard the certain destruction before me, as much as lay in
their power. Persia was to be the first country on my route, and as a
Turkish ambassador, together with his suite, had been residing, for
years, at Teheran, and the then plenipotentiary of the Sultan, Haidar
Effendi, happened to be a friend of the family of my patron, I received,
in addition to the official recommendation of Aali Pasha, a collective
letter from all the relations and acquaintances of K. . . Bey,
commending unhappy me, in the warmest terms, to his protection. I
obtained also firmans, addressed to the authorities on my route through
Turkish territory, in all of which I was mentioned as the traveller
Reshid Effendi. Of my European descent, of the aims and purposes of my
journeyings, not the slightest mention was made in these documents, and
all I had to do was to act up to the letter and spirit of their
contents; indeed I could do little else if I wished to pass myself off
as a genuine Turk and Effendi from Constantinople.
So much for the practical portion of my preparations. As to the mental
condition I was in, I need not say that the nearer the moment of my
departure approached the stronger became my longing, the more agitated
became my mind. What I had dreamt of as a child, mused upon as a youth,
and what had haunted my eyes, Fata-Morgana-like, during my wanderings
through the literatures of the Occident and Orient, I was to attain at
last, and feast upon it my own bodily eyes. When passion thus, like a
mighty wave, is rolling in upon us, we turn a deaf ear to the voice of
reason and prudence. All I could dread, after all, was bodily want, the
fight with the elements and injury to my health; for, at that time, the
thought of failure, that is, of death, never entered my mind. And now I
ask my friendly reader, what vicissitudes, what privations could I
undergo, which I had not already been subjected to by the hard fate of
my youth? I had been starving up to my eighteenth year, and want of
necessary clothing had been the order of the day with me, since my
earliest youth. I had learned to know the whims and foibles of mankind,
and found that man in the rude Asiatic garb was nearly the same as man
in the civilized European dress; yea, I had met at the hands of the
former so much more pity and kindness, that the frightful picture of
these barbarians, as drawn by our literature, was far from disheartening
me. Only one thing might be taken into consideration, with reference to
the undertaking I had on hand, that, after having already tasted the
sweets of affluence and repose, I was about to venture anew upon a life
of misery and struggles. For I had done well, quite well in
Constantinople, during these years. I had comfortable quarters and a
luxurious fare, and there was even a saddle horse at my disposal, and
thus the only thing that may be said in my praise, is that I exchanged
all these, of my own free will, for the beggar's staff. But good
Heavens! where could we not be led, if spurred on by ambition? And what
is our life worth if ambition is not known, does not exist or has been
blunted? Wealth, distinction and dignities are gaudy toys which cannot
amuse us very long, and of which sound common sense must tire sooner or
later. The consciousness, however, of having rendered to mankind in
general a service ever so slight, is a truly noble and exalting one; for
what is there more glorious than the hope of being able to enrich even
by a single letter the book of intellectual life lying open before us?
Thus I felt and thus I thought, and in these feelings and thoughts I
found the strength to submit to trials and hardships a thousandfold
greater than those I had been subjected to hitherto.
Such were the conditions of my life, under which I left the peaceful
harbour of Constantinople for my voyage to the Black Sea. Unaccompanied
by any friends or parents, I bade farewell to the Golden Horn and to the
Bosphorus as to the place where I enjoyed so many agreeable days of
useful preparation for my future career. As our good ship turned towards
the Asiatic shore, I ventured only to look with a furtive glance towards
the West, uncertain whether I should see it again in my life!
IV.
FROM TREBIZOND TO ERZERUM.
The boom of cannon, sounds of music and shouts of joyous welcome greeted
us, as our ship was approaching the harbour of Trebizond. This solemn
reception was not intended for me, the future dervish, who was setting
out, beggar's staff in hand, to roam through an extensive portion of
classic Asia. The ovation was meant for Emir Muhlis Pasha, the
newly-appointed Governor of Trebizond, who had been our fellow traveller
from Constantinople to this place. The people, very likely, indulged in
the hope that he would bring in his train a happier state of things than
they experienced, and relief from past misery, but they were, in all
probability, doomed to be disappointed in him, as they had been
disappointed in his numerous predecessors before.
Trebizond, the ancient capital of Mithridates, presents a rather fine
appearance, when looked at from the sea. Upon closer inspection, the
city proves finer, by far, than most of the Turkish sea-towns. Muhlis
Pasha, whose acquaintance I had made at Constantinople, proffered me his
hospitality, during the whole of my stay in that town. I mounted one of
the horses held in readiness on the shore, joined the pasha's retinue,
and proceeded with the festive procession towards the governor's palace,
lying to the south. Our troops passed, highly pleased, through the
thronging crowds. The pasha caused some small silver change to be
scattered amongst the populace. There was a great rush and eager
scrambling for the coins, and the lucky ones were loud and voluble in
the expression of their gratitude. I remained only three days in
Trebizond. I employed this short time in the purchase of the necessary
travelling requisites, in the hiring of a horse--in short, in supplying
myself with everything needful for those adventurous wanderings through
Turkey and Persia which I was about to undertake. I resolved to keep up
the part of an Effendi as far as Teheran, but thereafter I wished to
pass myself off only as a Kiatib, a humble scribe who might appeal to
the hospitality of the authorities. My entire luggage consisted of a
_khurdjin_ (carpet-bag), containing a couple of shirts, a few books,
some trifles, two carpets, one to be used as a mattress, the other for a
covering, a small kettle, tea service and cup. The pasha repeatedly
pressed upon me the offer of an escort by two _kavasses_ (policemen),
not so much as a matter of safety as from considerations of display,
customary in these parts. I declined his kind offer with thanks, and in
the company of an Armenian _surudji_ (an owner and driver of horses),
left the Turkish seatown on the 21st day of May, 1862, wending my way
towards the mountains stretching to the east.
The sun had already risen pretty high. I advanced, at a slow pace, along
the highway, extending to about an hour's walking distance from the
city, and then losing itself in the deep gorge of a valley. My Armenian
companion, Hadjator, reminded me that in getting near the valley we
should soon lose sight of the sea. I stopped on the height, for a few
moments, to give a farewell look to it. However stormy and rough at
times, it was just then lying as calm and peaceful before my eyes as the
water of a lake. I felt at this moment but faint forebodings of the
trials and dangers lying in wait for me; but faint as they were, they
sufficed, as I gazed upon the dark, endlessly-stretching waves of the
Euxine, to affect me most deeply. There, at my feet, was Trebizond; I
could clearly discern the whole harbour, and as I caught sight of the
Austrian ship in which I had come, the flag on the masthead beckoning a
farewell to me, a feeling of deep melancholy took possession of my whole
being. For six mortal hours on that day I continued, without
interruption, my march on horseback. They were a miserable six hours.
Although nature was very charming and beautiful all around me, it did
not prevent me from feeling extreme weariness in all my limbs. To travel
on horseback is in the beginning a rather painful thing, but it is
infinitely more so if one is obliged to hire the horse one rides from a
surudji. These men employ their animals, chiefly, in the transportation
of luggage, and the horses have, in consequence, such a jostling gait
that their riders must ache all over upon descending, and they are so
indolent, besides, that one must make good use of one's hands and feet
to make them move on. Near Köpri I put up at a _khan_ (an inn). I had to
sleep, nomad fashion, on the ground, but, owing to my excessive fatigue,
sleep would not come to my eyes. The place was swarming with horses and
mule-drivers, of whom some would scrub their animals, or cook, others
sing, and others again chat. It seemed to me as if all this din had
been especially got up to disturb my slumbers. I rose into a sitting
posture, where I had been lying, and sadly reflected upon the fatigues
to come.
After a short nap, I was called by my Armenian. "Bey Effendi," he said,
"I think you must feel rested from the fatigues of yesterday's march.
Our road to-day will be harder; you will not be able to sit comfortably
in the saddle in the mountains of Trebizond, and you will therefore do
better to walk up, leisurely, to the top, before it gets warmer." I left
my couch at once and followed the steep mountain path. I could not help
wondering at the mules' toiling up the steep height and reaching the
top, with their heavy loads, whilst, to me, on foot, without any
incumbrance, the ascent was most painful. On our way we met a long line
of overloaded mules, descending amidst the wild screams of their Persian
drivers. It is a rare sight to watch them advancing, with the utmost
care, without any accident, upon the slippery path cut into the rock,
scarcely two spans wide, flanked by the bottomless abyss. And yet it is
a very unusual thing for a mule to be precipitated into the abyss
yawning along the path. If ever it happens it is in winter. The danger
is greatest when two caravans happen to meet face to face. In order to
avoid such an encounter, big bells, heard at a great distance, are used
by them, warning the caravans to keep out of each other's way.
The continuously steep ascent lasted over four hours. There is hardly a
worse road in all Asia; yet this is the only commercial road which
connects Armenia with Persia, nay Central Asia with the West. During the
summer hundreds of thousands of these animals are traversing this route,
going and coming, loaded with the products of Asia and the manufactures
of Europe.
I was indebted to my title of Effendi for quieter sleeping quarters at
the tolerably crowded Khan at our next station. Before retiring to rest
I took the advice of Hadjator, and bathed in salt water those parts of
my body which were sore with my riding exertions; the sensation was at
first a stinging one, but sitting in the saddle next day was not quite
so uncomfortable as before.
Upon reaching the third station, on the 23rd of May, two Armenians
joined me. One of them began to speak first French, and then English
with me. He was a merchant from Tebriz, who had spent several years in
England on matters of business, and was now returning to his native
town. We became quite intimate after a while, and his society was all
the more agreeable to me as he knew very well the route on which we were
to travel together for a considerable time. Three days after that, upon
leaving the Khoshab Bunar mountains and descending, we met a Shiraz
caravan on our way. I was struck by the shape of the tall hats of the
men running into a point. They were gaily stepping alongside of their
mules, loaded with the produce of their native country, and I was
delighted to hear the songs of Hafiz sung by the leader of the caravan,
the youths who were following him joining in chorus every now and then.
These were the first Iranian (Persian) words which I heard from the
natives themselves. I wished to enter into a conversation with them, but
they did not deign to reply. Singing they toiled uphill on the rough
road, because, as I was afterwards told by my guide, the animals march
more cheerfully at the sound of singing.
V.
FROM ERZERUM TO THE PERSIAN FRONTIER.
I arrived in Erzerum on the 28th of May. In entering this town I was, at
once, aware that I was now in the interior of Asia. The houses are here
already built in the Eastern fashion; the walls, built of stone or mud,
are clumsy and running irregularly in a zigzag line, with windows
looking out into the yard rather than the street; secret entrances, and
other like things characteristic of Eastern houses.
At Erzerum I was staying at the house of the Circassian, Hussein Daim
Pasha, the commanding officer of the place, with whom I had been already
acquainted at Constantinople. I had instructed his son in French, and in
European sciences. When I told him of my Bokhara plan he was very much
surprised, and at first tried to dissuade me from it, but promised me,
afterwards, to furnish me with letters of recommendation to some of the
prominent Sheikhs of the Turkestan capital. I met amongst the other
governmental officers, at Erzerum, some whom I had known in Stambul,
and I called upon them at their offices. I shall never forget the
appearance of the offices of the Turkish government. The entrance was
nearly barricaded by a promiscuous heap of shoes, sticks, weapons and a
troop of dogs lying everywhere about. The interior corresponded with the
outside. On a couple of dirty, ragged divans were seated several
officials; in one part of the room a group of women were quarrelling, in
another a humorous individual was entertaining the officers, and in
another, again, some one gave vent to his complaints, interspersed with
oaths.
Evidences of the poverty of the inhabitants of Erzerum meet the eye in
whatever direction one may look. The dirt, the squalor and the
underground dwellings are unbearable. The smell of their food, which
they cook by the fire made of a fuel called _tezek_ (cattle dung), is
especially loathsome.
I was almost glad when I left this place on the 29th of May, about dusk,
in company of my Armenian fellow-traveller. It might have been about
midnight when we heard the loud barking of dogs, an indication of the
propinquity of human habitations. I rode ahead, over ditches and bushes,
towards the lights twinkling from the scattered houses. Everybody in the
place was sunk in sleep, and it was only owing to my Effendi way of
talking that I succeeded in procuring, for myself and my companion,
quarters for the night. The name of the village was Kurudjuk, and the
house where we happened to obtain accommodation belonged to the Kizil or
chieftain of the place. The dwellings hereabouts consist, usually, of
only one room, in which both men and domestic animals live promiscuously
together. The cattle are tied on to the crib running along two sides of
the spacious room, and the human beings occupy the _saku_, a species of
elevated platform. It may be justly said that people, here, are living
in stables. One may imagine what an agreeable thing it is to pass the
night in the society of from forty to fifty buffaloes, and a couple of
calves and a horse. Add to it that there is not a solitary window to
this barn. More squalid and miserable dwellings there cannot perhaps be
met with in the whole of Asia, than those in the environs of Erzerum.
One may then appreciate the feeling of pleasure with which the traveller
exchanges the foul air of his night quarters for the sweet morning air
of the spring.
After a ride of nearly four hours we reached _Hassankale_, a place
situated on a promontory. It is fortified against the attacks of the
marauding Kurds, living in the country. They hardly dare, it is true, to
make a raid upon the villages nowadays, but smaller caravans and the
solitary traveller are still exposed to the fury of their marauding
propensities. For the sake of safety we had with us two _kavasses_
(mounted policemen). I myself had, indeed, nothing to fear from attack,
but, out of regard for my Armenian companions, who had about them
valuable trinkets which they had brought with them from Europe, I made
use, on their behalf, of the firman given to me, as an Effendi, by the
governor of Erzerum.
