IX.
FROM KAZVIN TO TEHERAN.

The heat of the day compelled us to travel by night, and we were favoured in having just then full moon. The only objection I had was the extreme stillness of the night; I found it unsociable; for although we met now and then with solitary travellers and smaller caravans, returning from Teheran, yet we never had any one to join us, and were obliged to jog on by ourselves. On the third night after our departure from Kazvin, as we were riding in a flat country, I heard, about night, voices in the distance, and soon after the steadily approaching clatter of horses' hoofs. Placing my firearms before me on the saddle head, I bent forward in order to be able to see and observe better. Three horsemen brandishing aloft their arms came swooping down upon us. Holding my pistols ready for firing, I called out to them: "Get out of the way, or I will shoot you down." Either the strange sound of the foreign dialect, or our costume, so unlike that of the Persians, frightened them away and they took to their heels; but although my companion looked upon the occurrence as a joke, I could not help feeling uneasy, and had some comfort, on the evening of the following day, in the certainty that Teheran would be our next station.

I had brought with me several letters of recommendation from prominent Effendis and Pashas in Constantinople, introducing me to Haider Effendi, the then Turkish Ambassador in Persia. I was spoken of in these, for the most part, as an eccentric person who, tired of the idyllic repose of a quiet life in Constantinople, had set out to look for distraction in the wilds of Persia. Some laid special stress upon my being led to the East by the queer idea of studying the Eastern Turkish language; in one word, they did everything to satisfy Haider Effendi that I was in no way connected with politics, but a mere dreamer, worthy of his patronage. Haider Effendi had, besides, the reputation of being an affable, kind and straightforward man, and I felt convinced of a friendly reception at the Turkish Embassy, where I intended putting up.

I was thinking of this as I came up to the banks of a small brook called Keretch. I found there a large crowd of travellers, some preparing for their ablutions, others engaged in prayer on the banks. It was a cool summer's morning, a sure indication of excessive heat during the day. My curiosity to see the capital of Iran gave me no rest. I quickly washed myself in the clear water of the brook, and, greatly to the disgust of my companion, who wished to rest here for another half-hour, immediately mounted my horse, and started in the direction of the capital. I repeatedly asked, "Where is Teheran?" for I saw no indication of it. My companion's stolid answer always remained the same: "There," he said, pointing with his finger onward. In vain I exerted my sight, I could not discover the city. At last the gray mass of fog which hovered over it caught my eyes, and there was Teheran spread along the sloping base of a mountain. We were but half an hour's distance from it. The fog soon gave way to the rising sun. I got a glimpse first of roofs covered with green glazed tiles, then of gilded cupolas, and at last the panorama of the whole town unrolled before my eyes—I was at the gate of the seat of government of the "King of Kings," as the Shah calls himself.

I had now been serving an apprenticeship of two months to the art of travelling, and but for having got thinner, darker and considerably speckled in the face, I had every reason to be satisfied with the state of my health, which had successfully resisted so far the by no means slight fatigues of Asiatic caravan travelling on miserable nags.

X.
IN TEHERAN.

I was rather pleased with this news, for one day's experience was sufficient to convince me that Teheran was almost uninhabitable during the summer months, owing to the intolerable heat and a stifled atmosphere choked with noxious miasmas. The new-comer feels immediately the effects of these miasmas for I could hardly eat anything on the day of my arrival. Towards evening the air became somewhat cooler, and as I had parted with my fellow-traveller from Tebriz, and consequently with my nag, too, I was obliged to hire an ass, in order to accomplish my trip to Djizer, which was about two hours' distance off. It was late in the evening when I arrived. The members of the Embassy were just then taking their supper beneath a tent of silk, in the garden. TALKING TO TURKS OF HOME.I was received by them with a cordiality exceeding my most sanguine expectations, and immediately invited to join them at their meal. Haider Effendi and his secretaries, the latter of whom had known me slightly in Constantinople, looked at me as if I had dropped from the sky; and if everybody in Persia, even the Persians themselves, are pleased to listen to accounts about Constantinople, one can easily imagine with what eagerness I was listened to by Turks, and especially by people from Constantinople. There was no end to all sorts of questions and inquiries. I had to tell them about the government of the new Sultan, and a thousand other things, and spoke, of course, as in duty bound, of the heavenly beauties of the Bosphorus, until it was midnight. When I told them of the journey I contemplated, the kind-hearted Osmanlis only stared at me. They could not conceive how a sensible man should wish to go to Central Asia, a region spoken of, even in Persia, as the dreadful desert and the dwelling-place of all that is most savage and barbarous. The ambassador in chief was foremost in condemning my plan as eccentric. "First of all," he said, "stay with us for a couple of months, and then we will talk about your travels in Central Asia. Take first a good look at Persia, and it will be time enough afterwards to proceed on your journey." He evidently thought that I should gladly renounce, in the meantime, my adventurous schemes.

