Arminius Vambery, his life and adventures Part 6

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

"Then go to the king and make complaint."

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

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

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

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

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

The inhabitants of Isfahan are very proud of their city; they are rather conceited, and think themselves better than the rest of the Persians.

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

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

We left Isfahan at last, and proceeded on our way in the direction of the mountains lying to the south. Upon reaching an eminence I took another look at the endless ma.s.s of houses, gardens and ruins. Our caravan, which consisted of three divisions, two having joined us for our journey to Shiraz, now numbered above 150 animals and about sixty pa.s.sengers, and even on this much-travelled road we were looked upon as a caravan of considerable size. The combining of the three caravans into one was caused by the fear of certain nomadic Persian tribes who were camped amongst the mountains to the right, and who were in the habit of attacking and plundering smaller caravans either from avarice or as a pastime. Only a few days had pa.s.sed since a smaller caravan had been roughly treated by them. In the East, however, people are fond of inventing such stories. Many a time one is told, "At this place ten men were killed yesterday," "The day before, at another place, a merchant was set upon and robbed;" but the traveller need not take fright at these accounts, for he may be sure that the events related either happened ten years ago, or did not occur at all. Indeed our party of travellers had no need of the frightful stories with which they had been regaling each other on the eve of their departure to make their courage ooze out, for to a man they were remarkably deficient in that valuable article, the virtue of courage. Since the Persian in general is looked upon in all Asia as a most cowardly creature, who is scared to death by his own shadow, one may easily imagine the state of mind of a caravan consisting chiefly of pilgrims, merchants and mollahs. It was rather amusing to see them keeping close to, and crowding, each other in their fright, although we were only at a distance of two hours from the town.

They were conversing in whispers as if a single loudly spoken word might have brought down upon them the most frightful calamities. One man who was conveying wine with which he had loaded four of his mules, was peremptorily made to leave our ranks at the instigation of a devout mollah, lest his sinful merchandise might bring bad luck to the entire company of the truly faithful. It was in vain the poor mule driver whiningly insisted that he had never tasted a drop of wine all his life, and that he was conveying this abhorred beverage to Bombay where the G.o.dless Frengis would drink it; in vain he swore by all the saints of the calendar he did not even know if the wine were red or white; he had to leave the caravan and keep a distance of a hundred feet between himself and it.

Next day we arrived at _k.u.misheh_, which is near to the dangerous place about which we had heard so many frightful stories. About an hour before our departure my Arab friend, the sacred singer, thought that this was a fitting moment to collect about him the whole company and to chant one of his elegies, in order, as he said, to invoke the prophet's protection on our perilous journey, but in reality that a few coins might wander from the pockets of the deeply affected faithful into his own. The rawzekhan's proposition was immediately acquiesced in. The Persian is prepared at any moment to lament the death of his favourite prophet, particularly of the martyred Hussein; and it does not give him the slightest trouble, though the moment before he may have been in the merriest of moods, to shed copious tears in listening to the singer's elegy. The songster from Bagdad was soon surrounded by the whole company, and he hardly came to the end of the fourth canto of his morning song, when there arose such a wailing and weeping as if the nearest relation of every one of the listeners were lying stark dead before him. The performer usually seizes this moment to rise, tear away his dress from his breast, and to exclaim, clenching his fists: "O ye true believers, behold thus I shall strike my breast with penitence and pity for poor Hussein, yes, for Hussein!" His last words are repeated by all the men of the company; gigantic fists are soon pounding away at stalwart chests, frequently keeping in the pounding such excellent time as to resemble the regular tramp of an approaching troop of hors.e.m.e.n. A pious fellow happened to observe that, with Sunnite perverseness, I did not thump my chest with sufficient violence, and having attentively listened to the sound produced by my fist and not finding it hollow enough, he furiously exclaimed: "Look at this Sunnite dog; he does not consider our Hussein worthy of more powerful strokes on his breast. Just wait; I shall show him how to strike his breast." With this he approached me with his uplifted fist of iron. If he had struck me I should, probably, have had reason to remember it all my life; but thanks to the kind offices of my friends, particularly the Seid, the matter proceeded no further. A friend of mine held his arm back in the nick of time, quieting him by saying: "Let that Sunnite be! though he do not strike his breast in this life, Azrail (the Angel of Death) will beat it all the more for him in the next world."