Upon crossing the Araxes river, we arrived ere long at the frontier of
Kurdistan proper, whose inhabitants had already enjoyed, in the age of
Herodotus, the unenviable reputation of being thieves and robbers of the
worst kind. We noticed on our march a lofty rock--and one of our guides
told us that the renowned Korouglu had lived on the top of it. He is the
most celebrated hero-adventurer of Mohammedan popular poetry; his
miraculous feats are told in song, at feasts and on the battlefield,
alike by the Turks on the Oxus, the Anatolians near the Mediterranean,
and the Roumelians by the waves of the Danube.
As we were passing through a narrow mountain defile my Armenian
companions set to loading their guns and pistols, saying: "We shall meet
henceforth no more Osmanlis; only Kurds and Armenians are living here."
Letters of recommendation and polite requests have no effect upon the
Kurds; if you wish to keep them in awe you must meet them well armed.
At a Kurdistan village, called _Eshek-Eliasz_, we hired two men to
accompany us, and we started on our way at the dawn of morning. It was a
murky gloomy morning, the tops of the distant mountains were clouded by
the fog. We sent the loaded animals ahead, and sat down at the foot of
the mountain to make our tea. In the damp and chilly hours of the early
dawn tea is a most refreshing beverage, and after having taken a cup or
two we remounted our horses in order to overtake our beasts of burden.
We overtook them after half an hour's trot, and saw them peaceably
advancing along the ridge of the mountain. The rays of the sun had now
scattered the fog, and looking about me, admiring the beautiful mountain
scenery, I happened to observe that one of our Kurdistan followers was
glancing now at the luggage-carriers, now at his companion, betraying
great uneasiness. "What is it, what is it?" I asked. Instead of any
reply he merely pointed in the direction where the servants of my
Armenian companions and a couple of mule drivers were marching on. We
looked and saw armed Kurds, on horseback and on foot, rushing in upon us
from the right and the left, making straight for the animals laden with
precious and valuable goods. "Robbers! Robbers!" shouted the Armenian
Karabegoff, who had been in Europe. Quickly seizing his revolver, he
rushed forward, followed by his friend and myself, but, although I
urged on my horse in every conceivable manner, I was the third and last
to arrive upon the scene of action. I still wore, at that time, a brass
plate on my fez, in token of my dignity, as an Effendi. The Kurds had
scarcely caught sight of me, when they suddenly stopped within a few
steps from the badly frightened group of people. "What do you want
here?" I asked them in a voice of thunder. An old, one-eyed man, armed
with a shield, lance, rifle and sword, now stepped forward, and said:
"Bey Effendi, our oxen have strayed from us, and we have been looking
for them all night. Hast thou not met with them somewhere on thy way?"
"And is it customary to look for oxen, armed as thou art?" said I.
"Shame on thee! Has thy beard turned grey to be soiled by thieving and
robbery? If I did not regard thy old age I should take thee at once
before the Kaimakam of Bayazid, thou insolent waylayer!"
My words and the explanations of my Kurd followers caused the band of
marauders, consisting of eight men, very soon to understand with whom
they had to deal. They are not much afraid of Armenians and Persians as
a usual thing, but they do not deem it advisable to attack an officer of
the Sultan. I still added a few threats to my former severe reprimands,
and we had soon the satisfaction of seeing the robbers disband and quit
us. We too continued our march, during which the Armenians never tired
of expressing their gratitude to me. If it had not been for me, they
said, all the valuables brought with them from London would have fallen
into the hands of the Kurds. I especially remarked, during the affray,
the dismay and pallor of several Persian merchants who had joined us the
day before. These men brought me, as we were about to retire to rest,
various sweetmeats, as an acknowledgment of my services. I could not
help admitting that, in the eyes of the Kurds, the dignity of an Effendi
carried considerable weight.
We came in the evening to a village called _Mollah Suleiman_, inhabited,
chiefly, by Armenians. At the sight of my Kurdistan followers, our
landlord took me aside and said to me in a whisper: "Effendi, thou
mayest well deem thyself fortunate for having escaped unhurt. Thy
followers are known, far and wide, as the most desperate robbers; they
have never before escorted any one across the Dagar mountain but some
ill befell him." In an instant the whole adventure became clear to me.
These two Kurd fellows were in league with the robbers, and but for my
friend's revolver and my Effendi headgear the day might have proved
fatal to all of us. Such occurrences are by no means rare in this
region. The people and the authorities are well aware of the frequent
cases of brigandage; they know who the brigands are; but, nevertheless,
everybody is left to his own bravery to defend himself.
Our Armenian host, who had received his fellows in faith and myself with
great cordiality, had a sumptuous supper prepared for us; the priest,
clergyman and the judge of the village too, came to pay their respects,
and there was no end to tales of robbery. In the autumn before, we were
told, a caravan, consisting of forty beasts of burden and fifteen men,
amongst whom there was an Englishman, was attacked by a robber chief and
twelve men. No sooner had the Kurds, with their customary cry of
"Lululu!" come upon them, than the Persians and Turks took to their
heels, and allowed the brigands to freely rummage in the luggage,
without molesting them. They had already driven away a couple of
animals, when the Englishman, who had hitherto coolly stood by and
watched the doings of the miscreants, raised his revolver without being
observed, took deliberate aim at the chief and levelled him to the
ground. The Kurds stood for a moment dumbfounded with fright, but they
soon recovered and made a simultaneous rush upon the Englishman. The
latter, who did not for an instant lose his presence of mind, shot dead
another and then again another man, crying out to them fiercely: "Do not
come near me or I will kill every one of you." This had its effect; one
by one the remaining Kurds slunk away. The family of the dead chief
instituted a suit for damages against the Englishman, claiming that the
chief had been out hunting, and not robbing, when he was killed. The
Turks treated the claim quite seriously, and, in all probability, would
have mulcted the brave Englishman in damages but for the intercession of
the British Consul.
The rain was pouring down violently when we left our hospitable host
next day, and at night we had to put up at an Armenian village,
containing about ten houses; for it was too late for us to reach on that
day _Diadin_, the next place on our journey. The inhabitants of that
village are leading a strange life. Man and beast, food and fuel are all
stowed away under one roof, and whilst one part of the inhabitants are
sleeping the others mount guard, on the roofs, with their arms in
readiness. I asked several of them why they did not ask assistance of
the governor of Erzerum, and was told, in reply: "That the governor was
himself at the head of the thieves. God alone, and his representative on
earth, the Russian Tzar, can help us." And the poor people were
certainly right in this.
We forded through the Euphrates river and reached, before long, a
monastery, the inmates of which were Armenian friars who were held in
high respect by all the inhabitants of the surrounding country, both
Christian and Mohammedan. It is a strikingly characteristic feature of
all Eastern nations, that with them friars, monks, wizards, and
fortune-tellers are indiscriminately, without regard to their religion,
the objects of deep veneration. The supernatural, the mysterious excite
the humility of the Eastern man, and the Kurds go far away, to distant
countries, in pursuit of their predatory ventures, leaving this solitary
and unprotected settlement unmolested.
Towards evening we arrived at the border place, Diadin. After
considerable inquiry we succeeded in finding the house of the judge, at
whose hands we desired to procure accommodation for the night. On
looking round there, I saw, sitting in a corner of the barn, an American
minister, with his wife and children and his sister. They had been
living in Urumia (in Persia) for several years, and were now on their
way home, to Philadelphia. Urumia and Philadelphia, what a distance! But
the members of the missionary society know no distance.
The Kurdistan Kizil, _i.e._, chieftain, received me very kindly, and
upon my asking him for a night's quarters, he replied: "Effendi, thou
art welcome, but I can give thee no accommodation, unless thou desirest
to share with a soldier-pasha the only spare room in my house."
"Soldier-pasha, or anybody else in the wide world," I replied. "Just
show me into the room. A ride of ten hours will tame a very Satan.
Besides, I think, the stranger and I will very well agree together."
The Kurd, holding a small oil-lamp in his hand, preceded me, and took me
to a place looking like a lumber-room. The soldier-pasha was squatting
in one corner. In approaching him, to introduce myself, I recognized in
the stranger, to my great surprise, General Kolmann, otherwise called
Fejzi Pasha, one of my dearest friends. "Well, this is a wonderful
meeting," he said, after our greetings were over, and we had settled
ourselves, opposite to one another, near the fire. General Kolmann, a
distinguished member of the Hungarian emigration, had always befriended
me in the most zealous manner, during the whole of my stay in Turkey. He
knew of my plans for travelling, and was overjoyed, beyond all measure,
to have an opportunity of saying "Good-bye" to me here, at the frontier
of Turkey, where he had been detailed by the government to superintend
the building of border barracks. We whiled away the time with chatting
until late into the night, and it was with a heavy heart that I took
leave next morning of my countryman and of that country to which, for
the time being, I belonged.
VI.
FROM THE PERSIAN BORDER TO TEBRIZ.
Kizil-dize is the name of the first village on Persian soil. Leaving it
we came to the base of _Ararat_. Mount Ararat, whose tapering head is
covered with snow even in summer, was at that season clad in its wintry
garb to more than half its height. The inhabitants of the surrounding
country all insist that the remains of Noah's Ark may still be seen on
its top, and many a _vartabet_ (priest), rich in grace, boasts of having
seen with his own eyes the precious relics of the holy Ark in the
waters, clear as crystal, of a lake on the top of the mountain. Others,
again, produce chips from the remains of the Ark, and recommend it
highly against pain in the stomach, sore eyes, and other maladies; and
woe to him who would dare to cast the slightest doubt upon the
existence, to this day, of at least two planks and a couple of masts of
Noah's Ark on mount Ararat. During my travels in Asia I came across four
other places, of which sacred tradition tells that Noah's Ark had rested
there, and at least four other places, again, where people have
discovered the unmistakable traces of the scriptural Paradise.
[Illustration: MOUNT ARARAT.]
After we crossed the Turco-Persian border line the country became
visibly more and more beautiful, as if Nature meant to support the
haughty presumptuousness of the Persians. The most modest and reserved
of my Persian fellow-travellers kept on saying during the whole journey,
"Iran is a land very different from thine, Effendi! Look out, thou shalt
see wonders." The faces of the Persians beamed with indescribable joy
from the moment they had set their eyes upon the first Persian village,
for the poor fellows had a great deal to suffer, all the way from
Erzerum, in the numerous Armenian villages. According to the rigid
Shi-ite law, not only is the Christian impure, but he defiles everything
he touches, and the pious Shi-ite will rather starve than eat of any
food a Christian had come in contact with.
We slept for the first time on Persian soil, in _Ovadjik_. Here, in
Iran, I thought it advisable to part with my dignity of Effendi, for in
the country of the Shi-ites, everything that approaches, in the least,
the Sunnite faith of the Turks, is hated and despised, although both
sects are professors of Islam.
We started early in the morning, on the 5th of June, and as our way was
to lead us, on that day, through the _Karaayne_ mountains, which did not
enjoy the best reputation for safety, my Armenian companions thought it
proper to provide themselves with the escort of a small number of
mounted armed men. Fortunately nothing unpleasant happened. We came to
_Karaayne_ early in the afternoon, and I was delighted to hear issuing,
from the house opposite to our quarters, sounds of music, the report of
firearms, and shouts of merriment. They were celebrating a wedding, and,
upon my question, if the wedding folks would have any objection to my
going over and looking at them, I was taken there, at once, by the son
of my host. A numerous troop of groomsmen had just arrived when we
entered, in order to conduct the bride from the paternal house to her
husband. They gave notice of their arrival outside by the report of
firearms, then entered, wrapped a red-coloured veil round the bride, led
her out into the street, and two of the groomsmen assisted her to mount
her horse. Although her wide dress, falling down in many folds, impeded
her movements, she sat quite firmly in the saddle. The bride was then
surrounded by the women, singing in chorus a very curious song, the
burden of which, repeated at the end of each stanza, was: "Let friend
remain friend, and the enemy turn blind, O Allah!" At last, the
procession started for the house of the bridegroom. I, too, mixed with
the crowd, accompanying them, and was afterwards invited to take a
prominent seat at the table. Wedding gifts were collected of the guests
during the meal. The marriage rites agreed in every particular with
those used by the Turcomans.
We had proceeded about two hours on the road leading from Karaayne to
_Tchuruk_, our nearest station, when we were startled by a peculiar kind
of barking and howling, coming from the depths of the mountains before
us. We had just reached an eminence on the road. Our little company of
travellers halted at once, and our Persian escort, bending their eyes
anxiously upon the entrance of the deep road, prepared their arms for
action. The howling grew louder and louder, and suddenly a magnificent
stag burst upon our sight, hotly pursued by two wolves. The Persians,
who are very fond of the chase, were electrified by this sight, and two
of them springing forward advanced in a run towards the animal--one of
the two, although running, took such excellent aim at it, that upon his
firing the beautiful deer fell lifeless to the ground. The wolves were
scared by the shooting and ran away. One of the wolves however, as soon
as everything became quiet again, either pushed by hunger, or feeling
sore at the loss of his prey, soon reappeared to our great surprise. The
hunters allowed him to approach, unmolested, within a few paces from the
lifeless stag, and then fired at him, killing him on the spot. Every
member of our small company was delighted with the adventure. We
dismounted, stripped off the skin of the deer, cut him up and set to
work at once to roast the best parts on the spit, leaving the rest of
the carcass and the wolf behind us.