In order that I might fully recover from the fatigues of the journey, the good Osmanlis surrounded me with every imaginable comfort. I was put into a tent by myself and provided with a horse and a servant; in short, I was transferred from a poor traveller into a great lord. I was thus placed in a position to study at my leisure Teheran, the capital of Iran.

The first thing the stranger is struck with is the utter want of cleanliness in the streets, as well as in the interior of the houses. The Persian covers the large unfurnished halls—what we should term drawing-rooms—of his house with costly carpets, and decorates its walls with rich ornaments, but the kitchen, the room he lives in, and the pantry are most shamefully neglected by him. It is the same with his dress. A person who will spend from fifty to a hundred gold pieces for his outer garments is rarely the owner of more than two or three shirts. Soap is looked upon as an article of luxury, being hardly ever used, and I have met with Khans of high social standing and refinement who made use of their servants' pocket-handkerchiefs. The henna-painting, however, is that which renders every Persian grandee particularly loathsome, in spite of his outward splendour and rich dress. Henna is a yellow powder obtained from a plant called Lawsonia inermis, which, by being dissolved in water, furnishes a red dye of brick-colour. With this henna they dye their fine black beards and their very eyes red, the colour of bricks. Persons of standing also dye with henna their finger-nails and hands. The coat of paint hides the dirt; and a gentleman or lady, having made use of it, can afford to do without washing for several days.

Knives, forks and spoons are things unknown in Persia. It is utterly repulsive to the European to see the master of the house pulling to pieces, with his fingers, a boiled chicken, and giving each guest a piece of it, or having a cup of sherbet passed round, in which a dozen men have already steeped their henna-dyed moustaches.

Persian refinement is confined only to gestures, speech and conversational manner. But in these they excel all the Eastern nations—perhaps the nations of the West, too—and these elegant manners are, of course, to be found in their highest perfection at the capital. Volumes could be filled with the strict laws laid down for visits and return visits, and the proprieties of correspondence and conversation. Each Persian wishes to surpass the other in expressions of politeness and delicacy, which seem the more absurd the more we happen to know of the private lives of the Persians.

SOCIAL CONTRASTS IN ASIA.At every turn in the street the eye meets shocking contrasts of splendour and misery. At one end of the street may be seen a swarm of half-naked dervishes and beggars loitering about, whilst a Khan on horseback, followed by a numerous retinue, appears at the other end. Forty to sixty servants, armed with long staves, are ranged on each side of the Khan, who, on his richly caparisoned horse, looks very pompous indeed, and keeps his head continually wagging with an air of great importance. You might suppose their lord to be at least a high officer of state, judging by the noisy conduct and impudent behaviour of his followers towards every one they met. Far from it! Often he is but a poor Khan, weighted down with debts, who has been in the capital ante-chambering and begging for some office for months past. His very men are not paid by him; they are a set of starvelings who follow him in the hope of his obtaining some office, and meanwhile try to add to the splendour of his appearance in public. Nothing but deception and delusion!

The Persians exhibit in the presence of their sovereign the most abject humility; but I have often heard expressions, and witnessed acts of disrespect towards him as soon as they were out of his sight. As an instance of their cringing manner may be cited the reply given by a courtier who was asked by the Shah to draw nearer to him. "Sire," he answered, covering up his eyes with his hand, "spare me, I dare not approach nearer to thy person; the glory of thy magnificent splendour dazzles my eyes." They do not, on the other hand, pay the slightest attention to their sovereign's commands, requests or threats, and the more distant the place or province is from the capital the more surely are commands and threats ignored. The courtiers highest in his confidence, the servants and officers standing nearest to his person, those whom his generosity has enriched, are the very men to spread the vilest rumours about him. These slanders find their way amongst the people; poets compose lampoons about them, and these are declaimed in all the alleys and byways of the kingdom. For a week or two life at the Embassy was pleasant, but soon "Up to Shiraz" was my only thought, and in a few days I joined a caravan to start for that city.

