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 EDWARD G. BROWNE 
 IN PERSIAN DRESS 
 
 " 
 
GRAN OF PhiNGES 
 3 FEB 17 1927 
 
 
 
 
 A YEAR 
 
 x 
 A oarcar gee 
 AMONGST THE PERSIA 
 IMPRESSIONS 
 Ao LOC pee tee ARACTRR  ¢. THOUGHT 
 OF 
 
 THE PEOPLE OF PERSIA 
 
 ‘Received during Twelve Months’ Residence 
 in that Country in the Years 
 
 1887—1888 
 by / 
 
 £ 
 
 i 
 
 EDWARD GRANVILLE BROWNE 
 
 With 
 A Memoir 
 by | 
 SIR E. DENISON ROSS 
 
 
 
 NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND: AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 MCMXXVI 
 
First published by Messrs 
 A. ¢? C. Black Lid 1893 
 
 New edition published by the 
 Cambridge University Press 1926 
 
 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN 
 
EDWARD G. BROWNE (in Persian dress) 
 
 A MEMOIR 
 
 Chapter 1 
 
 INDEX 
 
 LT 
 
 MAP OF PERSIA 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Introductory 
 
 From England to the Persian Frontier 
 
 From the Persian Frontier to Tabriz 
 
 From Tabriz to Teherdn 
 
 Teheran 
 
 Mysticism, Metaphysic, and Magic 
 
 From Teherdn to Isfahan 
 Isfahan 
 
 From Isfahan to Shirdz 
 Shiraz 
 
 Shirdz (continued) 
 From Shirdz to Yexd 
 Yexd 
 
 Yexd (continued) 
 
 From Yexd to Kirman 
 Kirman Society 
 Amongst the Kalandars 
 From Kirmdn to England 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 by SIRE. DENISON ROSS _ page vii — 
 
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EDWARD GRANVILLE BROWNE 
 
 A MEMOIR 
 by 
 SIR E, DENISON ROSS 
 
 HAT one of the world’s most fascinating and instructive 
 
 books of travel should have been allowed to remain out of 
 print for many years is past comprehension. Yet such has been 
 the fate of Edward Browne’s Year Amongst the Persians, which, 
 published in 1893, somehow failed to attract the attention it 
 deserved. Having by the present re-issue obtained, as it were, 
 a new lease of life, it will, we may hope, at last take its rightful 
 place among the great Classics of Travel. It is, however, more 
 than a mere record of travel, and goes far beyond the ordinary 
 limits of such works, for apart from its lively and entrancing 
 descriptions of Persia and its people, it is an infallible guide to 
 modern Persian literature and thought, and as such should always 
 find its place on the student’s shelf beside the author’s monu- 
 mental Literary History of Persia. 
 
 The pleasant, if difficult, task has been imposed on me, as 
 one who for forty years enjoyed the intimate friendship of the 
 author, to prefix to this new issue a short biographical memoir. 
 The life of Edward Granville Browne, outside his year in Persia, 
 was singularly devoid of adventure, and in the events of that 
 yeat his biographer can add nothing to what he has himself 
 related so vividly in the present volume. My sole aim, therefore, 
 is to give a picture of the manner of man he was; to convey to 
 the reader his personality, his charm, his gifts, his prejudices and 
 his enthusiasms without attempting a chronological survey of 
 his life. Dates and details in no way help us to understand the 
 mind of a scholar, in his own day the greatest exponent of 
 Persian life and letters. 
 
Vill A MEMOIR 
 
 Edward Granville Browne was born at Uley, near Dursley 
 in Gloucestershire, on 7th February 1862. His father, Sir 
 Benjamin C. Browne, for many years the head of R. and W. 
 Hawthorn, Leslie and Co., engineers and shipbuilders of New- 
 castle-on-Tyne, came originally from Gloucestershire, and his 
 mother was a Northumbrian. He was sent to a preparatory 
 school, to Glenalmond and to Eton, but nowhere did his 
 teachets discover how to make him happy, nor, apparently, how 
 happy he might have made them. Like many another man of 
 latent gifts, he underwent the discipline of purely wasted years 
 undiscovering and undiscovered; but it is perhaps inevitable 
 under any system of public schooling that the most impression- 
 able period of a boy’s life must be spent in trying to be exactly 
 like every other boy; and woe betide the one who cannot 
 conform! Of his happy college days, and his simultaneous study 
 of Medicine and Oriental Languages he tells us all we need to 
 know in the Introduction to the present volume. The turning- 
 point in E. G. B.’s career was the Russo-Turkish war of 1877. All 
 through his life his sympathies were unfailingly drawn towards 
 any nation that was small and oppressed, and when he saw Turkey 
 being crushed by the great Russian Tsar, the picture of the gallant 
 struggle against defeat made by the losing side and the cant of 
 the anti-Turkish party in England made him feel he “would have 
 died to save Turkey.” It is important to remember that this 
 deep feeling for the Turks was, in this lad of sixteen, totally 
 unconnected with any prejudices such as would naturally have 
 stirred in him after he had begun to study the languages and 
 history of Islamic peoples. It was the misfortunes of a Muham- 
 madan power that brought him to the threshold of the treasure- 
 house of Oriental lore, of which nature had made him one of 
 the rightful inheritors. If he was to serve Turkey in any capacity, 
 Turkish must be studied, and, all unknown to himself, with the 
 first perusal of Barker’s Turkish Grammar, his career as an 
 Orientalist had begun. The youth to whom Latin and Greek 
 
A MEMOIR 1X 
 
 as taught in our schools had made no appeal whatever, whose 
 dormant genius no master had ever suspected, suddenly found 
 his own soul, and although fortune decreed that he should 
 devote some of his best years to the study of medicine, all his 
 spare moments were nevertheless given to acquiring Islamic 
 languages. In 1882 he took the Natural Sciences Tripos, and in 
 1884 the Indian Languages Tripos. 
 
 In 1882 he had spent the Long Vacation in Constantinople, 
 but Persia and not Turkey was destined to be the lodestar of 
 his life, and this was no doubt due to the superior attractions of 
 Persian literature, especially in the field of Sufi mysticism, which, 
 while he was studying medicine, took a very firm hold of his 
 imagination; and it now became his chief ambition to visit the 
 country that had given birth to Hafiz and to tread “the pure 
 Rarth of Shiraz.”? When at last in 1887, thanks to his Pembroke 
 Fellowship, he was able to undertake this journey, and entered 
 the country of his dreams, he encountered in the Babi movement 
 a phase of Persian life which was to occupy his devoted attention 
 for many yeats to come. It was no doubt the long and often weary, 
 but always instructive, hours he had spent with Mirz4 Muham- 
 mad Bakir in Limehouse, that had fitted him to grasp from 
 the first the hair-splitting heterodoxies of this sect, which had 
 produced so many brave martyrs, and whose sufferings made 
 such a ready appeal to his sympathetic mind. His understanding 
 of spoken Persian when he first came among the people was 
 already of a standard rarely attained by Europeans after years 
 of residence, for he was at once able to discuss metaphysics, and 
 to grasp the full meaning of quoted verses which were new to 
 him. Anyone who has merely read Persian poetry in texts knows 
 that this last was no simple achievement; for although modern 
 Persian is in many respects an easy language, especially in regard 
 to its accidence and the regularity of its verbal forms, it happens 
 to be in the matter of vocabulary as difficult as any other lan- 
 guage, seeing that it has a claim on any Arabic word whatsoever, 
 
 B b 
 
x A MEMOIR 
 
 and the very simplicity of its grammatical terminations and Indo- 
 Germanic construction make it elusive as a poetical medium. 
 E. G. B.’s memory was astonishing, and he not only understood 
 what was said to him, but usually remembered conversations 
 verbatim. Asa feat of memory alone A Year Amongst the Persians 
 always struck me as unique. 
 
 It is a strange fact that a gift for languages in almost all cases 
 is a gift for a particular group or type of languages, and it is 
 quite conceivable that if E. G. B. had not been accidentally 
 attracted to the languages of Islam, he would never have taken 
 up linguistic studies at all. I do not think other tongues ever 
 came easily to him, for although he readily learnt to read, speak 
 and write Arabic, Persian and Turkish, he never acquired the 
 same fluency in other languages, and obviously found French 
 and German far less easy to speak than those infinitely more 
 difficult idioms; but he confesses that he never derived much 
 pleasure from Hindustani, which was one of the subjects in his 
 Tripos, although it is an Islamic language. Certain people are 
 only able to pick up quickly certain languages, but it is further 
 a fact that they have particular gifts in respect of those languages. 
 E. G. B. had no ear for music, and he did not pronounce imi- 
 tatively even those languages he knew best. But he spoke them 
 with the same fluency that characterised his English talk. He was 
 not really interested in languages as such; neither Semitic nor 
 Iranian philology made any appeal to him, although at one period 
 he developed a keen interest in the earliest examples of modern 
 Persian and its dialects, as witness his articles in the Journal of 
 the Royal Asiatic Society, 1894, 1895 and 1897. 
 
 INTELLECTUAL LIFE 
 
 I think that the intellectual life of this scholar may best be 
 depicted by an enumeration of the special phases of enthusiasm 
 through which he passed. They almost admit of chronological 
 attangement, though they do not coincide exactly with the list 
 
A MEMOIR x1 
 
 of his various writings as they appeared, Relying on personal 
 memories and reminiscences I should set them out as follows: 
 
 (1) The Islamic languages, with special regard for Persian 
 poetry, 1879. 
 
 (2) Persian Suffism, especially the Masnavi of Jalalu’d-Din 
 Rumi, 1880-1887. 
 
 (3) The Babis, his interest being first aroused by reading Count 
 Gobineau’s Re/igions et Philosophies dans 2 Asie Centrale, a work 
 for which he had the profoundest admiration, and secondly 
 by meeting and receiving the confidences of many Babis in Persia 
 (see pp. 223 sgq.), which led him to devote precious years to 
 the study of a subject which was not perhaps wholly worthy of 
 so much strenuous labour, especially in view of the later develop- 
 ment of Beha’ism and the resultant obscuring of the Bab, 1890. 
 
 (4) The history of Persian literature, in which subject he laid 
 the foundation of his later work by a careful study of the Bio- 
 graphical Anthologies known as tadbkiras, 1895. 
 
 (5) When he first set about his great work on the Literary 
 History of Persia he became much engrossed by the story of the 
 deciphering of the cuneiform Persian and of Pahlavi and by the 
 great controversy between Sir William Jones and Anquetil du 
 Perron, 1900. 
 
 (6) With the second volume he became especially interested 
 in the Shahndma of Firdawsi, and at this time began to appreciate 
 fully the great pioneer work of Theodor Néldeke. 
 
 (7) Volume HI brought him for the first time into close touch 
 with the history of the Mongols, and led him to suggest to the 
 Gibb Trustees the publication of the two greatest works dealing 
 with this subject, namely the Jahdn-gushd of Juwayni and the 
 Jdmi‘w-t-Tawarikh of Rashidu’d-Din. In this connection may be 
 mentioned the deep interest he took, as early as 1880, in the 
 Isma‘ilis of Persia and in the literature of the Hurifis. 
 
 (8) The next phase was the deep concern he showed in 
 the Persian revolution and the controversial and tendentious 
 
 b2 
 
Xi A MEMOIR 
 
 literature to which it gave bitth, 1909-1914. From 1905, when the 
 revolutionary movement began in Persia, E. G. B. devoted much 
 _of his time to the cause of Persia. He was instrumental in forming 
 the Persia Committee, composed of prominent members of the 
 Upper and Lower Houses of Parliament, which from 1908 to 
 1912 exercised considerable influence on public opinion both in 
 England and in Europe. In 1909 he published a Short Account 
 of Recent Events in Persia, and in 1910 a History of the Persian 
 Revolution 1905-1909, and in 1914, The Press and Poetry of Modern 
 Persia, all with the object of explaining to the West that a new 
 spirit of sound nationalism had been born in the country. 
 
 (9) With his preparations for the fourth volume he became 
 entirely engrossed in the rise of the Safavis, especially in the 
 founder of the dynasty and in the revival of Shi‘ism, 1918-20. 
 
 (10) Arabic Medicine. In 1919 he was invited to deliver a 
 course of four FitzPatrick lectures at the College of Physicians 
 on Arabic Medicine, which appeared in book form in 1921. This 
 was the first occasion he had of utilising his combined knowledge 
 of Arabic and of Medicine on an extended scale, although his 
 medical studies had already stood him in good stead in other 
 of his writings, notably in connection with his translation ‘of 
 the Chahdr Magdla, which has a chapter devoted to Doctots. 
 
 (11) Lowards the end of his life, when he had seen the fourth 
 volume through the press (1924), he devoted most of his time 
 to making a catalogue of the many valuable manuscripts he had 
 collected, especially in the last decade, by the purchase of the 
 collections of General Houtum-Schindler and of Haji ‘Abdu’l- 
 Majid Belshah. 
 
 Apart from his purely literary activities he devoted much 
 time to the promotion of Oriental studies in the University, 
 and was mainly responsible for the creation of a School of Living 
 Oriental Languages in Cambridge in connection with the Sudan 
 Political Service and the Consular Department of the Foreign 
 Office. Mention must also be made of his practical efforts in the 
 
A MEMOIR xii 
 
 production of reliable and inexpensive editions of Arabic and 
 Persian texts, towatds which he contributed out of his own 
 resources. 
 
 In between these enthusiasms which occupied his houts of 
 quiet work—and it was always a marvel how those hours were 
 extracted from the twenty-four, seeing that he never grudged 
 giving his best to all who came to his rooms, or later on to his 
 house—he devoted much time to the management of the affairs 
 of the E. J. W. Gibb Trust. Among the earliest friends with 
 whom he was brought into contact by his Turkish studies, was 
 E. J. W. Gibb, who devoted the whole of his life to the study of 
 Ottoman poetry. When in 1901 Gibb died, only one volume of 
 his monumental Hzstory of Ottoman Poetry had appeared, although 
 the rest of the work was nearly complete. As a labour of love 
 E. G. B. took upon himself the most onerous task of seeing the 
 whole work through the press, and completing the unfinished 
 portions; and this involved an immense amount of patient re- 
 search, seeing that every quotation had to be verified, and that 
 the Turkish originals of the many poems translated in the body 
 of this work had to be traced to their sources, often in rare manu- 
 sctipts, and copied for the printer. It would be hard to over- 
 estimate the unselfish devotion to which this undertaking bore 
 witness. But his tribute of esteem to the great Turkish scholar 
 did not end here. In order to perpetuate the memory of E. J. W. 
 Gibb, Mrs Jane Gibb, his mother, left a sum of money yielding a 
 considerable yearly interest to be controlled by a body of trustees 
 and to be employed in the publication of texts and translations 
 of Turkish, Persian and Arabic books, and it fell to the lot of 
 RK, G. B. to carry into effect this laudable bequest. In 1904 he 
 established, with five other scholars and the widow of the Turkish 
 scholar, the “E. J. W. Gibb Memorial,” which has since that 
 time published more than forty volumes of texts and transla- 
 tions; and it was E. G. B. who, up to the time of his death, was 
 the moving spirit of the Trust, which has conferred on scholars 
 
xiv A MEMOIR 
 
 and students the inestimable boon of rendering accessible im- 
 portant and rare works, and this at a reasonable cost. 
 
 He placed the University of Cambridge under deep obligation 
 by his long and wearisome work on the Muhammadan manu- 
 scripts both in the University and in the libraries of various 
 colleges. Only those who have been engaged on work of this 
 kind can appreciate the dullness of examining, paging, and 
 describing large numbers of manuscripts, of which the majority 
 ate apt to be well-known works, which, while profiting nothing 
 to the cataloguer, need the same care as the rarer works which 
 turn up as the occasional reward for his labours. 
 
 POLITICA Led TEE 
 
 No portrait of E. G. B. would be either faithful or complete 
 which did not emphasise his deep interest in current politics. 
 It was in itself a rare thing for a scholar so pre-eminent and 
 productive in his own special line to take so keen and active an 
 interest in the politics of the day; but never did the divine fire 
 of his eloquence shine forth with greater brilliance than when he 
 was exposing what to him appeared a political injustice or abuse. 
 He was as fearless in expressing his views as he was independent 
 in forming them, and if in many cases—nay, in most—his opinions 
 were not in accord with those of the average Englishman, they 
 have often been justified by subsequent history, and it would be 
 unfair if some allusion to them did not find a place in the present 
 Memoit. We have already seen how his sympathy was aroused 
 for the Turks; other questions which stirred him deeply were: 
 Russia, Home Rule, the encouragement of the Welsh language, 
 and the independence of the Boers. He was always a severe 
 critic of our Persian policy, which he felt was guided by a fear 
 of Russia, and the agreement England made with the latter power 
 in 1907 incensed him beyond measure, and led him to protest 
 with all his strength, but in vain. That such a man should not 
 be altogether a persona grata to the Foreign Office is not per- 
 
A MEMOIR XV 
 
 haps to be wondered at; but this circumstance is much to be 
 deplored seeing that there was no one in England who could 
 have given the authorities better information regarding the state 
 of Persia. In August 1914 he was opposed to the entry of 
 England into the Great War, and was one of the signatories of 
 the manifesto drawn up by members of the Universities of Oxford 
 and Cambridge. His views on the subject underwent an im- 
 mediate change with the invasion of Belgtum by the Germans, 
 and although the war filled him with such horror that he could 
 hardly bring himself to open a newspaper, no one entered more 
 thoroughly than he into the work of the local war organisations 
 in Cambridge. Finally, he was one of the first Englishmen to 
 get into touch with German scholars as soon as peace was 
 declared, being prepared to wipe out all bad memories in the 
 name of Science. When, in 1921, the Council of the Royal Asiatic 
 Society was making arrangements for the celebration of its 
 Centenary, E. G. B. was one of the minority who voted in favour 
 of inviting the Germans to participate in the proceedings; and 
 when the proposal was vetoed, he came very near to resigning 
 from the Society. 
 
 He was perfectly fearless in all he wrote and all he said, and 
 his views, if idealistic and often premature, were always based 
 on love of justice. No consideration of expedience could move 
 him from his convictions; for him there was no such thing as 
 compromise, and this gentle scholar, who was so apt to tolerate 
 all shortcomings in his fellow-men, was in politics intransigent 
 and unforgiving—and usually on the losing side. 
 
 SOCIAL LIFE 
 
 E. G. B.’s social life falls into two distinct epochs: the life 
 of the Pembroke Don, and the life of the married man at Firwood. 
 No one who was ever privileged to enjoy them can forget those 
 wonderful evenings and nights spent in his College rooms, which 
 had once been occupied by the younger Pitt. Apart from the 
 
Xvi A MEMOIR 
 
 matvellous entertainment which every kind of visitor enjoyed 
 in these rooms, the high table at Pembroke provided in those 
 yeats, especially from 1890 to 1900, some of the best talk and 
 company to be found in Cambridge. Some names occur to one, 
 as those of Neil, Heriz Smith, and Moriarty, to mention only 
 those who ate no longer among the living. It would be hard 
 to imagine a more delightful evening than one which began in 
 the Combination Room and ended at any o’clock in E. G. B.’s 
 rooms. E. G. B.’s hospitality had one characteristic which 
 must have struck all those who had the privilege of enjoying 
 it, namely, that it made no distinction of persons. Just as all 
 wete welcome, so were all worth entertaining. In E. G. B.’s 
 tooms, as afterwards in Firwood, no one was ever regarded as 
 a Sar-i-khar, or donkey’s head (see this volume, p. 300). He 
 would always give of his best and most brilliant, no matter who 
 composed his audience; the colleague, the professor, the graduate 
 and the freshman were all regaled with the same feast of talk; 
 for E. G. B. was rather a talker than a conversationalist, and no 
 one who listened to him could possibly have wished it otherwise. 
 His fund of anecdote was inexhaustible, and yet one cannot 
 remember ever having heard him merely help a current story on 
 its rounds. His tales were drawn either from Oriental literature 
 ot from the adventures of himself or his friends, to which he had 
 the gift of lending a peculiar charm which made even one’s own 
 adventures, should one happen to be the protagonist, seem new, 
 and he would remember sayings verbatim that the speaker had 
 forgotten as soon as uttered. And of what did he talk? And who 
 shall attempt to describe the manner of his discourse? One can 
 recall a hundred topics which sometimes kept his hearers en- 
 thralled for a whole evening: such as, the visit of an Oriental; 
 the Irish question; the iniquities of Tsarist Russia; Stephen Lea- 
 cock’s latest nonsense; Wilfrid Blunt; or the beauties of Oriental 
 poetry, in describing which he would not only quote the original 
 Arabic or Persian without hesitation, but would follow this with 
 
A MEMOIR XVil 
 
 a fluent literal rendering in which not a point would be missed. 
 He had a wonderful gift of rendering such poetry into English 
 vetse and one can only regret that he did not leave behind him 
 more of such renderings. I am not aware that he ever attempted 
 to write original verse, except in dedicating books to his mother 
 ot to his wife, but his translations go to show that he had in him 
 the true poetic feeling. Excepting only his love of Persian car- 
 pets, he had no teal interest in the fine arts; I do not think he 
 cared any more for Persian miniatures, apart from their subject- 
 matter, than he did for a language, apart from the thoughts it 
 conveyed. I never heard him discuss either Religion or Art. He 
 took no interest in society outside that of Cambridge; London 
 only existed for him as containing the British Museum and a 
 few book-shops, though he did like a good full-blooded melo- 
 drama. He cared little what he ate, and had no taste for wines; 
 the only repast I ever knew him to enjoy was his tea at midnight 
 which he brewed himself; he made it very strong, and generally 
 allowed it to get cold, but its preparation on a spirit-lamp played 
 almost the part of a religious ceremony in his life, which might 
 never be omitted. He loved cigarettes and smoked them in- 
 cessantly, but he never took either to cigars or a pipe, except 
 the hubble-bubble on his first return from the East. He began 
 fly-fishing rather late in life, but in the end preferred it to all 
 other recreations in his summer holidays. While at Pembroke 
 he rowed and had a place in his College boat; he also played 
 tennis and squash racquets, but on the whole he was not a lover 
 of games. 
 
 In later life he became a rich man, and was thus freed from all 
 financial anxiety, permitted to practise his natural generosity 
 and enabled to buy all the books he needed; and never was 
 an assured competency better bestowed by Fortune. For his 
 liberality knew no bounds, and the number of Orientals alone 
 who, deserving or undeserving, were the recipients of his charity 
 is hard to estimate. But his kindness never seemed to lie so much 
 
XVilt A MEMOIR 
 
 in the tangible results as in the infinite trouble he took to help 
 all who came to him. 
 
 His married life was of the happiest, and in Alice Blackburne- 
 Daniell he found an utterly devoted wife, a wonderful mother 
 of his two sons, and a help-meet fitted by intellectual gifts to 
 appreciate his talents and to encourage him in his scholarly 
 labours; and the hospitality of Firewood Library quickly made up 
 for the desertion of the Pembroke rooms. Mrs Browne was 
 indeed the ideal wife for such a man, and during their nineteen 
 yeats of undisturbed happiness she devoted to him all her 
 thoughts and all her strength. In November 1924 he was 
 suddenly stricken with a severe heart attack, which brought his 
 activities to an end. For eight long months every effort was 
 made to restore his strength, but when, in June 1925, his wife, 
 wotn out with the constant anxiety, suddenly collapsed and died, 
 there was no one who could take her place, and he never rallied 
 from the blow. He only survived his wife’s death by six months, 
 during which time, by a tremendous effort of will, he answered 
 in his own hand all the letters of condolence he had received, 
 numbering over 300 in all, but his life’s work was finished. 
 
 He was a most punctilious correspondent and wrote letters 
 with the same ease in Arabic, Persian or Turkish as he did in 
 English, and his correspondence in all these languages was 
 voluminous. Both in English and in Arabic he had a wonder- 
 fully neat writing, and his own books and manuscripts were 
 always annotated with the greatest care and legibility. 
 
 What has been said regarding his correspondence and his 
 hospitality is merely an indication of his great natural generosity 
 in the matter of time, which is the commodity which scholars 
 ate apt most to grudge. But with time he was a magician, for 
 he always seemed to find it for his own work, no matter what 
 the distractions of the day and night might have been. I can only 
 say from personal experience that in the many weeks and days 
 I have spent with him, I hardly ever remember to have caught 
 
A MEMOIR X1x 
 
 him at work. Occasionally he would write a note or two in one’s 
 presence, but otherwise all his time seemed to be at the disposal 
 of his visitors. How remarkable this is when one considers 
 the dimensions of his literary output, including as it did much 
 reading of Oriental proofs, an occupation demanding the utmost 
 care, and considerable strain to the eyes on account of the dia- 
 critical points of the Arabic alphabet. 
 
 It is not my purpose here to describe his numerous works, 
 or even to provide a list of them; for this I would refer the 
 reader to Professor R. A. Nicholson’s Introduction to the 
 forthcoming Catalogue of E. G. B.’s manuscripts. 
 
 He was held in the deepest esteem and affection by the Per- 
 sians, and I cannot support this statement better than by quoting 
 from an article in French which appeared in a Teheran newspaper, 
 Mthan, 6th of Rajab, A.H. 1334: 
 
 “Je dois maintenant vous exposer, en grandes lignes, les services qu’il 
 a rendus a la Perse. Ces services peuvent se diviser en deux catégories: 
 
 (1) Services rendus a la littérature persane. 
 (2) Services rendus a la cause nationale persane. 
 
 “Tl n’y a personne dans notre histoire dont les services rendus 4 la lit- 
 térature persane puissent étre comparés a ceux de Browne exceptés ceux 
 rendus par les grands rois tels que Mahmoud Ghaznavi le Patron de Ferdowsi 
 et Sandjar Seldjoukide, le Protecteur de Anwari. Et tandis qu’eux travaillaient 
 dans lintérét de leur propre pays Browne faisait tout pour la renaissance et 
 la propagation d’une langue qui n’était pas la sienne. 
 
 “Passons maintenant aux services qu’il a tendus a la cause nationale 
 persane. 
 
 “Déja en 1887 quand Browne écrivait son ouvrage intitulé ‘Un an au milieu 
 des Persans’ ot il racontait son voyage en Perse, il plaignait le peuple persan 
 (avoir un gouvernement corrompu 4 sa téte. A partir de 1906 ot la Révolu- 
 tion s’est déclarée en Perse, notre Regretté Ami a consacré une grande partie 
 de son temps a défendre notre cause.... . 
 
 “En parlant des services que notre regretté Ami a rendus a la cause 
 nationale persane je n’ai pas voulu parler des aides matérielles et morales 
 qwil a apportées aux réfugiés persans, victimes de la tyrannie étrangére, qui 
 avaient pris le chemin de Europe pour échapper au sort funeste qui les 
 attendait dans leur patrie méme. Le chateau de Firwood prés de Cambridge 
 ou vivait Browne était un asile pour tous les Persans qui se rendaient en 
 Angleterre, et Phospitalité qu’il réservait 4 nos compatriotes était sans limites 
 
XX A MEMOIR 
 
 et sans bornes. Les Persans qui s’y rendaient se croyaient chez eux, dans leur 
 propre pays, tant par la fagon dont étaient [était] aménagé le chateau que 
 pat l’accueil chaleureux dont ils étaient Pobjet. 
 
 “Aprés ce court exposé vous voyez, Messieurs, quels motifs nous ont 
 poussés 4 organiser cette réunion commémorative. Dans la personne de 
 Browne nous avons perdu un grand Ami qui a consacré tout son étre pour 
 nous faite connaitre au monde. Cette grande 4me généreuse n’avait pas 
 seulement de la sympathie et de admiration pour notre pays mais de amour, 
 de amour pur, profond et désintéressé que l’on voit dans toutes ses ceuvres 
 et dans chacune des lignes qu’il a écrites. 
 
 “Nous avons envers lui une grande dette de gratitude qui ne pourra étre 
 acquittée que par les générations a venir. Browne vivra toujours dans nos 
 coeuts et la Perse gardera de lui le souvenir ineffacable, le souvenir précieux 
 et cher d’un grand et noble Ami qui a tout fait pour réduire ses souffrances 
 et la faire aimer.”’ 
 
 The tributes paid to him after his death, both in the public 
 press and in private letters, all testify as much to his personal 
 qualities as to his profound learning. On the Continent and in 
 America he was regarded as the greatest authority on Persia, 
 and he was universally recognised as one of the foremost 
 Orientalists of his day. In 1921, on the occasion of his fifty- 
 ninth birthday, he received a complimentary address, accom- 
 panied by beautiful presents, signed by a number of representa- 
 tive Persians, expressing their appreciation of the services he 
 had tendered to their language and literature. In 1922, on his 
 sixtieth birthday, he received, in addition to letters and addresses 
 from Europe and Petsia, a volume of Oriental studies, to which 
 scholars of every country had contributed articles. He never 
 sought for honours and did not care to take a Doctor’s degree 
 at Cambridge, which he could have done any time, but it is 
 rematkable that he received so little public recognition from 
 learned Societies abroad. From the Shah of Persia he received 
 the order of the Lion and the Sun, he was in 1922 elected a 
 Vice-President of the Royal Asiatic Society, in 1903 a Fellow 
 of the British Academy, and in 1911 a Fellow of the Royal 
 College of Physicians. Had he wished he might have been 
 Master of Pembroke, but he disliked administrative work and 
 
A MEMOIR Xxi 
 
 obeyed grudgingly the calls which various University meetings 
 wete wont to make on his time. 
 
 In reading this great book of travel, in which the discoveries 
 ate confined to the soul of the people, one cannot fail to be struck 
 by the great toleration the author shows towards the weaknesses 
 of the Persians. The fact that one of his hosts had become the 
 terror of those he governed and was guilty of a thousand unjust 
 executions and judgments, does not in any way lower E. G. B.’s 
 admiration of his gracious manners or his fine library. He so 
 loved his Persians that he forgave everything, and only stayed 
 to ptaise and admire. 
 
 He had a certain dislike of things Indian, due perhaps to a 
 difference between the Indian and the Persian spirit, and rein- 
 forced by a grudge which he bore Indian Muslims because they 
 pronounced Persian unlike the Persians themselves. Another 
 element in this was his disapproval of Anglo-Indian officials, 
 who were his constant bugbear. His anti-Indian prejudices 
 extended even to Indo-Persian poets, that is, the Persian poets 
 like Amir Khusraw and $4a’ib who settled in India, although quite 
 Tate in life, while he was writing the fourth volume of his great 
 Literary History, he was at length compelled to recognise their 
 merits and make the amende honorable. His feelings towards Indian 
 Muslims also underwent a complete change partly on account 
 of the favourable impression created by some young Indian 
 students who came to study Islamic literature under him in 
 Cambridge during the last six years of his life, and partly owing 
 to his great admiration for the writings of Maulavi Shibli 
 Nu‘mani of Aligarh. 
 
 That Edward Browne was a genius no man could deny, and 
 his genius was of two distinct kinds; he not only fulfilled the 
 ‘condition of possessing the capacity for taking infinite pains, 
 but also had the genius which reveals itself in the inspiration of 
 the spoken word. For it was in his talk and conversation that 
 the scholar, the wit, the enthusiast and the man of heart were 
 
XX A MEMOIR 
 
 revealed in full bloom, beside which his writings, with all their 
 brilliance, are but so many pressed flowers. 
 
 To write dispassionately of so dear a friend has been no easy 
 task, but my aim was to represent this great scholar in the light 
 of common day, so that some lasting memorial should remain 
 of his intellectual progress and his mental outlook, of his stead- 
 fast ideals, his simplicity of character and his untiring devotion 
 
 to the cause of sound scholarship. 
 RK. DENISON ROSS 
 
 a 
 
EXORDIUM 
 
 (DEDICATED TO THE PERSIAN READER ONLY) 
 In the name of God, the Merciful, the Forgwing 
 
 Praise be to Gov, the Maker of Land and Sea, the Lord of “““ BE,’ and it 
 shall be”:* Who brought me forth from the place of my birth, obedient to His 
 saying, “ Journey through the Earth”:* Who guarded me from the dangers of the 
 way with the shield of “No fear shall be upon them and no dismay”:3 Who 
 caused me to accomplish my quest and thereafter to return and rest, after I had 
 beheld the wonders of the East and of the West! 
 
 Burt Arrerwarvs. Thus saith the humblest and unworthiest of His servants, 
 who least deserveth His Bounty, and most needeth His Clemency (may God forgive 
 his failing and heal his ailing!): When from Kirmdn. and the confines of Bam I 
 had returned again to the city on the Cam, and ceased for a while to wander, and 
 began to muse and ponder on the lands where I had been and the marvels I had 
 therein seen, and how in pursuit of knowledge I had forgone the calm seclusion 
 of college, and through days warm and weary, and nights dark and dreary, now 
 hungry and now athirst I had tasted of the best and of the worst, experiencing hot 
 and cold, and holding converse with young and old, and had climbed the mountain 
 and crossed the waste now slowly and now with haste, until I had made an end 
 of toil, and set my foot upon my native soil; then, wishful to impart the gain which 
 I had won with labour and harvested with pain (for “Travel is travail” 4 say the 
 Sages), I resolved to write these pages, and, taking ink and pen, to impart to 
 my fellow-men what I had witnessed and understood of things evil and good. 
 
 Now seeing that to fail and fall is the fate of all, and to claim exemption 
 from the lot of humanity a proof of pride and vanity, and somewhat of mercy 
 our common need; therefore let such as read, and errors detect, either ignore and 
 neglect, or correct and conceal them rather than revile and reveal them. For he 
 as lenient who is wise, and from his brother's failings averts his eyes, being loth 
 to hurt or harm, nay, meeting bane with balm. Wa’s-SALAM. 
 
 Te atelier ye ili. 2. Ct, SeUs ate Vine 1s XX Vile 7 19,ECC: 
 
 3 Kur’an, ul, 36, 59, 106, etc. 
 
 4 So Burton has well translated the Arabic proverb: “ Es-seferu kit‘at™ 
 mina s-sakar.” (‘Travel is ‘a portion of hell-fire.”’) 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ol Se ar 
 
 red = 
 seks, i ta le, 
 bee a' ea! 4, 
 
 Kade 7 tak alg a a or 
 ae ao Hee Mes . i iin By. Hike 2 oo ‘aus ve Nain: was 
 
 bs hag Be 
 
 te ers 4545 is 2A: 
 
 
 
 ; ons “'\- re : cin 
 Fete. Pez aaah: bay 
 
 
 
 m4 % Lt ~ ay . ioe 
 . 4 a LS ee Re aks ¥i ¢ » wah ‘ ‘ 
 s ints 3 1 ee ioe ates us ay a SS ren a < oe * Narre: fae ; ; 
 4 ' < . +575. i ~ a 7 J Sea 
 
 we 
 sais * Giga te 
 " cs ao cae er 
 
 ct oe? te ; ‘ 
 “ay aha ; “ta tis tent alae. \ With at. cee 
 
 
 
 “are Lat ame LIBY KAS J Ao aba Sana 
 
 ; ae , ; - . / Pore ah Se ty aie if $e +d baiy ena pay, Weert x ote ~ ae rine ner 
 
 
 
 ‘ , ; “Kis, ie a SSE saya a it Gs ty % % oe ty i? Wavy Laas of eV we: ge wrens pcre uel he 
 hs #03 a ae ae eve aia “ aa & hs clipe a 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 } Sry ” ay an ake istaas $k agit wae x sos x 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Pi. WR Tie, oe ye Ah Se ate mtg sat un pe). RK tii: Ti 
 eg Seyi : EN Sai ¥ ys ty oe ie ee fi cone See fe tah Mats aes “AS 
 | gern eon, (2 sa ‘ak hss i irre la os % ee a a net jag beak Ndi ? wi ee ‘OHS po 
 ee NR, PC NITRA SRE HAGE es as pee Pevt ne ‘as Ans: 2 
 core = . My a Pen Sie 4 oh Ses eth ie Ray ie tink fei. + Senin ya aa oe wa 
 } . bot be “any iene > hen ore : me «tae it ps a: 
 ; HAE 
 
 Sihen pees Neate a ig . iio ae ora 
 
 0 rae 
 
 ie os MER oK. teeny: Lae as 
 
 . * ean 
 
 cathe 3 roe pert Agony: Be. aS ae Se 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Ate 4 ie Een, ay te ees 
 
 ages eee 2) tetas wal th ae 
 
 Papa serge Fp Si Revs e : 
 
 ate - gah Veale “ect, ea ws este "€ oa bi ced G5: 
 
 My : uals tity ; a aia st tg net rg ce. le 
 a? te ’ y 
 , P 4 
 
 aL! BSN ee 
 \ {i 
 
 tat “Seale ee 
 

 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 “ EL“alau ‘ilman: ‘ilmwl-adydn, wa “ilmu’l-abdan.” 
 “Science is twofold: Theology, and Medicine.” 
 
 HAVE so often been asked how I first came to occupy 
 myself with the study of Eastern languages that I have 
 decided to devote the opening chapter of this book to answering 
 this question, and to describing as succinctly as possible the pro- 
 cess by which, not without difficulty and occasional discourage- 
 ment, I succeeded, ere ever I set foot in Persia, in obtaining a 
 sufficient mastery overt the Persian tongue to enable me to employ 
 it with some facility as an instrument of conversation, and to 
 explore with pleasure and profit the enchanted realms of its vast 
 and varied literature. I have not arrived at this decision without 
 some hesitation and misgiving, for I do not wish to obtrude 
 myself unnecessarily on the attention of my readers, and one can 
 hardly be autobiographical without running the risk of being 
 egotistical. But then the same thing applies with equal force to 
 all descriptions intended for publication of any part of one’s 
 personal experiences—such, for instance, as one’s own travels. 
 Believing that the observations, impressions, and experiences of 
 my twelve months’ sojourn in Persia during the years 1887-8 
 may be of interest to others besides myself, I have at length 
 determined to publish them. It is too late now to turn squeamish 
 about the use of the pronoun of the first person. I will be as 
 sparing of its use as I can, but use it I must. 
 I might, indeed, have given to this book the form of a syste- 
 matic treatise on Persia, a plan which for some time I did actually 
 
 B I 
 
2 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 entertain; but against this plan three reasons finally decided me. 
 Firstly, that my publishers expressed a preference for the narrative 
 form, which, they believed, would render the book more read- 
 able. Secondly, that for the more ambitious project of writing a 
 systematic treatise I did not feel myself prepared and could not 
 prepare myself without the expenditure of time only to be 
 obtained by the sacrifice of other work which seemed to me of 
 greater importance. Third/y, that the recent publication of the 
 Hon. G. N. Curzon’s encyclopedic work on Persia will for some 
 time to come prevent any similar attempt on the part of anyone 
 else who is not either remarkably rash or exceedingly well- 
 informed. Moreover, the question “What first made you take 
 up Persian?” when addressed to an Englishman who is neither 
 engaged in, nor destined for, an Eastern career deserves an answer. 
 In France, Germany, or Russia such a question would hardly be 
 asked; but in England a knowledge of Eastern languages is no 
 stepping-stone to diplomatic employment in Eastern countries; 
 and though there exist in the Universities and the British Museum 
 posts more desirable than this to the student of Oriental languages, 
 such posts are few, and, when vacant, hotly competed for. In 
 spite of every discouragement, there ate, I rejoice to say, almost 
 every year a few young Englishmen who, actuated solely by 
 love of knowledge and desire to extend the frontiers of science 
 in a domain which still contains vast tracts of unexplored 
 country, devote themselves to this study. To them too often 
 have I had to repeat the words of warning given to me by my 
 honoured friend and teacher, the late Dr William Wright, an 
 Arabic scholar whom not Cambridge or England only, but 
 Europe, mourns with heart-felt sorrow and remembers with 
 legitimate pride. It was in the year 1884, so far as I remember; 
 I was leaving Cambridge with mingled feelings of sorrow and of 
 hope: sorrow, because I was to bid farewell (for ever, as I then 
 expected) to the University and the College to which I owe a 
 debt of gratitude beyond the power of words to describe; hope, 
 
INTRODUCTORY 3 
 
 because the honours I had just gained in the Indian Languages 
 Tripos made me sanguine of obtaining some employment which 
 would enable me to pursue with advantage and success a study 
 to which I was devotedly attached, and which even medicine 
 (for which I was then destined), with all its charms and far- 
 reaching interests, could not rival in my affections. This hope, in 
 answer to an enquiry as to what I intended to do on leaving 
 Cambridge, I one day confided to Dr Wright. No one, as I well 
 knew, could better sympathise with it or gauge its chances of 
 fulfilment, and from no one could I look for kinder, wiser, and 
 more prudent counsel. And this was the advice he gave me— 
 “Tf,” said he, “you have private means which render you inde- 
 pendent of a profession, then pursue your Oriental studies, and 
 fear not that they will disappoint you, or fail to return you a rich 
 reward of happiness and honour. But if you cannot afford to do 
 this, and are obliged to consider how you may earn a livelihood, 
 then devote yourself wholly to medicine, and abandon, save as 
 a telaxation for your leisure moments, the pursuit of Oriental 
 letters. The posts for which such knowledge will fit you are few, 
 and, for the most part, poorly endowed, neither can you hope to 
 obtain them till you have worked and waited for many years. 
 And from the Government you must look for nothing, for it has 
 long shown, and still continues to show, an increasing indis- 
 position to offer the slightest encouragement to the study of 
 Eastern languages.” 
 
 A tare piece of good fortune has in my case falsified a pre- 
 diction of which Dr Wright himself, though I knew it not till 
 long afterwards, did all in his power to avert the accomplish- 
 ment; but in general it still holds true, and I write these words, 
 not for myself, but for those young English Orientalists whose 
 disappointments, struggles, and unfulfilled, though legitimate, 
 hopes I have so often been compelled to watch with keen but 
 impotent sorrow and sympathy. Often I reflect with bitterness 
 that England, though mote directly interested in the East than 
 
 I-2 
 
4 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 any other European countty save Russia, not only offers less 
 encouragement to her sons to engage in the study of Oriental 
 languages than any other great European nation, but can find 
 no employment even for those few who, notwithstanding every 
 discouragement, ate impelled by their own inclination to this 
 study, and who, by diligence, zeal, and natural aptitude, attain 
 proficiency therein. How different is it in France! There, not 
 to mention the more academic and purely scientific courses of 
 lectures on Hebrew, Syriac, Arabic, Zend, Pahlavi, Persian, 
 Sanskrit, and on Egyptian, Assyrian, and Semitic archeology 
 and philology, delivered regularly by savants of European repu- 
 tation at the Collége de France and the Sorbonne (all of which 
 lectures are freely open to persons of either sex and any nation- 
 ality), there is a special school of Oriental languages (now within 
 a yeat or two of its centenary) where practical instruction of the 
 best imaginable kind is given (also gratuitously) by European 
 professors, assisted in most cases by native répétiteurs, in literary 
 and colloquial Arabic, Persian, Turkish, Malay, Javanese, Ar- 
 menian, Modern Greek, Chinese, Japanese, Annamite, Hindu- 
 stani, Tamil, Russian, and Roumanian, as well as in the geography, 
 history, and jurisprudence of the states of the extreme East. 
 To these lectures (the best, I repeat, without fear of contradiction, 
 which can be imagined) any student, French or foreign, is admitted 
 free of charge. And any student who has followed them diligently 
 for three yeats, and passed the periodical examinations to the 
 satisfaction of his teachers, provided that he be a French subject, 
 may confidently reckon on receiving sooner or later from the 
 Government such employment as his tastes, training, and attain- 
 ments have fitted him for. The manifold advantages of this 
 admirable system, alike to the State and the individual, must be 
 obvious to the most obtuse, and need no demonstration. All 
 honout to France for the signal services which she has rendered 
 to the cause of learning! May she long maintain that position of 
 eminence in science which she has so nobly won, and which she 
 
INTRODUCTORY 5 
 
 so desetvedly occupies! And to us English, too, may she become, 
 in this respect at least, an exemplar and a pattern! 
 
 Now, having unburdened my mind on this matter, I will 
 recount briefly how I came to devote myself to the study of 
 Oriental languages. I was originally destined to become an 
 engineer; and therefore, partly because—at any tate sixteen 
 years ago—the teaching of the “modern side” was still in a 
 most rudimentary state, partly because I most eagerly desired 
 emancipation from a life entirely uncongenial to me, I left school 
 at the age of fifteen and a half, with little knowledge and less love 
 of Latin and Greek. I have since then learned better to appreciate 
 the value of these languages, and to regret the slenderness of my 
 classical attainments. Yet the method according to which they 
 ate generally taught in English public schools is so unattractive, 
 and, in my opinion, so inefficient, that had I been subjected to it 
 much longer I should probably have come to loathe all foreign 
 languages, and to shudder at the very sight of a grammar. It is 
 a good thing for the student of a language to study its grammar 
 when he has learned to read and understand it, just as it is a good 
 thing for an artist to study the anatomy of the human body when 
 he has learned to sketch a figure or catch the expression of a face; 
 but for one to seek to obtain mastery over a language by learning 
 tules of accidence and syntax is as though he should regard the 
 dissecting-room as the single and sufficient portal of entrance to 
 the Academy. How little a knowledge of grammar has to do 
 with facility in the use of language is shown by the fact that 
 comparatively few have studied the grammar of that language 
 over which they have the greatest mastery, while amongst all 
 the Latin and Greek scholars in this country those who could 
 make an extempote speech, dash off an impromptu note, or carry 
 on a sustained conversation in either language, are in a small 
 minority. 
 
 Then, amongst other evil things connected with it, is the 
 magnificent contempt for all non-English systems of pronuncia- 
 
6 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 tion which the ordinary public-school system of teaching Latin 
 and Greek encourages. Granted that the pronunciation of Greek 
 is vety different in the Athens of to-day from what it was in the 
 time of Plato or Euripides, and that Cicero would not under- 
 stand, ot would understand with difficulty, the Latin of the 
 Vatican, does it follow that both languages should be pronounced 
 exactly like English, of all spoken tongues the most anomalous 
 in pronunciation? What should we think of a Chinaman who, 
 because he was convinced that the pronunciation of English in 
 the fourteenth century differed widely from that of the nineteenth, 
 deliberately elected to read Chaucer with the accent and intona- 
 tion of Chinese? If Latin and Greek alone were concerned it 
 would not so much matter, but the influence of this doctrine of 
 pan-Anglican pronunciation too often extends to French and 
 German as well. The spirit engendered by it is finely displayed 
 in these two sayings which I remember to have heard repeated— 
 “Anyone can understand English if they choose, provided you 
 talk loud enough.” “Always mistrust an Englishman who talks 
 French like a Frenchman.” 
 
 Apart from the general failure to invest the books read with 
 any human, historical, or literary interest, or to treat them as 
 expressions of the thoughts, feelings, and aspirations of our 
 fellow-creatures instead of as grammatical tread-mills, there is 
 another reason why the public-school system of teaching languages 
 commonly fails to impart much useful knowledge of them. When 
 any intelligent being who is a free agent wishes to obtain an 
 efiicient knowledge of a foreign language as quickly as possible, 
 how does he proceed? He begins with an easy text, and first 
 obtains the general sense of each sentence and the meaning of 
 each particular word from his teacher. In default of a teacher, 
 he falls back on the best available substitute, namely, a good 
 translation and a dictionary. Looking out words in a dictionary 
 is, however, mere waste of time, if their meaning can be ascer- 
 tained in any other way; so that he will use this means only when 
 
INTRODUCTORY , 
 
 compelled to do so. Having ascertained the meaning of each 
 wotd, he will note it down either in the margin of the book or 
 elsewhere, so that he may not have to ask it or look it out again. 
 Then he will read the passage which he has thus studied over 
 and over again, if possible aloud, so that tongue, ear, and mind 
 may be simultaneously familiarised with the new instrument of 
 thought and communication of which he desires to possess him- 
 self, until he perfectly understands the meaning without mentally 
 translating it into English, and until the foreign words, no 
 longer strange, evoke in his mind, not their English equivalents, 
 but the ideas which they connote. This is the proper way to 
 learn a language, and it is opposed at almost every point to the 
 public-school method, which regards the use of “cribs” as a 
 deadly sin, and substitutes parsing and consttuing for reading 
 and understanding. | 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, I am well aware that the advocates 
 of this method have in their armoury another and a more potent 
 argument. “A boy does not go to school,” they say, “‘to learn 
 Latin and Greek, but to learn to confront disagreeable duties 
 with equanimity, and to do what is distasteful to him with cheer- 
 fulness.” To this I have nothing to say; it is unanswerable and 
 final. If boys are sent to school to learn what the word disagree- 
 able means, and to realise that the most tedious monotony is 
 perfectly compatible with the most acute misery, and that the 
 most assiduous labour, if it be not wisely directed, does not 
 necessarily secure the attainment of the object ostensibly aimed 
 at, then, indeed, does the public school offer the surest means 
 of attaining this end. The most wretched day of my life, except 
 the day when I left college, was the day I went to school. During 
 the earlier portion of my school life I believe that I nearly 
 fathomed the possibilities of human misery and despair. I 
 learned then (what I am thankful to say I have unlearned since) 
 to be a pessimist, a misanthrope, and a cynic; and I have learned 
 since, what I did not understand then, that to know by rote a 
 
8 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 quantity of grammatical rules is in itself not much more useful 
 than to know how often each letter of the alphabet occurs in 
 Paradise Lost, ot how many sepatate stones went to the building 
 of the Great Pyramid?. 
 
 It was the Turkish war with Russia in 1877-8 that first attracted 
 my attention to the East, about which, till that time, I had known 
 and cated nothing. To the young, war is always interesting, and 
 I watched the progress of this struggle with eager attention. At 
 first my proclivities were by no means for the Turks; but the 
 losing side, more especially when it continues to struggle 
 gallantly against defeat, always has a claim on our sympathy, 
 and moreover the cant of the anti-Turkish party in England, and 
 the wretched attempts to confound questions of abstract justice 
 with party politics, dissusted me beyond measure. Ere the close 
 of the war I would have died to save Turkey, and I mourned the 
 fall of Plevna as though it had been a disaster inflicted on my own 
 country. And so gradually pity turned to admiration, and admira- 
 tion to enthusiasm, until the Turks became in my eyes veritable 
 heroes, and the desire to identify myself with their cause, make 
 my dwelling amongst them, and unite with them in the defence 
 of their land, possessed me heart and soul. At the age of sixteen 
 such enthusiasm more easily establishes itself in the heart, and, 
 while it lasts (for it often fades as quickly as it bloomed), exercises 
 a more absolute and uncontrolled sway over the mind than at 
 a more advanced age. Even though it be transitory, its effects 
 (as in my case) may be permanent. 
 
 So now my whole ambition came to be this: how I might 
 become in time an officer in the Turkish army. And the plan 
 
 1 Many of my readers, even of those who may be inclined to agree with 
 me as to the desirability of modifying the teaching of our public schools, 
 will blame me for expressing myself so strongly. The value of a public-school 
 education in the development of character cannot be denied, and in the teach- 
 ing also great improvements have, I believe, been made within the last ten 
 or fifteen years. But as far as my own experience goes, I do not feel that I 
 have spoken at all too strongly. 
 
INTRODUCTORY 9 
 
 which I proposed to myself was to enter first the English army, 
 to remain there till I had learned my profession and attained the 
 tank of captain, then to resign my commission and enter the 
 setvice of the Ottoman Government, which, as I understood, 
 gave a promotion of two grades. So wild a project will doubtless 
 move many of my teaders to mirth, and some to indignation, 
 but, such as it was, it was for a time paramount in my mind, and 
 its influence outlived it. Its accomplishment, however, evidently 
 needed time; and, as my enthusiasm demanded some immediate 
 object, I résolved at once to begin the study of the Turkish 
 language. 
 
 Few of my teaders, probably, have had occasion to embark 
 on this study, or even to consider what steps they would take 
 if a desire to do so suddenly came upon them. I may therefore 
 here remark that for one not resident in the metropolis it is far 
 from easy to discover anything about the Turkish language, 
 and almost impossible to find a teacher. However, after much 
 seeking and many enquiries, I succeeded in obtaining a copy of 
 Barker’s Turkish Grammar. Into this I plunged with enthusiasm. 
 I learned Turkish verbs in the old school fashion, and blundered 
 through the “‘Pleasantries of Khoja Nasru’d-Din Efendi”; but 
 so ignorant was I, and so involved is the Ottoman construction, 
 that it took me some time to discover that the language is written 
 from right to left; while, true to the pan-Anglican system on which 
 I have already animadverted, I read my Turkish as though it had 
 been English, pronouncing, for example, the article dir and the 
 substantive Jer exactly the same, and as though both, instead 
 of neither, rhymed with the English words fr and fur. And 
 so I bungled on for a while, making slow but steady progress, 
 and wasting much time, but with undiminished enthusiasm; for 
 which I was presently rewarded by discovering a teacher. This 
 was an Irish clergyman, who had, I believe, served as a private 
 in the Crimean War, picked up some Turkish, attracted attention 
 by his proficiency in a language of which very few Englishmen 
 
IO INTRODUCTORY 
 
 have any knowledge, and so gained employment as an interpreter. 
 After the war he was ordained a clergyman of the Church of 
 England, and remained for some years at Constantinople as a 
 missionaty. I do not know how his work prospered; but if he 
 succeeded in winning from the Turks half the sympathy and love 
 with which they inspired him, his success must have been great 
 indeed. When I discovered him, he had a cure of souls in the 
 Consett iron district, having been driven from his last parish by 
 the resentment of his flock (Whigs, almost to a man), which he 
 had incurred by venturing publicly to defend the Turks at a 
 time when they were at the very nadir of unpopularity, and when 
 the outcry about the ‘“‘Bulgarian atrocities” was at its height. 
 So the very religious and humane persons who composed his 
 congregation announced to his vicar their intention of with- 
 drawing their subscriptions and support from the church so long 
 as the “Bashi-bozouk” (such, as he informed me, not without 
 a cettain pride, was the name they had given him) occupied its 
 pulpit. So there was nothing for it but that he should go. Isolated 
 in the uncongenial environment to which he was transferred, he 
 was, I think, almost as eager to teach me Turkish as I was to 
 learn it, and many a pleasant hour did I pass in his little parlour 
 listening with inexhaustible delight to the anecdotes of his life 
 in Constantinople which he loved to tell. Peace be to his memory! 
 He died in Africa, once more engaged in mission work, not long 
 after I went to Cambridge. 
 
 One of the incidental charms of Orientalism is the kindness 
 and sympathy often shown by scholars of the greatest distinction 
 and the highest attainments to the young beginner, even when 
 he has no introduction save the pass-word of a common and 
 much-loved pursuit. Of this I can recall many instances, but it is 
 sufficient to mention the first in my experience. Expecting to be 
 in, or within reach of, London fora time, I was anxious to improve 
 the occasion by prosecuting my Turkish studies (for the “‘ Bashi- 
 bozouk”’ had recently left Consett for Hull), and to this end 
 
INTRODUCTORY II 
 
 wished to find a proficient teacher. As I knew not how else to 
 set about this, I finally, and somewhat audaciously, determined 
 to write to the late Sir James (then Mr) Redhouse (whose name 
 the study of his valuable writings on the Ottoman language had 
 made familiar to me as that of a patron saint), asking for his 
 advice and help. This letter I addressed to the cate of his pub- 
 lishers; and in a few days I received, to my intense delight, a 
 most kind reply, in which he, the first Turkish scholar in Europe 
 ptobably, not only gave me all the information I required, but 
 invited me to pay him a visit whenever I came to London, an 
 invitation of which, as may be readily believed, I availed myself 
 at the earliest possible opportunity. And so gradually I came to 
 know others who were able and willing to help me in my studies, 
 including several Turkish gentlemen attached to the Ottoman 
 Embassy in London, from some of whom I received no little 
 kindness. 
 
 But if my studies prospered, it was otherwise with the some- 
 what chimerical project in which they had originated. My father 
 did not wish me to enter the army, but proposed medicine as an 
 alternative to engineering. As the former profession seemed more 
 compatible with my aspirations than the latter, I eagerly accepted 
 his offer. A few days after this decision had been arrived at, he 
 consulted an eminent physician, who was one of his oldest friends, 
 as to my future education. “If you wanted to make your son 
 a doctor,” said my father, ““where would you send him?” And 
 the answer, given without a moment’s hesitation, was, “‘To 
 Cambridge.” 
 
 So to Cambridge I went in October 1879, which date marks 
 for me the beginning of a new and most happy era of life; for 
 I suppose that a man who cannot be happy at the University must 
 be incapable of happiness. Here my medical studies occupied, 
 of course, the major part of my time and attention, and that right 
 pleasantly; for, apart from their intrinsic interest, the teaching 
 was masterly, and even subjects at first repellent can be made 
 
12 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 attractive when taught by a master possessed of grasp, eloquence, 
 and enthusiasm, just as a teacher who lacks these qualities will 
 make the most interesting subjects appear devoid of charm. Yet 
 still I found time to devote to Eastern languages. Turkish, it is 
 true, was not then to be had at Cambridge; but I had already 
 discovered that for further progress in this some knowledge of 
 _ Arabic and Persian was requisite; and to these I determined to 
 turn my attention. During my first year I therefore began to 
 study Arabic with the late Professor Palmer, whose extraordinary 
 and varied abilities are too well known to need any celebration 
 on my part. No man had a higher ideal of knowledge in the 
 matter of languages, or mote original (and, as I believe, sounder) 
 views as to the method of learning them. These views I have 
 already set forth substantially and summarily; and I will therefore 
 say no more about them in this place, save that I absorbed them 
 greedily, and derived from them no small advantage, learning 
 by their application more of Arabic in one term than I had 
 learned of Latin or Greek during five and a half years, and this 
 notwithstanding the fact that I could devote to it only a small 
 portion of my time. 
 
 I began Persian in the Long Vacation of 1880. Neither 
 Professor Palmer nor Professor Cowell was resident in Cam- 
 bridge at that time; but I obtained the assistance of an under- 
 graduate of Indian nationality, who, though the son of Hindoo 
 parents converted to Christianity, had an excellent knowledge 
 not only of Persian and Sanskrit, but of Arabic. To this know- 
 ledge, which was my admiration and envy, he for his part seemed 
 to attach little importance; all his pride was in playing the fiddle, 
 on which, so far as I could judge, he was a very indifferent per- 
 former. But as it gave him pleasure to have a listener, a kind of 
 tacit understanding grew up that when he had helped me for an 
 hour to read the Gu/istdn, 1 in return should sit and listen for a 
 while to his fiddling, which I did with such appearance of pleasure 
 as I could command. 
 
INTRODUCTORY 13 
 
 For two years after this—that is to say, till I took my degree— 
 such work as I did in Persian and Arabic was done chiefly by 
 myself, though I managed to run up to London for an afternoon 
 once a fortnight or so for a Turkish lesson, till the Lent Term 
 of 1881, when the paramount claims of that most exacting of 
 taskmastets, the river, took from me for some weeks the right 
 to call my afternoons my own. And when the Lent races were 
 over, I had to think seriously about my approaching tripos; while 
 a promise made to me by my father, that if I succeeded in passing 
 both it and the examination for the second M.B. at the end of 
 my third year (.e. in June 1882), I should spend two months of 
 the succeeding Long Vacation in Constantinople, determined me 
 to exert all my efforts to win this dazzling bribe. This resolution 
 cost me a good deal, but I was amply rewarded for my self- 
 denial when, in July 1882, I at length beheld the minarets of 
 Stamboul, and heard the Mw’exzzn call the true believers to prayer. 
 I have heard people express themselves as disappointed with 
 Constantinople. I suppose that, wherever one goes, one sees in 
 great measure what one expects to see (because there is good 
 and evil in all things, and the eye discerns but one when the 
 mind is occupied by a preconceived idea); but I at least suffered 
 no disenchantment, and returned to England with my enthusiasm 
 for the East not merely undiminished, but, if possible, inten- 
 sified. 
 
 The two succeeding years were years of undiluted pleasure, 
 for I was still at Cambridge, and was now able to devote my 
 whole time to the study of Oriental languages. As I intended 
 to become a candidate for the Indian Languages Tripos in 1884, 
 I was obliged to begin the study of Hindustani, a language from 
 which I never could succeed in deriving much pleasure. During 
 this period I became acquainted with a very learned but very 
 eccentric old Persian, Mirz4 Muhammad Bakir, of Bawanat in 
 Fars, surnamed Ibrahim Jan Mu‘attar. Having wandered through 
 half the world, learned (and learned well) half a dozen languages, 
 
14 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 and been successively a Shi‘ite Muhammadan, a dervish, a 
 Christian, an atheist, and a Jew, he had finished by elaborating 
 a teligious system of his own, which he called “‘Islamo-Chris- 
 tianity,” to the celebration (I can hardly say the elucidation) of 
 which in English tracts and Persian poems, composed in the most 
 bizarre style, he devoted the greater part of his time, talents, and 
 
 money. He was in every way a most remarkable man, and one 
 whom it was impossible not to respect and like, in spite of his 
 appalling loquacity, his unreason, his disputatiousness, his utter 
 impracticability. I never saw anyone who lived so entirely in a 
 fantastic ideal world of his own creation. He was totally in- 
 different to his own temporal interests; cared nothing for money, 
 personal comfort, or the favour of the powerful; and often 
 alienated his acquaintances by violent attacks on their most 
 cherished beliefs, and drove away his friends by the ceaseless 
 torrent of his eloquence. He lived in a squalid little room in 
 Limehouse, surrounded by piles of dusty books, mostly theo- 
 logical treatises in Persian and Arabic, with a sprinkling of 
 Hebrew and English volumes, amongst which last Carlyle’s 
 Sartor Resartus and Heroes and Hero-Worship occupied the place 
 of honour. Of these, however, he made but little use, for he 
 generally wrote when alone, and talked when he could get anyone 
 to listen to him. I tried to persuade him to read with me those 
 portions of the Masnavi and the Divan of Hafiz set for my exami- 
 nation, and offered to remunerate him for his trouble; but this 
 plan failed on its first trial. We had not read for twenty minutes 
 when he suddenly pushed away the Hafiz, dragged out from a 
 drawer in the rickety little table a pile of manuscript, and said, 
 “T like my own poetry better than this, and if you want me to 
 teach you Persian you must learn it as I please. I don’t want 
 your money, but I do want you to understand my thoughts about 
 religion. You can understand Hafiz by yourself, but you cannot 
 understand my poetry unless I explain it to you.” ‘This was 
 certainly true: allusions to grotesque visions in which figured 
 
INTRODUCTORY 15 
 
 etass-eating lions, bears, yellow demons, Gog and Magog, 
 “Crusaders,” and Hebrew and Arab patriarchs, saints, and 
 wattiors, were jumbled up with current politics, personal remi- 
 niscences, Rabbinic legends, mystical rhapsodies, denunciations, 
 prophecies, old Persian mythology, Old Testament theology, 
 and Kur’anic exegesis in a manner truly bewildering, the whole 
 being clothed in a Persian so quaint, so obscure, and so replete 
 with rare, dialectical, and foreign words, that many verses were 
 incomprehensible even to educated Persians, to whom, for the 
 most part, the “Little Sun of London” (Shumeysa-t-Landaniyya— 
 so he called the longest of his published poems) was a source of 
 terror. One of my Persian friends (for I made acquaintance about 
 this time with several young Persians who were studying in 
 London) would never consent to visit me until he had received 
 an assurance that the poet-prophet-philosopher of Bawanat would 
 be out of the way. I, however, by dint of long listening and much 
 patience, not without some weariness, learned from him much 
 that was of value to me besides the correct Persian pronuncia- 
 tion. For I had originally acquired from my Indian friend the 
 erroneous and unlovely pronunciation current in India, which I 
 now abandoned with all possible speed, believing the “French of 
 Paris” to be preferable to the “French of Stratford atte Bowe.” 
 Towards the end of 1884 Mirza Bakir left London for the East 
 with his surviving children, a daughter of about eighteen and 
 a son of about ten yeats of age, both of whom had been brought 
 up away from him in the Christian religion, and neither of whom 
 knew any language but English. The girl’s failing health (for 
 she was threatened with consumption) was the cause of his 
 departure. I had just left Cambridge, and entered at St Bartholo- 
 mew’s Hospital, where I found my time and energies fully 
 occupied with my new work. Tired as I often was, however, 
 when I got away from the wards, I had to make almost daily 
 pilgrimages to Limehouse, where I often remained till nearly 
 midnight; for Mirza Bakir refused to leave London till 1 had 
 
16 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 finished reading a versified commentary on the Kur’4n on which 
 he had been engaged for some time, and of which he wished to 
 bestow the manuscript on me as a keepsake. “My daughter will 
 die,”’ said he, ‘‘as the doctors tell me, unless she leaves for 
 Beyrout in a short time, and it is you who prevent me from taking 
 her there; for I will not leave London until you have understood 
 my book.” Argument was useless with such a visionaty; so, 
 willing or no, I had to spend every available hour in the little 
 room at Limehouse, ever on the watch to check the interminable 
 digressions to which the reading of the poem continually gave 
 tise. At last it was finished, and the very next day, if I remember 
 tightly, Mirza Bakir started with his children for the East. I 
 never saw him again, though I continued to correspond with him 
 so long as he was at Beyrout, whence, I think, he was finally 
 expelled by the Ottoman Government as a firebrand menacing 
 the peace of the community. He then went with his son to Persia 
 (his daughter had died previously at Beyrout), whence news of 
 his death reached me a year or two ago. 
 
 And now for three years (1884-7) it was only an occasional 
 leisure hour that I could snatch from my medical studies for a 
 chat with my Persian friends (who, though they knew English 
 well for the most part, were kind enough to talk for my benefit 
 theit own language), or for quiet communing in the cool vaulted 
 reading-room of the British Museum with my favourite Sufi 
 writers, whose mystical idealism, which had long since cast its 
 - spell over my mind, now supplied me with a powerful antidote 
 against the pessimistic tendencies evoked by the daily contem- 
 plation of misery and pain. This period was far from being an 
 unhappy one, for my work, if hard, was full of interest; and if 
 in the hospital I saw much that was sad, much that made me 
 wonder at man’s clinging to life (since to the vast majority life 
 seemed but a succession of pains, struggles, and sorrows), on 
 the other hand I saw much to strengthen my faith in the goodness 
 and nobility of human nature. Never before or since have I 
 
INTRODUCTORY 17 
 
 tealised so clearly the immortality, greatness, and virtue of the 
 spirit of man, or the misery of its earthly environment: it seemed 
 to me like a prince in rags, ignorant alike of his birth and his 
 rights, but to whom is reserved a glorious heritage. No wonder, 
 then, that the Pantheistic idealism of the Masnavi took hold of 
 me, or that such words as these of Hafiz thrilled me to the very 
 
 soul: 
 “Turd xi kungara-i-arsh mt-zanand safir: 
 Na-danamat ki dar in khakdan ché uftddast.” 
 
 “They are calling to thee from the pinnacles of the throne of God: 
 I know not what hath befallen thee in this dust-heap” (the world). 
 
 Even my medical studies, strange as it may appear, favoured 
 the development of this habit of mind; for physiology, when 
 it does not encourage materialism, encoutages mysticism; and 
 nothing so much tends to shake one’s faith in the reality of the 
 objective world as the examination of certain of the subjective 
 phenomena of mental and nervous disorders. 
 
 But now this period, too, was drawing to a close, and my 
 dreams of visiting Persia, even when their accomplishment 
 seemed most unlikely, were rapidly approaching fulfilment. The 
 hopes with which I had left Cambridge had been damped by 
 repeated disappointments. I had thought that the knowledge 
 I had acquired of Persian, Turkish, and Arabic might enable me 
 to find employment in the Consular Service, but had learned from 
 cutt official letters, referring me to printed official regulations, 
 that this was not so, that these languages were not recognised 
 as subjects of examination, and that not they, but German, Greek, 
 Spanish, and Italian were the qualifications by which one might 
 hope to become a consul in Western Asia. The words of 
 Dr Wright’s warning came back to me, and I acknowledged 
 their justice. To my professional studies, I felt, and not to my 
 linguistic attainments, must I look to earn my livelihood. 
 
 I had passed my final examinations at the College of Surgeons, 
 the College of Physicians, and the University of Cambridge, 
 
 B 2 
 
18 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 teceived from the two former, with a sense of exultation which 
 I well remember, the diplomas authorising me to practise, and 
 was beginning to consider what my next step should be, when 
 the luck of which I had despaired came to me at last. Returning 
 to my rooms on the evening of 30th May 1887, I found a telegram 
 lying on the table. I opened it with indifference, which changed, 
 in the moment I grasped its purport, to ecstatic joy. I had 
 that day been elected a Fellow of my College. 
 
 
 

 
 Crt A Pr Re L 
 
 FROM ENGLAND, TO THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 
 
 “Fa md adri, idhd yammamtu arden 
 Uridu’l-khayra, ayyuhuma yalini: 
 AV’ al-khayru’ladhi ana abtaghihi, 
 Ami’ sh-sharru’ladhi huwa yabtaghini.” 
 
 “ And I know not, when bound for the land of my quest, if my portion shall be 
 The good which I hope for and seek, or the evil that seeketh for me.” 
 (AL Muthakkibu'l-‘ Abdi.) 
 
 O at last I was really to go to Persia. About that there could 
 
 be no question. For I had long determined to go if I got the 
 chance; and now, not only had the opportunity come, but, in 
 view of the probability that the University would soon require 
 a resident teacher of Persian, I was urged by my friends at Cam- 
 bridge to spend the first year of my fellowship in the way which 
 would best qualify me for this post. Yet, as the time for my 
 departure approached, a strange shrinking from this journey 
 which I had so much desired—a shrinking to which I look back 
 with shame and wonder, and for which I can in no wise account 
 —took possession of me. It arose partly, I suppose, from the 
 sudden reaction which unexpected good fortune will at times 
 produce; partly, if not from ill health, at least from that lowering 
 of the vitality which results from hard work and lack of exercise 
 and fresh air; partly also from the worry inseparable from the 
 preparations for a long journey into regions little known. But, 
 whatever its cause, it did much to mar my happiness at a time 
 when I had no excuse for being otherwise than happy. At 
 length, however, it came to an end. Bewildered by conflicting 
 
 2-2 
 
20 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 counsels as to the equipment which I should need and the route 
 which I had best take, I at last settled the matter by booking my 
 passage from Marseilles to Batoum at the London office of the 
 Messageries Maritimes, and by adding to the two small port- 
 manteaus into which I had compressed so much clothing as 
 appeared absolutely indispensable nothing but a Wolseley valise, 
 a saddle and bridle, a pith hat (which was broken to pieces long 
 before the summer came round), a small medicine-chest, a few 
 sutgical instruments, a revolver, a box of a hundred cartridges, 
 a few books, a passport with the Russian and Turkish visas, and 
 a money-belt containing about {200 in gold, paper, and circular 
 notes. At the last moment I was joined by an old college friend, 
 H——, who, having just completed a term of office at the 
 hospital, was desirous to travel, and whose proposal to join me 
 I welcomed. He was my companion as far as Teheran, where, 
 as I desired to tarry for a while, and he to proceed, we were 
 obliged to separate. 
 
 We had booked our passage, as I have said, to Batoum, in- 
 tending to take the train thence to Baku, and so by the Caspian 
 to Resht in Persia. For this route, unquestionably the shortest 
 and easiest, I had from the first felt little liking, my own wish 
 being to enter Persia through Turkey, either by way of Damascus 
 and Baghdad, or of Trebizonde and Erzeroum. I had suffered 
 myself to be persuaded against my inclinations, which, I think, 
 where no question of principle is involved, is always a mistake, 
 for the longer and harder way of one’s own choosing is preferable 
 to the shorter and easier way chosen by another. And so, as 
 soon as I was withdrawn from the influences which had tem- 
 porarily overcome my own judgment and inclination, I began to 
 repent of having adopted an uncongenial plan, and to consider 
 whether even now, at this eleventh hour, it was not possible to 
 change. The sight of the Turkish shore and the sound of the 
 Turkish tongue (for we stayed two days at Constantinople, 
 whence to Trebizonde the deck of the steamer was crowded 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 21 
 
 with Turks and Persians, with whom I spent the greater part of 
 each day in conversing) swept away my last scruples as to the 
 wisdom of thus reversing at the outset a decision which had been 
 fully discussed. I consulted with H——-, who taised no objec- 
 tion; and we decided on reaching Trebizonde (where the steamer 
 anchored on 4th October) to enquire at the British Consulate as 
 to the safety and practicability of the old caravan road leading 
 thence into Central Asia, and, if the report were favourable, to 
 adopt that route. 
 
 There was a heavy swell in the open roadstead, and the wind, 
 which rolled back the rain-clouds on the green, thickly-wooded 
 hills, seemed to be rising, as we clambeted into one of the clumsy 
 boats which hovered round the steamer to go ashore. Nor had 
 the gruff old captain’s answer to my enquity as to how long the 
 steamer would lie there tended to reassure me. “If the wind gets 
 up much more,” he had said, “I may start at any time.” “And 
 if we are on shore,” I demanded, “‘how shall we know that you 
 ate starting?” “Vous me verrex partir, voila tout,’ he replied, 
 — and, with a shrug of his shoulders, walked off to his cabin. So 
 I was somewhat uneasy in my mind lest, while we were conduct- 
 ing our enquiries on shore, the steamer might put out to sea, 
 beating with it all our worldly goods. This disquieting reflection 
 was dispelled by the shock of the boat striking against the little 
 wooden jetty. We stepped out, and found ourselves confronted 
 by one of the Turkish police, who demanded our passports. 
 These had not been presented, as theoretically they should have 
 been, at Constantinople for a fresh vzsa, and I feared we might 
 consequently have some trouble in landing. However, I assumed 
 an ait of confident alacrity, produced the passports, and pointed 
 to the seal of the Turkish Consulate given in London. As the 
 visa—“bon pour se rendre a Constantinople’”—to which this was 
 attached was in French, the officer was not much the wiser, and, 
 after scrutinising the passports (which he held upside down) with 
 a critical air, he returned them and stood aside to let us pass. 
 
22 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 And this is typical of Turkey, where the laws, though theoreti-. 
 cally stringent, are not practically troublesome; in which point 
 it has the advantage over Russia. 
 
 Guided by a boy belonging to our boat, we ascended through 
 nattow, tortuous streets to the British Consulate, where, though 
 unprovided with recommendations, we received from the Consul, 
 Mr Longworth, that courteous and kindly welcome which, to 
 - their honour be it said, Englishmen (and, indeed, other Euro- 
 peans, as well as Americans) resident in the Turkish and Persian 
 dominions seldom fail to give the traveller. In reply to our 
 enquiries, he told us that the road to the Persian frontier was 
 perfectly safe, and that we should have no difficulty in hiring 
 horses ot mules to convey us to Erzeroum, whence we could 
 easily engage others for the journey to Tabriz. He also kindly 
 offered to send his dragoman, an Armenian gentleman, named 
 Hekimian, to assist us in clearing our baggage at the custom- 
 house. So we returned to the steamer to bring it ashore. As we 
 pushed our way through the deck-passengers to the side of the 
 ship, some of my Persian acquaintances called out to me to tell 
 them why I was disembarking and whither I was going, and, 
 on learning my intention of taking the old caravan-road through 
 ‘Erzeroum, they cried, “‘O dear soul, it will take you three months 
 to get to Teheran thus, if indeed you get there at all! Why have 
 you thus made your road difficult?” But the step was taken now, 
 and I paid no heed to their words. 
 
 The custom-house, thanks to the egis of the British Con- 
 sulate, dealt very gently with us. We were even asked, if I remem- 
 ber right, which of our packages we should prefer to have 
 opened. H——-’s Wolseley valise was selected; but we forgot 
 that his rifle had been rolled up in it. The Turkish excisemen 
 stroked their chins a little at this sight (for fire-arms ate contra- 
 band), but said nothing. When this form of examination was over 
 we thanked the mudir, or superintendent, for his courtesy, gave 
 a few small coins to his subordinates, and, with the help of two 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 23 
 
 ot three sturdy porters, transported our luggage to the one hotel 
 which Trebizonde possesses. It is called the “Hotel d’Italie,” 
 and, though unpretentious, is clean and comfortable. During 
 the three days we spent there we had no cause to complain either 
 of being underfed or overcharged. 
 
 Next morning our preparations began in earnest. Hekimian 
 was of inestimable service, arranging everything and accom- 
 panying us everywhere. The Russian paper-money with which 
 we had provided ourselves for the earlier part of the journey 
 was soon converted into Turkish gold; tinned provisions and 
 a few simple cooking utensils and other necessaries were bought 
 in the bazaars; and arrangements were concluded with two sturdy 
 muleteers for the journey to Erzeroum. They on their part agreed 
 to provide us with five horses for ourselves and our baggage, 
 to convey us to Erzeroum in six or seven days, and to do what 
 lay in their power to render the journey pleasant; while we on 
 our part covenanted to pay them 64 Turkish pounds (£3 down, 
 and the remainder at Erzeroum), to which we promised to add 
 a trifle if they gave us satisfaction. 
 
 There remained a more important matter, the choice of a 
 servant to accompany us on the journey. Two candidates pre- 
 sented themselves: an honest-looking old Turkish Kavyds of the 
 Consulate, and a shifty Armenian, who, on the strength of his 
 alleged skill in cookery, demanded exorbitantly high wages. 
 We chose the Turk, agreeing to pay him one Turkish pound a 
 week, to guarantee this payment for six months, and to defray 
 his expenses back to Trebizonde from any point at which we 
 might finally leave him. It was a tash agreement, and might 
 have caused us more trouble than it actually did, but there 
 seemed to be no better alternative, seeing that a servant was an 
 absolute necessity. The old Turk’s real name was ‘Omar; but, 
 having regard to the detestation in which this name is held in 
 Persia (for he whom Sunnite Muhammadans account the second 
 Caliph, or successor of the Prophet, is regarded by the sect of 
 
24 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 the Shi‘a as the worst of evil-doers and usurpets)!, it was decided 
 that he should henceforth bear the more auspicious name of ‘Ali, 
 the darling hero of the Persian Shi‘ites. As for our old servant’s 
 character, viewed in the light of subsequent experience, I do him 
 but justice when I express my conviction that a more honest, 
 straightforward, faithful, loyal soul could not easily be found 
 anywhere. But, on the other hand, he was rather fidgety; rather 
 obstinate; too old to travel in a strange country, adapt himself 
 to new sutroundings, and learn a new language; and too simple 
 to cope with the astute and wily Persians, whom, moreover, 
 religious and national prejudices caused him ever to regard with 
 unconquerable aversion. 
 
 This business concluded, we had still to get our passports for 
 the interior. Hekimian accompanied us to the Government 
 offices, where, while a courteous old Turk entertained me with 
 coffee and conversation, a shrewd-looking subordinate noted 
 down the details of our personal appearance in the spaces reserved 
 for that purpose on the passport. I was amused on receiving the 
 document to find my religion described as “English” and my 
 moustache as “fresh” (¢er), but not altogether pleased at the 
 entries in the “head” and “chin” columns, which respectively 
 wete “top” (bullet-shaped) and ‘“‘deyirmen” (round). Before 
 leaving the Government-house we paid our respects to Surtri 
 Efendi, the governor of Trebizonde, one of the judges who tried 
 and condemned the wise and patriotic Midhat Pasha. He was 
 a fine-looking old man, and withal courteous; but he is reputed 
 to be corrupt and bigoted. | 
 
 In the evening at the hotel we made the acquaintance of a 
 Belgian mining-engineer, who had lived for some time in Persia. 
 The account which he gave of that country and its inhabitants 
 
 1 The repetition of the following curse on the three first Caliphs of the 
 Sunnis is accounted by Persian Shi‘ites as a pious exercise of singular virtue: 
 “O God, curse “Omar: then Abu Bekr and ‘Omar: then ‘Othman and ‘Omar: 
 then ‘Omar: then “Omar!” 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 25 
 
 was far from encouraging. “I have travelled in many lands,” 
 he said, “cand have discovered some good qualities in every 
 people, with the exception of the Persians, in whom I have failed 
 to find a single admirable characteristic. Their very language 
 bears witness against them and exposes the sordidness of their 
 minds. When they wish to thank you they say, ‘ Lutf-7-shumd 
 xiydd, “May your kindness be increased,’ that is, “May you give 
 me something more’; and when they desite to support an asser- 
 tion with an oath they say ‘ Bi-/dn-i-“‘aziz-i-khudat, “By thy 
 precious life,’ or ‘ Bz-marg-i-shumd, “By your death,’ that is, “May 
 you die if I speak untruly.’! And they would be as indifferent to 
 your death as to the truth of their own assertions.” 
 
 Although we were ready to start on the following day, we 
 were prevented from doing so by a steady downpour of rain. 
 Having completed all our arrangements, we paid a visit to the 
 Persian Consulate in company with Mr Longworth. In answer 
 to our enquiry as to whether our passports required his vzsa, 
 the Persian Consul signified that this was essential, and, for 
 the sum of one mejidiyyé apiece, endorsed each of them with a 
 _ lengthy inscription so tastefully executed that it seemed a pity 
 that, during the whole period of our sojourn in Persia, no one 
 asked to see them. Though perfectly useless and unnecessary, the 
 Visa, aS a specimen of calligraphy, was cheap at the price. 
 
 Next day (Friday, 7th October) the rain had ceased, and at 
 an eatly hour we were plunged in the confusion without which, 
 as it would seem, not even the smallest caravan can start. The 
 muleteers, who had been urging us to hasten our preparations, 
 disappeared so soon as everything was ready. When they had 
 been found and brought back, it was discovered that no bridle 
 had been provided for H ’s horse; for, though both of us had 
 
 
 
 1 Apart from the doubtful justice of judging a people by the idioms of their 
 language, it may be pointed out that, with regard to the two last expressions, 
 they are based on the idea that to swear by one’s own life or death would be 
 to swear by a thing of little value compared to the life or death of a friend. 
 
26 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 brought saddles from England, he had thought that it would 
 be better to use a native bridle. Eventually one was procured, 
 and, about 9 a.m., we emerged from the little crowd which had 
 been watching our proceedings with a keen interest, and rode out 
 of the town. Our course lay for a little while along the coast, 
 until we reached the mouth of the valley of Khosh Oghlan, 
 which we entered, turning to the south. The beauty of the day, 
 which the late rains had rendered pleasantly cool, combined with 
 the novelty of the scene and the picturesque appearance of the 
 people whom we met on the toad, raised our spirits, and com- 
 pletely removed certain misgivings as to the wisdom of choosing 
 this route which, when it was too late to draw back, had taken 
 possession of my mind. The horses which we rode were good, 
 and, leaving the muleteers and baggage behind, we pushed on 
 until, at 2.30 p.m., we reached the pretty little village of Jevizlik, 
 the first halting-place out of Trebizonde. Here we should have 
 halted for the night; but, since the muleteers had not informed 
 us of their plans, and it was still early, we determined to proceed 
 to Khamsé-Kyiiy, and accordingly continued our course up the 
 beautiful wooded valley towards the pass of Zighdna-dagh, 
 which gleamed before us white with newly-fallen snow. During 
 the latter part of the day we fell in with a wild-looking horseman, 
 who informed me that he, like all the inhabitants of Khamsé- 
 Kyiiy, was a Christian. 
 
 It was quite dark before we reached Khamsé-Kyiiy, and it 
 took us some little time to find a k+du at which to rest for the 
 night. The muleteers and baggage were far behind, and at first 
 it seemed probable that we should have to postpone our supper 
 till their arrival, or else do without it altogether. However, ‘Ali 
 presently succeeded in obtaining some bread, and also a few eggs, 
 which he fried in oil, so that, with the whisky in our flasks, we 
 fared better than might have been expected. 
 
 At about 9 p.m. the muleteers arrived and demanded to see 
 me at once. They were very tired, and very angry because we 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 27 
 
 had not waited for them at Jevizlik. I did not at first easily 
 understand the cause of their indignation (for this was my first 
 experience of this kind of travelling, and my ideas about the 
 capacity of horses were rather vague) till it was explained to me 
 that at the present rate of proceeding both men and animals 
 would be wearied out long before we reached Erzeroum. “O 
 my soul!” said the elder muleteer in conclusion, more in sorrow 
 than in anger, “‘a fine novice art thou if thou thinkest that these 
 horses can go so swiftly from morning till evening without rest 
 ot food. Henceforth let us proceed in company at a slower pace, 
 by which means we shall all, please God, reach Erzeroum with 
 safety and comfort in seven days, even as was agreed between 
 us.”” Not much pleased at thus being admonished, but compelled 
 to admit the justice of the muleteer’s remarks, | betook myself 
 to the Wolseley valise which I had, after much deliberation, 
 selected as the form of bed most suitable for the journey. Ex- 
 cellent as this contrivance is, and invaluable as it proved to be, 
 my first night in it was anything but comfortable. As I intended 
 
 to stuff with straw the space left for that purpose beneath the 
 lining, I had neglected to bring a mattress. Straw, however, 
 was not forthcoming, and I was therefore painfully conscious of 
 evety irregularity in the ill-paved floor; while the fleas which 
 infest most Turkish k+dns did not fail on this occasion to welcome 
 the advent of the stranger. In spite of these discomforts and the 
 novelty of my surroundings I soon fell fast asleep. 
 
 Looking back at those first days of my journey in the light of 
 fuller experience, I marvel at the discomforts which we readily 
 endured, and even courted by our ignorance and lack of foresight. 
 
 Bewildered by conflicting counsels as to equipment, I had 
 finally resolved to take only what appeared absolutely essential, 
 and to reduce our baggage to the smallest possible compass. 
 Prepared by what I had read in books of Eastern travel to endure 
 discomforts far exceeding any which I was actually called upon 
 to experience, I had yet to learn how comfortably one may travel 
 
28 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 even in countties where the railroad and the hotel are unknown. 
 Yet I do not regret this experience, which at least taught me how 
 few are the necessaries of life, and how needless ate many of 
 those things which we are accustomed to regard as such. Indeed, 
 I am by no means certain that the absence of many luxuries 
 which we commonly regard as indispensable to our happiness 
 is not fully compensated for by the freedom from care and 
 hurry, the continual variety of scenery and costume, and the 
 sense of health produced by exposure to the open air, which, 
 taken together, constitute the irresistible charm of Eastern travel. 
 
 On the following morning we were up betimes, and after a 
 steep ascent of an hour or so reached the summit of the pass of 
 Zighana-dagh, which was thinly covered with a dazzling garment 
 of snow. Here we passed a little khdn, which would have been 
 our second resting-place had we halted at Jevizlik on the pre- 
 ceding day instead of pushing on to Khamsé-Kyiiy. As it was, 
 however, we passed it without stopping, and commenced the 
 descent to the village of Zighana-Kyiiy, where we halted for 
 an hour to rest and refresh ourselves and the horses. Excellent 
 fruit and coffee were obtainable here; and as we had yielded to 
 the muleteers’ request that we should not separate ourselves 
 from the baggage, we had our own provisions as well, and 
 altogether fared much better than on the previous day. 
 
 After the completion of our meal we proceeded on our journey, 
 and towards evening reached the pretty little hamlet of Kyiipri- 
 bashi situated on a river called, from the town of Ardessa through 
 which it flows, Ardessa-irmaghi, in which we enjoyed the luxury 
 of a bathe. The inhabitants of this delightful spot were few in 
 number, peaceable in appearance, and totally devoid of that 
 inquisitiveness about strangers which is so characteristic of the 
 Persians. Although it can hardly be the case that many Europeans 
 pass through their village, they scarcely looked at us, and asked 
 but few questions as to our business, nationality, or destination. 
 This lack of curiosity, which, so far as my experience goes, 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 29 
 
 usually characterises the Turkish peasant, extends to all his 
 sutroundings. Enquiries as to the name of a wayside flower, or 
 the fate of a traveller whose last resting-place was marked by 
 a mound of earth at the roadside, were alike met with a half- 
 scornful, half-amused “kim bilir?” (“who knows?”’), indicative 
 of surprise on the part of the person addressed at being questioned 
 on a matter in which, as it did not concern himself, he felt no 
 interest. In Persia, more especially in Southern Persia, it is quite 
 otherwise; and, whether right or wrong, an ingenious answer is 
 usually forthcoming to the traveller’s enquiries. 
 
 Our third day’s march took us first through the town of 
 Ardessa, and then through the village of Demirji-suyu, on 
 emerging from which we were confronted and stopped by two 
 most evil-looking individuals armed to the teeth with pistols 
 and daggers. My first idea was that they were robbers; but, on 
 riding forward to ascertain their business, I discovered that they 
 were excisemen of a kind called dightaban, whose business it is 
 to watch for and seize tobacco which does not bear the stamp 
 of the Ottoman Régie. It appeared that some one, either from 
 malice or a misdirected sense of humour, had laid information 
 against us, alleging that we had in our possession a quantity of 
 such tobacco. A violent altercation took place between the ex- 
 cisemen and our servant “Ali, whose pockets they insisted on 
 searching, and whose tobacco-pouch was torn in two in the 
 struggle. Meanwhile the muleteers continued to manifest the 
 most ostentatious eagerness to unload our baggage and submit 
 it to examination, until finally, by protestations and remon- 
 strances, we prevailed on the custom-house officers to let us pass. 
 The cause of the muleteers’ unnecessary eagerness to open our 
 baggage now became apparent. Sidling up to my horse, one of 
 these honest fellows triumphantly showed me a great bag of 
 smuggled tobacco which he had secreted in his pocket. I asked 
 him what he would have done if it had been detected, whereat 
 he tapped the stock of a pistol which was thrust into his belt 
 
30 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 with a sinister and suggestive smile. Although I could not help 
 being amused at his cool impudence, I was far from being tre- 
 assuted by the warlike propensities which this gesture revealed. 
 
 Continuing on out way, and still keeping near the river, we 
 passed one or two old castles, situated on rocky heights, which, 
 we wete informed, had been built by the Genoese. Towards 
 noon we entered the valley of Gyumish-Khané, so-called from 
 the silver mines which occur in the neighbourhood. This valley 
 - is walled in by steep and rocky cliffs, and is barren and arid, 
 except near the river, which is surrounded by beautiful orchards. 
 Indeed the pears and apples of Gyumish-Khané are celebrated 
 throughout the district. We passed several prosperous-looking 
 villages, at one of which we halted for lunch. Here for the first 
 time I tasted petmex, a kind of treacle or syrup made from fruit. 
 In Persia this is known as dushdb ot shiré; it is not unpalatable, 
 and we used occasionally to eat it with boiled rice as a substitute 
 for pudding. Here also we fell in with a respectable-looking 
 Armenian going on foot to Erzeroum. Anyone wotse equipped 
 for a journey of 150 miles on foot I never saw. He wore a black 
 frock-coat and a fez; his feet were shod with slippers down at 
 the heels; and to protect himself from the heat of the sun he 
 carried a large white umbrella. He looked so hot and tired and 
 dusty that I was moved to compassion, and asked him whether 
 he would not like to ride my horse for a while. This offer he 
 gladly accepted, whereupon I dismounted and walked for a few 
 miles, until he announced that he was sufficiently rested and 
 would proceed on foot. He was so grateful for this indulgence 
 that he bore us company as far as Erzeroum, and would readily 
 have followed us farther had we encouraged him to do so. Evety 
 day H——- and myself allowed him to ride for some distance on 
 out horses, and the poor man’s journey was, I trust, thereby 
 rendered less fatiguing to him. 
 
 During the latter part of the day our course lay through a 
 most gloomy and desolate valley, walled in with red rocks and 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 31 
 
 utterly devoid of trees or verdure. Emerging from this, and 
 passing another fine old castle situated on a lofty and precipitous 
 ctag, we attived about 5 p.m. at the little hamlet of Tekké, where 
 we halted for the night. It is rather a miserable place, containing 
 several khdns swarming with Persian camel-drivers, but very few 
 private houses. A shallow river which runs near it again enabled 
 us to enjoy the luxury of a bathe. . 
 
 Our fourth day’s march was very dreary, lying for the most 
 part through gloomy ravines walled in with reddish tocks, like 
 that which we had traversed at the end of the previous day’s 
 journey. In addition to the depressing character of the scene, 
 thete was a report that robbers were lurking in the neighbour- 
 hood, and we were consequently joined by several pedestrians, 
 all armed to the teeth, who sought safety in numbers. Shortly 
 after noon we halted at a small roadside inn, where we obtained 
 some cheese, and a not very savoury compound called kawirma, 
 which consists of small square lumps of mutton imbedded in 
 fat. At 3 p.m. we reached the solitary Abd of Kadarak, which 
 _ was to be our halting-place for the night. A few zabtiyyés were 
 lounging about outside, waiting for the post, which was expected 
 to pass shortly. As it was still early, I went out into the balcony 
 to wtite my diary and contemplate the somewhat cheerless view; 
 but I was soon interrupted by our Armenian fellow-traveller, 
 who came to tell me that the zabtiyyés outside were watching my 
 proceedings with no favourable eye, and suspected that I was 
 drawing maps of the country. He therefore advised me either 
 to stop writing or to retire indoors, lest my diary should be 
 seized and destroyed. Whether the Armenian spoke the truth, or 
 whether he was merely indulging that propensity to revile the 
 tuling race for which the Christian subjects of the Porte are 
 conspicuous, I had no means of deciding, so I thought it best to 
 follow his advice and retire from the balcony till I had completed 
 my writing. 
 
 Our fifth day’s march led us through the interesting old 
 
32 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 Armenian village of Varzahan. Just before teaching this we 
 passed several horsemen, who were engaged in wild and ap- 
 parently purposeless evolutions, accompanied with much firing 
 of guns. It appeared that these had come out to welcome the 
 Ka@’im-makdm of Diyadin, who had been dismissed from office, 
 and was returning to his native town of Gyumish-Khané; and 
 we had scarcely passed them when he appeared in sight, met, 
 and passed us. I wished to examine the curious old churches 
 which still bear witness that Varzahan, notwithstanding its 
 present decayed condition, must formerly have been a place of 
 some importance. Our Armenian fellow-traveller offered to 
 conduct me, and I was glad to avail myself of his guidance. 
 After I had examined the strange construction of the churches, 
 the Armenian inscriptions cut here and there on their walls, 
 and the tombstones which surrounded them (amongst which 
 were several carved in the form of a sheep), my companion 
 suggested that we should try to obtain some refreshment. 
 Although I was anxious to overtake our caravan, I yielded to 
 his importunity, and followed him into a large and dimly-lighted 
 room, to which we only obtained admission after prolonged 
 knocking. The door was at length opened by an old man, with 
 whom my companion conversed for a while in Armenian, after 
 he had bidden me to be seated. Presently several other men, all 
 armed to the teeth, entered the room, and seated themselves by 
 the door. A considerable time elapsed, and still no signs of food 
 appeared. The annoyance which I felt at this useless delay gradu- 
 ally gave way to a vague feeling of alarm. This was heightened 
 by the fact that I was unable to comprehend the drift of the 
 conversation, which was still carried on in Armenian. I began 
 to wonder whether I had been enticed into a trap where I could 
 be robbed at leisure, and to speculate on the chances of escape 
 ot fesistance, in case such an attempt should be made. I could 
 not but feel that these were slender, for I had no weapon except 
 a small pocket revolver; five or six armed men sat by the heavy 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 33 
 
 wooden door, which had been closed, and, for anything that I 
 knew, bolted; and even should I succeed in effecting an exit, I 
 knew that our caravan must have proceeded a considerable 
 distance. My apprehensions were, however, relieved by the 
 appearance of a bowl of yoghart (curds) and a quantity of the 
 insipid wafer-like bread called awash. Having eaten, we rose to 
 go; and when my companion, whom I had suspected of harbour- 
 ing such sinister designs against my property and perhaps my 
 life, refused to let me pay for our refreshment, I was filled with 
 shame at my unwarranted suspicions. On emerging once more 
 into the road I found the faithful ‘Ali patiently awaiting me. 
 Perhaps he too had been doubtful of the honesty of the Armenian 
 villagers. At any rate he had refused to proceed without me. 
 
 About 2 p.m. we arrived at the town of Baiburt, and found 
 that H——and the muleteers had already taken up their quarters 
 at a clean and well-built k/én owned by one Khalil Efendi. We 
 at once proceeded to explore the town, which lies at the foot of 
 a hill surmounted by an old fortress. Being too lazy to climb this 
 hill, we contented ourselves with strolling through the bazaars 
 _ which form so important a feature of every Eastern town, and 
 afford so sure an index of the degree of prosperity which it 
 enjoys. We were accompanied by the indefatigable Armenian, 
 who, thinking to give me pleasure, exerted himself to collect 
 a ctowd of Persians (mostly natives of Khuy and Tabriz), whom 
 he incited to converse with me. A throng of idlers soon gathered 
 round us to gaze and gape at our unfamiliar aspect and dress, 
 which some, bolder or less polite than the rest, stretched out their 
 hands to finger and feel. Anxious to escape, I took refuge in a 
 barber’s shop and demanded a shave, but the crowd again 
 assembled outside the open window, and continued to watch the 
 proceeding with sustained interest. Meanwhile ‘Ali had not been 
 idle, and on our return to the khdn we enjoyed better fare, as well 
 as better quarters, than had fallen to our lot since we left Trebi- 
 zonde. 
 
 B 3 
 
34 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 Our sixth day’s march commenced soon after daybreak. The 
 eatly morning was chilly, but later on the sun shone forth in a 
 cloudless sky, and the day grew hot. The first part of our way 
 lay near the river which flows through Baiburt, and the scenery _ 
 was a gteat improvement on anything that we had seen since 
 leaving Gyumish-Khané. We halted for our midday rest and 
 _ refreshment by a clump of willow trees in a pleasant grassy 
 meadow by the tiver. On resuming our march we entered a 
 nattow defile leading into the mountains of Kopdagh. A gradual 
 ascent brought us to the summit of the pass, just below which, 
 on the farther side, we came to out halting-place, Pasha-punari. 
 The view of the surrounding mountains standing out against 
 the clear evening sky was very beautiful, and the little kbdu at 
 which we alighted was worthy of its delightful situation. We 
 wete lodged in a sort of barn, in which was stored a quantity 
 of hay. How fragrant and soft it seemed! I still think of that 
 night’s sleep as one of the soundest and sweetest in my experience. 
 
 Early on the morning of the seventh day we resumed our 
 march along a circuitous road, which, after winding downwards 
 amongst grassy hills, followed the course of a river surrounded 
 by stunted trees. We saw numerous large birds of the falcon 
 kind, called by the Turks doghdn. One of these H—— brought 
 down with his rifle while it was hovering in the air, to the great 
 delight of the muleteers. At a village called Ash-Kal‘a we pur- 
 chased honey, bread, and grapes, which we consumed while 
 halting for the midday rest by an old bridge. Continuing on our 
 way by the river, we were presently joined by a turbaned and 
 genial Turk, who was travelling on horseback from Gyumish- 
 Khané to Erzeroum. I was pleased to hear him use in the course 
 of conversation certain words which I had hitherto only met 
 with in the writings of the old poet Fuztli of Baghdad, and 
 which I had regarded as archaic and obsolete. The road gradually 
 became more frequented than it had been since leaving Baiburt, 
 and we passed numerous travellers and peasants. Many of the 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 35 
 
 latter drove bullock-carts, of which the ungreased axles sent forth 
 the most excruciating sound. The sun had set before we reached 
 our halting-place, Yeni-Khan, and so full was it that we had some 
 difficulty in securing a toom to ourselves. 
 
 The eighth day of our march, which was to conclude the first 
 portion of our journey, saw us in the saddle betimes. After riding 
 for four hours through a scorched-up plain, we arrived about 
 10.30 a.m. at the large village of Ilija, so named from its hot 
 springs, over which a bath has been erected. From this point 
 the gardens and minarets of Erzeroum were plainly visible, and 
 accordingly we pushed on without halting. Fully three hours 
 elapsed, however, ere we had ttaversed the weaty stretch of 
 white dusty road which still separated us from our goal; and the 
 sun was well past the meridian when we finally entered the gate 
 of the city, and threaded our way through the massive fortifica- 
 tions by which it is surrounded. 
 
 Erzeroum has one hotel, which stands midway i in the scale of 
 development between the Hétel d’Italie at Trebizonde and an 
 average catavansaray. Were these two towns connected by a 
 _ tailroad, so as to bring them within a day’s journey of one 
 another, this institution might perhaps form a happy transition 
 between the West and the East. As things are at present, it is 
 too much like a caravansaray to be comfortable, and too much 
 like a casino to be quiet. 
 
 On alighting at this delectable house of entertainment, we 
 wete met by a young Armenian representing the bank on which 
 our cheque was drawn, who informed us in very fair French 
 that his name was Missak Vanétzian, and that his principal, Simon 
 Detrmounukian, had been apprised of our coming by letter from 
 Trebizonde, and instructed to give us such help as we might need. 
 After a brief conversation in the balcony of a coffee-room 
 thronged with Turkish officers and enlivened by the strains of 
 a semi-Oriental band, he departed, inviting us to visit his chief 
 SO soon as we were at leisure. 
 
36 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 We now requested an attendant to show us our room, and 
 were forthwith conducted to a large, dingy, uncarpeted apatt- 
 ment on the first floor, lighted by several windows looking out 
 upon the street, and containing for its sole furniture a divan 
 coveted with faded chintz, which ran the whole length of one 
 side, and a washing-stand placed in a curtained recess on the 
 other. It was already occupied by a Turkish mwudir, bound for 
 the frontier fortress of Bayezid, whom the landlord was trying 
 to dislodge so that we might take possession. This he very 
 naturally resented; but when I apologised, and offered to with- 
 draw, he was at once mollified, declared that there was plenty 
 of room for all of us, and politely retired, leaving us to perform 
 our ablutions in private. 
 
 Just as we were ready to go out, an officer of the Turkish 
 police called to inspect our passports, so, while H went to 
 visit Mr Devey, the acting British Consul, I remained to enter- 
 tain the visitor with coffee and cigarettes—an attention which 
 he seemed to appreciate, for he readily gave the required vzsa, 
 and then sat conversing with me till H—— returned from the 
 consulate. We next paid a visit to our banker, Simon Dermounu- 
 kian, called by the Turks “Simin Agh4,” a fine-looking old 
 man, who only spoke Turkish and Armenian, and whose ap- 
 pearance would have led one to suppose that the former rather 
 than the latter was his native tongue. After the ordinary inter- 
 change of civilities, we drew a cheque for three or four pounds, 
 and returned to the hotel to settle with the muleteers. On the 
 way to Erzeroum these had frequently expressed a wish to go 
 with us as far as Teheran; but since their arrival they had been 
 so alarmed by fabulous accounts of the dangers of travelling in 
 Persia, the inhospitality of the country, and the malignant dis- 
 position of the people, that they made no further allusion to this 
 plan, and on receiving the money due to them, together with a 
 small gratuity, took leave of us with expressions of gratitude and 
 esteem. 
 
 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 37 
 
 After a thoroughly Turkish dinner, I again proposed to go 
 out, but the wadir told me that this was impossible, as the streets 
 were not lighted, and no one was allowed to walk abroad after 
 nightfall without a lantern. He offered, however, to introduce 
 me to some acquaintances of his who occupied an adjoining room. 
 One of these was a Turk who spoke Persian with a fluency and 
 cottectness rarely attained by his countrymen; the other was a 
 Christian of Cesarea. Both were men of intelligence, and their 
 conversation interested me so much that it was late before I 
 retired to rest on the chintz-covered divan, which I would gladly 
 have exchanged for the fragrant hay of Pasha-punari. 
 
 Next day our troubles began. The news that two Englishmen 
 were about to start for Persia had got abroad, and crowds of 
 muleteers—Persians, Turks, and Armenians—came to offer their 
 services for the journey. The scene of turmoil which our room 
 presented during the whole morning baffles description, while 
 our eats were deafened with the clamour of voices. It was like 
 the noisiest bazaar imaginable, with this difference, that whereas 
 one can escape from the din of a bazaar when it becomes in- 
 supportable, this turmoil followed us wherever we went. An 
 Armenian called Vartan demanded the exorbitant sum of £5 T. 
 per horse to Tabriz. A Persian offered to convey us thither in 
 a mighty waggon which he possessed, wherein, he declared, we 
 should perform the journey with inconceivable ease. This state- 
 ment, which I was from the first but little disposed to credit, 
 was subsequently denied in the most categorical manner by our 
 friend the mudir, who assured me that he had once essayed to 
 travel in such a vehicle, but had been so roughly jolted during 
 the first stage that he had sworn never again-to set foot in it, 
 and had completed his journey on horseback. Any lingering 
 regrets which we might have entertained at having renounced 
 the prospect of “inconceivable ease” held out to us by the 
 owner of the waggon were entirely dispelled some days later 
 by the sight of a similar vehicle hopelessly stuck, and abandoned 
 
38 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 by its possessor, in the middle of a river which we had: to 
 ford. 
 
 At length, partly because no better offer seemed forthcoming, 
 partly from a desire to have done with the matter and enjoy a 
 little peace and quietude for the remainder of our stay in Erze- 
 toum, we accepted the terms proposed by a Persian muleteer 
 called Farach, who promised to supply us with five horses to 
 Tabriz at £2 T. and 2 mejidiyyés a head; to convey us thither in 
 twelve days; and to allow us the right of stopping for two days 
 on the road at whatever place we might choose. 
 
 I now flattered myself that I should be allowed a little peace, 
 but I found that I had reckoned without my host. No sooner 
 had I satisfied myself as to the efficiency of Farach’s animals, 
 agreed to the terms proposed by him, and accepted the peh (a 
 pledge of money, which it is customary for the muleteer to place 
 in the hands of his client as a guarantee that he will hold to the 
 bargain, and be prepared to start on the appointed day), than our 
 eats wete assailed on all sides with aspersions on the honesty 
 and respectability of the successful candidate. Farach, so I was 
 assuted, was a native of the village of Seyvan, near Khuy, and 
 the Seyvanlis were, as was well known, the wickedest, most 
 faithless, and most dishonest people in Persia. In this assertion 
 all the muleteers present agreed, the only difference being that 
 while the Persians rested content with the reprobation of the 
 Seyvanlis, the non-Persians further emphasised it by adding that 
 the Persians were the wickedest, most faithless, and most dis- 
 honest people in the world. 
 
 At first I paid no attention to these statements, but my sus- 
 picions were in some degree aroused by Farach’s disinclination 
 to go before the Persian Consul, and by the doubts expressed 
 by Vanétzian and Simuin Agha as to his honesty and trustworthi- 
 ness. With Vanétzian I was somewhat annoyed, because he, 
 being present when I engaged Farach, had withheld his advice 
 till it was too late to be useful. I therefore told him that he should 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 39 
 
 either have spoken sooner or not at all, to which he replied that 
 it was still possible to rescind the bargain. Farach was accordingly 
 summoned and requested to take back his pledge. This, however, 
 he resolutely declined to do, and I could not help admitting that 
 he was in the right. 
 
 Finally Vanétzian desisted from his attempts to annul the con- 
 tract, and indeed retracted to some extent the objections which he 
 had raised against it. What motive impelled him to this change of 
 front I cannot say, and I am unwilling to credit an assertion made 
 to me by Farach a few days later, to the effect that the Armenian’s 
 sole object in these manceuvtes was to extort a bribe from the 
 poot muleteer, and that having obtained this he was content to 
 withdraw all opposition. 
 
 Although these annoyances, combined with a temporary in- 
 disposition (due, probably, to the badness of the water-supply), 
 somewhat marred the pleasure of our stay in Erzeroum, the 
 kindness shown us by Mr Devey, the British Consul, and Mr 
 Chambers, an American missionary, and his wife, rendered it 
 much mote agreeable than it would otherwise have been. Before 
 leaving we paid a visit to the Persian Consul, who teceived us 
 vety courteously, and gave us a letter to Pasha Khan of Avajik, 
 the Persian Warden of the Marches, from whom, he added, we 
 should receive an escort to conduct us to Khuy, should this be 
 necessary. Beyond Khuy the country was perfectly safe, and no 
 such protection would be required. 
 
 The consul next enquired whether we were travelling with 
 out own hotses ot with hired animals, and, on learning that the 
 latter was the case, insisted on summoning the muleteer to 
 “admonish” him. Knowing that Farach was unwilling to appear 
 before the consul, I ventured to deprecate this proceeding, and 
 made as though I had forgotten the muleteetr’s name. The consul, 
 however, insisted, and at once despatched some of his servants 
 to make enquiries. These returned in a surprisingly short space 
 of time, bringing with them the muleteer, whose appearance 
 
40 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 indicated the utmost disquietude. After demanding his name 
 and that of his native place, the consul asked him whether it was 
 true that he had promised to convey us to Tabriz in twelve days, 
 and whether, if so, he had any intention of keeping this promise. 
 To these questions the muleteer replied in a voice trembling with 
 fear, that “perhaps, In-sha’Udh, he would do so.” This statement 
 was teceived by the consul with derision. “You lie, Mr Per- 
 haps,” cried he; “‘you eat dirt, Mr In-sha’/ldh; hence, rascal, and 
 be assured that if I hear any complaints about you, you shall give 
 a full account of your conduct to me on your return to Erze- 
 roum!”’ Whether in consequence of this “‘admonition,” or 
 whether, as I believe, because the muleteer was really an honest 
 fellow, we certainly had no cause for complaint, and, indeed, 
 wete glad to re-engage Farach at Tabriz for the journey to 
 Teheran. 
 
 On Monday, 17th October, we quitted Erzeroum. In con- 
 sequence of the difficulty of getting fairly under way, to which 
 I have already alluded, it is usual to make the first stage a very 
 short one. Indeed, it is often merely what the Persians call 
 “Nakl-i-makdn” (change of place), a breaking up of one’s 
 quarters, a bidding farewell to one’s friends, and a shaking one’s 
 self free from the innumerable delays which continue to arise 
 so long as one is still within the walls of an Eastern town. We 
 therefore did not expect to get farther than Hasan-Kal‘a, which 
 is about three hours’ ride from Erzeroum. Before we had 
 finished our leave-taking and settled the hotel bill (which only 
 reached the modest sum of 108 piastres—about {1 sterling— 
 for the two of us and ‘Ali for three days) the rest of the caravan 
 had disappeared, and it was only on emerging from the town that 
 I was able to take note of those who composed it. There were, 
 besides the muleteers, our friend the mudir and his companions 
 and servants, who were bound for Bayezid; a Turkish zabtiyyé, 
 who was to escort us as far as Hasan-Kal‘a; and three Persians 
 proceeding to Tabriz. Of these last, one was a decrepit old man; 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER AI 
 
 the other two were his sons. In spite of the somewhat ludicrous 
 appeatance given to the old man by a long white beard of which 
 the lower half was dyed red with henna, the cause which had led 
 him to undertake so long a journey in spite of his advanced age 
 commanded respect and sympathy. His two sons had gone to 
 Trebizonde for purposes of trade, and had there settled; and 
 although he had written to them repeatedly entreating them to 
 return to Tabriz, they had declined to comply with his wishes, 
 until eventually he had determined to go himself, and, if possible, 
 persuade them to return home with him. In this attempt he had 
 met with the success which he so well deserved. 
 
 As we advanced towards the low pass of Devé-boyun (the 
 Camel’s Neck), over which our road lay, I was much impressed 
 with the mighty redoubts which crown the heights to the north- 
 east and east of Erzeroum, many of which have, I believe, been 
 erected since the Russian war. Beyond these, and such in- 
 struction and amusement as I could derive from our travelling 
 companions, there was little to break the monotony of the road 
 till we arrived at our halting-place about 3 p.m. As the khan was 
 full, we were obliged to be content with quarters even less 
 luxurious; and even there the mwudir, with prudent forethought, 
 secuted the best room for himself and his companions. 
 
 Hasan-Kal‘a is, like Ilija, which is about equidistant from 
 Erzeroum on the other side, remarkable for its natural hot- 
 springs, over which a bath has been erected. The mudir was 
 anxious to visit these springs, and invited us to accompany 
 him. To this I agreed, but H , not feeling well, preferred to 
 remain quiet. The bath consists of a circular basin, twenty-five 
 ot thirty feet in diameter, surrounded with masonry and roofed 
 in by a dome. In the summit of the dome was a large aperture 
 through which we could see the stars shining. The water, which 
 is almost as hot as one can bear with comfort, bubbles up from 
 the centre of the basin, and is everywhere out of one’s depth. 
 After a most refreshing bathe, we returned to our quarters. 
 
 
 
or FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 Next day we started about 6 a.m., and were presently joined 
 by a Turkish wuft/ proceeding to Bayezid, with whom I conversed 
 for some time in Persian, which he spoke very incorrectly and 
 with great effort. He was, however, an amusing companion, 
 and his conversation beguiled the time pleasantly enough till we 
 halted about midday at a large squalid Armenian village called 
 -Kimastr. Our Turkish fellow-travellers occupied the musdfir- 
 dda, ot guest-room, and intimated to us that they wished to be 
 left undisturbed for their midday devotions, so we wete com- 
 pelled to be content with a stable. As the rest of the caravan had 
 not yet come up, we had nothing for lunch but a few biscuits 
 and a little brandy and water, which we fortunately had with us. 
 Several of the Armenian villagers came to see us. They were 
 apathetic and dull, presenting a sad contrast to the Armenians 
 of the towns. They talked much of their grievances, especially 
 of the rapacity of the multezim, or tax-gatherer, of the district, 
 who had, as they declared, mortally wounded one of the villagers 
 a few days previously, because he had brought eight piastres 
 short of the sum due from him. They said that the heaviest tax 
 was on cereals, amounting to 1 in 8 of their total value, and that 
 for the privilege of collecting this the tax-gatherer paid a 
 cettain fixed sum to the Government and made what profit he 
 could. 
 
 Quitting this unhappy spot as soon as the test of our caravan 
 appeared, we again joined the mudir’s patty, which had been 
 further reinforced by a chdwish (sergeant) and two zabfiyyés, one 
 of whom kept breaking out into snatches of song in the shrillest 
 voice I ever heard. For some time we succeeded in keeping up 
 with these, who were advancing at a pace impossible for the 
 baggage animals, but presently our horses began to flag, and we 
 were finally left behind, in some doubt as to the road which we 
 should follow. Shortly after this, my horse, in going down a hill 
 to a river, fell violently and threw me on my face. I picked 
 myself up and remounted, but having proceeded some distance, 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 43 
 
 discovered that my watch was gone, having probably been torn 
 out of my pocket when I fell. We rode back and sought diligently 
 for it, but without success; and while we were still so occupied, 
 Farach the muleteer came up with “Ali. These joined us in 
 the fruitless attempt to find the lost watch, the former attributing 
 my misfortune to the inconsiderate haste of the maxdir, the latter 
 attempting to console me with the philosophical reflection that 
 - some evil had evidently been destined to befall me, and that 
 the loss of the watch had probably averted a more serious 
 catastrophe. At length the near approach of the sun to the 
 horizon watned us that we must tarry no longer; and though we 
 made as much haste as possible, it was dark before we reached 
 the village of Deli Baba. 
 
 Here we obtained lodgings in a large stable, at one side of 
 which was a wooden platform, raised some two feet above the 
 eround and covered with a felt carpet. On this our host spread 
 cushions and pillows, but the hopes of a comfortable night’s rest 
 which these preparations raised in our minds were not destined 
 to be fulfilled, for the stable was full of fowls, and the fowls 
 swatmed with fleas. There were also several buffaloes in the 
 stable, and these apparently were endowed with carnivorous 
 instincts, for during the night they ate up some cold meat which 
 was to have served us for breakfast. At this place I tasted 
 buffalo’s milk for the first time. It is very rich, but has a peculiar 
 flavour, which is, to my mind, very disagreeable. 
 
 On starting the next day, we found that the mudir, who had 
 obtained quarters elsewhere in the village, had already set out; 
 neither did we again overtake him. Soon after leaving our 
 halting-place we entered a magnificent defile leading into the 
 mountains and surrounded by precipitous crags. On the summit 
 of one of these crags which lay to our left was a ruined castle, 
 said to have been formerly a stronghold of the celebrated bandit- 
 minstrel, Kurroghlu. The face of the rock showed numerous 
 cave-like apertures, apparently enlarged, if not made, by the 
 
44 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 hand of man, and possibly communicating with the interior of 
 the castle. 
 
 About noon we reached a Kurdish village, situated amidst 
 grassy uplands at the summit of the pass, and here we halted 
 for a test. Most of the male inhabitants were out on the hills 
 looking after their flocks, but the women gathered round us 
 staring, laughing, and chattering Kurdish. Some few of them 
 knew a little Turkish, and asked us if we had any munjas to give 
 them. This word, which I did not understand, appeared to denote 
 some kind of ornament. 
 
 On quitting this village our way led us through fertile uplands 
 covered thinly with low shrubs, on which hundreds of draught 
 camels wete feeding. The bales of merchandise, unladen from 
 their backs, were piled up in hollow squares, in and around which 
 the Persian camel-drivers were resting till such time as the 
 setting of the sun (for camels rarely travel by day) should give 
 the signal for departure. 
 
 A little farther on we passed one of the battlefields of the 
 Russian war, and were shown an eatthwork close to the road, 
 where we were told that Farik Pasha had been killed. Soon after 
 this, on rounding a corner, the mighty snow-crowned cone of 
 Mount Ararat burst upon our view across a wide hill-girt plain, 
 into which we now began to descend. During this descent we 
 came upon a patty of Kurdish mountebanks, surrounded by a 
 crowd of peasants. In the midst of the group a little girl, in a 
 bright red dress, was performing a dance on stilts, to the sound 
 of wild music, produced by a drum and a flute. It was a pretty 
 sight, and one which I would fain have watched for a time; but 
 the muleteers were anxious to teach the end of our day’s journey, 
 and indeed it was already dusk when we arrived at the village 
 of Zeyti-Kyan. The inhabitants of this place were, as we entered 
 it, engaged in a violent altercation, the cause of which I did not 
 ascertain; while a few Turkish zabtyyés were making strenuous 
 efforts to disperse them, in which they eventually succeeded. It 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 4s 
 
 was only after ‘Alf had been to half the houses in the village that 
 he succeeded in obtaining a lodging for us in the house of a poor 
 Armenian family, who wete content to share with us their only 
 room. As usual, no sort of privacy was possible, numbers of 
 people coming in to stare at us, question us, and watch us eat. 
 
 Next day’s march was both short and uninteresting. At 2 p.m. 
 we reached the large squalid village of Kara Kilisa. As the day 
 was still young, and the place far from attractive, we were anxious 
 to proceed farther, but this the muleteers declined to do, answer- 
 ing, after the manner of their class, that they had agreed to take 
 us to Tabriz in twelve days from Erzeroum, and that this they 
 would do; but that for the rest we must allow them to arrange 
 the stages as they thought fit. Farach concluded the argument 
 by making me a propitiatory gift of a melon, which he had just 
 received from a fellow-countryman whom he had met on the 
 toad; and, half amused, half annoyed, I was obliged to acquiesce 
 in his arrangement. 
 
 We obtained wretched quarters in the house of a very ill- 
 favoured and inquisitive Armenian, and, after allaying our ill- 
 humour with tea, strolled through the village to see the yuz-bdshi, 
 ot captain of the police, about securing a zabtiyyé as an escort for 
 the morrow. From him we learned that our friend the mudir 
 had not forgotten us, for on his way through the village that 
 morning he had left instructions that we were to be provided 
 with a zabtiyyé, should we require one. The dustiness of the 
 streets, combined with the inquisitiveness of the inhabitants, 
 soon drove us back to our lodging, where a night disturbed by 
 innumerable fleas concluded a miserable day. 
 
 In spite of our desire to quit so unattractive a spot, we did 
 not start till 7.45 a.m. (a much later hour than usual), partly 
 because we knew that the stage before us was a short one, and 
 had no treason to anticipate better quarters at the end of it than 
 those we wete leaving; partly because “Ali’s whip had disappeared, 
 and could not be found till our host was informed that no money 
 
46 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 would be paid him until it was forthcoming; whereupon it was 
 speedily produced. We wete accompanied by a fine old Armenian 
 rabtiyyé, who presented a thoroughly soldierly, as well as a very 
 picturesque, appearance. The scenery through which we passed 
 reminded me more of England or Scotland than anything which 
 I had seen since leaving home. Close to the road ran a beautiful 
 _ Clear river, rippling down over its stony bed to join the Western 
 Euphrates. On either side of this lay undulating grassy hills, 
 beyond which appeared in the distance more lofty mountains. 
 The warm, cloudy day, too, and the thin mists which lay on the 
 hills, favoured the fancy that we were back once more in our 
 native land. 
 
 About 1 p.m. we reached our halting-place, Tashli-Chay, and 
 found lodgings in a gloomy hovel, which served the double 
 purpose of a resting-place for guests and a stable for buffaloes. 
 The people, however, were better than the place. Our host was 
 an old Persian with henna-dyed beard and nails, who manifested 
 his good feeling towards us by plunging his hand, with an intro- 
 ductory “Bismi’/dh,” into the dish of poached eggs which was 
 set before us for luncheon. His son, a bright handsome lad of 
 sixteen or seventeen, made every effort to enliven us, and, on 
 my enquiring whether there were any fish in the river, offered to 
 conduct us thither, and show us not only where they were, but 
 how to catch them. Having collected several other youths, he 
 commenced operations by constructing a dam of stones and turf 
 half across the river, at a point where it was divided into two 
 branches by a bed of shingle. The effect of this was to direct the 
 bulk of the water into the left-hand channel, while the depth 
 of that which remained in the right-hand channel (at the lower 
 end of which a boy was stationed to beat the water with a stick, 
 and so prevent the imprisoned fish from effecting their escape) 
 sunk to a few inches. Having completed these preparations, the 
 operators entered the water with sticks in their hands, struck at 
 the fish as they darted past, thereby killing or stunning them, and 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER AT 
 
 then picked them up and tossed them on to the bank. One lad had 
 a sort of gaff wherewith he hooked the fish very dexterously. In 
 less than an hour we had nearly fifty fish, several of which must 
 have weighed 24 or 3 lbs. Some of these we ate for supper; 
 others we gave to the muleteers and to our fellow-travellers. They 
 were not unpalatable, and made a pleasing change from the fowls 
 and eggs of which our fare had so long consisted. 
 
 Although our lodging was not much superior, in point of 
 cleanliness and comfort, to that of the preceding night, it was 
 with something like regret that I bade farewell to the kindly 
 folk of, Tashli-Chay. Farach had started on in front with the 
 baggage, leaving his brother Feyzu’llah, of whom we had hitherto 
 seen but little, to bear us company. This Feyzu’llah was a smooth- 
 faced, narrow-eyed, smug-looking, sturdy rascal, whose face wore 
 a perpetual and intolerable grin, and whose head was concealed 
 rather than crowned by the large, low, conical, long-haired 
 papdk, which constitutes the usual head-dress of the peasants 
 inhabiting that region which lies just beyond the Turco-Persian 
 frontier. We were also accompanied by a Turkish zabsiyyé, who 
 _ proved to be unusually intelligent; for when we .were come 
 opposite to the village of Uch-Kilisé, which lies on the farther 
 side of the river, he told us that there was an old Armenian church 
 there which was worth looking at, and that we should by no 
 means neglect to pay our respects to an aged Armenian ecclesi- 
 astic, entitled by him the “‘Murakbkhas Efendi,’ who, as he 
 assured us, enjoyed such influence in the neighbourhood that, 
 were he to give the command, a hundred men would escort us to 
 Tabriz. 
 
 We therefore turned aside from our course (to the infinite 
 disgust of Feyzu’lla4h, whose only desire was to reach the end 
 of the stage as soon as possible), and first proceeded to the 
 church. This was a fine old building, but it had suffered at the 
 hands of the Kurds during the Russian war, and the beautiful 
 designs and paintings with which it had before that time been 
 
48 FROM ENGLAND TO 
 
 adorned had for the most part been destroyed by fire. Leaving 
 the church, we passed the house and mill of the “ Murakbkbas 
 Efendi,” who, on hearing of our approach, came out to meet us, 
 and begged us to enter his house and partake of some refreshment. 
 The opposition offered by Feyzu’llah to any further delay com- 
 pelled us to decline his hospitality; yet would he scarcely take 
 nay for an answer, saying that he was ashamed to let strangers 
 pass by without alighting at his house. Finally, seeing that we 
 were firm in our resolve, he bade us farewell with the words, “‘I 
 pray Almighty God that He will bring you in safety to Tabriz.” 
 
 It was with a sense of comfort and encouragement that we 
 parted from the venerable and reverend old man; but this feeling 
 was presently changed to one of indignation against Feyzu’llah, 
 who had urged the length of the stage as a reason for hastening 
 on, when, not much after 1.30 p.m., we arrived at the wretched 
 town of Diyadin, where we were to sleep for the last time on 
 Turkish territory. A more desolate spot I do not think I have 
 ever seen; the dirty, dusty town, which scarcely contains two 
 respectable houses, stands in a barren, treeless waste, and is half 
 encompassed by a vast crescent-shaped chasm with precipitous 
 sides. Heaps of refuse lie about in all directions, both before the 
 doots of the miserable hovels which compose the town, and 
 amongst the graves of the extensive and neglected cemetery 
 which surrounds it. Of the two respectable houses which I have 
 noticed, one belongs to the governor, the other is the post-office. 
 To the latter we paid a visit, and conversed for a while with the 
 postmaster and telegraph-clerk (for both functions were united 
 in one individual), who was a Turk of Adrianople. He complained 
 bitterly of the dullness of Diyadin, where he had been for two 
 years, and to which a marriage contracted with a Kurdish girl 
 had failed to reconcile him. On returning to our lodging we 
 found that the aperture in the roof which did duty for window 
 and chimney alike admitted so much wind and dust that we were 
 compelled to cover it with sacking; while to add to our miseries 
 
THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 49 
 
 we discovered that all our candles were used up. Having eaten 
 our supper by the dim light of a little earthenware lamp, we had 
 therefore no resource but to seek forgetfulness of our discomforts 
 in sleep. 
 
 Next morning (23rd October), the seventh day of our departure 
 from Erzeroum, we wete in the saddle by 6 a.m. My spirits were 
 high, for I knew that before sunset we should enter the land 
 which I had so long and so eagerly desired to behold. The 
 xabtiyyé who accompanied us (remarkable for an enormous 
 hooked nose) took pains to impress upon us the necessity of 
 keeping well together, as there was some danger of robbers. 
 Presently, on rounding a corner, a glorious view burst upon us. 
 Ararat (which had been hidden from us by lower hills since we 
 fitst saw it from the heights above Zeyti-Ky4an) lay far to the left, 
 its snowy summit veiled in clouds, which, however, left uncon- 
 cealed the lower peak of little Ararat. Before us, at the end of 
 the valley, perched midway up the face of a steep, rocky moun- 
 tain, lay the town and fortress of Bayezid, which keeps solitary 
 watch over the north-east frontier of the Turkish Empire. This 
 _ we did but see afar off, for, while two or three hours’ march still 
 separated us from it, we turned sharply to the right into the 
 valley leading to Kizil-Dizé, the last village on Turkish soil. At 
 this point we left the telegraph wires, which had, since our de- 
 parture from Trebizonde, kept us company and indicated the 
 course of our road. 
 
 Soon after mid-day we teached Kizil-Dizé, and, leaving our 
 baggage in the custom-house, betook ourselves for rest and 
 refreshment to a large and commodious k/dn. ‘The custom-house 
 officials gave us no trouble; but as soon as we were again on the 
 road Farach informed us, with many lamentations, that they had 
 exacted from him a sum of forty-five piastres, alleging, as a 
 pretext for this extortion, that whereas he had brought seven 
 horses with him on his last journey into Turkey, he was returning 
 with only five; that they suspected him of having sold the two 
 
 B 4 
 
50 THE PERSIAN FRONTIER 
 
 missing horses in Turkish territory; and that they should there- 
 fore exact from him the duty payable on animals imported into 
 the country for purposes of commerce. It was in vain that 
 Farach protested that the two horses in question had died on the 
 road, for they demanded documentary proof of this assertion, 
 which he was unable to produce. And, indeed, to me it seemed 
 an absurd thing to expect a certificate of death for an animal 
 which had perished in the mountains of Asia Minor. 
 
 The hook-nosed veteran who had accompanied us from 
 Diyadin had yielded place to a fresh zabsiyyé, who rode silently 
 before us for two hours, during which we continued to ascend 
 gradually through wild but monotonous hills, till, on reaching 
 a slight eminence over which the road passed, he reined in his 
 horse, and, turning in his saddle, said, ‘Farther I cannot go with 
 you, for this is our frontier, and yonder before you lies the Persian 
 land.” 
 
 
 

 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 
 
 “Ché khush bashad ki ba‘d ax intizari 
 
 Bi-ummidi rasad ummidvari!” 
 “How good it is when one with waiting tired 
 Obtaineth that which he hath long desired!” 
 (Sa‘di.) 
 “ Kunj-i-“uzlat, ki tilismat-i-“ajd’ib darad, 
 Fat-h-t-dn dar nazar-i-himmat-t-darvishdn-ast.” 
 “The talisman of magic might, hid in some ruin’s lonely site, 
 Emerges from its ancient night at the mild glance of dervishes.”’ 
 (Hafiz, rendered by Herman Bicknell.) 
 
 HER Eis always a pleasant sense of excitement and expecta- 
 
 tion in entering for the first time a foreign country. Especi- 
 ally is this the case when to visit that country has long been the 
 object of one’s ambition. Yet that which most sharply marks 
 such a transition, and most forcibly reminds the traveller that he 
 is amongst another race—I mean a change of language—is not 
 observable by one who enters Persia from the north-west; for 
 the inhabitants of the province of Adharbayj4n, which forms this 
 portion of the Persian Empire, uniformly employ a dialect of 
 Turkish, which, though differing widely from the speech of the 
 Ottoman Turks, is not so far removed from it as to render either 
 language unintelligible to those who speak the other. If, amongst 
 the better classes in the towns of Adharbdyjan, and here and there 
 in the villages, the Persian language is understood or spoken, it 
 is as a foreign tongue acquired by study or travel; while the 
 narrow, affected enunciation of the vowels, so different from the 
 bold, broad pronunciation of Persia proper, and the introduction 
 of the Y-sound after K and G, at once serve to mark the province 
 
 4-2 
 
52 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 
 
 to which the speaker belongs. It is not till Kazvin is reached, 
 and only four or five stages separate the traveller from Teheran, 
 that the Persian distinctly predominates over the Turkish lan- 
 guage; while even four stages south of the capital, as far as the 
 sacted city of Kum, the latter is still generally understood. 
 
 The country immediately beyond the frontier was as desolate 
 and devoid of cultivation as that which we had just quitted, and 
 it was not until we reached the Persian frontier-village of Avajik 
 that we had any oppottunity of observing that change of costume 
 which constitutes the other great sign of entry amongst a new 
 race. Indeed the approach of night, which overtook us ere we 
 reached our destination, prevented us even then from getting 
 more than a very partial idea of the differences which distinguish 
 a Persian froma Turkish village. So far as we could see, however, 
 the change was distinctly for the better; the square houses, built 
 of unbaked clay, were clean and commodious, while a goodly 
 attay of poplar trees gave to the place an appearance of verdure 
 which contrasted pleasantly with our too vivid recollections of 
 the hideous waste of Diyadin. 
 
 Immediately on our arrival we sent our letter of introduction, 
 which had been given to us by the Persian Consul at Erzeroum, 
 to Pasha Khan, the sar-hadd-ddr, or Warden of the Marches, 
 intending to pay our respects to him in the morning before our 
 departure. While we were eating our supper, however, a message 
 came from him to say that he would, if we pleased, receive us at 
 once, as he was in the habit of rising late. As this invitation was 
 practically equivalent to a command, we hastened, in spite of our 
 weariness and disinclination to move, to respond to it, and were 
 presently ushered by our host, who was one of the great man’s 
 retainers, into the presence of Pasha Khan, having previously 
 removed our boots on an intimation from the farrdshes who stood 
 at the door of the presence-chamber. We were invited to seat 
 ourselves on the floor opposite the frontier-chief, who sat in 
 a corner of the room, on the side next the door, reclining on 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 53 
 
 cushions. On one side of him was seated his vaz/r, on the other 
 a gtim-looking secretary, whose face was adorned with a pair 
 of fierce moustaches, and whose hand still held the letter of 
 introduction which he had been reading to Pasha Khan. The 
 Warden of the Marches conversed with me for a short time, in 
 a somewhat fitful manner, in Persian, enquiring particularly 
 about the terms on which England stood with Russia. Seeing, 
 however, that he was disinclined to prolong the interview, and 
 that he appeared moody and preoccupied (a fact due, as we sub- 
 sequently learned, to a quarrel which had arisen between him and 
 his brother), we were preparing to take our leave when several 
 setvants entered bearing trays of pildw and sherbet, of which, 
 though we had already supped, we were compelled by politeness 
 to pattake. The sherbet was excellent, as was also the pi/dy (con- 
 sisting of pieces of lamb’s flesh buried in rice), which we had 
 to eat, awkwardly enough, with our hands. This accomplishment, 
 which, in spite of assiduous efforts, I never succeeded in tho- 
 roughly acquiring, is far from being so easy as might at first sight 
 _ appear. The rice is pressed by the four fingers into a wedge- 
 ‘shaped bolus, which is then thrust into the mouth by an upward 
 motion of the terminal joint of the thumb, placed behind it. 
 Any grains of rice which remain clinging to the fingers must then 
 be collected by a semi-circular sweep of the thumb into another 
 smaller bolus, which is eaten before a fresh handful of rice is 
 taken up. It is wonderful what dexterity the Persians acquire 
 in this method of eating, which is indeed far more cleanly and 
 convenient than might be supposed. To the foreigner, however, 
 it is hardly less difficult of acquisition than the Persian manner 
 of sitting on the heels; and if, on this our first attempt, we did 
 not meet with the ridicule of our entertainers, it was rather from 
 their politeness than from any dexterity on our part. On the 
 conclusion of the meal we took our leave, Pasha Khan ordering 
 our host in his capacity of farrdsh to accompany us on our 
 journey as far as Kara Ayné. For this we were very grateful, not 
 
54 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 
 
 so much because we hoped for any advantage from our escotft, 
 as because we had feared that it might be larger; for a large escort 
 naturally involves considerable expense. 
 
 Next day (24th October) we started a little before 8 a.m., 
 and we wete now able to contrast the appearance of the numerous 
 villages through which we passed with those on the Turkish side 
 of the frontier. The comparison was certainly very much to the 
 advantage of Persia. The houses, surrounded by gardens of 
 poplars, wete neater, cleaner, and better built than is usual in 
 Turkey; while nearly every village contained at least one house 
 of considerable size. The change in the costume of the people 
 was equally striking: the fez had entirely disappeared, and its 
 place was taken either by the thickly-lined, close-fitting skull-cap 
 of cloth trimmed with black wool, which is called “‘shikari,” or 
 by the hideous long-haired papdk of black or brown colour which 
 I have already noticed as constituting the head-dress of our 
 muleteets. 
 
 Before we had gone very far we wete overtaken by two more 
 of Pasha Khan’s mounted irregulars, who appeared desirous of 
 attaching themselves to us as an additional escott, in spite of our 
 unwillingness to accept their services. About 2 p.m. we reached 
 the village of Kara Ayné, which was to be our halting-place for 
 the night. Hearing that there was a bazaar, I was minded to visit 
 it, but found it to be a single shop kept by a leper, whose stock- 
 in-trade appeared to consist chiefly of small tawdry mirrors and 
 vety tank tobacco. 
 
 On the following day we were joined by two more armed 
 horsemen, making five in all, so that our cavalcade now pre- 
 sented a most imposing appearance, and there seemed to be 
 every chance that, at this rate of proceeding, we should ac- 
 cumulate a small army before reaching Tabriz. In order, as I 
 believe, to sustain our flagging faith in their utility, and to con- 
 vince us of the danger of the toad, an alarm of robbers was 
 started by our escort as we were ttaversing a narrow defile. 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 55 
 
 Assuring us that only three days ago three men had been robbed 
 and murdered in this very spot, they galloped wildly ahead, now 
 cautiously ascending and peeping over the summit of a hillock, 
 now madly descending it at break-neck speed, and scouring 
 across the country. In the caravan all were huddled together in 
 a compact mass; and, in spite of our scepticism, ‘Ali insisted on 
 the rifle being got ready for action, while he continued to bran- 
 dish an old sword (which he had bought at Erzeroum) in the 
 most truculent manner. Notwithstanding all these preparations, 
 no tobbets appeared; and, after we had been sufficiently enter- 
 tained by the evolutions of our escort, we were permitted to 
 lapse once mote into tranquillity. Early in the afternoon, after 
 fording a river (the eminently picturesque bridge being broken 
 down), and passing a pretty hamlet situated by the side of a 
 stream, we attived at the village of Zorawa, where we halted for 
 the night. Here we obtained very fair quarters in the house of 
 a fine-looking old man, with some knowledge of Persian. Four 
 ot five of the inhabitants came in to stare at us and smoke their 
 kalydns (“hubble-bubbles”’), with intermittent attempts to mend 
 a broken door. ‘Ali struck up a great friendship with our host, 
 and, inspired by this, and the reflection that on the morrow we 
 should reach a town of some importance, made him a present of 
 all that remained of our tea. 
 
 Next day (26th October) we found to our delight that our 
 escort was reduced to two, who still continued their attempts 
 to scare us with alarms of robbers. Whether the road was indeed 
 dangerous I do not know, but it was certainly amazingly bad. 
 About mid-day, on emerging from a very fine gorge, we saw 
 at our feet a wide and cultivated plain, surrounded almost en- 
 tirely by mountains, except to the right, in the direction of 
 Urumiyyé. In this plain lay the beautiful little city of Khuy, and, 
 somewhat nearer to us, the suburb of Piré—both surrounded by 
 a mass of gardens. The latter we reached in about an hour, and 
 here we rested for a while. Thence onwards to the very walls of 
 
56 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 
 
 Khiy (appropriately styled ‘“ Daru’s-safd,” “the Abode of 
 Delight”) our way lay through pleasant gardens of poplars, 
 willows, and fruit-trees, and fields planted with cotton. At 
 3.30 p.m. we entered the town, and put up at a clean and well- 
 constructed caravansatay. 
 
 While the baggage was being unloaded, I perceived that we 
 wete undergoing an attentive scrutiny on the part of a magni- 
 ficent-looking dervish, who wore on his head a green turban, 
 of which one end depended over his shoulder, and carried in his 
 hand a shining battle-axe. Presently he began to address en- 
 quiries to “Ali, and, on learning from him that I spoke Persian, 
 approached me and entered into conversation. He proved to be 
 a native of Kirman, Mir Jalalu’d-Din by name; and his extra- 
 otdinary fertility of imagination, which often carried him far 
 beyond the bounds, not only of the probable, but of the possible, 
 rendered him a very amusing companion, if not a very reliable 
 informant. He at once constituted himself our guide, philo- 
 sopher, and friend, and hardly quitted us during the three days 
 which we spent at Khuy, declaring that he perceived us to be 
 excellent fellows, worthy of his society and conversation. He 
 assuted us that he had travelled much, and had thrice visited 
 London, once in company with the Shah; that he had instructed 
 members of the Russian royal family in Persian; and that besides 
 this, his native tongue, he was conversant with no less than ten 
 languages, including Kurdish, Russian, and the dialect of Sistan 
 on the eastern frontier of Persia. Having given us these details 
 about himself, he began to question us as to our destination, and, 
 on learning that we were bound for Tabriz, told us that we must 
 on no account omit to visit the towns of Salmas, Khusravabdad, 
 and Dilmaghan, more especially the last, in which, as he de- 
 clared, there were no less than a thousand English residents, who, 
 through converse with dervishes and Sufis, had become enlight- 
 ened and philosophical. While we were engaged in conversation, 
 a man entered the room to enquire our names and whence we 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 57 
 
 came, the object for which this information was sought being, 
 as Mir Jalalu’d-Din informed us with perfect gravity, that it 
 might be inserted in the newspapers of Tabriz! His imagination 
 being now temporarily exhausted, our worthy friend bade us 
 good-night; and, promising to be with us betimes in the morning, 
 and to show us something of the town, left us to repose. 
 
 Our first business on awaking in the morning was to make 
 enquiries as to the possibility of obtaining a bath in the adjacent 
 hammdm, and this indulgence was without difficulty accorded to 
 us. On our return we found our friend the dervish awaiting our 
 attival. He at once launched out into a disquisition on things 
 pertaining to his order. The true ‘¢rif or adept, he informed us, 
 was distinguished by four external signs: the sabar, ot axe, which 
 serves to protect him during his wanderings in the desert from 
 ferocious beasts; the keshku/, or gourd slung on chains, in which 
 he receives alms; the 47, or felt cap embroidered with texts, 
 which crowns his head; and the gés#, or long locks, which fall 
 over his shoulders. He then showed me some pills, compounded, 
 as he assured me, after a prescription of the sage Lokméan, of 
 a substance called barsh, and known by the name of /abb-i-nishdt, 
 ot “pills of gladness.’’ One of these he offered me to eat, assuring 
 me that it would not fail to produce a most delightful sense of 
 exhilaration and ecstasy; but, although I complied with his in- 
 vitation, I failed to observe any such effect. 
 
 About 11 a.m. we accompanied him for a stroll through the 
 town. He first took us to a neighbouring caravansatay and in- 
 troduced us to a Syrian Christian of Urumiyyé, named Simon 
 Abraham, who practised the trade of a photographer, and spoke 
 English (which he had learned from the missionaries settled at 
 that place) very well. He, in his turn, introduced us to another 
 Syrian Christian, called Dr Samuel, who kept a dispensary at the 
 opposite side of the caravansaray, and who likewise possessed 
 a good knowledge of English. Both received us very cordially, 
 and did much to render pleasant our sojourn at Khiuy. 
 
58 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 
 
 In the afternoon we were taken by the indefatigable Mir 
 Jalalu’d-Din to visit a feRyé, or retreat for dervishes, situated 
 near the walls of the town. The dervishes, who were a most 
 heterogeneous crew, including, besides Persians, Kurds and 
 negroes, received us very hospitably, and gave us tea. On our 
 return to the caravansatay, our companion introduced us to a 
 rammdl, ot geomancet, who occupied a toom adjacent to ours. 
 This votary of the occult sciences, Mirz4 Taki by name, was a 
 native of Kirmadnshah. So far as I could see, he never quitted 
 his cell, dividing his time between opium-smoking, tea-drinking, 
 and casting the four dice-like brass cubes pivoted together 
 whereby he essayed to unravel the mysteries of the future. After 
 offering us a share of his tea, he proceeded to cast his dice and 
 tell me my fortune, scribbling on a piece of paper the while, 
 somewhat as follows:—‘“‘Three, two, one, two” (counting the 
 numbers uppermost on the dice), “‘Praise be to Allah! thou wert 
 born under a lucky star. Ove, one, three, four; thy journey will be 
 a long one, and seven months at least will elapse ere thou shalt 
 see again thy native land. Two, two, four, two; I take refuge with 
 Allah, the Supreme, the Mighty! What is it that I see? Thou 
 shalt without doubt incur a great danger on the road, and indeed 
 it seemeth to me that one will attempt thy life before thou 
 reachest Tabriz. Four, three, one, four; thou hast already lost, or 
 wilt shortly lose, two things of value——” (I immediately 
 thought of my watch, and then recollected that I had informed 
 Mir Jalalu’d-Din of its loss). ‘‘ Four, four, two, one; our refuge 
 is in God! A violent storm will overtake thee on thy voyage 
 homewatrds, but from this thou wilt, In-sha’//dh, escape, by means 
 of a talisman which I will prepare for thee. Tree, one, one, three; 
 on thy return home thou wilt marry and have four sons and three 
 daughters. Four, two, three, one; thou hast, alas! several powerful 
 enemies, and an evil influence threatens thy star; but shouldst 
 thou escape these (as, please God, thou wilt do, by the help of 
 a charm which I will presently write for thee), thou wilt without 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 59 
 
 doubt gain the favour of thy Queen, and attain unto great 
 prosperity—In-sha’ dh! Thy fortune,” he continued, sweeping 
 up the implements of his craft, “is, praise be to Allah, far from 
 bad; a proof of which is that thou hast fallen in with one truly 
 skilled in the occult sciences, and endowed with all kinds of 
 knowledge, who is able not only to warn thee of the misfortunes 
 which threaten thee, but also to provide thee with the means of 
 avetting, or at least of mitigating, the same. The talismans which 
 thou needest now ate as follows:—One to protect thee from the 
 attempt on thy life which will be made before thou reachest 
 Tabriz; one to ensute thy safety in the storm which will assail 
 thee on thy homeward voyage; one——” 
 
 “Honouted sir!” I interrupted at this point, “before giving 
 you the trouble of writing so many charms, I would fain have 
 some further proof of the efficacy of your science. I do not, 
 indeed, like many of my countrymen, deny its existence, but of 
 its truth I would desire a proof which you can easily afford me. 
 To describe the events of the past is without doubt less difficult 
 than to predict those of the future. Tell me, then, the name of 
 my birthplace, the number of my brothers and sisters, and the 
 adventutes which have already befallen me. Then, indeed, shall 
 I know for certain that you are a skilful magician, and that the 
 science which you practise is not (as some of my unbelieving 
 countrymen assert) a vain and useless thing.” 
 
 Reasonable as this request appeared to me to be, it did not 
 seem to meet with the approbation of the geomancer, who 
 appeared suddenly to lose interest in the conversation, seeing 
 which we withdrew to our own room, where we subsequently 
 received a visit from our Syrian friends. 
 
 Next morning, before I was dressed, Mir Jalalu’d-Din ap- 
 peated with two small manuscripts, both of which, he said, 
 belonged to a poor Sufi, who was willing to sell them for a small 
 sum only because he was stricken down by a mortal disease. 
 One of these manuscripts contained, besides the well-known 
 
60 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 
 
 philosophical poem of Sheykh Mahmud Shabistari known as 
 the Gulshan-i-Rdz ort “Rose Garden of Mystery,” a treatise on 
 the mystical science of managing the breath, from which he read 
 me several long extracts. The other consisted of a few scattered 
 pages from a work on medicine, which, he gravely informed me, 
 had been written by the hand of Galen himself, and discovered by 
 himself and a comrade amongst the ruins of ove of the pyramids 
 destroyed by the English! Not wishing to hurt the feelings of my 
 ingenious friend by giving expression to my doubts, and thinking 
 that some compensation was due to him for the trouble which 
 he had been at to entertain us, I agreed to purchase these manu- 
 scripts for the moderate sum which he named. 
 
 We next visited the dispensary of Dr Samuel, whither H—— 
 had already preceded us. Here for the first time I was able to 
 appreciate the difficulties incidental to the practice of medicine 
 amongst a people whose curiosity prompts them to hover round 
 the physician long after their own cases have been dealt with, 
 and who ate only too eager to throw out hints on diagnosis and 
 treatment whenever they get the opportunity. Our visit to the 
 dispensary was so far unfortunate that, on returning to our 
 caravansatay towatds evening, after a stroll in the bazaar and 
 a chat with the postmaster, I found a crowd of people assembled 
 outside, who, on beholding me, cried out, “‘He comes! the 
 Firangi bakim has arrived,” and thronged after me into the square. 
 This assembly consisted of several sick people, accompanied by 
 a number of their friends and relatives, who, hearing that we had 
 some knowledge of medicine, were anxious to consult us. On 
 enquiry I learned that they had previously been attending Dr 
 Samuel, from whom they had obtained medicine, of which they 
 had only made a very brief trial. I therefore told them that they 
 had better give his treatment a fair chance before deserting it for 
 some new remedy, especially as I was convinced, both by con- 
 versation with the Syrian doctor, and by observation of his prac- 
 tice, that he was at least as competent as myself to advise them. 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 61 
 
 It was with much regret that on the following morning 
 (29th October) we prepared to quit Khuy. For some time I 
 despaired of ever getting off. Inside the room, where we were 
 vainly attempting to pack our things, were our Syrian friends, 
 together with Mir Jalalu’d-Din, who had come to bid us farewell. 
 Outside were crowds of sick people come for advice and treat- 
 ment, irregular soldiers anxious to be engaged as an escort, and 
 idle spectators; while above all was visible the ugly grinning 
 face of Feyzu’llah, the muleteer, trying to hasten our departure 
 with cries of “‘Gidakh!”’ which, in the Turkish dialect of Adhar- 
 bayjan, signifies ““Let us go.” At length, about 11 a.m., our 
 preparations were completed, and we were on the point of start- 
 ing, when Mir Jalalu’d-Din (who had disappeared for a while 
 previously) approached me to bid me farewell and to give me 
 two mote proofs of his good will. The first of these was a letter 
 of introduction to a brother dervish at Tabriz, who, he assured 
 me, would very probably consent to accompany me on my 
 travels, and would perhaps even return with me to my native 
 country. Unfortunately, I was unable to put this statement to 
 the test, and the letter was never used. The second was a small 
 white circular object, looking like an unperforated and much- 
 worn shirt button, which he said was a talisman, sufficient, in all 
 probability, to protect me against the danger of being robbed 
 ot murdeted which had been predicted by the opium-smoking 
 geomancer. As a further precaution, however, he added that 
 I should do well, in the event of robbers making their appear- 
 ance, to dismount from my horse, take a handful of dust from 
 the road, blow on it, and scatter it around me, at the same time 
 uttering the “ Bismi’ah,” when the robbers would infallibly dis- 
 perse. He then asked me to give him a wadbr, or offering of money, 
 for the dervishes, who would exert their influence to protect me 
 from harm, and, having received this, he finally bade me farewell. 
 
 Quitting the town by a gate opposite to that by which we 
 had entered it, we passed through a long avenue of poplars, 
 
62 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 
 
 and shortly afterwards reached a point where the road bifurcated, 
 one branch running southwards in the direction of Urumtyyé, 
 and the other, which we pursued, eastwards towards the hills 
 which we must cross to teach Tabriz. Near the summit of one 
 of these hills was a small imdmyddé, or shrine, which, as Farach 
 informed us, was reputed most efficacious in curing persons 
 
 afflicted with hydrophobia, or bitten by a serpent. After a short 
 stage of four hours we reached a little village called Seyyid 
 Taju’d-Din, where we halted for the night. 
 
 Next day we continued to ascend for about two hours, until 
 we reached the top of the pass. From this we had a magnificent 
 view of the great salt lake of Urumiyyé, glittering in the sun, 
 and studded with numerous rocky islands, which, as an effect 
 of the mirage, appeared deeply indented at the base. Descending 
 by the dry bed of a river which did duty for a road, we soon 
 entered the plain which skirts the lake on this its northern side. 
 Here we fell in with a wandering snake-charmer, who, after ex- 
 hibiting to us the immunity with which he handled his snakes, 
 pressed us to buy pieces of dirty bread, which he assured us would 
 prove an infallible remedy for snake-bites. This, however, I 
 declined to do, for I thought myself sufficiently provided with 
 talismans for the present. 
 
 Before 2 p.m. we reached our halting-place, Tasuch, a large 
 but uninteresting village distant about a mile from the shore 
 of the lake. Nothing worthy of note befell us here, except the 
 loss of a putse of money, which event our friend the geomancer, 
 had he known of it, might perhaps have claimed as the fulfilment 
 of a part of his prediction. 
 
 The following day’s march took us to Dizé-Khalil, a good- 
 sized village with a fair bazaar, situated amidst gardens of poplars 
 near the north-east corner of the lake. Here we obtained good 
 quartets, where out host brought us, together with a present 
 of flowers, an old copy of the Pé/grim’s Progress left behind by 
 some previous traveller. 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 63 
 
 Next day, Tuesday, 1st November, after a tedious march of 
 neatly ten hours, broken by a short halt about 2 p.m. at a dis- 
 consolate village called Miyan, we reached Tabriz, the capital 
 of the province of Adharbayjan, the residence of the Va/-‘ahd, or 
 Crown Prince, and one of the largest, if not the largest, of the 
 cities of Persia. Although we were provided with letters of in- 
 troduction to Mr Abbott, the British Consul, it was too late to 
 think of presenting them that evening, and accordingly, after 
 threading our way for nearly an hour through the vast suburbs 
 which surround the city, we were glad to alight at the first 
 respectable caravansaray which we came to. 
 
 On the following morning we repaired to the British Con- 
 sulate, and were very kindly received by Mr Abbott and his wife, 
 who invited us to be their guests during our sojourn in Tabriz. 
 We gladly accepted this invitation, for we had not seena European 
 since leaving Erzeroum, and had not slept in a proper bed since 
 we quitted the Hotel d’Italie at Trebizonde. 
 
 We remained at Tabriz four days. During this time we became 
 acquainted with Mr Whipple, one of the American missionaries, 
 who kindly undertook to pilot us through the interminable 
 labyrinth of bazaars (perhaps the most extensive in Persia), and 
 the Turkish Consul, Behjet Bey, who, in addition to an excellent 
 knowledge of Persian, possessed the best temper, the keenest 
 sense of humour, the cheeriest laugh, and the most voracious 
 appetite that I have ever seen in one of his nation. 
 
 Although Tabriz is so important a town, it offers few attrac- 
 tions to the sight-seer beyond the bazaars, the “Blue Mosque” 
 (Masjid-i-Kabud), and the citadel (Arg), of which the two last 
 ate said to date from the time of Hartnu’r-Rashid. 
 
 Both of these monuments of antiquity we visited on the 
 second day after our arrival. The Blue Mosque is now little 
 more than a ruin, but the handsome tiles and inscriptions which 
 still adorn its walls bear witness to its ancient splendour. The 
 citadel (also said to have been originally a mosque) consists of 
 
64 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 
 
 a squate enclosure with a single entrance, opposite to which 
 rises a lofty, massive rectangular tower, accessible by means of 
 a staircase in the left lateral wall of the quadrangle. The opposite 
 side of the quadrangle is formed by a large anbdr, or magazine, 
 now used as a storehouse for arms and ammunition. 
 
 The view from the summit of the citadel is very extensive, 
 and enabled me in some degree to realise the magnitude of the 
 city, which lay below us like a map. From this height, in former 
 days, criminals were sometimes hurled into the ditch below. On 
 one occasion, we were informed, a woman condemned to suffer 
 death in this manner was so buoyed up by the air inflating her 
 loose garments that she reached the ground uninjured. Whether 
 this story is true or false I cannot say, neither did I pay much 
 attention to its recital, my thoughts being occupied with the 
 tragic death of the young prophet of Shiraz, Mirza “Ali Muham- 
 mad, better known as the Bab, which took place on oth July 
 1850, at or near this spot. As I shall have to say a good deal about 
 the Babi religion in subsequent chapters, it may not be altogether 
 out of place to give here a brief account of the life and death of 
 its founder, although the history of these is well known, and has 
 been repeatedly set forth:. 
 
 Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad was born at Shiraz on 9th October 
 1820. His father, Seyyid Muhammad Riz4, a cloth-merchant in 
 that town, died while he was still of tender age, leaving him to 
 the care of his uncle Haji Seyyid “Ali. At the age of seventeen 
 he was sent to the port of Bushire on the Persian Gulf, where, 
 while engaged in transacting the business with which he had 
 been entrusted, he rendered himself conspicuous not less by the 
 
 1 See Gobineau’s Religions et Philosophies dans I’ Asie Centrale; Mirza Kazem- 
 Beg’s articles on Bab et les Babys in the Journal Asiatique for 1866; several 
 atticles by myself in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for 1889 and 1892; 
 the Tvaveller’s Narrative, written to illustrate the Episode of the Bab, edited, 
 translated, and annotated by me for the Syndics of the Cambridge University 
 Press (1891); and my translation of the New History of Mirzd “Ali Muhammad 
 the Bab (1893). 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 65 
 
 austerity of his morals than by the sweetness and amiability of 
 his disposition. Addicted from an early age to religious medita- 
 tion, he was soon impelled to abandon commercial pursuits and 
 to undertake a pilgrimage to Mecca and the shrines of the Imams 
 (so dear to evety pious Persian) at Nejef and Kerbela. Here he 
 became the pupil of Haji Seyyid Kazim of Resht, a theologian 
 who, notwithstanding the enmity and opposition of the orthodox 
 Shi‘ite clergy, had already begun to exert a considerable influence 
 on Persian thought, and to gather round him a numerous band 
 of ardent disciples. Mirza “Ali Muhammad, in spite of his youth 
 and retiring disposition, soon attracted the attention of this 
 teacher, who did not fail to be struck by the sweet and thoughtful 
 countenance of the young Shirazi. Nor was Seyyid Kazim the 
 only one who yielded to a charm which few could wholly resist. 
 Many other learned and devout men began to look with respect 
 and affection on one whose humility only served to throw his 
 other virtues into bolder relief. Thus were sown the seeds of 
 that devotion which was destined ere long to write the testimony 
 of its sincerity in letters of blood throughout the length and 
 breadth of the Persian land, and which was to prove once mote 
 to the world that all the torments which the tyrant can devise 
 ot the torturer execute are impotent to subdue the courage born 
 of faith and enthusiasm. 
 
 It is unnecessary for me to describe in detail the process 
 whereby there grew up in the mind of Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad 
 a conviction that he was destined to become the reformer and 
 saviour of his nation. Suffice it to say, that, after a prolonged 
 inward struggle, on 23rd May 1844 he proclaimed himself to the 
 world as the Bab or Gate whereby men might win to the sacred 
 mysteries and spiritual truths of which hehad become the recipient. 
 
 Before long he had gathered round himself a number of dis- 
 ciples. Amongst these were many of the most distinguished 
 pupils of Seyyid Kazim, whose recent death had left them tem- 
 porarily without a recognised head. They eagerly adopted the 
 
 B 5 
 
66 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 
 
 doctrines of their former fellow-student, and began to preach 
 them openly wherever they went, so that in a short time the fame 
 of Mirz4 ‘Ali Muhammad was noised abroad throughout the 
 whole of Persia, and everywhere men began to say that the 
 Imam Mahdi had come at last for the deliverance of the nations 
 and the establishment of universal justice and peace. 
 
 At first but little attention was paid to the new sect by the 
 government or clergy, but towards the end of the summer of 
 1845 they began to be alarmed at its rapid spread, and took 
 measures to check its progress. The Bab, who had just returned 
 from Mecca to Bushite, was brought to Shiraz and placed in 
 confinement. His followers wete prohibited from discussing his 
 doctrines in public, and some of the more active were beaten, 
 mutilated, and expelled from the town. In the early summer of 
 1846, however, a plague broke out in Shiraz, and, during the 
 general consternation caused by this, the Bab effected his escape, 
 and made his way to Isfahan, where he was well received by 
 Mintchihr Khan, governor of that city, who afforded him pro- 
 tection and hospitality for nearly a year. 
 
 Early in 1847 Mintchihr Khan died, and his successor, anxious 
 to curry favour with the Government, sent the Bab, under the 
 cate of an escort of armed horsemen, to the capital. So serious 
 wete the apprehensions already entertained by the Government 
 of a popular demonstration in the prisonet’s favour, that his 
 guards had received instructions to avoid entering the towns 
 by which they must needs pass. At Kashan, however, a respect- 
 able merchant named Mirza Janit, who subsequently suffered 
 
 t Mirza Jani’s chief claim to distinction is as the historian of the move- 
 ment for which he gave his life. His history, of primary importance for the 
 study of Babiism, contains a vast number of curious particulars, doctrinal and 
 biographical, which have been omitted (not unintentionally) by later Babi 
 writers. It is, however, extremely rare. So fat as I know, only two manu- 
 scripts of it exist, and one of these contains only a third part of the work. 
 Both these manuscripts belonged formerly to the Comte de Gobineau, and 
 both are now in the Bibliotheque Nationale at Paris. See my translation of 
 the New History, Introduction, and Appendix ii. 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ — 67 
 
 martyrdom for his faith, prevailed on them by means of a bribe 
 to allow their prisoner to tarry with him two days. At the village 
 of Khanlik, also near Teheran, a number of believers came out 
 to meet the Bab. Amongst these was Mirza Huseyn ‘Ali of Nur 
 in Mazandaran, who, at a later date, under the title of Behd’u’//dh 
 (“the Splendour of God”), was recognised by the great majority 
 of the Babis as their spiritual chief, and who, till his death on 
 16th May 1892, resided at Acre in Syria, surrounded by a band 
 of faithful followers, and visited yearly by numbers of pilgrims. 
 
 The king, Muhammad Shah, and his chief minister, Haji 
 Mirza Aghd4si, dreading the effect likely to be produced in the 
 capital by the presence of the Bab, determined to send him to the 
 fortress of Maku on the north-west frontier of Persia, without 
 allowing him to enter Teheran. Thither he was accordingly con- 
 veyed; but at Zanjan and Milan he received a popular ovation, 
 and even at Maku it was found impossible to prevent him from 
 receiving occasional letters and visits from his adherents. Nor 
 did the plan of transferring him to the sterner custody of Yahya 
 Khan, governor of the castle of Chihrik, near Urumtyyé, meet 
 with much better success in this respect. 
 
 Meantime, while the Bab was occupying the weary days of his 
 imprisonment in compiling and arranging the books destined 
 to setve as a guide to his followers after the fate which he had 
 but too much cause to apprehend should have removed him from 
 their midst, his emissaries were actively engaged in propagating 
 his doctrines. Fiery enthusiasm on the part of these was met by 
 fierce opposition from the orthodox party, headed by the clergy, 
 and it needed only the confusion and disorder introduced into 
 all departments of the empire by the death of Muhammad Shah 
 (5th October 1848) to bring the two factions into armed collision. 
 The strife, once kindled, rapidly assumed the most alarming 
 proportions, and the reign of the new king, Nasiru’d-Din 
 Shah, was inaugurated by formidable insurrections of the Babis 
 at Yezd, Niriz, Zanjan, and in Mazandaran. Of the two latter 
 
 57-2 
 
68 FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 
 
 tisings I shall have to say something when I come to speak of 
 the places at which they occurred. For the present it is sufficient 
 to state that, after the rising in Mazandaran had been suppressed 
 with great difficulty and the sacrifice of many lives, a revolt, 
 which threatened to defy the united efforts of the whole Persian 
 army, broke out at Zanjan. Thereupon, by the advice of Mirza 
 Taki Khan (at that time prime minister to the young king), 
 an attempt was made to strike terror into the hearts of the 
 insurgents, and to fill their minds with despair, by the public 
 execution of the Bab, who, though innocent of any direct share 
 in the plans or councils of the rebels, was regarded as the source 
 from which they drew the enthusiasm which inspired them with 
 a tesolution so obstinate and a courage so invincible. 
 
 Accordingly, orders were despatched to Tabriz to bring the 
 Bab thither from his prison-house, and, after the form of a trial, 
 to put him to death. After enduring all manner of insults at the 
 hands of the Government authorities, the clergy, and the rabble 
 of the city, through the streets of which he was dragged for many 
 hours, he was finally brought to the place of execution, near the 
 citadel, a little before sundown. An immense crowd, drawn 
 thither some by sympathy, others by a vindictive desire to witness 
 the death of one whom they regarded as an atch-heretic, but 
 actuated for the most part, probably, by mere curiosity, was here 
 assembled. Many of those who composed it were at least half- 
 convinced of the divine mission of the Bab; others, who had 
 come with feelings of animosity or indifference, were moved to 
 compassion by the sight of the youthful victim, who continued 
 to manifest the same dignity and fortitude which had characterised 
 him during the whole period of his imprisonment. 
 
 The Bab was not to suffer alone. The sentence which had been 
 pronounced against him included also two of his disciples. One 
 of these, Aka Seyyid Huseyn of Yezd, who had been his com- 
 panion and amanuensis during the whole period of his captivity, 
 either actuated by a momentary but uncontrollable fear of death, 
 
FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 69 
 
 or, as the Babis assert with mote probability, obediently to orders 
 received from his Master, bidding him escape at all hazards and 
 convey to the faithful the sacred writings of which he was the 
 depository, declared himself willing to renounce the creed for 
 which he had already sacrificed so much, and the Master to whom 
 he had hitherto so faithfully adhered. His recantation was ac- 
 cepted and his life spared, but his death was only deferred for 
 two yeats. In September 1852 he met the fate which he no longer 
 affected to fear amongst the martyrs of Teheran. 
 
 The other disciple was a young merchant of Tabriz, named 
 Ak4é Muhammad ‘Ali. Although every effort was made to induce 
 him to follow the example of his comrade, and though his wife 
 and little children were brought before him, entreating him with 
 tears to save his life, he stood firm in his faith, and only requested 
 that at the moment of death he might still be allowed to fix his 
 gaze on his Master. Finding all efforts to alter his decision un- 
 availing, the executioners proceeded to suspend him alongside 
 of his Master at the distance of a few feet from the ground by 
 means of cords passed under the arms. As he hung thus he was 
 heard to address the Bab in these words: “‘Master! art thou 
 satishied with me?” Then the file of soldiers drawn up before 
 the prisonets received the command to fire, and for a moment 
 the smoke of the volley concealed the sufferers from view. When 
 it rolled away, a cry of mingled exultation and terror arose from 
 the spectators, for, while the bleeding corpse of the disciple hung 
 suspended in the air pierced with bullets, the Bab had disappeared 
 from sight! It seemed, indeed, that his life had been preserved 
 by a miracle, for, of the storm of bullets which had been aimed 
 at him, not one had touched him; nay, instead of death they had 
 brought him deliverance by cutting the ropes which bound him, 
 so that he fell to the ground unhurt. 
 
 For a moment even the executioners were overwhelmed with 
 amazement, which rapidly gave place to alarm as they reflected 
 what effect this marvellous deliverance was likely to have on the 
 
yo FROM THE PERSIAN FRONTIER TO TABRIZ 
 
 inconstant and impressionable multitude. These apprehensions, 
 however, were of short duration. One of the soldiers espied the 
 Bab hiding in a guardroom which opened on to the stone plat- 
 form over which he had been suspended. He was seized, dragged 
 forth, and again suspended; a new firing-party was ordered to 
 advance (for the men who had composed the first refused to act 
 again); and before the spectators had recovered from their first 
 astonishment, or the Babis had had time to attempt a rescue, the 
 body of the young prophet of Shiraz was riddled with bullets. 
 