The first place of note the traveller from the west comes to, in Persia,
is called _Khoy_. I was particularly struck by its bazaar. The life and
commotion in it was marked by that primitive quaintness and splendour of
ancient times which are, to a great extent, wanting in the Stambul
bazaars, owing to the influence of the Europeans. Any one who has
witnessed in Khoy, during the hours of the forenoon, the stir and bustle
in the cool and narrow streets, watched the gesticulations of buyers and
sellers, seen the variety of splendid fabrics and arms, and the food
offered for sale, and observed the behaviour of the thronging and
screaming crowd, must own that in the matter of Oriental
characteristics, at least, the bazaar of Constantinople is inferior to
that of Khoy.
The first impression was a truly bewildering and bewitching one, I could
hardly tear myself away from the strange spectacle; the peculiar sounds,
the strange din and noise, the seething life everywhere, were things I
had never witnessed before. As I was entering a place, topped by a
cupola, where about thirty braziers were striking away, with a will,
each at a kettle or pan, I was struck with astonishment upon seeing
that, in the midst of this infernal din, there were, in an unoccupied
portion of the building, two schools in full blast. There sat the
school-master--amongst the children who were ranged round him in the
shape of a half moon--armed with a long stick probably in order to
enable him to reach the children sitting on the hind-most forms. I went
quite near them and listened with the utmost attention, but could not
catch a solitary word, although both teacher and pupils were screaming
at the top of their lungs. The exertion told on them, too, for with
their inflated red faces and starting veins they looked like so many
infuriated turkeys. They pretend, nevertheless, that an improper stress
laid upon any Arabic word in the Koran, by any children, is immediately
observed and duly rebuked by the master.
I was surprised, even more agreeably, by the neat little caravansary
which we entered. The traveller meets everywhere in Arabia and Turkey
with dirty khans only; but here, in Persia, where, from ancient times,
much care has been bestowed upon the comfort and facilities of
intercourse, the caravansaries will be found to be inns which--I am
speaking, of course, of Eastern pretensions--leave nothing to be
desired. These inns stand mostly in the due centre of the bazaar, and
generally form a square building, each side of which is divided off into
a certain number of cells. A half circular opening, doing service both
as a door and window, leads to a terrace-like elevation running round
the building. Beneath it are placed the stables, so that a traveller,
living on the first floor, can be ostler to his own horse, on the ground
floor. This terrace is from four to six feet high, and leads to what is
in reality the yard, in the centre of which there is a well, often
surrounded by a small flower-garden. The cells offer a cool and pleasant
retreat during the day, and a place of safety, for travellers, during
the night. The _dalundar_ (door-keeper), who is stationed at the
cupola-shaped entrance-door, is charged with maintaining order. This
person is quick in discerning the rank and station of a traveller, by
his horse and saddle-gear, and he provides him with corresponding
accommodation. Sentinels are stationed on the flat roofs during the
night, who are scaring away with their monotonous cries all evil-doers,
and it is a rare thing for theft or robbery to be committed at the
caravansaries.
We left Khoy towards evening, on the 8th of June, for fear of being
interrupted in our journey, on account of the feast of _Kuram Bairam_
(the month of merry-making after the fast), and stopped at the village
of _Hadji Aga_, inhabited altogether by _Seids_, that is, descendants of
the prophet. These men are the most pretentious men in all Persia in
their pride of descent, but they are especially arrogant in their
behaviour towards strangers, and indeed one must have Job's patience to
bear their impertinences meekly. No matter how rich they are, they will
beg wherever they see a chance of getting something. Indeed they do not
ask for any alms, but they impose a tax, due to them as the descendants
of the head of Islam. They commit capital crimes, under the plea of
sanctity, and the people rarely dare to call them to account. The
authorities seem to be less indulgent, for I was told that the governor
of Tebriz, to the horror of the whole world, condemned a Seid who had
committed robbery to death by fire. The Mollahs fell to protesting, but
the governor gave them the following reply: "If he is a true Seid he
will not be touched by the flames," and caused the culprit to be cast
into the blazing pile.
VII.
IN TEBRIZ.
Tebriz is a town of remote antiquity, and is said to have been built by
the wife of Harun el Rashid. But of the ancient greatness and splendour
in which Tebriz was said to have once vied with the city of Raghes, very
little is now to be seen. Its commerce, however, is quite as flourishing
to-day as it was reputed to have been in ancient times. The grand life
of the bazaar had surprised me already at Khoy, but compared to that of
Tebriz, it was only a picture in miniature. Here the din and noise, the
stir and bustle, the pushing and elbowing, the stifling crowds are
magnified a hundredfold. At the recommendation of several persons I put
up at the Emir Caravansary, which, however, it took me over an hour to
find. Not being used to this deafening noise, and to pushing through
such dense crowds of people and mules without number, which seemed
perilous to both life and limb, I was apprehensive lest I might at any
moment ride over somebody with my horse. In recalling how the
dervishes were dancing onward ahead of me through this dire confusion,
uttering their unearthly screams, brandishing high, and casting up, into
the air their sharp axes, seizing them again by their handles upon
coming down, I wonder, to this day, how I ever got safely to the Emir
Caravansary.
[Illustration: CITY OF TEBRIZ.]
My Armenian companions ordered a modest cell for me, and, as they had
already reached their place of destination, they parted, with the
promise of returning the next day and installing themselves as my guides
through their native city. I sat down at the door of my narrow little
room and remained there until late in the evening, partly to take some
rest after my previous fatigues, partly to watch the life stirring about
me. Very soon, true to the custom of their country, a curious crowd
gathered around me; by some I was taken to be a merchant and was offered
goods by them, by others a money changer and was asked if I had any
Imperiales or Kopeks which I wished to exchange; others, again, offered
me their services, judging me by my attire to be a member of the embassy
of Teheran. It is wearisome work for a newly-arrived stranger at a
caravansary, this being catechised from all sides.
I passed two entire weeks in Tebriz; I desired to rest after the
fatigues of my long journey, making, at the same time, excellent use of
my leisure in studying the peculiarities of the Shi-ite sect, a study
which revealed to me a great deal that was novel and interesting. I did
so with all the more pleasure as my uninterrupted stay, for many years,
among all the Sunnite circles, my perfect knowledge of their modes of
life, customs, and dispositions, had especially fitted me for
instituting relevant comparisons.
I had been often told that the Shi-ites were the Protestants of Islam,
and their superior intelligence and industry led me to at one time share
this supposition. I was therefore quite astonished to find, on the very
day of my arrival, wherever I turned, instances of a fanaticism far more
savage, and of a sanctimoniousness far more glaring, than I had ever met
with in Turkey. First of all I was disagreeably impressed with the
reserve and spirit of exclusiveness shown by the Persians towards
Europeans. They are commanded by their law, for instance, in case the
hem of a European's garment but happens to touch the dress of a Persian,
that the Persian immediately becomes _nedjiz_, that is, unclean, and
must forthwith resort to a bath to regain his purity. My faith in their
cleanliness, of which they were so fond of boasting, very soon received
a rude shock, in witnessing the following scene. In the centre of the
yard of the caravansary, as everywhere else, is placed a basin full of
water, originally intended for the performance of ritual lavations, but,
as I was watching their proceedings at the basin, I saw that whilst at
one side of the reservoir some were washing their dirty things, others
placing half-tanned skins into the same water for soaking, and a third
was cleansing his baby, there were standing men on the opposite side of
the basin, gravely performing their religious washings with the
identical water, and one of them, who must have been very thirsty
indeed, crouched down and eagerly drank of the dark green fluid. I could
not repress at the sight a manifestation of loathing. A Persian,
standing near, immediately confronted me and reproved me for my
ignorance. He asked me if I did not know that according to the _Sheriat_
(the holy law) a quantity of water, in excess of a hundred and twenty
pints, turns blind, that is, it cannot become soiled or unclean.
In mentioning their fanaticism I cannot omit citing a remarkable
instance of it in the person of one of their wonderful dervishes. This
man happened to pass just then through Tebriz, and was an object of
general admiration at the bazaar. He was thoroughly convinced that the
divinity of the Caliphate, after the death of Mohammed, ought, by right,
to have devolved upon Ali, Mohammed's son-in-law, and not upon Abubekr,
the prophet's brother-in-law. Acting upon this conviction, he had
solemnly vowed, more than thirty years before, that he would never
employ his organs of speech otherwise but in uttering, everlastingly,
the name of his favourite, _Ali! Ali!_ He thus wished to signify to the
world that he was the most devoted partisan of that Ali who had been
defunct more than a thousand years. In his own home, speaking with his
wife, children and friends, no other word but "Ali!" ever passed his
lips. If he wanted food or drink, or anything else, he expressed his
wants still by repeating "Ali!" Begging or buying at the bazaar it was
always "Ali!" Treated ill or generously, he would still harp on his
monotonous "Ali!" Latterly his zeal assumed such tremendous proportions
that, like a madman, he would race, the whole day, up and down the
streets of the town, throwing his stick high up into the air, and shriek
out, all the while, at the top of his voice, "Ali!" This dervish was
venerated by everybody as a saint, and received everywhere with great
distinction. The wealthiest man of a town presented him once with a
magnificent steed, saddle, bridle and all. He immediately vaulted into
the saddle and sped along the streets uttering his customary fierce cry.
The colour of his dress was either white or green, and the staff he
carried corresponded in colour with the dress he wore. When he came to
the front of the Emir Caravansary, he stopped and lifted his voice,
midst the frightful din of the bazaar, with such tremendous power,
shouting "Ali! Ali!" that the veins on his head and neck started out
like strings.
After passing a few days at Tebriz, it dawned upon me that this, indeed,
was genuine Eastern life, and that distant Stambul, the gaudily painted
curtain of the Eastern world, presented but a tame and lifeless and
somewhat Europified picture of the Orient. True, after the first
excitement at the great variety of wonderful sights was over, my mind
immediately reverted to the sweets of Western life, and right glad was
I, therefore, to meet, at the caravansary, with two Swiss gentlemen of
culture, Mr. Würth and Mr. Hanhardt. They at once insisted upon my
moving my quarters to their lodgings, but I declined with thanks,
availing myself, however, at times, of their cordial invitation to take
my meals with them. Through them I became acquainted with other
Europeans residing here, and it was to me a source of great delight to
change about, and after having passed with Europeans a considerable time
discussing Western ideas and conversing in a Western tongue, all of a
sudden to become an Effendi again in some Persian society. My fancy was
tickled by this almost theatrical transition from the East to the West
and back again; I used to indulge in this pastime with great pleasure
while in Stambul.
The Persian world rather wondered at my intimacy with the Europeans, but
refrained from making any comments upon it to me, knowing that the
Sunnites, to whom I was supposed to belong, were far less rigorous than
the Shi-ites in their intercourse with persons differing from them in
faith. If my European friends communicated to me their views of certain
local institutions and customs, I did not accept them unconditionally; I
looked at them, again, in the light shed upon them by the observations
and feelings of the natives on the subject. Should some kind reader wish
to rebuke me for my seeming double-facedness, I have only to say that I
shall meekly submit to it, but that, at the same time, I am indebted to
the acting of this double part for the satisfaction I had in obtaining a
proper insight into native life, and being able to gather many and
varied experiences about the nations of the East, from the Bosphorus to
Samarkand.
It was here, in the Caravansary Emir, that I met with a rather curious
adventure, which I must relate. One afternoon, whilst the heat was
rather unbearably strong, I sat at the door of my cell, and engaged
myself, as is usual with dervishes, in delivering my linen of certain
animals which intrude upon the poor traveller in the East in spite of
all his efforts after cleanliness. Two Englishmen, whom I recognized by
their Indian hats, and who were strolling in the caravansary, stopped
suddenly before me, and after admiring for a while my patient and
untasteful occupation, the younger one said to the older, "Look at the
hunting zeal of this fellow!" I raised my eyes and said in English,
"Will you join, sir?" Amazed, nay bewildered, one of them immediately
asked me, "How did you learn English, and what countryman are you?" From
reasons formerly explained, I abstained from a further conversation, and
notwithstanding all the exertions, I did not utter another English word,
nay, withdrew altogether to the interior of my cell.
Years passed, and after returning to Europe I happened to be at an
evening party in the house of an English nobleman at Whitehall. Whilst
at dinner I recognized in one of the guests present my interlocutor of
Tebriz, but unsure of my discovery I did not address him. After dinner,
however, the lady of the house asked me to relate something of my
perilous adventures, and seeking courage, I asked her to introduce me to
the man in whom I supposed a former acquaintance. "Oh, that is Lord
R----," said the lady. "Well, I don't know his name, but I have seen
him," was my answer. Lord R---- received me politely, but denied the
fact of a former acquaintance. Upon my saying, "My lord, you have been
to Tebriz, and you do not remember the dervish who addressed you in
English?" The extraordinary surprise of Lord R---- was indescribable; he
recognized me at once, and related the whole adventure to the highly
amused company.
The days I spent in Tebriz passed quickly and pleasantly owing to my
intercourse being partly with Europeans and not being exclusively
confined to Asiatics. While I was there, an interesting festival took
place, to which I succeeded in obtaining admission. The solemn
investiture of the recently nominated Veli Ahd (heir apparent to the
throne) gave me an opportunity of gazing upon the pageant and pomp of
the Orient in all its splendour. Muzaffar-ed-din Mirza, the son of the
king, now nine years old, but who, according to the custom of the
country, had been elected, in his childhood, successor to the throne,
was to be publicly invested with the Khalat, the royal parade robe. The
whole town was on the alert. The festival lasted several days, and when,
on its first day, I entered through the gate of the Ala Konak (the royal
residence), which was surrounded by a dense crowd of people, into the
interior court, my curiosity rose to the highest pitch. What a strange
contrast of squalor and splendour, of pomp and misery! There, in the
covered hall, opposite the gate, were seated the grandees of the land,
and amongst them the prince with the principal officers of his
household. Every face wore a solemnly grave expression, and the bearing
of their manly forms, wrapped in flowing garments, the dignified motion
of their arms, the proud carriage of their heads, everything indicated
that they were well versed in the art of exhibiting a public pageant.