We safely left the place alleged to be dangerous without having come to harm, and the caravan, now considerably relieved, proceeded on their journey towards _Yezdekhast_. The country around us became more and more flat; the desert, in the centre of which the celebrated city of Yezd is situated, extending to the east. The sun had already risen high when we pa.s.sed through the arid gra.s.s-covered plain, its level stretch being interrupted only here and there by gently undulating ground. I had been informed by my companions that the country abounded in game and especially in gazelles. And, indeed, in looking steadily at a dark dot in the distance, I soon discovered it to be a whole herd of these timid creatures of the desert, who scent the approach of a caravan from afar and fly from them with the swiftness of a bird. I had some difficulty at first in recognizing the gazelles at a distance, the colour of their fur resembling that of the sun-dried gra.s.s of the plain; and when my companions called out "The ahuan, the ahuan!" (The gazelles, the gazelles!), I could see nothing, until my eyes became accustomed to distinguish their white hind parts from the dry gra.s.s. Just as with us the hare is supposed to be the embodiment of timidity, even so the gazelle is looked upon in the East as the hare's counterpart in this particular. A herd of above a hundred gazelles is seized with a panic at the sudden rising of a bird, or the mere stirring of a leaf. If the hound but approaches the gazelle, it throws itself upon its back with its legs up and looks at one with such a pitiful expression out of its l.u.s.trous melancholy eyes, that one cannot help feeling for the poor dumb animal. As my eyes were following the flight of the gazelles, I suddenly caught sight of a mirage rising in the south-east. These deceptive illusions of the air are by no means of infrequent occurrence in the Persian plain. Although they do not equal in grandeur similar atmospheric phenomena in the great desert of Turkestan, yet, even in that fainter form, they never fail to strike the imagination of the traveller. As I was gazing upon the floating forms and buildings, it seemed to me as if they were the same which had delighted my eyes years ago on the great plain of the beautiful Hungarian Alfold (Lowland).

Then, too, leaning against the tall pole of a well, I was gazing at the far-stretching plain which, panting and thirsting, was "dreaming of the sea." The mirage recalled my own beautiful country, so far off, and when suddenly a rising cloud of dust concealed the fairy spectacle from my view, it seemed to scatter my day-dreams to the winds.

The province of Fars begins beyond Yezdekhast, and its inhabitants differ from the Persians as much, I should say, as the Neapolitans do from the inhabitants of Northern Italy; their complexion is darker, they are more vivacious, their feelings are more excitable, and they are more quickwitted. The greater portion of the inhabitants make a living by the caravans that are pa.s.sing through their country. _Shulghistan_, our first station in Fars, is noted for the tomb of a saint, supposed to be the son of Imam _Zein ul Abedin_. Of this tomb it is told that, some time ago, it had been attacked by enemies, who were all struck blind upon entering the sanctuary. A blind beggar at the gate of the tomb was shown as one of the sacrilegious band, who desired to end his days repenting. I was sufficiently interested to wish to hear the account from the lips of the blind beggar himself, and questioned him about this occurrence; but he admitted to me that his blindness proceeded from other causes, and that he had never been connected with a band of robbers. Yet he willingly pa.s.sed himself off for an evil-doer punished by G.o.d in order to get his share of the alms distributed by the devout.