 The two corpses wete dragged through the streets and 
 bazaars, and cast out beyond the city gates to be devoured by dogs 
 and jackals. From this last indignity, however, they were saved 
 by the devotion of Suleyman Khan and a few other believers, 
 who, whether by force, bribes, or the influence of powerful 
 friends, succeeded in obtaining possession of them. They were 
 wrapped in white silk, placed in one coffin, and sent to Teheran, 
 where, by order of Mirza Yahya Subb-i-Eze/ (“the Morning of 
 Eternity,’ who, though but twenty years of age, had been chosen 
 to succeed the Bab), they were deposited in a little shrine called 
 Imdm-xddé-i-Ma‘suim, which stands by the Hamadan road not far 
 from Ribat-Karim. Here they remained undisturbed for seventeen 
 or eighteen years, till the schism originated by Beha deprived 
 his half-brother Ezel of the supremacy in the Babi Church which 
 he had hitherto enjoyed, when they were removed by the Beha’is, 
 to whom alone is now known the last resting-place of the 
 glorious martyrs of Tabriz. 
 
 
 

 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 
 
 “We have a horrour for uncouth monsters; but, upon experience, all 
 these bugs grow familiar and easy to us.” —(L’ Estrange.) 
 
 N Monday, 7th November, bidding farewell to our kind 
 
 host, we quitted Tabriz as we had entered it, with Farach’s 
 animals, which we had decided to tre-engage at sixty-five Ardns a 
 head (nearly £2 sterling) for our journey to the capital. Contrary 
 to the general rule, we managed to begin our journey with a 
 good long stage of eight farsakhs!. We passed nothing of in- 
 terest except a large sheet of water, lying to the north of the road, 
 on which were multitudes of water-fowl; and, as we had made 
 a late start, it was more than an hour after sundown when we 
 _teached Haji-Ak4, where we halted for the night. 
 
 Next day we were joined on the toad by a horseman of 
 respectable appearance, who accompanied us on our journey as 
 far as Miyané. His name, as I discovered, was Mirza Hashim, 
 and his conversation did much to beguile the tediousness of the 
 way. Approaching the subject with some diffidence, I asked him 
 to tell me what he knew about the Babi insurrection at Zanjan. 
 He answered that he could not tell me much about it, except that 
 the insurgents, whose numbers hardly exceeded 300 fighting 
 
 1 The farsakh, farsang, or patasang is a somewhat variable measure of 
 length averaging about 3? miles. As Dr Wills has remarked (Land of the Lion 
 and the Sun), it varies with the nature of the ground, being longer when the 
 road is good, and shorter when it is bad. This leads me to believe that it is 
 intended to indicate the distance which can be traversed in an hour by a good 
 hotse going at walking pace. It is, however, considerably longer than the 
 Turkish “hour” (sé‘at), which is only 3 miles. A caravan rarely covers a 
 farsakh in an hour. 
 
72 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 
 
 men, held at bay an army of neatly 10,000 men for nine months. 
 He added that he had himself known one of them who had 
 succeeded in effecting his escape after the sack of the town, and 
 who used to boast that he had with his own hand slain 1000 of 
 the royal troops! 
 
 In the course of the morning we passed a fine-looking though 
 somewhat ruined building, situated on the left side of the road 
 opposite to the village of Tikmé-T4sh, which our companion 
 informed us was a palace built for the Shah nearly forty years 
 before, on the occasion of his visiting this part of his dominions. 
 Since then it has remained unused, and has been allowed to fall 
 into disrepair. Another neglected palace of this sort exists farther 
 east, at Sultantyyé. 
 
 Farther on we passed two fine old caravansarays, constructed 
 with the care and solidity which characterise all the work done 
 in the glorious days of the Safavi kings. These, however, we 
 passed without halting, and pushed on to Kara Chiman, a 
 picturesquely situated village, lying somewhat to the south of 
 the main road in a little valley through which runs a river bor- 
 dered with groves of poplar trees. Here we obtained very good 
 quarters in a clean, well-constructed bdldkhdné (upper room), 
 commanding a fine view of the valley, river, and village. 
 
 Next morning (9th November) we passed, soon after starting, 
 two large villages, situated at some distance from the road, the 
 one to the north, the other to the south. The former is called 
 Bashsiz, the latter Bulghawar. Beyond these there was little 
 worthy of note in the parched-up undulating country through 
 which our road lay, until, about 3 p.m., we reached our halting- 
 place, Suma, where we obtained good quarters at the house of 
 one Mashhadi Hasan. In the evening we received a visit from our 
 travelling companion, Mirza Hashim; and as our next stage 
 would bring us to Miyané, which enjoys so evil a reputation by 
 reason of the poisonous bugs which infest it, we asked him 
 whether it was true, as is currently reported, that the bite of 
 
FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 73 
 
 these animals proves fatal to a stranger. After assuring us that 
 this was sometimes the case, he informed us that the so-called 
 “Miyané bug,” or “mala,” was not altogether confined to that 
 town, but that it also occurred in Suma, the village wherein we 
 then were. The villagers, he added, have the following curious 
 story about its origin:— 
 
 Once upon a time a native of Sumé went to the neighbouring 
 village of Hashtarid, where he became involved in a quarrel 
 with the inhabitants, which culminated in his being murdered 
 by them. From the body of the murdered man emerged a 
 number of these wa/as, which established themselves in the village 
 of Suma. Whenever a native of Hashtarid arrives there, they 
 remember the blood-feud which exists, and avenge the death of 
 their “ancestor”’ by inflicting a fatal bite upon the descendant of 
 his murderers. To all others, however, their bite, though painful, 
 is comparatively harmless. 
 
 Mirza Hashim then told us of the pes of the winters at 
 Ardabil, and showed us a woollen cap with coverings for the 
 eats, admirably adapted for a protection against severe cold. 
 Having informed me that he had refused to sell it for fifteen 
 krans (rather less than ten shillings), he offered to make me a 
 present of it. Of course I politely declined his offer, telling him 
 that I could not consent to deprive him of so valuable a posses- 
 sion; for I had no need of the cap, and did not think it worth the 
 sum he had mentioned. 
 
 Europeans travelling in Persia have sometimes complained 
 of what they regard as the meanness of the Persians in offering 
 presents in return for which they expect money. It appears to 
 me that this complaint arises from a failure to understand the 
 fact that such an offer from a man of distinctly lower rank than 
 oneself is merely tantamount to a declaration that he is willing 
 to sell or exchange the article in question. When he offers to 
 give it as a present, he merely uses the same figure of speech as 
 did Ephron the Hittite in negotiating the sale of the cave of 
 
74 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 
 
 Machpelah with Abraham. All peoples make use, to a greater or 
 less extent, of similar euphemisms, and we have no mote right 
 to blame a poor Persian for offering us a “‘present,”’ in return for 
 which he expects to receive equivalent value, than to censure 
 as sordid the desire expressed by a cabman to be “‘remembered”’ 
 by us. 
 
 As I have touched on this subject, I may as well say something 
 about presents in general. There are not fewer than eight words 
 more or less commonly used in Persian in this sense. Of these, 
 three, viz. armaghdn, rah-dvard, and sawghdt, signify any object 
 which one brings back from a journey to give to one’s friends 
 at home. Yddigdr is a keepsake, to remind the owner of the absent 
 friend by whom it was given. Had/yyé is a general term for any 
 sort of present. There remain the terms ta‘druf, pish-kesh, and 
 in‘dm, each of which requires a somewhat fuller explanation. 
 
 The first of these signifies a present given to some one of 
 about the same social rank as the donor. In such cases no return 
 is usually expected, at any rate in money. Sometimes, however, 
 the term is used by one who, while desirous of receiving the 
 monetary equivalent of that which he offers, does not wish to 
 admit his social inferiority to the person to whom the “present” 
 is offered by using the term pish-kesh. 
 
 When, however, a peasant, servant, muleteer, gardener, or the 
 like, offers a present of flowers, fruits, or fowls to the traveller, 
 he calls it a pish-kesh (offering), and for such he generally expects 
 at least the proper value in money of the article so offered. When 
 the “‘present” is something to which a definite monetary value 
 can be assigned (e.g. an article of food), this is only right and 
 proper. To expect a poor villager to supply travellers gratis with 
 the necessaries of life, which he can often ill spare, and to blame 
 him for desiring to receive the value of the same, is surely the 
 height of absurdity. With presents of flowers the case is some- 
 what different. It often happens that the traveller, on visiting a 
 garden, for instance, is confronted on his exit by a row of gar- 
 
FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 45 
 
 denetrs, each of whom offers him a bunch of flowers. He is then 
 placed in rather a dilemma, for, on the one hand, he feels some 
 delicacy in refusing what may, after all, be a gift prompted solely 
 by courtesy and kindness; while, on the other hand, he may not 
 care to pay several &rdns for that which is of no use to him. Even 
 in this case I think that Europeans ate partly to blame for a 
 custom which has, in some of the more frequented parts of Persia, 
 become an intolerable nuisance. My reason for believing that 
 what sometimes amounts to little less than a system of extortion 
 (theoretically capable of unlimited expansion so long as there is 
 a handful of flowers in the village and a peasant to bring and offer 
 the same) originally grew out of a graceful and courteous custom 
 of welcoming a stranger by presenting him with a nosegay, is 
 that in parts of Persia less frequently visited by Europeans, such 
 as the neighbourhood of Yezd and Kirmdn, I have often been 
 given a handful of roses or other flowers by a passing peasant, 
 who continued on his way after the accomplishment of this little 
 act of courtesy without once pausing or looking back in expecta- 
 tion of receiving a reward. 
 
 As regards the last kind of present, the in‘dm, or gratuity, it is, 
 as its name implies, one bestowed by a superior on an inferior, and 
 is almost always given in the form of money. The term is applied 
 not only to the presents of money spoken of above, but to the 
 gtatuities given to villagers in whose houses one puts up for the 
 night, keepers of caravansarays and post-houses at which one 
 alights, shdgird-chdpdrs who accompany one on each stage in 
 posting to show the way and bring back the horses, servants in 
 houses at which one stays, and, in short, anyone of humble rank 
 who renders one a service. To determine the amount which 
 ought to be given in any particular case is sometimes rather a 
 difficult matter for the traveller. 
 
 A teliable native servant is of great use in this matter; and 
 should the traveller possess such, he will do well to follow his 
 advice until he is able to judge for himself. The most costly 
 
76 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 
 
 in‘dms, and those which one is most inclined to grudge, are such 
 as must occasionally be given to the farrdshes of a governor of 
 other gteat man, who are sent to bear a present from their master, 
 ot to meet the traveller and form his escort. To these I shall have 
 occasion to allude again. 
 
 I must now tetutn from this digression to our march of 
 1oth November. The day was cloudy and overcast, and soon 
 after we had started a gentle rain began to fall. We crossed 
 the river Kizil Uzan in several places, and for a considerable 
 distance wended our way along its broad gravelly bed. Travers- 
 ing the crest of a hill soon after mid-day, we came in full view 
 of the little town of Miyané, which looked very pretty with its 
 blue domes and background of poplars and willows. We had no 
 sooner teached the outskirts of the town than we were met by 
 a number of the inhabitants, each eager to induce us to take up 
 our quarters at his house, the advantages of which he loudly 
 proclaimed. No sooner had we alighted at one place to examine 
 the quarters offered, than all the competitors of its owner cried | 
 out with one accord that if we put up there we should assuredly 
 suffer from the bite of the poisonous bugs with which, they 
 averred, the house in question swarmed. We accordingly moved 
 on to another house, where the same scene was tepeated, each 
 man representing his own house as the one place in the town free 
 from this pest, and everyone except the owner uniting in the 
 condemnation of any quarters which we seemed likely to select. 
 Finally, in despair we selected the first clean-looking room which 
 presented itself, and occupied it, regardless of the warnings of 
 the disappointed competitors, who at length departed, assuring 
 us that we had pitched on one of the very worst houses in the 
 whole town. 
 
 Soon after our arrival we took a walk through the town, and 
 visited the tolerably good bazaars (in which we purchased some 
 dried figs, and a fruit called dar, or, in Turkish, Abunndb, some- 
 what resembling a small date, with a very large stone), and the 
 
FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN =: 
 
 imdmzddé, of which the blue dome is the most conspicuous 
 feature of Miyané. Here, as it was Thursday evening (shab-i- 
 uma, the eve of Friday), many people were assembled to witness 
 a ta‘xiya, of representation of the sufferings of the Imams Hasan 
 and Huseyn. In the enclosure surrounding the building was 
 seated a half-naked man, who held in his hand a scourge armed 
 with iron thongs, wherewith he occasionally struck himself on 
 the shoulders and back. All those who entered this enclosure, 
 from which we were excluded, kissed the chains which hung in 
 festoons across the gate. 
 
 On returning to our quarters we found a man who had 
 brought his horse to consult us about its eye, which had received 
 a slight injury. After advising him as to its treatment, we entered 
 into convetsation with him. He warned us that in spite of the 
 apparent cleanliness of our lodging, he knew for certain that 
 there were bugs in it; but on questioning him further, it appeared 
 that his only reason for saying so was that he had seen one three 
 yeats ago. Nevertheless, he advised us to take two precautions, 
 which he assured us would protect us from injury: firstly, to 
 keep a candle burning all night; secondly, to take a small quantity 
 of the spirit called “arak just before going to bed. We neglected 
 the first of these measures, but not the second; and whether 
 owing to this, or to the absence of the malas, we slept untroubled 
 by the noxious insects which have given to Miyané so evil a 
 reputation. 
 
 Our toad next day led us towards the imposing-looking mass 
 of the Kaflan-Kuh. A tortuous path brought us to the summit 
 of the pass, whence we again descended to the river, which we 
 crossed by a fine bridge. On the other side of this bridge we were 
 met by a man who besought us to help him in recovering his 
 horse from the soldiers at an adjacent guard-house, who had, as 
 he alleged, forcibly and wrongfully taken it from him. We 
 accordingly went with him to the guard-house, and endeavoured 
 to ascertain the truth of the matter, and, if possible, effect a 
 
78 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 
 
 satisfactory settlement. In answer to our enquiries, the soldiers 
 informed us that they had reason to suspect that the horse had 
 been stolen, as it was too valuable an animal to be the lawful 
 property of the man in whose possession they had found it. They 
 added that if he desired to recover it, he must go to Miyané and 
 obtain a paper from some respectable citizen to certify that the 
 _hotse really belonged to him, when it would be restored to him. 
 With this explanation and promise we were compelled to be 
 satisfied, and proceeded on our way till we reached another pass. 
 On crossing this, we entered on an immense flat table-land, the 
 sutface of which was thrown into conical mounds resembling 
 gigantic ant-hills, and thinly covered with mountain plants, which 
 perfumed the air with their fragrance. The ground was riddled 
 ' with the holes of what appeared to be a kind of jerboa. These 
 little animals were very fearless, and allowed us to approach 
 quite close to them before they retreated into their burrows. 
 
 About 4 p.m. we reached the compact and almost treeless 
 village of Sarcham, where we halted for the night. Just before 
 reaching it we came up with one of those “‘caravans of the dead,” 
 so graphically described by Vambéry. The coffins (which differ 
 in some degree from those used in Europe, the upper end being 
 flat instead of convex, and furnished with two short handles, 
 like a wheelbarrow) were sewn up in sacking, to which was 
 affixed a paper label bearing the name of the deceased. Each 
 animal in this dismal caravan was laden with two or three 
 coffins, on the top of which was mounted, in some cases, a man 
 ot woman, related probably to one of the deceased, whose bodies 
 were on their way to their last resting-place in the sacred precincts 
 of Kum. 
 
 We had no difficulty in getting lodgings at Sarcham, for the 
 place contains an extraordinary number of caravansarays, con- 
 sidering its small size, and the inhabitants vied with each other 
 in offering hospitality. 
 
 Next day (Saturday, 12th November) we started early, being 
 
FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 79 
 
 given to understand that along stage lay before us. All day we 
 followed the course of the river, which is a tributary of the Kizil 
 Uzan, though here it seems to be known by the name of the 
 Zanjan-4b. Dense fogs obscured the sun in the earlier part of 
 the day, but these rolled away as the heat increased, leaving a 
 cloudless sky. The air was perfumed with the scent of the plant 
 which we had observed on the preceding day. On our match 
 we passed three immense catavans, consisting respectively of 
 102, 72, and 39 camels, bearing merchandise to Tabriz. There is 
 to my mind an indescribable dignity about the camel, who seems 
 to eye one scornfully with half-turned head as he passes majesti- 
 cally on his way; and the sight of a string of these animals was 
 one of which I never grew weaty. On the road we saw a serpent, 
 as well as numbers of lizards, and a small tortoise, which our 
 muleteers called sparghd, a wotd which I have never heard else- 
 where, and which seems to be purely local. 
 
 About 3 p.m. we reached the village of Nikh-beg, where we 
 halted. It is a squalid-looking place, devoid of trees, and only 
 rematkable for a very fine old caravansaray of the Safavi period, 
 which bears an inscription over the gateway to the effect that it 
 was tepaired by order of Shah Safi, who alighted here on his 
 return from the successful siege of the fortress of Erivan. While 
 copying this inscription, we were surprised and pleased to per- 
 ceive the approach of Mr Whipple, the American missionary, who 
 was posting from Tabriz to Hamadan to visit his fellow-workers 
 there. 
 
 Out next stage brought us to the considerable town of Zanjan, 
 so celebrated for its obstinate defence by the Babis against the 
 royal troops in the year 1850. It lies in a plain surrounded by 
 hills, and is situated near, but not on, the river called Zanjan-ab, 
 which is at this point surrounded by gardens. The town has 
 never recovered from the effects of the siege, for, besides the 
 injury which it sustained from the cannonade to which it was 
 exposed for several months, a considerable portion was burnt 
 
80 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 
 
 by the besieged on one occasion, when they were hard pressed 
 by the enemy, to create a diversion. We entered the town by the 
 western gate, passing on our left an extensive cemetery, of which 
 two blue-domed imdmzddés constitute the most conspicuous 
 feature. 
 
 We alighted at a caravansaray near the bazaar, which we visited 
 shortly after our arrival. It is not very extensive, being limited to 
 one long street running east and west more than half through the 
 town (which is much longer in this direction than from north 
 to south). The great drawback to Zanjan is the enormous 
 number of beggars who throng its streets and importune the 
 traveller for alms with cries of ““AMah nejdt versin! Allah nejat 
 versin!”? (“May God give you salvation!”’). In this respect it is 
 unrivalled, so far as I have seen, by any town in Persia, with the 
 exception of Kirman; and even there, though the poverty of the 
 mendicant classes is probably greater, their importunity is far 
 less. 
 
 In the evening we received a visit from a very tascally-looking 
 Teherani with a frightful squint, who enquired if we had any 
 ‘arak, and, on learning that we had, requested permission to 
 introduce some companions of his who were waiting outside. 
 These presently appeared, and, having done full justice to the 
 ‘arak, which they finished off, suggested that we might perhaps 
 like to hear a song. Without waiting for an answer, one of them 
 broke forth into the most discordant strains, shouting the end 
 of each verse which struck him as peculiarly touching into the 
 eat of the man who sat next him, who received it with a drunken 
 simper and a languid “‘Ba” (“Yes”), as though it had been 
 a question addressed to him. When this entertainment had come 
 to an end, the eyes of our visitors fell on my pocket-flask, which 
 they began to admire, saying, “‘This bottle is very good, and 
 admirably adapted for the pocket...but we have already given 
 enough trouble.”’ As I affected not to understand the purport of 
 their remarks, they presently departed, to our great satisfaction. 
 
FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 81 
 
 From the difficulty which the squint-eyed man seemed to ex- 
 perience in getting his feet into his shoes, I fancied that our “arak 
 was not the first which he had tasted that night. 
 
 We remained at Zanjan during the next day, for I was anxious 
 to examine the town and its walls, with a view to obtaining a 
 clearer idea of the history of the siege, and the causes which had 
 enabled the Babi insurgents to keep the royal troops at bay so 
 long. Sir Henry Bethune, quoted by Watson in his History of 
 Persia under the Kajar Dynasty, says that in his opinion the place 
 ought to have been subdued by a regular army in a few days, and, 
 so far as I can judge, it possesses no natural advantages as a 
 stronghold. It is true that it is surrounded by a wall (now de- 
 stroyed in some places), but though this averages twenty or 
 twenty-five feet in height, it is built of no stronger material than 
 unbaked clay. The desperate resistance offered by the Babis must 
 therefore be attributed less to the strength of the position which 
 they occupied than to the extraordinary valour with which they 
 defended themselves. Even the women took part in the defence, 
 and I subsequently heard it stated on good authority that, like 
 the Carthaginian women of old, they cut off their long hair and 
 bound it round the crazy guns to afford them the necessary 
 support. The fiercest fighting was on the north and north-west 
 sides of the town, by the cemetery and Tabriz gate. Unfortunately 
 there was no one from whom I could obtain detailed information 
 about the siege. This I regretted the more because I was con- 
 vinced that, could I have found them, there must have been 
 many persons resident in Zanjan who had witnessed it, or even 
 taken part in it. I had, however, at that time no clue to guide 
 me to those who would probably have preserved the most 
 circumstantial details about it, viz. the Babis. There was therefore 
 nothing to induce me to prolong my stay, and accordingly, after 
 one day’s halt, we left Zanjan on 15th November for Sultaniyyé. 
 
 The road from Zanjan to Sultaniyyé runs through a perfectly 
 flat stony plain bounded by low hills to the north and the south, 
 
 B 6 
 
82 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 
 
 and is devoid of interest. Nearly three hours before reaching the 
 latter place we could plainly see the great green dome of the 
 mosque for which it is so celebrated. From a distance this ap- 
 peared to form part of a mass of buildings, which, on nearer 
 approach, proved to be a large palace constructed in the modern 
 style, and situated some way to the north-west of the mosque. 
 
 We paid a visit to the mosque immediately on our arrival, 
 and were shown over it by an old Seyyid who spoke Persian. It 
 is built in the shape of an octagon, and is surmounted by the 
 large green dome which forms so conspicuous a feature of the 
 landscape. From one side of the octagon (that farthest from the 
 road) is thrown out a rectangular annexe containing the mzbrab. 
 The main entrance is on the east side. The interior of the building 
 is lined with most exquisite tile-work, and beautiful inscriptions 
 in Arabic. In some places, where these tiles have been destroyed 
 ot removed, an older, deeper layer of still finer pattern is visible. 
 As the mosque 1s no longer used, the European traveller meets 
 with none of the difficulties which usually form an insuperable 
 obstacle to visiting similar buildings in Persia. The village of 
 Sultaniyyé must formerly have been a flourishing place, but it 
 now consists of only a few hovels, which form a sad contrast to 
 the ancient splendour of the mosque. 
 
 As to the date when the mosque was built, our guide was 
 unable to inform us, but he said that it had been repaired and 
 beautified by Shah Khuda-bandé, concerning whom he repeated 
 some lines of doggerel, which we had already heard from the 
 muleteer, and which ran as follows:— 
 
 “ Fy Shah Khuda-bande, 
 Zulm kunandeé, 
 Thi ta’ik bir kandé!”? 
 “O Shah Khuda-bandé, practiser of tyranny, two fowls to one village!” 
 The last line of this is Turkish: what event it alludes to, or what 
 
 its real purport is, | was unable to ascertain. Our guide informed 
 us that some time ago a European engineer had spent a week 
 
FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 83 
 
 at this place, making elaborate plans and drawings of the mosque. 
 Having completed our inspection, we offered a small sum of 
 money to the old Seyyid who had accompanied us; but he bade 
 us give whatever we wished to his son, a little boy, who had also 
 followed us. I accordingly gave him two &rdns, which appeared 
 to me a sufficient recompense for the amount of trouble we had 
 given, but the Seyyid seemed to be of a different opinion, re- 
 marking that it was ‘“‘a very trivial sum for people of distinction.” 
 I asked him what reason he had for supposing that we were 
 “people of distinction,” to which he only replied that we were 
 “‘ mukhtdr’’—ftee to do as we pleased. 
 
 Besides the mosque and the palace, there are several little 
 imdmzddés at Sultaniyyé, and I was anxious to remain another 
 day to examine these. Farach, however, appeared to divine my 
 intention and took pains to frustrate it, for he avoided me all 
 the evening, instead of coming in after supper, as he usually did, 
 to discuss the events of the day, and sent off all the baggage early 
 in the morning, so that we had no course open to us but to 
 proceed. After another uneventful stage, we reached our next 
 halting-place of Khurram-dére—a pretty village situated on a 
 river, surrounded by poplars and willows—about 4.30 p.m. Here, 
 as usual, we were very hospitably received by the villagers, two 
 of whom came out some distance to meet us and conduct us to 
 their house, where we were lodged in a very good upper room, 
 thickly carpeted, and furnished with eight large windows pro- 
 vided with shutters. 
 
 Next day we started early, the muleteers pretending that they 
 would try to reach Kazvin that evening, which, as I believe, they 
 had from the first no intention of doing. Our road ran towards 
 the north-east in the direction of a low range of hills. On teach- 
 ing the highest point of the ridge we could see before us the 
 mighty range of the Elburz mountains, which separates Persian 
 ‘Irak from the humid, richly-wooded provinces bordering on the 
 Caspian Sea. Between us and these mountains lay a wide, flat, 
 
 6-2 
 
84 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 
 
 stony plain, in which the position of Kazvin was clearly indicated 
 by the thin pall of blue smoke which hung over it. Towards this 
 plain our road now began to descend, and in a few minutes we 
 attived at the village of Kirishkin, where the muleteers an- 
 nounced their intention of halting for the night—a decision from 
 which it was impossible to move them, and to which I was in 
 gteat measute reconciled by the kindly welcome given to us by 
 the inhabitants. Here, indeed, a marked change was observable 
 in the people, who appeared much brighter, more intelligent, 
 and mote amiable than the natives of Adharbayj4n. The latter, 
 with their scowling faces and furtive gray eyes,.are not popular 
 amongst the Persians, whose opinion about the inhabitants of 
 their metropolis, Tabriz, is expressed in the following rhyme:— 
 “Zi Labrizt bi-juz hizi na-bint: 
 Hamdan bibtar ki Tabrizi na-bini.” 
 “From a Tabrizi thou wilt see naught but rascality: 
 Even this is best, that thou shouldst not see a Tabrizi.” 
 The change in the appearance of the people is accompanied by 
 a change in language, for this was the first place we came to at 
 which the Persian tongue appeared to preponderate over the 
 Turkish. 
 
 _ At this village we obtained the most sumptuous quarters in 
 a large room, twenty-five feet long by fifteen wide, thickly 
 spread with carpets. A few works of Persian poetry, placed in 
 niches in the wall, showed that our entertainers united a taste 
 for literature with a love of comfort. In the course of the 
 evening we received a visit from our host and his sons. One of 
 the latter—the one to whom the books chiefly belonged—was 
 a bright intelligent youth who discussed the merits of various 
 Persian and Turkish poets with great zest. I was much amused 
 at one rematk which he made. Speaking of the recently-con- 
 cluded /a‘x7yas (dramatic representations of various moving 
 episodes in the lives of the Prophet and his successors), and 
 especially of the scene wherein the “Firangi ambassador” at 
 
FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 85 
 
 the court of Damascus, moved by the misfortunes and patience 
 of the captive believers, embraces Islam, and is put to death by 
 the cruel tyrant Yezid, he said, “‘How I wish you had come here 
 a little earlier, for then we could have borrowed your hats and 
 clothes for the Firangis, and indeed you might have even taught 
 us some words of your language to put in the mouths of the 
 actors who personated them. As it was, not knowing anything 
 of the tongue of the Firangis, we had to make the actors who 
 represented them talk Turkish, which seemed to us the nearest 
 approach possible to Firangi speech.” 
 
 Next day we reached Kazvin after a short stage, during which 
 we descended into the plain of which I have already spoken. Here 
 we intended to halt for a day to see the town, which is of con- 
 siderable size and contains many fine buildings. Amongst these 
 is a mihmdn-khdné, ot guest-house, which is one of a series con- 
 structed between Enzeli and Teheran, and thence as far south as 
 Kum. At this, however, we did not put up, as I was anxious 
 to cling for a few days longer to the more Oriental abodes to 
 which I had become not only accustomed, but attached, and which 
 I foresaw would have to be abandoned on reaching Teheran in 
 favour of more civilised modes of existence. Unfortunately, our 
 muleteers, either through indifference or ignorance, took us to 
 a vety poor catavansaray, far inferior in comfort to the quarters 
 which we had enjoyed since leaving Zanjan, where we had 
 suffered in a similar way. Indeed it is usually the case that the 
 traveller (unless provided with introductions) fares less well in 
 the towns than in the villages. 
 
 We spent most of the following day in wandering through 
 the bazaars and examining the appearance of the town and its 
 inhabitants. The bazaars were much like those which we had 
 already seen at Khuy, Tabriz, and Zanjan; but as regards the 
 people, the advantage was decidedly in favour of the Kazvinis, 
 who ate more pleasing in countenance, more gentle in manners, 
 and rather darker in complexion than the Adharbayjanis. Persian 
 
86 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 
 
 is spoken by them universally, but almost all understand Turkish 
 as well. 
 
 The toad from Resht to Teheran, which is the route usually 
 taken by those entering Persia from Europe, passes through 
 Kazvin. This toad we now joined, and by it we proceeded to the 
 capital, accomplishing the journey thither in three days. As it 
 is probably the best known and the least interesting of all the 
 roads in Persia, I will not describe it in detail, and will only 
 notice certain points which appear worthy of mention. 
 
 First of all the mihmdn-khdnés, ot guest-houses, of which I 
 have already spoken, merit a few words. They were built, I 
 believe, by order of Nasiru’d-Din Shah on his return from his first 
 visit to Europe. They ate intended to afford the traveller by the 
 ordinary route to the capital greater comfort and better accom- 
 modation than are obtainable in caravansartays, and to fulfil in 
 some degree the functions of a hotel. I cannot say that I was at 
 all favourably impressed by these institutions, at the first of 
 which, called Kishlakh, we arrived on the evening of the day of 
 out departure from Kazvin (zoth November). It is true that they 
 ate well built, and stand in gardens pleasantly surrounded by 
 trees; that the rooms are furnished with European beds, chairs, 
 and tables; and that cooked food can he obtained from the 
 attendants. But these advantages are, to my mind, far more than 
 counterbalanced by the exorbitance of the charges and the in- 
 solence of the servants, which contrasted painfully with the ready 
 hospitality, genial courtesy, and slight demands of the villagers 
 in whose humble but cleanly homes we had hitherto generally 
 found a resting-place at the end of our day’s journey. 
 
 The mihmdn-khdné, in short, has all the worst defects of a 
 European hotel without its luxury. Let me briefly describe our 
 experiences at one—that of Kishlakh—as a specimen which will 
 serve for all. On our first arrival we are discourteously told that 
 there is no room. Remonstrances and requests are alike useless, 
 sO we prepare to move on and try to find a village where we can 
 
FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 87 
 
 halt for the night, which is now rapidly advancing. We have 
 hardly started, after a considerable delay to allow of the baggage- 
 animals coming up, when a man runs after us and informs us 
 that there zs room. No explanation or apology is offered for the 
 previous statement, but, as no other habitation is in sight, we 
 decide to turn back. On dismounting, we ate conducted to a 
 room littered up, rather than furnished, with several beds, a 
 number of cane-bottomed chairs, and a table or two. The win- 
 dows are furnished with tawdty curtains; the walls are bedecked 
 with tinselled mirrors and gaudy pictures; while on the washing- 
 stand a single ragged tooth-brush is ostentatiously displayed by 
 the side of a clothes-brush, which would seem to be intended to 
 serve as a hair-brush as well. 
 
 While contemplating this chaos of luxury, and meditating 
 somewhat sadly on the unhappy effect produced in Eastern lands 
 by the adoption of Western customs, I became aware of a stir 
 outside, and, rushing out, was just in time to see the Imdm-Fum'a, 
 ot chief ecclesiastic, of Tabriz drive up in a carriage followed by 
 a number of attendants in other vehicles. By the side of the road 
 lay the bleeding carcase of a sheep, whose throat had just been 
 cut to do honour to the approaching dignitary. This not very 
 graceful custom is common in Persia, and Mr Abbott, the British 
 Consul at Tabriz, informed me that he had great difficulty in 
 preventing its performance whenever he returned to Persia after 
 an absence in Europe. 
 
 Before we tetited for the night—not on the unattractive- 
 looking beds, but, as usual, on our Wolseley valises—we re- 
 ceived another proof of the advance of European ideas in the 
 neighbourhood of the capital in the form of a d#// (a thing which 
 we had not seen since we left Erzeroum), in which two krdus 
 were charged for “‘service,”’ which charge the bearer of the docu- 
 ment was careful to inform us was not intended to prevent us 
 from bestowing on him a further gratuity. The total amount of 
 the bill was eight Ardus—not much, indeed, but about double 
 
88 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 
 
 the sum which we had usually expended for a night’s lodging 
 hitherto—and we wete requested to settle it the same evening— 
 _a tequest which showed that a becoming suspicion of one’s 
 fellow-creatures was amongst the European “improvements” 
 introduced by the mihmdn-khdnés. 
 
 The muleteers, who had been compelled to pay an exorbitant 
 ptice for food for their animals, were not less disgusted than 
 ourselves, and declared that they would henceforth avoid mz/- 
 man-khdnés entirely. Next day, accordingly, passing two of these, 
 we made a long stage, and halted about nightfall at a walled 
 village called Kal‘a-i-Im4m-Jum‘a, where we were assured by 
 Farach that we should find “‘everything that our hearts desired.” 
 Unless he fancied that our hearts would desire nothing but melon- 
 peel, which was scattered freely about the floor of the little cell 
 where we took up our quarters, Farach’s promise must have 
 been dictated less by a strict regard for truth than by a fear of 
 being compelled by us to halt at a mihmdn-khdné. However, we 
 eventually succeeded in obtaining some bread from a kindly 
 Persian who had become cognisant of our need, and with this, 
 and the last remains of the preserved meats bought at Trebi- 
 zonde, we managed to appease our hunger, consoling ourselves 
 with the thought that this would be our last night in the wilder- 
 ness for the present, and that on the mortow we should be 
 amongst the fleshpots of Teheran. 
 
 Next morning we were astir early, for the excitement of being 
 so neat the Persian capital made sloth impossible. Yet to me at 
 least this excitement was not free from a certain tinge of sorrow 
 at the thought that I must soon bid farewell to the faithful 
 Farach, whom, notwithstanding his occasional obstinacy and 
 intractability, I had learned to like. Moreover, difficult as may 
 be the transition from European to Asiatic life, the return is 
 scarcely easier. I sighed inwardly at the thought of exchanging 
 the free, unconstrained, open-air existence of the caravan for 
 the restraints of society and the trammels of town life; and it was 
 
FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 89 
 
 only when I reflected on the old friends I should see again, and 
 the new friends I hoped to make, that I felt quite reconciled to 
 the change before me. 
 
 This day’s march was the most interesting since leaving 
 Kazvin. ‘To the north, on our left hand, towered the long range 
 of the Elburz mountains, much loftier and bolder in outline here 
 than at their western extremity; nor had we proceeded far when 
 there burst suddenly on our view the majestic snow-capped cone 
 of Mount Demavend, whete, as ancient legend runs, the tyrant- 
 patricide, Zahhak, lies bound in chains. At the base of this giant 
 wall are gentler slopes, covered with villages which serve as a 
 summer tetreat to the more opulent when the heat of the capital 
 has become intolerable. Near the road for some distance runs 
 the river Karach, bright and rippling; while, to the south of this, 
 numerous little villages set with poplars diversify the monotony 
 of the gray stony plain. Once or twice we passed bands of soldiers 
 returning from their military service to their homes in Adhar- 
 bayjan, and then a mighty caravan of 111 camels wending its 
 slow course westwards. Then, all at once, our eyes were dazzled 
 by flashes of light reflected from an object far away towards the 
 south, which shone like gold in the sun. This I at first imagined 
 must be the situation of the capital, but I was mistaken; it was 
 the dome of the holy shrine of Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim, situated five 
 ot six miles south of Teheran, which, lying as it does somewhat 
 in a hollow, is not clearly seen until it is almost reached. At 
 length, however, at a little roadside tea-house, where we halted 
 for refreshment, we came in sight of it. 
 
 Many such tea-houses formerly existed in the capital, but 
 most of them were closed some time ago by order of the Shah. 
 The reason commonly alleged for this proceeding is that they 
 wete supposed to encoutage extravagance and idleness, or, as 
 I have also heard said, evils of a more serious kind. Outside 
 the town, however, some of them are still permitted to continue 
 their trade and provide the “bond fide traveller” with tefresh- 
 
90 FROM TABRIZ TO TEHERAN 
 
 ment, which, needless to say, does not include wine orf 
 spirits. 
 
 At length, about sunset, we entered the city by the Derwazé-7- 
 Naw (New Gate), and here we were accosted by one Yusuf ‘Alf, 
 who, though he wore the Persian dress, was, as he proudly 
 informed us, a British subject of Indian nationality. We asked 
 him what accommodation was to be found in Teheran. He 
 replied that there were two hotels, one kept by a family called 
 Prevost, of French or Swiss extraction, the other by a man called 
 Albert, and advised us to go to the latter, because it was cheaper. 
 As, however, we purposed making a sojourn of some length in 
 the capital, and the comfort of out abode was therefore a matter 
 of more importance than when we were halting only for a night 
 ot two, we determined to inspect both places on the following 
 day, and in the meantime, as it was now late, to take up tem- 
 potaty quarters at a caravansaray situated not far from the gate 
 whereby we had entered. 
 
 
 

 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 TEHERAN 
 
 “There was a most ingenious Architect, who had contrived a new Method 
 for building Houses, by beginning at the Roof, and working downwards to 
 the Foundation, which he justified to me, by the like Practice of those two 
 prudent Insects, the Bee and the Spider.” —(Sz/t.) 
 
 ITHERTO I have, in describing my travels, followed 
 
 pretty closely the journals which I kept during their con- 
 tinuance, only amplifying such things as appeared unfamiliar or 
 interesting, and suppressing or abridging entries which I deemed 
 to be of consequence to no one but myself. Now, however, 
 a different plan becomes necessary; for since I continued at the 
 Persian capital for about ten weeks, and since many days passed 
 uneventfully, either in study or in conversation with friends and 
 acquaintances, a full record of this period would necessarily be 
 both prolix and unprofitable. I shall therefore include in this 
 chapter all that I have to say about the people, topography, in- 
 stitutions, public buildings, gardens, squares, palaces, mosques, 
 and educational establishments of Teheran, to which I shall add 
 a short notice on the royal family, a description of some enter- 
 tainments to which I was admitted as a guest, and a few anec- 
 dotes illustrative of the Persian genius and character. 
 
 Now, my stay at Teheran was divided into two periods, 
 differing somewhat in character. During the first, which began 
 on the second day after our arrival (24th November), and ended 
 with the departure of my companion H on 29th December, 
 we lodged at Prevost’s Hotel, and were for the most part occupied 
 with sight-seeing and social distractions, from both of which 
 we derived much profit and pleasure. But when we had become 
 
 
 
92 TEHERAN 
 
 thus generally conversant with the life of the capital, H——, 
 who had no special interest in the language, literature, or science 
 of the Persians, and whose time was, moreover, limited, desired 
 to continue his journey to the Persian Gulf; while I, finding at 
 Teheran facilities for the prosecution of my studies which I was 
 unwilling to let slip, wished to remain there. So, finding our 
 objects incompatible, we wete compelled to separate. He left 
 Teheran for the south on 29th December, taking with him our 
 Turkish servant ‘Ali, who was unwilling to remain in Persia 
 longer than he could help, since he found the people and the 
 climate equally uncongenial. These, then, journeyed gradually 
 southwards, halting for a while at the chief towns through which 
 they passed, until about the beginning of April they reached 
 Bushire, and thence took ship homewards. 
 
 Soon after their departure, about the beginning of the new 
 year (1888), I was invited by my friend the Nawwab Mirza 
 Hasan ‘Ali Khan, a Persian nobleman whose acquaintance I had 
 made in London, to take up my abode with him in a house which 
 he had rented near the English Embassy. Of this kind offer I 
 vety gratefully availed myself, and continued for the remainder 
 of my stay in Teheran (ze. till 7th February 1888) an inmate of 
 his house, to my great pleasure and advantage. For my whole 
 desire was, as my host well knew, to obtain as full an insight as 
 possible into Persian life; and though he was thoroughly con- 
 versant with the English language, yet, out of regard for me, he 
 rately talked with me save in Persian, except that in the evening 
 he would sometimes ask me to tead with him a chapter of 
 Carlyle’s Heroes and Hero-Worship, which work, by reason of the 
 favourable opinion of the Prophet Muhammad entertained by 
 the author, is very highly esteemed by Muhammadans acquainted 
 with English. Moreover most of my host’s visitors and all his 
 servants were Persian, and spoke, for the most part, only Persian 
 (though his younger brother, an officer in the Persian army, and 
 two of his nephews, whom I had known in London, had been 
 
TEHERAN 93 
 
 educated partly in England and spoke English extremely well), 
 so that I was not only able but forced to make much progress 
 in speaking and understanding. And during all this time I was 
 able to benefit by the teaching of a very able scholar, Mirza 
 Asadu’llah of Sabzaw4r, a pupil of the late Haji Mulla Hadi of 
 Sabzawar, the greatest philosopher whom Persia has produced 
 during the nineteenth century. Thus was I enabled to obtain some 
 insight into the philosophical doctrines current in Persia, of 
 which I shall say something in the next chapter. 
 
 The European colony in Teheran is considerable, and the 
 society which it affords equally remarkable for distinction and 
 hospitality. It comprises the corps diplomatique attached to the 
 different embassies (and almost every European nation of note 
 is represented, as well as the United States of America); the staff 
 of the Indo-European Telegraph; the American missionaries; 
 several merchants and men of business; and a few Europeans 
 employed in the Persian service. From many of these I received 
 much hospitality and kindness, which I shall not soon forget, 
 ~ and on which I would gladly dwell did I feel justified in so doing. 
 But my business at present is not to attempt an inadequate dis- 
 charge of personal obligations (a discharge, moreover, which 
 would probably be unacceptable to those to whom I am so 
 indebted), but to depict with such fidelity as I may the life, 
 character, and customs of the Persians. Of the European colony, 
 then, I will say no more than this, that it is associated in my mind 
 with every feeling of gratitude and every pleasant remembrance 
 which kindness and hospitality received in a strange land can 
 evoke in the heart or impress on the mind of the recipient. 
 
 Teheran, as everyone knows, was not always the capital of 
 Persia. In the most ancient days the province of Fars, or Persia 
 proper, and at a later time Isfahan, generally enjoyed this dignity. 
 At other times, when, on the decay of some great dynasty, the 
 empire was split up into numerous fragments, princes of different 
 dynasties often reigned over one or two provinces, fixing the 
 
94 TEHERAN 
 
 seat of government at the most important town in their domi- 
 nions. Under the Safavi kings, when the ancient greatness of 
 Persia enjoyed a temporary revival, it was Isfahan which was 
 graced by their splendid court. About a century ago, when 
 the great struggle between the Zend dynasty and the family 
 of the Kajars was in progress, the former, represented by 
 the noble and generous Karim Khan, had its capital at Shiraz, 
 while the latter, personified by that atrocious and bloodthirsty 
 tyrant Aké Muhammad Khan, fixed their headquarters at 
 Teheran. On the final victory of the latter, the northern city, 
 situated as it is near the lands from which sprung the originally 
 Turkish tribe of the Kajars, was definitely raised to the rank of 
 capital, and has enjoyed this dignity ever since, while each of the 
 three kings who succeeded the founder of the dynasty further 
 exerted himself to enlarge and beautify the city. 
 
 Teheran, as it is at present, is a large town lying in a slight 
 hollow, just sufficient to prevent its being seen from any distance 
 on the plain; roughly speaking circular in shape; and entirely 
 surrounded by walls of unbaked clay, and for the most part by 
 a ditch as well. Access is given to the interior by twelve gates, 
 which are as follows:— 
 
 Between the north and the east— 
 
 1. The Derwazé-i-Behjetabad, } leading to the gardens, palaces, and 
 2. The Derwazé-i-Dawlat, villages situated to the north of the 
 3. The Derwdzé-i-Shimrdn, | city on the slopes of Elburz. 
 
 Between the east and south— 
 
 4. The Derwdzé-i-Dawshdn-tepé, leading to the Shah’s hunting- 
 palace of Dawshan-tepé (“ Hare-hill”’). 
 
 5. The Derwdzé-i-Dulab (“the Mill Gate”). 
 
 6. The Derwdzé-i-Mashhad (“the Mashhad Gate”). 
 
 Between the south and west— 
 
 7. The Derwdzé-i-Shab-‘ Abdu’l-“Azxim (through which passes the 
 great caravan road to the south). 
 
 8. The Derwaxé-i-Ghar (“the Cave Gate”). 
 
 9. The Derwdzé-i-Naw (“the New Gate’’). 
 
TEHERAN 95 
 
 Between the west and north— 
 
 10. The Derwézé-i-Gumruk (“the Custom-house Gate”). 
 11. The Derwdzé-i-Kazvin (“the Kazvin Gate’’). 
 12. The Derwdzé-i-Asp-davini (“the Race-course Gate’’). 
 
 To the north of the city are numerous gardens; some, like 
 Behjetabad and Yusufabad, situated within a short walk of the 
 walls; some in the villages of Shimran, like Kulahak and Tajrish, 
 which serve as summer retreats to the Europeans and rich 
 Persians, distant five or six miles from the town; and others yet 
 mote distant, on the slopes of Elburz. Some of the gardens 
 belonging to the royal family are very beautifully laid out, as, 
 for example, the garden called Kdmrdniyyé, which is the property 
 of the Shah’s third son, the Na’ibu’s-Saltana. The Persians take 
 the greatest delight in their gardens, and show more pride in 
 exhibiting them to the stranger than in pointing out to him their 
 finest buildings. Yet to one accustomed to the gardens of the 
 West they appear, as a rule, nothing very wonderful. They 
 generally consist of a square enclosure surrounded by a mud wall, 
 planted with rows of poplar trees in long straight avenues, and 
 intersected with little streams of water. The total absence of 
 erass seems their greatest defect in the eyes of a European, but 
 apart from this they do not, as a rule, contain a great variety of 
 flowers, and, except in the spring, present a very bare appearance. 
 But in the eyes of the Persian, accustomed to the naked stony 
 plains which constitute so large a portion of his country, they 
 appear as veritable gardens of Eden, and he will never be happier 
 than when seated under the shade of a poplar by the side of the 
 stream, sipping his tea and smoking his ka/ydn. What I have 
 said applies to the great majority of gardens in Persia, but not 
 to all; for some of those in Shiraz are very beautiful, and, except 
 for the lack of the well-trimmed lawns which we regard as so 
 indispensable to the perfect beauty of a garden, might well defy 
 all competition. 
 
 Many of the gardens near Teheran are cultivated by ‘‘Guebres,” 
 
96 TEHERAN 
 
 the remnant of the ancient faith of Zoroaster. The headquarters 
 of Zoroastrianism in Persia are at Yezd and Kirman, in and about 
 which cities there may be in all some 7ooo ot 8000 adherents of 
 the old creed. In other towns they are met with but sparingly, 
 and ate not distinguished by the dull yellow dress and loosely- 
 wound yellow turban which they are compelled to wear in the 
 two cities above-mentioned. As I shall speak of this interesting 
 people at some length when I come to describe my stay amongst 
 them in the only two places in Persia where they still exist in any 
 numbers, I will not at present dwell on their characteristics 
 further than to allude briefly to their dakhmé, or “tower of 
 silence,” situated two or three miles south of Teheran, on one 
 of the rocky spurs of the jagged mountain called Kuh-i-Bibi 
 Shahr-banu. 
 
 Bibi Shahr-bani was the daughter of the unfortunate Yez- 
 digird III, whose sad fate it was to see the mighty empire of the 
 Sasanians and the ancient religion of Zoroaster fall in one 
 common ruin before the savage onslaught of the hitherto de- 
 spised Arabs, ere he himself, a hunted fugitive, perished by the 
 hand of a treacherous miller in whose house he had taken refuge. 
 The daughter subsequently married Huseyn, the son of ‘Ali, thus 
 uniting the royal blood of the house of S4san with the holy race 
 of the Im4ms and the kindred of the Arabian prophet. To this 
 union is perhaps to be attributed in some degree the enthusiasm 
 with which the Persians, bereft of their old religion, espoused 
 the cause of ‘Ali and his successors (or in other words the Shi‘ite 
 faction of the Muhammadans) against the usurpations of those 
 whom the Sunnis dignify with the title of Khalifa, or vicegerent 
 of the Prophet. After the calamities suffered by the family of ‘Ali 
 at the hands of their ruthless foes, Bibi Shahr-banu is said to have 
 fled to Persia, and to have found a refuge from her oppressors 
 in the mountain just to the south of Teheran which still bears 
 her name. It is said that the place where she hid is still marked 
 by a shrine which has the miraculous property of being in- 
 
TEHERAN 97 
 
 accessible to men, though women may visit it unimpeded. Where 
 this shrine is I do not know, neither did I make any attempt to 
 test the truth of the legend. 
 
 The Guebtes’ dakhmé is situated midway up a sharp ridge 
 which descends from the summit of this mountain on the 
 northern side, and is a conspicuous object from a distance. It 
 consists of a circular tower of clay or unbaked brick, of the 
 grayish colour common to all buildings in Persia. The wall, 
 which is provided with no door or gate, is about forty-five feet 
 high on the outside; inside (as we could see by ascending the 
 spur on which it stands toa point which overlooks it) its height, 
 owing to the raised floor, is probably not more than ten feet. 
 The floor of the tower consists of a level surface broken at 
 regular intervals by rectangular pits. Whenever a Zoroastrian 
 dies, his body is conveyed hither, and deposited by two of his 
 co-treligionists (set apart for this duty) inside the dakhmé and over 
 one of these pits. The carrion birds which hover round this 
 dreary spot soon swoop down, tear it in pieces, and devour its 
 flesh, till nothing is left but the disarticulated bones, which fall 
 into the pit below. Little, therefore, remains to tell of those 
 who have been laid in this charnel-house; and from the ridge 
 above, where I could see almost the whole of the interior, I 
 counted not mote than two skulls and a few long bones. Of 
 course the total number of Zoroastrians in Teheran is very small, 
 and the deaths do not probably exceed two or three a year, which 
 may to some extent explain the paucity of remains in the dakhmé. 
 Yezd and Kirmdn have each two dakhmés, similarly constructed, 
 and situated in like manner on the spurs of mountains at a 
 distance of several miles from the city. These five dakhmés con- 
 stitute, so far as I know, the total number now in use in Persia. 
 This method of disposing of the dead often strikes Europeans 
 as vety disgusting, and, indeed, it would clearly be inapplicable 
 to a thickly-populated, flat country with a humid atmosphere. 
 In Persia, however, where the air is so clear, the sun so strong, 
 
 B 7 
 
98 TEHERAN 
 
 the population so sparse, and mountains so numerous, I can well 
 imagine that no inconvenience was caused by its adoption, even 
 in the days when the whole population was Zoroastrian. 
 
 Neat the mouth of the valley which lies to the north of the 
 Kuh-i-Bibi Shahr-b4nu, and on the opposite side to the dakhmé, 
 is a tablet cut in the tock (in rough imitation of the ancient 
 monuments about Persepolis), bearing the figure of a king, and 
 an inscription in modern Persian. Though of such recent date, 
 it possesses none of the clearness still discernible in its Sasanian 
 prototypes, and the writing on it is already almost illegible. 
 
 Below this, at the end of the valley, are to be seen the remains 
 of gigantic mud walls, which are said to have formed a portion 
 of the ancient city of Rey (Rhages), though by some this 1s 
 supposed to have lain farther from Teheran towards the east, 
 near the present village of Varamin. Rather nearer to the Shah 
 ‘Abdw’l-“Azim toad (which crosses the mouth of the valley at 
 right angles) are two high brick towers, one of which is called 
 the Tower of Toghrul. 
 
 Of the little town of Shah ‘Abdu’l‘Azim itself, which is 
 chiefly notable for its very fine mosque and its very detestable 
 population (the place being what is called “bast,” that is, a 
 sanctuary or city of refuge, where all criminals are safe from 
 pursuit), I shall have something to say in another chapter. It 
 was to this place that the railway of which such great things were 
 expected, and which it was hoped might be extended farther 
 south—pethaps even to the Persian Gulf—was laid from 
 Teheran. When I returned there in the autumn of 1888 on my 
 way home, this railway was open, and was running some eight 
 ot ten trains a day each way. Its prosperity, alas! was short-lived: 
 before the end of the year it was torn up and completely wrecked 
 by a mob, exasperated at the accidental death of a man who had 
 tried to leap from the train while it was in motion. 
 
 That the friends of this man, whose death was brought about 
 solely by his own folly and rashness, acted unreasonably in 
 
TEHERAN 99 
 
 revenging themselves on the railway I do not for a moment wish 
 to deny. That the deep-seated prejudice against this and other 
 European innovations which found its manifestation in this act 
 is equally unreasonable, I am not, however, disposed to admit. 
 I think that the jealousy with which the Persian people are 
 prone to regard these railways, tramways, monopolies, con- 
 cessions, and companies, of which so much has been heard lately, 
 is both natural and reasonable. These things, so far as they are 
 sources of wealth at all, are so, not to the Persian people, but to 
 the Shah and his ministers on the one hand, and to the European 
 promoters of the schemes on the other. People who reason 
 about them in Europe too often suppose that the interests of the 
 Shah and of his subjects are identical, when they are in fact 
 generally diametrically opposed; and that the Shah is an en- 
 lightened monarch, eager for the welfare and progress of a 
 stubborn and refractory people who delight in thwarting his 
 benevolent schemes, when in reality he is a selfish despot, devoid 
 of public spirit, careful only of his own personal comfort and 
 advantage, and most averse to the introduction of liberal ideas 
 amongst a people whose natural quickness, intelligence, and 
 aptitude to learn cause him nothing but anxiety. He does every- 
 thing in his power to prevent the diffusion of those ideas which 
 conduce to true pregress, and his supposed admiration for civili- 
 sation amounts to little more than the languid amusement which 
 he derives from the contemplation and possession of mechanical 
 playthings and ingenious toys. 
 
 I can only pause to notice one other object of interest outside 
 the city walls, to wit, the pleasantly-situated palace of Dawshan- 
 tepé (which means in Turkish “Hare-hill”’), where the Shah 
 often goes to pursue the chase, to which he is passionately 
 devoted. This palace, of dazzling whiteness, stands on an emi- 
 nence to the north-east of the town, and forms a very con- 
 spicuous feature in the landscape. Besides the palace on the hill, 
 there is another in a garden on its southern side, attached to 
 
 7-2 
 
100 TEHERAN 
 
 which is a small menagerie belonging to the Shah. This collection 
 of animals is not very extensive, but includes fine specimens of 
 the Persian lion (shir)1, whose most famous haunt is in the forests 
 of Dasht-i-Arjin, between Shirdz and Bushire, as well as a few 
 tigers (babr), leopards (palang), and baboons (shangdl). 
 
 Having spoken of what is without the city, I must now say 
 something about the chief monuments contained within its walls. 
 These are very few, and, for the most part, of little interest. 
 Teheran is an essentially modern town, and as such lacks the 
 charm which invests Isfahan, Shiraz, Yezd, and other Persian 
 cities of more respectable antiquity. In the eyes of its own in- 
 habitants, however, it appears the we plus ultra of splendour. It 
 has two European hotels; it is intersected, especially in the 
 northern quarter, by several wide, straight thoroughfares, some 
 of which arte even lighted by gas, and one of which certain 
 Europeans and their Persian imitators are pleased to designate 
 the “Boulevard des Ambassadeuts.” ‘There are also several 
 large squares, some of which are embellished with tanks and 
 fountains worthy of a sincere admiration. In addition to all this 
 the bazaars (situated in the southern quarter) are extensive and 
 flourishing; the situation of the town, in full view of the snow- 
 capped mountains of Elburz, is unquestionably fine; and the air 
 is clear and exhilarating. In a word, it is a pleasant place to stay 
 in, rather than an interesting place to see. Nevertheless, some 
 of my readers may desire to obtain a clearer notion of what is, 
 after all, the present capital of Persia. Let me ask them, then, 
 to accompany me in imagination for a stroll through the northern 
 quarter of the city, in which are situated most of the parks, 
 palaces, and public buildings, all the embassies except the 
 Russian, and the residences of almost all the Europeans and many 
 of the mote opulent and influential Persians. 
 
 1 I mention this chiefly because this word, mispronounced shér (like 
 English “share”), is applied in India to the tiger, which animal is properly 
 termed babr in Persian, as stated in the text. 
 
TEHERAN IOI 
 
 We will begin our walk at the northern end of the Khiydbdn-1- 
 ‘Alé’u'd-Damla (“Boulevard des Ambassadeuts”’), a fine broad, 
 straight avenue, running almost due north and south. Entering 
 this from the north through the waste land which intervenes 
 (or did intervene in 1887) between it and the Behjetabad 
 and Dawlat Gates, we first pass, on the right-hand side, the fine 
 garden and buildings of the English Embassy. Lower down on 
 the same side are the German and American Legations. Near the 
 latter, a street running westwards leads to the church, schools, 
 and tesidences of the American missionaries. On the left (east) 
 side of the avenue the finest building is the Turkish Embassy, 
 rematkable for a magnificent gate adorned with an inscription 
 in letters of gold. On the same side are the French and Italian 
 Legations, and a little lower down the office of the Indo-Euro- 
 pean Telegraph. Beyond this ate a few European shops, as well 
 as the two hotels already mentioned; opposite these are several 
 more shops, one of which belongs to a photographer—a Russian, 
 I believe—who sells excellent photographs at the very cheap 
 price of four témdns (about twenty-four shillings) a hundred. 
 Below this point, as well as in some places above it, the sides of 
 the avenue ate formed by colonnades of brick, within which are 
 situated a few small Persian shops, dealing chiefly in groceries. 
 Passing under an archway guarded by sentries, we enter the 
 north-west corner of the Meyddn-i-Topkhdné, or Artillery Square. 
 This is of great size, and is surrounded by barracks, the white 
 walls of which are profusely decorated with rude representations 
 of the national symbol, the lion and the sun. 
 
 From this square emerge five great streets or avenues; one, 
 sometimes called the ‘‘Rue de Gaz,” on the east side; two on the 
 south; and two (one of which we have already traversed) on the 
 north. Leaving the three which belong to the eastern portion of 
 the square for future consideration, we continue in a direct 
 - southward line across the western end, and enter another 
 avenue, which leads us past some of the Persian Government 
 
102 TEHERAN 
 
 Offices (the road opposite to which is, during a considerable part 
 of the day, blocked by carriages and horses) into a very pretty 
 square, well paved and girt with trees, called the Meyddn-7-Arg 
 (“Citadel Square”’). The central portion of this is occupied by 
 a large basin of water of octagonal shape, surrounded by gas 
 lamps. At its southern end is a raised stone platform, on which 
 stands a large gun mounted on wheels. This gun is remarkable, 
 in common with Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim, the royal stables, and 
 sundry other places, as affording sanctuary to those who are 
 pursued by the law. It has, indeed, the disadvantage of being 
 a very small “‘city of refuge,” and one which would not long be 
 tenable; nevertheless, for the time being, the fugitive is safe in 
 its shadow. 
 
 Quitting the Meyddén-i-Arg, and traversing a short bazaar 
 containing a few small shops, we come out into another broad 
 street, which at this point runs at right angles to our path, but 
 which, if we turned to the left and followed its course eastwards, 
 would be found to bend gradually into a northerly direction, 
 and would conduct us back to the Meyddn-i-Topkhdné. By this 
 road we propose to return; but before doing so, let us take a 
 glance at the intricate mazes of the bazaar. To do this, we cross 
 the road and enter a square known as the Sabyé-Meyddn, or “Herb 
 Market.”’ In its centre is the usual tank of water, and it is sur- 
 rounded by the shops of watchmakers, tobacconists, and other 
 tradesmen, mostly of Armenian nationality. We cross towards its 
 southern side, and enter the hatmakers’ bazaar (Kaché-i-kulab- 
 duzdn), where any variety of Persian head-dress may be put- 
 chased, from the light cloth hat affected by the Armenians and 
 Europeanised (/rrangi-ma’db) Persians, costing only three or four 
 kradns (about two shillings), to the genuine lambskin ku/éh, 
 costing thirty, forty, or even fifty krans. 
 
 Having passed the hatmakers, we come to the shoemakers, 
 and, if we continue our way perseveringly towards the south, 
 we shall eventually arrive at the gate of Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim, 
 
 Sn 
 
TEHERAN 103 
 
 unless, as may easily happen, we lose our beatings hopelessly 
 in the labyrinthine mazes which we must traverse, distracted 
 either by a string of majestic camels, past which we contrive to 
 edge ourselves, or by a glittering array of antique gems, seals, 
 and turquoises, exposed in a case at our very elbow. 
 
 As, however, we have already visited the dakhmé in the 
 Mountain of Bibi Shahr-bant and the ruins of Rey, and as we 
 shall pass through Shah ‘Abdu’l-“Azim on our journey south- 
 wards, it is unnecessary to explore the bazaar any farther at 
 present. Bazaars, after all, are much alike, not only in Persia, 
 but throughout the Muhammadan world; there are the same 
 mote or less tortuous vaulted colonnades, thronged with horses, 
 camels, and men; the same cool recesses, in which are successively 
 exhibited every kind of merchandise; the same subdued murmur 
 and atoma of spices, which form a out ensemble so itresistibly 
 attractive, so continually fresh, yet so absolutely similar, whether 
 seen in Constantinople or Kirman, Teheran or Tabriz. 
 
 Instead of pursuing our way farther, therefore, we strike to 
 the left from the shoemakers’ bazaar, and, without even pausing 
 to examine the array of saddles, bridles, whips, saddle-bags, 
 leather water-bags, and other travellers’ requisites exhibited to 
 our gaze, make for the Bézdr-i-dunbdl-i-khandak, (“Market be- 
 hind the moat’’), and, following this for a while, soon emerge 
 once more into the broad open street which we crossed at a point 
 farther west to reach the Sabyé-Meydan. At the point where we 
 have now entered it, it has already begun to assume a northerly 
 direction to reach the Meyddn-i-Topkhdné, towards which we again 
 bend our steps. On our left we pass the very modern-looking 
 palace called Shamsu’l-‘Imara (“the Sun of Architecture”’), with 
 its lofty tower, and come to the Daru’/-Funin, ot university. 
 Here English, French, Russian, Medicine (both ancient and 
 modern), Mathematics, and other useful accomplishments are 
 taught on European methods. The students vary in age from 
 mere boys to youths of eighteen or nineteen, and are distinguished 
 
104 TEHERAN 
 
 by a military-looking uniform. They not only receive their 
 education free, but are allowed one meal a day and two suits of 
 clothes a year at the public expense, besides being rewarded, in 
 case of satisfactory progress and good conduct, by a very liberal 
 distribution of prizes at the end of the session. Arabic, Theology, 
 and Metaphysic do not enter into the curriculum, but are rele- 
 gated to the ancient madrasas attached to some of the mosques 
 and endowed by pious bequests. The best madrasas, however, 
 must be sought for, not in Teheran, but in Isfahan, the former 
 capital. 
 
 Just above the Déru’/-Funin is another fine building, intended, 
 I believe, to serve as a Central Telegraph Office which shall 
 combine the hitherto separated European and Persian branches. 
 Not far above this we re-enter the Meyddn-i-Topkhdné, this time 
 at the south-east corner. To our right the “Rue de Gaz” emerges 
 from the square, and runs eastwards. In it dwells a Turkish 
 haircutter of well-deserved fame, but beyond this it possesses 
 few features of interest, and we may therefore pass it by, and cross 
 to the north-east corner of the square, whence we enter another 
 avenue similar to and parallel with the Khiyaban-i-“ Ala’wd- 
 Dayla in which we commenced our walk. This avenue is bound- 
 ed on the right by a fine garden, the Bdgh-i-Ldlé-zdr (“Garden 
 of the Tulip-bed”’), which belonged, I believe, to the talented 
 Riza-Kuli Khan, generally known as the La/d-bdshi, or chief 
 tutor of the Shah, whose numerous works, varied in matter but 
 uniform in merit, are alone sufficient to prove that Persian literary 
 ability has not, as some would pretend, ceased to exist. Little 
 else besides this claims our attention here, and if we pursue our 
 way up this avenue we shall finally reach a point where it is 
 crossed by another broad road running at right angles to it. 
 This latter, if we follow it to the left, will bring us out where we 
 started from, in front of the English Embassy. 
 
 Although the walk just described has led us through most 
 of the principal streets and squares, and past a number of the 
 
TEHERAN 105 
 
 chief buildings and palaces, a few objects of interest which lie 
 apart from the route traversed deserve a brief notice. 
 
 First amongst these I will mention—because it can be disposed 
 of in a very few words—another large square, called Meyddn-s- 
 Mashk (“Drill Square”), which lies to the north-west of the 
 Meydan-i-Topkhdné. ‘Though somewhat smaller than the latter, 
 it is very spacious, and serves admirably the purpose to which, 
 as its name implies, it is appropriated—that of a place d’armes, 
 of exercising-ground for the troops. 
 
 Next to this, the palace called Nigdéristdn (‘Picture Gallery”’), 
 which was the favourite residence of the second king of the 
 Kajar dynasty, Fath-‘Ali Shah, deserves mention. It is situated 
 at no great distance from the English Embassy, and derives its 
 name from the numerous highly-finished paintings with which 
 the walls of some of its chambers are decorated. In the largest 
 toom I counted no less than 118 full-length portraits, which 
 included not only Fath-‘Ali Shah and his numerous sons and 
 ministers, but also the staffs of the French and English Embassies 
 (headed respectively by General Gardanne and Sir John Mal- 
 colm) then resident at the Persian Court, the names of all these 
 being indicated in Persian characters. The portraits, which seem 
 to have been carefully and accurately executed, were completed 
 in the year A.H. 1228 (A.D. 1812-13) by one ‘Abdu’llah, as is 
 witnessed by an inscription placed under them. The only other 
 noticeable feature of the Nigdristdn is a beautiful marble bath, 
 furnished with a long smooth g/issoire, called by the Persians 
 sursurak, (“the slide”), which descends from above to the very 
 edge of the bath. Down this slope the numerous ladies of Fath- 
 “Ali Shah’s harem used to slide into the arms of their lord, who 
 was waiting below to receive them. 
 
 It remains to say a few words about the mosques, which are 
 of less interest than those of almost any other Muhammadan 
 city of equal size. One of the finest is quite recent, and was, 
 indeed, still in process of construction when I visited it. It was 
 
106 TEHERAN 
 
 commenced by the late Szpahsd/ar, whose career is generally reported 
 to have been brought to an abrupt close by a cup of “Kajar 
 coffee,” while he was in retirement and disgrace at Mashhad. 
 The construction of the mosque, rudely interrupted by this sad 
 event, was subsequently resumed by his brother, the Mashiru’d- 
 Dawla, whom J had the honour of visiting. He received me with 
 the easy couttesy characteristic of the Persian nobleman; ques- 
 tioned me as to my studies, the books I had read, and the towns 
 I proposed to visit on leaving Teheran; and, after allowing me 
 to inspect the various rooms (some furnished in Persian and 
 others in European style) in his large and beautiful house, kindly 
 sent a setvant with me to show me the mosque, which I might 
 otherwise have had difficulty in seeing. The fine large court of 
 the mosque, in the centre of which is a tank of water, is sut- 
 rounded by lofty buildings, devoted partly to educational, partly 
 to religious purposes. On the walls of these is inscribed on tiles 
 the wakf-ndmé, or detail of the endowment, in which is set forth 
 the number of professors and students of theology and the 
 kindred sciences who ate to be maintained within the walls of 
 the college. Of the former there were to be four, and of the 
 latter, I think, 150. 
 
 It is generally very difficult to visit the interior of mosques 
 in Persia; for in this respect the Shi‘ite Muhammadans are much 
 mote strict than the Sunnis, and a non-Muslim can, as a rule, 
 only enter them in disguise. I once resorted to this expedient 
 to obtain a glimpse of another mosque in Teheran, the Masjid-i- 
 Shah, which I visited with two of my Persian friends. Although 
 we only remained in it for a very short time, we did not wholly 
 escape the critical gaze of sundry wu//ds who kept hovering round 
 us, and I was not sorry to emerge once mote into the bazaar; 
 for the consequences of discovery would have been, to say the 
 least of it, disagreeable. From the little I have seen of the in- 
 teriors of Persian mosques, I should say that they were decidedly 
 less beautiful than those of Constantinople or Cairo. 
 
 ee 
 
TEHERAN 107 
 
 I have already had occasion to speak of the Daru’/Funin, ot 
 university, and I mentioned the fact that it included a school of 
 medicine. Through the kindness of Dr Tholozan, the Shah’s 
 physician, I was enabled to be present at one of the meetings of 
 the Majlis-i-Sibhat (“Congtess of Health,” or Medical Council), 
 held once a week within its walls. The assembly was presided 
 over by the learned Mukhbiru’d-Dawla, the Minister of Education, 
 and there were present at it sixteen of the chief physicians of the 
 capital, including the professors of medicine (both the followers 
 of Galen and Avicenna, and those of the modern school). The 
 discussion was conducted for the most part in Persian, Dr Tholo- 
 zan and myself being the only Europeans present; but occasionally 
 a few tematks were made in French, with which several of those 
 present were conversant. After a little desultory conversation, 
 a gteat deal of excellent tea, flavoured with orange-juice, and the 
 inevitable ka/ydén, or watet-pipe, the proceedings commenced 
 with a report on the death-rate of Teheran, and the chief causes 
 of mortality. This was followed by a clear and scientific account 
 of a case of acute ophthalmia successfully treated by inoculation, 
 the merits of which plan of treatment were then compared with 
 the results obtained by the use of jequirity, called in Persian 
 chashm-i-kburds, and in Arabic ‘aynu’d-dik, both of which terms 
 signify “cock’s eye.” Reports were then read on the death-rates 
 and causes of mortality at some of the chief provincial towns. 
 According to these, Kirmanshah suffered chiefly from ague, 
 dysentery, and small-pox, while in Isfahan, Kirman, and Shahrid, 
 typhus, or typhoid, joined its ravages to those of the above- 
 mentioned diseases. My faith in these reports was, however, 
 somewhat shaken when I subsequently learned that they were in 
 great measure derived from information supplied by those whose 
 business it is to wash the corpses of the dead. Some account was 
 next given of a fatal hemorrhagic disease which had lately deci- 
 mated the Yomut Turkmans. As these wild nomads appeared 
 to entertain an unconquerable aversion to medical men, no 
 
108 TEHERAN 
 
 scientific investigation of this outbreak had been possible. 
 Finally, a large stone, extracted by lithotomy, was exhibited by 
 a Persian surgeon; and after a little general conversation the 
 meeting finally broke up about 5 p.m. I was very favourably 
 impressed with the proceedings, which were, from first to last, 
 characterised by order, courtesy, and scientific method; and from 
 the enlightened efforts of this centre of medical knowledge I 
 confidently anticipate considerable sanitary and hygienic reforms 
 in Persia. Already in the capital these efforts have produced a 
 marked effect, and there, as well as to a lesser extent in the pro- 
 vinces, the old Galenic system has begun to give place to the 
 modern theory and practice of medicine. 
 
 Having now spoken of the topography, buildings, and in- 
 stitutions of the capital, it behoves me to say something about 
 its social aspects. I begin naturally with the royal family. 
 
 Of Nasiru’d-Din Shah, the reigning king, I have already said 
 something. His appearance has been rendered so familiar in 
 Europe by his three visits to the West, that of it I need hardly 
 speak. He has had a long reign, if not a very glorious one, for 
 he was crowned at Teheran on 2oth October 1848, and there 
 seems every likelihood that he will live to celebrate his jubilee. 
 He came to the throne very young, being not much more than 
 seventeen or eighteen years of age. Before that time he had 
 resided at Tabriz as governor of the province of Adharb4yjan, an 
 office always conferred by K4jar sovereigns on the Crown Prince. 
 The Kajars, as I have already said, are of Turkish origin, and the 
 language of Adharbayjan is also a dialect of Turkish; whence it 
 came about that Nasiru’d-Din Shah, on his accession, could 
 scarcely express himself at all in Persian—a fact to which 
 Dr Polak, about that time his court physician, bears testimony. 
 Even now, though he habitually speaks and writes Persian, and 
 has even composed and published some poems in that language, 
 he prefers, I believe, to make use of Turkish in conversation 
 with such of his intimates as understand it. 
 
TEHERAN 109 
 
 I wish to insist on the fact that the reigning dynasty of the 
 Kajats are essentially of Turkish race, because it is often over- 
 looked, and because it is of some political importance. When 
 the Shah was in England, for instance, certain journals were 
 pleased to speak of him as a “‘descendant of Cyrus,” which is 
 about as reasonable as if one should describe our own Prince of 
 Wales as a descendant of King Arthur. The whole history of 
 Persia, from the legendary wars between the Kiyanian kings and 
 Afrasiyab down to the present day, is the story of a struggle 
 between the Turkish races whose primitive home is in the region 
 east of the Caspian Sea and north of Khurdsan on the one hand, 
 and the southern Persians, of almost pure Aryan race, on the 
 other. The distinction is well marked even now, and the old 
 antipathy still exists, finding expression in verses such as those 
 quoted above at p. 84, and in anecdotes illustrative of Turkish 
 stupidity and dullness of wit, of which I shall have occasion to 
 give one ina subsequent chapter. Ethnologically, therefore, there 
 is a marked distinction between the people of the north and the 
 people of the south—a distinction which may be most readily 
 apprehended by comparing the sullen, moody, dull-witted, fan- 
 atical, violent inhabitants of Adharbayjan with the bright, versatile, 
 clever, sceptical, rather timid townsfolk of Kirman. In Fars, also, 
 good types of the Aryan Persian are met with, but there is a 
 large admixture of Turkish tribesmen, like the Kashka’is, who 
 have migrated and settled there. Indeed this intermixture has 
 now extended very far, but in general the terms “northern” and 
 “southern” may, with reservation, be taken as representing a 
 real and significant difference of type in the inhabitants of Persia. 
 Since the downfall of the Caliphate and the lapse of the Arabian 
 supremacy, the Turkish has generally been the dominant race; 
 for in the physical world it is commonly physical force which 
 wins the day, and dull, dogged courage bears down versatile 
 and subtle wit. Thus it happens that to-day the Kajars rule over 
 the kinsmen of Cyrus and Shapur, as ruled in earlier days the 
 
110 TEHERAN 
 
 Ghaznavids and the Seljuks. But there is no love lost between 
 the two traces, as anyone will admit who has taken the trouble 
 to find out what the southern peasant thinks of the northern 
 court, or how the Kajars regard the cradle of Persia’s ancient 
 greatness. 
 
 Of the Shah’s character I do not propose to add much to what 
 I have said already, for, in the first place, I am conscious of a 
 ptejudice against him in my mind arising from the ineffaceable 
 remembrance of his horrid cruelties towards the Babis; and, in 
 the second place, I enjoyed no unusual facilities for forming a 
 weighty judgment. I have heard him described by a high English 
 official, who had good opportunities of arriving at a just opinion, 
 as a liberal-minded and enlightened monarch, full of manliness, 
 energy, and sound sense, who, in a most difficult situation, had 
 displayed much tact and wisdom. It must also be admitted that, 
 apart from the severities practised against the Babis (which, with 
 alternate remissions and exacerbations, have continued from the 
 beginning of his reign down to the present time), his rule has 
 been, on the whole, mild, and comparatively free from the 
 ctuelties which mar nearly every page of Persian history. During 
 the latter part of his reign, especially, executions and cruel 
 punishments, formerly of almost daily occurrence, have become 
 very rare; but this is partly to be attributed to the fear of European 
 public opinion, and desire to be thought well of at Western 
 courts and in Western lands, which exercise so strong an in- 
 fluence over his mind. 
 
 For most of the more recent Babi persecutions the Shah was 
 not directly responsible. It was his eldest son, the Zillu’s-Sultan, 
 who put to death the two “Martyrs of Isfahan” in 1879, and 
 Mirza Ashraf of Abddé in 1888; and it was in his jurisdiction 
 (though during his absence) that the persecutions of Sih-dih and 
 Najaf-abad occurred in the summer of 18891; while the cruel 
 
 1 See Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for 1889, pp. 998-9; and voll. ii 
 of my Tvaveller’s Narrative, pp. 400-412. 
 
TEHERAN III 
 
 murder of seven innocent Babis at Yezd in May 1890 lies at the 
 door of Prince Jalalu’d-Dawla, son of the Zillu’s-Sultan, and 
 grandson of the Shah. The last Babi put to death actually by the 
 Shah’s order was, I think, the young messenger, Mirza Badi‘, who 
 brought from Acte, and delivered into the king’s own hands at 
 Teheran, the remarkable apology for the Babi faith addressed to 
 him by Beha’u’llah:. This was in July 1869. 
 
 In extenuation of the earlier and more wholesale persecutions, 
 it has been urged that the Babis were in rebellion against the 
 Crown, and that the most horrible of them, that of September 
 1852, was provoked by the attempt made by three Babis on the 
 Shah’s life. But this attempt itself (apart from the fact that, so 
 far as can be ascertained, it was utterly unauthorised on the part 
 of the Babi leaders) was caused by the desperation to which the 
 Babis had been driven by a long series of cruelties, and especially 
 by the execution of their Founder in 18502. Amongst the victims, 
 also, were several persons who, inasmuch as they had been in 
 captivity for many months, were manifestly innocent of com- 
 plicity in the plot, notably the beautiful Kurratu’l-“Ayn, whose 
 heroic fortitude under the most cruel tortures excited the admira- 
 tion and wonder of Dr Polak®, the only European, probably, 
 who witnessed her death. 
 
 These executions were not merely criminal, but foolish. The 
 barbarity of the persecutors defeated its own ends, and, instead 
 of inspiring terror, gave the martyrs an opportunity of ex- 
 hibiting a heroic fortitude which has done more than any propa- 
 ganda, however skilful, could have done to ensure the triumph 
 of the cause for which they died. Often have I heard Persians 
 who did not themselves belong to the proscribed sect tell with 
 admiration how Suleyman Khan, his body pierced with well- 
 
 1 A translation of this is given in my Traveller's Narrative, vol. ii, pp. 108- 
 151, and 390-400. 
 
 2 See p. 68 supra. 
 
 3 See Polak’s Persien, vol. i, p. 353. 
 
112 TEHERAN 
 
 nigh a score of wounds, in each of which was inserted a lighted 
 candle, went to the place of execution singing with exultation: 
 “ Yak dast jam-i-badé, va yak dast xulf-t-yar— 
 Raksi chunin meydne-i-meydanam arzust!” 
 
 “In one hand the wine-cup, in the other the tresses of the Friend— 
 Such a dance do I desire in the midst of the market-place!” 
 
 The impression produced by such exhibitions of courage and 
 endurance was profound and lasting; nay, the faith which in- 
 spited the martyrs was often contagious, as the following in- 
 cident shows. A certain Yezdi rough, noted for his wild and 
 disorderly life, went to see the execution of some Babis, perhaps 
 to scoff at them. But when he saw with what calmness and stead- 
 fastness they met torture and death, his feelings underwent so 
 gteat a revulsion that he rushed forward crying, “Kill me too! 
 I also am a Babi!”’ And thus he continued to cry till he too 
 was made a pattaker in the doom he had come out only to 
 gaze upon. 
 
 During my stay in Teheran I saw the Shah several times, 
 but only once sufficiently near to see his features clearly. This was 
 on the occasion of his visiting the new telegraph-office on his 
 way to the University, where he was to preside over the distribu- 
 tion of prizes. Through the kindness of Major Wells, then 
 superintendent of the Indo- -European Telegraph in Persia, H 
 and myself were enabled to stand in the porch of the building 
 while the Shah entered, surrounded by his ministers. We after- 
 wards followed him to the University and witnessed the distribu- 
 tion of prizes, which was on the most liberal scale, most of the 
 students, so far as I could see, receiving either medals, or sums 
 of money averaging three or four tdmdns (about £1). The Shah 
 sat in a room opening out into the quadrangle, where the 
 secretaries of state (wustawfis), professors, and students were 
 ranged in order. Around him stood the princes of the royal 
 family, including his third son, the Na’ibu’s-Saltana, and the 
 
 
 
TEHERAN 113 
 
 ministers of state. The only person allowed to sit beside him was 
 his little favourite, “‘Manijak,”’ who accompanied him on his last 
 journey to Europe. | 
 
 The Shah’s extraordinary fondness for this child (for he did 
 not, at the time I saw him, appear to be more than eleven or 
 twelve years old) was as annoying to the Persian aristocracy as 
 it was astonishing to the people of Europe. It galled the spirit 
 of the proud nobles of Persia to watch the daily-increasing 
 influence of this little wizened, sallow-faced Kurdish lad, who 
 was neither nobly born, nor of comely countenance, nor of 
 pleasant manners and amiable disposition; to see honours and 
 favours lavished upon him and his ignoble kinsmen; to be com- 
 pelled to do him reverence and bespeak his good offices. All this 
 now is a thing of the past. Within the last year or so Ghulam 
 “Ali Khan, the Kurd, better known as “ Manijak”’ (which, in the 
 Kurdish tongue, signifies a sparrow), and somewhile dignified 
 by the title of “Axen’s-Sultdn (“the Darling of the King”’), fell 
 from favour, and was hurled from the pinnacle of power down 
 to his original obscurity. The cause of his fall was, I believe, that 
 one day, while he was playing with a pistol, the weapon exploded 
 and narrowly missed the Shah. This was too much, and “ Mani- 
 jak” and his favoured kinsmen were shorn of their titles and 
 honours, and packed off to their humble home in Kurdistan. 
 Perhaps it was, after all, as well for them; for “the Darling of 
 the King” was far from being the “Darling of the Court.”’ Sooner 
 ot later his fall was bound to come, and had it been later it might 
 have been yet more grievous. 
 
 The Shah has five sons. Two of these, the Sd/érw’/-Mu/k and 
 the Rukuu’l-Mulk, were, at the time of which I write, mere 
 children. They were described as beautiful and attractive boys, 
 but neglected by their father in favour of Manijak. The third son 
 is entitled Na’sbu’s-Saltana. He resided in Teheran, and to him 
 was entrusted the government of the city and the supreme 
 military command. 
 
 B 8 
 
114 TEHERAN 
 
 The two elder sons were born of different mothers, and as 
 the mother of the Va/-‘ahd was a princess, he, and not his elder 
 brother, was chosen as the successor to the throne. That the 
 Zillu’s-Sultdn inwardly chafed at being thus deprived of his birth- 
 right is hardly to be doubted, though he was in the meanwhile 
 compensated for this in some measure by being made governor 
 of the greater part of Southern Persia, including the three 1m- 
 portant cities of Shirdz, Yezd, and Isfahan, at the last of which 
 he tesided in almost regal state. Here he collected together a 
 considerable body of well-drilled troops, who were said to be 
 mote efficient and soldierly than any of the regiments in Teheran. 
 Besides these he had acquired a number of guns, and his maga- 
 zines were well provided with arms and ammunition. In view 
 of these preparations, and the energy and decision of character 
 discernible in this prince, it was thought possible that, in the 
 event of his father’s death, he might dispute the crown with his 
 younger and gentler brother, the Va/-‘ahd, in which case it 
 appeared not improbable that he might prove victorious, of 
 at least succeed in maintaining his supremacy over Southern 
 Persia. 
 
 All such speculations, however, were cast to the winds by an 
 utterly unforeseen event which occurred towards the end of 
 February 1888, while I was at Isfahan. In the beginning of that 
 month both the Zi//y’s-Sultdn and the Val-‘ahd had come to 
 Teheran, the former from Isfahan, the latter from Tabriz, to pay 
 a visit to their father. A decoration was to be presented to the 
 former by the English Government for the protection and favour 
 which he had extended to English trade and enterprise, towards 
 which he had ever shown himself well disposed. Suddenly, with- 
 out any warfning, came the news that he had been deprived of 
 all his governments, with the exception of the city of Isfahan; 
 that he and some of his ministers who had accompanied him to 
 the capital were kept to all intents and purposes prisoners within 
 its walls; that his deputy-governors at Yezd, Shiraz, and other 
 
TEHERAN I1§ 
 
 towns were recalled; and that his army was disbanded, his 
 attillery removed to Teheran, and his power effectually shattered. 
 On first hearing from the Shah that of all the fair regions over 
 which he had held sway, Isfahan only was left to him, he is 
 reported to have said in the bitterness of his heart, ““You had 
 better take that from me too”; to which the Shah replied, “I will 
 do so, and will give it to your son” (Prince Jalalu’d-Dawla, then 
 governor for his father at Shiraz). This threat was, however, 
 not carried out, and the Z7//u’s-Sultdn was left in possession of 
 the former capital as a remnant of his once wide dominions. 
 Passing from the Shah and his sons, we must now turn our 
 attention to one or two other members of the royal family. Fore- 
 most amongst these is (or rather was, for he died in 1888, while 
 I was still in Persia) the Shah’s aged uncle, Ferhad Mirza, Ma‘ta- 
 madu'd-Dawla, with whom, through the kindness of Dr Torrence 
 of the American Missionary Establishment, and by means of his 
 interest with Prince Ihtish4mu’d-Dawla (the son of Ferhad 
 Mirza, and, since the downfall of the Z7//u’s-Sultdn, governor of 
 Shiraz and the province of Fars), I obtained the honour of an 
 interview. We found him seated, amidst a pile of cushions, in 
 his andarun, ot inner apartments, surrounded by well-stocked 
 shelves of books. He received us with that inimitable courtesy 
 whereby Persians of the highest rank know so well how to set 
 the visitor completely at his ease, and at the same time to impress 
 him with the deepest respect for their nobility. I was greatly 
 struck by his venerable appearance and dignified mien, as well 
 as by the indomitable energy and keen intelligence expressed by 
 the flashing eye and mobile features, which neither old age nor 
 bodily infirmity was able to rob of their animation. He talked 
 much of a book called Nzsab, written by himself to facilitate the 
 acquisition of the English language (with which he had some 
 acquaintance) by his countrymen. Of this work he subsequently 
 presented me with a copy, which I value highly as a souvenir 
 
 of its illustrious author. It is arranged on the same plan as the 
 8-2 
 
116 TEHERAN 
 
 Arabic Nisdbst so popular in Persia—that is to say, it consists 
 of a sort of rhymed vocabulary, in which the English words 
 (represented in the text in Persian characters, and repeated in 
 English characters at the head of the page) are explained success- 
 ively by the corresponding Persian word. The following lines, 
 taken from the commencement of the work, and here represented 
 in English characters, will serve as a specimen of the whole:— 
 “Dar mah-i-Dey jam-i-mey dih, ey nigar-i-mabru, 
 Kaz shamim-i-an dimagh-i-ak/ gardad mushk-bu. 
 ‘Hid’ sar-ast, 4 ‘ndz’ bini, ‘lip’ lab-ast, 4 ‘ay’ chu chashm; 
 “Tuth’ dinddn, ‘fat’ pd, 4 ‘hand’ dast, 4 ‘feys’ ra. 
 Gish & gardan ‘i? # ‘nik’; ‘chik’ chibré, ‘tang’ dmad zabdn; 
 Ndf ‘ni?vil’ dan, u pistdn-rd ‘buzam’; khwdn ‘hiar’ mu.” 
 “Tn the month of Dey? give the cup of wine, O moon-faced beauty, 
 So that by its fragrance the palate of the intellect may become perfumed as 
 with musk. 
 Head is sar, and nose bin/, lip is Jab, and eye like chashm; 
 Tooth dindan, foot pd, and hand dast, and face ra. 
 Gush and gardan eat and neck; cheek chihré, tongue becomes yabdn; 
 Recognise df as navel, and pistdn as bosom; call hair mi.” 
 
 I doubt greatly whether such a method of learning a language 
 would commend itself to a European student, but with the 
 Persians, endowed as they are with a great facility for learning 
 by heart, it is a very favourite one. 
 
 Prince Ferhad Mirz4 professed a great kindliness for the 
 English nation as well as for their language; nor, if the following 
 natrative be true, is this to be wondered at, since his life was once 
 saved by Sit Taylor Thomson when endangered by the anger of 
 his nephew, the Shah. Fleeing from the messengers of the king’s 
 wrath, he took refuge in the English Embassy, and threw himself 
 on the protection of his friend the Ambassador, who promised 
 to give him shelter so long as it should be necessary. Soon the 
 
 1 The best known of these is the Nisdbu’s-Sibydn of Abt Nasr Farahi, who 
 flourished in the beginning of the seventh century of the Aira (thirteenth of 
 our era). 
 
 2 The tenth month of the old Persian solar year, corresponding to De- 
 cember—January. 
 
TEHERAN 117 
 
 toyal farrdshes atrived, and demanded his surrender, which de- 
 mand was unhesitatingly refused. They then threatened to break 
 in by force and seize their prisoner, whereupon Sir Taylor 
 Thomson drew a line across the path and declared that he would 
 shoot the first man who attempted to cross it. Thereupon they 
 thought it best to retire, and Ferhad Mirza remained for a while 
 the guest of the British Embassy, during which time Sir Taylor 
 Thomson never suffered him to partake of a dish without first tast-. 
 ing it himself, for it was feared that, violence having failed, poison 
 might, perhaps, beemployed. Ultimately the Shah’s anger subsided, 
 and his uncle was able again to emerge from his place of refuge. 
 
 Before the close of our audience, Ferhad Mitz4 asked me how 
 long I intended to stop in Teheran, and whither I proposed to 
 go on leaving it. I replied that my intention was to proceed to 
 Shiraz as soon as the spring set in, since that it was the Darv’/+ 
 “I/m (‘ Abode of Knowledge’’), and I thought that I might better 
 pursue my studies there. “That,” replied Ferhad Mirza, “‘is 
 quite a mistake: 500 years ago Shiraz was the Daru’/-‘I/m, but 
 now that has passed, and it can only be called the Darw’-Fisk” 
 (‘Abode of Vice’’). 
 
 Ferhad Mirza had little reason to like Shiraz, nor had Shiraz 
 much better reason to like Ferhad Mirza. He was twice governor 
 of that town and the province of Fars, of which it is the capital, 
 and was so unpopular during his administration that when he 
 was tecalled the populace did not seek to hide their delight, and 
 even pursued him with jeers and derisive remarks. Ferhad Mirza 
 swote that the Shirazis should pay for their temporary triumph 
 right dearly, and he kept his word. After a lapse of time he was 
 again appointed governor of the city that had insulted him, and 
 his rule, never of the gentlest, became sterner than ever. During 
 his four years of office (ending about 1880) he is said to have 
 caused no less than 700 hands to be cut off for various offences. 
 In one case a man came and complained that he had lost an ass, 
 which was subsequently found amongst the animals belonging 
 
118 TEHERAN 
 
 to a lad in the neighbourhood. The latter was seized and brought 
 before Ferhad Mirza, who, as soon as the ass had been identified 
 by the plaintiff, ordered the hand of the defendant to be cut off 
 without further delay, giving no ear to the protestations of the 
 poor boy that the animal had of its own accord entered his herd, 
 and that he had not, till the accusation of theft was preferred 
 against him, been able to discover its owner. Besides these 
 minor punishments, many robbers and others suffered death; not 
 a few wete walled up alive in pillars of mortar, there to perish 
 miserably. The remains of these living tombs may still be seen 
 just outside the Derwazé-i-Kassab-khané (‘‘Slaughter-house gate’’) 
 at Shiraz, while another series lines the toad as it enters the little 
 town of Abddé, situated near the northern limit of the province 
 of Fars. On another occasion a certain Sheykh Madhkur, who had 
 revolted in the garmsir, ot hot region bordering on the Persian 
 Gulf, and had struck coins in his own name, was captured and 
 brought to Shiraz, together with two of his followers, one of 
 whom was his chief executioner. Ferhad Mirza first compelled 
 the Sheykh to eat one of his own coins, and then caused him and 
 his followers to be strangled and suspended from a lofty gibbet 
 as a watning to the disaffected. Notwithstanding his severity, 
 Ferhad Mirza enjoyed a great reputation for piety, and had ac- 
 complished the pilgrimage to Mecca. His son, as I have said, was, 
 early in 1888, appointed Governor of Shiraz, where the reputation 
 of his father caused his advent to be looked forward to with 
 some apprehension. 
 
 The only other member of the Persian royal family whom I 
 met was one of the brothers of the Shah, entitled ‘Izzu’d-Dawla, 
 who, if less important a personage than Ferhad Mirza, was by 
 no means less courteous. He asked many questions about recent 
 inventions in Europe, manifesting an especial interest, so far as 
 I remember, in patent medicines and dynamite. 
 
 Having now completed all that I have to say about the reigning 
 dynasty, I will speak shortly of Persian dinner-parties at Teheran. 
 
TEHERAN 119 
 
 As these ate seen in a more truly national form in the provinces, 
 where chairs, tables, knives, and forks have not yet obtruded 
 themselves to such an extent as in the semi-Europeanised capital, 
 I shall leave much that I have to say on this subject for subsequent 
 pages. Most of the Persians with whom I was intimate at 
 Teheran had adopted European habits to a considerable extent; 
 and during my residence there I was only on two occasions 
 present at a really national entertainment. 
 
 The order of procedure is always much the same. The guests 
 attive about sundown, and are ushered into what corresponds 
 to the drawing-room, where they are received by their host and 
 his male relations (for women are, of course, excluded). Ka/ydus 
 (water-pipes) and wine, or undiluted spirits (the latter being pre- 
 ferred), are offeted them, and they continue to smoke and drink 
 intermittently during the whole of the evening. Dishes of “@z/”’ 
 (pistachio nuts and the like) are handed round or placed near the 
 guests; and from time to time a spit of kebdbs (pieces of broiled 
 meat) enveloped in a folded sheet of the flat bread called ndn-z- 
 Sangak}, is brought in. These things bring out the flavour of the 
 wine, and serve to stimulate, and at the same time appease, the 
 appetite of the guests, for the actual supper is not served till the 
 time for breaking up the assembly has almost arrived, which is 
 rately much before midnight. 
 
 As a tule, music is provided for the entertainment of the guests. 
 The musicians are usually three in number: one plays a stringed 
 instrument (the s7-/dr); one a drum (dunbak), consisting of an 
 earthenware framework, shaped something like a huge egg-cup, 
 and covered with parchment at one end only; the third sings 
 to the accompaniment of his fellow-performers. Sometimes 
 
 1 Sangak (“pebble”) is the diminutive of sang (“‘a stone”). This bread is 
 called “pebble-bread” because the bottom of the oven in which it is baked is 
 formed by a sloping bank of pebbles, on which the flat cakes of dough are 
 thrown. It is very pleasant to the taste, and the only objection to it is that 
 
 sometimes a stray pebble gets incorporated in its substance, to the manifest 
 peril of the teeth of the consumer. 
 
120 TEHERAN 
 
 dancing-boys ate also present, who excite the admiration and 
 applause of the spectators by their elaborate posturing, which is 
 usually more remarkable for acrobatic skill than for grace, at 
 any tate according to our ideas. These, however, are more often 
 seen in Shiraz than at Teher4n. Occasionally the singer is a boy; 
 and, if his voice be sweet and his appearance comely, he will be 
 eteeted with rapturous applause. At one entertainment to which 
 I had been invited, the guests were so moved by the performance 
 of the boy-singer that they all joined hands and danced round 
 him in a citcle, chanting in a kind of monotonous chorus, 
 “ Baraka lah, Ktichuli! Baraka’ lldh, Kuchuli!” (“God bless thee, 
 little one! God bless thee, little one!’’), till sheer exhaustion 
 compelled them to stop. 
 
 When the host thinks that the entertainment has lasted long 
 enough, he gives the signal for supper, which is served either 
 in the same ot in another room. A cloth is laid on the floor, 
 round which are arranged the long flat cakes of “‘pebble-bread”’ 
 which do double duty as food and plates. The meats, consisting 
 for the most part of pildws and childws* of different sorts, are 
 placed in the centre, together with bowls of sherbet, each of 
 which is supplied with a delicately-carved wooden spoon, with 
 deep boat-shaped bowl, whereof the sides slope down to form 
 a sort of keel at the bottom. The guests squat down on their 
 knees and heels round the cloth, the host placing him whom he 
 desires most to honour on his right side at the upper end of the 
 room (Ze. opposite the door). At the lower end the musicians 
 and minstrels take their places, and all, without further delay, 
 commence an attack on the viands. The consumption of food 
 progresses rapidly, with but little conversation, for it is not usual 
 
 1 The basis of both pil/dws and childws is boiled rice flavoured with different 
 meats; the difference between them is, that in the former the mixture is 
 effected by the cook, in the latter by the guest, who takes with the plain rice 
 whatever delicacy most tempts his palate. There are many varieties of pi/dw, 
 
 two of the nicest of which, in my opinion, are orange-pi/dw and what is called 
 babuneé-pildw. 
 
TEHERAN 121 
 
 in Persia to linger over meals, or to prolong them by talk, which 
 is better conducted while the mouth is not otherwise employed. 
 If the host wishes to pay special honour to a guest, he picks out 
 and places in his mouth some particularly delicate morsel. In 
 about a quarter of an hour from the commencement of the ban- 
 quet most of the guests have finished and washed their hands by 
 pouring water over them from a metal ewer into a plate of the 
 same material, brought round by the servants for that purpose. 
 They then rinse out their mouths, roll down their sleeves again, 
 partake of a final pipe, and, unless they mean to stay for the night, 
 depart homewards, either on foot ot on horseback, preceded by 
 a servant bearing a lantern. 
 
 Such is the usual course of a Persian dinner-party; and the 
 mid-day meal (wahdr), to which guests are sometimes invited, 
 differs from it only in this, that it is shorter and less boisterous. 
 Although I have described the general features of such an entet- 
 tainment in some detail, I fear that I have failed to convey any 
 idea of the charm which it really possesses. This charm results 
 partly from the lack of constraint and the freedom of the guests; 
 partly from the cordial welcome which a Persian host so well 
 knows how to give; partly from the exhilarating influence of the 
 wine and music (which, though so different from that to which 
 we ate accustomed, produces, in such as are susceptible to its 
 influence, an indescribable sense of subdued ecstasy); but more 
 than all from the vigour, variety, and brilliancy of the conversa- 
 tion. There is no doubt that satiety produces somnolence and 
 apathy, as is so often seen at English dinner-parties. Hence the 
 Persians wisely defer the meal till the very end of the evening, 
 when sleep is to be sought. During the earlier stages of the 
 entertainment their minds are stimulated by wine, music, and 
 mirth, without being dulled by the heaviness resulting from 
 repletion. This, no doubt, is one reason why the conversation _ 
 is, as a tule, so brilliant; but beyond this the quick, versatile, 
 subtle mind of the Persian, stored, as it usually is, with anecdotes, 
 
122 TEHERAN 
 
 historical, literary, and incidental, and freed for the time being 
 from the testraint which custom ordinarily imposes on it, flashes 
 forth on these occasions in cotuscations of wit and humour, 
 interspersed with pungent criticisms and philosophical reflections 
 which display a wonderful insight. Hence it is that one rarely 
 fails to enjoy thoroughly an evening spent at a Persian banquet, 
 and that the five or six hours during which it lasts hardly ever 
 hang heavily on one’s hands. 
 
 The Persians have only two full meals in the day—xzahar, 
 which one may call indifferently either breakfast or lunch, since 
 on the one hand it is the first meal of the day, and on the other it 
 is not taken till a little before noon; and shdm, ot supper, which, 
 as I have already stated, is eaten the last thing before retiring for 
 the night. Besides these two meals, tea is taken on rising in the 
 morning, and again in the afternoon. 
 
 The usual way in which a Persian of the upper classes spends 
 his day is, then, somewhat as follows: He rises early, often 
 before sunrise (which, indeed, he must do, if devotionally in- 
 clined, for the morning prayer), and, after drinking a glass or 
 two of tea (without milk, of course) and smoking a kalydn, sets 
 about the business of the day, whatever it may be. About noon, 
 or a little earlier, he has his breakfast (nahdr), which differs little 
 from supper as regards its material. After this, especially if the 
 season be summer, he usually lies down and sleeps till about 
 3 p.m. From this time till sunset is the period for paying calls, 
 so he either goes out to visit a friend, or else stays at home to 
 receive visitors. In either case, tea and ka/ydns constitute a pro- 
 minent feature in the afternoon’s employment. Casual visitors 
 do not, as a rule, remain long after sunset, and on their departure, 
 unless an invitation to supper has been given or received, the 
 evening is quietly passed at home till the time for supper and bed 
 attives. In the case of government employés, as well as shop- 
 keepers, tradesmen, and others, whose hours of work are longer, 
 a considerable portion of the afternoon may have to be spent in 
 
TEHERAN 123 
 
 business, but in any case this rarely lasts after 4 or 5 p.m. Calls 
 may also be paid in the early morning, before the day’s work 
 commences. The true Persian life is, however, as I have before 
 rematked, much better seen in the provinces than in the capital, 
 where European influences have already wrought a great change 
 in national customs. Further remarks on it will therefore find 
 a fitter place in a subsequent chapter. 
 
 I must now return to my life in the Nawwab’s house, and 
 the society which I there met. Amongst the visitors were a 
 certain number of Afghans who had formed the suite of Ayyub 
 Khan before his attempted escape, and who were now to be 
 transferred to Rawal Pindi in India, by way of Baghdad. The 
 arrangements for their journey were entrusted mainly to my host, 
 and, for a time, few days passed without his receiving visits 
 from some of them. On these occasions I used often to remain 
 in the room during the conversation, half of which, although 
 it was conducted in Persian, was nearly unintelligible to me; 
 for the Afghans speak in a manner and with an accent quite 
 peculiar to themselves. These Afghans, who wote coloured tur- 
 bans wound round a conical cap, after the Indian fashion, were 
 troublesome and cantankerous fellows, seeming never to be 
 satisfied, and always wanting something more—a larger allow- 
 ance of money, more horses, or more sumptuous litters for the 
 journey. As a tule, too, their expressions betokened cruelty 
 and deceit, though some of them were fine-looking men, especi- 
 ally an old mullé called Kazi ‘Abdu’s-Salam, who had held an 
 important position under the late Amir, Shir ‘Ali, 
 
 For the most part, however, the visitors were Persians, and 
 of these a large proportion were natives of Shiraz, to whose 
 eulogies of their beloved city (for all Shirdzis are intensely 
 patriotic) I used to listen with unwearying delight. They would 
 praise the beautiful gardens, the far-famed stream of Ruknabad, 
 the soft, sweet speech of the south, and the joyousness of the 
 people; but when I exclaimed that Shiraz must be a very paradise, 
 
124 TEHERAN 
 
 they would shake their heads sadly and say, “the place, indeed, 
 has no fault—val// sdbibi na-ddrad—but it has no master,” think- 
 ing, pethaps, of the happy time when the virtuous and noble 
 Karim Khan the Zend held his court there, and rejoiced in his 
 palace, when he heard the sounds of merriment from the town, 
 that his people should be free from care and sadness. 
 
 One constant visitor was the Nawwa4b’s brother-in-law, Aka 
 Muhammad Hasan Khan of the Kashka’i tribe which dwells in 
 the neighbourhood of Shiraz. When he had ceased for a while 
 the disquisitions on philosophy which were his favourite theme, 
 and had temporarily exhausted the praises of “the Master,” as 
 he called his teacher in the science, Mirzd Abu’l-Hasan-i-Jilvé, 
 he, too, used to revert to the inexhaustible subject of the beauties 
 of his native land. “You must on no account postpone your 
 visit to Shiraz later than the Nawrtz” (the Persian New Yeat’s 
 Day, which corresponds with the vernal equinox), he would say, 
 “for then, indeed, there is no place on the face of the earth so 
 beautiful. You know what the Sheykh (ze. Sa‘di) says— 
 
 *Khusha tafarruj-i-Nawriz, khassé dar Shirdz, 
 Ki bar kanad dil-i-mard-i-musafir az watanash, 
 
 ‘Pleasant is the New Year’s outing, especially in Shiraz, 
 
 Which turns aside the heart of the traveller from his native land.”” __ 
 
 In the evening, when I was alone with the Nawwab, or his 
 brother ‘Isa Khan, a colonel in the Persian army, or my old 
 friends, his nephews, the talk would turn on religion, philosophy, 
 ot literature. Sometimes they would entertain me with anecdotes 
 of celebrated men and accounts of curious superstitions and 
 customs; sometimes the Nawwab would play on the si-/ar, on 
 which he was a proficient; while sometimes they would explain 
 to me the intricacies of the Muhammadan prayers and ablutions, 
 and the points wherein the Shi‘ites differ from the Sunnis, both 
 in practice and belief. They did not fail on these occasions to 
 point out the meaning which underlies many of the ordinances 
 of Islam. “The fast of Ramazan,” they said, “‘appears to you a 
 
TEHERAN 125 
 
 most grievous burden for a prophet and legislator to lay upon his 
 followers, but in truth in this is its very value, for, as it is en- 
 joined on all alike, the rich are made to realise what hunger and 
 thirst, which they would otherwise never experience, really are. 
 Thus they are enabled to understand the condition of those who 
 ate always exposed to these trials, and brought to sympathise 
 with them and to strive to ameliorate their lot more than they 
 would otherwise do. So, too, with our prayers, and the ablutions 
 by which they must be preceded. It is true that there is no 
 special virtue in praying and washing oneself five times a day; 
 but it is evident that one who is enjoined to remember his 
 Creator thus often, and to keep his body pure and clean, will 
 always have these objects in view, and will never through negli- 
 gence fall into forgetfulness of God and disregard of personal 
 cleanliness. Moreover, we ate forbidden to pray in any place 
 which has been forcibly taken from its owner, or in which he 
 does not give us permission to perform our devotions. This 
 continually serves to remind us to be just and courteous in all 
 our dealings, that our prayers may be acceptable to God.” 
 
 Sometimes the conversation was of a lighter character, and 
 turned on the sayings of witty and learned men, their ready 
 replies, and pungent sarcasms. Of these anecdotes I will give 
 a few specimens, 
 
 Sheykh Sa‘di was unrivalled in ready wit and quickness of 
 repartee, yet even he once met with his match. It happened in 
 this wise. The young prince of Shiraz, who was remarkable for 
 his beauty, went one day, accompanied by his retinue, to visit 
 a mosque which was being built by his orders, and which is still 
 standing. As he passed by a workman who was digging, a piece 
 of mud flew up from the spade and touched his cheek. Sa‘di, 
 who was walking near him, saw this, and immediately exclaimed, 
 making use of a quotation from the Kur’4n, “Yd /aytani kuntu 
 turdba!” (““O would that I were earth!”’). The prince, hearing 
 
 1 Kur’4n, ch. Ixxviii, v. 41. 
 
126 TEHERAN 
 
 Sa‘di speak, but failing to catch his remark, asked, “What does 
 the Sheykh say?” Another learned man who was present in- 
 stantly interposed: “May I be thy sacrifice! it was naught but 
 a quotation from the Holy Book—‘fa-kdla’kdfiru, “ Yd laytant 
 kuntu turdba!”’” (“and the infidel said, ‘O would that I were 
 eatth!’”’) Sa‘di had made use of the quotation, forgetting for the 
 moment in whose mouth the words were placed. His rival had 
 not forgotten, and, while appearing merely to justify Sa‘di, suc- 
 ceeded in applying to him the opprobrious term of kdfir (infidel). 
 
 ‘Obeyd-i-Zak4ni was another celebrated poet, chiefly noted 
 for the scathing satires which flowed from his pen. Even when 
 he was on his death-bed his grim humour did not desert him. 
 Summoning successively to his side his two sons and his 
 daughter, he informed them, with every precaution to ensute 
 secrecy, that he had left behind for them a treasure, which they 
 must seek for, on a particular hour of a certain day after his 
 death and burial, in a place which he indicated. ‘Be sure,” 
 he added in conclusion, “‘that you go thither at that hour and 
 at no other, and above all keep what I have said secret from 
 my other children.” Shortly after this the poet breathed his 
 last, and when his body had been consigned to the grave, and 
 the day appointed for the search had come, each of his three 
 children repaired secretly to the spot indicated. Great was the 
 surprise of each to find that the others were also present, and 
 evidently bent on the same quest. Explanations of a not very 
 satisfactory character ensued, and they then proceeded to dig 
 for the treasure. Sure enough they soon came on a large parcel, 
 which they eagerly extracted from its place of concealment, and 
 began to unfold. On removing the outer covering they found 
 a layer of straw, evidently designed to protect the valuable and 
 perhaps fragile contents. Inside this was another smaller box, 
 on opening which a quantity of cotton-wool appeared. An eager 
 examination of this brought to light nothing but a small slip 
 of paper on which something was written. Disappointed in their 
 
TEHERAN 127 
 
 seatch, but still hoping that this document might prove of value, 
 either by guiding them to the real treasure, or in some other way, 
 they hastily bore it to the light, and read these words— 
 “ Khuddy danad, 4 man danam, u tu ham dani 
 Ki yak fulus na-darad ‘Obeyd-i-Zakdni!” 
 “God knows, and I know, and thou too knowest, 
 That ‘Obeyd-i-Zakani does not possess a single copper!”’ 
 
 Whether the children were able to appreciate this final display 
 of humour on the part of their father is not narrated by the 
 historian. 
 
 Satire, though, for obvious reasons, cultivated to a much 
 smaller extent than panegyric, did not by any means cease with 
 the death of ‘Obeyd-i-Zakani, which occurred about the year 
 A.D. 1370. The following, composed on the incapable and 
 crotchety Haji Mirza Ak4si, prime minister of Muhammad 
 Shah, may serve as an example:— 
 
  Na-g’xasht dar mulk-i-Shah Hajt dirami; 
 Kard kharj-i-kandt u tip har bish 4 kami; 
 Na mazra‘-i-dust-ra az an kandt nami, 
 Na khdyé-i-dushman-ra az an tip ghamt.” 
 
 “The Haji did not leave a single dirham in the domains of the king; 
 Everything, small or great, he expended on kandts and guns— 
 Kandts which conveyed no water to the fields of his friends, 
 
 And guns which inflicted no injury on his enemies.” * 
 
 The wasteful and useless extravagance of Haji Mirza Akdsi 
 here held up to ridicule was unfortunately far from being his 
 greatest of most pernicious error. It was he who ceded to the 
 
 1 A Xandat is an underground channel for bringing water from those places 
 where its presence has been detected by the water-finder (wukanni-bashi) to 
 towns or villages where it is needed. The horizontal shaft is made by first 
 sinking vertical ones and connecting these with one another by tunnelling. 
 The cost of these kandts (which abound in most parts of Persia) is very great. 
 They are generally made by a rich man at his own risk and expense, according 
 to the advice of the mukanni-bashi. The water is then sold to those who use it. 
 The object of this satire was celebrated for his passion for trying to invent 
 new guns, and making kandts which proved worthless. (See Gobineau, 
 Religions et Philosophies dans I’ Asie Centrale, p. 163.) The last line, containing, 
 as it does, a crude but forcible Persian idiom, I merely paraphrase. 
 
128 TEHERAN 
 
 Russians the sole right of navigating the Caspian Sea, remarking, 
 with a chuckle at his own wit, “Md murghdbi nistim ki ab-i-shur 
 lizim dashté bdshim,” “We are not waterfowl that we should stand 
 in need of salt water,” to which he presently added the following 
 sage teflection:—‘‘Bardyi mushti db-i-shir na-mi-shavad kdm-t- 
 shirin-i-dist-rd talkh namud’ (“It wouldn’t do to embitter the 
 sweet palate of a friend for the sake of a handful of salt water’’). 
 Readiness is a sine qué non in a Persian poet. He must be able 
 
 to improvise at a moment’s notice. One day Fath-‘Ali Shah was 
 riding through the bazaars surrounded by his courtiers when he 
 happened to notice amongst the apprentices in a coppersmith’s 
 shop a very beautiful boy, whose fair face was begrimed with coal 
 dust. 
 
 “ Bi-gird-i-“driz-i-mis-gar nishaste gard-i-zughdl”’ 
 (“Around the cheeks of the coppersmith has settled the dust of the coal”), 
 said the king, improvising a hemistich; “now, Sir Laureate” 
 (turning to his court-poet), “‘cap me that if you can!” 
 
 “Sadd-yi mis bi-falak mt-ravad ki mab giriftast” 
 (“The clang of the copper goes up to heaven because the moon is eclipsed”’), 
 rejoined the Laureate, without a moment’s hesitation. To ap- 
 preciate the appositeness of this verse the reader must know that 
 a beautiful face is constantly compared by the Persians to the 
 moon, and that when there is an eclipse of the moon it is cus- 
 tomaty in Persia to beat copper vessels to frighten away the 
 dragon which is vulgarly supposed to have “eaten” it. This 
 rhetorical figure (called “‘Ausn-z-ta‘lil”’), whereby an observed 
 effect is explained by a fanciful cause, is a great favourite with the 
 Persian poets. Here is another instance of a more exaggerated 
 type, in a verse addressed by the poet Rasikh to his sweetheart— 
 
 “ Flusn-i-mab-ra ba tu sanjidam bi-mizdn-i-kiyas: 
 Palle-i-mah bar falak shud, 4 ti mandi bar zamin!” 
 
 “I weighed thy beauty against that of the moon in the balance of my 
 judgment: 
 
 The scale containing the moon flew up to heaven, and thou wert left on 
 the earth!” 
 
TEHERAN 129 
 
 Could a neater compliment, or one mote exaggerated, be 
 imagined? 
 
 It is the fashion with some scholars to talk as if literary and 
 poetical talent were a thing of the past in Persia. No mistake 
 could possibly be greater. Everyone is aware of that form of 
 hallucination whereby the Past is glorified at the expense of the 
 Present; that illusion which is typified both in the case of in- 
 dividuals and nations in the phrase, “the happy days of child- 
 hood.” Men not only forget the defects and disagreeables of the 
 past, and remember only its glories, but they are very apt to 
 weigh several centuries of the Past against a few decades of the 
 Present. “‘Where,” the enthusiastic admirer of older Persian 
 literature exclaims, “‘are the Rudagis, the Firdawsis, the Nizamis, 
 the ‘Omar Khayyams, the Anvaris, the Sa‘dis, the Hafizes, the 
 Jamis, of the glorious Past? Where are such mighty singers to 
 be found now?” Leaving aside the fact that these immortal 
 bards ranged over a period of five centuries, and that when, at 
 certain periods, the munificent patronage of some prince collected 
 together a number of contemporary poets (as at the so-called 
 “Round Table” of Sultan Mahmud of Ghazni), posterity (per- 
 haps wisely) often neglected to preserve the works of more than 
 one otf two of them, it may confidently be asserted that the 
 nineteenth century has produced a group of most distinguished 
 poets, whose works will undoubtedly, when duly transfigured 
 by the touch of antiquity, go to make up “portions and parcels” 
 of the “glorious Past.”’ Of modern Persian poets the greatest 
 is pethaps Ka’4ni, who died about A.D. 1854. In panegyric and 
 satire alike he is unrivalled; and he has a wealth of metaphor, 
 a flow of language, and a sweetness of utterance scarcely to be 
 found in any other poet. Although he lacks the mystic sublimity 
 of Jami, the divine despair of ‘Omar Khayyam, and the majestic 
 erandeur of Firdawsi, he manifests at times a humour rarely 
 met with in the older poets. One poem of his, describing a 
 dialogue between an old man anda child, both of whom stammer, 
 
 B 9 
 
130 TEHERAN 
 
 is very humorous. The child, on being first addressed by the 
 old man, thinks that his manner of speech is being imitated and 
 ridiculed, and is very angry; but, on being assured and finally 
 convinced that his interlocutor is really afflicted in the same way, 
 he is appeased, and concludes with the words— 
 “ Ma-ma-man ham gu-gu-gung-am ma-ma-mithl-1-tu-tu-ti, 
 Tu-tu-ta ham gu-gu-gungi ma-ma-mithl-i-ma-ma-man.” 
 “J also am a stammerer like unto thee; 
 Thou also art a stammerer like unto me.” 
 
 The best poets at present living are Mirza-yi-Farhang!? and 
 Mirz4-yi-Yezdani, both of whom I met at Shiraz. They are the 
 only two surviving brothers of Mirza Davari, also a poet of great 
 merit; their father, whose nom de guerre was Wisal, was widely 
 famed for his poetic talent; and their sons already manifest un- 
 mistakable signs of genius. 
 
 The conversation of my kind friends, who desired that I 
 might become acquainted with everything calculated to illustrate 
 Persian life, did not, however, confine itself only to the master- 
 pieces of national poetry. Nursery rhymes and schoolboy dog- 
 gerel also came in for a share of attention. As a specimen of 
 these I may quote the following:— 
 
 “* Tabbat yada Abi La’—’ 
 Akhind bi-kesh tavila; 
 Kadhash bi-dih bi-miré’, 
 Javash bi-dih na-miré.” 
 
 Which may be paraphrased thus:— 
 
 “Aba Lahab’s pride shall fall’ —z 
 Put the master in the stall; 
 He will die, if chaff you give, 
 Give him oats and he will live.” 
 
 1 Mirza-yi-Farhang, I regret to say, is no longer alive. The news of his death 
 reached me a few months ago. [This was written between 1890 and 1893.] 
 
 2 The first line is a mutilated fragment of the first verse of the 111th sara 
 of the Kur’4n—“ Tabbat yadad Abi Lahab" wa tabb,” “The hands of Abt 
 Lahab shall perish and he shall perish.”” This chapter, being one of the shorter 
 ones at the end of the Kur’dn, is amongst the earliest learnt by Persian 
 children. 
 
TEHERAN 131 
 
 I have already alluded to practical jokes, and described one 
 perpetrated by a wit of the fourteenth century. Let me add 
 another of the present day, which, if rougher than that of ‘Obeyd- 
 i-Zakani, was at least intended to convey a salutary lesson to the 
 person on whom it was practised. Amongst the dependents of 
 the governor of a certain town was a man who was possessed 
 by the desire to discover some means of rendering himself in- 
 visible. At length he had the good fortune (as he thought) to 
 meet with a dervish who agreed, for a certain sum of money, 
 to supply him with some pills which would produce the desired 
 effect. Filled with delight at the success which appeared at length 
 to have crowned his efforts, the would-be dabbler in the occult 
 sciences did not fail to boast openly before his comrades, and 
 even before the governor, that on a certain day he would visit 
 them unseen and prove the efficacy of his new acquisition. On 
 the appointed day, having taken one or two of the magical pills, 
 he accordingly came to the governot’s palace, filled with de- 
 lightful anticipations of triumph on his own part and envious 
 astonishment on the part of his friends. Now the governor was 
 determined, if possible, to cure him of his taste for the black art, 
 and had therefore given orders to the sentries, servants, and other 
 attendants, as well as to his own associates, that when the would- 
 be magician arrived they were all to behave as though they were 
 unable to see him. Accordingly, when he reached the gate of 
 the palace, he was delighted to observe that the sentries omitted 
 to give him the customaty salute. Proceeding farther, he became 
 more and more certain that the dervish’s pills had produced 
 the promised effect. No one looked at him; no one saluted him; 
 no one showed any consciousness of his presence. At length 
 he entered the room where the governor was sitting with his 
 associates. Finding that these too appeared insensible to his 
 presence, he determined to give them a proof that he had really 
 been amongst them in invisible form—a fact which they might 
 otherwise refuse to credit. A kalydn, or watet-pipe, was standing 
 
 9-2 
 
132 TEHERAN 
 
 in the middle of the room, the charcoal in it still glowing. The 
 pseudo-magician applied his lips to the mouth-piece and began 
 to smoke. Those present at once broke out into expressions of 
 astonishment. ‘“‘ Wonderful!” they exclaimed, “‘look at that 
 kalydn! Though no one is near it, it is just as 1f some one were 
 smoking it: nay, one can even hear the gurgle of the water in the 
 ~ bowl.” Enchanted with the sensation he had caused, the ‘“‘in- 
 visible’? one became bolder. Some lighted candles were in the 
 room; one of these he blew out. Again exclamations of surprise 
 arose from the company. “Marvellous!” they cried, “there is 
 no wind, yet suddenly that candle has been blown out; what can 
 possibly be the meaning of this?”’ The candle was again lighted, 
 and again promptly blown out. In the midst of fresh expressions 
 of surprise, the governor suddenly exclaimed, “I have it! I know 
 what has happened! So-and-so has no doubt eaten one of his 
 magical pills, and is even now present amongst us, though we 
 cannot see him; well, we will see if he is intangible as well as 
 invisible. Ho, there! bacha-hd!* Bring the sticks, quick! Lay 
 about you in all directions; perhaps you will be able to teach our 
 invisible friend better manners.” The farrdshes hastened to rain 
 down a shower of blows on the unfortunate intruder, who cried 
 out loudly for mercy. “But where are your” demanded the 
 governor. “‘Cease to be invisible, and show yourself, that we 
 may see you.” “‘O master,” cried the poor crestfallen magician, 
 “if I be really invisible, how happens it that all the blows of the 
 farrdshes teach me with such effect? I begin to think that I have 
 been deceived by that rascally dervish, and that I am not invisible 
 at all.” On this, amidst the mirth of all present, the sufferer was 
 allowed to depart, with a recommendation that in future he should 
 avoid the occult sciences; an injunction which one may reasonably 
 hope he did not soon forget. 
 
 1 Bacha-hd means “boys,” “children”; but the term is also commonly 
 employed in summoning servants, in this case the farrdshes, whose duty it is 
 to administer corporal punishment. 
 

 
 CHAPTER. VI 
 
 Veo DLGCS VeVi e acl yo LGN De VAG LC 
 
 “ Guftagh-yi kufr u din dkhir bi-yak ja mi-kashad: 
 Khwab yak khwab-ast, amma mukhtalif ta‘bir-hd.” 
 
 “Free-thought and faith-—the upshot’s one; they wrangle o’er a name: 
 Interpretations differ, but the dream is still the same.” 
 (Sa’2b.) 
 “ Hich kas ‘ukda’i az kar-i-jihin bd na-kard : 
 Har ki dmad girthi chand barin tar fuzud.” 
 “No one yet hath unravelled a knot from the skein of the universe, 
 And each who came and essayed the same but made the tangle worse.” 
 
 HE most striking feature of the Persians as a nation is their 
 passion for metaphysical speculation. This passion, so far 
 from being confined to the learned classes, permeates all ranks, 
 and manifests itself in the shopkeeper and the muleteer, as well 
 as in the scholar and the man of letters. Not to give some 
 account of this aspect of Persian life would, then, be a grave 
 omission, calculated to prevent the reader from obtaining a just 
 impression of the national character. 
 
 That dogmatic theology is unfavourable to speculation is 
 obvious, and as few theological systems are more dogmatic and 
 uncompromising than that of Islam, it might be expected that 
 Persia, being one of the strongholds of the Muhammadan faith, 
 would afford at best a sterile soil for the growth of other systems. 
 Such, however, is far from being the case. Persia is, and always 
 has been, a very hot-bed of systems, from the time of Manes 
 and Mazdak in the old Sdsdnian days, down to the present age, 
 which has brought into being the Babis and the Sheykhis. 
 
 When, in the seventh century, the warlike followers of the 
 
134 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 Arabian prophet swept across Ir4n, overwhelming, in their 
 tumultuous onslaught, an ancient dynasty and a venerable 
 religion, a change, apparently almost unparalleled in history, 
 was in the course of a few years brought over the land. Where 
 for centuries the ancient hymns of the Avesta had been chanted, 
 and the sacred fire had burned, the cry of the mw’exzin summon- 
 ing the faithful to prayer rang out from minarets reared on the 
 ruins of the temples of Ahura Mazda. The priests of Zoroaster 
 fell by the sword; the ancient books perished in the flames; 
 and soon none were left to represent a once mighty faith but 
 a handful of exiles flying towards the shores of India, and a 
 despised and persecuted remnant in solitary Yezd and remote 
 Kirman. Truly it seemed that a whole nation had been trans- 
 formed, and that henceforth the Aryan Persian must not only 
 bear the yoke of the Semitic “lizard-eater”’ whom he had for- 
 merly so despised, but must further adopt his creed, and almost, 
 indeed, his language. 
 
 Yet, after all, the change was but skin-deep, and soon a host 
 of heterodox sects born on Persian soil—Shi‘ites, Sufis, Isma‘ilis, 
 philosophers—arose to vindicate the claim of Aryan thought to 
 be free, and to transform the religion forced on the nation by 
 Arab steel into something which, though still wearing a sem- 
 blance of Islam, had a significance widely different from that 
 which one may fairly suppose was intended by the Arabian 
 prophet. 
 
 There is, indeed, another view possible—that of M. Gobineau, 
 whose deep insight into Persian character entitles his opinion to 
 careful consideration—viz., that from the very beginning there 
 were latent in the Muhammadan religion the germs of the most 
 thorough-going pantheism, and that Muhammad himself did but 
 revive and formulate somewhat differently the ancient beliefs of 
 Mesopotamia?. Whether this be true or not (and the point is one 
 
 1 See Gobineau’s Religions e¢ Philosophies dans |’ Asie Centrale, especially 
 chapter iii, ““La Foi des Arabes.” 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 135 
 
 which, in my opinion, cannot be regarded as altogether settled 
 until the history of Sufiism amongst those of Arab race shall have 
 been mote carefully studied), there is no doubt that certain 
 passages in the Kur’4n are susceptible to a certain degree of 
 mystical interpretation. Take, for instance, the 17th verse of the 
 8th chapter, where God reminds Muhammad that the victory 
 of Bedr was only in appearance won by the valour of the Muslims: 
 —“Fia lam taktulihum, wa lakinna daha katalahum ; wa md rameyta 
 idh rameyta, wa ldkinna’lldha ramd,’—‘ And thou didst not slay 
 them, but God slew them; and thou didst not shoot when thou 
 didst shoot, but God shot.” Although there is no need to explain 
 this otherwise than as an assurance that God supported the 
 faithful in their battles, either by natural or (as the commentators 
 assert) by supernatural means, and although it lends itself far 
 less readily than many texts in the New and even in the Old 
 Testament to mystical interpretation, it nevertheless serves the 
 Persian Sufis as a foundation-stone for their pantheistic doc- 
 trines. “The Prophet,” they say, ‘“‘did not kill when men fell 
 _ by his hand. He did not throw when he cast the handful of stones 
 which brought confusion into the ranks of the heathen. He was 
 in both cases but a mirror wherein was manifested the might of 
 God. God alone was the Real Agent, as He is in all the actions 
 which we, in our spiritual blindness, attribute to men. God 
 alone Is, and we are but the waves which stir for a moment on 
 the surface of the Ocean of Being, even as it runs in the tradition, 
 ‘God was, and there was naught but He, and it is now even as it was 
 then. Shall we say that God’s creation is co-existent with Him? 
 Then are we Manichzans and dualists, nay, polytheists; for we 
 associate the creature with the Creator. Can we say that the sum 
 of Being was increased at the time when the Phenomenal World 
 first appeared? Assuredly not; for that would be to regard the 
 Being of God as a thing finite and conditioned, because capable 
 of enlargement and expansion. What then can we say, except 
 that even as God (who alone is endowed with real existence) 
 
136 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 was in the Beginning and will be in the End (if, indeed, one may 
 speak of ‘Beginning’ and ‘End’ where Eternity is concerned, 
 and where Time, the element of this illusory dream which we call 
 ‘Life,’ has no place) alone in His Infinite Splendour, so also, even 
 now, He alone 1s, and all else is but as a vision which disturbs the 
 night, a cloud which dims the Sun, or a ripple on the bosom of 
 the Ocean?” 
 
 In such wise does the Sufi of Persia read the Kur’4n and ex- 
 pound its doctrine. Those who are familiar with the different 
 developments of Mysticism will not need to be reminded that 
 there is hardly any soil, be it ever so barren, where it will not 
 strike root; hardly any creed, however stern, however formal, 
 round which it will not twine itself. It is, indeed, the eternal 
 cry of the human soul for rest; the insatiable longing of a being 
 wherein infinite ideals are fettered and cramped by a miserable 
 actuality; and so long as man is less than an angel and more than 
 a beast, this cry will not for a moment fail to make itself heard. 
 Wonderfully uniform, too, is its tenor: in all ages, in all countries, 
 in all creeds, whether it come from the Brahmin sage, the Greek 
 philosopher, the Persian poet, or the Christian quietist, it is in 
 essence an enunciation more or less clear, more or less eloquent, 
 of the aspiration of the soul to cease altogether from self, and 
 to be at one with God. As such it must awaken in all who are 
 sensible of this need an echo of sympathy; and therefore I feel 
 that no apology is required for adding a few words more on the 
 ideas which underlie all that is finest and most beautiful in Persian 
 poetry and Persian thought. 
 
 To the metaphysical conception of God as Pure Being, and 
 the ethical conception of God as the Eternally Holy, the Sufi 
 superadds another conception, which may be tegarded as the 
 keynote of all Mysticism. To him, above all else, God is the 
 Eternally Beautiful— Jdndn-i-Hakiki,’ the ‘True Beloved.” 
 Before time was, He existed in His Infinite Purity, unrevealed 
 and unmanifest. Why was this state changed? Why was the 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 137 
 
 troubled phantasm of the Contingent World evoked from the 
 silent depths of the Non-Existent? Let me answer in the words 
 of Jami, who, perhaps, of all the mystic poets of Persia best 
 knew how to combine depth of thought with sweetness and 
 clearness of utterance. Poor as is my rendering of his sublime 
 song, it may still suffice to give some idea of the original. The 
 passage is from his Yasuf a Zuleykhd*, and runs as follows:— 
 
 “Tn solitude, where Being signless dwelt, 
 And all the Universe still dormant lay 
 Concealed in selflessness, One Being was 
 Exempt from ‘I-’ or ‘Thou-’ ness, and apart 
 From all duality; Beauty Supreme, 
 Unmanifest, except unto Itself 
 By Its own light, yet fraught with power to charm 
 The souls of all; concealed in the Unseen, 
 An Essence pure, unstained by aught of ill. 
 No mirror to reflect Its loveliness, 
 Nor comb to touch Its locks; the morning breeze 
 Ne’er stirred Its tresses; no collyrium 
 Lent lustre to Its eyes: no rosy cheeks 
 O’ershadowed by dark curls like hyacinth, 
 Nor peach-like down were there; no dusky mole 
 Adorned Its face; no eye had yet beheld 
 Its image. To Itself It sang of love 
 In wordless measures. By Itself It cast 
 The die of love. 
 But Beauty cannot brook 
 Concealment and the veil, nor patient rest 
 Unseen and unadmired: ’twill burst all bonds, 
 And-from Its prison-casement to the world 
 Reveal Itself. See where the tulip grows 
 In upland meadows, how in balmy spring 
 It decks itself; and how amidst its thorns 
 The wild rose rends its garment, and reveals 
 Its loveliness. Thou, too, when some rare thought, 
 Or beauteous image, or deep mystery 
 Flashes across thy soul, canst not endure 
 To let it pass, but hold’st it, that perchance 
 In speech or writing thou may’st send it forth 
 To charm the world. 
 1 The passage in question is the 11th section of the poem. It will be found 
 on pp. 11-12 of the Lucknow edition, and on pp. 16-17 of Rosenzweig’s 
 edition. 
 
138 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 Wherever Beauty dwells 
 Such is its nature, and its heritage 
 From Everlasting Beauty, which emerged 
 From realms of purity to shine upon 
 The worlds, and all the souls which dwell therein. 
 One gleam fell from It on the Universe, 
 And on the angels, and this single ray 
 Dazzled the angels, till their senses whirled 
 Like the revolving sky. In divers forms 
 Rach mirror showed It forth, and everywhere 
 Its praise was chanted in new harmonies. 
 
 Rach speck of matter did He constitute 
 
 A mirror, causing each one to reflect 
 
 The beauty of His visage. From the rose 
 
 Flashed forth His beauty, and the nightingale 
 Beholding it, loved madly. From that Light 
 
 The candle drew the lustre which beguiles 
 
 The moth to immolation. On the sun 
 
 His Beauty shone, and straightway from the wave 
 The lotus reared its head. Each shining lock 
 
 Of Leyla’s hair attracted Majntn’s heart 
 
 Because some ray divine reflected shone 
 
 In her fair face. "Iwas He to Shirin’s lips 
 
 Who lent that sweetness which had power to steal 
 The heart from Parviz, and from Ferhdad life. 
 
 His Beauty everywhere doth show itself, 
 
 And through the forms of earthly beauties shines 
 Obscured as through a veil. He did reveal 
 
 His face through Joseph’s coat, and so destroyed 
 Zuleykha’s peace. Where’er thou seest a veil, 
 Beneath that veil He hides. Whatever heart 
 Doth yield to love, He charms it. In His love 
 The heart hath life. Longing for Him, the soul 
 Hath victory. That heart which seems to love 
 The fair ones of this world, loves Him alone. 
 
 Beware! say not, ‘He is All-Beautiful, 
 And we His lovers.’ Thou art but the glass, 
 And He the Face! confronting it, which casts 
 Its image on the mirror. He alone 
 Is manifest, and thou in truth art hid. 
 1 So it is written in the Kur’dn, “Kullu shey’*” halk” illé wajhu-hu,” 
 “All things shall perish save His Face” (Kur’dn, xxviii, 88). 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 139 
 
 Pure Love, like Beauty, coming but from Him, 
 Reveals itself in thee. If steadfastly 
 
 Thou canst regard, thou wilt at length perceive 
 He is the mirror also—He alike 
 
 The Treasure and the Casket. ‘I,’ and ‘Thou’ 
 Have here no place, and are but phantasies 
 Vain and unreal. Silence! for this tale 
 
 Is endless, and no eloquence hath power 
 
 To speak of Him. ’Tis best for us to love, 
 And suffer silently, being as naught.” 
 
 But is this the sum of the Sufi’s philosophy? Is he to rest 
 content with earthly love, because he knows that the lover’s 
 homage is in truth rendered, not to the shrine at which he offers 
 his devotion, but to the Divine Glory—the Shekinah—which 
 inhabits and irradiates it? Not so. Let us listen once more to 
 the utterance of Jami— 
 
 “Be thou the thrall of love; make this thine object; 
 For this one thing seemeth to wise men worthy. 
 Be thou love’s thrall, that thou may’st win thy freedom, 
 Bear on thy breast its brand, that thou may’st blithe be. 
 Love’s wine will warm thee, and will steal thy senses; 
 All else is soulless stupor and self-seeking. 
 Remembrances of love refresh the lover, 
 Whose voice when lauding love e’er waxeth loudest. 
 But that he drained a draught from this deep goblet, 
 In the wide worlds not one would wot of Majnun. 
 Thousands of wise and well-learned men have wended 
 Through life, who, since for love they had no liking, 
 Have left nor name, nor note, nor sign, nor story, 
 Nor tale for future time, nor fame for fortune. 
 Sweet songsters ’midst the birds are found in plenty, 
 But, when love’s lore is taught by the love-learned, 
 Of moth and nightingale they most make mention. 
 Though in this world a hundred tasks thou tryest, 
 *Tis love alone which from thyself will save thee. 
 Even from earthly love thy face avert not, 
 Since to the Real it may serve to raise thee. 
 Ere A, B, C are rightly apprehended, 
 How canst thou con the pages of thy Kur’4n? 
 A sage (so heard I), unto whom a student 
 Came craving counsel on the course before him, 
 Said, ‘If thy steps be strangers to love’s pathways, 
 Depart, learn love, and then return before me! 
 
140 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 For, shouldst thou fear to drink wine from Form’s flagon, 
 Thou canst not drain the draught of the Ideal. 
 
 But yet beware! Be not by Form belated; 
 
 Strive rather with all speed the bridge to traverse. 
 
 If to the bourn thou fain wouldst bear thy baggage 
 
 Upon the bridge let not thy footsteps linger.’’’! 
 
 The renunciation of self is the great lesson to be learned, and 
 its first steps may be learned from a merely human love. But 
 what is called love is often selfish; rarely absolutely unselfish. 
 The test of unselfish love is this, that we should be ready and 
 willing to sacrifice our own desires, happiness, even life itself, 
 to render the beloved happy, even though we know that our 
 sactifice will never be understood or appreciated, and that we 
 shall therefore not be rewarded for it by an increase of love or 
 gratitude. 
 
 Such is the true love which leads us up to God. We love our 
 fellow-creatutes because there is in them something of the 
 Divine, some dim reflection of the True Beloved, reminding our 
 souls of their origin, home, and destination. From the love of 
 the reflection we pass to the love of the Light which casts it; 
 and, loving the Light, we at length become one with It, losing 
 the false self and gaining the True, therein attaining at length 
 to happiness and rest, and becoming one with all that we have 
 loved—the Essence of that which constitutes the beauty alike of 
 a noble action, a beautiful thought, or a lovely face. 
 
 Such in outline is the Sufi philosophy. Beautiful as it is, and 
 wotthy as it is of deeper study, I have said as much about it 
 as my space allows, and must pass on to speak of other matters. 
 
 Mysticism is in its nature somewhat vague and difficult to 
 formulate, varying in character between an emotional philosophy 
 and a devotional religion. On one side of it stands metaphysic, 
 and on the other theology. Of Muhammadan theology I do not 
 
 1 These two translations are reprinted, almost without alteration, from 
 my article on “Sufiism” in Re/igious Systems of the World (Swan Sonnenschein 
 and Co.), where I first published them. 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC I4l 
 
 propose to speak, save incidentally, as occasion arises; neither 
 is this the place to treat systematically of the various schools of 
 philosophy which have sprung up in Persia. Of the earlier ones, 
 indeed, one may say generally that they are adaptations of either 
 Aristotle or Plato, and that they may most fitly be described as 
 the scholasticism of Islam. Of two of the later philosophers, 
 however—Mulla Sadra of Shiraz, and Haji Mulla Hadi of Sab- 
 zawat—lI shall say a few words, inasmuch as they mark a new 
 development in Persian thought, while at the same time they are 
 less known in Europe than the Avicennas, the Ghazzalis, and the 
 Farabis of earlier days. 
 
 Mulla Sadru’d-Din Muhammad ibn Ibrahim ibn Yahya, com- 
 monly known as Mulla Sadra, flourished in the latter half of the 
 seventeenth century. He was the son of a rich merchant of 
 Shiraz, who had grown old without being blessed with a son. 
 Being very desirous of leaving an heir to inherit his wealth, he 
 made a vow that if God would grant him this wish he would 
 give the sum of one témdn (about 6s.) a day to the poor for the 
 rest of his life. Soon afterwards Mulla Sadra was born, and the 
 father faithfully accomplished his vow till his death. When this 
 occurred, Mulla Sadra, who had already manifested an unusual 
 aptitude for learning and a special taste for philosophy, decided, 
 after consulting with his mother, to bestow the greater portion 
 of the wealth which he had inherited on the poor, and to go to 
 Isfahan to prosecute his studies. 
 
 It was the time when the Safavi kings ruled over Persia, with 
 their capital at Isfahan, and the colleges of that city were famed 
 throughout the East. Mulla Sadra enquired on his arrival there 
 who were the most celebrated teachers of philosophy, and was 
 informed that they were three in number, Mir Abuw’l-Kasim 
 Fandaraski, Mir Muhammad Bakir, better known as Mir Damad, 
 and Sheykh Behda’u’d-Din ‘Amili. He first presented himself 
 before Mir Damad, and asked for advice as to his studies. The 
 latter replied, “If you want inward meaning only, go to Mir 
 
142. MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 Fandaraski; if you want mere outward form, go to Sheykh 
 Beha; but if you desire to combine both, then come to me.” 
 Mulla Sadra accordingly attended the lectures of Mir Damad 
 regularly, but did not fail to profit as far as possible by the teach- 
 ing of the other professors. 
 
 At length it happened that Mir Damad desired to undertake 
 the pilgrimage to Mecca. He therefore bade each of his pupils 
 compose during his absence a treatise on some branch of philo- 
 sophy, which should be submitted to him on his return, in order 
 that he might judge of the progress they had made. Acting on 
 this injunction, Mulla Sadra wrote his first great work, the 
 Shawdhid-i-Rububiyyé (“Evidences of Divinity”), which he pre- 
 sented to his teacher on his return from the pilgrimage. 
 
 Some time afterwards, when Mulla Sadr4 was walking beside 
 Mir Damdd, the latter said to him, “Sadrd jda! Kitdb-i-merd az 
 meyan burdi!” (“O my dear Sadra, thou hast taken my work out 
 of the midst” —meaning that he had superseded it by the work 
 which he had just composed). This generous recognition of his 
 metit by his teacher was the beginning of a wide celebrity which 
 has gone on increasing till this day. Yet this celebrity brought 
 him into some danger from the fanatical mu//ds, who did not fail 
 to detect in his works the savour of heterodoxy. It was during 
 his residence at Kum especially that his life was jeopardised by 
 the indignation of these zealots, but on many occasions he was 
 subjected to annoyances and persecutions. He lived at a time 
 when the clerical power was paramount, and philosophy in dis- 
 repute. Had he lived later, he might have been the recipient of 
 favours from the great, and have enjoyed tranquillity, and per- 
 haps even opulence: as it was, his was the glory of once more 
 bringing back philosophy to the land whence it had been almost 
 banished. 
 
 Mulla Sadra gained numerous disciples (some of whom, such 
 as Mulla Muhsin-i-Feyz, attained to great fame), and left behind 
 him a multitude of books, mostly in Arabic, of which the 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 143 
 
 Shawahid-i-Rububiyyé already mentioned, and a mote systematic 
 and voluminous work called the Asfar--arba‘a (“Fout treatises’’), 
 enjoy the greatest reputation. The three points claimed as original 
 in Mulla Sadra’s teaching! are as follows:— 
 
 (1) His axiom “ Basttu’-hakikat kullu’l-ashyd wa leysa bi-shey’” 
 minhd”—“'The element of Real Being is all things, yet is none 
 of them.” 
 
 (2) His doctrine that true cognition of any object only be- 
 comes possible by the identification of the knower with the 
 known. 
 
 (3) His assertion that the Imagination is independent of the 
 physical organism, and belongs in its nature to the world of the 
 soul: hence that not only in young children, but even in animals, 
 it persists as a spiritual entity after death. In this point he 
 differed from his predecessors, who held that it was only with 
 the development of the Rational Soul that immortality became 
 possible. 
 
 I must now pass on to Haji Mulla Hadi of Sabzawar, the 
 - greatest Persian philosopher of the nineteenth century. He was 
 the son of Haji Mahdi, and was born in the year a.H. 1212 (A.D. 
 1797-8). He began his studies when only seven years old, under 
 the tuition of Haji Mulla Huseyn of Sabzawar, and at the early 
 age of twelve composed a small treatise. Anxious to pursue his 
 studies in theology and jurisprudence, he visited Mashhad in 
 company with his teacher, and remained there for five years, 
 living in the most frugal manner (not from necessity, for he was 
 far from poor, but from choice), and continuing his studies with 
 unremitting ardour. When in his seventeenth year he heard of 
 the fame of Mulla ‘Ali Nuri, who was then teaching in Isfahan, 
 he was very anxious to proceed thither at once, but was for 
 several years prevented from so doing by the opposition of his 
 
 1 A further account of Mulla Sadra, differing in some points from that 
 which is here given, will be found in Gobineau’s Re/igions et Philosophies dans 
 Ll’ Asie Centrale, pp. 80-90. 
 
144 ‘MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 friends. Ultimately, however, he was enabled to gratify his 
 wishes, and to take up his residence at Isfahan, where he dili- 
 gently attended the lectures of Mulla ‘Ali Nuri. He appears, 
 however, to have received more advantage from the help of one 
 of Mulla ‘Ali’s pupils, named Mulla Isma‘il, “the One-eyed.” 
 In Isfahan he remained for seven years, devoting himself with 
 such avidity to the study of philosophy that he rarely slept for 
 much more than four hours out of the twenty-four. To combat 
 slothfulness he was in the habit of reposing on a cloak spread on 
 the bare brick floor of the little room which he occupied in the 
 college, with nothing but a stone for his pillow. 
 
 The simplicity and indeed austerity of his life was far from 
 being his chief or only merit. Being possessed of private means 
 — greatly in excess of what his simple requirements demanded, he 
 used to take pains to discover which of the students stood most 
 in need of pecuniary help, and would then secretly place sums of 
 money varying from one to five or even ten /émdns (six shillings 
 _ to three pounds) in their rooms during their absence, without 
 leaving any clue which could lead to the identification of the 
 donor. In this manner he is said to have expended no less than 
 100,000 témdns (about £30,000), while he was in Isfahan, leaving 
 himself only so much as he deemed necessary for his own main- 
 tenance. 
 
 Having completed his studies at Isfahan, he made a pilgrimage 
 to Mecca, whence he returned by way of Kirman. There he 
 remained for a while and married a wife, whom he took back to 
 his native town of Sabzawar. Soon after his return he paid 
 another visit to Mashhad, and remained there ten months, giving 
 lectures on philosophy, but soon returned thence to settle in 
 Sabzawar, whither his increasing renown began to draw students 
 from all parts of Persia. During the day he used to give two 
 lectures, each of two hours’ duration, on Metaphysics, taking as 
 his text either some of the writings of Mulla Sadra, or his own 
 notes. The rest of his time was spent for the most part in study 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 145 
 
 and devotion. In person he was tall of stature, thin, and of 
 slender frame; his complexion was dark, his face pleasing to 
 look upon, his speech eloquent and flowing, his manner gentle, 
 unobtrusive, and even humble. His abstemiousness was such 
 that he would never eat more than the limited number of mouth- 
 fuls which he deemed necessary, neither would he accept the 
 invitations which he often received from the great. He was 
 always teady to help the widow, the orphan, and the stranger, 
 and ever exemplified in his demeanour the apophthegm of Bu 
 ‘Ali Sina (Avicenna): “A/‘drifu hashsh", bashsh", bassdm'"; wa 
 kevfa ld, wa huwa farbdn" bi’l-bakki wa bi-kulli shey?” (“The 
 gnostic is gentle, courteous, smiling; and how should it be 
 otherwise, since he rejoices in God and in all things?”) The 
 complete course of instruction in philosophy which he gave 
 lasted seven years, at the end of which period those students 
 who had followed it diligently were replaced by others. Many, of 
 coutse, were unable to complete their education; but, on the 
 whole, neatly a thousand satisfactorily accomplished it. Till 
 within three days of his death Haji Mulla Hadi never disappointed 
 his eager audience of a single lecture, and he was actually engaged 
 in teaching when struck down by the disease which terminated 
 his life. The eager throng of students surrounded him in a circle, 
 while he was speaking of the Essence and Attributes of God, 
 when suddenly he.was overcome by faintness, and laid down the 
 book which he held in his hand, saying, “I have so often repeated 
 the word ‘Hu, ‘Hw#’” (‘‘He,” ze. God; in which sense only 
 the Arabic pronoun is used by the Persians) “‘that it has become 
 fixed in my head, and my head, following my tongue, seems to 
 keep crying “Hu, ‘Hu.’” Having uttered these words, he laid 
 down his head and fainted, and two days later he peacefully 
 passed away in the year A.H. 1295 (A.D. 1878), sincerely mourned 
 by those to whom he had been endeared alike by his learning 
 and his benevolence. He was buried, according to instructions 
 contained in his will, outside the Mashhad gate of Sabzawar. 
 
 B Io 
 
146 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 A handsome tomb has been raised over his grave by orders of the 
 Grand Vizier, and the spot is regarded as one of great sanctity, 
 and is visited by numerous pilgrims?. 
 
 So died, after a noble and useful life, the Sage of Sabzawar. 
 His major works amount to about seventeen in number, in- 
 cluding an elementary treatise on philosophy, written in Persian, 
 in an easy style, at the request of the Shah, and entitled Asradri’/ 
 Hikam (‘Secrets of Philosophy”’). Hewas a poet as wellas a meta- 
 physician, and has left behind him a Divan in Persian, as well 
 as two long and highly esteemed versified treatises in Arabic, 
 one on logic, the other on metaphysic. He had three sons, of 
 whom the eldest (who was also by far the most capable) survived 
 him only two years; the other two are still [1893] living at 
 Sabzawé4r, and one at least of them still teaches in the college on 
 which his father’s talents shed so great a lustre. 
 
 The pupils of the Sage of Sabzawar entertained for him an 
 unbounded love and veneration. They even believe him to have 
 been endowed with the power of working miracles (kerdmdt), 
 though he himself never allowed this statement to be made 
 before him. My teacher, Mirza Asadu’llah, informed me, how- 
 ever, that the following was a well-known fact. Haji Mulla 
 Hadi’s son-in-law had a daughter who had been paralysed for 
 yeats. One night, a year after the Haji’s death, she saw him in 
 a dream, and he said to her, “Arise, my daughter, and walk.” 
 The excessive joy which she experienced at seeing him and 
 hearing these words caused her to wake up. She immediately 
 roused her sister, who was sleeping beside her, and told her 
 what she had dreamed. The latter said, ““You had better get up 
 and try if you can walk; perhaps there is more in the dream than 
 a mete fancy.” After a little persuasion the girl got up, and found 
 
 1 All these details I obtained from my teacher, Mirz4 Asadu’ll4h of 
 Sabzawat, who compiled the original memoir, not only from his own 
 recollections of his venerated master in philosophy, but from information 
 supplied by one of Mulla Hadi’s sons. It is chiefly by reason of the good 
 authority on which they rest that I have decided to give them almost in full. 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 147 
 
 to her delight that she really was able to walk quite well. Next 
 day she went to the Haji’s tomb to return thanks, accompanied 
 by a great crowd of people, to whom her former afHiction was 
 as well-known as her present recovery was obvious. 
 
 Another event, less marvellous, however, than the above, was 
 related to me as follows. When a detachment of the army was 
 passing through Sabzawa4r, a soldier, who had been given a 
 requisition for corn for the horses drawn on a certain mul/d, 
 brought the document to Haji Mulla Hadi and asked him in 
 whose name it was drawn, as he himself was unable to read. 
 The Haji looked at it, and, knowing that the ww//d who was 
 therein commanded to supply the corn was in impoverished 
 circumstances, and could ill support the loss, replied, “I must 
 supply you with what you require; go to the storehouse and 
 take it.” Accordingly the soldier carried off as much corn as 
 he needed, and gave it to the horses. In the morning, however, 
 on entering the stable, the soldiers found that the corn was 
 untouched. Enquiries were made whence it came, and on its 
 being discovered that it was the property of the Haji, it was 
 returned to him. This story soon gained currency and credence 
 amongst officers and men alike, and added not a little to the Haji’s 
 reputation, notwithstanding that he himself continued to make 
 light of it, and even to deny it. 
 
 It may not be amiss to give some details as to the course of 
 study which those who desired to attend the Haji’s lectures were 
 expected to have already pursued, and the subjects in which they 
 had to produce evidence of proficiency before they were received 
 as his pupils. These preliminary studies were as follows:— 
 
 I. Grammar, Rhetoric, etc. (Edebiyyé), also called “Preliminaries” 
 (Mukaddamat).— Under this head is included a competent knowledge 
 of Arabic and its grammar, with ability to read such works as Jdmi’s 
 commentary, Say#t7, and the Mutawwal. 
 
 II. Logic (Manzik), as contained in such treatises as the Kubrd, the Sham- 
 siyyé, and the Sharb-i-Matah'. 
 III. Mathematics (including Euclid and Astronomy), which is studied pari- 
 passu with Logic. 
 10-2 
 
148 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 IV. Elements of Jurisprudence (F7£A). 
 V. Scholastic Theology (‘I/m-i-Keldm), as set forth in the following 
 works :— 
 
 1. The Hiddyé of Meybudi, a concise but knotty compendium of the 
 elements of this science in Arabic. 
 
 2. The Tajrid of Nasiru’d-Din of Tus, with the commentary of 
 Mulla ‘Ali Kushji. 
 
 3. The Shawdrik, of Mulla ‘Abdu’r-Razzak Lahiji, the son-in-law of 
 Mulla Sadra. 
 
 Those students who wete able to show that they had acquired 
 a satisfactory knowledge of these subjects were allowed to enroll 
 themselves as the pupils of Haji Mulla Hadi, and to commence 
 their study of Metaphysic proper (Hikmat-i-I/ahi), as set forth 
 in his works and in those of Mulla Sadra. 
 
 I trust that I have succeeded in making it sufficiently clear 
 that the study of Persian philosophy is not a thing to be lightly 
 undertaken, and that proficiency in it can only be the result of 
 diligent application, combined with good natural capacity. It 
 is not a thing to play with in a dilettante manner, but is properly 
 regarded by its votaries as the highest intellectual training, and 
 the crown and summit of all knowledge. It was not long ere 
 I discovered this fact; and as it was clearly impossible for me to 
 go through a tenth part of the proper curriculum, while at the 
 same time I was deeply desirous of becoming, in some measute » 
 at least, acquainted with the most recent developments of Persian 
 thought, I was fain to request my teacher, Mirza Asadu’llah, to 
 take compassion on my infirmities, and to instruct me as far as 
 possible, and in as simple a manner as possible, concerning the 
 essential practical conclusions of the doctrines of which he was 
 the exponent. This he kindly exerted himself to do; and though 
 any attempt at a systematic enunciation of Haji Mulla Hadi’s 
 philosophy, even were I capable of undertaking it, would be out 
 of place here, I think that it may not be uninteresting if I notice 
 briefly some of its more remarkable features—not as derived 
 from his writings, but as orally expounded to me, with explana- 
 tions and illustrations, by his pupil and disciple. 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 149 
 
 As in the Sufi doctrine, Being is conceived of as one: “ A/wujuidu 
 hakikat™ vdbidat” basttat” va lahu mardtib’ mutafddila” :—“Being 
 is a single simple Reality, and it has degrees differing in excellence.” 
 Poetically, this idea is expressed in the following quatrain:— 
 
 “ Majmu‘a-i-kawn-ra bi-kantin-i-sabak, 
 Kardim tasaffub varak®" ba‘da varak: 
 Hakka ki na-khwandim a na-didim dar-u 
 Juz Dhat-i-Hakk, u sifat-i-dhatiyyé-i-Hakk.” 
 “Like a lesson-book, the compendium of the Universe 
 We turned over, leaf after leaf: 
 In truth we read and saw therein naught 
 Save the Essence of God, and the Essential Attributes of God.” 
 
 The whole Universe, then, is to be regarded as the unfolding, 
 manifestation, or projection of God. It is the mirror wherein 
 He sees Himself; the arena wherein His various Attributes dis- 
 play their nature. It is subsequent to Him not in sequence of 
 time (for time is merely the medium which encloses the pheno- 
 menal world, and which is, indeed, dependent on this for its 
 vety existence), but in sequence of causation; just as the light given 
 off by a luminous body is subsequent to the luminosity of that 
 body 7 causation (inasmuch as the latter is the source and origin — 
 of the former, and that whereon it depends and whereby it sub- 
 sists), but not subsequent to it in “me (because it is impossible 
 to conceive of any time in the existence of an essentially luminous 
 body antecedent to the emission of light therefrom). This 
 amounts to saying that the Universe is co-eternal with God, but 
 not co-equal, because it is merely an Emanation dependent on 
 Him, while He has no need of it. 
 
 Just as the light proceeding from a luminous body becomes 
 weaker and more diffuse as it recedes from its source, so the 
 Emanations of Being become less real, or, in other words, more 
 eross and material, as they become farther removed from their 
 focus and origin. This gradual descent or recession from the 
 Primal Being, which is called the Kaws-z-Nuzi/ (“Arc of De- 
 scent”), has in reality infinite grades, but a certain definite 
 number (seven) is usually recognised. 
 
150 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 Man finds himself in the lowest of these grades—the Material 
 World; but of that world he is the highest development, for he 
 contains in himself the potentiality of re-ascent, by steps corre- 
 sponding to those in the “Arc of Descent,” to God, his Origin 
 and his Home. To discover how this return may be effected, 
 how the various stages of the Kaws-7-Su‘dd (“Arc of Ascent”) 
 may be traversed, is the object of philosophy. 
 
 “The soul of man is corporeal in origin, but spiritual in con- 
 tinuance” (“An-nafsu fi’ -hudithi jismaniyya, wa fi l-bakd’i tekunu 
 rubdniyya”’). Born of matter, it is yet capable of a spiritual 
 development which will lead it back to God, and enable it, during 
 the span of a mortal life, to accomplish the ascent from matter 
 to spirit, from the periphery to the centre. In the “Arc of 
 Ascent” also are numerous grades; but here again, as in the “Arc 
 of Descent,” seven are usually recognised. It may be well at 
 this point to set down in a tabular form these grades as they 
 exist both in the Macrocosm, or Arc of Descent, and in the 
 Microcosm, or Arc of Ascent, which is man:— 
 
 I. Arc or ASCENT. II. Arc oF DESCENT. 
 SEVEN PRINCIPLES IN MAN 
 (Latd’if-i-sab‘a). SERIES OF EMANATIONS. 
 1. The most subtle principle (AA+/2). 1. Exploration of the 
 
 World of Divinity 
 (Seyr dar ‘alam-i- 
 
 Lahut)*. 
 2. The subtle principle (Khafd). 2. The World of Divinity 
 (‘Alam-i-Labut)*. 
 
 3. The secret (S7rr). 3. The World of the In- 
 telligences (‘Alam-i-Ja- 
 barut). 
 
 4. The heart (Ka/b). 4. The World of the Angels 
 
 (‘Alam-i-Malakut). 
 5. The spirit (R#). 5. The World of Ideas (‘A/am-i- 
 Ma‘nd). 
 
 6. The soul (Nafs). 6. The World of Form (‘Alam-i- 
 Surat). 
 
 7. The nature (Tab‘). | 7. The Material World (‘Alam-i- 
 Tabi“at). 
 
 * I do not think that these first two should stand thus, for at most they only 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC I5l 
 
 A few words of explanation ate necessary concerning the above 
 scheme. Each stage in either column corresponds with that 
 which is placed opposite to it. Thus, for instance, the mere 
 matter which in the earliest stage of man’s development con- 
 stitutes his totality corresponds to the material world to which it 
 belongs. In the material world the “‘ Arc of Descent” has reached 
 its lowest point; in man, the highest product of the material 
 world, the ascent is begun. When the human embryo begins to 
 take form it rises to the World of Soul, thus summing up in 
 itself two grades of the Arcs. It may never ascend higher than 
 this point; for, of course, when the upward evolution of man is 
 spoken of, it is not implied that this is effected by all, or even by 
 the majority of men. These “seven principles” do not represent 
 necessarily co-existing components or elements, but successive 
 grades of development, at any one of which, after the first, the 
 process of growth may be arrested. The race exists for its highest 
 development; humanity for the production of the Perfect Man 
 (Insdn-i-Kdmil), who, summing up as he does all the grades of 
 ascent from matter—the lowest point of the series of emanations 
 —to God, is described as the Microcosm, the compendium of 
 all the planes of Existence (fazrat-ijdmi‘), or sometimes as the 
 “sixth plane” (hazrat-i-sddisa), because he includes and sum- 
 marises all the five spiritual planes. 
 
 It has been said that some men never rise beyond the second 
 erade—the World of Soul or Form. These are such as occupy 
 themselves entirely during their lives with sensual pursuits— 
 mark two different phases in the experience of the soul—an attaining unto the 
 World of Divinity, and a journeying therein. My impression is that they 
 should be replaced thus :—1. The World of Divinity (7.e. the Divine Essence, 
 ‘Alam-i-Ldbit); 2. The World of the Attributes (“Alam-i-Rdbit). ‘This corre- 
 sponds to the views given in the commentaries on the Fus#s of Sheykh 
 Muhyi’d-Din ibnu’l-‘Arabi and other similar works, where the “Five 
 Planes” (Hazrat-i-khams), which coincide with the first five grades given here 
 (z.e. those which belong to the Spiritual World), are discussed. I have not, 
 
 however, considered myself justified in making any alteration in Mirza Asadu- 
 *llah’s scheme. 
 
152 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 eating, drinking, and the like. Previously to Mulla Sadra it was 
 generally held by philosophers that these perished entirely after 
 death, inasmuch as they had not developed any really spiritual 
 ptinciple. Mull4 Sadr4, however, took great pains to prove that 
 even in these cases where the “Rational Soul” (Nafs-7-ndtika) 
 had not been developed during life, there did exist a spiritual 
 patt which survived death and resisted disintegration. This 
 spiritual part he called “Imaginations” (Khiydldt). 
 
 Yet even in this low state of development, where no effort 
 has been made to teach the plane of the reason, a man may 
 lead an innocent and virtuous life. What will then be the con- 
 dition after death of that portion of him which survives the body? 
 It cannot re-enter the material world, for that would amount to 
 Metempsychosis, which, so far as I have been able to ascertain, 
 is uncompromisingly denied by all Persian philosophers. Neither 
 can it ascend higher in the spiritual scale, for the period during 
 which progress was possible is past. Moreover, it derives no 
 pleasure from spiritual or intellectual experiences, and would 
 not be happy in one of the higher worlds, even could it attain 
 thereto. It desires material surroundings, and yet cannot return 
 to the material world. It therefore does what seems to it the next 
 best thing: it creates for itself subjective pseudo-material sur- 
 roundings, and in this dream-dwelling it makes its eternal home. 
 If it has acted rightly in the world according to its lights, it is 
 happy; if wrongly, then miserable. The happiness or misery of 
 its hereafter depends on its merit, but in either case it is purely 
 subjective and absolutely stationary. There is for it neither 
 advance nor return: it can neither ascend higher, nor re-enter 
 the material world either by Transmigration or Resurrection, 
 both of which the philosophers deny. 
 
 What has been said above applies, with slight modifications, 
 to all the other grades, at any rate the lower ones. If a man has 
 during his life in the world attained to the grade of the spirit 
 (the third grade in order of ascent) and acquired rational or 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 153 
 
 intellectual faculties, he may still have used these well or ill. In 
 either case he enters after death into the World of Ideas, where 
 he is happy or miserable according to his deserts. But, so far 
 as I could learn, anyone who has during his life developed any 
 of the four highest principles passes after death into a condition 
 of happiness and blessedness, since mete intellect without virtue 
 will not enable him to pass beyond the third grade, or World of 
 the Spirit. According to the degree of development which he 
 has reached, he enters the World of the Angels, the World of the 
 Intelligences, or the World of Divinity itself. 
 
 From what has been said it will be clear that a bodily resurrec- 
 tion and a material hereafter are both categorically denied by the 
 philosophers. Nevertheless, states of subjective happiness or 
 misery, practically constituting a heaven or hell, exist. These, 
 as has been explained, are of different grades in both cases. Thus 
 there is a “Paradise of Actions”? (Jannatu’/-Afdl), whete the soul 
 is surrounded by an ideal world of beautiful forms; a “Paradise 
 of Attributes”’ (Jannatu’s-Sifdt); and a “Paradise of the Essence”’ 
 ~ (Jannatw dh-Dhdt), which is the highest of all, for there the soul 
 enjoys the contemplation of the Divine Perfections, which hold 
 it in an eternal rapture, and cause it to forget and cease to desire 
 all those objects which constitute the pleasure of the denizens of 
 the lower paradises. It is, indeed, unconscious of aught but God, 
 and is annihilated or absorbed in Him. 
 
 The lower subjective worlds, where the less fully developed 
 soul suffers or rejoices, are often spoken of collectively as the 
 ‘ Alam-i-Mithdl (“ World of Similitudes”’), or the ‘A/am-i-Barzakb 
 (“World of the Barrier,” or “Border-world”’). The first term 
 is applied to it because each of its denizens takes a form corre- 
 sponding to his attributes. In this sense ‘Omar Khayyam has 
 said1— 
 
 “ Razi ki jexd-yi-har sifat khwahad bid 
 Kadr-i-tu bi-kadr-1-ma’rifat khwahad bid; 
 
 1 Ed. Whinfield, London, 1883, p. 155, No. 228. 
 
154 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 Dar busn-i-sifat kush, ki dar ruz-ijexd 
 Hashr-i-tu bi-strat-i-sifat khwabad bid.” 
 “On that day when all qualities shall receive their recompense 
 Thy worth shall be in proportion to thy wisdom. 
 Strive after good qualities, for in the Day of Recompense 
 Thy resurrection shall be in the form of the attribute.” 
 Thus a greedy gluttonous man takes the form of a pig, and it 
 is in this sense only that metempsychosis (tandsukh) is held by 
 the Persian philosophers. On this point my teacher was perfectly 
 clear and definite. It is not uncommon for Sufis to describe a 
 man by the form with which they profess to identify him in the 
 “World of Similitudes.” Thus.I have heard a Sufi say to his 
 antagonist, “I see you in the World of Similitudes as an old 
 toothless fox, desirous of preying upon others, but unable to do 
 so.” I once said to Mirza Asadu’llah that, if I rightly understood 
 his views, hell was nothing else than an eternal nightmare: 
 whereat he smiled, and said that I had rightly apprehended his 
 meaning. 
 
 Although a soul cannot rise higher than that world to which 
 it has assimilated itself during life, it may be delayed by lower 
 affinities in the “‘ World of the Barrier” on its way thither. All 
 bad habits, even when insufficient to present a permanent 
 obstacle to spiritual progress, tend to cause: such delay, and to 
 retatd the upward ascent of the soul. From this it will be seen 
 that the denizens of the “World of the Barrier” are of three 
 classes, two of these being permanent, and abiding for ever in 
 the state of subjective happiness or misery which they have 
 merited, and the third consisting of souls temporarily delayed 
 there to undergo a species of probation before passing to the 
 worlds above. 
 