XI.
THE SALT DESERT OF DESHTI-KUVIR.

CHOOSING A COMPANION.I selected for my companion a young Seid from Bagdad, who was about to make a starring tour, as a rawzekhan (singer of sacred songs), through Southern Persia. Properly speaking only such persons are called rawzekhans who sing Tazies, i.e., elegies in honour of Hussein, of great renown in Persia. These men are the most fanatic Shi-ites, and it may cause some surprise that we became more intimately acquainted. But the Seid, as an inhabitant of Bagdad, and a subject of the Sublime Porte, was willing enough to cultivate the acquaintance of an Effendi. He introduced me to the other members of the caravan, and being a jovial fellow, who would easily pass from his funeral songs to a livelier and more worldly tune, he very soon became a favourite with the whole company, and I, too, indirectly, profited by his popularity

I at first scrupulously avoided all religious discussions, as I wished to ingratiate myself with my fellow-travellers, although it was by no means easy to do so; the Persians being very fond of arguing, and willingly entering into a discussion with Christians, Ghebers, and especially with Sunnites. The night was a magnificent one, and in Persia these moonlit nights are simply entrancing. The clear, transparent air, the graceful outline of the mountains, the darkling ruins, the spectre-like shadows of the advancing caravan, and, above all, the wonders of the starry vault above us, do not fail to produce an unutterable impression upon the imagination of a traveller coming from the far West to the East. Our road, however, was the worst imaginable; we had to make our way over fragments and boulders of rock, and cross ditches, ravines and the beds of rivers run dry. The difficulties of the road affected me but little; I abandoned myself entirely to the safe gait of my trusty asinine quadruped, and watched with intense interest every movement of the Seid, who contemplated the star-covered sky, and had some story to tell about each star. Every star had a legend of its own, an influence good or baneful, and I listened to his wonderful accounts with a soul full of faith. The constellation of the Great Bear was already inclining towards the margin of the western sky when we reached the height of Karizek, upon whose downward slopes Kenaregird, the village which was to be our first station, was lying. I cast one more glance at the beautiful moonlit landscape before descending, and as we went down on the other side of the mountain, the soft light of the moon slowly paled at the approach of the dawning day.

MORNING PRAYER.As soon as the morning star appears to the eye it is the custom, for the whole caravan, to hail the coming day. The most zealous person in the company engages in the recital of the Ezan, a task which quite naturally fell this time to the lot of our Seid. The ablutions are performed in the twilight of the dawn of morning, and before the first rays of the sun touch the crest of the mountains, the caravan stops and morning prayers are engaged in.

TRAVELLING IN PERSIA.

The animals stand quietly with their heads bent low, whilst the men, with their faces turned towards the East, are kneeling, in a line, side by side, with such a penitent and remorseful expression on their countenances, as may be witnessed only with Mohammedans. When the rays of the sun reach the devout faithful, they lift up their voices and chant the melodious prayer beginning with the words Allah Ekber (i.e., God is the greatest).