In leaving Shulghistan we were joined on our way by a horseman of distinguished appearance, followed by a number of servants, whose place of destination was the same as ours. He seemed to be mustering closely the members of the caravan, as if trying to make up his mind whom he should choose for his a.s.sociate during the journey. After a while he approached me with the friendliest salutation. I soon found out that he was going to visit the governor of Fars, by orders of the Shah, in order to collect last year's arrears, amounting to 50,000 ducats. The Shah had been repeatedly urging the remittance of the sum, but it was never sent.

The Khan was now ordered by the Shah to send the unremitting governor to prison for a few days; and should this punishment fail to produce the desired effect to withdraw for a couple of days his _kallian_ (water-pipe) from him. This peculiar method of collecting debts is by no means rare in Persia. The Khan was a person of refinement and culture; he was very tolerant, and to him Sunnite or Shi-ite was the same thing. He saw in me the most travelled and experienced man in the caravan, and had therefore joined me, of which I was all the more glad, as it had procured for me a very agreeable fellow-traveller. When we arrived at our next station, Abade, we took a lodging together, and also took our meals together.

From _Abade_ we went towards _Surma_, and we met on our night's march with several smaller caravans, consisting mostly of pilgrims, who were either bound for Kerbela, in the west, or Meshed, in the east. In Persia the number of pilgrims, especially during the seasons of spring and autumn, amounts to hundreds of thousands. The poorest Persian will spend all his savings, nay, even starve, in order to take part in such a pilgrimage. The caravan we met with had come from the neighbourhood of _Bender Bushir_, and was going to Kerbela. The journey there takes sixty days, and the journey back as much again. The lively intercourse on the highways of Persia is chiefly dependent upon these pious travellers. It is no rare thing to see amongst them children ten years of age, and aged women eighty years old. If two such caravans meet on the road, those returning generally tell the pilgrims on their way to the holy places, "Pray for me;" and receive for an answer, "May thy pilgrimage be blessed." Both parties are deeply moved, and generally embrace each other upon these occasions; indeed the most indifferent will feel somewhat affected upon hearing, far off, in the stillness of the night, the _Illahie_ (hymns) of the pilgrims. I had heard much to excite my curiosity with regard to our next station. Many notable ruins of ancient times may be seen in _Maderi Suleiman_, and the Persians think that the tomb of King Solomon's mother is amongst them; but I had no difficulty in identifying the village of Maderi Suleiman, lying in the plain of _Pa.s.sargada_, as the one where the tomb of _Cyrus_ is supposed to be. In descending the gentle slope of the low range of mountains and entering the open valley before us, I was delighted to discover on the right of our road several statues gilded by the first rays of the rising sun. The slow pace of the caravan rendered me impatient, and I finally left them, hastening by myself through thin and thick towards the mausoleum, which rose higher and higher as I approached, and when the caravan with their deliberate gait at last reached the station, I was found there seated already on a huge marble step.

XIV.

PERSEPOLIS.

The first thing that strikes the eyes of the traveller on the flat land of ancient Pa.s.sargada is that mausoleum, of which Persians say that it contains the remains of King Solomon's mother, but which some antiquarians allege to be the tomb of Cyrus, whilst others, denying this, maintain that it commemorates some unknown hero of antiquity. It is built of huge marble blocks, and stands upon a marble base formed by six marble slabs of enormous thickness placed one upon the other; each slab terrace-like diminishing the higher it is placed, and the whole forming six steps. The structure above it is a room, the floor and ceiling of which consists each of one enormous block of marble. The narrow low entrance is always open. The Mohammedans use the interior of the room for their devotions, and several Korans are always lying about for that purpose. After I had with great difficulty clambered up the huge steps and gained admission to the interior of the mausoleum, I was struck with awe at the sight before me. I gazed for some time with astonishment at the huge blocks, to move which from their places seemed an utter impossibility. The names of numerous celebrated European travellers could be seen carved into the marble steps, whilst the walls were covered with a great many Arabic and Persian inscriptions. I was just engaged in deciphering the latter when a Persian, apparently belonging to the nomadic tribes living in tents in this part of the country, came up to me, evidently in the hope of earning a few pennies by doing a guide's business, and said, "Hadji, there are no such huge blocks to be seen in Bagdad, are there? But come with me, I shall show thee others like them. Come and look at the ruins of ancient Guzi." I immediately followed him to the ruins of the ancient palace, popularly called "Solomon's Throne." At some distance may be seen a large arch of a gate, built of black marble. If a Persian sees a stranger admiring the beauty of these ruins, or astonished at the size of the stones, he invariably volunteers the following remark: "Art thou not aware that Solomon could freely dispose of the _divs_ (devils) and all the spirits of the lower regions? It cost him but a nod of his head, and the spirits sailing through the air brought him the largest stones and the most costly objects from India, Tchin-u-Matchin (China) and from Kuhi Kaff."

