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
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
very gratefully availed myself, and continued for the remainder
of my stay in Teheran (i.e. 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 conversant
with the English language, yet, out of regard for me, he
rarely talked with me save in Persian, except that in the evening
he would sometimes ask me to read 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
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 discharge 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
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 Aka 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:--
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 more 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 Kamraniyye, 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 grass 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 kalyan. 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,"
Bibi Shahr-banu was the daughter of the unfortunate Yezdigird
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 despised
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 Sasan with the holy race
of the Imams 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
The Guebres' dakhme 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 to a 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-religionists (set apart for this duty) inside the dakhme 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 more 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 dakhme.
Yezd and Kirman have each two dakhmes, similarly constructed,
and situated in like manner on the spurs of mountains at a
distance of several miles from the city. These five dakhmes
constitute, so far as I know, the total number now in use in Persia'
This method of disposing of the dead often strikes Europeans
as very 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,
Near the mouth of the valley which lies to the north of the Kuh-i-Bibi Shahr-banu, and on the opposite side to the dakhme, is a tablet cut in the rock (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 is supposed to have lain farther from Teheran towards the east, near the present village of Varamin. Rather nearer to the Shah 'Abdu'l-'Azim road (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--perhaps 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 or 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
I can only pause to notice one other object of interest outside
the city walls, to wit, the pleasantly-situated palace of Dawshantepe
(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 eminence to the north-east of
the town, and forms a very conspicuous feature in the landscape.
Besides the palace on the hill there is another in a garden on its
southern side, attached to which is a small menagerie belonging to
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
inhabitants, however, it appears the ne 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 are even lighted by gas, and one of which certain
Europeans and their Persian imitators are pleased to designate
the "Boulevard des Ambassadeurs." 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 more opulent and influential Persians.
* I mention this chiefly because this word, mispronounced sher (like
English "share"), is applied in India to the tiger, which animal is
properly termed babr in Persian, as stated in the text.
We will begin our walk at the northern end of the Khiyaban-i- 'Ala'u'd-Dawla ("Boulevard des Ambassadeurs"), 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 residences of the American missionaries. On the left (east) side of the avenue the finest building is the Turkish Embassy remarkable 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-European Telegraph. Beyond this are 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 tumans (about twenty-four shillings) a hundred. Below this point, as well as in some places above it, the sides of the avenue are 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 Meydan-i-Topkhane, or Artillery Square This is of great size, and is surrounded by barracks, the white walls of which are profusely decorated with rude representations the national symbol, the lion and the sun
From this square emerge five great streets or avenues- on
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
Quitting the Meydan-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 Meydan-i-Topkhane. 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 Sabze-Meydan, or "Herb Market." In its centre is the usual tank of water, and it is surrounded by the shops of watchmakers, tobacconists, and other tradesmen, mostly of Armenian nationality. We cross towards its southern side, and enter the hatmakers' bazaar (Kuche-i-kulah- duzan), where any variety of Persian head-dress may be purchased, from the light cloth hat affected by the Armenians and Europeanised (firangi-ma'ab) Persians, costing only three or four krans (about two shillings), to the genuine lambskin kulah, 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,
As, however, we have already visited the dakhme in the Mountain of Bibi Shahr-banu and the ruins of Rey, and as we shall pass through Shah 'Abdu'l-'Azim on our journey southwards, 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 more 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 aroma of spices, which form a tout ensemble so irresistibly attractive, so continually fresh, yet so absolutely similar, whether en 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 Bazar-i-dunbal-i-khandak ("Market behind 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 Sabze-Meydan. At the point where we have now entered it,
it has already begun to assume a northerly direction to reach
the Meydan-i-Topkhane, 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'l-Funun, or 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 a military-looking uniform. They not only receive their
Just above the Daru'l-Funun 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 Meydan-i-Topkhane, 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'u'd-Dawla in which we commenced our walk. This avenue is bounded on the right by a fine garden, the Bagh-i-Lale-zar ("Garden of the Tulip-bed"), which belonged, I believe, to the talented Riza-Kuli Khan, generally known as the Lala-bashi, 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
First amongst these I will mention--because it can be disposed of in a very few words--another large square, called Meydan-i-Mashk ("Drill Square"), which lies to the north-west of the Meydan-i-Topkhane. 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, or exercising-ground for the troops.