 On one occasion I put the following question to Mirza Asadu- 
 ’llah:—“'Two persons, A and B, have been friends during their 
 lifetime. The former has so lived as to merit happiness hereafter; 
 the latter, misery. Both die and enter the ‘World of the Barrier,’ 
 there receiving forms appropriate to their attributes; the one, 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 15; 
 
 moreover, is happy, the other wretched. Will not A have cog- 
 nisance of B’s miserable condition, and will not this knowledge 
 tend to mar his felicity?”’ 
 
 To this question my teacher replied as follows:—“ A’s world 
 is altogether apart from B’s, and the two are entirely out of con- 
 tact. In A’s world are present all things that he desires to have 
 in such form as he pleases, for his world is the creation of his 
 Imaginative Faculty freed from the restraints of matter and the 
 outward senses, and endowed with full power to see what it 
 conceives. Therefore if A desires the presence of B as he knew 
 him formerly, B will be present with him in that form under 
 which he was so known, and not in the repulsive form which 
 he has now assumed. There is no mote difficulty in this than in 
 a person dreaming in ordinary sleep that he sees one of his friends 
 in a state of happiness when at that very time his friend is in great 
 pain or trouble.” 
 
 Such, in outline, are the more remarkable features of this 
 philosophy as expounded to me by Mirza Asadu’llah. That it 
 _ differs considerably from the ideas formed by most European 
 scholars of the philosophy current in Persia, as represented in 
 the books, I am well aware. I can only suppose that Gobineau 
 is tight as to the extent to which the system of “ketmdn”’ (con- 
 cealment of opinions) prevails in Persia—a view which my own 
 experience strongly tends to confirm. He says, for example, in 
 speaking of Mulla Sadra (Religions et Philosophies dans P Asie 
 Centrale, p. 88), in whose footsteps Haji Mulla Hadi for the most 
 part followed:— 
 
 “Le soin qu'il prenait de déguiser ses discouts, il était néces- 
 saite qu'il le prit surtout de déguiser ses livres; c’est ce qu’il a 
 fait, et a les lire on se ferait lidée la plus imparfaite de son 
 enseignement. Je dis a les lire sans un maitre qui posséde la 
 tradition. Autrement on y pénétre sans peine.”’ Such a system of 
 concealment may seem strange to those accustomed to the liberty 
 of thought enjoyed in Europe, but it is rendered necessary in the 
 
156 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 East by the power and intolerance of the clergy. Many a philo- 
 sopher like Sheykh Shih4bu’d-Din Suhravardi, many a Sufi like 
 Manstr-i-Hall4j, has paid with his life for too free and open an 
 expression of his opinions. 
 
 For the rest, many of the ideas here enunciated bear an extra- 
 ordinary similarity to those set forth by Mr Sinnett in his work 
 entitled Esoteric Buddhism. Great exception has been taken to 
 this work, and especially it has been asserted that the ideas un- 
 folded in it are totally foreign to Buddhism of any sort. Of this 
 I am not in a position to judge: very possibly it is true, though 
 even then the ideas in question may still be of Indian origin. 
 But whatever the explanation be, no one, I feel sute, can compare 
 the chapters in Mr Sinnett’s book, entitled respectively, “The 
 Constitution of Man,” “Devachan,” and “Kama Loca,” with 
 what I have written of Haji Mulla Hadi’s views on the Nature 
 of Man and his Hereafter, without being much struck by the 
 resemblance. 
 
 Certain other points merit a brief notice. The physical sciences 
 as known to Persian philosophy are those of the ancients. Theit 
 chemistry regards earth, air, fire, and water as the four elements: 
 their astronomy is simply the Ptolemaic system. Furthermore 
 they regard the Universe as finite, and adduce many proofs, 
 some tather ingenious, others weak enough, against the contrary 
 hypothesis. Of these I will give one only as a specimen. 
 
 “Let us suppose,” they say, “‘that the Universe is infinite. 
 Then from the centre of the earth draw two straight lines, diverg- 
 ing from one another at an angle of 60°, to the circumference, 
 and produce them thence to infinity. Join their terminal points 
 by another straight line, thus forming the base of the triangle. 
 Now, since the two sides of the triangle are equal (for both were 
 drawn from one point to infinity), therefore the angles at the 
 base are equal; and since the angle at the apex is 60°, therefore 
 each of the remaining angles is 60°, and the triangle is equilateral. 
 Therefore, since the sides are infinite in length, the base is also 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 157 
 
 infinite in length. But the base is a straight line joining two 
 points (viz. the terminal points of the sides); that is to say, it is 
 limited in both directions. Therefore it is not infinite in length, 
 neither are the sides infinite in length, and a straight line cannot 
 be drawn to infinity. Therefore the Universe is finite. Q.E.D.” 
 
 This theorem scarcely needs comment. It, along with the 
 endless discussions of a similar nature on the “Indivisible Atom” 
 (Jawhar-i-fard) and the like, is an inheritance from the scholastic 
 theology (‘I/m-i-Keldm), the physics of which have been retained 
 by all Persian metaphysicians up to the present day. 
 
 A few words may be said about the psychology of the system 
 in question. Five psychic faculties (corresponding to the five 
 senses) ate supposed to exist. These, with their cerebral seats, are 
 
 as follows:— 
 
 1. The compound perception (Hiss-z-mushtaraké), which 
 has the double function of receiving and apprehending 
 impressions from without. It is compared to a two- 
 faced mirror, because on the one hand it “reflects”’ 
 the outward world as presented to it by the senses, 
 and on the other, during sleep, it gives form to the 
 ideas arising in the Mutasarrifa, which will be men- 
 tioned directly. 
 
 2. The Imagination (Khzya/), which is the storehouse of 
 forms. 
 
 3. The Controlling or Co-ordinating Faculty (Mufa- 
 sarrifa), which combines and elaborates the emotions 
 or ideas stored in the Vahimé, and the images stored in 
 
 Mip-BraINn the Imagination. It is therefore sometimes called the 
 
 “keeper of the two treasuries.” 
 4. The Emotional Faculty (Vahimé), which is the seat 
 \ of love, hate, fear, and the like. 
 
 Hinp-Bratn — 5. The Memory (Hafiza), which is the storehouse of ideas. 
 
 ForRE-BRAIN 
 
 All these faculties are partial percipients (Madrikdt-ijuz’ iyyé), 
 and are the servants of the Reason (“Ak/i-kullt-i-insdnt, or Nafs-i- 
 ndtika), which is the General Percipient (Mudrik-i-kullt), Of these 
 faculties the Imagination would appear to be regarded as the 
 highest, since, as we have seen, in those cases in which the 
 Reason or Rational Soul (Nafs-i-ndtika) is not developed, it 
 
158 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 constitutes that portion of the individual which survives death 
 and resists disintegration. Indeed these five faculties are better 
 regarded as different stages in the development of the Reason. 
 Nothing below the plane of the Imagination, however, survives 
 death: e.g. in the lowest animals, whose culminating faculty is 
 a sense of touch (like worms), death brings about complete 
 disintegration. 
 
 Finally, a few words may be added concerning the view taken 
 of the occult sciences. I was naturally desirous to learn to what 
 extent they were recognised as true, and accordingly questioned 
 Mirza Asadu’llah on the matter. His reply (which fairly repre- 
 sents the opinion of most thoughtful Persians of the old school) 
 was briefly to this effect:-—As regards Geomancy (‘I/m-i-raml) 
 and Astrology (‘I/m-i-nujim) he had no doubt of their truth, of 
 which he had had positive proof. At the same time, of the 
 number of those who professed to understand them the majority 
 wete impostors and charlatans. Their acquisition was very 
 laborious, and required many years’ patient study, and those 
 who had acquired them and knew their value were, as a rule, very 
 slow to exhibit or make a parade of their knowledge. As regards 
 the interpretation of dreams, he said that these were of three 
 kinds, of which only the last admits of interpretation. These 
 three classes are as follows:— 
 
 I.—DREAMS DUE TO DISORDERED HEALTH.— 
 
 1. Blood. Red things, such as fire, etc., are 
 seen. 
 
 2. Bile. Yellow things, such as the sun, 
 gold, etc., are seen. 
 
 3. Phlegm. White things, such as water, 
 snow, etc., ate seen. 
 
 4. Melancholy. Black things, such as ink, 
 etc., ate seen. 
 
 Due to predominance of — 
 
 II.—DREAMS ARISING FROM IMPRESSIONS PRODUCED DURING WAKING Hours. 
 
 I1].—DREAMS NOT ARISING FROM THE EXTERNAL OR INTERNAL CAUSES 
 ABOVE ENUMERATED.—These are teflections obtained during sleep 
 from the World of Similitudes (“A/am-é-Mithd/). In some rare cases 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 159 
 
 they indicate events as they actually will occur. Generally, however, 
 they show them forth in a symbolical manner, and require interpreta- 
 tion. Just as every man has his appropriate “form” in the World of 
 Similitudes, so also has everything else. Knowledge, for instance, is 
 symbolised by mi/k; an enemy by a wolf, etc. 
 
 I discussed the occult sciences with several of my friends, to 
 discover as far as possible the prevailing opinion about them. One 
 of them made use of the following argument to prove their 
 existence: —‘‘God,” he said, “‘has no bukf/ (stinginess, avarice): 
 it is impossible for Him to withhold from anyone a thing for 
 which he strives with sufficient earnestness. Just as, if a man 
 devotes all his energies to the pursuit of spiritual knowledge, he 
 attains to it, so, if he chooses to make occult sciences and magical 
 powers the object of his aspirations, they will assuredly not be 
 withheld from him.” 
 
 Another of my intimate friends gave me the following account 
 of an attempt at conjuration (¢hydr-i-jinn) at which he had himself 
 assisted:—‘“* My uncle, Mirza »” he said, ““whose house you 
 may perhaps see when you visit Shiraz, was a great believer in 
 the occult sciences, in the pursuit of which, indeed, he dissipated 
 a considerable fortune, being always surrounded by a host of. 
 magicians, geomancers, astrologers, and the like. On one 
 occasion something of value had disappeared, and it was believed 
 to have been stolen. It was therefore determined to make an 
 attempt to discover the thief by resorting to a conjuration, which — 
 was undertaken by a certain Seyyid of Shiraz, skilled in these 
 matters. Now you must know that the operator cannot himself 
 see the forms of the jimnis whom he evokes: he needs for this 
 purpose the assistance of a young child. I, being then quite a 
 child, was selected as his assistant. The magician began by draw- 
 ing a talismanic figure in ink on the palm of my hand, over 
 which he subsequently rubbed a mixture of ink and oil, so that 
 it was no longer visible. He then commenced his incantations; 
 and before long I, gazing steadily, as I had been instructed to 
 do, into the palm of my hand, saw, reflected in it as it were, 
 
 
 
160 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 a tiny figure which I recognised as myself. I informed the 
 magician of this, and he commanded me to address it in a 
 peremptory manner and bid it summon the ‘King of the jimnis’ 
 (Maliku’ljinn). 1 did so, and immediately a second figure ap- 
 peared in the ink-mirror. Then I was frightened, and began to 
 cry, and hastily rubbed the ink off my hand. Thereupon another 
 boy was brought, and the same process was repeated till the 
 ‘King of the jimnis’ appeared. ‘Tell him to summon his vagir,’ 
 said the magician. The boy did so, and the vazir also appeared 
 in the ink-mirror. A number of other jzmnzs were similarly called 
 up, one by one, and when they were all present they were ordered 
 to be seated. Then the magician took a number of slips of paper, 
 wrote on each of them the name of one of those resident in the 
 house, and placed them under his foot. He then drew out one 
 without looking at it, and called out to the boy, ‘Who is here?’ 
 The boy immediately read off the name in question in the ink- 
 mirror. The same process was repeated till the name of one of 
 the servants in the house was reached. ‘Well,’ said the magician, 
 ‘why do you not tell me what you see in the mirror?’ ‘I see 
 nothing,’ answered the boy. ‘Look again,’ said the magician; 
 ‘gaze mote fixedly on the mirror.’ After a little while the boy 
 said, ‘I see no name, but only the words Bésmi’//dhi’r-Rahmdni’r- 
 Rahim’ (‘In the name of God, the Merciful, the Clement’). ‘This,’ 
 said the magician, ‘which I hold in my hand is the name of the 
 thief.” The man in question was summoned and interrogated, 
 and finally confessed that he had stolen the missing article, which 
 he was compelled to restore.” 
 
 In this connection it may not be out of place to give the 
 experiences of another experimenter in the occult sciences, who, 
 although at the time sufficiently alarmed by the results he 
 obtained, subsequently became convinced that they were merely 
 due to an excited imagination. My informant in this case was 
 a philosopher of Isfahan, entitled Aminu’sh-Shari‘at, who came 
 to Teheran in the company of his friend and patron, the Bandnu’/- 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 161 
 
 Mulk, one of the chief ministers of the Zi//v’s-Sultdn. I saw him 
 on several occasions, and had long discussions with him on 
 religion and philosophy. He spoke somewhat bitterly of the 
 vanity of all systems. “I have tried most of them,” he said. “I 
 have been in turn Musulman, Sufi, Sheykhi, and even Babi. At 
 one time of my life I devoted myself to the occult sciences, and 
 made an attempt to obtain control over the jinnis (Taskhir-i-jinn), 
 with what results I will tell you. You must know, in the first 
 place, that the modus operandi is as follows:—The seeker after. 
 this power chooses some solitary and dismal spot, such as the 
 Hazar-Déré at Isfahan (the place selected by me). There he must 
 remain for forty days, which period of retirement we call chil. 
 He spends the greater part of this time in incantations in the 
 Arabic language, which he recites within the area of the mandal, 
 or geometrical figure, which he must describe in a certain way 
 on the ground. Besides this, he must eat very little food, and 
 diminish the amount daily. If he has faithfully observed all these 
 details, on the twenty-first day a lion will appear, and will enter 
 the magic circle. The operator must not allow himself to be 
 terrified by this apparition, and, above all, must on no account 
 quit the mandal, else he will lose the results of all his pains. If 
 he resists the lion, other terrible forms will come to him on sub- 
 sequent days—tigers, dragons, and the like—which he must 
 similarly withstand. If he holds his ground till the fortieth day, 
 he has attained his object, and the jznis, having been unable to 
 get the mastery over him, will have to become his servants and 
 obey all his behests. Well, I faithfully observed all the necessary 
 conditions, and on the twenty-first day, sure enough, a lion 
 appeared and entered the circle. I was horribly frightened, but 
 all the same I stood my ground, although I came near to fainting 
 with terror. Next day a tiger came, and still I succeeded in 
 resisting the impulse which urged me to flee. But when, on 
 the following day, a most hideous and frightful dragon appeared, 
 I could no longer control my terror, and rushed from the circle, 
 
 B It 
 
162 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 renouncing all further attempts at obtaining the mastery over 
 the jinnis. When some time had elapsed after this, and I had 
 pursued my studies in philosophy further, I came to the con- 
 clusion that I had been the victim of hallucinations excited by 
 expectation, solitude, hunger, and long vigils; and, with a view 
 to testing the truth of this hypothesis, I again repeated the same 
 process which I had before practised, this time in a spirit of 
 philosophical incredulity. My expectations were justified; I saw 
 absolutely nothing. And there is another fact which proves to 
 my mind that the phantoms I saw on the first occasion had no 
 existence outside my own brain. I had never seen a teal lion 
 then, and my ideas about the appearance of that animal were 
 entirely derived from the pictures which may be seen over the 
 doors of baths in this country. Now, the lion which I saw in the 
 magic citcle was exactly like the latter in form and colouring, 
 and therefore, as I need hardly say, differed considerably in aspect 
 from a teal lion.” 
 
 In Teheran I saw another philosopher of some reputation, 
 Mirza Abw’l-Hasan-1-Jilvé. The last of these names is the sak- 
 hallus ot nom de guerre under which he writes poetry—for he is a 
 poet as well as a metaphysician. Unfortunately I did not have the 
 advantage of any prolonged conversation with him, and even 
 such as I had chiefly consisted in answering his questions on the 
 different phases of European thought. He was greatly interested 
 in what I told him about the Theosophists and Vegetarians, and 
 was anxious to know whether the Plymouth Brethren were 
 believers in the transmigration of souls! 
 
 Although, as will have already appeared, I acquired a con- 
 siderable amount of information about certain phases of Persian 
 thought during my sojourn in Teheran, there was one which, 
 notwithstanding my most strenuous efforts and diligent en- 
 quiries, had hitherto eluded all my attempts to approach it. This 
 one was Babiism, of the history of which I have already had 
 occasion to speak more than once, and to which I shall have to 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 163 
 
 refer repeatedly in the course of subsequent chapters. Although 
 I exerted to the utmost all the skill, all the tact, and all the 
 caution which I had at my command, I was completely foiled 
 in my attempts to communicate with the proscribed sect. I 
 heard something about them, it is true, and what I heard served 
 only to increase my desite to know more. I was told tales of 
 their unflinching courage under torture, of their unshakable 
 faith, of their marvellous skill in argument. “I once met one of 
 them,” said a man of great learning to me, “‘as I was returning 
 from Kerbela, and he succeeded in drawing me into a discussion 
 on religious matters. So completely was I worsted by him at 
 every turn, so thorough was his knowledge of the Kur’4n and 
 Traditions, and so ingenious was the use he made of this know- 
 ledge, that I was finally compelled to effect my escape from his 
 irresistible logic by declaring myself to be é-madhbhab (a free- 
 thinker); whereupon he left me, saying that with such he had 
 nothing to do.” 
 
 But whether my friends could not give me the knowledge 
 I sought for, or whether they did not choose to do so, I was 
 unable during my stay in Teheran to become acquainted with 
 any members of the sect in question. Some, indeed, of those 
 with whom I was acquainted at that time were, as I subsequently 
 discovered, actually Babis; yet these, although at times they asked 
 me about the coutse of my studies, commended my devotion 
 to philosophy, and even tantalised me with vague promises of 
 introductions to mysterious friends, who were, as they would 
 imply, endowed with true wisdom (ma‘rifat), would say nothing 
 definite, and appeared afraid to speak more openly. After 
 arousing my curiosity to the highest pitch, and making me fancy 
 that I was on the threshold of some discovery, they would 
 suddenly leave me with an expression of regret that opportu- 
 nities for prolonged and confidential conversation were so rare. 
 
 I tried to obtain information from an American missionary, 
 with similar lack of success. He admitted that he had fore- 
 
 1a nee} 
 
164 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 gathered with Babis, but added that he did not encourage them 
 to come and discuss their ideas, which he regarded as mischievous 
 and fanciful. I asked how he succeeded in recognising them, 
 since I had sought eagerly for them and had failed to find them. 
 He replied that there was not much difficulty in identifying them 
 by their conversation, as they always spoke on religious topics 
 ~whenever an opportunity presented itself, and dwelt especially 
 on the need of a fuller revelation, caused by the progress of the 
 human race. Beyond this I could learn nothing from him. Once, 
 indeed, I thought that I had succeeded in meeting with one of 
 the sect in the person of an old Shirazi merchant, who, to my 
 astonishment, launched forth before several other Persians who 
 were present on the excellences of the new religion. He declared 
 that of their sacred books those written in Arabic were more 
 eloquent than the Kur’an, and those composed in Persian superior 
 in style to the writings of Sa‘di. He spoke of an Arabic book 
 of theirs, of which a copy, written in gold, and worth at least 
 500 timdns (£150), existed in Teheran. This, he added, he might 
 perhaps some day take me to see. All the time he was talking he 
 kept looking at me in a peculiar way as though to watch the effect 
 produced by his words. I met him once again when no one else 
 was present, and easily induced him to resume the topic. He 
 spoke of the numerous signs and wonders which had heralded 
 the birth of Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad, the Bab; of the wonderful 
 quickness of apprehension manifested by him when still but a 
 child; and of the strange puzzling questions he used sometimes 
 to put to his teachers. Thus, on one occasion when he was 
 receiving instruction in Arabic grammar, he suddenly demanded, 
 *** Huwa’ kist?”’ (“Who ts ‘He’?”’). My informant further declared 
 that the Franco-German war and other events had been foretold 
 by the Bab’s successor! some time before they actually occurred. 
 
 1 2.¢., Mirza Huseyn ‘Ali Beha’u’/ldh, now deceased, who was regarded by 
 most of the Babis as “He whom God shall manifest.”” See my first paper on 
 “The Babis of Persia,” in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for July 1889, 
 
 p- 492, and pp. 348-9 infra. 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 165 
 
 On another occasion, in my eagerness to acquire knowledge 
 on this matter, I committed a great indiscretion, and, I fear, 
 caused considerable pain to my teacher, Mirz4 Asadu’llah. I had 
 been informed that he had some time previously been arrested 
 as a Babi, and though he was released almost immediately on the 
 representations of the English Embassy, it was hinted to me that 
 possibly this powerful protection, rather than any clear proof 
 of his orthodoxy, was the cause of his liberation. I therefore 
 determined to sound him on the matter, and, unable to control 
 my impatience and await a favourable opportunity, I approached 
 the subject as cautiously as I could the very next time that I saw 
 him. Alluding to a previous discussion on the finality attributed 
 by Muhammadans to the revelation of their prophet, I said that 
 I had recently heard that there existed in Persia a number of 
 people who denied this, and alleged that a subsequent revelation 
 had been accorded to mankind even within the lifetime of many 
 still living. Mirza Asadu’llah listened to what I said with a 
 gradually increasing expression of dismay, which warned me that 
 I was treading on dangerous ground, and made me begin to 
 regret that I had been so precipitate. When I had finished, he 
 continued silent for a few minutes, and then spoke as follows:— 
 
 “T have no knowledge of these people, although you have 
 perhaps been informed of the circumstances which give me good 
 cause to remember their name. As you have probably heard 
 some account of these, I may as well tell you the true version. 
 Two or three years ago I was arrested in the village of Kulahak 
 (which, as you know, serves the English residents for a summer 
 retreat) by an officer in command of a party of soldiers sent to 
 seize another person suspected of being a Babi. They had been 
 unable to find him, and were returning disappointed from their 
 quest when they espied me. ‘Seize him!’ said the officer; “that 
 he is devoted to philosophy every one knows, and a philosopher 
 is not far removed from a Babi.’ Accordingly I was arrested, 
 and the books I was carrying, as well as a sum of money which 
 
166 MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 
 
 I had on me, were taken from me by the officer in command. I 
 was brought before the Nd’tbu’s-Sal/tana and accused of being a 
 Babi. Many learned and pious men, including several mullds, 
 hearing of my arrest, and knowing the utter falsity of the charge, 
 appeared spontaneously to give evidence in my favour, and I was 
 eventually released. But the money and the books taken from 
 me I never recovered; and then the shame of it, the shame of 
 it! But though, as you see, I have suffered much by reason of 
 these people of whom you spoke just now, I have never met with 
 them or had any dealings with them, save on one occasion. I 
 was once returning from Sabzawdr through Mazandaran, and 
 at each of the more important towns on my way I halted for 
 a few days to visit those interested in philosophy. Many of 
 them were very anxious to learn about the doctrines of my 
 master, Haji Mulla Hadi, and I was, as a rule, well received and 
 kindly entertained. One day—it was at Sari—I was surrounded 
 by a number of students who had come to question me on the 
 views of my master, when a man present produced a book from 
 which he read some extracts. This book, he said, was called 
 ‘EHakikat-i-Basita, and, as this was a term used by Haji Mulla 
 Hadi, I thought it bore some reference to the philosophy I was 
 expounding. I accordingly stretched out my hand to take the 
 book, but the man drew it back out of my teach. Though I was 
 displeased at his behaviour, I endeavoured to conceal my annoy- 
 ance, and allowed him to continue to read. Presently he came to 
 the term ‘wardtib-i-abadiyyat’ (‘degrees of the Primal Unity’). Here 
 I interrupted him. ‘I do not know who the author of the work 
 you hold in your hand may be,’ I said, “but it is clear to me that 
 he does not understand what he is talking about. To speak of 
 the degrees of Primal Unity, which is Pure and Undifferentiated 
 Being, is sheer nonsense.’ Some discussion ensued, and eventually 
 I was permitted to look at the book. Then I saw that it was very 
 beautifully written and adorned with gold, and it flashed upon 
 me that what I held in my hand was one of the sacred books of 
 
MYSTICISM, METAPHYSIC, AND MAGIC 167 
 
 the Babis, and that those amongst whom I stood belonged to 
 this redoubtable sect. That is the only time I ever came across 
 them, and that is all that I know about them.” 
 
 And that was all—or nearly all—that I knew about them for 
 the first four months I spent in Persia. How I came across them 
 at last will be set forth in another chapter. 
 
 
 

 
 CrP a Ee Revert 
 
 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 “Cur.— But what have you seen?’ said Christian. 
 
 ““Mrn.—‘ Seen! Why, the Valley itself, which is as dark as pitch; we also 
 saw there the Hobgoblins, Satyrs, and Dragons of the Pit: we heard also in 
 that Valley a continual Howling and Yelling, as of a People under unutterable 
 misery, who there sat bound in affliction and Irons; and over that Valley 
 hang the discouraging clouds of Confusion; Death also doth always spread 
 his wings over it: in a word it is every whit dreadful, being utterly without 
 Order.’”—(Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress.) 
 
 LTHOUGH, owing to the kindness of my friends, life in 
 the capital was pleasant enough to make me in no hurry to 
 leave it, nevertheless the praises of beautiful Shiraz and the de- 
 sctiptions of venerable Persepolis which I so often heard were 
 not without their effect. I began to grow restless, and to suffer 
 a kind of dread lest, if I tarried much longer, some unforeseen 
 event might occur to cut short my travels and to prevent me 
 from teaching what was really the goal of my journey. After 
 all, Persis (Fars) is really Persia, and Shiraz is the capital thereof; 
 to visit Persia and not to reach Fars is only a degree better than 
 staying at home. Therefore, when one morning the Nawwaéb 
 came into my room to inform me that he had received instructions 
 to proceed to Mashhad in the course of a week or two, and asked 
 me what I would do, I replied without hesitation that I would 
 start for the South. As he expected to leave Teheran about 
 1oth February, I determined to arrange my departure for the 7th, 
 which, being my birthday, seemed to me an auspicious day for 
 resuming my travels. 
 ‘Ali the Turk having gone South with H——, I was for a time 
 left without a servant. Soon after I had become the guest of the 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 169 
 
 Nawwab, however, he advised me to obtain one, and promised 
 to help me in finding some one who would suit me. I was anxious 
 to have a genuine Persian of the South this time, and finally 
 succeeded in engaging a man who appeared in every respect to 
 satisfy my requirements. He was a fine-looking young fellow, 
 of rather distinguished appearance, and a native of Shiraz. He 
 made no boast of any special accomplishments, and was satisfied 
 to teceive the very moderate sum of three té4mdns a month while 
 in Teheran, where he had a house and a wife; he proved, how- 
 ever, to be an excellent cook, and an admirable servant in every 
 respect, though inclined at times to manifest a spirit of inde- 
 pendence. 
 
 Haji Safar—for that was his name—teceived the announce- 
 ment that I should start for the South in a few days with evident 
 satisfaction. A Persian servant has everything to gain when his 
 master undertakes a journey. In the first place his wages are 
 raised fifty per cent. to supply him with money for his expenses 
 on the road (re). In the second place he receives, before starting, 
 an additional sum of money (generally equivalent to a month’s 
 wages) to provide himself with requisites for the road, this 
 allowance being known as pali-chekmé va shalwdr (“boots and 
 breeches money’’). In the third place he has more chance of 
 making himself indispensable to his master, and so obtaining 
 increased wages. Last of all, there is probably hardly a Persian 
 to be found who does not enjoy travelling for its own sake, 
 though in this particular case the charm of novelty was lacking, 
 for Haji Safar had visited not only Mecca and Kerbela, but nearly 
 all the more important towns in Persia as well. 
 
 Four or five days before the date fixed for my departure, he 
 brought me a formidable list of necessaries for the troad— 
 cooking-pots, with all the appliances for making pildy; saddle- 
 bags, sponges, cloths, towels, whips, cups, glasses, spits, brooms, 
 tongs, and a host of other articles, many of which seemed to 
 me unnecessary, besides quantities of rice, onions, potatoes, tea, 
 
170 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 sugar, candles, matches, honey, cheese, charcoal, butter, and other 
 etoceties. I struck out a few of what I regarded as the most 
 useless articles, for it appeared to me that with such stores we 
 might be going to Khiva, whereas we should actually arrive at 
 the considerable town of Kum three or four days after leaving 
 Teheran. On the whole, however, I let him have his own way, 
 in consequence of which I enjoyed a degree of comfort in my 
 future journeyings hitherto quite unknown to me, whilst the 
 addition to my expenses was comparatively slight. 
 
 Then began the period of activity and bustle which inevitably 
 precedes a journey, even on the smallest scale, in the East. Every 
 day I was down in the bazaars with Haji Safar, buying cooking 
 utensils, choosing tobaccos, and examining the merits of saddle- 
 bags, till I was perfectly weary of the bargaining, the delays, and 
 the endless scrutiny of goods which had to be gone through 
 before the outfit was complete. Indeed at last I nearly despaired 
 of being ready in time to start on the appointed day, and resigned 
 the management into Haji Safar’s hands almost entirely, only 
 requesting him not to invest in any perfectly useless chattels or 
 provisions. 
 
 Another and a yet more important matter still remained, to wit, 
 the discovery of a muleteer possessed of a small number of 
 reasonably good animals, prepared to start on the day I had fixed, 
 and willing to make the stages as I wished. This matter I regarded 
 as too important to be arranged by deputy, for, when one is 
 travelling by oneself, the pleasantness of the journey greatly 
 depends on having a cheerful, communicative, and good-natured 
 muleteer. Such an one will beguile the way with an endless 
 seties of anecdotes, will communicate to the traveller the weird 
 folk-lore of the desert, will point out a hundred objects of interest 
 which would otherwise be passed unnoticed, and will manage 
 to arrange the stages so as to enable him to see to the best 
 advantage anything worth seeing. A cross-grained, surly fellow, 
 on the other hand, will cast a continual gloom over the caravan, 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 171 
 
 and will throw difficulties in the way of every deviation from the 
 accustomed routine. 
 
 Here I must speak a few words in favour of the much-maligned 
 charvdddr. As fat as my experience goes, he is, as a tule, one of 
 the best fellows living. During the period which elapses between 
 the conclusion of the agreement and the actual start, he is, in- 
 deed, troublesome and vexatious beyond measure. He will invent 
 endless excuses for making extra charges; he will put forward a 
 dozen reasons against starting on the proposed day, or following 
 the proposed route, or halting at the places where one desires to 
 halt. On the day of departure he will rouse one at a preter- 
 naturally early hour, alleging that the stage is a long one, that it 
 is eight good farsakhs at least, that it is dangerous to be on the 
 road after dark, and the like. Then, just as you are nearly ready, 
 he will disappear to procure some hitherto forgotten necessary 
 for the journey, ot to say farewell to his wife, or to fetch one of 
 those scraps of sacking or ropes which supply him with an un- 
 failing excuse for absenting himself. Finally, you will not get off 
 till the sun is well past the meridian, and may think yourself 
 fortunate if you accomplish a stage of ten miles. 
 
 But when once he is fairly started he becomes a different man. 
 With the dust of the city he shakes off the exasperating manner 
 which has hitherto made him so objectionable. He sniffs the 
 pure exhilarating air of the desert, he strides forward manfully 
 on the broad interminable road (which is, indeed, for the most 
 part but the track worn by countless generations of travellers), 
 he beguiles the tediousness of the march with songs and stories, 
 interrupted by occasional shouts of encouragement or warning 
 to his animals. His life is a hard one, and he has to put up with 
 many disagreeables; so that he might be pardoned even if he lost 
 his temper oftener than he usually does. 
 
 For some time my efforts to discover a suitable muleteer were 
 fruitless. I needed only three animals, and I did not wish to 
 attach myself to a large caravan, foreseeing that it would lead 
 
172 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 to difficulties in case I desired to halt on the way or deviate from 
 the regular track. A very satisfactory arrangement concluded 
 with two young natives of Kum, who had exactly the number of 
 animals I required, was broken off by their father, who wished 
 to make me hire his beasts by the day instead of for the whole 
 distance to Isfahan. To this I refused to agree, fearing that he 
 might protract the journey unduly, and the contract was therefore 
 annulled. At length, however, two days before I had intended to 
 statt, a muleteer who appeared in every way suitable presented 
 himself. He was a native of the hamlet of Gez, near Isfahan, 
 Rahim by name; a clumsy-looking, weather-beaten young man, 
 the excessive plainness of whose broad, smooth face was te- 
 deemed by an almost perpetual smile. The bargain was concluded 
 in a few minutes. He engaged to provide me with three good 
 animals, to convey me to Isfahan in twelve or thirteen days and 
 to allow me a halt of one day each at Kum and Kashan, for the 
 sum of ten témdns (nearly £3). 
 
 All was now teady for the journey, and there only remained 
 the always somewhat depressing business of leave-taking, which 
 fully occupied my last hours in Teherdn. Finally the day of 
 departure came, but (as indeed invariably happens) endless delays 
 arose before I actually got off, so that it was determined that we 
 should that day proceed no farther than Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim 
 (situated some five or six miles to the south of the metropolis), 
 whence we could make a fair start on the morrow. One of my 
 friends, a nephew of my kind host the Nawwa4b, announced his 
 intention of accompanying me thus far. This ceremony of setting 
 the traveller on his way is called badraka, while the converse— 
 that of going out to meet one arriving from a journey—is called 
 istikbdl. Of these two, the former is more an act of friendship 
 and less a formality than the latter. 
 
 Persian servants having often been described as the most 
 sotdid and rapacious of mankind, I feel that, as a mere act of 
 justice, I must not omit to mention the disinterested and generous 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 173 
 
 conduct exhibited by those of the Nawwab’s household. The 
 system of “tips” being extremely prevalent in Persia, and con- 
 ducted generally on a larger scale than in Europe, I had, of 
 course, prepared a sum of money to distribute amongst the 
 retainers of my host. Seizing a favourable opportunity, I entered 
 the room where they were assembled, and offered the present 
 to the major-domo, Muhammad Riza Khan. To my surprise, 
 he refused it unhesitatingly, without so much as looking at it. 
 When I remonstrated, thinking that he only needed a little per- 
 suasion, he replied, “The master told us when you came here 
 that you were to be treated in every way as one of the family: 
 we should not expect or desire a present from one of the family; 
 therefore we do not expect or desire it from you. You have been 
 welcome, and we arte glad to have done what we could to make 
 you comfortable, but we desire nothing from you unless it be 
 kindly remembrance.” In this declaration he persisted, and the 
 others spoke to the same effect. Finally, I was compelled to accept 
 their refusal as definite, and left them with a sense of admiration 
 at their immovable determination to observe to the full their 
 master’s wishes. 
 
 At length all was ready. The baggage-mules had started; 
 the last cup of tea had been drunk, and the last ka/ydn smoked; 
 and the horses stood waiting at the gate, while Haji Safar, armed 
 with a most formidable whip, and arrayed in a pair of enormous 
 top-boots, strutted about the courtyard looking eminently busi- 
 ness-like, and evidently in the best of spirits. As I was just about 
 to take my last farewells, I observed the servants engaged in 
 making preparations of which the object was to me totally 
 mysterious and inexplicable. A large metal tray was brought, 
 on which were placed the following incongruous objects: —A 
 mirror, a bowl of water with some narcissi floating in it, a plate 
 of flour, and a dish of sweetmeats, of the kind called shakar-panir 
 (‘“sugar-cheese”’). A copy of the Kur’4n was next produced, and 
 I was instructed to kiss it first, and then to dip my hand in the 
 
174 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 water and the flour, to rub it over the face of the old servant who 
 had brought the tray, pass under the Kur’4n, which was held 
 aloft for that purpose, and mount my horse without once turning 
 ot looking back. All these instructions I faithfully observed 
 amidst general mirth, and as I mounted amidst many good wishes 
 for my journey I heard the splash of the water as it was thrown 
 after me. What the origin of this curious ceremony may be I do 
 not know, neither did I see it practised on any other occasion. 
 Our progress not being hampered by the presence of the bag- 
 gage, we advanced rapidly, and before 4 p.m. rode through the 
 gate of the city of refuge, Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim. I have already 
 stated that the holy shrine for which this place is famous protects 
 all outlaws who succeed in teaching its vicinity. In a word, the 
 whole town is what is called “‘bast” (“sanctuary”). There are, 
 however, different degrees of bast, the atea of protection being 
 smaller and more circumscribed in proportion as the crime of 
 the refugee is greater. Murderers, for instance, cannot go outside 
 the courtyard of the mosque without running the risk of being 
 atrested; debtors, on the other hand, are safe anywhere within 
 the walls. It may be imagined that the populace of such a place 
 is scatcely the most respectable, and of their churlishness I had 
 convincing proof. I was naturally anxious .to get a glimpse of 
 the mosque, the great golden dome of which forms so con- 
 spicuous an object to the eyes of the traveller approaching Tehe- 
 ran from the west; and accordingly, as soon as we had secured 
 our horses in the caravansaray (for the rest of the caravan had 
 not yet arrived), I suggested to my companion that we should 
 direct our steps thither. Of course I had no intention of attempt- 
 ing to enter it, which I knew would not be permitted; but I 
 thought no objection would be made to my viewing it from the 
 outside. However, we had hardly reached the entrance of the 
 bazaar when we were stopped and turned back. Discouraged, 
 but not despairing, we succeeded in making our way by a devious 
 and unfrequented route to the very gate of the mosque. I had, 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 175 
 
 however, hardly begun to admire it when forth from some hidden 
 recess came two most ill-looking custodians, who approached 
 us in a threatening manner, bidding us begone. 
 
 My companion remonstrated with these churlish fellows, say- 
 ing that as far as he was concerned he was a good Musulman, 
 and had as much right in the mosque as they had. ““No good 
 Musulman would bring a Firangi infidel to gaze upon the sacred 
 building,” they replied; ““we regard you as no whit better than 
 him. Hence! begone!”’ As there was nothing to be gained by 
 stopping (and, indeed, a fair prospect of being roughly handled 
 if we remained to argue the matter), we prudently withdrew. | 
 was much mottified at this occurrence, not only on my own 
 account, but also because the good-nature of my companion 
 had exposed him likewise to insult. I feel bound to state, how- 
 ever, that this was almost the only occasion on which I met with 
 discoutrtesy of this sort during the whole time I spent in Persia. 
 
 On returning to the caravansaray we found that Haji Safar 
 and the muleteers had arrived, the former being accompanied 
 _ by a relative who had come to see him so far on his journey, 
 and at the same time to accomplish a visit to the shrine from 
 the precincts of which we had just been so ignominiously ex- 
 pelled. As it was now getting late, and as most of the gates of 
 Teheran are closed soon after sunset, my friend bade me farewell, 
 and cantered off homewards, leaving me with a sense of loneliness 
 which I had not experienced for some time. The excitement of 
 feeling that I was once mote on the road with my face fairly 
 turned towards the glorious South soon, however, came to my 
 relief, and indeed I had enough to occupy me in attempting to 
 introduce some order into my utterly confused accounts. Before 
 long Haji Safar, who had been busy ever since his arrival with 
 culinary operations, brought in a supper which augured well for 
 the comfort of the journey, so far as food was concerned. 
 
 I had finished supper, and was ruminating over tea and 
 tobacco, when he re-entered, accompanied by his relative, who 
 
176 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 solemnly placed his hand in mine and swore allegiance to me, 
 not only on his behalf, but for the whole family, assuring me in 
 a long and eloquent harangue that he (the speaker) would answer 
 for Haji Safar’s loyalty and devotion, and asking me in return 
 to treat him kindly and not “make his heart narrow.” Having 
 received my assurances that I would do my best to make things 
 agreeable, they retired, and I forthwith betook myself to rest 
 in preparation for the early start which we proposed to make 
 on the morrow. 
 
 Next day we wete astit early, for there was no temptation 
 to linger in a spot from the inhabitants of which I had met 
 with nothing but incivility; and, moreover, I was anxious to 
 form a better idea of the muleteers who were to be my com- 
 panions for the next fortnight. However, I saw but little of 
 them that day, as they lagged behind soon after starting, and 
 passed me while I was having lunch. ‘The road, except for several 
 large parties of travellers whom we met, presented few points 
 of interest; nevertheless, a curious history is attached to it, which, 
 as it forms a significant commentary on what one may call the 
 “Board of Public Works” in Persia, I here reproduce?. 
 
 On leaving Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim the road runs for a mile or 
 so as straight as an arrow towards the south. A little before it 
 reaches a tange of low hills which lie at right angles to its course 
 it bifurcates. One division goes straight on and crosses the hills 
 above-mentioned to the caravansaray of Kinar-i-gird; the other 
 bends sharply to the west for about three-quarters of a mile, 
 thus turning the edge of the hills, and then resumes its southward 
 course. Of these two roads, the first is the good old direct 
 caravan-route, described by Vambéry, which leads to Kum by 
 way of Kinar-i-gird, Hawz-1-Sultan, and Pul-i-Dallak; the second 
 is the new “improved” road made some years ago by order of 
 the Aminu’s-Sultdn, the history of which is as follows:— 
 
 1 It is given in Curzon’s Persia, vol. ii, pp. 2-6, but I have nevertheless 
 decided to let it remain here, as I wrote it before the publication of that work. 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN ae 
 
 When the rage for superseding the venerable and commodious 
 catavansatay by the new-fangled and extortionate mihmdn-khdné 
 was at its height, and when the road between Teheran and Kazvin 
 had been adorned with a sufficient number of these evidences 
 of civilisation, the attention of the Amiénu’s-Sultdn and other 
 philanthropists was turned to the deplorable and unregenerate 
 state of the great southern road. It was decided that, at least so 
 far as Kum, its defects should be remedied forthwith, and that 
 the catavansarays of Kinar-i-gird, Hawz-i-Sultan, and Pul-i- 
 Dallak, which had for generations afforded shelter to the traveller, 
 should be replaced by something more in accordance with 
 modern Europeanised taste. Negotiations were accordingly 
 opened by the Aménu’s-Sultdn with the owners of the catavan- 
 satays in question, with a view to effecting a purchase of the land 
 and “‘soodwill.”” Judge of the feelings of this enlightened and 
 patriotic statesman when the owner of the caravansaray at 
 Hawz-i-Sultén refused—yes, positively refused—to sell his 
 heritage. Perhaps he was an old-fashioned individual, with a 
 distaste for innovations; perhaps he merely thought that his 
 caravansatay brought him in a better income than he was likely 
 to get even by a judicious investment of the money now offered 
 for it. Be this as it may, he simply declined the offer made to him 
 by the Aminu’s-Sultdn, and said that he preferred to retain in 
 his own possession the property he had inherited from his father. 
 
 What was to be done? Clearly it was intolerable that the 
 match of civilisation should be checked by this benighted old 
 conservative. In the rough days of yore it might have been 
 possible to behead or poison him, or at least to confiscate his 
 ptoperty, but such an idea could not for a moment be seriously 
 entertained by a humane and enlightened minister of the four- 
 teenth century of the Ara; no, annoying and troublesome as it 
 was, there was nothing for it but to leave the old road in statu quo, 
 and make a new one. This was accordingly done at considerable 
 expense, the new road being carried in a bold curve to the west, 
 
 12 
 
178 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 and gatnished at suitable intervals with fancifully constructed 
 mihmdn-khdnés, situated amidst little groves of trees, supplied 
 with runnels of sweet, pute water from the hills, and furnished 
 with tables, chairs, and beds in unstinted profusion. But alas 
 for the obstinacy of the majority of men, and their deplorable 
 disinclination to be turned aside from their ancient habits! The 
 muleteers for the most part declined to make use of the new road, 
 and continued to follow their accustomed course, alleging as 
 their reason for so doing that it was a good many farsakbs shorter 
 than the other, and that they preferred the caravansarays to the 
 new mihmdn-khdnés, which wete not only in no wise better adapted 
 to their requirements than their old halting-places, but were very 
 much mote expensive. Briefly, they objected to “go farther and 
 fare wotse.” 
 
 There seemed to be every prospect of the new road being a 
 complete failure, and of the benevolent intentions of the Aminu’s- 
 Sutin being totally frustrated by this unlooked-for lack of ap- 
 preciation on the part of the travelling public, when suddenly 
 the mind of the perplexed philanthropist was illuminated by a 
 brilliant idea. Though it would not be quite constitutional to 
 forcibly overthrow the caravansarays on the old road, it was 
 evidently within the rights of a paternal government to utilise 
 the resources of nature as a means of compelling the refractory 
 “sons of the road” to do what was best for them. Luckily, these 
 means were not far to seek. Near the old road, between Hawz-i- 
 Sultan and Pul-i-Dallak, ran a river, and this tiver was prevented 
 from overflowing the low flat plain which it traversed, ere losing 
 itself in the sands of the Dasht-i-Kavir, by dykes solidly con- 
 structed and carefully kept in repair. If these were removed 
 there was every reason to hope that the old road would be flooded 
 and rendered impracticable. The experiment was tried, and 
 succeeded perfectly. Not only the road, but an area of many 
 square miles round about it, was completely and permanently 
 submerged, and a fine lake—almost a sea—was added to the 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 179 
 
 realms of the Shah. It is, indeed, useless for navigation, devoid 
 of fish (so far as I could learn), and (being impregnated with salt) 
 incapable of supporting vegetable life; but it is eminently 
 picturesque, with its vast blue surface glittering in the sun, and 
 throwing into bolder relief the white, salt-strewn expanse of the 
 terrible desert beyond. It also constitutes a permanent monu- 
 ment of the triumph of science over obstinacy and prejudice. 
 
 The Aminu’s-Sultdn might now fairly consider that his triumph 
 was complete: suddenly, however, a new difficulty arose. The 
 management of the posts was in the hands of another minister 
 called the Aminu’d-Dawla, and he, like the muleteers, considered 
 the charges which it was proposed to make for the use of the new 
 (now the only) road excessive. As, however, there appeared to 
 be no course open to him but to submit to them (since the posts 
 must be maintained, and the old road was irrecoverably sub- 
 merged), the Aminu’s-Sultdn determined to withstand all demands 
 for a reduction. But the Aminu’d-Dawla was also a minister of 
 some ingenuity, and, having the example of his colleague fresh 
 in his mind, he determined not to be outdone. He therefore 
 made yet another road, which took a yet wider sweep towards 
 the west, and, transferring the post-houses to that, bade defiance 
 to his rival. | 
 
 Thus it has come to pass that in place of the old straight road 
 to Kum there is now a caravan-road longer by some fourteen 
 miles, and a post-road longer by nearly twenty miles!. The last, 
 indeed, on leaving Teheran, follows the Hamadan road for about 
 a stage and a half, diverging from it some distance to the south- 
 west of Ribat-Karim, the first post-house, and curving back 
 towards the east by way of Pik and Kushk-i-Bahram to join the 
 Aminu's-Sultan’s toad neat the mihmdn-khané of Shashgird, about 
 ten farsakhs from Kum. 
 
 1 Dr Wills (Land of the Lion and the Sun) gives the distance from Teheran 
 to Kum by the old road as twenty-four farsakhs. The present post-road is 
 reckoned and charged as twenty-eight farsakhs, but they appear to me to be 
 very long ones. 
 
 12-2 
 
180 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 On the second day after leaving Teheran (9th February), soon 
 after quitting the mibmdn-khdné of Hasanabad, we entered the 
 dismal region called by the Persians Malaku’l-Mawt Déré (the 
 “Valley of the Angel of Death”). Around this spot cluster most 
 thickly the weird tales of the desert, to which I have already 
 alluded. Indeed its only rival in this sinister celebrity is the 
 Hazdr déré (“Thousand valleys”’), which lies just to the south of 
 Isfahan. Anxious to become further acquainted with the folk- 
 lore of the country, I succeeded in engaging the muleteer in 
 conversation on this topic. The substance of what I learned was 
 as follows:— 
 
 There ate several species of supernatural monsters which 
 haunt the gloomy defiles of the Valley of the Angel of Death. 
 Of these the ghi/s and ‘“ifrits are alike the commonest and the 
 most malignant. The former usually endeavour to entice the 
 traveller away from the caravan to his destruction by assuming 
 the form or voice of a friend or relative. Crying out piteously 
 for help, and entreating the unwary traveller to come to their 
 assistance, they induce him to follow them to some lonely spot, 
 where, suddenly assuming the hideous form proper to them, they 
 rend him in pieces and devour him. 
 
 Another monster is the wasnds, which appears in the form of 
 an infirm and aged man. It is generally found sitting by the side 
 of a tiver, and bewailing its inability to cross. When it sees the 
 wayfarer approaching, it earnestly entreats him to carry it across 
 the water to the other side. If he consents, it seats itself on his 
 shoulders, and, when he reaches the middle of the river, winds 
 its long supple legs round his throat till he falls insensible in the 
 water and perishes. 
 
 Besides these, there is the pa-/s (“Foot-licker”’), which only 
 attacks those who are overtaken by sleep in the desert. It kills 
 its victim, as its name implies, by licking the soles of his feet till 
 it has drained away his life-blood. It was on one occasion cit- 
 cumvented by two muleteers of Isfahan, who, being benighted 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 181 
 
 in the desert, lay down feet to feet, covering their bodies with 
 cloaks. Presently the pa-/s arrived, and began to walk round the 
 sleepers to discover their feet, but on either side it found a head. 
 At last it gave up the search in despair, exclaiming as it made off: 
 “ Gashté-am hazar u st u si dere, 
 Amma na-didé-am mard-i-du seré.” 
 “T have wandered through a thousand and thirty and three valleys, 
 But never yet saw a two-headed man!” 
 
 Another superstition (not, however, connected with the desert), 
 of which I heard at Teheran, may be mentioned in this con- 
 nection. A form of cutsing used by women to each other is 
 “* Al-at bi-zanad!” (“May the A/ strike thee!”). The belief con- 
 cerning the A/ is that it attacks women who have recently been 
 confined, and tries to tear out and devour their livers. To avert 
 this calamity various precautions are taken; swords and other 
 weapons ate placed under the woman’s pillow, and she is not 
 allowed to sleep for several hours after the child is born, being 
 watched over by her friends, and roused by cries of “ Ya Maryam!” 
 (““O Mary!”) whenever she appears to be dozing off. It 1s 
 worthy of note that the AZ, as well as its congeners, is supposed 
 to have flaxen hair. 
 
 The scenery through which we passed on leaving the Malaku’!- 
 Mawt Déré was savage and sublime. All around were wild, 
 rugged hills, which assumed the strangest and most fantastic 
 shapes, and desert sparsely sown with camel-thorn. As we 
 reached the highest point of the road, rain began to fall sharply, 
 and it was so cold that I was glad to muffle myself up in ulster 
 and rug. Now for the first time the great salt-lake made by the 
 Aminu's-Sultdn came in view. It is of vast extent, and the mule- 
 teers informed me that its greatest width was not less than six 
 farsakhs (about twenty-two miles). Beyond it stretches the weird 
 expanse of the Dasht-i-Kavir, which extends hence even to the 
 eastern frontier of Persia—a boundless waste of sand, here and 
 there glimmering white with incrustations of salt, and broken 
 
132i) FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 in places by chains of black savage-looking mountains. The 
 desolate grandeur of this landscape defies description, and sur- 
 passes anything which I have ever seen. 
 
 The mibmdn-khdné of ‘Ali-Abad, which we reached an hour 
 ot so before sunset, presents no features worthy of remark 
 except this, that in the room allotted to me I found three books, 
 which proved on examination to be a copy of the Kur’4n, a book 
 of Arabic prayers, and a visitors’ book! It was evident that here, 
 at least, the prototype was afforded by the Bible and prayer-book 
 which ate usually to be found in every bedroom of an English 
 hotel, and the visitors? book which lies on the hall-table. I 
 examined this visitors’ book with some curiosity. It was filled 
 with long rhapsodies on the Aminu’s-Sultén penned by various 
 travellers, all complimentary, as I need hardly say. “How en- 
 lightened and patriotic a minister! How kind of him to make 
 this nice new road, and to provide it with these admirable guest- 
 houses, which, indeed, might fairly be considered to rival, if 
 not to excel, the best hotels of Firangistan!”’ I could not forbear 
 smiling as I read these effusions, which were so at variance with 
 the views expressed in the most forcible language by the mule- 
 teers, who had continued at intervals throughout the day to 
 inveigh against the new road, the wzhmdn-kbdnés, and their owner 
 alike. 
 
 The next day brought us to Kum, after a long, quick march 
 of nearly ten hours. The muleteers were suddenly seized with one 
 of those fits of energetic activity to which even the most lethargic 
 Persians are occasionally subject, so that when, early in the after- 
 noon, we reached the mihman-khané of Shashgird (or Manzariyyée— 
 the “Place of Outlook”—as it is more pretentiously styled), 
 and Haji Safar proposed to halt for the night, they insisted on 
 pushing on to the holy city, which they declared they could reach 
 before sundown. A lively altercation ensued, which concluded 
 with a bet of five &rdns offered by Haji Safar, and taken by the 
 muleteers, that we should not reach the town before sunset. The 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 183 
 
 effect of this stimulus was magical. Never before or since did I 
 see muleteers attain such a degree of speed. With eyes con- 
 tinually directed towards the declining sun, they ran along at 
 a steady trot, occasionally shouting to their animals, and de- 
 claring that they would fare sumptuously that night off the 
 delicacies of Kum with the money they would earn by their 
 efforts. The road seemed interminable, even after the golden 
 dome of the mosque of Hagrat-i-Ma‘sima (“Her Holiness the 
 Immaculate”) rose up before us across the salt swamps, and as 
 the sun sank lower and lower towards the horizon the efforts 
 of the muleteers were redoubled, till, just as the rim of the 
 luminary sank from sight behind the western hills, we crossed 
 the long, graceful bridge which spans a river-bed almost dry 
 except in spring, and, passing beneath the blue-tiled gate, rode 
 into the holy city. 
 
 I have already had occasion to allude to the Indo-European 
 Telegraph, and to mention the great kindness which I met with 
 from Major Wells (in whose hands the control thereof was placed), 
 and from all other members of the staff with whom I came in 
 contact. This kindness did not cease with my departure from 
 Teheran. A message was sent down the line to all the telegraph 
 stations (which are situated every three or four stages all the way 
 from Teheran to Bushire) to inform the residents at these (most 
 of whom are English) of my advent, and to ask them to extend 
 to me their hospitality. Although I felt some hesitation at first 
 in thus quartering myself without an invitation on strangers who 
 might not wish to be troubled with a guest, I was assured that 
 I need have no apprehensions on that score, and that I should be 
 certain to meet with a hospitable welcome. This, indeed, proved 
 to be the case to a degree beyond my expectations; at all the 
 telegraph offices I was received with a cordial friendliness and 
 geniality which made me at once feel at home, and I gladly 
 take this opportunity of expressing the deep sense of gratitude 
 which I feel for kindnesses the memory of which will always 
 
184 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 form one of my pleasantest recollections of the pleasant year I 
 spent in Persia. 
 
 The first of these telegraph stations is at Kum, and thither 
 I at once made my way through the spice-laden twilight of the 
 bazaars. On arriving, I was cordially welcomed by Mr Lyne and 
 his wife, and was soon comfortably ensconced in an easy-chait 
 before a bright fite, provided with those two great dispellers of 
 weariness, tea and tobacco. My host, who had resided for a long 
 while at Kum, entirely surrounded by Persians, was a fine Persian 
 and Arabic scholar, and possessed a goodly collection of books, 
 which he kindly permitted me to examine. They were for the 
 most part formidable-looking treatises on Muhammadan theology 
 and jurisprudence, and had evidently been well read; indeed, 
 Mr Lyne’s fame as a “wmulld” is great, not only in Kum, but 
 throughout Persia, and I heard his erudition warmly praised 
 even at distant Kirman. 
 
 Perhaps it was owing to this that I met with such courtesy 
 and good nature from the people of Kum, of whom I had heard 
 the worst possible accounts. My treatment at Shah ‘Abdu’l- 
 ‘Azim had not given me a favourable idea of the character of 
 holy cities and sanctuaries, and this prejudice was supported in 
 this particular case by the well-known stricture of some Persian 
 satirist on the towns of Kum and Kashan: 
 
 “ Sae-i-Kasht bib az akdbir-i-Kum, 
 
 Ba-vujudi ki sag bih ax Kashist.” 
 “A dog of Kashan is better than the nobles of Kum, 
 Although a dog is better than a native of Kashan.” 
 
 Whether the inhabitants of Kum have been grossly maligned, 
 ot whether their respect for my host (for, so far as my experience 
 goes, there is no country where knowledge commands such 
 universal respect as in Persia) procured for me an unusual degree 
 of courtesy, I know not; at any rate, when we went out next day 
 to see the town, we were allowed, without the slightest opposition, 
 to stand outside the gate of the mosque and look at it to our 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 185 
 
 heart’s content; several people, indeed, came up to us and entered 
 into friendly conversation. Further than this, I was allowed to 
 inspect the manufactute of several of the chief products of the 
 city, the most important of which is the beautiful blue pottery 
 which is now so celebrated. This, indeed, is the great feature of 
 Kum, which might almost be described as the “Blue City”; 
 nowhere have I witnessed a greater profusion of blue domes and 
 tiles. Many small articles ate made of this ware, such as salt- 
 cellars, lamps, pitchers, pipe-bowls, beads, and button-like 
 amulets of divers forms and sizes, which are much used for 
 necklaces for children, and for affixing to the foreheads of horses, 
 mules, and the like, as a protection against the evil eye. Of all 
 of these I purchased a large selection, the total cost of which 
 did not exceed a few shillings, for they are ridiculously cheap. 
 
 Besides the mosque and the potteries, I paid a visit to a 
 castot-oil mill worked by a camel, and ascended an old minaret, 
 furnished with a double spiral staircase in a sad state of dilapida- 
 tion. From this I obtained a fine view of the city and its surround- 
 ings. It has five gates, and is surrounded by a wall, but this is 
 now broken down in many places, and the whole of the southern 
 quarter of the town is in a very ruined condition. Altogether, I 
 enjoyed my short stay in Kum very much, and was as sorty to 
 leave it as I was pleased to find how much better its inhabitants 
 ate than they are generally represented to be. Their appearance 
 is as pleasant as their manner, and I was greatly struck with the 
 high average of good looks which they enjoy, many of the children 
 especially being very pretty. Though the people are regarded as 
 very fanatical, their faces certainly belie this opinion, for it seemed 
 to me that the majority of them wore a singularly gentle and 
 benign expression. 
 
 I could not, however, protract my stay at Kum without 
 subjecting my plans to considerable alteration; and accordingly, 
 on the second day after my arrival (12th February) I again set 
 out on my southward journey. As I was in no hurry to bid a 
 
186 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 final farewell to my kind host and hostess, the muleteers had been 
 gone for more than half an hour before I finally quitted the 
 telegtaph-office; but about this I did not greatly concern myself, 
 making no doubt that we should overtake them before we had 
 gone far. In this, however, I was mistaken; for when we halted 
 for lunch, no sign of them had appeared. Supposing, however, 
 that Haji Safar, who had travelled over the road before, knew the 
 way, I thought little of the matter till the gathering shades of 
 dusk recalled me from reveries on the future to thoughts of the 
 ptesent, and I began to reflect that it was a very odd thing that 
 a stage of only four farsakhs had taken so long a time to accom- 
 plish, and that even now no signs of our destination were in view. 
 Accordingly I pulled up, and proceeded to cross-examine Haji 
 Safar, with the somewhat discouraging result that his ignorance 
 of our whereabouts proved to be equal to my own. It now 
 occurred to me that I had heard that the caravansaray of Pasangan 
 was situated close under the hills to the west, while we were 
 well out in the plain; and I therefore proposed that we should 
 turn our course in that direction, especially as I fancied I could 
 descry, in spite of the gathering gloom, a group of buildings 
 under the hills. Haji Safar, on the other hand, was for proceeding, 
 assuring me that he saw smoke in front, which no doubt marked 
 the position of our halting-place. While we were engaged in 
 this discussion, I discerned in the distance the figure of a man 
 running towards us, shouting and gesticulating wildly. On its 
 closer approach I recognised in it the muleteer Rahim. We 
 accotdingly turned our horses towards him and presently met 
 him; whereupon, so soon as he had in some measure recovered 
 his breath, he proceeded to upbraid Haji Safar roundly. “A 
 wonderful fellow art thou,” he exclaimed (on receiving some 
 excuse about “the smoke ahead looking like the manzi/”’); “do 
 you know where that smoke comes from? It comes from an 
 encampment of those rascally Shah-sevans, who, had you fallen 
 into their midst, would as like as not have robbed you of every 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 187 
 
 single thing you have with you, including my animals. If you 
 don’t know the road, keep with us who do; and if you thought 
 you were going to discover a new way to Yezd across the desert, 
 I tell you you can’t; only camels go across there; and if you had 
 escaped the Shah-sevans (curses on the graves of their fathers!), 
 it is as like as not that you would have just gone down bodily 
 into the salt-swamps, and never have been seen or heard of 
 again, as has happened to plenty of people who knew more 
 about the desert than you.” So he tan on, while we both felt 
 vety much ashamed of ourselves, till we finally reached Pasangan, 
 and took up our quartets at the post-house, which looked more 
 comfortable than the caravansaray. 
 
 Next day was beautifully fine and warm, almost like a bright 
 June day in England. Our way still lay just beneath the hills to 
 the west, and the road continued quite flat, for we were still 
 skirting the edge of the great salt-strewn Dasht-i-Kavir. About 
 mid-day we halted before the caravansaray of Shurab for lunch: 
 here there is some vertdute, and a little stream, but the water of 
 this is, as the name of the place implies, brackish. Soon after 
 leaving this we met two men with great blue turbans, carelessly 
 and loosely wound. These Haji Safar at once identified as Yezdis. 
 “You can always tell a Yezdi wherever you see him,” he ex- 
 plained, “‘and, indeed, whenever you hear him. As you may like 
 to hear their sweet speech, I will pass the time of day with 
 them, and ask them whence they hail and whither they are 
 bound.” So saying, he entered into a brief conversation with 
 them, and for the first time I heard the broad, drawling, sing- 
 song speech of Yezd, which once heard can never be mistaken. 
 
 We reached the caravansaray of Sinsin quite early in the 
 afternoon, the stage being six light farsakbs, and the road good 
 and level. This caravansaray is one of those fine, spacious, 
 solidly constructed buildings which can be referred, almost at 
 a glance, to the time of the Safavi kings, and which the tradition 
 of muleteers, recognising, as a tule, only two great periods in 
 
188 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 history—that of Feriduin, and that of Shah ‘Abbas the Great— 
 unhesitatingly attributes to the latter. The building, although 
 it appeared totally neglected, even the doots being torn away 
 from their hinges, is magnificently constructed, and I wandered 
 with delight through its long, vaulted, dimly-lit stables, its 
 deserted staircase, and untenanted rooms. The roof, however, 
 solidly built of brickwork, and measuring no less than ninety 
 paces from corner to corner of the square, was the great attrac- 
 tion, commanding as it did an extensive view of the flat plain 
 around, the expanse of which was hardly broken by anything 
 except the little group of houses which constitute the village, 
 and a great caravan of camels from Yezd, kneeling down in 
 rows to teceive their evening meal from the hands of their 
 drivers. 
 
 While I was on the roof I was joined by a muleteer called 
 Khuda-bakhsh, whom I had not noticed at the beginning of 
 the journey, but who had cast up within the last day or two 
 as a recognised member of our little caravan, in that mysterious 
 and unaccountable way peculiar to his class. He entered into 
 conversation with me, anxiously enquired whether I was not an 
 agent of my government sent out to examine the state of the 
 country, and refused to credit my assurances to the contrary. He 
 then asked me many questions about America (“ Yangt-dunyd”’— 
 not, as might at first sight appear, a mere corruption of the term 
 commonly applied by us to its inhabitants, but a genuine Turkish 
 compound, meaning “the New World’’), and received my state- 
 ment that its people were of the same race as myself, and had 
 emigrated there from my own country, with manifest incredulity. 
 
 Next day brought us to another considerable town—Kashan— 
 after an uneventful march of about seven hours, broken by a halt 
 for lunch at a village called Nasrabad, at which I was supplied 
 with one of the excellent melons grown in the neighbourhood. 
 On leaving this place we fell in with two Kirmanis—an old man 
 and his son—who were travelling back from Hamadan, where 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 189 
 
 they had gone with a load of shawls, which had been satisfactorily 
 disposed of. They were intelligent and communicative, and 
 supplied me with a good deal of information about the roads 
 between Shiraz and Kirman, concerning which I was anxious for 
 detailed knowledge. 
 
 About 3.30 p.m. we reached Kashan, but did not enter the 
 town, alighting at the telegraph-office, which is situated just 
 outside the gate. Here I was kindly welcomed by Mr Aganor, 
 an Armenian, who spoke English perfectly. Though it was not 
 late, I did not go into the town that day, as we received a visit 
 from the chief of the custom-house, Mirza Huseyn Khan, who 
 was vety pleasant and amusing. Besides this, a man came with 
 some manuscripts which he was anxious to sell, but there were 
 none of any value. In the evening I had some conversation with 
 my host about the Babis, whom he asserted to be very numerous 
 at Yezd and Abadé. At the former place, he assured me, the new 
 religion was making great progress even amongst the Zoro- 
 astrians. 
 
 Next morning we went for a walk in the town. Almost 
 every town in Persia is celebrated for something, and Kashan 
 is said to have three specialities: first, its brass-work; second, its 
 scorpions (which, unlike the bugs of Miyané, are said never to 
 attack strangers, but only the natives of the town); and third, 
 the extreme timorousness of its inhabitants. Concerning the 
 latter, it is currently asserted that there formerly existed a K4shan 
 regiment, but that, in consideration of the cowardice of its men, 
 and their obvious inefficiency, it was disbanded, and those com- 
 posing it were told to return to their homes. On the following 
 day a deputation of the men waited on the Shah, asserting that 
 they were afraid of being attacked on the road, and begging for 
 an escort. “‘We are a hundred poor fellows all alone,” they said; 
 “send some horsemen with us to protect us!” 
 
 The scorpions I did not see, as it was winter; and of the alleged 
 cowardice of the inhabitants I had, of course, no means of 
 
190 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 judging; but with the brass-bazaar I was greatly impressed, 
 though my ears were almost deafened by the noise. Besides 
 brass-work, fine silk fabrics are manufactured in large quantity 
 at K4sh4n, though not so extensively as at Yezd. The road to 
 this latter city quits the Isfah4n and Shiraz route at this point, 
 so that K4shan forms the junction of the two great southern 
 toads which terminate respectively at Bandar-i-“Abbas and 
 Bushite on the Persian Gulf. 
 
 In the afternoon Mirza Huseyn Khan, the chief of the customs, 
 came again. He had his little child of seventeen months old (to 
 which he seemed devotedly attached) brought for me to look at, 
 as it was suffering from eczema, and he wished for advice as to 
 the treatment which should be adopted. Later in the evening, 
 after the child had gone home, he returned with his secretary, 
 Mirza ‘Abdu’ll4h, and stayed to supper. We had a most delightful 
 evening, the Khan being one of the most admirable conver- 
 sationalists I ever met. Some of his stories I will here set down, 
 though it is impossible for me to convey an idea of the vividness 
 of description, wealth of illustration, and inimitable mimicry, 
 which, in his mouth, gave them so great a charm. 
 
 “What sort of a supper are you going to give us, Aganor 
 Sahib?” he began; ‘“‘Persian or Firangi? O, half one and half 
 the other: very good, that is best; for this Sahib is evidently 
 anxious to learn all he can about us Persians, so that he would 
 have been disappointed if you hadn’t given him some of our 
 foods; while at the same time, being fresh from Firangistan, he 
 might perhaps not have been able to eat some of the things 
 which we like. How do you like our Persian food so far?” 
 he continued, turning to me; “‘for my part, I doubt if you have 
 anything half so nice as our pildws and childws in your country. 
 Then there is wdst-khiydr (curds and cucumbers); have you tasted 
 that yet? No? Well, then, you have a pleasure to come; only 
 after eating it you must not drink water to quench the slight 
 
 a4 
 
 thirst which it produces, or else you will suffer for it, like Manakji 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN Ig! 
 
 Sahib, the chief of the Guebres, who is now tesiding at Teheran 
 to look after the interests of his people. 
 
 ““How did he suffer for eating mdst-khiydr? Well, 1 will tell 
 you. You must know, then, that when he was appointed by the 
 Parsees at Bombay to come and live in Persia and take care of 
 the Guebres, and try to influence the Shah in their favour, he 
 knew nothing about Persia or the Persians; for, though of course 
 the Parsees are really Persians by descent, they have now become 
 more like Firangis. Well, Manakji Sahib set sail for Persia, and 
 on board the vessel (being anxious to remedy this lack of know- 
 ledge on his part) he made friends with a Persian merchant of 
 Isfahan, who was teturning to his country. In the course of the 
 voyage the ship touched at some port, the name of which I have 
 forgotten, and, as it was to remain there all day, the Isfahani 
 suggested to Manakji Sahib that they should go on shore and 
 see the town, to which proposition the latter very readily agreed. 
 Accordingly, they landed, and, since the town was situated at 
 a considerable distance from the harbour, hired donkeys to 
 convey them thither. Now the day was very hot, and as the sun 
 got higher, Manakji Sahib found the heat unbearable; so, espying 
 a village near at hand, he suggested to his companion that they 
 should rest there under some old ruins, which stood a little apart, 
 untilthesun had begun to decline and the heat was less oppressive. 
 To this his companion agreed, and further suggested that he 
 should go to the village and see if he could find something to eat, 
 while Manakji rested amongst the ruins. So they arranged with 
 the muleteer to halt for an hour or two, and the Isfahani went 
 off to look for food. Presently he returned with a number of 
 young cucumbers and a quantity of wdst (curds), with which he 
 proceeded to concoct a bowl of mast-khiyar. 
 
 “Now Manakji (like you) had never seen this compound, and 
 (being a man of a suspicious disposition) he began to fancy that 
 his companion wanted to poison him in this lonely spot, and 
 take his money. So when the madst-khiydr was ready, he refused 
 
192 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 to partake of it, to the great surprise of his companion. “Why, 
 just now you said you were so hungry,’ said the latter; “how 1s 
 it that you now declare you have no appetite?’ ‘I found a piece 
 of bread in my pocket,’ said Manakji, ‘and ate it while you were 
 away in the village, and now my hunger is completely gone.’ 
 The more his companion pressed him to eat, the more sus- 
 picious he grew, and the more determined in his refusal. ‘Very 
 well,’ said the Isfahani at last, “since you won’t join me, I must 
 eat it by myself,’ and this he proceeded to do, consuming the 
 mast-khiydr with great relish and evident enjoyment. Now when 
 Manakji saw this, he was sorry that he had refused to partake of 
 the food. ‘It is quite clear,’ said he to himself, ‘that it is not 
 poisoned, or else my companion would not eat it; while at the 
 same time, from the relish with which he does so, it is evident 
 that, strange as the mixture looks, it must be very nice.’ At last, 
 when his companion had eaten about half, he could stand it no 
 longer. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘that my appetite has un- 
 accountably come back at seeing you eat? If you will allow me, 
 I think I will change my mind and join you after all.’ His com- 
 panion was rather surprised at this sudden change, but at once 
 handed over the remainder of the food to Manakji, who, after 
 tasting it and finding it very palatable, devoured it all. 
 
 ““Now certain rules must be observed in eating some of our 
 Persian foods, and in the case of mdst-khiydr these ate two in 
 number. The first rule, as I have told you, is that you must not 
 drink anything with it or after it; for, if you do, not only will 
 your thirst be increased, but the food will swell up in your 
 stomach and make you think you are going to die of suffocation. 
 The second rule is that you must lie down and go to sleep 
 directly you have eaten it. Now Manakji Sahib was ignorant of 
 these rules, and so, when his companion lay down and went to 
 sleep, he, feeling somewhat thirsty, took a draught of water, 
 and then lay down to rest. But, so far from being able to rest, 
 he found himself attacked by a strange feeling of oppression, 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 193 
 
 and his thirst soon returned twofold. So he got up and took 
 another drink of water, and then lay down again, but now his 
 state was really pitiable: he could hardly breathe, his stomach 
 swelled up in a most alarming manner, and he was tormented 
 by thirst. Then his suspicions returned with redoubled force, 
 and he thought to himself, ‘There is no doubt that my com- 
 panion really has poisoned me, and has himself taken some anti- 
 dote to prevent the poison from affecting him. Alas! alas! I shall 
 certainly die in this horrible, lonely spot, and no one will know 
 what has become of me!’ 
 
 “While he was rolling about in agony, tormented by these 
 alarming thoughts, he suddenly became aware of a strange- 
 looking winged animal sitting on a wall close to him, and 
 apparently gloating over his sufferings. It was nodding its head 
 at him in a derisive manner, and, to his excited imagination, it 
 seemed to be saying, as plain as words could be, ‘ Abwdl-i-shumda 
 ché-tawr-ast? Abwdl-i-shumd ché-tawr-ast?’ (‘How ate your How 
 ate your’). Now the animal was nothing more than one of those 
 ~ little owls which are so common in ruined places, but Manakji 
 didn’t know this, never having seen an owl before, and thought 
 it must certainly be the Angel of Death come to fetch his soul. 
 So he lay there gazing at it in horror, till at last he could bear 
 it no longer, and determined to wake his companion; ‘for,’ 
 thought he, ‘even though he has poisoned me, he is after all 
 a human being, and his companionship will at least enable me 
 better to bear the presence of this horrible apparition.’ So he 
 stretched out his foot, and gave his companion a gentle kick. 
 Finding that did not rouse him, he repeated it with greater force, 
 and his companion woke up. ‘Well,’ said he, “what is the matter?’ 
 Manakji pointed to the bird, which still sat there on the wall, 
 nodding its head, and apparently filled with diabolical enjoy- 
 ment at the sufferer’s misery. ‘Do you see that?’ he enquired. 
 “See itP Of course I see it,’ replied his companion, ‘What of 
 it?’ Then some inkling of the nature of Manakji’s terrors and 
 
 B 13 
 
194 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 suspicions came into his mind, and he determined to frighten 
 him a little more, just to punish him. ‘Doesn’t it appear to you to 
 be saying something?’ said Manakji; ‘I can almost fancy that 
 I hear the very words it utters.’ ‘Saying something!’ answered 
 the Isfahani, ‘Of course it is: but surely you know what it 1s, 
 and what it is saying?’ “Indeed I do not,’ said Manakji, “for 
 I have never before seen anything like it; and as to what it 1s 
 saying, it appears to me to be enquiring after my health, which, 
 for the test, is sufficiently bad.’ ‘So it would seem,’ said the 
 other; ‘but do you really mean to tell me that you don’t know 
 what it is? Well, I will tell you: it is the spirit of the accursed 
 ‘Omar, who usurped the Caliphate, and whose generals overran 
 Persia. Since his death he has been permitted to assume this 
 form, and in it to wander about the world. Now he has come to 
 you, and is saying, “J, in my lifetime, took so much trouble to 
 overthrow the worship of Fire, and do you dare come back to 
 Persia to attempt its restoration?”’’ 
 
 “On hearing this Manakji was mote frightened than ever; 
 but at last his friend took pity on him, and picking up a stone 
 threw it at the bird, which instantly flew away. ‘I was only 
 joking,’ he said; ‘it is nothing but an owl.’ So Manakji’s fears 
 wete dispelled, and he soon recovered from the mdst-kbiydr; but 
 though he subsequently found out the proper way of eating it, 
 I am not sure that he ever had the courage to try it again.” 
 
 We laughed a good deal at this story, and I remarked that it 
 was an extraordinary thing that Manakji Sahib should have been 
 so frightened at an owl. 
 
 “Well,” he said, “it is. But then in the desert, and in solitary, 
 gloomy places, things will frighten you that you would laugh 
 at in the city. I don’t believe in all these stories about gh#/s and 
 ‘ifrits which the chdrvddars tell; but at the same time I would 
 rather listen to them here than out there in the Aavir. It is a 
 terrible place that kavér! All sand and salt and solitude, and tracks 
 not more than two feet wide on which you can walk with safety. 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 195 
 
 Deviate from them only a hand’s breadth, and down you go into 
 the salt-swamps, camel, man, baggage, and everything else, and. 
 there is an end of you. Many a brave fellow has died thus. 
 
 “‘Have I seen anything of the kavir? No, nor do I wish to do 
 so; heating about it is quite sufficient for me. I was once lost 
 in the salt-mountains near Semnan when a boy, having run away 
 from my father, who had done something to offend me. I only 
 remained amongst them one night, and, beyond the bitter brini- 
 ness of the bright-looking streams at which I strove to quench 
 my thirst, and the horror of the place and its loneliness, there 
 was nothing half so bad as the kavir, yet I wouldn’t go through 
 the experience again on any account. You have probably heard 
 plenty of stories about the desert from your chdrvddars on the 
 road; nevertheless, as you seem to like hearing them, I will tell 
 you one which may be new to you.” 
 
 We begged him to give us the story, and he proceeded as 
 follows:—‘‘A poor man was once ttavelling along on foot and 
 alone in the desert when he espied coming towards him a most 
 terrible-looking dervish. You have very likely seen some of 
 those wandering, wild-looking dervishes who go about all over 
 the country armed with axes or clubs, and fear neither wild beast 
 nor man, nor the most horrible solitudes. Well, this dervish 
 was one of that class, only much more ferocious-looking and 
 wild than any you ever saw; and he was moreover armed with 
 an enormous and ponderous club, which he kept swinging to 
 and fro in a manner little calculated to reassure our traveller. 
 The latter, indeed, liked the appearance of the dervish so little 
 that he determined to climb up a tree, which fortunately stood 
 close by, and wait till the fellow had passed. 
 
 “The dervish, however, instead of passing by, seated himself 
 on the ground under the tree. Of course the poor traveller was 
 horribly frightened, not knowing how long the dervish might 
 choose to stop there, and fearing, moreover, that his place of 
 retreat might have been observed. He therefore continued to 
 
 13-2 
 
196 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 watch the detvish anxiously, and presently saw him pull out of 
 his pocket five little clay figures, which he placed in a row in 
 front of him. Having arranged them to his satisfaction, he ad- 
 dressed the first of them, which he called ‘Omar, as follows:— 
 
 “© ‘Omar! I have thee now, thou usurper of the Caliphate! 
 Thou shalt forthwith answer to me for thy crimes, and receive 
 the just punishment of thy wickedness. Yet will I deal fairly 
 with thee, and give thee a chance of escape. It may be that there 
 were mitigating circumstances in the case which should not be 
 overlooked: inform me, therefore, if it be so, and I promise 
 thee I will not be unmerciful.... What! thou answerest nothing 
 at allP Then it is evident thou can’st think of no excuse for thy 
 disgraceful conduct, and I will forthwith slay thee.’ Saying this, 
 the dervish raised his mighty club over his head, and, bringing 
 it down with a crash on the little image, flattened it level with 
 the ground. 
 
 “‘He next addressed himself to the second image thus: ‘O Abu 
 Bekr! Thou also wert guilty in this matter, since thou didst first 
 occupy the place which by right belonged to ‘Ali. Nevertheless 
 thou art an old man, and it may be that thou wert but a tool in 
 the hands of that ungodly ‘Omar, whom I have just now de- 
 stroyed. If it be so, tell me, that I may deal mercifully with thee. 
 ... What! thou too art silent! Beware, or I will crush thee even 
 as I crushed thine abettor in this offence....Thou still refusest 
 to answer? Then thy blood be on thine own head!’ Another 
 blow with the club, and the second figure had followed the first. 
 
 “The dervish now turned to the third figure: ‘O Murtaza 
 ‘Ali,’ he exclaimed, ‘tell me, I pray thee, now that these wretches 
 who deprived thee of thy rights have met with their deserts, 
 how it was that thou, the chosen successor of the Prophet, didst 
 allow thyself to be so set aside. After all, thou didst in a manner 
 acquiesce in their usurpation, and I desire to know why thou 
 didst so, and why thou didst not withstand them even to the 
 death. Tell me this, therefore, I pray thee, that my difficulties 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 197 
 
 may be solved....What! thou also art silent? Nay, but thou 
 shalt speak, or I will deal with thee as with the others... . Still 
 thou answerest nothing? Then perish!’ Down came the club 
 a third time, while the poor man in the tree was almost beside 
 himself with horror at this impiety. 
 
 “This horror was further increased when the dervish, turning 
 to the fourth clay figure, addressed it as follows:—‘O Muham- 
 mad! O Prophet of God! Since thou didst enjoy Divine In- 
 spiration, thou didst without doubt know what would occur 
 after thy death. How, then, didst thou take no precautions to 
 guard against it? Without doubt, in this, too, there is some 
 hidden wisdom which I would fain understand, therefore I 
 beseech thee to tell me of it... . Thou answerest not a word? Nay, 
 but thou shalt answer, else even thy sacred mission shall in nowise 
 protect thee from my just wrath....Still thou maintainest 
 silence? Beware, for I am in earnest, and will not be trifled with. 
 ... Thou continuest to defy me? Then perish with the rest!’ 
 Another heavy blow with the club, and the figure of the Prophet 
 disappeared into the ground, while the poor man in the tree was 
 half-paralysed with dread, and watched with fascinated horror 
 to see what the dervish would do next. 
 
 “Only one clay figure now remained, and to this the dervish 
 addressed himself. ‘O Allah!’ he said, ‘Thou who hadst know- 
 ledge of all the troubles which would befall the family of him 
 whom Thou didst ordain to be the successor of Thy Prophet, tell 
 me, I pray Thee, what divine mystery was concealed under that 
 which baffles our weak comprehension!...Wilt Thou not hear 
 my prayer?...Art Thou also silent?...Nay, Thou shalt answer 
 me or——’ 
 
 *““Wretch!’ suddenly exclaimed the man in the tree, his terror 
 of the dervish for the moment mastered by his indignation, ‘Art 
 thou not satisfied with having destroyed the Prophet of God, and 
 ‘Ali, his holy successor? Wilt thou also slay the Creator? Beware! 
 Hold thy hand, or verily the heavens will fall and crush thee!’ 
 
198 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 “‘On hearing this voice, apparently from the clouds, the dervish 
 was so tetrified that he uttered one loud cry, dropped his up- 
 lifted club, and fell back dead. The man in the tree now descended, 
 and cautiously approached the body of the dervish. Being finally 
 assuted that he was really dead, he proceeded to remove his cloak, 
 which he was surprised to find of enormous weight, so that he 
 began to think there must be something concealed in the lining. 
 This proved to be the case, for, as he cut it open, a hidden hoard 
 of gold pieces poured forth on to the ground. These the poor 
 traveller proceeded to pick up and transfer to his pockets. When 
 he had completed this task, he raised his face to heaven and said, 
 ‘O Allah! Just now I saved Thy life by a timely interference, 
 and for this Thou hast now rewarded me with this store of gold, 
 for which I heartily thank Thee.’”’ 
 
 “What a very foolish man the traveller must have been,” we 
 rematked when the story was concluded; “‘he certainly met with 
 better fortune than he deserved. Of course the dervish was 
 nothing better than a madman.” 
 
 “Yes,” answered the Khan, “and of the two a fool is the 
 wotse, especially as a friend, a truth which is exemplified in the 
 story of the Gardener, the Bear, and the Snake, which well 
 illustrates the proverb that ‘A wise enemy is better than a 
 foolish friend.’ If you do not know the story I will tell it you, 
 for it is quite short. 
 
 “Once upon a time there was a gardener, into whose garden 
 a bear used often to come to eat the fruit. Now, seeing that the 
 bear was very strong and formidable, the gardener deemed it 
 better to be on good terms with it, thinking that it might prove 
 a useful ally. So he encouraged it to come whenever it liked, and 
 gave it as much fruit as it could eat, for which kindness the bear 
 was very grateful. 
 
 ““Now, there was also a snake which lived in a hole in the 
 garden wall. One day, when the snake was basking in the sun 
 half asleep, the gardener saw it and struck at it with a spade which 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 199 
 
 he had in his hand. The blow wounded the snake and caused it 
 a great deal of pain, but did not kill it, and it succeeded in drag- 
 ging itself back into its hole. From this time forth it was filled 
 with a desire for revenge, and a determination to watch the 
 gardener’s movements carefully, so that, if ever it saw him asleep, 
 it might inflict on him a mortal wound. 
 
 “Now, the gardener knew that the snake had escaped, and 
 was well aware that he had made a deadly enemy of it, so he was 
 afraid to go to sleep within its reach unprotected. He com- 
 municated his apprehensions to his friend the bear, which, eager 
 to give some proof of its gratitude, readily offered to watch over 
 him while he slept. The gardener gladly accepted this offer, and 
 lay down to sleep; while the snake, concealed in its hole, con- 
 tinued its watch, hoping for an opportunity of gratifying its 
 revenge. } 
 
 ““Now, the day was hot, and the flies were very troublesome, 
 for they kept buzzing round the gardener’s face, and even settling 
 upon it. This boldness on their part annoyed the bear very much, 
 especially when he found that he could only disperse them for 
 a moment by a wave of his paw, and that they returned im- 
 mediately to the spot from which they had been driven. 
 
 “At last the bear could stand it no longer, and determined 
 to have done with the flies once and for all. Looking round he 
 espied a large flat stone which lay near. “Ah, now, I have you,’ 
 he thought, as he picked up the stone and waited for the flies to 
 settle again on the gardenet’s face; ‘Ill teach you to molest my 
 friend’s slumbers, you miserable creatures!’ Then, the flies 
 having settled, thud! down came the stone with a mighty crash 
 on—the gardenet’s head, which was crushed in like an egg-shell, 
 while the flies flew merrily away to torment some new victim, 
 and the snake crept back into its hole with great contentment, 
 muttering to itself the proverb in question, ‘A wise enemy 1s 
 better than a foolish friend.’” 
 
 And now, just outside the walls surrounding the telegraph- 
 
200 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 office, tose a prolonged and dismal howl, followed by another 
 and yet another; while from the city, like an answer, came back 
 the barking of the dogs. “Are those jackals howling outside?” 
 I asked, ‘‘and do they come so close to the town?” “Yes,” 
 answered the Khan, “they always do so, and the dogs always 
 answer them thus. Do you know why? Once upon a time the 
 jackals used to live in the towns, just as the dogs do now, 
 while the latter dwelt outside in the desert. Now, the dogs 
 thought it would be much nicer to be in the town, where they 
 would be sheltered from the inclemency of the weather, and 
 would have plenty to eat instead of often having to go without 
 food for a long time. So they sent one of their number to the 
 jackals with the following message: ‘Some amongst us,’ they 
 said, ‘are ill, and our physicians say that what they need is 
 change of air, and that they ought, if possible, to spend three 
 days in the town. Now, it is clearly impossible for us dogs and 
 you jackals to be in one place at the same time, so we would ask 
 you to change places with us for three days only, and to let us 
 take up our quarters in the city, while you retire into the desert, 
 the air of which will doubtless prove very beneficial to you also.’ 
 
 “To this proposition the jackals agreed, and during the 
 following night the exchange was effected. In the morning, 
 when the people of the city woke up, they found a dog wherever 
 there had been a jackal on the previous night. On the third 
 night the jackals, being quite tired of the desert, came back to 
 the gates of the town, filled with pleasant anticipations of tre- 
 suming their luxurious city life. But the dogs, being very com- 
 fortable in their new quarters, were in no hurry to quit them. So, 
 after waiting some time, the jackals called out to the dogs, ‘ Na- 
 khush-i-shumd khib shudé-é-é-é?’? (‘Are your sick ones well yet?’), 
 ending up with a whine rising and falling in cadence, just such 
 as you heard a minute ago, and (as Mirz4 ‘Abdu’ll4h, who is a 
 native of Isfahan, will tell you) just such as you may hear any day 
 in the mouth of an Isfahani or a Yezdi. But the dogs, who are 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 201 
 
 Turks and speak Turkish, only answered ‘ Yokh! Yokh!’ (‘No! 
 no!”) and so the poor jackals had to go back into the desert. And 
 ever since then they come back at night and hail the dogs with 
 the same question, as you heard them do just now; and the dogs 
 always give the same teply, for they have no wish to go back to 
 the desert. And that is why the jackals come and howl! round the 
 town after dusk, and why the dogs always answer them.” 
 
 At this point our host interrupted the conversation to tell us 
 that supper was teady. “Supper!” exclaimed the Khan, who had 
 already commenced another story, “Supper, indeed! Am I to 
 have my stories cut short and spoiled by supper? No, I shall not 
 go on with what I was saying, even though you do beg my 
 pardon; but I will forgive you, provided always that you ask an 
 ‘English pardon’ and not a ‘Persian pardon.’” 
 
 ““What do you mean by a ‘Persian pardon’?” I asked; “‘please 
 explain the expression.” 
 
 “No, I shall keep my word and tell you no more stories to- 
 night,” answered the Khan. “I have told you plenty already, 
 and you will probably forget them all, and me too. Now you » 
 will remember me much better as having refused to satisfy your 
 curiosity on this one point, and whenever you hear the expression 
 ‘Pardum-i-Irdni’ (so he pronounced it) you will think of Mirza 
 Huseyn Khan of Kashan.” 
 
 After supper we had some songs accompanied on the sz-zar, 
 all present, except myself, being something of musicians, and 
 thus the evening passed pleasantly, till the guests announced 
 that they must depart, and I was astonished to find that it was 
 close on midnight, and high time to retire for the night. 
 
 Next day (16th February) our road continued to skirt the plain 
 for some twelve or fifteen miles, and then turned to the right 
 into the mountains. We at first ascended along a river-bed, down 
 which trickled a comparatively small quantity of water. I was 
 surprised to see that a number of dams had been constructed to 
 divert the water from its channel and make it flow over portions 
 
202 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 of the bank, whence it returned charged with mud. On asking 
 the reason of this strange procedure, I was informed that it was 
 done to prevent the water evaporating, as muddy water evaporates 
 less readily than that which is clear! 
 
 On ascending somewhat higher, we came to a place where 
 there was a smooth, rather deep, oblong depression in the face 
 of the rock. Inside this, as well as on the ground beneath, were 
 heaps of small stones and pebbles; while in every cranny and 
 chink of the cliff around and below this spot were planted little 
 bits of stick decorated with rags of divers colours placed there 
 by pious passers-by. As we came up to this place, Khuda- 
 bakhsh, the muleteer, who was a few paces in front, sprang up 
 towards the depression, shouting “‘ Yd ‘A/#!” and drew his hand 
 down it, thus affording an indication of the manner in which the 
 wonderful smoothness of its walls had been produced. He then 
 informed us that the depression in question was the mark left 
 by the hoof of ‘Ali’s steed, Duldul, and that there were only two 
 ot three more such in the whole of Persia. Near the village of 
 Gez, he added, there was the mark of ‘Ali’s hand in the rock. 
 Haji Safar, on learning these facts, added his quota of pebbles 
 to those already collected on the slope. 
 
 Proceeding onwards through very fine scenery, we suddenly 
 came upon a mighty wall of rock wherewith the channel of the 
 stream was barred, and beyond this a vast sheet of water formed 
 by the damming-up of the water-course. This splendid, half- 
 natural reservoir, which serves to keep the city of Kashan well 
 supplied with water during the hot, dry summer, was constructed, 
 like so many other useful and beneficial public works, during 
 the period of prosperity which Persia enjoyed under the Safavi 
 kings, and is known as the Band-i-Kohrid. WWinding round the 
 right side of this great lake, we presently began to see around 
 us abundant signs of cultivation—plantations of trees, orchards, 
 and fields laid out in curious steps for purposes of irrigation, and 
 already green with sprouting corn. Soon we entered tortuous 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 203 
 
 lanes, enclosed by stout walls of stone, and overshadowed by 
 trees, and, after traversing these for some distance, we arrived 
 at the village of Javinan, the strange-looking inhabitants of which 
 came out to see us pass. The women for the most part wore 
 green shawls and did not cover their faces. As we passed we 
 could hear them conversing in the curious dialect, incompre- 
 hensible to the ordinary Persian, of which I shall have to speak 
 directly. 
 
 About a mile farther on we came to the village of Kohrud, 
 where, the chdépar-khdné (post-house) being occupied, we found 
 quatters at the house of a Seyyid, who appeared to be one of 
 the chief men of the village. I had already heard from General 
 Houtum-Schindler, who possesses probably more knowledge 
 about the geography, ethnology, and local dialects of Persia 
 than any man living, of the curious dialect spoken in and around 
 Kohrtd and Natanz, and, anxious to acquire further information 
 about it, I mentioned the matter to my host, who at once volun- 
 teered to bring in two or three of the people of the place to 
 converse with me. Accordingly, as soon as I had had tea, a man 
 and his son came in, and, bowing ceremoniously, took their seats 
 by the door. 
 
 I first asked them as to the distribution of their dialect, and 
 the extent of the area over which it was spoken. They replied 
 that it was spoken with slight variations in about a dozen or 
 fifteen villages round about, extending on the one hand to the 
 little town of Natanz, in the valley to the east, and on the other 
 to the mountain-village of Kamsar. Of its age, history, and 
 relations they knew nothing definite, merely characterising it as 
 “ Furs-i-kadim” (“ Ancient Persian”). From what I subsequently 
 learned, I infer that it forms one branch of a dialect or language 
 spoken with greater or less variations over a large portion of 
 Persia. With the dialect of Natanz it seems almost identical, so 
 far as I can judge from a comparison of the specimen of 
 that vernacular (consisting of some thitty words) given by 
 
204 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 Polak! with my own collection of Kohrid words. With the so-called 
 Dari language of the Zoroastrians of Yezd and Kirman it has 
 also close affinities?, and it would also seem to be near akin to 
 the dialect spoken about Sivand, three stages north of Shiraz. 
 The relations of these dialects to one another, and to the languages 
 of ancient Persia, have not yet been fully worked out, though 
 excellent monographs on several of them exist, and the quat- 
 rains of the celebrated Baba Tahir, “the Lur,”’ have been pub- 
 lished with translation and notes by M. Clément Huart?. It 
 would be out of place here to discuss the philological bearings 
 of this question, and I will merely observe that the wide distribu- 
 tion of these kindred dialects, and the universal tradition of their 
 age, alike point to something more than a merely local origin. 
 
 I now for the first time realised the difficulty of obtaining 
 precise information from uneducated people with regard to their 
 language. In particular, it was most difficult to get them to give 
 me the different parts of the verbs. I would ask, for example, 
 ‘““How would you say, “I am ill’?” They gave me a sentence 
 which I wrote down. Then I asked, ‘““Now, what is ‘thou art 
 ill’?” They repeated the same sentence. “That can’t be right,” 
 I said; “‘they can’t both be the same.” “Yes, that is right,” they 
 answered; “if we want to say ‘thou art ill’ we say just what we 
 have told you.” “Well, but suppose you were ill yourself what 
 would you say?” “Oh, then we should say so-and-so.” ‘This 
 readiness in misapprehending one’s meaning and reversing what 
 
 1 Persien, Das Land und seine Bewohner, von Dr Jakob Eduard Polak, 
 Leipzig, 1865, vol. i, p. 265. 
 
 2 On this dialect, see Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenlandischen Gesellschaft, 
 vol. xxxv, pp. 327-414, Ueber die Mundart von Jexd, by Ferdinand Justi; and 
 ibid. vol. xxxvi, pp. 54-88, Die Parsen in Persien, ihre Sprache und einige ibrer 
 Gebrauche, by General A. Houtum-Schindler. See also Journal Asiatique, 1888, 
 viii série, 11, where M. Clément Huart protests against the application of the 
 term Dari to this dialect, which he includes along with Kurdish, Mazandard4ni, 
 the patois of Semnan, etc., under the general appellation of ‘ Peh/evi Musulman,’ 
 or ‘Modern Medic.’ Cf. p. 426, infra. 
 
 3 Journal Asiatique, 1885, viii série, 6, pp. 502-545. 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 205 
 
 one had said gave tise to one class of difficulties. Another class 
 atose from the extreme simplicity of the people. For instance, 
 after asking them the words for a number of common objects 
 in their language, I asked, “And what do you call ‘city’?” 
 “Kashan,” they replied. “‘Nonsense!” I said, “Kashan is the 
 name of a particular city: what do you call cities in general?” 
 “No,” they said, “it is quite right: in Persian you say ‘shahr 
 mi-ravam, “1 am going to the city’: we say ‘Kdshdn mi-ravam’: 
 it is all the same.”’ It was useless to argue, or to point out that 
 there were many other cities in the world besides Kashan: to 
 these simple-minded folk Kashan remained “the city” par 
 excellence, and they could not see what one wanted with any 
 other. Finally I had to give up the struggle in despair, and to 
 this day I do not know whether the Kohrtdi dialect possesses 
 a general term for “city” or not. 
 
 I here append a list of the words and expressions which I 
 took down during the short opportunity I had for studying the 
 Kohrtd dialect, as I am not aware that anything has been pub- 
 lished on that particular branch of what M. Huart calls “Pehlevi 
 Musulman.” For the sake of comparison, I place in parallel 
 columns the equivalents in the Natanz dialect given by Polak, 
 and those of the so-called Dari of Yezd given by General Schind- 
 ler and Justi. The transcription of these latter I have only altered 
 so far as appeared necessary to convey the proper pronunciation 
 to the English reader, e.g. in substituting the English y for the 
 German /?. 
 
 ENGLISH PERSIAN Kourupi NATANzi Dari oF YEZD 
 Pidar oap Per, Pedar (S.) 
 tape {Bebe feed Bab, Babi (J.), Bawg (S.) 
 
 Mar, Md, Mer (S.) 
 Memu (J.) 
 
 1 In this table the second column contains the Persian words; the third 
 their equivalents in the Kohrid dialect as taken down by myself; the fourth 
 the Natanz equivalents given by Polak (/oc. cit.), which are marked (P.); and 
 the fifth and last the equivalents in the Dari of Yezd, as given by Schindler 
 (S.) and Justi (J.) respectively. 
 
 Mother — Mddar Miné Mané (P.) 
 
206 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 ENGLISH PersIAN Konrtvit NATANzi 
 
 Birddar Tye 
 Brother { Dddar (old) Dadi 
 S Pisar Purd Pura (P.) 
 
 a {Par (old) 
 
 Daughter Dukhtar Dita Duta (P.) 
 Child Bacha Vacha he 
 Woman Zan Yand Yend(P.) 
 
 Khané ati? 2) 
 House | Kedé Kiyd = Ke (P.) 
 Door Dar Bar 
 Wood Chub Chiga 
 
 ( Dirakht 
 iLiec Bun (gen. in Band Bend (P.) 
 | comp.) 
 Water Ab O Au (P.) 
 Fire Atash Altash 
 Apple Szb So 8 
 Garden (Ray = vine) Ray Rag 
 Night Shab Shiiyé i 
 Bird fi Kargé Kerge (P.) 
 Dog Sag Ispa* a7 
 Cat Gurba Matyi Mauljin (P.) 
 Snow Barf Vafra +h 
 To-day Imruz Tra 
 Yesterday  Dtraz Izzé 
 To-motrow Ferdd Hiya me 
 Rerencl { Bi-raw Badshé Bashé 
 8 | Bi-shaw 
 
 Dari oF YEZD 
 Berar (S.) 
 {Daan (J.) 
 Pur (J.) 
 Porer (S.) 
 Duteh (J.) 
 aes Duter, Doter (S.) 
 Vacha (S. and J.) 
 Yen, Yentk (S.) 
 {ees Kedah (S.) 
 Khada (J.) 
 Bar (S. and J.) 
 Chi (S.) 
 Dirakht (J. and S.) 
 
 Viv(Berésine, quotedby J.) t 
 {v4 (Yezd), O (Kirman) (S.) 
 Tash (J. and S.) 
 Sv (J.) 
 [Ray = vine (S.)| 
 Shé (J. and $.) 
 
 Sabah \S.. 
 
 Sevd (J.) 
 
 Mali (S.) 
 
 Vabr(Berésine, quotedby J.) 
 Era (J.) 
 
 Hege (S.) 
 
 Ardah (S.) 
 
 Ve-sho (S.) 
 
 From this sample of the Kohrid dialect it will be seen that 
 the following are some of its chief peculiarities, so far as genera- 
 lisations can be drawn from so small a vocabulary:— 
 
 (1) Preservation of archaic forms; e.g. pur, ispd, vdfrd (Zend, vafra), etc. 
 
 (2) Change of B into V; e.g. vacha (Pets. bacha), valg (Pers. barg, leaf); 
 but this change does not go so far as in some other dialects, B for instance 
 being preserved in the prefix to the imperative, as in Bashé (Pers. bi-shaw, 
 Yezdi, ve-sho). The change of Shab (Pers.) into Shaw or Shé (Yezdi) and 
 Shiiyé (Kohridi); of S#b (Pers.) into Sv (Yezdf) and So (Kohriidi); and of Ab 
 
 1 Berésine, Recherches sur les dialectes persanes, Kazan, 1853. 
 2 Zend, ¢pan (see Darmesteter, Etudes Iraniennes, Paris, 1883, vol. i, p. 13). 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 207 
 (Pers.) into 6) (Kohridi and Kirmanf) and vd (Yezdi), is doubtless to be 
 accounted for in this way. 
 
 (3) R standing before a consonant in a Persian word often stands after 
 it in the Kohrdd dialect; e.g. vdfrd (Pers. barf); sometimes its place is taken by 
 L; e.g. valg (Pers. barg). 
 
 (4) Gis sometimes replaced by V; e.g. varg (Pers. gurg, wolf). 
 (5) P is sometimes replaced by F; e.g. asf (Pers. asp, horse). 
 
 (6) K4 sometimes drops out when it is followed by another consonant; 
 e.2. bd-siit (Pets. sukhté, burnt) t. 
 
 A few short sentences may be given in conclusion, without 
 comment or comparison. I come—A#n. He is coming to-day— 
 Tri dti. We ate coming—Hamd dtimd. You ate coming to-night 
 —Ishd dtimd. They ate cominge—Atanda. Come, let us go into 
 the country!—Bérya, bdashima sabrd! Bring some oil here— 
 Raghan urgé birya. ‘Take this and give it him—Urg/ b#’7 de. Take 
 the donkey, go and load it with earth, and come hetre—Khar urgf, 
 bishé khdk. bar ki birya. ‘Throw down the blanket here and sit 
 down—Pd bé galim ur bun, dimé hiichin. Sit hetce—Hdkum unchis. 
 I sat—Hochistum. He sat—Hochish. He came here—Bamé andeé. 
 I have not gone there—Nie¢ ndshtima. It was day—Rd# wd bi. 
 My brother is ill—Dddin nd-sdz-d. 1s your brother better ?— 
 Abwdl-i-didu bibtar-d? It is seven farsakhs from here to Kashan— 
 Andé td Kdshdn haft farsangd. How far is it from here to there?— 
 Andé td nigé chan farsang-d? What is your name?—Ismat ché- 
 chigd? ‘What does he say?—Aji chi? When do you go? Ké 
 ashima? Whose is this houseP-—N# kiyd dn-i-ki-d? Where do 
 you belong to?—Tu ki gd bgi? Whence comest thour—Ird ki 
 goddté? I come from Kamsat—Kamsar d’dtin. How many days 
 is it since you left?—Chand rig-d bdshté’7? It is ten days since I 
 left—Dah rig-d bdshtd’un. Vhis wood is burned—WNa chugd bdstit. 
 The fire has gone out—Avash bd-mar. “‘Abdu’ll4h 1s dead— 
 ‘Abdu’ lah bd mardd. Take the pillow and come and put it under 
 
 
 
 1 Cf. M. Huart’s article on the Quatrains of Baba Tahir, Journal Asiatique, 
 1885, vili série, 6, pp. 508-9. In these quatrains s#¢ stands for sakhté; sdtan 
 for sdkhtan, etc., almost uniformly. 
 
208 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 my head—Bdlish tig? biirya, zir-i-saram nu. Why art thou such an 
 ass?—Chird nandagar khari? It has laid eggs—Tukhm ui dddd. 
 
 At last I asked my informants (whose number had been greatly 
 increased by additions from without) what they said in their 
 language for pidar-sukbhté (“burnt-father,” the commonest term 
 of abuse in Persian). ‘‘ Babd-bd-siit,’ they cried unanimously, 
 and with much relish; “but we have many other bad names 
 besides that, like babd bd-mar, ‘dead father,’ and ———”’; here 
 they poured forth a torrent of Kohridi objurgations, which 
 would probably have made me shudder if I had understood them. 
 As it was, confusion being prevalent, and supper ready, Haji 
 Safar turned them all out of the room. 
 
 That night snow fell heavily, and I was surprised to see that 
 the Kohrudis appeared to feel the cold (though they were well 
 wrapped up) much more than any of us did. In the morning 
 there was a layer of snow on the ground nearly six inches deep, 
 and much mote than this in the hollows. Luckily there had 
 been but little wind, else it might have gone hard with us. As 
 it was, we had difficulty enough. We were delayed in starting 
 by the purchase of a quantity of juzyghand (a kind of sweetmeat 
 made with sugar and walnuts), in which, as it was a peculiar 
 product of the place, Haji Safar advised me to invest. Then 
 various people had to be rewarded for services rendered, amongst 
 these my instructors of the previous night. The people were a 
 grasping and discontented lot, and after I had given the man who 
 had come to teach me the elements of Kohrudi a present for 
 himself and his son, the latter came and declared that he had not 
 got his share, and that his father denied my having given him 
 anything. 
 
 At last we got off, accompanied by another larger caravan 
 which had arrived before us on the preceding evening. The 
 path being completely concealed, one of the muleteers walked 
 in front, sounding the depth of the snow with his staff. At 
 first we got on at a fair pace, but as we advanced and continued 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 209 
 
 to ascend it got worse and worse. Once or twice we strayed 
 from the road, and had to retrace our steps. The last part of the 
 climb which brought us to the summit of the pass was terrible 
 work. The muleteers lost the road entirely, and, after blundering 
 about for a while, decided to follow the course of the telegraph 
 poles, so far as this was possible. In so doing, notwithstanding 
 the sounding of the snow, we kept getting into drifts; many of 
 the baggage-mules fell down and could not regain their feet till 
 they had been unloaded; and every time this happened the whole 
 caravan was brought to a standstill till the load had been re- 
 placed, the muleteers uttering loud shouts of “Yd Alléh! Ya 
 ‘Ali!” and the women in the kajadvés (a sort of panniers) sending 
 forth piteous cries whenever the animals which bore them 
 stumbled or seemed about to fall. Altogether, it was a scene of 
 the utmost confusion, though not lacking in animation; but the 
 cold was too intense to allow me to take much interest in it. 
 After we had surmounted the pass, things went somewhat 
 better; but we had been so much delayed during the ascent that 
 it was nearly 6 p.m., and getting dusk, before we reached the 
 rather bleak-looking village of Soh. Here also there is a tele- 
 eraph-office, whither I directed my steps. Mr M*‘Gowen, who 
 was in charge of the office, was out when Iarrived, but I was 
 kindly received by his wife, an Armenian lady, and his little boy. 
 The latter appeared to me a very clever child: he spoke not only 
 English, Persian, and Armenian with great fluency, but also the 
 dialect of Soh, which is closely allied to, if not identical with, 
 the Kohrid vernacular. His father soon came in, accompanied 
 by two Armenian travellers, one of whom was Darcham Bey, 
 who is well known over the greater part of Persia for the assiduity 
 with which he searches out and buys up walnut-trees. I often 
 heard discussions amongst the Persians as to what use these were 
 put to, and why anyone found it worth while to give such large 
 sums of money for them. The general belief was that they were 
 cut into thin slices and subjected to some process which made 
 
 B 4 
 
210 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 “pictures come out in the wood”—these pictures being, in the 
 opinion of many, representations of events that had occurred 
 under the tree which had supplied the wood. 
 
 I had a good deal of conversation with Darcham Bey, though 
 much less than I might have done had I been less overcome with 
 somnolence induced by exposure to the cold. He had travelled 
 over a great patt of Persia, especially Luristan, which he most 
 earnestly counselled me to avoid. “The only people that I have 
 seen worse than the Luts,” he said, “‘are the K4shka’is, for 
 though the former will usually rob you if they can, and would 
 not hesitate to murder you if you refused to give up your 
 possessions to them, the latter, not content with this, will murder 
 you even if you make no resistance, alleging that the world is 
 well quit of one who is such a coward that he will not fight for 
 his own.” 
 
 Next day’s march was singularly dull and uneventful, as well 
 as bitterly cold. I had expected a descent on this side of the pass 
 corresponding to the rapid ascent from Kashan to Kohrud, but 
 I was mistaken: it even seemed to me that the difference in 
 altitude between the summit of the pass and Soh was at any tate 
 not much greater than between the former,and Kohrud, while 
 from Soh to our next halting-place, Murchékhar, the road was, 
 to all intents and purposes, level. At the latter place we arrived 
 about 5 p.m. It is an unattractive village of no great size. Finding 
 the caravansaray in bad repair, I put up at the post-house, where 
 I could find little to amuse me but two hungry-looking cats, 
 which came and shared my supper, at first with some diffidence, 
 but finally with complete assurance. They were ungrateful beasts, 
 however, for they not only left me abruptly as soon as supper 
 was over, but paid a predatory visit to my stores during the 
 night, and ate a considerable portion of what was intended to 
 serve me for breakfast on the morrow. 
 
 The following day’s march was a good deal mote interesting. 
 Soon after starting we saw three gazelles (dh#) grazing not more 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 211 
 
 than 100 yards off the road. The wind being towards us from them, 
 they allowed us to approach within a very short distance of 
 them, so that, though I had no gun, I was almost tempted to take 
 a shot at them with my revolver. 
 
 A little farther on, at a point where the road, rising in a gentle 
 incline, passed between two low hills before taking a bend 
 towards the east and descending into the great plain in which 
 lies the once magnificent city of Isfahan, we came to the ruins 
 of a little village, amidst which stood a splendid, though some- 
 what dismantled, caravansaray of the Safavi era. Concerning 
 this, one of the muleteers told me a strange story, which, for 
 the credit of the Kajar dynasty, I hope was a fiction. “‘ The 
 Shah,” he said, “was once passing this spot when his courtiers 
 called his attention to the architectural beauty and incomparable 
 solidity of this building. ‘In the whole of Persia,’ they said, 
 “no caravansatay equal to this is to be found, neither can anyone 
 at the present day build the like of it.” ‘What!’ exclaimed the 
 Shah, ‘are none of the caravansarays which I have caused to be 
 built as fine? That shall be so no longer. Destroy this building 
 which makes men think lightly of the edifices which I have 
 reared.’” This command, if ever given, was carried out some- 
 what tenderly, for the destruction is limited to the porches, 
 mouldings, turrets, and other less essential portions of the 
 structure. But, indeed, to destroy the buildings reared by the 
 Safavi kings would be no easy task, and could hardly be accom- 
 plished without gunpowder. 
 
 A little way beyond this we reached another ruined village, 
 where we halted for lunch. We were now in the Isfahan plain, 
 and could even discern the position of the city by the thin pall 
 of blue smoke which hung over it, and was thrown into relief 
 by the dark mountains beyond. To our left (east) was visible the 
 edge of the Dasht-i-Kavir, which we had not seen since entering 
 the Kohrud Pass. Its flat, glittering expanse was broken here and 
 there by low ranges of black mountains thrown up from the plain 
 
 14-2 
 
eRe? FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 into sharp rocky ridges. To the right (west) were more hills, 
 amongst which lies the village of Najaf-abad, one of the strong- 
 holds of the Babis. 
 
 Resuming our march after a short halt, we passed several 
 flourishing villages on either side (amongst them, and some dis- 
 tance to the east of the road, Gurgab, which is so celebrated for 
 its melons), and, about 4 p.m., reached our halting-place, Gez. 
 I think we might without much difficulty have pushed on to 
 Isfahan, which was now clearly visible at a distance of about 
 ten miles ahead of us, but the muleteers were natives of Gez, 
 and naturally desired to avail themselves of the opportunity 
 now afforded them for visiting their families. Personally, I 
 should have preferred making an attempt to reach the city that 
 night, for Gez is by no means an attractive spot, and I could find 
 no better occupation than to watch a row of about a dozen camels 
 kneeling down in the caravansaray to receive their evening meal, 
 consisting of balls of dough (wawadlé), from the hands of their 
 drivers. Later on, Khuda-bakhsh, the second muleteer, brought 
 me a present (pishkesh) of a great bowl of mast (curds), and two 
 chickens. 
 
 Next day (2oth Februaty) we got off about 8.30. Khuda- 
 bakhsh, having received his present (¢u‘dm), testified his gratitude 
 by accompanying us as far as the outskirts of the village, when 
 I bade him farewell and dismissed him; Rahim, assisted by a 
 younger brother called Mahdi-Kuli, whom he had brought with 
 him from the village, undertaking to convey us to Isfahan. I had, 
 while at Teheran, received a most kindly-worded invitation from 
 Dr Hoernle, of the English Church Mission, to take up my abode 
 with him at the Mission-House during my stay in the city; and 
 as that was situated in the Armenian quarter of Julfa, beyond the 
 river Zayanda-Rud (Zindé-Rud of Hafiz), the muleteers wished 
 to proceed thither direct without entering the city; alleging that 
 the transit through the bazaars would be fraught with innumer- 
 able delays. As, however, I was desirous of obtaining some idea 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 213 
 
 of the general aspect of the city as soon as possible, I requested 
 them to do exactly the contrary to what they proposed, viz. to 
 convey me to my destination through as large a portion of the 
 bazaars as could conveniently be traversed. This they finally 
 consented to do. 
 
 During a portion of our way to the city we enjoyed the 
 company of a mukannt-bdshi, or professional maker of kandts— 
 those subterranean aqueducts of which I have already spoken— 
 with whom I conversed for a time on the subject of his pro- 
 fession, since I was very desirous to learn how it was possible 
 for men possessed of but few instruments, and those of the 
 rudest kind, to sink their shafts with such precision. I cannot say, 
 however, that my ideas on the ae wete rendered much 
 clearer by his explanations. 
 
 As we dtew nearer to the city, its numerous domes, minarets, 
 and pigeon-towers (kaftar-khdné) began to be clearly discernible, 
 and on all sides signs of cultivation increased. We passed through 
 many poppy-fields, where numbers of labourers were engaged in 
 weeding. The plants were, of course, quite small at this season, 
 for they ate not ready to yield the opium till about a month after 
 the Nawruz (z.e. about the end of April). When this season arrives 
 the poppy-capsules are gashed or scored by means of an instru- 
 ment composed of several sharp blades laid parallel. This is done 
 early in the morning, and in the afternoon the juice, which has 
 exuded and dried, is scraped off. The crude opium (“rydk-7- 
 kha) thus obtained is subsequently kneaded up, purified, dried, 
 and finally made into cylindrical rolls about $ inch or 4 inch in 
 diameter. 
 
 At length we entered the city by the gate called Derwazé-i- 
 Charchu, and were soon threading our way through the bazaars, 
 which struck me as very fine; for not only are they lofty and 
 spacious, but the goods exposed for sale in the shops are for the 
 most patt of excellent quality. The people are of a different type 
 to the Teheranis; they are not as a rule very dark in complexion, 
 
214 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 and have strongly-marked features, marred not infrequently by 
 a rather forbidding expression, though the average of good looks 
 is certainly fairly high. The character which they bear amongst 
 other Persians is not altogether enviable, avarice and niggardli- 
 
 ness being accounted their chief characteristics. Thus it is com- 
 monly said of anyone who is very careful of his expenditure that 
 he is “‘as mean as the merchants of Isfahan, who put their cheese 
 ina bottle, and rub their bread on the outside to give ita flavour.’”! 
 Another illustration of this alleged stinginess is afforded by the 
 story of an Isfahani merchant, who one day caught his apprentice 
 eating his lunch of dry bread and gazing wistfully at the bottle 
 containing the precious cheese; whereupon he proceeded to scold 
 the unfortunate youth roundly for his greediness, asking him if 
 he “‘couldn’t eat plain bread for one day?” Nor have the poets 
 failed to display their ill-nature towards the poor Isfahanis, as 
 the following lines testify: — 
 
 “ Isfahan jannatist pur ni‘mat; 
 Isfahdni dar-u namt-bdyad.” 
 “Isfahan is a paradise full of luxuries; 
 There ought (however) to be no Isfahanis in it.” 
 
 At last we emerged from the bazaars into the fine spacious 
 square called Meyddn-i-Shdb. On our tight hand as we entered 
 it was the “A/ Kdpi (“Supreme Gate”’), which is the palace of the 
 Zillu’s-Sultan, the Prince-Governor of Isfahan, of whom I have 
 already spoken. In front of us, at the other end of the square, 
 was the magnificent mosque called Masjid-i-Shah, surmounted 
 by a mighty dome. Quitting the Meydan at the angle between 
 these residences of ecclesiastical and temporal power, and travers- 
 ing several tortuous streets, we entered the fine spacious avenue 
 called Chahdr Bagh, which is wide, straight, well-paved, surrounded 
 by noble buildings, planted with rows of lofty plane-trees, and 
 supplied with several handsome fountains. This avenue must 
 
 1 See Haggard and Le Strange’s Vagir of Lankurdn, translation of Act I, 
 p. 48, and note on the same, pp. 91, 92. 
 
FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 215 
 have been the pride of Isfahan in the good old days of the Safavis, 
 
 and is still calculated to awaken a feeling of deep admiration in 
 the mind of the traveller; but it has suffered considerably in later 
 days, not only by the state of dilapidation into which many of 
 the buildings situated on its course have been allowed to fall, 
 but also by the loss of many noble plane-trees which were cut 
 down by the Zillu’s-Sultan, and sent to Teheran to afford material 
 for a palace which he was building there. 
 
 On reaching the end of the Chahar Bagh we came in sight 
 of the river Zayanda-Rud, which separates the city of Isfahan 
 from the Christian suburb of Julfa. This river, though it serves 
 only to convert into a swamp (the Gavkhané Marsh) a large area 
 of the desert to the east, is at Isfahan as fine a stream as one could 
 wish to see. It is spanned by three bridges, of which the lowest 
 is called Pul-i-Hasandbdd, the middle one Pwu/-1-st-4-sih chashmé 
 (“the bridge of thirty-three arches”’), and the upper one Pw/-i- 
 Marin, all of them solidly and handsomely built. We crossed the 
 rivet by the middle bridge, obtaining while doing so a good view 
 of the wide but now half-empty channel, the pebbly sides of 
 which were spread with fabrics of some kind, which had just been 
 dyed, and were now drying in the sun. The effect produced by 
 the variegated colours of these, seen at a little distance, was as 
 though the banks of the river were covered with flower-beds. 
 On the other side of the stream was another avenue closely 
 resembling the Chahar Bagh, through which we had already 
 passed, and running in the same line as this and the bridge, viz. 
 towards the south. This, however, we did not follow, but turned 
 sharply towards the right, and soon entered Julfa, which is not 
 situated exactly opposite to Isfahan, but somewhat higher up the 
 tiver. It is a large suburb, divided into a number of different 
 quarters, communicating with one another by means of gates, 
 and traversed by narrow, tortuous lanes planted with trees; in 
 many cases a stream of water runs down the middle of the road 
 dividing it intwo. After passing through a number of these lanes 
 
216 FROM TEHERAN TO ISFAHAN 
 
 we finally reached the Mission-House, where I was met and 
 cordially welcomed by Dr Hoernle, who, though I had never seen 
 him before, received me with a genial greeting which at once made 
 me feel at home. Dr Bruce, who had kindly written to him about 
 me, was still absent in Europe, so that all the work of the mission 
 had now devolved on him, and this, in itself no small labour, 
 was materially increased by the medical aid which was continually 
 required of him; for Dr Hoernlewas the only qualified practitioner 
 in Isfahan. Nevertheless, he found time in the afternoon to take 
 me to call on most of the European merchants resident in Julfa, 
 and the cordial welcome which I received from these was alone 
 necessary to complete the favourable impression produced on me 
 by Isfahan. 
 
 
 

 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ISFAHAN 
 
 “Safahin ma‘nt-yt-lafz-t-jihdn-ast; 
 Jihan lafz-ast, u ma‘ni Isfahan-ast.” 
 “Isfahan is the idea connoted by the word ‘world’; 
 ‘World’ is the word, and Isfahan is the meaning.” 
 
 “¢ Jihdn-rad agar Isfahdni na-bid, 
 Jihan-afarin-ra jihant na-bid.” 
 Tf the world had no Isfahan, 
 The World-Creator would have no world.” 
 
 “ Man talaba shey", wa jadda, wajada.” 
 “Whosoever seeketh a thing, and is strenuous in search, findeth it.”’ 
 g, >] 
 
 ULFA is, as I have said, situated at some distance from 
 J Isfahan, and to walk from the Mission-House to the bazaars 
 requires the best part of an hour. Hence it happened that, 
 although I remained a fortnight in this place, I did not visit 
 the city more than five or six times, and then chiefly for business 
 in the bazaars or caravansarays. Four or five days after my 
 attival, however, I accompanied Mr Aghanor, the British agent, 
 into the town, and he kindly devoted several hours to showing 
 me some of its more interesting features. Some of these I have 
 already noticed, and it only remains to say a few words about 
 the rest. 
 
 The first public building which we visited was the Madrasa, 
 ot College, built by Sultan Huseyn, in whose unfortunate reign 
 (A.D. 1694-1722) the glory of the Safavi dynasty, and with it 
 the glory of Isfahan, was brought to a disastrous end by the 
 Afghan invasion. The Madrasa is built in the form of a hollow 
 square, and contains about 120 rooms for students and teachers, 
 
218 ISFAHAN 
 
 but of these two-thirds are untenanted. In the centre of the 
 spacious courtyard is a large tank of water, pleasantly over- 
 shadowed by plane-trees. The entrance to the college is through 
 a cotridot, now used as a small bazaar, furnished on the side 
 towards the toad with massive gates overlaid with exquisite 
 _ brasswork, and adorned with Arabic inscriptions in the centre 
 and Persian on the margin. The walls of the corridor are also 
 ornamented with tiles bearing inscriptions. 
 
 Leaving this, we proceeded to the Chahil sutin (“forty 
 columns’’), so-called because of a double row of plane-trees 
 standing by the side of a stream which traverses the garden. The 
 trees in question ate only twenty in number, their reflections in 
 the limpid water beneath constituting the other twenty “columns.” 
 At the farther end of this garden is the beautiful little palace 
 called Hasht Bihisht (“Eight Paradises”’). This had belonged to 
 the Zillu’s-Sultan’s minister, Sdrimu’d-Dawla, whose life had 
 recently been brought to an abrupt close by an obscure and 
 rapidly fatal disease which defied the skill of the physicians. Such 
 was the official report received from the capital, where his 
 decease had occutred: popular rumour, however, ascribed his 
 death to a cup of “Kajar coffee,” which had disagreed with the 
 unfortunate nobleman. The walls of this palace are beautifully 
 decorated, and adorned with six fine paintings representing 
 scenes of battle or revelry. Concerning the latter, an old Seyyid, 
 who was present, remarked with indignation that they were 
 productions of a later age, since such scenes of dissipation never 
 disgraced the court of the pious Safavis. Of the three battle 
 scenes, one represented the rout of the Uzbegs by the Persian 
 atmy; another, an engagement between the Persians and the 
 Ottoman Turks under Selim I; and the third, one of the wars of 
 Nadir Shah with the Indians. Besides these, and the two banquet 
 scenes which had roused the indignation of the Seyyid, there 
 was a picture representing Shah Tahmasp I receiving the fugitive 
 emperor of Hindustan, Humayun. 
 
ISFAHAN 219 
 
 Signs of the prevailing vandalism were apparent alike in the 
 palace and the garden. In the former, the beautiful mural 
 decorations (except the pictures) were being covered with 
 hideous brick-red paint. In the latter, the plane-trees were 
 falling beneath the axes of a party of woodcutters. A remon- 
 strance addressed to the latter merely elicited the thoroughly 
 Persian reply, “Déigar...bukm-ast” (“Well...it is ordered’’). 
 They seemed sorry to be engaged in destroying the relics of the 
 glorious past, but—‘‘d/gar”—what else could they do? They 
 could no mote tefuse to carry out the Prince’s wishes than they 
 could venture to criticise his decision. 
 
 In another room in a building at the other end of the garden 
 were two porttaits of a former governor of Isfahan, Minuchihr 
 Khan, the Georgian eunuch, who died in a.p. 1847. He is 
 described by Gobineau as a man “redouté et redoutable par ses 
 talents et un peu aussi par sa cruauté,” and was so powerful that 
 it is related that on one occasion the king, Muhammad Shah, 
 summoned him to Teheran and said to him, “‘I have heard that 
 you ate like a king at Isfahan,” to which the wily old minister 
 promptly replied, ““Yes, your Majesty, that is true, and you must 
 have such kings as your governots, in order that you may enjoy 
 the title of ‘Shahinshaéh’ (‘King of kings’).” 
 
 We passed through a portion of the palace and paid a visit 
 to the Ruknw’l-Mulk, who was acting as deputy-governor during 
 the absence of the Zillu’s-Sultan. He was a fine-looking Shirazi, 
 and received us with great urbanity, bidding us be seated, and 
 ordering tea and ka/ydns to be brought to us. At his side sat the 
 Munapjim-bdshi, or Chief Astrologer. We presently asked if there 
 was any news from the capital, whereupon he informed us, with- 
 out any outward sign of the emotion which so startling an event 
 must have produced in him, that a telegram had just arrived 
 announcing that the Prince-Governor, the Zillu’s-Sultan, had 
 “resigned” all his extensive governments in Southern Persia, 
 retaining nothing but the city of Isfahan. From what I have 
 
220 ISFAHAN 
 
 already said in a previous chapter, it will be sufficiently evident 
 that the term “resignation” was a euphemism. 
 
 I took several walks round the environs of Julfa, and one of 
 the first places which I visited was the Armenian cemetery. Here, 
 after some seatch, I found the grave of the Swiss watchmaker 
 who was put to death by the Muhammadan clergy two centuries 
 ago, for having, in self-defence, killed a Musulman. He was a 
 great favourite with the king, who exerted himself to save his 
 life, but the only condition on which this was possible was that 
 he should consent to embrace Islam, which he refused to do. The 
 heavy oblong stone which marks the spot where his body rests 
 bears the simple inscription ““cy Gir RODOLFE.” Round about 
 this are the graves of a number of European merchants, for the 
 most patt Dutch or Swiss, who had been attracted to the then 
 famous capital of the Safavis during the latter part of the seven- 
 teenth and earlier part of the eighteenth century. Of the few 
 English tombstones which I discovered, one bore the following 
 curious inscription:— 
 
 MEMENTO MORI 
 
 HIC IACET INSIGNIS DOCTOR R. EDVARDVS PAGETT ANG. 
 S. TRINITATIS COLLEGII APVD CANTABRIGIAM SOCIVS 
 THEOLOGVS ET MATHEMATICVS LVSTRABAT ORBEM TER 
 VI DIVINA COGNOSCERET ET MVNDANA 
 SED MVNDYM VERE REPVTANS VT PVNCTVM 
 EXTENDEBAT LINEAS VLTRA TEMPVS 
 VT PVLCRVM EX ETERNITATE CIRCVLVM FORMARET 
 TANDEM QVINQVAGENARIVS VLTIMO PVNCTO VITAM CLAVSIT 
 IN PATRIAM PER TERRAM REDEVNTEM SISTEBAT MORS 
 OBIIT ENIM SPAHANI DIE 21 IANV, A. 1702 SEC?™ sTYL. VET. 
 ABI VIATOR ET AB INSIGNI DOCTORE 
 DISCE IN TEMPORE ETERNITATEM. 
 
 I also ascended two of the mountains which lie beyond the 
 cemetety to the south of Julf4. One of these, situated just to 
 the west of the Shiraz road, is called K#h-i-Saf7. On the northern 
 face of this is a ruined building, whence I obtained a fine view 
 of Isfahan, the size of which now became apparent, though the 
 
ISFAHAN 224 
 
 miles of ruins which surround it show how much larger it was 
 in former days. The whole of that portion of the plain in which 
 the city lies was spread like a map at my feet. To the east was 
 the ill-famed Hazd4r Deré, the fabled abode of ghi/s and “frits, 
 a waste of conical hillocks; and near that side of it which bor- 
 dered on the Shiraz road could be seen the single tree which 
 marks the site of the “Farewell Fountain” (Chashmé-i-Khuda- 
 bafiz), the spot to which the traveller journeying towards the | 
 south is usually accompanied by his friends. Right across the 
 plain from west to east meandered the Zayanda-Rid, spanned 
 by its three bridges, and girt with gardens. On the farther side 
 of this rose the domes and minarets of Isfahan; opposite the 
 city, and on the south side of the river, lay the great Musulman 
 cemetery, called Takbt-i-Fuldd; while on the same side of the 
 river, but farther to the west, stretched the Christian suburb of 
 Julfa. 
 
 The other mountain which I ascended is called the Takht-- 
 Rustam, and forms the extreme western limit of the range which 
 terminates to the east in the Kuth-i-Sufi above described. This 
 mountain is crowned by a great crest of overhanging rocks, 
 along the base of which I had to creep before I could ascend 
 to the summit, where stands a small building of brick in a very 
 dilapidated condition. From this point I could see far away to 
 the west, in the direction of Char Mahdall and the Bakhtiyari 
 country, and a wild, forbidding landscape it was, hemmed in by 
 black lowering mountains. Straight below me, on the farther 
 side of the road leading to Char Mahdall, was a remarkable mass 
 of rock, which, seen from certain points of view, looks like a 
 gigantic lion. It is often called “the Sphinx” by Europeans. 
 Beyond this were gardens and walled villages on either side of 
 the river, and beyond these a background of mountains, in the 
 bosom of which lies the village of Najaf-abad, one of the Babi 
 strongholds. The exquisite clearness and purity of the atmosphere 
 in Persia, enabling one as it does to see for an almost unlimited 
 
222 ISFAHAN 
 
 distance, lends an indescribable charm to views such as the one 
 which now lay before me, and I long gazed with admiration on 
 the panorama to the westward. But when I glanced down into 
 the dark valley to the south of the ridge on which I now stood, 
 towatds which the mountain fell away so rapidly that it seemed 
 as if one might cast a stone into it without effort, a feeling akin 
 to terror at its savage loneliness and utter isolation overcame me, 
 and I was glad to commence the descent with all speed, lest some 
 uncontrollable impulse should prompt me to cast myself down 
 into this gloomy ravine. | 
 
 Another day I paid a visit to the celebrated, but somewhat 
 disappointing, “shaking minarets” (windré-i-junbdn) situated to 
 the west of Julfa, which were duly rocked to and fro for my 
 entertainment. Beyond these is a curiously-shaped hill called 
 the Aiash-gdb, on which, as its name implies, there is said to 
 exist a ruined Fire-temple. To this, however, I had not time to 
 extend my excursion. 
 
 Thus passed the time I spent at the ancient capital, partly in 
 walks and sight-seeing, partly in the genial society of Dr Hoernle 
 and the other European residents. In the late afternoon we often 
 played tennis, there being two very fairly good grounds in Julfa. 
 Of Persian society I saw but little, and indeed for the first week 
 I hardly had occasion to talk Persian at all except to the Mirza 
 employed by the Mission—a man of considerable erudition, not 
 devoid of a certain degree of scepticism in religious matters. I 
 several times questioned him about the Babis, and begged him 
 to put me in communication with them, or at least to obtain for 
 me some of their books. Whether he could or would have done 
 so I know not, for an occurrence which took place about a week 
 after my arrival rendered me independent of such help, brought 
 me into immediate contact with the proscribed sect which had 
 hitherto eluded all my search, and gave an entirely new turn to 
 the remainder of my sojourn in Persia. The event which thus 
 unexpectedly enabled me to gratify to the full a curiosity which 
 
ISFAHAN 223 
 
 difficulties and disappointments had but served to increase, was 
 as follows. 
 
 One afternoon, rather mote than a week after my arrival, 
 and the day after the ascent of the Takht-i-Rustam above de- 
 scribed, I was sitting lazily in the sitting-room which overlooked 
 the courtyard, wondering when I should again start on my 
 travels, and turning over in my mind the respective advantages 
 of Shiraz and Yezd, when two da//d/s (brokers, or vendors of 
 curiosities), armed with the usual collection of carpets, brasswork, 
 trinkets, and old coins, made their appearance. Rather from lack 
 of anything else to do than because I had any wish to invest in 
 curiosities which were as certain to be dear as they were likely 
 to be spurious, I stepped out into the porch to inspect the strange 
 medley of objects which they proceeded to extract from their 
 capacious bags and to display before me. None of them, how- 
 ever, particularly took my fancy, and I accordingly refused to 
 treat the prices which they named as serious statements, and 
 offered only such sums as appeared to me obviously below their 
 real value, hoping thereby to cause the da//d/s, of whose company 
 I was now tired, to withdraw in diseust. The da//d/s did not fail 
 to discern my object, and the elder one—an old man with 
 henna-dyed beard—ventured a remonstrance. ‘‘Sahib,”’ he said, 
 “‘we have come a long way to show you our goods, and you have 
 taken up a great deal of our time. You will not be dealing fairly 
 with us if you send us away without buying anything.” I was 
 about to remind him that I had not asked him to come, and had 
 only consented to examine his wares at his own request, and on 
 the distinct understanding that by so doing I was not in any way 
 binding myself to become a purchaser, when the younger da//d/ 
 stepped up on to the platform where I was standing, put his mouth 
 close to my ear, and whispered, “‘ You are afraid we shall cheat you. 
 I am not a Musulmdn that I should desire to cheat you: 1 aM A BABt.” 
 
 To this day I am at a loss to account for the motives which 
 prompted this extraordinary frankness. Perhaps some rumour 
 
Prey a ISFAHAN 
 
 had reached the man (for rumours in Persia get about in the 
 most unaccountable manner) that I was anxious to make ac- 
 quaintance with the sect to which he belonged; perhaps he 
 imagined that all Christians were better disposed towards the 
 Babis than towards the Muhammadans; perhaps the admission 
 - was merely a random shot, prompted by the consideration that 
 at least it was unlikely to expose him to any risk. Be this as it 
 may, the effect produced on me by these words was magical. Here 
 at last was the long desired opportunity for which I had waited 
 and watched for four months. All my apathy was in a moment 
 changed into the most eager interest, and my only fear now was 
 that the da//d/s would take me at my word and go. 
 
 “You ate a Babi!” I said, as soon as my astonishment allowed 
 me to speak. “‘Why, I have been looking for Babis ever since I 
 set foot in Persia. What need to talk about these wares, about 
 which I care but littleP Get me your books if you can; that is 
 what I want—your books, your books!” 
 
 “Sahib,” he said, “I will do what is possible to gratify your 
 wishes: indeed I can promise you at least one or two books 
 which will tell you about our beliefs. But how is it that you 
 are so desirous of these? Where did you hear about us, if, as 
 you say, you never yet met with one of our religion?” 
 
 “T heard about you,” I replied, “‘long before I came to Persia, 
 or even thought that I should ever do so. A learned Frenchman 
 who was living in Teheran soon after the Bab began to preach 
 his doctrines, who witnessed some of the terrible persecutions 
 to which his followers were exposed, and who was filled with 
 wonder and admiration at their fortitude and disregard of death, 
 wrote the history of all these things in his own language when 
 he returned to Europe. This history I have read, and this wonder 
 and admiration I share, so that I desire to know more of what you 
 believe. Hitherto I have sought in vain, and met with nothing 
 but disappointment. Now, please God, by means of your help 
 I shall attain my object.” 
 
ISFAHAN 225 
 
 “*So the news of the ‘Manifestation’ has reached Firangistan!”’ 
 he exclaimed. “That is indeed well! Surely I will do all in my 
 power to assist you in your search for knowledge of this matter. 
 Nay, if you would desire,to converse with one of us who is 
 learned and pious and has suffered much for the cause, I will 
 attange that you shall meet him. He is our chief here, and once 
 a fortnight he visits the house of each one of us who have 
 believed, to assure himself that our households are maintained 
 in a becoming manner, and to give us instruction and encourage- 
 ment. I am but a poor ignorant da//d/, but he will tell you all 
 that you desire to know.” Our whispered colloquy was now 
 brought to an end, as the elder da//d/ began to manifest un- 
 mistakable signs of impatience. Hastily selecting a few small 
 atticles, I presented him with a sum of money sufficient to com- 
 pensate him for his trouble and restore his good temper, and took 
 leave of him and his comrade, entreating the latter by no means 
 to fail in bringing me the books, which he promised to do, if 
 possible, on the morrow. 
 
 Next day, at about the same hour, my anxiety was brought 
 to an end by the reappearance of the Babi da//d/, who signified, 
 in answer to my look of enquiry, that he had brought the books. 
 I immediately conducted him to my room, but for some time 
 I had to restrain my impatience owing to the presence of Haji 
 Safar, who seemed possessed by a desite to inspect the wares 
 brought by my new friend, which was as unaccountable as it 
 was exasperating. I was afraid to tell him to go, lest I should still 
 further arouse that curiosity which I had learned to regard as the 
 dominant characteristic of Persians in general and Persian servants 
 in particular, so I had to wait patiently till he chose to retire. 
 
 No sooner was he out of the room than the Babi produced 
 the books, telling me that he expected his companion moment- 
 atily, and that as the latter was a Musulman we should do well 
 to make the best use of the time at our disposal, since his arrival 
 would put an end to conversation on religious topics. 
 
 B 15 
 
226 ISFAHAN 
 
 The books in question were two in number: one was a manu- 
 script copy of the [kdn (“Assurance”), which my companion 
 declared to be an incontrovertible proof of the new faith, and 
 by far the most important work to prepare me for a full compte- 
 hension of the Babi doctrines; the other was a small tract, written, 
 as | afterwards learned, by ‘Abbas Efendi (the son of Beha’u’ll4h, 
 who is the present chief of the Babis and resides at Acte in Syria") 
 at the request of ‘Ali Shevket Pasha in explanation of the tradi- 
 tion “‘I was a Hidden Treasure, and I desired to be known; therefore 
 I created creation that I might be known”; which tradition, stated to 
 have been revealed to David, constitutes one of the corner-stones 
 of Sufi mysticism. 
 
 The purchase of these books was soon effected, for I was pte- 
 pared to give a much higher price than was actually demanded. 
 Specimens of calligraphy were next produced, some of which 
 were the work of one of Beha’s sons, others of the renowned 
 Mushkin-Kalam, who was one of the Babis exiled to Cyprus in 
 A.D. 1868 by the Turkish Government’, and who was, as I 
 
 1 He died since these words were written, on 16th May 1892, and was 
 succeeded by one of his sons entitled Ghusn-i-A‘zam (“The Most Mighty 
 Branch”). See Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for 1892, pp. 706-I0. 
 
 2 I cannot here repeat all that I have written elsewhere on the history, 
 especially the later history, of the Babis. Those who desire full information 
 on the subject I must refer to my papers in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic 
 Society (July and October 1889; April, July, and October 1892), and to my 
 translations of the Tvaveller’s Narrative (Cambridge, 1891), and the New 
 History (Cambridge, 1893). For the benefit of the general reader, I give the 
 following brief epitome, which will suffice to render intelligible what is said 
 in this book about the sect. The Bab, before his death (9th July 1850), had 
 nominated as his successor a youth nineteen years of age named Mirza Yahya, 
 and entitled Swbb-z-Exel (“The Dawn of Eternity”), who belonged to a 
 noble family of Nur in Mazandaran. His succession was practically undis- 
 puted; and till 1866 he was recognised by all the Babis, including his half- 
 brother Mirza Huseyn ‘Ali, entitled Behd’n’/dh (“The Splendour of God’’), 
 who was about thirteen years senior to him, as the Head of the Babi Church. 
 In 1852, in consequence of the violent persecution of the Babis which 
 followed the attempt on the Shah’s life, the headquarters of the sect were 
 transferred to Baghdad. There the Babi chiefs remained till 1862 or 1863, 
 when, at the request of the Persian Government, they were transferred by the 
 
ISFAHAN 227 
 
 gathered, related in some way to my friend the da//d/. Mushkin- 
 Kalam’s skill in calligraphy is a matter of notoriety amongst the 
 Babis, and his writing is, indeed, very beautiful. Especially 
 curious were some of his productions, in which the writing was 
 so atranged as to take the form of a bird (Khatt-i-murghi). ‘The 
 dalldl informed me that these would be eagerly sought after by 
 Persians of all classes, were it not that they all bore, as the signa- 
 ture of the penman, the following verse: 
 “ Dar diyar-i-khatt shah-i-sahib-‘alam, 
 Bandé-i-Bab-i-Behd, Mushkin-Kalam.”’ 
 
 “Tn the domain of writing a king of note, 
 The servant of Bab-i-Beha, Muashkin-Kalam.”’ 
 
 As it was, the sale of these works of art was limited entirely to 
 the Babi community. 
 
 When the inspection of these treasures was completed, I asked 
 the dal//d/ whether he knew where the two Seyyids who suffered 
 martyrdom for the Babi faith about the year 1879 were buried. 
 
 “Yes,” he replied, “I know the spot well, and will take you 
 there if you wish it; but surely, Sahib, you who ate so eager to 
 obtain our books, who desire to visit the graves of our martyrs, 
 
 Turkish authorities to Constantinople (where they remained four months), 
 and thence to Adrianople. While they were at Adrianople, Behd’w’Mah an- 
 nounced himself to be “Him whom God shall manifest,’ that Great Deliverer 
 and Fulfiller of the New Dispensation, whose advent the Bab had announced. 
 Most of the Babis admitted his claim, and became Beha’is; some few adhered 
 to Subp-i-Ezel, who vigorously contested it, and were henceforth known as 
 Ezelis. Disputes and quarrels ensued, and finally, in the summer of 1868, 
 the rivals were separated by the Turkish Government. Swbp-i-Eve/, with his 
 family and a few of Behd’w’//dh’s followers, including Mushkin-Kalam, was sent 
 to Famagusta, in Cyprus, where he still(1893) resides, being now a pensioner of 
 the English Government. Behd’uv’//ah, with his family, a number of his 
 followers, and six or seven of the followers of Subp-i-Exe/l, was sent to Acte, 
 on the Syrian coast. This is still the headquarters of the Beha’is (who con- 
 stitute the vast majority of Babis at the present day), but Behd’w’ dh himself, 
 as stated in a previous note, died on 16th May 1892. After the occupation 
 of Cyprus by the English, the surviving exiles there interned were given 
 permission to depart if they so pleased. Of this permission Mushkin-Kalam 
 availed himself. He left Cyprus in September 1886 for Acre where I met him 
 in April 1890. 
 
 15-2 
 
228 ISFAHAN 
 
 must be prompted by some motive beyond mete curiosity. You 
 have been to Acre, you have been honoured by beholding the 
 Blessed Countenance, you ate yourself a Babi. Say, is it not so? 
 Thete is no need to conceal anything from me.” 
 
 “My friend,” I answered, “I am neither a Babi, nor have 
 I been to Acte; yet I confess that I am actuated by something 
 more than mere curiosity. I cannot but feel that a religion which 
 has produced examples of such heroic courage and fortitude as 
 yours, merits a cateful examination, since that must needs contain 
 noble thoughts which can prompt to noble deeds. In visiting 
 the gtaves of your martyrs I would fain pay a tribute of respect 
 to those who gave up wealth, ease, and consideration, nay, even 
 life itself, for the faith which they held dearer than all else.” 
 
 At this point our conversation was interrupted by the entrance 
 of the other da//d/ with a collection of pictures, articles of brass- 
 work, and other curiosities, from which I proceeded to make 
 a selection. It was proposed by myself, and readily agreed to by 
 the dalldls, that there should be no bargaining: they would state 
 the price which they had actually paid for each of the articles in 
 question, and I, if it appeared to me reasonable, would give it, 
 together with a small percentage for their profit. In conse- 
 quence of this, the transaction was one of the shortest and 
 pleasantest I had ever effected in the East, where bartering and 
 hageling about prices is usually inevitable; and, so far as I could 
 judge, I obtained the full value of my money. 
 
 Just as they were leaving, the Babi found an opportunity 
 of whispering in my ear, ““Do not forget next Saturday. I will 
 make arrangements for someone to meet you at a given spot in 
 the town; if I cannot find anyone else, I will come myself. Who- 
 evet your conductor may be, you will recognise him by a sign, 
 and will follow him: he will bring you safely to my house, and 
 there you will meet our chief. I will see you again before then, 
 and inform you of the spot determined on. May God be your 
 keeper!” 
 
ISFAHAN 229 
 
 Saturday came at last, and at an early hour my friend the da//d/ 
 appeared. After a brief consultation we agreed on one of the 
 principal caravansarays in the city as the best rendezvous. I was to 
 be in waiting there shortly after mid-day, and either my friend 
 or his associate would come to meet me. 
 
 At the appointed time I was in readiness at the spot designated, 
 and I had not waited long before the elder da//d/ appeared, caught 
 my attention, signed to me to follow him, and plunged once 
 more into a labyrinth of the bazaars. Once assured that I was 
 following him, he hardly looked back, till, after half an hout’s 
 rapid walking, we reached the house of the Babi, who welcomed 
 me at the door, led me into the sitting-room, and, in the intervals 
 of preparing tea for me and the distinguished guest he was still 
 expecting, pointed out to me a number of his treasures. These 
 included a photograph of the above-mentioned Muashkin-Kalam 
 and his two sons, and another photograph of the graves of the 
 “Martyrs of Isfahan,” which he assured me had been taken by 
 a European resident who was greatly attached to the murdered 
 men. 
 
 After a short while there came a knock at the outer door; 
 my host hastened out and immediately returned, ushering in 
 the Babi missionary, to whom he presented me. He was a grave, 
 earnest-looking man of about forty-five years of age, as I should 
 guess; and as he sat opposite to me sipping his tea, I had plenty 
 of time to observe his countenance attentively, and to note the 
 combination of decision, energy, and thoughtfulness which it 
 expressed. His manners were pleasing, and his speech, when he 
 spoke, persuasive. Altogether he was a man whom one would 
 not readily forget, even after a single interview, and on whose 
 memory one dwells with pleasure. 
 
 The elder da//d/, who had absented himself for a short time, 
 soon returned, and with him another Babi, a tile-maker by trade. 
 The presence of the former put some restraint on the conversation, 
 so that I was unable to ask many questions. I learned, however, 
 
230 ISFAHAN 
 
 that he whom I now beheld was one of the chief missionaries 
 of the new faith, for which he had suffered stripes, imprisonment, 
 and exile mote than once. I begged him to tell me what it was 
 that had made him ready to suffer these things so readily. “You 
 must go to Acre,” he replied, “to understand that.” 
 
 ““Have you been to Acre?” I said, “‘and if so, what did you 
 see there?” 
 
 ‘““T have been there often,” he answered, “‘and what I saw was 
 a man perfect in humanity.” 
 
 More than this he would not say. “You are leaving Isfahan, 
 as I understand, in a few days,” he remarked, “‘and opportunity 
 is lacking to explain to you what you desite to know. I will, 
 _ however, write to the ‘Friends’ at Shiraz, and Abddé also if you 
 wish, requesting them to expect your arrival, and to afford you 
 all facilities for discussing these matters. Should you intend to 
 visit other towns at a subsequent date, they will furnish you with 
 all necessary recommendations and instructions. The ‘Friends’ 
 are evetywhere, and though hitherto you have sought for them 
 without success, and only at last chanced on them by what 
 would seem a mere accident, now that you have the clue you will 
 meet them wherever you go. Write down these two names (here 
 he gave me the names and addresses of two of his co-religionists 
 at Abadé and Shiraz respectively), and when you arrive enquire 
 for them. Before your arrival they will be duly informed 
 of your coming, and of your reason for desiring to converse 
 with them. Now farewell, and may God direct you unto the 
 truth.” 
 
 “Aka,” said the dalld/, “the Sahib desires to visit the graves 
 of the ‘King of Martyrs,’ and the ‘Beloved of Martyrs,’ and I 
 have promised to take him there. Will you not also accompany 
 us, that we may beguile the way with profitable conversation?” 
 
 “Tt is well that he should visit these graves,” answered the 
 other, “and we thank him for the good-will towards us which 
 his desire to do so implies. Nevertheless, I will not come, for 
 
ISFAHAN 231 
 
 I am pethaps too well known of men, and it is not wise to incur 
 needless risk. Farewell!” 
 
 Soon after the departure of the chief, I also, finding it later 
 than I had supposed, rose to go. The tile-maker volunteered to 
 guide me back to the caravansaray. There was but little oppor- 
 tunity for conversation on the way thither, nor would it have been 
 safe to talk of those matters which occupied our minds in the 
 open street. ““You see, Sahib,” whispered my companion, “‘ what 
 our condition is. We are like hunted animals or beasts of prey, 
 which men slay without compunction; and this because we have 
 believed in God and his Manifestation.” 
 
 On attiving at the caravansaray whence I had started, I bade 
 farewell to my guide, and betook myself to the office of Messrs 
 Ziegler’s agents to conclude the arrangements for my journey 
 to Shiraz. A muleteer was found, a native of the village of 
 Khuraskan, called ‘Abdu’r-Rahim, who agreed to furnish me 
 with three animals at the rate of three témdns (rather less than £1) 
 a head, to convey me to Shiraz in fourteen marches, and to halt 
 for one day at any place on the road which I might choose. Half 
 the money was at once paid down, and, the bargain being 
 satisfactorily concluded, I walked home to Julf4 with Messrs 
 Ziegler’s agent, who had kindly assisted me in making these 
 attangements. 
 
 Next day, early in the afternoon, my friend the d//d/ came to 
 conduct me to the tombs of the martyrs. After a walk of more 
 than an hour in a blazing sun, we arrived at the vast cemetery 
 called Takht-i-Fuldd (“the Throne of Steel”). Threading our 
 way through the wilderness of tombstones, my companion 
 presently espied, and summoned to us, a poor gtave-digger, also 
 belonging to the persecuted sect, who accompanied us to a spot 
 marked by two small mounds of stones and pebbles. Here we 
 halted, and the da//d/, turning to me, said, “‘ These ate the graves 
 of the martyrs. No stone marks the spot, because the Musul- 
 mans destroyed those which we placed here, and, indeed, it is 
 
23D ISFAHAN 
 
 perhaps as well that they have almost forgotten the resting-places 
 of those they slew, lest, in their fanaticism, they should yet 
 further desecrate them. And now we will sit down for a while 
 in this place, and I will tell you how the death of these men was 
 brought about. But first it is well that our friend should read 
 _ the prayer appointed for the visitation of this holy spot.” 
 
 The other thereupon produced a little book from under his 
 cloak, and proceeded to read a prayer, partly in Arabic, partly 
 in Persian. When this was concluded, we seated ourselves by 
 the graves, and the da//d/ commenced his narrative. 
 
 “This,” said he, pointing to the mound nearest to us, “is the 
 tomb of Haji Mirza Hasan, whom we call Sw/tanu’ sh-Shuhadd, “the 
 King of Martyrs,’ and that yonder is the resting-place of his elder 
 brother, Haji Mirza Huseyn, called Mapbiibu’sh-Shuhadd, ‘the 
 Beloved of Martyrs.’ They were Seyyids by birth, and merchants 
 by profession; yet neither their descent from the Prophet, nor 
 their rare integrity in business transactions and liberality to the 
 poor, which were universally acknowledged, served to protect 
 them from the wicked schemes of their enemies. Amongst their 
 debtors was a certain Sheykh Bakir, a wu//d of this city, who owed 
 them a sum of about ten thousand timdns (£3000). Now Sheykh 
 Bakir knew that they were of the number of the ‘Friends,’ and 
 he thought that he might make use of this knowledge to compass 
 their death, and so escape the payment of the debt. So he went 
 to the Imdm-Jum‘a of Isfahan, who was the chief of the clergy, 
 and said to him, “These men are Babis, and as such they are, 
 accotding to the law of Islam, worthy of death, since they do ~ 
 not believe that Muhammad, the Apostle of God, is the last of 
 the Prophets, but hold that Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad of Shirdz 
 received a new revelation whereby the Kur’4n is abrogated. 
 To my knowledge, also, they are very wealthy, and if they be 
 slain for their apostasy from Islam, their wealth will be ours.’ 
 The Imdm-Jum‘a was easily persuaded to become a party to this 
 design, and these two wicked men accordingly went to the 
 
ISFAHAN 233 
 
 Zillu’s-Sultan, the Prince-Governor, and laid the matter before 
 him. He was by no means averse to a scheme which seemed 
 fraught with profit to himself, but nevertheless hesitated to 
 decree the death of those whose descent from the Prophet, 
 apart from their blameless lives, appeared to entitle them to 
 respect and consideration. At length he answered thus: “I cannot 
 myself command their execution, since they have committed 
 no ctime against the state. If, however, you, in the name of 
 the sacred law of Islam, condemn them to death, I shall, of course, 
 not interfere with the execution of the sentence.’ 
 
 “Sheykh Bakir and the Imdm-Jum‘a therefore withdrew, and 
 summoned seventeen other mul/ds; and these, after a brief 
 deliberation, unanimously signed the death-warrant of the two 
 Seyyids, who were forthwith arrested and cast into prison. When 
 this transpired there was great consternation and distress amongst 
 all classes, including the European residents, to whom the up- 
 rightness and virtue of the doomed men were well known. 
 Application for the remission of the sentence was made by 
 telegraph to Teheran, and the request was supported by one of 
 the European Ambassadors resident there. The Shah consented 
 to grant a reprieve, and telegraphed to the Zillu’s-Sultan to that 
 effect, but too late to stop the execution of the sentence. The two 
 Seyyids, having refused to purchase life by apostasy*, had their 
 throats cut; cords were then attached to their feet, and their 
 bodies were dragged through the streets and bazaars to the gate 
 
 1 The account actually given me by the da//d/ on this occasion begins here. 
 What precedes was told me subsequently at Shiraz by another of the Babi mis- 
 sionaries, who added other particulars, amongst which was a statement, which 
 one cannot but hope may be untrue, that the telegram containing the reprieve 
 actually reached the Zillu’s-Sultan before the execution had taken place; that 
 he divined its contents, laid it aside unopened till news reached him that the 
 Seyyids had been put to death, and then sent an answer to Teheran expressing 
 regret that the sentence had been carried out before the remand came. I have 
 thought it better to put the whole story in outline in the mouth of the da//d/, 
 reserving a few incidents which I subsequently learned for narration in their 
 proper place. 
 
234 ISFAHAN 
 
 of the city, where they were cast under an old mud wall, which 
 was then overthrown upon them. 
 
 “When it was night an old servant of the martyred men, who 
 had marked the spot where their bodies were cast, came thither, 
 and extricated them from the débris of the ruined wall, the fall 
 of which had scarcely injured them. He tenderly washed away 
 the blood and dust which covered them with water from the 
 Zayanda-Rud, and then bore them to the cemetery, where he 
 buried them in two freshly-made graves. 
 
 “In the morning the soldiers and servants of the Prince dis- 
 covered the removal of the bodies. Suspicion fell on the faithful 
 old servant, but he refused to reveal anything under the cross- 
 examination to which he was subjected, so that eventually they 
 were compelled to let him go, and the bodies of the martyrs were 
 left in peace. But we cannot mark the spot where they are buried 
 with a stone, for when one was put up, the Musulmans, whose 
 malignity towards us is unbounded, and who know very well 
 that we pay visits to these graves in secret, overthrew it. Our 
 friend here” (pointing to his companion) “was brought to 
 believe by means of these martyrs. Was it not so?” 
 
 “Yes,” answered the other, ““some time after their death I 
 saw in a dream vast crowds of people visiting a certain spot in 
 the cemetery. I asked in my dream, ‘Whose are these graves?’ 
 An answer came, ‘Those of the “King of Martyrs” and the 
 “Beloved of Martyts.”’ Then I believed in that faith for which 
 they had witnessed with their blood, seeing that it was accepted 
 of God; and since then I visit them continually, and strive to 
 keep them neat and orderly, and preserve the spot from oblivion 
 by renewing the border of bricks and the heap of stones which is 
 all that marks it.” 
 
 “He is a good man,” rejoined the da//d/, “and formerly those 
 of the ‘Friends’ who came to visit the graves used to rest for 
 a while in the little house which he has near here, and partake 
 of tea and kalydns. The Musulmans, however, found this out, 
 
ISFAHAN 235 
 
 made a taid on his house, abused and threatened him, and, before 
 they departed, destroyed his tea-things and pipes. He is very 
 poor,” he added in a whisper, “give him a &rdw for his trouble; 
 it is an action which has merit.” 
 
 I accordingly gave a small present to our guide, who departed 
 with expressions of gratitude. After sitting a little while longer 
 we too rose to go, and, taking a last look at the graves, from each 
 of which I carried away a small stone as a memento, we once 
 more turned our faces towards the city. On our way towards 
 the gate of the cemetery we again passed the poor grave-digger 
 with his little boy, and he again greeted me with expressions of 
 thankfulness and good wishes for my journey. 
 
 I was much touched by the kindliness of these poor people, 
 and communicated something of my thoughts to my companion. 
 
 “Yes,” he answered, ““we are much neater to you in sympathy 
 than the Muhammadans. To them you ate unclean and accursed: 
 if they associate with you it is only by overcoming their religious 
 prejudices, But we are taught to regard all good men as clean 
 and pure, whatever their religion. With you Christians especially 
 we have sympathy. Has it not struck you how similar were the 
 life and death of our Founder (whom, indeed, we believe to 
 have been Christ Himself returned to earth) to those of the 
 Founder of your faith? Both were wise, even in their childhood, 
 beyond the comprehension of those around them; both were pure 
 and blameless in their lives; and both at last were done to death 
 by a fanatical priesthood and a government alarmed at the love 
 and devotion which they inspired in their disciples!. But besides 
 this the ordinances enjoined upon us are in many respects like 
 those which you follow. We are recommended to take to our- 
 
 1 The Babis for the most part, unlike the Muhammadans, believe that 
 Christ was actually crucified by the Jews, and not, as the latter assert, taken 
 up into heaven miraculously, while another, resembling Him in appearance, 
 was crucified in His stead. But few of the Muhammadans are conversant with 
 the Gospels, while the reverse holds good of the Babis, many of whom take 
 pleasure in reading the accounts of the life and death of Jesus Christ. 
 
236 ISFAHAN 
 
 selves only one wife, to treat our families with tenderness and 
 gentleness, and, while paying the utmost attention to personal 
 cleanliness, to disregard the ceremonials of purification and the 
 minute details concerning legal impurity, of which the Musul- 
 mans make so much. Further, we believe that women ought 
 to be allowed to mix more freely with men, and should not be 
 compelled to wear the veil. At present, fear of the Muham- 
 madans compels us to act as they do in these matters, and the 
 same consideration affects many other ordinances which are not 
 obligatory on us when their observance would involve danger. 
 Thus our fast is not in Ramazan, but during the nineteen days 
 preceding the Nawrizx (“New Yeatr’s Day’!); we are now in this 
 period, but I am not observing the fast, because to do so would 
 expose me to danger, and we are forbidden to incur needless 
 risk. Our salutation, too, is different from that of the Muham- 
 madans; when we meet, we greet one another with the words 
 © Allahu abhd’ (‘God is most bright’). Of course we only use this 
 form of greeting when none but ‘Friends’ are present.” 
 
 “Can you tecognise one another in any special way?” I 
 asked. 
 
 “T think we can do so by the light of, affection,” answered 
 my companion, “‘and in support of this I will tell you a curious 
 thing which I myself observed. My little boy, who is not ten 
 years old, greeted Mirza Hasan ‘Ali, whom you met in my house 
 yesterday, with the words *A//dhu abhd’ the very first time he 
 saw him, while I have never known him use this form of saluta- 
 tion to a Muhammadan.”’ 
 
 “Your doctrines and practices,” I observed, “certainly seem 
 to me very much better than those of the Musulmans, so far as 
 I have understood them at present.” 
 
 “Their doctrines,” he rejoined, “are as untenable as their 
 actions are corrupt. They have lost the very spirit of religion, 
 
 1 I.e. the old Persian New Yeat’s Day, which falls about 21st March, at the 
 vernal equinox. 
 
ISFAHAN 237 
 
 while degrading symbols into superstitions. See, for example, 
 what they say concerning the signs of the Imam Mahdi’s coming. 
 They expect Antichrist to come riding on an ass, the distance 
 between the ears of which shall be a mile, while at each stride 
 it shall advance a parasang. They further assert that each of 
 the hairs on its body shall emit the sweetest melodies, which 
 will charm all who allow themselves to listen into following 
 Antichrist. Some of the mu//ds believe that this ass, the exist- 
 ence of which it is impossible to credit, if one reflects for a 
 moment on the absurdity of the characteristics attributed to it, 
 is concealed in Yangi-dunyd (‘the New World,’ z.e. America), which 
 they say is ‘opposite’ to Isfahan, and that in the fullness of time 
 it will appear out of a well in this neighbourhood. The absence 
 of these impossible and imaginary signs was the excuse whereby 
 they justified their disbelief in His Highness the Point (ze. the 
 Bab), and refused to see in him the Promised Deliverer whom 
 they professed to be expecting. But we, who understand all 
 these signs in a metaphorical sense, see very well that they have 
 been already fulfilled. For what is Antichrist but a type of those 
 who oppose the truth and slay the holy ones of God? What is 
 the ass of Antichrist, striding across the earth, and seducing all 
 those who will give ear to the sweet strains proceeding from it, 
 but these same foolish mu//ds who support the temporal powers 
 in attempting to crush the Truth, and please the natural in- 
 clinations and lusts of men by their false teachings. ‘The 
 possessions of the infidel are lawful unto you,’ they proclaim. 
 How easy a doctrine to receive, and how profitable! This is but 
 one instance of these ‘sweet strains’ to which all whose eyes are 
 not opened to the Truth of God, and whose hearts are not filled 
 by the Voice of His Spirit, lend their ears so readily. In a similar 
 manner do we understand all the symbols which they have 
 degraded into actual external objects. Thus the Bridge of Sirdt, 
 overt which all must pass to enter Paradise, which is ‘finer than 
 a hair and sharper than a sword,’ what is it but faith in the 
 
238 ISFAHAN 
 
 Manifestation of God, which is so difficult to the hard of heart, 
 the worldly, and the proud?” 
 
 Conversing thus, we arrived at the side of the river, just where 
 it is spanned by the bridge called Pul-i-Khaju, a much finer 
 structure than even the bridge of thirty-three arches which I had 
 admired so much on my entry into Julfa. My companion sug- 
 gested that we should sit here awhile on the lower terrace (for 
 the bridge is built on two levels) and smoke a ka/ydn, and to this 
 I readily consented. 
 
 After admiring the massive piers and solid masonry of the 
 bridge, and the wide sweep here made by the Zayanda-Rud, 
 we resumed our way along the southern bank in the direction 
 of Julf4. On our way we visited the deserted palace called 
 Haft-dast (‘Seven Hands”). Here was visible the same neglected 
 splendour and ruined magnificence which was discernible else- 
 where. One building, the Namak-ddn (‘Salt-cellar”), had just 
 been pulled down by one of the ministers of the Zillu’s-Sultan to 
 afford material for a house which he was building for himself. 
 Another, called A’iné-khdné (“the Chamber of Mirrors”), was 
 nearly stripped of the ornaments which gave it its name, the 
 remainder being for the most part broken and cracked. Every- 
 where it was the same—crumbling walls, heaps of rubbish, and 
 marred works of art, still beautiful in spite of injuries, due as much 
 to wanton mischief as to mere neglect. Would that some portion 
 of that money which is spent in building new palaces in the 
 capital, and constructing mihmdn-khdnés neither beautiful nor 
 pleasant, were devoted to the preservation of the glorious relics 
 of a past age! That, however, is as a rule the last thing an Oriental 
 monarch cares about. ‘To construct edifices which may perpetuate 
 his own name is of far more importance in his eyes than to 
 protect from injury those built by his predecessors, which, indeed, 
 he is perhaps not sorty to see crumbling away like the dynasties 
 which reared them. And so it goes on—king succeeding king, 
 dynasty overthrowing dynasty, ruin added to ruin; and through 
 
ISFAHAN 239 
 
 it all the mighty spirit of the people “‘dreaming the dream of the 
 soul’s disentanglement,” while the stony-eyed lions of Persepolis 
 look forth in their endless watch over a nation which slumbers, 
 but is not dead. 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 VV ay : 
 
 CASE TR eos. 
 
 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 “Wa jald’s-suytlu ‘ani’ t-tululi, ka’ annahd 
 Zuburen, tujiddu mutina-hd aklamu-hd. 
 Fa-wakaftu as’alu-hd: fa-keyfa st’ dlu-na 
 Summen khawalida, ma _yabinu kalému-hd?”’ 
 
 “And the torrents have laid bare its traces, as though 
 ’T were a book of which a pen renews the characters. 
 And I stood questioning them: but how can we question 
 Dumb rocks, whose speech is not clear?” —(Mo‘allaka of Lebid.) 
 
 “ Shirdz, u ab-i-Ruknd, va dn bad-i-khush-nasim; 
 ‘Ayb-ash ma-kun, ki khdl-i-rukh-i-haft kishvar-ast!” 
 
 “Shiraz, and the stream of Ruknabad, and that fragrant breeze— 
 Disparage it not, for it is the beauty-spot of the seven regions!” 
 
 (Hapiz.) 
 “ Chin mi-guzari bi-khak-i-Shirdz 
 Gu man bi-fulin zamin asir-am !” 
 
 “When thou passest by the earth of Shiraz 
 Say I am a captive in such-and-such a land!” 
 