After sunrise it is customary for the caravan to march on for a longer or shorter space of time, according as it happens to start earlier or later the night before, or as the next station is nearer or farther off. When we turned into our station the rays of the sun shot down mercilessly on our heads. We put up at the spacious caravansary, near the village of Kenaregird. The meaning of its name is, "Border of Sand," for to the east of it extends the salt desert of Deshti-Kuvir. This desert must be an awful place, for during all my wanderings through Persia I never met with a native who had travelled over that portion of it lying between Kenaregird and Tebbes. A Persian talking about the desert of Deshti-Kuvir is always ready to frighten his listeners with a batch of tales of horror, in each of which devils and evil spirits conspicuously figure. The favourite legend which is most often repeated is the story of Shamr, Hussein's murderer and the mortal enemy of every Shi-ite Persian, to whom the desolation of this region is attributed. Flying from his own remorse, he took refuge here, and the once flourishing country suddenly became a sterile desert. The salt lakes and the bottomless morasses are caused by the drops of sweat rolling down his body in the agony of his sufferings. The most dreadful place of all is Kebir Kuh, where Shamr is dwelling to this day. Woe to the poor traveller who allows himself to be lured to this region by the deceptive light of the ignis fatuus! Such and similar stories I was regaled with by my fellow-travellers in connection with the salt desert of Persia. As soon as we arrived at the caravansary every one of us hastened to seek a shelter in the shade, and we were all of us soon comfortably settled. In a few instants the city of travellers presented the appearance of a lively and stirring settlement. Whilst the animals were crunching their dry barley straw, the Persians looked to the preparation of their meals. Those who were better off got their servants to rub their backs and shoulders and to pull their limbs until they cracked, this somewhat singular pastime being evidently intended to restore elasticity to the body. After a short rest we breakfasted, and then immediately retired to rest again. The caravan recuperates from the fatigues of the journey during the heat of the day, and continues its way at the dusk of evening. The animals follow the example of their masters. Towards evening men and cattle are on their feet again, and whilst the animals are being scrubbed and attended to, the men prepare their pilar (a dish composed of meat and rice). The supper is eaten about an hour before starting. The dervish fares better than any one else, for no sooner does the caravan arrive than he, without a care, seeks his rest, and when the savoury steam of the kettle announces the approach of the evening meal, he seizes his keshkul (a vessel made of the shell of the cocoa-nut), and goes the rounds of the various groups, shouting out sultily, "Ya hu, Ya hakk!" He gets a few slices from every one, mixes the heterogeneous contributions, and swallows it all with a good appetite. "He carries with him nothing," say the people of the East; "he does not cook, yet he eats; his kitchen is provided by God."

THE DESERT OF DEVILS.We had to cross the desert in its entire length to get to our next station. The silence of the night becomes, in this wilderness, doubly oppressive, and as far as the eye of the traveller can reach he will find no spot to repose it upon. Only here and there may be seen piled up columns of sand, driven about by the wind, and gliding from place to place like so many dark spectres. I did not wonder that these shifting shadows were taken by timid and credulous souls for evil spirits pursued by furies. My companion seemed to belong to the superstitious class, for wrapping his cloak tightly round him, he kept close to the densest part of the caravan, and would not, for the world, so much as glance at the wilderness stretching to the east.

THE CARAVAN OF THE DEAD.It was about midnight when we heard the sound of bells, and upon my inquiry as to the meaning of this, I was told that a larger caravan, which had left an hour earlier than we did, was in front of us. We accelerated our march in order to overtake it, but had hardly come within a hundred paces from it when an intolerable stench, as if of dead bodies, filled the air. The Persians were aware of the cause of this poisonous stench and hurried silently on; but it went on increasing the further we advanced. I could not restrain my curiosity any longer, but turning to my nearest neighbour, I asked again what this meant, but he curtly replied, betraying, however, great anxiety: "Hurry up, hurry up! this is the caravan of the dead." This information was sufficient to make me urge my wearied beast forward to greater speed, and after a while I reached, together with my companions, the caravan. It consisted of about forty animals, horses and mules, under the leadership of three Arabs. The backs of the animals were laden with coffins, and we made every effort to avoid the dread procession. In passing near one of the horsemen who had charge of the caravan I caught sight of a face, which was frightful to look at; the eyes and nose were concealed by some wraps, and the rest of his lividly pale face looked ghastly by the light of the moon. Undaunted by the sickening atmosphere, I rode up to his side and inquired about the particulars of his errand. The Arab informed me that he had been now ten days on the way, and that twenty more would pass in taking the dead bodies to Kerbela, the place where, out of devotion for Hussein, the pious wish to sleep their eternal sleep. This custom prevails all over Persia; and every person who can afford it, even if he live in distant Khorassan, makes arrangements to have his remains carried to Kerbela, in order that they may be interred in the soil wherein the beloved Imam Hussein is reposing. It takes sometimes two months before the dead body can reach its place of destination. One mule is frequently laden with four coffins, and whilst their conveyance during the winter is comparatively harmless, it is of deadly effect, to beast and man alike, in the heat of July in Persia.

At some distance from the caravan of the dead, I glanced back at the strange funeral procession. The animals with their sad burden of coffins hung their heads, seemingly trying to bury their nostrils in their breasts, whilst the horsemen keeping at a good distance from them, were urging them on with loud cries to greater speed. It was a spectacle which seen anywhere could not fail to produce a profound impression of terror, but seen in the very centre of the desert, at the dead hour of the night, in the ghastly illumination of the moon, it could not fail to strike the most intrepid soul with awe and terror.