Around the interior of the court were ranged two lines of _serbasses_
(soldiers), sad-looking fellows, in European uniforms and with Persian
fur caps on their heads, looking as uncomfortable and awkward as
possible in their foreign clothes. The most comical things about them
were their cravats, some tied in front, others at the back, and others
again anywhere between those two points.
One of the sides of the garden was entirely occupied by loaves of sugar
and various Persian cakes and sweetmeats, which it is the custom to
place upon huge wooden platters, and without which any festive occasion
in Persia would be considered incomplete.
In the centre rose the throne, upon which the young boy-prince, looking
feeble and pale, took his seat, surrounded by his splendid retinue. When
he was seated, the loud booming of cannon was heard, the military band
struck up a martial march, and immediately afterwards appeared the royal
envoy bearing the robe of honour, which he placed upon the shoulders of
the young prince in token of his new dignity. The envoy then produced
the insignia of the diamond order of Shir-ú-Khurshid, fastened it upon
the breast of the princely heir apparent, concluding the ceremony by
suddenly removing a costly carpet which had concealed the portrait of
the king, painted in oil upon canvas. At this moment the whole company
rose to their feet; the young prince rushed forward and imprinted a kiss
upon the portrait, which was then immediately covered up again with the
carpet. Upon the prince returning to his seat from the ceremony of
osculation, the deafening roar of cannon and the swelling sounds of
music were heard again. A high priest came forward and invoked a
blessing upon the prince, the royal order was loudly proclaimed, and
finally a young poet stepped forward, and, taking a seat opposite to the
prince, recited to his glorification a _Kascide_ (glorifying song). The
proceedings of the young poet were quite new to me, and struck me even
more than the bombastic tenor of his poetical effusion. He compared the
prince to a tender rose, to the brilliant sun, and finally to a precious
pearl fished out of the sea of the royal family, and destined to become
now the most precious ornament in the crown of Iran. Then he called him
a powerful hero, who with a single blow of his sword destroys whole
armies, at whose glance the mountains tremble, and the flame of whose
eyes makes the rivers run dry.
The prince then joined the great lords, who were in the background, and
the sweetmeats were removed from the enormous platters and divided
amongst the guests present, the master of ceremonies expressing to each
of them, besides, his thanks for their appearance. And, now, the pageant
was over.
These festivities were followed by the reception of Cerutti, the Italian
ambassador, who, at the head of an embassy consisting of twenty-five
members, was passing through Tebriz, on his way to Teheran. Their
arrival caused a great ferment both amongst the members of the native
government and the European colony. The former, the Persian officials
with the viceregent Serdar-Aziz-Khan, at their head, were delighted to
have an opportunity afforded them to indulge in their passionate
fondness for display, and the latter were gratified to set their eyes
upon the representatives of the new Italian kingdom. I joined the latter
in order to be present at the reception. In the early morning of a
sultry day in June we rode out of the town, a distance of about two
hours, to meet them, and when we came up to them they were just changing
their dresses. They wished to appear before the Persians in full parade,
and it took considerable time for twenty-five Europeans, diplomatists,
military men, merchants, and men of science, to accomplish the task of
donning their best attire. It was not far from noon, the heat being
intolerable, when these gentlemen entered the gates of the town, in
their highly ornamental uniforms and costumes, their breasts resplendent
with the insignia of the various orders, in plumed helmets and
magnificent swords. Of course the sight was to us Europeans a very
attractive one, but wishing to hear the opinion of the natives, I left
my company and mixed with the crowd. During the whole procession I heard
nothing but ironical remarks, the Persians looking upon things
considered by us splendid, as ridiculous. According to their notions,
our short coats, fitting the body, are the most indecorous things,
without any taste, and everything plain, tightfitting, and unassuming in
dress looks to them mean and insignificant. Their idea of the beautiful
in dress consists in what is ample, flowing in rich folds and showy.
Their prudery and mock modesty make them regard as indecent any mode of
dressing which sharply defines the limbs and outlines of the human body,
whilst Europeans affect that style, and thereby rouse the displeasure of
the Asiatics. They also criticise the stiff carriage of the Europeans on
horseback, and in this they are not far from wrong, for the European
with his protruding chest looks like a caricature besides one who sits
with easy grace, yet proudly, on his steed.
The Embassy, on the day of their arrival, were worked very hard indeed.
For two hours they were dragged through the town, in every possible
direction, in order to gratify the curiosity of the populace. When they
got at last to the place assigned to them for their residence, they were
far from being allowed to rest. For three whole days they were besieged
by a host of polite visitors, each of them attended by a troop of
servants who were to bring back to their master's house, in return, the
ampler and more valuable presents which they expected to receive from
the Embassy.
The roads leading from Tebriz into the interior of Persia were fairly
swarming with caravans and troops of travellers. I, therefore, deemed
the roads sufficiently safe, and resolved to continue alone my journey
to the capital of the country, accompanied only by a _tcharvador_, a man
who lets horses and animals of burden for hire. I hired from him a
rather sorry-looking nag, corresponding to the modest sum I paid for its
use, placed my scanty baggage on it, and said good-bye to Tebriz.
VIII.
IN ZENDJAN.
Two days after leaving Tebriz, I arrived at a village called
_Turkmantchay_, and passed the night there. This village is celebrated
for being the place where the Treaty of Peace, which put an end to the
Perso-Russian war of 1826-28, was concluded. Nothing particular happened
on my way from here to _Miane_, except a slight intermezzo, occurring
during my noon's rest at a solitary caravansary. I had been asked before
by Shi-ites, here and there, in my capacity of a Sunnite, to give them
some kind of _nuskha_ (talisman). A Shi-ite Seid came to me there on the
same errand, and I readily granted his request by writing one or two
passages of the Koran on a slip of paper. He was not satisfied with
this, but begged of me, in addition, tobacco for his pipe, some of the
strong kind my friends in Tebriz had presented me with. "Seid," I said,
"I give it to thee willingly, but thou art used to the mild tobacco of
Kurdistan, and I am afraid this will make thee sick." As he kept on
insisting, I was obliged to let him have some. He filled his pipe
lighted it, but hardly had he taken a few puffs at it when he was,
seized by a violent attack of dizziness, became dreadfully pale and had
a fit of vomiting. The Seid rushed, screaming, into the yard and
shouted: "Help, help, Shi-ites; the Sunnite has poisoned me." I ran
after him as fast as I could, and when I overtook him I found him lying
on his back surrounded by a small group of Persians. If my eloquence had
not been equal to the task of persuading the bystanders of my innocence,
I should have fared badly.
While yet at a distance of several hours from _Zendjan_ I was joined by
a Persian man, who, judging by his appearance, seemed to belong to the
learned class. He addressed me, to my surprise, at once as Effendi,
although I had never set my eyes on him before. He was very talkative,
like most Persians, and discoursed about a thousand things in the course
of half an hour. He introduced himself to me as a physician who was just
returning from his visits to his patients in the neighbourhood. Very
soon he was overtaken by his servant leading a mule so heavily laden
that it well-nigh sank beneath the weight of its load. The poor beast
was carrying the fees collected in kind by the physician, such as dried
fruit, corn and so forth. This loquacious disciple of Æsculap dwelt,
during the whole time, upon the miraculous cures he had accomplished,
and gave vent to his unbounded astonishment at the impudence of the
Frengis (Europeans) who dared to appear as physicians in the home of
_Ali Ben Sina_ (Avicenna). He unceasingly dilated upon the efficiency of
his amulets and talismans, and how he had driven devils out of his
patients, made the dumb speak, the blind see and the deaf hear. When we
reached the town my head fairly ached with the man's incessant flow of
speech.
Along the road leading to the caravansary I observed a great many black
flags hoisted upon tall poles. We were in the first ten days of the
month of Moharrem, during which period the Islamite world abstains from
every kind of merry-making. But the Shi-ites begin the doleful feast one
month sooner; everybody arrays himself in mourning, fasts, and employs
his time in the recital of elegies and in visiting the _Tazies_. The
black flags marked the places where the performances were to take place.
At that time, a celebrated singer was everywhere spoken of, who had won
great distinction in the part of _Ali Ekber_, and who was to perform on
that very day in the Tazie of the governor. I was burning with
impatience to witness a Tazie, and I had hardly arrived at the
caravansary when I determined to start at once. I joined the populace,
and was carried by the stream of people into the court of the governor.
There in the centre stood an elevated platform, a little above two yards
high, around which, upon poles of considerable height, were suspended
tiger and panther skins, black flags, shields of steel and skin, and
bare swords, interspersed with here and there a lamp, to light up the
evening performance. This was the stage. The women were seated on the
right side of the court, and the men were gathering on the opposite
side. The governor himself (who had the Tazie performed) and his family,
surrounded by the prominent men of the town, looked at the spectacle
from the second story. Everything was wrapped in deep mourning, every
face wore an expression of indescribable sadness and dejection.
The Tazie represents the tragic history of Hussein, of which a short
outline will be here in place. After the death of Mohammed, he having
designated no one as his successor, the faithful divided into two camps.
The larger portion thought Abubekr, the oldest companion and follower
of the Prophet, most worthy of the succession, whilst the minority
endeavoured to place Ali upon the throne, guided by the strength of
those words uttered by Mohammed: "Even as I am lord, so is Ali lord,
too." But Ali's party was vanquished. After Abubekr came Osman, and the
latter was succeeded by Omar. Ali's partisans, however, did not despair
of their cause; they made several attempts to seat him on the throne,
and after the death of Omar, Ali actually became Caliph. His reign was
of short duration; his enemies, at whose head the Prophet's widow
herself stood, had him assassinated. His sad vicissitudes, cruel
sufferings and tragic end only increased the number of his followers; he
was mourned as a martyr and almost deified. He had nine wives, but of
these mention is made only of Fatima, the Prophet's most beloved
daughter, who bore Ali two sons, Hassan and Hussein. The right of
succession was claimed by Hussein. The latter, upon one occasion, was
going from Mecca to the town of Kuffa, at the invitation of its
inhabitants, who were his partisans. He was accompanied by those of his
followers who expatriated themselves from Mecca. On the banks of the
Tigris, in the middle of the desert, they were suddenly attacked by
hostile bands, sent against them by Yezid, and every one of them cruelly
massacred. This catastrophe is commemorated, in Persia, by numberless
mournful and plaintive songs and theatrical exhibitions, called
_Tazies_.
Just before the Tazie commenced, a ragged and, from excessive indulgence
in opium, rather rickety-looking dervish stepped upon the platform,
crying: "Ya Muminin!" (Oh! you true believers), and in an instant the
utmost stillness prevailed. He now engaged in a long prayer, lauding the
perfections and brave deeds of the Shi-ite great, and then enumerating
in exaggerated language the sins and wickedness of the Sunnites, and in
mentioning the names of some distinguished Sunnite men, he exclaimed,
with a fury bordering on madness: "Brethren, ought we not to curse them,
ought we not to call down damnation upon their heads? I tell you, a
curse upon the three dogs, the three usurpers, Abubekr, Omar and Osman!"
There he paused, waiting for the effect of his words on the assembled
multitude. The whole multitude expressed their approval of his curses
and anathemas by loud cries of "Bishbad, bishbad!" (More even than that,
more even than that!) The dervish went on cursing Ayesha, the Prophet's
wife, Moavie, Yezid and all the distinguished foes to Shi-itism, pausing
at the name of each, and the audience roared out every time "Bishbad!" A
speech by the same person, glorifying the Shah, the present Ulemas of
Persia and the Governor, followed the cursing, at the end of which he
descended from the platform and hurried amongst the audience to gather
in a substantial reward for the zeal he had shown. This was the
prologue. Shortly afterwards several persons clad in ample flowing robes
made their appearance on the stage, singing elegies now in solos, now in
chorus, in order to move the hearts of the hearers and prepare their
minds for the coming play. Imam Hussein comes now upon the stage; he is
on his way to Kuffa, in the very heart of the desert, and accompanied by
his family and a small band of faithful followers. They are all horribly
suffering from want of water, and Hussein is endeavouring to assuage the
woes of his family, caused by their tantalizing thirst, by words of
comfort and encouragement. Meanwhile a throne is rising in the
background, the throne of Yezid, Hussein's enemy, seated upon which is
Yezid herself, in all the pride of pomp, distributing orders of the most
cruel nature against Hussein and his friends amongst her mailed and
warlike followers. Ali Ekber, the youngest child of Hussein, is so moved
at the sight of the sad plight in which his parents and sisters and
brothers are, that he determines to fetch them water from the Tigris,
although he well knows that the enemy is lurking everywhere. His parents
and their friends dissuade him from this enterprise, in the tenderest
language, their voices attuned to the emotions of love and anxiety for
his safety. There was something really affecting in the beseeching tones
of the weeping mother and in the prayers of the father, and the sobs of
Hussein and his little band could hardly be heard on account of the
sympathizing howling round about. The women, in particular, wept so
bitterly that I could catch, at rare intervals, only here and there a
word of the beautiful and deeply affecting dialogue.