 NCE again the vicissitudes and charms of the toad are 
 
 before me, but in this case a new and potent factor, hitherto 
 absent, comes in to counteract the regret which one must always 
 feel in quitting a place where one has been kindly received and 
 hospitably entertained, and where one has made friends, most 
 of whom one will in all probability never meet again. This 
 potent incentive to delay my departure no longer is the thought 
 that when I quit Isfahan, less than a week will see me in the 
 classical province of Fars, less than a fortnight will bring me 
 to the glories of Persepolis, and that after that two short days 
 will unfold before my longing eyes the shrines and gardens of 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 241 
 
 “the pute earth of Shiraz,” which has been throughout the goal 
 of my pilgrimage. 
 
 Of course the first day’s march was no exception to the 
 general rule I have already laid down. I was aroused before 
 8 a.m., and informed that the muleteers were ready to start, 
 and desired to do so at once, as they proposed to “‘break a 
 stage,” as the expression goes—that is, to push on a distance of 
 eight or nine parasangs to Mayar, the second halting-place out 
 of Isfahan to the south. I accordingly dressed hurriedly, and 
 finished packing, full of anxiety to secure so desirable a con- 
 summation as the shortening of the less interesting part of the 
 journey by a whole day. When I descended, I found that the 
 muleteer had gone off again to fetch the inevitable sacking and 
 ropes which are always wanted, and apparently always forgotten. 
 I was compelled, therefore, to abandon all hopes of getting 
 further than Marg, some three parasangs distant from Julfa, 
 and to resign myself to an idle morning. It was not till after 
 lunch that all was ready for the start, and, bidding farewell to 
 my kind host, Dr Hoernle, I mounted the sorry steed assigned 
 to me, and, with my mind filled with delightful anticipations, 
 turned my face in the direction of Shiraz. Karapit, the head 
 servant of the Mission, accompanied me on my way as far as 
 the “Farewell Fountain” (rendered conspicuous by the solitary 
 tree which stands beside it), and even for some distance beyond 
 it, till the post-house of Marg appeared in the distance. Then 
 he turned back, wishing us a good journey; and a monotonous 
 ride of an hour or so brought us to our halting-place (which 
 the muleteers, for some reason, had changed from Marg to a 
 village somewhat farther on, called Kal‘a-i-Shir) while it was 
 still early in the afternoon. We put up at a dilapidated caravan- 
 satay, where nothing occurred to vary the monotony, except the 
 attival, some time after sunset, of a party of Jewish minstrels 
 and dancing-boys, who were, like ourselves, bound for Shiraz. 
 
 Next day we left the plain, and entered the rugged defile 
 
 B 16 
 
242 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 known as the Urchini Pass, the somewhat monotonous grandeur 
 of which was enlivened by numbers of pilgrims bound for 
 Kerbel4, by way of Isfah4n and Kirmanshah, whom Haji Safar 
 did not fail to greet with a salutation of “Ziydratat kabul!” 
 (“May your pilgrimage be accepted!”’). Here I may remark that 
 the greetings used on the road differ from those employed 
 elsewhere, and each one has its appropriate answer. The. com- 
 monest of them are, “Fursat bdshad!” (“May it be an oppot- 
 tunity!’’), to which the answet is, “‘ Khudd bi-shumd fursat dihad!” 
 (“May God give you opportunity!”’); and “Oghir bdshad!” 
 (‘May it be luck!”’), the reply to which is, “Oghdr-i-shumd bt- 
 khayr bad!” (“May your luck be good!”’). 
 
 It was not yet 3 p.m. when we teached Mayar, and halted 
 at an old caravansaray, the construction of which was, as usual, 
 attributed to Shah ‘Abb4s. There was nothing to do but to while 
 away the time as well as might be by lounging about, looking 
 at the few travellers who had taken up their quarters at this dis- 
 consolate spot, and superintending the culinary operations of 
 Haji Safar. 
 
 The next day’s match was almost precisely similar to that 
 of the previous day—a gray, stony, glaring plain (thinly covered 
 with camel-thorn and swarming with lizards), on either side 
 of which were bare black hills of rugged outline. Soon after 
 2 p.m. we came in sight of the blue dome of an Imdmzddé, situated 
 in the precincts of the considerable town of Kumishah. As it 
 was a Thursday (Shab-7- Juma, Friday Eve), which is the great 
 day for performing minor pilgrimages and visiting the graves 
 of deceased friends, we met streams of the inhabitants coming 
 forth from the town bent on such pious errands. Taking them 
 all round, I think they were the most ill-favoured, dour-looking 
 people I ever saw in Persia. Generally, however forbidding the 
 appearance of the men may be (of the women one cannot judge, 
 since they keep their faces veiled), the children at least are pretty 
 and attractive. But in all these files of people whom we met I 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 243 
 
 hardly saw a single face which was otherwise than sour and 
 forbidding. 
 
 Before 3 p.m. I reached the telegraph station, and was wel- 
 comed by Mr Gifford, the resident telegraphist, and his wife. 
 The son of the Governor of Kumishah, Mirza Aka by name, 
 was there, and later he was joined by his father, Mirza Mahdi 
 Khan, who had come to try and extract some information about 
 the political outlook in Isfahan. It appeared that an unfortunate 
 man from Izidkhwast had arrived in Kumishah on that or the 
 preceding day, bringing the news of the Zillu’s-Sultan’s dismissal. 
 This news was naturally very unwelcome to the Governor—so 
 unwelcome that he not only declined to believe it, but ordered 
 the man who brought it to be bastinadoed. Although this had 
 the effect of checking further speculation and gossip, the Gover- 
 nor was unable to overcome a certain feeling of uneasiness as 
 to his future tenure of office, and hence these visits to the tele- 
 graph-office. 
 
 Next morning the muleteer came to see me early, and offered 
 to push on to Amin-abad that day and to Shulghistan in Fars 
 on the morrow. I found, however, that this procedure would 
 involve passing some distance to the east of the curious village 
 of Izidkhwast or YezdikhwAst, which I was anxious to see. I 
 therefore decided to go no farther than Maksud Beg, and as this 
 was only four parasangs distant, I gladly accepted the invitation 
 of my kind host to stay to lunch and start after mid-day. The 
 march was absolutely without interest, and the village of Maksud 
 Beg, whete we arrived about 4.30 p.m., was a most desolate- 
 looking spot. Here we found the Jewish minstrels who had over- 
 taken us at Marg entertaining the muleteers and villagers with 
 a concert in the caravansaray. The music appeared to me very 
 pleasing. This, and the exhilarating thought that on the morrow 
 I should bid farewell to ‘Irak, and enter the classical province 
 of Fars, the cradle of Persian greatness, enabled me to bear with 
 equanimity the dullness of the dilapidated caravansaray. I was 
 
 16-2 
 
244 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 further regaled with a dissertation by Haji Safar on the virtues 
 of the wood-louse. This animal, he informed me, only appears 
 for a short period before the Nawr#éz. At that great festival 
 people take it in their hands along with gold coins, “for luck.” 
 It bears different names in the north and south: in Teheran it 
 is called Ahar-i-khdki (“ Earth-ass”’), while in Shiraz it enjoys the 
 more pretentious title of kharak-i-khudd’? (“ Divine little donkey”). 
 
 On the following morning (10th March) we got off about 
 7-45 a.m. The scenery was similar to that of the preceding 
 two days—a stony valley, bounded by parallel chains of hills. 
 As we advanced, the hills to the east became lower and lower, 
 finally being reduced to broken fin-like ridges, situated one 
 behind another, while beyond these, bordering the western edge 
 of the plain, high snow mountains began to come into view, 
 which the muleteer informed me belonged to the province of 
 Luristan. About 11.15 a.m. we halted for lunch at Amin-abad, 
 the last village in ‘Irak. From this point we could clearly see 
 before us a small conical hill, beyond which lay the hamlet of 
 Yezdikhwast, which I was so anxious to see. I had read many 
 accounts of this natural fastness, perched on a precipitous tock, 
 and accordingly, as we drew near the conical hill (which is called 
 Telé-pildy, 1 suppose from its resemblance in shape to the pile 
 of rice which constitutes this dish), I strained my eyes eagerly 
 to catch a glimpse of its eyry-like abodes. 
 
 My first impressions were a mixture of disappointment and 
 surprise. On passing the hill I could plainly discern the green 
 dome of a little I~dmzddé sutrounded by a straggling cemetery: 
 beyond this, apparently on the same level, and situated on the 
 flat plain which we were traversing, appeared the village of 
 Yezdikhwast. Where was its boasted inaccessibility, and the 
 sheer precipices which, as all travellers asserted, rendered it one 
 of the most marvellous natural fastnesses to be found in the 
 world? No amount of exaggeration, I thought, could account 
 for such a description of the place I saw before me, which ap- 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 245 
 
 parently did not enjoy even the most trifling elevation above the 
 suttounding plain. While I was reflecting thus, and wondering 
 if the muleteers had, for some object of their own, deceived me, 
 we passed through the cemetery, and all at once came upon one 
 of the most remarkable sights I ever saw. 
 
 Right across our path lay a mighty chasm, looking like the 
 dry bed of some giant river of the past. In the middle of this 
 stood what I can only describe as a long narrow island, with 
 precipitous sides, the summit of which was crowned with tier 
 upon tier of gray, flat-roofed dwellings, which even hung over 
 the edge of the cliff, supported by beams and rafters. These, 
 projecting outwards in all directions, gave to the place the 
 appearance of some strange collection of birds’ nests rather than 
 of human habitations. At the upper (ze. the western) end this 
 island was almost joined to the northern edge of the chasm, the 
 comparatively shallow depression which separated them being 
 spanned by a drawbridge, by raising which all access to the town 
 can be cut off. At all other points a sheer precipice, increasing 
 in height towards the east, protects it from all possibility of 
 invasion. 
 
 At Yezdikhwast the road to Shiraz bifurcates. What is called 
 the sar-hadd, or summer toad, beats to the south-west into the 
 mountains; while the garmsir, or winter road, crosses the chasm 
 ot valley below Yezdikhwast, and trends towards the south-east. 
 As it was still early in the year, and the snow was not yet gone 
 from the uplands traversed by the former, we had determined 
 on following the latter, which course had this additional advan- 
 tage, that it would lead us past Persepolis. 
 
 The inhabitants of Yezdikhwast do not apparently cate to 
 have strangers dwelling in their cliff-girt abode; at any rate, the 
 caravansaray and post-house are bothsituated at the bottom of the 
 chasm, across the little river (Ab-i-Marvan) which flows through 
 it, and to the south-east of the crag on which the village stands. 
 On coming in sight of the brink of the chasm we therefore 
 
246 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 made a detour to the right (west) which brought us to the 
 point where the drawbridge is placed, whence a path leads down 
 the side of the gully to the caravansaray, where we arrived in 
 about a quarter of an hour. It is a very fine edifice, built, as an 
 insctiption over the gateway testifies, by “‘the most potent king 
 - and most generous prince, the diffuser of the faith of the pure 
 Im4ms,...the dog of the threshold of ‘Ali the son of Abu- 
 Talib,...‘Abbd4s the Safavi, may God perpetuate his kingdom 
 and rule!” The inscription is very beautifully executed, but un- 
 fortunately it has been greatly injured, many of the tiles having 
 been removed, and others broken. I asked the villagers why they 
 did not take better care of a building of which they ought to 
 feel proud. They replied that it was not their fault: thirteen 
 ot fourteen yeats ago a “‘Firangi” came by, and, wishing to 
 possess some of the tiles, offered one of the men at the post- 
 house two or three #4mdns if he would remove some of them. 
 The temptation was too strong for the latter, and accordingly 
 he went the same night with a hammer and chisel to carry out 
 the traveller’s wishes. Of course he broke at least as many tiles 
 as he removed, and a noble monument of the past was irreparably 
 injured to gratify a traveller’s passing whim. 
 
 I was anxious to see the interior of the village, and accordingly 
 asked some of the inhabitants who came to stare at me whether 
 they could take me over it. They readily agreed to do so, and 
 after tea I sallied forth with my guides, crossed the fields, already 
 green with sprouting wheat, and, skirting the southern face of 
 this natural citadel, reached the drawbridge at the western end. 
 Passing over this, we entered a dark passage, which, with 
 occasional outlets into comparatively open spaces, traverses, or 
 rather tunnels through, the whole village from west to east. 
 This is the only street, for the rock is narrow, though long, and 
 there is not room in most places for more than two houses side 
 by side. My guides informed me that their town, of which they 
 seemed proud in no small degree, was very old—300 years older 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 247 
 
 than Isfahan—and, in proof of their assertion, they pointed to 
 a stone in the gateway on which they said I should find the date. 
 As a matter of fact, the only date I could see was (A.H.) 
 1218 (about A.D. 1803), but there appeared to be other more 
 ot less obliterated characters which the gloom pervading 
 even the entrance of this dim passage would not suffer me to 
 decipher. 
 
 As we advanced, the street, at first open above, became 
 entirely covered over by houses, and the darkness was such 
 that we could not see a yard ahead, and were only saved from 
 continual collisions with other passengers by the cries of “Yd 
 Alléh” attered by my companions to give warning of our 
 approach. 
 
 The houses are for the most part three or four stories high, 
 and are entered by stairs communicating directly with the street. 
 On the outer side they are furnished with platforms or balconies, 
 one above the other, which overhang the cliff in a most perilous 
 manner. On to some of these my guides took me that I might 
 admire the view, but my enjoyment of this was somewhat 
 marred by the sense of insecurity with which the very frail 
 appearance of the platforms inspired me. “I should have 
 thought,” said I to my guides, “‘that these platforms would have 
 been very dangerous to your children, for I observe that they 
 ate provided with no rail to prevent anyone from falling over.” 
 “They are dangerous,” was the quite unconcerned reply; “hardly 
 a year passes without two or three falling over and being killed.” 
 **I wonder the houses themselves don’t fall,” I remarked after 
 a brief interval, during which the palpable weakness of the flimsy 
 structure had become more than ever manifest to me. ‘‘ They 
 do,” replied the unmoved villagers; “look there.” I turned my 
 eyes in the direction indicated, and saw a dismal wreck hanging 
 over the edge of the cliff. Feeling my curiosity quite satisfied, 
 I suggested that we should continue our tour of inspection, 
 whereupon they took me into one of the houses, which appeared 
 
248 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 to be the chief shop of the place, and set before me an array of 
 nuts and fruits, a few of which I felt compelled to eat as a matter 
 of courtesy, while the villagers watched me with grave and polite 
 attention. 
 
 We next visited the mosque, which seemed ancient, though 
 - I could find no date graven on its walls—nothing but the usual 
 summary of Shi‘ite faith: “‘ There 7s no God but God: Muhammad 
 is the Apostle of God: “Ali is the Friend of God.” Though mote 
 solid in structure than the other buildings, it is very simply 
 adorned, for it contains nothing but a minbar, or pulpit, looking 
 more like a step-ladder than anything else. This, and the arch of 
 the mibrdb by which it stood, were the sole features whereby one 
 could divine that the place was not intended for a barn or a 
 granaty. 
 
 On leaving the mosque we visited the one other shop which 
 this primitive place contains, where I was politely compelled 
 to accept of a quantity of that gruesome sweetmeat known as 
 shakkar-panir (““sugat-cheese’’). Then we quitted the village by 
 the same way whereby we had entered it (for indeed there is no 
 other), and returned to the caravansaray. Though I retired to 
 bed early, I lay awake for some time watching the lights which 
 twinkled from the airy dwellings of Yezdikhwast and gave to 
 the shadowy outline of the great rock somewhat the appearance 
 of a gigantic vessel lying at anchor in a river. 
 
 Next day we ascended the southern side of the gully by a 
 road running eastwards, until we again reached the summit of 
 the plateau. Here I halted for a few moments to gaze once 
 more on the picturesque scene, and then we struck off towards 
 the south, still bearing somewhat to the east. On the road we 
 met many peasants and some few travellers; they nearly all 
 carried arms, and were as a rule darker in complexion and fiercer 
 in aspect than the inhabitants of ‘Irak. About 2.30 p.m. we 
 atrived at Shulghistan, a small picturesque village, rendered 
 conspicuous by a green-domed Imdmzddé, close to which is 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 249 
 
 situated the dilapidated caravansaray. Since the latter appeared 
 incapable of furnishing comfortable quarters, we betook our- 
 selves to the chdpdr-khdné (post-house) opposite, where I was 
 provided with a very comfortable room. The postmaster (nd’zb- 
 chdpar) was extremely courteous and attentive, and sat con- 
 versing with me for some time. From him I learned that the 
 news of the Zillu’s-Sultan’s fall, and the consequent dismissal 
 of all his deputy-governors, had created great excitement through- 
 out Fars, and especially at Shiraz, where the Sahib-Divan, in 
 whom the administration of the province had hitherto been 
 virtually vested, was greatly disliked. His dismissal was the signal 
 for universal rejoicing, and it was said that Riza Khan, the chief 
 of one of the Arab tribes settled in the neighbourhood of Shiraz, 
 was encamped near the Tomb of Cyrus at Murghab, waiting for 
 the arrival of the ex-governor, against whom he was breathing 
 threats of vengeance. The postmaster thought, however, that 
 the tidings of the advance of the new governor, Prince Ihtisha- 
 mu’d-Dawla, who had already reached, or nearly reached, 
 Isfahan, would prevent him from proceeding to extremities. 
 
 Later on another man came in, whose one sole topic of con- 
 vetsation was dervishes, for whom he professed the most un- 
 bounded regard. His enthusiasm had apparently been aroused 
 by the recent visit of some celebrated saint from Kirman. I 
 ventured to ask him if there were any Babis in Shulghistan, at 
 the very idea of which he expressed the utmost horror, adding 
 with pride, ““We would at once slay anyone whom we suspected 
 of belonging to that sect, for here, thank God, we are all followers 
 of Murtaza ‘Ali.”’ 
 
 His attitude towards the Babis did not encourage me to make 
 further enquiries in this direction, and I therefore allowed him 
 to ramble on about his dervishes, Imams, and miracles. He in- 
 formed me, amongst numerous other stories of equal probability, 
 that there was a mountain two parasangs to the east of Yezdikh- 
 wast called Shah Kannab. There, he said, the two sons of 
 
250 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 “Hazrat-i-‘Abbas” took refuge in bygone days from the “‘army 
 of the infidels.”” The mountain opened to receive them, and 
 they passed within it; the infidels followed after them, but no 
 sooner had they entered than the rocks closed up behind them, 
 and shut them in. | 
 
 “That was very wonderful,” I said, “but tell me what became 
 of them, for I should have thought that it would have been better 
 if the mountain had closed before the ‘army of the infidels’ 
 could follow the two saints. As it was, it seems to me that they 
 were all shut up together.” 
 
 “Yes,” replied the narrator, ““but, you see, the infidels were 
 all turned into stone at once. You might see them still if you 
 knew the way which leads to that wondrous cavern—men, 
 horses, camels, camel-drivers, children at their lessons, still 
 holding in their hands the books they were reading—all turned 
 to stone! It is a wonderful thing!” 
 
 “So I should think,” I answered, wondering inwardly whether 
 armies of infidels usually carried a host of school-children about 
 with them when they went in pursuit of fugitive saints; “‘but 
 you haven’t told me what happened to the Imams who were so 
 miraculously preserved. Did they make their escape after this 
 sional mark of Divine Displeasure had been accomplished?” 
 
 “No, they did not,” rejoined my informant; “they dwell 
 there still, and by their holy influence many wonderful miracles 
 are wtought, some of which I will tell you. There is a shrine 
 with two minarets on the mountain, and these minarets every 
 year recede farther and farther apart, a fact well known to all 
 in this neighbourhood. Furthermore, whoever goes there, and 
 prays, and then fixes his thoughts on anything which he desires 
 to possess—gold, silver, or precious stones—can take it from 
 the rock to his heart’s content.” 
 
 “And pray,” I asked, “‘can one find one’s way to this mar- 
 vellous mountain?”’ 
 
 ““No, you cannot,” retorted the other; “‘I could take you 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 251 
 
 there if I chose, but I will not do so. Sahib, who was for- 
 merly se/egrafchi at Abadé, offered me money if I would show him 
 the way, but I refused, for it is not lawful to reveal to unbelievers 
 these holy spots.” 
 
 “That is a pity,” I said; “and I venture to suggest that you 
 act unwisely in thus hindering them from witnessing miracles 
 whereby they might perhaps be brought to embrace Islam. It is 
 precisely for unbelievers that miracles are intended.” 
 
 “Well,” replied my informant, “there is perhaps reason in 
 what you say. But it is not necessary to go there to witness 
 proofs of the power possessed by the blessed Imams. Of this 
 we had a signal proof during last Muharram. A pdvan (ibex or 
 mountain-goat) came at that time to the Imdmzddé across the 
 road, and took up its abode there for six months. Finally it 
 died, and is buried under a tree in the courtyard. We had no 
 doubt but that it was sent thither by the command of the blessed 
 Imams to strengthen the faith of all of us who witnessed it.” 
 
 Altogether, I spent a very amusing evening with my talkative 
 friend, who, delighted to find an appreciative listener, remained 
 while I ate my supper, and did not finally leave till it was time 
 to retire for the night. 
 
 Next day was bright and windy. The scenery through which 
 we passed was of the usual type—a stony plain full of camel- 
 thorn (now putting forth beautiful crimson blossoms from its 
 apparently sapless branches) between parallel ranges of barren 
 hills. The ground swarmed with lizards of two distinct types, 
 the ordinary brown lizard and the Buz-mayé. This latter is an 
 animal which, as I subsequently learned, sometimes attains a 
 length of three or four feet, but the length of most of those 
 which I saw did not exceed as many inches. They have big clumsy 
 heads furnished with spines, and long tails constricted at the 
 point where they join the body, which they have a habit of 
 jerking up into an erect position. They ate very nimble in their 
 movements, and when frightened dart away like a dusky shadow 
 
 
 
452 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 for a few feet, and again come to a standstill. Haji Safar began 
 to tell me a long rambling story about the creation of the Buz- 
 mapjé, whereby he sought to account for its harmlessness. He 
 related this story in the dreamy, visionary manner which oc- 
 casionally came over him, and in the soft lisping accents of the 
 South. I was not paying much attention to his narrative, the 
 upshot of which appeared to be that the animals after their 
 creation all came into the presence of their Creator and sought 
 permission to be allowed to injure man, their master and tyrant, 
 at some appointed time. All recetved this permission, except 
 the Bay-mayé, which came late, and so was forced to be content 
 with a harmlessness far removed from its malicious desites. 
 
 My attention revived, however, when he began to talk about 
 Shiraz. “In eleven days mote, Sahib, you will see Shiraz: perhaps 
 in ten, if you do not stop at Takht-i- Jamshid (Persepolis). You 
 will then enter it on the Nawri#z: all the people—men, women, 
 and children—will be out in the gardens and fields; many of 
 them in the Tang-i-Alahu- Akbar, through which you will catch 
 your first glimpse of the city. All will be dressed in new clothes, 
 as smart as they can make themselves, enjoying the beautiful 
 green fields, singing, smoking ka/ydns, and drinking tea. There 
 is no other city like Shiraz: all about it the earth is green with 
 gtass; even the roofs of the bazaars are covered with herbage. 
 It is the Green City of Solomon (shabr-i-sabz-i-Suleymdn). And 
 the people are so quick and clever and generous. Not like those 
 miserable, miserly Isfahanis, nor yet like those stupid, thick- 
 headed Khurasanis. Have I ever told you the verses made by 
 the Isfahani, the Shirazi, and the Khurdasani, Sahib?” 
 
 “No,” I answered; “I should like to hear them very much.” 
 
 “Once upon a time,” he resumed, ‘“‘an Isfahani, a Shirazi, 
 and Khurasani were travelling together. Now, one night they 
 succeeded in getting a dish of pi/dy, and the Isfahani, being a 
 witty fellow, as well as stingy (like all his rascally countrymen), 
 suggested that no one should be allowed to have a share of the 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 253 
 
 pildy unless he could make a verse about his native country. 
 To this they agreed, and the Isfahani began— 
 ‘ Ax Safahdin meyve-t-haft-rang mi-dyad birun,’ 
 (‘From Isfahan fruits of seven colours come forth.’) 
 The Shirazi, without a moment’s hesitation—for all Shirazis have 
 a natutal gift for versifying—went on— 
 * Ab-i-Rukndbdd-i-md az sang mt-dyad birtin? 
 (‘Our stream of Ruknabad comes forth from the rock.’) 
 It was now the Khurasani’s turn, but he, poor fellow, being 
 very stupid and slow, after the manner of his countrymen, could 
 not think of a rhyme for a long time, and was in great fear that 
 he would lose his pi/dw after all, when suddenly an inspiration 
 came to him, and he concluded the stanza thus:— 
 ‘Ag Khurdsdn misl-i-man aldang mt-dyad birtin? 
 (‘Out of Khurdsan come forth blackguards like me.’) 
 Aldang, you know, is the Khurasani word for a /#/7, a rough, or 
 street vagabond.” 
 
 About 2 p.m. we arrived at the little town of Abddé, another 
 stronghold of the Babis. It will be remembered that the Babi 
 missionary at Isfahan, on bidding me farewell, had promised to 
 write to one of his co-religionists here, as well as at Shiraz, to be 
 on the look-out for me. I therefore hoped that I might have an 
 opportunity of holding further conversation with the members 
 of the proscribed sect, but in this hope I was disappointed, for 
 the shortness of my stay in the town, and the hospitality of 
 Sergeant Glover of the telegraph station, did not give me leisure 
 to seek out the person indicated to me. I was very favourably 
 impressed with Abdadé in every way, and the approach to it, 
 through lanes surrounded by orchards and gardens, the trees of 
 which were already bursting into blossom and filling the air 
 with their fragrance, was very beautiful. 
 
 At the telegraph station I was cordially received by Sergeant 
 Glover and his eldest son, a bright, clever boy of about fifteen, 
 
254 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 who had an excellent knowledge of Persian. I was most hospit- 
 ably entertained, and after dinner we sat up late discussing 
 Persian folk-lore, concerning which my host was a perfect mine 
 of information. He told me of a place called the Pari-ho/, or fairy 
 hole, near Soh; of marvellous wells and caves in the mountains; 
 ~ and of a hill where an old fire-worshipper was said to have taken 
 refuge from his persecutors, who marked the spot with a pile of 
 stones, meaning to return next day and renew their search. During 
 the night, however, by the Divine Power, the whole hill was 
 covered with similar heaps of stones, which utterly baffled the 
 seatch of the persecutors. These heaps are said still to be visible. 
 
 Next day a short march of about three hours brought us to the 
 post-house of Surmé. On arriving there, I was surprised to see 
 a European traveller standing at the door, who greeted me in 
 English. He proved to be one of the telegraph staff at Shiraz 
 travelling up to Isfahan and Teheran, and kindly offered me a 
 share of the bala-khdné (uppet-room), which was the only respect- 
 able apartment in the post-house. Even that was horribly cold 
 and draughty, for a violent wind was still blowing. Notwith- 
 standing this, we spent a very pleasant evening together, and, by 
 combining our resources, managed to produce a very respectable 
 supper. 
 
 Next day, after a leisurely breakfast, we parted on our te- 
 spective roads. The wind had dropped, the sky was cloudless, 
 and the sun very powerful. We could see the road stretching 
 away straight before us for three parasangs or so, when it took 
 a sudden turn to the left round an angle of the mountains. As we 
 advanced—very slowly, owing to the sorry condition of our 
 beasts—the plain gradually narrowed, and became broken by 
 great crests of rock rising abruptly out of the ground. The 
 mountains on the right (west) grew gradually higher and higher, 
 and their summits were now crowned with snow. On reaching 
 the angle of the road above-mentioned we halted by some 
 rocks for lunch. The spot was not devoid of beauty, which was 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 255 
 
 enhanced by the numerous pink and crimson blossoms of the 
 camel-thorn (shdh-pasand), which grew in profusion round about. 
 
 On leaving this place we began to ascend, and continued to do 
 so till, about 4 p.m., we reached the disconsolate stone caravan- 
 saray of Khan-i-Khurré, which stands quite alone and apart from 
 other habitations. It was crowded with people of all sorts: 
 Bakhtiyaris, and other tribesmen on their migrations towards 
 their summer quarters; people who had come out from Shiraz 
 and elsewhere’ to meet the new Governor and do him honour; 
 and a certain small contingent of ordinary travellers. I might 
 have had some difficulty in obtaining quarters if my acquaintance 
 of the previous day had not informed me that there was a special 
 room in the caravansatay, set apart for members of the telegraph 
 staff, which I might have by applying to the caravansaray- 
 keeper for the key. I did so, and thus obtained a warm, snug 
 room, where I might otherwise have been compelled to put up 
 with the most miserable quarters. Though the caravansaray was 
 in the most ruined and filthy condition, the ground being strewn 
 with dead camels and hotses in various stages of decay, the scene 
 was not lacking in interest owing to the strange costumes and 
 stranger appearance of the tribesmen. The women do not covet 
 their faces, and many of them are endowed with a certain wild 
 beauty. 
 
 After tea I had a visit from the postmaster (1a’tb-chdpdr), who 
 came to consult me about some disorder of the chest from which 
 he was suffering. He soon, however, forgot the object which 
 had brought him, and wandered off into a variety of topics, which 
 he illustrated with a surprising number of quotations from the 
 poets; and it was only when he rose to depart that he again 
 recutted to his ailments. His dreamy abstracted manner had 
 already led me to suspect that he was a votary of opium and other 
 narcotics, and in reply to a question to this effect he answered 
 that he did occasionally indulge in a pipe of ##rydék when depressed 
 in spirits. 
 
256 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 “Perhaps you take sashish now and then for a change?” I 
 asked. 
 
 “Well,” he replied, “I don’t deny that I do now and then.” 
 
 ““Of course you smoke the £a/ydn too?” 
 
 “Yes,” he said, “what else is there to do in this desolate spot 
 where there is no society except these tribesmen?” 
 
 “Well,” I said, “I wish very much that I could do anything 
 for you, but the state of the case is this: the essential principle 
 of treating diseases is to remove their cause, and unless this can 
 be done it is very little use to give medicines. Now, smoking 
 kalydns in excess disorders the chest, and I understand that you 
 do smoke them very often. Whether the opium and fashish which 
 you also take are answerable for the evil in any degree I can’t 
 say, but at any rate it is scarcely likely that they do you any good. 
 Just now you quoted this couplet from Hafiz— 
 
 * Dibkdn-i-sdl-khurdé ché khush guft ba pisar, 
 
 “ Key nuir-i-chashm-i-man, bi-juz az kishte na-d’ravi!”? 
 
 ‘How well said the aged farmer to his son, 
 
 *O Light of my eyes, thou shalt not reap save that which thou hast sown!’’’ 
 Now people who ‘sow’ kalydns (opium) and hashish necessarily 
 ‘reap’ bad chests; and I am afraid that, unless you can manage 
 to give them up, of at any rate confine your indulgence in them 
 to moderate limits, your chest will not get any better. Do you 
 think you can do this?” 
 
 “You are right,” he replied (convinced, I feel sure, more by 
 the quotation from Hafiz than by anything else), “‘and I will try 
 to follow your advice.” So saying, he departed and left me alone. 
 
 Next day we started early, as the muleteers were anxious to 
 “break” a stage—that is, to go three stages in two days; so that 
 our halting-place for the night was not to be Dihbid, where there 
 is a telegraph station, but Khan-i-Kirgan, situated some two 
 hours’ march beyond it. Our road continued to ascend almost 
 till we reached Dihbid, and once or twice we enjoyed a fine view 
 to the east across the Plain of Abarkuh to the great range of 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 257 
 
 mountains beyond which lies the city of Yezd. We were joined 
 for some distance by a dark, stalwart man, who turned out to 
 be a kdsid (courier) carrying letters from Abddé to Bawanat. He 
 was conversationally inclined, and told me tales of encounters 
 with wolves and other wild animals which abound in these 
 mountains, but the dialect which he spoke was difficult to com- 
 prehend, and prevented me from profiting by his anecdotes as 
 fully as I might otherwise have done. Suddenly we came to a 
 toad crossing ours at right angles, and thereupon our companion 
 took a long draught from our water-bottle, and, without a word 
 of farewell, disappeared in a valley leading down into the Plain 
 of Abarkth. | 
 
 After his departure Haji Safar entertained me with a long 
 disquisition on kdsids and their marvellous powers of endurance. 
 He assured me that one had walked from Teheran to Shiraz in 
 five days, while another had gone from Bushire to Shiraz in two 
 days. He added that the latter had come near forfeiting his life 
 for his prowess, because Prince Ferhad Mirza, then Governor of 
 Fars, hearing of his exploit, had said, “‘Such a man had best be 
 put to death forthwith, for one who can go on foot from here 
 to Bushire in two days might commit murder or highway rob- 
 bery, and be in another province before his crime was even dis- 
 coveted.” I am fain to believe that this was only a grim jest on 
 the part of Ferhad Mirza; at any rate the sentence, as I was in- 
 formed, was not carried out. 
 
 The wind, which had been gradually increasing in strength 
 since the morning, began now to cause us much annoyance, 
 and indeed Dihbid, as I subsequently learnt by experience, is 
 one of the windiest places in Persia. Haji Safar, however, de- 
 clared that in this respect it was far behind Damghan, on the 
 Mashhad road. “This is but a place which the wind visits at 
 times,” he remarked, “‘but it lives there: its abode is in a well, 
 and anyone can arouse it at any time by throwing dirt or stones 
 into the well, when it rushes out in anger.” 
 
 B 17 
 
258 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 Our road was redeemed from dreariness by the variety of 
 beautiful flowers with which the advancing spring had bedecked 
 the upland meadows. I noticed particularly the wild hyacinth 
 (sunbul-i-biydbdni), and the sight of its long narrow dark green 
 leaves enabled me better to understand the appositeness of the 
 comparison between it and the “tresses of the beloved”’ so often 
 made by the Persian poets. 
 
 It was nearly 1.30 p.m. when we reached Dihbid, a small 
 village consisting of about fifteen or twenty cabins, a very 
 dilapidated caravansatay, a post-house, and the telegraph-office. 
 To the latter I at once made my way, and was welcomed vety 
 cordially by Mr and Mts Blake. They expressed great regret on 
 learning that I could not stop with them for the night, and 
 repeatedly pressed me to do so with a hospitality so evidently 
 genuine that I would gladly have altered my plans and relin- 
 quished the idea of “breaking a stage” had that been possible; 
 but the muleteer had gone on with the baggage, and I was 
 therefore compelled to adhere to my original intention, con- 
 tenting myself with a halt of three or four hours for rest and 
 refreshment. 
 
 It was beginning to grow dusk when I again set out, and 
 the gathering shades of evening warned me that I must bestir 
 myself, especially as the muleteer was no longer with us to direct 
 out coutse. Mr Blake kindly volunteered to ride some distance 
 with me to put me in the right way, and this offer I was glad to 
 accept. Crossing the little river just beyond the village we saw 
 a flight of about a dozen storks, and farther on four gazelles. 
 Half a mile or more to the west of the road stood an old withered 
 tree close to a ruined caravansaray, and this spot, as Mr Blake 
 informed me, was teputed to be haunted by a “white lady,” 
 but with the details of this superstition he was unable to acquaint 
 me. 
 
 When we had ridden a farsakh, my host bade me farewell 
 and turned back, whereupon we quickened our pace so as to 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 259 
 
 make the best use of what daylight still remained. Long before 
 we teached our halting-place, however, it was quite dark, and 
 we were left to pick our dubious way by the light of the stars 
 and a crescent moon; so that it was more by good luck than good 
 management (for the road had here dwindled to the merest 
 track) that we were finally apprised by the barking of dogs of 
 the proximity of human habitations. In five minutes more we 
 crossed a bridge and found ourselves at the solitary caravansatay 
 of Khan-i-Kirgan. 
 
 As it was quite dark, and I was, moreover, very cold and 
 tired, I had no opportunity of making any observations on the 
 nature of the place or its inhabitants that night, but on the 
 following morning I discovered that here also were domiciled 
 multitudes of tribesmen on their way to their summer quartets. 
 On the road, which wound through beautiful grassy valleys 
 bedecked with sweet spring flowers, we met many mote, all 
 bound for the highland pastures which we were leaving behind 
 us, and a pretty sight it was to see them pass; stalwart, hardy- 
 looking men, with dark, weather-beaten faces; lithe, graceful 
 boys clothed in skins; and tall, active women with resolute 
 faces, not devoid of a comeliness which no veil concealed. They 
 wete accompanied by droves of donkeys bearing their effects, 
 and flocks of sheep and goats, which paused here and there to 
 nibble the fresh grass. 
 
 Early in the afternoon we descended into the valley of Mur- 
 ehab, and, passing the hamlet of that name (a well-built and 
 ’ thriving-looking village, pleasantly situated by a beautiful clear 
 streamlet) halted at Dih-1-Naw, some three miles farther on. The 
 feeling of regret at not having sought for a lodging at the former, 
 which the first sight of the somewhat squalid appearance of the 
 latter caused me, was at once removed when I learned that the 
 eroup of ancient ruins generally identified with the site of the 
 city of Pasargade on European maps, and known to the Persians 
 as Lakht-i-Suleymdn (“the Throne of Solomon’) and Masjid-i- 
 
 17-2 
 
260 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 Maddar-i-Suleymdn (“the Mosque of the Mother of Solomon”’), 
 was situated within a few minutes’ walk of the village. As it 
 was not much past four o’clock in the afternoon, I determined 
 at once to visit them, and thus to obtain a general idea of their 
 appearance and atrangement, reserving a closer inspection of 
 _ them for the morning. They have been so often and so well 
 described that I shall confine myself to a brief account of their 
 more salient features. 
 
 Leaving Dih-i-Naw on the south, or Shiraz, side, the first 
 object of interest reached 1s the Takht-2-Suleymdn. This, consisting 
 of a large platform faced with masonry, projects from the face 
 of a hill situated a little to the left (east) of the high road, not five 
 minutes’ walk from the village. Its frontage must be about 150 
 feet, and here the conscientious thoroughness and solidity of the 
 masonty is most easily appreciated. I noticed the holes for the 
 iron clamps (which have themselves been removed) noticed by 
 Sit R. Ker Porter, and also the peculiar marks on most of the 
 stones which he, if I remember rightly, was inclined to regard 
 as characters of some ancient language. The villager who accom- 
 panied me declared that they were marks placed by each mason 
 on the stone at which he had worked, in order that the amount 
 of his work and the wages due to him might be proved; and I 
 have no doubt that such is their nature. At any rate, they in no 
 wise resemble the characters of any known alphabet. 
 
 From the platform of the [akht-i-Suleymdn the whole plain 
 of Pasargade is clearly visible. The Shiraz road takes a bold 
 sweep towards the west ere it quits the plain and enters the grand © 
 defile through which flows the river Pulvar, and all the ruins 
 except the Tomb of Cyrus (or Masjid-i-Mddar-i-Suleymdn, as the 
 Persians call it) are situated within a short distance of it and of 
 one another, on the left hand of the southward-bound traveller. 
 The Tomb of Cyrus lies about half a mile beyond them, on the 
 opposite side of the road: it is encircled by a little village, and 
 is regarded by the Persians as a place of considerable sanctity. 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 261 
 
 The first building to which I came on descending from the 
 Takht-i-Suleymdn is that called by Ker Porter Azash-kedé (“the 
 Fire-Temple”’). My guide, however, gave it the name of Zinddn- 
 khdné (“the Prison-house”’). It is situated close to the road, which 
 it faces, and is very solid and massive in structure, but bears no 
 inscriptions or carvings. The western end of the building only 
 is standing; it is about thirty feet high, and contains sixteen 
 courses of stones, and a window, below which is a buttress. 
 
 The next object which presents itself is a solitary square pillar 
 of white stone in twelve courses, bearing a cuneiform inscription 
 of four lines, of which the second is separated from the third, 
 and the third from the fourth, by a blank space. I could not learn 
 that it had any popular name. 
 
 A short distance beyond this lies the main group of ruins, 
 called Nakkara-khané-1-Suleyman (“the Music-hall of Solomon’’). 
 Amongst these the most conspicuous object is a very tall slender 
 column about sixty feet high, white in colour, and circular in 
 shape, composed of four stones placed one on the other, the 
 length of each one diminishing from below upwards. This 
 column is quite plain, and bears no inscription. There are two 
 of three other pillar-like structures, which appear to have 
 formed the corners of the ruined edifice. At the back of each I 
 noticed the hollowing-out of the stone noticed by Ker Potter. 
 One of them bears on its north face a cuneiform inscription 
 similar to that already noticed on the first column, but con- 
 taining four or five different characters. On the western side of 
 this group of ruins (7.e. on the side facing the road) are the remains 
 of two doorways, each about five feet in width. The stones 
 forming the sides of these are blackish in colour and susceptible 
 of a high degree of polish. They are broken off within two feet 
 of the ground, and on their inner surfaces are carved two pairs 
 of feet, both turned towards the entrance. Of these, the outer 
 pair are human feet, the inner pair feet like those of a bird: both 
 ate beautifully executed. A fragment of a similar doorway also 
 
262 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 exists on the south side, and this is adorned with two paits of 
 human feet. A little beyond this is a portion of wall standing, 
 some of the stones of which bear marks similar to those observable 
 on the Takht-i-Suleymdn. 
 
 A little distance to the east of this group of ruins, z.e. farther 
 - from the toad, stands a solitary column, on the west side of 
 which is carved in bas-relief the beautiful winged figure described 
 and depicted by Ker Porter and others. I was still absorbed in 
 delighted contemplation of this, when my guide, impatient at 
 the long delay, called attention to the approach of evening, and 
 urged me to return, declaring that it was unsafe to be out in 
 the plain after dusk, and reminding me that I could complete 
 my examination of the ruins next day. With regret I acceded to 
 his request, and reluctantly retraced my steps. On the way back 
 my companion talked freely of the state of the country and the 
 dismissal of the old Sahib-Divdn from the government of Fars, 
 at which he expressed unbounded delight. I asked if the Sahzb- 
 Divén had been a cruel governor that he had so aroused the 
 hatred of the people. To this question my guide replied in the 
 negative, alleging his incapacity and lack of integrity as the reason 
 why he was so much disliked. “He has made everything dear,” 
 he concluded, “and we enjoy no sort of protection from the 
 rapacity of the wandering tribes, who carry off our cattle and 
 flocks without the least fear of reprisals. Riza Khan, his old 
 enemy, is now encamped between Seydun and Sivand with all 
 his tribe, and has sworn to slay him if he can waylay him on his 
 journey north; in which attempt I, for my part, wish him all 
 success. He has already begun stripping and plundering all the 
 followers and retainers of the ex-governor on whom he can lay 
 his hands, including forty of Zeynu’l-‘Abidin’s men who were 
 sent out to catch him or drive him away, and who came back to 
 Shiraz crestfallen and discomfited, with nothing but their shirts, 
 As for the new governor, the Ihtish4mu’d-Dawla, if he is like 
 his father, Prince Ferhad Mirza, he will keep things in better 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 263 
 
 otder. Indeed, already the marauders have desisted from their 
 raids, and our flocks and cattle are once mote safe.” So my 
 companion tan on; and I was surprised to see that his fear was 
 not so much that the new governor might be too harsh, as that 
 he might not govern the province with a sufficiently firm hand. 
 Next day on quitting Dih-i-Naw I again visited the ruins 
 above described, and, after reluctantly tearing myself away from 
 them, proceeded to explore the Tomb of Cyrus. This, as I have 
 already mentioned, is called by the Persians “‘the Mosque of the 
 Mother of Solomon,” and is regarded as a holy place, so that I 
 had some fear lest they should prevent me from entering it. This 
 fear fortunately proved to be groundless; indeed, one of the 
 inhabitants of the adjacent village volunteered to accompany 
 me as a guide, though such assistance was quite unnecessaty. 
 The Tomb of Cyrus, being built of white stone, forms a most 
 conspicuous landmark in the plain of Pasargade. It consists of 
 a tectangular roofed chamber of extraordinary solidity, situated 
 on a square platform approached on all sides by steep and lofty 
 steps, up which one must climb, rather than walk, to reach the 
 low entrance. The building bears no inscriptions in cuneiform 
 ot Pahlavi characters, but numerous Musulm4n visitors have 
 engraved their names on its walls and steps. I had hitherto 
 imagined that the passion for leaving such memorials of one’s 
 visit was peculiar to the West, and reached its highest develop- 
 ment with the English and Americans; but not only the ruins 
 of Pasargadz and Persepolis, but every post-house and caravan- 
 satay in Persia, bear witness to the fact that this habit is hardly 
 less rife amongst the Persians. De Sacy was, I think, the first to 
 direct attention to these interesting relics of former travellers. 
 Inthe presence of the ancient cuneiform characters, which carry us 
 back to the time of the Achemenian kings, one is tempted to 
 overlook them, though not a few of them date back to the earlier 
 Muhammadan period. The longest of these inscriptions is situated 
 on the wall to the right of one entering the mausoleum. This wall 
 
264 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 is adorned with a rude mibrdb (probably made by those who first 
 conceived the idea of sanctifying the burial-place of the ancient 
 fire-worshipping monarch by connecting it with the name of 
 Solomon), on the lower portion of which is cut the word A//déh. 
 This is surrounded by a long rectangular border raised into a 
 subsidiary rectangle on the upper side to embrace the mzbrab, 
 the whole length of which is occupied by a much-worn Arabic 
 inscription, only legible in parts, beginning: “ In the Name of God 
 the Merciful, the Clement. Verily we have opened unto thee a per- 
 spicuous victory....”? At the left-hand lower corner of this border, 
 close to the ground, is a Neo-Persian inscription in Arabic 
 characters of an archaic type. Across the end of the chamber 
 opposite to the door was hung a string, on which were suspended 
 ribbons, pieces of cloth, beads, pipe-bowls, and other votive 
 offerings brought by pious visitors to the shrine; and in the 
 corner lay a copy of the Kwr’dn. 
 
 Leaving the mausoleum, I turned to descend, examining the 
 steps and the inscriptions cut on them on my way. Some of the 
 stones bore mason’s marks similar to those referred to in speaking 
 of the Takht-i-Suleymdn. Besides these there were a great many 
 Neo-Persian inscriptions, mostly undated, or of comparatively 
 recent date, some almost illegible, others as clear as though cut 
 yesterday. 
 
 Around the base of the steps is a small burial-ground strewn 
 with fragments of other buildings which have perished. At its 
 entrance are two long stones, propped one against the other in 
 the shape of an inverted V, which form a sort of gate to the 
 enclosure. Each of these is engraved on its inner surface with 
 a line of Arabic in a fine bold character. The space left between 
 the two stones is very narrow, and their surfaces are worn as 
 smooth as glass by the passage of generations of pilgrims and 
 visitors. These stones are supposed to be endowed with healing 
 virtues, and my guide informed me that anyone bitten by a mad 
 dog can be cured by crawling through the narrow interstice 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 265 
 
 which separates them. To the faith of the people in this theory, 
 if not to its truth, the high degree of polish on the inner surfaces 
 of the stones in question bore witness. 
 
 Turning at length with much reluctance from this interesting 
 spot, I again mounted and rode forward, and, in a few minutes, 
 quitted the plain and entered the splendid rocky defile through 
 which the river Pulvar flows down towards Shiraz. This defile, 
 with occasional widenings into fertile grassy valleys, continues 
 to within two stages of Shiraz. There, a little beyond the post- 
 house of Puzé, its rocky walls fall sharply away to the east and 
 west as it enters the great plain of Marv-Dasht. At that point 
 its width is three or four miles; in the rocks to the right are the 
 tombs called by the Persians Naksh-i-Rustam; on the left, 
 opposite to these, are the sculptures of Naksh-i-Rajab, the ruins 
 of Istakhr, and just round the angle formed by the Kuh-i-Rahmat 
 (“Mountain of Metcy’’) the stupendous temains of Persepolis, 
 of which I shall shortly have to speak. 
 
 This defile of the Pulvar offers some of the finest and most 
 picturesque views in Persia: the rugged cliffs which hem it in 
 on either side; the rushing river meandering through fertile 
 meadows under the willows which fringe its banks; the fragrant 
 shrubs and delicate flowers which, at this season, perfume the air 
 and delight the eye; the gaily-plumaged hoopoes—the birds of 
 Solomon—which dart through the clear sunny air; but most of 
 all, perhaps, the memories of the glorious Past which every foot- 
 step awakens, all combined to render this one of the most de- 
 lightful parts of my journey. 
 
 Soon after turning into the defile we ascended the rocks to 
 the right for some distance, and entered the Sang-bur (“Rock- 
 cutting’’), a passage two or three hundred yards in length, just 
 wide enough to admit a man and horse, hewn out of the mountain 
 side. While marvelling at this enduring triumph of the engineer- 
 ing skill of ancient Persia, a vision arose in my mind’s eye of 
 gorgeously apparelled horsemen spurring in hot haste with 
 
266 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 messages to or from the “Great King” through the Rock- 
 cutting. I pictured to myself the white temples and lofty halls 
 of Pasargade first bursting on their sight, and sighed inwardly 
 as I thought of that departed splendour, and of the fickleness of 
 fortune, which has taken away the very tomb of Cyrus from him 
 to bestow it upon Solomon. 
 
 Soon after leaving the Sang-bur I was stattled—almost fright- 
 ened—by the sudden apparition of four or five armed men, who 
 sprang out from behind a rock and barred my progress. The 
 reports which I had heard of the disturbed state of Fars, the tur- 
 bulence of its inhabitants, and the deeds of Riza Khan flashed 
 through my mind; and I was in full expectation of a summons 
 to sutrender my money or my life, when I was reassured by a 
 humble request on the part of the spokesman of the party that 
 I would be kind enough to “remember the poor tufankchi” who 
 watched over the safety of the roads. I was so relieved that I 
 readily gave him what he desired; and it was not till I had passed 
 on, and these guardians of the peace had once more hidden 
 themselves in their ambush, that I was struck by the ludicrous 
 nature of the proceeding. Imagine policemen or sentinels in 
 England hiding behind rocks and leaping out on the passing 
 traveller to ask him for a “present” in recognition of their 
 vigilance! 
 
 About mid-day I halted in a pleasant meadow by the river for 
 lunch. The infinitely-varied shades of green and red exhibited 
 by the willows, just bursting into foliage, the emerald hue of the 
 grass, and the pleasant murmur of the rushing river flowing past 
 me, rendered the spot charming beyond all description. Haji 
 Safar, whose spirits appeared to rise higher and higher as he 
 drew nearer to Shiraz (for, whatever he may say, in his heart of 
 hearts every Shirazi thinks his own native city incomparable 
 and peerless), was in high good humour—a fact which always 
 disclosed itself by his giving me a better meal than usual—and 
 on this occasion he went so far as to kindle a fire and make some 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 267 
 
 tea, which he brought me triumphantly when I had finished 
 eating. 
 
 Reluctantly quitting this delightful spot, we again continued 
 on our way through scenery as varied as it was grand, and pre- 
 sently passed through one of the wide cliff-girt valleys into which 
 the Pulvar defile here and there expands. Here the rich pastures 
 were dotted with groups of black tents belonging to the wander- 
 ing tribes (¢/ydt) moving northward into the mountains, while 
 their flocks of sheep and goats, tended by dark-eyed graceful 
 shepherd boys, moved hither and thither over the plain. Leaving 
 this happy valley we entered another defile, which brought us, 
 a little before 6 p.m., to the village of Sivand, in which is situated 
 the last telegraph station before Shiraz. Here I was received with 
 the utmost kindness by Mr and Mrs Whittingback, whose little 
 boy had ridden out to meet me some while before, for I was 
 expected earlier. 
 
 Next morning I did not start till about ten o’clock, being 
 unwilling to leave the hospitable roof of my kind entertainers. 
 The post-road to Shiraz continues on the left bank of the river, 
 but as I wished to visit the inscriptions on the rocks above 
 Haji-abad, which lies on the opposite side, we forded the stream, 
 and followed the western bend of the valley, thus shortening our 
 day’s match by nearly a parasang. Soon after mid-day the 
 village of Haji-4bad came in sight, and, as I was uncertain as to 
 the exact position of the inscriptions, I began carefully to scruti- 
 nise the rocky cliffs to the right, in the hopes of discerning some 
 trace of them. Presently I detected a small squarish hole hewn 
 in the face of the rocks some distance up the side of one of the 
 mountains (which at this point receded considerably from the 
 road), and at once proceeded to scramble up to it. As usual, the 
 clearness of the atmosphere led me to undertate the distance, 
 and it was only after a long and hot climb that I finally reached 
 the spot, where, to my disappointment, no inscription was visible 
 —nothing but the shallow excavation, which in the distance 
 
268 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 looked like the mouth of a tunnel. For what purpose and by 
 whom it was made I do not know, but I saw several similar 
 excavations in the neighbourhood. Disappointed in my search, 
 I again descended to the foot of the mountains, and continued 
 my way along their base, eagerly scanning the rugged cliffs above 
 me. I was much afraid that after all I might fail in discovering 
 the object of my search, so numerous were the clefts, valleys, 
 and ravines by which the mountains were indented and inter- 
 sected at this point. Presently, however, I came to the opening 
 of a wider valley, running straight up into the hills, where it 
 divided into two small glens, which ascended to the right and 
 left, to lose themselves in the mountain above. In the mouth of 
 this valley were pitched two or three tents, near which a tribes- 
 man was watching his grazing flock. Accosting him, I enquired 
 whether he knew where the writing on the rocks was to be 
 found. 
 
 “Do you mean the writing or the sculptures?” he demanded. 
 
 “The writing,” I answered; “I know that the sculptures are 
 lower down the valley.” 
 
 “And what do you want with the writing?” asked the shep- 
 herd, suspiciously. “Can you read it?” 
 
 “No,” I replied, “unfortunately I cannot; nevertheless I have 
 heard that there are writings from the ancient time somewhere 
 in these rocks, and I am desirous of seeing them.” 
 
 “You can read them, I know very well,” said he, “and you 
 hope to find treasures there; many Firangis come here seeking 
 for treasures. However, if you must know, they are up there,” 
 and he pointed up the valley. I wished to ask him in which 
 bifurcation of the valley they were, but he had returned to 
 his sheep, evidently disinclined to give me any further in- 
 formation. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to explore both of the gullies 
 in question, and I began with the one to the right. It led me up 
 into the heart of the mountain, and, after scrambling up amongst 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 269 
 
 huge tugged boulders, I finally found myself at the mouth of a 
 most gloomy-looking cavern, which appeared to tun straight 
 into the hillside. From the rocks above and around the water 
 dripped with a sullen plash; a few bones scattered on the ground 
 irresistibly suggested the thought that I was in close proximity 
 to the lair of some wild beast, and caused me instinctively to feel 
 in my pocket for my revolver; while the silence and loneliness 
 of the spot, whence I could not even see the road, being hemmed 
 in on all sides by beetling rocks, made me in no wise sorry to 
 retrace my steps as soon as I was well assured that the object of 
 my seatch was not to be found here. 
 
 I now proceeded to explore the other ravine, which, if less 
 gloomy, was hardly less imposing than that which I had just 
 quitted. As I ascended, its sides grew steeper and steeper, until, 
 approaching one another more and mote closely, they terminated 
 in sheer precipices. At this point several huge boulders lay at 
 their feet, seeming to bar all further progress, and I was beginning 
 to doubt the advisability of trying to proceed farther, when, 
 raising my eyes to the rocks on the right, I espied, some distance 
 up, a long depression, looking dark in the sunshine, on the wall 
 of which I thought I could discern a prepared tablet of cruciform 
 shape. Hastily ascending to this, I perceived with joy that my 
 conjecture was right. On the tock forming the back of this 
 hollow was a prepared surface, shaped roughly like a cross with 
 very thick limbs, along the transverse length of which were four 
 tablets hewn in the mountain face. Of these tablets the two 
 situated to the left were bare, having apparently never received 
 the inscriptions for which they were destined; but each of the 
 other two bote an inscription of some length in Pahlavi char- 
 actets. The inscriptions in question have been fully treated of 
 by Haug in his admirable Essay on the Pahlavi Language, and it 
 is therefore unnecessary for me to say more of them in this 
 place than that one of them is in Sdsanian, and the other in 
 Chaldzo-Pahlavi; that both belong to the reign of Shapur I, 
 
270 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 the son of Ardashir Babakan, the founder of the dynasty; and 
 that consequently they date from the third century of the 
 Christian era. 
 
 Having satisfied my curiosity, I returned to Haji Safar, who 
 was awaiting me with the horses in the road, and we proceeded 
 in a straight line towards the village of Zangavar (situated on the 
 same side of the river as Haji-abad, nearer the end of the valley), 
 where I proposed to halt for the following day, as it forms the 
 best starting-point for visiting Persepolis and the rock-sepulchres 
 of Naksh-i-Rustam. Our progress was, however, soon checked 
 by innumerable streams and ditches, and we were compelled to 
 return to the road skirting the base of the mountains on the 
 western side of the valley. Annoying as this delay at first ap- 
 peared, it was in truth a most fortunate occurrence, for, while 
 looking about for signs of a path which would lead us more 
 directly to our goal, I suddenly caught sight of a large cruciform 
 excavation on the face of the rock, which I at once recognised, 
 from the descriptions I had read and the sketches I had seen, 
 as one of the tombs of Naksh-i-Rustam, on which I had thus 
 unexpectedly chanced. Haji Safar seemed scarcely so well 
 pleased as I was, for he well knew that this discovery would 
 involve a further delay, and, as the day had now turned cold and 
 windy, he would doubtless fain have reached the halting-place 
 as soon as possible. Since an hour or two of daylight still re- 
 mained, however, it was obviously out of the question to waste 
 it; and as I knew that the morrow would be all too short fully 
 to explore the wonders of Persepolis, I was anxious to get a clear 
 impression of the monuments which so thickly beset this angle 
 of the valley. 
 
 Accordingly I spent about an hour in examining and taking 
 notes of these—a delightful hour, which passed only too quickly. 
 The monuments in question are well-known to all travellers and 
 antiquarians, and have been fully described in many books, so 
 I shall content myself with merely enumerating them. 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 271 
 
 They are as follows:— 
 
 (i) Four tock-sepulchres dating from Achemenian times. 
 Externally, these present the appearance of crosses cut in the 
 rock, with limbs equal in length and about half as wide as they 
 ate long. The aperture affording access to the inner gallery (which 
 corresponds to the horizontal limbs of the cross in length, height, 
 and position) is near the centre. Of the interior I shall have to 
 speak shortly. Two pillars carved out of the rock stand on either 
 side of this aperture, which is forty or fifty feet above the ground. 
 The upper limb of the cross is adorned with sculptured symbols, 
 amongst which a fire-altar surmounted by a crescent moon, a 
 priest engaged in devotional exercises, and, over all, the winged 
 figure girt with the symbol of infinity, which forms so constant 
 a feature in the Achemenian tombs, are most conspicuous. 
 
 (ii) Six tablets bearing inscriptions and bas-reliefs of Sasanian 
 workmanship. Close to the first of these (proceeding from the 
 north southwards) is a modern Persian inscription!, bearing the 
 date A.H. 1127 (A.D. 1715), which is already almost as much 
 defaced as the Sasdnian inscriptions by the side of which it stands, 
 and far mote so than the exquisite cuneiform of the Acheme- 
 nians. Of the six Sdsdnian tablets, most of which are com- 
 memotative of victories over the Romans, and one or.two of 
 which bear long Pahlavi inscriptions, the frst is adjacent to the 
 Neo-Petsian inscription noticed above, and stands about half-way 
 between the first and second rock-tombs, but close to the 
 
 1 This is not the only place where the kings of modern Persia have adopted 
 this time-honoured means of perpetuating their fame. A similar tablet, bear- 
 ing a bas-relief of the king on horseback spearing a lion, as well as a Neo- 
 Persian inscription (also barely legible), may be seen in the rocks to the north 
 of what is generally regarded as the site of Rey, near Teheran. I believe that 
 it was cut by order of Fath-‘Ali Shah. Another and a much better tablet, 
 containing, besides a Persian inscription, bas-relief portraits of Nasiru’d-Din 
 Shah (by whose command it was cut) surrounded by his ministers, forms a 
 conspicuous object on the rocks above the admirably-constructed new road 
 leading through Mazandaran from the capital to Amul, about two stages 
 south of the latter town. This will be further noticed in its proper place. 
 
272 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 ground; the second is placed under the second rock-tomb; the 
 third between the second and third rock-tombs; the fourth under 
 the fourth rock-tomb; and the fifth and sixth, one above the 
 other, just before the angle formed by the falling away of the 
 cliffs to the west where the valley enters the plain of Marv-Dasht. 
 
 (iii) Opposite the last rock-tomb, on the other side of the road 
 (which runs close to the face of the cliff), is a square building of 
 very solid construction, bearing some resemblance to the Tomb 
 of Cyrus. This can be entered by climbing without much 
 difficulty. It is called by the villagers Ka‘ba-i-Zardtusht (“the 
 Caaba of Zoroaster”’). 
 
 (iv) On a summit of the rocks which form the angle of the 
 valley is a cylindrical pillar about five feet high, sunk in a socket 
 cut to teceive it. This is called Dasta-i-Piré-Zan (“the Old 
 Woman’s Pestle’’). 
 
 (v) Beyond the angle formed by the junction of the Pulvar 
 valley with the Marv-Dasht, and consequently concealed from 
 the sight of one standing in the former, are two altars, each 
 about four and a half feet high, hewn out of the solid rock. These 
 ate well described and figured by Ker Porter. 
 
 The above list comprises all the remains included by the 
 Persians under the name “‘Naksh-i-Rustam,” and, with the ex- 
 ception of a brief description of the interior of one of the rock- 
 tombs which I shall shortly attempt, I shall say no more about 
 them, since they have been exhaustively described by many writers 
 far more competent in this matter than myself. 
 
 While engaged in examining the Naksh-i-Rustam, we were 
 joined by a villager who had been collecting a plant called kangar 
 in the mountains. Some of this he gave to Haji Safar, who 
 cooked it for my supper. It is by no means unsavoury, and 
 resembles celery more than anything else I can think of. This 
 villager proved to be a native of Zangavar, the village whither 
 we were bound; and on learning that I proposed to spend the 
 morrow there, so as to explore the antiquities in the neighbour- 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 273 
 
 hood, he offered to obtain the help of one or two other men 
 who, by means of a rope, would haul me up to the platform of 
 the rock-tombs, so as to enable me to examine its interior. 
 
 As the gathering dusk warned me that I must postpone 
 further explorations till the morrow, I regretfully turned my 
 back on the Naksh-i-Rustam, and, after a ride of fifteen or 
 twenty minutes, reached the large straggling village of Zangavar. 
 Here I was informed that the Kedkhudd (chief man of the 
 village), apprised by the muleteer of my arrival, had assigned 
 quarters to me in the /akyé consecrated to the Muharram 
 passion-plays. Proceeding thither, I found a clean and com- 
 forttable room set apart for me, in which I had hardly installed 
 myself when the Kedkhudd in person, accompanied by one or 
 two friends, came to pay his respects. He was a nice old man, 
 very courteous and kindly in his manners, and we had a long 
 conversation, of which the antiquities in the neighbourhood 
 formed the principal topic. He told me that a little while ago two 
 Frenchmen (working for M. Dieulafoy) had been engaged for 
 some time in making plans and taking photographs of Persepolis 
 and the Naksh-i-Rustam, in front of which they had erected a 
 sott of scaffold (wanjanik) the better to reach its upper part. They 
 had lodged in this village; but, the Kedkhudd complained, had 
 been very unsociable and reticent, refusing to allow the people 
 to watch their work or see their photographs and sketches. 
 
 This subject exhausted, the Kedkbudd began to question me 
 concerning our religion, and to ask me whether I had heard of 
 the European doctor who had recently embraced the Muham- 
 madan faith at Shiraz. I answered that I had read about his 
 conversion in a Persian newspaper which I had seen at Isfahan, 
 and that I was very desirous of conversing with him, so that I 
 might learn the reasons which had led him to abandon his own 
 creed in favour of Islam. 
 
 “Perhaps you, too,” said the Kedkbudd, “will, by the grace of 
 God, be brought to believe in the religion of our Prophet. You 
 
 B 18 
 
274 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 have come to see our country from afar; do not, like the majority 
 of the Firangis, occupy yourself with nothing but dumb stones, 
 vessels of brass, tiles, and fabrics; contemplate the world of ideas 
 rather than the world of form, and seek for Truth rather 
 than for curiosities. Why should you not even pay a visit to the 
 -most holy tombs of our Imams at Kerbela and Nejef? There you 
 might see the miracles whereby they prove to all that they still 
 live and rule.” 
 
 “Gladly would I do as you advise,” I replied, “‘and I trust 
 that I am not so bigoted as to refuse fairly to consider whatever 
 proofs can be adduced in favour of your religion. Unfortunately, 
 however, your countrymen and co-religionists, so far from 
 offering any facilities to ‘unbelievers’ for witnessing the miracles 
 whereby, as you say, the Ima4ms continue to manifest their power 
 and presence to the world, would drive me from their shrines 
 like a dog if I attempted to approach them, even as they did at 
 the shrine of Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim. Surely they act most unwisely 
 in this matter; for if, as you say, miracles are there wrought, they 
 must be intended not so much for those who believe as for those 
 who doubt, and who might be convinced thereby.” 
 
 “You are perhaps right,” said the Kedkhudd, after a moment’s 
 reflection, “‘yet still I would urge you to make the attempt, even 
 if you must disguise yourself as a Persian to do so. It would be 
 a pity that you should come here at so much trouble and expense, 
 and should take back nothing with you but a collection of those 
 curiosities and antiquities with which your people seem for the 
 most part to be so strangely infatuated.” So saying, the Ked- 
 khudd took his departure and left me to myself. 
 
 Although I was up in good time next day, all eagerness to make 
 the best use of an opportunity which I should in all probability 
 never again enjoy, I was delayed in starting for some time by a 
 crowd of people who, hearing that I possessed some medical 
 knowledge, desired to consult me about their various disorders; 
 and it was not till nine o’clock that I finally left the village, 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 275 
 
 accompanied by the villager whom I had met on the previous 
 day, two younger men provided with ropes, and a little boy who 
 enlivened the way with his childish prattle. Arrived opposite 
 the Naksh-i-Rustam, my guides advanced to the second rock- 
 tomb, which is somewhat nearer the ground than the others, 
 and more readily accessible. One of them climbed up the rocks 
 with marvellous agility to the narrow platform which crosses 
 the entrance. He then let down the rope, by the aid of which 
 the others followed him. The rope was again lowered, I bound 
 it firmly round my waist, and, not without sundry bumps and 
 abrasions, was hauled up to where they stood. 
 
 Entering the tomb by the low doorway opening on to this 
 ledge or platform, I found myself in a long gallery corresponding 
 to the transverse limb of the cross carved on the face of the rock. 
 This gallery was twenty-seven paces in length from end to end, 
 three paces in width, and perhaps twenty feet in height. On the 
 side opposite to the entrance, four rectangular recesses are hewn 
 out of the rock, the width of each being about four and a half 
 paces. The floors of these are not level with the ground, but raised 
 some threefeet above it. Out of each of these floors are hewn three 
 parallel tombs or sarcophagi, their greatest length being parallel 
 to the gallery, and consequently transverse to the recess in which 
 they lie. These sarcophagi were, of course, empty (except for 
 some débris of stones and rubbish), and their coverings had been 
 destroyed or removed. 
 
 On completing my examination of the tomb and descending 
 to the ground, I found a small knot of people collected. These 
 asked me whether I could tread the inscriptions, and would 
 hardly believe my assertion that I was unable to do so, asking 
 me if I were not a “mulld.” Indeed, one or two appeared to 
 imagine that they were written in my own language, or in one 
 of the languages of Firangistan. 
 
 We now struck across the valley towards Persepolis—“‘ TakAt- 
 -Jamshid” (“the Throne of Jamshid’’), as it is called by the 
 
 18-2 
 
276 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 Persians—fording the river Pulva4r, and passing a square stone 
 platform on its further side, called “Takht-2-Tda’ds” (“the 
 Peacock Throne’’). Following the eastern side of the valley 
 for a short distance, we presently turned the corner formed by 
 its junction with the great plain of Marv-Dasht, and all at once 
 ‘there burst on my wondering gaze the stupendous ruins of 
 Persepolis. 
 
 Of the ruins of Pasargade, the Tomb of Cyrus, and the rock- 
 sepulchres of Naksh-i-Rustam I have attempted to set down 
 some description, however meagre. In the case of Persepolis 
 it would be vain to make this attempt, since the three or four 
 hours during which I wandered through its deserted halls, trod 
 its silent stairs, and gazed in admiration, such as I have seldom 
 before experienced, on the endless succession of lofty columns, 
 giant statues, and delicate traceries (whose beauty long ages, 
 kinder than the besotted Macedonian who first stretched forth 
 his impious hand against them, have scarcely marred), were 
 hardly sufficient to enable me to do more than wonder and 
 admire. To study Persepolis would require months; to describe 
 it, volumes. It has already been studied and described by others 
 fat more competent than myself. All that I shall do, then, is to 
 notice certain minor details which happened to strike me. 
 
 On the stones of Persepolis, as on the monuments which I 
 have already noticed, a host of travellers of many ages and many 
 nations have carved their names, their sentiments, and their 
 reflections, by the side of the ancient cuneiform inscriptions. 
 Only, by as much as Persepolis exceeds all the other ruins in 
 extent and splendour, by so much do these memorials exceed 
 all the rest in number and interest. The two great stone lions 
 which guard the entrance of the eastern hall, and the adjacent 
 walls, seem to have been the favourite spots. Amongst the 
 European names recorded here, those of Malcolm and his suite, 
 carved in large bold Roman characters, are most conspicuous; 
 while, amidst the remainder, cut or written in every possible 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 277 
 
 fashion, the names of not a few distinguished travellers are to be 
 found. The sense of admiration and awe with which the place 
 inspired me made me feel that to follow their example would 
 be almost a profanation, and I turned to examine the similar 
 memorials left by Musulman visitors. 
 
 Many of these consisted, like their European congeners, of 
 mete names and dates, and to these I paid but little attention. 
 Here and there, however, a few lines of poetry, or a reflection 
 on the transitoriness of earthly glory in Arabic or Persian, showed 
 me that the same feeling of mixed awe and sadness with which 
 the place inspired me had affected others. Some of these in- 
 scriptions were not devoid of grace and beauty, and I could not 
 help thinking that, if one must leave a token of one’s visit to such 
 a spot, these records of the solemn feelings evoked thereby were 
 mote seemly and more congruous than aught else. As a specimen 
 of their tenour I append translations of two, both in Arabic: 
 one in prose, one in verse. 
 
 The first was written in A.H. 1206 (A.D. 1791-2) by a son of 
 Shah-Rukh Mirz4, and runs as follows:— 
 
 “Where are the proud monarchs of yore? They multiplied treasures which endured | 
 not, neither did they endure.” 
 
 The second consists of four lines of poetry, attributed by the 
 catver to “Ali, the successor of the Prophet:— 
 
 “Where are the kings who exercised dominion 
 
 Until the cup-bearer of Death gave them to drink of his cup? 
 
 How many cities which have been built betwixt the horizons 
 Lay ruined in the evening, while their dwellers were in the abode of death?” 
 
 This was cut by “Ali ibn Sultan Khalid ibn Sultan Khusraw. 
 
 In one of the windows a stone was pointed out to me, so 
 highly polished that I could clearly see therein my reflection 
 as in a mirror. Here and there excavations have laid bare long- 
 buried chambers. Some of these excavations were undertaken 
 by the command of Ferhad Mirza, the Shah’s uncle—less, I fear, 
 from a disinterested love of antiquarian research than from a 
 
278 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 hope of finding treasure, which, according to the universal belief 
 of the Persians (based, perhaps, on traditions embodied in 
 Fitdawsi’s Book of Kings), is concealed in the neighbourhood. My 
 guides assured me that a large “brick” or ingot of solid gold had 
 actually been discovered, and that it had been sent to Teheran, 
 where it was preserved in the treasury of the Shah. They also 
 pointed out to me the spot where Ferhad Mirza had caused 
 some delinquent to be hanged over the parapet of the great 
 terrace. 
 
 It was sad to note how in many places the faces of such bas- 
 reliefs and figures as could be reached from the ground had been 
 wilfully defaced by fanaticism or ignorance, while many of the 
 - animals carved on the walls and staircases had been made the 
 targets of marksmen, as witnessed by the numerous bullet-marks 
 which they bore. But in all cases, so far as I saw, the winged 
 genius gitt with the girdle typifying infinity, which, looking 
 forth from almost every column and cornice, seemed to watch 
 still over the cradle of Persia’s greatness, had escaped uninjured. 
 
 On teaching the edge of the platform next the mountain from 
 the face of which it is built out, two sepulchres on the hillside 
 above attracted my attention, and I was making towards them 
 when I suddenly espied two figures approaching me. The pith 
 hat worn by one stamped him at once as a European, and I, 
 thinking that it must be my friend and late fellow-traveller, 
 H , hastened forward to meet him. A neater approach, 
 however, showed that I was mistaken. The wearer of the pith 
 hat proved to be an English officer who had been staying for 
 some days in Shiraz on his homeward road from India. He was 
 now bound for Teheran, and thence for England by way of 
 Russia. From him I learned that H had posted up to 
 Persepolis and back to Shiraz a day or two before, and that he 
 had probably already set out for Bushire. After a short conversa- 
 tion we separated, and I proceeded to examine the tombs above 
 mentioned, which, in general plan, closely resemble the sepulchres 
 
 
 
 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 279 
 
 of Naksh-i-Rustam, with this important difference, that being 
 situated on a sloping hillside, instead of on the face of a cliff, 
 they ate entered without difficulty, the inner floor being level 
 with the ground outside. Besides this, they only contain two 
 sarcophagi apiece, and a single recess, which is vaulted instead 
 of being rectangular. 
 
 Short as the time had seemed to me, symptoms of impatience 
 began to manifest themselves in my guides. Although it was not 
 yet four o’clock, they declared that the lateness of the hour made 
 it advisable to withdraw from this solitary spot, lest robbers, 
 tempted from their hiding-places in the mountains by the ap- 
 proach of night, should waylay us. Without attaching much 
 credence to their representations I was forced to yield to them, 
 and, with many a backward glance of regret, to turn my back on 
 Persepolis. On the way back to the village I lingered for a while 
 to examine the Sdsanian bas-reliefs of Naksh-i-Rajab, which are 
 situated in a little hollow on the mountain side just behind the 
 post-house of Puzé, and attempted to transcribe the Greek in- 
 scription of Shapur I, which afforded the key whereby the 
 mysteries of the anomalous and ambiguous Pahlavi tongue were 
 first unlocked. 
 
 Next morning I quitted Zangavar, and again turned my face 
 southwards. Our departure was greatly delayed by a crowd of 
 sick people seeking medical advice, and, even when we at length 
 escaped from these, an unwise attempt to take a short cut towards 
 the main road resulted in a further loss of time. All the morning 
 out coutse lay across the flat marshy plain of Marv-Dasht—a vast 
 amphitheatre, surrounded by mountains of which some of those 
 to the west assume the wildest shapes. Amongst these one, on 
 which the ruins of an ancient fortress are said still to exist, is 
 conspicuous for its precipitous and apparently inaccessible sum- 
 mit. The day was cold and cloudy with some rain, a state of things 
 which rendered travelling over the naturally moist and marshy 
 plain rather unpleasant. I was surprised, at this distance from the 
 
280 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 sea, to observe a number of gulls. They are called by the Persians 
 Murgh-i-Nawrizi (“New Yeat’s Bird”’), so that their appearance 
 (which is, perhaps, limited to this season) was very appropriate; 
 fot we wete now within a day of that most ancient and most 
 popular festival, the feast of the New Year (‘Id-i-Nawriz), 
 whereby the Persians have, from time immemorial, celebrated 
 the advent of spring. | 
 
 About mid-day we reached the end of the plain and entered 
 another valley, in which we presently came to a great sheet of 
 water, stretching away to the east towards the Band-i-Amir'. 
 This is traversed by a stone causeway, and swarms with a variety 
 of waterfowl. Leaving this behind, and bending somewhat to 
 the left towards the mountains which form the eastern limit of 
 the valley, we reached Zargan, our last stage before Shiraz, about 
 dusk. 
 
 During the morning we had passed eight or ten horsemen, 
 whose arrogant bearing and unprovoked incivility proclaimed 
 them servants of the ex-governor; and while passing the sheet 
 of water above mentioned we had heard numerous shots in the 
 surrounding hills and on the borders of the lake, which testified 
 to the presence of a party of sportsmen. Rumour had, moreover, 
 apprised us of the fact that Prince Jalalu’d-Dawla (the son of 
 the fallen Prince Zillu’s-Sultan, and the nominal governor of 
 Shiraz), as well as the aged Sahib-Divan, the virtual governor, 
 had quitted the city, in which they had no excuse for remaining 
 longer, and were on their way northwards to the capital with a 
 large company of followers and retainers. On reaching Zargan 
 it was, therefore, with more annoyance than surprise that I 
 found the whole town filled with the soldiers and servants of 
 the young prince and his minister. Enquiries for lodgings were 
 evetywhere met with the same reply, that there was not a room 
 to be had for love or money in the place; and it was only after 
 
 1 The “Bendemeer’s stream” of the poet Moore. Its name signifies “the 
 Amir’s Dyke.” 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 281 
 
 a protracted search through every part of the town that I was 
 fortunate enough to secure a lodging for the night in a small 
 room which served during the day as a weavet’s shop. While the 
 implements of the owner’s craft were being removed, I was 
 scrutinised with sullen curiosity by a small knot of villagers, over 
 whose spirits the presence of the soldiers appeared to have cast 
 a gloom which rendered them silent and abstracted. 
 
 And here at Zargan I was like to have suffered yet graver 
 trouble, and came near perishing, as Haji Safar poetically ob- 
 setved, “‘like a moth consumed in the candle of Shiraz,” ere ever 
 I set eyes on that beautiful and classical city. For while, according 
 to my wont, I lay smoking and treading in my camp-bed before 
 composing myself to sleep, slumber overtook me unawares, and 
 I lost all consciousness of my surroundings till I suddenly awoke 
 with a sense of suffocation and contact with something hot. A 
 moment’s examination showed me that the quilt on which I lay 
 was smouldering and aglow with sparks. I immediately sprang 
 up and dragged it on to the ground, when I found the mischief 
 to be much more extensive than I had imagined, at least a third 
 of its lower fold being in a state of ignition. Having neither 
 water nor light at my disposal, I was compelled to awaken Haji 
 Safar, who was sleeping outside on the ground; and our united 
 efforts soon succeeded in extinguishing the flames, but not till 
 the greater part of the quilt had been consumed. Neither was 
 this the only mischief done, for my coat and waistcoat had both 
 suffered in greater or less degree, while the smoke and steam 
 produced by the conflagration and its extinction filled the room, 
 and rendered the atmosphere well nigh unbearable. I was 
 thankful enough, however, to have escaped so lightly from the 
 effects of my own carelessness, and, leaving the door open, and 
 rolling myself up as best I could in the remnants of my bedding, 
 was soon asleep again. Haji Safar, who, though at times self- 
 willed and refractory, was never wanting in time of need, in- 
 sisted, in spite of my remonstrances, in covering me with his 
 
282 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 cloak, which he could ill spare (the night being chilly), so that I 
 enjoyed a greater measure of comfort than I deserved. 
 
 When I awoke in the morning all recollections of the disaster 
 of the previous night were obliterated by the joyous thought that 
 before the sun was down I should set foot in that city which, for 
 seven yeats, it had been the chief ambition of my life to behold. 
 Leaving Zargan, we had first to strike out into the plain to join 
 the main road (remarkable for its excessive stoniness), which, 
 crossing over a low pass, brought us to a building called Baj-gah 
 (“the Toll-House”’), where customs’ dues were formerly levied. 
 I was surprised at the number of travellers whom we met—mote, 
 I think, than on any previous day’s march since we quitted 
 Trebizonde. Many of these were servants or messengers of 
 the old or the new administration, but at all times the traffic 
 between Zargan and Shiraz seems to be considerable. Beyond 
 this there was little to attract my interest till, about 1.30, on 
 surmounting another pass, Haji Safar cried out “ Rakudbdd! Ruk- 
 ndbdd!” and, with a thrill of pleasure, I found myself at the source 
 of that stream, so dear to every Shirazi, of which Hafiz declared, 
 in perhaps the best known of his poems, that Paradise itself could 
 not boast the like. 
 
 But for the rich associations which the ete of it evoked 
 in my mind, I might perhaps have experienced that sense of 
 disappointment with which Vambéry declares he was affected 
 by the first view of this classic stream. As it was, I saw nothing 
 but the limpid water rushing from its rocky source; heard 
 nothing but its melodious ripple; thought nothing but those 
 thoughts which rise in the mind of one who first stands in the 
 favourite haunt of an immortal bard who immortalises all that 
 he touches. One often hears the expression, “I had heard so 
 much of such-and-such a thing that when I saw it I was quite 
 disappointed.” This may happen in the case of objects admired 
 ot loved only for themselves, but not of those endeared by their 
 associations. One does not love Hafiz because he wrote. of 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 283 
 
 Ruknabad: one loves Ruknabad because it was written of by 
 Hafiz. 
 
 In this pleasant spot I tarried for about an hour, eating my 
 lunch under the shadow of one of the trees which stand by the 
 edge of the stream. Again setting out, we came in about an 
 hour to a building called Khi/‘at-pushi, where, as its name implies, | 
 governors of Shiraz, honoured by receiving such a distinction 
 from the Shah, come out to meet the bearers of the royal favours, 
 and are invested with the robe of honour. Shortly after passing 
 this spot we perceived a horseman advancing towards us, who 
 proved to be the chief servant of my host, the Nawwab Mirza 
 Haydar ‘Ali Khan. After presenting the Nawwab’s compli- 
 ments and regrets that he had been unable himself to come out 
 to welcome me by treason of the multitudinous social duties in- 
 cidental to the Nawr#z, the servant turned his horse’s head and 
 led the way towards the city. We were, I gathered, quite close 
 to it now, and I was so full of expectancy that I had but little 
 inclination to talk. Suddenly we turned a corner, and in that 
 moment—a moment of which the recollection will never fade 
 from my mind—there burst upon my delighted gaze a view the 
 like of which (in its way) I never saw. 
 
 We were now at that point, known to all students of Hafiz, 
 called Tang-i-Allihu Akbar, because whoever first beholds 
 Shiraz hence is constrained by the exceeding beauty of the sight 
 to cty out in admiration “AMdhu Akbar”—“God is most 
 great!” At our very feet, in a grassy, fertile plain girt with 
 purple hills (on the loftier summits of which the snow still 
 lingered), and half concealed amidst gardens of dark stately 
 cyptesses, wherein the rose and the judas-tree in luxuriant 
 abundance struggled with a host of other flowers for the mastery 
 of colour, sweet and beautiful in its garb of spring verdure 
 which clothed the very roofs of the bazaars, studded with many 
 a slender minaret, and many a turquoise-hued dome, lay the 
 home of Persian culture, the mother of Persian genius, the 
 
284 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 sanctuaty of poetry and philosophy, Shiraz. Riveted on this, 
 and this alone, with an awe such as that wherewith the pilgrim 
 approaches the shrine, with a delight such as that wherewith 
 the exile again beholds his native land, my eyes scarcely marked 
 the remoter beauties of the scene—the glittering azure of Lake 
 Mahalu to the east, the interminable gardens of Masjid-Bardi 
 to the west. Words cannot describe the rapture which overcame 
 me as, after many a weaty march, I gazed at length on the reality 
 of that whereof I had so long dreamed, and found the reality 
 not merely equal to, but far surpassing, the ideal which I had 
 conceived. It is seldom enough in one’s life that this occurs. 
 When it does, one’s innermost being is stirred with an emotion 
 which baffles description, and which the most eloquent words 
 can but dimly shadow forth. 
 
 From the Tang-i-Allahu Akbar the road runs broad and 
 straight to the gate of the city, to reach which a wide and well- 
 built bridge spanning a river-bed (which, even in spring, contains 
 comparatively little water except after heavy showers, and 
 which in summer must be almost dry) is crossed. Descending 
 this toad, which at this festal season was enlivened by hundreds 
 of pleasute-seekers, who, dressed in their 'best, had come out 
 from the city to enjoy the fragrance of the air and the beauty 
 of the fields, we first passed under the arch, in a chamber over 
 which is preserved the great “Kur’4n of 17 maunds” (Kur’dn-i- 
 hafdah mant), whereof it is fabled that a single leaf, if removed, 
 would weigh as much as the whole volume. Lower down, just 
 to the right of the road, Musalla, another favourite haunt of 
 Hafiz, was pointed out to me. The building which at present 
 stands there is quite modern, and the “rose-walks,”’ on which 
 Hafiz dwells so lovingly, have disappeared. To the left of the 
 toad were the gardens of Jdn-numd, Dil-gushd, Chahil-tan and 
 Haft-tan; beyond these were visible the cypresses which over- 
 shadow the grave of Hafiz; while farther still the tomb of Sa‘di 
 could just be discerned. To the right lay a multitude of other 
 
FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 285 
 
 gardens of less note; everywhere the fresh grass clothed the plain 
 with a robe of verdure such as is seen but rarely in Persia; while 
 the soft spring air was laden with the perfume of a thousand 
 flowers. I ceased to wonder at the rapturous enthusiasm where- 
 with the Shirazi speaks of his native city, or to regard as an 
 exaggeration far removed from the truth that verse of Sa‘di’s 
 which I have already quoted:— 
 “ Khashd tafarruj-i-Nawriz, khdssé dar Shiraz, 
 Ki bar kanad dil-i-mard-i-musdfir ax watanash.” 
 
 “Pleasant is the New Yeat’s outing, especially in Shiraz, 
 
 Which turns aside the heart of the wanderer from his native land.” 
 Nay, in these “meadows set with slender galingale,” in this 
 “land where all things always seemed the same,” I felt con- 
 strained to “‘fold my wings, and cease from wanderings”; almost 
 as though a voice from the unseen had whispered them, there 
 sounded in my ears the lines— 
 
 “Our island home 
 Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam.” 
 
 A little before reaching the bridge which leads to the Isfahan 
 gate, we turned to the right, and continued outside the city wall 
 till we came to the “Gate of the King’s Garden” (Derwdzé-z- 
 Badgh-i-Shab), by which we entered. A short ride through the 
 natrow, tortuous streets brought us at length to the house of 
 my host, the Nawwab. Dismounting at the gate, I was ushered 
 into a large and handsome courtyard paved with stones and 
 traversed by a little stream of clear water which flowed from a 
 large square tank at the upper end. On either side of this stood 
 a tow of stately sycamotes, interspersed with orange-trees, while 
 a mass of beautiful flowers tastefully grouped lent brightness to 
 the view and fragrance to the air. 
 
 As I stood here the Nawwab himself came out to welcome 
 me with that easy courtesy and unaffected hospitality wherein 
 the Persians excel all other nations. Taking me by the hand, he 
 led me into a room opening into the courtyard, where, as is 
 
286 FROM ISFAHAN TO SHIRAZ 
 
 customary at the New Year, and for the twelve days which 
 succeed it (during which all work is laid aside, and paying and 
 receiving congratulatory visits is the sole business of all), a 
 multitudinous array of all manner of sweetmeats was laid out. 
 The samavar (urn) hissing in a corner gave promise of the welcome 
 tea, which did not delay to make its appearance. After I had 
 pattaken of two or three cups of this, and answered the usual 
 questions concerning the friends I had left at Teheran, the 
 journey, and my health, the Nawwa4b rose and conducted me to 
 the rooms which, at the special request of his elder brother, the . 
 Nawwab Mirza Hasan ‘Ali Khan (in whose house at Teheran 
 I had spent so pleasant and profitable a month), had been set 
 apart for me. Pleasant and commodious as they were, and 
 luxurious as they seemed after the hardships of the road, their 
 chief charm in my eyes was that they had given shelter to poets 
 whose names form the brightest ornament of modern Persian 
 literature—poets amongst whom in sweetness, melody, wealth 
 of metaphor, and purity of diction, the brilliant genius of K4’ani 
 stands unrivalled and unsurpassed. 
 
 
 

 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 SHIRAZ 
 
 “ Dil mt-barand Kazvinidn, shakar-laband Tabrizidn, 
 Khuband Isfahdnidn, man banda-am Shiraz-rd.” 
 “The Kazvinis steal our hearts, the Tabrizis have lips like sugar, 
 Beautiful are the Isfahanis, but I am the slave of Shiraz.” 
 “ Khusha Shirdz u vaz‘-i-bi-misal-ash! 
 Khuddvandd, nigah dar az zawdl-ash!” 
 
 “Sweet is Shiraz and its incomparable site! 
 O God, preserve it from decline! ””—(HAFiz.) 
 
 O the three weeks which I spent in Shiraz I look back with 
 
 unmixed pleasure. The associations connected with it are 
 familiar to every student of Persian; its natural beauties I have 
 already feebly attempted to depict; its inhabitants are, amongst 
 all the Persians, the most subtle, the most ingenious, the most 
 vivacious, even as their speech is to this day the purest and most 
 melodious. 
 
 For seeing all that was most worth seeing, mixing in the 
 society of the town, and forming an estimate of its life and 
 thought, I enjoyed rare facilities. Living as I did in the heart 
 of the city, in the house of one universally respected, not merely 
 as the representative of an ancient and noble family, but as a 
 gentleman whose genial manners, enlightened views, and liberal 
 patronage of talent, rendered him peculiarly fitted for the 
 responsible post which he occupied of Agent to the British 
 Government, I was enabled to move freely in circles to which 
 I might otherwise have failed to gain access. For acquiring 
 fluency in the Persian language also I had continual opportu- 
 nities. My host, it is true, possessed some knowledge of English, 
 
288 SHIRAZ 
 
 but preferred to employ his own language in conversation; a 
 pteference which, it is needless to say, I was far from regretting; 
 while few of the visitors, and none of the servants, with whom I 
 came into daily contact, spoke anything but Persian. 
 
 Although the visitors who came to the house were numerous, 
 there was, except my host (with whom, when no other engage- 
 ment prevented it, I took my meals), but one constant guest at 
 table. This was the Nawwab’s uncle, “Ha Da’? (“Uncle 
 Haji’), as he was usually called for the sake of brevity, who had 
 come from Fasa (where he habitually resided) to Shiraz on a 
 New Yeat’s visit. For him I conceived, after a while, a great 
 liking and admiration, though at first unable to penetrate his 
 unusual taciturnity. Except in this respect, he was a thorough 
 Persian of the old school, in dress as in everything else, and I was 
 never tited of admiring the scrupulous neatness of his appear- 
 ance, ot the beautiful brocade lining revealed by the backward 
 turn of the cuffs of his kabd. As I have already said, he was 
 sparing of words, but when he spoke it was to the point; while 
 the interesting details concerning the country east of Shiraz 
 which at times he would give me were enhanced by a peculiar 
 piquancy of idiom and expressiveness of gesture which I have 
 never seen equalled. Thus, for example, in speaking of the 
 length of a stage between two places near Kum he remarked, 
 “They call it seven farsakhs, but such a seven farsakhs as would 
 burn the father of nine farsakhs” (“hamchunin haf’ farsakhi ki 
 pidar-i-nuh farsakh-rd bi-sizdnad”); in answering my question as 
 to whether the water in Lake Niriz was fresh or salt, he said, 
 “So salt that I take refuge with God!” (“‘chundn talkh ki penah 
 bar Khudd!’’); neither shall I ever forget the tone of the “ Estagh- 
 jirw dh!” (ask pardon of God!”’) with which, in true Persian 
 fashion, he would answer any question which he wished emphati- 
 cally to negative. 
 
 Besides Haji Da’i there was but one of the Nawwab’s relatives 
 resident in the house whom I often saw (for from the society of 
 
SHIRAZ 289 
 
 his sisters and other female relations I was naturally excluded), 
 This was the son of my friend Ak4é Muhammad Hasan Khan 
 Kashka’i, who, when he bade me farewell at Teheran, had 
 specially commended his boy to my notice. The latter, who was 
 also the Naww4b’s nephew, came to pay me a visit a day or two 
 after my arrival. He was a bright handsome lad of about twelve 
 ot thirteen years of age, and, though rather shy at first, soon 
 became very friendly, and would eagerly listen to anything 
 which I told him about my native land or my travels. 
 
 Of the Nawwab’s numerous servants one or two deserve some 
 brief mention. Of these the chief was he who had come out to 
 meet me on my first arrival, and who was indeed rather a steward 
 than a servant. He had a brother, Shukru’llah by name, who 
 played with exquisite skill on the rebeck (s7-/dr), to the accom- 
 paniment of which he would also sing in a sweet melodious 
 voice. The poor fellow was blind, and I shall never forget the 
 pathos of his tones when, as I was seated one evening with the 
 Nawwab and a chance guest by the side of the stream in the 
 courtyard under the moonlit plane-trees, he heard the former 
 address me in an interval of the music as “Hakim Sdbib,” and 
 eagerly exclaimed, “‘Hak/m! did you say hakim, Master? Is our 
 guest a physician? Can he not perhaps cure my blindness and 
 enable me once mote to behold the light?” And when the 
 Nawwab answered gently, ““No, my poor fellow, he is a meta- 
 physician (bakim-i-ildhi) rather than a physician (bakim-z-tabi‘t) ; 
 he can do nothing for you,” it went to my heart to see the 
 momentaty expression of anxious hope which had crossed the 
 face of the blind minstrel pass, through a quiver of disappoint- 
 ment, into the look of patient sadness which his countenance 
 habitually wore. 
 
 Of all the servants, however, he with whom I had most to do, 
 and indeed the only one with whom I habitually conversed 
 much, was a black called E/mds (“Diamond”). He had been in 
 the family, to which he was deeply attached, for many years, and 
 
 B 19 
 
290 SHIRAZ 
 
 had, I suppose, been born in Persia or brought thither when a 
 child; at any rate he spoke Persian with no foreign accent which 
 I could detect. To him was entrusted the duty of attending on 
 me; he used to bring me my tea in the morning, announce meals 
 ot visitors, and often, when I was alone, would stop and talk 
 for an hour ata time. A pious Musulman, and extremely attentive 
 to all the duties of his religion, he yet seemed quite free from that 
 fanaticism and distrust of those belonging to other creeds with 
 which piety is sometimes associated. Often he would talk to me 
 of his master and his master’s friends; of the noble families of 
 Shiraz, its poets, its learned men, and its governors, especially 
 Ferhad Mirza, concerning whom he related many strange 
 things; how he had hanged Sheykh Madhkur on a lofty gibbet, 
 after making him eat one of the coins he had struck in his own 
 name; how he had put down Muhammad Tahir Gilladari, who, 
 from the fastness near Darabjird where he dwelt, sallied forth 
 to plunder caravans till none dared pass that way; how he had 
 bricked-up alive a multitude of less notable outlaws by the side 
 of the highways which had witnessed their depredations; and 
 how, never forgetting the slight put upon him by the people of 
 Shiraz when he was recalled from his first administration, he 
 evet cherished towards the city and its inhabitants an uncon- 
 querable aversion. 
 
 Thoroughly imbued with the superstitions of the country, 
 Elmas would sometimes talk of Jinnis, Ghuls, ‘Ifrits, and other 
 sprites and hobgoblins which are said to infest its desert places. 
 One day, soon after my arrival, while crossing the courtyard 
 with the Nawwab on my way to lunch, I saw a strange sight. 
 Lying on his back on the ground, with outstretched arms, legs 
 taised in the air, and soles upturned to heaven as though to 
 receive an invisible bastinado, was a man of the lower classes 
 whom I did not recognise as one whom I had previously seen 
 about the house. How he came there I know not, nor what ailed 
 him; and when I asked my host he merely shook his head 
 
SHIRAZ 291 
 
 silently, As we continued to watch him, he suddenly gave a 
 deep groan, and rolled over on his side with legs still flexed; 
 whereupon Elmas, who had been standing quietly by, an un- 
 moved spectator of the scene, approached him, and began to 
 adopt the necessaty measures for his revival. In the evening 
 when Elmas came to my toom I questioned him as to this 
 strange occurrence. 
 
 “Tt was the Jinnis,”’ he answered; “‘this man had doubtless 
 offended them, and therefore do they torment him thus.” 
 
 “Tn what way do men offend the Jinnis?” I asked. 
 
 “In many ways,” replied Elmas, “as, for instance, by throwing 
 a stone without first giving them warning by exclaiming ‘ Brsmi- 
 *Uahi’r-Rabmdani’r-Rabim’ (‘in the name of God the Merciful, the 
 Clement’). In such cases the stone may strike an invisible Jinni 
 and blind him or otherwise cause him injury; such injury the 
 Jinnis never forgive, but continue at intervals to inflict chastise- 
 ment on the offender, even as you saw to-day.” 
 
 I then proceeded to tell Elmas the stories I had heard from the 
 muleteers in the Valley of the Angel of Death about the various 
 hobgoblins whose favourite haunt it is supposed to be. With 
 most of these he acquiesced, but of the Nasnas he gave a somewhat 
 different account. 
 
 “Tt does not injure people”; he said, “it is of a playful dis- 
 position, and contents itself with frightening. For instance, a 
 man was tiding between Shiraz and Bushire when he saw what 
 he took to be a lamb by the roadside. He picked it up and placed 
 it in front of him across his saddlebow. After he had gone some 
 distance, he chanced to glance down on it, and saw with terror 
 and amazement that it had grown and grown in length till its 
 head and tail trailed on the ground on either side of the hotse: 
 whereat, being greatly alarmed, he cast the thing from him and 
 galloped off as hard as he could. These are the sort of pranks the 
 Nasnas delights to play; but, so far as I have heard, it never 
 inflicts more serious injury.” 
 
 19-2 
 
292 SHIRAZ 
 
 One morning, a day ot two after my arrival, Elm4s announced 
 to me that Mirz4 Farhang, with his brother Mirza Yezdani (both 
 poets of note, and sons of the celebrated poet Wisal), were below 
 and desired to see me. Anxious to make the acquaintance of two 
 of the most talented men in Shiraz, from a perusal of whose 
 poetry (which, though perhaps scarcely equal to that of their 
 elder brother, Mirz4 Davari, now deceased, is extremely fine) 
 I had already derived much pleasure, I hastened down to greet 
 my illustrious visitors. Mirza Yezdani was accompanied by his 
 son, and the son of another of his brothers (also deceased), 
 who wrote under the name of Himmat. My conversation was 
 entirely with the elder poets, chiefly with Mirza Farhang; for 
 however talented a son may be, and’ however honoured, it is 
 contrary to Persian custom and etiquette for him to speak much 
 in the presence of his father. I was greatly impressed with the 
 appearance and manners of my talented visitors, especially with 
 those of Mirza Farhang, to whose conversation an unusual 
 breadth of knowledge and quickness of apprehension, combined 
 with a soft voice and gentle unassuming manner, lent an irresist- 
 ible charm. Poetry and philosophy naturally formed the chief 
 topics of discussion; concerning the philosophy of the Hindus, 
 and the method employed in deciphering the cuneiform inscrip- 
 tions, Mirza Farhang manifested a special interest. The time 
 passed all too quickly, and I was equally surprised and sorry 
 when the visitors, declaring that they had already outstayed the 
 ordinary limits of a morning call, rose to go. 
 
 To the European doctor who had embraced Isl4m I have 
 already alluded. I was naturally anxious to see him, and learn 
 what causes had induced him to take this step. This at first 
 appeared to be more difficult than I had supposed, for he seemed 
 to dislike meeting other Europeans, though whether this arose 
 from fear of being made the object of reproaches, or from a 
 feigned fanaticism, I could not learn. At length, after several 
 disappointments, business brought him to the Nawwab’s house, 
 
SHIRAZ 293 
 
 and he sent up a message by Haji Safar that he would be glad 
 to pay me a visit if I was disengaged. I at once sent word that 
 I should be pleased to see him if he would come up, and in a 
 few minutes he entered the room. The Persian dress which he 
 had adopted did not appear to sit easily on him, and harmonised 
 il with his personal appearance, which was anything but 
 Oriental; neither did he seem to have become accustomed to 
 his new part, for, on entering the room, he removed his lamb- 
 skin hat, revealing hair cut in the Persian fashion, the natural 
 reddish hue of which had been heightened rather than concealed 
 by the henna with which it had been dyed. Thinking it unwise 
 to question him at once on the causes which had led him to 
 change his creed, I asked him concerning his adventures and 
 travels. He informed me in reply that, having completed his 
 medical studies at one of the large London hospitals, he had taken 
 a post as surgeon on board an emigrant ship, in which capacity 
 he had visited America, China, India, and Australia. After many 
 wanderings and adventures, including a quarrel in the gold-fields 
 wherein he had received a shot in the arm (the scar of which he 
 showed me), he had finally arrived at Jedda. While he was 
 residing there (according to his account) a message came that 
 the Sherif of Mecca had been wounded with a knife in the 
 abdomen, and desired the services of a European surgeon, if such 
 were obtainable. Accordingly he proceeded thither, and treated 
 the wound of his distinguished patient so successfully that in a 
 short time it was cured, and the Sherif, moved by gratitude to 
 his preserver, not only allowed him to remain at Mecca during 
 the Pilgrimage, but also permitted him to visit Medina. The 
 ceremonies of the Hajj, especially the “‘stoning the devil” at 
 “Arafat, and the sacrifice of sheep at Mina, he described in detail; 
 of the latter he spoke with mingled disgust and amazement, 
 declaring that the ground was literally covered with innumerable 
 carcases of slaughtered animals, which were, for the most part, left 
 to rot and poison the atmosphere with their noisome stench. From 
 
294 SHIRAZ 
 
 Mecca he had returned to Jedda, and thence by Bushire to Shiraz, 
 where he had resided three or four months as a medical practitioner. 
 
 “T am tired of this place now,” he said in conclusion, “and 
 as I have seen everything worth seeing in the city, including 
 Shah Chiragh and the other mosques (to which, I suppose, you 
 have not been able to gain access), I intend to move on some- 
 where else. Where are you going when you leave?” 
 
 “Yezd and Kirman,” I answered, wondering inwardly if he 
 would propose to accompany me, a plan to which, for several 
 reasons, I should have refused to consent; “‘and you?” 
 
 “T think that will be about my line of country,” he replied. 
 “T want to get to Mashhad, whence I shall return home, for I 
 am tited of wanderings and adventures, and would like to see 
 my old mother again, who must be wondering at my long 
 absence, if, indeed, she be not anxious on my account.” 
 
 At this moment a young friend of mine, with whom I had 
 first become acquainted some years before in Europe, and whom 
 I shall henceforth designate as Mirza ‘Ali, entered the room, 
 accompanied by an aged Seyyid. As I knew the latter to be not 
 only a follower but a relation of the Bab, and as the renegade 
 doctor was accompanied by an individual professedly devoted 
 to the Sufi philosophy and styling himself Murshid (spiritual 
 director), who was bitterly opposed to the new religion, I became 
 vety uneasy lest some collision should occur between my 
 visitors. Such ill-timed encounters fill us with anxiety even in 
 England, where self-restraint and avoidance of dangerous topics 
 ate inculcated on all: in Persia, where religious questions form 
 one of the most usual subjects of conversation, whete religious 
 feeling is so strong, the passion for discussion so great, and 
 caution so scanty, they become positively dreadful, and I would 
 almost as lief carry a lighted brand through a powder magazine 
 as assist again at some of those terrible réunions at which (especi- 
 ally in Kirman) it was my fate—I can hardly say my privilege— 
 to be present. 
 
SHIRAZ 295 
 
 On this occasion, however, my worst apprehensions were not 
 destined to be fulfilled, though the direction given to the con- 
 versation by Mirza ‘Ali kept them fully alive till the doctor and 
 his companion departed, leaving the field to the Babis. It was, 
 of course, necessary that I should introduce my Muhammadan 
 compatriot to the newcomers; I hesitated whether to style him 
 by the name which he had adopted on changing his creed, or by 
 that which he had previously borne. Eventually I chose the 
 latter course. 
 
 “May I introduce to you Dr ——,” I said, “if, as it appears, 
 you have not already made his acquaintance?” 
 
 “Tf I have not met him I have heard about him,” answered 
 Mirza ‘Ali; then, turning to the renegade, “What evil did you 
 see in your own teligion,” said he, “or what good in Islam, that 
 you have abandoned that for this? You, who appear to me to 
 speak Persian but indifferently, do you know enough Arabic to 
 understand the Kur’4n?”’ 
 
 The object of this somewhat scornful address replied that he 
 had read a translation of the sacred book. 
 
 “Translation!” exclaimed Mirza ‘Ali with ill-concealed con- 
 tempt, “and pray what particular passage or doctrine so com- 
 mended itself to you that you became convinced of the divine 
 origin of Islam? For of course you had some strong reason for 
 casting aside the faith in which you were born.” 
 
 The other muttered something about “liking the whole thing,” 
 “being a Voltairian who regarded Christian and Muhammadan 
 as one and the same,” and “‘doing at Rome as Rome does,”’—to 
 all of which his interrogator vouchsafed no reply but a short 
 laugh and a silence more chilling than words. The situation 
 was painful and constrained in the extreme, and I was sincerely 
 thankful when it was brought to an end by the departure of the 
 discomfited doctor and his ally Murshid. 
 
 The latter was present at another similarly ill-assorted gather- 
 ing which chanced in the same room a few days later. On that 
 
296 SHIRAZ 
 
 occasion he was accompanied by another friend, whom he 
 introduced as a profound philosopher, but whom the Babis 
 described subsequently as a notorious atheist (/é-madhhab). They 
 had hardly entered when they were followed by two of my Babi 
 friends, one of whom was a zealous propagandist and missionary 
 of the sect, the friend, fellow-worker, and companion in numerous 
 hardships of him whom I had met in the house of the da//d/ at 
 Isfahan. Though he was only a temporary resident at Shiraz, 
 which he has since quitted, I do not consider it advisable to 
 mention his real name, and (since I shall have occasion to allude 
 to him repeatedly) shall henceforth designate him as Haji Mirza 
 Hasan. His companion was a young Seyyid, well known as a 
 zealous partisan of the new religion. Although, fortunately, no 
 overt passage of arms took place (the Babis, as before, being 
 soon left in complete possession of the field), Murshid’s sus- 
 picions were aroused by meeting notorious Babis in my toom 
 on each of the two occasions on which he had visited me. A few | 
 days before I left Shiraz I was informed by a young Armenian 
 gentleman with whom I was pretty intimate that Murshid, who 
 was assisting him in his studies, had sent me a special message 
 warning me against Haji Mirza Hasan, and assuring me that I 
 should do well to be more careful in choosing my associates, 
 as a report (probably originated by himself) had got about Shiraz 
 that I had become, or was on the point of becoming, a Babi. To 
 this caution it is almost needless to say that I paid no attention, 
 being amused rather than disquieted by this absurd rumour; 
 indeed, I confess that I considered myself honoured rather than 
 insulted by being identified with a body which can boast of a 
 past so heroic. 
 
 This was not the first warning which Murshid had given me 
 on this point. The occasion of his first attempt to alienate me 
 from his enemy, Haji Mirza Hasan, affords an example of that 
 extraordinary readiness in divining one’s train of thought 
 frequently possessed by the Persians, concerning which Vambéry 
 
SHIRAZ 297 
 
 says that it often caused him the most lively disquietude when, 
 in dervish habit, he was pursuing his adventurous journey to 
 Turkistan. To explain how the occasion in question arose, it is 
 necessaty to make a digression, and go back to the circum- 
 stances which first made me acquainted with Murshid. 
 
 My young Armenian friend (who, though born in Persia, had 
 received an English education in Bombay, and spoke my native 
 language at least as fluently as his own) was extremely kind in 
 taking me to see whatever was of interest in the neighbourhood. 
 Indeed, but for his good-nature my stay at Shiraz would have 
 been much less entertaining and profitable than it actually was, 
 and many places of interest to which he guided me would have 
 remained unvisited. One day he asked me if I should like to 
 accompany him on a visit to some distinguished Persian friends 
 of his. 
 
 “T came to know them through my Mirza (Murshid),” said he, 
 “and as I must go and see them to offer them my congratulations 
 for the New Year, I thought you might like to accompany me. 
 They are of royal blood, being descended from the Farmdn- 
 farmd, who was the eldest son of Fath ‘Ali Shah, and a 
 man of great consequence and some literary attainments'. 
 If you care to come, I am sure that they will be pleased to 
 see you.” 
 
 Of course I readily agreed to the proposition, being always 
 eager to enlarge my knowledge of Persian society. Accordingly, 
 in the afternoon I accompanied my Armenian friend to the 
 house of his aristocratic acquaintances, who received us very 
 
 1 He wrote several works, including the Shirdz-ndmé (“Book of Shirdz’’), 
 Kitdb-i-Dilgushd (“ Book of Dilgusha,” or “Book expanding the Heart”) and 
 Safinatw n-Najat (“ Atk of Salvation’’), ruled Shiraz and the province of Fars 
 for nearly forty years, and adorned the former with the garden called Bagh-i- 
 Naw. His daughter was the mother of the late Nawwab Muhammad-Kuli 
 Khan, whose sons my new acquaintances were. These details were given 
 me by Marshid, who professed himself devoted to the family, at whose house 
 he was a constant guest. 
 
298 SHIRAZ 
 
 hospitably, and urged us to partake of the tea, ka/ydns, sweet- 
 meats, and other delicacies which, conformably to Persian custom 
 at this festal season, were set before us in unstinted profusion. 
 I was surprised to see amongst these a dish of dried prawns, 
 which, I was informed, are brought from the Persian Gulf. They 
 ate called in Persian meyg#/, and are esteemed a luxuty, though, 
 in my opinion, undeservedly. 
 
 The Princes wete very curious to know what had brought 
 me to Persia, how I liked Shiraz, and how I was in the habit of 
 travelling. They affected great surprise on learning that I had 
 no horse of my own, and had only hired three animals from 
 a charudddr. 1 met their expressed astonishment and implied 
 contempt not by an argument (which I knew would be useless), 
 but by an apologue. 
 
 “T have read in some book,” I remarked, “‘that the great 
 philosopher Diogenes used continually to decry the luxury 
 which he saw around him, declaring that for him three things 
 sufficed as furniture and clothing: the cloak wherewith he 
 covered his nakedness, the staff wherewith he supported his 
 steps, and the cup wherewith he quenched his thirst. Now one 
 day, as he was drawing near to a stream to drink, he saw a child 
 bending down over it, and raising the water to its lips by means 
 of its hands, which it had placed together to form a cup. When 
 Diogenes saw this, he threw away the cup which he carried, and 
 ctied out, ‘Alas! alas! for years I have been inveighing against 
 unnecessaty luxury, and all the while I carried with me an en- 
 cumbrance of which this child has taught me the uselessness!’ 
 The moral of this is obvious, to wit, that what is really indis- 
 pensable to us is but little.” 
 
 “Wah! wah!” replied my hosts, “that is indeed tajarrud” 
 (freedom from worldly ties): ““we have only the name; you have 
 the reality.” 
 
 Harmony being thus happily restored, I was taken to see a 
 room, the walls of which were adorned with family portraits 
 
SHIRAZ 299 
 
 and paintings illustrative of scripture history. The portraits, of 
 which my friends seemed justly proud, included one of Fath 
 ‘Ali Shah, very finely executed; one of the grandfather of my 
 hosts; and one of their uncle. The scripture subjects were four: 
 Moses and the Burning Bush; Abraham offering up Ishmael 
 (according to the version of this event given in the Kur’an); 
 Joseph taking leave of Jacob; and Christ with the Virgin Mary. 
 While examining these works of art (which, indeed, well deserved 
 attentive consideration) sundry little giggles of laughter and 
 whisperings, proceeding from behind a carved wooden screen 
 occupying the upper portion of the wall on one side of the room, 
 caused me to glance in that direction, where several pairs of 
 bright eyes, just visible through the interstices of the woodwork, 
 left no doubt in my mind that the ladies of the harem were making 
 merty at my expense. 
 
 Before I left, my hosts exacted from me a promise that I would 
 accompany them, on a day subsequently to be fixed, to an old 
 tuin called Kasr-2-Abui-Nas, situated some miles to the east of 
 Shiraz, which they declared to be equal in age to Persepolis. 
 The day fixed for this excursion was that succeeding the morning 
 which had witnessed the encounter between Murshid and the 
 Babis, in my room. The time was afternoon. The party consisted 
 of Murshid, my Armenian friend, and myself, together with our 
 hosts, the princes, and one or two servants. 
 
 We left Shiraz by the gate of the slaughter-house (Derwaé-i- 
 kassdb-khané), somewhat appropriately so named, as it seemed to 
 me; for just outside it, on either side of the road, was a double 
 series of pillars of mortar, ten or twelve in number, each of 
 which had formed the living tomb of an outlaw. There they 
 stood, more or less disintegrated and destroyed, exposing here 
 and there a whitened bone, to bear grim testimony to the rigour 
 of the redoubtable Ferhad Mirza. 
 
 Turning my back on these dismal relics, as well as on the 
 tomb of Sheykh Ruz-bihan, a saint of some repute, I rode slowly 
 
300 SHIRAZ 
 
 forwatd with Marshid. A pause occurring in the course of 
 conversation, I said, more for the sake of making a remark than 
 anything else: 
 
 “‘T heard rather a curious expression the other day.” 
 
 “Did you?” replied Murshid, “what was it?” 
 
 Now the expression in question was “‘ass’s head” (in Arabic, 
 ra’ su’l-bimdr; in Persian, sar-i-kbar), which signifies one whose 
 presence in an assembly prevents free and unrestrained con- 
 versation. Though I had indeed heard it from the Babis, and 
 though it most happily described the position of Murshid in my 
 room on the previous day, it had not been applied to him, 
 though a train of thought, of which I was myself unconscious, 
 undoubtedly prompted me to make this unhappy and very ma/- 
 a-propos remark. 
 
 ““Ra’su’l-himdr,’”’ | answered, without reflection. 
 
 Murshid did not fail to detect a sequence in my thought of 
 which I myself was quite unaware. 
 
 ““Yes,”’ said he, somewhat grimly, “‘a very curious expression; 
 generally used in its Persian form, ‘sar-7-khar.” From whom did 
 you hear it?” 
 
 “Oh,” I replied in some confusion, “I am not sure—I have 
 almost forgotten—That is, a friend of mine ——” 
 
 “was kind enough to apply it to me when I so inoppor- 
 tunely broke in upon your little private conference.” 
 
 I attempted to stammer a disavowal, feeling extremely an- 
 noyed with myself for the folly of which I had been guilty, and 
 yet half amused at the readiness with which a cap that fitted so 
 remarkably well had been snatched up. Murshid paid no heed 
 to my explanations. 
 
 “As you are so fond of metaphysics,” he remarked severely, 
 gazing straight before him the while, “you have no doubt 
 studied the Masnavi of Mawlana Jalalu’d-Din Rumi, and may 
 perhaps remember these lines, which I would in any case strongly 
 commend to your attention— | 
 
SHIRAZ 301 
 * Chin basi iblis-i-ddam-riy hast, 
 Pas bi-har dasti na-shdyad ddd dast.’ 
 
 ‘Since there are many devils in the guise of men, 
 One should not give one’s hand into every hand.’” 
 
 “Tam sure I hope there are not many such human devils in 
 Shiraz,’ I exclaimed. 
 
 “On the contrary,” he answered shortly, “in Shiraz they are 
 particularly abundant.” 
 
 The subject dropped, but it took some time to smooth the 
 ruffled feelings of my companion. Indeed, I am not sure that I 
 ever regained his goodwill, or succeeded in obliterating the 
 remembrance of my unhappy remark. 
 
 Except for this incident the excursion was a very pleasant one, 
 though we halted so long in two gardens belonging to the 
 Princes (who were much more bent on a good ride, and a quiet 
 tea and smoke under the trees of their heritages, than on anti- 
 quarian research) that we had very little time left to examine 
 the Kasr-i-Abd#-Nasr. It is quite a small enclosure surrounded 
 by stones, carved with a few bas-teliefs like those at Persepolis, 
 but devoid of inscriptions. Whether these undoubtedly ancient 
 stones were originally placed in their present position I do not 
 know; but one does not see what object can have induced anyone 
 to bring them there from Persepolis or Darabjird. Of the four 
 doorways which the building possessed, only one is standing, 
 the other three having fallen, in consequence of “‘excavations”’ 
 undertaken at the command of Ferhad Mirza. The faces of the 
 beautiful great figures cut in bas-relief on the stones of the gate- 
 way have, like some of those at Persepolis, been wilfully destroyed. 
 On one of the fallen stones, however, is a bas-relief teptesenting 
 a procession of captives or slaves laden with presents, sta is 
 almost uninjured. 
 
 Small as the extent of this interesting spot was, I had not 
 time to examine it satisfactorily. The sun was close to the horizon 
 when we reached the ruins, and had now completely disappeared 
 
302 SHIRAZ 
 
 from view. It was high time to direct our steps towards the city 
 with all haste, if we did not desire to be benighted in the open 
 plain. As it was, we neatly lost our way several times, and only 
 regained the city after blundering through marshes and streams 
 innumerable towards the twinkling lights which marked its 
 situation. 
 
 The badness of the road prevented us all riding together, and 
 I found myself, during the greater part of the way, next one 
 of the princes. After he had exhaustively questioned me con- 
 cerning the amount of my income, the sources whence it was 
 derived, my occupation, my object in visiting Persia, and the 
 like, he expressed a great desire to travel in Europe. 
 
 “Do you think I could find any employment in England?” 
 he asked. 
 
 “It would not be easy,” I answered, “for our country is 
 already over-full, and many are compelled to emigrate. Besides, 
 you do not know our language. If you did come, I doubt if you 
 would like it after the novelty was gone. Why should you desire 
 to leave Shiraz? Your lot seems to me very enviable: you have 
 a beautiful house, numerous horses and servants, gardens and 
 villages such as we have visited to-day, and all this in one of the 
 fairest spots I have ever seen. What motive can you possibly 
 have for desiring to leave all this?” 
 
 “T am tired of the useless and aimless life we are compelled 
 to lead here,” he replied; “every day it is the same thing:—in 
 the morning we tread or practise calligraphy till lunch; afterwards 
 we sleep for an hour or two; then we have tea and smoke 
 kalydns ; then—unless we have visitots—we go for a ride ot walk; 
 then supper and bed. It is wearisome.” 
 
 “Could you not obtain some definite employment from the 
 Government here?” I demanded. 
 
 “The Government would not employ us,” he answered, “‘just 
 because we ate of royal descent. Is it so in your country? Is 
 high birth there an impediment to promotion? But they are 
 
SHIRAZ 303 
 
 distrustful of us because we are of kingly race. They prefer to 
 employ persons of lowly origin, whom they can chastise for any 
 fault. But suppose it were us, suppose we were to neglect our 
 work or help ourselves to the public money, they could not 
 punish us because we are so distinguished (mutashakhkbhis). So 
 they decline to employ us at all.” 
 
 This was the longest excursion which I made while resident 
 in Shiraz. Indeed the objects of interest in the immediate vicinity 
 of the city are so numerous that it is not necessary to go far afield. 
 Of some of these it is time to speak briefly. 
 
 Of coutse the tombs of Hafiz and Sa‘di first attracted my foot- 
 steps; indeed I would have visited them the first day after my 
 attival had it been possible, and was unable to rest till I had done 
 so. Before speaking of them in detail it will be well to give the 
 reader some idea of the relative situations of the various places 
 which I shall notice. 
 
 Most of these lie to the north of the city. Let the reader, 
 therefore, suppose himself to have followed the Isfahan road 
 (already partially described at the end of the preceding chapter) 
 for about a mile and a half, and to have ascended the rise leading 
 to the Tang-i-Allahu Akbar. Spanning this at its narrowest point 
 is the atch on which rests the kur’dn-i-hafdah mani already men- 
 tioned. Close to this, on the western side of the road, is a raised 
 platform called Mashrikeyn, on which 1s a little pleasure-garden 
 and coffee-house commanding a fine view. On the opposite side 
 of the valley, a little above the bottom, along which flows the 
 stream of Rukndbdd, is another building standing on a platform. 
 This is called Takht-i-Nizdm, and is a celebrated resort of 
 gamblers and dice-players. On the summit of the hill above this 
 (z.e. the hill to the east of the Tang) is a curious little brick building 
 called Kehvdré-i-Div (“the Demon’s Cradle’’), probably by reason 
 of two horn-like projections from the roof. 
 
 Here we pause, and, looking southward towards the city, 
 enjoy a magnificent view, bisected, as it were, by the broad white 
 
304 SHIRAZ 
 
 line formed by the road along which we came from the town to 
 the Tang-i-Alldhu Akbar. Let us first consider the objects of 
 interest which lie to the east of this. The chief of these, beginning 
 with the remotest, are as follows:— 
 
 The Sa‘diyyé (Tomb of Sa‘di) standing somewhat apart from 
 the gardens scattered in such rich profusion in the plain below 
 us. It lies at the foot of the hills, half concealed in a little valley 
 which runs into them at this place, and is not conspicuous from 
 most points of view. 
 
 The Hafiziyyé (Tomb of Hafiz), far more popular and better 
 cared for, rendered conspicuous by its tall dark cypresses and 
 white walls. 
 
 Chahil-tan (“Forty bodies”), and Haft-tan (“Seven bodies’’), 
 pleasant shady groves interspersed with commodious buildings, 
 which afford a quiet retreat to those who, wearied of worldly 
 cares, adopt the calm life of the dervish. 
 
 Then come the gardens, amongst which two ate conspicuous— 
 
 Badgh-i-Dilgushd, the favourite haunt of the Sahib-Divan; 
 and— 
 
 Bagh-i- ]dn-numd, situated close to the road. 
 
 This completes what we may call the “eastern hemisphere” 
 of our panorama, with the exception of the Chdb-i-Murtazd ‘Ali 
 (““Ali’s well’’), situated on another summit of the hills behind 
 and to the east of our place of outlook, the Kehvdré-i-Div. Of 
 this I shall speak presently. 
 
 Let us now turn to the “western hemisphere.” Crossing the 
 toad from the Bédgh-i-Jdn-numd just mentioned, we come to 
 another very fine garden, the Bdgh-i-Naw'. 
 
 Some distance to the north-west of this, farther from the road 
 and on the slopes of the hills, is the splendid but neglected 
 Bagh-i-Takht (“Garden of the Throne”), conspicuous for the 
 white terraces and buildings which stand at its farther end, look- 
 ing towards the city over avenues of judas-trees (erghavdn). 
 
 1 See footnote on p. 297, supra. 
 
SHIRAZ 305 
 
 Beyond and above this, perched half-way up the mountain 
 side, stands a small white edifice surrounded by a few cypresses. 
 This is called Baba Kuhi. 
 
 The whole plain is dotted with gardens, but on the slopes of 
 the hills which bound it towards the west, overlooked by the 
 dazzling summit of the K#h-7-Barf (“Snow Mountain”), there 
 is a compact mass of them extending for several miles. This is 
 Masjid-Bardi. 
 
 Amongst the gardens west of the city are two belonging to 
 my host the Nawwab. The nearer of these is called Badgh-z-Sheykh, 
 and the pleasant dwellings situated therein are occupied by the 
 English members of the telegraph staff, the Superintendent, and 
 the Doctor, while their Armenian colleagues dwell in the town. 
 The farther one, distant perhaps two or three miles from the 
 city, is situated close to the river-bed, on its northern side. It is 
 called Rashk-i-Bibisht (“the Envy of Paradise”). Two pleasant 
 picnics in this charming spot (of which the second was brought 
 to an untimely end, so far as I was concerned, by an event which 
 cut short my stay at Shiraz and altered all my plans) will be 
 spoken of presently. 
 
 Having now given a general, and, I hope, a sufficiently clear 
 account of the topography of Shiraz, I shall proceed to notice 
 some of the places above-mentioned in greater detail, beginning 
 with the tombs of Hafiz and Sa‘di. 
 
 Both of these, together with the Bdgh-z-Di/gusha, 1 visited on 
 the same day, in company with one of the Nawwab’s servants. 
 Though they are within an easy walk of the town, one of the 
 Nawwab’s horses was placed at my disposal. It was a most 
 beautiful animal, and the play of the muscles under its glossy skin 
 gave token of great power, which, accompanied as it was by 
 a display of freshness and spirit (“play,” as the Persians ad- 
 miringly call it), was to me a source rather of anxiety than of 
 gratification. I would greatly have preferred to walk, but it 1s 
 hard to persuade a Persian that one prefers walking to riding, 
 
 B 20 
 
306 SHIRAZ 
 
 and I was constrained to accept an offer which was kindly 
 intended. 
 
 The tomb of Hafiz occupies the centre of an enclosed garden 
 beautifully planted with cypresses and orange-trees. It is marked 
 by a simple oblong block of stone, engraved with inscriptions 
 consisting for the most part of quotations from the poet’s works. 
 At the top is the following sentence in Arabic: — 
 
 «« Huwa’L-BAki WA KULLU SHEY’I2 HALIK.” 
 “‘ HE (z.e. GoD) Is THE ENDURING, AND ALL ELSE PASSETH AWAY.” 
 Beneath this is the ode beginning— 
 “ Muxhde-i-wasl-i-tu ki? Kaz sar-i-jan bar khizam; 
 Ta’ir-i-kuds-am, va ax dim-i-vihin bar khizam.” 
 
 “Where is the good tidings of union with Thee? for I will rise up with my 
 whole heart; 
 I am a bird of Paradise, and I will soar upwards from the snare of the 
 world.” 
 
 Round the edge of the stone is inscribed the ode beginning— 
 “ Ey dil, ghulam-i-shah-i-jihdan bash, u shah bash! 
 Peyvasté dar himdyat-t-lutf-i- lah bash!” 
 
 “O heart, be the slave of the King of the World, and be a king! 
 Abide continually under the protection of God’s favour!” 
 
 Written diagonally across the two triangular spaces formed by 
 the upper corners of the tombstone is the couplet— 
 “ Bar sar-i-turbat-i-md chin guzari himmat khwah, 
 Ki xiydrat-gah-t-rindan-ijihan khwahad shud.” 
 “When thou passest by the head of our tomb, invoke a blessing, 
 
 For it will be the place of pilgrimage of (all) the libertines of the world.” 
 The corresponding spaces at the lower end of the tablet bear 
 the well-known lines composed to commemorate the date of 
 the poet’s death:— 
 
 “ Chirdgh-i-ahl-i-ma‘nd Kh’ ajé Hafiz, 
 [Ki sham‘t bid az ntir-i-tajalli, — 
 Chi dar khak-i-Musalla sakht manzil| 
 Bi-ju tarikh-ash az ‘ KHAK-I-Musau.a.’” 
 
SHIRAZ 307 
 
 “That Lamp of the mystics, Master Hafiz, 
 [Who was a candle of light from the Divine Effulgence, 
 Since he made his abode in the Earth of Musalla] 
 Seek his date from ‘the Earth of Musalla.’”’: 
 
 The unequalled popularity still enjoyed by Hafiz is attested 
 by the multitude of graves which surround his tomb. What 
 Persian, indeed, would not desire that his ashes should mingle 
 with those of the illustrious bard from whom contemporary 
 fanaticism would fain have withheld the very rites of sepulture? 
 
 Mote remote from the city, and marked by a much humbler 
 edifice, lies the grave of Sa‘di. Popular—and deservedly popular 
 —as his Gwulistdn and Bustan are, alike for the purity of style, 
 richness of diction, variety of matter, and sententious wisdom 
 which characterise them, in Persia itself his Divan is probably 
 more widely read and more highly esteemed. Indeed it may be 
 questioned whether in his own country his odes are not as much 
 admired, as ardently studied, and as often quoted as those of 
 Hafiz. But over his memory lies a shadow sufficient to account 
 for the fact that few, if any, of his countrymen have cared to 
 share his last resting-place, and that his grave stands alone in 
 the little enclosure. Sa‘di, it is generally believed, was a Sunni; 
 and whether it be true, as some of his admirers assert, that in 
 professing this form of belief he merely practised the concealment 
 of his real convictions (ketmdn) authorised by Shif‘ite ethics 
 whenever considerations of personal safety appear to require it, 
 the suspicion that he was really an adherent of this sect, so odious 
 to every Shi‘ite Persian, was sufficiently strong to impel a 
 fanatical Mujtahid of Shiraz to destroy the tombstone originally 
 erected over the poet’s grave. The present stone was set up at the 
 expense, and by the orders, of the Kiw4m—the father of the 
 
 1 Only the first and last of these four lines are given on the tombstone, the 
 intermediate ones having probably been omitted for lack of space. Each 
 letter of the Arabic alphabet has a numerical value (these values ranging 
 through the units, tens, and hundreds to one thousand), and the words 
 “ Khak-i-Musalla” (“Earth of Musalla”) are numerically equivalent to 
 [A.H.] 791 (= A.D. 1389). 
 
 20-2 
 
308 SHIRAZ 
 
 SdAhib-Div4n. It bears the same Arabic inscription, testifying 
 to the transitoriness of all things but God, as that which is 
 engraved on the tomb of Hafiz. Below this are engraved the 
 opening lines of that canto of the Bwstdn written in praise of 
 the Prophet. 
 
 At the Hafrziyyé I had been unable to see the copy of the poet’s 
 works kept there for purposes of divination and augury, as the 
 guardian of the shrine (wutawall/) was engaged in performing his 
 devotions. At the Sa‘diyyé I was mote fortunate; the mutawalli 
 was disengaged, and readily produced the manuscript of the 
 complete works (kuw//iyydt) of the poet. It is very well written, and 
 beautifully ornamented, but not old, for it dates only from the 
 reion of Karim Khan the Zend (¢. A.D. 1770). Twelve pages, 
 which had been destroyed or lost, have been replaced by the 
 skilful hand of Mirza Farhang, the poet. 
 
 The Garden of Dilgusha, whither I proceeded on leaving the 
 Sa‘diyyé, is very beautiful, with its tanks of clear water, avenues 
 of orange-trees, and variety of flowers. The gardener brought 
 me a present of wall-flowers (k/eyr7), and I entered into conver- 
 sation with him. He said that the Sahib-Divan, to whom it had 
 belonged, had been passionately attached ‘to it, and that the 
 thought of abandoning it to strangers, who might neglect it or 
 injure its beauty, had added the sharpest sting to the humiliation 
 of his dismissal. That the Sahib-Divan was a bad administrator 
 I have no doubt, but he was not cruel, and this love for his garden 
 appeats to me a pleasing trait in his character. Indeed, one 
 cannot help pitying the old man, dismissed from the office he 
 had so long held, and recalled from his beloved Shiraz to the 
 capital, to meet the doubtful mood of a despot, while the name 
 he left behind served as the butt whereon the poetaster and the 
 satirist might exercise their wit till such time as a new object 
 of scorn and derision should present itself. For it is not only 
 the graceful and melodious lays of Hafiz, Sa‘di, or Ka’4ni, which, 
 accompanied by the soft strains of the s7-t¢r and the mono- 
 
SHIRAZ 309 
 
 tonous beat of the dunbak, delight the joyous revellers who drink 
 the wine of Khullar under the roses bordering some mut- 
 muring streamlet; interspersed with these are rhymes which, if 
 less lofty, seldom fail to awaken the applause of the listeners. 
 We are apt to think of the Persians as an entirely sedate, grave, 
 and almost melancholy people; philosophers, often pessimist, 
 seldom mirthful. Such a type does indeed exist, and exists in 
 plenty. Yet amongst all Orientals the Persians are perhaps those 
 whose idea of humour most nearly approaches our own, those 
 in whom the sense of the ludicrous is most highly developed. 
 One is amazed at the ready tepartees, brilliant sallies of wit, 
 bon-mots, and “chaff”? which fly about on all sides in a convivial 
 gathering of Persian literary men. 
 
 ‘nacnaft, +, the teader, may exclaim, “is; it. possible ‘that 
 the compatriots of “Omar Khayy4m can condescend to 
 SGhattaca, 
 
 Not only is it possible, but very far from unusual; more than 
 this, there is a very tich vocabulary of slang, of which the ex- 
 istence would hardly be suspected by the student of Persian 
 literature. This is not all. The Persians have a multitude of songs 
 —ephemeral, of course, and not to be bought in the book-shops 
 —which, if they are not comic, ate most decidedly topical. 
 These compositions ate called sasnif, and their authors, for 
 the most part, modestly—perhaps wisely—prefer to temain 
 anonymous. 
 
 In such lampoons, in words devoid of ambiguity, and with 
 a frankness bordering on brutality, were the faults and failings 
 of the Séhib-Divan held up to ridicule and obloquy. I only 
 remember a few lines of one of the most popular of these songs. 
 They tran as follows:— 
 
 “ Dileushd-ra sakht ztr-i-sursurak, 
 Dilgushd-rad sakht ba chib u falak, 
 Heyf-i-Dilgushd ! 
 Heyf-t-Dilgushd!”’ 
 
310 SHIRAZ 
 
 “He made Dilgusha under the ‘Slide,’ ! 
 He made Dilgusha with the sticks and pole?, 
 Alas for Dilgusha! 
 Alas for Dilgusha!” 
 
 From all that I have said it will be sufficiently evident that the 
 Sahib-Divan was extremely unpopular with the Shirazis. Per- 
 haps his own misdeeds were not the sole cause of this unpopu- 
 larity. The memory of the black treachery of his ancestor, Haji 
 Ibrahim Khan, may be answerable to some extent for the 
 detestation in which he was held. The story of this treachery is 
 briefly as follows:— 
 
 On the death of Karim Khan, the noble and chivalrous prince 
 of the Zend dynasty, and the succession of the no less noble, 
 no less chivalrous, but far more unfortunate Lutf ‘Ali Khan, 
 Haji Ibrahim Khan was retained by the latter in the influential 
 position which he had previously occupied. So far from sus- 
 pecting that one attached to him and his family by every bond 
 of gratitude could meditate his betrayal, Lutf ‘Ali Khan reposed 
 the fullest confidence in his unworthy minister, and entrusted 
 to him those powers which rendered possible an act of infamy 
 as hateful as the tyrant in whose service it was done. The fortune 
 of the Zend was already on the decline: already the tide of battle 
 had turned against him, and Shiraz had awakened from a dream 
 of happiness to find the Kajar bloodhounds baying beneath her 
 walls. Then Haji Ibrahim Khan conceived the diabolical idea 
 of securing his own safety and wealth by selling his kind master 
 to a foe as implacable as he was cruel, as mean in spirit as he 
 was hideous in aspect. Aka Muhammad Khan readily accepted 
 
 1 The “Slide” (sursurak) is a smooth incline on the hillside to the east of 
 the Tang-i-Alléhu Akbar above the garden of Dilgushd. 
 
 2 “The sticks and pole,” 7.e. the bastinado. The pole in question is em- 
 ployed to retain the ankles of the culprit during the infliction of the punish- 
 ment. It is simple in construction, consisting merely of a straight piece of 
 wood pierced towards the middle by two holes a short distance apart, through 
 which is passed a loop of rope. This loop, thrown round the ankles of the 
 victim, and made taut by a few turns, renders flinching impossible. 
 
SHIRAZ 311 
 
 the traitor’s services, promising in return for these that so long 
 as he lived Ibrahim Khan should be honoured and protected. 
 So one night the gates of Shiraz were opened to the usurper; and 
 it was only by heroic efforts that Lutf ‘Ali Khan succeeded in 
 escaping for the time from his cruel enemy, and, cutting his way 
 through all who sought to bar his progress, fled eastwards 
 towards Kirman. 
 
 Aké Muhammad Khan kept his word to the letter. So long 
 as he lived, Haji Ibrahim Khan was loaded with favours. But 
 when the tyrant felt his last hour approaching, he called to his 
 side his successor, Fath ‘Ali Shah, and addressed him in words 
 to this effect:— 
 
 “As soon as I am dead, and you ate established on the throne 
 which I have won, let your first act be to extitpate, root and 
 branch, the family of Haji Ibrahim Khan. I swore to him that, 
 as a tewatd for his treachery, I would protect and honour him 
 as long as I lived. This oath I have faithfully kept; but when I am 
 _ dead it will be no longer binding. Therefore I counsel you to be 
 rid of the traitor and all his brood, for one who did not scruple 
 to betray a master who had shown him nothing but kindness 
 will certainly not hesitate to do the same again should oppor- 
 tunity offer. Let not one of that accursed family remain, for truly 
 has the poet said— 
 
 ‘* Akibat gurg-xddé gurg shavad, 
 Garché ba ddami buzurg shavad.’ 
 ‘At length the wolf-cub will become a wolf, 
 Even though it grow up amongst men.’ 
 Let no compunction stay your hand; let no false clemency tempt 
 you to disobey my dying injunctions.” 
 
 Fath ‘Ali Shah had no sooner mounted the throne than he 
 proceeded to execute the last behest of his predecessor. From 
 all parts of the empire the descendants of the traitor to whom 
 the new king owed his undisputed supremacy were sought out. 
 Perhaps, when he had in some measure slaked his thirst for 
 
312 SHIRAZ 
 
 blood, Fath ‘Ali Shah remembered that the black sin which he 
 was now visiting on the innocent progeny of the criminal had 
 after all been perpetrated in his interests and for the consolidation 
 of his power. At any tate, he so far mitigated the rigour of his 
 instructions as to spare some few of the doomed family after 
 they had been deprived of their eyesight and otherwise mutilated. 
 Only one, whose tender yeats moved the compassion of the 
 executioners, escaped unharmed. That one was the father of the 
 Sahib-Divan. Can we wonder if, when such punishment was 
 meted out to the offspring of the traitor by the tyrant whom he 
 setved, hatred should be the portion of his descendants from the 
 city which he betrayed? So much for the Sahib-Divan. We must 
 now teturn to Shiraz and its environs. 
 
 The garden of Haft-tan I visited with my Armenian friend. 
 It is a pleasant secluded spot, well fitted to calm the spirits and 
 elevate the thoughts of the dervishes who dwell within its shady 
 precincts. The presence of a large and savage-looking dog, 
 which rushed at us with loud barkings as soon as we entered 
 the gate, somewhat marred this impression of quietude at first: 
 it was, however, soon secuted by one of the dervishes. We sat 
 for a while by the seven graves from which the place takes its 
 name, and drank tea, which was brought to us by the kindly 
 inmates. A venerable old dervish entered into conversation with 
 us, and even walked with us as far as the gate of the city. He was 
 one of those dervishes who inspire one with respect for a name 
 which serves but too often to shelter idleness, sloth, and even 
 vice. Too often is it the case that the traveller, judging only 
 by the opium-eating, /ashish-smoking mendicant, who, with 
 matted hair, glassy eyes, and harsh, raucous voice, importunes 
 the passers-by for alms, condemns all dervishes as a blemish 
 and a bane to their country. Yet in truth this is far from being 
 a cotrect view. Nowhere are men to be met with so enlightened, 
 so intelligent, so tolerant, so well-informed, and so simple- 
 minded as amongst the ranks of the dervishes. 
 
SHIRAZ 313 
 
 The only other object of interest outside the city which 
 demands any detailed notice is the Chdb-i-Murtazd ‘AV; for the 
 gardens not described above, beautiful as they are, possess no 
 features so distinctive as to render description necessary. ‘The 
 Chah-i-Murtazd ‘Ali (“Alf’s well’’) is situated about half a mile 
 to the north-east of the Kehvdré-i-Div, on the summit of the hills 
 east of the Tang-t-Allahu Akbar. A building of considerable 
 size, inhabited by the custodian of the shrine and his family, 
 surmounts the “well,” which is reached by descending a very 
 slippery stone staircase of nineteen steps. This staircase opens 
 out of a large toom, where visitors can rest and smoke a ka/ydn. 
 Above the archway which surmounts it are inscriptions in Arabic 
 and Persian of no very ancient date. Half-way down the rocky 
 stait is a wider space, which forms a sort of landing. At the 
 bottom is a small cave or erotto, wherein is a little well, such as 
 one often sees by English roadsides, into the basin of which water 
 continually drips from the rock above. Opposite this a tablet 
 shaped like the tombstones seen in old churchyards is carved on 
 the wall. In the centre of this is a rude design, which appears 
 to be intended for a flower growing in a flower-pot. On either 
 side of this are two lines in Arabic, but these are so effaced by 
 time and the touches of visitors to the shrine that they are almost 
 illegible. In front of this tablet is a place for votive candles, 
 which are brought hither by the devout. We were not allowed 
 much time for examining the place, the guardian of the shrine 
 continually calling out to us from above that the air was bad and 
 would do us an injury, which, indeed, was possibly true, for it 
 seemed to me to be loaded with carbonic acid or other stifling 
 eases. Having ascended again to the room above, we stayed a 
 while to smoke a ka/ydn and talk to the custodian. He knew little 
 about the age or history of the place, only asserting that in 
 ancient days it had been a fire-temple, but that in the days of 
 Muhammad the fire had been for ever quenched by a miraculous 
 bursting forth of the water from the well. 
 
314 SHIRAZ 
 
 I have now described all the more interesting places which I 
 visited outside the city. It remains to say something of those 
 situated within its walls. There are several fine mosques, the most 
 celebrated of which is Shah Chiragh, but to these I was not able 
 to gain access, and of them I cannot therefore speak. The narrow, 
 tortuous stteets differ in no wise from those of other Persian 
 towns, but the bazaar demands a few words of notice. It was 
 built by Karim Khan the Zend, and, though not very extensive, 
 is wide, lofty, and well constructed. As regards the wares ex- 
 posed for sale in its shops, the long muzzle-loading guns manu- 
 factured in the city (which, primitive as they may appear to a 
 European, ate capable of doing wonders in the hands of the 
 Persian marksmen) chiefly attract the notice of the stranger. The 
 book-shops are few in number, and the books which they con- 
 tain are brought for the most part from Teheran, there being no 
 printing-press in Shiraz. Indeed, so far as I know, the only 
 presses in Persia are at Teheran, Isfahan, and Tabriz. 
 
 All, or nearly all, the European wares sold in Shiraz are, as 
 one would expect, of English manufacture. The sale of these is 
 chiefly in the hands of the Armenian and Zoroastrian merchants 
 who inhabit the Kdravan-sardy-i-Rawghani and the Kdravdn-sardy-i- 
 Mushir. In the shop of one of the Armenian traders I observed 
 English guns, ammunition, tennis-shoes, tobacco, preserves, 
 potted meats, writing materials, note-books, an Indian sun- 
 helmet, and a musical box; articles which would be vainly sought 
 for in Teheran, where nearly all, if not all, the European goods 
 come from Russia. 
 
 The number- of Zoroastrians in Shiraz does not exceed a 
 dozen. They are all merchants, and all natives of Yezd or Kir- 
 man. To one of them, named Mihraban, a Yezdi, I paid one or 
 two visits. On the occasion of my first visit he informed me with 
 delight that he was expecting a Parsee from Bombay in a few 
 days, and expressed a hope that I would come and see him. 
 A fortnight later, as I was passing near the caravansaray, I heard 
 
SHIRAZ 315 
 
 that the expected guest had arrived, and turned aside to Mihra- 
 ban’s shop to see him. At first sight I took him for a European, 
 for he wore English clothes, and on his head a cloth cap of the 
 kind known as “deer-stalkers.” Our conversation was con- 
 ducted in English, which he spoke well—much better than 
 Persian, in which, at any rate colloquially, he was far from 
 proficient, having learned to pronounce it after the fashion 
 prevalent in India. I found that he was on his way to Europe, 
 which he had already visited on a previous occasion, and that he 
 had chosen the overland route through Persia, because he 
 desired to behold the ancient home of his ancestors. I asked him 
 how he liked it. | 
 
 “Not at all,” he replied; “I think it is a horrible country: 
 no tailways, no hotels, no places of amusement—nothing. I 
 have only been in Shiraz a couple of days, and I am tired of it 
 already, and mean to leave it in a day or two mote.” 
 
 “T think it is a beautiful place,” I answered, “and though I 
 have been here more than a fortnight, I am in no wise wearied 
 of its charms, and have not begun to think of quitting it yet.” 
 
 “Beautiful!’’ he exclaimed; “‘you cannot surely mean that 
 you admire it? What can you find to like in it—you, who have 
 seen London and Paris—who have been accustomed to civilised 
 countries?” 
 
 “Perhaps that is just the reason why I do like it,” I answered, 
 “for one just gets the least bit tired of ‘civilised countries’ after 
 a while: they are all so much alike. Here everything is delight- 
 fully novel and refreshing. Of course, you will go to Yezd to 
 see your co-religionists there?”’ 
 
 “Not I!” he replied; “I shall go straight to Teheran as fast 
 as I can, only stopping a day or two in Isfahan on the way. My 
 sole desire is to get out of this country as soon as I can into one 
 where there are railways and other appliances of civilisation. As 
 for my co-teligionists, I have no particular wish to see more of 
 them than I have done at present. I suppose they are like this 
 
316 SHIRAZ 
 
 man’”’ (pointing to his host, who stood by smiling, unconscious of 
 the purport of his guest’s remarks)—“‘little better than savages.” 
 
 “Well,”’ I said, mentally contrasting the ingratitude of this 
 admirer of civilisation with the humble but cordial hospitality 
 of the host whom he affected to despise, ““I am not a Zoro- 
 astrian, yet I intend to visit Yezd before I leave Persia, expressly 
 to see your co-teligionists there, and I wonder that you too do 
 not wish to acquaint yourself with their condition.” 
 
 I then bade farewell to my Parsee friend and his host, but I fell 
 in with the former again on his journey northwards, as will be 
 set forth in its proper place. 
 
 The Sahib-Divan had quitted Shiraz before the Feast of the 
 Nawruz. The new governor, Prince Ihtish4mu’d-Dawla (the son 
 of Ferhad Mirza), whom I had already seen at Teheran, did not 
 enter the city till the thirteenth day after it. This circumstance 
 was for me very fortunate, since it enabled me not only to witness 
 the ceremonies attendant on his entry, but also to visit the citadel 
 (Arg) during his absence. 
 
 The entry of the new governor into the city was a very fine 
 sight. He had been in the neighbourhood for several days, but 
 the astrologers had fixed on the thirteenth day after the Nawruz 
 as most auspicious for his inauguration. From a Persian point 
 of view it was so, for, as it is a universal holiday, all the people 
 were enabled to take part in the rejoicings. From a European 
 standpoint the selection seemed scarcely so happy, for the day 
 chosen was the first of April. 
 
 Having been misinformed as to the time when the Prince 
 would arrive, I was too late to see more than the entry of the 
 procession into the great square in front of the citadel (Meyddn-i- 
 Arg). From the lofty roof of the majestic building which now 
 contains the telegraph-oflices I obtained a good view of the 
 whole pageant. The Prince, mounted on a handsome gray horse, 
 was sutrounded by all the nobles of Shiraz and the neighbour- 
 hood, and preceded by a number of soldiers and couriers, and 
 
SHIRAZ 317 
 
 a band mounted on camels, while a vast crowd followed and filled 
 the square. A roar of artillery greeted his arrival, causing the 
 building on which we stood to tremble. From what I heard I 
 should fancy that the sight outside the city was even finer. Both 
 sides of the road as far as the Tang-i-Alldhu Akbar were lined 
 with spectators, while numerous deputations came out to meet 
 and welcome the new governot. 
 
 The citadel (Arg) is a large and handsome pile containing a- 
 fine garden, in the centre of which is a building called, from the 
 shape of its roof, Kualdh-i-Firang (“the European’s Hat’’). The 
 interior of this is cruciform, four elongated rooms opening out 
 of the central hall, in the middle of which is a fountain. The lower 
 part of the walls is composed of the beautiful marble of Yezd. 
 The building is entered on either side by three steps, each of 
 which is made of a single block of stone. It was in this building, 
 I believe, that the Babi captives taken at Niriz were exhibited 
 to Firuz Mirza, then governor of Shiraz. These captives, con- 
 sisting entirely of women and little children (for the men had all 
 been slain on the spot), were subsequently confined in an old 
 caravansaray just outside the Isfahén gate, where they suffered 
 great hardships, besides being exposed, as the Babi historian 
 assetts, to the brutality of the soldiers. 
 
 On the outer wall of the principal block of buildings 1s a 
 series of bas-reliefs representing the exploits of the old heroes 
 of ancient Persia. These have been gaudily coloured by order 
 of the young Prince Jalalu’d-Dawla. Some of the rooms in this 
 block are very beautiful, but several have been converted into 
 bakehouses, and the paintings on their walls blackened with 
 smoke and dirt. One very pretty room contained a portrait of 
 Nasiruw’d-Din Shah, painted at the beginning of his reign, while 
 the ceiling was adorned with representations of female figures. 
 On the side of the room opposite to the windows and entrance 
 were three doors leading to apartments beyond. Over each of 
 these was inscribed a verse of poetty. 
 
318 SHIRAZ 
 The first ran thus:— 
 
 “ Sar-i-dushman u dust bar in dar-ast, 
 
 Bar in dstan pdsban kaysar-ast. 
 
 Yaki khwdst k’afsar nihad—sar nihad: 
 
 Yaki sar nihad—<angab afsar nihdad.” 
 
 “At this door are laid the heads of enemies and friends, 
 
 On this threshold kings stand sentinel. 
 One desired to wear a ctown—he lost his head: 
 Another laid down his head—and then wore a crown.”’! 
 
 The second was as follows:— 
 “ Bashad dar-i-rabmat ki Khuda kardé firdz ! 
 
 Mardum su-yi 4 chu Ka‘ba drand namaz ! 
 Chin Ka‘ba bi-khwanamash? Ki dyad bi-niyaz 
 Injd Mugh 4 Hindd 4 Musulmdn bi-namaz.” 
 “May it be the door of mercy which God has opened! 
 May men pray towards it as towards the Ka‘ba! 
 How shall I call it ‘Ka‘ba’? For hither come in supplication 
 Magian and Hindi and Musulmén to pray.” 
 
 The third ran thus:— 
 “Tn dar (ki bdd td bi-abad sijda-gah-i-khalk !) 
 
 Did dsman, u guft, ‘ Bar-ti pasban man-am!? 
 Dawlat bar astané-i-u bar nihdd sar 
 Ya‘nt, ‘ Kaminé chdkar-t-in dstdn man-am!’” 
 
 “This door (may it be till eternity the place of the people’s reverence!) 
 Heaven saw, and said, ‘Over it I am the sentinel!’ 
 Fortune laid down her head on its threshold, 
 As though to say, ‘I am the humble servant of this threshold.’” 
 
 Several of the fireplaces in the different rooms bore appro- 
 priate verses inscribed on them. Two of these may setve as 
 examples. The first runs thus:— 
 
 Az bukhdri md tarik-i-disti dmukhtim, 
 Khwishtan-ra az bardyi hamnishindn sukhtim.? 
 
 “We have learned the way of friendship from the grate, 
 We have consumed ourselves for the sake of our neighbours.” 
 
 1 That is, one revolts and is beheaded, while another submits and is 
 rewarded ae a crown. 
 
SHIRAZ 319 
 
 The second is as follows:— 
 “ Bi-ghayr az bukhdri na-didim kas 
 Ki bad dushman u dust garmi dthad.” 
 “Except the grate, we have seen no one 
 Who is warm alike towards friend and foe.” 
 
 Having now attempted to depict the city of Shiraz—its 
 palaces, gardens, shrines, pleasure-grounds, and places of resort 
 —I must return once more to the life within its walls. As I have 
 said, there was no lack of society, and 1 enjoyed opportunities 
 of witnessing a variety of Persian entertainments. As I have 
 already described the general features of these in speaking of 
 Teheran, I shall endeavour to be as concise as possible in this 
 place, merely noticing such points as were novel to me. 
 
 Two days after my arrival at Shiraz I was invited with the 
 Nawwab to an entertainment given by an Armenian gentleman 
 connected with the telegraph. On reaching the house soon after 
 sunset I was cordially received by the host, who introduced me 
 to his wife and another lady relative, and to his cousin, whom 
 I have already had occasion to mention more than once as the 
 companion of my excursions. The latter was about twenty-one 
 yeats of age, had resided for a long time in Bombay, where he 
 had been connected with the press, and spoke English perfectly, 
 as did my host. The ladies preferred to talk Persian, in which 
 language one of them was remarkably proficient, reading with 
 ease the most difficult poetry. After a short while the other guests 
 atrived. These were three in number: the Begler-begi, a young 
 and somewhat arrogant nobleman; a friend of his, less arrogant 
 but more boisterous; and a turbaned and bearded philosopher. 
 To the latter I was introduced as a student of Metaphysics, and 
 he at once proceeded to question me on the books I had read, 
 the teachers with whom I had studied, and, finally, on some of 
 those knotty problems which, long buried in oblivion in Europe, 
 still agitate the minds and exercise the ingenuity of the Persian 
 schoolmen. From a trying cross-examination as to my views on 
 
320 SHIRAZ 
 
 the primordial atom ( juz’ alladhi ld yatajazzd) 1 was fortunately 
 telieved by the entrance of two Jewish minstrels and a dancing- 
 boy, who had been engaged for our entertainment. The attention 
 of the philosopher began to wander; his eyes were fixed on the 
 evolutions of the dancer; his hands and feet beat time to the 
 music. Wine was offered to him and not refused; metaphysics 
 was exorcised by melody; and ere the hour of departure arrived, 
 the disciple of Aristotle and Avicenna lay helpless on the floor, 
 incapable of utterance, insensible to reproof, and oblivious alike 
 of dignity and decorum. It is but just to say that this was the 
 only occasion on which I witnessed so disgraceful a sight in 
 Shiraz. 
 
 The Jewish minstrels of whom I have spoken appeared to 
 be the favourite artists in their profession, for they were present 
 at almost every entertainment of which music formed a part. 
 One of the two men was noted for the hideous contortions into 
 which he could twist his face. He was also, as I learned, an 
 admirable mimic, and excelled especially in personating the 
 Firanei Sahib and the Muhammadan Mulla. These representa- 
 tions I did not witness, the former being withheld out of respect 
 for my feelings, and the latter reserved for very select audiences 
 who could be trusted to observe a discreet silence; for a poor 
 Jew would not willingly run the risk of incurring the resentment 
 of the powerful and fanatical priests. The dancing-boy cannot 
 have been more than ten or eleven years old. When performing, 
 he wote such raiment as is usual with acrobats, with the addition 
 of a small close-fitting cap, from beneath which his black hair 
 streamed in long locks, a tunic reaching half-way to the knees, 
 and a mass of trinkets which jingled at every movement. His 
 evolutions were characterised by agility and suppleness rather 
 than grace, and appeared to me somewhat monotonous, and at 
 times even inelegant. I saw him for the second time at the house 
 of Haji Nasru’ll4h Khan, the Ilkhani. On this occasion he super- 
 added to his ordinary duties the function of cup-bearer, which 
 
SHIRAZ 321 
 
 he performed in a somewhat novel and curious manner. Having 
 filled the wine-glass, he took the edge of the circular foot on 
 which it stands firmly in his teeth, and, approaching each guest 
 in turn, leaned slowly down so as to bring the wine within reach 
 of the drinker, continually bending his body more and more 
 forwards as the level of the liquid sank lower. One or two of 
 the guests appeared particularly delighted with this mancuvte, 
 and strove to imprint a kiss on the boy’s cheek as he quickly 
 withdrew the empty glass. 
 
 Amongst the guests was one who had just arrived from the 
 North with the new governor. He was very conversational, and 
 his talk was almost entirely about philosophy. What his views 
 wete I could not ascertain; at first I was inclined to suspect he 
 might be a Babi, for he greeted me with the remark that he had 
 been looking forward to seeing me ever since he left Isfahan, 
 where he had heard a good deal about me. This remark he 
 accompanied with a look full of meaning, and followed it up by 
 asking me if I had met a young Frenchman, M. R——, who had 
 lately passed through Persia. This strengthened my suspicions, 
 for I had heard much of the gentleman in question: how he had 
 been for some while amongst the Babis in Syria, how he had 
 received from their chiefs letters of introduction and recom- 
 mendation, and how, by reason of these, he had been greeted 
 with a perfect ovation by the Babis in every Persian town which 
 he had visited. I began to be afraid that some indiscretion on 
 the part of my loquacious friend would betray my dealings with 
 the Babis, which, for many reasons, I was anxious to keep secret. 
 I therefore answered guardedly that I had not met the French 
 traveller, and enquired what manner of man he was. 
 
 “T met him several times and liked him very much,” he 
 replied. 
 
 One ot two of those present who had been listening to our con- 
 vetsation began to manifest signs of curiosity, observing which 
 I hastened to change the subject. It was not long, however, 
 
 B ; 21 
 
322 SHIRAZ 
 
 before religious topics again came up, and I began to think 
 that I had mistaken my friend’s opinions, for now he spoke in 
 the strangest manner, alternately putting forward views quite 
 incompatible, and delighting, apparently, in the perplexity which 
 his paradoxes caused me. At last I asked him point-blank what 
 his real opinions were. 
 
 “You know very well,” he replied. 
 
 I-assured him that he was mistaken, and pressed him for a _ 
 clearer answer. 
 
 “Well, they are the same as yours,” he said; and with this 
 unsatisfactory reply I was forced to be content. 
 
 I have already alluded to the pleasant picnics in the garden of 
 Rashk-i-Bihisht, to which, on two occasions, I accompanied the 
 Nawwab. The number of guests at each of these was about a 
 dozen, while at least as many servants were in attendance to 
 cook the food, lay the cloth, and prepare tea and ka/ydns. On the 
 first occasion I was awakened at half-past seven in the morning 
 by Haji Safar, who informed me that the Nawwab was already 
 preparing to start. I dressed as quickly as I could, but on de- 
 scending into the courtyard found that he had already gone on 
 to receive his guests, leaving his uncle, Haji Da’i, to wait, not 
 in the best of tempers, for my appearance. I apologised meekly 
 for my unpunctuality, excusing myself by saying that I did not 
 know we wete to start so early. 
 
 “Of coutse we were to start early,” he retorted, ‘“‘before the 
 sun should be high and the day grow hot.” 
 
 “Yes, if it were summer that would be necessary,” I answered, 
 “but it is hardly spring yet. I don’t think it will be very hot to- 
 day,” I added, gazing at the cloudy sky. 
 
 “Well, the guests were asked for this time, the Nawwab has 
 already gone on to teceive them, and the horses have been 
 waiting for a long while. Come! Let us start at once.” 
 
 On reaching the garden, which was situated at a distance of 
 about two miles from the town, we found the chief guests 
 
SHIRAZ | Pee 
 
 already assembled. Amongst them were two princes, Siyavush 
 Mirza and Jalalu’d-Din Mirza, cousins to one another, and 
 descendants of Fath-‘Ali Shah’s eldest son, the Farmdn-farmd. 
 The latter was accompanied by his son, a handsome boy of about 
 fourteen. Of the remaining guests, three were brothers belonging 
 to a family of some consideration in Shiraz. One of them, 
 Abw’l-Kasim Khan, I had already met at the Nawwab’s; another, 
 Hidayatu’lla4h Khan, attracted my attention by his firm refusal 
 to drink wine, which he appeared to regard with unqualified 
 disapproval. I had a good deal of conversation with him sub- 
 sequently, and found him both agreeable and intelligent. The 
 eldest brother was named Khan-Baba-Khan. A previous ac- 
 quaintance of mine, remarkable not less for his great business 
 capacities and intimate knowledge of the country round Shiraz 
 than for his extremely ugly countenance, which had gained for 
 him the sobriquet of “Haji Ghul” (“the ogre,” as one may 
 translate it), joined us somewhat later. One of the Jewish 
 minstrels of cee I have spoken, Arzani by name, was also 
 present, and continued during the morning to entertain us with 
 music and song, assisted therein by Shukru’ll4h, the blind 
 minstrel, and occasionally by such of the Bucsis as possessed 
 musical talent. 
 
 The tain, which had been threatening all the morning, pre- 
 sently descended in a steady downpour. As we watched the 
 dripping trees from the shelter of the summet-house where we 
 were seated, I expressed regret that the weather should be so bad. 
 
 “Bad!” was the answer I received, “why, it is beautiful 
 weather! Just the day one would wish; a real spring day.” 
 
 I found it difficult at first to understand this view, which was 
 evidently shared by all present except myself. The fact is, that in 
 Persia, where during the summer hardly a drop of rain descends 
 to moisten the parched earth, the welcome showers of spring, 
 on which the abundance of the crops, and consequently the 
 welfare of all classes, so entirely depends, are regarded with a 
 
 21-2 
 
324 SHIRAZ 
 
 genuine delight and admiration which we can scarcely com- 
 prehend. There is nothing which a Persian enjoys more than 
 to sit sipping his wine under the shelter of a summer-house, 
 while he gazes on the falling rain-drops, and sniffs up the 
 moist, soft ait, laden with the grateful scent of the reviving 
 flowers. 
 
 After lunch, which was served about mid-day, the room was 
 darkened by lowering a great curtain suspended outside the 
 windows, and most of the guests composed themselves to sleep. 
 About 3 p.m. they began to rouse themselves; tea and pipes 
 wete brought, and conversation and music tecommenced till 
 about sunset. The rain having ceased, we mounted our horses 
 and wended our way back to the city. 
 
 It will be seen that I had plenty of amusement during my stay 
 at Shiraz, and that of a varied character. To have described all 
 the social gatherings wherein I took a part would have been 
 wearisome to the reader, and I have therefore selected as speci- 
 mens only those which were typical of a class, or marked by 
 special features of interest. Neither was I limited to Persian 
 society. The chief of the telegraph, as well as the medical officer 
 attached to that department, had left Shiraz on a visit of in- 
 spection the day after my arrival, so that I had only met them 
 once on the morning of their departure. But with the rest of 
 the telegraph staff, several of whom were married, I spent many 
 pleasant hours, and often enjoyed a game of tennis with them 
 in the garden where they dwelt. 
 
 Hitherto I have spoken only of the lighter aspect of Persian 
 life in Shiraz; of social gatherings where wine and music, dance 
 and song, beguiled away the soft spring days, or the moonlit 
 nights. It is time that I should turn to other memories—gathet- 
 ings where no wine flowed and no music sounded; where grave 
 faces, illumined with the light of inward conviction, and eyes 
 gleaming with unquenchable faith, surrounded me; where the 
 strains of the rebeck were replaced by low, earnest tones speaking 
 
SHIRAZ 325 
 
 of God, of the New Light, of pains resolutely endured, and of 
 triumph confidently expected. 
 
 The memory of those assemblies can never fade from my mind; 
 the recollection of those faces and those tones no time can efface. 
 I have gazed with awe on the workings of a mighty Spirit, and 
 I marvel whereunto it tends. O people of the Bab! sorely perse- 
 cuted, compelled to silence, but steadfast now as at Sheykh 
 Tabarsi and Zanjan, what destiny is concealed for you behind 
 the veil of the Future? 
 
 
 

 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 SHIRAZ (continued) 
 
 “ Shirdz pur kawghd shavad, shakkar-labi peydd shavad; 
 Tarsam k’ az dshtib-i-lab-ash bar ham zanad Baghddd-rd.” 
 
 “Shiraz shall be full of tumult; one shall appear with lips sweet as sugar; 
 I fear lest through the riot of his lips he may cast Baghdad into confusion.” 
 “Fy ki mt-pursi xi rab-i-Ka‘ba-i-wasl-am nishan, 
 ZL’ ustakhwan-i-kushtagan rabist sar td sar safid!” 
 
 “O thou who askest a sign of the road to the Sanctuary of my Presence, 
 It is a road white from beginning to end with the bones of the slain!” 
 
 N attempting to convey a correct impression of past events, 
 
 it is often difficult to decide how far their true sequence may 
 be disregarded for the sake of grouping together things naturally 
 related. To set down all occurrences day by day, as they actually 
 took place, is undoubtedly the easiest, and, in some ways, the 
 most natural plan. On the other hand, it often necessitates the 
 separation of matters intimately connected with one another, 
 while the mind is distracted rather than refreshed by the con- 
 tinual succession of topics presented to it. For this reason I have 
 thought it best to include in a separate chapter all that I have to 
 say concerning my intercourse with the Babis in Shiraz. Had this 
 intercourse been more closely interwoven with the social life 
 which I have endeavoured to portray in the preceding chapter, 
 such dissociation might have been inadvisable, and even im- 
 possible. As it was, it was a thing apart; a separate life in a 
 different sphere; a drama, complete in itself, with its own scenes 
 and its own actots. 
 
 Those who have followed me thus far on my journey will 
 remember how, after long and fruitless search, a fortunate chance 
 
SHIRAZ 327 
 
 at length brought me into contact with the Babis at Isfahan. They 
 will remember also that the Babi apostle to whom I was intro- 
 duced promised to notify my desire for fuller instruction to his 
 fellow-believers at Shiraz, and that he further communicated to 
 me the name of one whose house formed one of their principal 
 resorts. I had no sooner reached Shiraz than I began to consider 
 how I should, without attracting attention or arousing com- 
 ment, put myself in communication with the person so desig- 
 nated, who occupied a post of some importance in the public 
 service which I will not more clearly specify. His name, too, 
 I suppress for obvious reasons. Whenever I have occasion to 
 allude to him, I shall speak of him as Mirza Muhammad. 
 
 Whilst I was still undecided as to the course I should pursue, 
 another unlooked-for event suddenly removed all difficulties. I 
 have already mentioned Mirza ‘Ali, a young Persian with whom 
 I had previously been intimately acquainted in Europe. Three 
 days after my arrival he came to pay me a visit. I hardly recog- 
 nised him at first, in the tall lambskin cap and long cloak which 
 he wore, and was equally surprised and delighted at this un- 
 expected meeting. He did not stay long, but before leaving 
 invited me to come and see him on the following day. 
 