We continued our journey toward _Sivend_, going for several hours through a mountain gap. We did not visit the village, but went up to an eminence near by, where its inhabitants lived during the summer. We found there about 120 huts standing in a line, close to each other. The whole settlement resembled a bazaar; and as the huts were closed on three sides and always remained wide open on the fourth, the huts and everything in them were open to every one alike, as much as if all the huts had formed but one house. One hundred and twenty families live here together in simple patriarchal fashion; and although there be rich and poor amongst them, a theft rarely occurs. Indeed people said that the population of the whole village were the descendants of one common ancestor, and lived together on terms of the most intimate relationship; and that, even to this day, they were governed by the head of the family, who was both judge and priest to them, and lived apart in a white tent.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TAKH-TA-RA-WAN (A Moving Throne used by the Persian n.o.bility).]

In leaving this place, on the 2nd of October, we proceeded towards the most interesting parts of Persia. The caravan was not far from _Kenare_, in the vicinity of which the celebrated ruins of Persepolis are to be seen. With the prospect of soon seeing these ruins before me, I found the progress of the caravan rather slow, and determined to visit them by myself, after having inquired of some of my companions, who knew the country throughout, the shortest road leading to them. The caravan had left Sivend before midnight, and when we arrived at the promontory where the extensive plain of _Mardesht_ begins, I separated from them, and, keeping continually to the left, I followed the mountain track. For some time yet I heard through the calm night the monotonous jingling of the caravan bells. I marched on with watchful eyes, looking out all the time for the much-mentioned ruins, the remarkable architectural monuments of remote antiquity. After lapse of about a quarter of an hour there loomed up in the dubious light of the dawning morning tall forms, looking like so many spectres. The stillness around me seemed awful, and the clatter of my animal's small shoe sounded far away in the unpeopled solitude. I now came to the celebrated steps, so familiar to most people through engravings of them. At sight of them I paused, deeply moved, and stood motionless for a few minutes. I dismounted, and, drawing nearer, I went up the steps with feelings of piety and profound veneration, then pa.s.sed through the gigantic gate to the row of columns. I sat down on a large block and, sunk in deep reverie, gazed upon the columns and the ruins around me; and sitting there for a long time without stirring, it seemed to me as if the spectacle of these ruins of four thousand years ago had turned me, too, into a statue. The sublimity of the ancient monuments of Persepolis cannot fail deeply to affect the traveller from whatever point of view he may have approached them for the first time, even if he has seen them in broad daylight. My feelings, then, may be easily imagined, who had been longing to see them with feverish impatience, and saw them suddenly burst upon my sight in the spectral twilight of the early dawn. As I sat gazing with wrapt attention at the tall columns, they appeared to me like gigantic forms which had risen from the remote past of forty centuries to tell me, the traveller who had strayed here from the far West, in language mute but eloquent, of the marvels of past ages in the East. I did not awake from my reverie until the sun had risen from behind the mountains and touched with golden tints the heads of the columns, showing their exquisite workmanship. And in a moment, as if a huge curtain had been suddenly drawn aside, a very different spectacle presented itself to my dazzled eyes--Persepolis bathing in a sea of brilliant light. The sombre blocks of marble, the darkling columns and walls all disappeared as if by enchantment, and in their places, glowing in a flood of golden sunshine, beckoned to me on every side exquisitely carved capitals of columns, reliefs of wonderful beauty, all so natural, so fresh as if the last sounds of the chisel had just died away. One sculptured relief shows a solemn procession, in which every man is walking with measured step; on another a troop of prisoners, chained to each other by their necks, are advancing slowly in front of the proud victor; another again represents a gigantic man struggling with a monster. Looking up you see, in several places, a king sitting, with earnest mien, on his throne, before him the sacred fire blazing, and at back of him standing two servants, one holding a long staff, and the other a sun umbrella. The finished accuracy shown in the dresses and the figures is truly admirable; but the wonderful art exhibited in the shaping of the features and in the various expressions of the human countenance is what lends such a peculiar charm to these reliefs, and makes one almost imagine that the cold marble will speak.