But Ali Ekber remains firm in his resolve; his mother swoons away but
soon recovers; she wishes to see her son become a hero and utters
prayers for his safety. His own father girds on his sword, and he mounts
his steed on the spot, and rides around the stage a couple of times. He
is immediately pursued by one of Yezid's band, a powerful warrior, who,
in pursuit, is not sparing of the most violent outbreaks against the
persecuted youth. The struggle grows heated, the scene interesting, and
the interest more and more intense. The brave youth is at last
overtaken, blow falls after blow, and Ali Ekber's blood is flowing from
numerous wounds. Groans and shrieks of despair from Ali Ekber's family
and followers, who, watching the event of the fight with bated breath,
perceive the awful finale. He sinks to the ground and is carried, half
dead, to the front of the stage. At this moment, when father, mother,
sisters and brothers with loud wailings precipitate themselves upon the
yawning wounds of the unhappy youth, shedding into them their tears
instead of balm, the moaning, groaning and shrieks of spectators rise to
the highest pitch. Women beat their breasts, and everybody, as a mark of
sorrow, strews dust and chopped straw, instead of ashes, upon his head.
The spectators are indeed so carried away with the play, that I doubt if
there be anywhere in Europe a tragedian capable of producing a similar
effect upon his audience. At the sight of his dying son, Hussein's wrath
knows no bounds, and vowing vengeance, he, too, vaults into the saddle,
but is hotly pressed by Shamr, one of Yezid's knights, and killed. His
dead body is brought forward, and at the sight of it the multitude break
out afresh into never-ending lamentations and weeping. They place him
beside his son, and they are covered with black mourning shawls. At last
a general massacre ensues, and every member of Hussein's family is
killed. There they all lie stark dead, stretched out on the floor, and
the pious spectators are so filled with holy horror that they dare not
lift their eyes to look at the appalling spectacle on the stage--the
performers leave the stage, and there is an end to the tragedy.
The other piece which followed represented a biblical scene--Abraham
being about to sacrifice his son Isaac. This, too, was acted with
considerable fidelity. After the old patriarch has patiently listened to
God's command to the end, he seizes his child, kisses him, hugs him to
his breast and finally ties him and lays him upon the altar. He then
draws his sword, places the edge of his sword upon the child's bare
throat, and just as he is about to cut the boy's throat, an angel of the
Lord appears with two lambs. Isaac starts up from the altar and Abraham
kills, in his place, the two lambs, which afford afterwards a succulent
supper to the comedians. I was particularly struck with the grave
demeanour and cleverness of the child-performers. There were some
amongst them not above six years old, who knew their parts, amounting to
a couple of hundred lines, perfectly well by heart. Their mimic acting
and gestures were quite unexceptionable, too. The parts are always sung
by the performers, and there were some actors who sang, especially the
mournful parts, with such true expression and skill that the most
delicate ear and the severest artistic sensibility would be gratified in
hearing them.
Such and similar are the subjects of the Tazie. The performance and its
getting up, of course, vary very much, according to the person at whose
expense it takes place. The finest Tazies I saw were those performed at
the court of Teheran, to which, however, usually, no strangers, except
the members of the Turkish Embassy, are invited. As their guest I had an
opportunity to go and see it with them, and the splendour displayed
there is something not easily to be forgotten. All the actors were
wrapped in shawls of the most costly quality; their arms were studded
with genuine diamonds and precious stones, and the handles of their
swords were either gilded or made of solid silver. The acting and the
scenery were perfect; one could almost imagine Yezid, in person, to be
before one's eyes. There is one thing, however, which detracts a great
deal from the illusion of the representation; the female parts must be
assumed by men, as the law of Islam rigidly forbids women to appear in
public places.
IX.
FROM KAZVIN TO TEHERAN.
My next place of destination was _Kazvin_, once the capital of Iran.
There is not at present, however, a trace left of its ancient grandeur.
The finely cultivated and luxuriant gardens in the suburbs were objects
of great interest to me, and I lost so much time in their observation
that it was already late at night when I entered the caravansary. I set
down my luggage and immediately went off to purchase the necessary
articles of food, but found, to my great surprise, all the shops closed.
After half an hour's fruitless search I was compelled to retire to my
cell hungry and worn-out with the fatigues of a whole day's travelling.
In my vain attempts to procure some food I invariably received the same
answer: "To-morrow will be the anniversary day of Hussein's death; the
Shi-ites are good Mussulmans, and much too devout to carry on their
business on the day on which Hussein and the other saints suffered so
much." There was nothing left to me but to have recourse to begging;
but the scanty alms one can obtain from the close-fisted Persian are by
no means sufficient to satisfy the tremendous appetite of a traveller.
On the following morning I succeeded in buying, under the seal of the
profoundest secrecy, of a man who was not a shopkeeper, some bread and
boiled rice. I hastened back to the caravansary and persuaded my
travelling companion to leave at once. As we were advancing through the
bazaar, towards the gate of the town, we were met by a funeral and
atoning procession--such as on this day may be seen everywhere in
Persia, in pursuance of an ancient custom,--trying to excite the
devotion of Believers by their frightful yelling and barbarous
fanaticism. No imagination is equal to the task of picturing the wild
antics in which those who participate in these processions indulge. One
is taking a mad leap, another is striking his chest until blood issues
from his mouth, a third is cutting up his body with a sharp knife, in
order to make an impression upon the crowd by his flowing blood. I
withdrew into a corner of the bazaar, waiting until the maddened crowd,
with whose yells the whole neighbourhood resounded, had passed. My
companion informed me that Kazvin--devout Kazvin, as he called
it--distinguished itself on this day amongst all other towns in Persia
by the death of at least two persons, out of devotion for Hussein. I
readily believed him, for the scenes which transpire here on the tenth
day of Moharrem vividly recall the self-mutilations of the Indians,
inspired by religious fanaticism, or that scene in Egypt when on the day
of Bairam men lie down upon the ground, in front of the mosque, to be
trampled upon by the hoofs of the chief priest's well-fed horse.
The heat of the day compelled us to travel by night, and we were
favoured in having just then full moon. The only objection I had was
the extreme stillness of the night; I found it unsociable; for although
we met now and then with solitary travellers and smaller caravans,
returning from Teheran, yet we never had any one to join us, and were
obliged to jog on by ourselves. On the third night after our departure
from Kazvin, as we were riding in a flat country, I heard, about night,
voices in the distance, and soon after the steadily approaching clatter
of horses' hoofs. Placing my firearms before me on the saddle head, I
bent forward in order to be able to see and observe better. Three
horsemen brandishing aloft their arms came swooping down upon us.
Holding my pistols ready for firing, I called out to them: "Get out of
the way, or I will shoot you down." Either the strange sound of the
foreign dialect, or our costume, so unlike that of the Persians,
frightened them away and they took to their heels; but although my
companion looked upon the occurrence as a joke, I could not help feeling
uneasy, and had some comfort, on the evening of the following day, in
the certainty that Teheran would be our next station.
I had brought with me several letters of recommendation from prominent
Effendis and Pashas in Constantinople, introducing me to Haider Effendi,
the then Turkish Ambassador in Persia. I was spoken of in these, for the
most part, as an eccentric person who, tired of the idyllic repose of a
quiet life in Constantinople, had set out to look for distraction in the
wilds of Persia. Some laid special stress upon my being led to the East
by the queer idea of studying the Eastern Turkish language; in one word,
they did everything to satisfy Haider Effendi that I was in no way
connected with politics, but a mere dreamer, worthy of his patronage.
Haider Effendi had, besides, the reputation of being an affable, kind
and straightforward man, and I felt convinced of a friendly reception
at the Turkish Embassy, where I intended putting up.
I was thinking of this as I came up to the banks of a small brook called
_Keretch_. I found there a large crowd of travellers, some preparing for
their ablutions, others engaged in prayer on the banks. It was a cool
summer's morning, a sure indication of excessive heat during the day. My
curiosity to see the capital of Iran gave me no rest. I quickly washed
myself in the clear water of the brook, and, greatly to the disgust of
my companion, who wished to rest here for another half-hour, immediately
mounted my horse, and started in the direction of the capital. I
repeatedly asked, "Where is Teheran?" for I saw no indication of it. My
companion's stolid answer always remained the same: "There," he said,
pointing with his finger onward. In vain I exerted my sight, I could not
discover the city. At last the gray mass of fog which hovered over it
caught my eyes, and there was Teheran spread along the sloping base of a
mountain. We were but half an hour's distance from it. The fog soon gave
way to the rising sun. I got a glimpse first of roofs covered with green
glazed tiles, then of gilded cupolas, and at last the panorama of the
whole town unrolled before my eyes--I was at the gate of the seat of
government of the "King of Kings," as the Shah calls himself.
I had now been serving an apprenticeship of two months to the art of
travelling, and but for having got thinner, darker and considerably
speckled in the face, I had every reason to be satisfied with the state
of my health, which had successfully resisted so far the by no means
slight fatigues of Asiatic caravan travelling on miserable nags.
X.
IN TEHERAN.
The wall upon which Teheran and its inhabitants rely for their
protection is built of mud, but it is nevertheless talked about by the
Persians, with their usual exaggeration, as an impregnable wall of solid
rock. I rode into the capital of Iran through a narrow gate in this
wall, and had to push my way through the throng of pedestrians, horsemen
and laden mules that were crossing the narrow, irregular and crooked
streets. After protracted inquiry I succeeded in finding the palace of
the Turkish Embassy, but it was empty; its occupants were gone. The
soldiers mounting guard informed me that the entire _personnel_ of the
Embassy, following the fashion of the upper classes here, were living in
the country, in a village called _Djizer_, at the foot of the
neighbouring mountains, where the air was cooler and more bearable than
that of the capital.
I was rather pleased with this news, for one day's experience was
sufficient to convince me that Teheran was almost uninhabitable during
the summer months, owing to the intolerable heat and a stifled
atmosphere choked with noxious miasmas. The new-comer feels immediately
the effects of these miasmas for I could hardly eat anything on the day
of my arrival. Towards evening the air became somewhat cooler, and as I
had parted with my fellow-traveller from Tebriz, and consequently with
my nag, too, I was obliged to hire an ass, in order to accomplish my
trip to _Djizer_, which was about two hours' distance off. It was late
in the evening when I arrived. The members of the Embassy were just then
taking their supper beneath a tent of silk, in the garden. I was
received by them with a cordiality exceeding my most sanguine
expectations, and immediately invited to join them at their meal. Haider
Effendi and his secretaries, the latter of whom had known me slightly in
Constantinople, looked at me as if I had dropped from the sky; and if
everybody in Persia, even the Persians themselves, are pleased to listen
to accounts about Constantinople, one can easily imagine with what
eagerness I was listened to by Turks, and especially by people from
Constantinople. There was no end to all sorts of questions and
inquiries. I had to tell them about the government of the new Sultan,
and a thousand other things, and spoke, of course, as in duty bound, of
the heavenly beauties of the Bosphorus, until it was midnight. When I
told them of the journey I contemplated, the kind-hearted Osmanlis only
stared at me. They could not conceive how a sensible man should wish to
go to Central Asia, a region spoken of, even in Persia, as the dreadful
desert and the dwelling-place of all that is most savage and barbarous.
The ambassador in chief was foremost in condemning my plan as eccentric.
"First of all," he said, "stay with us for a couple of months, and then
we will talk about your travels in Central Asia. Take first a good look
at Persia, and it will be time enough afterwards to proceed on your
journey." He evidently thought that I should gladly renounce, in the
meantime, my adventurous schemes.
In order that I might fully recover from the fatigues of the journey,
the good Osmanlis surrounded me with every imaginable comfort. I was put
into a tent by myself and provided with a horse and a servant; in short,
I was transferred from a poor traveller into a great lord. I was thus
placed in a position to study at my leisure Teheran, the capital of
Iran.
The first thing the stranger is struck with is the utter want of
cleanliness in the streets, as well as in the interior of the houses.
The Persian covers the large unfurnished halls--what we should term
drawing-rooms--of his house with costly carpets, and decorates its walls
with rich ornaments, but the kitchen, the room he lives in, and the
pantry are most shamefully neglected by him. It is the same with his
dress. A person who will spend from fifty to a hundred gold pieces for
his outer garments is rarely the owner of more than two or three shirts.
Soap is looked upon as an article of luxury, being hardly ever used, and
I have met with Khans of high social standing and refinement who made
use of their servants' pocket-handkerchiefs. The henna-painting,
however, is that which renders every Persian grandee particularly
loathsome, in spite of his outward splendour and rich dress. Henna is a
yellow powder obtained from a plant called _Lawsonia inermis_, which, by
being dissolved in water, furnishes a red dye of brick-colour. With this
henna they dye their fine black beards and their very eyes red, the
colour of bricks. Persons of standing also dye with henna their
finger-nails and hands. The coat of paint hides the dirt; and a
gentleman or lady, having made use of it, can afford to do without
washing for several days.
Knives, forks and spoons are things unknown in Persia. It is utterly
repulsive to the European to see the master of the house pulling to
pieces, with his fingers, a boiled chicken, and giving each guest a
piece of it, or having a cup of sherbet passed round, in which a dozen
men have already steeped their henna-dyed moustaches.
Persian refinement is confined only to gestures, speech and
conversational manner. But in these they excel all the Eastern
nations--perhaps the nations of the West, too--and these elegant manners
are, of course, to be found in their highest perfection at the capital.
Volumes could be filled with the strict laws laid down for visits and
return visits, and the proprieties of correspondence and conversation.
Each Persian wishes to surpass the other in expressions of politeness
and delicacy, which seem the more absurd the more we happen to know of
the private lives of the Persians.
At every turn in the street the eye meets shocking contrasts of
splendour and misery. At one end of the street may be seen a swarm of
half-naked dervishes and beggars loitering about, whilst a Khan on
horseback, followed by a numerous retinue, appears at the other end.