 I had scarcely entered the room where he was waiting to 
 receive me, when the cursory glance which I cast round was 
 riveted by an Arabic text which hung on the wall. Yet it was 
 not so much the Arabic chatacters which attracted my attention 
 (though these too seemed in some way strangely familiar), as a 
 line of writing beneath them. There was no mistaking the parallel 
 oblique strokes and the delicate curves and spirals which sprang 
 from them. Only once before had I seen that character in the 
 hands of the Babi da//d/ at Isfahan. 
 
 I withdrew my eyes from the tablet and turned them on Mirza 
 ‘Ali, who had been attentively watching my scrutiny. Our 
 glances met, and I knew at once that my conjecture was right. 
 
 “Do you know Mirza Muhammad?” I asked presently. 
 
328 | SHIRAZ 
 
 “T know him well,” he replied; “it was he who informed 
 me that you were coming. You have not seen him yet? Then 
 I will take you there one day soon, and you shall meet other 
 friends. I must find out when he will be disengaged, and arrange 
 a time.” 
 
 “T did not know,” said I, “that you....Tell me what you 
 really think....” 
 
 “T confess I am puzzled,” he answered. “‘Such eloquence, 
 such conviction, such lofty, soul-stirring words, such devotion 
 and enthusiasm! If I could believe any religion it would be that.” 
 
 Before I left he had shown me some of the books which he 
 possessed. One of these was a small work called Madaniyyat 
 (“‘Crvilisation’’), lithographed in Bombay, one of the few secular 
 writings of the Babis. Another was the Kztdb-i-Akdas (“Most 
 Holy Book”’), which contains the codified prescriptions of the 
 sect in a brief compass. The latter my friend particularly com- 
 mended to my attention. 
 
 “You must study this carefully if you desire to understand 
 the matter,”’ he said; “I will get a copy made for you by our 
 sctibe, whom you will also see at Mirz4 Muhammad’s. You 
 should read it while you are here, so that any difficulties which 
 atise may be explained. I am acquainted with a young Seyyid 
 well versed in philosophy, who would perhaps come regularly 
 to you while you are here. This would excite no suspicion, for 
 it is known that you have come here to study.” 
 
 Rejoiced as I was at the unexpected facilities which appeared 
 to be opening out to me, there was one thing which somewhat 
 distressed me. It was the B&b whom I had learned to regard as 
 a hero, and whose works I desired to obtain and peruse, yet of 
 him no account appeared to be taken. I questioned my friend 
 about this, and learned (what I had already begun to suspect at 
 Isfahan) that much had taken place amongst the Babis since those 
 events of which Gobineau’s vivid and sympathetic record had 
 so strangely moved me. That record was written while Mirza 
 
SHIRAZ 329 
 
 Yahya, Subb-i-Exe/ (‘the Morning of Eternity”) was undisputed 
 vicegerent of the Bab, and before the great schism occurted 
 which convulsed the Babi community. Now, I found, the Bab’s 
 writings were but little read even amongst his followers, for 
 Beha had arisen as ““He whom God shall manifest”’ (the promised 
 deliverer foretold by the Bab), and it was with his commands, 
 his writings, and his precepts that the Babi messengers went 
 forth from Acre to the faithful in Persia. Of Mirza Yahya, whom 
 I had expected to find in the place of authority, I could learn 
 little. He lived, he was in Cyprus, he wrote nothing, he had 
 hardly any followers; that was all I was told, and I was forced to 
 try to reconcile myself to the new, and at present, ill-compre- 
 hended, position of affairs. At any rate I had found the Babis, 
 and I should be able to talk with those who bore the name and 
 revered the memory of one whom I had hitherto admired in 
 silence—one whose name had been, since I entered Persia, a 
 wotd almost forbidden. For the rest, I should soon learn about 
 Beha, and understand the reasons which had led to his recog- 
 nition as the inaugurator of a new dispensation. 
 
 A day or two after the events narrated above I received another 
 visit from Mirza ‘Ali, who was on this occasion accompanied 
 by the young Babi Seyyid of whom he had spoken. They te- 
 mained with me more than an hour, and the Seyyid talked much, 
 asking me. numberless questions about anatomy, physiology, 
 chemistry, and other sciences, but speaking little about his own 
 views. Before they left it was arranged that on the following 
 afternoon I should accompany them to the house of Mirza 
 Muhammad. 
 
 On the following afternoon I sallied forth to the house of 
 Mirza “Ali, accompanied by my servant, Haji Safar, whom I 
 would rather have left behind had I been able to find the way 
 by myself. I met Mirza ‘Ali at the door of his house, and we 
 proceeded at once to the abode of Mirza Muhammad. He was 
 not in when we arrived, but appeared shortly, and welcomed me 
 
330 SHIRAZ 
 
 very cordially. After a brief interval we were joined by another 
 guest, whose open countenance and frank greeting greatly pre- 
 disposed me in his favour. This was the scribe and missionary, 
 Haji Mirza Hasan, to whose inopportune meeting with Murshid 
 _ in my room I have already alluded. He was shortly followed by 
 the young Seyyid who had visited me on the previous day, and 
 another much older Seyyid of very quiet, gentle appearance, who, 
 as I afterwards learned, was related to the Bab, and was therefore 
 one of the Afndn (“Branches”’)—a title given by the Babis to 
 all related, within certain degrees of affinity, to the founder of 
 their faith. One or two of my host’s colleagues completed the 
 assembly. 
 
 I was at first somewhat at a loss to know how to begin, 
 especially as several servants were standing about outside, 
 watching and listening. I enquired of Mirza ‘Alf if I might speak 
 freely before these, whereupon he signified to Mirza Muhammad 
 that they should be dismissed. 
 
 “Now,” he said, when this order had been given and obeyed, 
 “speak freely, for there is no ‘ass’s head’ (ra’sw’l-himdr*) here.” 
 
 I then proceeded to set forth what I had heard of the Bab, 
 his gentleness and patience, the cruel fate which had overtaken 
 him, and the unflinching courage wherewith he and his followers, 
 from the greatest to the least, had endured the merciless torments 
 inflicted on them by their enemies. 
 
 “It is this,” I concluded, “‘which has made me so desirous 
 to know what you believe; for a faith which can inspire a forti- 
 tude so admirable must surely contain some noble principle.” 
 
 Then began a discussion between myself on the one hand, 
 and the young Seyyid and Haji Mirza Hasan on the other, of 
 which I can only attempt to give a general outline. Disregarding 
 those details of persons, past events, and literary history about 
 which I was so desirous to learn, they proceeded to set forth 
 the fundamental assumptions on which their faith is based in 
 
 I See p. 300, supra. 
 
SHIRAZ 331 
 
 a manner which subsequent experience rendered familiar 
 to me. 
 
 “The object for which man exists,” they said, “is that he 
 should know God. Now this is impossible by means of his 
 unassisted reason. It is therefore necessary that prophets should 
 be sent to instruct him concerning spiritual truth, and to lay 
 down ordinances for his guidance. From time to time, therefore, 
 a prophet appears in the world with tokens of his divine mission 
 sufficient to convince all who are not blinded by prejudice and 
 wilful ignorance. When such a prophet appeats, it is incumbent 
 on all to submit themselves to him without question, even though 
 he command what has formerly been forbidden, or prohibit 
 what has formerly been ordained.” 
 
 “Stay,” I interposed; “‘surely one must be convinced that such 
 prohibition or command is sanctioned by reason. If the doctrine 
 ot ordinance be true, it must be agreeable to the idea of Absolute 
 Good which exists in our own minds.” 
 
 ““We must be convinced by evidence approved by reason that 
 he who claims to be a prophet actually is so,” they replied; “‘but 
 when once we ate assured of this, we must obey him in every- 
 thing, for he knows better than we do what is right and wrong. 
 If it were not so, there would be no necessity for revelation at 
 all. As for the fact that what is sanctioned in one ‘manifestation’ 
 is forbidden in another, and vice versa, that presents no difficulty. 
 A new prophet is not sent until the development of the human 
 race renders this necessary. A revelation is not abrogated till it no 
 longer suffices for the needs of mankind. There is no disagree- 
 ment between the prophets: all teach the same truth, but in such 
 measure as men can receive it. One spirit, indeed, speaks through 
 all the prophets; consider it as the instructor (wurabbi) of man- 
 kind. As mankind advance and progress, they need fuller 
 instruction. The child cannot be taught in the same way as the 
 youth, nor the youth as the full-grown man. So it is with the 
 human trace. The instruction given by Abraham was suitable 
 
332. SHIRAZ 
 
 and sufficient for the people of his day, but not for those to whom 
 Moses was sent, while this in turn had ceased to meet the needs 
 of those to whom Christ was sent. Yet we must not say that 
 their religions were opposed to one another, but rather that 
 each ‘manifestation’ is more complete and more perfect than 
 the last.” 
 
 “What you say is agreeable to reason,” I assented; “but tell 
 me, in what way is the prophet to be recognised when he comes? 
 By miracles, or otherwise?” 
 
 “By miracles (if by miracles you mean prodigies conttraty to 
 nature)—No!”’ they answered; “‘it is for such that the ignorant 
 have always clamoured. The prophet is sent to distinguish the 
 good from the bad, the believer from the unbeliever. He is the 
 touchstone whereby false and true metal ate separated. But if 
 he came with evident supernatural power, who could help 
 believing? who would dare oppose him? The most rebellious 
 and unbelieving man, if he found himself face to face with one 
 who could raise the dead, cleave the moon, or stay the course of 
 the sun, would involuntarily submit. The persecutions to which 
 all the prophets have been exposed, the mockery to which they 
 have been compelled to submit, the obloquy they have borne, 
 all testify to the fact that their enemies neither feared them nor 
 believed that God would support them; for no one, however 
 foolish, however froward, would knowingly and voluntarily 
 fight against the power of the Omnipotent. No, the signs 
 whereby the prophet is known are these:—Though untaught 
 in the learning esteemed of men, he is wise in true wisdom; 
 he speaks a word which is creative and constructive; his word 
 so deeply affects the hearts of men that for it they are willing 
 to forgo wealth and comfort, fame and family, even life itself. 
 What the prophet says comes to pass. Consider Muhammad. 
 He was surrounded by enemies, he was scoffed at and opposed 
 by the most powerful and wealthy of his people, he was derided 
 as a madman, treated as an impostor. But his enemies have 
 
SHIRAZ 53 
 
 passed away, and his word remains. He said, ‘You shall fast 
 in the month of Ramazan,’ and behold, thousands and thousands 
 obey that word to this day. He said, ‘You shall make a pilgrimage 
 to Mecca if you ate able,’ and evety year brings thither countless 
 pilgrims from all quarters of the globe. This is the special cha- 
 ractet of the prophetic word; it fulfils itself; it creates; it triumphs. 
 Kings and rulers strove to extinguish the word of Christ, but 
 they could not; and now kings and rulers make it their pride 
 that they are Christ’s servants. Against all opposition, against 
 all persecution, unsupported by human might, what the prophet 
 says comes to pass. This is the true miracle, the greatest possible 
 miracle, and indeed the only miracle which is a proof to future 
 ages and distant peoples. Those who ate privileged to meet the 
 prophet may indeed be convinced in other ways, but for those 
 who have not seen him his word is the evidence on which 
 conviction must rest. If Christ raised the dead, you were not 
 a witness of it; if Muhammad cleft the moon asunder, I was not 
 there to see. No one can really believe a religion merely because 
 miracles are ascribed to its founder, for are they not ascribed 
 to the founder of every religion by its votaries? But when a 
 man afises amongst a people, untaught and unsupported, yet 
 speaking a wotd which causes empires to change, hierarchies to 
 fall, and thousands to die willingly in obedience to it, that is 
 a ptoof absolute and positive that the word spoken is from God. 
 This is the proof to which we point in support of our religion. 
 What you have already learned concerning its origin will suffice 
 to convince you that in no previous ‘manifestation’ was it clearer 
 and mote complete.” 
 
 “T understand your argument,” I replied, “and it seems to 
 mea weighty one. But I wish to make two observations. Firstly, 
 it appeats to me that you must include amongst the number 
 of the prophets many who arte ordinarily excluded, as, for 
 example, Zoroaster; for all the proofs which you have enumerated 
 were, so far as we can learn, presented by him. Secondly, though 
 
334 SHIRAZ 
 
 I admit that your teligion possesses these proofs in a remarkable 
 degree (at least so far as regards the rapidity with which it spread 
 in spite of all opposition), I cannot altogether agree that the 
 triumph of Islam was an instance of the influence of the prophetic 
 _wotd only. The influence of the sword was certainly a factor 
 in its wide diffusion. If the Arabs had not invaded Persia, slay- 
 ing, plundering, and compelling, do you think that the religion 
 of Muhammad would have displaced the religion of Zoroaster? 
 To us the great proof of the truth of Christ’s teaching is that 
 it steadily advanced in spite of the sword, not by the sword: 
 the great reproach on Islam, that its diffusion was in so large 
 a measure due to the force of arms rather than the force of 
 atoument. I sympathise with your religion, and desire to know 
 mote of it, chiefly because the history of its origin, the cruel fate 
 of its founder, the tortures joyfully endured with heroic fortitude 
 by its votaries, all remind me of the triumph of Christ, rather 
 than the triumph of Muhammad.” 
 
 ““As to your first observation,” rejoined the Babi spokesman, 
 “it is true, and we do recognise Zoroaster, and others whom the 
 Musulmans reject, as prophets. For though falsehood may 
 appeat to flourish for a while, it cannot do so for long. God will 
 not permit an utterly false religion to be the sole guide of 
 thousands. But with Zoroaster and other ancient prophets you 
 and I have nothing to do. The question for you is whether 
 another prophet has come since Christ: for us, whether another 
 has come since Muhammad.” 
 
 “Well,” I interrupted, “what about the propagation of Islam 
 by the sword? For you cannot deny that in many countries it 
 was so propagated. What right had Muhammad—what right 
 has any prophet—to slay where he cannot convince? Can such 
 a thing be acceptable to God, who is Absolute Good?” 
 
 “A prophet has the right to slay if he knows that it is neces- 
 saty,”’ answered the young Seyyid, “for he knows what is hidden 
 from us; and if he sees that the slaughter of a few will prevent 
 
SHIRAZ 335 
 
 many from going astray, he is justified in commanding such 
 slaughter. The prophet is the spiritual physician, and as no one 
 would blame a physician for sacrificing a limb to save the body, 
 so no one can question the right of a prophet to destroy the 
 bodies of a few, that the souls of many may live. As to what 
 you say, that God is Absolute Good, it is undeniably true; yet 
 God has not only Attributes of Grace but also Attributes of 
 Wrath—He is A/Kahhadr (the Compeller) as well as A/Laitif 
 (the Kind); A/+Muntakim (the Avenger) as well as A/+Ghafur 
 (the Pardoner). And these Attributes as well as those must be 
 manifested in the prophet, who 1s the God-revealing mirror.” 
 
 “T do not agree with you there,” I answered. “I know very 
 well that men have often attributed, and do attribute, such 
 qualities as these to God, and it appears to me that in so doing 
 they have been led into all manner of evil and cruelty, whereby 
 they have brought shame on the name of their religion. I believe 
 what one of your own poets has said: 
 
 ‘ Az Khayr-i-Mabz juz niki’i ndyad,’ 
 ‘Naught but good comes from Absolute Good,’ 
 
 and we cannot falsify the meaning of words in such wise as to 
 say that qualities which we universally condemn in man are 
 good in God. To say that revenge in man is bad, while revenge 
 in God is good, is to confound reason, stultify speech, and juggle 
 with paradoxes. But, passing by this question altogether, you 
 can hardly imagine that a prophet in whom the ‘Attributes of 
 Wrath’ wete manifested could attract to himself such as have 
 believed in a prophet in whom were reflected the ‘Attributes of 
 Grace.’ Admitting even that a prophet sent to a very rude, 
 ignorant, or frowatd people may be justified in using coercion 
 to prepare the way for a better state of things, and admitting 
 that Muhammad was so justified by the circumstances under 
 which he was placed, still you cannot expect those who have 
 learned the gentle teaching of Christ to revert to the harsher 
 doctrines of Muhammad, for though the latter was subsequent 
 
336 SHIRAZ 
 
 as tegards time, his religion was certainly not a higher develop- 
 ment of the religion of Christ. I do not say that Muhammad 
 was not a prophet; I do not even assert that he could or should 
 have dealt otherwise with his people; but, granting all this, it 
 is still impossible for anyone who has understood the teaching 
 of Christ to prefer the teaching of Muhammad. You have said 
 that the God-given message is addressed to the people of each 
 epoch of time in such language as they can comprehend, in such 
 measute as they can receive. Should we consider “me only, and 
 not place? May it not be that since the stages of development 
 at which different peoples living at the same time have arrived 
 ate diverse, they may require different prophets and different 
 religions? The child, as you have said, must be taught differently 
 as he grows older, and the teacher accordingly employs different 
 methods of instruction as his pupil waxes in years and under- 
 standing, though the knowledge he sttives to impart remains 
 always the same. But in the same school are to be found at one 
 time pupils of many different ages and capacities. What is suit- 
 able to one class is not suitable to another. May it not be the 
 same in the spiritual world?” 
 
 At this point there was some dissension in the assembly; 
 the young Seyyid shook his head, and relapsed into silence; 
 Mirza ‘Ali signified approval of what I had said; Haji Mirza 
 Hasan strove to avoid the point at issue, and proceeded thus: 
 
 “T have already said that what is incumbent on every man is 
 that he should believe in the ‘manifestation’ of his own age. It 
 is not required of him that he should discuss and compare all 
 previous ‘manifestations.’ You have been brought up a follower 
 of Christ. We have believed in this ‘manifestation’ which has 
 taken place in these days. Let us not waste time in disputing 
 about intermediate ‘manifestations.’ We do not desire to make 
 you believe in Muhammad but in Beha. If you should be con- 
 vinced of the truth of Beha’s teaching you have passed over the 
 stage of Islam altogether. The last ‘manifestation’ includes and 
 
SHIRAZ 337 
 
 sums up all preceding ones. You say that you could not accept 
 Islam because its laws and ordinances are harsher, and, in your 
 eyes, less perfect than those laid down by Christ. Very well, 
 we do not ask you to accept Islam; we ask you to consider 
 whether you should not accept Beha. To do so you need not 
 go back from a gentle to a severe dispensation. Beha has come 
 for the perfecting of the law of Christ, and his injunctions ate 
 in all respects similar; for instance, we are commanded to prefer 
 rather that we should be killed than that we should kill. It is the same 
 throughout, and, indeed, could not be otherwise, for Beha zs 
 Christ returned again, even as He promised, to perfect that 
 which He had begun. Your own books tell you that Christ 
 shall come ‘Uke a thief in the night, at a time when you are not 
 expecting Him.” | 
 
 “True,” I replied, “but those same books tell us also that His 
 coming shall be ‘as the lightning, that lighteneth out of the one part 
 under heaven and shineth unto the other part under heaven.” 
 
 “There can be no contradiction between these two similes,”’ 
 answered the Babi; “and since the phrase ‘/ke a thief in the 
 night’ evidently signifies that when Christ returns it will be in 
 a place where you do not expect Him, and at a time when you 
 do not expect Him—that is, suddenly and secretly—it is clear 
 that the comparison in the other passage which you quoted is 
 to the suddenness and swiftness of the lightning, not to its 
 universal vividness. If, as the Christians for the most part 
 expect, Christ should come riding upon the clouds surrounded 
 by angels, how could He be said in any sense to come ‘Uke a 
 thief in the night’? Yveryone would see him, and, seeing, would 
 be compelled to believe. It has always been through such con- 
 siderations as these that men have rejected the prophet whose 
 advent they professed to be expecting, because He did not come 
 in some unnatural and impossible manner which they had vainly 
 imagined. Christ was indeed the promised Messiah, yet the Jews, 
 who had waited, and prayed, and longed for the coming of the 
 
 Bay 22 
 
338 SHIRAZ 
 
 Messiah, rejected Him when He did come for just such reasons. 
 Ask a Jew now why he does not believe in Christ, and he will 
 tell you that the signs whereby the Messiah was to be known 
 were not manifest at His coming. Yet, had he understood what 
 was intended by those signs, instead of being led away by vain 
 traditions, he would know that the promised Messiah had come 
 and gone and come again. So with the Christians. On a moun- 
 taint close by Acre is a monastery peopled by Christian priests 
 and monks, assembled there to await the arrival of Christ on 
 that spot as foretold. And they continue to gaze upwards into 
 heaven, whence they suppose that He will descend, while only 
 a few miles off in Acre He das returned, and is dwelling amongst 
 men as before. O be not blinded by those very misapprehen- 
 sions which you condemn so strongly in the Jews! The Jews 
 would not believe in Christ because He was not accompanied 
 by a host of angels; you blame the Jews for their obstinacy and 
 frowardness, and you do rightly. But beware lest you condemn 
 yourselves by alleging the very same treason as an excuse for 
 rejecting this ‘manifestation.’ Christ came to the Jews accom- 
 panied by angels—angels none the less because they were in the 
 guise of fishermen. Christ returns to you as Beha with angels, 
 with clouds, with the sound of trumpets. His angels are His 
 messengers; the clouds are the doubts which prevent you from 
 recognising Him; the sound of trumpets is the sound of the 
 proclamation which you now hear, announcing that He has come 
 once more from heaven, even as He came before, not as a 
 human form descending visibly from the sky, but as the Spirit 
 of God entering into a man, and abiding there.” 
 
 “Well,” I replied, “your arguments are strong, and certainly 
 deserve consideration. But, even supposing that you are right 
 in principle, it does not follow that they hold good in this 
 particular case. If I grant that the return of Christ may be in 
 such wise as you indicate, nevertheless mere assertion will not 
 
 1 Mount Carmel. 
 
SHIRAZ 339 
 
 prove that Beha is Christ. Indeed, we are told by Christ Himself 
 that many will arise in His name, saying, ‘See here,’ or ‘See 
 there,’ and ate warned not to follow them.” 
 
 ““Many have arisen falsely claiming to be Christ,” he answered, 
 “but the injunction laid on you to beware of these does not mean 
 that you ate to refuse to accept Christ when He does return. The 
 very fact that there are pretenders is a proof that there is a 
 reality. You demand proofs, and you are right to do so. What 
 proofs would suffice for your” 
 
 “The chief proofs which occur to me at this moment,” I 
 replied, “‘are as follows:—You admit, so far as I understand, 
 that in each ‘manifestation’ a promise has been given of a 
 succeeding ‘manifestation,’ and that certain signs have always 
 been laid down whereby that ‘manifestation’ may be recognised. 
 It is therefore incumbent on you to show that the signs foretold 
 by Christ as heralding His return have been accomplished in the 
 coming of Beha. Furthermore, since each ‘manifestation’ must 
 be fuller, completer, and more perfect than the last, you must 
 prove that the doctrines taught by Beha are superior to the 
 teaching of Christ—a thing which I confess seems to me almost 
 impossible, for I cannot imagine a doctrine purer or mote 
 elevated than that of Christ. Lastly, quite apart from miracles 
 in the ordinary sense, there is one sign which we regard as the 
 especial characteristic of a prophet, to wit, that he should have 
 knowledge of events which have not yet come to pass. No sign 
 can be more appropriate or more convincing than this. For a 
 prophet claims to be inspired by God, and to speak of the 
 mysteries of the Unseen. If he has knowledge of the Unseen 
 he may well be expected to have knowledge of the Future. That 
 we may know that what he tells us about other matters beyond 
 our ken is true, we must be convinced that he has knowledge 
 sutpassing outs in some matter which we can verify. This is 
 afforded most readily by the foretelling of events which have not 
 yet happened, and which we cannot foresee. These three signs 
 
 22-2 
 
340 SHIRAZ 
 
 appear to me both sufficient and requisite to establish such a 
 claim as that which you advance for Beha.” 
 
 “As regards knowledge of the future,” replied Haji Mirza 
 Hasan, “‘I could tell you of many occasions on which Beha has 
 given proof of such. Not only I myself, but almost all who 
 have been at Acre, and stood in his presence, have received 
 watnings of impending dangers, or information concerning 
 forthcoming events. Some of these I will, if it please God, relate 
 to you at some future time. As regards the superiority of Beha’s 
 doctrines to those of Christ, you can judge for yourself if you 
 will read his words. As regards the news of this ‘manifestation’ 
 given to you by Christ, is it not the case that He promised to 
 return? Did He not declare that one should come to comfort 
 His followers, and perfect what He had begun? Did He not 
 signify that after the Son should come the Father?” 
 
 “Do you mean,” I demanded in astonishment, “‘that you 
 regard Beha as the Father? What do you intend by this ex- 
 pression? You cannot surely mean that you consider Beha to 
 be God Himself?” 
 
 “What do you mean by the expression ‘Son of God’?” 
 returned the Babi. | 
 
 “Our learned men explain it in different ways,” I answered; 
 “but let us take the explanation which Christ Himself gave in 
 answer to the same question—‘ As many as do the will of God 
 ate the sons of God.’ Christ perfectly fulfilled the will of God; 
 He had—as I understand it—reached the stage which your 
 Sufis call ‘annihilation in God?’ (fend f’'lah); He had become 
 merged in God in thought, in will, in being, and could say 
 truly, ‘I am God.’ Higher than this can no one pass; how then 
 can you call Beha ‘the Father,’ since ‘the Father’ is Infinite, 
 Invisible, Omnipresent, Omnipotent?” 
 
 “Suppose that in this assembly,” replied the other, “‘there 
 wete one wiser than all the rest, and containing in himself all, 
 and more than all, the knowledge which the others possessed 
 
SHIRAZ 341 
 
 collectively. That one would be, in knowledge, the Father of all 
 the others. So may Beha be called ‘the Father’ of Christ and of 
 all preceding prophets.” 
 
 “Well,” I answered, by no means satisfied with this explana- 
 tion, “apart from this, which I will pass by for the present, it 
 appeats to me that you confuse and confound different things. 
 The coming of the Comforter is not the same thing, as we under- 
 stand it, as the return of Christ, yet both of these you declare 
 to be fulfilled in the coming of Beha. And whereas you spoke 
 of Beha a little while ago as Christ returned, you now call him 
 ‘the Father.’ As regards the Comforter, we believe that he 
 entered as the Holy Spirit into the hearts of the disciples soon 
 after the Jews had put Christ to death. I know that the Muham- 
 madans assert that the prophecies which we apply to this descent 
 of the Holy Spirit were intended to refer to Muhammad; that 
 for the word mapaxhyrtos they would substitute repexduros, which 
 is in meaning nearly equivalent to Ahmad or Muhammad, 
 signifying one ‘praised,’ or ‘illustrious.’ But if you, as I suppose, 
 follow the Muhammadans in this, you cannot apply the same 
 prophecy to Beha. If the promise concerning the advent of 
 the Comforter was fulfilled in the coming of Muhammad, then 
 it clearly cannot apply to the coming of Behd4. And, indeed, 
 I still fail to understand in what light you regard Islam, and must 
 return once more to the question concerning its relation to 
 Christianity and to your religion which I put some time ago, 
 and which I do not think you answered clearly. If news of the 
 succeeding ‘manifestation’ is given by every messenger of God, 
 surely it is confined to the ‘manifestation’ immediately succeeding 
 that wherein it is given, and does not extend to others which lie 
 beyond it. Assuming that you are right in regarding Islam as 
 the completion and fulfilment of Christianity, your religion must 
 be regarded as the completion and fulfilment of Isl4m, and the 
 prophecies concerning it must then be sought in the Kur’4n 
 and ‘Traditions rather than in the Gospel. It is therefore 
 
342 SHIRAZ 
 
 incumbent on you, if you desite to convince me, first of all to 
 ptove that Muhammad was the promised Comforter, and that 
 his religion was the fulfilment of Christianity; then to prove that 
 the coming of the Bab was foretold and signified by Muhammad; 
 and only after this has been done, to prove that Beha is he whom 
 the Bab foretold. For it is possible to believe in Muhammad and 
 not to believe in the Bab, or to believe in the Bab and not to 
 believe in Beh4, while the converse is impossible. If a Jew 
 becomes a Muhammadan he must necessarily accept Christ; so 
 ifa Muhammadan becomes a believer in Beha he must necessarily 
 believe in the Bab.” 
 
 “To explain the relations of Islam to Christianity on the one 
 hand, and to this manifestation on the other, would require a 
 longer time than we have at our disposal at present,” replied 
 the Babi apologist; “but, in brief, know that the signs laid down 
 by each prophet as characteristic of the next manifestation apply 
 also to all future manifestations. In the books of each prophet 
 whose followers still exist are recorded signs sufficient to con- 
 vince them of the truth of the manifestation of their own age. 
 There is no necessity for them to follow the chain link by link. 
 Each prophet is complete in himself, and his evidence is con- 
 clusive unto all men. God does not suffer His proof to be 
 incomplete, or make it dependent on knowledge and erudition, 
 for it has been seen in all manifestations that those who have 
 believed were men whom the world accounted ignorant, while 
 those who were held learned in religion were the most violent 
 and bitter opponents and persecutors. Thus it was in the time of 
 Christ, when fishermen believed in Him and became His dis- 
 ciples, while the Jewish doctors mocked Him, persecuted Him, 
 and slew Him. Thus it was also in the time of Muhammad, 
 when the mighty and learned among his people did most 
 furiously revile and reproach him. And although in this mani- 
 festation—the last and the most complete—many learned men 
 have believed, because the proofs were such as no fair-minded 
 
SHIRAZ 343 
 
 man could resist, still, as you know, the Muhammadan doctors 
 have evet shown themselves our most itreconcilable enemies, 
 and our most strenuous opposers and persecutors. But those who 
 are pure in heart and free from prejudice will not fail to recognise 
 the manifestation of God, whenever and wherever it appears, 
 even as Mawlana Jalalu’d-Din Rumi says in the Masnavi— 
 * Dide’t bdyad ki bashad shah-shinds 
 Td shindsad Shab-rd dar har hibdas.’ 
 “One needs an eye which is king-recognising 
 To recognise the King under every disguise.’”’ 
 
 As it was growing late, and I desired to make use of the 
 present occasion to learn further particulars about the literature 
 of the Babis, I allowed the discussion to stand at this point, and 
 ptoceeded to make enquities about the books which they prized 
 most highly. In reply to these enquiries they informed me that 
 Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad the Bab had composed in all about a 
 hundred separate treatises of different sizes; that the name Beydnu 
 was applied generally to all of them; and that the book which 
 I described as having been translated into French by Gobineau 
 must be that specially designated as the Kitdbw’/-Abkdm (“Book 
 of Precepts”’). Beha, they added, had composed about the same 
 number of separate books and letters. I asked if all these works 
 existed in Shiraz, to which they replied, “‘No, they are scattered 
 about the country in the hands of believers—some at Yezd, 
 some at Isfahan, some in other places. In Shiraz the total number 
 of separate works is altogether about a dozen.” 
 
 “Tf that be so,” I remarked, “I suppose that some few works 
 of greater value than the others are to be found in every com- 
 munity of believers; and I should be glad to know which these 
 ate, so that I may endeavour to obtain them.” 
 
 “All that emanates from the Source (wasdar) is equal in 1m- 
 portance,” they answered, “but some books are more systematic, 
 
 mote easily understood, and therefore more widely read than 
 others. Of these the chief are:—(1) The Kitdb-i-Akdas (‘Most 
 
3.44 SHIRAZ 
 
 Holy Book’), which sums up all the commands and ordinances 
 enjoined on us; (2) The Ikdn (‘Assurance’), which sets forth 
 the proofs of our religion; (3) Dissertations on Science— 
 astronomy, metaphysics, and the like—which we call Swwar-i- 
 ‘T/miyyé; (4) Prayers (Mundjdt) and Exhortations (Khufab). Besides 
 these there is a history of the early events of this ‘manifestation,’ 
 written by one who desired to keep his name secret.” 
 
 “Can you get me these?” I enquired, “especially the Kztab-z- 
 Akdas and the History (for I already possess the [kdu)? And was 
 the writer of the History one of yourselves?” 
 
 “T will get a transcript of the Kitdb-i-Akdas made for you if 
 I can,” replied Mirza ‘Ali, “and meanwhile I will borrow a copy 
 for you to tead. I daresay some of us can lend you the History 
 also. It is not altogether good. The author devotes too large 
 a portion of his work to abuse of the Muhammadan doctors and 
 teflections on the Persian Government, while, on the other 
 hand, he omits many events of real importance. Besides that, I 
 do not like his pretence of being a French traveller; for we all 
 know, and indeed anyone who teads his book can see, that he 
 was not a European. I do not know his name, but I expect Haji 
 Mirza Hasan does.” 
 
 “T know it,” answered the person appealed to, “‘but it is a 
 secret which I am not entitled to divulge, though, as the writer 
 is dead now, it could make very little matter even were it gene- 
 rally known. I may tell you this much, that he was one of the 
 secretaries of Manakjit Sahib at Teheran. When he began to 
 write he was quite impartial, but as he went on he became con- 
 vinced by his investigations of the truth of the matter, and this 
 change in his opinions is manifest in the later portion of the 
 
 1 Manakji, the son of Limji Hushang Hataryari, was for many years 
 maintained by the Parsees of Bombay at Teheran to watch over the interests 
 of the Persian Zoroastrians. He died about the year 1890. Full particulars 
 of the circumstances under which the New History here alluded to was 
 composed will be found in the Introduction to my translation of that 
 work. 
 
SHIRAZ 345 
 
 wotk. The book was sent to the Supreme Horizon’ when it 
 was finished, but was not altogether approved there, and I 
 believe that another and mote accurate history is to be written ’. 
 However, you will learn a good deal from this one.” 
 
 “Have you got any of the poems of Kurratu’l-‘Ayn?” I 
 demanded; “‘I have heard that she wrote poems, and should 
 like very much to see some of them, and obtain copies.” 
 
 “Yes,” they answered, “‘she wrote poems, and some of them 
 are still extant; but we have none of them here in Shiraz. You 
 would most likely find them, if anywhere, at Kazvin, her native 
 place, at Hamadan, which she visited after her conversion, or at 
 Teheran, where she suffered martyrdom. In Khurasan and 
 Mazandaran, also, pe might be found, but here in the South it 
 is difficult.” 
 
 It was now past sunset, and dusk was drawing on, so I was 
 reluctantly compelled to depart homewards. On the whole, I 
 was well satisfied with my first meeting with the Babis of Shiraz, 
 and looked forward to many similar conferences during my stay 
 in Persia. They had talked freely and without testraint, had 
 received me with every kindness, and appeared desirous of 
 affording me every facility for comprehending their doctrines; 
 and although some of my enquiries had not met with answers 
 as cleat as I could have desired, I was agreeably impressed with 
 the fairness, courtesy, and freedom from prejudice of my new 
 acquaintances. Especially it struck me that their knowledge of 
 Christ’s teaching and the gospels was much greater than that 
 commonly possessed by the Musulmans, and I observed with 
 pleasure that they regarded the Christians with a friendliness 
 very gratifying to behold. 
 
 Concerning the books, they were as good as their word. I 
 received on the following day manuscripts of the History and of 
 
 1 JI.e. Acre, the residence of Beha’u’llah, “the Sun of Truth.” 
 
 2 The Traveller’s Narrative, composed by Beha’u’llah’s son, ‘Abbas Efendi, 
 about the year 1886, was the outcome of this intention. It was published by 
 me with a translation in 1891. 
 
3.46 SHIRAZ 
 
 the Kitab-i- Akdas, and was told that I might keep them as long 
 as I liked, but that a fresh copy of the latter would be made for 
 me by Haji Mirza Hasan, the scribe. Both books were finally, 
 ere I left Persia, made over to meas a free gift, and are now in my 
 possession. 
 
 Four days after the conference described above, I received a 
 note from Mirza ‘Ali informing me that Haji Mirza Hasan had 
 come to see him, and that I might join them if I wished. Of course 
 I hastened thither at once, taking with me the Kztab-i-Akdas 
 (which I had meanwhile tread through) to ask the explanation 
 of certain passages which I had been unable fully to understand. 
 Most of these Haji Mirza Hasan explained to me, but the very 
 complicated law of inheritance he could not altogether elucidate. 
 In answer to my question whether polygamy was sanctioned by 
 their religion, he replied that two wives are a/lowed, but believers 
 ate tecommended to limit themselves to one. I then enquired 
 whether it was true, as asserted by Gobineau, that circumcision 
 had been abolished. He answered that it was ignored, being a 
 thing altogether indifferent. Sundry other points wherein the 
 ordinances of the new religion differed from those of Islam, such 
 as the prohibition of shaving the head or wearing long locks 
 (zu/f) like the Persians, and the regulations for prayer, were then 
 discussed. 
 
 Two days later Mirza “Ali again paid mea visit, and remained 
 for about two hours. From him I learned sundry particulars 
 about the Babis of which his European education had enabled 
 him to appreciate the interest, but which would probably never 
 have been mentioned to me by Haji Mitrz4 Hasan or my other 
 friends, who, as is so often the case in the East, could not under- 
 stand a mere desire for information as such, and who therefore 
 would speak of little else but the essential doctrines of their 
 religion. Amongst other things he told me that, besides the new 
 writing (known only to a few), many of the Babis had cornelian 
 seals on which was cut a curious device. These seals were all 
 
SHIRAZ 347 
 
 engraved by a certain dervish belonging to the sect, who spent 
 his life in travelling from town to town. The device in question, 
 which I subsequently saw, is shaped thus:— 
 
 
 
 As to its significance! Mirza “Ali professed himself ignorant. 
 I questioned him about the prophecies of Beha alluded to at the 
 house of Mirza Muhammad, and he replied that I had better ask 
 Haji Mirza Hasan, who had been much at Acre, and knew far 
 more about them than he did. One of the best known instances, 
 he added, was connected with the history of the martyrs of 
 Isfahan. Soon after their death, Sheykh Bakir, who had been 
 chiefly instrumental in bringing it about, received a terrible 
 letter of denunciation from Acte, wherein it was announced 
 that he would shortly die in disgrace and ignominy, which 
 actually occurred a little while afterwards. “‘Sheykh Bakir’s 
 miserable end is a matter of notoriety in Persia,” concluded my 
 friend, “but I will try to get Haji Mirza Hasan or one of the 
 others to show you the epistle in which it is foretold, and to 
 relate to you all the details of the matter, for I quite understand 
 the importance which you attach to prophecy in the sense in 
 which you commonly understand it in Europe.” About sunset 
 Mirza ‘Alf rose to depart, but before leaving invited me to spend 
 the next day in a garden near Masjid-Bardi which belonged to 
 him. “I shall ask Haji Mirza Hasan and some other friends,” 
 he added, “and we can discuss matters undisturbed and 
 
 1 I have since learned that it is a monogram of Beha’s name. Cf. p. 522 dénfra. 
 
3.48 SHIRAZ 
 
 uninterrupted, for I shall take care not to have any prating inquisi- 
 tive servants about; only my faithful black, and one or two others 
 onwhomlIcan rely.” I gladly accepted the invitation and we parted. 
 
 Early next morning I met my friend and Haji Mirza Hasan 
 at the gate of the city. As soon as I percetved them I gave Haji 
 Safar permission to withdraw, telling him that I should not need 
 him again before evening. When he was gone, Mirza ‘Ali in- 
 formed me that the other guests would proceed independently 
 to the garden, as it was perhaps inadvisable for all of us to be 
 seen together. After a pleasant walk of about forty minutes 
 (for I had entreated my friend to dispense with horses) we 
 reached the garden, and betook ourselves to an upper chamber 
 in a little summer-house standing in its midst. Though the day 
 was cloudy, no rain fell till 10.30 a.m., by which time all the 
 other guests had arrived. These were three in number, all men 
 past middle age, grave and venerable in appearance. Two of 
 them, both Seyyids, and both of the number of the Afndn’, 
 I had met already. The third wore a white turban, and brought 
 with him, concealed beneath his cloak, two books. 
 
 After the usual interchange of greetings, Mirza ‘Ali suggested 
 to the possessor of the books that he should read a portion aloud; 
 and the Epistle addressed to Napoleon III, exhorting him to 
 believe and warning him of his approaching humiliation, was 
 accordingly chosen as containing one of the most remarkable 
 prophecies of Beha. The prophecy in question I have published 
 elsewhere” in an account given to the Royal Asiatic Society of 
 the Literature and Doctrines of the Babis, but two vetses of it 
 may be repeated here. * They run as follows:— 
 
 “Because of what thou hast done, affairs shall be changed in thy kingdom, and 
 empire shall depart from thine hands, as a punishment for thine action.... 
 
 “Thy glory hath made thee proud. By my life! It shall not endure, but shall pass 
 away, unless thou takest hold of this firm rope. We have seen humiliation hastening 
 after thee, while thou art of those that sleep.” 
 
 1 See above, p. 330. 
 2 Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, October 1889, p. 968. 
 
SHIRAZ 3.49 
 
 When the reader ceased, I asked for permission to examine 
 the books, which was readily accorded. The one from which 
 the Epistle to Napoleon had been read, contained, besides this, 
 the whole of the Kitdb-i-Akdas, and the other Epistles addressed 
 to the rulers of the principal countries in Europe and Asia. ‘These 
 comprised letters to the Queen of England, the Emperor of 
 Russia, the Shah of Persia, and the Pope of Rome, as well as one 
 addressed to a Turkish minister who had oppressed the Babis. 
 I asked when these were written, but no one present seemed 
 to know the exact date, though they thought that it was about 
 twenty years before, when Beha was in Adrianople. Besides these 
 “Epistles to the Kings” (Adydb-i-Saldtin) were one ot two other 
 letters addressed to believers, amongst which was one written 
 to the Babi missionary whom I had met at Isfahan while he was 
 in exile at Khartoum with Haji Mirza Hasan. These epistles 
 were, as I learned, known collectively as the Sw#ra-i-Heykal*. 
 
 The other book was a larger volume, containing many s#ras 
 without name or title, some of considerable length, some quite 
 short. This collection was termed by my companions “The 
 Perspicuous Book” (Kitdb-i-Mubin). While I was engaged in 
 examining it breakfast was announced, and we repaired to an 
 adjoining room, where a sumptuous repast of savoury pi/dws 
 and childws, prawns, melons, and other delicacies was laid out. 
 I wished to take my place on the floor with the other guests, 
 but this Mirza ‘Ali would not permit, saying that he knew | 
 should be more comfortable if I would sit at the table which he 
 had provided expressly for me. | 
 
 After the meal one or two of the guests lay down to sleep 
 for a while, and in the narrower circle conversation seemed to 
 flow mote freely. I succeeded at length in inducing my Babi 
 
 1 Abstracts of these letters were published by me in English in the Journal 
 of the Royal Asiatic Society for October 1889, and the full text of the S#ra-z- 
 Heykal has been edited by Baron Rosen in vol.'vi of the Collections Scientifiques 
 de |’ Institut des Langues Orientales (St Petersburg, 1891). Of this edition I 
 published a notice in the J.R.A.S. for April 1892. 
 
350 SHIRAZ 
 
 friends to give me some further account of the Bab, and of the 
 history of their faith. The sum of what they told me was as 
 follows:— 
 
 Each of the prophets is the ‘“‘manifestation” of one of the 
 Names (or Attributes) of God. The name manifested in the 
 Bab was the highest of all—Wdpid, the One. Hence it is that 
 I9 is amongst the Babis the sacred number according to which 
 all things are arranged—the months of the year, the days of the 
 month, the chapters in the Beydy, the fines imposed for certain 
 offences, and many other things. For 19 is the numerical value 
 of the word Wdpid according to the abjad notation, in which 
 each letter has a numerical equivalent, and each word a cortre- 
 sponding number, formed by the addition of its component 
 letters. This sacred number was manifested even at the first 
 appearance of the Bab, for eighteen of his fellow-students at 
 once believed in him. These eighteen are called “the Letters of 
 the Living” (Hurifdt-i-Hayy), because they wete the creative 
 agents employed by the Bab for bestowing new life upon the 
 world, and because the numerical value of the word Hayy is 18. 
 All of them were inspired and pervaded by the Bab, the One 
 (Waid), and with him constitute the manifested Unity (Wahid) 
 of 19. Thus the visible church on earth was a type of the one 
 God, one in Essence, but revealed through the Names, whereby 
 the Essence can alone be comprehended. But this is not all. Each 
 of the nineteen members of the “‘Unity” gained nineteen con- 
 vetts, so that the primitive church comprised 361 persons in all. 
 This is called “The Number of All Things” (“adad-i-kulli shey), 
 for 361 is the square of 19 and the further expansion thereof, 
 and it is also the numerical equivalent of the words ku//i shey, 
 which mean “All Things.” This is why the Babi year, like the 
 Beydn, 1s atranged according to this number in nineteen months 
 of nineteen days each. But the Babi year is a solar year con- 
 taining 366 days. These five additional days are added at the 
 beginning of the last month, which is the month of fasting, and 
 
SHIRAZ 351 
 
 ate commanded to be spent in entertaining one’s friends and the 
 poor, as it is written in the Kitab-1- Akdas— 
 
 “Place the days which are in excess over the months before the month of fasting. 
 Verily we have made them the manifestations of the [letter] Hi [= 5| amongst the 
 nights and days. Therefore are they not comprised within the limits of the months. It 
 is incumbent on such as are in Behd to feed therein themselves, and their relatives; 
 then the poor and distressed....And when the days of giving [which are| before the 
 days of withholding are finished, let them enter upon the fast.” 
 
 Immediately after the month of fasting comes the great 
 festival of the Nawr#z, which inaugurates a new year. That the 
 old national festival, which marks the period when the sun again 
 resumes his sway after the dark cold winter is past and the earth 
 again clothes herself with verdure, should be thus consecrated 
 again by the Babis is one sign amongst many of the Persian 
 genius by which the new faith was inspired. 
 
 Sheykh Ahmad Ahsa’i, who taught at Kerbela about the 
 beginning of the nineteenth century, first began to hint darkly 
 that the days wherein the promised Imam should appear were at 
 hand. When he died (4.p. 1826) his pupil, Haji Seyyid Kazim 
 of Resht, succeeded him, and spoke mote clearly on the same 
 theme, especially towards the end of his life. Amongst the 
 number of those who attended his lectures were Mirza ‘Ali 
 Muhammad: the Bab, and Haji Muhammad Karim Khan of 
 Kirman. Now when the former arose and declared himself to 
 be the promised Imam, foretold by the lately deceased teacher, 
 the latter strenuously opposed him, and claimed the supremacy 
 for himself. And some followed Karim Khan, whilst others (and 
 these were the majority) recognised the claim of Mirza ‘Ali 
 Muhammad the Bab. These latter were henceforth called Babis, 
 while the former retained the title of Sheykhis, thereby im- 
 plying that they were the true exponents of the doctrine of 
 Sheykh Ahmad, and that the Babis had departed therefrom; for 
 before that time all alike who accepted the Sheykh’s teaching 
 were called by this name. Thus it is that, although the Bab and 
 the majority of his disciples had previously to the “‘manifesta- 
 
352 SHIRAZ 
 
 tion” been called Sheykhis, the Sheykhis of to-day (¢.e. the 
 followers of Karim Khan of Kirman) are the bitterest and fiercest 
 enemies of the Babis. 
 
 Beha, whose proper name is Mirza Huseyn ‘Ali, of Nur, in 
 Mazandaran, was one of those who believed in the Bab. He 
 was arrested at Amul on his way to join the Babis, who, under 
 the leadership of Mulla Huseyn of Bushraweyh, were entrenched 
 at Sheykh Tabarsi. In 1852 he narrowly escaped death in the 
 great persecution wherein the intrepid Suleyman Khan, the 
 brilliant and beautiful Kurratu’l“Ayn, and a host of others, 
 suffered martyrdom. It was proved, however, that he had but 
 just arrived at Teheran, and could not have had any share in the 
 plot against the Shah wherein the others were accused of being 
 involved, so his life was spared, and, after an imprisonment of 
 about four months, he was allowed to leave Persia and take up 
 his residence at Baghdad. Mirza Yahya, “ Subp-7-Exel”’ (“the 
 Morning of Eternity”), Beha’s half-brother (then only about 
 twenty-two years of age), was at that time recognised as the Bab’s 
 successor, having been designated as such by the Bab himself, 
 shortly before he suffered martyrdom at Tabriz. His supremacy 
 was tecognised, at least nominally, by all the Babis during the 
 eleven years’ sojourn of their chiefs at Baghdad, but even then 
 Beha took the most prominent part in the organisation of affairs, 
 the carrying on of correspondence, and the interviewing of 
 visitors. In 1863 the Ottoman Government, acceding to the 
 urgent requests of the Persian authorities, removed all the Babis, 
 including Beha and Mirza Yahya, “Swbp-i-Exe/,” from Baghdad 
 to Constantinople, and thence to Adrianople, where they arrived 
 about the end of the year. Here at length Beha cast aside the 
 veil, proclaimed himself as ““He whom God shall manifest,” 
 whose coming the Bab had foretold, and called on all the Babis, 
 including Mirza Yahya, “‘Swbp-i-Exe/,” to acknowledge his claim 
 and submit to his authority. Many of the Babis did so at once, 
 and their number increased as time went on, so that now the 
 
SHIRAZ 353 
 
 great majority of them are followers of Beha, though a few still 
 adhere to Mirza Yahya, and these are called Ezelis. But at first 
 the disproportion between the Beha’is and the Ezelis was but 
 slight, and the rivalry between them was great, resulting, indeed, 
 in some bloodshed. So‘ the Turkish Government decided to 
 separate them, and accordingly sent Beha and his followers to 
 Acre in Syria, and Mirza Yahya and his family to Famagusta in 
 Cyprus. Now the reason why Beha was sent to Acte was, as 
 his followers assert, that its climate is exceedingly unhealthy, 
 and that it was hoped that he might die there. For the Persian 
 ambassador, the French minister, and ‘Ali Pasha, the Turk, had 
 consulted together as to the means whereby the new faith might 
 be crushed. The Persian suggested that Beha should be killed, 
 but the Turk refused to do this openly, saying that it would be 
 a much better plan to send him and his followers to a place 
 where they would soon die. But Beha divined their wicked 
 intention, and rebuked it in the “Epistles to the Kings,” de- 
 claring that ‘Ali Pasha should die in exile, and the power of 
 France fail before the foe, while he remained unharmed in the 
 place whither they had sent him. And these things were ful- 
 filled; for two years later France began to recoil before the 
 German atms, while ‘Ali Pasha died far from his native land. 
 But Beha continued to live and prosper, and even dreary Acte 
 smiled with fresh gardens and seemed to gain a purer air!. 
 
 And now, the afternoon being far advanced, it was time to 
 retrace our steps to the city. The rain had ceased and the evening 
 was soft and balmy, but the roads were terribly muddy. In spite 
 of this we had a pleasant walk back to the town, where we 
 atrived a little before dusk, after a most delightful day. 
 
 On the morrow, as I was sitting in my room after breakfast 
 
 1 I give this account as it was given to me by the Babis of Shiraz, but I do 
 not think that it is altogether correct. For instance, I think that not ‘Ali 
 Pasha, but Fu’d4d Pasha, who actually died at Nice in 1869, was the Turkish 
 statesman concerned. 
 
 B 23 
 
354 SHIRAZ 
 
 wondering what to do, a note came from Mirza “Ali asking me 
 to be ready at 3 p.m. to accompany him to the house of one of 
 the Afndn (i.e. a member of the Bab’s family), and meanwhile 
 to ptepate any questions which I might desire to ask, as I should 
 meet there one of the most learned Babis in Shiraz, whose mani- 
 fold and undisputed talents had caused his co-religionists to 
 bestow on him the title of Kdmi/t (“Perfect”’). Joyfully signify- 
 ing my acceptance of the invitation, I sat down to glance hastily 
 through the Kitdb-i-Akdas and make notes of such passages as 
 presented any difficulty. At the appointed time Mirza ‘Ali’s 
 black servant came to conduct me to the place of meeting, 
 where, besides some of those whom I had met in the garden on 
 the previous day, the illustrious Kamil himself was present. After 
 the customaty greetings were over, I was invited to lay my 
 difficulties before him, an invitation with which I hastened to 
 comply. 
 
 My first question related to the laws of inheritance and the 
 pattition of property, but here I was not more fortunate than 
 On a ptevious occasion, even Kamil being compelled to admit 
 that he could not altogether comprehend them. I therefore 
 passed on to the passage in the Kztdb-i-Akdas wherein the 
 ‘Pilgrimage to the House” (Hayjw’/-Beyt) is enjoined on all male 
 believers who are able to perform it, and enquired what was 
 meant by “‘the House” in question. To this Kamil replied that 
 the house in Shiraz wherein the Bab formerly dwelt was in- 
 tended. I asked eagerly if I might not be permitted to visit it 
 while in Shiraz, whereat they looked doubtfully at one another, 
 and said that they would try to manage it, but that it was difficult 
 —fitstly, because the present inmates of the house were all 
 women; secondly, because the house was well-known to the 
 Musulmans, who would not fail to remark so unusual an event 
 as the visit of a Firangi to a Babi shrine. 
 
 1 His actual title was similar to, but not identical with, this. Considera- 
 tions of expediency have led me to alter it as above. 
 
SHIRAZ 355 
 
 My third question telated to the following verse:— 
 
 “It is not meet for any one to demand pardon before another; repent unto God 
 in presence of yourselves; verily He is Forgiving, Bounteous, Mighty, (and) Snift 
 to repent.” : 
 
 “What does this prohibition refer to?” I demanded of Kamil. 
 
 “To the power which your priests claim of absolving men of 
 sin,” he replied. 
 
 “But surely,” I urged, “since this claim is in the first place 
 confined to Christendom, and in the second place is limited to 
 the priests of one sect amongst the Christians, it seems hardly 
 necessary to prohibit it here.” 
 
 “Tt is not confined to Christians,” he replied, “for the mul/as 
 here claim very similar powers, though perhaps they formulate 
 them in a less definite. manner. When a man has embezzled or 
 extorted money, and his conscience pricks him, he goes before 
 one of our clergy and states the case to him, whereupon the 
 latter takes a small sum from him in the name of religion, and 
 declares the remainder purified thereby. All such tricks of 
 priests and mu//ds are forbidden in this verse.” 
 
 The fourth question which I put forward provoked a more 
 fruitful discussion. It telated to the verse wherein the Sufis 
 and others who lay claim to inward knowledge are condemned 
 in the following terms:— 
 
 *¢ And there are amongst them such as lay claim to the inner and the inmost (mystery). 
 Say, ‘O liar! By God, what thou hast is but husks which we have abandoned to you 
 as bones are abandoned to the dogs.’” 
 
 “Surely,” I demanded, “not only is the doctrine of the Sufis 
 in many ways near akin to your own, but it is also purer and 
 more spiritual by far than the theology of the mul/ds. Do you 
 condemn Mansur-i-Hallaj for saying, ‘I am the Truth’ (And’h 
 FHlakk), when Beha makes use of the same expression? Do you 
 regard Jalalu’d-Din Rumi as a liar when you continually make 
 use of the Masnavi to illustrate your ideas?” 
 
 “No,” answered Kamil, “assuredly Mansur and Jalalu’d-Din 
 
 23-2 
 
356 SHIRAZ 
 
 spoke with a true inspiration. This verse in no wise applies to 
 them, nor to any of the Sufis of past days; these were illumined 
 with a true light in such wise that many of them clearly hinted 
 at this ‘manifestation,’ as, for example, Hafiz does, where he 
 says— 
 
 ‘Ey sabd, gar bigzari bar sabil-t-rid-i-Aras 
 
 Busé zan bar khak-i-dn wddt, va mushkin kun nafas? 
 
 *O zephyt, if thou passest by the banks of the river Araxes, 
 Implant a kiss on the earth of that valley, and make fragrant thy breath.’ 
 
 For it was in the fortress of Maku, by the Araxes, that His 
 Highness the Point of Revelation (7.e. the Bab) spent the last 
 three years of his life. Those intended by the verse in question 
 ate such as would oppose a pretended inward illumination to 
 the full light of the present ‘manifestation.’” 
 
 “So far as I understand you, then,” I replied, “you admit 
 the Sufi doctrine, that a man may, by self-renunciation and in- 
 tense abstraction, attain to the degree of ‘Annihilation in God,’ 
 and that in this condition he may truly say, ‘Iam God,’ inasmuch 
 as he has forgone self, escaped from the illusions of plurality, 
 and realised the unity of True Being. If this be so, I do not 
 clearly understand in what way you regard the prophet as his 
 superior, for surely no degree can be higher than this. As your 
 proverb says, “There is no colour beyond black’ (ba/d-tar az 
 Siyadh rangi nist). Still less do I see how you can speak of one 
 prophet as superior to another, unless you place all but the 
 highest in a lower rank than the Sufi who has attained to absorp- 
 tion into the Divine Essence.” 
 
 “When we speak of one prophet as superior to another,”’ 
 answered Kamil, “we speak in a manner purely relative, for 
 the Universal Spirit (Rw#)-i-Ku///) speaks through all of them 
 alike. But inasmuch as they speak in divers manners, according 
 to the capacity of their hearers, and according to the requirements 
 of time and place, to us they appear in different degrees of per- 
 fection. The sun, for example, is the same to-day as it was 
 
SHIRAZ | 857 
 
 yesterday, yet we say, ‘To-day it is hotter than it was yesterday,’ 
 because we enjoy a fuller measure of its heat. But we do not by 
 this expression mean to imply that there is any alteration in the 
 sun itself. In the World: of Ideas, regard the Universal Spirit 
 as the sun which rises in each ‘manifestation’ from a different 
 horizon. Or regard it as the Instructor of mankind, speaking 
 always to those whom it addresses in a manner suitable to their 
 comprehension, just as a teacher instructs children in the alphabet, 
 boys in grammar, youths of riper age in logic, rhetoric, and other 
 sciences, and full-grown men in philosophy. The teacher is 
 always one and the same, but he manifests himself more or less 
 perfectly according to the aptitude of those whom he addresses. 
 So it is with the Universal Spirit, which speaks through all the 
 prophets: only its outward vestment changes, and the phrase- 
 ology of which it makes use; its essence and the message which 
 it utters are ever the same. And since this Universal Spirit is 
 Absolute Good, we must believe that it always has a manifesta- 
 tion in the world; for it is better that a tree should continually 
 bear fruit than that it should only bear fruit at long intervals, 
 and we ate bound to attribute all that is best to the Spirit. Hence 
 it follows that during the long intervals which separate one 
 prophetic dispensation from the next, there must be in the world 
 silent manifestations of the Spirit intrinsically not less perfect 
 than the speaking manifestations whom we call prophets. The 
 only difference is that a ‘claim’ (cddi‘d) is advanced in the one 
 case and not in the other. And it is only to this claim that the 
 vetse about which you enquire refers, as likewise does the vetse, 
 ‘Whosoever claimeth a dispensation before the completion of a full 
 thousand years is indeed a lying impostor?” 
 
 I now put to Kamil the following question, which I had 
 already propounded in my first meeting with the Babis of 
 Shiraz:—“If the references to Christ’s coming which occur in 
 the Gospel refer to this manifestation, then they cannot be ap- 
 plied, as they are by the Muslims, to Muhammad; in which case 
 
358 SHIRAZ 
 
 Muhammad’s coming was not foretold by Christ, and Islam loses 
 a ptoof which, as I understand, you regard as essential to every 
 dispensation, viz. that it shall have been foreshadowed by the 
 bearer of the last dispensation.” ‘To this he replied that in each 
 dispensation announcement was made of future manifestations 
 in general, and that what Christ said concerning His return ap- 
 plied equally to the advent of Muhammad, and of the Bab, and 
 of Beha. Muhammad’s title, Khdtamu’l-Anbiyd (“Seal of the 
 Prophets’’), did not, he explained, signify, as the Muhammadans 
 generally suppose, “the last of the Prophets,” as is proved by 
 a passage occutring in one of the prayers used by pilgrims to 
 Kerbela and Nejef, wherein Muhammad is called ‘“‘the Seal of 
 ‘the prophets who have gone before, and the Key of those who 
 are to come.” 
 
 “Do you,” I asked, “‘regard Zoroaster as a true prophet?” 
 
 “Assutedly,” he replied, ‘inasmuch as every religion which 
 has become current in the world, and has endured the test of 
 time, must have contained at least some measure of truth, 
 however much it may have been subsequently corrupted. Only 
 a Divine Word can strongly affect and continuously control 
 men’s hearts: spurious coin will not pass, and the uninterrupted 
 currency of a coin is the proof of its genuineness. The architect 
 is proved to be an architect by his ability to construct a house; 
 the physician is shown to be a physician by healing sickness; and 
 the prophet vindicates his claim to the prophetic office by estab- 
 lishing a religion. These two things are his sufficient proof, and 
 these only: that he has wisdom immediate and God-given, not 
 acquired from men; and that his word so penetrates and controls 
 men that for its sake they are willing to give up all that they most 
 ptize, and even to lay down their lives.” 
 
 So completely was Kamil dominated by this conception of 
 the nature of the proof required to establish a claim to prophet- 
 hood, that I could not make him see the importance of any 
 other evidence. “Had the Bab,” I enquired, “explicitly or by 
 
SHIRAZ 359 
 
 implication signified the attributes, qualities, or personal pecu- 
 liarities of his successor?” ‘“No,” he answered, “he merely 
 spoke of him as ‘Man yudh-hiruhu’lldh’ (‘He whom God shall 
 manifest’), without further describing him.” “Could not dates 
 of publication be proved for some of the prophecies wherein, as 
 I had heard, Beha had foretold the downfall of Napoleon the 
 Third, the assassination of the late Emperor of Russia, and other 
 events of general notoriety?”? Kamil thought that very possibly 
 they could, but he evidently attached no importance to the 
 question, and did not consider that the power of foretelling 
 future events was any proof of a divine mission. As to the right 
 of a prophet to inflict death, openly or secretly, on those who 
 stubbornly opposed him, he took exactly the same view as the 
 young Babi Seyyid whom I had previously questioned on this 
 matter. A prophet was no mote to be blamed for removing an 
 obdurate opponent than a surgeon for amputating a gangrenous 
 limb. 
 
 Before I left I was shown several books and epistles which I 
 had not previously seen. Amongst the latter was one addressed 
 to a Christian, and another containing consolations addressed 
 to one of Mirza ‘Ali’s uncles on the occasion of his father’s 
 death and his own bankruptcy, on account of which (for he 
 had failed to the extent of 60,000 t#mdns) he was then in sanctuary 
 at the Masjid-i-Naw. I was also shown a specimen of the Khaft-i- 
 tanzilt, or ““revelation-writing”’; z.e. the almost illegible draft of 
 Beha’s utterances made by his amanuensis, Aka Mirza Ak4 Jan, 
 called Khddimu’udh (“the Servant of God”’), who, as I was in- 
 formed, wrote with such speed that he could take down 1500 
 vetses in an hour, this being, as it appears, the maximum of 
 rapidity attained by Beha’s revelations. Very few, however, save 
 the amanuensis himself, could read this “revelation-writing.” 
 
 A seal, on which was inscribed the name Huseyn, both in the 
 Arabic character and in the Khatt-7-badi‘, or new writing invented 
 by the Babis, was also shown to me by one of those present. This 
 
360 SHIRAZ 
 
 new wtiting bears some superficial resemblance to the Armenian 
 character. Each letter consists of a thick oblique stroke descend- 
 ing from right to left, to which are appended various fine curves 
 and flourishes, all the thick lines being parallel and equidistant. 
 I finally left at about eight o’clock, one of my Babi friends re- 
 marking on the quick flight of the time, which, he added, was 
 due, in their belief, to the fact that in spiritual converse such as 
 we had held the soul soars above the limitations of Time and 
 Space, and ceases to take cognisance of them. 
 
 A few days after this I again called on my friend Mirza ‘Ali. 
 Shortly after my arrival, Haji Mirza Hasan joined us, and for 
 neatly three hours we talked without intermission about the 
 Babi religion, save for a short time, when we were interrupted 
 by an “‘ass’s head.” ! The conversation ran, for the most part, 
 on announcements of coming events by Beha, of which Haji 
 Mirza Hasan related the following instances from his own pet- 
 sonal experience:— 
 
 “You have heard of the “Martyrs of Isfahan,’”’? said he. 
 “Well, shortly before their death I was at Acre with Haji Mirza 
 Hasan ‘Ali, whom you met at Isfahdn, and Aka Seyyid Hadi. 
 A day or two before the time fixed for our return to Persia we 
 were with Beha, in a garden whither he sometimes repairs. He 
 was seated, and we, according to our- custom, were standing 
 before him. Presently he bade us sit down, and ordered an 
 attendant to give us tea. While we were drinking it he said, ‘A 
 great event will shortly take place in Persia.’ In the evening 
 Aka Seyyid Hadi privately enquired of him where this event 
 would happen, and was informed that it would be in the ‘Land 
 of Sad’ (Isfahan). Seyyid Hadi wrote to some of his friends in 
 Persia, and in his letter mentioned this prophecy. When we 
 reached Persia, Haji Mirza Hasan ‘Ali remained at Teheran, while 
 I continued my journey towards Isfahan. At Kashan I was met 
 by the news of the martyrs’ arrest. As they were very rich I 
 
 I See p. 300, supra. 2 See pp. 232-4, supra. 
 
SHIRAZ 361 
 
 confidently anticipated that they would be able to regain their 
 liberty by means of a heavy bribe to the authorities; neither did 
 I connect this news with Beha’s prophecy, for I rather under- 
 stood that as pointing to some general catastrophe, such as a 
 plague, famine, or earthquake. Four or five days later, however, 
 came the news of their martyrdom, and I, instead of proceeding 
 to Isfahan, turned back to Teheran, knowing now that this was 
 the event foreshadowed by Behat. At the execution the Imdm- 
 Jum‘a, seeing the headsman waver, had put his hand to his 
 throat, and said, ‘If there be any sin in this, let it be upon my 
 neck!’ Shortly afterwards he fell into disgrace, and retired to 
 Mashhad, where he was attacked with abscesses in the throat 
 (kKhandzir), of which he died. About a month after the death of 
 the martyrs, Sheykh Bakir received a letter from Acre containing 
 the most terrible denunciations and prophecies of misfortune’. 
 He subsequently went to Kerbela. On returning thence to 
 Isfahan he discovered that both his wife and his daughter (who 
 was extremely beautiful) had been seduced by the prince- 
 governor. His complaints and demands for redress resulted 
 only in the production of a letter from his wife to her paramour, 
 proving that she had made the first advances. Other troubles 
 and misfortunes succeeded this, and Sheykh Bakir presently 
 died, as Beha had foretold, without having been able to enjoy 
 his ill- “gotten gains. 
 
 “This is one instance of Beha’s prescience, About which you 
 enquired. I will give you another, in which I myself was more 
 closely concerned; but indeed such experiences are common to 
 most of us who have been privileged to hold intercourse with 
 out Master. I and Haji Mirza Hasan ‘Ali, whom you saw at 
 Isfahan, had been to visit Beha at Adrianople before he was 
 
 1 Haji Mirza Hasan here added an account of the events which had led to 
 the death of the two Seyyids. This I have already given at pp. 232-3, supra, So 
 I will not repeat it here. 
 
 2 Mirza ‘Ali told me that he had himself seen and copied this letter when 
 a boy, before the calamities which it foreshadowed had befallen Sheykh Bakir. 
 
362 SHIRAZ 
 
 transferred to Acre. We received instructions to proceed thence 
 to Egypt to encourage the Babis resident there, and to avert a 
 threatened schism. On the steamer in which we took our passage 
 was a merchant of Tabriz, named Haji Muhammad Ja‘far, who 
 was also a believer. Just before we started we were ordered to 
 avoid all conversation with him during the voyage. Although 
 we were completely at a loss to understand the object of this 
 prohibition, we obeyed it implicitly. In due course we safely 
 reached Egypt, and there set ourselves diligently to confirm 
 and encourage the believers, to check the schism which seemed 
 impending, and to spread the faith amongst our compatriots in 
 Egypt, so far as occasion served. The Persian Consul, unable to 
 prevent our compatriots from visiting us, sent word to us that 
 he was desirous of hearing about our religion, as he had been 
 long absent from Persia, and had been unable to satisfy himself 
 as to the truth of the matter. We, suspecting no evil (for we 
 thought that in Egypt we ran no tisk of arrest or imprisonment), 
 accepted his invitation, and, on an evening which he appointed, 
 visited him at the consulate. We sat talking with him till five or 
 six hours after sunset, speaking freely and. unreservedly about 
 religious questions. When, however, we rose to take our leave, 
 we were seized by the consul’s servants and detained in his 
 house, while messengets were sent to search our lodgings and 
 seize our books and papers. Next day the consul accused us 
 to Isma‘il Pasha of heresy and sedition, representing us as con- 
 fessedly belonging to a mischievous and dangerous sect, imbued 
 with revolutionary ideas, which was hostile to all authority, and 
 had already attempted the life of the Shah of Persia. Of our 
 heresy, he added, the five or six books found in our lodgings 
 (books which we regarded as abrogating the Kur’4n) would 
 afford ample evidence. The case was laid before the Council of 
 Enquity (Majlis-i-istintdk). We were declared infidels and apos- 
 tates, and, without a hearing, condemned to transpottation for 
 life to Khartoum in the Soudan. Thither we were sent, together 
 
SHIRAZ 363 
 
 with six or seven of our brethren. Haji Muhammad Ja‘far of 
 Tabriz, our fellow-traveller from Adrianople, was amongst the 
 accused, but he was acquitted, as it was proved that we had not 
 spoken to him on board the ship, and this was taken as pre- 
 sumptive evidence that he had no acquaintance with us. Then we 
 understood why Beha had forbidden us to speak with him on the 
 voyage, for had we done so he would have been involved in our 
 misfortune.” 
 
 “How long were you imprisoned at Khartoum?” I enquired; 
 “‘and how did you effect your escape?” 
 
 “We remained there for seven years,” replied Haji Mirza 
 Hasan, “‘and for some time we wete unable to communicate 
 with our Master, or even to ascertain whither he had been 
 removed (for vague rumours of his removal from Adrianople 
 reached us). At length we foregathered with some Christian 
 missionaries, whose goodwill we won by manifesting an interest 
 in their doctrines. By means of these we were able to send a 
 letter to Beha, informing him of our condition. On receiving 
 our letter, Beha at once indited an answer, consoling us in our 
 misfortune and announcing that our oppressor, Isma‘il Pasha, 
 would shortly fall from power, and that we should in a little 
 while again stand in the presence of our Master. This letter 
 was entrusted to an Arab called Jasim1, who started at once 
 for Khartoum, where he arrived six months later. When we re- 
 ceived it there seemed to be no likelihood that the promises of 
 deliverance which it contained would be fulfilled; but we were 
 at least no longer wholly cut off from our friends, for the Arab 
 not only took back with him our answer, but made arrangements 
 
 b) 
 
 t In the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for April 1892, pp. 311, 312, I 
 have attempted to prove that one of the epistles now included in what is 
 called by the Babis the S#ra-i-Heykal (the text of which has been published 
 in full by Baron Rosen in vol. vi of the Collections Scientifiques de l’ Institut des 
 Langues Orientales de St Pétersbourg, pp. 149-192) is this very letter. Jasim, as 
 I was informed at Acre, is merely a vulgar and local pronunciation of the 
 name K4sim. . 
 
364 SHIRAZ 
 
 with believers at Suez to forward our letters in the future. Soon 
 after this your English general came to Khartoum; I forget his 
 name, but you will probably remember it.” 
 
 ““General Gordon,” I answered. 
 
 “Yes,” rejoined Haji Mirza Hasan, “that was it. Well, soon 
 after his arrival he enquired about the prisoners whom he found 
 in Khartoum, and especially about us and the other Persians. 
 As he could find no crime recorded against us, he interrogated 
 us as to the reason of our confinement. We told him that we were 
 innocent of any crime, and that we had been condemned un- 
 heard, without a chance of defending ourselves. Our statement 
 was confirmed by the prison officials, and General Gordon 
 accotdingly telegraphed to Isma‘il Pasha demanding the reason 
 of our detention. The replies which he received were vague and 
 unsatisfactory, and he accordingly released us, telling us that we 
 were free to stay or go as we pleased. Haji Mirza Hasan ‘Ali and 
 myself at once availed ourselves of this permission, and set out 
 for Acre, but our companions, having wives and families at 
 Khartoum, chose to remain there. Soon after this, as you know, 
 Isma‘il Pasha was deposed, and the prophecy contained in the 
  epistle was fulfilled. 
 
 “You see that in all these cases when the prophecy was 
 uttered there seemed to be no likelihood of its fulfilment; in- 
 deed, when we received instructions to act in a certain way, we 
 seldom understood the reason till afterwards. For instance, on 
 one occasion Haji Mirza Hasan ‘Ali and myself were about to 
 return to Persia from Acre by way of Diyar Bekr, Mosul, and 
 Rawandiz. We were to’ take with us certain books destined for 
 a believer at Tabriz; but, though we intended to proceed thither 
 ourselves, we were instructed to convey them no farther beyond 
 the Persian frontier than we could help, but to hand them over 
 to some trustworthy person as soon as possible after entering 
 Persia. Accordingly, when, on reaching Souch Bulak, we heard 
 that a certain believing merchant was staying in the caravansaray, 
 
SHIRAZ 365 
 
 we sent a message to him, informing him that we wished to see 
 him at once on a matter of importance. He understood the nature 
 of our business and what was toward, and, though with no small 
 trepidation, came out to us at once. We walked away from the 
 town, he following us, till we came to a streamlet, where we sat 
 down and signed to him to do likewise. We explained to him 
 our object in seeking him, and handed over to him the books, 
 which he took with some reluctance, promising to convey them 
 to Tabriz on the first opportunity. Next day we started for 
 Tabriz, but we had not gone one parasang when we were 
 attacked by Kurdish robbers and stripped of everything save 
 out shitts and drawers. Had the books been with us, they too 
 would have been lost. As it was, we had to return in this plight 
 to Sotich Bulak. We laid a complaint before the Governor 
 of Tabriz, Huseyn Khan, son of the Sahib-Divan, and he pro- 
 mised us a hundred ¢#mdns* as compensation, but this we never 
 received.” 
 
 “These ate certainly very strange experiences,” I said; “but 
 of course the evidential value of prophecies referring to events 
 of public notoriety, and existing in written form before those 
 events came to pass, would be greater.” 
 
 “Well, is there not the epistle to ‘Ali P4sha,”? answered 
 Haji Mirza Hasan, “in which his death in a foreign land, as 
 well as the assassination of the Turkish ministers: whom Cherkez 
 Hasan slew, is clearly foreshadowed? And is there not also the 
 epistle to Sheykh Bakir, by whom the martyrs of Isfahan were 
 done to death, of which you have already heard? These epistles 
 ate well known, and the events to which they refer are notorious. 
 But let me tell you how Haji Muhammad Ja‘far, who escaped 
 exile to Khartoum, showed his devotion to Beha. When it was 
 
 1 £30 sterling. 
 
 2 I think, for reasons stated at pp. 271-2 of the Journal of the Royal Asiatic 
 Society for 1892, that Fu’4d Pasha, not ‘Ali Pash4, is really intended. I have 
 
 not, however, thought myself justified in altering the notes of these conversa- 
 tions recorded in my diary. Cf. n. 1 on p. 353, supra. 
 
366 SHIRAZ 
 
 decided by the Turkish Government to temove our Master and 
 his family and relatives, as well as Mirza Yahya!, from Adrian- 
 ople, they at first determined to dismiss his followers with their 
 “passports and a sum of money for their journey to Persia. Haji 
 Muhammad Ja‘far refused to agree to this, declaring that he 
 would not be separated from his master. He was told that he 
 must obey the Sultan’s orders. Thereupon he drew his knife, 
 and, before they could prevent him, inflicted a severe wound on 
 his throat; neither would he allow the surgeon who was im- 
 mediately summoned to sew it up until he had received an 
 assurance that he should be allowed to accompany Beha to Acte. 
 The Turkish authorities were therefore obliged to telegraph to 
 Constantinople that Beha’s followers could not be separated 
 from him, as they would rather kill themselves than leave him. 
 However, the Turks tried to send some of them with Mirza 
 Yahya to Cyprus; but these, on discovering whither their ship 
 was bound, cast themselves into the sea to swim to the ship in 
 which Beha was a passenger. They were finally allowed to ac- 
 company him to Acre, and only Mirza Yahya and his family’ 
 were conveyed to Cyprus, where they still remain.” 
 
 “Why,” I asked, “do you speak of Mirza Yahya as though 
 he were of no account? In the books about your religion which 
 I read in Europe he is described as the Bab’s chosen successor, 
 and, after him, as the chief of your sect?” 
 
 “Yes,” replied Haji Mirza Hasan, “it is true that he was one 
 of the early believers, and that at first he was accounted the 
 successor and vicegerent of the Bab. But he was repeatedly 
 
 1 I.e. Subb-i-Exel. This title, however, is seldom given by the followers 
 of Beha to Mirza Yahya. At most they call him “du shakhs-i-Exel,” “that 
 person Ezel.” 
 
 2 This, as I subsequently discovered, is not strictly accurate. Four of 
 Beha’s followers (Sheykh “Ali Sayydh, Mubammad Bakir, ‘Abdu’l Ghaffar, and 
 Mushkin-kalam) were sent with Subb-i-Eze/l to Cyprus. The first and second 
 died in the island in 1871 and 1872 respectively; the third escaped in 1870; 
 and the last left for Acre (where I saw him in the spring of 1890) in 1886. 
 
SHIRAZ 367 
 
 warned not to withhold his allegiance from ‘Him whom God 
 shall manifest,’ and threatened that if he did so he would fall 
 from the faith, and become as one rejected. In spite of these 
 cleat warnings of his Master, he refused to acknowledge the new 
 manifestation when it came; wherefore he is now regarded by 
 us as of no account.” 
 
 “Has he any followers in Cyprus?” I asked. 
 
 “Hardly any,” answered Haji Mirza Hasan; “‘he writes absurd 
 and meaningless letters to his partisans and to such as he hopes 
 to persuade; but he is afraid to come to Persia (though the Turks 
 have given him permission to do so!), fearing lest we should kill 
 him.” 
 
 “And would you kill him?” I enquired. 
 
 “Task pardon of God! Weare not authorised to kill anyone,”’ 
 replied the Babi missionary. 
 
 Next day I again met Haji Mirza Hasan at the house of my 
 friend Mirza ‘Ali. He had with him a commentary on the Kitab-i- 
 Akdas, with the aid of which we attempted, with but partial 
 success, to unravel the complicated law of inheritance laid down 
 by Beha. I was able, however, to learn from it something more 
 about the arrangement of the Babi year. This consists of nine- 
 teen months of nineteen days each, the same names serving alike 
 for the months of the year and the days of the month. These 
 names ate as follows:—(1) Behd, (2) Jalal, (3) Jemil, (4) “Aximat, 
 (5) Nar, (6) Rabmat, (7) Kalimdt, (8) Kamal, (9) Asmd, (10) ‘Izzat, 
 (11) Mashiyyat, (12) “Ilm, (13) Kudrat, (14) Kawl, (15) Masai, 
 (16) Sharaf, (17) Sultan, (18) Mulk, (19) ‘U/ad. According to this 
 attangement, the week is completely abolished; the third day 
 of the eighth month, for example, is called Yawmu’l-Jemdl min 
 shahri’l-Kamdl, “the day of Beauty (Jemd/) in the month of 
 Perfection (Kamd/).” But, pending the retention of the week, 
 
 1 This also is a mistake. It was only after the English occupation of 
 Cyprus that the Babis interned at Famagusta were given permission to leave 
 the island, on condition of forfeiting the pensions which they enjoyed. 
 
368 SHIRAZ 
 
 new names have been given to the days composing it, as 
 follows:— 
 
 Sunday, Yawmu’'l- Jemdl. Wednesday, Yawmu'l-‘Idal. 
 
 Monday, SIME IGT: Thursday, MSE LOLs 
 
 Tuesdays es eee as: Friday, »  Lstiklal. 
 Saturday, Yawmu’l-Jaldl:. 
 
 I learned a few more new facts about the Babis on this oc- 
 casion. The relations of the Bab (of whom I saw several at 
 Shiraz) are called “‘_Afndn,” and the sons of Beha “ Aghsan,” 
 both of these words meaning “‘branches.” Beha’s eldest son, 
 ‘Abbas Efendi?, is called Ghusn-i-Akbar (“the Most Great 
 Branch’), and also Akdyi Sirru’ldh (“the Master, God’s Mys- 
 tery’), while another of his sons, named Mirza Muhammad ‘AIi, 
 is entitled Ghusn-i-A‘zam (“the Most Mighty Branch’’)3. I was 
 also shown the epistle from Beha to Sheykh Bakir of which I 
 had heard so much, and copied from it the passage which, as the 
 Babis declared, foreshadowed the recent disgrace of the Zillu’s- 
 Sultan. The translation of this passage is as follows:—“ Verily 
 we heard that the provinces of Persia were adorned with the ornament 
 of justice; but when we made enquiry we found them well-springs of 
 injustice and sources of violence. Verily we see justice under the claws of 
 oppression: We ask, God to free it by an exercise of power and an act 
 
 1 For a fuller account of the arrangement of the Babi calendar, and of the 
 system of intercalation employed to keep it in correspondence with the solar 
 year (for the Nawr#z, which corresponds with the entry of the sun into the 
 sign of the Ram and the vernal equinox, marks the beginning of the Babi, 
 as of the old Persian, year), see vol. ii of my Traveller’s Narrative written to 
 illustrate the Episode of the Bab, pp. 412-425. See also pp. 350-1, supra. 
 
 2 I have described the impression produced upon me by this remarkable 
 man at pp. xxxv-xxxvi of vol. ii of my Tvaveller’s Narrative. 
 
 3 Him I did not see at Acre; he was probably living in seclusion. After- 
 wards he became the Pontiff of the Beha’i Babis, agreeably to Beha’s testa- 
 mentary depositions published in the original by Baron Rosen in vol. ii of 
 the Zapisski, pp. 194-6. Beha died on 29th May (16th, old style) 1892. In 
 my diary, as well as in my first article on the Babis in the Journal of the Royal 
 Asiatic Society for July 1888, I have wrongly transposed the titles of these two 
 sons of Beha. 
 
SHIRAZ 3.69 
 
 of authority on His part. Verily He 7s a Protector over whomsoever 
 7s in the earth and in the heavens.” 
 
 One of the older Babis whom I had previously met was 
 present for a while; and I urgently repeated a request, which I 
 had already made, that I might be taken to see the house (called 
 “ Beyt”—“the House” par excellence) formerly inhabited by the 
 Bab. There had been some difficulty about this—firstly, because 
 its inmates at that time were without exception women; and 
 secondly, because it was feared that my visiting it would excite 
 the suspicion of the Muhammadans, to whom also the house 
 was well-known; but these difficulties appeared to have been 
 surmounted, and I received a promise that on the next day but 
 one my wish should be gratified. It was therefore in the highest 
 spirits that I took leave of my Babi friends and turned home- 
 wards; but alas for my hopes, destined to disappointment; for, 
 had I known it, there was already awaiting me there that which 
 was to cut short my pleasant days in Shiraz, and debar me from 
 the accomplishment of the “‘visitation’? which I so ardently 
 desired to perform. 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 RUA 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 FROMES EPCRA eh On Ye 7i9 
 
 “ Mard dar manzil-i-Jandn ché ja-yi-‘aysh, chin har dam 
 Jaras farydd mi-ddrad, ki bar bandtd mahmil-ha?” 
 
 “Shall my Beloved one’s house delight me, 
 When issues ever and anon 
 From the relentless bell the mandate, 
 “Tis time to bind thy litters on’?”’ 
 (HAriz, translated by Herman Bicknell.) 
 
 T was, as I have said, in the best of spirits that I returned 
 
 on the evening of this Friday, the 12th of April, to the house 
 of my kind host the Nawwab. I was well pleased with my 
 environment at Shiraz, and more especially with the progress 
 which I had made in cultivating the acquaintance and winning 
 the confidence of the Babis, from whom I had already obtained 
 several precious manuscripts and much valuable information. 
 On the mortow there was to be another picnic in the garden of 
 Rashk-i-Bihisht (“the Envy of Paradise’’), and on the following 
 day I was to be allowed to visit the Bab’s house. My mind was 
 therefore filled with pleasant anticipations as I entered the 
 Nawwab’s house. =, 
 
 “Sahib, you are late,” exclaimed the servant who met me in 
 the doorway; “where have you been? A telegram has come for 
 you, and we would have sent it to you at once, but we knew not 
 where you were.” 
 
 I rushed upstairs to my room and tore open the telegram. It 
 was a very long one, and the substance of it was this: that a 
 European lady, travelling northwards to Teher4n with her 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 371 
 
 husband, had been taken ill at Dihbid, five stages from Shiraz; 
 that her husband had been obliged to continue his journey; 
 that she had been treated for some time by Dr S—— (then 
 absent on a tour of inspection along the Bushire road), with 
 whom communications had been maintained by means of the 
 telegraph; that she was now much worse, being, indeed, in a 
 vety critical condition; and that Dr S——-, unable to go to 
 Dihbid himself, had suggested that I, having a medical qualifica- 
 tion, might go instead of him. The symptoms of the patient were 
 fully described, and I was asked, in case I could come, to bring 
 with me certain drugs which were not contained in the medicine- 
 chest at Dihbid. These, it was added, I could obtain from the 
 acting head of the telegraph-office at Shiraz. 
 
 I sat down with the telegram in my hand to consider what I 
 ought to do. A few moments’ reflection showed me that, how- 
 ever unwilling I might be to quit Shiraz, and however diffident 
 I might be as to my fitness to deal with what I clearly perceived 
 was a difficult and critical case, I could not with a clear con- 
 science refuse to go. It was a sore disappointment to me to tear 
 myself away from Shiraz, and to forgo the visit to the Bab’s 
 house, to which I had so eagerly looked forward; to ride post 
 for neatly 120 miles to confront a medical crisis, such as my in- 
 experience ill fitted me to cope with, and which, as I anticipated, 
 was but too likely to terminate fatally even before my arrival, 
 was, moreover, a prospect that daunted me not a little. My duty, 
 however, was perfectly clear; and when I joined the Nawwab 
 and Haji Da’i at supper, I told them that in all likelihood it was 
 the last meal we should eat together for some time. As soon as 
 it was over, I made the best of my way through the dark lanes 
 leading to the Bdgh-i-Sheykh, to consult with the acting head 
 of the telegraph, and to obtain such medicines and instruments 
 as 1 might require. The medical stores, which we ransacked, 
 left very much to be desired, both as regards extent and quality, 
 and it was with a miserably insufficient outfit that I returned 
 
 
 
 24-2 
 
372 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 about 1 a.m. to my abode. Even then, tired though I was, it 
 was some while ere my anxiety suffered me to sleep. 
 
 Next day it seemed at first as though after all I might escape 
 the dreaded ordeal; for in the morning a message came from 
 - Dihbid giving a somewhat more favourable account of the 
 patient, and bidding me not to start till further notice. I therefore 
 decided to accompany the Nawwab to the picnic at Rashk-7- 
 Bihisht; but before doing so I made all my arrangements for 
 quitting Shiraz. I had decided during the night that, should I be 
 compelled to go to Dihbid, I would not return directly to Shiraz, 
 but would proceed to Yezd (a city that I greatly desired to visit, 
 both because of its remote situation and essentially Persian 
 character, and because it is the chief stronghold of Zoroastrian- 
 ism in Persia), and thence make my way perhaps to Kirman, 
 and so back by Niriz and Darab. I therefore drew thirty témdns 
 (nearly £10) in cash for my travelling expenses, and obtained 
 a cheque on Ardashir Mihrban, the leading Zoroastrian merchant 
 at Yezd, for the balance still remaining to my credit (1474 timans, 
 or about £45). I also obtained a letter of introduction to this 
 same Ardashir from one of the Zoroastrians at Shiraz, named 
 Khustaw, and received from my kind friend Mirza ‘Ali a pro- 
 mise of letters to certain highly-considered Seyyids of Yezd to 
 whom he was related. Having furthermore purchased a pair 
 of saddle-bags (k/urjin) and sundry other necessaries for my 
 journey, I had transacted all my business, and was able to follow 
 the Nawwab to the garden of Rashk-i-Bihisht. 
 
 I found there the same company as on the previous occasion, 
 but, as the weather was fine, they were sitting out in the garden 
 on a stone platform overshadowed by trees, instead of in the 
 summet-house. The time passed pleasantly in the usual fashion; 
 and as sunset approached, and still no summons came from the 
 telegraph-office, I began to hope that my time at Shiraz was, 
 after all, not destined to be cut short. As I was returning from 
 a solitary ramble round the garden, however, I suddenly caught 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 373 
 
 sight of the farrdsh of the telegraph-office, and knew, before I 
 had heard the message which he brought, that my hope was dis- 
 appointed. Hastily bidding farewell to the Nawwab and his 
 guests, I set off at once with the farrdsh to the Bdgh-i-Sheykh. 
 *“*Haste is of the devil, and tardiness from the All-Merciful,”’ 
 says a vety Oriental proverb, and it is indeed an ill thing to be 
 in a hurry in an Eastern land. It was well enough to have an 
 otder for three post-horses; but these, notwithstanding all my 
 importunity, were not forthcoming till the following afternoon, 
 and then, that no element of delay might be lacking, I discovered 
 that my servant Haji Safar had gone off to the bazaars to buy a 
 saddle. Even when we did ultimately start at about 3.15 p.m., 
 I had to submit to several further delays for the purchase of 
 sundry forgotten articles which were declared necessary; and it 
 was already late in the afternoon when, from the summit of the 
 Tang-i- Alldhu Akbar, \ turned in my saddle to take what proved 
 to be my last look at beautiful Shiraz. It was the very day, even 
 the very time, when I was to have made my eagerly-desired visit 
 to the Bab’s house; and instead of this, here I was with my 
 back to Shiraz, and the rain beating in my face, with a hundred 
 miles and mote to ride, to what I much feared would prove to 
 be a death-bed. Remembering that life hung in the balance I 
 utged on my horse, and presently found myself in the great plain 
 of Marv-Dasht. Haji Safar and the shdgird-chdpar (post-boy) were 
 far behind me, but, thinking that I remembered the way, I heeded 
 this but little, and pushed on as fast as I could towards a group of 
 poplar-trees beneath the eastern hills, which, as I thought, 
 matked the position of Zargan. I was mistaken, however, for 
 when I drew near them I found nothing but gardens; and it was 
 in almost complete darkness and pouring rain that, drenched to 
 the skin, and in the worst of tempers, I finally entered the narrow 
 streets of Zargan, and alighted at the ‘post-house, whete (as it 
 appeared impossible to proceed farther), I spent a miserable night, 
 which wet clothes and prowling cats rendered almost sleepless. 
 
374 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 Next morning I was off before 7 a.m. My first stage was to 
 Puzé (“the Snout’’), hard by Persepolis and Istakhr, of Achzme- 
 nian and Sasanian splendour. I had promised the shdgird-chdpdr 
 a present of two krdus if he brought me there by 9.30, and our 
 pace at first was consequently good. But when the little solitary 
 post-house of Puzé was already in sight, the miserable, jaded 
 hotse which I rode, after telapsing from a spasmodic and 
 laboured trot into a walk of ever-increasing slowness, came to 
 a dead stop, and I was forced to dismount and walk the last few 
 hundred yards. Just before this took place, there met us three 
 post-hotses which a shdgird-chapdr was \eading back from Puzé 
 to Zargan. I stopped him, and demanded whether I should find 
 horses at Puzé, as I wished to continue my journey without 
 delay; intending, in case of need, to impress into my service 
 the horses of which he had charge. He assured me that there 
 were three fresh horses in the post-house, ready to start at once, 
 and I left him, wondering whether he was speaking the truth. I 
 wronged him by my suspicions; what he had told me was exactly 
 and literally true, for, a few minutes later, these “three fresh 
 horses, ready to start at once,” issued from the post-house (now 
 only a hundred yards distant) with another traveller, and set off 
 notthwards! 
 
 On teaching the post-house I found, of course, that there 
 were no hotses to be had; and there was nothing for it but to 
 sit on a carpet on the roof and try to dispel my annoyance with 
 tea and tobacco. I found that the traveller who had taken off 
 the horses, as it were under my very nose, was none other than 
 the Bombay Parsee whom I had met at Shiraz, and who was so 
 anxious to get back to a land of railroads and hotels. He was so 
 disgusted with caravan-travelling, and especially with the ex- 
 tortions of the servant whom he had engaged at Bushire, that 
 he had decided to continue his journey alone by the post, 
 although he was a very indifferent rider, and had only accom- 
 plished two stages during the whole of the previous day. It 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 375 
 
 appeared that he had slept at Puzé that night, and was loitering 
 about, without much intention of starting, when he saw me 
 approaching; whereupon he hastened to secure his horses and 
 set off before I arrived to contest their possession. 
 
 It was not till after mid-day that horses were forthcoming 
 and I was able to proceed on my journey. At the very last 
 moment, a woman brought her son to me, saying that she had 
 heard I was a doctor, and begging me to examine an injury in 
 his arm and prescribe for him. I was in no mood to tarry there 
 any longer, and, telling her that if she had chosen to come to me 
 any time during the last three hours I could have given her my 
 undivided attention, but that now it was too late, I rode rapidly 
 away. The shdgird-chdpdr who accompanied us, stimulated by 
 the promise of a present, exerted himself to accomplish his two 
 parasangs an hour, and, by leaving the post-road and fording the 
 river (which here runs to the west of it), effected so great a 
 saving of distance that I caught up the Parsee just as he was 
 leaving the post-house of Kiwam-abad. I was obliged, however, 
 to wait there for an hour and a half before I could obtain horses 
 to take me on to Murghab; though I was more than ever desirous 
 of reaching Dihbid that night if possible, as I had met my friend 
 Muhammad Hasan Khan Kashka’i on his way to Shiraz, and he 
 had told me that my presence was urgently required there. 
 
 The ride to Murghab was delightful, the horses being good 
 and the night superb. I passed the Parsee hard by the Tomb 
 of Cyrus, and traversed the ruins of that classic plain by the light 
 of a crescent moon, which hung suspended like a silver lamp in 
 the clear, dark-blue sky. Once some great beast—a hyzna, 
 probably—slunk, silent and shadow-like, across the path and 
 disappeared in the bushes. It was 10 p.m. when I reached the 
 post-house of Murghab, where, much against my will, I was 
 obliged to remain for the night. The Parsee arrived soon after 
 me, and we established ourselves in the bdld-khdné or upper 
 chamber. I could not help pitying him, for he was travelling 
 
376 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 in a manner at once costly and uncomfortable; and while he had, 
 as he informed me, paid the servant who accompanied him from 
 Bushite to Shiraz the exorbitant sum of 84 timans for eleven 
 days’ bad service, he became involved in a lengthy, violent, and 
 unprofitable altercation with the boy who had brought him 
 from Kiw4m-4bad about a trifling present of a krdn. The conse- 
 quence of this was that all the post-house people were against 
 him, and my shdgird-chdpdr, well pleased with his reward, assured 
 me that I should have the best and the Parsee the worst.of their 
 hotses on the morrow. 
 
 Next morning, after a cold and uncomfortable night, I was 
 off befote 6 a.m., but, for all the fair words of the shdgird-chdpar, 
 there fell to my lot the most miserable and ill-conditioned beast 
 that ever it was my lot to bestride. So bad were all its paces, and 
 so rough and steep the road, that it was past mid-day when I 
 finally alighted at the telegraph-office of Dihbid. Needless to 
 say how anxious I was to learn news of my patient, or with what 
 heartfelt thankfulness I heard from Mr and Mrs Blake, who 
 welcomed me at the door, that she had taken a turn for the 
 better, and was now practically out of danger. When I had eaten 
 and rested a while, I visited her, and found that it was even as 
 they had said: the crisis was past, and all that was left for me to 
 do was to watch over the period of convalescence, which, fortu- 
 nately, was short. Day by day I had the satisfaction of seeing a 
 marked improvement in her condition, and it was only as a 
 matter of precaution, and at the request of my host and hostess, 
 that I remained for twelve days at Dihbid, at the end of which 
 time she was already able to walk out in the garden. 
 
 Dihbid is one of the loneliest and bleakest spots that I saw in 
 Persia. The village, so far as I recollect, consists of not more than 
 fifteen or twenty hovels, a dilapidated caravansaray, the post- 
 house, and the telegraph-office. This last is a spacious and com- 
 fortable dwelling, with a fair-sized garden attached to it; but its 
 remote and solitary situation, and the severe cold of the winter 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 377 
 
 season, must render it a very undesirable station to inhabit for 
 a petiod of any length. The time which I spent there, however, 
 passed pleasantly enough, for my host and hostess wete kindness 
 itself, and the surrounding country, though desolate, was not 
 altogether devoid of interest. The worst feature of the place, 
 indeed, in my estimation, was the complete lack of educated 
 Persian society, the villagers being, without exception, poor 
 peasants and quite illiterate. Such as they were, however, I saw 
 a good deal of them; for of course it very soon became known 
 that I was a “Aakim”; and not from the village of Dihbid only, 
 but from the neighbouring hamlets of Kasr-i-Ya‘kub, Kushk, and 
 Khurrami, the lame, the halt, and the blind flocked to consult 
 me. Indeed, though I had no wish to practise the healing art, 
 I soon found myself in the position of “le médecin maleré lui,” 
 for it would have been cruel and churlish to refuse these poor 
 folk such service as the paucity of drugs and appliances at my 
 disposal, and my own lack of practical experience, permitted me 
 to render them. So every day, after I had attended to my own 
 special patient, and sat for some time conversing with her, 
 playing with her pet mongoose (a charming little animal), and 
 hearing how the Persian wise women who had been called in 
 before my arrival had treated her with what one can only describe 
 as “tincture of Al-coran” (made by writing a text from the 
 sacred volume on the inside of a cup or saucer, and then dissolving 
 it in water), I used to hold a sort of reception for my Persian 
 clientele. The cases about which I was consulted were of the most 
 miscellaneous character, varying in gravity from corneal opacities 
 to catdiac disease, and from soft corns to epilepsy; but I do not 
 propose to inflict on my readers any account of their symptoms, 
 diagnosis, or treatment. Two of them, however, from a certain 
 element of pathos which they seem to me to possess, ate perhaps 
 deserving of a brief mention. 
 
 The first of them was a little boy, se twelve, named Khan 
 Mirza, who was suffering from paralysis and wasting of the arms 
 
378 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 and legs. When I had completed my examination of him and 
 heatd the history of his sickness, I knew that I could do nothing 
 for him, and, as gently as possible, told his father and mother, 
 who had brought him to me, that I was powerless to help them, 
 adding that I was doubtful whether the best physicians in 
 Firangistan, with the best appliances at their disposal, could 
 restore him to health. 
 
 “Sahib,” they wailed, ““we know that you can cure him it you 
 like. We are only poor peasants, and we cannot reward you as 
 you have a tight to expect, but tell us what sum of money will 
 satisfy you, and if possible we will obtain it.” 
 
 I told them that to cure their child it was not money I wanted, 
 but the power of working miracles. 
 
 “Can you not believe me,” I concluded, “when I tell you 
 that I would rejoice to help you if I could, but that it is beyond 
 my skill, and not mine only, but that of the greatest physicians 
 of our country? I neither desire nor would consent to accept 
 yout money, but I have no right to decetve you with false hopes. 
 Surely you must understand that there are diseases which no 
 physician can heal, and that, for instance, when the ¢e/t comes, 
 Jalinus and Bukrat? themselves have no resource but to cry, ‘there 
 is no strength and no power save in God the Supreme, the Mighty!’”’ 
 
 “You speak truly,” answered the father; “‘but that only holds 
 good of death.” 
 
 “How, then,” said I, “‘does it come to pass that even amongst 
 the rich there are blind and deaf and halt and dumb persons, who 
 would give any price to be restored to health if they could 
 find one to cute them, but who go down to their graves 
 unhealed?”’ 
 
 1 J.e. the appointed time to die. 
 
 2 I.e. Galen and Hippocrates, who still to the Persian typify the perfection 
 of medical skill. 
 
 3 “Ld hamla wa la kuvvata illa bi’ Nahi’ l-“ Aliyyi’l-“ Azim,” a form of words 
 used by the Muhammadans when all hope is gone, and only a miracle ean 
 avert disaster. 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 379 
 
 “Tt is because they cannot get hold of a physician like you,” ! 
 replied the man. In the face of such faith what could one do 
 but make up a prescription which, if it were not likely to do 
 much good, could at least do no harmpP 
 
 The other case to which I have alluded was a poor old man, 
 called Mashhadi Khuda-Rahm, who lived at some distance from 
 Dihbid. The first time he came was late one afternoon, when I 
 had seen all my other patients, and was resting after my labours. 
 My servant (whether out of consideration for me, or to em- 
 phasise his own importance) refused to let him see me or to 
 inform me of his arrival. The poor old man thought that he had 
 been turned away because he had not brought a present, and 
 when he returned and was finally admitted to me, he had in his 
 hands a couple of fowls as a propitiatory offering. These he 
 begged me to accept, promising that in the morning he would 
 bring me a lamb; and it was with great difficulty that I succeeded 
 in making him understand that I had no wish to deprive him of 
 any portion of his scanty possessions. I found that his son had 
 gone down to the turbulent and lawless town of Abarkih some 
 two months previously, and had there been stabbed in a quarrel 
 about a girl to whom he was attached. Since then the old father’s 
 eyesight had been gradually failing “through much weeping,” 
 as he said; and it was for this that he had sought me. I did the 
 best I could for him (which, I fear, was not much), and he went 
 on his way and was no more seen by me. 
 
 Of the country round about Dihbid I need say but little. Hard 
 by the village stands a ruined tower, with enormously thick walls 
 built of dried clay, which the country-folk believe to have 
 been one of the seven hunting-palaces of Bahram Gur”. I was 
 
 1 “ Bi-jihat-i-dnki misl-i-shumd hakimi gir-ashdn namt-dyad.” 'The expression 
 gir dmadan (to be got hold of), though not, I think, found in classical, is 
 common in colloquial, Persian. 
 
 2 “The haft gunbudh” of Bahram (or Varahran) V, surnamed “ G#r”’ (the 
 
 “wild ass”’), from his fondness for chasing that animal, are familiar to every 
 student of Persian literature. The king in question reigned from A.D. 420 
 
380 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 informed by one of the inhabitants that coins and ornaments had 
 been dug up in its vicinity. Round about the tower are some 
 cutious tocks, looking like dried masses of mud. Many of these 
 ate hollowed out into caves, in which the wandering tribesmen 
 take up their abode in summer. The stream which flows past 
 Dihbid, crossing the main toad a few yards south of the tele- 
 gtaph-office, runs in a south-westerly direction to Kasr-i-Ya‘kub 
 (‘‘ Jacob’s Castle’), where, as I was told, it forms a lake, in which 
 ate fish of considerable size. Some distance to the east of the 
 stream, and about two and a half or three miles south-west of 
 Dihbid, stands a solitary withered tree hard by a ruined and 
 deserted village and graveyard known as Mazra‘i-Sabz. This tree, 
 as I was informed by Mr Blake, is said to be haunted by a white- 
 robed woman. I could learn no particulars about the legend 
 connected with this ghost, and only mention it because it is the 
 sole instance of this type of apparition which came to my know- 
 ledge in Persia. To the north and north-west of Dihbid lie the 
 hamlets of Kushk, Huseyn-abad, and Khurrami, which I did not 
 visit, and which are, I believe, places of but little importance. 
 The whole plateau is, as I have said, of considerable elevation, 
 and owing, I suppose, to the rarefaction of the air, one is liable 
 when walking to experience a certain curious and unpleasant 
 shortness of breath. 
 
 It was 29th April when, my patient being convalescent and 
 able to take the air in the garden adjoining the telegraph-office, 
 I finally quitted Dihbid and turned my face eastwards towards 
 Yezd. After the somewhat monotonous though pleasant fort- 
 night which I had spent at Dihbid, I looked forward eagerly to 
 the excitement of a journey through country far wilder and less 
 known than any which I had hitherto traversed. I had some 
 
 to 438. At Shiraz I was told by Haji Nasru’llah Khan, the []-Khéni, that the 
 sites of all these seven-hued palaces were known to him. He gave me a list 
 of them, but I did not write it down at the time, and only remember that he 
 identified the Kasr-i-zard ot “yellow tower” with Kushki-zard, on the sar-hadd 
 (or high-level) road to Shiraz. 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 381 
 
 difficulty in obtaining animals for the march, but at length 
 succeeded in hiring a mare for myself, and two donkeys for my 
 servant and baggage, for which I was to pay the moderate sum 
 of seven tdmadns (rather mote than £2), it being understood that 
 the journey to Yezd was to be accomplished in six or seven days. 
 A fine handsome young man named Baba Khan was to act as 
 guide, and to take charge of the animals. This arrangement, 
 satisfactory enough to myself, was very distasteful to Haji Safar, 
 who was greatly incensed at being expected to ride a donkey, 
 and was only pacified with some difficulty. 
 
 We left Dihbid about 7.30 in the morning, as our intention 
 was to push past the caves of Hanishk (where two or three 
 musket-men are stationed as a guard, and where it is possible to 
 halt for the night) and reach one of the flourishing villages which 
 lie like islands of verdure in the sandy desert of Abarkuh. The 
 Yezd road quits the main road from Shiraz to Isfahan close to 
 ~ the Dihbid caravansaray, and runs in a north-easterly direction 
 towatds the tail of the mountains above Hanishk. These we 
 reached about 10.30 a.m., and then began the long descent 
 towards the plain. The sides of the narrow ravines through which 
 our path wound were abundantly decked with flowers, concern- 
 ing which I questioned Baba Khan, who turned out to be a very 
 intelligent and agreeable companion. There were tall, hyacinth- 
 like spikes, with white blossoms and very thick succulent stems, 
 called Kurroghlé; fine large mountain chrysanthemums, called 
 Daudi; abundance of wild rhubarb (Rzwds); and a little ill- 
 smelling plant with orange-brown flowers, named Mdr-gydh 
 (snake-grass). After passing a beautifully green grassy spot called 
 Gushti, well watered by a stream which ran down the ravine, 
 whete some peasants were pasturing their cows and donkeys, 
 we came, at 11.15 a.m., to a point where the valley opened out 
 somewhat and allowed us to see for the first time the great sandy 
 plain (kaffé) of Abarkuh spread out at our feet. This plain, which 
 at its narrowest point (where we proposed to cross it) is about 
 
382 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 fifteen parasangs (fifty-two miles) in width, runs, roughly speak- 
 ing, from north-west to south-east, and is bounded on both sides 
 by mountains, the highest of which, behind which lies Yezd, 
 wete streaked with snow. The plain itself is a dreary, sandy 
 waste, encrusted here and there with patches of salt; yet notwith- 
 standing this (or perhaps partly because of this), the villages 
 which lie on its western border—Ismin-abad, Mihr-abad, Sharaz, 
 and the larger town of Abarkuh—present a singularly fresh and 
 verdant appearance. Near to the town of Abarkuh, and to the 
 east of it, is a line of black jagged hills, rising abruptly from the 
 plain, and crowned with ruins of some size, amongst which a 
 dome called Gunbudh-i-‘Ali is particularly conspicuous. 
 
 At 11.30 we teached Hanishk, and halted for lunch. There 
 ate no buildings here, but only a few caves in the rock, which 
 setve the /wfankchis (musket-men) there stationed for a dwelling; 
 a couple of fine mulberry-trees, under which we rested; a stream; 
 and a spring of clear, cool water. Leaving Hanishk again at 
 12.45, we continued our descent, and finally, at about 2.15 p.m. 
 emerged from the narrow jaws of the ravine into the plain, which 
 from this point slopes but very slightly downwards towards 
 Abarkuh. At 3.30 we passed a ruined cistern (db-anbar) covered 
 by a dome, and about 6.30, just as the sun was setting, reached 
 the beautiful green oasis formed by the gardens of Mihr-abad, 
 where we were to halt for the night. Round about these, enclosed 
 within a high outer wall to keep off the drifting sand, lay fields 
 of corn and of the white poppy (for opium is largely produced 
 in all this district); and I was amazed to see what the skilful 
 irrigation of the Persians could do for even so unpromising a 
 soil. It is more irrigation, not railways and factories, that Persia 
 needs to increase her prosperity; and were the means for this 
 forthcoming, many a dreary desert might yet blossom with the 
 rose and the poppy. 
 
 There is, of course, no post-house at Mihr-abad, nor, so far 
 as I know, a catavansatay; but I was far from regretting this, as 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 383 
 
 I obtained a much more delightful resting-place in a beautiful 
 rose-garden near the gate of the village. I was, it is true, obliged 
 to sleep in the open air; but, apart from the lack of privacy which 
 it involved, this was a luxury rather than a hardship, the tem- 
 perature in this low hill-girt plain being so much higher than at 
 Dihbid that I seemed to have passed in one day from early spring 
 to midsummer. Ina sort of alcove in the high mud wall a carpet 
 was spread for me, and here I esconced myself, Haji Safar taking 
 up his position under the opposite wall. Tea was soon prepared, 
 and while I was drinking it the gardener brought me two great 
 handfuls of loose rose-leaves—a pretty custom, common in this 
 mote eastern part of Persia. 
 
 Needless to say, visitors soon began to arrive; and, as none 
 of them thought of moving till midnight, I had plenty of op- 
 portunity of observing their characteristics. In several ways 
 they appeared to me to differ very widely from any type of 
 Persian which I had hitherto seen, notably in this, that they 
 manifested not the least curiosity about my business, nationality, 
 ot religion. Sullen, independent, quarrelsome, and totally devoid 
 of that polished manner which characterises most of their 
 countrymen, they talked for the most part with one another, and 
 appeared to take little interest in anything except sport, horses, 
 fire-arms, spirits, and opium. The only occasion on which Darab 
 Khan, the son of a local magnate, addressed me with any appear- 
 ance of interest was when he demanded whether I had with me 
 any strong drink. I told him I had not. ‘You lie,” replied he; 
 “all Firangis drink.” I then recollected that I had a little pocket- 
 flask half-filled with whisky. ‘Well, I have this small quantity,” 
 I said, “in case of emergencies.” ‘“‘Let me see it,” said he. I 
 handed it to him, whereupon he unscrewed the top, sniffed at 
 the whisky, and finally put the flask to his mouth, drained it at 
 one gulp, and threw it back to me with a grimace. I asked him 
 what he thought of it. “Poor stuff,” he said—“‘no better than 
 our ‘arak, if as good. You are certain you have no more?” 
 
384 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 I told him I had not another drop, and thereat he ceased to pay 
 any further heed to me. 
 
 Dara4b Khan had with him a very handsome page; another 
 most savage-looking attendant named Huseyn, with enormously 
 long drooping moustaches, which gave him somewhat the ap- 
 pearance of a Chinaman; one or two younger brothers; and 
 several friends. They all sat together, servants and mastets, 
 without distinction of rank; they were nearly all armed to the 
 teeth; and they nearly all smoked opium and drank as much 
 spirits as they could get. 
 
 As we had made a long stage on the first day, and as the heat 
 was now considerable, Baba Khan decided to await the approach 
 of evening before starting to cross the desert. In consequence 
 of this I saw plenty of Darab Khan and his dissolute com- 
 panions, who kept coming and going from 8 a.m. onwards. One, 
 Ja‘far Khan, also came to consult me with symptoms of in- 
 digestion and disordered liver. Having received a blue pill, he 
 became communicative, and entertained me with a panegyric 
 ona certain Mulla Ghulam Riza of Taft (near Yezd), who was 
 highly reputed for his medical skill, and a dissertation on Persian 
 pharmacology. Drugs, he explained, were primarily divisible 
 into two classes: “‘hot”’ (used for combating ‘“‘cold”’ diseases), 
 amongst which the most efficacious were babiné, afsantin-i-Rumi, 
 and gul-i-gdv-zabin; and “cold” (useful for the treatment of 
 “hot” maladies), of which réshé-i-khatmi (hollyhock root), rishé-i- 
 kdsni, and rishé-i-kadi enjoyed the highest reputation. This in- 
 teresting dissertation was unfortunately interrupted by the arrival 
 of two or three of Darab Khan’s younger brothers (so, at least, 
 I judged them to be from their likeness to him), who forthwith 
 began to pull about my effects and examine my clothes and 
 bedding. One of them, seeing Haji Safar smoking a cigarette, 
 plucked it out of his mouth and began to smoke it himself, 
 whereupon he was, to my great delight, seized with so violent 
 a fit of coughing that he had to retire. The relief afforded by his 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 385 
 
 absence was, however, of short duration, for he soon came back, 
 accompanied by a man who complained of that most usual of 
 Persian ailments “pain in the loins” (dard-i-kamar). This latter 
 I declined to treat, whereupon he said, “‘Since you will not give 
 me any medicine, I will have a cigarette.” I accordingly made 
 him one, which he smoked rapidly, but without much apparent 
 enjoyment, for he suddenly threw it away and departed hastily 
 without a word. It was evident that cigarettes were a novelty 
 in the plain of Abarkuh. 
 
 I was now left for a while in comparative peace; for my host, 
 after amusing himself for a while by firing bullets with his long 
 Shirazi gun at the birds on the garden wall, turned Darab Khan’s 
 troublesome young brothers out of the garden and shut the door. 
 At 3.30 p.m. the animals were laden and ready to start. Haji 
 Safar gave the owner of the garden five krans (about three-and- 
 sixpence), with which he was evidently well satisfied, for he came 
 and showed me the money, remarking, “This was not necessaty, 
 nor so much.” He then gave me a large bunch of roses as I was 
 about to mount, and walked beside me to the outskirts of the 
 village, where he bade us farewell. As soon as he had gone, Haji 
 Safar began to abuse the people of the village roundly for their 
 churlishness, adding that one of the boys had stolen a pair of 
 goloshes and other articles out of my baggage, but that he had 
 recovered them. “I should like to have given him a good 
 thrashing,” he concluded, “but I thought you would not like 
 it.” Prudence, I imagine, had something to do with his self- 
 restraint, for the Abarkuhis are not the kind of people one would 
 care to anger. 
 
 Our coutse at first lay nearly due north, towards the fantastic, 
 jagged hills which rise abruptly from the sandy plain close by 
 the city of Abarkuh. As we passed between two ridges of these, 
 I could plainly see the ruined domes, minarets, and walls which 
 crown their summits. The largest dome stands at the northern 
 
 end of the northern ridge, and is called Gunbudb-i-“ Alt. 1 should 
 
 B 25 
 
386 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 steatly have liked to explore these ruins, and to see something 
 of the city of Abarkuh, which Ja‘far Khan declared to be “the 
 oldest city in Persia, except Salkh” (by which, I suppose, he 
 meant Istakhr), and to be full of ancient monuments; but un- 
 - fortunately this was impossible. Emerging from between these 
 tocky ridges, we found ourselves once mote in the open sandy 
 plain, and could discern at a short distance several small villages. 
 In a little while we passed one of them, called Shardz, just beyond 
 which the toad bifurcated, the left-hand or more northerly 
 branch (for we had now again turned nearly due east) leading to 
 Shams-ab4d; the right or more southerly one to Hakim. We 
 followed the latter, and reached Hakim about 6.45 p.m. as it was 
 getting dusk. Here we found a small caravan of donkeys, laden 
 with wheat for Yezd; and, learning that this was not to start till 
 the moon rose, we halted in the plain for rest and refreshment. 
 After supper I lay gazing at the starry sky till sleep overcame 
 me. About midnight Haji Safar awoke me, and soon afterwards 
 we started at a good pace (for these caravans of donkeys travel 
 faster than ordinary caravans) on the long desert stage which was 
 to bring us to Chah-Beet, the first habitable spot on the Yezd 
 side of the desolate plain. Bare and hideous as this desert is by 
 day, seen in the silver moonlight it had a strange weird beauty, 
 which produced on me a deep impression. The salt-pools and 
 salt-patches gleamed like snow on every side; the clear desert air 
 was laden with a pungent briny smell like a sea-breeze; and over 
 the sharply-defined hills of Yezd, towards which we were now 
 directly advancing, hung the great silvery moon to the right, and 
 the “Seven Brothers” (haft birddardn), or Great Bear, to the left. 
 I kept in advance of the caravan, and watched with a keen 
 pleasure the stars “beginning to faint on a bed of daffodil sky,” 
 till first the “caravan-killer”’ (kdravdn- ot charvdddr-kush) and then 
 the morning star dissolved in the rosy flush which crept upwards 
 from behind the eastern mountains, and suddenly, like a ball of 
 fire, the sun leaped up over their serrated summits, scattering 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 387 
 
 the illusions of the night, and bringing into view chains and 
 ridges of low hills which had hitherto seemed to form part of 
 the main mass. 
 
 As it grew light, a man carrying a large wallet over his shoul- 
 ders, and walking rapidly, came up with me. I saluted him, 
 and entered into conversation. He was, as I gathered, a kasid, 
 ot courier, with letters from Abddé for Yezd. He told me that 
 he had been a soldier in one of the Zillu’s-Sultan’s regiments 
 till these were disbanded. He did not like a soldier’s life, and 
 had once deserted, walking from Isfahan to Abddé (about 130 
 miles) in two days. He had also walked from Yezd to Mashhad 
 by the desert road in twenty days, and from Teheran to Mashhad 
 in the same time. He asked me many questions about England 
 and its government, and complained bitterly of the heavy taxation 
 to which the Persian peasantry were subjected. The tax on a 
 donkey was, he said, two témdns (about 135.) a year, and on a 
 _ sheep three tdémdns (nearly £1). He further informed me that 
 bread was dear at Yezd, costing three pandbdts (one and a half 
 krans, ot about 11d.) the man; and that during the great famine 
 about sixteen years earlier it had risen to sixteen &rdus (about ros.) 
 the man, and that the people were in some cases driven to eat 
 human flesh to appease their hunger. As we approached Chah- 
 Begi we passed numerous tamarisk-bushes (gaz), which, as my 
 companion told me, had formerly been much more abundant, 
 till they were cut down by order of the Government, because 
 they afforded a harbour to highway robbers of the Bakhtiyari 
 and other nomad tribes. He gave the people of Abarkuh a very 
 bad character, declaring that fatal quarrels were of constant 
 occurrence there. 
 
 We reached Chah-Begi, a miserable walled village, containing 
 a few sordid and quarrelsome inhabitants, a little before 7 a.m., 
 and alighted at the dilapidated caravansaray, in front of which 
 stood several sickly trees. I spent the whole day in the large, 
 dusty, ruinous chamber allotted to me; sleeping, eating, washing 
 
 25-2 
 
388 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 to the very limited extent permitted by the surroundings, and 
 writing up my diary, being the only resources available for 
 passing the long, hot day. A certain excitement, which can hardly 
 be described as pleasurable, was produced from time to time by 
 the appearance of sundry large and offensive insects; first a 
 tarantula (rotey/, or khdyé-gax), which was killed on the wall where 
 it sat by a kick from B4ba Khan, who informed me in an en- 
 couraging manner that they had just killed another one outside, 
 and that, as these were probably a pair, there was nothing to 
 apprehend. I failed to see the conclusiveness of this reasoning, 
 and (as I had left my bedstead at Shiraz, and was therefore obliged 
 to spread my bedding on the floor) continued to keep a good 
 look-out, for which I was presently rewarded by seeing a large 
 black creature, shaped something like a gigantic wood-louse, 
 emerge deliberately from a cranny in the wall. I threw half a 
 brick at it, and it vanished with a horrid splash. After this I felt 
 little inclination for sleep, but after supper fatigue overcame me 
 and | fell into a deep slumber, from which I was aroused about 
 an hour after midnight by Haji Safar. 
 
 It was with sincere delight that I quitted this detestable spot 
 about 1.30 a.m., and found myself once more on the road in the 
 cool, clear moonlight. Having nothing else to do, I watched 
 and timed the changes in the sky which heralded the dawn. At 
 3.30 a.m. the “False Dawn” (Swbp-z-Kddbib) appeared, a little to 
 the north of the point whence the sun subsequently arose. At 
 3.45 a rosy tinge was perceptible in the sky. At 4.0 the morning 
 star began to shine over the hills. At 4.30 it was quite light, 
 and at 4.55 the sun rose; but it was not till 6 a.m. that the day 
 began to grow warm. An hour later we entered the village of 
 Baghistan, where the road bifurcated. Taking the right-hand 
 branch, we presently passed the castellated village of Irdun, 
 situated on a small hill, and, at about 8 a.m., reached a beautiful 
 village named Gé6d-i-Shirdan or Sharif-abad, which, with its 
 shady lanes, rippling streams, and verdant trees, reminded me 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 389 
 
 more of my native land than anything I had seen for many a long 
 day. Here we halted; and in one of the well-kept gardens which 
 gave to the village so flourishing an appearance I spread my bed 
 under a yellow rose-tree, and slept for a while till tea was ready. 
 I then found that the little streamlet beside me had been diverted 
 into another channel for the irrigation of another part of the 
 gatden, and, as it now threatened to inundate my resting-place, 
 I was obliged to alter my position. Just as I had effected this, 
 and was preparing to go to sleep again, a deputation of the prin- 
 cipal inhabitants of the village and the neighbouring hamlet of 
 Dih-i-P4’in was announced. Of course they wanted medical 
 advice; but, needless to say, they did not touch on the business 
 which had brought them till they had exhausted all other topics 
 of conversation. Amongst other things they informed me that 
 two men had lately been put to death by the new Governor of 
 Yezd for drinking wine. I expressed surprise, adding that if the 
 Governor of Shiraz were to take it into his head to deal thus 
 harshly with wine-drinkers, he would soon have no subjects left 
 to govern. “Yes,” replied my informant, “but, thank God, this 
 is not Shiraz.” 
 
 Other persons gradually joined the group which had gathered 
 round me, amongst these being a respectable-looking, though 
 poorly-clad, man, who had joined our caravan at Hakim. Pre- 
 sently one of those present asked me if I knew Russian. “‘No,” 
 I said, ““why should I? A great distance separates the English 
 from the Russians.” “One man only intervenes between them,” 
 remarked my fellow-traveller. I looked at him in wonder. “‘ You 
 are not a Russian,” I exclaimed. “I ama Russian subject, at any 
 rate,” he replied, “thougha Musulman; my native placeis Erivan.” 
 
 At length my visitors began to approach the object which 
 had brought them. “‘Was it true,” they asked, “that I had some 
 knowledge of medicine?” I answered inthe affirmative. “Would 
 I visit a woman in their village who was stricken with a grievous 
 sickness?” they continued. I asked whether she could not come 
 
390 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 and see me, but they told me that she was too ill, adding that 
 their village was quite close at hand. It proved to be about two 
 miles off, and on my arrival there the whole population (some 
 twenty or thirty souls) turned out to stare at me, and followed 
 me into the sick-room. The patient, a middle-aged woman, was 
 lying on the floor in the middle of the room, and was evidently 
 very ill; though, owing to the impossibility of making a careful 
 examination, and the distracting effect of the eager crowd of 
 onlookers, who kept up a continual buzz of conversation, I was 
 unable to satisfy myself as to the nature of her complaint. When 
 I had prescribed such medicines as appeared to me most likely 
 to afford her some relief, I was called upon to examine several 
 other sick persons, and it was only with much difficulty that I 
 was able to get away. As I was leaving, one of the principal 
 inhabitants of the village presented me, as a rewatd for my 
 trouble, with a saddle-cover, which I bestowed on Baba Khan, 
 who had come with me to carry my box of drugs and instruments. 
 Haji Safar was greatly annoyed at what he called the meanness 
 of the people, declaring that I might have gained a hundred 
 tumadns in fees since I left Dihbid but for my lamentable weakness 
 in giving advice gratis. 
 
 We left G6d-i-Shirdan about 4.30 next morning, it being then 
 quite light; but though it was mid-day before we reached Sunjj, 
 our next halting-place, we did not suffer any inconvenience from 
 the heat, as we were again ascending into a cool and mountainous 
 region. The wheat-laden donkeys had started at an earlier hour, 
 but the Erivani, whose acquaintance I had made on the previous 
 day, had preferred to wait for us, and I had a good deal of con- 
 vetsation with him. I found him a pleasant and intelligent com- 
 panion, for he had travelled widely, and spoke, besides his own 
 Caucasian Turkish, Ottoman Turkish, Russian, Persian, and 
 Arabic. He told me that it was now three years since he had left 
 Erivan, whence he had journeyed to Tabriz, Teheran, Isfahan, 
 Kirmanshah, Baghdad, Bushire, and Shiraz. He was now ptro- 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 391 
 
 ceeding to Yezd, having come with a caravan northward bound 
 as far as Dihbid, where he had been detained for ten days ere he 
 could find means of continuing his journey. He had heard at 
 Dihbid that I was going to Yezd, but had hesitated to join me, 
 not knowing what manner of man I might be. “Yesterday, 
 however,” he concluded, “I watched you with those people in 
 the garden, and saw that you were not wanting in ‘crop,’! for 
 you never once showed any irritation at their absurd and 1m- 
 pertinent questions, but continued to answer them with a smile 
 and a jest.” I asked him whither he was bound, and when he 
 expected to return to his home. He replied that from Yezd he 
 intended to go to Mashhad, and thence through Afghanistan to 
 India; and that it would be two years at least ere he again reached 
 Erivan. I asked him if he did not fear to trust himself amongst 
 the treacherous and cruel Afghans, but he answered, “‘No, with 
 patience and courage a man can go wheresoever he will on God’s 
 earth,” | 
 
 The road which we traversed this day was singularly beautiful, 
 and the country looked prosperous and well cared for. We passed 
 two villages, however, one on the right and another on the left, 
 named Haydar-abad and ‘Abbas-abad respectively, which had 
 been deserted owing to the failure of their water supply. The 
 trees in their gardens were still for the most part green and 
 luxuriant, but already the fragile mud walls were falling into ruin; 
 and, meditating on this process of rapid decay, I ceased to wonder 
 at the many Persian towns and villages mentioned by early 
 geographers and historians of which no trace remains, and which 
 it seems impossible to identify. At a considerable distance to 
 
 1 Hawsala, properly the crop of a bird, or the stomach of an animal, is 
 commonly used in Persian in the sense of patience, evenness of temper, or 
 capacity for stomaching insults or annoyances. So a short-tempered or im- 
 
 patient man is described as tang-hawsala. Thus Nasiru’d-Din Shah says in one 
 of his poetical compositions— 
 
 “ Dust na-bdyad zi dust dar gilah bashad; Mard na-bdyad ki tang-hawsala bashad.” 
 “Friend should not complain of friend; a man should not be short-tempered.”’ 
 
392 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 the right (north), on a low conical hill, the Castle of Bundft, 
 with the village of the same name below it, was clearly visible; 
 and, farther east, the precipitous black crag called Kal‘at-1-Zard 
 (“the Yellow Castle’), which, as Baba Khan informed me, is only 
 accessible by one path, and at the foot of which lies the village 
 of Balkh-u-Guriz. Farther on we passed the village of Kattu 
 (also on the right), by which runs the direct road from Yezd to 
 Bawanat, and soon afterwards turned the northern end of the 
 vast pile of cliffs which forms this western face of the Shir-Kuh, 
 and, following a ravine to the left, down which rushed a clear, 
 cool mountain stream, presently reached the beautiful Alpine 
 village of Sunij, a mass of gardens and groves situated amidst the 
 grandest rock-scenery. A more charming spot for a summer 
 residence could hardly be conceived, and the people of Yezd 
 are fortunate in being able to retreat so easily from their baking, 
 sandy plains to this and other equally delightful highland resorts. 
 
 I succeeded in obtaining a very comfortable lodging, past the 
 doot of which ran a stream of beautiful clear water. In the after- 
 noon I was visited by a number of the inhabitants, who were of 
 the true Yezdi type, fair-skinned and gray-eyed, with loosely- 
 coiled bluish turbans, and the curious sing-song drawl which 
 always characterises the speech of Yezd. This accent reminded 
 me strongly of the south Northumbrian in English, the modula- 
 tion of the voice in both cases being very similar; it is generally 
 much laughed at in Persia, but to me it always seemed soothing, 
 and at times rather pretty. My visitors, of course, were very 
 inquisitive, and asked me more than the usual number of 
 questions, chiefly about my religion and the business that had 
 brought me into a region so seldom traversed by Europeans. 
 “Was it true,” they asked, “that Europeans accounted the flesh 
 of the pig a lawful food?” “Had we fixed ablutions and prayers?” 
 “How were marriages celebrated in Europe, and what were the 
 regulations as to dowry?” Presently a comical-looking old man 
 broke in, declaring that as for my business, he had no doubt that 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 393 
 
 I had come “‘to effect disruptions in Church and State” (rakhné 
 dar din u mamlakat kardan), else how did I come to know the 
 geography of the country, and to be so anxious for information 
 as to the names of all the villages, mountain-peaks, and streams 
 in the neighbourhood? Here the Erivani interposed, saying that 
 all the Europeans, even the children, learned geography by means 
 of maps such as I possessed. Thereupon my map was at once 
 called for and exhibited to an admiring crowd, some of whom, 
 however, expressed great disappointment that I had not also a 
 microscope (Aburdeé-bin), so that they might by its aid see what 
 was going on in the streets of Yezd! 
 
 Next day we were off about 5.30 a.m., many people assembling 
 to witness our departure. Amongst these was the old man who 
 had regarded me with such suspicion on the previous evening, 
 but he seemed to have changed his opinion of me for the better, 
 for, in bidding me farewell, he begged me, should I again pass 
 that way, by no means to omit a visit to the ancient castle of 
 Shawwaz, situated ten parasangs away, in the direction of “Ali- 
 abad. Our host accompanied us till we were clear of the village 
 and on the road to Taft, his little son following us somewhat 
 farther, plaintively calling out to Haji Safar in his childish Yezdi 
 drawl, “ Ye td macham na-kardi!” (“Thou hast not given me one 
 kiss”’)—a remark to which Haji Safar only replied with an out- 
 burst of mirth and mimicry, which caused the boy to turn 
 petulantly away. 
 
 The toad which we followed was again singularly picturesque, 
 for it led us almost immediately below the rugged and precipi- 
 tous cliffs of the Shir-Kuh, rent and shattered on every ridge into 
 fantastic towers and needles. We were now again descending 
 towards the plain of Yezd, and ina valley to the left could discern 
 amongst several others the village of ‘Ali-4bad, through which 
 passes another road from Yezd to Abarkth. The conversation 
 of my Erivani friend did much to dispel the monotony inseparable 
 from even the most picturesque march. Amongst other things, 
 
394 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 he told me a rather clever variation of the well-known, though 
 ptobably fictitious, anecdote concerning the interview between 
 the poet Hafiz and Timur-i-lang, the Tartar conqueror, better 
 known as Tamerlane, who, as the story runs, angrily demanded 
 of Hafiz how he had dared, in one of his poems, to say that he 
 would give Samarkand and Bukhara for the black mole on his 
 beloved’s cheek. According to the usual version of the tale, 
 Hafiz replied, “Yes, site, and it is by such acts of generosity 
 that I have been reduced to the poverty in which you see me”’; 
 _ whereupon Timur laughed, and ordered a sum of money to be 
 given him. According to my companion’s account, however, 
 the poet effected his deliverance by an ingenious emendation in 
 the obnoxious line. “‘Bakhbsham Samarkand u Bukhard-rd!’” (1 
 would give Samarkand and Bukhara’) he exclaimed; “those 
 ate not my words! What I wrote was, ‘bakhsham si man kand u 
 du khurmd-rd’ (‘1 would give three stone of sugar and a couple 
 of dates’), and some ignorant scribe has altered it into this!” 
 We teached the large and flourishing village of Taft about 
 mid-day, two hours and a half after passing another prosperous 
 and pretty village called Khurashé. Taft was looking its best 
 on that fine May morning, the luxuriant green of its gardens 
 being pleasantly varied by the bright red flowers of the pome- 
 granates in which they abound. A wide, sandy river-bed, at 
 this season devoid of water, divides it into two parts, whereof 
 the northern is inhabited by the Zoroastrians and the southern 
 by the Muhammadans. We followed this river-bed, which 
 appeared to serve also as a road, for some distance, till we came 
 to a point where the houses were more abundant and the gardens 
 fewer. Here we halted, and began to look for a lodging, which 
 I finally obtained in a sort of pavilion in the middle of a large 
 square. Four rooms, raised somewhat above the level of the 
 ground, opened cut of the central hall of this pavilion, which 
 was surrounded by a few trees, and appeared to offer desirable 
 and comfortable quarters. Unfortunately, these rooms were 
 
FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 395 
 
 lighted by iron-barred windows opening on to the square, and 
 I soon found myself an object of interest to a crowd of blue- 
 turbaned, bearded men, and fair-faced, gray-eyed boys, who 
 watched me using a knife and fork to eat my lunch with un- 
 controlled delight and amusement. They were perfectly well- 
 behaved, and evidently had no desite to annoy me; but I never 
 before realised what the lions in the Zoological Gardens have to 
 put up with! 
 
 Later in the afternoon I went for a short walk down the road- 
 river with my Erivani friend, after extricating myself with some 
 difficulty from a crowd of people with sore eyes and other ail- 
 ments for which they desired treatment. In the course of our 
 walk we were accosted, to my great delight, by two of the yellow- 
 tobed Zoroastrians, whom I now saw for the first time in the 
 raiment which in Yezd and Kirmén serves to distinguish them, 
 even at a distance, from their Muhammadan fellow-citizens, but 
 which in other parts of Persia they are permitted to lay aside. 
 The Erivani asked them what was their religion, to which they 
 proudly replied, “Zardushti, Kiydni” (Zoroastrian, Achzme- 
 nian”), whereat he laughed not a little. On returning to my 
 lodging, I found a handsome clever-looking man waiting to see 
 me. From his talk I had little doubt that he was a Babi, for he 
 enquired very minutely into the Christian belief as to the advent 
 of the Messiah, adding, “Perhaps He /as corne, and you have not 
 recognised Him,” and presently, “Have you heard news of the 
 Manifestation?” But when I asked him point-blank whether he 
 was “‘of that sect” (ay du td’ifa), he only replied “ Khudd dand” 
 (“God knows”’), and soon after left me. 
 
 Next morning (Saturday, 5th May) we started about 5 a.m., 
 so as to teach Yezd before the day grew hot. Our road sloped 
 continuously, but gently, downwards towards the city, which 
 was in view almost from the beginning of the march. As we were 
 leaving Taft, a little boy came up and presented me with a rose, 
 and farther on an old man who was working in a field near the 
 
396 FROM SHIRAZ TO YEZD 
 
 road offered me the like attention, neither of them expecting or 
 receiving any rewatd for what, in these parts of Persia, which 
 have not yet been spoiled by Europeans, is an act of pure kindli- 
 ness and courtesy towards strangers. We passed successively the 
 large and flourishing villages of Mubaraké and Chamr on the 
 tight, and Zeyn-4bad on the left, while on a low spur of the 
 mountains to the south of the road the white dakhmé or “‘towet 
 of silence” of the Zoroastrians was plainly visible. Leaving these 
 behind us, we presently entered the sandy plain wherein lies 
 the ancient city of Yezd, towards which we wound our way 
 through gardens and cornfields. As we approached it, I was much 
 puzzled as to the nature and function of numerous tall chimney- 
 like structures, the like of which I had not hitherto seen. Knowing 
 that Yezd gloried in the title “‘ Darw’/‘ Ibddat” (‘the Abode of 
 Devotion”), I was for a moment disposed to regard them as a 
 new variety of minaret; but I soon learned that they were really 
 bdd-girs ot wind-chimneys, designed to collect and convey into 
 the interiors of the better class of houses such breaths of fresh 
 breeze as might be stirring in the upper regions of the air which 
 lay so hot and heavy over that sun-parched plain. It was still 
 comparatively early in the day when we passed through the city 
 gates, and, after some enquiry, alighted at the caravansaray of 
 Haji Kambar, where we secured two rooms, or rather cells, at 
 a little distance from one another. My first business was to 
 despatch my letters of introduction to the Seyyids and to Ardashir 
 Mihraban the Zoroastrian, requesting them to appoint a time at 
 which I might call and see them; having done which, I occupied 
 the interval which must elapse before the return of my messenger 
 in making such toilette as the citcumstances admitted of. 
 
 
 

 
 GHUAPLER XIII 
 
 YEZD 
 
 “ Fy saba! ba sdkindn-i-shahr-i-Yexd az md bi-gi, 
 ‘K’ey sar-i-hakk-nd-shindsan guy-i-chawgdn-i-shumd ! 
 Garché dir-im az bisat-i-kurb, himmat dur nist; 
 Bandé-t-Shah-i-shuma’im, u sand-khwdn-t-shumd!?”’ 
 
 “Rast-wind, when to Yezd thou wingest, say thou to its sons from me, 
 ‘May the head of every ingrate ball-like ’neath your mall-bat be. 
 What though from your dais distant, near it by my wish I seem, 
 Homage to your King I render, and I make your praise my theme.’” 
 
 (HAriz, translated by Herman Bicknell.) 
 
 CARCELY had I cleansed myself from the dust of travel, 
 
 when I was informed that one had come who would have 
 speech with me; and on my signifying my readiness to teceive 
 him, a portly old man, clad in the dull yellow raiment of the 
 guebres, was ushered in. Briefly saluting me, he introduced 
 himself as the Dasttr Tir-andaz, high-priest of the Zoroastrians 
 of Yezd, and proceeded to inform me that the Governor of the 
 city, His Highness Prince ‘Imadu’d-Dawla, having learned that 
 a European had just arrived in the town, had instructed him to 
 interview the said European and ascertain his nationality, the 
 business which had brought him to Yezd, and his rank and 
 status, so that, if he should prove to be “distinguished” (wuta- 
 shakhkhis), due honour might be shown him. 
 
 “As for my nationality,” I replied, “I am English. As for 
 my business, I am travelling for my own instruction and amuse- 
 ment, and to perfect myself in the Persian language. And as 
 for my rank, kindly assure the Governor that I have no official 
 status, and am not ‘distinguished’ at all, so that he need not show 
 
398 YEZD 
 
 me any honout, or put himself out of the way in the least degree 
 on my account.” 
 
 “Very good,” answered the fire-priest, “but what brings you 
 to Yezd? If your only object were to learn Persian, you could 
 have accomplished that at Teheran, Isfahan, or Shiraz, without 
 crossing these deserts, and undergoing all the fatigues involved 
 in this journey.” 
 
 “Well,” I said, ‘““I wished to see as well as to learn, and my 
 travels would not be complete without a sight of your ancient 
 and interesting city. Besides which, I desired to learn something 
 of those who profess the faith of Zoroaster, of which, as I under- 
 stand, you are the high-priest.” 
 
 “You would hardly undergo all the fatigues of a journey 
 across these deserts for no better reason than that,” he retorted; 
 “you must have had some other object, and I should be much 
 obliged if you would communicate it to me.” 
 
 I assuted him that I had no other object, and that in under- 
 taking the journey to Yezd I was actuated by no other motive 
 than curiosity and a desire to improve my mind. Seeing, how- 
 ever, that he continued sceptical, asked him point-blank whether 
 he believed my word or not; to which he replied very frankly 
 that he did not. At this juncture another visitor was announced, 
 who ptoved to be Ardashir Mihraban himself. He was a tall, 
 slender, handsome man, of about forty-five or fifty years of age, 
 light-complexioned, black-bearded, and clad in the yellow gar- 
 ments of the Zoroastrians; and he spoke English (which he had 
 learned in Bombay, where he had spent some years of his life) 
 fluently and well. After conversing with me for a shott time, he 
 departed with the Dastur. 
 
 Hardly had these visitors left me when a servant came from 
 the Seyyids to whom I had letters of introduction, to inform me 
 that they would be glad to see me as soon as I could come. I 
 therefore at once set out with the servant, and was conducted 
 by him first to the house of Haji Seyyid M , who, surrounded 
 
 
 
YEZD 399 
 
 by some ten or a dozen of his friends and relatives, was sitting 
 out in the courtyard. I was very graciously received by them; 
 and, while sherbet, tea, and the ka/ydn, or watet-pipe, were 
 successively offered to me, the letter of introduction given to me 
 by Mirza ‘Ali was passed round and tread by all present with 
 expressions of approval, called forth, as I suppose, not so much 
 by the very flattering terms in which it had pleased my friend 
 to speak of me, as by what he had written concerning my eaget- 
 ness to learn mote of the Babi religion, to which my new friends 
 also belonged. Nothing was said, however, on this topic; and, 
 after about an hour’s general conversation, I left in company 
 with Mirza M—— to visit his father Haji Mirza M - ; 
 to whom also I had a letter of introduction. There I remained 
 conversing till after dusk, when I returned to the caravansaray, 
 and, while waiting for my supper, fell into so profound a slumber 
 that my servant was unable to wake me. 
 
 To go supperless to bed conduces above all things to early 
 rising, and by 6.30 a.m. on the following morning I had finished 
 my breakfast, and was eager to see something of the city of Yezd. 
 My servant wished to go to the bath, but the Erivani, who had 
 attached himself to me since I first made his acquaintance, 
 volunteered to accompany me. We wandered for a while through 
 the bazaars, and he then suggested that we should enquire of 
 some of the townsfolk whether there was any public garden 
 where we could sit and rest for a time. I readily acquiesced in this 
 plan, and we soon found ourselves in the garden of Dawlat- 
 abad, where we sat in a shady corner and conversed with an old 
 gardener who had been for thirteen months a slave in the hands 
 of the Turcomans. He had been taken prisoner by them near 
 the Kal‘at-i-Nadiri about the time that Hamzé Mirza was be- 
 sieging Mashhad (1848), and described very graphically his 
 experiences in the Turcoman slave-market; how he and his 
 companions in misfortune, stripped almost naked, were inspected 
 and examined by intending purchasers, and finally knocked down 
 
 
 
 
 
400 YEZD 
 
 by the broker to the highest bidder. He had finally effected his 
 escape duting a raid into Persian territory, in which he had 
 accompanied the marauders as a guide, exactly after the manner 
 of the immortal Haji Baba. He and the Erivani joined cordially 
 in abusing the Turcomans, whom they described as more like 
 wild beasts than men. “They have no sense of fear,” said the 
 latter, ““and will never submit, however great may be the odds 
 against them; even their women and children will die fighting. 
 That was why the Russians made so merciless a massacre of 
 them, and why, after the massacre was overt, they piled up the 
 bodies of the slain into a gigantic heap, poured petroleum over 
 it, and set it on fire, that perhaps this horrible spectacle might 
 terrify the survivors into submission.” 
 
 About mid-day we returned to the caravansaray, and I was 
 again forced to consider my plans for the future, for Baba Khan 
 came to enquire whether he should wait to convey me back to 
 Dihbid, or whether I intended to proceed to Kirman on leaving 
 Yezd. I paid him the remainder of the money due to him, gave 
 him a present of seven &rdus, and told him that, unless he heard 
 from me to the contrary before sunset, he might consider himself 
 free to depart. 
 
 Later in the afternoon, two Zoroastrians came to inform me 
 that Ardashir Mihraban, in whose employment they were, was 
 willing to place his garden and the little house in it at my disposal 
 during my stay at Yezd. It had been occupied about a month 
 before by another Englishman, Lieutenant H. B. Vaughan, who 
 had undertaken a very adventurous and arduous journey across 
 Persia, from Bandar-i-Lingé, on the Persian Gulf, to Damghan 
 ot Shahrud, on the Mashhad-Teheran road, and who had tarried 
 for some while at Yezd to make preparations for crossing the 
 western corner of the great Salt Desert. I of course gratefully 
 accepted this offer, for the caravansaray was not a pleasant 
 dwelling-place, and besides this, I was anxious to enjoy more 
 opportunities of cultivating the acquaintance of the Zoroastrians, 
 
YEZD 4o1 
 
 for which, as I rightly anticipated, this arrangement would give 
 me exceptional facilities. I could not repress a feeling of exulta- 
 tion when I reflected that I had at length succeeded in so isolating 
 myself, not only from my own countrymen, but from my co- 
 religionists, that the most closely allied genus to which I could 
 be assigned by the Yezdis was that of the guebres, for whom I 
 already entertained a feeling of respect, which further knowledge 
 of that much-suffering people has only served to increase. 
 
 Haji Safar was out when this message was brought to me, 
 and, as I could not leave the caravansaray until I had instructed 
 him as to the removal of my baggage, we were compelled to 
 await his return. During this interval a message came from Haji 
 Seyyid M——-, asking me to go to his house, whither, accord- 
 ingly, on my servant’s return, I proceeded in company with the 
 two Zoroastrians, one of whom, named Bahman, spoke English 
 well. 
 
 On arriving at Haji Seyyid M ’s house, I was delighted 
 to find a theological discussion in progress. An attempt was 
 evidently being made to convert an old mul/d, of singularly 
 attractive and engaging countenance, to the Babi faith. Only 
 one of the Babis was speaking, a man of about thirty-five years 
 of age, whose eloquence filled me with admiration. It was not 
 till later that I learned that he was “Andalib (“the Nightingale’’), 
 one of the most distinguished of the poets who have consecrated 
 their talents to the glory of the New Theophany. “And so in 
 every dispensation,” he resumed, as soon as I had received and 
 returned the greetings of those present, “the very men who 
 professed to be awaiting the new Manifestation most eagerly 
 were the first to deny it, abandoning the ‘Most Firm Hand- 
 hold’ of God’s Truth to lay hold of the frail thread of their own 
 imaginings. You talk of miracles; but of what evidential value 
 are miracles to me, unless I have seen them? Has not every 
 religion accounts of miracles, which, had they ever taken place, 
 must, one would have thought, have compelled all men to 
 
 
 
 B 26 
 
402 MERZ 
 
 believe; for who would dare, however hard of heart he might 
 be, to fight with a Power which he could not ignore or misunder- 
 stand? No, it is the Divine Word which 1s the token and sign 
 of a prophet, the convincing proof to all men and all ages, the 
 everlasting miracle. Do not misunderstand the matter: when the 
 Prophet of God called his verses “signs” (dydt), and declared 
 the Kur’4n to be his witness and proof, he did not intend to 
 imply, as some vainly suppose, that the eloquence of the words 
 was a proof. How, for instance, can you or I, who are Persians, 
 judge whether the eloquence of a book written in Arabic be 
 supernatural or not? No: the essential characteristic of the Divine 
 Word is its penetrative power (wufadh): it is not spoken in vain, 
 it compels, it constrains, it creates, it rules, it works in men’s 
 hearts, it lives and dies not. The Apostle of God said, ‘in the 
 month of Ramazan men shall fast from sunrise to sunset.’ See 
 how hard a thing this is; and yet here in Yezd there are thousands 
 who, if you bade them break the fast or die, would prefer death 
 to disobedience. Wherever one arises speaking this Word, know 
 him to be a Manifestation of the Divine Will, believe in him, 
 and take his yoke upon you.” 
 
 “But this claim,” said the old mw//d, “this claim! It is a hard 
 word that He utters. What can we do or say?” 
 
 “For the rest, He hath said it,”’ replied “Andalib, “‘and it 1s 
 for us, who have seen that this Divine Word is His, to accept it.” 
 There was silence for a little while, and then the old mu//é arose 
 witha sigh, and repeating, “It is difficult, very difficult,” departed 
 from our midst. 
 
 Soon afterwards I too left, and, accompanied by my Zoro- 
 astrian friends, made my way to the garden of Ardashir Mihra- 
 ban, situated at the southern limit of the town, hard by the open 
 plain. I found my host and the old fire-priest awaiting me, and 
 received from both of them a most cordial welcome. The latter 
 informed me with some elation that the Governor, Prince 
 ‘Imadu’d-Dawla, had, in spite of my representations (which he, 
 
YEZD 403 
 
 like the Dasttir, no doubt regarded as the fabrications of an 
 accomplished liar, whose readiness in falsehood afforded at least 
 some presumptive evidence of a diplomatic vocation), decided 
 to treat me as “distinguished,” and would on the morrow send 
 me a lamb and a tray of sweetmeats as signs of his goodwill. 
 “His Highness wished to send them sooner,” he concluded, 
 “but I told him that you were not yet established in a suitable 
 lodging, and he therefore consented to wait. When the presents 
 come, you will have to call upon him and express your thanks.” 
 I was rather annoyed at this, for “distinction” in Persia means 
 much useless trouble and expense, and I wished above all things 
 to be free and unconstrained; but I did not then know Prince 
 ‘Imadu’d-Dawla for what he was, the most just, righteous, and 
 cultured governor to be found in any town or province of Petsia. 
 Devotion to philosophical studies, and the most tolerant views 
 of other religions, did not prevent him from strictly observing 
 the duties laid upon him by his own creed; he was adored by the 
 poor oppressed Zoroasttians, who found in him a true pro- 
 tector, and, I believe, by all well-disposed and law-abiding persons: 
 and it was with a very sincere sorrow that I learned, soon after 
 my return to England, that he had been dismissed from the office 
 which he so nobly and conscientiously filled. 
 
 The change from the hot, dusty caravansaray to this beautiful 
 garden was in itself a great pleasure, and my delight was en- 
 hanced by the fact that I was now in an environment essentially 
 and thoroughly Zoroastrian. My servant and the Erivn(, 
 indeed, still bore me company; but, except for them and oc- 
 casional Musulman and Babi visitors, I was entirely thrown on 
 the society of the yellow-robed worshippers of fire. The old 
 priest, Dastur Tir-andaz, who at first seemed to regard me with 
 some suspicion, was quite won over by finding that I was 
 acquainted with the spurious “heavenly books” known as the 
 Desdtir, about the genuineness of which neither he nor Ar- 
 dashir appeared to entertain the slightest doubt. Ardashir sat 
 
 26-2 
 
404 WEHZD 
 
 conversing with me after the others had departed, for it had 
 been stipulated by Haji Seyyid M-—— that my meals were to be 
 provided by himself; and as his house was at some distance from 
 the garden, it was nearly 10 p.m. before I got my supper. “ Khané- 
 t-di ked-bant nd-rufté bibtar” (“The house with two landladies is 
 best unswept”’), remarked my host, as the night advanced with- 
 out any sign of supper appearing. However, the time was not 
 wasted, for I managed to get Ardashir to talk of his religion 
 and its ordinances, and especially of the kusht7 or sacred cord 
 which the Zoroastrians wear. This consists of seventy-two fibres 
 woven into twelve strands of six fibres each, the twelve strands 
 being further woven into three cords of four strands each. These 
 three cords, which are plaited together to form the kushii, 
 represent the three fundamental principles of the Zoroastrian 
 faith, good thoughts (/a-manishni), good words (hu-go’ishni), and 
 good deeds (hu-kunishni), the other subdivisions having each 
 in like manner a symbolical meaning. The investiture of the 
 young Zoroastrian with the kusht7Z admits him formally to the 
 church of ‘“‘those of the Good Religion” (Brh-dindn); and he is 
 then taught how to tie the peculiar knot wherewith it must be 
 re-fastened at each of the panj-gah, or five times of prayer. Ardashir 
 also spoke of the duty incumbent on them of keeping pure the 
 four elements, adding that they did not smoke tobacco out of 
 respect for fire. 
 
 Although of the three weeks that I spent at Yezd there was 
 not one day which passed unprofitably, or on which I did not 
 see or hear some new thing, I think that I shall do better to dis- 
 regard the actual sequence of events in recording what appears 
 worthy of mention, so as to bring together kindred matters in 
 one connection, and so avoid the repetitions and ruptures of 
 sequence which too close an adherence to a diary must necessarily 
 produce. 
 
 First, then, of the Zoroastrians. Of these there are said to be 
 from 7000 to 10,000 in Yezd and its dependencies, nearly all 
 
YEZD 405 
 
 of them being engaged either in mercantile business or agri- 
 culture. From what I saw of them, both at Yezd and Kirman, 
 I formed a very high idea of their honesty, integrity, and in- 
 dustry. Though less liable to molestation now than in former 
 times, they often meet with ill-treatment and insult at the hands 
 of the mote fanatical Muhammadans, by whom they are regarded 
 as pagans, not equal even to Christians, Jews, and other “people 
 of the book” (ahiv’Lkitdb). Thus they are compelled to wear the 
 dull yellow raiment already alluded to as a distinguishing badge; 
 they are not permitted to wear socks, or to wind their turbans 
 tightly and neatly, or to ride a horse; and if, when riding even 
 a donkey, they should chance to meet a Musulman, they must 
 dismount while he passes, and that without regard to his age or 
 rank. 
 
 So much for the petty annoyances to which they are con- 
 tinually subject. These are humiliating and vexatious only; but 
 occasionally, when there is a period of interregnum, or when 
 a bad or priest-ridden governor holds office, and the “/#zs,” 
 ot troughs, of Yezd wax bold, wotse befalls them. During the 
 period of confusion which intervened between the death of 
 Muhammad Shah and the accession of Nasiru’d-Din Shah, 
 many of them were robbed, beaten, and threatened with death, 
 unless they would renounce their ancient faith and embrace 
 Islam; not a few wete actually done to death. There was one old 
 Zotoastrian still living at Yezd when I was there who had been 
 beaten, threatened, and finally wounded with pistol shots in 
 several places by these fanatical Muslims, but he stood firm in 
 his refusal to renounce the faith of his fathers, and, more for- 
 tunate than many of his brethren, escaped with his life. 
 
 So likewise, as I was informed by the Dastur, about twelve 
 yeats pteviously the Muhammadans of Yezd threatened to sack 
 the Zoroastrian quarter and kill all the guebres who would not 
 consent to embrace Islam, alleging as a reason for this atrocious 
 design that one of the Zoroastrians had killed a Musulman. The 
 
406 YEZD 
 
 govetnor of Yezd professed himself powerless to protect the 
 guebtes, and strove to induce them to sign a document exoner- 
 ating him from all blame in whatever might take place; but 
 fortunately they had the firmness to refuse compliance until one 
 of the Musulmans who had killed a Zoroastrian woman was put 
 to death, after which quiet was restored. 
 
 On another occasion a Musulman was murdered by another 
 Musulman who had disguised himself as a guebre. The Muham- 
 madans threatened to sack the Zoroastrian quarter and make 
 a general massacre of its inmates unless the supposed murderer 
 was given up. The person whom they suspected was one Nam- 
 dar, a telative of the chief fire-priest. He, innocent as he was, 
 refused to imperil his brethren by remaining amongst them. 
 “T will go before the governor,” he said, “‘for it is better that 
 I should lose my life than that our whole community should be 
 endangered.” So he went forth, prepared to die; but fortunately 
 at the last moment the real murderer was discovered and put to 
 death. Ardashir’s own brother Rashid was murdered by fanatical 
 Musulmans as he was walking through the bazaars, and I saw 
 the tablet put up to his memoty 1n one of the fire-temples of 
 Yezd. 
 
 Under the enlightened administration of Prince ‘Imadu’d- 
 Dawla, the Zoroastrians, as I have already said, enjoyed com- 
 parative peace and security, but even he was not always able 
 to keep in check the ferocious intolerance of bigots and the 
 savage brutality of /it7s. While I was in Yezd a Zoroastrian was 
 bastinadoed for accidentally touching with his garment some 
 fruit exposed for sale in the bazaar, and thereby, in the eyes of 
 the Musulmans, rendering it unclean and unfit for consumption 
 by true believers. On another occasion I heard that the wife of 
 a poor Zoroastrian, a woman of singular beauty, was washing 
 clothes near the town, when she was noticed with admiration 
 by two Musulmans who were passing by. Said one to the other, 
 “She would do well for your embraces.” “Just what I was 
 
YEZD 407 
 
 thinking,” replied the other wretch, who thereupon approached 
 her, clasped her in his arms, and tried to kiss her. She resisted 
 and cried for help, whereupon the Musulmans got angry and 
 threw her into the stream. Next day the Zoroastrians com- 
 plained to the Prince-Governor, and the two cowardly scoundrels 
 were arrested and brought before him. Great hopes were enter- 
 tained by the Zoroastrians that condign and summary punish- 
 ment would be inflicted on them; but some of the mu//ds, acting 
 in concert with the Malku’t-tayjdr or chief merchant of Yezd 
 (a man of low origin, having, as was currently reported, ko// or 
 gipsy blood in his veins), interfered with bribes and threats, and 
 so intimidated an old Zoroastrian, who was the chief witness 
 for the prosecution, that he finally refused to say more than 
 that he had heard the girl cry out for help, and on looking 
 round had seen her in the water. I know not how the matter 
 ended, but I greatly fear that justice was defeated. 
 
 On another occasion, however, the Prince-Governor inter- 
 vened successfully to check the following unjust and evil 
 practice. When a Zoroastrian renounces his faith and embraces 
 Islam, it is considered by the Musulmans that he has a right 
 to the property and money of his unregenerate kinsmen. A 
 case of this sort had arisen, and a sum of ninety témdns (nearly 
 £28) had been taken by the renegade from his relatives. The 
 latter appealed to the Prince, who insisted’ on its restoration, 
 to the mortification of the pervert and his new friends, and 
 the delight of the Zoroastrians, especially old Dastur Tir-andaz, 
 who, when he related the incident to me, was almost incoherent 
 with exultation, and continually interrupted his narrative to 
 pray for the long life and prosperity of Prince ‘Imadu’d-Dawla. 
 Nor was this the only expression of gratitude which the Prince’s 
 justice and toleration called forth from the poor oppressed 
 guebres. One day, as he himself informed me, on the occasion 
 of my farewell visit to his palace, he was riding abroad accom- 
 panied by three servants only (for he loved not ostentation) 
 
408 YEZD 
 
 when he met a patty of Zoroastrian women. Reining in his 
 horse, he enquired how things went with them, and whether 
 they enjoyed comfort and safety. They, not knowing who he was, 
 and supposing him to be an ordinary Persian gentleman, replied 
 that, though formerly they had suffered much, now, by the 
 blessing of God and the justice of the new governor, they enjoyed 
 perfect safety and security, and feared molestation from none. 
 Then they asked him to what part of the country he belonged; 
 and he, when he had fenced with them for a while, told them, to 
 their astonishment and confusion, who he was! 
 
 I was naturally anxious to see some of the fire-temples, 
 and finally, after repeated requests, a day was fixed for visiting 
 them. I was taken first to the oldest temple, which was in a 
 vety tuinous condition (the Muhammadans not suffering it to 
 be repaired), and presented little of interest save two tablets 
 bearing Persian inscriptions, one of which bore the date A.y. 1009 
 as that of the completion of the tablet or the temple, I know not 
 which. Leaving this, we proceeded to a newer, larger, and much 
 more flourishing edifice, on entering which I saw, to my great 
 delight, in a room to the left of the passage of entry, the sacred 
 fire burning bright on its tripod, while around it two or three 
 mubads ot fire-priests, with veils covering their mouths and the 
 lower part of their faces, droned their Zend liturgies. These 
 veils, as Ardashir informed me, are intended to obviate the 
 danger of the fire being polluted by the officiating priest coughing 
 ot spitting upon it. I was not, however, allowed to gaze upon 
 this interesting spectacle for more than a few moments, but was 
 ‘hurried on to a large and well-carpeted room in the interior 
 of the building, looking out on a little courtyard planted with 
 pomegranate trees. Here I was recetved by several of the fire- 
 ptiests, who regaled us with a delicious sherbet. The buildings 
 surrounding the other three sides of the courtyard were, as I 
 was informed, devoted to educational purposes, and serve as a 
 school for the Zoroastrian children. This temple was built 
 
YEZD 409 
 
 comparatively recently by some of Ardashit’s relatives, and on 
 one of its walls was the memorial tablet to his murdered brother 
 Rashid. 
 
 Leaving this, we visited a third temple, a portion of which 
 setves as a theological college for the training of youths destined 
 for the priesthood, who, to some extent at least, study Zend 
 and Pahlavi; though I do not fancy that any high standard of 
 proficiency in the sacred languages is often attained by them. 
 The space allotted to these young theologians was not very 
 ample, being, indeed, only a sort of gallery at one end of the 
 chief room. At the opposite end was spread a carpet, on which 
 a few chairs were set; and in a niche in the wall stood a little 
 vase containing sprigs of a plant not unlike privet which the 
 dastur called by a name I could not rightly catch, though it 
 sounded to me like “ndwd.” ‘This plant, I was further informed, 
 was used in certain of their religious ceremonies, and “turned 
 round the sun”; but concerning it, as well as sundry other 
 matters whereof I would fain have learned more, my guides 
 showed a certain reserve which I felt constrained to respect. 
 Here also I was allowed a glimpse of the sacred fire burning in 
 a little chamber apart (whence came the odour of ignited sandal- 
 wood and the droning of Zend chants), and of the white-veiled 
 mibad who tended it. A picture of Zoroaster (taken, as Ardashir 
 told me, from an old sculpture at Balkh), and several inscriptions 
 on the walls of the large central room, were the only other points 
 of interest presented by the building. 
 
 On leaving this temple, which is situated in the very centre 
 of the “ Gabr-Mapballa,” or Zoroastrian quarter, I was conducted 
 to the house of Ardashir’s brother, Guidarz, between tows of 
 Zoroastrian men and boys who had come out to gaze on the 
 Firangi stranger. To me the sight of these yellow-robed votaries 
 of an old-world faith, which twelve centuries of persecution and 
 insult have not succeeded in uprooting from its native soil, was 
 at least as interesting as the sight of me can have been to them, 
 
410 YEZD 
 
 and I was much struck both by their decorous conduct and by 
 the high average of their good looks. Their religion has pre- 
 vented them from intermarrying with Turks, Arabs, and other 
 non-Atyans, and they consequently represent the purest Persian 
 type, which in physical beauty can hardly be surpassed. 
 
 At the house of Ardashit’s brother, Gudarz, I met the chief- 
 priest of the Zoroastrians, who was suffering from gout, and a 
 number of my host’s male relatives, with whom I stayed con- 
 versing till 8.30 p.m., hospitably entertained with tea, wine, 
 brandy, and kebdbs. Wine-drinking plays a great part in the 
 daily life of the guebre; but, though I suppose not one total 
 abstainer could be found amongst them, I never but once saw a 
 Zotoastrian the worse for drink. With the Musulmans the con- 
 trary holds good; when they drink, it is too often with the 
 deliberate intention of getting drunk, on the principle, I suppose, 
 that ““when the water has gone over the head, what matters it 
 whether it be a fathom or a hundred fathoms?” To a Zoro- 
 astrian it is lawful to drink wine and spirits, but not to exceed; 
 to a Muhammadan the use and the abuse of alcohol are equally 
 unlawful. The Zoroastrian drinks because he likes the taste of 
 the wine and the glow of good fellowship which it produces; 
 the Muhammadan, on the contrary, commonly detests the taste 
 of wine and spirits, and will, after each draught, make a grimace 
 expressive of disgust, rinse out his mouth, and eat a lump of 
 sugar; what he enjoys is not drinking, but being drunk, even as 
 the great mystical poet Jalalu’d-Din Rumi says— 
 
 “* Nang-i-bang u khamr bar khud mi-nihi 
 Td dami az khwishtan ti vd-rabi.” 
 “Thou takest on thyself the shame of hemp and wine 
 In order that thou may’st for one moment escape from thyself.” 
 
 The drinking-cup (jdm) used at Yezd and Kirman is not a 
 glass but a little brass bowl. On the inside of this the Zoro- 
 astrians often have engraved the names of dead friends and 
 relatives, to whose memory they drink as the wine goes round 
 
YEZD AII 
 
 with such formule as “‘Khudd pidarat biydmurzad” (“May God 
 patdon thy father!”’), “Khudd mddarat biydmurzad” (“May God 
 patdon thy mother!”’), “Khuda biydmurzad hama-i-raftagdn-rd” 
 (“May God pardon all the departed!’’). The following in- 
 sctiption from Ardashir’s drinking-cup may suffice as a speci- 
 men:— 
 
 Sdbiba-i-marhim Mthraban ibn Rustam-i-Bahrdm. Har kas kar farmdyad 
 “Khuda biyamurzi’ bi-Mibrabdn-i-Rustam, va Sarvar-i-Ardashir, va Gulchihr-t- 
 Mthrabdn bi-dihad: haftdd pusht-t-ishin amurzidé bdd! 1286 hijri.” 
 
 “The wife of the beatified Mihraban, the son of Rustam, [the son] of 
 Bahram. Let every one who may make use [of this cup] give a ‘God pardon!” 
 to Mihraban [the son] of Rustam, and Sarvar [the son] of Ardashir, and Gul- 
 chihr [the daughter] of Mihraban: may they be pardoned unto seventy 
 generations! A.H. 1286.” 
 
 In drinking to the health of companions the formula (used also 
 by Muhammadans when they drink) 1s “ Bz-salématt-i-shumd!” 
 (“To your health!’’), the answer to which is “‘ N&sh-i-jdn-bad!” 
 (“May it be sweet to your soul!”’). I had ample opportunity of 
 learning how to drink wine “according to the rite of Zoroaster,” 
 for almost every afternoon Ardashir, accompanied either by 
 Dastur Tit-andaz, or by his brother Gudarz, or by his manager 
 Bahman, or by other Zoroastrians, used to come to the garden 
 and sit by the little stream, which for a few hours only (for 
 water is bought for a price in Yezd) refreshed the drooping 
 flowers. Then, unless Muhammadan or Babi visitors chanced to 
 be present, wine and ‘arak were brought forth by old Jamshid, 
 the gardener, or his little son Khusraw; fresh young cucumbers, 
 and other relishes, such as the Persian wine-drinker loves, were 
 produced; and the brass drinking-cups were drained again and 
 again to the memories of the dead and the healths of the living. 
 
 It was on these occasions that conversation flowed most 
 freely, and that I learned most about the Zoroastrian religion 
 anid its votaries. This is not the place to deal with the subject 
 systematically, and I shall confine myself to noticing a few matters 
 which actually came under discussion. 
 