XII.
KUM AND KASHAN.

THE CITY OF VIRGINS.Kum, with its green cupolas, loomed up before our eyes on the fourth day of our march. It is the sacred city of the Persian female world, for here, in the company of 444 saints, repose in eternal sleep the remains of Fatima, a sister to Imam (Saint) Riza, who, longing to see her brother, undertook for that purpose a journey from Bagdad to Meshed, but, on her way, was attacked by sickness in Kum, and died there. Kum, like Kerbela, is a favourite place of burial for Persian women, who cause their remains to be brought to this place from all parts of the country. But the town of Kum enjoys the less enviable distinction of being known as the abode of numerous evil-doers, owing to its having the privilege of sanctuary; and he who is lucky enough to escape the hands of the executioner, and to find a refuge within its sacred walls, is safe from all molestation.

Every member of our caravan was eager to visit Kum, some wanting to take part in the penitential processions as pilgrims, others to make purchases and to attend to their affairs. At a considerable distance from Kum, the environs, like those of all places of resort for pilgrims, are dotted by small heaps of stones, which are raised by the hands of pious pilgrims, amidst the chanting of sacred psalms. Here and there a bush can be seen, too, decorated with the gaudiest kind of rags which are hanging on it. Every one is anxious to leave some mark of his devotion in the neighbourhood; according to their inclinations, some resort to stones, others to rags in the accomplishment of their devotional duties. It is said that in former times another custom prevailed by which travellers might pay their tribute of respect—every passer-by would drive a nail into some tree on the road. I, too, dismounted and hung upon a bush a red silk tassel from my keffie. What a wonderful collection of fabrics from all parts of the world! On these bushes are represented the costly handiwork of India and Cashmere, the manufactures of England and America, and the humble frieze and coarse linen of the nomadic Turkoman, Arab and Kurdistan tribes. Now and then the eye is caught by a magnificent shawl suspended on the branches of a bush, exciting no doubt the cupidity of more than one pious pilgrim passing by; but it is perfectly safe, as no one would dare to touch it, it being considered the blackest act of sacrilege to remove any of these tokens of piety.

Before reaching the town we had to pass a cemetery of extraordinary dimensions, almost two English miles in length. My fellow-travellers, however, perceiving my astonishment at the extent of the burial ground, assured me that in point of size it could not be compared to that of Kerbek. We were in Kum at last; our caravan put up at the caravansary in the centre of the bazaar, and I learned with pleasure that we were to take a two days' rest here.

As pious pilgrims we allowed ourselves but little time for rest, and shortly after our arrival, having washed and brushed our clothes, we repaired to the holy tomb. No European before me ever saw the interior of this sanctuary, for there is no power on earth to procure admission to it for a Frengi.

THE TOMB OF FATIMA.Innumerable Seids, entrusted with the custody of the tomb of their "first ancestress," are camping in the outer courtyard, planted with trees. A chapel with a richly gilded cupola rises in the centre of the inner court. Twelve marble steps lead up to the door. The pilgrims remove their shoes at the first of these steps; their arms or sticks are taken away from them, and not until they have kissed the marble threshold are they permitted to enter. The beholder is struck with the extraordinary splendour of the interior of the chapel. The coffin, enclosed by a strong trellised bar of solid silver, remains always covered with a costly carpet. From the enclosure are suspended tablets containing prayers, which the faithful either read themselves, or have read to them by one of the numerous Seids who are loitering about. Any amount of shouting, singing, weeping, and moaning, and vociferous begging of the Seids is going on in the chapel; but this infernal din does not interfere with the devotions of a great number of pious pilgrims, who, leaning their foreheads against the cold bars of the enclosure, gaze with fixed eyes upon the coffin, and mutter their silent prayers. I particularly admired the many valuable and precious objects, ornaments of pearls and diamonds, arms inlaid with gold, which were laid down upon the tomb of St. Fatima as sacrificial gift-offerings. My Bagdad costume offended the eye of many a person in the fanatic Shi-ite crowd, but, thanks to the kindness of my fellow-travellers, I experienced no annoyance whatever. From the tomb of Fatima the pilgrims frequently go to the tombs of some of the great ones of the earth; and I followed my companions to the tomb of Feth Ali Shah and his two sons, who for some reason or other stood in particularly high favour with the devout. The tomb was of the purest alabaster, and the portraits of the departed ones were very cleverly carved into it on the outside. After having thus accomplished our pious devotions, we felt at liberty to wander back to the town and look at its remarkable sights.