Forty to sixty servants, armed with long staves, are ranged on each side
of the Khan, who, on his richly caparisoned horse, looks very pompous
indeed, and keeps his head continually wagging with an air of great
importance. You might suppose their lord to be at least a high officer
of state, judging by the noisy conduct and impudent behaviour of his
followers towards every one they met. Far from it! Often he is but a
poor Khan, weighted down with debts, who has been in the capital
ante-chambering and begging for some office for months past. His very
men are not paid by him; they are a set of starvelings who follow him
in the hope of his obtaining some office, and meanwhile try to add to
the splendour of his appearance in public. Nothing but deception and
delusion!
The Persians exhibit in the presence of their sovereign the most abject
humility; but I have often heard expressions, and witnessed acts of
disrespect towards him as soon as they were out of his sight. As an
instance of their cringing manner may be cited the reply given by a
courtier who was asked by the Shah to draw nearer to him. "Sire," he
answered, covering up his eyes with his hand, "spare me, I dare not
approach nearer to thy person; the glory of thy magnificent splendour
dazzles my eyes." They do not, on the other hand, pay the slightest
attention to their sovereign's commands, requests or threats, and the
more distant the place or province is from the capital the more surely
are commands and threats ignored. The courtiers highest in his
confidence, the servants and officers standing nearest to his person,
those whom his generosity has enriched, are the very men to spread the
vilest rumours about him. These slanders find their way amongst the
people; poets compose lampoons about them, and these are declaimed in
all the alleys and byways of the kingdom. For a week or two life at the
Embassy was pleasant, but soon "Up to Shiraz" was my only thought, and
in a few days I joined a caravan to start for that city.
XI.
THE SALT DESERT OF DESHTI-KUVIR.
I left Teheran on the 2nd of September, 1862, by the gate of _Shah
Abdul-Azim_, dressed in the costume of a Sunnite dervish from Bagdad, my
_entari_ (nether garment), reaching down to my heels, a red girdle round
my waist, a striped black _mashlak_ (a waterproof coat) on my back, and
on my head a neat _keffie_,[2] both useful and ornamental. As it was
usual to close the gates of Teheran after sunset, our little caravan had
fixed upon a caravansary outside the town for our place of meeting. The
travellers composing the caravan, became, for the most part, first
acquainted with each other there. The caravan consisted of about thirty
laden mules, a couple of horsemen, mollahs, pilgrims returning from
Meshed, merchants, mechanics and my insignificant self. It was two hours
after midnight when we started, and proceeded along the wide path
leading to Shah Abdul-Azim, a place which is held in high esteem by the
Teheran people as a resort for pilgrims. I walked there frequently
during my stay in Teheran. The place is full of life and noise during
the day, especially in the afternoon hours. There can be seen at all
times a troop of gaudily dressed women of the better classes, sitting on
horseback man fashion, prominent mirzahs and khans with numerous
followers, and now and then a European coach, used generally by the
court only. Of course at the time of night that we passed through it a
dead silence was brooding over it. The moon shed an almost day-like
light upon the mountain range stretching to the left and upon the gilded
cupola beneath which the earthly remains of Shah Abdul-Azim reposed.
After we had been riding in silence for two hours, some of the members
of our caravan began to thaw into a social mood, and interrupted the
monotony of our march by conversation and lively sallies.
[Footnote 2: An Arab headgear, consisting of a large
handkerchief of silk with yellow stripes.]
I selected for my companion a young Seid from Bagdad, who was about to
make a starring tour, as a _rawzekhan_ (singer of sacred songs), through
Southern Persia. Properly speaking only such persons are called
rawzekhans who sing Tazies, _i.e._, elegies in honour of Hussein, of
great renown in Persia. These men are the most fanatic Shi-ites, and it
may cause some surprise that we became more intimately acquainted. But
the Seid, as an inhabitant of Bagdad, and a subject of the Sublime
Porte, was willing enough to cultivate the acquaintance of an Effendi.
He introduced me to the other members of the caravan, and being a jovial
fellow, who would easily pass from his funeral songs to a livelier and
more worldly tune, he very soon became a favourite with the whole
company, and I, too, indirectly, profited by his popularity.
I at first scrupulously avoided all religious discussions, as I wished
to ingratiate myself with my fellow-travellers, although it was by no
means easy to do so; the Persians being very fond of arguing, and
willingly entering into a discussion with Christians, Ghebers, and
especially with Sunnites. The night was a magnificent one, and in Persia
these moonlit nights are simply entrancing. The clear, transparent air,
the graceful outline of the mountains, the darkling ruins, the
spectre-like shadows of the advancing caravan, and, above all, the
wonders of the starry vault above us, do not fail to produce an
unutterable impression upon the imagination of a traveller coming from
the far West to the East. Our road, however, was the worst imaginable;
we had to make our way over fragments and boulders of rock, and cross
ditches, ravines and the beds of rivers run dry. The difficulties of the
road affected me but little; I abandoned myself entirely to the safe
gait of my trusty asinine quadruped, and watched with intense interest
every movement of the Seid, who contemplated the star-covered sky, and
had some story to tell about each star. Every star had a legend of its
own, an influence good or baneful, and I listened to his wonderful
accounts with a soul full of faith. The constellation of the Great Bear
was already inclining towards the margin of the western sky when we
reached the height of _Karizek_, upon whose downward slopes
_Kenaregird_, the village which was to be our first station, was lying.
I cast one more glance at the beautiful moonlit landscape before
descending, and as we went down on the other side of the mountain, the
soft light of the moon slowly paled at the approach of the dawning day.
As soon as the morning star appears to the eye it is the custom, for the
whole caravan, to hail the coming day. The most zealous person in the
company engages in the recital of the Ezan, a task which quite naturally
fell this time to the lot of our Seid. The ablutions are performed in
the twilight of the dawn of morning, and before the first rays of the
sun touch the crest of the mountains, the caravan stops and morning
prayers are engaged in.
[Illustration: TRAVELLING IN PERSIA.]
The animals stand quietly with their heads bent low, whilst the men,
with their faces turned towards the East, are kneeling, in a line, side
by side, with such a penitent and remorseful expression on their
countenances, as may be witnessed only with Mohammedans. When the rays
of the sun reach the devout faithful, they lift up their voices and
chant the melodious prayer beginning with the words Allah Ekber (_i.e._,
God is the greatest).
After sunrise it is customary for the caravan to march on for a longer
or shorter space of time, according as it happens to start earlier or
later the night before, or as the next station is nearer or farther off.
When we turned into our station the rays of the sun shot down
mercilessly on our heads. We put up at the spacious caravansary, near
the village of Kenaregird. The meaning of its name is, "Border of Sand,"
for to the east of it extends the salt desert of _Deshti-Kuvir_. This
desert must be an awful place, for during all my wanderings through
Persia I never met with a native who had travelled over that portion of
it lying between Kenaregird and _Tebbes_. A Persian talking about the
desert of Deshti-Kuvir is always ready to frighten his listeners with a
batch of tales of horror, in each of which devils and evil spirits
conspicuously figure. The favourite legend which is most often repeated
is the story of _Shamr_, Hussein's murderer and the mortal enemy of
every Shi-ite Persian, to whom the desolation of this region is
attributed. Flying from his own remorse, he took refuge here, and the
once flourishing country suddenly became a sterile desert. The salt
lakes and the bottomless morasses are caused by the drops of sweat
rolling down his body in the agony of his sufferings. The most dreadful
place of all is _Kebir Kuh_, where Shamr is dwelling to this day. Woe to
the poor traveller who allows himself to be lured to this region by the
deceptive light of the ignis fatuus! Such and similar stories I was
regaled with by my fellow-travellers in connection with the salt desert
of Persia. As soon as we arrived at the caravansary every one of us
hastened to seek a shelter in the shade, and we were all of us soon
comfortably settled. In a few instants the city of travellers presented
the appearance of a lively and stirring settlement. Whilst the animals
were crunching their dry barley straw, the Persians looked to the
preparation of their meals. Those who were better off got their servants
to rub their backs and shoulders and to pull their limbs until they
cracked, this somewhat singular pastime being evidently intended to
restore elasticity to the body. After a short rest we breakfasted, and
then immediately retired to rest again. The caravan recuperates from the
fatigues of the journey during the heat of the day, and continues its
way at the dusk of evening. The animals follow the example of their
masters. Towards evening men and cattle are on their feet again, and
whilst the animals are being scrubbed and attended to, the men prepare
their _pilar_ (a dish composed of meat and rice). The supper is eaten
about an hour before starting. The dervish fares better than any one
else, for no sooner does the caravan arrive than he, without a care,
seeks his rest, and when the savoury steam of the kettle announces the
approach of the evening meal, he seizes his _keshkul_ (a vessel made of
the shell of the cocoa-nut), and goes the rounds of the various groups,
shouting out sultily, "Ya hu, Ya hakk!" He gets a few slices from every
one, mixes the heterogeneous contributions, and swallows it all with a
good appetite. "He carries with him nothing," say the people of the
East; "he does not cook, yet he eats; his kitchen is provided by God."
We had to cross the desert in its entire length to get to our next
station. The silence of the night becomes, in this wilderness, doubly
oppressive, and as far as the eye of the traveller can reach he will
find no spot to repose it upon. Only here and there may be seen piled up
columns of sand, driven about by the wind, and gliding from place to
place like so many dark spectres. I did not wonder that these shifting
shadows were taken by timid and credulous souls for evil spirits pursued
by furies. My companion seemed to belong to the superstitious class, for
wrapping his cloak tightly round him, he kept close to the densest part
of the caravan, and would not, for the world, so much as glance at the
wilderness stretching to the east.
It was about midnight when we heard the sound of bells, and upon my
inquiry as to the meaning of this, I was told that a larger caravan,
which had left an hour earlier than we did, was in front of us. We
accelerated our march in order to overtake it, but had hardly come
within a hundred paces from it when an intolerable stench, as if of dead
bodies, filled the air. The Persians were aware of the cause of this
poisonous stench and hurried silently on; but it went on increasing the
further we advanced. I could not restrain my curiosity any longer, but
turning to my nearest neighbour, I asked again what this meant, but he
curtly replied, betraying, however, great anxiety: "Hurry up, hurry up!
this is the caravan of the dead." This information was sufficient to
make me urge my wearied beast forward to greater speed, and after a
while I reached, together with my companions, the caravan. It consisted
of about forty animals, horses and mules, under the leadership of three
Arabs. The backs of the animals were laden with coffins, and we made
every effort to avoid the dread procession. In passing near one of the
horsemen who had charge of the caravan I caught sight of a face, which
was frightful to look at; the eyes and nose were concealed by some
wraps, and the rest of his lividly pale face looked ghastly by the light
of the moon. Undaunted by the sickening atmosphere, I rode up to his
side and inquired about the particulars of his errand. The Arab informed
me that he had been now ten days on the way, and that twenty more would
pass in taking the dead bodies to Kerbela, the place where, out of
devotion for Hussein, the pious wish to sleep their eternal sleep. This
custom prevails all over Persia; and every person who can afford it,
even if he live in distant Khorassan, makes arrangements to have his
remains carried to Kerbela, in order that they may be interred in the
soil wherein the beloved Imam Hussein is reposing. It takes sometimes
two months before the dead body can reach its place of destination. One
mule is frequently laden with four coffins, and whilst their conveyance
during the winter is comparatively harmless, it is of deadly effect, to
beast and man alike, in the heat of July in Persia.
At some distance from the caravan of the dead, I glanced back at the
strange funeral procession. The animals with their sad burden of coffins
hung their heads, seemingly trying to bury their nostrils in their
breasts, whilst the horsemen keeping at a good distance from them, were
urging them on with loud cries to greater speed. It was a spectacle
which seen anywhere could not fail to produce a profound impression of
terror, but seen in the very centre of the desert, at the dead hour of
the night, in the ghastly illumination of the moon, it could not fail to
strike the most intrepid soul with awe and terror.
XII.
KUM AND KASHAN.
The members of the little caravan had now been travelling together for
three days, and this short time was amply sufficient to establish the
friendliest feelings of good fellowship amongst them. Of course, no one
entertained the faintest suspicion of my being one of those Europeans,
the barest touch of whom renders a Shi-ite unclean, and with whom to eat
out of the same plate is a capital sin. In their eyes I was the Effendi
from Constantinople, the guest of the Turkish Embassy, who instigated by
a desire to travel was about to visit imperial Isfahan and Shiraz, the
paradise-like. I rapidly made friends with most of the company, although
some of the most obdurate Shi-ites could not refrain, at times, from
casting in my teeth the manifold wrong-doings of the Sunnites. One man
in particular, a shoemaker, whose tall green turban denoted his descent
from Ali, annoyed me with his everlasting reiterations of the sinful
usurpations of the three Caliphs. The quieter members of the company
would try to soothe his ruffled spirits on such occasions, and turn the
conversation into calmer channels; but my man very soon came back to the
charge, and waxing warm with his favourite topic, he would take hold of
the horse's bridle and talk with as much animation about the case of
succession mooted a trifle of twelve hundred years ago, as though the
whole affair had happened but yesterday.
_Kum_, with its green cupolas, loomed up before our eyes on the fourth
day of our march. It is the sacred city of the Persian female world, for
here, in the company of 444 saints, repose in eternal sleep the remains
of Fatima, a sister to Imam (Saint) Riza, who, longing to see her
brother, undertook for that purpose a journey from Bagdad to Meshed,
but, on her way, was attacked by sickness in Kum, and died there. Kum,
like Kerbela, is a favourite place of burial for Persian women, who
cause their remains to be brought to this place from all parts of the
country. But the town of Kum enjoys the less enviable distinction of
being known as the abode of numerous evil-doers, owing to its having the
privilege of sanctuary; and he who is lucky enough to escape the hands
of the executioner, and to find a refuge within its sacred walls, is
safe from all molestation.