412 YEZD 
 
 The Zotoasttian year is solar, not lunar like the Muham- 
 madan, and consists of twelve months of thirty days each, and 
 five additional days called gatd (corresponding to the Muham- 
 madan “hamsa-i-mustaraka”’) to bring the total up to 365. 
 The year begins at the vernal equinox, when the sun enters the 
 sion of Aries (about 21st March), and is inaugurated’ by the 
 ancient national festival of the Nawr#z, or New Yeat’s Day, 
 which, as has been already mentioned, is observed no less by the 
 Muhammadans than by the Zoroastrians of Persia. Each day 
 of the month is presided over by an angel or archangel (of whom 
 there are seven, called Amshaspands, to each of which a day of 
 the first week is allotted), save that three days, the 8th, 15th, 
 and 23rd of the month, are, like the first, sacred to Ormuzd. 
 These are holy days, and are collectively known as the S7-dey. 
 The following is a list of the days of the month, each of which 
 is called by the name of the angel presiding over it:—(1) Ormuzd; 
 (2) Bahman, the angel of flocks and herds; (3) Urdi-bihisht, the 
 angel of light; (4) Shabrivar, the angel of jewels, gold, and 
 minerals; (5) S7pandarmaz, the angel of the earth; (6) Khurddd, 
 the angel of water and streams; (7) Amurddd, the angel of trees 
 and plants; (8) Dey-bi--Adbar, the first of the S7-dey, sacred to 
 Ormuzd; (9) Adhar; (10) Abdn; (11) Khir; (12) Mah; (13) Tir; 
 (14) Gash; (15) Dey-bi-Mihr, the second of the Si-dey; (16) Mihr; 
 (17) Surish; (18) Rashn; (19) Farvardin; (20) Bahrdm; (21) Ram; 
 (22) Ddd; (23) Dey-bi-Din, the third of the Si-dey; (24) Din; 
 (25) Ard; (26) Ashtdd; (27) Asmdn; (28) Zdmydd; (29) Muntra- 
 sipand; (30) Andrdm. Of these thirty names twelve belong also 
 to the months, as follows:— 
 
 ks 1. Farvardin. : 7. Mihr. 
 * har) | 2. Urdi-bibisht. ' BBN 8. Abdn. 
 Say 3. Khurddd. aes 9. Adbar. 
 SUMMER ae us ; WINTER ( eeeG? 
 5. Amurddd. Bahman. 
 
 6. Shahrivar. 
 The week has no place in the Zoroastrian calendar, with which, 
 
 ys , 5 ; 4 es 
 (Tdbistan). | (Camistaa | 12. Sipandarmaz. 
 
YEZD 413 
 
 as 1 have elsewhere pointed out (Ivaveller’s Narrative, vol. i, 
 p. 414, n. 1; and J.R.A.S. for 1889, p. 929), the arrangement of 
 the solar year instituted by the Babis presents many points of 
 similarity which can hardly be regarded as accidental!. As an 
 example of the very simple manner in which dates are expressed 
 according to the Zoroastrian calendar, I may quote the following 
 lines from a Persian poem occurring in a Zend-Pahlavi MS. of 
 the Vendidad of which I shall have something more to say 
 shortly:— 
 “ Bi-réz-i-Gush, 4 dar mah-i-Amurdad 
 Sene nub-sad, digar bud haft u haftdd, 
 Zi fawt-i-Y axdijird-i-shahriydran 
 Kuja bigzashté bud az ruz gdrdn, 
 Navishtam nisf-i-V endidad-i-avval 
 Rasanidam, bi-lutf-i-Hakk, bi-manzil.” 
 “On the day of Gush (the 14th day), and in the month of Amurdad (the 5th 
 month), 7 
 When nine hundred years, and beyond that seven and seventy, 
 From the death of Yazdijird the king 
 Had passed of time, 
 I wrote the first half of the Vendidad, 
 And brought it, by God’s grace, to conclusion.” 
 A little consideration will show the reader that one day in each 
 month will bear the same name as the month, and will be under 
 the protection of the same angel. Thus the nineteenth day of 
 the first month will be “‘the day of Farvatdin in the month of 
 Farvardin,” the third day of the second month “the day of Urdi- 
 bihisht in the month of Urdi-bihisht,” and so on. Such days are 
 kept as festivals by the Zoroastrians. 
 
 The angel Rashn, who presides over the eighteenth day of 
 each month, corresponds, in some degree, to the angels Munkar 
 and Nakir in the Muhammadan system. On the fourth day 
 after a Zoroastrian dies this angel comes to him, and weighs in 
 a balance his good and his bad deeds. If the former are in 
 excess, the departed is admitted into paradise; if the latter, he 
 is punished—so my Zoroastrian friends informed me—by being 
 
 1 Cf. pp. 367-8, supra. 
 
AI4 YEZD 
 
 re-incatnated in this world for another period of probation, 
 which re-incarnation is what is signified by the term “‘hell”’ 
 (dizakh)*. Paradise, in like manner, was understood by my 
 friends of Yezd in a spiritual sense as indicating a state rather 
 than a place. I shall not readily forget an altercation on this 
 subject which arose between the Dastur Tir-andaz and my 
 Muhammadan servant Haji Safar. The latter had, I think, pro- 
 voked the dispute by applying the term dfash-parast (“fire- 
 worshipper’’) to the followers of Zoroaster, or it had been other- 
 wise introduced. The Dastur at once flashed out in anger. “What 
 ails you if we prostrate ourselves before the pure element of 
 fire,” said he, ““when you Muhammadans grovel before a dirty 
 black stone, and the Christians bow down before the symbol of 
 the cross? Our fire is, I should think, at least as honourable and 
 approptiate a kib/a as these, and as for worshipping it, we no 
 more worship it than do you your symbols. And you Muham- 
 madans” (turning to Haji Safar) “have of all men least right to 
 charge us with holding a gross or material creed; you, whose 
 conception of paradise is as a garden flowing with streams of 
 milk and wine and honey, and inhabited by fair boys and lan- 
 guishing black-eyed maidens. Your idea of paradise, in short, 
 is a place where you will be able to indulge in those sensual 
 pleasures which constitute your highest happiness. I spit on 
 such a paradise!” Haji Safar cried out upon him fora blasphemer, 
 and seemed disposed to go further, but I bade him leave the room 
 and learn to respect the religion of others if he wished them to 
 respect his. Later on, when the Zoroastrians had gone, he 
 renewed the subject with me, remarking that the Dastur deserved 
 to die for having spoken such blasphemy; to which I replied 
 that, though I had no desire to interfere with his conscience, or, 
 in general, to hinder him in the discharge of the duties imposed 
 upon him by his religion, I must request him to put a check 
 
 1 I suspect, however, that this is a modern doctrine, derived from the 
 apocryphal Desdtir alluded to at p. 403, supra. 
 
YEZD AI5 
 
 upon his zeal in this matter, at least so long as he remained in 
 my service. 
 
 In general, however, I found my Zoroastrian friends very 
 tolerant and liberal in their views. Ardashir was never tired 
 of repeating that in one of their prayers they invoked the help 
 of “the good men of the seven regions” (khubdn-i-haft kishvar), 
 Z.e. of the whole world; and that they did not regard faith in 
 their religion as essential to salvation. Against the Arabs, in- 
 deed, I could see that they cherished a very bitter hatred, which 
 the Dastur at least was at little pains to conceal; Kadisiyya and 
 Nahavand were not forgotten; and, with but little exaggeration, 
 the words of warning addressed to the Arabs settled in Persia 
 in the second century of the Aira by Nasr ibn Seyyar, the Arab 
 Governor of Khurasan, might be applied to them:— 
 
 “Fa-man yakun sa’ilt ‘an ash dinthimu, 
 Fa@’inna dinahumu an yuktala’ l- Arabu.” 
 
 “And should one question me as to the essence of their religion, 
 Verily their religion is that the Arabs should be slain.” 
 
 From these poor guebres, however, I received more than one 
 lesson in meekness and toleration. “Injustice and harshness,” 
 said Bahman to me one day, “are best met with submission and 
 patience, for thereby the hearts of enemies are softened, and they 
 are often converted into friends. An instance of this came within 
 my own experience. One day, as I was passing through the 
 meydin, a young Muhammadan purposely jostled me and then 
 struck me, crying, “Out of the way, guebre!’ Though angered 
 at this uncalled-for attack, I swallowed down my anger, and 
 replied with a smile, “Very well, just as you like.’ An old Seyyid 
 who was near at hand, seeing the wanton insolence of my tot- 
 mentor, and my submission and patience, rebuked him sharply, 
 saying, “What harm had this poor man done to you that you 
 should strike and insult him?’ A quarrel arose between the two, 
 and finally both were taken before the Governor, who, on learn- 
 ing the truth of the matter, caused the youth to be beaten. Now, 
 
416 YEZD 
 
 had I in the first instance given vent to my anger, the Seyyid 
 would certainly not have taken my part, every Musulman present 
 would have sided with his co-religionist against me, and I should 
 probably have been beaten instead of my adversary.” 
 
 On another occasion I had been telling another of Ardashit’s 
 assistants named Irdn about the Englishman at Shiraz who had 
 turned Muhammadan. “I think he is sorry for it now,” I con- 
 cluded, “‘for he has cut himself off from his own people, and is 
 regarded with suspicion or contempt by many of the Musulmans, 
 who keep a sharp watch over him to see that he punctually dis- 
 charges all the duties laid upon him by the religion of Islam. 
 I wish him well out of it, and hope that he may succeed in his 
 plan of returning to his home and his aged mother; but I mis- 
 doubt it. I think he wished to join himself to me and come here, 
 that he might proceed homewards by way of Mashhad; but I was 
 not very desitous of his company.” 
 
 “Tt is quite true,” replied Iran, “that a bad companion is 
 worse than none, for, as Sa‘di says, it is better to go barefoot 
 than with tight shoes. Yet, if you will not take it amiss, would 
 you not do well, if you return to Shiraz, to take this man with 
 you, and to bring him, and if possible his Muhammadan wife also, 
 to England? This would assuredly be a good action: he would 
 return to the faith he has renounced, and his wife also might 
 become a Christian; they and their children after them would 
 be gained to your religion, and yours would be the merit. Often 
 it happens that one of us Zoroastrians, either through mere 
 ignorance and heedlessness, or because he is in love with a 
 Muhammadan girl whom he cannot otherwise win, renounces 
 the faith of his fathers and embraces Islam. Such not un- 
 frequently repent of their action, and in this case we supply them 
 with money to take them to Bombay, where they can return, 
 without the danger which they would incur here, to their former 
 faith. Often their Muhammadan wives also adopt the Zoroastrian 
 religion, and thus a whole family is won over to our creed.” 
 
YEZD AIT 
 
 “T was not aware,” I remarked, “that it was possible under 
 any circumstances for one not born a Zoroastrian to become one. 
 Do you consent to receive back a renegade after any lapse of 
 time?” 
 
 “No,” answered Iran, “not after six months or so; for if 
 they remain Musulmans for longer than this, their hearts are 
 turned black and incurably infected by the law of Islam, and we 
 cannot then receive them back amongst us.” 
 
 Of the English, towards whom they look as their natural 
 protectors, the Persian Zoroastrians have a very high opinion, 
 though several of them, and especially Dastur Tir-andaz, de- 
 plored the supineness of the English Government, and the apathy 
 with which it regards the hands stretched out to it for help. 
 “You do not realise,” said they, “what a shield and protection 
 the English name ts, else you would surely not grudge it to poor 
 unfortunates for whom no one cares, and who in any time of 
 disturbance are liable to be killed or plundered without redress.” 
 After my return to England I, and I think Lieutenant Vaughan 
 also, made certain representations to the Foreign Office, which 
 I believe were not ineffectual; for, as I subsequently learned, a 
 Zoroastrian had been appointed British Agent in Yezd. This was 
 what the Zoroasttrians so earnestly desired, for they believed 
 that the British flag would protect their community even in times 
 of the gravest danger. 
 
 Although the Zoroastrian women do not veil their faces, and 
 ate not subjected to the restrictions imposed on their Muham- 
 madan sisters, I naturally saw but little of them. Twice, how- 
 ever, parties of guebre girls came to the garden to gaze in amused 
 wonder at the Firangi stranger. Those composing the first party 
 were, I believe, related to Ardashir, and were accompanied by 
 two men. The second party (introduced by old Jamshid the 
 gardener, who did the honours, and metaphorically stirred me 
 up with a long pole to exhibit me to better advantage) consisted 
 of young girls, one or two of whom were extremely pretty. These 
 
 B 27 
 
418 VEZ D 
 
 conducted themselves less sedately, and, to judge by their rippling 
 laughter, found no little amusement in the spectacle. 
 
 Old Dasttr Tir-and4z was to me one of the most interesting, 
 because one of the most thoroughgoing and least sophisticated, 
 of the Zoroastrians. He appeared to be in high favour with the 
 governor, Prince ‘Imadu’d-Dawla, from whom he was con- 
 tinually bringing messages of goodwill to me. In three of the 
 four visits which I paid to the Prince, he bore me company, 
 standing outside in the courtyard while I sat within. My first 
 visit was paid the morning after I had received the lamb and the 
 tray of sweetmeats wherewith the Prince, on the representations 
 of the Dastur, already described, was graciously pleased to mark 
 his sense of my “‘distinction.”” Accompanied by the Prince’s 
 pishkhidmat, ot page-in-waiting (an intolerably conceited youth), 
 and several farrdshes, who had been sent to form my escort, we 
 walked to the Government House, which was situated at the 
 other end of the town, by the Arg or citadel. The Dastur, who 
 walked by my side, was greatly troubled that I had not a horse 
 ot attendants of my own, and seemed to think that my apparel 
 (which, indeed, was somewhat the worse for wear) was hardly 
 equal to the occasion. As I preferred walking to riding, and as I 
 had not come to Yezd to see princes or to indulge in ostentatious 
 parade, these considerations did not affect me in the least, except 
 that I was rather annoyed by the persistence with which the 
 Dastur repeated to the Prince-Governor that I had come chdpar 
 (by post-horses) from Shiraz with only such effects as were 
 absolutely necessary, and that a telegram must be sent to Shiraz 
 to have my baggage forwarded with all speed to Yezd. The 
 Prince, however, was vety good-natured, and treated me with 
 the greatest kindness, enquiring especially as to the books on 
 philosophy and mysticism which I had tead and bought. I 
 mentioned several, and he expressed high approval of the 
 selection which I had made, especially commending the Lawd’ih 
 of Jami, Lahiji’s Commentary on the Gu/shan-i-Raz, and Jami’s 
 
YEZD 419 
 
 Ashi‘atu’'l-Lama‘dt, of Commentary on the Lama‘dt of ‘Traki. Of 
 Haji Mulla Hadi’s Asrdru’/-Hikam, on the other hand, he did 
 not appear to have a very high opinion. He further questioned 
 me as to my plans for the future, and, on learning that I proposed 
 to proceed to Kirman, promised to give me a letter of recom- 
 mendation to Prince Nasiru’d-Dawla, the governor of that place, 
 and also, to my consternation, expressed his intention of sending 
 an escort with me. I was accompanied back to the garden by the 
 farrdshes, to whom I had to give a present of two témdns (about 
 135.). 
 
 The Prince’s attentions, though kindly meant, were in truth 
 somewhat irksome. Two days after the visit above described, 
 he sent his conceited pishkhidmat to enquire after my health, 
 and to ask me whether I had need of anything, and when I 
 intended to visit a certain waterfall near the Shir-Kuh, which 
 he declared I must certainly see before quitting his territories. 
 For the moment I escaped in polite ambiguities; but two days 
 later the pishkhidmat again came with a request that, as Ramazan 
 was close at hand, I would at once return with him to the 
 Government House, as the Prince wished to see me ere the fast, 
 with the derangement of ordinary business consequent on it, 
 began. I had no resource but to comply, and after giving the 
 pishkbidmat tea, which he drank critically, | again set out with 
 him, the Dastur, and the inevitable farrdshes, for the Prince’s 
 residence. On leaving the palace shortly before sunset, the 
 Dastuir mysteriously asked me whether, if I were in no particular 
 hurry to get home, he might instruct the farrdshes to take a more 
 devious route through the bazaars. I consented, without at first 
 being able to divine his object, which was no doubt to show the 
 Musulmans of Yezd that I, the Firangi, was held in honour by 
 the Prince, and that he, the fire-priest, was on the most friendly 
 and intimate terms with me. 
 
 After this visit I enjoyed a period of repose, for which, as 
 I imagine, I was indebted to the fast of Ramazan. The Zoro- 
 
 27-2 
 
420 YEZD 
 
 astrians, of course, like myself, were unaffected by this, and so 
 was my servant Haji Safar, who came to me on the eve of the 
 fast to know what his duty in the matter might be. He ex- 
 plained that travellers were exempt from the obligation of 
 fasting, provided they made good the omission at some future 
 date; but that if I could promise to remain at Yezd for ten clear 
 days of Ramazan, he could fast for those ten days, postponing 
 the remainder of his fast till some mote convenient time. It 
 was of no use, he added, to begin fasting unless he could reckon 
 on ten consecutive days, a shorter period than this not entering 
 into computation. I declined to bind myself by any such pro- 
 mise (feeling pretty sure that Haji Safar would not be sorry for 
 an excuse to postpone the period of privation till the season 
 of short days), and so, though it was not till Ramazan 13th that 
 I actually quitted Yezd, he continued to pursue the ordinary 
 tenor of his life. 
 
 Amongst the minor annoyances which served to remind me 
 that even Yezd was not without its drawbacks, were the periodical 
 appearances in my room of scorpions and tarantulas, both of 
 which abound in the dry, sandy soil of this part of Persia. Of 
 these noxious animals, the latter were to me the mote repulsive, 
 from the horrible nimbleness of their movements, the hideous 
 half-transparent grayness of their bodies, and the hairiness of 
 their legs and venomous mandibles. I had seen one or two in the 
 catavansaray where I first alighted, but, on removing to the clean 
 and tidy little house in Ardashir’s garden, hoped that I had done 
 with them. I was soon undeceived, for as I sat at supper the day 
 after my atrival, I saw to my disgust a very large one of singu- 
 larly aggressive appearance sitting on the wall about three feet 
 above the floor. ] approached it with a slipper, intending to slay 
 it, but it appeared to divine my intentions, rushed up the wall 
 and half across the ceiling with incredible speed, dropped at my 
 feet, and made straight for the window, crossing in its course 
 the pyramid of sweetmeats sent to me by the Prince, over which 
 
YEZD 421 
 
 its horny legs rattled with a loathsome clearness which almost 
 turned me sick. This habit of dropping from the ceiling is one of 
 the tarantula’s many unpleasant characteristics, and the Persians 
 (who call it rotey/ or Rhdyé-gaz) believe that it can only bite while 
 descending. Its bite is generally said to be hardly less serious 
 than that of the scorpion, but Ardashir assured me that people 
 were seldom bitten by it, and that he had never known its wound 
 prove fatal. The Yezdis, at all events, regarded its presence 
 with much more equanimity than I did, and the Ka/intar, or 
 mayor, of the Zoroastrians displayed no alarm when a large 
 specimen was observed sitting on the ceiling almost exactly 
 over his head. The Prince-Governor manifested somewhat more 
 discust when a tarantula made its appearance in his reception- 
 toom one evening when I had gone to visit him; but then he 
 was not a Yezdi. 
 
 As regards scorpions, I killed a small whitish one in my room 
 shortly after I had missed my first tarantula. A day or two 
 afterwards old Jamshid the gardener brought me up another 
 which he had just killed in the garden, and seized the occasion 
 to give me a sort of lecture on noxious insects. The black wood- 
 louse-like animal which I had slain at Chah-Begi he declared to 
 have been a “‘s#smdr” (though this word is generally supposed 
 to mean a lizard). Having discussed this, he touched briefly on 
 the t4ér-mdr (eatwig?), sad-pd (centipede), and hazdr-pd (milli- 
 pede), concluding with the interesting statement that in every 
 ant-hill of the large black ants two large black scorpions live. I 
 suggested that we should dig up an ant-hill and see if it were so, 
 but he declined to be a party to any such undertaking, seeming 
 to consider that such a procedure would be in very indifferent 
 taste. “‘As long as the scorpions stay inside,” said he, “we have 
 no tight to molest them, and to do so ts to incur ill-luck.’”’ So 
 my curiosity remained unsatisfied. 
 
 Old Jamshid was very particular in the observance of his 
 religious duties, and I constantly heard him muttering his 
 
A422 YEZD 
 
 prayers under my window in that peculiar droning tone which 
 so impressed the Arabs that they invented a special word for it. 
 Ardashir, who had seen the world and imbibed latitudinarian 
 ideas, affected to regard this performance with a good-natured 
 contempt, which he extended to many of the Dastur’s cherished 
 convictions. One day, for instance, mention was made of ghd/s 
 and other supernatural beings. “‘Tush,” said Ardashir, “there 
 ate no such things.” “No such things!” exclaimed the Dastur, 
 ““why I have seen one myself.” “No, no,” rejoined Ardashir, 
 “you saw a man or a mule or some other animal in the 
 gloaming, and, deceived by the half-light, the solitude, or your 
 own fears, supposed it to be a ghw/.”” Here I interposed, begging 
 the Dastur to narrate his experience, which he readily consented 
 to do. 
 
 “T was tiding back from Taft to the city one evening,” said 
 he, “when, nearly opposite our dakhmé, I lost my way. As I was 
 casting about to discover the path, I suddenly saw a light before 
 me on the right. I thought it must come from the village of 
 Kasim-abad, and was preparing to make for it, when it suddenly 
 shifted to my left hand and began to approach me. It drew quite 
 near; and then I saw a creature like a wild pig, in front of which 
 flitted a light like a large lantern. I was horribly frightened, but 
 I repeated a prayer out of the Desdtir, whereupon the thing 
 vanished. It soon reappeared, however, this time in the form of 
 a mule, preceded by a man bearing a lantern, and thus addressed 
 me: ‘Ey ddami-xdd! Injd ché mi-kuni?’? ((O son of man! What 
 dost thou here?’) I replied that I had lost my way. Thereupon 
 it pointed out a path, which, as it assured me, would lead me to 
 the city. I followed this path for some distance, but it only led 
 me farther out of my way, until at last I reached a village where 
 I found some of our own people. These set me in the right road, 
 and would have borne me company to the city, but I would not 
 suffer them to do so, believing that I should have no further 
 difficulty. On teaching a bridge hard by the city, I again saw 
 
YEZD 423 
 
 the creature waiting for me by the roadside: it again strove to 
 mislead me, but this time I paid no heed to it, and, pushing 
 past it, reached my house in safety. Its object was to lead me 
 into some desolate spot and there destroy me, after the manner 
 of ghils. After this experience you will understand that I am 
 firmly convinced of the existence of these creatures.” 
 
 I was not so much troubled at Yezd by applications for 
 medical advice and treatment as I had feared, partly because, 
 after my experiences at Dihbid and G6d-1-Shirdan, I had for- 
 bidden Haji Safar and Baba Khan to say a word about my 
 having any medical knowledge, and partly because Ardashir 
 would not suffer strangers of whom he knew nothing to come 
 to his garden to see me. Once, however, when I was sitting 
 - talking to Bahman and Iran in Ardashit’s office (situated on the 
 ground floor of one of the chief caravansarays in the city), a 
 crowd of people assembled outside to stare at me, from which 
 a Seyyid presently disengaged himself, and asked me whether 
 I would cure him of an enlarged spleen. I asked him how he 
 knew that it was his spleen that was affected. He replied that 
 the Persian doctors had told him so. “‘What the Persian doctors 
 can diagnose, can they not treat?” I enquired. “Yes,” he replied, 
 “they can; but they prescribe only two remedies, shardb and 
 vahrdb*, of which one is unlawful and the other disgusting.” I 
 finally told him that I could not undertake to treat him without 
 first examining him, and that if he wished this he must come and 
 see me in Ardashir’s garden. He never came, however; or, if he 
 did, he was not admitted. 
 
 The Zoroastrians are, as a tule, good gardeners, and have 
 some skill in the use of simples. From Ardashir and his gar- 
 dener, Jamshid, I learned the names and supposed properties 
 of many plants which grew in the garden. Unfortunately the 
 little botanical knowledge I ever possessed had grown so rusty 
 by long disuse that often I was unable to supply the English 
 
 1 Wine and urine. 
 
A424 YEZD 
 
 name, or even to refer the plant to its proper order. However, 
 I give the following list as a contribution towards a better 
 knowledge of the Persian nomenclature. Pddana or pudanak; 
 kdsni, accounted “‘cool”? and good for the liver; from it is pre- 
 pated a spirit called ‘arak-i-kdsni; turb (radish); gdv-gash (aghting- 
 cock); dftdb-garddn, or gul-i-khurshid (sunflower); bid-anjir, ot 
 bid-angir (castor-oil plant) ; rdxddné (fennel), said to be ananalgesic; 
 yunjé (clover); taré, a small plant resembling garlic and with a 
 similar smell, said to be good for hemorrhoids; shdh-taré, ac- 
 counted “hot and moist”’; a decoction of it, taken in the morning 
 on an empty stomach, is said to be good for indigestion and 
 disorders of the stomach; shavij, a “hot” umbelliferous plant 
 with a yellow blossom; gashnij, a “cold” umbelliferous plant 
 with a white flower; chughandar (beetroot); gul-i-khatmi (holly- - 
 hock); kalam (cabbage), called by the guebres in their dialect 
 kumnt; isfindj (spinach?); kab (lettuce); kadwjé (rageed-robin or 
 campion); karanfil (passion-flower). 
 
 I have alluded to the dialect spoken amongst themselves by 
 the Zoroastrians of Persia, and by them called “‘ Dar?” This 
 term has been objected to by M. Clément Huart, who has 
 published in the Journal Asiatique several valuable papers on 
 certain Persian dialects, which he classes together under the 
 name of ‘‘Pehlevi-Musulman,” and regards as the descendants 
 of the ancient Median language preserved to us in the Avesta. 
 The chief ground of his objection is that the description of the 
 Dari dialect given in the prolegomena of certain standard Persian 
 dictionaries does not at all agree with the so-called Dari spoken 
 by the guebres of Yezd and Kirman. Personally, I confess that 
 I attach but little importance to the evidence of the Persian lexico- 
 graphers in this matter, seeing that it is the rarest thing for an 
 educated Persian to take any interest in local dialects, or even to 
 recognise their philological importance; and I shall therefore 
 continue provisionally to call the dialect in question by the name 
 given to it by those who speak it. That it is closely allied to the 
 
YEZD 425 
 
 Kohrudi, Kashani, Sivandi, Luri, and other dialects spoken in 
 remote and isolated districts of Persia, and generically termed 
 by the Persians “‘ Furs-i-kadim” (“Old Persian”), is, however, 
 not to be doubted. 
 
 This Dari dialect is only used by the guebres amongst them- 
 selves, and all of them, so far as I know, speak Persian as well. 
 When they speak their own dialect, even a Yezdi Musulman 
 cannot understand what they are saying, or can only understand 
 it very imperfectly. It is for this reason that the Zoroastrians 
 cherish their Dari, and are somewhat unwilling to teach it to 
 a stranger. I once remarked to Ardashir what a pity it was that 
 they did not commit it to writing. He replied that there had at 
 one time been some talk of translating the Guw/istdn into Dari, 
 but that they had decided that it was inexpedient to facilitate 
 the acquisition of their idiom to non-Zoroastrians. To me they 
 were as a tule ready enough to impart information about it; 
 though when I tried to get old Jamshid the gardener to tell me 
 more about it, he excused himself, saying that a knowledge of it 
 could be of no possible use to me. 
 
 The following is a list of the Dari words and phrases which 
 I collected at Yezd:— 
 
 Hamushtudwun, to arise (shortened in speaking to hamushtun); imperative, 
 hamusht; present tense (1 sing.) hamushtude’ ot hamushtudem; (2 sing.) 
 hamushtudt, (3 sing.) hamushtud, (1 plur.) hamushtudim, (2 plu.) hamushtudid, 
 (3 plur.) hamushtu-dand. 
 
 Wotwun, to say; imperative, ve-va; past tense, dm-vut, ud-vut or t’ad-vut, 
 osh-vut ot inoshvut, (plar.) md-vut or md-md-vut, do-vut, sho-vut. Don’t 
 talk = vuj khé ma-kw (khe = khud, self; ma-kw = makun, do not do or 
 make). 
 
 Graftun, to take; ashnuftan, to hear; didwun, to see; Rushtwun, to strike. 
 
 Venodwun, to throw. “Turn (lit. throw) the water into that channel,” 
 “Wow de 0 ju ve-ven” (wow = water; de = to, into; d = that). 
 
 Nashte’ ot ndshtem, I sat; (2 sing.) ndsht¢; (3 sing.) ndsht; (1 plur.) md- 
 ndshtun. Imperative (2 sing.) dntk; (2 plur.) dnigit. 
 
 Ve-shu, 0; ko’isht, whither goest thou? Hamashtin va-shim, let us arise and 
 20; md ve-shim, let us go. Ve-shu gau, go down; shumd gav-shit, do you go 
 down. Me-wi ve-she, I want to go. 
 
 Bi-y#, come; muné 4, come here; mé byd#’/, may I come? 
 
426 YEZD 
 
 Owmuda ve-bi, be ready. 
 
 Wow, water. Dumined, ‘atak, spirit (so called, they say, because it distils 
 “from the end of the pipe,” dum-i-ney). Kilowel, wine (said to be onoma- 
 topeeic, from the noise it makes as it is poured out of the bottle). Waks- 
 kilowel davarta, the time for wine has passed. 
 
 Gaff, talk; gaff zadan, to talk. Bawz,a bee. Raxhgdrat nydk, good day. 
 
 Those who desire fuller information about this interesting 
 dialect, which well deserves a more careful and systematic study 
 than it has yet received, may consult General Houtum-Schindlet’s 
 admirable paper on the Zoroastrians of Persia (Die Parsen in 
 Persien, ihre Sprache, etc.) in vol. xxxvi of the Zeztschrift der Deut- 
 schen Morgenlindischen Gesellschaft (pp. 54-88); Ferdinand Justt’s 
 atticle in vol. xxxv of the same periodical (pp. 327-414); Beré- 
 sine’s Dialectes Persanes (Kazan, 1853); and the articles of M. 
 Huart in series viii of the Journal Asiatique (vol. vi, p. 502; 
 vol. xi, p. 298; vol. xiv, p. 534). 
 
 In this connection I may also cite a verse written in the 
 Kashani dialect by a Kashi who wished to “‘take off”’ ! the speech 
 of his fellow-townsmen. 
 
 “*Pas-khiin u pish-khin ki pur bafr bid 
 
 Shubbe na-darad ki zameystiun risid. 
 
 Kisé-i-sabbun bi-tih-i-salt nih; 
 
 Bigh zadand; nawbat-i-hammun visid.” 
 
 “Now that the front-yard and back-yard are full of snow, 
 
 There is no doubt that winter has come. 
 Put the soap-bag in the bottom of the basket (?); 
 They ate blowing the horn; the time for the bath has come.” 
 
 While I am on the subject of these linguistic curiosities, I 
 may as well mention a method of secret communication some- 
 times employed in Persia, the nature and applications of which 
 wete explained to me by my Erivani friend a few days before 
 his departure for Mashhad. Such of my teaders as have studied 
 Arabic, Persian, Turkish, or Hindustani will know that besides 
 
 I Lhe slang expression for “to take a person off” (in the sense of to make 
 fun of or mimic him) is “/#-yi kik-i-kasi raftan.” Kuk kardan means to wind 
 up a watch; applied to a person it means to rile, put in a passion. “I riled 
 him and he got in a wax” is in Persian slang, “Adk-ash kardam u bi-dsmdn 
 raft,” “I wound him up, and he went up to the sky.” 
 
YEZD 427 
 
 the ordinary arrangement of the letters of the Arabic alphabet 
 there is another arrangement called the “‘abjad”’ (from the four 
 letters alif, bd, jim, ddl which begin it) representing a much older 
 otder. The order of the letters in the abjad is expressed by the 
 following series of meaningless words, consisting of groups of 
 three or four letters each supplied with vowel-points to render 
 them pronounceable:—abjad, hawaz, hott, kalaman, sa‘fas, Rara- 
 shat, thakbadh (sakhadh) dadhagha (zazagha). In this order each 
 has a numerical value; aif =1, bd = 2, jim = 3, ddl = 4, and so 
 on up to yd = 10; then come the other tens, kdf = 20, i = 30, 
 and so on up to kdf =100; then the other hundreds up to 
 gheyn = 1000. The manner in which, by means of this abjad, 
 words and sentences may be made to express dates is familiar 
 to all students of these languages, and I will therefore only give 
 as a specimen, for the benefit of the general reader, the rather 
 ingenious chronogram for the death of the poet Jami, premising 
 that he was a native of the province of Khurasan; that ““smoke” 
 ot “smoke of the heart” is a poetical term for sighs; and that 
 to “come up from” in the case of a number means to be sub- 
 tracted from. 
 
 This, then, is the chronogram: “Dad ay Khurdsdn bar dmad,” 
 “Smoke (sighs) arose from Khurdasan,” or “did (dal = 4, vdv = 6, 
 ddl = 4; total 14) came up (Ze. was subtracted) from Khurasan”’ 
 (khd = 600, rd = 200, alif =1, sin = 60, alif =1, niin = 50; total 
 912). Taking 14 from 912 we get the date of Jami’s death, A.H. 
 898 (= A.D. 1492). 
 
 The method of secret communication above alluded to con- 
 sists in indicating first the word of the abjad in which the letter 
 to be spelt out occurs, then its position in that word. In com- 
 municating by raps, a double rap knocks off each word of the 
 abjad, while on reaching the word in which the desired letter 
 occuts its position in that word is indicated by the requisite 
 number of single raps. An instance will make this clearer. It is 
 desired to ask, “Ndm-i-té chist?” (“What is thy name?’’): the 
 
428 YEZD 
 
 letters which spell out this message are—wwn, alif, mim, td, vdv, 
 jim (for chim), yd, sin, td. Nun is in the fourth word of the abjad, 
 and is the fourth letter in that word (ka/aman). It is therefore 
 indicated by three double raps (removing or knocking off the 
 three first words, abjad, hawaz, bot/, and thus bringing us to the 
 next word, kalaman), followed by four single raps (showing 
 that it is the fourth letter in this word). The remaining letters 
 ate expressed in similar fashion, so that if we represent double 
 taps by dashes and single raps by dots, the whole message will 
 
 run as follows: —— —.... (wun); . (aif); —— —... (wim); 
 aiid aa .... (4d) —.. (vm); ... (chim ot jim); ——... 
 (ya); —— — — . (sv); — — — — — Princes (4c): 
 
 Messages can be similarly communicated by a person smoking 
 the kalydn or watet-pipe to his accomplice or partner, without 
 the knowledge of the uninitiated. In this case a long pull at the 
 pipe is substituted for the double rap, and a short pull for the 
 single rap. Pulling the moustache, or stroking the neck, face, 
 or collar (right side for words, left side for letters), is also resorted 
 to to convert the system from an auditory into a visual one. It 
 is expressed in writing in a similar fashion, each letter being 
 represented by an upright stroke, with ascending branches on 
 the right for the words and on the left for the letters. This writing 
 is called, from the appearance of the letters, khaft-i-sarvi (“ cyptess- 
 writing”) or khatt-i-shajari (“tree-writing”’’). In this character 
 (written, in the usual way, from right to left) the sentence which 
 we took above (“‘ndm-i-ti chist?”) will stand as follows:— 
 
 Y VN So Noh Vd eos 
 
 The mention of enigmatical writings reminds me of a matter 
 which I omitted to speak of in its proper place—I mean the 
 Pahlavi and Zend manuscripts preserved in the fire-temples of 
 Yezd. Although I knew that Yezd had long since been ransacked 
 for such treasures, and that, even should any old manuscripts 
 remain, it would be impossible to do more than examine them 
 
YEZD 429 
 
 (a task which I, who knew no Pahlavi and only the metest rudi- 
 ments of Zend, was but little qualified to undertake), I naturally 
 did not omit to make enquiries on the subject of the Dasttr 
 and Ardashir. As I expected, most of the manuscripts (especially 
 the older and mote valuable ones) had been sent to the Parsees 
 of Bombay, so as to be safe from the outbursts of Muham- 
 madan fanaticism to which the Zoroastrians of Yezd are always 
 liable; but in one of the fire-temples I was shown two manu- 
 scripts of the sacred books, the older of which was, by the kind- 
 ness of the Dastur, lent to me during the remainder of my stay 
 at Yezd, so that I was enabled to examine it thoroughly. 
 
 This manuscript, a large volume of 294 leaves, contained, 
 so far as I could make out, the whole of the Vendidad, with 
 interspersed Pahlavi translation and commentary written in red, 
 the headings of the chapters being also in red, and the Avesta 
 text in black. On f. 158 was inscribed a Persian poem of fifty- 
 nine couplets, wherein the transcriber, Bahram, the son of Mar- 
 zaban, the son of Feriduin, the son of Bahram, details the 
 circumstances of his life and the considerations which led him 
 to undertake the transcription of the sacred volume. From this 
 it appeared that when the aforesaid Bahram was thirteen years 
 of age, his father, Marzaban-i-Feridun, left his country (pre- 
 sumably Yezd), and, at the command of ‘the reigning king, 
 settled in Kazvin. After a while he went to Khurdasan, and 
 thence to Kirman, where he died at the age of fifty-seven. The 
 death of his father turned Bahram’s thoughts to his religion, 
 which he began to study diligently with all such as could teach 
 him anything about it. At the age of sixteen he seems to have 
 transcribed the Yashts; and at the age of twenty he commenced 
 the transcription of the Vendidad, of which he completed the 
 first half (as stated in the verses cited on p. 413, supra), on 
 the 14th day of the month of Amurdad, a.y. 977. On the page 
 facing that whereon this poem is written are inscribed the dates 
 of the deaths of a number of Zoroastrians (belonging, probably, 
 
430 YEZD 
 
 to the family of the transcriber), beginning with Bahram’s 
 father Marzaban-i-Feridin, who died on the day of Varahram 
 (Bahram), in the month of Farvardin, a.y. 970. The last date is 
 A.y. 1069. The writing of the manuscript is large, clear, and 
 legible, and it bears throughout the signs of careful work. One 
 side of f. 29 is occupied by a diagram indicating, I believe, the 
 successive positions in which the officiating priest or mubad 
 must stand in relation to the fire-altar while performing some 
 of the ceremonies connected with the hdma-sacrifice. This 
 sacred plant (the héma, or him, as it is now called) is found in 
 the mountains about Yezd, but I could not succeed in obtaining 
 of even in seeing a specimen while I was there. After my return 
 to Cambridge, however, the Dastur kindly sent me some of the 
 seeds and stalks of it packed in a tin box. I gave some of the 
 formet to the Cambridge Botanical Gardens. Unfortunately 
 they did not grow up, but they were identified by Mr Lynch, 
 the curator, as a species of Ephedra. 
 
 Near the end of the volume I found the following short 
 prayer in Persian: “Shikast u xad bad Abriman-i-durvand-i-kaj, 
 avd hamd divan u drujdn u jdduvan,” “‘Deteated and smitten be 
 Ahriman the outcast, the froward, with all the demons and fiends 
 and warlocks.” Some of the original leaves of the manuscript 
 had been lost, and replaced by new ones written in a bad hand 
 on common white paper. 
 
 It is time, however, to leave the Zoroastrians, and to say 
 something of the Babis of Yezd, with whom also I passed many 
 pleasant and profitable hours. But this chapter has already 
 grown so long that what I have to say on this and some other 
 matters had better form the substance of another. 
 
 
 

 
 CHAP LER. X1V 
 
 YEZD (continued) 
 
 “Chand, chand ax bikmat-t-Y tindniydn 
 Hikmat-i-[mdniydn-rd ham bi-khwdn!” 
 “How long, how long of the wisdom of the Greeks? 
 Study also the wisdom of the people of faith!” 
 “ An Gheyb-i-mumtani‘, ki hamt-guft ‘Lan tard!” 
 nak, tardné-gh bi-jiban ashikdr shud. 
 Kashf-t-hijab kard: khuda-hd, bishdrati! 
 Tnak, xuhir-i-a°xam-t-Parvardigar shud!” 
 “That unapproachable Unseen, which was wont to say, ‘Thou 
 shalt not see Me,’ 
 Lo, melodious with song, hath appeared in the world! 
 It hath lifted the veil: good tidings, O gods! 
 Lo, the Supreme Theophany hath come!” 
 
 N the last chapter I have spoken chiefly of the Zoroastrians ; 
 
 in this I propose to say something concerning my dealings 
 with the Babis of Yezd, of whom also I saw a good deal. And 
 first of all a few words are necessary as te the relations sub- 
 sisting between the votaries of these two religions, the oldest 
 and the newest which Persia has produced. Their relations to 
 one another are of a much mote friendly character than are the 
 relations of either of them towards the Muhammadans, and this 
 for several reasons. Both of them are liable to persecution at 
 the hands of the Muhammadans, and so have a certain fellow- 
 feeling and sympathy. Both of them are more tolerant towards 
 such as ate not of their own faith than the Muhammadans, the 
 Zotoasttians, as already said, regarding “‘the virtuous of the 
 seven climes” as their friends, and the Babis being commanded 
 by Beha to “associate with men of all religions with spirituality 
 
432 NGA B 
 
 and sweet savour,” and to regard no man as unclean by reason 
 of his faith. Moreover the Babis recognise Zoroaster as a 
 prophet, though without much enthusiasm, and are at some 
 pains to conciliate and win over his followers to their way of 
 thinking, as instanced by the epistles addressed by Beha from 
 Acte to cettain of their number; while some few at least of 
 the Zoroastrians are not indisposed to recognise in Beha theit 
 expected deliverer, Shah Bahram, who, as Dastir Tit-andaz 
 informed me, must appear soon if they were to be rescued from 
 their abasement, and “the Good Religion” re-established. The 
 Dastur himself, indeed, would not admit that Beha could be 
 this promised saviour, who, he said, must come before the next 
 Nawriz if he were to come at all; but others of his co-religionists 
 were less confident on this point, and in Kirman I met at least 
 one who was, so far as I could ascertain, actually a Babi. The 
 marked predilection towards the Babis displayed by Manakyji, 
 the late Zoroastrian agent at Teheran, at whose instigation the 
 Tarikh-i- Jadid, or ““New History” of the Bab’s “‘ Manifestation,” 
 was written, must also have re-acted powerfully on his Zoro- 
 astrian brethren !. 
 
 I may here mention a very absurd fiction, which I have more 
 than once heard the Zoroastrians maintain in the presence of 
 . Musulmans or Babis, namely, that Zoroaster was identical with 
 Abraham. The chief argument whereby they seek to establish 
 this thesis is as follows: “You recognise five ‘nabi-i-mursal’” 
 (prophets sent with new revealed scriptures, as opposed to 
 prophets merely sent to warn and preach repentance, who ate 
 called ‘‘nabi-i-mundlir”), say they, “to wit, Abraham with the 
 
 t I have already remarked on the hatred with which the Zoroastrians 
 regatd the Arabs, and the fact that the Babi movement was entirely Persian 
 in origin no doubt inclines them to look favourably on it. One of them said 
 as much to me; the Semitic peoples, he added, were comparable to ravening 
 beasts of prey, and the Aryan races to the peaceful and productive animals. 
 An unmodified Semitic religion, he maintained, could never be really accept- 
 able to Aryans. 
 
¥YEZD 433 
 
 Subuf ‘Leaves,’ ‘Tracts,’ or ‘Epistles’), Moses with the Tawrdt 
 (Pentateuch), David with the Mazdmir (Psalms), Jesus with the 
 Injil (Gospel), and Muhammad with the Kur’dn; and you believe 
 that the book of each of these five, and a remnant of his people, 
 shall continue in the world so long as it lasts. Now of each of 
 the last four the book and the people exist to our day, but where 
 is the Sujuf of Abraham, and where his followers? Does it not 
 seem probable to you that the Swpuf is our Avesta, that Abraham 
 is but another name for Zoroaster, and that we are his people?”’ 
 As further proof of this contention, Ardashir declared that 
 mention was made of Barahim, who was evidently the same as 
 Ibrahim (Abraham), in the Shdb-ndmé; and I think he strove to 
 connect this word with Brahman and Bahram, for he was capable 
 of much in the way of etymology and comparative philology. 
 I do not suppose that in their hearts many of the Zoroastrians 
 really believe this nonsense, but it has always been a great object 
 with them to get themselves included amongst the ah/u’Lkitab, 
 or people to whom a revealed book recognised by the Muham- 
 madans has been vouchsafed, inasmuch as these enjoy many 
 privileges denied to the pagan and idolater. 
 
 My first introduction to the Babis of Yezd I have already 
 described. The morning after I had taken up my quarters in 
 Ardashir’s garden I received a message from Haji Seyyid M—— 
 about 6 a.m., inviting me to take my early tea in a garden of his 
 situated close at hand. Thither I at once repaired, and, after a 
 while, found myself alone with the Babi poet ‘Andalib. 
 
 “How was it,” he began, “that the Jews, although in ex- 
 pectation of their Messiah, failed to recognise him in the Lord 
 Jesus?” 
 
 “Because,” I answered, “they looked only at the letter and 
 not the spirit of their books, and had formed a false conception 
 of the Messiah and his advent.” — | 
 
 “May not you Christians have done the same,” he continued, 
 “with regard to Him whose advent you expect, the promised 
 
 B 28 
 
434 YEZD 
 
 ‘Comforter’? May He not have come, while you continue heed- 
 less? Within a few miles of Acre is a monastery of Carmelite 
 monks, who have taken up their abode there to await the return 
 of Christ, because their books tell them that He will return 
 there. He /as returned there, almost at their very door, yet they 
 recognise Him not, but continue gazing up to heaven, whence, 
 as they vainly suppose, He will descend.” 
 
 “Consider the parable of the Lord of the vineyard,” he 
 resumed after a while, “which is contained in your gospel. 
 First, He sent servants to demand his rights from those wicked 
 men to whom the vineyard was let; these were the prophets 
 before Christ. Then He sent His own Son, whom they killed; 
 this was Christ Himself, as you yourselves admit. And after that 
 what shall the Lord of the vineyard do? ‘He wi// come and destroy 
 the husbandmen, and will give the vineyard unto othets.’” ! 
 
 “Do you then regard Beha as the Lord of the vineyard, that 
 is to say, as God Himself?” I enquired in astonishment. 
 
 “What say your own books?” he replied. ““Who is He who 
 shall come after the Son?” 
 
 “Well, but what then say you of Muhammad?” I demanded, 
 “for if you accept this parable and interpret it thus there is no 
 place left for him, since he comes after the Son and before the 
 Lord of the vineyard.” 
 
 “He was a messenger sent to announce the advent of the Lord 
 of the vineyard,” replied ‘Andalib. 
 
 “Then,” said I, ‘“he was less than the Son.” 
 
 “Yes,” answered ‘Andalib, “he was.” He then spoke of 
 other matters; of the devotion of the youth Badi‘, who came 
 on foot from Acre to Teheran, there to meet a cruel death, 
 with Beha’s letter to Nasiru’d-Din Shah; of the martyrs of 
 Isfahan, and the miserable end of their persecutors, Sheykh 
 Bakir and the Ima4m-Jum‘a; of the downfall of Napoleon III, 
 foretold by Beha in the epistle addressed to the French Emperor 
 
 1 Mark xii, 9. 
 
YEZD 435 
 
 when he was at the zenith of his power, and read by himself four 
 yeats before the accomplishment of the prediction. Concerning 
 Badi‘ he remarked, “‘Even Christ prayed that, if possible, this 
 cup might pass from Him, while this lad joyfully hastened with 
 unhalting and unswerving feet over many a weary mile of desert 
 and mountain, bearing his own death-warrant in his hand, to 
 quaff the draught of martyrdom.” As we were leaving the garden 
 he took me by the hand and besought me to go to Acre and see 
 Beha for myself. “‘How noble a work might be yours,” he said, 
 “if you could become assured of the truth of his claim, in 
 spreading the good news through your country!” 
 
 Next day I received a visit from a sarhang, or colonel, who 
 filled at that time a rather responsible post at Yezd, whence he 
 has since been transferred to another important town in the south 
 of Persia. He too proved to be a Babi, and conversed very freely 
 about the new Manifestation. “In accordance with the in- 
 junction ‘address men according to the measure of their understanding,” 
 said he, “it behoves every divine messenger to impart to his 
 people only so much spiritual knowledge as they are capable of 
 receiving; wherefore, as mankind advances in education, the old 
 creeds necessarily lose their significance, and the old formule 
 become obsolete. So, if a child were to ask what we meant by 
 saying that knowledge was sweet, we might give it a sugat-plum 
 and say, “It resembles this,’ so that the child, liking the sugar- 
 plum, might desire knowledge; though, as a matter of fact, the 
 two have nothing in common. To rough uncultivated men, such 
 as the Arabs with whom Muhammad had to deal, the pleasures 
 of Divine Love cannot be more clearly symbolised than as a 
 material paradise of beautiful gardens and rivers of milk and 
 wine and honey, where they shall be waited on by black-eyed 
 maidens and fair boys. Now we have outgrown this coarse 
 symbolism, and are fitted to receive a fuller measure of spiritual 
 truth and wisdom from him who is the Fountain-head of wisdom 
 and the wisest of all living men, Beha.” 
 
436 4 
 
 Two days later I was invited by Haji Seyyid M——— to spend 
 the day with him and his friends in one of his gardens situated 
 outside the town, on the road to Taft. He kindly sent his servant 
 with a horse to convey me thither, and I had lunch and tea there, 
 returning home about sunset. There were a good many guests 
 (all, so far as I could make out, being Babis), including ‘Andalib 
 and a very vivacious little merchant on whom, in consideration 
 of the very humorous manner in which he impersonated, for our 
 amusement, the venal conduct of a certain eminent wu//d of Yezd 
 on the judgment-seat, the title of ““Sheykh” was bestowed. The 
 garden, with its roses, mulberry-trees, pomegranates in full 
 blossom, syringas (wastarjan), cool marble tanks, and tiny 
 streams, was like a dream of delight, and I have seldom spent 
 a pleasanter day anywhere. I conversed chiefly with ‘Andalib, 
 who tread me some of his own poems, and also wrote down for 
 me one of the beautiful odes attributed to the Babi heroine and 
 mattyr Kurratu’l-“Aynt. He talked a good deal about the 
 identity of all the prophets, whom he regarded as successive 
 Manifestations or Incarnations of the Divine Will or Universal 
 Reason. 
 
 “Tf that is so,” I urged, “how can you speak of one Manifesta- 
 tion as more perfect than another, or one prophet as superior to 
 another?” 
 
 “From our human point of view,” he replied, “we are entitled 
 to speak thus, although from the standpoint of the Absolute it 
 is incorrect. It is the same sun which rises every day to warm 
 and light us, and no one for a moment doubts this; yet we say 
 that the sun is hotter in summer than in winter, or warmer to- 
 day than yesterday, or in a different sign of the zodiac now from 
 that which it occupied a month ago. Speaking relatively to our- 
 selves this is perfectly true, but when we consider the sun apart 
 from accidents of time, place, environment, and the like, we 
 
 1 The text of this, with a translation into English verse, will be found at 
 pp. 314-16 of vol. ii of my Traveller’s Narrative. 
 
YEZD 437 
 
 petceive it to be ever one and the same, unchanged and 
 unchangeable. So is it with the Sun of Truth, which rises 
 from the horizon of the heart, and illuminates the Spiritual 
 Firmament.”’ 
 
 “Ts it not strange, then,” I asked, “that different prophets 
 should advance different claims, one announcing himself as the 
 ‘Friend of God,’ another as the ‘Interlocutor of God,’ another as 
 the ‘Apostle of God,’ another as the ‘Son of God,’ and another 
 as God Himself?” 
 
 “No,” he answered, “and I will strive to make it clearer by 
 means of a parable. A certain king holding sway over a vast 
 empire desired to discover with his own eyes the causes of dis- 
 orders which prevailed in one of his provinces, so that he might 
 take effectual measures to remedy them. He determined, there- 
 fore, to go thither himself, and, laying aside his kingly state, to 
 mix with the people on terms of intimacy. So he wrote a letter, 
 declaring the bearer of it to be an officer of the king’s household, 
 sealed it with the royal seal, and, thus provided, went in disguise 
 to the province in question, where he announced that he was an 
 oflicer sent by the king to enquire into the disorders prevailing 
 amongst the people, in proof of which he produced the royal 
 warrant which he had himself written. After a while, when order 
 had been in some degree restored, and men were mote loyally 
 disposed, he announced himself to be the king’s own minister, 
 producing another royal warrant in proof of this. Last of all 
 he threw off all disguise and said, ‘I am the king himself.’ Now, 
 all the time he was really the king, though men knew him not; 
 yet was his state and majesty at first not as it was at last. So is it 
 with the Divine Will or Universal Reason, which, becoming 
 manifest from time to time for our guidance, declares Itself now 
 as the Apostle of God, now as the Son of God, and at last as God 
 Himself. We are not asked to acknowledge a higher status than 
 It sees fit to claim at any particular time, but the royal signet is 
 the sufficient proof of any claim which It may advance, including 
 
438 YEZD 
 that of the Supreme Majesty itself. But, as Mawlana Jalalu’d-Din 
 
 Rumi saysi— <n y4p4 bayad ki hdshad shab-sbinds, 
 Td shindsad Shab-rd dar har libas.’ 
 “It needs an eye which is king-discerning 
 To recognise the King in whatever garb.’” 
 
 
 
 Later on I asked Haji Seyyid M what he considered to 
 be the difference between the Sufi saint who had attained to 
 the “Station of Annihilation in God,” wherein, like Manstr-i- 
 Hallaj, he could cry, “I am the truth,” and the prophet. “‘What, 
 in short,”’ I concluded, “‘is the difference between the ‘ I am God’ 
 of Manstr, and the ‘I am God’ of Beha? For, as your own pto- 
 vetb has it, ‘There is no colour beyond black.’”’ 
 
 “The difference,” said he, “‘is as the difference between our 
 sitting here and saying, ‘See, this is a rose-garden,’ and one 
 saying, ‘I am such-and-such a rose in that garden.’ The one 
 reaches a point where, losing sight and cognisance of self, he 
 wanders at will through the World of Divinity ((Alam-i-Labit); 
 the other is the throne on which God sits, as He Himself saith, 
 “He set Himself upon the Throne’ (¢s/awd ‘ala’-‘arsh)1, One is 
 a perfect reflection of the sun cast in a pure clear mirror; the other 
 is the sun itself.” 
 
 A few days later, after the month of Ramazan had begun, I 
 paid another visit to Haji Seyyid M——~’s house, where three of 
 my Zoroastrian friends presently joined me. ‘Andalib, as usual, 
 was the chief spokesman, and, amongst other things, laid down 
 the dogma that faith and unbelief were the root or essence of the 
 whole matter, and good or bad actions only branches or sub- 
 sidiaties. This position I attacked with some warmth. 
 
 “Suppose a Jew and a Christian,” said he, “‘the former 
 merciful, charitable, benevolent, humane, pious, but rejecting 
 and denying Christ; the latter cruel, selfish, vindictive, but 
 accepting and reverencing Him. Of these two, which do you 
 regard as the better man?” 
 
 1 Kur’an vii, 52; x, 3 etc. 
 
YEZD 439 
 
 “Without doubt the Jew,” I answered. 
 
 “God forbid!” replied he. “Without doubt the Christian. 
 God is merciful and forgiving, and can pardon sin.” 
 
 “Can He not then pardon unbelief?” I demanded. 
 
 “No,” he answered, “‘from those who do not believe is taken 
 the spirit which once they had, to which the present wretched- 
 ness and abasement of the Jews bears witness.” 
 
 As it did not appear to me that the nations professing the 
 Christian religion had suffered much abasement on account of 
 their rejection of Muhammad, I said, thinking to get the better 
 of the argument, ““Do you consider that every people which 
 rejects a new Manifestation must be similarly abased?” 
 
 He did not fall into my trap, however. ‘‘No,” he answered, 
 “not unless they have been guilty of some special act of hostility 
 or cruelty towards the bearer of the new gospel.” 
 
 “What, then,” I demanded, “of the Muhammadans? Can 
 one conceive of greater hostility or cruelty than they showed 
 towards the Bab and those who followed him? Shall they too 
 be abased?”’ 
 
 “Yea, verily,” he answered, ‘‘and grievous shall be their 
 abasement! Look at these poor guebres” (pointing to my 
 Zoroastrian friends), ““how miserable is their condition! And 
 why? Because of the sin of Khusraw Parviz, who tore up the 
 letter which the Apostle of God sent to him, inviting him to 
 embrace Islam. Yet had he some excuse; for he was a great 
 king, belonging to a mighty dynasty which had ruled for many 
 generations; while the letter was from an unknown member 
 of a despised and subject race, and was, moreover, curt and 
 unceremonious in the extreme, beginning, ‘This is a letter from 
 Muhammad, the Apostle of God, to Khusraw Parviz. What shall 
 we say of the king who not only tore up the letter, but slew with 
 the most cruel torments the messenger of one greater than 
 Muhammad, the letter being, moreover, written in the most 
 courteous and conciliatory tone? But the Christians never acted 
 
440 YEZD 
 
 thus towards Muhammad, and some, such as the Abyssinian 
 Najashi, did all in their power to succour and protect those 
 who, for their belief in him, had become wanderers and 
 ExUes.g 
 
 I tried to ascertain ‘Andalib’s beliefs as to the future life, a 
 subject on which I have always found the Babis singularly 
 reticent, and he told me that, according to their belief, the body, 
 the vegetable soul, and the animal soul—all the lower prin- 
 ciples, in fact—underwent disintegration and redistribution, 
 while the “luminous spirit” (r#)-i-nirdni) survived to receive 
 rewards or punishments, whereof the nature was untevealed 
 and unknown. He then turned upon the Zoroastrians and up- 
 braided them for their indifference in matters of religion. “For 
 all these years,” he concluded, “you have been seeing and hearing 
 of Jews, Christians, and Muhammadans: have you ever taken 
 the trouble to ascertain the nature of their beliefs, or of the proofs 
 and arguments by which they support them? If for a single 
 week you had given half the attention which you devote to your 
 worldly business to a consideration of these matters, you would, 
 in all probability, have attained to certainty. What fault can be 
 greater than this indifference and neglect?” 
 
 A few days after this I returned the Sarhang’s visit. He received 
 me vety kindly in his house, situated near the mosque of Mir 
 Chakmakh, and, though it was Ramaz4n, gave me tea, and 
 himself drank a little hot water. The conversation at once turned 
 on teligion. He began by discussing the martyrdom of Im4m 
 Huseyn, “the Chief of Martyrs,” and of ‘Abb4as, ‘Ali Akbar, 
 and the rest of his relatives and companions, at Kerbel4, declaring 
 that had it not been for the wrongs suffered by these, Islam would 
 never have gained one-tenth of the strength it actually possesses. 
 From this topic he passed to the Babi insurrection, headed by 
 Aka Seyyid Yahy4 of Darab, which was put down with great 
 severity in the summer of 1850. 
 
 “Two of my telatives were in the army of the malignants,” 
 
YEZD 4AI 
 
 he began, “so I know a good deal about what took place, and 
 more especially how God punished them for their wickedness. 
 When orders came from Teheran to Shiraz to put down the 
 insurrection, my maternal grandfather, the Shujd‘u’/-Mulk, te- 
 ceived instructions to march against the Babis of Niriz. He was 
 somewhat unwilling to go, and consulted two of the clergy, 
 who reassured him, telling him that it was a jzhdd, or holy war, 
 and that to take part in it would ensure him a great reward 
 in the future life. So he went, and what was done was done. 
 The malignants, after they had slain 750 men of the Babis, took 
 the women and children, stripped them nearly naked, mounted 
 them on camels, mules, and asses, and led them forth through 
 an avenue of heads severed from those who had been their 
 husbands, brothers, fathers, and sons, towards Shiraz. When 
 they arrived there they were lodged in a ruined caravansaray 
 just outside the Isfahan gate, opposite to an imdmzddé, near to 
 which the soldiers encamped under some ttees. There, exposed 
 to all manner of hardships, insults, and persecutions, they were 
 kept for a long while, during which many of them died. And now 
 heat how God took vengeance on some of those who were 
 prominent as persecutots of his saints. 
 
 “My grandfather, the Shujd‘w+Mulk, when stricken down 
 by his last illness, was dumb till the day of his death. Just 
 at the end, those who stood round him saw his lips move, and, 
 stooping down to hear what he was whispering, heard him 
 repeat the word ‘Babi’ three times. Immediately afterwards he 
 fell back dead. 
 
 “My great-uncle, Mirza Na‘im, who also took part in the 
 suppression of the Niriz rising, fell into disgrace with the 
 Government, and was twice heavily mulcted—t10,000 timdns 
 the first time, 15,000 /#mdns the second. His punishment did 
 not stop here: he was made to stand bareheaded in the sun, with 
 sytup smeared over his face to attract the flies; his feet were 
 crushed in the Kajar boot; and his hands submitted to the e/-chek, 
 
442 ME ZD 
 
 that is to say, pieces of wood were inserted between his fingers, 
 round which whip-cord was tightly bound, and on the whip- 
 cord cold water was poured to make it contract. Nor were these 
 the wotst ot most degrading torments to which he was sub- 
 jected 1. 
 
 “T will tell you another instance of Divine Vengeance. There 
 was in Shiraz a certain Sheykh Huseyn, who bore the honorific 
 title of Nadzimu’/-“Ulamd, but who was generally known, by reason 
 of his injustice, as ‘Zdlim’ (‘Tyrant’). He was not only con- 
 cerned in the events I have described, but manifested a specially 
 malignant hatred towards the Bab. So far did this hatred carry 
 him, that when the Bab was before Huseyn Khan, the Governor 
 of Fars, he drew his penknife from his pen-case, and cried, ‘If 
 you will not order his execution, I will kill him with this.’ Later 
 on, when the Bab had gone to Isfahan, he followed him thither, 
 declaring that he would not cease to dog his footsteps till he had 
 enjoyed the satisfaction of carrying out the death sentence on 
 him; till at last the Governor of Isfahan sent him back to Shiraz, 
 telling him that whenever that time came the mér-ghazab, ot 
 executioner, would be ready to do his duty. Well, after his return 
 to Shiraz, he became affected with a scrotal swelling, which 
 attained so enormous a size that he could hardly sit his horse, | 
 and had to be lifted into the saddle. Later on, before he died, 
 his face turned black, save that one side was flecked with white 
 spots; and thus he lay in his bed, loathsome alike to sight and 
 smell, smearing his countenance with filth, and crying upon God 
 to whiten his face on the Last Day, when the faces of others 
 should be black. So he died.” 
 
 A few days after this l again paid a visit to Haji Seyyid M——’s 
 house. ‘Andalib, of course, was there, and took tea with me, 
 explaining that as his throat was sore he was not fasting that day. 
 He had found the passages, occurring in Beha’s epistle to one 
 of the Turkish ministers who had oppressed him, wherein the 
 
 1 Tukhm-i-murgh-ha-yi garm dar mak‘ad-ash fir kardand. 
 
YEZD 443 
 
 catastrophes impending over the Ottoman Empire were foretold. 
 The first (which was in Arabic) ran as follows:— 
 
 “* And if He please, He will assuredly make you as scattered dust, and will over- 
 take you with vengeance on His part: trouble shall appear in your midst, and your 
 
 realms shall be divided: then shall ye lament and humble yourselves, and shall not find 
 for yourselves any ally or helper.” 
 
 The second (in Persian) ran thus: — 
 
 “But wait, for God’s wrath is made ready, and ye shall shortly behold that which 
 hath descended from the Pen of Command.” 
 
 It was a pretty sight to see Haji Seyyid M——— with his little 
 child, to which he appeared devotedly attached, and which he 
 would seldom suffer to be long out of his sight. When I had read 
 the passage above translated, he took the book from me and held 
 it out to the little one, saying “‘Kitdb-rd mdch kun” (“Kiss the 
 book”’), which, after some coaxing, it was prevailed upon to do. 
 A baby Babi! 
 
 On the following afternoon I again visited the Sarhang. 
 Another man, to whom he did not introduce me, was with him 
 when I arrived, but soon left. The Sarhang upbraided me for 
 wishing to leave Yezd so soon, saying that he had not seen 
 nearly as much of me as he would have liked, and then asked 
 me whether I had attained any greater certainty in the matter 
 of the Babi religion. I stated certain difficulties ‘and objections, 
 which he discussed with me. He also showed me some Babi 
 poems, including one by “‘ Jeadb-i-Maryam” (the sister of Mulla 
 Huseyn of Bushraweyh, the Bab’s first convert and missionary), 
 written in imitation of a rather celebrated ode of Shams-i-Tabriz. 
 While we were examining these, a servant entered and announced 
 the arrival of “ Khuda” (“God’’), and close on his heels followed 
 the person so designated—a handsome, but rather wild-looking 
 man—whose real name I ascertained to be Haji Mirz4 Muham- 
 ~ mad, commonly called “‘ Divané” (“the Madman’”’). The Sarhang 
 introduced him as one controlled by Divine Attraction (“‘maj- 
 dbub’’), whose excessive love for God was proof against every 
 
444 YEZD 
 
 ttial, and who was deeply attached to the words of Christ 
 (especially as recorded in the Gospel of St Matthew), which 
 would move him to teats. The ““Madman,” meanwhile, had taken 
 up one of the volumes of Babi Adydp (Epistles) which the Sar- 
 hang had brought out, and began to read from it in a very 
 melodious voice. “‘If you could understand all the beauties of 
 these words,” he said, as he concluded his reading and laid down 
 the book, “you would at once be firmly convinced of the truth 
 of the New Manifestation.” 
 
 I tried to put some questions on religious matters to them, 
 but at first they would hardly listen to me, pouring forth torrents 
 of rhapsody. At length, however, I succeeded in stating some 
 of the matters on which I wished to hear their views, viz. the 
 position accorded by them to Islam in the series of Theophanies, 
 and the reasons for its lower standard of ethics and morality, 
 lower ideal of future bliss, and greater harshness of rule and 
 practice, as compared with Christianity. The answers which 
 they returned made me tealise once again how widely separated 
 from each other were our tfespective points of view. They 
 seemed to have no conception of Absolute Good or Absolute 
 Truth: to them Good was merely what God chose to ordain, 
 and Truth what He chose to reveal, so that they could not 
 understand how anyone could attempt to test the truth of a 
 teligion by an abstract ethical or moral standard. God’s Attti- 
 butes, according to their belief, were twofold—“ Attributes of 
 Grace” (S7fat-i- Jemdl or Lutf), and “Attributes of Wrath” 
 (Sifat-1-Jald/ or Kahr): both were equally divine, and in some 
 dispensations (as the Christian and Babi) the former, in some (as 
 the Mosaic and the Muhammadan) the latter predominated. A 
 divine messenger or prophet, having once established the validity 
 of his claim by suitable evidence, was to be obeyed in all things 
 without criticism or questioning; and he had as much right to 
 kill or compel, as a surgeon has to resort to amputation or the 
 actual cautery, in cases where milder methods of treatment 
 
YEZD AAS 
 
 would be likely to prove ineficacious. As for the Muhammadan 
 paradise, with its jewelled thrones, its rivers of milk and wine 
 and honey, its delicious fruits, and its beautiful attendants, it 
 fulfilled its purpose; for every people must be addressed in words 
 suited to the measure of their intellectual capacity, and the people 
 to whom the Prophet Muhammad was sent could not have ap- 
 prehended a higher ideal of future bliss. They could see nothing 
 immoral or unsatisfactory in a man’s renouncing pleasures for- 
 bidden in this life so as to enjoy them everlastingly in a future 
 state. 
 
 Wishing to ascertain the views of the Sarhang and his friend 
 “ Divané” on Sifiism and its saints, I briefly described to them 
 certain phases of thought through which I myself had passed, 
 and certain conclusions as to the relation and significance of 
 different religions which its teachings had suggested to me. “In 
 a well-known aphorism,” I concluded, “‘it is said that ‘the ways 
 unto God are as the number of the souls of the children of men’ Every 
 religion is surely an expression, more or less clear and complete, 
 of some aspect of a great central Truth which itself transcends 
 expression, even as Nizami says:— 
 
 ‘Sitanad zaban az raktbdn-i-raz, 
 Ki td rax-i-Sultan na-giyand baz.’ 
 ‘He taketh the tongue from such as share the mystery, 
 So that they may not repeat the King’s secret.’ 
 
 Thus in Islam the Absolute Unity of God is above all insisted 
 upon; in the Dualism of the Zoroastrians the eternal conflict 
 between Good and Evil, Light and Darkness, Being and Not- 
 being, the One and the Many, is symbolised; while the Christian 
 Trinity, as I understand it, is the Trinity of the Sun, the Sun- 
 beams which proceed from the Sun, and the Mirror, cleansed 
 from evety stain, wherein these falling produce (neither by 
 Absorption of the Mirror into the Sun, nor by Incarnation of 
 the Sun in the Mirror, but by Annihilation of the Mirror-hood 
 of the Mirror in the Sun’s effulgence) a perfect image of the Sun. 
 
446 YEZD 
 
 Even Idolatry subsists only by virtue of a truth which it embodies, 
 as Sheykh Mahmud Shabistari says: — 
 
 *Musulman gar bi-danisti ki but chist, 
 Bi-danisti ki din dar but-parastist, 
 
 ‘Did the Musulman understand what the Idol is, 
 He would know that there is religion even in idolatry.’ 
 
 So in every teligion there is Truth for those who faithfully 
 and earnestly seek it; and hence we find amongst the followers 
 of religions apparently most divergent, living in lands and times 
 so widely separated as to preclude all possibility of intercom- 
 munication, men who, led by that Inner Light which lighteth 
 every one who cometh into the world, have arrived at doctrines 
 practically identical. Is not this identity a sign of their truth? 
 Is it not, moreover, far more consistent with God’s universal 
 mercy to reveal Himself thus inwardly to every pure soul than 
 by a written scripture confided only to a comparatively small 
 section of the human race? If salvation is only for the people 
 of the Kur’an, then how hard is the lot of my people, to most of 
 whom no mote than its name, if so much, is known! If, on the 
 other hand, only the people of the Gospel are to be saved, what 
 possible chance of eternal happiness has been given to the great 
 bulk of your fellow-countrymen?” ; 
 
 From a Sufi I should have confidently expected a cordial 
 endorsement of these views, but not from a Babi; and I was 
 therefore surprised by the acclamations with which both of my 
 companions. received them, and still more so by the outburst 
 of wild enthusiasm which they evoked in “ Divdné,” who sprang 
 from his seat, waving his arms and clapping his hands, with 
 cties of ““You have understood it! You have got it! God bless 
 you! God bless you!” 
 
 “Well, then,” I continued, “‘what do you consider to be the 
 difference between a prophet and a saint who by purification of 
 the heart and renunciation of self has reached the degree of 
 
YEZD 447 
 
 ‘Annihilation in God’? For, as your own proverb says, ‘There 
 is no colour beyond black.’” 
 
 “The difference,” they replied, “is this. The saint who has 
 reached this degree, and can, like Mansur the wool-carder, say, 
 ‘I am the Truth, has no charge laid on him to guide and direct 
 others, and is therefore not bound to be cautious and guarded 
 in his utterances, since the possible consequences of these con- 
 cern himself alone, and he has passed beyond himself; while the 
 prophet is bound to have regard to the dictates of expediency 
 and the requirements of the time. Hence it is that, as a matter 
 of fact, most of the great Sufi saints were put to death, or sub- 
 jected to grievous persecutions.” 
 
 I did not see “the Madman” again, but the Sarhang paid 
 me a farewell visit on the morrow, and brought with him another 
 officer, who, as I was informed, belonged to the “Ali-[lahi sect, 
 and was, like many of that sect, very favourably disposed towards 
 Babiism, concerning which the Sarhang spoke freely before 
 him. | 
 
 Meanwhile the time of my departure was drawing near, and 
 it was in some degree hastened by the kindly-meant but some- 
 what irksome attentions of the Prince-Governor. He, as I have 
 already mentioned, had set his heart on my visiting a certain 
 waterfall in the mountains, without which, he declared, my 
 journey to Yezd would be incomplete. As I had no particular 
 desire to see this waterfall, and was anxious to avoid the trouble 
 and expense in which the mounted escort which he wished to 
 send with me would certainly have involved me, I determined 
 to party his proposals with those expressions of vague gratitude 
 which I had already learned to regard as the most effectual means 
 of defence in such cases, and meanwhile to complete my pre- 
 patations for departure, and quietly slip away to Kirman with 
 a farewell letter of thanks and apologies, to be despatched at 
 the last moment. 
 
 There was no particular difficulty about obtaining mules 
 
448 ie.Z. 19 
 
 for the journey, but it appeared to be impossible to hire a horse 
 for myself to ride. Personally, I was quite indifferent as to 
 whether I rode on a horse ot a mule, but my friends, both Babis 
 and Zoroastrians, were horrified at the idea of my entering 
 Kirman on the humbler quadruped: “‘it would be so undignified,” 
 they said, ‘so derogatory to my state, so incompatible with the 
 idea of distinction!” At first I was disposed to deride these 
 notions, pointing out that the well-known Arabic proverb, 
 “ Sharafu'l-makan bi’l-makin” (“the dignity of the dwelling is in 
 the dweller”) might fairly be paralleled by another, “‘Sharafu’/- 
 markab bi’r-rdkib” (“the dignity of the mount is in the rider’’); 
 but they evidently felt so strongly on the subject that, seeing 
 that I had received much kindness at their hands, and was the 
 bearer of letters of recommendation to their friends at Kirman, 
 I finally gave way, and asked them what they advised. 
 
 ““T advise you to give up the idea of going to Kirman alto- 
 gether,” said “Andalib; “you will get no good by it, and you see 
 the difficulties that it involves. Go to Acre instead; that will be 
 easily done on your homeward journey, and therefrom far 
 greater blessings and advantages are likely to result.” 
 
 “But,” said I, “I am in some sort pledged to go to Kirman, 
 as I have written to Shiraz and also to my friends in England 
 stating this to be my intention.” 
 
 “You are quite right,” said Ardashir, “and I for my part 
 advise you to adhere to your plan, for to change one’s plans 
 without strong reason is to lay one’s self open to a charge of 
 indecision and lack of firm purpose.” 
 
 “Well,” I rejoined, “if Iam not to go there on a mule, and 
 cannot hire a horse, what am I to do? Shall I, for instance, walk, 
 ot would it be more ‘dignified’ to go on a camel?” 
 
 **Post,” said one. 
 
 ““Buy a horse,” said another. 
 
 “As for posting,” I said, “I have had enough of that. I 
 never understood the force of the proverb, ‘Es-safar sakar’ 
 
YEZD 449 
 
 (‘Travel is travail’*) till I posted from Shiraz to Dihbid. But 
 as for buying a horse, that is a more practicable idea, supposing 
 that a suitable animal is forthcoming at a moderate price. A 
 friend of mine at Teheran told me that he kept a horse so as to 
 be able to enjoy the luxury of going on foot; because, so long 
 as he had no hotse, it was supposed that the cause of his walking 
 was either parsimony or poverty; but when it was known that 
 he had one, his pedestrian progress was ascribed to eccentricity. 
 Now I do not wish to be regarded as poor, still less as par- 
 simonious; but I have no objection to being credited with 
 eccentricity, and I should greatly enjoy the liberty of being able 
 to walk as much and as often as I please.” 
 
 After my guests had gone I talked the matter over with 
 Haji Safar, who was strongly in favour of my buying a hotse. 
 Although he continued to recur with some bitterness to the 
 fact that he had entered Yezd riding on a donkey, he was good 
 enough to make no difficulties about riding a mule to Kirman. 
 
 Next day Bahman came bringing with him the muleteer who 
 was to supply me with the two mules I needed for my journey. 
 He also brought a horse belonging to a Zoroastrian miller, who 
 was willing to sell it for eighteen twmadns (neatly £6). It was by 
 no means an ill-looking animal, and both Haji Safar and myself, 
 having mounted it and tried its paces, liked it well. However, 
 with a view to forming a better idea of its capacities, I had it 
 saddled again in the evening and went for a short ride outside 
 the town, from which I returned delighted, with a full deter- 
 mination to buy it. Shortly after my return the owner came to 
 the garden, and the bargain was soon concluded to the satis- 
 faction of all concerned. Haji Safar was especially delighted. 
 
 1 Literally, “travel is hell-fire.” Between Safar and Sakar there exists that 
 species of word-play technically termed ‘ajnis-i-khatt?/, or “linear pun”; 
 that is to say, the two words, as written in the Arabic character, are identical 
 in outline, and differ only in diacritical points. This play is ingeniously pre- 
 
 served in Sir Richard Burton’s translation or paraphrase of the proverb, which 
 is here given in the text. 
 
 B 29 
 
450 YEZD 
 
 “You will have to give me three or four #4mdns a month more 
 now,” he said, ‘“‘to look after your horse.” 
 
 “Or else engage another servant,” I suggested. His face fell. 
 
 “Don’t be afraid,” I continued: “I have enough trouble with 
 you already. You shall have the groom’s wages in addition to 
 your own, and you can either look after the horse yourself or 
 engage someone else to do so; only, in the latter case, please to 
 understand clearly that the selection, appointment, payment, and 
 dismissal of the groom is to be entirely in your hands, and that 
 in no case will I listen to any complaints on either side, or mix 
 myself up in any way in the quarrels you are sure to have.” 
 
 Haji Safar was so elated by this arrangement that he launched 
 out into 4 series of anecdotes about one of his former masters, 
 named Haji Kambar, who had held some position of authority 
 (that of chief constable or governor, I believe) in Teheran, some 
 fifteen yeats previously. Although his own morals do not seem 
 to have been beyond reproach, he punished the offences of others 
 with great severity. He ordered a dervish who had got drunk 
 on “arak to be bastinadoed for three hours; and even Seyyids 
 were not protected from castigation by their holy lineage, for 
 which, nevertheless, he would profess the greatest respect, 
 causing the dark-blue turbans and sashes which were the out- 
 ward sign thereof to be transferred to a tree or bush, to which 
 he would then do obeisance ere he bade his farrdshes beat the 
 unlucky owner of the sacred tokens within an inch of his life. 
 “One evening,” continued Haji Safar, “I and three others of his 
 pishkhidmats (pages) were taking a stroll in the town when we 
 noticed in a coffee-house a man accompanied by what we at first 
 took to be a very handsome youth, round whose kw/déh a hand- 
 kerchief was tied in Kurdish fashion, so as to conceal the hair. 
 On looking more attentively, however, we were convinced that 
 this seeming youth was really a woman in disguise, so we 
 atrested the two, and brought them to Haji Kambar’s house. 
 Then I went to him, and said, ‘Master, we have brought some- 
 
YEZD AjI 
 
 thing to show you.’ ‘And what may that be?’ he asked. ‘Come 
 with me,’ I said, ‘and I will show you.’ So he followed me into 
 the room whete our prisonets were waiting. ‘A nice-looking 
 boy, is he not?’ said I, pointing to the younger of the two. 
 “Well, what have you brought him here for?’ demanded my 
 master. “And nicely dressed too,’ I continued, disregarding his 
 question; ‘look at the pretty Kurdish handkerchief he has wound 
 round his kuw/dh, and as I spoke I plucked it off, and the girl’s 
 hair, escaping from constraint, fell down over her shoulders. 
 When the Haji discovered that our prisoner was a girl dressed 
 in man’s clothes he was very angry, reviled her in unmeasured 
 terms, and ordered her to be locked up in a cupboard, on which 
 he set his seal, till the morning. In the morning she was taken 
 out, placed in a sack, and beaten all over by the farrdshes, after 
 which her head was shaved, and she was teleased.”’ 
 
 I had not yet bought my horse or completed my preparations 
 for departure, when I was again sent for by the Prince-Governot. 
 This time I had not to go on foot, for one of my Babi friends 
 insisted on lending me a very beautiful white horse which be- 
 longed to him. I tried to refuse his kind offer, saying that the 
 _Dastir was to accompany me to the Government House, and 
 that as he could not ride I would rather go on foot also. 
 
 “Tn our country,” I said, “we are taught to respect age and 
 learning, and the Dastur is old and learned, for which reason it 
 appears to me most unseemly that I should ride and he walk 
 beside me. He is a Zoroastrian, I am a Christian; both of us are 
 regarded by the Musulmans as infidels and unclean, and, if they 
 could, they would subject me to the same disabilities which are 
 imposed on him. Let me, therefore, walk beside him to show my 
 contempt for those disabilities, and my respect for the Dastur 
 and his co-religionists.” 
 
 “Tf you desire to better the Zoroastrians,” replied my friend, 
 “it is advisable for you to go to the Prince with as much state 
 and circumstance as possible. The more honour paid to you, 
 
 29-2 
 
452 YEZD 
 
 the better for them.”” The Dastur himself took exactly the same 
 view, so there was nothing for it but to acquiesce. 
 
 Half an hour before sunset the horse and servant of my friend 
 came to the garden, and immediately after them the usual band 
 of Government farrdshes with a large lantern. I had arrayed 
 myself in a new suit of clothes, made by a Yezdi tailor, of white 
 shawl-stuff, on the pattern of an English suit. These were cool, 
 comfortable, and neat; and though they would probably have 
 been tegarded as somewhat eccentric in England, I reflected that 
 no one at Yezd or Kirm4n would doubt that they were the 
 ordinary summer attire of an English gentleman. Haji Safar, 
 indeed, laughingly remarked that people would say I had turned 
 Babi (I suppose because the early Babis were wont to wear white 
 raiment), but otherwise expressed the fullest approval. 
 
 The first question addressed to me by the Prince on my 
 entering his presence was, ““When are you going?” On hearing 
 that I proposed to start on the next day but one, he turned to 
 the Dastur and enquired whether he intended to accompany me. 
 The Dastur replied that he could not do so, as one of the Zoro- 
 astrian festivals, which necessitated his presence in Yezd, was 
 close at hand, and that as it lasted a week I could not postpone 
 my departure till it was over. Hearing this, the Prince wished 
 to rearrange my plans entirely. I must go on the morrow, he 
 said, to visit the waterfall and the mountains, remain there five 
 days, then return to the city to see the Zoroastrian festival, and 
 after that accompany the Zoroastrians to some of their shrines 
 and holy places. Protestations were vain, and I was soon reduced 
 to a sulky silence, which was relieved by the otherwise un- 
 welcome intrusion of a large tarantula, and its pursuit and 
 slaughter. After conversing for a while on general topics, and 
 receiving for translation into English the rough draft of a letter 
 which the Prince wished to send to Bombay to order photo- 
 graphic apparatus for his son, Minuchihr Mirza, I was suffered to 
 depart. 
 
YEZD 453 
 
 I now determined to carry into effect my plan of taking 
 French leave of the Prince; and accordingly, my preparations 
 being completed, on the very morning of the day fixed for my 
 departure I wrote him a polite letter, thanking him very heartily 
 for the many attentions he had shown me; expressing regrets 
 that the limited time at my disposal would not suffer me either 
 to follow out the programme he had so kindly arranged for me 
 ot to pay him a farewell visit; and concluding with a prayer 
 for the continuance of his kindly feeling towards myself, and of 
 his just rule over the people of Yezd. This letter I confided to 
 the Dastir, who happened to be going to the Government 
 House, together with the English translation of the order which 
 the Prince wished to send to the Bombay photographer. 
 
 I now flattered myself that I was well out of the difficulty, 
 and returned with relief to my packing; but I had reckoned 
 altogether without my host, for in less than an hour I was in- 
 terrupted by the Prince’s self-sufficient pishkhidmat, who brought 
 back the letter to the Bombay photographer with a request 
 that I would write a literal translation of it in Persian. This 
 involved unpacking my writing materials, and while I was 
 engaged in this and the translation of the letter, one of the ser- 
 vants of my Babi friends came with a horse to take me to theit 
 house. Towards this man the pishkbidmat behaved with great 
 insolence, asking him many impertinent and irrelevant questions, 
 and finally turning him out of the room. At length I finished 
 the translation, and, to my great relief, got rid of the pishkhidmat, 
 as I hoped, for good. I then proceeded to the house of my Babi 
 friends, bade them a most affectionate farewell, received from 
 them the promised letters of recommendation for Kirman, and 
 the names of the principal Babis at Nuk, Bahram-abad, and Niriz, 
 and returned about sunset to the garden. Here I found the Das- 
 tur, Ardashir, and Bahman awaiting me, and also, to my con- 
 sternation, the irrepressible pishkhidmat, who brought a written 
 message from the Prince, expressing great regret at my departure, 
 
454 YEZD 
 
 and requesting me, if possible, to come and see him at once. 
 As the hour of departure was now near at hand, and I was weary 
 and eager for a little rest before setting out on the long night- 
 match to Sar-i-Yezd, I would fain have excused myself; but, 
 seeing that my Zoroastrian friends wished me to go, I ordered 
 my horse to be saddled, and set out with the pishkhidmat. We rode 
 rapidly through the dark and narrow streets, but in crossing the 
 waste ground in front of the Government House my horse 
 stumbled in a hole and fell with me, luckily without doing much 
 harm to himself or me. The Prince was greatly concerned on 
 hearing of my fall, and would hardly be persuaded that it was 
 of no consequence; indeed, I was rather afraid that he would 
 declare it of evil augury for my journey, and insist on my post- 
 poning my departure. However, this, my farewell interview, 
 passed off as smoothly as could be wished, and I sat for about 
 an hour smoking, drinking sherbet, and conversing. He paid 
 me many undeserved compliments, declaring that the letter I 
 had written to him was better than he could have believed it 
 possible for a European to write, and that he intended to send it 
 to the prime minister, the Aminu’s-Sultan. I, in return, expressed 
 the genuine admiration with which I regarded his just, liberal, 
 and enlightened rule; prayed that God might prolong his shadow 
 so long as the months repeated themselves and the days re- 
 curted; and finished up by putting in a good word for the Zoro- 
 asttians. So we patted, with mutual expressions of affection and 
 esteem; but not till he had made me promise to accept the escort 
 of a mounted /wfankchi or musket-man, and further placed in my 
 hands a letter of recommendation to the Prince-Governor of 
 Kirman. Of this, which was given to me open and unsealed, 
 I preserved a copy, which, as it may be of interest to the curious, 
 I here translate, premising only that the terms in which Prince 
 ‘Imadu’d-Dawla was kind enough to describe me, exaggerated 
 as they appear in English, are but the commonplaces of polite 
 Persian. 
 
YEZD 455 
 
 “In the Abode of Security of K1RMAN. May it be honoured by the august service 
 of the desirable, most honourable, most illustrious, nobly-born lord, the most mighty, 
 most puissant prince, His Highness Nadsiru’d-Dawla (may his glory endure !), 
 governor and ruler of the spacious domain of Kirmdn. 
 
 “On the fourteenth of Ramazdn was it despatched. 2468 *. 
 
 ‘May I be thy sacrifice! 
 
 “Please God [our] religious devotions are accepted, and the care of God’s 
 servants, which is the best of service, on the part of the desirable, most 
 honourable, most illustrious, most mighty and eminent prince (may his glory 
 endure!) is approved in the divine audience-hall of God; for they have 
 said— 
 
 “By service and succour of men we win to the grace of the Lord: 
 By this, not by rosary, gown, or prayer-mat, we earn our reward.’ 
 
 “At all events, the bearer of this letter of longing and service is my 
 respected and honoured friend, of high degree, companion of glory and 
 dignity, Iduard Barim Sahib, the Englishman, who, having come to visit 
 this country, and being now homeward bound, hath set his heart on Kirman 
 and the rapture of waiting upon the servants of the nobly-born prince. Of 
 the characteristics of this illustrious personage it is needless for me to make 
 any representation. After meeting him you will be able to appreciate his good 
 qualities, and the degree of his culture, and how truly sensible and well 
 informed he is, for all his youth and fewness of years. The laudable traits 
 which he possesses, indeed, are beyond what one can represent. Since he has 
 mentioned that he is setting out for Kirmdan, my very singular devotion im- 
 pelled me to write these few words to the Blessed Presence. I trust that the 
 sacred person of Your desirable, most illustrious, most mighty, and eminent 
 Highness may be conjoined with health and good fortune. More were 
 redundant.” 
 
 (Sealed) “IMADU’D-DAWLA. 
 
 It was two hours after sunset when I returned to the garden, 
 and finally got rid of the Prince’s pishkhidmat with a present of 
 two or three témdns. Haji Safar said that he should have had a 
 watch or some other gift of the kind rather than money, which, 
 he feared, might be refused or taken amiss. However, I had no 
 watch to spare; and I am bound to confess that he was con- 
 descending enough to accept the monetary equivalent with grace 
 if not gratitude. The farrdshes having likewise been dismissed 
 
 1 This mystic number, corresponding to the word Bad#p, is generally 
 written under the address on a letter to ensure its safe arrival. Redhouse says 
 it is the name of an angel who is supposed to watch over letters, but I never 
 succeeded in obtaining a satisfactory explanation of it. 
 
456 YEZD 
 
 with presents of money, I was left in peace with my Zoroastrian 
 friends, who, after drinking a farewell cup with me, departed, 
 with the exception of Bahman, Ardashir’s confidential clerk, who 
 remained behind to give me a statement of my finances, and to 
 pay over to me the balance still to my credit. The amount for 
 which I had brought a cheque from Shiraz was 1474 timdns 
 (neatly £45), of which I found that I had drawn 45 tumdns 
 during my stay at Yezd. The balance of 1024 tiimdns I elected to 
 receive in cash to the amount of 32} témdns and a cheque on 
 a Zoroastrian merchant of Kirman for the remaining 70 timdns, 
 both of which Bahman, who was as business-like, careful, and 
 courteous as any English banker could have been, at once handed 
 over to me, receiving in return a receipt for the whole sum with 
 which I had been credited at Yezd. 
 
 Little now remained to be done but to eat my supper, put 
 a few finishing touches to my packing, and distribute small 
 presents of money to some of those who had rendered me 
 service. They came up in turn, called by Haji Safar; old Jamshid 
 the gardener received 12 krans, his little son Khusraw 6 krans, 
 another gardener named Khuda-dad 12 £rdus, and Haji Seyyid 
 M ’s servant, 20 &rdns. The farewells were not yet finished, 
 for just as 1 was about. to drink a last cup of tea, two of my Babi 
 friends came, in spite of the lateness of the hour, to wish me 
 God-speed. Then they too left me, and only Bahman was present 
 to watch the final departure of our little caravan as it passed 
 silently forth into the desert and the darkness. 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 
 
 “ Raftam u burdam dagh-i-Tu dar dil 
 Wadi bi-wadi, manzil bi-manzil.” 
 “T journeyed on, bearing the brand of Thy grief in my heart, 
 From valley to valley, from stage to stage.” 
 
 IVE men and five beasts constituted the little company in 
 which I quitted Yezd. Besides myself and my horse, there 
 was Amir Khan, one of the “Arab” tribesmen of Ardistan, 
 whom the prince had sent as a mounted escort to see me safely 
 to the marches of his territory; the muleteer with his three 
 mules, two of which only were hired by me; my servant Haji 
 Safar; and a young Tabrizi named Mirza Yusuf, who had 
 formerly been his fellow-servant, and to whom, at his request, 
 and on the recommendation of my friend the Sarhang, [had given 
 permission to accompany me to Kirman (where he hoped to 
 obtain employment from Prince Nasiru’d-Dawla) and to ride 
 on one of the lightly-laden mules. Mirza Yusuf, a conceited 
 and worthless youth, had, as I subsequently discovered, and as 
 will be more fully set forth in its proper place, been passing 
 himself off at Yezd as a Babi, so as to obtain help and money 
 from tich and charitable members of that sect; and it was by 
 this means, no doubt, that he had induced the Sarhang to bespeak 
 my favour for him. Wete all his fellow-townsmen like him, no 
 exaggeration would be chargeable against the satirist who 
 VRS Zi Labrizt bi-juz bizi na-bint: 
 Haman bibtar, ki Tabrézt na-bini.” 
 “From a Tabrizi thou wilt see naught but rascality: 
 Even this is best that thou should’st not see any Tabrizi.” 
 
458 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 
 
 Outwardly, however, Mirza Yusuf was sufficiently well-favoured 
 and civil-spoken, and it was only after my arrival in Kirman 
 that I detected in him any worse quality than complacent self- 
 satisfaction and incurable idleness. 
 
 Amir Khan, being well mounted, soon wearied of the slow 
 march of the caravan, and urged me to push on with him at a 
 brisker pace. I did so, thinking, of course, that he knew the 
 way; but this proved to bea rash assumption, for, after traversing 
 the considerable village of Muhammad-abad, he lost the road 
 and struck off into the open desert, where the soft sand proved 
 very arduous to my horse, which began to lag behind. A halt 
 which Amir Khan made (not to allow me to come up with him, 
 but to say his prayers) brought us once mote together, but the 
 subsequent appearance of two gazelles at some distance to our 
 left was too much for his self-control, and he set off after them 
 at full gallop. I soon abandoned all idea of following him, and, 
 having now tealised his complete uselessness, both as a guide 
 and a guard, continued to make my solitary way in the direction 
 which I supposed to be correct. After some time, Amir Khan, 
 . having got a shot at the gazelles and missed them, returned in 
 a more subdued frame of mind; and, after again losing the way 
 several times, we finally reached the post-house of Sar-i-Yezd 
 about sunrise. The remainder of the caravan being far behind, 
 I had nothing to do, after seeing to the stabling of my horse, but 
 to lie down on the mud floor with my head on the rolled-up great- 
 coat which I had strapped to the saddle at starting, and go to sleep. 
 
 I was awakened about three hours later by Haji Safar for my 
 morning tea, and passed the day in the post-house writing and 
 making up my accounts. About sunset I received a visit from 
 a Zoroastrian who was coming up to Yezd from Kirman. He 
 remained with me for about an hour, chatting and drinking tea, 
 and informed me, amongst other things, that he had spent several 
 yeats in Bombay and Calcutta; that the Governor of Kirman, 
 Prince Nasiru’d-Dawla, was a most enlightened and popular 
 
FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 459 
 
 ruler; that Kirman was much cooler than Yezd, as proved by 
 the fact that the mulberries were not yet ripe there, and that 
 cucumbers were still scarcely to be obtained; that the poverty 
 of the inhabitants, always great, had been increased by the 
 depreciation in shawls, which fetched less than a third of their | 
 former price; but that, as against this, the crops, and especially 
 _ the optum crop, had been remarkably good in the last year. 
 
 We left Sar-i-Yezd between three and four hours after sunset 
 by the light of a nearly full moon, my Zoroastrian friend coming 
 to bid me farewell and wish me God-speed. Amir Khan, who kept 
 dozing off in his saddle, again led us astray; and, while we were 
 wandering about amongst the sandhills, there reached our ears 
 a faint cry, which, in that solitary and ghostly desert, caused us 
 to start with surprise. Amir Khan, however, followed by myself, 
 made for the spot whence it appeared to come, and there, 
 huddled together between two sandhills, we presently discerned 
 a gtoup of about half a dozen persons (three men, three women, 
 and, I think, one child at least) gathered round a diminutive 
 donkey. As we approached, they again addressed us in tones of 
 entreaty, but in a dialect which was to me quite unintelligible. 
 Amir Khan, however, understood them. They were from the 
 “City of Barbar” (Shahr-i-Barbar, which he explained, was near 
 Sistan, on the eastern frontier of Persia), and were bound for 
 Kerbela, drawn thither by a longing desire to visit the place 
 of martyrdom of the Imam Huseyn. They had lost their way in 
 the desert and were sorely distressed by thirst, and the boon they 
 craved was a draught of water. My heart was filled with pity 
 for these poor people, and admiration for their faith and piety; 
 and as I bade Haji Safar give them to drink from the leather 
 bottle he carried, there ran in my mind the words of Hafiz— 
 
 “ Anche jan-i-“ashikdn az dast-i-hajrat mi-kashad 
 Kas na-didé dar jihan, juz tishnagdn-i-Kerbeld.” 
 
 “What the souls of thy lovers suffer at the hands of thy separation 
 None hath experienced in the world, save the thirsty ones of Kerbela.” 
 
460 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 
 
 Thereat, and by the blessings and thanks which they poured 
 forth as they gulped down the water, was my compassion still 
 further moved, and I felt constrained to give them also a small 
 piece of money. For this Amir Khan warmly applauded me, 
 as we rtode off, telling the pilgrims that they were within a 
 short distance of the village of Sar-1-Yezd. ‘“‘ Those who give,” 
 said he, “‘of that which God hath given them will never want, 
 and those who will not give are not profited, even in this life, 
 by theit avarice. Only yesterday a beggar asked me for money. 
 I replied that I had none, though I had three &rdus and a half 
 in my pocket at that moment. But when I looked for these a 
 little later, 1 found that they were gone, no doubt to punish me 
 for my niggardly conduct.” 
 
 After this incident the march continued in sleepy silence; 
 but towards dawn Amir Khan, who was riding beside me, 
 suddenly woke up from his doze, and remarked, with complete 
 irrelevance to anything that had gone before, ““No sect are worse 
 than the Babis.” 
 
 “Why?” I enquired, wondering what had caused him to 
 introduce spontaneously a subject generally avoided with the 
 most scrupulous care by Persian Musulmans. | 
 
 “They worship as God,” he replied, “‘a man called Mirza 
 Huseyn “Ali, who lives at Adrianople. A friend of mine at 
 Yezd once told me that he was going thete. I asked why. ‘To 
 visit God’ (bi-xiydrat-i-Hakk), he answered. When he got there 
 he was asked what work his hands could do. ‘None,’ said he, 
 ‘save writing; for | am a scrivener by profession.’ ‘Then,’ said 
 they, ‘there is no place for you here, and we do not want you.’ 
 He was not allowed to see Mirza Huseyn ‘Ali at all, but was 
 given a handkerchief which he had used, and invited to make 
 an offering of three tamdns. So he returned thoroughly dis- 
 gusted, ‘for,’ said he, ‘God does not take presents.’” 
 
 While I was considering how I should meet this sally, and 
 whether Amir Khan, knowing that I had had dealings with the 
 
FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 461 
 
 Babis at Yezd, was anxious to warn me against them, he solved 
 the difficulty by again dozing off into a fitful slumber, from which 
 he awoke “‘between the wolf and the sheep” (meydn-i-gurg u 
 mish), as the Persians say—that is, at early dawn. As soon as 
 he had collected his scattered wits, he cast his eyes round the 
 horizon in hopes of being able to discern our next halting-place, 
 Zeynu’d-Din, and, after some scrutiny, declared that we had 
 passed it during his sleep, and that it was “‘over there” (pointing 
 to a dark line on the plain behind us, some distance off the track 
 which we were following). Luckily, warned by previous ex- 
 perience, I paid no heed to his opinion, and, supported by Haji 
 Safar, insisted on continuing our advance, for which we were 
 rewarded by finding ourselves in less than half an hour at Zey- 
 nu’d-Din, where there is nothing but a caravansaray and a very 
 good post-house. I alighted at the latter, and, after a cup of tea, 
 slept for about six houts. 
 
 Zeynu’d-Din is the last halting-place within the territories of 
 Yezd, and consequently Amir Khan had been instructed to 
 accompany me only thus far on my journey, and to obtain for 
 me another mounted guard belonging to the jurisdiction of the 
 Governor of Kirman. I had, however, no desire to avail myself 
 of this unnecessary luxury, and hinted as much to Amir Khan 
 as I placed in his hand ten £rdws. He took the hint and the 
 money with equal readiness, and we parted with mutual ex- 
 pressions of esteem. The evening was cloudy, with occasional 
 gusts of wind, and every now and then a great pillar of sand or 
 dust would sweep across the plain, after the fashion of the jinnis 
 in the Arabian Nights. The road presented little of interest, being 
 ever the same wide ill-defined track, through a sandy plain 
 enclosed between two parallel mountain chains, running from 
 the north-west to the south-east. At one place I noticed a number 
 of large caterpillars (larvae of Deslephila euphorbie, 1 think), 
 feeding on a kind of spurge which grew by the roadside. No 
 trace of cultivation was visible till we came within a farsakh of 
 
462 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 
 
 Kirmdnshahan, when we passed two or three villages at about 
 the same distance to the east of the road. We reached Kirman- 
 shahdn half an hour before sunset, and alighted at the post- 
 house, which was the best I had seen in Persia. There are also 
 two catavansarays, one old and one new. As no meat was 
 obtainable, I made my supper off eggs fried in oil, and then 
 went to sleep. 
 
 I woke about two hours before dawn to find the people of 
 the post-house eating their morning meal preparatory to entering 
 on the day’s fast. Haji Safar and the muleteer, however, were 
 sleeping so peacefully that it seemed a shame to wake them, so 
 I lay down again and slept for another two hours, when I was 
 awakened by Haji Safar. It was quite light when we started, but 
 this was of little advantage, as the scenery was precisely the same 
 in character as on the previous day. The road, however, hugged 
 the western range of mountains more closely, and indeed at 
 one point we passed inside a few outlying hills. Kirmanshahan 
 was in sight for two hours and a quarter after we had left it, and 
 we had no sooner crossed a slight rise which finally hid it from 
 our view than we caught sight of the caravansaray of Shemsh, 
 which, however, it took us nearly three hours more to reach. 
 
 A more dismal spot than Shemsh it would be hard to imagine. 
 There is nothing but the aforesaid caravansaray and a post- 
 house (singularly good, like all the postthouses between Yezd 
 and Kirman) standing side by side in the sandy, salt-strewn plain. 
 As I rede up to the latter edifice, I saw a little stream, very clear 
 and sparkling, carefully banked up between mud walls which 
 conducted it into a small pond. Being overcome with thirst, 
 I flung myself from my horse and dipped my face into it to get 
 a long draught of what I supposed to be pure fresh water. To 
 my disappointment it proved to be almost as salt as the sea. 
 There was no other water to be had, and Haji Safar had thrown 
 away what was left from Kirmanshahan; nor did my hope that 
 boiling might improve it, and that a decent cup of tea might at 
 
FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 463 
 
 least be obtainable, prove well-founded. No one who has not 
 tried it can imagine how nasty a beverage is tea made in a copper 
 teapot with brackish water. Luckily my kind Zoroastrian friends 
 had forced me to accept two bottles of beer from them as I was 
 leaving Yezd, and these, in that thirsty wilderness, were as the 
 very elixir of life. Even so the day was a horrible one, and 
 seemed almost interminable. Swarms of flies, distant thunder, 
 and a violent gusty wind increased my despondency; and the 
 only discovery in which a visit to a neighbouring mud-tuin 
 resulted was a large and very venomous-looking serpent. Alto- 
 gether I was heartily glad to leave this detestable place about 
 four and a half hours after sunset, by the light of a radiant 
 moon. 
 
 The monotony of the march to the next stage, Andr, was 
 only twice broken, first by meeting a string of twenty-five camels 
 going up to Yezd, whose drivers greeted us with the usual 
 “Fursat bdshad!” (“May it be opportune!”); and secondly by 
 the appearance of some wild beast which was prowling about 
 by the road, but which, on our approach, slunk off into the 
 desert. About dawn we arrived at Anar, a flourishing village 
 containing a good many gardens, and surrounded by fields in 
 which men were busy reaping the corn. Here we alighted at 
 the post-house to test and refresh ourselves before continuing 
 out march to the next stage, Beyaz, which we reached without 
 incident a little before sundown. 
 
 Beyaz is a small hamlet containing a few trees, and not devoid 
 of signs of cultivation. Three or four camels were resting and 
 taking their food in a field opposite the post-house, where I 
 alighted in preference to the large but dilapidated caravansaray. 
 Soon after our arrival, a party of mounted ghu/dms rode up, and 
 bivouacked outside under the trees. One of these, as Haji Safar 
 informed me, was anxious to “challenge” my horse. This 
 practice (called muwdzi bastan) | was surprised to find amongst 
 the Persians, as I had hitherto only met with it in the pages of 
 
464 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 
 
 Mr Sponge’s Sporting Tour. For those not familiar with that 
 entertaining work, I may explain how the transaction would 
 have been conducted if I had given my consent (which, needless 
 to say, [didnot do). The ghulim who had “challenged” my horse 
 suggested that the postmaster (”d’ib-chdpdr) should act as umpire 
 between the two animals, and to this Haji Safar (acting, as he 
 chose to consider, as my representative) agreed. Haji Safar then 
 informed the xa’tb-chdpdr that I had bought my horse for thirty 
 timdns (as a matter of fact it had only cost me sixteen /émdns), 
 but the latter valued it still higher, at thirty-five ta4mdns. How- 
 ever, he valued the ghu/dm’s horse at forty témadns (it was probably 
 worth twelve at the outside), so that the “award” was that my 
 horse should “give” the ghuldm’s hotse five témadns, ot, in other 
 words, that I should give the ghulim my horse and five tdmans 
 in money for his horse. 
 
 We left Beyaz about four hours before sunset, and continued 
 our south-easterly march along a ttack so ill-defined that I felt 
 impelled to make a wide detour towards the telegraph-posts, 
 which lay some distance to the east, in the expectation of finding 
 something mote like a high road. As dusk drew on the whole 
 character of the country began to change: rivulets and streams 
 intersected it in every direction; the air grew moist and damp, 
 like that of a fen; and the night re-echoed with the shrill chirping 
 of grasshoppers and the hoarse croakiny of frogs. Once we lost 
 our way amongst the ditches and cornfields, and floundered 
 about-for some time in the dark ere, rather by good luck than 
 good management, we again struck the road. Flickering lights 
 in the distance, probably will-o’-the-wisps, kept our hopes of 
 speedy arrival alive; but it was only after repeated disappoint- 
 ments that the welcome outline of the post-house of Kushkth 
 loomed out, like some “‘moated grange,” through the darkness. 
 We had to wake the postmaster ere we could gain admission, 
 and no sooner was my bed spread in the porch of the bd/a-khdné, 
 ot upper chamber, than I fell sound asleep, lulled by a chorus of 
 
FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 465 
 
 frogs and grasshoppers, till supper-time, after which I again 
 composed myself for slumber. 
 
 When Haji Safar brought me my tea next morning, he in- 
 formed me that the muleteer, Zeynu’l-‘Abidin, had decided to 
 remain at Kushkuh, to rest his beasts after their forced marches 
 of the last day or two, till sundown, so as to accomplish the 
 seven long parasangs which separated us from the considerable 
 town of Bahram-abad (the capital of the district known as Rafsin- 
 jan) during the night. I was not sorry for the rest, and, though 
 much pestered by flies, passed a tolerably comfortable day in the 
 little post-house. We started by starlight about three hours 
 after sunset, but in about an hour the moon tose up to 
 light us on out way. The night was quite chilly and the march 
 vety tedious, and even when soon after dawn we sighted 
 Bahram-abad, a weary length of wilfully sinuous and serpentine 
 road remained to be traversed ere we aay alighted at the 
 post-house. 
 
 At Bahram-abad I had a letter of introduction from Haji 
 Seyyid M—— to the chief of the posts in that district, which, 
 after lunch, I caused to be conveyed to him. He came to visit — 
 me without delay, and after sitting for a short time carried me 
 off to his office in the caravansaray. While I was. there several 
 persons came to see him, amongst them a fine-looking young 
 Khan of Rafsinjan, who had just returned from Sirjan by way 
 of Pariz and God-i-Ahmar. He had with him the body of an 
 enormous lizard (buz-mazjé) which he had shot on the road. About 
 three hours before sunset my host took me to his house and gave 
 me tea, after which I was waited upon successively by deputa- 
 tions of Zoroastrians and Hindoos, both of which classes regard 
 an Englishman as their natural friend and ally. The Zoroastrians 
 were only three in number: one of them was Ardashir Mihraban’s 
 agent, and of the other two one was an old man called Mihraban, 
 and the other a young man named Ardashir. They told me that 
 there were in all about twenty or twenty-five Zoroastrians in 
 
 B 30 
 
466 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 
 
 Bahram-abdd; that their co-religionists in Kirman were much less 
 subject to insult and annoyance, and in all ways better off, than 
 those in Yezd; and that the chief products of Rafsinjan were, 
 besides cereals, almonds and pistachio-nuts, which were exported 
 to India. 
 
 After the departure of the Zoroastrians, the whole Hindoo 
 community (save one, who was ill) waited upon me. There 
 were fourteen of them, men and youths, all natives of Shikarpur, 
 and they brought me as a present an enormous block of sugar- 
 candy. One of them had recently been robbed of a large sum 
 of money, and, as the Persian Governor could not succeed in 
 capturing the thief, and would not make good the loss, he 
 begged me to make a representation of the facts to the English 
 Embassy at Teheran. I promised to come and inspect the scene 
 of the outrage, if I had time, without further committing myself; 
 and shortly afterwards the deputation withdrew. I remained 
 to supper with the postmaster, who made me eat to repletion 
 of his excellent pi/dy, washed down with a delicious sherbet, and 
 strove to persuade me to stay the night with him; but I excused 
 myself on the ground that the muleteer would probably wish 
 to start. However, on arriving at the chdpar-khdné, whither he 
 insisted on accompanying me, I found that, as the morrow, 
 21st Ramazan, was the anniversary of the Imam “‘Ali’s death, 
 and consequently an unlucky day, neither Haji Safar nor the 
 muleteer wished to continue the march till the following 
 evenitre. | 
 
 I did not go out next day till about three hours before sunset, 
 when the postmaster sent his servant to bring me to his house. 
 I conversed with him for about two hours, and he enquired 
 vety patticularly about the signs which should herald Christ’s 
 coming, but did not make any further allusion to the beliefs 
 of the Babis, which, I believe, were his own. Our conversation 
 was interrupted by the arrival of one of the Hindoos, who wished 
 me to inspect the scene of the recent robbery, which I agreed to 
 
FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 467 
 
 do. We found all the other Hindoos assembled in the caravan- 
 satay where they lodged, and I was at once shown the inner room 
 whence the safe (containing, as they declared, 400 témdns in 
 cash, and 14,000 timdns in cheques and letters of credit) had been 
 abstracted by the thieves, who, as it was supposed, had entered 
 by the chimney. Ten or fifteen men had been arrested on 
 suspicion by the Governor, Mirza Hidayatu’llah, but, as there 
 was no sufficient evidence against any of them, they had been 
 released. I took notes of these matters, and promised to bring 
 them to the notice of some of my friends in the English Embassy 
 if I got the chance; and we then conversed for a time, while I 
 smoked a kalyén which they brought me. They questioned me 
 closely as to the objects of my journey, and refused to credit 
 my assertion that I was travelling for my own instruction and 
 amusement, declaring that I must be an agent of the English 
 Government. 
 
 “Why don’t you take Persia?” said one of them at length: 
 “you could easily if you liked.” 
 
 “T suppose the thief who took your money put the same 
 question to himself with regard to it,” I replied, “and yet you 
 feel that you have a just ground of complaint against him. People 
 have no tight to take their neighbours’ property, even if they 
 think they can do so with impunity, and states are no more 
 entitled to steal than individuals.” The Hindoos appeared to 
 be still unconvinced, and my sympathy for their loss was con- 
 siderably abated. 
 
 I returned to the postmaster’s house for supper, after which 
 he caused soft pillows and bolsters to be brought, and insisted 
 on my resting for a couple of hours before starting. At the end 
 of this time Haji Safar awoke me to tell me that the caravan was 
 ready to start, and, after a final cup of tea and a hasty farewell 
 to my kind host, I was once more on the road. We lost our way 
 at the very start, and wandered about for some time in the star- 
 light, until we came to one or two small houses. The wd’sb-chapdr 
 
 30-2 
 
468 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 
 
 of Bahram-abad, who had joined our party, hammered at the door 
 of one of these till an old peasant, aroused from his sleep, came 
 out, and directed us on our way. But this did not satisfy the 
 nd’ib-chdpdr, who compelled the poor old man to accompany us 
 for a mile or so, which he rather unwillingly did; though two 
 krdns which I gave him as he was leaving us more than satisfied 
 him for the trouble he had incurred. 
 
 About dawn, while still distant some two parasangs from our 
 halting-place, Kabutar Khan, we passed a company of men, 
 with a young girl enveloped in a white chddar, who were going 
 down to Kirman, and exchanged a few words with them. We 
 reached the post-house of Kabuitar Khan (which seemed to be 
 entirely in the charge of a very quaint old woman) about an hour 
 after sunrise, and remained there till about three hours after 
 sunset, when we again set out for Baghin. The man who had 
 been our companion on the previous stage again joined us, being 
 now mounted on a very small donkey which he had hired for 
 thirty shdhis (about twopence) to take him to Baghin. A little 
 boy named ‘Abbas accompanied the donkey, and several times 
 the man dismounted to allow him to ride for a while, on which 
 occasions he would break out into snatches of song in his sweet, 
 childish voice. 
 
 Before we reached Baghin, the great broad plain running 
 towatds the south-east, which we had followed since leaving 
 Yezd, began to close in, and mountains appeared in front of us, 
 as well as on either hand. Soon after dawn we reached Baghin 
 (which is a small village surrounded by a considerable extent 
 of cultivated ground), and, as usual, put up at the post-house. 
 Here we remained till four hours after sunset, when the mules 
 were loaded up for the last time, for that night’s march was to 
 bring us to our journey’s end. Our course now lay nearly due 
 east, along a good level road; and when the dawn began to 
 brighten over the hills before us, Kirman, nestling, as it seemed, 
 at the very foot of their black cliffs, and wrapped like one of her 
 
FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 469 
 
 own daughters in a thin white mantle of mist and smoke, glad- 
 dened our straining eyes. 
 
 My original intention had been to alight in the first instance 
 at the post-house, but as this proved to be situated at some 
 distance outside the city walls, and as I was eager to be in the 
 very centre of the town without further delay, I decided to take 
 up my quarters instead at one of the caravansarays. It was 
 fortunate that I did so; for events so shaped themselves that my 
 sojourn at Kirman, instead of lasting only ten days or a fortnight, 
 as I then intended, was prolonged for more than two months; 
 and, for reasons soon to be mentioned, it would probably have 
 been difficult for me to have quitted the post-house if I had once 
 taken up my abode there without offending my good friend the 
 postmaster of Kirman. 
 
 On entering the city we first made our way through the 
 bazaats to the caravansaray of the Vakil, which we were told 
 was the best; but here there was no room to be had, so, after 
 some delay, during which I was surrounded by a little crowd 
 of sightseers, we proceeded to the caravansaray of Haji ‘Ali Aké, 
 where I obtained a lodging. While the beasts were being un- 
 loaded I was accosted by two Zoroastrians, one of whom proved 
 to be Ardashir Mihraban’s agent, Mulla Gushtasp. (AIl the 
 Zoroasttians in Kirman are entitled “Mulla,” even by the 
 Muhammadans.) They came into my toom and sat down for 
 a while, and Gushtasp told me that he had found a place for 
 me to stay in during my sojourn at Kirman in a garden outside 
 the town. They soon left me, and, after a wash and a shave, 
 I slept till nearly noon, when I was awakened by a farrdsh from 
 the telegraph-ofiice, who was the bearer of a telegram from 
 Cambridge, which had been sent on from Shiraz. The original, 
 which, of course, was in English, arrived by post the same 
 evening, and ran—‘‘ Please authorise name candidate for Persian 
 readership, Neil.” The Persian translation (made, I believe, at 
 Kashan, where the wires from Shiraz and Kirman to the capital 
 
47O FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 
 
 join) was as follows:—“Khwdhish ddram idhn bi-dihid shumd-ra 
 bardyi mu‘allimt-i-farsi taklif kunam. Nil’ I was tather over- 
 whelmed by the reflection that even here at Kirman I was not 
 beyond the reach of that irrepressible nuisance of this age of ours, 
 electricity. 
 
 Haji Safar had already succeeded in discovering a relative in 
 Kirman (a cousin on his mother’s side, as I understood)—a 
 sleek, wily-looking man of about fifty, generally known as 
 “N@#ib Hasan”—whom he brought to see me. While he was 
 with me, a Greek of Constantinople, who had turned Musulman 
 and settled in Kirman, joined the party, and conversed with me 
 a little in Turkish. Then came servants from the telegraph-office 
 to enquire on the part of their master (a prince as well as a 
 telegraphist, but then, as I have already remarked, princes are 
 not rate in Persia) how I did, and when I would come and visit 
 him (for I had an introduction to him from my friends at Yezd, 
 who had also written to him about me); and hard on the heels of 
 these came the son of the postmaster of Kirman (to whom also 
 I had letters of recommendation), so that I had hardly a moment’s 
 leisure. This last visitor carried me off to see his father at the 
 Central Post Office in the town. The postmaster, a kindly-looking 
 man, past middle age, with a gray moustache and the rank of 
 colonel (sartzp), gave me a most friendly welcome, but reproached 
 me for being a day later than he had been led to expect by the 
 postmaster of Bahram-abad, who appeared to have sent him a 
 message concerning me. “Although I am in poor health,” 
 said he, “and am, as you see, lame in one foot, I rode out nearly 
 three parasangs to meet you yesterday, for I wished to be the 
 first to welcome you to Kirman; and I also wanted to tell you 
 that the chdpar-khdné, which is well built and comfortable, and 
 is intended for a residence, is entirely at os disposal, and that 
 I hope you will stay in it while you are here.” 
 
 I next proceeded to the telegraph-office to visit the prince, 
 whom I found sitting at the instrument with his pretty little son 
 
FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 471 
 
 opposite him. He in turn insisted that I should take up my abode 
 at a new telegraph-office which had just been completed for him, 
 and it was with great difficulty that I got him to acquiesce in the 
 plan which I had formed of inspecting the three residences chosen 
 for me in advance by my kind friends of Kirman. Indeed I was 
 somewhat embarrassed by their hospitality, for I was afraid 
 that, whichever place I selected, I could hardly hope to avoid 
 giving offence to the owners of the other two. As, however, 
 it was clear that I could not live in all of them, I decided in my 
 own mind that I would just choose the one I liked best; and 
 accotdingly, after I had conversed for a short while with the 
 prince, I set off with the postmaster’s son to visit the chdpar- 
 khdné to the north, and the Zoroastrian garden to the south, of 
 the town. 
 
 The chapdr-khané proved fully worthy of the praises bestowed 
 on it by the postmaster, for the rooms in it were spacious, clean, 
 and comfortable, and looked out on to a pleasant garden. We 
 smoked a cigarette there, while horses were saddled to take us 
 to the garden of the Zoroastrians. Thither we rode through the 
 town, which we entered by the north gate (called Derwazé-i- 
 Sultdni) and quitted by the south gate (Derwdzé-i-Ndsiriyyé). In 
 the garden, which was just outside the latter, we found the two 
 Zoroasttians who had first accosted me in the caravansatay, 
 Ardashir’s agent, Gushtdsp, and Feridun, a man of about twenty- 
 five years of age, with both of whom I afterwards became very 
 intimate. After sitting for a while in the chdr-fas/ or summert- 
 house, which stood in the middle of the garden, and partaking 
 of the wine, ‘arak, and young cucumbers which the Zoroasttians, 
 accotding to their usual custom, had brought with them, we 
 returned together to the caravansaray. Na ib Hasan presently 
 joined us, and outstayed all my other visitors. As he seemed 
 inclined to take the part of confidential adviser, I informed him 
 of the difficulty in which I was placed as to the selection of a 
 lodging from the three proposed. After reflecting a moment, 
 
472 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 
 
 he said, “S¢hzb, you must of necessity run the risk of offending 
 two out of three persons, and therefore, as you cannot avoid 
 this, you need only consult your own inclination in the matter. 
 If you accept the prince’s offer and take up your abode in 
 the telegraph-office, you will be continually subjected to some 
 degree of constraint, and will be always surrounded by inquisitive 
 and meddlesome servants. If you go to the chapdr-khdné, you 
 will be outside the city, and will only see the friends of the sartip 
 of the post-office. In the guebres’ garden, on the other hand, you 
 will be your own master, and will be free and unconstrained. My 
 advice, therefore, is, that you should select the last, and make 
 polite excuses to the prince and the sart/p.” As this counsel 
 seemed good to me, I determined to act on it without delay; 
 and it was arranged, at Na’ib Hasan’s suggestion, that I should 
 transfer myself and my possessions to the garden on the following 
 morning, so that ere my apologies should reach the prince and 
 the sartip the transfer might be an accomplished fact, admitting 
 of no further discussion. Soon after this Na’ib Hasan departed, 
 and I was left at leisure to enjoy the welcome letters which that 
 day’s post had brought me from home. 
 
 The move to the garden was duly effected on the following 
 morning (Wednesday, 5th June, 25th Ramazan) with the help 
 of N#ib Hasan, Feridun, and a Zoroastrian lad named Rustam, 
 who was brother to my friend Bahman of Yezd. Of this garden, 
 which was my residence for the next two months, I may as well 
 give w brief description in this place. Its extent was several acres. 
 It was entirely surrounded by a high but rather dilapidated mud 
 wall. It was divided transversely (¢.e. in a direction parallel to 
 the main road leading to the Derwdzé-i-Ndsiriyyé, or southern 
 gate of the city, which bounded it to the west) by another mud 
 wall (in which was a gap which served the purpose of a gate), 
 and longitudinally by a stream—not one of the niggardly, three- 
 hours-a-day streams of Yezd, but a deep, clear brook, in which 
 I was often able to enjoy the luxury of a bathe. Besides the 
 
FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 473 
 
 summet-house; or chdr-fas/, of which I have already spoken, and 
 which stood in the middle of the northern half of the garden, 
 about half-way between the stream and the northern wall, there 
 was a larger building, consisting of two rooms and a small 
 courtyard, standing on the very edge of the stream. It was in 
 this more spacious building that I established myself on my 
 attival, using the larger of the two rooms (which had windows 
 to the east and south, the former looking out into the courtyard, 
 the latter on to the stream) for myself, and leaving the smaller 
 chamber at the back to Haji Safar and Mirza Yusuf; but after- 
 watds, when the heat waxed greater (though it was at no time 
 severe), I lived for the most part in the little summer-house, 
 which, being open to the air on all four sides, was cooler and 
 pleasanter. From the larger building another wall ran west- 
 wards towards the main road leading to the Derwdzé-1-Nasiriyyé, 
 partially cutting off the south-west portion of the garden from 
 that which I occupied. This south-west or outer part of the 
 garden appeared to be in some measure public property, for often, 
 as I passed through it to reach the gate, I saw groups of women 
 washing their linen in the stream which traversed it. The garden 
 had been originally planned and laid out by a former vizier of 
 Kirman (whose son, Mirza Jawad, a man of about fifty years of 
 age, occupied a house in another garden not far distant from this), 
 but he, ere his death (so, at least, I gathered), having fallen into 
 disgrace and comparative poverty, it had been neglected and 
 suffered to run wild, and was now let to some of the Zoroastrians, 
 who used it chiefly for the cultivation of plants useful either as 
 food or medicine. In truth it was rather a wilderness than a 
 gatden—albeit a fair and fragrant wilderness; and never a calm, 
 clear summer night, sweet with the scent of the rose and melodious 
 with the song of the nightingale, but I am again transported 
 in the spirit to that enchanted ground. Is there one who dares 
 to maintain that the East has lost its wonder, its charm, or 
 its terror? Then he knows it not; or only knows that outer 
 
474 FROM YEZD TO KIRMAN 
 
 ctust of commonplace which, under the chil influence of 
 Western utilitarianism and practical sense, has skimmed its 
 surface. 
 
 
 

 
 CrA PER XV 1 
 
 Ke PREMEAONG'S ©: PE THY 
 
 “ Har chand ki az ruyi kariman khajilim, 
 Gham nist, ki parvarde-t-in ab u gilim: 
 Dar riyi zamin nist chi Kirman ja’t; 
 Kirmdn dil-t-‘dlam-ast, u mda ahl-i-dilim!” 
 “« Although we stand abashed in the presence of the noble, 
 It matters not, since we have drawn nourishment from this earth and water: 
 On the face of the earth there is no place like Kirman; 
 Kirmdan is the heart of the world, and we are men of heart.” 
 
 N no town which I visited in Persia did I make so many 
 
 friends and acquaintances of every grade of society, and every 
 shade of piety and impiety, as at Kirman. When I left I made 
 a list of all the persons who had visited me, or whom I had 
 visited, and found that the number of those whom I could 
 remember fell but little short of a hundred. Amongst these 
 almost every rank, from the Prince-Governor down to the 
 mendicant dervish, was represented, as well as a respectable 
 variety of creeds and nationalities—Belichis, Hindoos, Zoro- 
 asttians, Shi‘ites and Sunnis, Sheykhis, Sufis, Babis, both Beha’i 
 and Ezeli, dervishes, and kalandars belonging to no order, 
 fettered by no dogma, and trammelled by but few principles. 
 Hitherto I had always been more or less dependent on the 
 hospitality of friends, whose feelings I was obliged to consult 
 in choosing my acquaintances; here in Kirman the garden 
 where I dwelt was open to all comers, and I was able without let 
 ot hindrance to pursue that object which, since my arrival in 
 Persia, had been ever before me, namely, to familiarise myself 
 with all, even the most eccentric and antinomian, developments 
 
476 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 of the protean Persian genius. I succeeded beyond my most 
 sanguine expectations, and, as will presently be set forth, found 
 myself ere long in a world whereof I had never dreamed, and 
 wherein my spirit was subjected to such alternations of admira- 
 tion, disgust, and wonder, as I had never before in my life 
 experienced. 
 
 All this, however, did not come to me at once, and would 
 not, perhaps, have come at all but for a fortunate misfortune 
 which entirely altered all my plans, and prolonged the period 
 of my stay at Kirman from the fortnight or three weeks which 
 I had originally intended to a couple of months. For just as I 
 was about to depart thence (having, indeed, actually engaged a 
 muleteer for the journey to Shiraz by way of Sirjan, Khir, and 
 Niriz), I fell a victim to a sharp attack of ophthalmia, which for 
 some weeks compelled me to abandon all idea of resuming my 
 travels. And this ophthalmia, from which I suffered no little 
 pain, had another result tending to throw me more than would 
 otherwise have been the case into the society of dervishes, 
 dreamers, and mystics. Judge me not harshly, O thou who hast 
 never known sickness—ay, and for a while partial blindness— 
 in a strange land, if in my pain and my wakefulness I at length 
 yielded to the voice of the tempter, and fled for refuge to that 
 most potent, most sovereign, most seductive, and most en- 
 thralling of masters, opium. Unwisely I may have acted in this 
 matter, though not, as I feel, altogether culpably; yet to this 
 unwisdom I owe an experience which I would not willingly 
 have forfeited, though I am thankful enough that the chain of 
 my servitude was snapped ere the last flicker of resolution and 
 strenuousness finally expired in the Nirvana of the opium-smoker. 
 I often wonder if any of those who have returned to tell the tale 
 in the outer world have wandered farther than myself into the 
 flowery labyrinths of the poppy-land, for of him who enters its 
 fairy realms too true, as a tule, is the Persian opium-smoket’s 
 epigram— 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 477 
 
 “ Hazrat-i-afyun-t-md har marazi-ra rewdst, 
 Litk chi ‘ddi shudt, khud maraz-t-bi-dewast.” 
 
 “Sir Opium of ours for every ill is a remedy swift and sure, 
 But he, if you bear for a while his yoke, is an ill which knows no cure.” 
 
 Although it was some while after my arrival in Kirman 
 that I became numbered amongst the intimates of the afore- 
 said Sir Opium, he lost no time in introducing himself to my 
 " notice in the person of one of his faithful votaries, Mirz4 Huseyn- 
 Kuli of Bam (a pleasant, gentle, dreamy soul, of that type which 
 most readily succumbs to the charm of the poppy), who came to - 
 visit me in Na’ib Hasan’s company on the very day of my entry 
 into the garden. Soon after this, too, I came into daily relations 
 with another bondsman of the all-potent drug, one ‘Abdu’l 
 Huseyn, whom Haji Safar, in accordance with the agreement 
 made between himself and myself at Yezd, had hired to look after 
 my horse. He was far advanced on the downward path, and often, 
 when sent to buy bread or other provisions in the shops hard by 
 the city-gate, would he remain away for hours at a time, and 
 return at last without having accomplished his commission, and 
 unable to give any account of how the time had passed. This 
 used to cause me some annoyance till such time as I too fell 
 under the spell of the poppy-wizard, when I ceased to care any 
 longer (because the opium-smoker cares not greatly for food, 
 ot indeed for aught else in the material world save his elixir); 
 nay, I even found a certain tranquil satisfaction in his vagaries. 
 But I must leave for a while these delicious reminiscences and 
 return to the comparatively uneventful fortnight with which 
 my residence at Kirman began. Of this I shall perhaps succeed 
 in giving the truest picture by following in the main the daily 
 entries which I made in my diary. 
 
 On the day of my instalment in the garden (Wednesday, 
 sth June, 25th Ramazdn) 1 teceived several visitors besides the 
 opium-smoker of Bam. Chief amongst these was a certain 
 notable Sheykh of Kum, whose doubtful orthodoxy had made 
 
478 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 it expedient for him to leave the sacred precincts of his native 
 town for happy, heedless Kirmdn. Here he had succeeded in 
 gaining the confidence and esteem of Prince Nasiru’d-Dawla, 
 the Governor, in whose society most of his time was passed, 
 either in consultation on affairs of state, or in games of chance, 
 for which he cared the less because he was almost invariably the 
 loser. He was a burly, genial, kind-hearted gentleman, with but 
 little of the odour of sanctity so much sought after in his native ~ 
 town, and a fund of wit and information. I afterwards saw much 
 of him, and learned that he was an Ezeli Babi, so far as he was 
 anything at all (for by many he was accounted a free-thinker, 
 ““/d-madhhab”); but in this first interview he gave no further 
 indication of his proclivities than to enquire whether I had not 
 a copy of Manakji’s New History of the Babi Theophany. With 
 him came two brothers, merchants of Yezd, whom I will call 
 Aka& Muhsin and Ak4é Muhammad Sddik. Of the former, who 
 was an ortthodox Shi‘ite, I saw but little subsequently; but with 
 the younger brother, a man of singular probity and most amiable 
 disposition, I became rather intimate, and from him I met with 
 a disinterested kindness which I shall not omit to record in its 
 ptoper place. He too was a Babi, but a follower of Beha, not 
 of Ezel; as also was a third brother, who, being but a lad of 
 fifteen or sixteen, was suddenly so overcome by a desire to behold 
 the face of Beha that he ran away from Kirmdn with only five 
 tdmdns in his pocket, with the set purpose of making his way to 
 Acre, on the Syrian coast, in which project, thanks to the help 
 of kindly Zoroastrians at Bandar-i-‘Abb4s, and the Babis of 
 Bombay and Beyrout, he was successful. I subsequently made 
 the acquaintance of another lad whose imagination was so stitred 
 by this exploit that he was determined to imitate it at the first 
 opportunity, though whether or no his plan was realised I 
 cannot say. 
 
 Thursday, 6th June, 26th Ramaxdn—Soon after I was up I 
 received a visit from Nda’ib Hasan (who, indeed, lost no time in 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 479 
 
 establishing himself in the position of my guide, philosopher, 
 and friend, and who seldom allowed a day to pass without 
 giving me the pleasure of his society for a good many hours, 
 including at least one meal). With him came Rustam, the 
 young Zoroastrian of whom I have already spoken, who, on this 
 occasion, outstayed the Na’ib. This Rustam was a well-mannered 
 and intelligent lad, whose only fault was an unduly deferential 
 manner, which at times I found rather irksome. He asked me 
 many questions about my country and about America (“‘ Yangi- 
 dunyd,” “‘the New World’’), in which, like several other Persians 
 whom I met, he appeared to take an extraordinary interest; for 
 what reason I know not, since he had not the excuse of supposing, 
 like some Muhammadans, that thence, by some underground 
 channel, Antichrist (Dajjda/) shall reach the well in Isfahan from 
 which, at the end of time, he is to appear. 
 
 In the afternoon I went into the town, accompanied by Haji 
 Safar and Mirza Yusuf, notwithstanding a message which | 
 received from the Sardar of Sistan informing me of his intention 
 of paying me a visit. We passed the walls, not by the adjacent 
 Derwazé-i-Ndsiriyya, but by another gate called Derwdzé-z- 
 Masjid (“the Mosque Gate”’), lying more to the west, from which 
 a busy thoroughfare (thronged, especially on “Friday eve,” with 
 hosts of beggars) leads directly to the bazaars, and paid a visit 
 to my Zoroastrian friends in the caravansaray of Ganj ‘Ali Khan 
 (where, for the most part, their offices are situated) and to the 
 post-office. In the bazaars I met a quaint-looking old Hindoo, 
 who persisted in addressing me in his own uncouth Hindi, 
 which he seemed to consider that I as an Englishman was bound 
 to understand. We returned about sunset by the way we had 
 come, and met crowds of people, who had been to pay their 
 respects to a deceased saint interred in a mausoleum just outside 
 the Mosque Gate, re-entering the city. 
 
 On reaching the garden I found another visitor awaiting me— 
 an inquisitive, meddlesome, self-conceited scion of some once 
 
480 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 influential but now decayed family, who, in place of the abundant 
 wealth which he had formerly possessed, subsisted on a pension 
 of 150 témdns allowed him by the Prince-Governor in considera- 
 tion of his former greatness. For this person, whose name was 
 Haji Muhammad Khan, I conceived a very particular aversion. 
 He manifested a great curiosity as to my rank, my income, and 
 the object of my journey, and presently assured me that he 
 detected in me a remarkable likeness to the Prince of Wales, 
 with whom, he declared, he had struck up an acquaintance one 
 evening at the Crystal Palace. “Don’t attempt to deceive me,” 
 he added, with many sly nods and winks: “I understand how one 
 of noble birth may for a time be under a cloud, and may find it 
 expedient to travel in disguise and to forgo that state and 
 circumstance to which he is justly entitled. [ am in somewhat 
 the same position myself, but I am not going to continue thus 
 for long. I have had a hint from the Avminu’s-Sultdn, and am 
 wanted at Teheran. There are those who would like to prevent 
 my teaching the capital,” he continued mysteriously, “but never 
 fear, I will outwit them. When you leave Kirman for Shiraz, I 
 leave it in your company, and with me you shall visit Shahr-i- 
 Babak and many other interesting places on our way thither.” 
 N@ ib Hasan fooled him to the top of his bent, unfolding vast 
 and shadowy pictures of my power and affluence, and declaring 
 that I had unlimited credit with the Zoroastrian merchants of 
 Kirman; which falsehoods -Haji Muhammad Khan (whom 
 copious libations of beer were rendering every moment more 
 ctedulous and mote mysterious) greedily imbibed. When he had 
 gone I remonstrated vigorously with the Na’ib for his mendacity. 
 “I suppose it is no use for me to remind you that it is wicked to 
 tell lies,” I remarked, ‘“‘but at least you must see how silly and 
 how futile it is to make assertions whereof the falsity cannot 
 remain hidden for more than a few days, and which are likely 
 to land me in difficulties.” But the Na ib only shook his head 
 and laughed, as though to say that lying was in itself an artistic 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 481 
 
 and pleasurable exercise of the imagination, in which, when 
 there was no teason to the contrary, he might fairly allow him- 
 self to indulge. So, finding remonstrance vain, I presently retired 
 to rest in some disgust. 
 
 Friday, 7th June, 27th Ramazdn—In the morning I was 
 visited by an old Zoroastrian woman, who was anxious to learn 
 whether I had heard in Teheran any talk of Aflatun (“‘Plato’’) 
 having turned Musulman. It took me some little while to 
 discover that the said Aflatun was not the Greek philosopher 
 but a young Zoroastrian in whom she was interested, though 
 why a follower of ‘“‘the good Mazdayasnian religion” should 
 take to himself a name like this baffles my comprehension. In 
 the afternoon I was invaded by visitors. First of all came a 
 Beluch chief named Afzal Khan, a picturesque old man with 
 long black hair, a ragged moustache, very thin on the upper 
 lip and very long at the ends, and a singularly gorgeous coat. 
 He was accompanied by two lean and hunery-looking retainers, 
 all skin and sword-blade; but though he talked much I had 
 some difficulty in understanding him at times, since he spoke 
 Persian after the corrupt and vicious fashion prevalent in India. 
 He enquired much of England and the English, whom he evi- 
 dently regarded with mingled respect and dislike. “Kal‘at-i- 
 Nasiri is my city,” he replied, in answer to a question which I 
 put to him; “‘three months’ journey from here, or two months 
 if your horse be sound, swift, and strong. Khan Khudadad Khan 
 is the Amir, if he be not dead, as I have heard men say lately.” 
 He further informed me that his language was not Beluichi but 
 Brahw’i, which is spoken in a great part of Beluchistan. 
 
 The next visitors to atrive were the postmaster, Ak4 Muham- 
 mad Sadik (the young Yezdi merchant of whom I have already 
 spoken), and the eldest son of the Prince-Telegraphist. The last 
 upbraided me for taking up my abode in the garden instead of 
 in the new telegraph-office, which his father had placed at my 
 disposal; but his recriminations were cut short by the arrival of 
 
 B 31 
 
482 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 a Tabrizi merchant, two Zoroastrians, an Ezeli Babi (whom I will 
 call Mull4 Yusuf, to distinguish him from my Tabrizi satellite 
 Mirz4 Yusuf), who appeared on this occasion as a zealous Musul- 
 man, and undertook to convince me on some future occasion 
 of the superiority of Islam to Christianity; and a middle-aged man 
 of very subdued demeanour (how deceptive may appearances 
 be!), dressed in a long jubbé, fez, and small white turban, after 
 the manner of Asiatic Turks, to whom, under the pseudonym of 
 Sheykh Ibrahim of Sultan-abad, I shall have frequent occasion to 
 refer in this and the succeeding chapter. These, in turn, were 
 followed by four more Zoroastrians, including Gushtasp, Feri- 
 dun, and Rustam, who outstayed the other visitors, and did not 
 depart till they had pledged me in wine after the rite of the 
 Magians, after which I had supper with N4a’ib Hasan, and sat 
 talking with him till nearly midnight. 
 
 Saturday, 8th June, 28th Ramazdn.—tln the morning I visited 
 one of the shawl-manufactories of Kirman in company with 
 Rustam, Na’ib Hasan, and Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz. Our way lay 
 through the street leading to the Mosque Gate, which, by reason 
 of the Saturday market (Bézdr-i-Shanba), was thronged with 
 people. The shawl-manufactory consisted of one large vaulted 
 room containing eleven looms, two or three of which were 
 standing idle. At each loom sat three workers, one skilled work- 
 man in the middle, and on either side of him a shdgird ot appten- 
 tice, whom he was expected to instruct and supervise. There 
 were in all twenty-five apprentices, ranging in years from children 
 of six and seven to men of mature age. Their wages, as I learned, 
 begin at ten tdémdns (about £3) a year, and increase gradually 
 to twenty-four or twenty-five timdns (about £7. 1tos.). In 
 summer they work from sunrise to sunset, and in winter they 
 continue their work by candle-light till three hours after sunset. 
 They have a half-holiday on Friday (from mid-day onwards), 
 thirteen days’ holiday at the Nawr#z, and one or two days mote 
 on the great annual festivals, while for food they get nothing as 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 483 
 
 a tule but dry bread. Poor little Kirmanis! They must toil thus, 
 deprived of good air and sunlight, and debarred from the 
 recreations and amusements which should brighten their child- 
 hood, that some grandee may bedeck himself with those sump- 
 tuous shawls, which, beautiful as they are, will evermore seem 
 to me to be dyed with the blood of the innocents! The shawls 
 manufactured are of very different qualities. The finest, of three 
 ot three and a half ells in length, require twelve or fifteen months 
 for their completion, and are sold at forty or fifty timdns apiece; 
 others, destined for the Constantinople market, and of much 
 coarser texture, can be finished in a month or six weeks, and are 
 sold for ten or fifteen Ards. Of late, however, the shawl trade 
 had been on the decline; and the proprietor of this establishment 
 told me that he was thinking of closing his workshops for a year, 
 and making a pilgrimage to Kerbela, hoping, I suppose, to win 
 by this act of piety the Divine favour, which he would have better 
 merited by some attempt to ameliorate the condition of the poor 
 little drudges who toiled at his looms. 
 
 I next visited the one fire-temple which suffices for the spiritual 
 needs of the Kirman Zoroastrians, and was there received by 
 the courteous and intelligent old Dastur and my friend Feridun. 
 I could not see the sacred fire, because the wa#bad whose business 
 it was to tend it had locked it up and taken the key away with him. 
 In general appearance this fire-temple resembled those which I 
 had seen at Yezd. I enquired as to the manuscripts of the sacred 
 books preserved in the temple, and was shown two: a copy of 
 the Avesta of 210 leaves, transcribed in the year A.H. 1086 (A.D. 
 1675-6), and completed on “the day of Aban, in the month of 
 Bahman, in the year 1044 of Yezdigird,” by the hand of Dastur 
 Marzaban, the son of Dastur Bahram, the son of Marzaban, the 
 son of Feridun; and a copy of the Yashts, completed by the hand 
 of Dastur Isfandiyar, the son of Dastur Nushirvan, the son of 
 Dastir Isfandiyar, the son of Dastir Ardashir, the son of 
 Dastur Adhar of Sistan, on “the day of Bahman, in the month 
 
 31-2 
 
484 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 of Isfandarmad, in the year 1108 of Yezdigird,” corresponding 
 to A.H. 1226 (A.D. 1811). I found that the Dastir was much 
 interested in the occult science of geomancy (‘/m-7-ramal), which, 
 he informed me, required the assiduous study of a lifetime ere 
 one could hope to attain proficiency. He was also very full 
 of a tare old book called the Jdmdsp-ndma, of which he said 
 only one copy, stolen by a Musulman named Huseyn from the 
 house of a Zoroastrian in Yezd, existed in Kirman, though he 
 had information of another copy in the library of the Mosque 
 at Mashhad. This book he described as containing a continuous 
 series of prophecies, amongst which was included the announce- 
 ment of the return of Shah Bahram, the Zoroastrian Messiah, to 
 re-establish “the Good Religion.” This Shah Bahram, to whose 
 expected advent I have already alluded at p. 432 supra, is believed 
 to be a descendant of Hurmuz the son of Yezdigird (the last 
 Sasanian king), who fled from before the Arab invaders, with 
 Peshtitan and other fire-priests, to China; whence he will return 
 to Fars by way of India in the fullness of time. Amongst the signs 
 heralding his coming will be a great famine, and the destruction 
 of the city of Shushtar. 
 
 In the evening I went for a ride outside the city with Feridun, 
 Rustam, and the son of the postmaster. We first visited a neigh- 
 bouring garden to see the working of one of the d#/abs generally 
 employed in Kirman for raising water to the surface. The d#/ab 
 consisted of two large wooden wheels, one set horizontally and 
 the other vertically in the jaws of the well, cogged together. A 
 blindfolded cow harnessed to a shaft inserted in the axle of the 
 former communicated a rotatory motion to the latter, over 
 which a belt of rope passed downwards into the well, to a depth 
 of about five ells. To this rope earthenware pitchers were 
 attached, and each pitcher as it came uppermost on the belt 
 emptied its contents into a channel communicating with a small 
 reservoir. The whole arrangement was primitive, picturesque, 
 and inefficient. 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 485 
 
 From the d#/db we proceeded to the “old town” (shahr-i- 
 kadim), situated on the craggy heights lying (if I remember 
 rightly) to the west of the present city, and said to date from 
 the time of Ardashir-i-Babakan, the founder of the Sdsdnian 
 dynasty. There are a number of ruined buildings on these heights, 
 including one known as the Kadam-gdh, where vows and offerings 
 are made by the Kirmanis. From this place we proceeded to 
 another valley, closed to the south by beetling cliffs studded 
 with cavernous openings which are said to extend far into the 
 rock. High up on the left of this valley is a little building known 
 as Darya-Kuli Beg, whither, leaving our horses below, we 
 ascended, and there sat for a while drinking wine by the light 
 of the setting sun. My companions informed me that formerly 
 the mouth of the valley below had been closed by a band or 
 dyke, and all the upper part of it converted into a gigantic lake 
 whereon boat traces, watched by the king and his court from 
 the spot where we sat, took place on certain festal occasions. 
 
 As we rode homewards in the gathering twilight the post- 
 master’s son ctaved a boon of me, which I think worth men- 
 tioning as illustrative of that strange yearning after martyrdom 
 which is not uncommon amongst the Babis. Bringing his horse 
 alongside of mine at a moment when the two Zoroastrians were 
 engaged in private conversation, he thus addressed me:—“‘ Sahib, 
 you intend, as you have told me, to visit Acre. If this great 
 happiness be allotted to you, and if you look upon the Blessed 
 Beauty (Jemdl-i-Mubdrak, i.e. Beha’u’llah), do not forget me, nor 
 the request which I now prefer. Say, if opportunity be granted 
 you, “There is such an one in Kirman, so-and-so by name, whose 
 chief desire is that his name may be mentioned once in the Holy 
 Presence, that he may once (if it be not too much to ask) be 
 honouted by an Epistle, and that he may then quaff the draught 
 of martyrdom in the way of the Beloved.’” 
 
 Sunday, 9th June, 29th Ramazdn.—To-day I received a demon- 
 stration in geomancy (‘/m-i-rama/) from a young Zoroastrian, 
 
486 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 Bahram-i-Bihriz, whom I met in Mulla Gushtdasp’s room in the 
 catavansaray of Ganj-‘Ali Khan. The information about myself 
 with which his science supplied him was almost entirely incorrect, 
 and was in substance as follows:—‘‘A month ago you received 
 bad news, and suffered much through some absent person.... 
 Fifteen days ago some physical injury befell you....By the next 
 post you will receive good news....In another month you will 
 receive very good news.... You ate at present in good health, 
 but your caloric is in excess and the bilious humour predomi- 
 nates.... Your appetite is bad, and you should take some laxative 
 medicine.”’ ‘This is a fair specimen of the kind of answer which 
 he who consults the rammd/ (geomancer) is likely to get; but it 1s 
 fair to say that Bahram laid claim to no great proficiency in the 
 science. However, he promised to introduce me to a Musulman 
 who was reputed an adept in the occult sciences, including the 
 taskhir-i-jinn, ot command of familiar spirits, and this promise, 
 as will presently be set forth, he faithfully kept. 
 
 While Bahram was busy with his geomancy, a dervish boy, 
 who afterwards proved to be a Babi, entered the room where 
 we were sitting (for the dervish is free to enter any assembly 
 and to go wherever it seemeth good to him), and presented me 
 with a white flower. I gave him a £rdn, whereupon, at the 
 suggestion of one of those present, he sung a ghazal, or ode, in 
 a very sweet voice, with a good deal of taste and feeling. 
 
 Later on in the day I visited Mirza Rahim Khan, the Farrash- 
 bdshi, and Sheykh Ibrahim of Sultan-4bad, whom I have already 
 had occasion to mention. The latter, as I discovered, had, after 
 the manner of ka/andars of his type, taken up his abode in the 
 house of the former, till such time as he should be tired of his 
 host, ot his host of him. Thence I went to the house of the 
 Sheykh of Kum, where I met two young artillery officers, brothers, 
 one of whom subsequently proved to be an Ezeli Babi. I was 
 more than ever impressed with the Sheykh’s genial, kindly 
 manner, and wide knowledge. I enquired of him particularly 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 487 
 
 as to the most authentic and esteemed collections of Shi‘ite 
 traditions, and he mentioned two, the Mi‘rdju’s-Sa‘ddat (“ Ascent 
 of Happiness”’), and a very large and detailed work in fifteen 
 ot sixteen volumes, by Jemdélu’d-Din Hasan ibn Yusuf ibn ‘Ali 
 of Hilla entitled ‘A//éma (“the Great Doctor’’), called Bipdru’/- 
 Anvar (“Oceans of Light”). We then talked for a while about 
 metaphysics, and he expressed astonishment at the lack of interest 
 in the subject generally prevalent in Europe; after which we 
 passed by a natural transition to the doctrines of the Sheykhis 
 and Babis, about which he gave me not a little information. It 
 had been intended that I should visit the Prince-Governor in 
 company with the Sheykh, but the visit was postponed, as the 
 Prince sent word that he was indisposed, and wished to sleep. 
 In the evening I received another visit from the garrulous 
 Haji Muhammad Khan, who seemed to me rather less dis- 
 agreeable than on the occasion of his first call. After his departure 
 a temporary excitement was caused by the discovery of a theft 
 which had been committed in the garden. A Shirazi muleteer, 
 who intended shortly to return home by way of Sirjan and Niriz, 
 had greatly importuned me to hire his mules for the journey, 
 and this I had very foolishly half consented to do. These mules 
 were accordingly tied up in the garden near my hotse, and it was 
 their coverings which, as the muleteer excitedly informed us, 
 had been removed by the thief. The curious thing was that my 
 horse’s covetings, which were of considerably more value, had 
 not been touched, and I am inclined to believe that the muleteer 
 himself was the thief. He caused me trouble enough afterwards; 
 for when, owing to the ophthalmia with which I was attacked, 
 I was obliged to rescind the bargain, he lodged a complaint 
 against the poor gardener, whom he charged with the theft. 
 A farrdsh was sent by the vazir to arrest him; whereupon the said 
 gardener and his wife, accompanied by the myrmidon of the law, 
 came before me wringing their hands, uttering loud lamenta- 
 tions, and beseeching me to intercede in their favour. So, 
 
488 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 though my eyes ached most painfully, I was obliged to write a 
 long letter to the vaz7r in Persian, declaring the gardener to be, to 
 the best of my belief, an honest and worthy fellow, and request- 
 ing, as a personal favour, that he might be subjected to no further 
 annoyance. I furthermore took the precaution of promising a 
 present of money to the farrdsh when he returned with the 
 gatdener, in case the latter had suffered no ill-treatment; and, 
 thanks to these measures, I succeeded in delivering him from the 
 trouble in which the malice of the muleteer threatened to in- 
 volve him; but the effect of the exertion of my eyes in writing 
 the letter was to cause a recrudescence of the inflammation, 
 which had previously been on the decline. So the muleteer 
 had his revenge, which, I suppose, was what he desired and 
 intended. 
 
 Monday, 10th June, 30th Ramazadn.—In the morning I visited 
 several persons in the town, including two of my Zoroastrian 
 friends, Shahriyar and Bahman. The shop of the former was 
 crowded with soldiers just home from Jask and Bandar-i-‘Abbas, 
 so that conversation was impossible, and I left almost immediately. 
 Bahman, on the other hand, had only one visitor, an old seyyid 
 named Ak4 Seyyid Huseyn of Jandak, of whom I afterwards 
 saw a good deal—in fact rather more than I wished. He con- 
 vetsed with me in a very affable manner, chiefly, of course, on 
 religious topics, and, amongst other things, narrated to me the 
 following curious legend about Christ:— 
 
 “Once upon.a time,” said the Seyyid, “the Lord Jesus (upon 
 whom be peace) entered into a certain city. Now, the king of 
 that city had forbidden any one of his subjects, on pain of death, 
 to shelter Him or supply Him with food; nevertheless, seeing 
 a young man of very sorrowful countenance, He craved his 
 hospitality, which was at once accorded. After the Lord Jesus 
 had supped and rested, He enquired of His host wherefore he 
 was so sorrowful, and eventually ascertained that he had fallen 
 in love with the king’s daughter. Then said the Lord Jesus, ‘Be 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 489 
 
 of good cheer, thou shalt win her. Go to the king’s palace to- 
 morrow, and demand her in marriage, and your proposal will 
 not be rejected.’ So the young man, marvelling the while at his 
 own audacity, repaired on the morrow to the palace, and de- 
 manded to see the king, into whose presence he was presently 
 ushered. On hearing his proposal the king said, ‘My daughter 
 shall be yours if you can give her a suitable dowry.’ So the 
 young man teturned sadly to his home (for he knew that such 
 a dowry was far beyond his means) and told the Lord Jesus 
 what had passed. Then said the Lord Jesus, “If you will go to 
 such-and-such a spot and search there you will find all that you 
 need.’ He did so, and found much gold and silver, and many 
 precious stones of great worth—diamonds, pearls, rubies, 
 emeralds, and the like, beyond all that even the daughter of a 
 king could expect or desire. So the king bestowed on him his 
 daughter’s hand. But after a time the Lord Jesus bade him leave 
 all this and follow Him, and he, knowing now that the Great 
 Treasure, compared to which all that he had given as the prin- 
 cess’s dowty was as mere worthless dross, was with Christ alone, 
 abandoned all for his Mastet’s sake. And indeed, as this legend 
 shows, amongst all the prophets there was none who taught 
 the ‘Path’ (Tartkat) like the Lord Jesus, and this remains amongst 
 you Christians in some measute even now, though the ‘Law’ 
 (Shari‘at) which he brought has little by little disappeared before 
 Islam, so that no vestige of it is left.”’ 
 
 In the evening I received a visit from some of the leading 
 members of the Hindoo community, thirteen or fourteen in 
 number, who begged me to let them know if, at any time, 
 they could be of service to me in any way. “We owe you this,” 
 said they, ‘“‘for it is through the protection of your government 
 that we are able to live and carry on our business here in safety 
 and security.” Later in the evening I partook of supper with 
 several of the Zoroastrians at the d#/db of the elder Gushtasp. 
 
 Tuesday, 11th June, 1st Shawwd/.—tn the morning | had a visit 
 
490 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 from Rustam, the young Zoroastrian. He told me, amongst 
 other things, of the persecutions to which his co-religionists 
 were occasionally exposed. “Formerly,” said he, “it would 
 often happen that they carried off one of our boys or girls, 
 and strove to compel them by threats and torments to become 
 Musulmans. Thus on one occasion they seized upon a Zoro- 
 asttian boy twelve yeats of age, carried him to the public bath, 
 and forced him to utter the Muhammadan profession of faith, 
 and to submit to the operation of circumcision. On another 
 occasion they abducted two Zoroastrian girls, aged fifteen and 
 twenty respectively, and, by every means in their power, strove 
 to compel them to embrace the religion of Islam. One of them 
 held out against their importunities for a long while, until at 
 last they turned her out almost naked into the snow, and she 
 was ultimately compelled to submit.” 
 
 In the afternoon I again went into the town to pay some 
 visits. I entered it by the Derwdzé-i-Gabr, to the east of the 
 Derwdzé-i-Ndsiriyyé, and visited an old mosque situated near 
 to that gate. This mosque had, as I was informed, been wilfully 
 destroyed by a former governor of the city, but it still showed 
 traces of its ancient splendour. After visiting the Hindoos and 
 some of my Zoroastrian friends, I proceeded to the house of 
 the Sheykh of Kum, with whom, as it had been arranged, I was 
 to pay my tespects to the Prince-Governor. After drinking tea 
 we accordingly repaired to the Bdgh-i-Nasiriyyé, which is situated 
 near to the gate of the same name. On the arrival of Prince 
 Nasiru’d-Dawla we were conducted to an upper chamber, where 
 he received me in the kindliest and most friendly manner. He 
 talked to me chiefly about the condition of Beluchistan (which, 
 as well as Kirman, was under his government), and declared that 
 a vety notable improvement had taken place during the last few 
 years. I then presented my letter of recommendation from 
 Prince ‘Imadu’d-Dawla of Yezd, and took occasion to mention 
 the forlorn condition of Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz, and his hope 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 491 
 
 that the shadow of the Royal Protection might not be withheld 
 from him, and that he might aspire to be numbered amongst 
 the Prince’s servants. 
 
 In the evening I was again entertained at supper by one 
 of my Zoroastrian friends named Shahriyar. All the other 
 guests were of “the good religion” save myself, Na’ib Hasan 
 (who still continued to accompany me everywhere, and to con- 
 sider himself as invited to every feast whereunto I was bidden), 
 and a singer named Faraju’llah, who had been summoned for 
 our entertainment. 
 
 Wednesday, 12th June, 2nd Shawwal—Towatds evening 1 was 
 visited by the Beluch chief, Afzal Khan, and his son; Seyyid 
 Huseyn of Jandak; the Sheykh of Kum, and his friend the 
 young Babi gunner; and Mulla Yusuf the Ezeli. Between the 
 last and Seyyid Huseyn a violent dispute arose touching the 
 merits and demerits of the first three caliphs (so called), ‘Omar, 
 Abu Bekr, and ‘Othman, whereby the other visitors were so 
 wearied that they shortly departed, and finally the Seyyid was 
 left in undisputed possession of the field, which he did not 
 abandon till he had prayed the prayers of sundown (maghrib) 
 and nightfall (‘ashd@), and explained to me at length the signifi- 
 cance of their various component parts, adding that if I would 
 remain in Kirman for one month he would put me in possession 
 of all the essentials of Isl4m. Nda’ib Hasan and Feriduin had 
 supper with me in the chdr-fas/, or summet-house, on the roof 
 of which I sat late with the latter, and finally fell asleep, with 
 the song of a nightingale, sweet-voiced as Israfil, ringing in my 
 ears. 
 
 Thursday, 13th June, 3rd Shawwdl—tIn the morning, while 
 walking in the bazaars, I met Afzal Khan, the Beltich, with his 
 ragged and hungry-looking retainers. He invited me to return 
 with him to his lodging, situated near the Derwdzé-i-Rig-dbdd, 
 and I, having nothing else to do, and not wishing to offend 
 him, accepted his invitation. On our arrival there he insisted, 
 
492 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 notwithstanding my earnest protests, on sending out for sherbets 
 and sweetmeats wherewith to do me honour, and he put me 
 to further shame by continued apologies for the unfurnished 
 condition of his abode and the humble character of his enter- 
 tainment, repeating again and again that he was “only a poor 
 Beltich.” Presently he got on the subject of his wrongs. The 
 English Government, so he declared, had taken into their 
 service one of his relatives, who had forthwith made use of his 
 new privileges to dispossess him of all his property, and, gene- 
 rally speaking, to make his life a burden to him. He had therefore 
 come to Kirmd4n to seek employment from Prince Nasiru’d- 
 Dawla. “If he will not help me,” concluded Afzal Khan, “I 
 intend to go to Mashhad and seek assistance from the English 
 officials residing there; and if they will do nothing for me, 
 I will place my services at the disposal of the Russians.” Shortly 
 afterwards I rose to go, alleging, when Afzal Khan pressed me 
 to stay, that I had letters to write. “What letters?” he enquired 
 suspiciously. “Oh,” I answered carelessly, “‘letters of all sorts, 
 to Yezd, to Shiraz, and” (this, though true, was not said altogether 
 without mischievous intent) “to Mashhad.” Then Afzal Khan, 
 as I had anticipated, became very perturbed, and anxiously 
 inquired what acquaintances I had at Mashhad, evidently sup- 
 posing that I intended to inform the English representatives 
 there of his intentions, so that they might intercept him in case 
 he should attempt to reach Russian territory. But, indeed, the 
 poor fellow’s services, on which he evidently set a high value, 
 were not likely to be accounted as of much value by anyone else 
 —Persian, English, or Russian. 
 
 In the afternoon I visited Mulla Yusuf the Ezeli, who, though 
 he talked about nothing else than religion, confined himself, 
 much to my disappointment, to the Muhammadan dispensation. 
 He admitted my contention that by many paths men may attain 
 to a knowledge of God, and that salvation was not for the votaries 
 of one religion only, but maintained that, though all roads led 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 493 
 
 to the same goal, some were safe, short, and sure, and others 
 circuitous and perilous, “wherefore,” said he, “it behoves us to 
 seek the shortest and safest way, whereby we may most speedily, 
 and with least danger, attain the desired haven.’ We hada good 
 deal of discussion, too, about the code of laws established by 
 Muhammad, some of which (as, for example, the punishment of 
 theft by amputation of the hand) I condemned as barbarous and 
 irrational. To this he replied by arguing that the 4x talionis was 
 intended merely to fix the extreme limit of punishment which 
 could be inflicted on an offender, and that forgiveness was as 
 highly extolled by the Muhammadan as by the Christian religion. 
 This discussion lasted so long that on reaching the gate on my 
 homeward way I found it shut, and was obliged to creep through 
 a hole in the city wall known to the cunning Na’ib Hasan. 
 Friday, 14th June, 4th Shawwdl—This afternoon Mulla Yusuf 
 the Ezeli and one of his friends came to visit me and continue 
 the discussion of yesterday. They talked much about Reason, 
 and the Universal Intelligence, which, according to the words 
 “ Anwalu md khalaka’ llabwl- Akl,’ was the first Creation or 
 Emanation of God, and which, at diverse times and in diverse 
 manners, has spoken to mankind through the mouth of the 
 prophets. Reason, said they, is of four kinds; ‘ak/ bi’/-kuwwa 
 (“Potential Reason,” such as exists in an untaught child); “ak/ 
 bi’/-fi'l (“ Actual” or “Effective Reason,” such as belongs to 
 those of cultivated intelligence); ‘ak/ bi’/-malaka (“Habitual 
 Reason,” such as the angels enjoy); and ‘ak/-i-mustakfi (“ All- 
 sufficing Reason’’). This last is identical with the “First In- 
 telligence”’ (‘ak/-i-awwal), ot “Universal Reason” (‘ak/i-kullt), 
 which inspires the prophets, and, indeed, becomes incarnate in 
 them, so that by it they have knowledge of all things—that 1s, 
 of their essences, not of the technical terms which in the eyes of 
 men constitute an integral part of science. Whosoever is en- 
 dowed with this “All-sufficing Reason,” and claims to be a 
 prophet, must be accepted as such; but unless he chooses to 
 
494 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 advance this claim, men ate not obliged to accord him this rank. 
 Next in rank to the prophet (ab?) is the saint (va), whose 
 essential characteristic is a love for God which makes him ready 
 to lay down his life willingly and joyfully for His sake. The love 
 of the va// is such that by it he often becomes insensible to pain. 
 Thus it is related of ‘Ali b. Abi Talib, the first Imam, that he 
 was once wounded in the foot by an arrow. Attempts made to 
 extract it only resulted in detaching the shaft from the barb, 
 which remained in the wound, and caused so much pain that it 
 seemed impossible for ‘Ali to endure any further operation. Then 
 said one of his sons, “‘ Wait till the time for prayer comes round, 
 for when my father is engaged in prayer he becomes unconscious 
 of all earthly things, being wholly absorbed in communion with 
 God, and you can then extract the arrow-head without his so 
 much as feeling it.” And this they did with complete success. 
 
 Mulla Yusuf told me another anecdote about ‘Ali, which, 
 though it 1s well-known to students of Arabic history’, will 
 bear repetition. He had overthrown an infidel foe, and, kneeling 
 on his prostrate body, was about to despatch him with his sword, 
 when the fallen unbeliever spat in his face. Thereupon ‘Ali at 
 once relinquished his hold on his adversary, rose to his feet, and 
 sheathed his sword. On being asked the teason of this, he 
 replied, ““When he spat in my face I was filled with anger against 
 him, and I feared that, should I kill him, personal indignation 
 would partially actuate me; wherefore I let him go, since I would 
 not kill him otherwise than from a sincere and unmixed desire 
 to serve God.” 
 
 At this point our conversation was interrupted by the arrival 
 of Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz accompanied by one of the Prince’s 
 servants, who in turn were followed by Feridtn and Na’ib Hasan. 
 The two last and Mirza Yusuf remained to drink wine after the 
 others had gone; and Mirza Yusuf, who was in a boastful 
 humour, began to say, “If you wish to know anything about 
 
 1 See, for instance, e/-Fakbhri (ed. Ahlwardt), p. 54. 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 495 
 
 the Babis, I am the man to tell you, for I knew all their chief 
 men at Yezd, and, indeed, professed myself a convert to their 
 doctrines so as to gain their confidence. They gave me some of 
 their books to read, including one* wherein the reader was 
 addressed in such wotds as ‘O child of Earth,’ “O child of my 
 handmaid,’ and the like.” And in fact Mirza Yusuf had suc- 
 ceeded in finding out a good deal about the Babis, though his 
 information was in some matters erroneous. He declared, for 
 instance, that Kurratu’l-“Ayn was put to death by being cast 
 from the summit of the Citadel (Arg) at Tabriz, but that the first 
 time she was launched into the air she was so buoyed up by her 
 clothes that she escaped all hurt”. My last visitor was Seyyid 
 Hasan of Jandak, whose arrival caused the other guests to conceal 
 the wine, and, at the earliest possible opportunity, to depart. 
 He was in a captious frame of mind, finding fault with the news- 
 paper Akhtar (of which the Sheykh of Kum had sent me a 
 recent issue) for talking about the Zillu’s-Sultan’s “‘resignation”’ 
 (tsti‘fd), instead of calling it, in plain Persian, his dismissal (“az/), 
 and taking exception to sundry idioms and expressions in a 
 letter from the Prince-Governor of Yezd, which, at his request, 
 I allowed him to read. 
 
 Saturday, 15th June, 5th Shawwdl—To-day, wwhilé I was sitting 
 in the shop of a merchant of my acquaintance, Haji ‘Abdu’llah 
 of Shiraz, Bahram-i-Bihruz hurried up to inform me that his 
 friend the magician, Haji Mirza Muhsin, the controller of spirits 
 and genies, was at that moment in his shop, and that if I would 
 come thither he would present me to him. I wished to go at 
 
 t The book entitled Kalimdt-i-maknuna-i-Fdtima (“Hidden Words of 
 Fatima”’) is intended. See for a description of this book my Catalogue of 
 Twenty-seven Babi MSS. in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for 1892, 
 
 . 671-5. 
 ae Mirza Yusuf had evidently mixed together a real fact—the Bab’s martyr- 
 dom in the square of the citadel at Tabriz—and a story referring to the 
 miraculous escape of a woman cast from its summit, which story has been 
 already referred to at p. 64, supra. 
 
496 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 once, but Haji ‘Abdu’ll4h and Na’ib Hasan strove to detain me, 
 and while we wete engaged in discussion the magician passed 
 by the shop in person. Haji ‘Abdu’ll4h invited him to enter, 
 which he at first declined to do, and made as though he would 
 pass on; but suddenly changing his mind he turned back, entered 
 the shop, and seated himself amongst us. 
 