I pa.s.sed three days among these remarkable ruins, which kindle not only the fervid imagination of the young traveller, but rouse the enthusiasm of grave thinkers and antiquarians rich in knowledge and experience. One is at a loss to know which more to admire, the extraordinary manual skill, or the exquisite taste visible everywhere, in every part of the preserved ruins. Here, as in Egypt, may be seen huge blocks of stone, from forty to fifty feet long, fitted together, in spite of their enormous weight, with such nicety that one can only with great difficulty discover the place where they are joined.

I met in the immediate neighbourhood of Persepolis with nomadic Turks, who were overjoyed at seeing me, a supposed countryman of theirs. The Turkish language is not spoken much in Fars, and these poor people seemed so delighted with the chance of having a talk in their own language, that in the kindness of their hearts they provided me, during my whole stay, with bread and milk, and even took care of my a.s.s. Some of these men advised me strongly not to remain over night at the ruins on account of the innumerable evil spirits that haunted them, and told me that the devs and djins were making an infernal noise. They said that _Thakhti Djemshid_ (Djemshid's Throne)--the native name for Persepolis--was the work of the fabled king Djemshid.

This king is said to have had a cup, with which he had only to touch his lips, in order to realize all his heart's desires; at the mere touch of the cup, stones would come flying from the east, and artists from the west. The numerous verses and inscriptions on every part of the walls testify to the great respect entertained by the Persians for Persepolis.

The legend has it that these buildings stood intact and strong for ever so long a time, and that during that time Persia was happy and flourishing, and no sort of harm or misfortune ever befell her. Later on the Arabs came, and they envied the Shi-ites for these wonderful buildings, and in their envy they mutilated the statues and figures, threw down the columns and left everywhere the traces of their destructive spirit. After them came the Frengis, over Bender Bushir (from India), to gratify their pa.s.sion for treasures; they ransacked the place and took away with them immense quant.i.ties of gold and diamonds.

The Frengis carried away besides large blocks of stone for talismans.

Since that time adversity and misery had been the lot of Persia; Shiraz was visited by an earthquake, then came the cholera, the famine, and so forth.

This is the account the Persians give of the ruins, but the Turkish Nomads, the remains of the former Seldjuk armies, look at them in a very different light. To them the masterpieces of architecture and sculpture are objects of the utmost indifference, and they will often pull down the proudest and most admirable monument for the sake of obtaining a few ounces of the lead which holds together the several segments or portions of the gigantic columns. The children are delighted to see one of these columns come down by itself; they immediately make a rush at it, and scoop the lead out of the crevices of the stones.

Sometimes they manage to obtain, after all this wanton destruction, lead enough for a couple of bullets; but the vandalism of the Turks cares very little about the damage done to works of art.

I felt a special interest in the names of the older and more recent Asiatic travellers, which I found carved in many places about the ruins.