Every member of our caravan was eager to visit Kum, some wanting to take
part in the penitential processions as pilgrims, others to make
purchases and to attend to their affairs. At a considerable distance
from Kum, the environs, like those of all places of resort for pilgrims,
are dotted by small heaps of stones, which are raised by the hands of
pious pilgrims, amidst the chanting of sacred psalms. Here and there a
bush can be seen, too, decorated with the gaudiest kind of rags which
are hanging on it. Every one is anxious to leave some mark of his
devotion in the neighbourhood; according to their inclinations, some
resort to stones, others to rags in the accomplishment of their
devotional duties. It is said that in former times another custom
prevailed by which travellers might pay their tribute of respect--every
passer-by would drive a nail into some tree on the road. I, too,
dismounted and hung upon a bush a red silk tassel from my keffie. What a
wonderful collection of fabrics from all parts of the world! On these
bushes are represented the costly handiwork of India and Cashmere, the
manufactures of England and America, and the humble frieze and coarse
linen of the nomadic Turkoman, Arab and Kurdistan tribes. Now and then
the eye is caught by a magnificent shawl suspended on the branches of a
bush, exciting no doubt the cupidity of more than one pious pilgrim
passing by; but it is perfectly safe, as no one would dare to touch it,
it being considered the blackest act of sacrilege to remove any of these
tokens of piety.
Before reaching the town we had to pass a cemetery of extraordinary
dimensions, almost two English miles in length. My fellow-travellers,
however, perceiving my astonishment at the extent of the burial ground,
assured me that in point of size it could not be compared to that of
Kerbek. We were in Kum at last; our caravan put up at the caravansary in
the centre of the bazaar, and I learned with pleasure that we were to
take a two days' rest here.
As pious pilgrims we allowed ourselves but little time for rest, and
shortly after our arrival, having washed and brushed our clothes, we
repaired to the holy tomb. No European before me ever saw the interior
of this sanctuary, for there is no power on earth to procure admission
to it for a Frengi.
Innumerable Seids, entrusted with the custody of the tomb of their
"first ancestress," are camping in the outer courtyard, planted with
trees. A chapel with a richly gilded cupola rises in the centre of the
inner court. Twelve marble steps lead up to the door. The pilgrims
remove their shoes at the first of these steps; their arms or sticks are
taken away from them, and not until they have kissed the marble
threshold are they permitted to enter. The beholder is struck with the
extraordinary splendour of the interior of the chapel. The coffin,
enclosed by a strong trellised bar of solid silver, remains always
covered with a costly carpet. From the enclosure are suspended tablets
containing prayers, which the faithful either read themselves, or have
read to them by one of the numerous Seids who are loitering about. Any
amount of shouting, singing, weeping, and moaning, and vociferous
begging of the Seids is going on in the chapel; but this infernal din
does not interfere with the devotions of a great number of pious
pilgrims, who, leaning their foreheads against the cold bars of the
enclosure, gaze with fixed eyes upon the coffin, and mutter their silent
prayers. I particularly admired the many valuable and precious objects,
ornaments of pearls and diamonds, arms inlaid with gold, which were laid
down upon the tomb of St. Fatima as sacrificial gift-offerings. My
Bagdad costume offended the eye of many a person in the fanatic Shi-ite
crowd, but, thanks to the kindness of my fellow-travellers, I
experienced no annoyance whatever. From the tomb of Fatima the pilgrims
frequently go to the tombs of some of the great ones of the earth; and I
followed my companions to the tomb of Feth Ali Shah and his two sons,
who for some reason or other stood in particularly high favour with the
devout. The tomb was of the purest alabaster, and the portraits of the
departed ones were very cleverly carved into it on the outside. After
having thus accomplished our pious devotions, we felt at liberty to
wander back to the town and look at its remarkable sights.
Here, as elsewhere, the first thing to look at was the bazaar. We were
just then in the season of ripe fruit, and the whole bazaar was filled
with the water-melons, which are so celebrated throughout all Persia.
The water-melon is, during autumnal months, the almost exclusive food of
one portion of the people of Iran, and its juice is frequently used in
case of sickness for its medicinal properties. The Kum bazaar is
remarkable not only for the abundance and delicacy of its water-melons,
but also for its earthenware, one variety of which in particular, a
long-necked pitcher, manufactured from potter's clay taken from the soil
of the sacred city, is highly valued in trade. As I was making my rounds
in the bazaar, examining everything, I happened to stop before a muslin
dyer's shop. The Persian tradesman was industriously engaged in stamping
and printing the rude stuff spread out before him, by means of stencils,
which had been previously dipped in a blue dye, pressing them down with
all his strength; and as he observed me looking at his doings, he turned
upon me angrily, and evidently taking me for a Frengi, exclaimed: "We
shall get rid of your expensive cotton fabrics, and will by and by know
all your tricks of trade; and when the Persians will be able to do
without Frengistan manufacture, I know you will all come begging to us."
We left Kum on the third day after our arrival there, and passing
through several smaller places, where nothing worthy of note could be
seen, we came to _Kashan_, after a fatiguing march of two days. My
Persian fellow-travellers, long before we arrived in Kashan, were
praising up, in the most extravagant style, as usual, the beauty and
attractions of that town. For my part, the only thing of note I saw
there was the bazaar of the braziers, where the celebrated kettles of
Kashan are being manufactured. About eighty braziers' shops are standing
close to each other in a line, and in each of them muscular arms are
hammering away the whole blessed day. The brass wares manufactured here
are considered to be without rivals in point of solid workmanship and
elegance. Those highly polished bricks, which retain the brilliancy of
their shining colours for centuries, are said to have been invented in
this town. Formerly they were called bricks of Kashan, but now they are
known only by the name of Kashi, and serve as the chief ornaments in all
architectural monuments throughout Central Asia. The inhabitants had
also a great deal to tell about a dangerous species of scorpion, which
made Kashan their home, but from motives of hospitality never hurt a
stranger. I never came across any of these scorpions, but I had a great
deal to suffer from a no less annoying tribe of animals, the _lutis_
(strolling comedians), who attack every stranger coming to Kashan, and
from whose clutches nothing can save you except a ransom in the shape of
some gift. About ten of them stood there looking out for me as I was
entering the caravansary, and immediately made a rush upon me, some
producing hideous earsplitting music with their fifes, drums and
trumpets, others showing off a dancing bear; and one of them, seating
himself opposite to me, engaged in a declamation, at the top of his
voice, of a panegyrical poem, in my honour, in which, to my utter
astonishment, I heard my name mentioned. Of course, he had managed to
ferret out my name from my companions. I bore the infliction for a
little while patiently enough, listening to this charivari of sounds,
but finally retired. But it was not an easy thing, by any means, to
effect my retreat, for I was followed, on the spot, by one of the
artists, evidently the chief of the strolling company, insisting upon
some remuneration; and although I argued with him that I was but a
beggar myself, he would not listen to reason, but bravely stood his
place until I had given him something.
Leaving Kashan we had to proceed along a narrow mountain pass, flanked
by gigantic rocks and mountains of strange and fantastic shapes. The
moon shed a light almost as clear as that of the day, and the wonderful
tints in which the landscape before me was clothed seemed to vary and
change at every step we took. When we arrived beneath the great Bend, as
is called the large water-basin cut by Shah Abbas the Great into the
solid rock, in order to convey the waters produced by the snow melting
on the mountains to the sterile plain not far off, the scene before us
was startling in its rare and exceeding beauty. Although it was late in
autumn, the oval-shaped basin, formed by the enclosed valley, was
brimful of water, and the waterfall rushing down the rocky wall from a
height of fifty feet looked in the moonlit night, to borrow a Persian
phrase, like a river of diamonds. The deep roar of the waterfall is
heard far off in the stilly night, and the tired traveller coming from
the desert and quenching his thirst at the limpid waters of the basin,
would not exchange the refreshing and crystal-like fluid for all the
costly wines in the world.
The road from _Kuhrud_ goes uphill for a time, and then inclines with a
rather abrupt slope towards the plain lying on the other side of the
mountain, where our next station was to be. The mornings had grown
rather chilly and the travellers used to dismount on the way and pick up
stray sticks of _buta_, a species of gumwood growing in bushes, which
burns very well in its green state, but blazes with a loud crackling
sound when dry. It is usual to raise a large pile of these sticks and
then kindle it; the travellers range themselves round the blazing fire
and afterwards resume their journey. We were standing for the second
time, on the same morning, around this sort of fire when we were
suddenly startled by the sound of voices, in the rear, mingling with
savage exclamations, as if people were quarrelling, and upon listening
attentively we heard two reports from firearms, and the loud yelling of
some person badly hurt. The whole caravan was thoroughly alarmed, and,
running in the direction whence the report of the firearm had proceeded,
found there lying on the ground one of our companions, with a shattered
arm. The affray had happened in this way. Several horsemen who were
conveying the annual taxes from Shiraz to Teheran had come up with a
couple of Jewish shopkeepers, whom they first insulted, and afterwards,
passing from insult to injury, were about to lay violent hands upon. One
of our company, a Persian, happening to be present, had pity on the poor
Jews, stood up in their defence and took the impudent fellows from
Shiraz rather roughly to task for their unbecoming conduct. One of the
horsemen, a hotheaded young fellow, became so enraged at this
interference, that he lifted his rifle and shot at the Jews. He
afterwards pretended that the whole thing had been a joke, that he
intended only to frighten one of the Jews by sending a bullet through
his tall fur cap, but that unluckily he missed his aim and hit, instead,
the Persian's arm. The incident so exasperated the whole caravan that
our men at once started in pursuit of the culprit, who had meanwhile
turned his horse's head and galloped away for his life, at a break-neck
speed, but he was finally overtaken, dreadfully beaten, spit at amid
loud curses, securely tied and brought back to the caravansary. Both the
Shiraz man, who was bruised all over, and our wounded companion being
unable to proceed either on foot or on horseback, they were placed side
by side each in a basket, upon the back of a mule, and in the course of
half an hour they were chatting away in the friendliest manner. They
tied up each other's wounds, consoled one another, and went so far in
their newborn friendship as to kiss each other; for according to the
Eastern way of thinking neither of them was to be held responsible for
what had happened. Fate had willed it so, and in its decrees every one
must acquiesce.
In a village, called _Murtchekhar_, the judge of that place, evidently
desirous of currying favour with the governor of Shiraz, attempted to
liberate him, but the caravan stoutly refused to give him up, and only
delivered him over, later, into the hands of justice, at Isfahan.
On the 13th of September I saw Isfahan, the former capital of Shah
Abbas, through the thin mist of the morning. Whenever a Persian, and,
especially a native of Isfahan, sets his eyes, after an absence of some
time, upon his native town he is sure to exclaim: "Isfahan is half the
world, but for Lahore," meaning thereby that Isfahan is, after Lahore,
the largest city in the world. But its beauty is only on the surface;
its streets are small, dirty and miserable.
XIII.
FROM ISFAHAN TO THE SUPPOSED TOMB OF CYRUS.
The bazaar here, as in other cities, attracted my attention, it being
the centre of every Eastern town. For hours one can wander through these
lofty and covered streets, branching off in every direction and leading
to every part of the town, and a stranger, unless conducted by a
practical cicerone, may very easily lose his way. The sight of this
bazaar must have been a truly magnificent one while the town was in a
flourishing condition, but now it is almost deserted, and in the many
splendid and spacious shops only stray water-melon sellers still linger.
A road leads from the bazaar to the celebrated _Meidani Shah_ (the
Shah's chief public square). This is an immense square, enclosed on
every side by shops, which were in olden times the marts for the most
costly articles of luxury, but are now crumbling into dust. I then
visited the mosque of Lutf Ali, the gates of which are said to have been
covered in ancient times with silver. From the balcony of this building
the view is a splendid one, and I enjoyed a truly impressive sight.
There lay stretched out before me the immense square of Meidani Shah,
and in my imagination I conjured up the ancient splendour of the city
and repeopled the square with surging crowds. I fancied I saw the great
Shah Abbas review from this very balcony thousands of his warriors who
had gathered from every part of Asia to pay homage to their powerful
king; the Persians who had inherited the horsemanship of the Parthians,
the Turkomans on their swift Arab steeds, the Afghans, the Georgians,
the Indians, the Armenians--these savage and stalwart forms of
antiquity, they all used to gather here. And to-day it is a sad and
forlorn desert, the silence of the grave brooding over it. One corner of
the square serves twice a week as a market-place for dealers in asses,
and occasionally, on a holiday, a green turbaned procession headed by
the chief priest may be seen passing through it.
I had an opportunity of getting acquainted with all classes of the
inhabitants of Isfahan at the house of the Imam Djuma, _i.e._, the high
priest. He was the most influential priest in Persia, and at the capital
he went by the name of _Aga Buzurg_ (great lord). Indeed he was the real
Pope of the Shi-ite sect, and the letters of recommendation, brought
with me from Teheran, procured me admission to his house. I was very
cordially received by him and invited to call on him on the evening of
the following day. Aga Buzurg is one of those Seids whose descent from
the house of Ali is least doubted, and very proud he is of his origin.
The company I met there treated me as Shi-ites generally treat their
Sunnite guest--they could not refrain from occasionally launching out in
satirical and biting remarks. The master of the house only made a few
condemnatory remarks, blaming the government of Constantinople for its
friendship with the European Powers. But he did not omit to praise the
tolerance of the Sultan towards the Shi-ites, who could now journey,
unmolested, to Mecca and Medina, without being exposed to the annoyances
and outrages they had formerly to submit to. To avoid familiarity and
for the purpose of preserving his dignity, he was very chary of his
words, and retired very soon after supper was over.