 “This Sahib,” said Na@’ib Hasan, as soon as the customary 
 gteetings had been interchanged, “‘has heard of your skill in 
 the occult sciences, and desires to witness a specimen of the 
 powers with which you are credited.” 
 
 “What would it profit him?” replied the magician; and then, 
 turning to me, “Is your motive in desiring to witness an ex- 
 hibition of my powers a mere idle curiosity? Or is it that you 
 seek to understand the science by means of which I can produce 
 effects beyond the power or comprehension of your learned 
 men?” 
 
 “Sir,” I answered, “my object in making this request 1s, 
 in the first instance, to obtain ocular evidence of the existence 
 of powers generally denied by our men of learning, but which 
 I, in the absence of any sufficient evidence, presume neither to 
 deny nor to affirm. If, having given me such evidence of their 
 existence as I desire, you will further condescend to acquaint 
 me with some of the principles of your science, I need not say 
 that my gratitude will be increased. But even to be convinced 
 that such powers exist would be a great gain.” 
 
 “You have spoken well,” said the magician with approval, 
 “and I am willing to prove to you the reality of that science 
 concerning which you doubt. But first of all let me tell you 
 that all that I can accomplish I do by virtue of powers centred in 
 myself, not, as men affirm, by the instrumentality of the inn, 
 which, indeed, are mere creatures of the imagination, and have 
 no teal existence. Has any one of you a comb?” 
 
 Haji ‘Abdu’llah at once produced a comb from the recesses 
 of his pocket, and handed it to Haji Muhsin, who threw it on 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 497 
 
 the ground at a distance of about three feet from him to the left. 
 Then he again turned to me, and said— 
 
 “Are your men of learning acquainted with any force inherent 
 in the human body whereby motion may be communicated, 
 without touch, to a distant object?” 
 
 “No,” I replied, “‘apart from the power of attraction latent 
 in amber, the magnet, and some other substances, we know of 
 no such force; certainly not in the human body.” 
 
 “Very well,” said he, “then if I can make this comb come 
 to me from the spot where it lies, you will have to admit that 
 I possess a power whereof your learned men do not even know 
 the existence. That the distance is in this case small, and the 
 object light and easily movable, is nothing, and does not in 
 the least degree weaken the force of the proof. I could equally 
 transport you from the garden where you live to any place which 
 I chose. Now look.” 
 
 _ Then he moistened the tip of his Biot with his tongue, 
 leaned over to the left, and touched the comb once, after which 
 he resumed his former position, beckoned to the comb with the 
 fingers of his left hand, and called “‘Bi-yd, bi-yd” (Come! 
 come!”’). Thereat, to my surprise, the comb spun rapidly round 
 once or twice, and then began to advance towards him in little 
 leaps, he continuing the while to beckon it onwards with the 
 fingers of his left hand, which he did not otherwise move. So 
 far one might have supposed that when he touched the comb 
 with his moistened finger-tip he had attached to it a fine hair 
 or strand of silk, by which, while appearing but to beckon with 
 his fingers, he dexterously managed to draw the comb towards 
 him. But now, as the comb approached within eighteen inches 
 or so of his body, he extended his left hand beyond it, continuing 
 to call and beckon as before; so that for the remainder of its 
 course it was teceding from the hand, always with the same 
 jerky, spasmodic motion. 
 
 - Haji Muhsin now returned the comb to its owner, and 
 
 B 32 
 
498 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 requested me for the loan of my watch. I handed to him the 
 clumsy, china-backed watch which I had bought at Teheran to 
 teplace the one which I had lost between Erzeroum and Tabriz, 
 and he did with it as he had done with the comb, save that, 
 when he began to call and beckon to it, it made one rapid 
 gytation and a short leap towards him, and then stopped. He 
 picked it up, looked closely at it, and returned it to me, saying, 
 “There is something amiss with this watch of yours; it seems to 
 me that it is stolen property.” 
 
 “Well,” I replied rather tartly, “‘I did not steal it at any rate; 
 I bought it in Teheran for three tamdns to replace my own watch, 
 which I lost in Turkey. How it came into the hands of him from 
 whom I bought it I cannot, of course, say.” 
 
 After this the magician became very friendly with me, pro- 
 mising to visit me in my lodging and show me feats far more 
 marvellous than what I had just witnessed. “You shall select 
 any object you choose,” said he, “and bury it wherever you 
 please in your garden, so that none but yourself shall know 
 where it is hidden. I will then come and pronounce certain 
 incantations over a brass cup, which will then lead me 
 direct to the place where the object is buried.” Hearing that 
 I was to visit the vaxyir of Kirman, he insisted on accom- 
 panying me. | | 
 
 The vayir was a courteous old man of very kindly countenance 
 and gentle manners, and I stayed conversing with him for more 
 than half an hour. A number of persons were present, including 
 the kaldntar, ot mayor, whose servant had that morning received 
 a severe application of the bastinado for having struck the ked- 
 khudd, ot chief man, of a village to which he had been sent to 
 collect taxes or rents. Haji Mirz4 Muhsin, who lacked nothing 
 so little as assurance, gave the vazér a sort of lecture on me (as 
 though I were a curious specimen), which he concluded, some- 
 what to my consternation, by declaring that he intended to 
 accompany me back to my own country, and to enlighten the 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 499 
 
 ignorance of its learned men as to the occult sciences, of which 
 he was a mastet. 
 
 On leaving the vazir’s presence, I accompanied the magician 
 to his lodging, and was introduced to his brother, a fine-looking 
 man of middle age, dressed after the fashion of the Baghdadis 
 in jubbé, fez, and white turban, who spoke both Arabic and 
 Ottoman Turkish with fluency. There were also present a 
 number of children, belonging, as I gathered, to Haji Mirza 
 Muhsin, who was still mourning a domestic tragedy which had 
 recently led to the death of his eldest son, a lad of sixteen. 
 “Ah, you should have seen him,” he said, “such a handsome 
 boy, and so quick and clever. None of my other children can 
 compare with him.” He did not acquaint me with the details 
 of his son’s untimely death, which, according to Na@’ib Hasan, 
 were as follows:—One of Mirza Muhsin’s servants, or disciples, 
 had a very beautiful wife, with whom his son fell madly in 
 love. Mirza Muhsin, on being informed by the boy of his - 
 passion, promised to induce the girl’s husband to free her by 
 divorce. In this he succeeded, but, instead of bestowing her 
 hand on his son, he married her himself. The lad remonstrated 
 vehemently with his father, who only replied, “It was for my 
 sake, not yours, that her former husband divorced her.” There- 
 upon the boy, in an access of passionate disappointment, shot 
 himself through the head two stages out from Kirman, whither 
 they were then journeying from Sirjan. 
 
 Sunday, 16th June, 6th Shawwdl—To-day I was invited to take 
 my mid-day meal (wahdr) with the postmaster. On my way 
 thither I encountered, near the Derwdzé-7-Masjid, one of my Zoro- 
 astrian friends, Key-Khosraw, who informed me with some 
 excitement that two “Firangis” had just arrived in Kirman. 
 “Come and talk to them,” he added, “‘for they are now in the 
 street a little farther on.” I accordingly followed him, though 
 with no great alacrity, for I enjoyed the feeling of being the only 
 European in Kirman, and had no wish to spoil the unmixedly 
 
 32-2 
 
500 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 Persian character of my environment by forming an acquaintance 
 with two promiscuous Europeans, who might very likely, I 
 thought, be mere adventurers, and whose presence I was in- 
 clined to resent. We soon found one of the newcomers, a little 
 eray-bearded Frenchman, who was very reticent as to his object 
 in visiting Kirman, and told me no more than that his com- 
 panion (also French) spoke English much better than himself 
 (which I could readily believe, for his pronunciation was vile, 
 and his vocabulary most meagre), and that they had come from 
 Turkistan (Bukhar4 and Samarkand) by way of Mashhad, and 
 thence through the deserts, by way of Tun and Tabas, to Kirman. 
 He then went on to enquire with some eagerness whether there 
 were in the town any cafés or wine-shops (wine-shops in Kir- 
 man!), and seemed much disconcerted when he heard that there 
 were not. I soon left him, and proceeded to the postmaster’s 
 house. 
 
 There I found one Mirza Muhammad Khan, of the Shah 
 Ni‘matu’llahi order of dervishes; Sheykh Ibrahim of Sultan-abad; 
 and another, a parcher of peas (xokbud-biriz) by profession, 
 whom, as I shall have to say a good deal about him before I 
 bid farewell to Kitman, and as I do not wish to mention his real 
 name, I will call Usta Akbar. Till lunch-time we sat in the 
 tanbal-khdné (“idler’s toom” or drawing-room), smoking ka/ydns 
 and conversing on general topics, including, of course, religion. 
 The postmaster told me that he had a book wherein the truth 
 of each dispensation, down to the present one (or Babi “‘ Mani- 
 festation”’), was proved by that which preceded it; and this book 
 he promised to lend me so soon as it was returned to him by a 
 Zoroastrian in whose hands it then was. I asked him about the 
 signs which should herald the “‘ Manifestation” of the “End of 
 Time,” and he said that amongst them were the following:— 
 That men should ride on iron horses; that they should talk with 
 one another from great distances; that they should talk on their 
 fingers; and that men should wear women’s clothes and women 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 501 
 
 men’s; “‘of which signs,” he added, “‘you will observe that the 
 first clearly indicates the railroad, the second the telephone, and 
 the third the telegraph; so that nothing is wanting to apprise 
 men of the advent of the Most Great Theophany.” I enquired 
 of him, as I had previously enquired of the Sheykh of Kum, as 
 to the best and most authentic collections of Shi‘ite traditions, 
 and he mentioned with especial commendation the Us#/-i-Kdf7, 
 the Rawza-i-Kdf7, and the Man ld yahzuri of Fakih. 
 
 After lunch most of the guests indulged in a nap, but the 
 patcher of peas came and talked to me for a while in a very wild 
 strain, with which I subsequently became only too familiar. “If 
 you would see Adam,” he said, “I am Adam; if Noah, I am 
 Noah; if Abraham, I am Abraham; if Moses, I am Moses; if 
 Christ, lo, I am Christ.” “Why do you not say at once ‘I am 
 God’?”’ I retorted. “Yes,” he replied, “‘there is naught but He.” 
 I tried to ascertain his views as to the future of the human soul, 
 but could extract from him no very satisfactory answer. “As 
 ~ one candle is lit from another,” he said, “‘so is life kindled from 
 life. If the second candle should say, ‘I am the first candle,’ it 
 speaks truly, for, in essence, it is indeed that first candle which 
 has thrust forth its head from another garment.” 
 
 Presently we wete interrupted by the arrival of visitors, the 
 officious and meddlesome Haji Muhammad Khan, and the Mulla- 
 bashi. As soon as the customary forms of politeness had been 
 gone through, the latter turned to me, saying— 
 
 “Sahib, what is all this that we hear about you and Haji 
 Mirza Muhsin the magician? Is it true?” 
 
 “Tf you would kindly tell me what you have heard,” I replied, 
 ““T should be better able to answer your question.” 
 
 “Well,” he answered, “Haji Mirza Muhsin is telling every- 
 one that you, being skilled in the Magic of the West, had chal- 
 lenged him to a contest; that you gave what proofs you could 
 of your power, and he of his; but that he wrought marvels 
 beyond your power, and, amongst other things, wrote a few lines 
 
502 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 on a piece of paper, burned it before your eyes, and then drew it 
 out from your pocket. That thereupon you had said that if he 
 could summon the spirit of your father and cause it to converse 
 with you in the French language, you would embrace the religion 
 of Islam; and that he had done what you demanded. Is this true? 
 and are you really going to become a Musulman?”’ 
 
 “Really,” I replied, “I am not; and, were I disposed to do so, 
 Haji Muhsin (whom, after what you have told me, I must regard 
 as a liar of quite exceptional attainments) is not exactly the sort 
 of person who would effect my conversion. As for his story, 
 every word of it is false; all that actually happened was this” 
 (here I described our meeting in Haji Shirazi’s shop). “Further- 
 more, my father, by the grace of God, is alive and in good health; 
 neither do I see why, in any case, he should address me in 
 French, since my language and his is English.” 
 
 On returning to the garden I found Afzal Khan the Belich 
 and his retainers, Mulla Gushtdsp, and Aka Seyyid Huseyn of 
 Jandak, awaiting my arrival. The first, somewhat overpowered 
 by the Seyyid’s theology, probably, left very soon; but the 
 Seyyid, as usual, stayed a long while and talked a great deal. He 
 first of all produced a small treatise on physiognomy (‘/m-i- 
 kiydfa), of which he declared himself to be the author, and 
 proceeded to apply the principles therein laid down to me. “You 
 have a long arm and long fingers,” said he, ““which shows that 
 you are determined to wield authority and to exercise supremacy 
 over your fellows, also that you take care that whatever work you 
 do shall be sound and thorough.” He next produced a collection 
 of aphorisms which he had written out for me, of which the only 
 one I remember ts, “Eat the bread of no man, and withhold 
 thine own bread from none.” He then dictated to me four 
 questions connected with religion, which he wished me to copy 
 out on four separate pieces of paper, and send to the Prince- 
 Governor, with a letter requesting him to submit them to four 
 learned theologians (whom he named), and to require them to 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 503 
 
 give an immediate answer, without consulting together or taking 
 time to reflect. “You will see,” the Seyyid remarked, with an 
 anticipatory chuckle, “‘that they will all give different answers, 
 and all wrong, so that the Prince will recognise the inadequacy 
 of their learning.” I only remember one of these questions, 
 which ran as follows: “Which of the four gospels now in the 
 hands of the Christians is the Inv7// mentioned in the Kur’4n?” 
 While we were engaged in this conversation, the proprietor 
 of the garden, Mirz4 Jawad, son of Aka Seyyid Rahim, the 
 late vayir of Kirman, was announced. He was a portly, 
 pleasant-looking man of about forty-five or fifty, and was 
 accompanied by his son, a very beautiful boy of unusually 
 fair complexion, with dark-blue eyes, and long eyebrows and 
 eyelashes, rendered even mote conspicuous than they would 
 naturally have been by a liberal application of surma (antimony). 
 The Seyyid, however, did not allow their presence long to in- 
 terrupt the unceasing stream of his eloquence, and began to 
 catechise me about the gospels, asserting that the very fact of 
 there being four proved that they were spurious, and that the 
 true gospel had disappeared from the earth. He then enquired 
 whether wine was lawful according to our law. I replied that 
 it was, inasmuch as we knew that Christ Himself tasted wine on 
 several occasions. “I take refuge with God!” cried the Seyyid; 
 “it isa calumny: this alone is sufficient to prove that your gospels 
 ate spurious, for none of the prophets have ever drunk wine.” 
 “Well,” I said, “I do not quite see your object in trying to dis- 
 prove the genuineness of our gospels. I imagine that you wish 
 to convince me of the truth of Islam, but please to remember 
 that if you could succeed in convincing me that the gospels 
 now in our hands are forgeries, you having no other and genuine 
 gospel to put in their place, you would be no nearer converting 
 me to Islam, but rather further from it than at present. You 
 would either make me disbelieve in revealed religion altogether, 
 or you would drive me back on the Pentateuch and make me 
 
504 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 a Jew.” “There is something in that,” replied the Seyyid, “and 
 I am now disposed to understand the matter in a different way. 
 The word shardb originally means any kind of drink, since the 
 vetb shariba, from which it is derived, is employed in a perfectly 
 general sense. Your priests have not understood this, and have 
 wrongly explained it as wine. The very miracle which you adduce 
 as evidence proves my point, for you say that the attendants at 
 the wedding feast were bidden to fill the jars with water. It 1s. 
 quite clear that what Christ wished to show was, that water was 
 the best and most exhilarating of drinks, and that it was lawful, 
 not unlawful, like wine.” The little boy seemed to take the 
 liveliest interest in this discussion, and kept whispering sug- 
 gestions to the Seyyid, for he, like his father, was imbued with 
 the ideas of the Sheykhis, and was evidently not unwilling to 
 make a display of his knowledge. 
 
 The Seyyid outstayed the other visitors, and, squatting down 
 by the little stream, proceeded to give me much advice (a thing 
 whereof he was ever prodigal), mingled with hints and warnings 
 which I was for some time unable to comprehend. 
 
 “Don’t cultivate the acquaintance of so-and-so” (mentioning 
 one of my Babi friends) “too much,” he began, “and don’t visit 
 his house more than you can help. The Prince doesn’t like him.” 
 
 “Why -doesn’t he like hime” I enquired. __ 
 
 “The Prince hada very beautiful wife called Panba (‘Cotton’),” 
 rejoined the Seyyid, “‘and one day in a fit of temper he said to 
 her, “Go to your father’s house,’ but without explicitly divorcing 
 her. Your friend Mirza —— lived next door to her father, saw 
 her, was smitten with her charms, and took her in marriage; 
 and when the Prince (who soon repented of his hasty conduct) 
 desired to take her back, he found that she was the wife of 
 another. Naturally he was greatly incensed with Mirz4 ——.” 
 
 “Naturally,” I said, “but he would hardly be incensed with 
 me for visiting him.” 
 
 “You don’t understand my point,” said the Seyyid. “The 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 505 
 
 people of Kirman are the greatest gossips and scandal-mongers 
 under the sun; and the people of Kirman will say that you go 
 there to see Panba, who is the most beautiful woman in the 
 
 city.” 
 “What nonsense!”’ I exclaimed, “why, I never even heard 
 of Panba till this moment, and when I go to see Mirza —— I 
 
 am naturally not introduced to his wives.” 
 
 ““Never you mind that,” said he; “take my advice and keep 
 away from his house. You can’t be too careful here. You don’t 
 know what the Kirmanis are like. It was a most fortunate thing 
 that Mirza Jawad found me here when he came to see you.” 
 
 “Tt was very nice for him,” I replied, “no doubt. But why 
 so specially fortunate?” 
 
 “Because,” answered he, “seeing that I am your friend and 
 associate, and hearing our improving conversation, he will 
 think the better of you, and will be the slower to credit any 
 slanders against you which he may hear.” 
 
 “Tam not aware,” said I, “that I have given any occasion for 
 slander.” 
 
 “Perhaps you do not know what people say about your 
 servant Haji Safat’s szgha?”’ returned he. . 
 
 “What do you mean?” I demanded sharply; “I was not 
 awate that he had a sigha.”’ 
 
 The Seyyid laughed—a little, unpleasant, incredulous laugh. 
 “Really?” said he; “that is very curious. I should have sup- 
 posed that he would have consulted you first. Anyhow, there 
 is no doubt about the matter, for I drew up the contract myself. 
 And men say that the sigha, though taken in his name, was really 
 intended for you.” 
 
 Here I must explain what a ségha is1. A Shi‘ite may, according 
 to his law, contract a temporary marriage with a woman of his 
 
 1 For fuller details see Querry’s Droit Musulman (Paris, 1871), vol. i, 
 pp. 689-695, from which admirable compendium of Shi‘ite law I have drawn 
 several of the particulars given in the text. 
 
506 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 own, ot of the Jewish, Christian, or (though some contest this) 
 Magian faith, for a fixed period of time, which may vary from 
 a fraction of a day to a year or several years. Properly speaking, 
 it is the contract drawn up by the officiating mu//d (in which 
 both the period of duration of the marriage, and the amount of 
 the dowty—though this last may be no more than a handful of 
 barley—must be specified), which is called the szgha, but the term 
 is commonly applied to the woman with whom such marriage 
 is contracted. This species of marriage (if it can be dignified by 
 this name), though held in very proper detestation by Sunnite 
 Muhammadans, is regarded by the Shi‘ites as perfectly legal, 
 and children resulting from it are held to be lawful offspring. 
 Though prevalent to some extent throughout Persia, it flourishes 
 with especial vigour in Kirman, where, owing to the great 
 poverty of the people, the small dowry bestowed on the sigha 
 induces many parents to seek for their daughters such engage- 
 ment. Bad as this institution is at the best, the mu//ds, by one 
 of those unrighteous legal quibbles of which they are so fond, 
 have succeeded in making it yet more abominable. According 
 to the law, a sigha, on completing the contracted period, must, 
 before going to another husband, wait for forty-five days or 
 two months to ascertain whether or no she 1s with child by the 
 former husband. This, however, only applies to cases where the 
 martiage has been actually consummated. So, as many of these 
 women are practically sighas by trade, and do not wish to be 
 subjected to this period of probation, the mu/ids have devised 
 the following means of evading the law. When the contracted 
 period of marriage has come to an end, the man makes a fresh 
 contract with the woman for another very short period; this 
 second (purely nominal) marriage, being with the same man as 
 the first, is legal without any intervening period of probation, 
 and is not consummated; so that, on its expiration, the woman 
 is free to marry another man as soon as she pleases. 
 
 The Seyyid’s hints, whether intended maliciously or prompted 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 507 
 
 by a friendly feeling, caused me a good deal of disquietude; for, 
 absurd and false as the slander was, I clearly saw that if it gained 
 the credence of the vulgar it might become a source of actual 
 peril. Haji Safar, who made no attempt to exculpate himself, 
 was of the same opinion, and entreated me to leave Kirman 
 as soon as possible. “‘Sahib,” he concluded, “‘you do not know 
 the malice and mischief of which these accursed Kirmanis are 
 capable; if we stay here much longer they will find some pretext 
 for killing us both.” 
 
 “Nonsense,” I said, “they are a quiet, peaceable, down- 
 trodden folk, these same Kirmanis, though over-fond of idle 
 tattle. Besides you know what Sheykh Sa‘di says—‘dn-rd ki 
 bisdb pak-ast ax mubdsabé ché bak-ast?’? (“To him whose account 
 is clean what fear is there of the reckoning?’) But in future I 
 hope that you will be careful to avoid doing anything which 
 may compromise my good name. I have no wish to interfere 
 either with your religion, or with such indulgences as are accorded 
 to you by it, but I have a right to expect that you will avoid 
 anything which is liable to discredit my character.” And so the 
 matter dropped, the quotation from Sa‘di being mote effective 
 (as quotations from Sa‘di or Hafiz always are with a Persian) 
 than any quantity of argument. 
 
 I have had occasion to allude to the unrighteous quibbles 
 whereby the mullds, while keeping the letter, contravene the 
 spirit of the law; and I may here add an instance (which was 
 related to me to-day by one of my Babi friends) of the gross 
 ignorance which sometimes characterises their decisions. A 
 cettain man in Kirman, wishing to expose this ignorance, ad- 
 dressed the following question to a distinguished member of 
 the local clergy. “I agreed with a labourer,” said he, “to dig 
 in my garden a hole one yard square for eight krdus: he has 
 dug a hole half a yard square. How much should I pay him?” 
 “Half the sum agreed upon, of course,” said the mulld, “that 
 is to say four krdns.” After thinking for a while, however, he 
 
508 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 cottected himself: “two &rdus is the sum which you legally 
 owe him,” he declared; and this decision he committed to 
 writing and sealed with his seal. Then the enquirer demon- 
 strated to him that the labour required to excavate a hole 
 measuring half a yard in each direction was only an eighth part 
 of that needed for the excavation of one measuring a yard in 
 each direction. This conclusion the cleric resisted as long as he - 
 could, but, being at length compelled to admit its justice, he 
 got out of the difficulty by declaring that, though mathematically 
 the labourer could only claim one &rdn, his /ega/ due was two 
 krans. 
 
 Monday, 17th June, 7th Shawwal—This afternoon I visited a 
 young secretary of the Prince’s with whom I had become ac- 
 quainted, and found him with the son of the Prince-Telegraphist, 
 Mulla Yusuf, and other congenial friends (all, or nearly all, 
 Ezeli Babis) sitting round a little tank which occupied the centre 
 of the toom, and smoking optum. The discussion, as usual, 
 turned on teligion, and Mulla Yusuf gave me some further 
 instances of the quibbles whereby the Shi‘ite clergy and their 
 followers have made the law of no effect. “‘ There are,” said he, 
 “six obligations incumbent on every Musulman, to wit, Prayer 
 (saldt), Fasting (siydm), Pilgrimage (hajj), Tithes (khums), Alms 
 (vakdt), and, under certain circumstances, Religious Warfare 
 (jihdd). Of these six, the last three have practically become null 
 and void. Of Religious War they are afraid, because the infidels 
 have waxed strong, and because they remember the disastrous 
 results which attended their more recent enterprises of this sort!. 
 As for the Tithes (Ahums, literally ‘fifths’), they should be paid 
 to poor Seyyids or descendants of the Prophet. And how do 
 you suppose they manage to save their money and salve their 
 consciences at the same time? Why, they place the amount 
 of the money which they ought to give in a jar and pour treacle 
 (shiré) over it; then they offer this jar to a poor Seyyid (without, 
 
 1 See my Traveller’s Narrative, vol. ii, pp. 118-119, and n. 3, on the former. 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 509 
 
 of course, letting him know about the money which it contains), 
 and, when he has accepted it, buy it back from him for two or 
 three krdns! Or else they offer him one témdn on condition that 
 he signs a receipt for fifty.” I turned these admissions against 
 Mull4 Yusuf when he began to argue for the superiority of Islam 
 over Christianity. ““You yourself,” I said, “declare that the 
 essential characteristic of the prophetic word is that it has power 
 to control men’s hearts; and as you have just told me that out 
 of six things which Muhammad made binding on his followers, 
 three have become of none effect, you cannot wonder if | 
 question the proof of Islam by your own criterion. God knows 
 that the mass of professing Christians are very far from putting 
 into constant practice all the commands laid upon them by Him 
 whom they profess to follow; but I should be sorry to think 
 that His precepts and example had as little effect on my country- 
 men as those of Muhammad, on your own showing, seem to 
 have on yours.” 
 
 On returning to the garden I found a note from the officious 
 Haji Muhammad Khan, enquiring whether I had learned any- 
 thing more about the two Frenchmen who had arrived in 
 Kirman. He had also left with Haji Safar a verbal message 
 asking for some brandy, which message, by reason of Seyyid 
 Huseyn’s presence, Haji Safar communicated to me in Turkish. 
 “Don’t attempt to conceal anything from me,” exclaimed the 
 Seyyid, “‘by talking a foreign language, for I perfectly under- 
 stand what you are talking about.” This, however, was, as | 
 believe, a mere idle boast. 
 
 From Mulla Yusuf I to-day obtained a more circumstantial 
 account than I had yet heard of an event which some time ago 
 created a good deal of excitement in Kirman, especially amongst 
 the Babis. A lad of fifteen, the son of an architect in the city, 
 who had been brought up in the doctrines of the Sheykhis, 
 turned Babi, and, inspired by that reckless zeal which is the 
 especial characteristic of the “people of the Beyan,” repaired to 
 
510 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 Langar, the headquarters of the Sheykhis and the residence of 
 the sons of Haji Muhammad Karim Khan, and there publicly 
 addressed the assembled Sheykhis on the signs of the Manifesta- 
 tion of the Imam Mahdi and the general theory of Theophanies. 
 The Sheykhis, believing him to be one of themselves, at first 
 listened complacently enough as he developed his doctrine, 
 and were even pleased with his eloquence and fervour. But 
 when, after declaring that in each dispensation there must needs 
 be a “Point of Darkness” opposed to the “Point of Light,” a 
 Nimrod against an Abraham, a Pharaoh against a Moses, an 
 Abu Jahl against a Muhammad, an Antichrist (Dajjd/) against 
 a Mahdi, he so described the “Point of Light” and “Point of 
 Darkness” of this cycle as to make it clear that by the former he 
 meant Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad the Bab, and by the latter Haji 
 Muhammad Karim Khan, the fury of his audience burst forth; 
 they seized him, dragged him from the mosque, reviled him, 
 cursed him, pelted him with stones, bound him to a tree, and 
 scourged him most cruelly. In spite of all they could do, how- 
 ever, he continued to laugh and exult, so that at last they were 
 obliged to release him. 
 
 Tuesday, 18th June, 8th Shawwdl—This afternoon, I received 
 another visit from Afzal Khan the Belich, who wished me to 
 give him a letter of introduction to my friend the Nawwab 
 Mirza Hasan ‘Ali Khan at Mashhad, whither he proposed to 
 ptoceed shortly. Then he began to persuade me to accompany 
 him thither, and thence onwards to Kandahar and Kal‘at-i- 
 Nasiri, his home in Beltchistan. “You say you are a traveller,” 
 concluded he, “desirous of seeing as much as you can of the 
 world: well, Beluchistan is part of the world, and a very fine part 
 too; not Persian Beluchistan, of course, which is a poor, miser- 
 able place, but our own land.” I declined his seductive offer, 
 and thereupon he taunted me with being afraid. At this juncture 
 the Sheykh of Kum and the postmaster’s son arrived. 
 
 “Well,” said the Sheykh, when the usual greetings had been 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY s11 
 
 exchanged, “what do you make of these two Firangis who have 
 come to KirmanP” 
 
 “Hitherto,” I replied, “I have hardly seen them, and con- 
 sequently am not in a position to form an opinion.” 
 
 “They declare themselves to be Frenchmen,” continued the 
 Sheykh, ‘but if so it is a very astonishing thing that they should 
 be so wanting in good manners as they appear to be, for we 
 always suppose the French to be remarkable amongst European 
 nations for their courtesy and politeness.” 
 
 “Your supposition is correct, as a tule,” I answered, “even 
 though there be exceptions; but you know the aphorism ‘en- 
 nddiru kal-ma‘dim’ (‘the exceptional is as the non-existent’). 
 In what way have they shown a lack of courtesy?” 
 
 “Why,” said the Sheykh, “his Royal Highness the Prince © 
 (may God perpetuate his rule!) naturally wished to see them and 
 ascertain the business which had brought them here, so he sent 
 a message inviting them to visit him. They refused to come. He 
 was naturally very angry; but, seeing that they were Firangis, 
 ‘and so (saving your presence) not to be judged by our standards 
 of good behaviour, he swallowed down his annoyance, and sent 
 another message saying, ‘Since you do not wish to visit me, I 
 must needs visit you.’ In answer to this second message they 
 sent back word that their lodging was not suitable for receiving 
 so august a personage. His Royal Highness hesitated to punish 
 their churlishness as it deserved; but, finding that they had with 
 them a Persian attendant lent to them by the Governor of Mash- 
 had (with whom Prince Nasitu’d-Dawla is not on the best of 
 terms), he ordered him to come to the palace for interrogation 
 on the following day; ‘for,’ thought he, ‘him at least I can 
 oblige to speak.’ When the Firangis found that their fists were 
 going to be opened! in spite of them, they decided to accompany 
 their man before the Prince, and, without giving any notice of 
 their visit, in they marched with their great ditty boots (which 
 
 1 I.e. that their secrets were going to be disclosed. 
 
512 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 they never even offered to remove); neither would they give 
 any satisfactory account of themselves or their business. We 
 think it probable that they are come after walnut-trees, which, 
 as men say, they cut and polish in some manner known to 
 themselves, in such a way that pictures or reflections of any scene 
 which may have taken place in the neighbourhood of the tree 
 appear in the polished surface of the wood; but of this you prob- 
 ably know more than we do. The question is, are they really 
 Frenchmen, as they assert?” 
 
 “T don’t know,” said I; ‘“‘all I can say is that they talk French, 
 so far as I can judge, as though it were their native language.” 
 
 “Don’t you believe a word of it,” broke in the Beluch; 
 “they ate no more French than I am. Who are the French 
 that they should dare to act towards his Royal Highness as these 
 men have done? No; they are either Russians or English; of 
 that you may be sure.” 
 
 We laughed at the Beluch’s ideas on the balance of power in 
 Europe, while he continued with increasing excitement— 
 
 “Tf his Royal Highness will but give me a hint, I will seek 
 out these Firangis in their lodging—I and my companions here 
 —and will kill them, and cut off their heads, and lay them at the 
 Prince’s feet.” 
 
 “And how would you do that?” asked the Sheykh, with 
 difficulty suppressing his mirth. 
 
 “Do it?” rejoined Afzal Khan; “easily enough. I would 
 find out where they lodged, walk in one fine day with an ‘es- 
 selimu ‘aleykum’ (peace be upon you’), and cut them down with 
 this sword of mine Soho they had time to speaks, ot flee, or offer 
 the slightest resistance.’ 
 
 “Oh,” said the Sheykh, “‘but that wouldn’t be at all right; you 
 shouldn’t say “peace be upon you’ to a man you are just going to 
 kill”? 
 
 “Why. note” retorted the Beluch, “‘they ate infidels, kafrs, 
 
 and such it is lawful to slay in any manner.” 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 513 
 
 “But he is a kdfir too,” slyly remarked the Sheykh, pointing 
 towards myself. 
 
 “Yes, I know he is,” exclaimed the Beltch, “‘and if only —-”’ 
 Here he was interrupted by a general roar of laughter. 
 
 “O most excellent Khan,” I cried, as soon as the general 
 metriment had somewhat subsided, “now your fist is opened! 
 Now I see why you were so eager for me to accompany you to 
 yout interesting, hospitable country. A long journey, in sooth, 
 would it have been, and one, as I think, on which I might have 
 set out singing— 
 
 * Dam-t-raftan-ast, ‘Urfi; bi-rukhash nazdré’t Run, 
 Ki umid-t-bax-gashtan kas az in safar na-ddrad.’ 
 
 “Tis the moment of departure, O ‘Urfi; take a last look at his face, 
 For from this journey none may hope to return.’”’ 
 
 The Beluch hung his head in some confusion, and then began 
 to laugh gently. “You ate quite right, Sahib,” he said, “‘but 
 I know very well that you are an agent of your government, 
 engaged in heaven knows what mischief here.” 
 
 “Why, look at me,” I replied; “I live, as you,see, like a der- 
 vish, without any of the circumstance or having which befits 
 an envoy of such a government as ours.” 
 
 “Ay,” he retorted, “but you English are cunning enough to 
 avoid ostentation when it suits your own ends to do so. I know 
 you to my cost, and that is the way it always begins.” 
 
 And so the matter dropped, and that was the last I saw of 
 my friend Afzal Khan. 
 
 Later on several other visitors came; the Seyyid, of course; 
 Haji Shirazi, who was immensely slaps having, as he in- 
 formed me, drunk half a bottle of brandy “‘for his stomach’s 
 sake”; and the parcher of peas. The last drew me aside out of 
 the hearing of the Seyyid (between whom and himself subsisted 
 a most violent antipathy), and said he had come to ask me to 
 have suppet one night with him, the postmaster, and some other 
 
 B 4:3 
 
514 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 congenial friends, so that we could converse quietly and without 
 fear of intrusion. 
 
 “Thank you,” I said, “‘I shall be very pleased to come any 
 evening that suits you, and I am no less anxious than yourself 
 for an opportunity for some quiet conversation; for hitherto, 
 though I know that many of my friends here are Babis, we have 
 only talked on side-issues, and have never come to the main 
 point. And it is about the Bab especially, and Kurratu’l-“Ayn, 
 and the others, not about Beha, that I want to hear. It was he 
 whom I heard about and learned to admire and love before I 
 left my native country: and since my arrival in Persia, though 
 I have conversed with many Babis, it is always of Beha that they 
 speak. Beha may be vety well, and may be superior to the Bab, 
 but it is about the Bab that I want to hear.” 
 
 “Yes,” he replied, “you shall hear about him, for he is worth 
 hearing about—the Lord Jesus come back to earth in another 
 form. He was but a child of nineteen when his mission began, 
 and was only twenty-six when they killed him—killed him 
 because he was a charmer of hearts, and for no crime but this— 
 
 ‘Dar kuddm millat-ast tn, dar kuddm madhhab-ast in? 
 Ki kushand dilbart-rda, ki, “Tu dil-ruba chird’t?”’’ 
 “In what church, in what religion, is this lawful, 
 That they should kill a charmer of hearts, saying, “‘ Why dost thou 
 steal hearts?”’” 
 “Whose is that verse?” I enquired. 
 “Oh,” he replied, “the original verse is ‘Irdki’s, and runs 
 
 thus— “Dar kudam millat-ast in, dar kudim madhhab-ast in? 
 
 Ki kushand ‘dshiki-rd, ki, “Tu ‘dshikam chird’1?”’’ 
 ‘In what church, in what religion, is this lawful, 
 That they should kill a lover, saying, “‘ Why art thou my lover?”’’ 
 But we have altered the verse to suit our purpose.” 
 At this point the Seyyid was seen approaching us, and the 
 parcher of peas fled as from the Angel of Death. But Hajf 
 Shirazi outstayed even the Seyyid, and after supper consumed 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 515 
 
 as much brandy as he could get, observing repeatedly in a rather 
 unsteady voice that no amount of it produced any effect upon him, 
 because moistute so greatly predominated in his natural tem- 
 perament. 
 
 Wednesday, 19th June, 9th Shawwdl—This morning I received - 
 a visit from a very melancholy person, who, I think, held the 
 office of treasurer to the Prince-Governor. He told me that he 
 did not like Europeans, and would not have come to see me if 
 he had not heard that I, unlike most of them, took an interest 
 in religious questions, into which he forthwith plunged, arguing 
 against the possibility of the use of wine being sanctioned by any 
 true prophet, and defending the seclusion of women and the use 
 of the veil. Against these last I argued very earnestly, pointing 
 out the evils which, as it appeared to me, resulted from them. 
 He was silent for a while after I had finished speaking, and then 
 said :— 
 
 “Tt is true; I admit the force of your arguments, and I cannot 
 at this moment give a sufficient and satisfactory answer to them, 
 though I believe there must be one. But I will not attempt 
 to give an insufhicient answer, for my sole desire is to be just and 
 fair.” 
 
 Before he left he told me that he suffered much from indiges- 
 tion, brought on by excessive meditation, adding, “‘I fear, I fear 
 greatly.” I asked him what he feared, and he replied, “God.” 
 
 In the afternoon Feridun came to me while I was sitting in 
 Haji Shirazi’s shop, to arrange for a visit to the dakhmé, or 
 “tower of silence” of the Zoroastrians. Haji Shirazi was most 
 insolent to him, calling him a son of a dog (“‘pidar-sag’’), a gabr, 
 and the like. I saw poor Feridtin flush up with an anger which 
 it cost him an effort to control, and would fain have given the 
 drunken old Haji a piece of my mind, had I been certain that 
 he did not intend his rudeness for playful banter, and had I not 
 further feared that in any case my tremonstrances would only 
 increase his spite against Feridun, which I could only hope to 
 
 33-2 
 
516 -KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 supptess so long as I remained at Kirman. I told Feridun this 
 afterwards, and he not only approved my action, but begged me 
 not to interfere in any similar case. “It would do no permanent 
 good,” he said, “and would only embitter them against us. But 
 - do not forget what we poor Zoroastrians have to suffer at the 
 hands of these Musulmans when you return to your native land, 
 and try, if you can, to do something for us.” 
 
 Towards evening I rode out with Gushtasp and Feriduin to 
 the lonely dakhmé situated on a jagged mountain-spur at some 
 little distance from the town. Gushtasp rode his donkey; but 
 Feridin, who was a bold and skilful rider, had borrowed a horse, 
 for the Zoroastrians at Kirman are not subjected to restrictions 
 quite so irksome as those which prevail at Yezd. We stopped 
 twice on the way to drink wine, at a place called Sar-z-pul 
 (“Bridge-end”), and at a sort of half-way house, where funerals 
 halt on their way to the dakhmé, or rather dakhmés, for there are 
 two of them, one disused, and one built by Manakji, the late 
 Zoroastrian agent at Teheran, a little higher up the ridge. At 
 the foot of this we dismounted, Mulla Gushtasp remaining below 
 to look after the animals, while I ascended with Feridin by a 
 steep path leading to the upper dakhmé. Here Feridin, whose 
 brother had recently been conveyed to his last resting-place, 
 proceeded to mutter some prayers, untying and rebinding his 
 girdle or kushti as he did so; after which he produced a bottle 
 of wine and poured three libations to the dead, exclaiming as 
 he did so, “Khudd bi-ydmurzad hama-i-raftagdn-rd”’ (“May God 
 forgive all those who are gone!”’), and then helped himself and 
 passed the wine to me. Observing an inscribed tablet on the side 
 of the dakhmé (which was still some twenty yards above us) 
 I called my companion’s attention to it, and made as though I 
 would have advanced towards it; but he checked me. ‘‘ None,” 
 said he, “‘may pass beyond this spot where we stand, save only 
 those whose duty it is to convey the dead to their last resting- 
 place, and a curse falls on him who persists in so doing.” As 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 517 
 
 he spoke he pointed to a Persian inscription cut on the rock 
 beside us, which I had not previously observed, wherein a curse 
 was invoked on anyone whom curiosity, or a desire “to molest 
 the dead,” should impel to enter the dakhbmé. Near this was 
 inscribed the well-known verse— 
 “Ey dust! bar jendzé-i-dushman chi bigzari, 
 Shadi ma-kun, ki bar th hamin md-jard buvad.” 
 “O friend! when thou passest by the corpse of thine enemy 
 Rejoice not, for on thee will the same fate fall.”’ 
 
 Below this was recorded the date of the dakhmé’s completion 
 —Dhil-Hijé 20th, aw. 1283 (25th April, a.p. 1867), corte- 
 sponding to the year 1236 of Yezdigird. 
 
 On teturning to the garden I found the inevitable Seyyid 
 Huseyn, who had arrived soon after I had gone out, and, in 
 my absence, had been inflicting his theological dissertations on 
 N@ ib Hasan. It had been arranged that I should visit a certain 
 Mirza Muhammad Ja‘far Khan (a nephew of the great leader 
 of the Sheykhis and antagonist of the Babis, Haji Muhammad 
 Karim Khan), who had called upon me a few days previously: 
 and the Seyyid, hearing this, insisted on accompanying me. On 
 teaching his house, which stood alone at some distance from the 
 town, we wete received by him and a stout pallid youth named 
 Yusuf Khan (who, I believe, was his cousin or nephew) in the 
 tanbal-khané, or lounging-room, the walls of which were pro- 
 fusely decorated with a strange medley of cheap European prints 
 and photographs representing scripture incidents, scenes from 
 Uncle Tom’s Cabin, scantily clothed women, and other incon- 
 gruous subjects, arranged in the worst possible taste. The low 
 opinion of my host’s character with which this exhibition in- 
 spited me was not bettered by his conversation, which was, so 
 far as I remember, singularly pointless. He evidently felt ill at 
 ease in the presence of the Seyyid, who enquired very search- 
 ingly as to the reception which the eldest of Haji Muhammad 
 Karim Khan’s sons, the chief of the Sheykhis, had met with at 
 
518 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 the holy shrines of Kerbela and Nejef, whither he had recently 
 gone. So fat as we could learn, he had been anything but cordially 
 received, and at Kazimeyn the people had not suffered him to 
 preach in the mosque. On my return to the garden I had supper 
 with N4a’ib Hasan, who aspersed the character of my new ac- 
 quaintance in a way which I cannot bring myself to repeat. 
 
 Thursday, 20th June, 1oth Shawwdl.—This morning I paid a visit 
 to one of the most eminent members of the clergy of Kirman, 
 the mujtahid Mulla Muhammad Salih-i-Kirmani. He was a fine- 
 looking man, with a long black beard and deeply furrowed brow, 
 and received me with a somewhat haughty courtesy. He con- 
 versed on religious topics only, pointing out the beauties of the 
 law of Islam, and taking great exception to the carelessness of 
 Europeans in certain matters of purification. On leaving his 
 house I was taken to see an iron foundry, where I was shown 
 two excellent-looking Enfield rifles manufactured by a Kirmani 
 gunsmith, in imitation of one of European workmanship lent 
 to him by the Prince-Governor. 
 
 In the afternoon I received a visit from the two Frenchmen 
 of whose arrival in Kirman I have already spoken. Haji Muham- 
 mad Khan, Mulla Yusuf, and Seyyid Huseyn happened to come 
 while they were with me; but the last, on a hint from Na’ib 
 Hasan that wine was likely to be produced, fled precipitately, 
 to the satisfaction of everyone. The Frenchmen appeared, from 
 their account, to have had a very rough journey from Mashhad 
 to Kirman, and not to enjoy much comfort even here; they were 
 delighted with the wine, cognac, and tea which I placed before 
 them (for they had not been able to obtain any sort of alcohol 
 here, not knowing whither to go for it), and conversed freely 
 on everything save the objects of their journey, of which they 
 seemed unwilling to speak, though Haji Muhammad Khan, who 
 really did speak French with some approach to fluency, en- 
 deavoured again and again to extract some information from 
 them. He was so disgusted at his ill success that he afterwards 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 519 
 
 announced to me his conviction that they were persons of no 
 rank or breeding, and that he had no wish to see anything more 
 of them. 
 
 In the evening I supped with the Prince-Governor, the party 
 being completed by the Sheykh of Kum and the Prince-Tele- 
 graphist. The meal was served in European fashion in a room 
 in the Bdgh-i-Ndsiriyya palace, which was brilliantly illuminated. 
 A great number of European dishes was set before us, no doubt 
 in my honour, though, as a matter of fact, I should have greatly 
 preferred Persian cookery. Wine, too, was provided, and not 
 merely for show either. The Prince, acting, I suppose, on the 
 aphorism, “‘Address men according to the measure of their 
 understandings,” conversed chiefly on European politics, in 
 which I felt myself thoroughly out of my depth. He was, how- 
 ever, extremely kind; and when I left, insisted on lending me a 
 horse and a man to conduct me home. 
 
 Friday, 21st June, 11th Shawwd/.—tin the afternoon I returned 
 Mirza Jawad’s call, and found with him his son and his son’s 
 tutor, Mulla Ghulam Huseyn, a Sheykhi, from whom I extracted 
 the following account of the essential doctrines of his school:— 
 
 “The Balasaris, or ordinary Shi‘ites,” said he, “assert that 
 the essentials of religion are five, to wit, belief in the Unity of 
 God (tawpid), the Justice of God (‘ad/), the Prophetic Function 
 (nubwvvat), the Imamate (¢mdmat), and the Resurrection (ma‘dd). 
 Now we say that two of these cannot be reckoned as primary 
 doctrines at all; for belief in the Prophet involves belief in his 
 book and the teachings which it embodies, amongst which is 
 the Resurrection; and there is no more reason for regarding a 
 belief in God’s justice as a principal canon of faith than belief 
 in God’s Mercy, or God’s Omnipotence, or any other of His 
 Attributes. Of their five principles or essentials (ws#/), therefore, 
 we accept only three; but to these we add another, namely, that 
 there must always exist amongst the Musulmans a ‘Perfect 
 Shiite’ (Sht‘a-z-kdmil) who enjoys the special guidance of the 
 
520 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 Imdms, and acts as a Channel of Grace (Wdsita-i-feyz) between 
 them and their Church. This tenet we call ‘the Fourth Support’ 
 (Rukn-i-rabi‘), or fourth essential principle of religion.” 
 
 In the evening I was the guest of Usta Akbar, the parcher 
 of peas, at supper, and stayed the night at his house. Amongst 
 the guests were Ak4 Fathu’llah, a young Ezeli minstrel and poet, 
 who sung verses in praise of the Bab, composed by himself; 
 Sheykh Ibrahim of Sultan-abad; oneof his intimates and admirers, 
 a setvant of the Farrash-bashi, named ‘Abdu’ll4h; a post-office 
 official, whom I will call Haydaru’lla4h; and the pea-parcher’s 
 brother. As the evening wore on, these began to talk very 
 wildly, in a fashion with which I was soon to become but too 
 familiar, declaring themselves to be one with the Divine Essence, 
 and calling upon me by such titles as “‘ Jendb-i-Sadhib” and 
 “ Flazrat-i-Firangi”’ to acknowledge that there was “‘no one but 
 the Lord Jesus” present. Wearied and somewhat disgusted as 
 I was, it was late before they would suffer me to retire to rest on 
 the roof. 
 
 Saturday, 22nd June, 12th Shawwdl—tThe party at Usta Akbat’s 
 did not break up till about an hour and a half before sunset, 
 when I returned to the garden accompanied by Sheykh Ibrahim, 
 who from this time forth until I left Kirman became my constant 
 companion, though mote than once, disgusted at his blasphemous 
 conversation and drunkenness, I endeavoured to discourage his 
 visits. But he was not one to be easily shaken off; and on these 
 occasions, when my indignation had been specially kindled 
 against him, he would make so fair a show of regret for his 
 conduct that I was constrained to forget his unseemly behaviout. 
 Moteover, he was a man well worth talking to, so long as he 
 was sober or not more than half drunk, having travelled widely 
 through Persia, Turkey, and Egypt; seen many strange things 
 and stranger people; and mixed with almost every class and sect, 
 as it is the privilege of his order to do. He was, indeed, one of 
 the most extraordinary men whom I ever met, and presented 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 521 
 
 a combination of qualities impossible in any but a Persian. 
 Anarchist, antinomian, heretic, and libertine to the very core, 
 he gloried in drunkenness, and expressed the profoundest con- 
 tempt for every ordinance of Islam, boasting of how he had first 
 eaten pork in the company of a European traveller with whom he 
 foregathered in Egypt, and quoting in excuse for his orgies of 
 hashish and spirits this couplet from the Masnavi— 
 “ Nang-i-bang u khamr bar khud mi-nibi 
 Td damit az khwishtan ti vd-rahi.” 
 “Thou disgracest thyself with dang and wine 
 In order that for a moment thou mayest escape from thyself.” 
 
 I have seen him, on an occasion when by the laws of Islam 
 the minor ablution was incumbent on him, take up an empty 
 ewer (dftdbé), and, when warned by his friends that it contained 
 no water, reply, “Bah! What do I care? I only carry it to blind 
 these accursed dogs of orthodoxy, who, if they had but proof 
 of one-tenth of the contempt which I entertain for them and 
 their observances, would tear me in pieces.”’ He professed to be 
 a Babi, and (as will be related in its proper place) had all but 
 suffered death for his beliefs. When a youth he had visited Beha 
 at Acre and Subh-i-Ezel in Cyprus, and declared himself to be 
 a follower of the former, though in point of fact he paid no more 
 attention to the commands and prohibitions of the Kitdb-i-Akdas 
 than to those of the Kur’4n, accounting all laws, human and 
 divine, as made by the wise for fools to observe. In short, he 
 was just a free-thinking, free-living, antinomian dervish or 
 kalandar, a sort of mixture of “Omar-i-Khayy4m and ‘Iraki, with 
 only a fraction of their talent and culture, and ten times theit 
 disregard for orthodox opinion and conventional morality. Yet 
 was he lacking neither in originality, power of observation and 
 deduction, nor humour; and his intelligence, now sadly under- 
 mined by narcotics and alcohol, must have originally been 
 sufficiently acute. 
 
 Such was the man in whose society it was my lot to pass 
 
§22 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 a considerable portion of my remaining days at Kirman. Again 
 and again, as I have said, I would have cast him off and been 
 quit of him, but ever the interest of his extraordinary character 
 and the charm of his conversation made me condone his faults 
 and bear with him a little longer. He was a perfect repository 
 of information concerning the roads, halting-places, towns, and 
 peoples of Western Asia; you had but to ask him how to reach 
 any town from a given starting-place, and he would in a few 
 minutes sketch you out two or three alternative routes, with the 
 stages, advantages, disadvantages, and points of interest of each. 
 To give an instance, I had at this time some idea of quitting 
 Persia by Hamadan, and making my way thence to the Mediter- 
 ranean, and I enquired of Sheykh Ibrahim whether this project 
 were feasible. 
 
 ““Oh yes,” he replied, “‘nothing can be easier. From Hamadan 
 you will go to Sanandij, a march of four days; thence in four 
 days to Suleymaniyyé; thence in four days more to Mosul, where 
 you must certainly pay a visit to Zeynu’|-Mukarrabin.” 
 
 “And who,” enquired I, ‘is Zeynu’l-Mukarrabin?” 
 
 ““He is one of the most notable of ‘the Friends’” (Abba), i.e. 
 the Babis), replied he, “‘and to him is entrusted the revision and 
 correction of all copies of the sacred books sent out for circula- 
 tion, of which, indeed, the most trustworthy are those trans- 
 cribed by his hand. His real name is Mull4 Zeynu’l-‘Abidin of 
 Najaf-abad. You may also see at Mosul Mirza ‘Abdu’l-Wahhab 
 of Shiraz, the seal-engraver, who will cut for you a seal bearing 
 an inscription in the New Writing (Khattz-badi‘), and Mirza 
 ‘Abdu’llah “Adéka-band, both of whom are worth visiting.” 
 
 “Are these the only Babis at Mosul?” I enquired. 
 
 “Oh, no,” he answered, “you will find plenty of them there 
 and elsewhere on your route. You can tell them by their dress; 
 they wear the Turkish fez with a small white turban, and a jubbé; 
 they do not shave their heads, but on the other hand they never 
 allow the zua/f to grow below the level of the lobe of the 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 523 
 
 ear.. Well, to continue. From Mosul you will go in four days 
 to Jeziré, thence in three days to Mardin, thence in four days to 
 Diyar Bekr, thence in four days to ‘Urfa, thence in two days 
 to Suwarak, thence in three days to ‘Awra, thence in three days to 
 Birejik, and thence in six days to Iskanderin (Alexandretta), 
 where you can take ship for Constantinople, or Alexandria, or 
 your own country, as you please. But you should by all means 
 go to Acre, and visit Beha, so that your experience may be 
 complete.” 
 
 “You have visited Acre, have you not?” I enquired; “‘tell me 
 what sort of place it is, and what you saw there.” 
 
 “Yes,” he replied, “I was there for seventy days, during 
 which period I was honoured (musharraf) by admission to the 
 Holy Presence twelve times. The first time I was accompanied 
 by two of Beha’s sons, by his amanuensis and constant attendant 
 Aka Mirza Ak4 Jan of K4shan, whom they call ‘ Jendb-i-Khd- 
 dimu lah’? (‘His Excellence the Servant of God’), and by my 
 fellow-traveller. All these, so soon as we entered the presence- 
 chamber, prostrated themselves on the ground; but while I, 
 ignorant of the etiquette generally observed, was hesitating what 
 to do, Beha called out to me ‘It is not necessary’ (‘Layim nist’). 
 Then said he twice in a loud voice, ‘Béraka’ldhu ‘aleykum’ 
 (‘God bless you!’), and then, ‘Most blessed are ye, in that ye 
 have been honoured by beholding Me, which thing saints and 
 prophets have desired most earnestly.” Then he bade us be 
 seated, and gave orders for tea to be set before us. My com- 
 panion hesitated to drink it, lest he should appear wanting in 
 reverence, seeing which Beha said, ‘The meaning of offering 
 a person tea is that he should drink it.’ Then we drank our tea, 
 and Khddimu’lldh tread aloud one of the Epistles (A/yap); after 
 which we were dismissed. During my stay at Acre I was taken 
 ill, but Beha sent me a portion of the pi/dw which had been set 
 before him, and this I had no sooner eaten than I was restored to 
 health. You should have seen how the other believers envied 
 
524 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 me, and how they begged for a few grains from my share! And 
 this happened on two subsequent occasions. When I left Acre, 
 Beha commended me, but bade me preach the doctrine no more, 
 because I had already suffered enough in God’s way.” 
 
 Later on Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz joined us, and, thinking to 
 please Sheykh Ibrahim, pretended that he too was a Babi. But 
 when Sheykh Ibrahim feigned ignorance of the whole matter, 
 expressing surprise, and, in some cases, mild disapproval, at 
 what Mirza Yusuf told him of the doctrines and practices of 
 the sect, the latter, thinking that he had made a mistake, changed 
 his ground, and told us that he had only pretended to be a 
 convert to the new religion so as to get money from the rich 
 and charitable Babis at Yezd. I could hardly contain my laughter 
 as I watched Mirza Yusuf thus entangling himself in the snare 
 set for him by the Sheykh, who, meanwhile, never so much as 
 smiled at the success of his stratagem. I expected, of course, 
 that the whole story would become known to all the Babis in 
 Kirman, but I think the Sheykh kept his own counsel, being 
 less concerned with the exposure of hypocrisy, than with his 
 own amusement. 
 
 After Mirza Yusuf’s withdrawal, the Sheykh, having com- 
 municated to me a great deal of very scandalous gossip about 
 the postmaster (whom he was by way of considering as one 
 of his best friends), began to discuss with high approval the 
 character of the free-thinking poet Nasir-i-Khusraw, whose 
 poems and apocryphal autobiography he had been recently 
 reading. The episode in the autobiography which had especially 
 delighted him, and which he repeated to me with infinite relish, 
 runs as follows 1:— 
 
 “After much trouble we reached the city of Nishapir, there being with us 
 a pupil of mine, an expert and learned metaphysician. Now in the whole city 
 of Nishapur there was no one who knew us, so we came and took up our 
 abode in a mosque. As we walked through the city, at the door of every 
 
 1 I translate from the Tabriz edition of Nasir-i-Khusraw’s works, litho- 
 graphed in A.H. 1280 (A.D. 1864), pp. 6, 7. 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 525 
 
 mosque by which we passed men were cursing me, and accusing me of 
 heresy and atheism; but the disciple knew nothing of their opinion con- 
 cerning me. One day, as I was passing through the bazaar, a man from 
 Egypt saw and recognised me, and approached me, saying, ‘Art thou not 
 Nasir-i-Khusraw, and is not this thy brother Abu Sa‘id?’ In terror I seized 
 his hand, and, engaging him in conversation, led him to my lodging. Then 
 I said, ‘Take thirty thousand miskd/s of gold, and refrain from divulging the 
 secret.” When he had consented, I at once bade my familiar spirit produce 
 that sum, gave it to him, and thrust him out from my lodging. Then I went 
 with Abt Sa‘id to the bazaar, halted at the shop of a cobbler, and gave him 
 my shoes to repair, that we might go forth from the city, when suddenly 
 a clamour made itself heard near at hand, and the cobbler hastened in the 
 direction whence the sounds proceeded. After a while he returned with a 
 piece of flesh on the end of his bradawl. ‘What,’ enquired I, ‘was the 
 disturbance, and what is this piece of flesh?’ ‘Why,’ replied the cobbler, 
 “it appears that one of Nasirt-i-Khusraw’s disciples appeared in the city and 
 began to dispute with the doctors thereof. These repudiated his assertions, 
 each adducing some respectable authority, while he continued to quote in 
 support of his views verses of Nasir-i-Khusraw. So the clergy tore him in 
 pieces as a meritorious action, and I too, to merit a reward, cut off a portion 
 of his flesh.” When I learned what had befallen my disciple, I could no longer 
 control myself, and said to the cobbler, ‘Give me my shoes, for one should 
 not tarry in a city where the verses of Nasir-i-Khusraw are recited.’ So I took 
 my shoes, and came forth with my brother from Nishapur.” 
 
 The Sheykh then recited to me the two following fragments 
 of Nasir-i-Khustaw’s verse, which, it will be allowed, are 
 sufficient to account for the lack of favour wherewith he was 
 regarded by the clergy of Nishapur:— 
 
 “ lai, rast ghyam; fitné az tust, 
 Valt az tars na-t’vdanam chakidan. 
 Agar rigt bi-kafsh-i-khud na-dari 
 Chird bdyast Sheytdn dfaridan? 
 Lab u dinddn-i-khubdn-i-Khata-ra 
 Badin khibi na-bdyast dfaridan. 
 Bi-dhi mi-zant ‘ Hey! Hey!’ ki bigriz; 
 Bi-tdzi mi-zant ‘Hey!’ bar davidan.” 
 “O God, although through fear I hardly dare 
 To hint it, all our trouble springs from Thee. 
 Had’st Thou no sand or gravel in Thy shoes 
 What prompted Thee to bid the Devil be? 
 ’Twere well an Thou had’st made the lips and teeth 
 Of Tartar beauties not so fair to see. 
 With cries of ‘On!’ Thou bid’st the hound pursue; 
 With cries of ‘On!’ Thou bid’st the quarry flee!” 
 
526 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 “ Nasir-i-Khusraw bi-dashti mi-guzasht, 
 Mast-i-ld-ya‘kil, na chin mey-khwdragan. 
 Mabrazi did u maxdari ra-bi-ru ; 
 
 Bang bar zad; guft, ‘“k’ey nazzdragan! 
 Ni‘mat-i-dunyd, va ni‘mat-kbwar bin; 
 insh ni‘mat! snsh ni‘mat-khwaragan!’” 
 
 “Dead drunk (not like a common sot) one day 
 Nasir-i-Khusraw went to take the air. 
 Hard by a dung-heap he espied a grave, 
 And straightway cried, ‘O ye who stand and stare, 
 Behold the world! Behold its luxuries! 
 Its dainties, here—the fools who ate them, there!’”’ 
 
 Ere evening was past, the Sheykh, like Nasir-i-Khusraw, 
 was ‘“‘dead drunk, not like a common sot,” and finally, to my 
 ereat relief, went to sleep, wrapped in his cloak, in a formless 
 heap on the floor, where we left him till morning. He awoke 
 vety late, and was sipping his morning tea with a woe-begone 
 ait which contrasted strangely with his vivacity of the previous 
 day, when visitors were announced, and my disagreeable 
 acquaintance, Haji Muhammad Khan, accompanied by a pleasant, 
 well-informed mu//d named Haji Sheykh Ja‘far of Kerbela, 
 entered the room. He was more than usually impertinent and 
 inquisitive; enquired when Sheykh Ibrahim had come to the 
 garden, and, on learning from me that he had been there since 
 the previous night, lifted his eyebrows in surprise, remarking 
 that the Sheykh had said he came that morning early; and then 
 proceeded to enquire pointedly how the postmaster was, and 
 whether I had any fresh news from Adrianople or Acre, meaning, 
 of coutse, to imply his belief that I was a Babi. Finally, however, 
 N@ ib Hasan came to the rescue, reminding me in a loud voice 
 that I had accepted an invitation to visit Hurmuzy4ar, one of my 
 Zoroastrian friends, at his garden. He omitted to mention that 
 the engagement was for the evening, but the intimation had the 
 desired effect of causing Haji Muhammad Khana to retire, taking 
 the divine with him. 
 
 I now wished to go out, but to this Sheykh Ibrahim objected, 
 declaring that it was too hot; so. we had lunch, and then ad- 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 527 
 
 journed to the summet-house, where he fell asleep over my Babi 
 history. On awakening from his nap he was more like his usual 
 self, and began to entertain me with his conversation. 
 
 “So you met Sheykh S——, the Babi courier, at Shiraz, did 
 your” he began; “‘a fine old fellow he is, too, and has had some 
 strange experiences. Did he tell you how he ate the letters?” 
 
 “No,” I replied; “‘tell me about it.” 
 
 “Ah,” he continued, “he is not given to talking much. Well, 
 you must know that he goes to Acte once every year to convey 
 letters from ‘the Friends’ in Persia and elsewhere, and to bring 
 back replies. He takes Isfahan, Shiraz, Yezd, and the south, 
 while Dervish Khavar takes Mazandaran, Gilan, and the northern 
 patt of ‘Irak, riding about on a donkey, selling drugs, and passing 
 himself off as an oculist. The Sheykh, however, goes everywhere 
 on foot, save when he has to cross the sea; and this, I fancy, he 
 only does when he cannot well avoid it, at least since a ship in 
 which he was a passenger was wrecked between Bushire and 
 Basra, and everyone on board drowned save himself and another 
 dervish, who managed to keep themselves above water by means 
 of floating wreckage, until, after fourteen or fifteen hours’ 
 exposure, they were drifted ashore. As a rule, he so times his 
 return from the interior as to reach Bushire early in the month 
 of Dhi?/-Hijjé, whereby he is enabled to join the pilgrims bound 
 for Jedda and Mecca. After the conclusion of the pilgrimage 
 he makes his way to Acre, where he generally stays about two 
 months, while the letters which he has brought are being 
 answered. Though he is not, perhaps, honoured by admission 
 to Beha’s presence more than once or twice during this period, 
 he is in many ways a privileged person, being allowed to go into 
 the andarin (women’s apartments) when he pleases, and to sit 
 with outstretched feet and uncovered head even in the presence 
 of the Masters (Akaydn, i.e. Beha’s sons). When the letters are 
 all answered, he packs them into his wallet, takes his staff, and 
 sets off by way of Beyrout for Mosul, where he stays for about a 
 month with Zeynu’l-Mukarrabin, of whom I told you a few days 
 
528 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 azo. Thence he makes his way down the Tigris to Baghdad, and 
 so across the frontier into Persia. He walks always off the beaten 
 track to avoid recognition, and, for the same reason, seldom 
 enters a town or village save to buy sufficient bread and onions 
 (he is passionately fond of onions) to last him several days. These 
 he packs away in his wallet on the top of the letters. At night 
 he generally sleeps in a graveyard, or in some other unfrequented 
 spot where he is not likely to be disturbed, unless there be some 
 of ‘the Friends’ in the place where he halts, in which case they 
 ate always glad to give him a night’s lodging. Well, it was about 
 his eating his letters that I was going to tell you. Once in the 
 course of his travels he was recognised in a village near Yezd, 
 atrested, and locked up in an empty room to await examination 
 by the ked-khudd, or head-man. The ked-khbudd chanced to be 
 engaged when word was brought to him that the Babi courier 
 had been caught. ‘Leave him locked up where he 1s,’ said he, 
 ‘till I can come.’ Now the Sheykh is a man of resource, and, 
 findine that the ked-khudd did not immediately come to examine 
 him, he began to cast about for some means of destroying the 
 comptomising letters in his wallet; for he knew that if these 
 should fall into the hands of the enemy the writers would get 
 into trouble. Unluckily there was no fite, nor any means of 
 making one; and the earth which formed the floor of the room 
 was too hard to dig a hole in, even if it would have been safe 
 to bury the letters in a place whence they could not afterwards 
 be removed. There was only one thing left to do, namely, to 
 eat them; and this the Sheykh proceeded to do. It was a tough 
 meal, for their total weight amounted to several pounds, and 
 some of them were written on thick, strong paper. In particular 
 there was one great packet from Rafsinjan which cost the 
 Sheykh a world of trouble, and on the senders of which, as I have 
 myself heard him say, he lavished a wealth of curses and ex- 
 pletives ere he finally succeeded in chewing it up and swallowing 
 it. At length, however, the whole mass of correspondence was 
 disposed of, and, when his persecutors arrived, there was the 
 
KIRMAN SOCIETY 529 
 old Sheykh (with a very dry mouth, I expect, and, likely enough, 
 
 somewhat uneasy within) sitting there as innocent-looking as 
 could be. The ked-khudd and his man didn’t pay much heed to 
 that, though, nor to his protestations; but when they had turned 
 his wallet inside out, and searched all his pockets, and found 
 not so much as the vestige of a letter to reward them for their 
 pains, they were rather taken aback, and began to think they had 
 made a mistake. They gave him the bastinado to make all sure, 
 but, as he continued to protest that he was no Babi, and no 
 courier, and knew nothing about any letters at all, they eventually 
 had to let him go.” 
 
 We were interrupted by the unwelcome arrival of Seyyid 
 Huseyn of Jandak, and, quickly as I pushed the Babi history 
 under a cushion, he noticed the movement, and forthwith pro- 
 ceeded to make himself disagreeable (an accomplishment in 
 which he excelled) to Sheykh Ibrahim, persistently and pointedly 
 asking him about wine, where the best qualities were manu- 
 factured, how and when it was usually drunk, and the like, on 
 all of which points the Sheykh professed himself perfectly 
 ignorant. The Seyyid, however, continued to discourse in this 
 uncomfortable strain, concluding severely with the aphorism, 
 “Man dana bi-dinin, lazimahu ahkdmuhu” (“Whosoever professeth 
 a faith, its laws are binding on him”’). 
 
 Presently the Farrdsh-bdshi’s servant, ‘Abdu’llah, who was 
 one of the Sheykh’s intimates, joined us, and we had tea; but 
 the Seyyid continued to act in the same aggressive and offensive 
 manner, enquiring very particularly whether the cup placed 
 before him had been properly purified since last it touched my 
 infidel lips. Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz, who had brought it, answered 
 perttly enough, and put the old man in a still worse temper, so 
 that I was very glad when Na’ib Hasan reminded me in a loud 
 voice that it was time to set out for the garden of Hurmuzyar, 
 whose guest I was to be that evening, and the Seyyid departed, 
 grumbling as he went, ““You have already forgotten the advice 
 
 B 34 
 
530 KIRMAN SOCIETY 
 
 I gave you the other day, ‘Eat no man’s bread, and grudge not 
 thine own bread to any one.’” 
 
 Sheykh Ibrahim, though uninvited, insisted on actompahying 
 me and Na’ib Hasan to Hurmuzy4t’s entertainment. We found 
 about twenty guests there assembled, all, with the exception of 
 ourselves and Fathu’ll4h, the minstrel, Zoroastrians; Rustams 
 and Rashids; Shahriyars, Dinydrs, and Ormuzdyars; Key- 
 Khusraws and Khuda-murads; Bahmans, Bahrams, Isfandiyars 
 and Mihrabans, The entertainment was on a magnificent scale, 
 the minstrel sang well, and the pleasure of the evening was only 
 matted by the conduct of Sheykh Ibrahim, who got disgustingly 
 drunk, and behaved in the most indecorous manner. “But that 
 he came under your egis,” said Hurmuzyar to me afterwards, 
 when I apologised for his behaviour, and explained how he had 
 forced his company upon me, “we would have tied his feet to 
 the poles and given him the sticks; for if sticks be not for such 
 drunken brutes as him, I know not for what they were created.” 
 I was constrained to admit that he was right; but for all that 
 I was unable to shake off my disreputable companion, who 
 accompanied us back to the garden when we said good-night to 
 our host, and slept heavily on the ground wrapped in his cloak. 
 
 The next day, Monday, 14th Shawwal, 24th June, will ever 
 be to me most memorable, for thereon did I come under the 
 glamour of the Poppy-wizard, and forge the first link of a chain 
 which it afterwards cost me so great an effort to break. Thereon, 
 also, was first disclosed to me that vision of antinomian pan- 
 theism which is the World of the Kalandar, and the source of all 
 that is wildest and strangest in the poetry of the Persians. With 
 this eventful day, then, let me open a new chapter. 
 
CGiEP AE. LE Re os VL. 
 
 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 
 
 “How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, 
 With half-shut eyes ever to seem 
 Falling asleep in a half-dream! 
 To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, 
 Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; 
 To hear each other’s whisper’d speech; 
 Rating the Lotos day by day, 
 
 To lend our hearts and spirits wholly 
 To the influence of mild-minded melancholy.” 
 (TENNYSON.) 
 
 “Tu va mulk nu jab-i-Sikandart, man urasm u rah-i-Kalandari; 
 , , , , 499 
 Agar an khush-ast, tu dar khuri; va gar in bad-ast, mara sazd. 
 
 “Sikandar’s pomp and display be thine, the Kalandar’s habit and way be mine; 
 That, if it please thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough for me.” 
 
 (Kurratu’l-“ Ayn.) 
 HIS was how it came about. 
 
 On the afternoon of this notable day, about four hours 
 before sunset, I went into the town to pay some visits, leaving 
 Sheykh Ibrahim asleep in the garden. I first went to see the 
 Frenchmen, about whose health I had heard disquieting reports, 
 which, fortunately, turned out to be exaggerated. Having 
 remained with them for rather more than half an hour, I pro- 
 ceeded to the house of the young artillery officer whose ac- 
 quaintance I had made through the Sheykh of Kum. While I 
 was sitting there conversing with him, and watching the gro- 
 tesque antics of a large tame monkey (‘autar) which he kept 
 as a pet, I first became conscious of an uneasy sensation in my 
 eye. My host, too, noticed that it appeared inflamed, and bade 
 
 34-2 
 
$32 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 one of his servants bring a bowl of iced water that I might bathe 
 it. So far from deriving any benefit from this treatment, how- 
 ever, it rapidly grew wotse, so that, on my return to the garden, 
 I was in considerable pain. 
 
 Now Usta Akbar, the pea-parcher, whenever I urged him to 
 tell me more about the Bab and his religion, used to declare that 
 he could not talk freely on this topic save in some place where 
 there was no fear of his being overheard; and it had therefore 
 been arranged a day or two previously that on this evening 
 he and a select company of his Babi friends—to wit, Sheykh 
 Ibrahim of ‘Irak, the Farrdsh-bdshi’s man, ‘Abdu’llah, and the 
 Ezeli minstrel, Fathu’ll4h—should sup with me in the garden 
 and spend the night there. Just as I was going out in the after- 
 noon, Usta Akbar had come to the garden bringing with him 
 a Babi merchant (whom I will call Aké Muhammad Hasan of 
 Yezd), just arrived on business in Kirman from the little village 
 in Rafsinjan where he dwelt. He, having heard from Usta Akbar 
 an account of myself, was so curious to see me that he insisted 
 on at once paying me a visit; and no sooner were they seated 
 than the pea-parcher began to introduce him in his usual wild 
 language. 
 
 “Here is Ak4é Muhammad Hasan,” said he, “come to do 
 penance before you and entreat your forgiveness for his short- 
 comings, in that when you passed through Rafsinjan he neither 
 came out to meet you, nor brought you into his house, nor set 
 you on your journey. I have scolded him well, saying, ‘Ak4 
 Muhammad Hasan, the Holy Spirit (Ra#pu’--Kuds) passed through 
 Rafsinjan, and you had not so much as a word of welcome, nor 
 advanced one foot from the other. Are you not ashamed of 
 yourself?’ He is now duly ashamed of himself, and will not be 
 content till he receives from your lips the assurance of his 
 pardon.” 
 
 I was in a hurry to get rid of my visitors, as I had to go 
 into the town; so, half assenting to Ak4é Muhammad Hasan’s 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 533 
 proposal that I'should spend a few days with him at his village 
 
 before leaving the province of Kirman, and inviting him to join 
 us at supper that evening, when we should be able to talk to our 
 hearts’ content, I bade them farewell for the present. 
 
 On my return to the garden, about an hour after sunset, I 
 found these two and Sheykh [brahim awaiting me. My eye 
 was now so painful that I determined to cover it with a bandage, 
 which at once called the attention of my guests to its condition, 
 They all expressed the greatest concern, and Usta Akbar begged 
 me to allow him to try a remedy which he had never known to 
 fail. In this request he was so importunate that at last I most 
 foolishly consented. Thereupon he went out into the garden 
 and gathered some leaves from the hollyhock or other similar 
 plant, with which he soon returned. Then he called for an egg, 
 broke it into a cup, removed the yolk, leaving only the white, 
 and bade me lie down on the floor on my back, and, if possible, 
 keep the inflamed eye open. Then he poured the white of the 
 - egg over the eye, covered it up with the leaves, and entreated me 
 to remain still as long as I could, that the treatment might work. 
 It did work: in two or three minutes the pain became so acute 
 that I could bear it no longer, and called for warm water to wash 
 away the horrid mess which half-blinded me. Usta Akbar 
 remonstrated, but I told him that the remedy was worse than the 
 disease. 
 
 ** Ah,” said he, “‘it is clear that I have made a mistake. When 
 you told me that you had been bathing your eye in iced water, 
 I assumed that this cold was the cause of the affection, and so 
 applied a hot remedy. Now it is evident that it is due not to cold 
 but to heat, so that a cold remedy should be applied. And I know 
 one which will not disappoint you.” 
 
 “Thank you,” I rejoined, “if it is anything like the last I 
 should prefer to have nothing to do with it.” 
 
 “Tt is nothing like the last,” he answered. “What I would 
 suggest is that you should smoke a pipe of opium. That is a cold 
 
534 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 drug most potent in the treatment of hot maladies, and of its 
 efficacy you cannot but have heard.” 
 
 Opium! There was something fascinating about the idea. 
 The action on the mental functions exercised by narcotic drugs 
 had always possessed for me a special interest, and though the 
 extremely unpleasant results of an experiment on the subjective 
 effects of Cannabis Indica (Indian hemp) which I had tried while 
 a student at St Bartholomew’s Hospital had somewhat cooled 
 my enthusiasm for this sort of research, the remembrance of 
 that dreadful evening when Time and Space seemed merging in 
 confused chaos, and my very personality appeared to be under- 
 going disintegration, had now sufficiently lost its vividness to 
 make me not unwilling to court some fresh experience of this 
 kind. So, after a few moments’ reflection, I signified my willing- 
 ness to try Usta Akbat’s new cute; and ten minutes later my whole 
 being was permeated with that glow of tranquil beatitude, con- 
 scious of itself, nay, almost exultant in its own peaceful serenity, 
 which constitutes the fatal charm of what the Persians call par 
 excellence “the Antidote”’ (trydk). 
 
 At this juncture the young Ezeli minstrel, and, soon after- 
 watds, ‘Abdu’llah arrived, and we adjourned to the summer- 
 house, where Haji Safar had spread a cloth on which were 
 disposed dishes of fruit, sweets, and a#/ (pistachio-nuts, melon- 
 seeds, and the like, strongly salted to whet the appetite), and 
 bottles of wine and ‘arak. 
 
 ‘The conversation, though it did not flag, was at first quiet 
 enough. My guests spoke in the usual strain of the succession 
 of prophetic cycles, of the progressive character of Revelation, 
 and of the increasing strength of the Theophanic Sun in each 
 appearance. “The Lord Jesus,” said they, “was as a sun shining 
 in the Fourth Heaven, which is the ‘Station of the Spirit’ 
 (Makdm-i-Rup). Muhammad was in the Fifth Heaven, which 
 is the “Station of Reason’ (Makdm-i-‘Ak/). The Nukté-i-Beydn, 
 “His Holiness our Lord the Supreme’ (z.e. the Bab) appeared 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS $35 
 
 yet higher, in the Sixth Heaven or ‘Station of Love’ (Makdm-i- 
 “Ishk); and Beha, in whom all previous Manifestations find their 
 fulfilment and consummation, occupies the Seventh or highest 
 Heaven, and is a perfect Manifestation of the Unseen and In- 
 comprehensible Essence of the Divinity.” 
 
 Then suddenly some one bade the minstrel sing; and he, in 
 high-pitched, plaintive voice, every modulation of which seemed 
 to stir the soul to its very depths, burst forth with an ode of the 
 Babi heroine Kurratu’/‘Ayn, whereof the translation which I 
 here give can but dimly reflect the passion and the fire. 
 
 “The thralls of yearning love constrain in the bonds of pain and 
 calamity 
 These broken-hearted lovers of thine to yield their lives in their zeal 
 for Thee. 
 2 Though with sword in hand my Darling stand with intent to slay, 
 though I sinless be, 
 If it pleases Him, this tyrant’s whim, I am well content with His 
 tyranny. 
 As in sleep I lay at the dawn of day that cruel Charmer came to me, 
 And in the grace of His form and face the dawn of the morn I seemed 
 to see. 
 4 The musk of Cathay might perfume gain from the scent those fragrant 
 tresses rain, 
 While His eyes demolish a faith in vain attacked by the pagans of 
 Tartary. 
 With you, who contemn both love and wine for the hermit’s cell and 
 the zealot’s shrine, 
 What canI do? For our faith divine you hold as a thing of infamy: 
 6 The tangled curls of thy darling’s hair, and thy saddle and steed are 
 thine only care; 
 In thy heart the Infinite hath no share, nor the thought of the poor 
 man’s poverty. 
 Sikandar’s pomp and display be thine, the Ka/andar’s habit and way 
 be mine; 
 That, if it please thee, I resign, while this, though bad, is enough 
 for me. 
 8 The country of ‘I’ and ‘We’ forsake; thy home in Annihilation make, 
 Since fearing not this step to take thou shalt gain the highest felicity.” 1 
 
 1 This translation, together with the original text, I first published in the 
 Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for 1889, the former at pp. 936-7, the latter 
 
536 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 When he had finished this ode, and the cries of “Ey jan!” 
 (“O my life!”’) and “Kurbdn-at gardam!” (“May I be thy sacti- 
 fice!”’), which, interjected more than once even in the course 
 of the song, burst forth with uncontrollable enthusiasm at its 
 conclusion, had ceased, the minstrel once more began to sing. 
 I cannot recall the actual words of this song, save in a few places, 
 
 but the general tenor of it was not far from the paraphrase 
 which I here offer— 
 
 “As you gaze on the heaving Ocean’s foam 
 A myriad bubbles meet your eye; 
 The rain-drops fall from their heavenly home 
 To ascend no more, it would seem, on high; 
 But all shall return when their race is run, 
 For their source is one, their source is one! 
 
 “Through glasses of every tint and hue 
 Fair and bright shine the rays of light; 
 Some may be violet, and some be blue, 
 Some be orange, and some be white; 
 But in essence and origin all are one, 
 For the source of all is the radiant Sun! 
 
 “Beaker and flagon and bowl and jar, 
 Of earth or crystal, coarse or fine, 
 However the Potter may make or mar, 
 Still may serve to contain the Wine; 
 Should we this one seek, or that one shun, 
 When the Wine which lends them their worth is one?” 
 
 Again the minstrel was silent, and Sheykh Ibrahim, with 
 flushed face and glittering eyes, began to speak. “‘ Yes,” said he, 
 ““we are all one. What matter if the vessels differ in honour and 
 degree one from another, when in truth their honour is but from 
 
 at p. 991. For the benefit of those not accustomed to this style of mystical 
 verse, in which the Persians so greatly delight, I may remark that by such 
 terms as “the Beloved,” “the Darling,” “the Friend,” and the like, God (or 
 in this case the Bab) is intended; that the “cruelty” and “tyranny” attributed 
 to Him are not regarded as reproaches, but rather as praise of His “inde- 
 pendence” (sstighnd); that Islam is the faith “demolished by His eyes” 
 though “in vain attacked by the pagans of Tartary”’; and that couplets 5 and 
 6 are addressed respectively to the dry votaries of orthodox piety, and to 
 such as care only for the world and its pleasures. 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 537 
 
 the wine they hold, which perisheth not though they be broken 
 in pieces? And what is this Wine which perisheth not, which 
 pervadeth all things? God, you will answer. Then, what, I say 
 again, is God? An imaginary abstraction? A projection of your 
 own petsonality and conceptions thrown on the sky above? 
 ‘ Hich ism-i-bi-musammad dtdé’t? 
 Yd vi GAF 4 LAm-i-‘gul’ gul chided? 
 Ism justi; raw, musamma-ra bi-ju: 
 Mah bi-bala dan, na andar ab ijn.’ 
 ‘Did’st ere a Name without an Object see, 
 Or cull a rose from R, O, S, and EP 
 Thou seek’st the Name; to find the Object try: 
 The Moon’s not in the stream, but in the sky.’ 
 What, then, means the ‘meeting with God’ spoken of in the 
 Kur’4ne Who are ‘those who shall meet their Lord’? Can 
 you meet an Abstraction? Nay, is not this Abstraction, after 
 all, but the creation of your own mind, and as such dependent 
 on you and inferior to you? No, God is something real, visible, 
 tangible, definite. Go to Acre and see God!”’ 
 
 ““Now God forbid,” I exclaimed in utter horror of the frightful 
 anthropomorphism thus suddenly laid bare before me, “God 
 forbid that it should be so! Why, the very verse which you cited 
 from the Masnavi beats witness against you—‘* The Moon’s not 
 in the stream but in the sky’—that is to say, as I understand it, 
 ‘Look for the Reality outside and beyond this phenomenal 
 world, not in these transient reflections whereby, clearly or 
 dimly, it is mirrored amongst mankind.’ The mirror wholly 
 depends on the original, and owes all to it; the original stands 
 in no need of the mirror. ‘Exalted is God above that which they 
 allege |’”’ 
 
 Then Fathu’llah, the minstrel, broke in. “O Hazrat-i-Firangi!”’ 
 he exclaimed, ‘‘all these ideas and thoughts about God which 
 you have, yea, your very doubts and wonderings, are your 
 creatures, and you are their creator, and therefore above them, 
 even according to the verse you quote, ‘Exalted is God above 
 
538 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 that which they allege!’ Jesus, who is the Spirit of God (Rubw’Wah), 
 passed into His Church and is manifested in them; therefore was 
 it that when His Holiness, the Point of Revelation (z.e. the Bab) 
 was asked ‘What are the Firangis?’ he replied, ‘They are Spirit.’ 
 You ate to-day the Manifestation of Jesus, you are the Incarna- 
 tion of the Holy Spirit, nay, did you but realise it, you are 
 God!” 
 
 “God forbid!” I exclaimed again, “speak not atter this im- 
 pious fashion, and know that I regard myself as the least of God’s 
 servants and the most inconsistent and unworthy of those who 
 profess to take the Lord Jesus as their pattern and exemplar!” 
 
 “<< Verily, I am a man like unto you!” shouted Sheykh Ibrahim; 
 “thus said the Prophet, whose object, like all the prophets who 
 preceded and followed him, was to make us men. So said Beha 
 to me in Acte, ‘I desire that all men should become even as I 
 am!’ If any one says that Beha has attained to anything where- 
 unto we also may not attain, he lies and is an ignorant fool!” 
 Here he glared fiercely round the assembly to see if anyone would 
 venture to contradict him, and, as no one did so, continued: ““On 
 the forehead of every man is written, in that writing whereof you 
 wot, either ‘Hddhd Mu’min’ (‘This is a Believer’), or ‘Haddhd 
 Kdfir’ (‘This is an Infidel’). On that side of your forehead un- 
 covered by the bandage which you have bound over your eye 
 I read ‘Hddhd Muv’..., and I know that were the bandage te- 
 moved I should see ‘-mén’ written on the other side. O Jendb-i- 
 Sdpib! OQ Hazrat-i-Firang! when you go back to Firangistan 
 you must stir up trouble and mischief (/iiné a fasdd); you must 
 make them all Babis.” 
 
 They talked much after this fashion, while I listened in con- 
 sternation, half-frightened at their vehemence, half-disgusted 
 at their doctrines, yet withal held spell-bound by their eloquence. 
 “Was this, then,” I thought to myself, “‘the root of the matter, 
 the heart of that doctrine which promised so fairly, whereof the 
 votaries whom I have hitherto met seemed so conspicuous for 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS $39 
 
 their probity, piety, sobriety, and devoutness? Have I mistaken 
 for a gleam of heaven-sent light a will-o’-the-wisp, born of the 
 dead, disintegrated creeds of Mazdak and el-Mokanna‘, and the 
 terrible ‘Old Man of the Mountain,’ before the daggers of whose 
 emissaries the chivalry of East and West fell like the grass before 
 the scythe of the mower? And have I tracked it onwards, step 
 by step, only to find at last that its home is in this quagmire of 
 antinomian anthropomorphism? Or are these indeed no more 
 Babis than they are Muhammadans, but men who, in true Persian 
 fashion, disguise atheism in the garb of religion, and bedeck it 
 with the trinkets of a mystical terminology?” | 
 
 At length, long after midnight, we adjourned for supper to 
 the other buildings, and, ere the conclusion of the meal, Sheykh 
 Ibrahim’s conversation grew so blasphemous and disgusting that 
 on the first opportunity I arose and returned, distressed and 
 angry, to the summer-house, followed by my guests. The 
 merchant from Rafsinjan, whose conversation had throughout 
 - been more moderate and reasonable than that of the others, and 
 Fathu’lla4h, the minstrel, whose vehemence was the outcome of 
 an emotional and excitable nature—not of wine, which he 
 eschewed—noticed my disgust, and approached me to enquire 
 its cause. 
 
 “What is it that has offended me?” I replied: “What should 
 it be but Sheykh Ibrahim’s disgusting behaviour? The all- 
 controlling influence exerted by the Prophetic Word over the 
 hearts of men is one of the chief proofs to which you appeal 
 in support of your religion. Is not wine forbidden in your 
 religion as rigorously as in Islam? What is the use of your 
 professing all this devotion to him whom you regard as the 
 Mouthpiece of God, and kissing the Kztdb-7-Akdas, which you 
 regard as the Word of God, if you condone so gross a violation 
 of the laws which it contains, and of all laws, whether of religion, 
 ethics, or good taste?” 
 
 Sheykh Ibrahim at this moment staggered up to us with cries 
 
540 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 of drunken defiance, and, laying his hand on my arm, demanded 
 what we were talking about. I shook him from me with a 
 gestute of uncontrollable loathing, and, followed by the other 
 two, retired to a little distance from the summer-house. 
 
 “You ate right,” they rejoined, as soon as we were out of 
 Sheykh Ibrahim’s sight and hearing, ‘‘and the Sheykh’s conduct 
 is to be deplored. But then old habits will force themselves 
 to the surface at times, and, after all, to know and recognise the 
 Truth is the great thing.” 
 
 “But action is better than assent,” said I, “‘and to do 1s greater 
 than to know. What think you of this parable which we find in 
 out Gospels?”’ And I repeated to them the parable of the two 
 sons bidden by their father to go and do his work, of whom the 
 one said, “I go,” and went not, and the other said, “I will not 
 go,” but afterwards went. 
 
 “Ay,” said they, “but for all that, both were sons. Know- 
 
 ledge is like a telescope, wherewith we view the distant Land of 
 Promise. We may be standing in the mud, chilled by snow and 
 sleet, or drenched with rain, yet with this telescope we may see 
 and correctly describe the orange and myrtle-groves of the 
 Promised Land. And this knowledge the Sheykh has none the 
 less, because at times he wallows, as now, in the mud of 
 sin.” 
 - “But this vision of the Promised Land,” I replied, “is of 
 no use unless you set out to reach it. Better is he who, without 
 seeing it or knowing where it lies, faithfully follows one who will 
 lead him thither, though he be compelled to walk blindly, than 
 he who supinely gazes at it through this telescope.” 
 
 They were silent for a while, distressed, as it seemed, at my 
 distress, and somewhat ashamed of the Sheykh’s conduct. Then 
 said the merchant of Rafsinjan:— 
 
 “Sahib, we will now bid you farewell and depart, for see, the 
 dawn grows bright in the sky, and we had best return.” 
 
 “Nay,” I answered, fearing lest I had offended them, “tarry 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 541 
 
 at least till the city-gates are open, and sleep for a while, and then 
 depart in peace.” | 
 
 But they would not be persuaded, and departed with sorrowful 
 and downcast faces, all save Sheykh Ibrahim (who was in no 
 condition to move) and ‘Abdu’lla4h, who would not forsake his 
 friend. So I left these two in the summer-house, and went back to 
 the room where we had eaten supper, and bathed my eye, which 
 had again become very painful, and, after a time, fell asleep. 
 
 It was the afternoon of the next day when I awoke, and 
 learned with some relief that “Abdu’llah had departed soon after 
 the other guests, and the Sheykh about noon. My eye was so 
 painful that it was impossible to think of going out, and there 
 was nothing to distract my attention from the pain which I 
 suffered (for to read was, of course, impossible) till, about three 
 hours before sunset, a telegram from my friend, the Chief of the 
 Telegraph at Yezd, was brought to me, informing me that he 
 had just received my letter and had answered it by that day’s post, 
 and enquiring after my health. The telegram must have travelled 
 _ very slowly, or the letter very fast, for hardly had I finished 
 writing the answer to the former when the latter was brought 
 by the postmaster of Kirman, who was accompanied by the 
 young Babi merchant, Ak4é Muhammad Sddik. In the letter, 
 which was most kindly worded, were enclosed copies of two 
 poems for which I had asked—the one by Kurratu’l-“Ayn!, the 
 other by Jenab-i-Maryam, the sister of the Bab’s first apostle, 
 Mulla Huseyn of Bushraweyh. These I showed to my visitors, 
 who read them with manifest delight, and, the subject being thus 
 introduced, the conversation turned on the Babis, and especially 
 on Kurratu’l-“Ayn, of whose death the postmaster gave me the 
 following account, which he professed to have had from the lips 
 of her gaoler, Mahmud Khan the Kalantar:— 
 
 1 Of this poem, which is written in the same rhyme and metre as that 
 translated at p. 535, supra, the text and translation will be found at pp. 314-16 
 of vol. ii of my Traveller’s Narrative. 
 
542 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 “The day before she suffered martyrdom,” said the post- 
 master, ‘‘she told those about her that her death was to take 
 place, saying, ‘To-morrow evening the Shah will send after me, 
 and his messenger will come riding, and will desire me to 
 mount behind him. This I do not wish to do, wherefore I pray 
 you to lend me one of your horses, and to send one of your 
 servants to escort me.’ Next day all this came to pass. When 
 she was brought in before the Shah in the palace of the Nig4ristan, 
 and bidden to renounce the Bab, she refused, and persisted in 
 her refusal. So she was cast into a well which is in the garden, 
 and four large stones were thrown down upon her, and the well 
 was then filled up with earth. As for Mahmud Khan, he was, 
 as you know, strangled by order of the father of Prince Nasiru’d- 
 Dawla, our governor, during the bread-riots in Teheran, and 
 his body dragged by the feet through the streets and bazaars.” 
 
 The postmaster also talked a little about the Ezelis, saying 
 that they were more numerous in Kirman than anywhere else, 
 and that even in Kirman they were but few in number. Amongst 
 them he mentioned Fathu’ll4h, the minstrel, and a certain mul/d 
 whom I will call Mulla Hadi, but the Sheykh of Kum he would 
 not include in his enumeration, “for,” said he, “‘though he 
 sympathises with the Ezelis and courts their society, he is in 
 point of fact a free-thinker and a materialist.” After the de- 
 parture of these guests I was visited by my Zoroastrian friends, 
 Gushtasp and Feridin, who came to condole with me, and to 
 enquire after the ophthalmia, repeating over and over again, 
 “Bad na-bdshad!” (“May it not end ill!”’), till I was depressed 
 not a little. 
 
 Monday, 8th July, 28th Shawwal.—This morning I received a 
 visit from one Murtaz4-kuli Khan Afshar, who, soon after 
 his arrival, produced a great roll of verse in manuscript, from 
 
 1 The accounts of Kurratu’l-‘Ayn’s death are very various, but this one, 
 at least, I do not regard as having any claims to authenticity. Cf. Gobineau’s 
 Religions et Philosophies dans l’ Asie Centrale, pp. 292-95 ; Polak’s Persien, vol. i, 
 p. 353; and my Ivaveller’s Narrative, vol. ii, pp. 313, 314. 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 543 
 
 which he proceeded to read me selections. This verse was, I 
 fancy, his own composition, but about the writer I could learn 
 no more than that his poetical pseudonym (takhallus) was 
 Béi-nawd, and that he was still living. My visitor was very anxious 
 to give me the manuscript, so that I might take it back with me 
 to Europe and get it printed, but I excused myself, assuring 
 him that it could be better and more conveniently published in 
 Persia. In point of fact it was not worth publishing anywhere, 
 being remarkable only for its monotonous harping on the topics 
 of death, corruption, and the torments of hell, and for its badness 
 of taste and poverty of style. Over and over again was this idea 
 repeated in substance: ““How many moon-faced beauties, whose 
 statute was as that of the cypress tree, have gone down into the 
 erave with only scorpions, snakes, worms, and ants for their 
 companions in their narrow bed!” Only one poem, in praise of 
 the reigning king, offered the least variety. This began with 
 an account of the Shah’s travels in Europe, which was followed 
 by a description of the Babi rising and its suppression, a long 
 _ passage being devoted to Kurratu’l-‘Ayn. My visitor remained 
 with me for some time after I had succeeded in checking this 
 recitation of doggerel, but his conversation was not much more 
 lively than his verse, for he talked of nothing else but the horrors 
 of hell and the delights of paradise, both of which he depicted 
 in the crudest and most grossly material colours. 
 
 Tuesday, 9th July, 29th Shawwdl.—This evening I was again 
 the guest of the Zoroastrians at the garden of Mulla Serush, and 
 sat down to supper with some twenty-five followers of ‘the 
 Good Religion.” The evening passed much as usual, with wine, 
 song, and minstrelsy, save that one Firiz by name, having taken 
 rather more to drink than was good for him (a rare thing amongst 
 the Zoroasttians), favoured the company with a rather vulgar 
 imitation of the performances of dancing-boys.. There was some 
 talk of Zoroaster and the miracles ascribed to him, and of the 
 descent to earth of ten flames (ddhar), distinguished from fire (dfash) 
 
544 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 by being devoid of all property of scorching or burning. Three 
 of these, so my hosts informed me, had returned to heaven, and 
 one had in recent times migrated from Khurasan, where it 
 suffered neglect, to Yezd. It was not till after midnight that I was 
 suffered to depart, and then only on giving a promise that I 
 would return first thing the next morning. 
 
 It was on this night that a jerk of the chain which I had 
 suffered Sir Opium to wind round me, first made me conscious 
 of the fact that I had dallied over-long with him. Eight days 
 had now elapsed since this dalliance began, and, though I had 
 smoked what may well be termed “‘the Pipe of Peace” pretty 
 regularly during this period, the fact that once or twice I had 
 abstained from smoking it at the usual time, without suffering 
 inconvenience, had lulled me into a false sense of security. 
 “After all,” I had said to myself, “‘a great deal of exaggeration 
 is current about these things; for how few of those in England 
 who talk so glibly about the evils of optum-smoking, and waste 
 their time and other people’s money in trying to put a stop to 
 it, have any practical acquaintance at all with it; and, on the 
 other hand, how many of my friends here, when they feel de- 
 pressed and wottied, or want to pass a quiet evening with a 
 few congenial friends in discussing metaphysics and ontology, 
 indulge in an occasional pipe. However, this resolution I make, 
 that on the day when I shall be well enough to go out of this 
 garden I lay aside my pretty opium-pipe (vdfur), with its skp 
 (cleaning rod) and its anbur (charcoal tongs), which shall be to 
 me thenceforth but as curiosities to hang up in my college rooms 
 when I get back to Cambridge.” 
 
 Well, to-night, as I reluctantly admitted to myself, the time 
 had come to put my resolution into practice. And how did I 
 do it? I kept it, after a fashion, just for that one night—and 
 what a night it was! In vain I longed for sleep, in vain I tossed 
 to and fro on my couch till the stars grew pale in the sky, for 
 an indefinable craving, to which was presently superadded a 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS . 545 
 
 general sense of uneasiness pervading all the facial nerves, 
 wartred with the weariness which possessed me. I was ashamed 
 to wake my servant and bid him kindle a fire, else had my 
 resolution not held even for one night; indeed, as it was, it can 
 hardly be said to have held, since at last in desperation I drenched 
 some tobacco in laudanum, taken from the little medicine-chest 
 I had with me, rolled it into a cigarette, and tried, though with 
 but little satisfaction, to smoke it. 
 
 And this is the way of optum. You may smoke it occasionally 
 at long intervals, and feel no after-craving. You may smoke it 
 for two or three days consecutively, and abandon it without 
 difficulty; then you may, after an interval of one or two days, 
 do the like once more, and again forsake it; and then, having 
 smoked it once or twice again, you will try to put it from you 
 as before, and you will find you cannot—that the fetters are 
 forged which, likely enough, you will wear for ever. So next 
 day I relapsed into bondage, and, when a few days later I told 
 my plight to a friend of mine (the Prince’s secretary and an Ezeli 
 Babi), who was a confirmed “vdfir7” (opium-smoker), he clapped 
 his hand on his thigh and exclaimed, “‘ Ha/d digar guzasht!. Vafuri 
 shudée-id!” “Now, at any rate, it is all over! You have become 
 an opium-smoker!”’). Neither did he say this without a certain 
 ait of contentment, if not of exultation; for it is a curious fact 
 that, although the optum-smoker will, as a rule, never tire of 
 abusing his tyrant, he will almost always rejoice to see another 
 led into the same bondage, and will take the new captive by the 
 hand as a brother. 
 
 Thursday, t1th July, 2nd Dhi’l-ka‘da.—Last night I received a 
 telegram from Shiraz informing me that a telegram addressed 
 to me there had arrived from England, in which I was requested 
 to signify my acceptance of the post of Persian Lecturer, to which 
 I had been appointed at Cambridge. Accordingly, I went into 
 the city an hour or two after sunrise to despatch an answer. Near 
 the Mosque Gate I met Usta Akbar, the pea-parcher, who invited 
 
 B 35 
 
546 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 me to lunch with him when I had completed my business. I 
 readily accepted his invitation, and walked with him to his shop, 
 where I stayed talking with him for a few minutes. A young 
 Tabrizi named Rahman Beg was there, and Usta Akbar, pointing 
 at him, asked me jestingly, “whether I could make this Turk a 
 Babi?” 
 
 My business at the telegraph-office did not take long. The 
 telegram, though destined for England, had, of course, to be 
 written in Persian, and I managed to condense it, including 
 the address, into seven words, for which I paid twenty krdus 
 and thirteen shdhis (about 165. 6d.), the tariff having luckily been 
 reduced within the last few days. I then returned to Usta Akbat’s 
 house and had lunch with him, after which I wrote some letters, 
 including one to Prince Nasiru’d-Dawla, the governor. In this 
 I ventured to say a few wotds in favour of Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz 
 (at whose urgent request, supported by Seyyid Huseyn of 
 Jandak, I had been induced to take what certainly was rather a 
 liberty), asking the Prince, in case he could not find him employ- 
 ment, whether he would give him the means of teaching his 
 native town of Tabriz, where he had friends and relatives. 
 
 I stayed to supper with Usta Akbar, Fathu’ll4h, the Ezeli 
 minstrel, being the only other guest. We ate our meal on the roof 
 (for it was a beautiful moonlight night), and sat so late talking, 
 drinking tea, and smoking opium, that, as the time for shutting 
 the city-gates had long passed, I agreed to my host’s proposal 
 that I should spend the night there. Bolsters, pillows, and quilts 
 were accordingly brought up on to the roof, but, though our 
 host soon composed himself to sleep, I sat late talking to the 
 Ezeli. [asked him to tell me how he had become a Babi, and he 
 related as follows:— 
 
 “A yeat or two ago,” he began, “I fell desperately in love; 
 so that, on the rare occasions when my good fortune suffered 
 me to pass a few moments in the presence of my beloved, I was 
 for the most part as one annihilated and overcome with bewilder- 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 547 
 
 ment, submerged in the ocean of adoration, and repeating in the 
 language appropriate to my condition Sheykh Sa‘di’s lines— 
 °* Ajab-ast bd vujudat ki vujud-t-man bi-mdnad; 
 Tn bi-guftan andar a’t, 4 mara sukhan bi-manad!? 
 “The wonder is that I survive the while I gaze on thee; 
 That thou should’st speak, and power of speech should still be left to me!’ 
 
 Or, as another has said— 
 ‘ Agar khwaham gham-i-dil bd tu guiyam, ja nami-ydbam; 
 Agar ja’i kunam peydd, turd tanhd nami-yabam; 
 Agar tanhd turd ydbam, va jd’i ham kunam peydd, 
 Zi shddi dast u pd gum mt-kunam, khud-ra namt-ydbam I” 
 ‘I find no place where I to thee my passion may declare, 
 Or, if I find the place, with thee I find my rival there, 
 Or, if at length I find a place, and find thee there alone, 
 In vain I seek myself, for self has melted into air!’ 
 But more often it happened that I was compelled to bear with 
 separation, and then I would console myself as best I might by 
 reading and singing the odes of Sa‘di, which seemed to me 
 specially applicable to my condition. 
 “Now one day a friend of mine begged me to lend him my 
 Divdn of Sa‘di, promising to give me instead another and a 
 better book. With some reluctance I consented to the exchange, 
 and received from him the mystical Masnavi of Jalalu’d-Din 
 Rumi. When I began to read this, I at first bitterly repented the 
 bargain. ‘What is all this,’ I asked myself, ‘about the flute 
 making lamentation because of its separation from the reed-bed— 
 and what has it to do with me?’ But gradually the inner meaning 
 began to dawn upon me; the love of the True and Eternal 
 Beloved displaced from my heart the earthly passion which had 
 filled it; and I realised the meaning of what the mystics say, ‘E/ 
 Mejdzu kantaratu’l-Hakikat’ (‘the Phenomenal is the Bridge to 
 the Real:). Yes, 
 * [mrux Shab-i-anjuman-i-dilbaran yakist, 
 Dilbar agar hazdr buvad, dilbar an_yakist. 
 Man behr-i-an_yaki du jihan dada-am bi-bdd ; 
 “Aybam ma-kun, ki hdsil-i har du jihin yakist, 
 
 ce ees 
 
548 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 ‘To-day, at the Feast of Fair ones, to One is assigned the Throne, 
 
 For though of the fair there are thousands there, in beauty He stands 
 
 For er forsake this world and that, and am counted in both undone; 
 
 Withhold your blame, nor think it shame, for the sum of the worlds is One.’ 
 
 “One day, passing by the city-gate, I heard a man reading 
 from a book which he held in his hand. The sweetness of 
 the words and their dignity charmed me, and I stopped to ask 
 him what book it was. At first he appeared unwilling to tell 
 me, but at length, yielding to my persuasion, he told me that 
 it was the Beydn of Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad, the Bab. He con- 
 sented to lend me the book for a while; and as I read it my 
 assutance increased that this indeed was the Word of God.” 
 
 “What, then, think you of Beha?” I demanded, “for these 
 would make him greater than the Bab.” | 
 
 “T know not,” he replied; “for me the Bab sufficeth, neither 
 can I comprehend a station higher than His.” 
 
 Friday, 12th July, 3rd Dhi’l-ka‘da.—\ woke late, and found that 
 Fathu’llah and Usta Akbar had both gone out, the latter leaving 
 word that he would return soon. An old man named Mirza 
 Ja‘far, a dervish of the Dhahabi order, presently arrived. He told 
 me that he was at present engaged in fasting and other religious 
 exercises, and that he had an “Inner Light.” Presently Usta 
 Akbar returned with a shoemaker of his acquaintance, named 
 Ustaé Ghul4m Riz4, who brought with him a book of verses 
 composed in praise of Beha by the Babi poet Nabil. These, 
 which in their eulogies were fulsome beyond belief, he proceeded 
 to read, the pea-parcher encouraging him with occasional ex- 
 clamations of “‘Zibd mi-khwdnad!” (“He does read nicely!’’). 
 During a momentary pause the Dhahabi dervish ventured to 
 make some remarks containing an allusion to his “Inner Light,” 
 whereupon the shoemaker turned savagely upon him, crying— 
 
 “Who cares for your “Inner Light,’ owl and bat that you are? 
 The Sun of Truth shines radiant in the mid-heaven of the 
 Theophany, and do you dare obtrude your foolish fancies and 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 549 
 
 vain imaginings, or seek to distract us thereby from that which 
 will truly advantage us?” 
 
 At this arrogant and insolent speech anger overcame me, and 
 I said to the shoemaker— 
 
 “Silence! How dare you speak in so unseemly a manner to 
 this old man, who, according to his belief, is seeking to draw 
 near to God? After all, age is revered and courtesy of de- 
 meanour approved in every religion, and you do but ill commend 
 to others the creed which you profess by conduct such as this.” 
 Then the shoemaker hung his head and was silent. 
 
 On my way home I called on Ak&é Muhammad Sadik, the 
 young Babi merchant, at the caravansaray where he dwelt, and 
 he, on learning that I had taken to smoking opium, entreated 
 me to abandon it ere it was too late. He also begged me to 
 lend him the manuscript of the Kitdb-i-Akdas (“Most Holy 
 Book”’) which had been given to me at Shiraz, that he might 
 transcribe it for himself, and this request, at least, I was ready 
 to grant, though the other, as I began to fear, came too late. 
 
 When I returned to my garden about sundown I found that 
 _Seyyid Huseyn of Jandak had been several times to see me, 
 and had enquired most persistently as to my whereabouts; and 
 that Sheykh Ibrahim, his friend “Abdu’llah, and a dervish who 
 had brought me a present of apples, were still patiently awaiting 
 my attival. I found them sitting by one of the streamlets near 
 the summert-house, and half a glance sufficed to show me that 
 that Sheykh, at least, was a good deal the worse for drink. As 
 I approached he greeted me with a loud screech of welcome, and 
 strove to stagger to his feet, but quickly subsided into the ex- 
 pectant arms of ‘Abdu’ll4h, crooning out a couplet from the 
 Masnavi, which, when he was in this state, he never tired of 
 Ome “* Badé ney dar har sari shar mi-kunad ; 
 
 Auchundn-rd dnchundn-tar mi-kunad.” 
 
 “Tis not in every head that wine works ill; 
 That which is so, it maketh more so still.” 
 
550 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 After informing me with some incoherence that he was 
 charged with a message to me from one of the principal 
 physicians of Kirm4n inviting me to lunch with him on the 
 following day, he continued, chuckling to himself at the 
 reminiscence— 
 
 “Your friend the Seyyid of Azghand” (so he chose to call 
 him, confounding this place with Jandak, which was in reality 
 his birthplace) “has been here, but 1, your most humble servant 
 and sincere friend Sheykh Ibrahim (now, as you perceive, not 
 quite himself), have put him to flight, together with another 
 rascally Seyyid whom he brought with him.” 
 
 “T wish you would not insult my guests,” said I. ““Who was 
 this other Seyyid?”’ 
 
 “How do I know?” he shouted defiantly; “‘all I know is 
 this, that just outside the garden-gate he was attacked by a 
 sinoularly intelligent dog, and came in here shaking with fright. 
 When he had somewhat recovered, he and the Azghandi Seyyid 
 began talking about you. ‘What like is this Firangi?’ enquired 
 he. ‘Not a bit like other Firangis,’ replied the Azehandi, ‘inas- 
 much as, instead of going after old tiles and other rubbish such 
 as they mostly love, he goes after religions, and consorts with 
 Musulmans, Sheykhis and Balasaris, Sufis, and even Zoro- 
 astrians.’ ‘How about Babis?’ asked the other. ‘How should I 
 know?’ says the Azghandi. ‘My brother when on a journey once 
 occupied the opposite litter (kajdvé) to the chief of their gang,’ 
 continued he. Then I felt it was high time to put him to rights 
 a bit, so I said, “You ugly, wizened old fox (for, in the World of 
 Similitudes I behold you as such, and so did that most sagacious 
 dog who wished to tear you in pieces at the door, in which wish 
 I hope he may be more successful when you depart), what do 
 you know about Babis, and how dare you speak of one whose 
 greatness and glory far transcend your mean comprehension 
 in such disrespectful terms?’ I saw him change colour, and soon 
 after he left, without waiting for the tea which your excellent 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 551 
 
 servant Haji Safar was preparing for him. Haji Safar! Haji 
 Safar! Where is Haji Safar?” 
 
 Haji Safar approached. He was sulky and morose, offended, as it 
 appeared, at my having remained so long away without telling him 
 where I had gone, and grumbledaccordingly. I bade him be silent, 
 and Sheykh Ibrahim continued in a loud and aggressive tone— 
 
 “T have heard from the postmaster how he surprised you in 
 close confabulation with those foul and benighted Ezelis at 
 the house of the Sheykh of Kum. Mulla Hadi, a noted Ezeli, 
 was there, and you were talking glibly enough when the post- 
 master entered, but, on seeing him, you at once changed the 
 conversation.” 
 
 Presently, to my great relief, Sheykh [brahim and ‘Abdu’llah 
 rose to depart. As they were leaving, Haji Safar met us, and 
 again complained of my want of consideration for him in leaving 
 him ignorant of my whereabouts. Sheykh Ibrahim loudly 
 applauded his solicitude, which I, on the other hand, was in- 
 clined to resent as impertinence. In consequence, we had words, 
 and he threatened to leave me on the morrow and return to 
 Teheran; but later on, when he brought my supper, he had 
 repented of his decision, and offered an apology for his conduct, 
 explaining it by saying that he had just had news that his mother 
 was seriously ill, and that this had greatly disturbed his mind, 
 and caused him to forget himself. 
 
 Saturday, 13th Jmy, 4th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—According to my pto- 
 mise, I lunched to-day with the physician of whom I have 
 already spoken. On my arrival I found Sheykh Ibrahim (already 
 much disguised in liquor) and ‘Abdu’llah, together with my 
 host and his little boy, a pretty child of eight or nine years of 
 age, who amused us by repeating ‘Obeyd-i-Zakani’s celebrated 
 poem of “the Cat and the Mouse” (Mash-u-gurbé). In the evening 
 I was the guest of my host’s rival, a physician of the old Galenic 
 school, with a splendid contempt for the new-fangled doctrines 
 of pathology and treatment which are beginning to make way 
 
552 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 amongst the medical men of Teheran. His son was a determined 
 Babi, and confided to me his intention of running away from 
 Kirmdn and setting out alone and on foot for Acre. Ustaé Akbar 
 joined us presently, and after supper we sat late, talking, drinking 
 tea, and smoking opium. 
 
 Sunday, 14th July, 5th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—Soon after we had drunk 
 our morning tea I left, and paid a visit to one of my Ezeli friends, 
 the Prince’s secretary, who invited me to stay to lunch. In the 
 intervals of conversation he amused himself by making the tea- 
 glasses float in the little tank which occupied the middle of the 
 room, pushing them from one side to the other, and objurgating 
 them with shouts of “Gar-i-pidar-ash la‘nat!” (“Curses on the 
 etave of its father!”’), when, receiving too violent a push, 
 they filled with water and sank to the bottom. On returning 
 to the garden about sunset I found that a number of visitors, 
 including the postmaster and two of his men, the Prince- 
 Telegraphist, the insufferable Haji Muhammad Khan, and 
 Mulla Yusuf and Fathu’llah, the Ezelis, had been to see me, 
 while the Sheykh of Kum and one of his friends were still 
 awaiting my atrival. The Sheykh brought me a photograph 
 of Prince Nasiru’d-Dawla bearing an inscription in his own hand, 
 together with a very kind answer to the letter which I had 
 addressed to him some days previously’ concerning Mirza Yusuf 
 of Tabriz. ‘This letter, even after making a large deduction for 
 Persian politeness, was so gratifying that I cannot forbear 
 translating it— 
 
 ““My dear and respected Friend, 
 
 “From the receipt of your letter, and the perusal of the pleasing con- 
 tents of your script, I derived the utmost gratification. My delight at the 
 handwriting and coherent diction of that honoured friend was chiefly owing 
 to the fact that it is in Europe that you have thus perfectly acquired the 
 Persian language, and have obtained so thorough a mastery of composition 
 and style. May God, if it so please Him, bring this dear friend of mine safely 
 back to his native country, and gladden him with the sight of his honourable 
 father and mother and kindred! Iregret having met that dear friend so seldom, 
 nor has your sojourn in Kirman been of any length; yet such is the regard 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 553 
 
 which I have conceived for you during this short period that it will never 
 quit my heart. 
 * Hamtshé dar barabar-t-chashmam musavvart. 
 “Thy face will stand depicted for ever in my sight.’ 
 
 I shall ever supplicate God for your safety and advancement, and I shall 
 be much pleased if now and then a letter from you should reach me from 
 Firangistan. As for Mirza Yusuf, the request of that honoured friend is 
 of course most gladly granted by me, and I have ordered that he shall receive 
 money for the expenses of his journey....I send a portrait of myself as a 
 keepsake for that dear friend.” 
 
 When I had read this letter, the Sheykh of Kum informed 
 Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz that fifteen timdns (about £5) was the 
 sum assigned to him by the Prince. Mirza Yusuf was, of course, 
 overjoyed, and Seyyid Huseyn of Jandak, who had interested 
 himself a good deal in the matter, was also very pleased, “‘but,”’ 
 said he to me, “don’t suppose that these fifteen timdns were 
 given to Mirza Yusuf; they were given to you, and the obligation 
 lies on your neck, for so much money was not raised in Kirman 
 save at the price of blood.” This, of course, was a mere figure 
 of speech, yet it somewhat damped my joy, and would have 
 done so more had I known how worthless Mirza Yusuf would 
 prove himself. 
 
 Monday, 15th July, 6th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—To-day I lunched with the 
 Sheykh of Kum, where I met the young Ezeli artillery officer 
 of whom I have already spoken. After lunch the Prince’s head- 
 cook dropped in. He was an amusing fellow, and had seen 
 something of the world, having been for some time a servant at 
 the Persian Embassy in London, in the remembrance of which 
 he gloried. It was he, I found, who had prepared the elaborate 
 meal of which I had partaken with the Prince-Governor, for he 
 had learned the art of European cookery while in London, 
 though, as he told me, the ambassador, unless he had company, 
 generally preferred to have Persian dishes set before him. I 
 asked him whether the materials for these were generally forth- 
 coming in London. “Oh yes,” he replied, “‘I found them with- 
 out much difficulty in the shops, but of course I made the 
 
554 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 ambassador pay well for them. I would buy egg-plants (bddinjan), 
 for instance, at a few pence each, and when I returned I would 
 tell him with a long face that things were terribly dear here, 
 and that I had paid a shilling apiece for them. Yes, those were 
 fine times, and I wish I were back in London again.” 
 
 The cook presently departed, and the Sheykh began to speak 
 mote freely about Beha than he had hitherto done. He produced 
 a copy of the lithographed Bombay edition of the [kd, which 
 he told me had been sent him by the Behd’is, and pointed out 
 with great disapproval a passage where the Shi‘ites are called 
 “that foul and erring sect.” He also showed me some letters 
 addressed to him and other Ezelis by Beha, and took great ex- 
 ception to several passages in them, especially to one where 
 Beha said, ‘A child who has been blessed by beholding me is 
 greater than all the people of the Beyd4n.”” Then he gave me an 
 account of the attempt on the Shah’s life by the Babis in 1852, 
 which I will not repeat here, as I have already published it in the 
 second volume of my Traveller’s Narrative (pp. 323-4). The 
 young artillery officer told me that for four years he had in vain 
 sought to enter into relations with the Babis, and had only 
 succeeded at last by acquainting himself with a part of their 
 terminology, and so leading some of his acquaintances whom he 
 believed to be adherents of the sect to make open confession of 
 their doctrines in his presence. 
 
 Tuesday, 16th July, 7th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—This afternoon I paid a 
 visit to Mirza Jawad’s house. He himself was away, but I found 
 his son and one or two other boys reading with their tutor, 
 Mull4 Ghulam Huseyn, who, on my arrival, at once dismissed 
 the class. I made some further enquiries of him concerning the 
 Sheykhi literature, and he gave me the following supplementary 
 list of books:—By Sheykh Ahmad Ahs4’i, ““The Commentary 
 on the ‘Visitation’” (Sharh-i-Ziydrat) and the Favd’id (text and 
 commentary) in Arabic, and the ‘‘Aphorisms” (Jawdmi‘u’/- 
 kaldm) in Persian; by Haji Seyyid Kazim of Resht, the Com- 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 555 
 
 mentary on ‘Ali’s sermon called the ‘ Khutba-i-Tutunjiyya,’ and the 
 “Commentary on the Kasida”; by Haji Muhammad Karim 
 Khan, the Fasl’-kbitdb (on Tradition), the Irshddu’ l/l‘ Awdmm 
 (“Direction of the Common People”’), the Tartku’n-najdt (“Way 
 of Salvation”), the Ixhdku’/-Batil (“Crushing of Falsehood”’), 
 and the T7zr-i-Shibdb (“ Meteor-bolt”’), both directed against the 
 Babis, the Fitratu’s-salima (“Sound disposition”), the Nusratu’d- 
 Din (“Help of Religion”), and the Sadniyya, an Apology for 
 Islam, written in Persian. 
 
 Wednesday, 17th July, 8th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—This morning, before I 
 was dressed, Seyyid Huseyn of Jandak came to see me. While he 
 was with me, an old man named Mashhadf ‘Ali, who kept a 
 shop just outside the city-gate, came to lodge a complaint 
 against Na’ib Hasan’s brother, a muleteer whom I had some 
 thoughts of engaging for the journey to Shiraz. He was accom- 
 panied by a farrdsh sent by the vazir (who, in the absence of the 
 Prince-Governor, was administering justice), and his complaint 
 was that he had been subjected to a violent and unprovoked 
 attack on the part of Na’ib Hasan’s brother, for which he 
 demanded redress. He had been before the vazér, who said that, 
 as the defendant was in some sort under my protection, he would 
 prefer to leave his punishment to me; but that he hoped I would 
 inflict the bastinado upon him, if the complainant could prove 
 his case to my satisfaction. Now, I have no doubt that the var 
 meant kindly, but I could not help wishing he would execute 
 whatever he conceived to be justice according to his own lights, 
 without making me a judge and arbiter over his subjects—a 
 position which I was very far from coveting. The Seyyid, how- 
 evet, who saw only an unhoped-for opportunity of displaying 
 his Solomon-like wisdom and delivering some epoch-making 
 decision, was delighted, and bade Haji Safar bring the com- 
 plainant, the defendant, the farrdsh, and any witnesses who might 
 be forthcoming, before us. The defendant was luckily away in 
 the country, and as the only “‘ witness” (if such he could be called, 
 
556 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 for it did not appear that he knew anything more about the case 
 than that the defendant was his cousin, and therefore, in his view, 
 to be exculpated) was Haji Safar, our little tribunal was of very 
 modest dimensions. The “case,”? however, lasted some time, 
 the complainant, the “witness,” and the farrdsh all talking at 
 once, and the first two sweating to everything and at everybody, 
 so that even the loquacious Seyyid could hardly make himself 
 heard. At last, however, silence was obtained, and the Seyyid, 
 with great gravity, gave it as his decision that Na’ib Hasan’s 
 brother should give the defendant a new shirt as a token of 
 regret for his alleged violence, on condition that the charge 
 should be suffered to drop; and that the farrdsh should receive 
 a present in money from me for his trouble. And as this seemed 
 the easiest way out of the difficulty, it was unanimously agreed 
 to. I hope the old man got his shirt, but I cannot be sure of it, 
 as the farrdsh, having received his money, naturally lost all 
 further interest in the case. I wished to give the old man the 
 price of his shirt, but this the Seyyid would not permit, declaring 
 that the farrdsh would certainly take it from him. 
 
 I had lunch when the Seyyid left, and then began to write 
 in Persian an account of my travels for the Prince-Governor, 
 who had requested me to furnish him with a brief narrative of 
 my journey. About two hours befote sunset, however, the 
 Seyyid came back, bringing with him two books, one a book of 
 his own composition, called Vérduiyyé, and the other one of Haji 
 Muhammad Karim Khan’s refutations of Babi doctrine, from 
 both of which he read to me aloud. I was laughing in my sleeve 
 at the garbled account given by the Sheykhi leader of his rival’s 
 life and pretensions, when suddenly the Seyyid stopped reading, 
 pticked up his ears, and began to gaze intently in the direction 
 of the gate, whence arose mirthful peals of laughter, mingled 
 with the notes of a flute. 
 
 “What is this unseemly noise?” he enquired angrily. 
 
 The question was answered a moment later by the appearance 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 557 
 
 of Mirza Yusuf of Tabriz, mounted on a white ass, fully capa- 
 tisoned and laden with saddle-bags and other properties. He 
 advanced towards the summet-house at a rapid amble, and, after 
 displaying himself before us to his satisfaction, dismounted, 
 seated himself before us with a conceited smirk, and awaited 
 our congratulations. At this juncture, almost before the 
 Seyyid had recovered power of speech, Sheykh Ibrahim 
 joined us. 
 
 “““Tiasten to the flute when it tells its tale!’”’ cried the Seyyid, 
 as soon as he could speak; “what does all this mean, Mirza Yusuf? 
 Where did you get that donkey?” 
 
 “T bought it,” replied Mirza Yusuf, “with the money His 
 Royal Highness the Prince (may God prolong his life!) bestowed 
 upon me.” 
 
 “Bought it!” exclaimed the Seyyid, “why, you were a pauper, 
 and this money, only granted you at the urgent request of the 
 Sahib (on whose neck lies the burden of obligation to the Prince), 
 was intended to convey you to Tabriz. And the saddle, the 
 saddle-bags, your smart kamar-band, and your other gear, how 
 did you get them?” 
 
 “T bought them too,” answered Mirza Yusuf, pertly enough; 
 “how else should I come by them? You don’t suppose I stole 
 them?” 
 
 “You bought them too!” repeated the Seyyid. “And may I 
 ask how much money you have left out of the fifteen témdns 
 the Prince gave you?” | 
 
 Mirza Yusuf pulled out three or four krdus from his pocket. 
 “So much,” he replied. 
 
 “And how are you going to get to Tabriz, may I ask, with 
 three krdns?”’ demanded the Seyyid. 
 
 “On my donkey,” retorted Mirza Yusuf with a laugh; “what 
 else did I get it for?”? No doubt he cherished hopes of extracting 
 further sums of money from the charitable Babis of Yezd, ac- 
 cording to the plan which he had exposed with such refreshing 
 
558 | AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 simplicity to Sheykh Ibrahim and myself. But he could hardly 
 allude to this in the Seyyid’s presence. 
 
 “You impertinent little fool!” cried the Seyyid angrily; 
 “is it for this that I have interested myself in your case—you 
 who two days ago were so humble—‘a poor orphan whom none 
 would pity!’—you who would make me believe that you were 
 so cateful about your religious duties that Haji Safar’s occasional 
 neglect of his prayers pained your tender conscience, and who 
 now come prancing into my presence on your precious ass deaf- 
 ening me with your unrighteous flute-playing?” 
 
 “You don’t understand these things, Master Seyyid,” rejoined 
 Mirza Yusuf; “you are not a man of the world, but a recluse, 
 a man of the pen and the pulpit, a votary of the rosary and the 
 reading-desk.”’ And he made a grimace aside to Sheykh Ibrahim, 
 whom he expected to enlist on his side against the common 
 enemy. 
 
 For once, however, the Sheykh was at one with the Seyyid. 
 “Tt is related,” said he, sententiously, “that once the ass com- 
 plained to God, saying, ‘Why hast Thou created me, seeing 
 that Thou hast already created the Turk?’ Answer came, ‘Verily 
 We have created the Turk in order that the excellence of thine 
 understanding might be apparent.’ Mirza Yusuf is a Turk, a 
 Tabrizi. What would you have?” 
 
 So Mirza Yusuf, somewhat abashed, withdrew; and there- 
 upon, as I anticipated, the Sheykh and the Seyyid began to 
 quarrel about the manner in which the former had seen fit to 
 treat the friend of the latter on the previous Friday. The Seyyid 
 for his part was politely sarcastic. 
 
 ““T said to my friend,” quoth he, “‘You have had the mis- 
 fortune to displease the worthy Sheykh, no doubt inadvertently, 
 by talking of one whom he affects to revere with unbecoming 
 levity, and applying to him an appellation generally used of 
 robber captains and the like. It would be best for you to pro- 
 pitiate him by presenting to him one of those inlaid and en- 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 559 
 
 amelled pen-cases in the manufacture of which you ate so skilful.’ 
 He promised to follow my advice, and you may expect to receive 
 his gift shortly.” 
 
 “You are too considerate,” rejoined the Sheykh, “but really 
 I am unworthy of so great an honour.” Then, suddenly losing 
 control of his tongue, “‘And who, I should like to know, is this 
 rascally brother of his who enjoyed the unmerited and un- 
 appreciated honour of travelling in the company of one whose 
 ereatness and holiness are as much beyond his comprehension 
 as the splendour of the sun is beyond the comprehension of the 
 bat or the mole? I will tell you who he is: he is now at Teheran, 
 and makes his living by buffoonery of the lowest kind, and the 
 Shah, who loves buffoonery, especially in a Seyyid, has given 
 him the title of Kiwdmu’s-Sdddt. There is another younger brother, 
 who is in high favour with certain of the nobles about the court, 
 and whose influence has conduced in no small degree to the 
 exaltation of his family.” 
 
 “And do you mean to say,” enquited the Seyyid, aghast at 
 the scandalous details of Persian Court life furnished by the 
 Sheykh, “that this is the state of things prevailing in Teheran, 
 ‘the abode of the Caliphate’ (Daru’/-Khildfat), at the court of 
 him whom we account the Defender of the Faith and Protector 
 - of Religion?” 
 
 ““Assuredly I do,” replied the Sheykh, “‘and I can tell you 
 mote sutprising things than this if you care to hear them, from 
 which you will be better able to judge of the claims which 
 Nasiru’d-Din Shah has to these titles.” And thereupon he 
 launched out into a variety of scandalous anecdotes, which it 
 is to be hoped had no foundation in fact, and which in any 
 case ate best unrecorded. Neither could he be diverted from 
 this topic till the Seyyid departed in consternation, an object at 
 which, in all probability, he had from the first aimed. 
 
 “And now, Sheykh,” I said, when we were alone, “will you 
 tell me more fully about the murder of the seven Ezelis who 
 
 b) 
 
560 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 were sent with Beha and his followers to Acre? You mentioned 
 the fact a few days ago, and added that you had seen the assassins 
 yourself during your stay there, and that they still received their 
 prison allowance, though at large, and wore gyves on their 
 ankles.” 
 
 “Yes,” replied the Sheykh, who had drunk enough ‘arak 
 to tender him communicative, and not enough to make him 
 incoherent, “they were twelve in number who slew the Ezelis, 
 and nine of them were still living when I was at Acre. This 
 was the way of it. When Beha advanced his claim at Adrianople, 
 and his half-brother, Subh-i-Ezel, refused to admit it, the Babis 
 were divided into two factions, some going with the former, 
 and some holding fast to the latter. So high did the feeling run 
 that the matter ended in open strife, and two Ezelis and one 
 Beha’i were killed. So the Turkish Government determined to 
 separate the two, and arranged to banish Mirza Yahya (Subp-z- 
 Exel) and his followers to a town in Cyprus near the sea-shote, 
 of which I cannot now remember the name, and Mirza Huseyn 
 “Ali (Behd’w’Hah), with his family and adherents, to Acre. But, 
 knowing the two factions to be on the worst possible terms, it 
 occuttred to them that it would be advantageous to themselves 
 to keep a few of each in the stronghold of the other, so that, 
 should any Persian or other traveller come to Acre or Cyprus 
 with the intention of visiting Beha or Ezel, these adherents of 
 the rival claimant to supreme power might co-operate with the 
 government in throwing obstacles in his way. So they sent three 
 of Beha’s followers (one of whom, Mushkin-Kalam, so-called 
 from his extraordinary skill in calligraphy, is still [1892] alive) to 
 Cyprus with Ezel, and seven Ezelis with Beha to Acre. 
 
 “Now as far as concerned Ezel this plan worked well enough, 
 for Mushkin-Kalam set up a little coffee-house at the port where 
 travellers must needs arrive, and whenever he saw a Persian 
 land, he would invite him in, give him tea or coffee and a pipe, 
 and gradually worm out of him the business which had brought 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 561 
 
 him thither. And if his object were to see Subh-i-Ezel, off went 
 Mushkin-Kalam to the authorities, and the pilgrim soon found 
 himself packed out of the island. But at Acre it was. different. 
 The seven Ezelis—Aka Jan, called ‘Kaj-Kuldh’ (‘Skew-Cap’), 
 who had served with distinction in the Turkish artillery; Haji 
 Seyyid Muhammad of Isfahan, one of the original companions 
 of the Bab; Mirza Riza, nephew of the last, and a scion of the 
 same royal race of the Safavis (for both were descended from Shah 
 ‘Abbas the Great); Mirza Haydar ‘Ali of Ardistan, a wonderful 
 fire-brand (dtashi gharib), beside whom our mutual friend Mirza 
 Muhammad Bakir of Bawanat was no more than a spark; Haji 
 Seyyid Huseyn of Kashan; and two others, whose names I 
 forget—lived all together in a house situated near the gate of 
 the city. Well, one night, about a month after their arrival at 
 Acre, the twelve Beha’is of whom I have spoken determined (but 
 without having received instructions from Beha) to kill them, 
 and so prevent them from doing any mischief. So they went 
 at night, armed with swords and daggers, to the house where: 
 the Ezelis lodged, and knocked at the door. Akad Jaén came 
 _ down to open to them, and was stabbed before he could cry 
 out ot offer the least resistance. He was a young man, but 
 vety strong, so that once in the Russian war he had without 
 aid picked up a cannon-ball and thrown it into the mouth of 
 the gun. Then they entered the house and killed the other six. 
 
 “When the Turks heard what had been done, they im- 
 prisoned Beha and all his family and followers in the caravan- 
 satay, but the twelve assassins came forward and surrendered 
 themselves, saying, ‘We killed them without the knowledge of 
 out Master or any of our brethren; punish us, then, not them.’ 
 So they were imprisoned for a while; but afterwards, at the 
 intercession of ‘Abbas Efendi, Beha’s eldest son, were suffered 
 to be at large, on condition only of ee in Acre, and 
 wearing steel fetters on their ankles for a time.’ 
 
 “Tt was a horrible deed,” I remarked. 
 
 B 36 
 
562 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 “Nay,” said the Sheykh, “it was soon over for them; I have 
 seen worse than that myself. Love cannot exist without strife, 
 and, as has been said, ‘affliction is the portion of affection.’” 
 
 “What do you allude to,” enquired I, “when you say that 
 you have seen wotse than this yourself?” 
 
 “To an experience which befell me when I was a mete lad,” ! 
 answered the Sheykh, “‘and had but recently entered into this 
 circle. I was in Sultan-abad then—my native place—and the 
 Friends used to meet regularly at night-time, the men in one room 
 and the women in an adjoining apartment, to read the Holy 
 Books and hold spiritual converse. All went well for a while; 
 our conventicles escaped the notice of the authorities, and might 
 have continued to do so, had it not been for a traitor, Mulla 
 ‘Ali, now pishnamdz of one of the mosques of Sultan-abad (as his 
 father Mulla Huseyn was then) who, to insinuate himself amongst 
 us and compass our destruction, feigned belief in our doctrines, 
 and for five or six months continued to frequent our assemblies 
 until he knew us all, and discovered where our books were 
 concealed. 
 
 “Now this wretch used to be a constant visitor at the house 
 of one of the chief adherents of our faith, a theologian named 
 Mull4 Muhammad ‘Ali, with whom he used to tread the sacred 
 books. One day he requested permission to borrow a copy of 
 the Beydn, which was at once granted him. Having thus secured 
 possession of the book, he forthwith proceeded to the house of 
 Haji Aka Muhsin, the philosopher (Zakamz), and laid it before 
 him. Aka Muhsin (whom a study of philosophy had rendered 
 comparatively tolerant) invited Mulla Muhammad ‘Ali to his 
 house to discuss the matter with him, intending, should he not 
 succeed in convincing him and inducing him to renounce his 
 opinions, to do no more than expel him and his associates from 
 the city. He further summoned another leading Babi, Mull4 
 
 1 The date of this occurrence, so far as the Sheykh could recollect it, was 
 about A.H. 1278 (A.D. 1861—2). 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 563 
 
 Ibrahim, the author of commentaries on the Kubrd, Shamsiyya, 
 and other treatises on Logic, and at that time tutor to Prince 
 Nasiru’d-Dawla, Governor of this city, whose father, Prince 
 Nusratu’d-Dawla, was then Governor of Sultan-abad. He was 
 the first to arrive, and while these two were engaged in discussion, 
 Haji Seyyid Muhammad Bakir, Majtahid, suddenly entered the 
 room with a knife concealed under his cloak, and, seeing Mulla 
 Ibrahim, cried out, ‘Do you hold converse or engage in con- 
 troversy with this viper?’ Even as he spoke he drew forth his 
 dagger, and smote the Babi thrice—on the side of the head, the 
 back of the neck, and the back of the chest—so that he fell dead 
 to the ground. A moment later the other Babi, Mulla Muhammad 
 ‘Ali, ignorant of what had passed, entered the room, and was in 
 turn stabbed by the Mujtabid, as was also a third, named Kerbela’i 
 Rahmatu’ll4h, who followed him. 
 
 “When news of these doings was brought to Prince Nusratu’d- 
 Dawla, the Governor, he sent a message to the Mwtahids, saying, 
 ‘Leave this matter alone, for I will see to it.’ Then he sent and 
 arrested all the Babis whose names were known to Mulla ‘Ali 
 the traitor, and furthermore caused a number of those whose 
 opinions wete suspected to pass before him, so that he might 
 identify those whom he had seen at the Babi conventicles. Some 
 twenty or thirty of us in all, including myself, were denounced, 
 and forthwith cast into a loathsome underground dungeon, 
 where we lay, chained together in a row, hardly able to move, 
 and in dire suspense, for that night and the whole of the next day. 
 
 “Tt was on the second night of our captivity that we heard 
 a tramp of feet without; then the key grated in the lock, the door 
 opened, and the executioner, accompanied by several of his 
 assistants, bearing lanterns and the implements of his ghastly 
 craft, entered. ‘I am come to kill the Babis,’ said he, as the 
 farrdshes set down the lanterns on the floor; and we, of course, 
 supposed that one and all we were doomed to die. 
 
 ““T was seventh in the row. Passing the first and second, 
 
 36-2 
 
564 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 the man of blood halted before Usté Mahmud, the pea-parcher 
 (nokbud-biriz), of Kashan. They forced open his mouth, crammed 
 a wet handkerchief rolled into a ball into his gullet, and drove 
 it down his throat with a wooden peg and a mallet. For a minute 
 ot two, with gaping mouth, blackening face, and eyes starting 
 from his head, he continued to struggle; then he fell back on the 
 floor, and one of the executionet’s assistants sat on his face till 
 the last quiver died away. 
 
 “They next came to Kerbela’i Haydar, the furrier (pustindiz), 
 of Kabul, whom they slew in like manner; and we, seeing this 
 (for he was fourth in the row, next to Usté Mahmiud), made 
 sute that all of us were to die. We were mistaken, however, 
 for they passed by the fifth and sixth in the row, and myself (the 
 seventh), and did not halt again till they came opposite to Mirza 
 Hasan of Sultan-abad, the surgeon, who was next beyond me. 
 And when they had made an end of him, and of Mirza Ahmad 
 of Tafrish, who sat next beyond him, they gathered up their 
 instruments of death, together with the lanterns, and, without 
 saying another word, left us there in the darkness, the living 
 and the dead chained together. 
 
 “Tt was an awful night, as you may imagine, for us who lay 
 beside our murdered companions, expecting to share their fate, 
 ot one yet worse, on the morrow. But amongst us was one poor 
 hunchbacked cobbler, who, during the horrible scenes which 
 had just been enacted, had not once changed colour, and he 
 continued to console us, reciting poems suitable to our situation, 
 chanting verses from the sacred books, and crying, ‘A strange 
 paradise is this! Yet, if we are to die to-morrow, it is at most 
 that we shall eat so many pounds less of bread and meat ere our 
 bodies return to the dust and our souls to the source whence 
 they came.’ He grew more excited as he talked, and at last, 
 ‘Let us kill one another now,’ he said; ‘I will show you how it 
 may be done—lI will press and press so gently that you shall 
 hardly know it, on the veins of the neck, and life will ebb quietly 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 565 
 
 away. How much better to die thus, in all love and affection, 
 by the hands of our friends than as these did by the hands of the 
 headsman!’ It was only with the greatest difficulty that we could 
 restrain him from carrying out his purpose, and so continue 
 anxiously awaiting the morning. 
 
 ““No more of us, however, wete doomed to suffer death on 
 this occasion, save one old woman, nearly seventy years of age, 
 the wife of Haji Aka Muhsin’s paternal uncle. Her they sent 
 to Teheran; and when they asked the Shah what should be done 
 with her, he said, ‘It is not good for a woman to be imprisoned,’ 
 wherefore they strangled her in the women’s apartments of the 
 palace, and cast her body into a well. The rest of us were released 
 about a fortnight later, after the governor had extorted from us 
 as much money as he could—in my case three hundred sémans.” 
 
 I was not a little moved by this horrible story, and regarded 
 the Sheykh with increased interest and respect, for after all a 
 man who has looked death in the face (and such a death!) for 
 conscience sake is worthy of respect, though he be a drunkard 
 and a libertine. I could not help thinking what a strange com- 
 bination of good and evil he must be—such a combination as 
 would be almost impossible save amongst the Persians—but I 
 only said:— 
 
 “You have suffered much for your faith, it would seem.” 
 
 “Ay,” he said, “nor was that the only time, though it was 
 the most terrible. I was imprisoned in the jail (avbar) at Teheran 
 for three months and seventeen days, along with five other Babis, 
 Aka Jemal of Burtjird, son of Mull4 ‘Ali, who was entitled 
 ‘the Proof of Islam’ (Hujatu’/-Isldm); Mirza Abu’|-Fazl of Gul- 
 payagan, the secretary of Manakyji, the Zoroastrian agent at the 
 Persian Court, and the compiler, under his directions and in- 
 structions, of the New Hzstory of this Most Great Theophany '; 
 
 1 This is a mistake. Mirza Huseyn of Hamadan was Manakji’s secretary, 
 and he it was who, with the help of Mirza Abu’l-Fazl, compiled the New 
 History. See the Introduction to my translation of that work, pp. xxxiv—xlii. 
 
566 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 Usta Ahangar, Mull4 ‘Ali Akbar of Shimrdn, and Haji Mulla 
 Isma‘il Dhabib. For the first three days and nights our captivity 
 was vety grievous, for, in the hopes of extorting money from us 
 ot our friends, they subjected us by day to various torments, 
 and by night put our necks in the ‘collar’ (¢awk), and our feet 
 in the stocks (A/a/i/), but we determined to bear our sufferings 
 rather than appeal for money to our friends, knowing that to 
 produce money would be only to increase the zeal of our tor- 
 mentors. And after thus enduring for three days we were 
 rewarded by an abatement of our torments.” 
 
 Sheykh Ibrahim next related to me what had once passed 
 between himself and the Shah’s eldest son, the Zillu’s-Sultan, 
 and the account given to him by the prince of the death of the 
 martyrs of Isfahan, which, as I have already published it in 
 the notes to the second volume of my Tvave/ler’s Narrative 
 (pp. 401-3), I will not here repeat, especially as I have already 
 referred to this episode more than once in the course of these 
 pages. I then again attempted to ascertain his views on the 
 future life and on the nature of the divinity ascribed to Beha, 
 but the ‘arak which he had drunk was beginning to take effect, 
 and he was growing gradually incoherent. Concerning the soul, 
 he said that it was imperishable, and that when the body died it 
 looked calmly and unconcernedly on. at the preparations for 
 interment. Pure and impure souls, he added, were like clean 
 and dirty water—the pure poured back into the brook, the 
 impure cast forth upon the ground to become mingled with it. 
 As for Beha, the Sheykh said: “‘I have heard him say in my 
 presence, ‘I do not desire lordship over others; I desire all men 
 to become even as J am.’” When I remarked that many of his 
 followers declared him to be divine in quite another sense than 
 those who, according to the Sufi doctrine, had escaped from self 
 and become merged in God, the Sheykh simply remarked, “‘ Then 
 they are in error.” He added that Beha had forbidden him from 
 preaching, or making any attempts at proselytising, saying that 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 567 
 he had already suffered enough for his faith. And after this, 
 
 the last rational remark to which he gave utterance, he relapsed 
 into ribaldry and incoherence, and presently fell asleep. 
 
 Thursday, 18th July, 9th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—Towatds evening I went 
 into the town and called at the post-office, where the postmaster 
 lent me a poem in praise of Beha, composed by one Na‘im of 
 Abadé, a poor man of no education, whose power of vetse- 
 writing is regarded by his co-religionists as a divine gift, and 
 little short of miraculous. His verses are partly in Persian, partly 
 in Arabic, and of the latter, at any rate, it may truly be said that 
 they are of the most miraculous character. Usta Akbar, the pea- 
 patcher, was also there. He was, after his wont, very mysterious, 
 and informed me that a relation of the postmastet’s, who was 
 a “‘Mulla,” and who possessed some of Kurratu’l-‘Ayn’s poems, 
 was anxious to see me, but that I must not mention this to the 
 postmaster, as he might be displeased. I was somewhat surprised 
 at what appeared to me so unnecessary a stipulation, but attri- 
 buted it to Usta Akbar’s love of mystery. It was only afterwards 
 (for the pronouns in Persian do not distinguish gender) that I 
 discovered that the “Mulla” in question was a lady, who tfe- 
 garded herself as a “manifestation” (wazhar), or re-incarnation, 
 of Kurratu’l-‘Ayn. It was accordingly arranged that I should 
 meet this “Mulla” on the next day but one, at the house of one 
 of the officials of the post-office. As I did not know where he 
 lived, I enquired as to how I should find my way thither. Usta 
 Akbar naturally selected the most cumbrous and mysterious 
 method he could think of. I was to walk slowly past his shop 
 at a certain hour on the Saturday in question, and he would tell 
 his apprentice to be on the look-out for me, and, as soon as he 
 saw me, to run out, pass me, and precede me at a distance of 
 twenty or thirty yards to the rendezvous. 
 
 This plan was duly carried out, and on the afternoon of 
 the appointed day I found myself in a room in the house of 
 Haydaru’ll4h Beg, the postman, where, besides my host, were 
 
568 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 seated the “‘Manifestation of Kurratu’l“‘Ayn” and a Babi der- 
 vish, the former engaged in smoking a ka/ydn, the latter an 
 opium-pipe. I was filled with astonishment at seeing a lady 
 in the room, and my astonishment was increased when I heard 
 the others address her as ‘‘ Mulla,” and ascertained that she was 
 the learned Babi who had expressed a wish to make my ac- 
 quaintance. She greeted me very politely, bowing repeatedly 
 as she exclaimed, “‘ Musharraf! Muzayvan! Chashm-i-md rawshan!” 
 (“[You have made the house] honoured [and] adorned! Our 
 eyes are brightened!”’) and then asking me how long it was 
 since I had believed. I was somewhat embatrassed by this 
 question, and tried to explain that I was an enquirer only, whete- 
 upon she began to give a long and rather garbled version of 
 Christ’s prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, which she con- 
 cluded by bidding me not be like that disciple who denied his 
 Master. 
 
 By this time eight or nine other persons had joined us, in- 
 cluding Sheykh Ibrahim and his friend “Abdu’llah, in consequence 
 of which the recitation of Kurratu’l-‘Ayn’s poems, which I had 
 been so eager to hear, was postponed. Several Babi books, 
 however, were shown to me, including one containing the 
 Kalimdt-i-Maknina, or “Hidden Words of Fatima,” ! of which 
 the surpassing eloquence was greatly praised by all present. 
 
 “Will you not smoke a ka/ydn?”? enquired Sheykh Ibrahim, 
 turning suddenly to me. I signified assent, and he called for one 
 to be brought. “A good one, mind, for the Sahib,” he cried, 
 as the servant left the room. 
 
 In a minute or two the ka/ydn was brought, and as I took it, 
 and, according to the customary etiquette, offered it in turn to 
 all present before putting my lips to it, I fancied that I was 
 watched with a certain attention and subdued amusement for 
 which I could not account. The first whiff of smoke, however, 
 
 t See vol. ii of my Traveller's Narrative, pp. 123-6, and n. 2 at foot of p. 123; 
 and Catalogue and Description of 27 Babi MSS. (J.R.A.S. for 1892), pp. 671-4. 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 569 
 
 explained the cause of this. My experience with Cannabis Indica 
 while I was a student at St Bartholomew’s Hospital had not been 
 altogether fruitless, since it had indelibly impressed on my 
 memory the taste of this hateful drug, which now again, for the 
 third time in my life, struck on my palate. ‘Oh,’ thought I to 
 myself, “‘so this is the trick you thought to play on me, is it?” 
 But I continued to smoke on slowly and deliberately till the 
 Sheykh, unable any longer to control his curiosity, asked me how 
 I found the kalydn. 
 
 “Nice enough,” I answered, “but I fear it somewhat, for, 
 unless I am much mistaken, you have put ‘Master Seyyid’! 
 into it.” 
 
 I do not think that during the whole time I was in Persia 
 I ever scored so great a success as by this simple remark. That I 
 —a mere European—should be able to recognise the taste of 
 hashish was much, but that I should know it, so to speak, by its 
 pet name, was indeed to prove myself well matured (pukhié) by 
 travel and the society of persons of experience. 
 
 “How ever did you know that?” enquired the Sheykh amidst 
 the laughter and applause of the others. 
 
 “Because I am a Firangi must I needs be an ass?” I demanded, 
 with a show of indignation. 
 
 Sheykh Ibrahim was delighted, and proceeded to unfold to 
 me many mysteries connected with the use of narcotics in Persia. 
 He told me of an oil called Rawghan-i-Hashish (“Oil of Indian 
 Hemp’’), prepared from a plant named Tdétiré (? Datura), of 
 which half a xokhid would render a man insensible for twenty- 
 four or thirty-six hours. This, he said, was often employed by 
 
 1 Hashish is thought so badly of in Persia that it is usually spoken of, even 
 by those who use it, by some nickname, such as Akd-yi-Seyyid (“Master 
 Seyyid”), Tuti-1-asrar (“The Parrot of mysteries”), or simply Asrar (“ Mys- 
 teries’’), the first two alluding to its green colour. One of the odes of Hafiz, 
 beginning “Aliya titi-yi giyd-yi asrdr, Mabddd khdliyat shakkar xi minkdr” 
 (“O Parrot, who discoursest of mysteries, may thy beak never want sugar!’’), 
 is addressed to the drug. 
 
570 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 Persian adventurers in Turkey and Arabia (especially at Mosul 
 and Mecca) to stupefy persons whom they wished to rob. Mixed 
 with the food intended for the victim’s consumption its flavour 
 is imperceptible, and the protracted insensibility to which it 
 gives tise allows the thief ample time to decamp. These revela- 
 tions were, however, interrupted by the arrival of a murshid, ot 
 spiritual director, of the Shah-Ni‘matu’llahi order of dervishes, 
 who asked me point-blank what my religion was, and was much 
 annoyed when I answered him with the well-known tradition, 
 “Ustur dhahabaka, wa dhahdbaka, wa madbhabak”’ (Conceal thy 
 gold, thy destination, and thy creed”). 
 
 Monday, 22nd July, 13th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—TVo-day another threatened 
 collision between Seyyid Huseyn of Jandak and Sheykh Ibrahim 
 was with difficulty averted. The former had dropped in during 
 the afternoon to tead me selected extracts from Haji Muhammad 
 Karim Khan’s attack on the Babi doctrines, when the latter most 
 inopportunely joined us. The two glared at one another for a 
 while, and then the Seyyid, who had a really remarkable faculty 
 for making things disagreeable, began to ask the Sheykh whether 
 he had been to Acre lately, and other similar questions. I inter- 
 posed, and, to my great relief, succeeded in changing the con- 
 vetsation, and getting the Sheykh to talk about his travels. He 
 told us about the Yezidis (the so-called ‘‘Devil-worshippers’’) 
 of Mosul and its environs. “They extend for a distance of three 
 stages west of Mosul,” said he, “and strange folk they are— 
 uglier than you can imagine, with immense heads and long 
 unkempt beards, and dressed in white or crimson clothes. They 
 refuse to regard any sect or any person, even the Devil (whom 
 they call ‘Malak-i-Ta’us, the ‘Peacock Angel’), as bad; and if 
 any unwaty traveller curses him, or “Omar, or Shimr, or anyone 
 else whom most men are wont to curse, or if he spits on the 
 ground, they consider it incumbent on themselves to kill him, 
 though every man of them should suffer death in retaliation, 
 They have a sort of temple whither they repair for their devotions, 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 571 
 
 and there, as I have heard (for none save themselves may enter), 
 they from time to time spread a banquet, and then let loose a 
 cock. If the cock eats the food, they consider their offering as 
 accepted, but if not, as rejected.” 
 
 Tuesday, 23rd July, 14th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—In the afternoon I rode 
 into town and visited the Sheykh of Kum. He called to his 
 little daughter (a child six or seven years of age), who was on 
 the roof, to come down and speak to me, but she, with pre- 
 cocious modesty, hid her face with a corner of her shawl and 
 refused. 
 
 “Why wilt thou not come down and speak to the Firangi 
 Sahib?” enquired her father. 
 
 “Because I am shy,” cried the little one from the roof, peeping 
 out from behind her extemporised veil. 
 
 “Thou art not wont to be so shy before others,” he continued; 
 ““why then before this one?” 
 
 “T do not reckon them as men,” she replied, with a toss of 
 her head, and ran away to hide, while we both burst out laughing, 
 and I remarked that such a compliment from the lips of a child 
 was indeed gratifying. 
 
 The Sheykh talked rather freely about Babiism. “The allega- 
 tions made by the Musulmans about the Babis,” said he, “‘though 
 untrue, ate in most cases founded to some extent upon fact. 
 They say, for instance, that the Bab wrote Arabic which violated 
 all the rules of grammar. This is not true; but it is true that he 
 made use of grammatical forms which, though theoretically 
 possible, are not sanctioned by usage, such as ‘Wapbhdd, from 
 Wahid; ‘Farrdd, from Farid, and the like. So, too, they accuse 
 Kurratu’l-“Ayn of unchastity. That is a lie—she was the Essence 
 of Purity; but after His Holiness the Point [z.e. the Bab] had 
 declared the Law of Islam abrogated, and ere he had promulgated 
 new ordinances, there ensued a period of transition which we 
 call ‘ Fatrat’ (‘the Interval’), during which all things were lawful. 
 So long as this continued she may very possibly have consotted, 
 
 >) 
 
572 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 for example, with Mulla Muhammad ‘Ali of Barfurtsh as though 
 he had been her husband, though afterwards, when the New Law 
 was tevealed, she and all the others were most rigorous in its 
 observance.” 
 
 At this point we were joined by a certain Mulla whom I 
 knew to be the chief Ezeli in Kirman, and to have an enormous 
 collection of Babi books. I was extremely anxious to draw him 
 into conversation on this topic, when, to my great chagrin, the 
 postmaster (who was, as will be remembered, a determined 
 Beha’f) was announced. He looked at us suspiciously, evidently 
 guessing the subject which occupied our thoughts, and forthwith 
 there fell upon us a sense of constraint which soon brought about 
 the dispersion of the assembly. 
 
 On leaving the Sheykh’s house I was making for the telegraph- 
 office to condole with the Prince-Telegraphist on the death of 
 his eldest son, the poor lad whom I had last seen smoking opium 
 at the house of my friend, the secretary of the governor, when | 
 was met by Mirza ‘Ali Naki Khan, the brother of the chief of 
 the Farrdshes, and by him detained in conversation. While we 
 wete talking, a murmur suddenly arose that the Prince-Governor 
 was coming, and everyone began to bow down, with arms folded 
 across their breasts, in humble obeisance. When the Prince saw 
 me he called me to him, brought me with him into his garden, 
 and bade his servants bring tea, ka/ydus and cigarettes. He did 
 not talk much, being busy reading a packet of letters which had 
 just been placed in his hands, and examining a fine gold repeater 
 which had attrived by the same post; so, when I had sat for a 
 short time, I asked permission to retite—which was accorded 
 me. I then proceeded to the telegraph-office, where I found 
 the Prince-Telegraphist looking very sad and dejected, and 
 surrounded by five or six Babis of note, who, like myself, had 
 come to offer condolence. 
 
 On returning to my garden about two hours after sunset, 
 I found the pea-parcher and a rather notable dervish of the 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 573 
 
 Shah-Ni‘matu’llahi order, named Shahrukh, awaiting me. They 
 had supper with me, and stayed all night. The dervish smoked 
 a great quantity of opium and recited a vast amount of mystical 
 poetry, of which his memory appeared to contain an inexhaustible 
 store. The pea-parcher retired for a while, leaving us alone, and 
 presently returned in a state of boastful intoxication. “I am 
 Adam!” he cried, again and again; “I am Moses! I am Jesus! 
 I am Muhammad! What say you to that?” I was so disgusted 
 that at last I could not refrain from answering, “‘Since you ask 
 my opinion, I should say that you have had too much to drink, 
 and ate now talking blasphemous nonsense.” 
 
 Wednesday, 24th July, 15th Dhi’l-ka‘daa—My guests departed 
 early, soon after sunrise, Usta Akbar awakening me to com- 
 municate the message which had brought him to the garden on 
 the previous evening. “There is a poor opium-kneader (trydk- 
 mal) of my acquaintance,” said he, “one of ‘the Friends,’ who 
 is most anxious to entertain you at his house, and has so im- 
 portuned me to bring you, that for the sake of peace I had to 
 promise that I would do so. He wanted you to sup with him and 
 stay the night at his house, but, having regard to its meanness, 
 I told him that this would not be convenient to you, so it has 
 been arranged that we shall lunch there to-morrow and spend 
 the day. Come, therefore, in two hours’ time to the caravansaray 
 of Ganj ‘Ali Khan, and there one shall meet you who will conduct 
 you to the opitum-kneader’s house.” 
 
 I fell asleep again when Usta Akbar had gone, and did not 
 awake for several hours. Just as I was going out with ‘Abdu’!- 
 Huseyn I met the opium-kneader, who, poor man, had already 
 come once to the garden that morning to guide me to his house, 
 whither we at once proceeded. Haydaru’llah Beg, and Nasru’ll4h 
 Beg of the post-office, a dervish named Habibu’llah, and the 
 pea-parcher, were the other guests, and later we were joined 
 by the Prince-Telegraphist’s secretary and Sheykh Ibrahim, who, 
 though uninvited, had by some occult means discovered that 
 
574 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 an entertainment was in progress, which I suppose heconsidered 
 would not be complete without his presence. Soon after my 
 attival the dervish-boy, whose sweet singing had so delighted 
 me one day in the caravansaray of Ganj ‘Ali Khan, entered the 
 room with a kalydn, which he presented to me with the Babi 
 salutation, “Aldhu Abhd.” All those present, indeed, were 
 Babis; and after lunch, as we sat sipping our tea and taking an 
 occasional whiff of opium, quantities of Babi poems by Kurratu’l- 
 ‘Ayn, Suleym4n Khan, Nabil, Rawha (a woman of Abddé), and 
 others, were produced and handed round or recited, together 
 with the Bab’s Seven Proofs (Dala’il-i-Sab‘a), Beha’s Lawp-i-Nasir, 
 and other tracts and epistles. Before my departure I succeeded 
 in arranging with the Prince-Telegraphist’s secretary that he 
 should copy out for me a selection of these treasures, which the 
 owners kindly consented to place at his disposal. 
 
 Thursday, 25th July, 16th Dhi’/-ka‘da.—In the afternoon I went 
 into the city by the Mosque Gate, through which crowds of 
 people were pouring forth to visit the cemetery, the “Eve of 
 Friday” (Shab-i-Jum‘a) being the favourite time for the per- 
 formance of this pious act. The Babi dervish-boy was amongst 
 the crowd, and, dervish-fashion, placed a sprig of mint in my 
 hand as he passed, but without asking or waiting for the small 
 sum of money which is generally expected in return for this 
 compliment. In the square of the caravansaray of Ganj ‘Ali Khan, 
 I saw Usta Akbar standing, and approached him to speak with 
 him. While we were conversing, there came up to me a certain 
 dervish, who had once visited me in my garden, and craved an 
 alms “‘for the sake of Beha.” Now in general I made it a rule to 
 respond, as far as possible, to such calls; but against this par- 
 ticular dervish I cherished some resentment, for this reason. On 
 the day when he visited me in the garden, Sheykh Ibrahim 
 chanced to be with me; and him, either from previous know- 
 ledge, or from some chance remark which he let drop, the dervish 
 recognised as a Babi. So when he had sat with us for a while, 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 575 
 
 drunk several cups of tea, and pocketed a &rdu and half a stick 
 of opium, he went out, found Seyyid Huseyn of Jandak per- 
 forming his ablutions at the stream by the gate, and told him 
 that I was certainly a Babi, or in a fair way to become one, since 
 I was continually in the society of notorious Babis. All this, of 
 course, was tepeated to me; and as I had treated this not very 
 agreeable or intelligent dervish thus courteously rather on Sa‘di’s 
 principle that “‘the dog’s mouth is best stopped with a morsel,” 
 I was naturally incensed at his indiscretion. So when he asked me 
 “for the sake of Beha” to give him money, I bade him begone 
 with scant ceremony; and when he continued to importune me, 
 declaring that he had no bread for that night’s supper, I turned 
 angrily upon him, saying, ““No opium, I suppose you mean!”’ 
 
 “Ay,” said he, “no opium: neither bread nor opium. For the 
 sake of Beha give me some money!” 
 
 “You ingtate (vamak-bardm)\” I exclaimed, exasperated at his 
 pertinacity and indiscreetness (for already a little crowd was 
 gathering round us to listen to our dialogue, and to stare at 
 “the Firangi Babi,” from whom alms were demanded “for the 
 sake of Beha’’), ““how dare you come to me again for money 
 after what you have done?” 
 
 “Tam no ingrate,” he answered, “and whoever says so wrongs 
 me. What have I done that you should be thus angry with me?”’ 
 
 “What have you done?” I retorted; “when you came to the 
 garden, did I not give you money and tea and opium, and speak 
 you fair? And did you not, with the money and the opium in 
 your pocket, and the taste of the tea in your mouth, go out and 
 make mischief against me, spreading idle and damaging reports?” 
 
 Then at last he slunk away with some appearance of shame. 
 
 Friday, 26th July, 17th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—Duting the greater part of 
 the day I was occupied in writing for the Prince-Governor the 
 brief account of my journey which he had requested me to com- 
 pose for him. Towards evening, Sheykh Ibrahim, ‘Abdu’llah, 
 and the self-sufficient and conceited cobbler, whose rudeness to 
 
576 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 the old Dhahabi dervish had so displeased me, arrived simul- 
 taneously. ‘Abdu’llah soon went off, thinking that he might be 
 wanted by his master, and I was left with the other two. Both 
 talked, and Sheykh Ibrahim drank a great deal; but as regards 
 the talking, the cobbler had at first the best of it, and presently 
 he demanded my copy of the [édv, and said he would read aloud 
 to us—an accomplishment on which he greatly prided himself. 
 
 Sheykh Ibrahim bore with this reading, or rather chanting, 
 as long as he could, gulping down his rage and his ‘arak together, 
 till finally one or both of these proved too much for him, and 
 he suddenly turned ferociously on the unsuspecting cobbler. 
 
 “Beast and idiot!” he cried, “cannot you be silent when 
 there are men present, and let them talk without interrupting 
 them with your abominable gabbling? Your silly head is so 
 turned by Usta Akbar and others, who listen to your reading, 
 and applaud it with cries of ‘Z7bd mi-khwdnad!’ (‘How nicely 
 he reads!’) that you are inflated with conceit, and do not see 
 that this Firangi here, who knows ten times as much Arabic 
 as you do, is laughing at you under his lip, because in every 
 word of Arabic which you read you violate a rule of grammar. 
 Silence then, beast, and be no more intoxicated with Usta Akbar’s 
 ‘Zibd mi-khwdnad!’”’ 
 
 The poor cobbler was utterly taken aback by this unexpected 
 sally. “Forgive me, O Sheykh!” he began; “I am only a poor 
 ignorant man ss 
 
 “Man!” cried the Sheykh, waxing more and more wroth; 
 “T spit on the pates of the father and mother of the dog-mamma! ! 
 Man, forsooth! You are like those maggots (khardtin) which 
 thrust forth their heads from rotten fruit and wave them in the 
 air under the impression that they are men. I count you not as 
 belonging to the world of humanity!” 
 
 
 
 1 A slightly refined translation of the Persian “Rédam bi-kellé-i-pidar u 
 mddar-1-nené-sag,” a form of abuse which was a great favourite with the 
 Sheykh, who was not given to mincing words. 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 577 
 “O Sheykh!” exclaimed the poor cobbler, “Whatever you 
 
 may please to say is right. I have eaten dirt! I have committed 
 a fault! I am the least of your servants!” 
 
 “But I will not accept you as my servant,” shouted the 
 Sheykh; “‘you are not in my world at all. I take no cognisance 
 of your existence.” And so he stormed on, till the wretched 
 cobbler, now reduced to tears, grovelled at his feet, begging for 
 enlightenment and instruction, and saying, ““You ate a great 
 and a wise man; yout knowledge is far beyond ours; you have 
 travelled and seen the world, and looked on the Blessed Beauty 
 (Jemadl-i-Mubdrak, i.e. Beha’u’ lah, the Babi hierarch at Acre). Tell 
 me what to think, and what to believe, and what to do, and I will 
 accept it.” Finally the Sheykh was appeased, and they embraced 
 and made up their quarrel. 
 
 Saturday, 27th July, 18th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—This day was chiefly 
 notable to me because, for the first time for several weeks, I 
 succeeded in resisting the growing craving for opium which 
 possessed me. This had now begun to cause me some anxiety, 
 for I felt that the experiment had gone quite far enough. “‘It is 
 all very well,” I thought to myself, “‘to enter into the world of 
 the opitum-smoker—and the experience was needed to complete 
 my view of dervish life—but if I do not take care I shall become 
 a dervish in reality, living from hand to mouth, engrossed with 
 smoking opium and ‘weaving metaphysic’ (‘irfan-baf7), and 
 content if I can but postpone the business or trouble of to-day 
 till to-morrow—a to-morrow which never comes. It is high time 
 I took measures to put an end to this state of things.” The plan 
 which I devised for putting an end to my servitude was based 
 upon the observation that it is not so much the smoking of 
 opium as the regular smoking of opium at a fixed time, that is 
 dangerous. I believe that, speaking generally, anyone may 
 indulge in an occasional pipe with impunity ; but I had accustomed 
 myself to smoke opium regularly after supper, and so soon as 
 this time came round, an indescribable craving came upon me, 
 
 B x Wi 
 
578 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 which only the drug could assuage. It therefore seemed to me 
 that the first step towards emancipation must be to alter, and 
 gtadually to increase, the interval, which, so far as I] remember, 
 I effected somewhat in the following way:—One day, instead of 
 waiting till after supper, I smoked a small amount of the drug 
 at the time of afternoon tea. Next day I waited till supper-time, 
 thus extending the interval of abstinence from twenty-four to 
 thirty hours. On the third day I sat up very late and smoked a 
 very little opium just before retiring to rest. And on the fourth 
 day I went to bed in reasonable time, and succeeded in falling 
 asleep before the craving came upon me, not returning to the 
 drug till the afternoon of the fifth day, thus farther extending the 
 interval from thirty to forty hours. Thus gradually did I free 
 myself from a thraldom which, as I believe, can hardly be broken 
 in any other way. 
 