I met with even Hebrew inscriptions dating, it is alleged, from the time of the first captivity of the Jews, and written by the unfortunate men then dragged into slavery. Most names were those of renowned English travellers; of German names there were comparatively few, and I grieved at not being able to find a single Hungarian after two days' search. I asked myself if I were the first of my countrymen who had visited this interesting country with its remarkable ruins. Next day, I was delighted to come across the following Hungarian inscription, "Marothi Istvan, 1839," in a recess of a window, as I was examining the base of an immense structure, built of black marble. I examined my countryman's writing with a childish triumph; and to relieve its loneliness, I added my own name for companionship, writing above the latter, "Eljen a Magyar!" (Hungary for ever!)

A caravan, camping outside the village and consisting mostly of pilgrims returning from Kerbela, was starting a little after midnight. I joined it, and on the following morning I was glad to learn that I had every reason to be satisfied with having done so, for all of the travellers came from _Zerk.u.m_, the place nearest to Shiraz. They had pa.s.sed the night here, although it is not far from their native place, in order to afford time to their relatives and friends, to whom they had sent information of their approach, to make the necessary preparations for their festive reception. As we drew near the village we were met by crowds of people, who were constantly reinforced by newcomers, and there was no end to shaking of hands, embracing and kissing. Every one of the pilgrims from Kerbela was surrounded by a group of village people, and not only he himself, but his a.s.s, too, were carried home in triumph. As we were marching along the streets of the village, I could not help admiring the patience with which the pilgrims bore the ever-increasing felicitations of the villagers. Some of them, especially the stouter ones, were freely perspiring from the many embraces, but they all heroically endured the infliction; nay, they delighted in it, for to have visited Hussein's the beloved martyr's tomb, was tantamount to having been raised above the common herd, and to embrace such a lucky mortal was worth nearly half a pilgrimage to Kerbela.

I left Zerk.u.m in the company of a _tcharvadar_ (owner of animals of burden) and his men, and we proceeded together to Shiraz. These people were from Shiraz, and having been absent from their native place for a long time, they were impatient to get there. Every Persian is given to exaggeration in speaking of the sights and wonders of his native city, but these men went beyond anything I had yet experienced in the way of civic glorification, and I could not help looking forward to something extraordinary in Shiraz. The recollection of some verses by Hafiz, full of praises of the sh.o.r.es of _Ruknabad_ and the flowery places of _Musalla_, which I had retained in my memory, contributed to raise my expectations to the highest pitch. We had been advancing for about half an hour when the shout of "Ruknabad! Ruknabad!" burst simultaneously from the lips of my companions. I immediately dismounted, thinking we should have to pa.s.s over the bridge, crossing the river, and wishing, in doing so, to lead my animal by the bridle; but my pains were all wasted.

The Ruknabad river, of which poets deemed it right to sing, had shrunk into an insignificant brook hardly three spans wide, the shallow waters of which gaily leap over its gravel bottom.

I own my expectation about Shiraz received, at this sight, a slight shock, nor were my drooping spirits revived by the appearance of the surrounding country. Cold, bare rocks were staring at me on every side; there was not the slightest trace of vegetation of any kind; yet my companions kept a.s.suring me that we were quite near to Shiraz. We reached at last an opening, called _Tenghi Allah Ekber_ (the pa.s.s of Allah Ekber) by the Persians. From this place the traveller obtains his first view of the wide-spreading valley below him, in the centre of which rises the city of Shiraz.

XV.

SHIRAZ.