I found the middle classes of Isfahan to be remarkably cultivated. There
were shoemakers, tailors and shopkeepers who knew hundreds of verses of
their best poets by heart, and were quite familiar with the masterpieces
in the literature of their country. They are, as a rule, very
intelligent, poetic, and quick at a telling retort. Malcolm, the
excellent English writer on Persia, relates the story how, at the time
when most of the high offices in the Persian towns were filled by
relatives of the Vezir Hadji Ibrahim, a merchant who was unable to pay
his taxes was summoned to the presence of a brother of Hadji Ibrahim,
the governor of Isfahan, and upon entering was addressed by the latter,
in an angry tone of voice, as follows:
"If thou art not able to pay like the others, begone, get thee gone!"
"Where shall I go?" asked the merchant.
"Go to Shiraz or Kashan."
"Oh, sir, then it would be going from the frying-pan into the fire, for
thy cousin is governing in one place, and thy uncle in the other."
"Then go to the king and make complaint."
"This would not help me much, either, for there again thy brother is
prime minister."
"Then go to h----," thundered at him the irate governor.
"Oh, sir, it is not so very long that thy sainted father, the pious
Hadji, is dead," retorted the witty Persian.
The governor thereupon burst out laughing, and said: "Since thou findest
it so hard to be reconciled to my relatives, I will pay thy debts for
thee."
I occupied in Isfahan the same lodgings as my fellow-traveller, the
singer of elegies. He found here ample opportunity to practise his art,
and exhibited his performances several times during the day, at the
bazaar and in the courtyards of the mosques. He yelled, bellowed, wept,
indulged in the most heartrending lamentations, and could, at his
pleasure, set going "the fruitful river in the eye" and shed a shower of
veritable tears. But on returning home, after the day's hard work was
over, the spirit of tragedy deserted him at once, and he gave way to the
merriest and most rollicking humour. I went, in his company, amongst
people of every kind and rather mixed societies, but he was a man
commanding respect everywhere. He would at first sing a sacred song or
two and then pass over to worldly ones; and although he wore a green
turban in token of his descent from the family of the Prophet, he drank
like a trooper.
The inhabitants of Isfahan are very proud of their city; they are rather
conceited, and think themselves better than the rest of the Persians.
The king and the royal family, with their Turkish soldiery, are dreaded
and hated by them. They look upon the authority of Imam Djuma as
superior to that of the king. Fabulous accounts are circulated about the
immense wealth of that chief priest, who keeps a thousand _lutis_
(strolling players) in his hire. These lutis spread amongst the people
wonderful accounts of the chief priest's miraculous power, and it is
they who scatter broadcast the vilest slanders concerning the royal
family, for the king having power over everybody except the chief priest
of Isfahan, the relations between him and Imam Djuma were never of the
friendliest kind.
I passed two weeks in Isfahan and had an excellent opportunity to see
the noteworthy sights and to observe all the classes of society in the
town. We made arrangements with the same leader of the caravan who
brought us to this place concerning the continuation of our journey, and
almost the entire company met at the appointed time at a caravansary
outside the town. We wasted three more days here, and I employed the
time in making short excursions in the neighbourhood. Of the remarkable
things I saw I will mention only the movable towers of _Munare
Djomdjom_. The two towers are on the mosque of the village of
_Khaledan_, about an hour's distance from Isfahan. They are about twelve
feet high and stand about twenty paces apart. I stepped with my guide on
the terrace, and upon his seizing hold of, and shaking with all his
might, one of the towers, I became sensible of a motion like that caused
by an earthquake not only in the other tower, but in the entire front of
the building. This remarkable building, the secret of whose architecture
has descended into the grave with its builder, has been considerably
damaged by the frequent exhibition of its movableness. The Persians
attribute the miracle to the saint reposing beneath it.
We left Isfahan at last, and proceeded on our way in the direction of
the mountains lying to the south. Upon reaching an eminence I took
another look at the endless mass of houses, gardens and ruins. Our
caravan, which consisted of three divisions, two having joined us for
our journey to Shiraz, now numbered above 150 animals and about sixty
passengers, and even on this much-travelled road we were looked upon as
a caravan of considerable size. The combining of the three caravans
into one was caused by the fear of certain nomadic Persian tribes who
were camped amongst the mountains to the right, and who were in the
habit of attacking and plundering smaller caravans either from avarice
or as a pastime. Only a few days had passed since a smaller caravan had
been roughly treated by them. In the East, however, people are fond of
inventing such stories. Many a time one is told, "At this place ten men
were killed yesterday," "The day before, at another place, a merchant
was set upon and robbed;" but the traveller need not take fright at
these accounts, for he may be sure that the events related either
happened ten years ago, or did not occur at all. Indeed our party of
travellers had no need of the frightful stories with which they had been
regaling each other on the eve of their departure to make their courage
ooze out, for to a man they were remarkably deficient in that valuable
article, the virtue of courage. Since the Persian in general is looked
upon in all Asia as a most cowardly creature, who is scared to death by
his own shadow, one may easily imagine the state of mind of a caravan
consisting chiefly of pilgrims, merchants and mollahs. It was rather
amusing to see them keeping close to, and crowding, each other in their
fright, although we were only at a distance of two hours from the town.
They were conversing in whispers as if a single loudly spoken word might
have brought down upon them the most frightful calamities. One man who
was conveying wine with which he had loaded four of his mules, was
peremptorily made to leave our ranks at the instigation of a devout
mollah, lest his sinful merchandise might bring bad luck to the entire
company of the truly faithful. It was in vain the poor mule driver
whiningly insisted that he had never tasted a drop of wine all his
life, and that he was conveying this abhorred beverage to Bombay where
the godless Frengis would drink it; in vain he swore by all the saints
of the calendar he did not even know if the wine were red or white; he
had to leave the caravan and keep a distance of a hundred feet between
himself and it.
Next day we arrived at _Kumisheh_, which is near to the dangerous place
about which we had heard so many frightful stories. About an hour before
our departure my Arab friend, the sacred singer, thought that this was a
fitting moment to collect about him the whole company and to chant one
of his elegies, in order, as he said, to invoke the prophet's protection
on our perilous journey, but in reality that a few coins might wander
from the pockets of the deeply affected faithful into his own. The
rawzekhan's proposition was immediately acquiesced in. The Persian is
prepared at any moment to lament the death of his favourite prophet,
particularly of the martyred Hussein; and it does not give him the
slightest trouble, though the moment before he may have been in the
merriest of moods, to shed copious tears in listening to the singer's
elegy. The songster from Bagdad was soon surrounded by the whole
company, and he hardly came to the end of the fourth canto of his
morning song, when there arose such a wailing and weeping as if the
nearest relation of every one of the listeners were lying stark dead
before him. The performer usually seizes this moment to rise, tear away
his dress from his breast, and to exclaim, clenching his fists: "O ye
true believers, behold thus I shall strike my breast with penitence and
pity for poor Hussein, yes, for Hussein!" His last words are repeated by
all the men of the company; gigantic fists are soon pounding away at
stalwart chests, frequently keeping in the pounding such excellent time
as to resemble the regular tramp of an approaching troop of horsemen. A
pious fellow happened to observe that, with Sunnite perverseness, I did
not thump my chest with sufficient violence, and having attentively
listened to the sound produced by my fist and not finding it hollow
enough, he furiously exclaimed: "Look at this Sunnite dog; he does not
consider our Hussein worthy of more powerful strokes on his breast. Just
wait; I shall show him how to strike his breast." With this he
approached me with his uplifted fist of iron. If he had struck me I
should, probably, have had reason to remember it all my life; but thanks
to the kind offices of my friends, particularly the Seid, the matter
proceeded no further. A friend of mine held his arm back in the nick of
time, quieting him by saying: "Let that Sunnite be! though he do not
strike his breast in this life, Azrail (the Angel of Death) will beat it
all the more for him in the next world."
We safely left the place alleged to be dangerous without having come to
harm, and the caravan, now considerably relieved, proceeded on their
journey towards _Yezdekhast_. The country around us became more and more
flat; the desert, in the centre of which the celebrated city of Yezd is
situated, extending to the east. The sun had already risen high when we
passed through the arid grass-covered plain, its level stretch being
interrupted only here and there by gently undulating ground. I had been
informed by my companions that the country abounded in game and
especially in gazelles. And, indeed, in looking steadily at a dark dot
in the distance, I soon discovered it to be a whole herd of these timid
creatures of the desert, who scent the approach of a caravan from afar
and fly from them with the swiftness of a bird. I had some difficulty at
first in recognizing the gazelles at a distance, the colour of their fur
resembling that of the sun-dried grass of the plain; and when my
companions called out "The ahuan, the ahuan!" (The gazelles, the
gazelles!), I could see nothing, until my eyes became accustomed to
distinguish their white hind parts from the dry grass. Just as with us
the hare is supposed to be the embodiment of timidity, even so the
gazelle is looked upon in the East as the hare's counterpart in this
particular. A herd of above a hundred gazelles is seized with a panic at
the sudden rising of a bird, or the mere stirring of a leaf. If the
hound but approaches the gazelle, it throws itself upon its back with
its legs up and looks at one with such a pitiful expression out of its
lustrous melancholy eyes, that one cannot help feeling for the poor dumb
animal. As my eyes were following the flight of the gazelles, I suddenly
caught sight of a mirage rising in the south-east. These deceptive
illusions of the air are by no means of infrequent occurrence in the
Persian plain. Although they do not equal in grandeur similar
atmospheric phenomena in the great desert of Turkestan, yet, even in
that fainter form, they never fail to strike the imagination of the
traveller. As I was gazing upon the floating forms and buildings, it
seemed to me as if they were the same which had delighted my eyes years
ago on the great plain of the beautiful Hungarian Alföld (Lowland).
Then, too, leaning against the tall pole of a well, I was gazing at the
far-stretching plain which, panting and thirsting, was "dreaming of the
sea." The mirage recalled my own beautiful country, so far off, and when
suddenly a rising cloud of dust concealed the fairy spectacle from my
view, it seemed to scatter my day-dreams to the winds.
The province of Fars begins beyond Yezdekhast, and its inhabitants
differ from the Persians as much, I should say, as the Neapolitans do
from the inhabitants of Northern Italy; their complexion is darker, they
are more vivacious, their feelings are more excitable, and they are
more quickwitted. The greater portion of the inhabitants make a living
by the caravans that are passing through their country. _Shulghistan_,
our first station in Fars, is noted for the tomb of a saint, supposed to
be the son of Imam _Zein ul Abedin_. Of this tomb it is told that, some
time ago, it had been attacked by enemies, who were all struck blind
upon entering the sanctuary. A blind beggar at the gate of the tomb was
shown as one of the sacrilegious band, who desired to end his days
repenting. I was sufficiently interested to wish to hear the account
from the lips of the blind beggar himself, and questioned him about this
occurrence; but he admitted to me that his blindness proceeded from
other causes, and that he had never been connected with a band of
robbers. Yet he willingly passed himself off for an evil-doer punished
by God in order to get his share of the alms distributed by the devout.
In leaving Shulghistan we were joined on our way by a horseman of
distinguished appearance, followed by a number of servants, whose place
of destination was the same as ours. He seemed to be mustering closely
the members of the caravan, as if trying to make up his mind whom he
should choose for his associate during the journey. After a while he
approached me with the friendliest salutation. I soon found out that he
was going to visit the governor of Fars, by orders of the Shah, in order
to collect last year's arrears, amounting to 50,000 ducats. The Shah had
been repeatedly urging the remittance of the sum, but it was never sent.
The Khan was now ordered by the Shah to send the unremitting governor to
prison for a few days; and should this punishment fail to produce the
desired effect to withdraw for a couple of days his _kallian_
(water-pipe) from him. This peculiar method of collecting debts is by
no means rare in Persia. The Khan was a person of refinement and
culture; he was very tolerant, and to him Sunnite or Shi-ite was the
same thing. He saw in me the most travelled and experienced man in the
caravan, and had therefore joined me, of which I was all the more glad,
as it had procured for me a very agreeable fellow-traveller. When we
arrived at our next station, Abade, we took a lodging together, and also
took our meals together.
From _Abade_ we went towards _Surma_, and we met on our night's march
with several smaller caravans, consisting mostly of pilgrims, who were
either bound for Kerbela, in the west, or Meshed, in the east. In Persia
the number of pilgrims, especially during the seasons of spring and
autumn, amounts to hundreds of thousands. The poorest Persian will spend
all his savings, nay, even starve, in order to take part in such a
pilgrimage. The caravan we met with had come from the neighbourhood of
_Bender Bushir_, and was going to Kerbela. The journey there takes sixty
days, and the journey back as much again. The lively intercourse on the
highways of Persia is chiefly dependent upon these pious travellers. It
is no rare thing to see amongst them children ten years of age, and aged
women eighty years old. If two such caravans meet on the road, those
returning generally tell the pilgrims on their way to the holy places,
"Pray for me;" and receive for an answer, "May thy pilgrimage be
blessed." Both parties are deeply moved, and generally embrace each
other upon these occasions; indeed the most indifferent will feel
somewhat affected upon hearing, far off, in the stillness of the night,
the _Illahie_ (hymns) of the pilgrims. I had heard much to excite my
curiosity with regard to our next station. Many notable ruins of ancient
times may be seen in _Maderi Suleiman_, and the Persians think that the
tomb of King Solomon's mother is amongst them; but I had no difficulty
in identifying the village of Maderi Suleiman, lying in the plain of
_Passargada_, as the one where the tomb of _Cyrus_ is supposed to be. In
descending the gentle slope of the low range of mountains and entering
the open valley before us, I was delighted to discover on the right of
our road several statues gilded by the first rays of the rising sun. The
slow pace of the caravan rendered me impatient, and I finally left
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