 Sunday, 28th July, 19th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—To-day I lunched with 
 Usta Akbar to meet the postmaster of Kirman; the chief of the 
 telegraph at Rafsinjan, who was on a visit to Kirman; and several 
 other Babis of the Beha’i faction. On my entrance they greeted 
 me with an outburst of raillery, induced, as it appeared, by their 
 belief that I was disposed to prefer the claims of Subh-i-Ezel to 
 those of Beha, and that I had been influenced in this by the 
 Sheykh of Kum and his friends. I was at first utterly taken aback 
 and somewhat alarmed at their vehemence, but anger at the unjust 
 and intolerant attitude towards the Ezelis which they took up 
 presently came to my aid, and I reminded them that such violence 
 and unfairness, so far from proving their case, could only make 
 it appear the weaker. “From the statement of Sheykh Ibrahim,” 
 I concluded, “who is one of your own patty, it appears that 
 your friends at Acre, who complain so much of the bigotry, 
 intolerance, and ferocious antagonism of the Muhammadans, 
 and who are always talking about ‘consorting with men of every 
 faith with spirituality and fragrance,’ could find no better argu- 
 ment than the dagger of the assassin wherewith to convince the 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 579. 
 
 unfortunate Ezelis who were theit companions in exile, and I 
 assute you that this fact has done mote to incline me from Beha 
 to Ezel than anything which the Sheykh of Kum or his friends 
 have said to me. It would be mote to the point if, instead of 
 talking in this violent and unreasonable manner, you would 
 produce the Beydn (of which, ever since I came to Kirman, and, 
 indeed, to Persia, I have been vainly endeavouring to obtain 
 a copy), and show me what the Bab has said about his successor.” 
 The postmaster and Usta Akbar eventually admitted that I was 
 right, and promised to try to obtain for me a copy of the Beydn. 
 After this, amicable relations were restored, and the atmosphere 
 seemed clearer for the past storm. 
 
 On returning to the garden I found Seyyid Huseyn and one 
 Mirza4 Ghul4m Huseyn awaiting my arrival. They stayed for 
 some time, and, as usual, talked about religion. With Mirza 
 Ghulam Huseyn I was much pleased, though I could not satisfy 
 myself as to his real opinions. He told me that he had read the 
 gospels attentively, and was convinced of their genuineness by 
 the deep effect which the words of Christ recorded in them had 
 - produced on his heart. He added that he could interpret many, 
 of the prophecies contained in the Book of Revelation as 
 applying to Muhammad, and would do so for my benefit if 
 I would visit him in the Kdravdnsardy-i-Gulshan, where he 
 lodged. 
 
 Monday, 29th July, 20th Dhi’l-ka‘da.—This evening there was 
 another stormy scene in the summer-house, of which, as usual, 
 Sheykh Ibrahim was the cause. He and the parcher of peas came 
 to visit me about sundown, bringing with them a poor scrivener 
 named Mirza Ahmad, who had made for himself copies of certain 
 writings of the Babis, with which, as being a dangerous possession, 
 he was, I was informed, willing to part for a small consideration. 
 Now to guard himself from suspicion, in case the book should 
 fall into the hands of an enemy, he had placed at the end of the 
 Kitdb-i-Akdas, which stood first in the volume, a colophon, 
 
 37-2 
 
580 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 wherein he had described it as “‘the book of the accursed, mis- 
 guided, misleading sect of the Babis.” This colophon, which 
 had not been seen by either of his companions, caught my eye 
 as I turned over the pages; but I made no remark, and, fearing 
 trouble if it should meet other eyes, quickly closed the book and 
 laid it aside. Shortly afterwards, Usta Akbar, wishing to speak 
 with me privately, drew me apart. When we returned, it was to 
 find that the explosion which I dreaded had taken place, and 
 that Sheykh Ibrahim, having taken up the book and seen the 
 objectionable words, was pouring forth the vials of his wrath 
 on the poor scrivener, who, overcome with shame and terror, 
 was shaking like an aspen, and on the verge of tears. It was only 
 with the greatest difficulty that I could stem the torrent of 
 threatening and abusive language which the Sheykh continued 
 to pour forth, and lead Mirza Ahmad out into the garden, where 
 he sat down by the stream and began to weep. Finally, I 
 succeeded in comforting him a little with fair words and a 
 larger sum of money than he had expected, but the evening 
 was not a harmonious one, and the acquisition of a new 
 manuscript was the only feature in it which caused me any 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Wednesday, 31st July, 22nd Dhi’l-ka‘da.—In the morning Seyyid 
 Huseyn came, bringing with him a kindly and courteous old 
 divine of the Sheykhi sect, named Mulla Muhammad of Jupar. 
 When lunch-time came I invited them to eat with me, “although,” 
 I added with a smile, “‘I am in your eyes but an unclean infidel.” 
 “Now God forbid that it should be so!” exclaimed the old 
 mulld; “in His Name (exalted is He!) will we partake of your 
 food.” So Haji Safar set before them delicate and strange meats, 
 whereof they ate with great contentment, and presently departed, 
 well pleased with their entertainment. Thereupon I again set to 
 wotk on the account of my journey which I was writing for 
 the Prince-Governor, intending later to go into the city; but 
 word came from Mirza Jawad’s son that he would visit me with 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 581 
 
 his tutor, and about three hours before sunset they arrived. I 
 was greatly displeased at the conduct of the aforesaid tutor, Mulla 
 Ghulam Huseyn, on this occasion; for soon after his arrival there 
 was placed in my hands a letter from one of my Babi friends at 
 Yezd, which he, with gross impertinence, requested me to show 
 him. This I naturally declined to do, but he, unabashed, picked 
 up the envelope from the ground where it lay, and began to 
 criticise the superscription, which ran as follows:— 
 
 “Wusilubu bi’l-khayr! Dar Kirmdn bi-muldbaxa-i-‘alt-jenab-i-faxd’ il-nisab-t- 
 temtlu's-sajdya va'l-ma’db Hakim-i-labib Edward Sabib (xida fazlubu va xdda 
 tawfikubu) musharraf shavad.” 
 
 Which being interpreted is— 
 
 “May its arrival be with good! In Kirman by the perusal of Edward 
 Sahib of lofty dignity, endowed with virtues, excellent of qualities and of 
 resort, the discerning philosopher (may his excellence be augmented and his 
 guidance be increased!) may it be honoured.” 
 
 ““*Discerning philosopher,’ ‘excellent of resort,’” read Mulla 
 Ghulam Huseyn. “What right have you, a Firangi, to such 
 titles as these? Hither be this thing or that—a Firangi or a 
 Persian.” 
 
 An end was put to this unpleasant conversation by the return 
 of Seyyid Huseyn and the old wuld of Jupar, who were soon 
 followed by Usta Akbar and several other persons, mostly Babis. 
 In this ill-assorted and incongruous assembly, which threatened 
 momentarily to terminate in an explosion, I was oppressed as by 
 a thunderstorm, and I was almost thankful when the rudeness 
 of Usta Akbar finally put the Sheykhis to rout, leaving the Babis 
 in possession of the field. These also departed a little later, 
 leaving me at last in peace. They wished me to go with them on 
 the morrow or the following day to Mahan, to visit the shrine 
 of the great Sufi saint, Shah Ni‘matu’llah. I told them that I had 
 already promised to go with some of my Zoroastrian friends; 
 whereupon they urged me to break with these “‘gabr-hd-yi najis”’ 
 (“unclean pagans’’), as they called them, and would hardly take 
 
582 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 “No” fot an answer. But at last, when, after listening in silence 
 to their efforts to persuade me, I replied, “It is no use talking more 
 about it; | have given my word to the Zoroastrians, and will 
 not go back on it, for my word is one”—they turned away 
 impatiently, exclaiming, ““Go with the guebres, and God pardon 
 thy father!” 
 
 Next day I had.a telegram from Shiraz enquiring when | 
 proposed to return thither, and urging me to leave Kirman 
 without further delay. This caused me some annoyance, as | 
 had no wish to leave it yet, and hoped to obtain permission 
 from Cambridge to postpone my return to England till January, 
 so that I might go by Bandar-i-‘Abbas and the Persian Gulf to 
 Baghdad, and thence to Damascus and Acre, which would be 
 impossible till the cooler weather came. I therefore had recourse 
 to the opium-pipe, and deferred answering the message till the 
 following day, when I visited the telegraph-office and despatched 
 an answer to the effect that I had no intention of quitting Kirman 
 at present. I found my friend the Prince-Telegraphist still much 
 cast down at the loss of his eldest son. His mind was evidently 
 running much on the fate of the soul after its separation from the 
 body, and he asked me repeatedly, ““What think you of the 
 matter? what have you understood?” He also talked more 
 openly than he had hitherto done about the Babi religion, saying 
 that as between the rival claimants to the pontificate, Beha and 
 Ezel, he found it hard to decide, but that as to the divine mission 
 of Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad, the Bab, there could, he thought, be 
 no doubt. Then his secretary, who was an ardent believer in 
 Beha, read extracts from the epistles and treatises which he was 
 copying for me, and asked if these were like the words of a mere 
 man; but the poor prince only shook his head, sorrowfully, 
 saying, “It is a hard matter; God knows best!” 
 
 Next day a term was put to my uncertainty (though not 
 in the way I wished) by the arrival of a telegram from England, 
 which had been translated into Persian and sent on from Shiraz, 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 583 
 bidding me be in Cambridge by the beginning of October. There 
 
 was no help for it then; I must leave Kirman, and that without 
 much delay, and, abandoning all idea of Baghdad, Acre, and a 
 camel-ride across the Syrian Desert, post to Teheran, and return 
 home by the Caspian Sea and Russia. It was a bitter disappoint- 
 ment at the time, and on the top of it came, as is so often the 
 case, another, which, though small in comparison, gave me that 
 sense of things going generally wrong which almost everyone 
 must at some time have experienced. My Zoroastrian friend, who 
 was to have taken me to Mahan, sent word that a misfortune had 
 befallen him (the death of his brother in Teheran, as I afterwards 
 discovered), which rendered this impossible; and my Babi 
 friends, who had previously so greatly importuned me to accom- 
 pany them, had now made other arrangements, so that it seemed 
 likely that I should have to leave Kirman without visiting the 
 tomb of the celebrated Saint Shah Ni‘matu’llah. 
 
 I had now no excuse for prolonging my stay at Kirman; yet 
 still I could not summon up resolution to leave it. It seemed as 
 though my whole mental horizon had been altered by the atmo- 
 sphere of mysticism and opium smoke which surrounded me. I 
 had almost ceased to think in English, and nothing seemed so 
 good in my eyes as to continue the dreamy speculative existence 
 which I was leading, with opium for my solace and dervishes for 
 my friends. Peremptory telegrams came from Shiraz, sometimes 
 two ot three together, but I heeded them not, and banished all 
 thought of them with these two potent antidotes to action of 
 which I have spoken above. Their influence must have been 
 at its height at this time, for once or twice I neglected for a day 
 ot two even to write my diary—a daily task which I had hitherto 
 allowed nothing to keep me from accomplishing. The record of 
 the incidents which marked the day preceding the first break of 
 this sort shows the elements of external disturbance and internal 
 quietism in full conflict—on the one hand, a tripartite telegram 
 from the English Superintendent of the Telegraph at Shiraz, 
 
584 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 the chief of the Persian office at the same place (the same whom 
 I had known at Yezd, whence he had recently been transferred), 
 and my former host, the Nawwab, strongly urging me to start 
 at once; on the other, two wildly mystical poems given to me 
 by a dervish murshid, or spiritual director, whom I had left in 
 a state of unconsciousness produced by some narcotic compound 
 which I had refused to taste, and of which he had offered to 
 prove the innocuousness by eating it. 
 
 Some decision, however, was imperatively called for, and 
 could not much longer be deferred; for, amongst other things, 
 my money had nearly come to an end, and I could only obtain 
 a fresh supply in Teheran, Isfahan, or Bushire. In this strait 
 my friends came to my assistance with a delicacy and a generosity 
 which I shall not readily forget. I was making arrangements 
 for borrowing, at 5 per cent. interest, a sufficient sum to take 
 me at least as far as Isfahan or Teheran, when, almost simul- 
 taneously, by a Babi and a Zoroastrian merchant, I was offered 
 any advance that I might need. I was at first unwilling to borrow 
 from either of them, remembering the Arabic proverb, “‘e/- 
 kardu mikrddu’l-mawaddat”’ (“ Borrowing ts the scissors of friend- 
 ship”’), but they would take no dental, especially the Babi, 
 who said that he should feel deeply hurt if I refused to accept 
 his offer. Finally, I consented to avail myself of his kindness, 
 and borrowed from him a sum of sixty or seventy /émdns (about 
 £20), for which he declined to accept any interest, and could 
 only be prevailed upon with difficulty to take a receipt. This 
 sum I duly remitted to his agent at Teheran on my artival 
 there. 
 
 And now Haji Safar, who, in spite of occasional fits of per- 
 versity and sulkiness, had always shown himself a faithful and 
 loyal servant, came to the rescue. He had been much troubled 
 (and not without reason) at the state of indecision and inactivity 
 into which I had lapsed, which state he ascribed to some spell 
 cast over me by the Babis, to whom he had even addressed 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 585 
 
 threats and remonstrances. So one night, while waiting on me 
 at supper, he unfolded to me a plan which he had formed, as 
 follows:— 
 
 “Sdpib,” he began, “you cannot stay on here for ever, and you 
 know that you are wanted in England at the beginning of the 
 month of Safar next (7th October 1888). Now I have been 
 thinking how you can stay at Kirmdn as long as possible, see 
 as much new country as possible, and still be back in your own 
 country in time. If you return to Shiraz and go thence to 
 Bushire, and there take ship, you will not arrive in time, even if 
 we could start at once, which we cannot do, as it will not be easy 
 to find mules for the journey. It is much better, then, that we 
 should go to Teheran, and that you should teturn thence 
 through Russia. The advantages of this plan are that you 
 can have a week or ten days more here; visit your friends at 
 Rafsinjaén on the way; see your friends at Yezd, Kashan, Kum, 
 and ‘Teheran again; be in the capital for the Muharram passion- 
 plays, which you will nowhere see so well performed; and 
 traverse Mazandaran or Gilan, both of which, as I can assure you, 
 ate very remarkable countries, which you ought to see before 
 leaving Persia. I will undertake to sell your horse for not less 
 than you gave for it, and before it is sold I will arrange for you 
 to visit Mahan, as you wished to do. You can write to Shiraz 
 for your things to be sent to meet you at Teheran, where also 
 you will be able to buy any more books of which you have 
 need. What do you think of my plan? Have I not spoken 
 well?” 
 
 That he had spoken well there was no doubt; his plan was 
 the best that remained possible, and he had baited it cunningly. 
 With a sudden sense of shame at my own lethargy, and gratitude 
 to Haji Safar for his wise admonition, I determined once and 
 for all to shake off this fatal quietism which had been so long 
 growing on me, and at once to take the steps necessary for the 
 execution of his plan. 
 
586 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 Two days later, on 9th August, everything was in proper 
 train. The expedition to Mahan had presented some difficulties, 
 but they were overcome by Haji Safar’s energy. He came to 
 me about sundown on that day with a smile of triumph and 
 satisfaction. ““Sdbib,” said he, “it is all arranged: you will go 
 to Mahan and perform your visitation to the shrine, and that 
 without bearing the burden of obligation to anyone. I have 
 found an old man, an uncle of the gardener’s, and a regular 
 ‘desert-walker’ (biydbdn-gasht), who will bear you company and 
 show you the way; for I must remain here to complete our 
 preparations for the journey. I will bring you your supper 
 directly, and then you had better go to sleep for a while; for if 
 you start four hours after sunset, you will still be at Mahan by 
 daybreak. You will remain there all to-morrow, travel back 
 in the same way to-morrow night, and be here at daybreak on 
 Sunday morning.” 
 
 The silent march to Mahan (for the old guide stalked on 
 before me with swift untiring gait, only looking round now 
 and again to see that I was following him) was pleasant in spite 
 of its monotony. Never had my horse cartied me so well as 
 on this our last journey together. Once again my spirit was 
 refreshed and rejoiced by the soft night air and the shimmer of 
 the moonlight on the sand-hills, until the sky grew pale with the 
 dawn, and the trees and buildings of Mahan stood clear before us. 
 
 We went straight to the shrine of the great Saint Shah 
 Ni‘matu’ll4h, and were admitted without difficulty in company 
 with other pilgrims. One of the dervishes attached to the 
 shrine read the xzydrat, or form of visitation. Then he said 
 to me, as the other pilgrims were kissing the tombstone, “‘Sapzb, 
 Shah Ni‘matu’llah was a great man.” Iacquiesced. “In the world 
 of the gnostics there is no difference of sects,” he continued. 
 Again Iagreed. “‘Then,” said he, “seeing that this is so, it were 
 not amiss for you to kiss his tombstone.” I did as he desired, 
 and then, having visited the various buildings connected with 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 587 
 
 the shrine, returned with the dervishes to their Aahve-khdané 
 (“‘coffee-house” or guest-chamber), where I had tea and slept 
 till noon. 
 
 In the afternoon the dervishes took me to see some of the 
 gardens which surround Mahan. In one of these, called the 
 Gardan-i-Shutur (“Camel’s Neck”’), a charming spot, I met my 
 friend Serush, the Zoroastrian, who was still mourning the death 
 of his brother, and had come to Mahan for a day’s solitude and 
 quiet before starting for Teheran to wind up his affairs. 
 
 About two hours before sunset, after another cup of tea, I 
 bade farewell to the kindly dervishes, mounted my horse, and 
 started homewards with my guide, well pleased with Mahan and 
 its people, and disposed to regard as a gratuitous slander that 
 cynical verse:— 
 
 “ Bihisht-1-riyi zamin-ast kit‘a-i-Mahdn, 
 Bi-shart-i-dnki takdn-ash dihand dar dizakh,” 
 “The district of Mahan would be an earthly paradise, 
 On condition that it should be well shaken over hell.” 
 To our left lay the village of Langar, the headquarters of the 
 Sheykhis, where live the sons of the Bab’s great rival and 
 antagonist, the late Haji Muhammad Karim Khan of Kirman. 
 I asked my guide whether we could not visit it on our way. 
 To this he consented, and in a short while we found ourselves 
 in the quiet lane where dwell the “ Akd-xddas” (“Sons of the 
 Master”). Here we met a Sheykhi divine, whom my guide 
 accosted, telling him that I wished to pay my respects to the 
 Akd-zddas; and before I had time to consider whether I should 
 do well to thrust myself upon the leaders of a sect for which 
 I had but little kindliness, I found myself in the courtyard of 
 their house. At the farther end of this courtyard mats and 
 carpets were spread, and on these sat in tows some dozen 
 sout-looking, heavy-turbaned Sheykhi students, to whom two 
 of Karim Khan’s sons, seated in the place of honour, were 
 
 1 J.e. That all its inhabitants should be shaken from it into hell. 
 
588 AMONGST THE KALANDARS 
 
 expounding the text of a work of their father’s called the Fas/y'/- 
 Khitdb. Ashamed to retreat, I advanced and sat down on my 
 heels like the others in the lowest place. Of those nearest to me, 
 some glared indignantly at me and others edged away, but no 
 other notice was taken of my arrival till the lecture was over, 
 when one of the Akd-xddas addressed me, remarking that he had 
 heard I was “going after teligions” (‘akib-i-madhhab mi-gardid). 
 I replied that he had been correctly informed. 
 
 “Well,” said he, ““and have you found a religion better than 
 that in which you wete brought up?” 
 
 “No,” I replied. 
 
 “What of Islam?” continued he. 
 
 “It is a good religion,” I answered. 
 
 “Which is best,” said he: ‘‘the Law of Islam or your Law?” 
 
 “Why do you ask me this question?” I replied; “my apparel 
 answers for me. If I thought Islam the better, I should not 
 come here clad in this raiment, but rather in turban and “abd.” 
 
 Thereat the younger students laughed, and the Akdé-zddas, 
 remarking that it was the time for the evening prayer, went 
 off to the mosque, leaving a cousin of theirs, who wore the 
 dress of a layman, to entertain me till their return. He gave 
 me tea, and would have had me stay to supper, so as to converse 
 with the Afkd-xddas, but I excused myself, and soon after their 
 return from the mosque took my departure. One of Karim 
 Khan’s sons accompanied me to the gate. I thanked him for 
 his hospitality. 
 
 “Our Prophet hath bidden us ‘honour the guest,” said he. 
 
 ““Fiven though he be an infidel,’ I replied, completing the 
 quotation; whereat we parted with laughter. 
 
 Another silent ride through the moonlit desert, and, as the 
 sun tose above the horizon, I alighted for the last time from 
 my honest old horse at the gate of my garden in Kirman. The 
 atrangements for his sale had been already concluded, and that 
 very day the servant of his new master brought me a cheque for 
 
 239 
 
AMONGST THE KALANDARS 589 
 
 eighteen timdns (about £6, two témdns more than I had paid for 
 him), and led him away. And as I gave him a final caress (for 
 I had come to love the beast after a fashion), I felt that now indeed 
 I had finally broken with the pleasant Persian life of the last three 
 months. 
 
 
 

 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 “ Yakulina inna’l-mawta sa‘be", wa innamd 
 Mufdrakatu’l-abbabi wa’ abi as‘abu!” 
 “They say that Death is hard, but by the Name of God I swear 
 That separation from one’s friends is harder still to bear!” 
 “ Shab-i-shanba xi Kirmdn bar kardam; | 
 Ghalat kardam, ki pusht bar yar kardam.” 
 
 “On Friday night I loaded up from Kirman; 
 I did ill, for I turned my back on my friend.” 
 
 T was on Sunday morning that I parted with my horse, and 
 my departure was arranged for the following Tuesday. On 
 that day, while paying a farewell visit to the young Babi met- 
 chant who had so kindly advanced me the money which I 
 needed for my journey back to Teheran, I met the postmastet’s 
 son. He appeared to be sulky with me for some teason—prob- 
 ably because of my friendliness with the Ezelis and apologies 
 for their attitude—and coldly observed that the sooner [ left 
 Kirman the better, and that if I could leave that very night 
 it would be best of all. I answered that this was impossible, 
 but that I would perhaps start on the morrow. “‘Then you must 
 go early in the morning,” said he, “‘so as to avoid collision with 
 the post.” 
 When I told this to Sheykh Ibrahim, on whom I next called, 
 he was greatly incensed. | 
 ““Nonsense,” said he, “the rascally burnt-father only wants 
 to get your money as soon as may be, so that he may get drunk, 
 _ eat sweetmeats, and play the libertine. You must stop here to- 
 night and sup with me and some others of your friends. I will 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 591 
 
 ask the postmaster and his scoundrel of a son too, and you shall 
 see how small they will sing after I have hada talk with them. I'll 
 wattant they will be humble enough then, and will let you have 
 your horses whenever it may please you.” 
 
 Somewhat comforted by the Sheykh’s confidence in his own 
 powers, I went off with Usta Akbar to pay a visit to some of my 
 Babi friends who were employed in the post-office in a sub- 
 otdinate capacity, after which we returned to Sheykh Ibrahim’s 
 abode. He had been as good as his word: the postmaster and his 
 son were there, both, to use the Sheykh’s expression, “the very 
 essence of submission” (mabz-i-taslim), ready to let me have 
 hotses for my journey whenever it might please me. The evening 
 passed off harmoniously after this, the Sheykh cooking the 
 supper himself, only stopping occasionally to address a remark 
 to one of us. 
 
 “O thou who art buried in this land of K and R,”’! he cried 
 out to me in one of these pauses, ““why should you leave this 
 place, since you like it so well?” 
 
 “Because,” I replied, “I must be back at the University of 
 - Cambridge early in the autumn. My leave of absence is nearly 
 at an end, and they have summoned me to return.” 
 
 “T spit on the University of Gimbrij” (so he pronounced 
 it), answered the Sheykh; and to such revilings he continued at 
 intervals to give vent throughout the evening. 
 
 When one begins to procrastinate there is no end to it. I 
 wished to start on Thursday, 16th August, but at the last moment, 
 when I was actually ready for the journey, word came from the 
 post-office that the post (which was due out on that day) was so 
 heavy that there were no horses to spare; and from one cause 
 and another my actual departure was deferred till the evening 
 of Sunday, 19th August. All day I was busy with farewells, 
 to which there seemed to be no end, for several of my friends 
 were loth to bid me a final good-bye, and I too shrank from the 
 
 1 J.e. Kirman, which is so called by the Babis, and in the Kitab-i-Akdas, 
 
$92 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 parting, for I knew how unlikely it was that I should ever see 
 them again. To this thought the postmaster, who had recovered 
 his wonted kindliness of manner, gave expression. “In this 
 world we shall see one another no more, as I think,” said he, 
 “but in another world we shall without doubt meet again, and 
 that world is the better, for there all things will be made clear, 
 and there will be no mote parting.” 
 
 My last visit was to the Prince-Telegraphist. On my way 
 thither I was stopped in the street by the Babi cobbler who 
 had been so roughly rebuked by Sheykh Ibrahim for his chanting 
 of the sacred books. He was in a great state of agitation, and 
 cried out to me with tears in his eyes— 
 
 “Sahib, you will go to Acre, if not now, then at some future 
 time, and you will see the Supreme Beauty?. Do not forget me 
 then; mention me there, and let my name be remembered in the 
 Holy Presence!”’ 
 
 The post-horses, ready laden for the journey, called for me 
 at the telegraph-office. It was after sunset, but the Prince had 
 caused the northern gate of the city to be kept open for me after 
 the usual hour of closing, so that I was able to linger a little 
 while longer in the city which had cast so strange a glamour 
 over me. At last, however, I rose regretfully and bade him fare- 
 well; and, as the great gate closed behind me with a dull clang, 
 and I found myself in the open plain under the star-spangled sky, 
 I thought that I had seen the last of all my Kirman friends. But 
 when we halted at the post-house (which, as before said, stands 
 some distance outside the city to the north), there were Sheykh 
 Ibrahim and Usta Akbar the pea-parchetr come out to see the last 
 of me, and I had to dismount and smoke a last pipe with them; 
 while the Sheykh, who was subdued and sorrowful, told me how 
 his friend ‘Abdu’llah had fled, none knew whither, with such 
 raiment only as he wore, leaving word that he was bound for 
 Acre, and would not return till his eyes had gazed on the 
 
 1 J.e, Beha’u’ll4h. 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 593 
 
 “Supreme Beauty.” “You may very likely come up with him 
 on the road,” he concluded, “in which case I pray you to stop 
 him, reason with him, and if necessary send him back in the 
 custody of some trustworthy person, else will he certainly perish 
 ere his mad quest be accomplished.” 
 
 It was three hours past sunset when I at length mounted and 
 turned my face northwards. At midnight I was at Baghin, the 
 first stage out from Kirman, and there I rested for a while in 
 a gatden belonging to Na’ib Hasan, whom we had overtaken 
 on the way, and who set before me melons and other delicious 
 fruits. Soon after daybreak I was at Kabitar Khan, where I 
 slept till noon was passed, and then, after lunch and tea, set out 
 for Rafsinjan, where I was to stay for the night with the tele- 
 graphist, a Babi whose acquaintance I had made at Kirman. On 
 the way thither I passed two of my dervish friends, who, with 
 banners, alms-gourds, and all the paraphernalia of professional 
 mendicants, were returning from Rafsinjan; and, somewhat 
 later, Na’ib Hasan’s brother, who presented me with a melon. 
 A little after this I met one of the officials of the Kirman post- 
 Office (also a Babi, with whom I was well acquainted) returning 
 from the limit of the Kirman district, to which it was his duty 
 to escort the post. After a brief conversation we exchanged 
 horses, I taking the ugly black beast which had brought him from 
 Rafsinjan. In spite of its ill looks, it got over the ground at an 
 amazing pace, and, guided by another Babi in the postal service 
 (all the post-office officials about Kirman seemed to be Babis), 
 I arrived at my friend’s house in Kaméal-abad, hard by Bahram- 
 Abad, in good time for supper, at which I met my old friend the 
 postmaster of the latter place. 
 
 I had arranged before leaving Kirma4n to spend two days 
 with another of my Babi friends, Aké Muhammad Hasan of 
 Yezd (my guest on the occasion of that wild banquet described 
 at p. 534 supra), who lived at a little village distant only about 
 five miles from Bahram-abad, somewhat off the main road. | 
 
 B 38 
 
594 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 had not altogether wished to consent to this fresh delay, but 
 Ak& Muhammad Hasan was determined that it should be so, 
 and had secured my compliance by a rather cunning device. 
 Hearing that I was very desirous of obtaining a manuscript of 
 the Persian Beydn, and that Usté Akbar had found one which 
 the owner was willing to part with, he bought it himself, sent 
 it off by post the same day to his home, lest I should induce 
 him to change his mind, and then, when he bade me farewell, 
 promised to give me the book I so greatly longed to possess if 
 I would visit him on my way north. Only after his departure 
 did I learn the trick that had been played upon me, for not 
 till Usta Akbar explained that this was the manuscript about 
 which he had spoken to me did I realise with mixed indignation 
 and amusement how I had been duped. Now, if I wanted my 
 Beydn, it was clear that I should have to go to Ak4é Muhammad 
 Hasan’s village for it, and I was not going to lose the only chance 
 that I had yet had of obtaining this precious volume for the sake 
 of gaining two paltry days. 
 
 As there was no question, therefore, of getting beyond this 
 village for the present, and no object in arriving there before 
 evening, I stayed with my friends at Bahr4m-abad till half an 
 hour before sundown, when I again mounted the ugly black horse 
 which had carried me so well on the previous day, and set off 
 at a teating gallop. As I drew near the village I descried a 
 little group assembled on a small conical hill just outside it. 
 Their figures stood out clear against the setting sun, and I 
 could see that they were watching for my arrival. Even as I 
 espied them, one of them, my host’s son, a handsome lad of 
 eighteen or nineteen, disengaged himself from their midst, and, 
 mounting a large white ass which stood ready, advanced at a 
 tapid amble to meet me. I should have stopped to greet him, 
 but the black horse would hardly consent to be checked in his 
 headlong career, and in about a minute more I was in the middle 
 of the group. Having dismounted, I had to exchange embraces 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 595 
 
 with my host and his Babi friends (some ten ora dozen in number), 
 a proceeding which, in spite of its patriarchal character, was 
 rather tedious. Then, taking me by the hand, my host led me 
 through the village street, which was lined with curious onlookers, 
 to his house. 
 
 I remained here for two days—days which passed pleasantly 
 but uneventfully. There was the usual tea-drinking, smoking 
 of opium and tobacco, and long debates—in shaded rooms by 
 day and in the moon-lit garden by night—on religious and 
 philosophical questions. There were several guests besides myself, 
 some of whom had come from Kirman to meet me. Amongst 
 these was one, a dyer by trade, whose good sense and moderation 
 especially impressed me. To him I expressed my dissatisfaction 
 at the exaggerated language employed by Nabil, the poet, and 
 other Babis in speaking of Beha. He agreed with me, but said 
 that allowance must be made for them if their affection for their 
 Master prompted them at times to use language which calmer 
 reason could not approve. 
 
 My host had a large collection of Babi manuscripts, together 
 with some photographs, which he showed us with much pride 
 and yet mote caution, never suffering more than one book at 
 a time to leave the box in which he kept his treasures. For liberal 
 as the Babis are in all else, they hoard their books as a miser does 
 his gold; and if a Babi were to commit a theft, it would be some 
 rate and much-prized manuscript which would vanquish his 
 honesty. And so it was that, when the moment of my departure 
 arrived, I came near to losing the manuscript of the Persian Beydn 
 which had served as the bait to lead me to this remote hamlet of 
 Rafsinjan. My host begged me to leave it with him for a month, 
 for a week, even for five days; in five days, he said, he could get 
 it copied, and it should then be sent after me to Yezd, or Teheran, 
 or any other place I might designate. I was obdurate, however, 
 for I yearned to possess the book, and felt that I was entitled to 
 have it; neither dared I leave it behind me, fearing lest the 
 
 38-2 
 
596 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 temptation to keep it should prove too strong for my Babi 
 friends. So at last, when the discussion had grown protracted, 
 I said— 
 
 “T have eaten your bread and salt, and am your guest. If 
 you will have the book, take it; but I would almost as lief give 
 you my head.” 
 
 “Then,” said he, after a moment’s pause, “‘take it; if such be 
 your feeling, we cannot ask you to give it up.” 
 
 So I put the precious volume in my pocket with a sense of 
 profound thankfulness, and, accompanied by my friends, walked 
 out a little distance from the village before mounting. Once 
 more we embraced; and then, tightening the wide leather belt 
 in which I carried my money, and buttoning the hardly-won 
 Beydn into my breast-pocket, I hoisted myself into the saddle, 
 and, amidst a shower of good wishes for the journey, again set 
 my face towards Yezd. 
 
 It was about an hour before sunset on Thursday, 23rd August, 
 when I resumed my northward journey. Three hours after sunset 
 I was at Kushkuh, where I stopped only to change horses. At 
 about 3 a.m. on the Friday I was at Beyaz, and soon after sunrise 
 at Anar. Here I rested and had luncheon, not starting again till 
 the afternoon. About sundown I was at Shemsh, where such 
 bad horses wete provided that I did not reach Kirmd4nshahan 
 till 9 or 1o p.m. There I had supper, tea, and—I regret to add— 
 a pipe of opium, which greatly comforted me; and then I slept 
 till daybreak. 
 
 Next day (Saturday, 25th August) I reached Zeynu’d-Din 
 two hours after sunrise, and ate a melon while the fresh horses 
 were being saddled. Soon after leaving this place the shdgird- 
 chdpar (post-boy) who accompanied us raised an alarm of thieves, 
 and indeed we saw three horsemen wheeling round us in the 
 distance. I fancy, however, that they were waiting there in the 
 hopes of rescuing some of their comrades who had recently 
 been captured at Kirman and were being sent in chains to 
 
 — ee ee 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 597 
 
 Teheran to undergo judgment. At any rate they did not 
 molest us. 
 
 About noon we arrived at Sar-i-Yezd, where I halted for 
 lunch for an hour or two. As I was preparing to start, a Kirmani 
 woman who was standing by called out to me, “We pray God 
 to bring you back to Kirman.” I suppose she was a Babi, and 
 regarded me as a co-teligionist; though how she knew anything 
 about me I was at a loss to imagine. 
 
 Rather more than an hour before sunset I teached Muham- 
 mad-abad, a sort of suburb of Yezd. Here I visited the brother 
 of the young Babi merchant who had befriended me at Kirman, 
 meaning only to stay for a short time; but nothing would serve 
 him save that I should be his guest that night, and go on to Yezd 
 on the following morning. I was not loth to accept his hospi- 
 tality; and a right pleasant evening we passed on a roof ovet- 
 looking beautiful gardens redolent with the perfume of flowers 
 and resonant with the song of the nightingale. Here it was, I 
 think, that I smoked my last opium-pipe in Persia, amidst 
 surroundings the most perfect that could be imagined. 
 
 Next evening (Sunday, 26th August) I supped with the Babi 
 Seyyids at Yezd, where I remained till the following Friday, 
 lodging at the post-house, which is situated at the northern 
 extremity of the town. I saw most of my old friends, except the 
 Prince-Governor, during these five days, and received from 
 all of them a very cordial welcome, but the Babi Seyyids were 
 not a little vexed to find that I had foregathered with the Ezelis 
 at Kirman. “I told you,” remarked the poet ‘Andalib, “that no 
 good would come of your going there, and I was, it seems, 
 perfectly right.” 
 
 I left Yezd at sunrise on Friday, 31st August, and entered the 
 great sand-desert which bounds it on the north. It and the long 
 post-ride to Kashan were equally monotonous, and need little 
 more description than a list of the stages, times, and distances, 
 which were as follows:— 
 
598 . FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 Yezd to Meybut or Meybud, where I arrived about 2 p.m., 
 after a two hours’ halt at ‘Izz-4bad to visit an acquaintance, 
 ten parasangs. Thence to Chifté, which we reached about 5 p.m., 
 six parasangs. Thence to Aghda, where we arrived about half 
 an hour after dusk, four parasangs. Here we were delayed by 
 the post, which always has the first right to horses, till late in 
 the night, when, after supper and a short sleep, we started by 
 bright moonlight, and reached the desolate post-house of Naw- 
 Gunbudh (whence a road leads to Isfahan) half an hour before 
 suntise on 1st September (nine parasangs). 
 
 1st September.—Slept till noon at Naw-Gunbudh. Thence a 
 dreary stage of six parasangs brought us about 4 p.m. to the 
 queer old rambling town of Na’in. Half an hour after sunset 
 we reached Neyistanak (six parasangs), where the son-in-law 
 of one of the postal officials of Yezd, with whom I had made 
 acquaintance, hospitably entertained me to supper. 
 
 2nd September—Left Neyistanak a little before daybreak, 
 accompanied by an intelligent and handsome little shdgird-chdpar, 
 and arrived (eight parasangs) during the forenoon at Jaukand, 
 a pretty place, abounding in trees and streams, where I would 
 fain have lingered a while to converse with the singularly amiable 
 and courteous postmaster. While I was waiting for fresh horses 
 to be saddled, two or three villagers came in, well-favouted, 
 genial fellows, who told me that an old dialect nearly akin to 
 that of Kohruid was spoken in this and the neighbouring villages. 
 After a short halt the fresh horses were led out, and I bade fate- 
 well to the kindly postmaster, who exhorted me to deal gently 
 with them, as they had just been watered. The shdgird-chdpdr, 
 a bright handsome lad named Haydar, saw to this; for he was 
 proud of his horses (and rightly, for they actually had to be held 
 in), and prattled incessantly about them, till, after a ride of five 
 patasangs, we reached the little town of Ardistan. 
 
 Here I had an introduction to a Babi, who took me to his 
 house, gave me fruit, tea, and pipes, and showed me a manu- 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 599 
 
 sctipt of the works of a mystical poet of Ardistén named Pit-i- 
 Jemal, in whose verses, as he declared, the ‘“‘manifestation” of 
 the Bab had been foreshadowed. I left Ardistan about two hours 
 and a half before sunset, the boy Haydar again bearing us com- 
 pany. The horses supplied to us were so bad that when we had 
 gone a short distance we had to send back two of them and take 
 on two of the horses we had brought from Jaukand, to the 
 delight of Haydar and the disgust of the poor old postmaster 
 of Ardistan, who had to refund part of the money which he had 
 received. 
 
 After a stage of six parasangs we reached Mughar, where I 
 had supper and slept for a while by the side of a stream which 
 ran past the post-house, starting again soon after midnight. Five 
 parasangs more brought us to Khalid-abad about sunrise; six 
 mote parasangs to Abi Zeyd-abad about noon on 3rd Sept- 
 ember. The horses which brought us thither had been very bad, 
 but those now supplied to us were even worse; so, as it was 
 impossible to urge them out of a walk, I resigned myself to the 
 inevitable, bought some melons, and thus eating the fruit and 
 crawling along in true caravan fashion, entered Kashan soon 
 after sunset, and was again hospitably received at the telegraph- 
 office by Mr Aganor. Here I remained that night and all next day 
 to make some purchases and see one or two of my old friends. 
 
 I left K4sh4n about sunset on 4th September, and reached 
 Sinsin at ro p.m., and Pasangan about sunrise the next morning. 
 I was very tired and would fain have rested a while, but the 
 post from the south was behind us, and there was nothing for 
 it but to push on, unless I wished to run the risk of being 
 stranded for a day at this desolate spot. At 10 a.m. on 5th Sept- 
 ember I was at Kum, where I was most hospitably received at 
 the telegraph-office, and enjoyed a welcome test of twenty-four 
 hours, for I was by this time half-dead with weariness, not being 
 used to such severe riding. 
 
 6th September—Left Kum at 9 a.m.; reached Rahmat-abad 
 
6oo FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 (four parasangs) at 11 a.m.; Kushk-i-Bahtam (seven parasangs) 
 at sunset; and Pik (four parasangs) about midnight. Here I had 
 supper and slept till daybreak. 
 
 7th September.—Started at 6 a.m., and, after a hot and dusty 
 tide of six patasangs, reached Ribaét Karim, a populous and 
 rather pretty village, during the forenoon. Here I stopped for 
 lunch, after which I set off, about three and a half hours before 
 sunset, to accomplish the last stage (seven parasangs) of this 
 weatisome journey. We had good hotses, and shortly before 
 sunset found ourselves at a little roadside tea-house, distant one 
 parasang from Teheran. Here we halted to drink tea, when Haji 
 Safar suddenly observed that if we didn’t make haste the southern 
 gates of the city would be shut, and we should have to make a 
 long detour to obtain admission. We at once set off and galloped 
 in as hard as we could go, but all to no purpose, for the nearest 
 gate was already shut, nor could the gatekeeper be induced by 
 threats or promises to re-open it. He only did his duty, poor 
 man; but I was so angry and disappointed that I gave him the 
 benefit of the whole vocabulary of powerful abuse and invective 
 which I had learned from Sheykh Ibrahim, and it was perhaps — 
 as well that the solid gate stood between us. I was ashamed of 
 my outburst of temper afterwards, but those who have ever 
 made a journey of 600 miles on Persian post-horses will be ready 
 to make some allowances for me. Luckily we found the Shah 
 ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim gate still open, and, threading our way through 
 the bazaars, we alighted about 8.30 p.m. at Prevost’s hotel, where 
 Haji Safar left me to go and visit his relatives. 
 
 The return to what must, I suppose, be called civilisation 
 was anything but grateful to me; I loathed the European dishes 
 set before me, the fixed hours for meals, the constraint and 
 absence of freedom, and above all the commonplace and con- 
 ventional character of my surroundings. Seven months had 
 elapsed since I quitted Teheran for the south, and during this 
 time I had been growing steadily more and mote Persian in 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND Gol 
 
 thought and speech alike. The sudden plunge back into European 
 life came upon me as a shock which was not mitigated even by 
 the charm of novelty, and it took several days to reconcile me at 
 all to my surroundings, my whole wish being at first to get away 
 from the degenerate capital at the earliest possible date. Many of 
 my friends, too, had left Teheran, or gone into the surrounding 
 villages for the hot weather, so that life was much duller than 
 it had been during my previous stay. 
 
 In spite of my desire to get away from Teheran, it took me 
 thirteen days to transact all my business. First of all I had to 
 find out about the steamers from Mashhad-i-Sar, the port whence 
 I intended to sail for Russia (for I would not take the well-known 
 Resht and Enzelf route); then there were books to be bought, 
 packed up, and sent off by way of Bushire to Cambridge; Babis, 
 to whom I had letters of introduction, to be visited; money 
 attangements to be made; and last though not least, fa*zyas to 
 be seen, for it was the beginning of the month of Muharram, and 
 the national mournings for Hasan, Huseyn, and the other saints 
 of the Shi‘ite Church were in full swing. 
 
 To the chief Babis of Teheran I was introduced by a merchant 
 of Shirvan (a Russian subject), to whom I carried a letter of 
 recommendation. They entertained me at lunch in a house neat 
 the Dulab Gate, and I was much impressed by their piety and 
 gravity of demeanour, so unlike the anarchic freedom of the 
 Kirman Babis. -As a psychological study, however, they were less 
 interesting, neither did I see enough of them to become intimate 
 with them. 
 
 As I intended to spend all my available money on books, 
 _ I was at some pains to ascertain what was to be had, and where 
 it could be had cheapest. I therefore visited several booksellers 
 and asked them to furnish me with a list of books and prices, 
 telling them that, as I hated haggling, I should make no remarks 
 on the prices quoted, but simply buy what I needed from him 
 who would sell cheapest. This plan had the best effect, since they 
 
602 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 did not know what other shops I had visited, and could, there- 
 fore, make no coalition against me; and I soon filled a large tin- 
 lined box with a good selection of useful works of reference 
 which seldom find their way to Europe, where bad Indian 
 editions ate, as a tule, the only things readily obtainable. I also 
 bought a few curiosities, and a complete suit of Persian clothes, 
 which was made for me under Haji Safar’s supervision. Amongst 
 the booksellers I made the acquaintance of a delightful old man, 
 a teal scholar, who, when he could collect two or three manu- 
 sctipts of some rare book which took his fancy (generally a 
 philosophical or mystical work), would, at his own risk, and with 
 no one to assist him, lithograph as correct and good a text as 
 he could. Of course he got no encouragement or help from the 
 great, who in earlier and better days might have recognised his 
 worth, and supplied him with the means of carrying on his 
 labour of love on a larger scale. His name, so far as I remember, 
 was Sheykh Muhammad Huseyn of Kashan. Whether he still 
 lives I know not; but I shall ever remember him as one of the 
 best types of the unobtrusive, kindly, disinterested, enthusiastic 
 scholar and bibliophile of the East that it has been my lot to 
 meet. 
 
 On Wednesday, 6th Muharram (12th September), I dined 
 with my kind friend Mr Fahie at the telegraph-office. The 
 Shah’s Prime Minister, the Aminu’s-Sultdn, was giving a rawxa- 
 kbwan, ot religious recitation, on a splendid scale in the adjoining 
 house, and after dinner we adjourned to the roof to watch it. 
 On this occasion a whole regiment of soldiers, as well as a 
 number of other guests, were being entertained by the generous 
 vazir. Sapper was provided for all of them, and I counted over 
 a hundred trays of food as they were brought in by the servants. 
 
 Next evening I accompanied several members of the English 
 Embassy to the Royal zekyé, a theatre specially constructed and 
 set apart for the dramatised representations of Muharram 
 (ta‘xiyas), which are to the Shi‘ite Muhammadan what the 
 
 ee | 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 603 
 
 Miracle-plays of Ober-Ammergau are to Christians of the 
 Romish Church. The theatre is a large circular building—roof- 
 less, but covered during Muharram with an awning. There are 
 boxes (¢dékchés) all round, which are assigned to the more patti- 
 cian spectators, one, specially large and highly decorated, being 
 reserved for the Shah. The humbler spectators sit round the 
 centtal space or arena in serried ranks, the women and children 
 in front. A circular stone platform in the centre constitutes the 
 stage. ‘There is no curtain and no exit for the actors, who, when 
 not wanted, simply stand back. The acting is powerful, though 
 somewhat crude, and it is impossible not to be influenced by 
 the deep feeling evinced by both actors and audience. The 
 ta‘ziyas comprise at least some thirty or forty episodes, the 
 representation of any one of which requires two or three hours. 
 Some of them are drawn from the histories of the Jewish pro- 
 phets, and these are the less interesting because the spectators 
 ate less profoundly moved by them; the majority, however, 
 illustrate the misfortunes of the Shi‘ite Imams. Those connected 
 with the fatal field of Kerbela, culminating in the death of the 
 “Prince of Martyrs” (Seyyidu’sh-shuhadd), the Imam Huseyn, are 
 the most moving; but I fancy that the Persians are, as a rule, not 
 vety willing to admit Europeans or Sunnite Muhammadans, so 
 ereatly are the religious feelings of the spectators stirred by the 
 teptesentation of the supreme catastrophe of the ‘Ashird, or 
 tenth of Muharram. On that day bands of men (especially 
 soldiers of Adharbayjan) parade the streets in white garments, 
 which ate soon dyed with gore; for each man carties a knife or 
 sword, and, as their excitement increases with cries of “Yd 
 Hasan! Yd Huseyn!” and beating of breasts, they inflict deep 
 eashes on their heads till the blood pours forth and streams over 
 their faces and apparel. It is an impressive sight, though some- 
 what suggestive of Baal-worship. 
 
 The ta‘ziya which I was privileged to see represented the 
 bereaved women of the Holy Family before the impious Shimr, 
 
604° FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 Yezid’s general. Shimr was clad in a complete suit of chain- 
 atmour, and the captive women were brought in before him 
 mounted on barebacked camels. Them he entreats with the 
 greatest brutality, driving them with a whip from the corpse 
 of Huseyn, round which they gather to weep and lament. The 
 mise-en-scene and costumes were good; but the effect was spoiled 
 in some measure by the introduction of a number of the Shah’s 
 catriages, with postilions barbarously dressed in a half-European 
 uniform, in the middle of the piece. This absurd piece of ostenta- 
 tion seemed to me typical of Kajar taste '. 
 
 I had been much exercised in mind as to the safe conveyance 
 of my precious Babi manuscripts to England. The box of books 
 which I was sending home by Bushire would, I knew, be months 
 on the road, and I wished to begin to work at my manuscripts 
 immediately on my return. On the other hand, I had heard such 
 dreadful accounts of the Russian Custom-house that I was afraid 
 to take them with me. Finally I decided to sew them up carte- 
 fully in thick linen, direct the parcel to my home addtess, and 
 send it, if I could obtain permission, in the Embassy bag, which 
 is conveyed monthly to Constantinople by a special bearer, and 
 there handed over to the Queen’s messenger for transport to 
 London. It cost me an effort to part with my beloved and 
 hardly-won manuscripts, even for so short a time, but I felt that 
 this was the safest plan; and, accordingly, having packed and 
 directed them with the greatest care, I rode out to Kulahak, the 
 summer quarters of the English Embassy, situated about six 
 miles to the north of Teheran, and, to my great relief, saw the 
 precious packet sealed up in the bag. 
 
 I had been delayed in starting from Teheran, and so reached 
 
 1 An English translation of some twenty or thirty of the more important 
 ta‘xiyas has been published in two handsome volumes by Sir Lewis Pelly, 
 formerly Resident on the Persian Gulf. One of them (“Les Noces de Kassem’’) 
 
 is given in French by Gobineau in his Religions et Philosophies dans Il Asie 
 Centrale (pp. 405-437), which also contains a general account of the Muharram 
 
 Passion-plays (pp. 381-403 and 439-459). 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 605 
 
 the Embassy too late for lunch; I stayed at Kulahak till about 
 5.30 p.m. visiting some of my Persian friends, and did not get 
 back to the city till nearly 7 p.m.; and that evening I had been 
 invited by my servant Haji Safar to sup with him at his house 
 and then to visit some of the smaller ¢a‘yiyas and rawza-khwans 
 with him in disguise. As I had had nothing to eat all day but 
 tea and biscuits, I was well-nigh famished before supper-time, 
 and returned to the hotel about midnight almost dead-beat. So 
 tired was I that it was some time before I could even summon 
 up energy to undress. 
 
 Next day I woke at I know not what time, feeling faint, 
 ill, and helplessly weak, as though every bone in my body were 
 broken. No one came neat me, and it was not till evening that 
 I could make the effort to rise and obtain some food. After 
 drinking a plate of soup and some tea, I again fell asleep, and 
 woke next morning somewhat better, though still too weak to 
 rise till evening. As two of my Persian friends had promised 
 to take me into the town to see something more of the Muharram 
 _ mournings and spectacles, I then made a fresh effort, got up, 
 had dinner, and, as soon as they arrived, put on a Persian coat 
 (sarddri) and lambskin hat (kw/dh), and sallied forth in this dis- 
 guise, well content to feel myself for the time a Persian amongst 
 Persians. We spent a pleasant and interesting evening, visiting 
 unmolested the Masjid-i-Shah (Royal Mosque) and the houses 
 of two notable divines, the Im4m-Jum‘a and Mulla ‘Ali of 
 Kand. 
 
 On Tuesday, 18th September, I concluded my purchase of 
 books, on which I spent something over £10. For the benefit 
 of Persian students, I append a list of the twenty-six volumes 
 which I bought for this sum, together with their prices. The first 
 fifteen I obtained from my good old friend Sheykh Muhammad 
 Huseyn of Kashan, the last eleven from another bookseller. 
 
 1. The Burhdn-i- Jami‘, a very excellent and compact dictionary 
 of Persian words, composed in the reigns of Fath-“Ali Shah 
 
606 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 and Muhammad Shah, by Muhammad Karim ibn Mahdi-Kuli 
 Mirza, and chiefly based on the Burhdn-i-Kdti‘ and the Farhang-1- 
 Rashid, lithographed in Tabriz in A.H. 1260 (A.D. 1844). Price 
 10 krans. 
 
 2. The Divan of Anvari (Tabriz edition of A.H. 1266). Price 
 12 krans. 
 
 3. The Kisasu’l-‘Ulamd (“Stories of Celebrated Divines”’), 
 by Muhammad ibn Suleyman et-Tanakabuni, together with two 
 other treatises, one called Sabi/u’n-najadt (“The Way of Salva- 
 tion”), and the other, by Seyyid Murtaza “Alamu’/-Hudd, called 
 Irshddu’l Awimm (“The Layman’s Guide”). Second edition, 
 lithographed in Teheran in A.H. 1304. Price 10 rans. 
 
 4. The Sharh-i-Manzuma, ot text and commentary of the 
 philosophical poem (Arabic) of the great modern philosopher 
 of Persia, Haji Mulla Hadi of Sabzawar. Lithographed at 
 Teheran in A.H. 1298. Price 20 krans. 
 
 5. The Divan of Sand’t, one of the most celebrated of the 
 early mystical poets of Persia (died about A.D. 1150). Litho- 
 graphed. Not dated. Price 8 krdns. 
 
 6. The Hadtkatu’sh-Shi‘a (“Garden of the Shi‘ites”’), an ex- 
 tensive work on Shi‘ite doctrine and history. Second volume 
 only, dealing with the Imams. Lithographed at Teheran in a.H. 
 1265. Price 12 krans. 
 
 7. The mystical commentary on the Kur’4n of Sheykh 
 Muhyi’d-Din ibnu’l-‘Arabi, a very notable Moorish mystic, 
 who flourished during the latter part of the twelfth and earlier 
 part of the thirteenth century of our era. Lithographed in 
 India (? Bombay) in A.H. 1291 (A.D. 1874). Price 30 Arans. 
 
 8. Philosophical treatises of Mulla Sadra, with marginal com- 
 mentary by Haji Mulla Hadi. Lithographed. No date. Price 
 10 krans. 
 
 9. The Tadbkiratu’l-Khattdtin (“Biographies of Calligraphists”’) 
 and the Travels in Persia, Turkey, Arabia, and Egypt, of Mirza 
 Sanglakh, a large and extremely handsome volume, beautifully 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 607 
 
 lithographed in a fine vaskh handwriting in a.H. 1291 at Tabriz. 
 Price 25 Ardns. 
 
 1o. The poems of ‘Unsuri, a contemporary of Firdawsi, 
 and 
 
 11. The poems of Farrukhi, another poet of the same period, 
 both lithographed at Teheran, the latter in a.H. 1301. Price 
 3 krans for the two volumes. 
 
 12. The complete works of Ka’4ni and Furtghi, two poets 
 of the nineteenth century, together with the Hadd’iku’s-sipr, a 
 treatise on rhetoric by Rashidu’d-Din Watwat. Lithographed in 
 A.H. 1302 (? Teheran). Price 14 krans. 
 
 13. The Fususu’l-Hikam by the celebrated mystic, Sheykh 
 Muhyi’d-Din ibnu’l-‘Arabi, mentioned above. Lithographed at 
 Bombay in A.H. 1300. Price 5 krdus. (There is another edition 
 of the same work lithographed at Teheran in a.H. 1299, which 
 I bought on another occasion.) 
 
 14. Sw’dl ud Jawvdb (“Questions and Answers”), a sort of 
 catechism on Shi‘ite law and ritual, by the great divine Haji 
 Seyyid Muhammad Bakir. Printed at Isfahan in the teign of 
 Path-“Ali Shah (4.H. 1247) under the patronage of Minuchihr 
 Khan Ma‘tamadu’d-Dawla, the governor of that place, by “Abdu’r- 
 Razzak of Isfahan, assisted and instructed by Mirza Zeynu’l- 
 ‘Abidin of Tabriz, who is described as ‘‘the introducer of this 
 att (7.¢. printing) into Persia.”” A fine piece of work. Price 8 krans. 
 
 15. The Hadtkatu’l Hakikat, a well-known early mystical 
 poem by Hakim Sana’i (flourished during the earlier part of 
 the twelfth century of our era); the two first chapters only, with 
 commentary by the Nawwab Muhammad ‘Ala’u’d-Din Khan, 
 poetically surnamed ‘A]a’i, edited by Muhammad Ruknu’d-Din 
 Kadiri Hisari. Lithographed at Luhari. No date. Price 24 krans. 
 
 16. The last volume of Sipihr’s great history, entitled Nadsz- 
 khu't-Tawarikh (“The Abtogator of Chronicles’), containing part 
 of the reign of Nasiru’d-Din Shah. Price 5 krdns. 
 
 17. A little volume containing the quatrains of ‘Omar 
 
 
 
608 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 Khayyam, of Baba Tahir the Lur of Hamadan (the most celebrated 
 dialectical poet of Persia), of Abt Sa‘id ibn Abi’l-Khayr (a notable 
 mystic who died about the middle of the eleventh century of our 
 era), and of Khwajé ‘Abdu’llah Ansari, together with some 
 kasidas by Salman of Savé. Lithographed at Bombay during the 
 vice-regency of Lord Lytton in A.H. 1297. Price 2 krdns. 
 
 18. A work on the evidences of Muhammadanism, written 
 at the request of Nasiru’d-Din Shah (and hence called Sw/tduiyya) 
 by the Bab’s rival, Haji Muhammad Karim Khan of Kirman, the 
 leader of the modern Sheykhi school. Price 3 krdns. 
 
 19. The poems of Minuchihri (a contemporary of Firdawsi). 
 Lithographed at Teheran. No date. Price 2 krdms. 
 
 20. The Asrdr-ndma (“Book of Mysteries”’) of the celebrated 
 mystical poet, Sheykh Faridu’d-Din ‘Attar. Lithographed at 
 Teheran, A.H. 1298. 
 
 21. The Kéirduun’s-Sa‘deyn (‘Conjunction of the Two Lucky 
 Planets”) of Amir Khusraw of Dihli. Lithographed (? at Tehe- 
 ran) in the reign of Nasiru’d-Din Shah. 
 
 22. The Divan of the philosopher Haji Mulla Hadi of Sabzawar, 
 poetically surnamed Asrdr. (There are two editions of this work, 
 both lithographed; the one in A.H. 1299, the other in A.H. 1300.) 
 Price 2 krdns. 
 
 23. A manuscript (incomplete) of Sheykh Faridu’d-Din 
 “Attar’s Tadbkiratu’l-Awliyd (“Biographies of Saints”). Tran- 
 scribed in A.H. 1209. Price 40 krans. 
 
 24. The poems of Nasit-i-Khusraw. Lithographed at Tabriz 
 in A.H. 1280. Price 14 Ardns. 
 
 25. An old manuscript of a highly-esteemed collection of 
 Shi‘ite traditions called Rawzatu’l-Kafi. Price 30 krans. 
 
 26. Mirkhwand’s Universal History, called Rawzatu’s-Safd, 
 with the supplement of Riza-Kuli Khan Ld/¢-bdshi, poetically 
 surnamed Hirddyat, carrying the record of events down to the 
 reign of Nasiru’d-Din Shah. Ten volumes in two. Lithographed 
 at Teheran, A.H. 1271-74. Price 7o krdns. 
 
 _ 
 | - 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 609 
 
 On returning to the hotel with a sturdy porter who bore 
 my purchases, I found my old teacher Mirza Asadu’llah of Sab- 
 zawat, who had kindly come to bring me a short biography of 
 his master Haji Mulla Hadi the philosopher, and also an auto- 
 graph of the great thinker. 
 
 Next day (Wednesday, 19th September) Haji Safar secured 
 the services of a tinsmith, with whose aid we packed up and 
 hermetically sealed my books and other purchases in a large 
 wooden chest lined with tin, which luckily proved just large 
 enough to contain them all. When it was closed up, we got 
 porters to carry it to Messrs Ziegler’s office in the Kdravansardy-1- 
 Amir, where I left it in the care of their agent for transport to 
 England by way of Bushire. The total value of its contents, as 
 estimated by myself for the Custom-House, came to almost 
 exactly 79 témdns (£24). 
 
 On the afternoon of the following day, having concluded all 
 my business, and said farewell to such of my friends as still 
 remained in Teheran, I started on my last march in Persia, which 
 was to convey me through the interesting province of Mazan- 
 daran to the Caspian. I had succeeded in obtaining through 
 Messts Ziegler’s agent 228 roubles in Russian money (the 
 equivalent of 752 &rdus, eight shdhis Persian). The rest of my 
 money, amounting to 747 krdus, twelve shdhis, I carried with me 
 in Persian silver and copper. 
 
 Our first stage was, as usual, to be a short one, of two or 
 three parasangs only, but the moon had risen ere we reached 
 out halting-place, the solitary caravansaray of Surkh Hisar 
 (“‘the Red Fortress”’), where I obtained a very good clean room, 
 opening on to a little courtyard, through which ran a stream of 
 limpid water. Soon after quitting Teheran by the Shimran Gate 
 we had been joined by an ex-artilleryman, who had just been 
 flogged and dismissed the service for some misdemeanour. He 
 exptessed a desire to accompany me to “Landan” (London), 
 declaring that Persia was no fit place for an honest man, and 
 
 B 39 
 
610 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 actually went with us as far as Amul, where I was not altogether 
 sorry to lose sight of him. 
 
 Friday, 21st September—Left Surkh Hisar about 7.30 a.m., 
 and, after a dull ride through a barren, stony plain, reached 
 the solitary and rather dilapidated caravansaray of Asalak an 
 hour before noon. Here I stopped for lunch, and was entet- 
 tained by a quaint old Seyyid who was suffering from a bad foot. 
 He told me with great glee how he had recently succeeded in 
 defrauding the revenue officers sent to collect his taxes. Being 
 apprised of their intended visit, he had, in spite of his lameness, 
 gone on foot to Teheran (a distance of six parasangs), carrying 
 with him all his cash (some twelve or thirteen timdns), mostly 
 in copper coins, which he there entrusted to the keeping of a 
 friend. When the revenue officers came, there was no money 
 to be found on the premises, and they were obliged to depart 
 empty-handed after a fruitless search. On my departure I gave 
 the old man a &rdu, with which he was highly pleased. 
 
 Soon after leaving Asalak we entered the mountains, and 
 the scenery began to improve tapidly, gradually assuming an 
 almost English character; for our way was between green hedge- 
 rows, beyond which lay real grass meadows watered by rippling 
 mountain streams and dotted with grazing cattle. Towards 
 sundown we teached the pretty straggling village of Agh, which 
 consists of three distinct groups of houses separated by con- 
 siderable intervals of road. We stopped at the last group, just 
 before the steepness of the ascent begins. Here I obtained a 
 delightful lodging in an upper chamber looking out on the most 
 charming landscape imaginable. 
 
 Saturday, 22nd September.—Statted about 7.15 a.m., and at 
 once began to ascend steeply towards the pass by which we were 
 to enter Mazandaran. The first part of our march was delicious, 
 for our road was bordered by moss-grown walls, overshadowed 
 by leafy trees, and crossed by innumerable streams, while around 
 us lay green grassy fields such as my eyes had not looked upon 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 611 
 
 for many a long day. As we advanced, the ascent grew gradually 
 more abrupt, and the path began to climb the mountain side in 
 a seties of apparently interminable zigzags which has given to 
 it the name of Hazar Cham (“the thousand twists”). At the 
 summit of the pass is a little building where we had lunch ere 
 commencing the descent into Mazandaran. Our downward 
 course lay at first by the side of a rushing river (the Lar, I think), 
 which soon plunged into a deep gorge. Far down in this gorge, 
 on a little plateau which broke the sheer face of the opposite 
 cliff, we could see the village of Ask, of which the mother of 
 the Shah’s eldest son, the Zi//v’s-Sultdn, is a native. How it is 
 approached I could not imagine, for I could discern no signs 
 of a path down the beetling precipice. On our left arose the 
 mighty snow-capped cone of Mount Demavend, which can be 
 ascended from this side without much difficulty, although the 
 inhabitants of the village of Demavend, and, indeed, the gene- 
 rality of Persians, believe it to be inaccessible. For on its summit, 
 accotding to ancient legend, was chained the tyrant Zahhak by 
 Feridun, the deliverer of his country, the avenger of his race, and 
 the restorer of the ancient royal house; and the accursed spirit 
 of the usurper is popularly supposed still to haunt the cloud- 
 capped peak of the mountain. But the inhabitants of the little 
 village of René, where we halted for the night, have no such 
 supetstitious dread of the mountain, and some of them are in 
 the habit of ascending it frequently to collect the sulphur which 
 is to be found in a cave neat the summit. 
 
 We left the beautiful Alpine village of René next morning 
 (Sunday, 23rd September) about 7.30 a.m. The pretty winding 
 road by which we continued to descend was so steep that for 
 the first hour or so of our march I preferred to walk. At the 
 bottom of the valley we again came to the river. In some places 
 this had undermined and washed away the path, so that we were 
 obliged to enter the water; but, on the whole, the road was a 
 triumph of engineering skill, for soon the valley narrowed into 
 
 39-4 
 
612 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 a mete cleft with steep rocky sides, out of which the passage had 
 been cut. This, the new road, runs along the left (western) side 
 of the gorge; on the opposite side were discernible the remains 
 of the old road, which had been built out from the cliff instead 
 of cut in it. At one point on the new toad a bas-relief of 
 Nasiru’d-Din Shah, surrounded by his courtiers, has been carved 
 on the rocks. 
 
 About 2 p.m. we passed a village. No lodging was to be found 
 there, so we proceeded on our way, halted for lunch in a corn- 
 field, and, about 4 p.m., reached a house by a bridge, where 
 the muleteer wished to halt for the night. Here also no decent 
 lodging was to be found, and consequently, in spite of the 
 mutterings of the muleteer, ‘““AAbir Mdzandardn-ast: ché mi-khwd- 
 hid?” (After all it is Mazandaran: what would you have?’’), 
 we again pushed on, until, about sunset, we came to a little group 
 of hovels, half caves, half huts, called Kalovan, where we halted. 
 It was a sweet night, and its sweetness was enhanced by the 
 shimmer of the moonlight and the murmur of the river; but 
 inside the cave-hut, which I shared with the owners, it was close 
 and warm, and the gnats were plentiful and aggressive. 
 
 Monday, 24th September—We statted about 7.30 a.m., and 
 travelled for some time in the company of a Mazandarani mule- 
 teer, who gave me information which I had been unable to obtain 
 from my own south-country chdrvdddr as to the position of the 
 castle of Sheykh Tabarsi, that once redoubtable stronghold of 
 the Babis, which, if possible, I desired to visit before embarking 
 at Mashhad-i-Sar. I found that it lay beyond Barfurtsh, between 
 that town and Sari, some distance off the main road near a village 
 called Karaghil, and that if I were to visit it, it must be from 
 Barfurush. 
 
 As we advanced, the valley began to widen out, and the rocky 
 cliffs, which had hitherto formed its sides, gave place to wooded 
 slopes. In front, too, low wooded hills appeared, while round 
 out path the wild pomegranate and other trees grew ever thicker 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 613 
 
 and thicker, so that we could no longer see far about us. Soon 
 we wete out of the hill-country altogether, and entered a vast 
 forest, where ferns and mosses grew thickly. Ever and anon 
 we traversed beautiful glades, on the green sward of which were 
 pitched here and there the black tents of nomads, whose cattle 
 gtazed peaceably round about the encampment. Save for these 
 black tents, and a certain luxuriance of vegetation, the whole 
 scene was wonderfully English in appearance, and I could almost 
 have believed myself to be already back in my native land. In 
 one of these delicious glades we halted for lunch, which con- 
 sisted of cold boiled rice and fowl, called in Mazandarani parlance 
 ““Retté.”’ 
 
 Later in the day the road got terribly bad, being sometimes 
 so deep in mud and slush that the beasts could hardly advance. 
 Our muleteer had intended to make for a village called Firuz- 
 Kulah, but we, being somewhat in advance, passed the point 
 where the road thither diverged from the road to Amul, and were 
 already some way advanced on the latter when the muleteer 
 overtook us. A violent altercation arose between him and Haji 
 Safar, for he would have had us turn back; but, learning from 
 an old peasant who happened to pass by that Amu] was distant 
 . but one parasang, we insisted on proceeding thither, and the 
 muleteer was finally compelled to a sullen submission. 
 
 Again the character of the country underwent a sudden 
 change; for, emerging from the dense forest, we entered on a 
 flat fenny plain, covered with long sedge-like grasses and tall 
 bulrushes, and dotted with marshy pools and grazing cattle. 
 About 6 p.m. we passed a little village with thatched cottages 
 (which seemed strangely out of place in Persia, that land of 
 clay houses and flat roofs), interspersed amongst which were 
 curious wooden erections, each composed of four stout poles 
 set vertically in the ground and supporting a sloping thatch. 
 Beneath this, at a distance of some feet, was a sort of platform 
 on which carpets and pillows were spread. I supposed that the 
 
614 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 inhabitants slept on these platforms during the hot weather to 
 escape the mosquitoes, but Haji Safar said that it was to avoid 
 the low-lying fogs which at night-time spread themselves over 
 the surface of the ground. 
 
 About half an hour after passing this village we reached 
 Amul, one of the chief cities of Mazandaran, a picturesque 
 straggling town divided into two parts by a large river, which 
 is spanned by a long narrow bridge built of bricks. Crossing 
 this bridge, we found quarters for the night in the house of a 
 respectable citizen, but though the room allotted to me was clean 
 and comfortable enough, the close, moist air, mosquitoes, and 
 vagtant cats combined to keep me awake for some time. 
 
 Tuesday, 25th September—We started about 7.30 a.m., and 
 all day our course lay through flat marshy fen-lands, covered 
 with rushes, sedges, and scrubby bushes. Snakes, lizards (some 
 large and green, others small and brown), tortoises, and frogs 
 abounded in and about the numerous stagnant pools by which 
 we passed. The toad was in many places little better than the 
 suttrounding quagmire, sometimes hardly discernible; and this 
 notwithstanding the fact that it is the main highway between 
 two of the chief cities of Mazandaran. About 5 p.m. we crossed 
 the river Babul by a fine bridge, and, turning sharply to the left 
 (north) along its eastern bank, traversed a great common, used 
 as a gtazing-eround for cattle, and in a few minutes entered 
 Barfuruish. On our right, as we entered, was a large lake covered 
 with water-lilies, in the centre of which was an island. This 
 island was joined to the shore by a bridge, and on it stood a 
 summet-palace (called Bagh-i-Shdh, “the King’s Garden”’), which 
 serves the Shah as a residence when he visits this part of his 
 dominions. Farther on we passed, just outside the town, the 
 catavansatay (now in ruins) where the Babis under Mulla Huseyn 
 of Bushtaweyh, “‘the First Letter of Affirmation,” defended 
 themselves against the townsfolk of Barfurtish in the conflict 
 which preceded the fiercer struggle at Sheykh Tabarsi. Entering 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 615 
 
 the town, the spacious square of the Sabzé Meyddn, or Herb 
 Market, turned my thoughts to the concluding catastrophe of 
 the great struggle of 1848-9, for there, in the summer of the latter 
 year, Mulla Muhammad ‘Ali of Barfurtsh, called by the Babis 
 ** Jendb-i-Kuddis”’ (“His Excellence the Most Holy’’), suffered 
 death, together with the chief of his surviving lieutenants, at 
 the hands of the Sa‘tdu’/‘Ulamd and his myrmidons. As we 
 entered the main street of the city we found one of the Muharram 
 representations (Za‘ziyas) in progress, and some of the people 
 would have had us turn aside; but we continued on our way, 
 while I wondered whether the Bab’s prophecy would ever be 
 fulfilled, that a day would come when in these spots, hallowed 
 by the blood of his martyrs, representations of their sufferings 
 and steadfastness should move the sympathetic lamentations and 
 tears of the children of those who slew them, and obliterate the 
 remembrance of the martyrs of Kerbela. 
 
 The town of Barfurtish is much finer and larger than Amul, 
 but less picturesque and old-world. We alighted at a rather 
 dilapidated caravansaray near the centre of the town. Here | 
 was visited in the course of the evening by a native of Kabul, 
 a British subject, who showed me his passport with evident 
 pride, and by one or two other persons, who informed me that 
 the Russian ambassador had on the previous day passed through 
 the town on his way to Sari, whence, as I understood, he pro- 
 posed to return to his own country by ship from Astarabad. I 
 enquired of my visitors concerning Sheykh Tabarsi, which I still 
 eagerly desired to visit. They told me that it was two parasangs 
 distant from Barfurtsh, to the south-east; and that the Babis, 
 drawing an analogy from the early history of Islam, called it 
 “Kerbela,” Barfurish “Kiufa,” and the lake surrounding the 
 Bagh-i-Shah “the Euphrates” (Furd#), and were still in the habit 
 of making pilgrimages thither. 
 
 In the evening, after supper, I summoned Haji Safar, told him 
 of my wish to visit Sheykh Tabarsi, and asked him whether it 
 
616 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 would be possible to do so. After thinking for a little while, 
 he replied that as we must necessarily be at the port of Mashhad-i- 
 Sat by nightfall on the following day to be in time for the steamer, 
 which was to leave early on Thursday morning, the only practic- 
 able plan was that he should, if possible, secure the services of 
 a competent guide and two stout Mazandarani ponies to convey 
 me to the shrine and back to Barfurush, and thence on, after 
 a short rest, to Mashhad-i-Sar, whither he himself would proceed 
 direct with the baggage. “All depends,” he concluded, “‘on my 
 success in finding a guide. If I can find one, I will wake you 
 betimes in the morning, for you must start early; if not, you must 
 perforce relinquish the project.” 
 
 Next morning (Wednesday, 26th September) Haji Safar awoke 
 me about 7 with the welcome intelligence that he had found a 
 shopkeeper of Barfurush, who owned two ponies, and was well 
 acquainted with the road to Sheykh Tabarsi, whither, for a 
 consideration, he was willing to guide me. While I was drinking 
 my morning tea the aforesaid guide, an honest-looking, burly 
 fellow, appeared in person. 
 
 “Well,” said he, “I hear you want to visit Tabarsi; what 
 for is no concern of mine, though why a Firangi should desire 
 to go there bafles my understanding. However, I am ready to 
 take you, if you will give me a suitable present for my trouble. 
 But we must start at once, for it is two good parasangs there 
 overt the worst of ground, and you must, as I understand, get to 
 Mashhad-i-Sar this evening, so that you should be back here at 
 least two or three hours before sunset. If you don’t like fatigue 
 and hard work you had better give up the idea, What do you 
 say? Wall you go or not?” 
 
 “Of course I will go,” I replied; “for what else did I seek you 
 out?” 
 
 “Well said!” replied my guide, patting me on the shoulder; 
 “then let us be off without delay.” 
 
 In a few minutes we were in the saddle, and moving rapidly 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 617 
 
 along the high-road to Sari on our sturdy, wiry little Mazan- 
 darani ponies. “Whither away?” cried some of my guide’s 
 acquaintance as we clattered out of the town. “Sheykh,” he 
 replied laconically; whereat expressions of surprise and curiosity, 
 which we did not stop to answer, would burst from our in- 
 terrogators. Soon we left the high-road, and, striking across 
 a broad, grassy common, entered trackless swamps and forests, 
 in which my guide, well as he knew the country, was sometimes 
 at fault; for the water lay deep on the rice-fields, and only the 
 peasants whom we occasionally met could tell us whether or no 
 a particular passage was possible. After crossing the swampy 
 tice-fields, we came to thickets and woods, intersected by the 
 narrowest and muddiest of paths, and overgrown with branches, 
 through which we forced our arduous way. Thence, after fording 
 a river with steep mud banks, we entered on pleasant open downs, 
 and, traversing several small coppices, arrived about 10.30 a.m. 
 at the lonely shrine of Sheykh Ahmad ibn Abi Talib-i-Tabarsi 
 (so stands the name of the buried saint on a tablet inscribed with 
 the form of words used for his “‘visitation”? which hangs sus- 
 pended from the railings surrounding his tomb), rendered im- 
 mortal by the gallantry of the Babi insurgents, who for nine 
 months (October 1848 to July 1849) held it against overwhelming 
 numbers of regulars and volunteers. 
 
 Sheykh Tabarsi is a place of little natural strength; and of 
 the elaborate fortifications, said by the Musulman historians to 
 have been constructed by the Babis, no trace remains. It con- 
 sists at present of a flat, grassy enclosure surrounded by a hedge, 
 and containing, besides the buildings of the shrine and another 
 building at the gateway (opposite to which, but outside the 
 enclosure, stands the house of the mutawal//, or custodian: of 
 the shrine), nothing but two or three orange-trees and a few rude 
 graves covered with flat stones, the last resting-places, perhaps, 
 of some of the Babi defenders. The building at the gateway 1s 
 two storeys high, is traversed by the passage giving access to 
 
618 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 the enclosure, and is roofed with tiles. The buildings of the shrine, 
 which stand at the farther end of the enclosure, are rather more 
 elaborate. Their greatest length (about twenty paces) lies east 
 and west; their breadth is about ten paces; and, besides the covered 
 portico at the entrance, they contain two rooms scantily lighted 
 by wooden gratings over the doors. The tomb of the Sheykh, 
 from whom the place takes its name, stands surrounded by 
 wooden tailings in the centre of the inner room, to which 
 access is obtained either by a door communicating with the 
 outer chamber, or by a door opening externally into the 
 enclosure. 
 
 My guide, believing, no doubt, that I was at heart a Babi 
 come to visit the graves of the martyrs of my religion, con- 
 siderately withdrew to the mutawalli’s house and left me to my 
 own devices for about three-quarters of an hour. I was still 
 engaged in making rough plans and sketches of the place', 
 however, when he returned to remind me that we could not afford 
 to delay much longer. So, not very willingly, yet greatly com- 
 forted at having successfully accomplished this final pilgrimage, 
 I mounted, and we rode back by the way we had come to 
 Barfursh, where we arrived about 3 p.m. “You are a Haji 
 now,” said my guide laughingly, as we drew near the town, 
 “and you ought to reward me liberally for this day’s work; for I 
 tell you that there are hundreds of Babis who come here to visit 
 Sheykh Tabarsi and can find no one to guide them thither, and 
 these would almost give their ears to go where you have gone 
 and see what you have seen.”” So when we alighted at a caravan- 
 saray near his house I gave him a sum of money with which he 
 appeared well content, and he, in return, set tea before me, and 
 then came and sat with me a while, telling me, with some 
 amusement, of the wonderings and speculations which my visit 
 to Sheykh Tabarsi had provoked amongst the townsfolk. ““Some 
 
 1 These will be found in my translation of the New History, published by 
 the Cambridge University Press. 
 
 OE a ne 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 619 
 
 say you must be a Babi,” he concluded, “but most incline to 
 the belief that you have been there to look for buried treasure, 
 ‘for,’ say they, ‘who ever heard of a Firangi who cared about 
 religion, and in any case what has a Firangi to do with the 
 Babis?’ I, for my part, have done my best to encourage them 
 in this belief; what took you to Tabarsi is no business either 
 of theirs or of mine.” 
 
 When I had rested for a while, a horse, on which was set 
 a pdlin, or pack-saddle, instead of an ordinary saddle, was 
 brought round. My guide apologised for not himself conducting 
 me to Mashhad-i-Sar, adding that he had provided a guide who 
 knew the way well. With this new guide, a barefooted stripling, 
 I set off for my last ride in Persia. Our way lay at first through 
 beautiful shady lanes, and thriving villages composed of thatched 
 cottages, both singularly English in appearance; and we made 
 good progress until, about two miles from Mashhad-i-Sar, we 
 emerged on the bare links or downs which skirt the coast, and 
 almost simultaneously darkness began to fall. Here we lost our 
 way for a while, until set in the road by an old villager; and at 
 length, about 7.30 p.m., after traversing more lanes over- 
 shadowed by trees and brilliant with glow-worms, we saw the 
 welcome light of the caravansaray which stands hard by the sea- 
 shore at some distance beyond the village. 
 
 That night was my last on Persian soil, but I had little time 
 to indulge in sentimental reflections, for it was late when I had 
 finished my supper, and I had to dispose my baggage for a 
 different manner of travelling from that to which I had been 
 so long accustomed, besides settling up with Haji Safar. I paid 
 him 163 &rdus in all (about £5), of which sixty krdus were for 
 his wages during September, thirty &rdus for the first half of 
 October (for he would not teach Teheran for ten days probably), 
 forty Ardns for the hire of the horse I had ridden, and thirty- 
 three &rdns for journey-money. I also made over to him my 
 saddle, saddle-bags, and cooking utensils, as well as some well- 
 
620 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 worn clothes, and further entrusted to him my revolver, which 
 he was to give to one of my friends in Teheran as a keepsake, 
 together with several letters. This done, I retired to rest and slept 
 soundly. 
 
 Next morning (Thursday, 27th September) Haji Safar woke 
 me early, telling me that the steamer was in sight. This proved 
 to be a false alarm, and when I went to the Russian agents (who 
 had an office in the caravansaray) they declined to give me my 
 ticket until the steamer actually appeared. These two agents 
 either were, or feigned to be, excessively stupid; they affected 
 not to understand either Persian or French, and refused to take 
 payment for the ticket in anything but Russian money, so that 
 it was fortunate that I had in Teheran provided myself with a 
 certain quantity of rouble notes. Finally the steamer hove in 
 sight, the ticket was bought for twenty-five roubles, and I 
 hastened down to the shore of the estuary, where several large 
 clumsy boats were preparing to put off to her. 
 
 It was with genuine regret that I turned for a moment before 
 stepping into the boat to bid farewell to Persia (which, notwith- 
 standing all her faults, I had come to love very dearly) and the 
 faithful and efficient Haji Safar. He had served me well, and to 
 his intelligence and enterprise | owed much. He was not perfect 
 —what man is?—but if ever it be my lot to visit these lands 
 again, | would wish no better than to secure the services of him, 
 ot one like him. I slipped into his hands a bag of money which I 
 had reserved for a parting present, and with a few brief words 
 of farewell, stepped into the boat, which at once cast off from 
 the shore, and, hoisting a sail, stood out towards the Russian 
 steamer. The sea grew rougher as we left the shelter of the 
 estuary, but with the sail we advanced quickly, and about 
 8.15 a.m. I climbed on board the Emperor Alexander, and, for 
 the first time for many months, felt myself, with a sudden sense 
 of loneliness, a stranger in the midst of strangers. 
 
 The only passengers who embarked besides myself were two 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 621 
 
 ot three Persians bound for Mashhad, and with these I con- 
 vetsed fitfully (knowing not when next I might find chance of 
 speech in an intelligible tongue) till we entered the vessel, when 
 they took up their station forward as deck passengers, and I 
 descended to the cabin. At 9 the steamer had turned about (for 
 Mashhad-i-Sar is the end of this line) and was running eastwards 
 for Bandar-i-Gaz, the port of Astarabad. 
 
 About 10.30 a bell announced breakfast, and I again descended 
 to the cabin. I was the only cabin passenger, and on entering 
 the saloon I was surprised to see two tables laid. At one were 
 seated the officers of the vessel (three or four in number), busily 
 engaged in the consumption of sardines, caviate, cheese, roasted 
 potatoes, and the like, which they were washing down with 
 nips of vodka, a sttong spirit, resembling the Persian ‘arak. The - 
 other table was laid with plates, but the places were vacant. 
 Wondering whether the officers were too proud to sit down at 
 the same table with the passengers, I stood hesitating, observing 
 which, one of the officers called out to me in English, asking me 
 whether I felt sick. I indignantly repudiated the imputation, 
 whereupon he bade me join them at their “Zakouski.”’ So I sat 
 down with them; and, after doing justice to the.caviare and 
 cheese, we moved on to the other table and had a substantial 
 déjeuner. At 6.30 in the evening we had another similar meal, 
 also preceded by Zakouski. 
 
 At 4 p.m. we teached Bandar-i-Gaz, the port of Astarabad, 
 and anchored close to the shore, by a wooden barge serving as 
 a pier, in full view of the little island of Ashurada. This now 
 belongs to the Russians (who first occupied it on the pretext 
 of checking the Turcoman pirates who formerly infested this 
 corner of the Caspian, and then declined to give it back to 
 the Persians), and around it several Russian war-ships were 
 anchored. Some of their officers came on board our steamer, 
 and later in the evening rockets were sent up from them in 
 honour, as I suppose, of the Russian Ambassador, who, so far 
 
622 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 as I could learn (for everyone was very reticent and uncom- 
 panionable), was in the neighbourhood. 
 
 I went to sleep that night with the sweet scent of the forests 
 of Mazandaran in my nostrils (for the wind was off the shore); 
 but when I went on deck next morning (Friday, 28th September) 
 not a tree was in sight, but only a long line of yellow sand-dunes, 
 which marked the inhospitable Turcoman coast, whence in 
 bygone days, ere the Russians stepped in and put a stop to their 
 marauding, the Turcoman pirates issued forth to harry the fertile 
 Persian lands, and bear back with them, to hateful bondage, hosts 
 of unfortunate captives destined for sale in the slave-markets of 
 Samarkand and Bukhara. At about mid-day we anchored off 
 Chekishlar, where a number of Russian officers, two ladies, and 
 a child, came on board to breakfast on the steamer. Immediately 
 after breakfast we again stood out to sea. 
 
 That evening an official of the Russian police (who, I suppose, 
 had come on board at Chekishlar) came up to me with one of 
 the officers of the boat and demanded my passport, which, he 
 said, would be returned to me at the Custom-House at Baku. I 
 was very loth to part with it, but there was no help for it; and, 
 inwatdly chafing, I surrendered to him the precious document. 
 
 Early next morning (Saturday, 29th September) I awoke to 
 find the vessel steaming along between a double row of sand- 
 dunes towards Uziin-Ada (“Long-Island”), the point whence 
 the Russian railway to Bukhara and Samarkand takes its de- 
 parture. Passing the narrows, we anchored alongside the quay 
 about 8.30 a.m. Being without my passport (which had probably 
 been taken from me expressly to prevent me from leaving the 
 steamer) I could not, even if I would, have gone on shore. But 
 indeed there was little to tempt me, for a more unattractive spot 
 I have seldom seen. It seemed to consist almost entirely of rail- 
 way-stations, barracks, police-stations, and custom-houses, set 
 in wastes of sand, infinite and immeasurable, and the Turcoman 
 seemed to bear but a small proportion to the Russian inhabitants. 
 
 a 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 623 
 
 A number of passengers came on board here, all of whom, save 
 one lady and three children, were Russian officers. The deck, too, 
 was crowded with soldiers, who, after dinner, at a sign from 
 their officer, burst out into a song with a chorus like the howling 
 of wolves, which, I supposed, was intended for a national 
 anthem. On retiring to my cabin I found to my disgust that my 
 berth had been appropriated by a Russian officer, who had 
 ejected my possessions and now lay there snoring hideously. I 
 was angered at his discourtesy, but deemed it wisest to make no 
 remonstrance. From my short experience of Russian travelling 
 I should suppose that their military men make a point of occupy- 
 ing places already taken in preference to such as ate vacant—at 
 any rate, when the occupant is a civilian and a foreigner. 
 
 I woke about 6.30 a.m. on the following morning (Sunday, 
 30th September) to find myself at Baku (or Badkubé, as it is 
 called by the Persians). Somehow or other I escaped the ordeal 
 of the Custom-House; for, intending at first to breakfast on board, 
 I did not disembark with the other passengers, and when after- 
 watds, changing my mind, I went on shore, about 9.30 a.m., 
 the pier was free of excisemen, and I had nothing to do but step 
 into a cab and drive to the station, stopping on the way at a 
 Persian money-changer’s to convert the remainder of my Persian 
 money into rouble notes. 
 
 The train did not start till 2.37 p.m., so I had some time to 
 wait at the station, where I had lunch. The porters were inefficient 
 and uncivil, the train crowded, and the scenery monotonous in 
 the extreme, so that my long railway journey began under rather 
 depressing auspices. Still there was a certain novelty in finding 
 myself once more in a train, and after a while I was cheered by 
 the entrance into my compartment of two Musulmans of the 
 Caucasus. With these I entered into conversation in Turkish, for 
 which I presently substituted Persian on finding that one of them 
 was familiar with that language. But I had hardly spoken ten 
 words when a Russian officer, who sat next me on the right, and 
 
624 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 with whom I had had a slight altercation in French about one 
 of my portmanteaux, which he alleged to be insecurely balanced 
 in the rack, leaned forward with an appearance of interest, and 
 then addressed me in perfectly idiomatic Persian. I discovered 
 that he had been born in Persia (near Burtjird, I think), and 
 had learned Persian almost as his native language. To both of 
 us, I think, but to myself certainly, it was a pleasure to speak it, 
 and we became quite friendly. 
 
 I had intended to stay a day at Tiflis, where we arrived at 
 8.15 next morning (Monday, 1st October), but the friendly 
 officer told me that the steamers for Odessa left Batoum on 
 Tuesdays and Thursdays, and that, after cities more truly 
 Oriental in character, Tiflis would offer but little attraction to 
 me, so I determined to continue my journey without halt, in 
 otder to catch the mortow’s boat. I had some difficulty in 
 cetting my ticket and finding my train, as no one seemed to 
 talk anything but Russian, but at last I succeeded, though only 
 after a waste of time which prevented me from making more 
 than the most unsubstantial and desultory breakfast. This, how- 
 ever, was of little consequence, for I never knew any railway 
 on which there were such frequent and prolonged stoppages for 
 refreshment, or any tefreshment-rooms so well provided and 
 so well managed. The fact that there is only one train a day each 
 way no doubt makes it easier to have all these savoury dishes and 
 steaming samovars (tea-urns) ready for passengers on their arrival, 
 but at no railway station in Europe have I seen food at once so 
 cheap, so good, and so well served as in the stations of the 
 Trans-Caucasian line. 
 
 The scenery on leaving Tiflis was fine, and at one point we 
 caught a glimpse of splendid snow-capped mountains to the 
 north; but on the whole I was disappointed, for the line lies so 
 much in narrow valleys which bar the outlook that little is to 
 be seen of the great Caucasian range. What could be seen of the 
 country from the train was pretty rather than grand, and I was 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 625 
 
 notsorry to reach Batoumatabout 11.15 p.m., where I put up at the 
 Hotel de France, and, forthe first time since leaving Teheran eleven 
 days previously, enjoyed the luxury of sleeping between sheets. 
 
 As the steamer for Odessa was not to leave Batoum till 
 3.30 p.m. on the following day (Tuesday, 2nd October), I had 
 all the morning to look about me, but the town presented few 
 features of interest, and the only thing that aroused my wonder 
 was the completely European character assumed by a place 
 which had only ceased to be Turkish twelve years before. I was 
 vety glad to embark on the steamer, which actually started about 
 4 p.m. Dinner was at 6, and afterwards I stayed on deck till 
 after 11, when we arrived at Sukhoum-Kala. 
 
 Next evening (Wednesday, 3rd October) we reached Novo- 
 Rassayask about 5 p.m., and lay there till late at night. There 
 were sevetal wart-vessels in the fine harbour, which continued 
 throughout the evening to send up rockets and flash the electric 
 light from point to point. 
 
 Early on the morning of Thursday, 4th October, we reached 
 Kertch, where, amongst other passengers, a very loquacious 
 _ American came on board. He had been spending some time 
 amongst the Russians, whom he did not much like or admire, 
 though, as he told me, he believed them to be the coming nation. 
 
 Friday, 5th October—Reached Yalta about 5 a.m., and lay 
 there till 8. It is a very beautiful place, and I was told that the 
 drive thence to Sebastopol along the coast traverses scenery so 
 fair that it has been called “‘the Earthly Paradise.” At 1.30 p.m. 
 we reached Sebastopol, where the American left the steamer. The 
 harbour struck me as very fine, but I, ignorant of things military, 
 should never have guessed that the place would be a position 
 of such remarkable strength. 
 
 On the following morning (Saturday, 6th October) we reached 
 Odessa before 7 a.m. There was no Customs’ examination, as 
 we came from a Russian port, and I drove straight to the Hotel 
 d’Europe, thinking that my troubles were over, and that from 
 
 B 40 
 
626 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 this point onwards all would be plain sailing. Here, however, 
 I was greatly out of my reckoning, as will shortly appear; for 
 while I was visiting an English ship-owner, to whom I had a 
 letter of introduction, he enquired whether I had had my passport 
 visé for departure from Russia. I replied that I had not,‘as I was 
 unawate that it was necessary. “Then,” said he, “you had best 
 get it done at once if you wish to leave this evening; give it to 
 me, and I will send a man with it to your hotel that your landlord 
 may see to it.” I did so, and sat chatting there for another 
 quarter of an hour, when we were interrupted by a telephonic 
 message informing me that my presence was necessary. 
 
 The landlord met me at the hotel door. “I am afraid you 
 will not be able to get your visa to-day,” said he, “‘for it is past 
 noon, and if the police grant it, it will only be as an act of grace. 
 Your only chance is to take a cab, drive direct to the police- 
 station, and request the prefect as a favour to visa your passport, 
 explaining to him that you have but just arrived and wish to 
 start to-night.” 
 
 Fruitless errand, to seek such grace from the Russian police! 
 Whether I offended them by omitting to remove my hat on 
 entering the office I know not; probably this had something to 
 do with it, for a man cried out at me in anger through a pigeon- 
 hole, and was only quieted when I uncovered my head. Then it 
 was some time before I could find anyone who spoke anything 
 but Russian; but at last I was shown into an inner room where 
 two men sat at a table, one portly, irascible, and clad in uniform; 
 the other thin, white-haired, smooth-shaven, and sinister of 
 countenance. I presented my passport, and explained in French 
 the reasons which had prevented me from coming sooner, adding 
 that I should feel deeply obliged if they would grant me the visa. 
 The wizen-faced man answered in a high peevish voice in very 
 bad French that I must come to-morrow. 
 
 “T cannot come to-morrow,” I replied, “‘for I must leave to- 
 
 night.” 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 627 
 
 “You cannot leave to-night,” he retorted as his portly 
 colleague threw the passport back to me across the table; “‘if 
 you wished to leave to-night you should have come earlier.” 
 
 “But I tell you that I only arrived this morning,” I answered. 
 
 “Then you must stay till to-morrow,” they answered; and 
 when I would have remonstrated, ‘““Go,”? shouted the man in 
 the uniform, “you waste our time and yours.” And so, gulping 
 down my anger and pocketing my passport, I left the office. 
 
 Here was a pleasant state of things! I was in hot haste to 
 get back to England; I had travelled as fast as I could from the 
 Persian capital, not even stopping at Tiflis, where I would gladly 
 have spent a day; and now there seemed every likelihood of my 
 being detained in this detestable Odessa for the whim of a Russian 
 prefect of police. I asked my friend the ship-owner what I 
 should do. 
 
 “T am afraid,” said he, “that you can do nothing now. You 
 seem to have offended the susceptibilities of the police in some 
 way, and they will certainly not do anything to accommodate 
 you, for their will is absolute, and argument is useless. A judicious 
 bribe might have smoothed matters over if you had known how 
 to give it and to whom, but I fear that the time for that has 
 passed.” 
 
 ““Are you sure the passport needs a visa at all?” I enquired, 
 remembering that the words “bon pour se rendre en Angleterre par 
 voie de la Russie” had been inscribed on it at the English Embassy 
 after it had received the Russian visa at Teheran. My friend was 
 at first inclined to maintain that the visa was indispensable, but 
 I asked why, as I was not stopping even a single night at Odessa, 
 and as I was travelling straight through Russia as fast as possible, 
 it should need a visa here more than at Baku or any other town 
 through which I had passed. Then he called a clerk more ex- 
 perienced in the ways of Russia than himself and asked his 
 opinion. The clerk finally gave it as his decision that the passport 
 was good without the visa of the Odessa police, unless the latter, 
 
 40-2 
 
628 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 apprehending my departure, should telegraph to the frontier 
 stations not to let me pass. 
 
 “Well,” said I, “‘the practical point is this, would you advise 
 me to take this evening’s train or not?” 
 
 “T hardly like to advise you,” replied my friend, “but if I 
 wete in your place I should go and risk it.” 
 
 “Tn that case,” I rejoined, after a moment’s reflection, “I will 
 
 90. : 
 I had some difficulty with the hotel-keeper ere he would con- 
 sent to my departure, but at length, to my great relief, 1 found 
 myself, with a ticket for Berlin in my pocket, ensconced in a 
 compartment of the 7.40 p.m. train for the West. A pleasant and 
 kindly Austrian who was returning to Vienna, and who would 
 therefore bear me company as far as Oswiecim, was my fellow- 
 traveller. He spoke English well, and gave me much seasonable 
 help both at the Russian and the Austrian frontiers. 
 
 It was an anxious moment for me when, about 9 a.m. on 
 the following day (Sunday, 7th October), the train steamed 
 into the Russian frontier station of Woloczyska, and we were 
 bidden to alight for the inspection of passports. A peremptory 
 official collected these and disappeared with them into an office, 
 while we waited anxiously outside. Presently he appeared with 
 a handful of them and began to call out the names of the possessors, 
 each of whom, as his name was called, stepped forward and 
 claimed his passport. I waited anxiously, for mine was not there. 
 The official retired to his office and again emerged with another 
 sheaf of papers, and still I waited in vain, till all but one or two 
 of the passports had been returned to their owners. “‘Haven’t 
 you got your passport yet?” enquired the kindly Austrian. ‘‘ The 
 train is just going to start.” “I don’t know what has become of 
 it,” I answered despairingly, making sure that my detention 
 had been resolved upon. Thereupon he stepped forward and 
 addressed the official, who in reply produced two or three pass- 
 potts, amongst which I recognised my own. I was very near 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 629 
 
 trying to snatch it out of his hand, but luckily I restrained myself. 
 “That is mine,” I exclaimed. The Austrian translated what I 
 had said to the official, who, after staring at me for a moment, 
 threw the precious document to me. “He was surprised,” said 
 the Austrian, “‘to see so vast a collection of strange visas and 
 inscriptions on the papers of a young man like you.” 
 
 So much time had been consumed thus that I had to forgo 
 all hope of breakfast, and thought myself fortunate in finding a 
 few moments to change my Russian into Austrian money. Then 
 I re-entered the train, and indescribable was my satisfaction when 
 we steamed out of the station and left Russia behind us. The 
 people, I doubt not, are honest and kindly folk, but the system 
 of police supervision and constant restraint which prevails is, 
 to an Englishman unused to such interference, well-nigh in- 
 tolerable. I had suffered more annoyance during the few days 
 of my passage through Russian territory than during all the rest 
 of my journey. 
 
 Not yet, however, were my troubles over. Five minutes after 
 leaving Woloczyska the train pulls up at the Austrian frontier 
 station of Podwoloczyska for the Austrian Customs’ examina- 
 tion. As it began to slacken speed, my Austrian friend asked 
 me whether I anticipated any trouble there. I answered in the 
 negative. 
 
 “What, for instance,” said he, “have you in that wooden box?” 
 
 The box in question contained a handsome silver coffee- 
 service of Persian workmanship, which a Persian gentleman, to 
 whom I was under great obligations, had asked me to convey 
 for him to one of his friends in England. I told my Austrian 
 fellow-traveller this, whereupon he exclaimed:— 
 
 “A silver coffee-service! You will have trouble enough with 
 it, ot 1 am much mistaken. Why, do you not know that the 
 Custom-House regulations in Austria as to the importation of 
 silver are most stringent? You will be lucky if they do not 
 confiscate it and melt it down.” 
 
630 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 I was greatly disquieted at this information, for I felt myself 
 bound in honour to convey the silver entrusted to me safely 
 to its destination; and I asked my companion what I had best do. 
 
 “Well,” he said, ““you must declare it at once on your arrival, 
 and demand to have it sealed up for transmission to the Prussian 
 frontier station of Oswiecim. I will give you what help I can.” 
 
 I had another bad time at Podwoloczyska, but at length, 
 thanks to the good offices of my fellow-traveller, the box con- 
 taining the silver was sealed up with leaden seals and registered 
 through to Oswiecim. All my luggage was subjected to an 
 exhaustive examination, and everything of which the use was 
 not perfectly apparent (such as my medicine chest and the 
 Wolseley valise), was placed in the contraband parcel, for which 
 I had to pay a considerable additional sum for registration. All 
 this took time, and here, too, I had to abandon all idea of break- 
 fast. By the time we reached Lemberg, at about 2 p.m., I was 
 extremely hungry, having had practically nothing to eat since 
 leaving Odessa on the previous evening; and I was glad to 
 secure a luncheon-basket, the contents of which I had plenty 
 of time to consume ere we reached the next station, where it 
 was temoved. 
 
 My original intention was to stay the night at Cracow, as 
 I found that I should gain nothing by pushing on to Oswiecim, 
 but now, seeing that the bundle containing the silver entrusted 
 to my care must go through to the frontier, and anticipating 
 further troubles at the Prussian Custom-House, I changed my 
 plan, and, on arriving at Cracow, alighted from the train, tre- 
 claimed that portion of my luggage registered from Odessa, 
 and re-registered it to Oswiecim, the Prussian frontier station 
 and the point where the Vienna and Berlin lines diverge. I had 
 just time to effect this ere the train started again. 
 
 At 11.30 on the night of this miserable day the train stopped 
 at Oswiecim, and I emerged into the black wet night, the cheer- 
 lessness of which was revealed rather than mitigated by a few 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 631 
 
 feeble oil lamps. With some difficulty I found a porter (for the 
 place seemed wrapped in slumber), who, making me leave all 
 my luggage in a locked room to await the Customs’ examination 
 on the morrow, and suffering me to retain only my greatcoat, 
 led me through a perfect sea of mud to the miserable hotel 
 opposite the station. There was a light in one of the windows, 
 but, though we knocked vigorously for some time, no one came. 
 At last the door was opened, on a chain, by a most ill-looking 
 fellow, clad in a night-shirt and trousers, with a beard of two days’ 
 growth on his ugly chin. So little did I like his looks that I did 
 not press for admission, which he on his part showed no in- 
 clination to grant me. So I returned to the empty waiting-room 
 of the station, with its dimly-lighted, beery, smoke-laden atmo- 
 sphere, thinking that after all I should not be much wotse off 
 sleeping on the wooden bench which ran round the walls, than 
 in some of the Turkish stables and Mazandarani hovels to which 
 I had become inured in the course of my travels. 
 
 I do not think that the porter who accompanied me spoke 
 German very fluently, and, as I could hardly speak it at all, 
 communication was difficult. Tired out, wet, and discouraged, 
 I was anxious to throw myself on the bench and forget my 
 troubles in sleep. Yet still the porter stood by me, striving, as 
 I supposed, to express his regret at my being compelled to pass 
 so uncomfortable a night. So I roused myself, and, as well as 
 I could, told him that it was really of no consequence, since I 
 had passed many a good night in quarters no more luxurious. 
 “This will do very well till the morning,” I concluded, as I 
 again threw myself down on the bench, thinking of that favourite 
 aphorism of the Persians under such circumstances as those in 
 which I found myself, “ Akbir yak shab-ast, na hazdr’’ (“ After all, 
 it is for one night, not a thousand”’). 
 
 “Tt might do very well,” explained the porter, “if you could 
 stop here, but you cannot. Weare going to shut up the station.” 
 
 I again sprang to my feet. “I can’t spend the night walking 
 
632 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 about in the rain,” I remonstrated, “‘and you see that the hotel 
 will not admit me. Where am I to go?” 
 
 “Ay, that’s just the question,” retorted he. 
 
 We again emerged on to the platform, and my porter took 
 counsel with some other station officials; but from the way they 
 shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders I inferred that 
 my chances of being allowed to remain there were but small. 
 Finally, a gendarme with a gun and bayonet appeared, and I was 
 invited to follow him, which I did apathetically, without the 
 least idea as to whither we were bound. 
 
 Tramping after my guide through dark muddy lanes, I pre- 
 sently found myself at the door of a house, where the gendarme 
 bade me wait for a minute while he entered. Presently, after 
 much wrangling in Polish, he again emerged, and beckoned to 
 me to follow him. We passed through an outer bedroom where 
 several persons were sleeping, and entered a smaller inner toom 
 containing two beds, occupied by the owner of the house and 
 his son. Between the former and my guide a further altercation 
 ensued, and it seemed as though here also I was to find no rest. 
 At last the owner of the house got out of bed, led me to a sott 
 of window looking into an adjacent room which I had not 
 hitherto noticed, and, pointing to a mass of human beings 
 (vagrants, I suppose) sleeping huddled together on the floor, 
 remarked that it was “pretty full in there.” 
 
 I stepped back in consternation. “‘ Well,” continued he, “‘will 
 you stay?” 
 
 “I must stay somewhere,” I replied; “I am not allowed to 
 stop in the railway station, I can’t get into the hotel, and you can 
 hardly expect me to spend the night out of doors in the rain.” 
 
 “Well, you can sleep on that bench,” said he, pointing to one 
 which stood by the wall. I signified assent, and, as the gendarme 
 prepared to depart, I offered him a small silver coin which looked 
 like a sixpence. The effect was most happy. It had never occurred 
 to me that these people would suppose me to be absolutely 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 633 
 
 impecunious, but I fancy that this was the case, and that I did 
 not sufficiently realise how shabby my appearance was in the 
 old travel-stained clothes which I wore. At all events, the pro- 
 duction of this little piece of silver acted like magic. My host, 
 after asking the gendarme to let him look at it, turned to me 
 with a marked increase of courtesy, and asked me whether I 
 would like a bolster laid on the bench and some blankets whetre- 
 with to cover myself. I replied that I should, and ventured 
 to suggest that if he had any bread in the house I should be glad 
 of some, as I was ravenously hungry. “Cheese?” he enquired. 
 I eagerly assented, and further asked for water, instead of which 
 he brought me milk. I made a hearty meal, while his little son, 
 who had been awakened by the noise, sat up and began to 
 question me in bad French, which, as it appeared, he was learning 
 at school. 
 
 Altogether I fared much better than I had expected, and, had 
 it not been that my socks and boots were wet through, I should 
 have been sufficiently comfortable. In the morning they gave 
 me breakfast, made me inscribe my name in a book kept for that 
 purpose, were delighted to find that I had a passport, and thank- 
 fully received the few shillings I gave them. Then’'the porter of 
 the ptevious night returned to conduct me to the railway 
 station, and I bade farewell to my entertainers, not knowing to 
 this day whether or no I had passed that night under the sheltering 
 roof of a Polish casual-watrd. 
 
 By reaching the station an hour before the departure of the 
 train (which started from Cracow, where I had intended to spend 
 the previous night), I hoped to get my luggage cleared at the 
 Custom-House, and the silver plate sealed up again for trans- 
 mission through Germany in good time. Here again I was 
 foiled, however, for I found that the Custom-House officers 
 did not put in appearance till the arrival of the train. When they 
 did come they were intelligent and courteous enough, but very 
 rigorous in their examination of my luggage. About my opium- 
 
634 FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 
 
 pipe, the nature of which (greatly to their credit, I thought) they 
 at once recognised, they were especially curious. Then they must 
 see the silver coffee-service, at the beauty of which they uttered 
 guttural ejaculations of admiration. But when it came to the 
 question of sealing it up again for transmission to the Dutch 
 frontier, they declared that there was not sufficient time before 
 the departure of the train, and that I should have to wait till the 
 next, which did not start till the afternoon or evening. 
 
 I was so heartily sick of Oswiecim, and so eager to get to the 
 end of my journey, that I could not face the prospect of further 
 delay, especially as I had every reason to expect that I should 
 have another similar experience at the Dutch frontier; so I 
 enquired whether it would not be possible to have the package 
 forwarded after me to England. They replied that it would, and 
 introduced to me an honest-looking man, named Arnold Haber, 
 who, they said, was an agent for the transmission of goods. To 
 him, therefore, I confided the care of my precious but trouble- 
 some little box, which duly reached me some days after my return 
 to Cambridge, with a heavy charge for duty from the Dover 
 Custom-House. 
 
 It was with unalloyed satisfaction that I took my seat in the 
 train, and, about 10 a.m., left Oswiecim behind me. At 2 p.m. 
 I reached Breslau, where I had just time’for a hasty meal, and 
 at 10 p.m. I was at Berlin, just in time to see the Flushing night- 
 mail, which I had hoped to catch, steam out of the station. So 
 here I had to spend the night at a homely comfortable hotel, 
 called the Berliner Hof, the luxuries of which a remembrance of 
 my last night’s discomfort enabled me to appreciate to the full. 
 
 Next morning (Tuesday, 9th October) I left Berlin at 7.45 a.m. 
 for Flushing, and twenty-four hours later, without further 
 adventure, landed once more in England. By half-past nine on 
 the morning of that day (Wednesday, roth October) I was at 
 King’s Cross, debating in my mind whether I should go straight 
 to the North, or whether I ought first to visit Cambridge (where 
 
FROM KIRMAN TO ENGLAND 635 
 
 term had just begun) to report my arrival, and request a week’s 
 leave to visit my home. This indecision, however, was of brief 
 duration, for my eagerness to see my home again would brook 
 no delay, and increased nearness did but beget greater im- 
 patience. There are, I suppose, few pleasures in this world 
 comparable to the return to a home one loves after a long 
 absence abroad; and the realisation of this pleasure I could not 
 bring myself to postpone for a moment longer than necessary. 
 
 Thus ended a journey to which, though fraught with fatigues 
 and discomforts, and not wholly free from occasional vexations, 
 I look back with almost unmixed satisfaction. For such fatigues 
 and discomforts (and they were far fewer than might reasonably 
 have been expected) I was amply compensated by an enlarged 
 knowledge and experience, and a rich store of pleasant memories, 
 which would have been cheaply purchased even at a higher 
 price. For without toil and fatigue can nothing be accomplished, 
 even as an Arab poet has said:-— 
 
 “Wa man talaba’l-“uld min ghayri kaddi 
 Ada‘a’l-‘umra ft talabi’l-mubdli.” 
 
 “And he who hopes to scale the heights without enduring pain, 
 And toil and strife, but wastes his life in idle quest and vain.” 
 
 
 

 
 INDEX 
 
 ABADE, 118, 189, 230, 25352575387, 567 
 
 Abarkuh, 256, 379, 380-5, 387, 393 
 
 ‘Abbas, Shah, “‘the Great,” 188, 242, 
 246, 561 
 
 ‘Abbas Efendi, Beha’u’llah’s son, 
 226, 368, 561 
 
 Abbott, Mr, British Consul at Tabriz, 
 
 ee03s 87 
 
 Ab-i-Marvan, 245 
 
 Abjad, 307 ”. 1, 350, 427-9 
 
 Abraham identified with Zoroaster, 
 
 432-3 
 
 Abu Bekr hated by Persians, 24 z. 1, 
 196, 491 
 
 Abt Jahl, 510 
 
 Abu’l-Fazl, Mirza, of Gulpdyagan, 
 565 and nv. 1 
 
 Abt’l-Hasan-i-Jilvé, Mirza, 124, 162 
 
 Abw’l-Kasim Fandaraski, Mir, 141 
 
 Abt Lahab, 130 and z. 2 
 
 Abt Nasr Farahi, 116 2. 1 
 
 Abu Zeyd-abad, 599 
 
 Acte (Ad) in Syria, 67, 111, 226 
 ANd #42, 228)7°2565273'29, 033 8, 
 345 M. 1, 347, 353, 360, 361, 362, 
 366 and n. 2, 368 n. 3, 434, 448, 
 478) 48 Fa 52 tay 223 920-7, 
 538, 552, 560-1, 582, 583, 592 
 
 Adam, 573 
 
 Adharbayjan, 51, 84, 85, 108 
 
 Adrianople, 227 #. 1, 349, 366, 460 
 
 Afghans, 123, 215 
 
 Afnan (title given to Bab’s relatives), 
 330, 348, 354, 308 
 
 Afrasiyab, 109 
 
 Agh, 610 
 
 Aghda, 598 
 
 Aghsan (title given to Beha’u’llah’s 
 sons, singular Ghysn), 368 
 
 Ahmad, Sheykh, of Ahs4, 351; his 
 works, 554 
 
 A’iné-khané (Isfahan), 238 
 
 Aka Muhammad Khan the Kajar, 94, 
 
 310 
 
 Ak4-yi Sirru’ll4h (title of ‘Abbds 
 
 . et Efendi; g2t)366 
 
 Aka-zadas (sons of Haji Muhammad 
 Karim Khan), 588 
 
 Akhtar (Persian newspapet), 495 
 
 Al (a kind of hobgoblin), 181 
 
 “Alf (the Imam), 24> 196)+202372797, 
 466, 494 
 
 “Ali, Haji Seyyid, the Bab’s uncle, 64 
 
 “Ali, Mulla, of Nur, the philosopher, 
 
 144 
 “Ali-abad (near Yezd), 393 
 “Ali-lahis, 447 
 ‘Ali Muhammad, Mirza. See Bab 
 “Ali Pasha, 365 and »%. 2 
 American missionaries, 63, 93, 101 
 115, 163 
 Amin-abad, 243, 244 
 Aminu’d-Dawla, 179 
 Aminu’s-Sultan, 176-82, 454, 480, 
 Go2 
 Amshaspands, 412 
 Amul, 271 . 1, 613-14 
 Anat, 463-4, 596 
 “Andalib, the Babi poet, 401-2, 433-4, 
 436, 438, 442, 448, 597 
 Anecdotes, concerning the ma/a, or 
 bug of Suma, 72-3 
 Sheykh Sa‘di and the young Ata- 
 bek, 125-6 
 ‘Obeyd-i-Zakani’s last will and 
 testament, 126-7 
 Fath-‘Ali Shah and 
 Laureate, 128 
 
 > 
 
 the Poet 
 
638 
 
 Anecdotes, concerning one who de- 
 
 sited to become invisible, 13 1-2 
 
 Manakji and the mdst-khiydr, 190-4 
 
 The dervish and the five clay 
 figures, 195-8 
 
 The gardener, the bear, and the 
 snake, 198-9 
 
 The jackals and the dogs, 200-1 
 
 The stinginess of the Isfahanis, 214 
 
 The mountain of Shah Kannab, 
 249-50 
 
 The Isfahani, the Shirazi, and the 
 Khurasani, 252-3 
 
 Diogenes and the child, 298 
 
 Haji Ibrahim Khan and Aké 
 Muhammad Khan, 310-12 
 
 Hafiz and Timur, 394 
 
 The king in disguise, 436-7 
 
 The Niriz insurrection, 441-2 
 
 Sheykh Huseyn, “the Tyrant,” 442 
 
 Haji Kambar, 450 
 
 Jesus Christ and the young man, 
 488-9 
 
 ‘Ali’s devoutness, 494 
 
 ‘Ali’s magnanimity, 494 
 
 A young Babi who defied the 
 Sheykhis, 509-10 
 
 Nasir-i-Khusraw, 524 
 
 Sheykh S$ , the Babi courier, 
 
 
 
 527-9 
 The ass and the Turk, 558 
 Antichrist, 237, 479, 510 
 Antiquities (see also Cyrus, Tomb of; 
 Pasargadae ; Haji-abad) 
 Hunting towers of Bahram Gur, 
 379 and n. 1 
 In the Plain of Abarkth, 385 
 Shawwaz, an old castle near Yezd, 
 
 ak 
 At Kirman, 485 
 
 Arab conquest of Persia, 134, 415 
 
 “Arak, 77, 80-1, 383, 411 
 
 Ararat, Mount, 44, 49 
 
 Ardabil, 73 
 
 Ardashir-i-Babakan, 485 
 
 Ardessa, 28-9 
 
 Ardistan, 599 
 
 Arg (Citadel) of Tabriz, 63, 495; of 
 Shiraz, 316-17 
 
 INDEX 
 
 ‘Arif. See Dervishes, Sufis, Mysticism 
 
 Armenians, 22, 23, 30, 31, 32, 35-75 
 42, 44, 45, 47, 102, 189, 209, 
 220, 297, 314, 319 
 
 Asalak, 610 
 
 Ash-Kal‘a, 34 
 
 ‘Ashura (Muharram roth), 603 
 
 Ashurada, 621 
 
 Ask (Mazandaran), 610 
 
 “Ass’s head” (sar-i-khar, ra’su 7l- 
 himar), 300, 330 
 
 Astarabad, 621 
 
 Astrology, 158, 316 
 
 Atash-gah (Isfahan), 222 
 
 Avajik, 39, 52 
 
 Avesta. See Zend 
 
 Avicenna, 107 
 
 Ayytb Khan, 123 
 
 ‘Azizu’s-Sultan (“ Manijak”’), 113 
 
 BAB (Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad, the), 
 | short account of his life, mission, 
 and martyrdom, 64-70 
 His precocious wisdom, 164 
 Portents heralding his birth, 164 
 Likened to Christ, 235, 333-4 
 Little spoken of by Beha’is, 329 
 His relatives, 329-30. See also 
 Afndn 
 His “‘ Manifestation,” 350-1; fore- 
 told by Sufi poets, 356, 599 
 He was Christ returned again, 
 357-9, 514 
 His house at Shiraz, 354, 369, 370-1 
 He was a “‘charmer of hearts,” 514 
 To what extent he took liberties 
 with grammar, 571 
 Babis, their early history, 64-70 
 Insurrections of, at Zanjan, 71-2, 
 81; in Mazandaran, 614-15; at 
 Niriz, 441 
 Persecutions of, 111-12, 434, 440- 
 1, 561-6. See also Martyrs of 
 Isfahan 
 Difficulty in establishing com- 
 munication with, 162-3 
 Fortitude under torture of, 163, 
 
 434, 510 
 Skill in controversy of, 163, 235 #.1 
 
INDEX 
 
 Babis (continued): 
 
 Opinion of American missionaries 
 concerning, 163-4 
 
 Philosophers and, 161, 165-7 
 
 Strongholds of, 189, 212, 221, 253 
 
 Communications established with, 
 224 ef Seq. 
 
 Schism amongst, 70, 226 #. 2, 352, 
 561-2. See also Evelis 
 
 Of Isfahan, 223-39 
 
 Of Shiraz, 325, 326-69 
 
 Of Yezd, 400, 431-44, 547 
 
 Of Kirman, 478, 482-3, 485-7, 
 492-4, 500-2, 5O7-II, 513-15, 
 520-5, 526-42, 545-83, 585, 
 590-5 
 
 Of Rafsinjan, 593-5 
 
 Of Teheran, 601 
 
 Their books, 224, 329, 342-6, 
 349.1, 303.1, 478, 495%. 1, 
 522, §74, 594-6. "See also Beydn, 
 tkdn, Kitab-i- Akdas, Lawh, etc. 
 
 Provisional conformity of, with 
 ordinances of Islam, 236, 345-6, 
 521 
 
 Mutual recognition of, 236 
 
 Nationalist tendencies of, 236 x. 2, 
 333-4, 346 
 
 Their couriers, 526-9 
 
 Their missionaries, 296, 329, 362, 
 364 
 
 Their poets, 401, 443, 541, 567 
 
 Their places of pilgrimage, 354, 
 615-19 
 
 Their new writing (Khatt-i-badt‘), 
 327, 340-7, 359 
 
 Their dress in Asia Minor, 522 
 
 Their relations with the Muham- 
 madans, 234-7, 248-50, 295-6, 
 300, 337, 362, 439, 460, 507-9; 
 with the Sheykhis, 351, 509-11, 
 556; with the Sufis, 355-6, 438, 
 443-7, 548; with the Christians, 
 235,443; with the Zoroastrians, 
 333-4, 357-8, 431-3, 440 
 
 Their persecutors overtaken by 
 Divine vengeance, 441-2. See 
 also Béakir, Sheykh 
 
 Their views concerning God, 334, 
 
 639 
 
 444, 536-8; concerning Christ, 
 235 4.1, 332-423 concerning pro- 
 phetic cycles or dispensations, 
 331, 356-7, 434, 436-8, 534-5; 
 concerning miracles, 332, 337-8, 
 401; concerning the proofs 
 needed to establish a prophetic 
 claim, 332-3, 339; concerning 
 the compulsion of unbelievers, 
 334-5, 359, 444-5; concerning 
 faith and works, 438, 540; con- 
 cerning the future life, 440, sor, 
 566, 592; concerning allegorical 
 interpretation, 237-9, 337-8 
 
 Gospels appealed to by, 235 #. 1, 
 339s 345 
 
 Antinomian, 443-6, 500-1, 520-1, 
 532, 538, 576-7 
 
 Impositions on charitable, 494-5, 
 523 
 
 Arrogant pretensions of certain, 
 
 5OI 
 
 Baba-Kuhi (Shiraz), 305 
 
 Baboon, 100 
 
 Babul, river, 614 
 
 Badgirs (wind-towers), 396 
 
 Badi‘, Mirza, 111, 434 
 
 Bagh-i-Lalé-zar (Teheran), 104 
 
 Bagh-i-Naw (Shiraz), 293 #. 1, 304 
 
 Bagh-i-Sheykh (Shiraz), 305, 371, 373 
 
 Bagh-i-Takht (Shiraz), 304 
 
 Baghin, 498, 563 
 
 Baghistan, 388 
 
 Bahram-abad (Rafsinjan), 465-8, 594 
 
 Bahram Gur, 379 and #. 1 
 
 Bahram, Shah, the Zoroastrian Mes- 
 siah, 432, 484 
 
 Baibutt, 33 
 
 Bajgah, 282 
 
 Bakhtiyaris, 255 
 
 Bakir, Mirza Muhammad, of Ba- 
 wanat, 13-16 
 
 Bakir, Sheykh, of Isfahan, 
 347, 301, 365, 368 
 
 Baku (Badkubé), 20, 623 
 
 Balasaris, 519 
 
 Balkh-t-Guriz, 392 
 
 Bam, 443 
 
 Bane Abbas, 488 
 
 node Neate E 
 
640 
 
 Bandar-i-Gaz, 621 
 Band-i-Amir. See Bendemeer 
 Band-i-Kohrud, 202 
 Barbar, Shahr-i-, 459 
 Barfurtsh, 612, 614-19 
 Barsh, 57 
 Bashsiz, 72 
 Bas-reliefs, 
 612 
 Bast (sanctuary), 98, 101, 174 
 Batoum, 20, 624 
 Bawanat, 257, 392 
 Bayezid, 49 
 Bedr, Battle of, 135 
 Beggars, 80 
 Beha’u’d-Din ‘Amili, 141 
 Beha’u’llah (Mirza Huseyn “Ali) 
 desires all men to become as he is, 
 566 
 how regarded by Ezelis, 548, 554 
 regarded as “a man perfect in hu- 
 manity,” 230; as “He whom 
 God shall manifest,” 329-30; 
 as Christ returned, 337-9, 357, 
 433; as the Comforter or Para- 
 clete, 341, 434; as the Lord of 
 the Vineyard, 434; as Shah 
 Bahram, the Zoroastrian Mes- 
 siah, 432;.as the Father, 340, 
 434; as God, 537 
 Biographical details concerning, 
 66-7, 70, 226”. 2, 352-3, 559-61 
 Devotion inspired by, 365-6, 478, 
 485, 592 
 His coming only foretold in gene- 
 ral terms by the Bab, 357-8 
 His death, date of, 226”. 1, 368 2.1 
 His divine nature, how understood, 
 
 537-8, 566-7, 594-5 
 
 modernyegs rz 70s. 1, 
 
 His foreknowledge, instances of, 
 
 339, 347-9, 353, 359-65, 443 
 His letter to the Shah of Persia, 
 
 III, 434 
 
 His sons, 226 ”. 1, 368. See also 
 Aghsidn 
 
 His successor, 226 4. 1, 368 n. 3 
 
 Money demanded in his name, 
 574-5 
 
 Visit to, described, 523 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Behjet Bey, Turkish Consul at Ta- 
 briz, 63 
 
 Beluchis, 481, 490-2, 510-13 
 
 Beluchistan, 490 
 
 Bendemeer (Band-i- Amir), 280 n. 1 
 
 Berésine, 206 and xz. 1, 426 
 
 Bethune, Sir Henry, 81 
 
 Beyan, 548, 562, 579, 594, 595-6 
 
 Beyaz, 464, 595 
 
 Bibi Shahrbanu, 96 
 
 Blake, Mr, 258, 376-80 
 
 Blue Mosque (Masjid-i-Kabid) at 
 Tabriz, 63 
 
 Boot, the Kajar, 441 
 
 “Boulevard des 
 IOI-2 
 
 Breath, science of the, 60 
 
 Bruce #Dri216 
 
 Bulghawar, 72 
 
 Bunaft, Castle of, 392 
 
 Burton, Sir Richard, 449 a. 1 
 
 Buz-majjé, 251, 465 
 
 Ambassadeurs,” 
 
 CALENDAR, Babi, ane 
 Zoroastrian, 412-1 
 
 Cannabis Indica (hashish), 569 andz. 1 
 
 Caravans of the dead, 78 
 
 Carlyle, 14, 92 
 
 Carmel, Mount, 338 #. 1, 434 
 
 Caspian Sea, 83, 128, 619-23 
 
 Chah-Begi (near Yezd), 386-7, 421 
 
 Chahil-tan (Shiraz), 284 
 
 Chah-i-Murtaza-‘Ali (Shiraz), 313 
 
 “Challenging” (wuwdzt bastan), 463 
 
 Chambers, Mr, 39 
 
 Chamr (near Yezd), 396 
 
 Char Mahall, 221 
 
 Charvadars, character of, 171 
 
 Chekishlar, 622 
 
 Chifté, 598 
 
 Chihrik, 67 
 
 Chilaw, 120 and #. 1, 190 
 
 Chillé (forty days’ retirement), 161 
 
 Christ, 235 and #.1, 332-42, 345, 
 357-8, 433-4, 488-9, 501, 503-4, 
 534, 538, 568, 573, 579 
 
 Chronograms, 307 and #. 1, 427-8 
 
 Codes of communication, secret, 
 426-8 
 
INDEX 
 
 Couriers (kasids), 257, 387; Babi, 527, 
 
 52 
 Cowell Premecon 12 
 Curzon, Hon. ‘G. N.; 2 
 Custom-house, Turkish, 22, 49 
 Russian, 604, 623 
 Austrian, 629 
 Prussian, 630, 633 
 English, 634 
 Cyprus, 226 and #. 2, 521, 560. See 
 also Subp-i-Exel, Exelis 
 Cyrus, Tomb of, 260, 263, 266 
 
 Daxumes (“Towers of Silence’’), 
 96-7, 396, 422, 516-17 
 
 Dala’il-i-sab‘a (“Seven Proofs”’), 574 
 
 Dallals, 223-30 
 
 Damascus, 20, 85 
 
 Damghan, 257 
 
 Dancing boys, 120, 320-1 
 
 Darab, 372 
 
 Darcham Bey, 209-10 
 
 Dari dialect, 205-8, 424-5 
 
 Darmesteter, Professor, 206 x. 2 
 
 Daru’l-Fisk (Shiraz so called by 
 Ferhad Mirza), 117 
 
 Daru’l-Puntin (University of Tehe- 
 ran), 103-4, 107, 112 
 
 Daru’l-‘Ibadat. See Yerd 
 
 Daru’l-‘Ilm. See Shiraz 
 
 Daru’l-Khilafat. See Teheran 
 
 Daru’s-Safa. See Khiy 
 
 Dasht-i-Arjin (“the Plain of the Wild 
 Almond?’’), 100 
 
 Datura, 569-70 
 
 Davari (the poet), 130, 292 
 
 Dawshan-tepé (Teheran), 94, 99 
 
 Deli Baba, 43 
 
 Demavend, 89, 611 
 
 Demirji-sayu, 29 
 
 Dervishes, 56-62, 195-8, 312 
 
 De Sacy, 263 
 
 Desatir, 403, 414 4. 1, 422 
 
 Devé-boyun (Erzeroum), 41 
 
 Devey, Mr, 36, mh 
 
 Devil-worshippers (Yezidis), 570 
 
 Dhabih, Haji Mulla Isma‘il, 566 
 
 Dialects. See Dart, Kashdn, Kohrid, 
 Sivand, Yexd 
 
 B 
 
 641 
 
 Dightaban, 29 
 
 Dihbid, 256, 258, 371-2, 376-81 
 
 Dih-i-Naw, 260, 263 
 
 Dih-i-Pa’in, 389 
 
 Dil-gusha, Garden of, at Shiraz, 284, 
 304, 308-15 
 
 Dilmaghan, 56 
 
 Diogenes, 298 
 
 Diyadin, 32, 48-50, 52 
 
 Dizé-Khalil, 62 
 
 Dogs and jackals, 200-1 
 
 Dreams, interpretation of, 158-9 
 
 Dulab, 484 
 
 Duldul, 202 
 
 Dunbak (a sort of drum), 119, 309 
 
 Dushab (a sort of syrup), 30 
 
 Eipurz Mountains, 83, 89, 94, 100. 
 See also Demdvend 
 
 El-chek (thumb-screws), 441 
 
 England, Decline of Oriental Letters 
 in, 2-4 
 
 looked up to by Zoroastrians, 417, 
 
 466; by Hindoos, 467 
 
 Entertainments, Persian, 119-22, 
 190-201, 297-9, 319-25, 410— 
 Il, 520-1, 534-41, 543, 546-9, 
 551, 573, 591, 594-5, 602-4 
 
 ErZeroums 20," 22,23 oro ee Oun eae 
 
 35-41 
 “ Rsoteric Buddhism,” 156 
 Ruropean enterprise in Persia, g9—100 
 Ruropeans in Teheran, 93 
 Ezel. See Subp-i-Exel 
 Ezelis, 7o, 226 #7. 2, 329, 352, 3066 
 and #. 1 and 2, 478, 491, 508, 
 $20, $34, 542, 545, 540-9, 551-4, 
 559-O1, 572, 578, 582, 590, 
 397 
 
 Faure, Mr, 602 
 “Fairy Hole” (Pari-hél), 25.4 
 “Farewell Fountain ” (Isfahan), 221, 
 241 
 Farhang, Mirza-yi-, the poet, 130, 
 292, 308 
 Farik Pasha, 44 
 Farmdan-farma, 297 and #. 1, 323 
 Faslu’l-Khitab, 588 
 41 
 
642 
 
 Fath-‘Ali Shah, 105, 128, 271 #.1, 
 297, 299, 311-12, 323 
 Ferhad Mirza, 115-18, 257, 
 
 277-8, 290, 299, 301, 316 
 Feridun, 188 
 Firdawsi, the poet, 278 
 Fire-temples, 408-9, 483-4 
 Firtiz-Kulah (Mazandaran), 613 
 Firtiz Mirza, 317 
 Fish, method of catching, 46 
 Fleas in Turkish khdns, 27 
 Folk-Lore, 73, 180-1, 193, 199-201, 
 202, 249, 231-2, 290-1, 421, 422 
 France, Oriental studies in, 4 
 Purs-i-kadim (“Ancient Persian ’’), 
 203. See also Dialects 
 Future life, Doctrines of the Philo- 
 sophers concerning, 148-56 
 Puzuli of Baghdad, the Turkish poet, 
 34 
 
 262, 
 
 GALEN (Jd/inus), 60, 107, 108, 378, 
 5§I 
 
 Gardanne, General, 105 
 
 Gardens, 95, 284, 303-8. See Bagh 
 
 Gates of Teheran, 94; of Kirman, 
 471-2, 482, 490, 491 
 
 Gav-khané marsh, 215 
 
 Gazelles, 210 
 
 Geomancy (‘I/m-i-Raml), 58-62, 158, 
 484, 486 
 
 Gezx2rT2 
 
 Ghaznavids, 110, 129 
 
 Ghiils, 180, 194, 221, 290, 422-3 
 
 Gist (long locks worn by dervishes), 
 
 ey 
 
 Glover, Sergeant, 253 
 
 Gobineau, M. le Comte de, 64 2. 1, 
 134, 143 #7. 1, 155, 219, 328, 343, 
 346, 604 2.1 
 
 Géd-i-Ahmar, 465 
 
 Géd-i-Shirdan (or Sharif-a4bad, near 
 Yezd), 388-90 
 
 Gordon, General, 364 
 
 Greetings on the road, 242, 463 
 
 Guebres. See Zoroastrians 
 
 Gulshan-i-Raz (“the Rose-garden of 
 Mystery,” a well-known Stfi 
 poem), 60; cited 446 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Gunbudh-i-‘Alf (Abarkuh), 382, 385 
 Gurgab (near Isfahan), 212 
 
 Gushti (near Dihbid), 381 
 Gyumish-Khané, 30, 32, 34 
 
 Hasp-I-NIsHAT (“Pills of gladness ’’), 
 
 57 
 
 Hadi, Haji Mulla, of Sabzawar, the 
 philosopher, 143-55, 419, 608 
 
 Hafiz of Shiraz, the poet, 13, 51, 256, 
 282, 303, 304, 305-7, 569 #. I 
 
 Haft-dast (palace at Isfahan), 238 
 
 Haft-tan (Shiraz), 284, 312 
 
 Haji-abad, 267-9 
 
 Haji Aké (near Tabriz), 71 
 
 Haji Mirza Aghasi, 67, 127 
 
 Hakim (Abarkuh), 385, 389 
 
 Hamadan, 345 
 
 Hand, amputation of, 117 
 
 Hands, eating with, 53 
 
 Hanishk (near Dihbid), 381-2 
 
 Harunu’r-Rashid, 63 
 
 Hasan-Kal‘a, 40-1 
 
 Hashish (Indian hemp), 569 
 
 Hashtartd, 73 
 
 Hasht Bihisht (Isfahan), 218 
 
 Haunted Tree, 258 
 
 Hawz-i-Sultan, 176 
 
 Hazar-deré (Isfahan), 161, 180, 221 
 
 Hazar-pa (Millipede), 421 
 
 Herbs, virtues of certain, 384, 424 
 
 Himmat, a poet in the reign of 
 Nasiru’d-Din Shah, 292 
 
 Hindoos, 465-6, 479, 489 
 
 Hippocrates (Bukrat), 378 n. 2 
 
 Hoeérnle Dry 2r2r21G7 2220s 
 
 Homa (or ham, the sacred plant of 
 the Zoroastrians), 430 
 
 Hotels in Asia Minor, 90, 100. See 
 also Mihman-khanés 
 
 Huart, M. C., 204 and #. 2, 207 n. 1, 
 426 
 
 Humayun, 218 
 
 Huseyn, Aka Seyyid, of Yezd, the 
 Bab’s amanuensis, 68 ~ 
 
 Huseyn ‘Ali, Mirza, of Nur. 
 Beha’ w’ lah 
 
 Huseyn, Imam, 96, 459, 603. See 
 also Imdms 
 
 See 
 
INDEX 
 
 Huseyn, Sultan, the Safavi, 217 
 Husn-i-Ta‘lil (a figure of rhetoric), 
 128 
 
 IprAHIM Khan, Haji, 310-11 
 
 Idar (or kbunndb), a fruit, 76 
 
 ‘Tfrits, 180, 194, 221, 290. See also 
 Folk-Lore, Ghils 
 
 Thtishamu’d-Dawla, Prince, 115, 118, 
 249, 262, 316 
 
 [kan (“the Assurance, a Babi evi- 
 dential work), 2G. 344, 554,576 
 ja (near Erzeroum), 35, 41 
 
 oe d-Dawla, Prince, 397, 402, 
 406-7, 418, 490 
 
 Imam-Jum‘a of Isfahan, 232-3; of 
 Tabriz, 84 
 
 >> 
 
 Imams, 77, 249, 251, 459, 519-20, 
 Go2 
 
 In‘4m (a present given to an inferior), 
 753 76, 212 
 
 Indian pronunciation of Persian, 15, 
 LOOM THB 1555491 
 
 ‘Irdki (the poet), 419, 514, 521 
 
 Irrigation, 382 
 
 Isfahan, 93, 100, 104,141, 211, 219-39 
 
 Isfahanis, character of, 213-14 
 
 Islam, 124, 133 
 
 “{slamo-Christianity,” 1 
 
 Isma‘ilis, 134 
 
 Ismin-abad (Abarkuh), 382 
 
 Istakhr, 374, 386 
 
 izidkhwast (or Yezdikhwast), 243~8 
 
 ‘Izz-abad (near Yezd), 598 
 
 ‘Izzu’d-Dawla, Prince, 118 
 
 Jacxats and dogs, legend concern- 
 ing, 200-1 
 
 Jalalu’d-Dawla, Prince, 111, 115, 280, 
 
 17 
 
 Jalalu’d-Din Rumi, the great mysti- 
 cal poet. See Masnavi 
 
 Jam (Drinking- cup), 410 
 
 Jamasp-nama, 484 
 
 Jami, the poet, translation from his 
 Yisuf 4 Zuleykhd, 137-9; his 
 Lawa@ ih, 418; his Ashi‘atu’/-La- 
 maat, 419; chronogram on his 
 death, 427 
 
 , 643 
 
 Jani, Haji Mirza, the Babi historian 
 and martyr, 66 and z. 1 
 
 Jan-numa, Garden of, 284, 304 
 
 Jask, 488 
 
 Jaukand, 598 
 
 Jem4l, Aka, of Burtjird, a notable 
 Babi, 56 5 
 
 Jequirity (chashm-i-khurués, ot ‘aynu 
 *d-dik), 107 
 
 Jevizlik (near 
 28 
 
 Jewish minstrels and dancing-boys, 
 241, 243, 320-1, 323 
 
 Jilvé, Mirza Abt’l-Hasan-i-, 
 philosopher and poet, 162 
 
 Jinn (singular jinn?, “ genie”), 159- 
 290; ILaskhir-i- (control over 
 familiar spirits), 486, 496 
 
 Jiré (journey-money), 169 
 
 Julfa, 212, 215-17, 220-2 
 
 Justi, 204 ”. 2, 205 and #. 1, 426 
 
 Trebizonde), 26, 
 
 the 
 
 KA’ ANT, the poet, 129-30 
 
 _ Ka‘ba-i-Zaratusht, 272 
 
 Kabutar Khan (near Kirman), 468, 
 593 
 
 Kadarak, 31 
 
 Kaflan-kth, 77 
 
 “Kajar coffee,” 106, 218 
 
 Kajar dynasty, 94, 108; vandalism of, 
 211, 219, 603-4 
 
 Kal‘a-i-Imam-Jum‘a (near Teheran), 
 88 
 
 Kal‘a-i-Shur (near Isfahan), 241 
 
 Kal‘at-i-Zard (near Yezd), 392 
 
 Kalandats, 521, ch. xvii, passim 
 
 Kalimat-i-maknina (a Babi book 
 composed by Beha’u’llah), 568 
 
 Kalovan (in Mazandaran), 612 
 
 Kamial-abad (in Rafsinjan), 593 
 
 Kamraniyyé (garden near Teheran), 
 
 95 
 
 Kanats Sano aqueducts), 127 
 Beat 
 
 on ae R., > “Land of” (Kirman), 
 
 sen hees (an edible plant), 272 
 Kara Ayné, 53-4 
 Karach (river), 89 
 
 41-2 
 
644 
 
 Kara-Chiman, 72 
 
 Karaghil (in Mazandaran), 612 
 
 Kara Kilisa, 45 
 
 Karim Khan the Zend, 94, 124, 308, 
 310, 314 
 
 Karim Khan, Haji Muhammad, of 
 Kirman, head of the Sheykhi 
 sect, 351, 09-10, 517-18, 555, 
 556, 570, 588, 608 
 
 Kashan, 66, 188-90, 202, 205, 597, 
 599; dialect of, 426 
 
 Kashka’is, 109, 124, 210, 289 
 
 Kasids. See Couriers 
 
 Kasr-i-Abt Nasr (near Shiraz), 299, 
 301 
 
 Kasr-1-Ya‘kub (near Dihbid), 380 
 
 Kasr-i-Zard (the “Yellow Palace” 
 of Bahram Gur), identified with 
 Kushk-i-Zard, 379 2. 1 
 
 Katt (a village near Yezd), 392 
 
 Kavit, Dasht-i-, 194-5, 211 
 
 Kawurma (a kind of food), 31 
 
 Kazim, Haji Seyyid, of Resht, 65, 
 351, 554 
 
 Kazimeyn, 518 
 
 Kazvin, 525 85-6, 345 
 
 Kehvaré-i-Div (“the Demon’s 
 Cradle” at Shiraz), 303, 313 
 
 Kerbela, 65, 242, 274, 459, 483, 5735 
 603 
 
 Ker Porter, Sir R., 260-1, 262 
 
 Keshkul (dervish’s alms-gourd), 57 
 
 Ketté (a Mazandarani word for 
 “lunch”’), 613 
 
 Khadimu’ll4h (Aka Mirz4 Aka Jan 
 of Kashan, Behda’u’ll4h’s a- 
 manuensis), 359, 523 
 
 Khal‘at-pushi (near Shiraz), 283 
 
 Khalid-abad (near Kashan), 599 
 
 Khamsé-kyiiy (near Trebizonde), 26, 
 28 
 
 Khan-i-Khurré, 25 5 
 
 Khan-i-Kirgan, 256 
 
 Khanlik (near Teheran), 67 
 
 Khatt-i-badi* (the “New Writing” 
 of the Babis), 327, 346, 359, 
 
 522 
 Khatt-i-murghi (the “ Bird-writing” 
 of Mushkin-Kalam), 227 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Khatt-i-satvi, or shajari (“Cypress- 
 writing” or “Tree-writing”’), 
 428 
 
 Khatt-i-tanzili (the “Revelation- 
 writing,” of Khadimu’llah), 359 
 
 Khir, 476 
 
 Khullar, Wine of, 309 
 
 Khunnab (or édar), a fruit, 76 
 
 Khurashé (near Yezd), 394 
 
 Khurram-deré (near Kazvin), 33 
 
 Khurrami (near Dihbid), 377, 380 
 
 Khusrav-abad (near Khuy), 56 
 
 Khuy, 33, 38, 39, 55-61 
 
 Kinar-i-gird, 176 
 
 Kirishkin (near Kazvin), 84 
 
 Kirman, 96, 97, 134, 204, 314, 468— 
 74,and chs. xvi and xvii (pp. 475- 
 589) passim 
 
 Kirmanshahan (between Yezd and 
 Kirman), 462, 596 
 
 Kishlakh (mihmdn-khdané of, neat 
 Teheran), 86 
 
 Kitab-i-Akdas, 328, 343, 3.40, 349, 
 351, 354, 521, 539, 549. 579, 
 
 Ta ay 
 
 ) 
 
 Kitébu'l-Ahkém (Gobineau’s Livre 
 des Préceptes), 343 
 
 Kiyanian Kings, 109 
 
 Kizil-Dizé, 49 
 
 Kizil Uzan, 76, 79 
 
 Kohrtid, 204-11, 598 
 
 Kopdagh, 34 
 
 Kuh-i-Bart (Shiraz), 305 
 
 Kuh-i-Sufi (Isfahan), 220-1 
 
 Kulahak (near Teheran), 95, 165, 605 
 
 Kulah-i-Firangi, 317 
 
 Kum, 52, 182-5, 477, 599 
 
 Kumastr, 42 
 
 Kumishah, 242-3 
 
 Kur’4n-i-hafdah mani (“the Kur’4n 
 of 17 maunds”’), 284, 303 
 
 Kurds, 44, 47, 48, 113, 365 
 
 Kurratu’l-‘Ayn (the Babi poetess and 
 heroine), 111, 352, 541, 543, 
 567, 571; her poems, 345, 535, 
 
 574 
 
 Kurtoghlu, the bandit-minstrel, 43; 
 name of a flower, 381 
 
 Kushk (near Dihbid), 377, 380 
 
INDEX 
 
 Kushk-i-Bahram (post-station be- 
 tween Teheran and Kum), 179, 
 600 
 
 Kushk-i-Zard, 380 #. 1 
 
 Kushkuh, 465, 586 
 
 Kushti (girdle of Zoroastrians), 404, 
 516 
 
 Kyipri-bashi, 28 
 
 LANGAR (neat Kirman), 510, 587-8 
 
 Languages, how to learn, 6 
 
 Lawash (a kind of bread), 33 
 
 Lawh-i-Nasir (one of Beha’u’llah’s 
 epistles), 574 
 
 Leopard, 100 
 
 Lion, 100 
 
 Lokman, 57 
 
 Longworth, Mr, 25 
 
 Lurs, 204, 210 
 
 Lutf ‘Ali Khan, the Zend, 310 
 
 Lynch, Mr, 430 
 
 Lyne, Mr, 184 
 
 Manrasas (colleges), 104, 217-18 
 
 Magic, 159-62, 496-9, 501-2. See 
 also Occult Sciences 
 
 Mahalu, Lake (near Shiraz), 284 
 
 Mahan (Shah Ni‘matu’llah’s shrine, 
 near Kirman), 581-2, 585, 586 
 
 Mahdi, Imam, 66, 237, 510 
 
 Mahmid Shabistari, Sheykh, 60, 446 
 
 Majlis-i-Sihhat (Medical Council at 
 Teheran), 107 
 
 Maksud Beg, 243 
 
 Maku, 67 
 
 Mala (Miyané bug), 72-3, 76-7, 
 18 
 
 Malaku’l-Mawt Deré (“ Valley of the 
 Angel of Death’’), 180 
 
 Malcolm, Sir John, 105, 276 
 
 Manakji Sahib, late Zoroastrian 
 Agent at Teheran, 190-4, 344 
 and #. 1, 432, 478, 516 
 
 Mandal (Magical Circle), 161 
 
 Manes, 133 
 
 Manijak, 113 
 
 Mansur-i-Hallaj (the Sufi), 156, 355, 
 
 438 
 Marg (near Isfahan), 241 
 
 645 
 
 “Martyrs of Isfahan,” 110, 230-34, 
 347, 360, 365, 566 
 
 Marv-Dasht (near Persepolis), 265, 
 272, 276, 279, 373 
 
 Mashhad-i-Sar (Mazandaran), 6o1, 
 616, 617, 619-21 
 
 Mashrikeyn (near Shiraz), 303 
 
 Masjid-Bardi, 284, 305, 347 
 
 Masjid-i-Kabtid. See Blue Mosque 
 
 Masjid-i-Madar-i-Suleyman (Pasar- 
 gadae), 259-6o 
 
 Masjid-i-Shah (Teheran), 106, 605 
 
 Masjid-i-Sipahsalar (Teheran), 105-6 
 
 Masnavi, 14, 17, 300, 343, 355, 410, 
 438, 521, 537, 547, 549 
 
 Mast-Khiyar (curds and cucumbers), 
 190-4 
 
 Mayar (near Isfahan), 241-2 
 
 Mazandaran, 67, 611-19 
 
 Mazdak, 133, 539 
 
 Mazta‘-i-Sabz (near Dihbid), 380 
 
 Medicine, difficulties attending the 
 practice of, in Persia, 60, 375-6, 
 378-9332 96 2 ee 
 
 Medicine, progress of, in Teheran, 
 107, 108 
 
 Menagerie at Dawshan-tepé, 100 
 
 Meybut (near Yezd), 598 
 
 Midhat Pasha, 24 
 
 Mihman-khanés (guest-houses), 86-8, 
 177-8, 238 
 
 Mihr-abad, 382 
 
 Milan, 67 
 
 Mintchihr Khan, 66, 219 
 
 Miracles, 146-7, 250-1, 313; how 
 regarded by Babis, 332-4, 337-8, 
 401-2 
 
 Mir Damad, 141-2 
 
 Miyan (near Tabriz), 63 
 
 Miyané, 71, 72, 76-8 
 
 Miyané bug. See Ma/a 
 
 Mosques, 105-6 
 
 Mosul, 523, 570 
 
 Mubaraké (near Yezd), 396 
 
 Mughar (near Kashan), 599 
 
 Muhammad (the Prophet), 332-6, 
 341, 434, 440, 443, 493, 534, 
 
 1G 
 Muhammad-abad (near Yezd), 597 
 
646 
 
 Muhammad ‘Alf, Aka, of Tabriz, the 
 Babi martyr, 69-70 
 
 Muhammad Ja‘far, of Tabriz, 363, 
 365-6 
 
 Muhammad Riza, the Bab’s father, 64 
 
 Muhammad Shah, 67, 127, 219 
 
 Mubhsin-i-Feyz, Mulla, 142 
 
 Mullas, ignorance and dishonesty of, 
 506— 
 
 Mursehk bet Efendi, 47 
 
 Miurchékhar, 210 
 
 Murghab, 259, 375 
 
 Musalla (Shiraz), 284, 307 
 
 Mushiru’d-Dawla, 106 
 
 Mushkin-Kalam, 226-9, 366 #7. 1, 560 
 
 Music, 119, 121, 308. See also Enter- 
 tainments, Persian 
 
 Mysticism, 133-40. See also S#fés, 
 Sufiism 
 
 Nasit (the Babi poet), 548, 574, 595 
 
 Nadir Shah, 218 
 
 N@ibu’s-Saltana, Prince, 95, 112,113, 
 166 
 
 Na‘im (the Babi poet), 567 
 
 N@in, 598 
 
 Najaf-a4bad (near Isfahan), 110, 212, 
 221,75.22: 
 
 Naksh-i-Rajab, 265, 279 
 
 Naksh-i-Rustam, 265, 270, 272-3, 
 275-6 
 
 Namakdan (Isfahan), 238 
 
 Nan-i-sangak (“Pebble-bread”’), 119 
 and . 1 
 
 Napoleon, downfall of, foretold by 
 Beha’u’llah, 348-9 
 
 Nasitr-i-Khusraw (the poet), 524-5, 
 608 
 
 Nasiru’d-Dawla, Prince-Governor of 
 
 Kirman, 455, 457, 458, 478, 492, 
 519, $52, 572 
 
 Nasituw’d-Din Shah, character of, 
 98-9, 108-15, 211, 559 
 
 Nasnas (a kind of hobgoblin), 180, 
 291 
 
 Nasr ifn Seyyar, 415 
 
 Natanz, 202 
 
 Naw-Gunbudh, 598 
 
 Nawruz (Persian New Yeat’s Day), 
 
 INDEX 
 
 236, 244, 252, 280, 351, 412, 
 482 
 
 Nawwab Mirza Hasan ‘Ali Khan, 92, 
 286 
 
 Nawwab Mirza Haydar ‘Ali Khan, 
 283, 2 8 sb oe, 
 
 Nejef, 65, 274, 518 
 Neyistanak, 598 
 Nigaristan (palace in Teheran), 105, 
 
 542 
 Nikh-Beg, 79 
 Ni‘matu’llah, Shah, 581, 583, 586 
 Nitiz, 67, 317, 372) 441, 476, 487 
 Nisab, 115-16 | 
 Nizami (the poet), 445 
 Nusratu’d-Dawla, Prince, 563 
 
 ‘OsEYD-1-ZAKANI (the poet and sa- 
 tirist), 126-7, 131, 551 
 
 Occult sciences, 158-62. See also 
 Magic, Geomancy, Astrology, and 
 Jinn 
 
 ‘Omar, detested by Persians, 23 and 
 24 4. 1, 194, 196, 491, 570 
 
 Ophthalmia, how to treat, 533 
 
 Opium, cultivation of, 213, 382; 
 smoking of, 476-7, 533-4, 544- 
 5» 549, 5727-5, 577-8, 5955 se 
 
 ‘Othman, detested by Persians, 24 
 n. 1, 491 
 
 Owl, 193-4 
 
 Pacett, Dr Edward, 220 
 
 Pahlavi, 269, 271, 279, 409; manu- 
 Scripts, 429 
 
 Pa-lis (“foot-licker,”’ a kind of hob- 
 goblin), 180-1 
 
 Palmer, Professor, 12 
 
 Papaq (kind of cap), 47, 54 
 
 Parasang (farsang, farsakh), 71 n. 1 
 
 Pariz, 465 
 
 Parsees, 314-16, 374-5. 
 astrians 
 
 Pasangan (near Kashan), 186, 599 
 
 Pasargadae, 259, 263, 266 
 
 Pasha Khan, 39, 52-4 
 
 Pasha-punari, 34, 37 
 
 Passports) 235) 245.225; 
 626-9 
 
 See Zoro- 
 
 46, 58:G225 
 
INDEX 
 
 “Peacock angel” (Malakw’t-Ta’us), 
 
 570 
 
 Pelly, Sir Lewis, 604 #. 1 
 
 Persepolis, 265, 275-8, 374 
 
 Persian consuls, 25, 38-9 
 
 Persian national character, 25, 109-10 
 
 Petmez (a kind of syrup), 30 
 
 Philosophy, 123, 140-62; preliminary 
 training for, 147 
 
 Physiognomy, 502 
 
 Pik (post-station between Teheran 
 and Kum), 179, 600 
 
 Pilaw, 120 and #. 1, 190 
 
 Pilgrimage, ceremonies of the, 293 
 
 Piré (a suburb of Khiy), 55 
 
 Pir-i-Jemal (a poet of Ardistan), 599 
 
 Pish-kesh, 74, 212 
 
 Poetry, 125-30. See also under the 
 names of the different poets 
 
 Polak, Dr, 108, 111 and #. 1, 204 and 
 h. I, 205 
 
 Practical joking, 131-2 
 
 Prawns (meyg#), 298 
 
 “Presents” in Persia, 73-5, 83 
 
 Prevost’s Hotel (Teheran), 90, 91, 
 100, 600 
 
 Printing in Persia, 314, 602 
 
 Psychic organs, 157 
 
 Public school system of teaching, its 
 defects, 5-8 
 
 Pul-i-chekmé va shalwar (“boots and 
 breeches money”), 169 
 
 Pul-i-Dallak (“the Barber’s Bridge,” 
 neat Kum), 176-7 
 
 Pul-i-Hasan-abad (Isfahan), 215 
 
 Pul-i-Khaju (Isfahan), 238 
 
 Pul-i-Martn (Isfahan), 215 
 
 Pul-i-Si u sih chashmé (Isfahan), 215 
 
 Pulvar (river), 260, 265, 267, 276 
 
 Puzé (“the Snout, > near Persepolis), 
 
 265, 2795 374 
 
 Querry’s Droit Musulman, 505 n. I 
 
 RAFSINJAN, 465, 593 
 Rahmat-abad (near Kum), 599 
 Railways in Persia, 98—9 
 Ramazan, 124, 333, 420 
 
 Raml, Rammal. See Geomancy 
 
 647 
 
 Rashk-i-Bihisht (garden at Shiraz), 
 305, 322, 370, 372 
 
 Rawghan-i-hashish, 569 
 
 Rawha, the Babi poetess, 574 
 
 Redhouse, Sir James, 11 
 
 René (Mazandaran), 611 
 
 Resht, 20, 86, 6o1 
 
 Re 
 
 Rees 98, 271 4.1 
 
 Ribat-Karim, 179, 600 
 
 Riza Khan, 262 
 
 Riz4-Kuli Khan, La/d-bashi (the poet 
 and writer), 104 
 
 Rock-tombs. See Naksh-i-Rustam, 
 Persepolis 
 
 Rodolfe, 220 
 
 “Rue de Gaz” (Teheran), 101, 104 
 
 Ruknabad, he of (Shiraz), We. 
 253, 282, 30 
 
 Rukn-i-rabi‘ (“ Fourth Support” ie? 
 the Sheykhis), 520 
 
 Ruknu’l-Mulk (one of the Shah’s 
 SONS), 113 
 
 Ruknu’l-Mulk (deputy-governor of 
 Isfahan), 219 
 
 Russians, 128, 389-400, 604, 621-9 
 
 Ruz-bihan, Sheykh, his tomb at 
 Shiraz, 299 
 
 SA‘DI (the poet), 51, 123, 125-6, 284, 
 285, 303-4, 307-8, 416, 507, 547 
 
 Sad-pa (centipede), 421 
 
 Sadra, Mull4, the philosopher, 141-2, 
 
 155 
 Safavi dynasty, 72, 79, 94, 141, 187, 
 202, 2II, 215, 218-20, 246, 561 
 Safi, Shah, 79 
 Sahib-Divan, 249, 262, 304, 309-12, 
 
 316, 365 
 
 Sala4rw’l-Mulk (one of the Shah’s 
 sons), 113 
 
 Salmas, 56 
 
 Sanctuary. See Bast 
 
 Sang-bur, 265 
 
 Sarcham, 78 
 
 Sari, 612, 617 
 
 Sarimu’d-Dawla, 218 
 
 Sat-i-Yezd, 597 
 
 Sasanians, 96, 133, 269, 271, 485 
 
648 
 
 Schindler, General A. Houtum-, 203, 
 204 N. 1, 205 
 
 Scorpions, 189, 420-1 
 
 Sea-gulls (wurgh-i-nawruz/), 280 
 
 Selim I, 218 
 
 Seljuks, 110 
 
 Semnan, 195 
 
 Seven Proofs (Dald’il-i-sab‘a), 574 
 
 Seyvan, 38 
 
 Seyyid Taju’d-Din (near Khuy), 62 
 
 Shah. See Nésiru’d-Din 
 
 Shah ‘Abdu’l-‘Azim, shrine of, 89, 
 98, 102, 172, 174, 176 
 
 Shah Chiragh (at Shiraz), 294, 314 
 
 Shah Kannab (near Yezdikhwast), 
 
 24 
 Shah Ni‘matu’lléh, 581, 583, 586 
 Shahr-i-Babak, 480 
 Shah-sevans, 187 
 Shaking minaret (Mindré-i-junbdn, at 
 
 Isfahan), 222 
 Shams-abad (near Abarkuh), 386 
 Shams-i-Tabriz, the Sufi, 443; verse 
 
 from the Divan of, quoted, 112 
 Shapur, 269, 279 
 Sharaz (near Abarkuh), 382, 386 
 Sharif-abad (or G6d-i-Shirdan), 388 
 Shash-gird (near Kum), 179, 182 
 Shawl manufactory, 482-3 
 Shawwaz, 393 
 Sheep, sacrifice of, 87 
 Shemsh, 462, 596 
 Sheykhis, 133, 504, 509, S1O-I1, 517, 
 
 519-20, 554, s80, 581, 587-9 
 Sheykh Madhkur, 118, 290 
 Sheykh Tabarsi (Mazandaran), 325, 
 
 612, 614-18 
 Shihabu’d-Din, Sheykh, Suhravardi, 
 
 156 
 
 Shikari (kind of cap), 54 
 
 Shimr, 570, 603 
 
 Shimran, 95 
 
 Shiraz, 64-6, 95, 100, 114, 115, I117- 
 20, 123, 130, 252, 266-7, 281 e¢ 
 
 Seq. 
 Shir-kuh (mountain near Yezd), 392, 
 393, 419 
 Shulghistan, 243, 248 
 Shurab, 187 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Sigha (temporary wife), 505-6 
 
 Sih-dih, 110 
 
 Sinnett, Mr A. P., 156 
 
 Sinsin (near Kashan), 187, 599 
 
 Sipahsalar, 106 
 
 Sirjan, 465, 476, 487, 499 
 
 Sitar (musical instrument), 119, 124, 
 201, 289, 308 
 
 Sivand, 204, 267 
 
 Snake-charmers, 62 
 
 Soh, 209-10, 254 
 
 Solomon, 259-61, 264, 266 
 
 Spargha (tortoise), 79 
 
 Sphinx (rock near Isfahan), 221 
 
 - Subh-i-Ezel (Mirza Yahya), 70, 226 
 
 fh. 2, 329, 352, 366 and mm. 1 and 
 DSi 20 8500 
 
 Sufis, Sufiism, 16, 56, 134-40 
 
 Suleyman Khan, the Babi, 70, 111, 
 352, 574 
 
 Sultan-abad, persecution of Babis at, 
 562-4 
 
 Sultaniyyé, 72, 81-3 
 
 Suma, 72-3 
 
 Sunij (near Yezd), 390, 392 
 
 Sunnites and Shi‘ites, 23-4, 106, 124, 
 134, 307 
 
 “Supreme Beauty.” See Behd’u’ ah 
 
 Surkh Hisar (near Teheran), 610 
 
 Surmé, 254 
 
 Sursurak (“the slide”), 105 (at 
 Teheran); 309-10 (at Shiraz) 
 
 Surtri Efendi, 24 
 
 Susmar, 421 
 
 Syrian Christians of Urumiyyé, 57 
 
 TA‘ARUF, 74 
 
 Tabar (axe carried by dervishes), 56 
 Tabarsi. See Sheykb Tabarsi 
 
 Tabriz, 22, 62-3, 68-70, 84, 457, 
 
 557 
 Taft (near Yezd), 384, 393, 394-5 
 Tahmasp, Shah, 218 
 Taj (felt cap worn by dervishes), 57 
 Tajrish (near Teheran), 95 
 Takht-i-Fulad (cemetery at Isfahan), 
 221, 231-2 
 Takht-i-Jamshid. See Persepolis 
 Takht-i-Nizam (Shiraz), 303 
 
INDEX 
 
 Takht-i-Rustam (mountain near Isfa- 
 han), 221 
 Takht-i- -Suleyman, 259-62 
 Takht-i-Ta’us, 276 
 Taki Khén, Mirza, Amir-i-Kabir, 
 68 
 Tang-i-Allahu Akbar (Shiraz), 252, 
 283-4, 303, 313, 317, 373 
 Tarantula (khdyé-gaz, ot roteyl), 388, 
 420-1, 452 
 Tarikh-i-Jadid (“New History” of 
 Mirza ‘Ali Muhammad the Bab), 
 344-6, 478, 565 
 Tashli-Chay, 46-7 
 Tasuch (by Lake Urumiyyé), 62 
 Taxation, 42, 387 
 Ta‘ziyas (Miracle-plays of Muhar- 
 tam), 77> 84, Go1—5, 615 
 Tea-houses, 89, 600 
 Teheran (more correctly, T7hran), 90, 
 108, 600-9 
 Tekkes3i 
 Tekyé (Theatre for Miracle-plays), 
 6o2 
 Telegraph, 101, 104, 112, 183- 
 Tholozan, Dr, 107 
 Thomson, Sir Taylor, 116-17 
 Tiflis, 624 
 Tiger, 100 
 Tikmé-tash, 72 
 Tir-mar (earwig), 421 
 Toghrul, tower of, 98 
 Mottence Ura Ll 5 
 Tortures, 111-12, 117-18. See also 
 Babis, persecutions of 
 Towers of silence. See Dakhmeés 
 Tradition, Shi‘ite, works on, 487, 
 501, 608 
 Transmigration of souls, 413-14 
 Trebizonde, 20-6 
 Turkish, study of, 9-13 
 amenities, 21 
 lack of curiosity, 28 
 of Adharbayj4n and Persia, 51-2, 
 61, 84-96 
 rule in Persia, 108-10 
 stupidity, Fable illustrating, 558 
 Turkmans (Turcomans), 107, 399- 
 400, 621-2 
 
 649 
 
 Ucn Kitts, 47 
 
 University. See Ddaru’l-Funiin 
 Urchini Pass (near Isfahan), 242 
 Urumiyyé, 55, 57, 62, 67 
 Uzbegs, 218 
 
 Uziin-Ada, 622-3 
 
 VaLt-‘AHD (Crown Prince), 63, 114 
 
 “Valley of the Angel of Death,” 
 180 
 
 Vambéry, 78, 176, 282, 296 
 
 Varamin, 98 
 
 Varzahan, 32 
 
 Vaughan, Lieut., 400, 417 
 
 Vendidad, manuscript of, 413. 
 also Zend manuscripts 
 
 See 
 
 Watson’s Héstory of the Kdjar dynasty, 
 81 
 
 Wells, Major, 112, 183 
 
 Whipple, Mr, 63, 79 
 
 Whittingback, Mr, 267 
 
 Will-o’-the-Wisps, 464 
 
 Wills, Dr, 71 4.1, 179 4.1 
 
 Wine-drinking amongst Musulmdans 
 and Zoroastrians, 410-11. See 
 also Entertainments, Persian 
 
 Wisdl, the poet, 130, re 
 
 Wolseley Valise; 2002728 
 
 Wood-louse (kbar-i- bike, kharak-t- 
 khudd’t), 244 
 
 Wright, Dr William, 2, 3, 17 
 
 YauyA KHAN, Governor of Chihrik, 
 
 7 
 
 Yahya, Mirza. See Subp-i-Exel 
 
 Yangi-dunya (America), 188, 237 
 
 Yeni-Khan, 35 
 
 i CZ0,.07 sO0 RO 7 lOO MEI I yell 49013 4. 
 189, 190, 204, 314, 372, 380, 382, 
 396, and chs. xiii and xiv passim 
 
 Yezdani (the poet), 130, 292 
 
 Yezdi accent, 187, 200, 392, 393 
 
 ‘type of countenance, 392 
 
 Yezdigird III, 96 
 
 Yezdikhwast (ot Izidkhwst), 243-9 
 
 Yezid ibn Mu‘aviya, the onan 
 caliph, 85, 604 
 
 Yezidis, 570 
 
650 
 
 Yoghurt, 33 
 Yusuf i Zuleykha of Jami quoted, 
 137-9 
 
 ZAHHAK, 89, 611 
 Zakouski, 621 
 Zangavat, 270, 272-3, 279 
 Zanjan, 67, 71, 79-81, 325 
 Zargan (Zargun), 280-2, 373-4 
 Zayanda-Rud (Zindé-Rud), 212, 215, 
 221722545238 
 Zend dynasty, 94, 124, 310. See also 
 Karim Khan the Zend 
 language (so-called), 408-9 
 manuscripts, 428-30, 483 
 Zeyn-abad (near Yezd), 396 
 Zeynu’d-Din, 461, 596 
 Zeynuw |-Mukarrabin, the Babi scribe, 
 $22,527 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Zeyti-Kyan, 49 
 
 Ziegler, Messrs, 231 
 
 Zighana-dagh, 26, 28 
 
 Zillu’s-Sultan, Prince, 111, 114-15, 
 219, 233, 238, 243, 249, 280, 
 
 387, 495, 566 
 
 Zindé-Rud (Isfahan). See Zdyanda- 
 
 Rud 
 
 Zotawa, §5 
 Zoroastet, 96-7, 134, 333-4, 358, 
 
 409, 543 y 
 Zoroasttianism, converts to, 417; its 
 
 relation to Babiism, 431-3 
 
 Zoroasttians (guebres), 96-8, 189, 
 204, 314-16, 344 4.1, 372, 
 394-5, 397-8, 403-18, 465, 469, 
 471-4, 478-86, 489-91, 499-500, 
 506, 510, 530, 542-3, 550, 581-2, 
 587 
 
 
 
 Cambridge: Printed by WALTER LEWIS, M.A., at the University Press 
 
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DS258 .B88 1926 
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 1 1012 00046 0636