Next to this, the palace called Nigaristan ("Picture Gallery"), which was the favourite residence of the second king of the Kajar dynasty, Fath-'Ali Shah, deserves mention. It is situated 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 room 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 Malcolm) 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 Nigaristan is a beautiful marble bath furnished with a long smooth glissoire, 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 Shahs 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
It is generally very difficult to visit the interior of mosques
in Persia; for in this respect the Shi'ite Muhammadans are much
more 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 mullas who kept hovering round
us, and I was not sorry to emerge once more 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
interiors of Persian mosques, I should say that they were decidedly
less beautiful than those of Constantinople or Cairo.
I have already had occasion to speak of the Daru'l-Funun, or
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-Sihhat ("Congress of Health," or Medical Council),
held once a week within its walls. The assembly was presided
over by the learned Mushiru'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 Tholozan
and myself being the only Europeans present; but occasionally
a few remarks were made in French, with which several of those
present were conversant. After a little desultory conversation,
a great deal of excellent tea, flavoured with orange juice, and the
inevitable kalyan, or water-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-khurus, 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 Shahrud,
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 haemorrhagic disease which had lately decimated
the Yomut Turkmans. As these wild nomads appeared to entertain an
unconquerable aversion to medical men, no
Having now spoken of the topography, buildings, and institutions 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 20th 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 Adharbayjan, an
office always conferred by Kajar 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.
I wish to insist on the fact that the reigning dynasty of the
Kajars are essentially of Turkish race, because it is often overlooked,
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 Khurasan 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 in a 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, fanatical,
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
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 prejudice 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 cruelties 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 influence 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 Abade 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 1889*; while the cruel
* See Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society for 1889, pp. 998-9; and
vol. ii of my Traveller's Narrative, pp. 400-412.
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 1850 2. Amongst the victims also, were several persons who, inasmuch as they had been in captivity for many months, were manifestly innocent of complicity in the plot, notably the beautiful Kurratu'l-'Ayn, whose heroic fortitude under the most cruel tortures excited the admiration and wonder of Dr Polak3, 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 exhibiting
a heroic fortitude which has done more than any propaganda,
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-nigh
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 distribution
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 afterwards followed him
to the University and witnessed the distribution 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 tumans (about 1 pound). The Shah sat in a room opening out into
the quadrangle, where the secretaries of state (mustawfis),
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 ministers of state. The only person allowed
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 compelled 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 Khan, the Kurd, better known as "Manijak" (which, in the Kurdish tongue, signifies a sparrow), and somewhile dignified by the title of 'Azizu's-Sultan ("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 "Manijak" 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 or 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 Salaru'l-Mulk and
the Rukunu'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'ibu's-Saltana. He resided in Teheran, and to him
was entrusted the government of the city and the supreme
military command.
The two elder sons were born of different mothers, and as the mother of the Vali-'ahd was a princess, he, and not his elder brother, was chosen as the successor to the throne. That the Zillu's-Sultan inwardly chafed at being thus deprived of his birthright 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 important cities of Shiraz, Yezd, and Isfahan, at the last of which he resided in almost regal state. Here he collected together a considerable body of well-drilled troops, who were said to be more efficient and soldierly than any of the regiments in Teheran. Besides these he had acquired a number of guns, and his magazines 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 Vali-'ahd, in which case it appeared not improbable that he might prove victorious, or 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 Zillu's-Sultan and the Vali-'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, without
any warning, 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
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
was still in Persia) the Shah's aged uncle, Ferhad Mirza, Mu'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 Ihtishamu'd-Dawla (the son of Ferhad
Mirza, and, since the downfall of the Zillu's-Sultan, 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, or 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
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 Nisab, 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
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 Mirza professed a great kindliness for the
English nation as well as for their language; nor, if the following
narrative be true, is this to be wondered at, since his life was once
saved by Sir 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 Nisabu's-Sibyan of Abu Nasr Farahi,
who flourished in the beginning of the seventh century of the
hijra (thirteenth of our era).