The sight of Shiraz, standing in the midst of groves of thickly planted cypress trees, is quite a relief for the eye, wearied with the monotonous look-out upon the barren desert and bare rocks. The natives say that looking at the enchanting capital of Southern Persia from the spot whence I first saw it, the stranger in his admiration involuntarily bursts out into the customary "Allah Ekber" (G.o.d is greatest), and that the place owes its appellation to this exclamation. The eye, wandering over the extensive valley, meets everywhere, as far as it can reach, the exquisite dark green of the cypress. The city is fringed by a garland of cypress gardens, through which a wide brook meanders like a silvery ribbon. Proud edifices rear their heads both inside and outside the walls of the city, the brilliant cupola of the Shah Tchirag mosque looming up most conspicuously. Beyond and opposite to it the far-stretching plain is bordered by a lofty chain of mountains stretching through Kazerun as far as the sh.o.r.es of the Gulf of Persia.

Thus the valley is screened by natural walls of rock both to the north and south, and Shiraz stands foremost amongst all the cities of Persia in the matter of climate, fertility and purity of air.

Shiraz owes its fertility especially to its great abundance of water.

Its vegetation is so luxuriant that roses and other flowers are blooming throughout the whole year, the plants renewing their sweet-smelling crops every month. The fields are covered with a green sward, and whilst in other parts of Persia the favourite mutton can be got but twice in the year, it can be obtained here throughout all seasons. But what challenges most the admiration of the Western traveller is the exquisitely pure air, the beauty of its blue sky, excelling in these all other parts of Persia, the whole of Asia and, I may add, every country in the world. The air in Shiraz, in spite of its southern position, is bracing enough, and I do not at all wonder that the people, under the influence of their benign climate, are fond of pleasure, and pa.s.s their lives in continual amus.e.m.e.nts and everlasting merry-making. They have a proverb which says:

"In Isfahan many scholars and artists may be, But dancers, singers and drinkers only in Shiraz you see."

And, indeed, I do not know of a town in Persia, the inhabitants of which are as merry and jovial as those of Shiraz. Centuries have pa.s.sed by since Hafiz, the glorifier of wine, sung his odes here, but a sojourn of a very few days in the capital of Fars will convince any one that the people of Shiraz have not modified a hair's breadth their views of life since the time of Hafiz. Everybody indulges freely in wine in spite of the rigid inhibition of the Mohammedan law. The poor journeyman, the mechanic, the official, and even the priests, begin their libations as soon as the dusk of evening sets in, and keep up their merry-making until midnight, and even later.

As I had now reached the end of my immediate journey, and intended to make a protracted stay, I took lodgings at the large court of the mosque. I sold my animal, and although the funds I had brought with me were considerably reduced, my future gave me little concern, considering, especially, the abundance and cheapness of food. True to my part of a dervish, I wandered through the streets of the city, on the first day of my arrival, and made the acquaintance of a great many people. Of course, my acquaintances, being zealous Shi-ites, never neglected an opportunity in my presence of cruelly vilifying Omar and his a.s.sociates; but seeing that I bore their vituperations of my saints very meekly, they were highly pleased with me, and I made so many friends during the first weeks of my stay that they rendered my life very agreeable.

One day, I happened to learn that a European, a native of Sweden, was living in the city and practising as a physician. My love of adventure immediately suggested to me the propriety of paying him a visit; but I determined, as a matter of precaution, to keep up my incognito and to appear before him as a dervish. When I entered his room with the dervish's salutation of "Ya hu! Ya hakk!" the good doctor immediately put his hand in his pocket, in order to get rid of me by a gift of a few coins, the usual way of dismissing a dervish.

"What, dost thou give me money?" I exclaimed. "I come to seek thy confidence, not thy money. I come from a far-off country. I am sent to thee by my chief, to convert thee from the false religion that thou followest and to lead thee to the path of the true faith. I am charged by the Sheikh of Bagdad to make a Mussulman of thee."

The doctor to whom such attempts at proselytizing were by no means new, replied with a suppressed smile:

"This is all very fine, very fine, my dervish, yet it is not usual to try conversion in such a commanding way, but by convincing, affecting and eloquent speech. How canst thou prove to me that thy chief has sent thee to me, and that he can work miracles?"