2 The tenth month of the old Persian solar year, corresponding to
December--January.
Before the close of our audience, Ferhad Mirza 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 Daru'l-'Ilm ("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'l-'Ilm, but now that has passed, and it can only be called the Daru'l-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 recalled the populace did not seek to hide their delight, and
even pursued him with jeers and derisive remarks. Ferhad Mirza
swore 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
The only other member of the Persian royal family whom I met was one of the brothers of the Shah, entitled 'Izzud-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.
The order of procedure is always much the same. The guests arrive 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, secluded). Kalyans (water-pipes) and wine, or undiluted spirits (the latter being preferred), are offered them, and they continue to smoke and drink intermittently during the whole of the evening. Dishes of "ajil" (pistachio nuts and the like) are handed round or placed near the guests; and from time to time a spit of kebabs (pieces of broiled meat) enveloped in a folded sheet of the flat bread called nan-i- 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 rarely much before midnight.
As a rule, music is provided for the entertainment of the guests.
The musicians are usually three in number: one plays a stringed
instrument (the si-tar); 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
*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.
When the host thinks that the entertainment has lasted long
enough, he gives the signal for supper, which is served either
in the same or 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 pilaws and chilaws* 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 (i.e. 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
* The basis of both pilaws and chilaws 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 pilaw, two of the nicest of which, in my opinion, are orange-
pilaw and what is called babune-pilaw.
Such is the usual course of a Persian dinner-party; and the
mid-day meal (nahar), 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 entertainment
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 are 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 conversation. 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 rule, so brilliant; but beyond this the quick,
versatile, subtle mind of the Persian, stored, as it usually is,
with anecdotes,
The Persians have only two full meals in the day--nahar, 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 sham, or 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
inclined, for the morning prayer), and, after drinking a glass or
two of tea (without milk, of course) and smoking a kalyan, sets
about the business of the day, whatever it may be. About noon,
or a little earlier, he has his breakfast (nahar), 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 ca
so he either goes out to visit a friend, or else stays at home to
receive visitors. In either case, tea and kalyans constitute a
prominent 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 be
arrives. In the case of government employes, 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
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 wore coloured
turbans 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 allowance
of money, more horses, or more sumptuous litters for the
journey. As a rule, too, their expressions betokened cruelty
and deceit, though some of them were fine-looking men, especially
an old mulla 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 Shirazis 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,
One constant visitor was the Nawwab'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, Mirza Abu'l-Hasan Jilve,
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 Nawruz" (the Persian New Year'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 (i.e. Sa'di) says--
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,
or 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-tar, 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
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'an, "Ya laytani kuntu
turaba!" ("O would that I were earth!"*). The prince, hearing
* Kur'an, ch. lxxviii, v. 41.
'Obeyd-i-Zakani 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 ensure
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
The wasteful and useless extravagance of Haji Mirza Akasi
here held up to ridicule was unfortunately far from being his
greatest or most pernicious error. It was he who ceded to the
* A kanat is an underground channel for bringing water from those
places where its presence has been detected by the water-finder (mukanni-
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 kanats (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
kanats which proved worthless. (See Gobineau, Religions et Philosophies
dans l'Asie Centrale, p. 163.) The last line, containing, as it does, a
crude but forcible Persian idiom, I merely paraphrase.
Readiness is a sine qua 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-zugahl"
("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!
"Sada-yi mis bi-falak mi-ravad ki mah giriftast"
("The clang of the copper goes up to heaven because the moon is eclipsed"),
rejoined the Laureate, without a moment's hesitation. To
appreciate 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
customary in Persia to beat copper vessels to frighten away the
dragon which is vulgarly supposed to have "eaten" it. This
rhetorical figure (called "husn-i-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--
Could a neater compliment, or one more 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 individuals
and nations in the phrase, "the happy days of childhood."
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 (perhaps
wisely) often neglected to preserve the works of more than
one or 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 perhaps Ka'ani, 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
grandeur 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 and a child, both of whom stammer,
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
invisible. 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 governor's palace, filled with
delightful 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 customary 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 kalyan, or water-pipe, was standing