Here, as elsewhere, the first thing to look at was the bazaar. We were just then in the season of ripe fruit, and the whole bazaar was filled with the water-melons, which are so celebrated throughout all Persia. The water-melon is, during autumnal months, the almost exclusive food of one portion of the people of Iran, and its juice is frequently used in case of sickness for its medicinal properties. The Kum bazaar is remarkable not only for the abundance and delicacy of its water-melons, but also for its earthenware, one variety of which in particular, a long-necked pitcher, manufactured from potter's clay taken from the soil of the sacred city, is highly valued in trade. As I was making my rounds in the bazaar, examining everything, I happened to stop before a muslin dyer's shop. The Persian tradesman was industriously engaged in stamping and printing the rude stuff spread out before him, by means of stencils, which had been previously dipped in a blue dye, pressing them down with all his strength; and as he observed me looking at his doings, he turned upon me angrily, and evidently taking me for a Frengi, exclaimed: "We shall get rid of your expensive cotton fabrics, and will by and by know all your tricks of trade; and when the Persians will be able to do without Frengistan manufacture, I know you will all come begging to us."

KASHAN.We left Kum on the third day after our arrival there, and passing through several smaller places, where nothing worthy of note could be seen, we came to Kashan, after a fatiguing march of two days. My Persian fellow-travellers, long before we arrived in Kashan, were praising up, in the most extravagant style, as usual, the beauty and attractions of that town. For my part, the only thing of note I saw there was the bazaar of the braziers, where the celebrated kettles of Kashan are being manufactured. About eighty braziers' shops are standing close to each other in a line, and in each of them muscular arms are hammering away the whole blessed day. The brass wares manufactured here are considered to be without rivals in point of solid workmanship and elegance. Those highly polished bricks, which retain the brilliancy of their shining colours for centuries, are said to have been invented in this town. Formerly they were called bricks of Kashan, but now they are known only by the name of Kashi, and serve as the chief ornaments in all architectural monuments throughout Central Asia. The inhabitants had also a great deal to tell about a dangerous species of scorpion, which made Kashan their home, but from motives of hospitality never hurt a stranger. I never came across any of these scorpions, but I had a great deal to suffer from a no less annoying tribe of animals, the lutis (strolling comedians), who attack every stranger coming to Kashan, and from whose clutches nothing can save you except a ransom in the shape of some gift. About ten of them stood there looking out for me as I was entering the caravansary, and immediately made a rush upon me, some producing hideous earsplitting music with their fifes, drums and trumpets, others showing off a dancing bear; and one of them, seating himself opposite to me, engaged in a declamation, at the top of his voice, of a panegyrical poem, in my honour, in which, to my utter astonishment, I heard my name mentioned. Of course, he had managed to ferret out my name from my companions. I bore the infliction for a little while patiently enough, listening to this charivari of sounds, but finally retired. But it was not an easy thing, by any means, to effect my retreat, for I was followed, on the spot, by one of the artists, evidently the chief of the strolling company, insisting upon some remuneration; and although I argued with him that I was but a beggar myself, he would not listen to reason, but bravely stood his place until I had given him something.

Leaving Kashan we had to proceed along a narrow mountain pass, flanked by gigantic rocks and mountains of strange and fantastic shapes. The moon shed a light almost as clear as that of the day, and the wonderful tints in which the landscape before me was clothed seemed to vary and change at every step we took. When we arrived beneath the great Bend, as is called the large water-basin cut by Shah Abbas the Great into the solid rock, in order to convey the waters produced by the snow melting on the mountains to the sterile plain not far off, the scene before us was startling in its rare and exceeding beauty. Although it was late in autumn, the oval-shaped basin, formed by the enclosed valley, was brimful of water, and the waterfall rushing down the rocky wall from a height of fifty feet looked in the moonlit night, to borrow a Persian phrase, like a river of diamonds. The deep roar of the waterfall is heard far off in the stilly night, and the tired traveller coming from the desert and quenching his thirst at the limpid waters of the basin, would not exchange the refreshing and crystal-like fluid for all the costly wines in the world.

The road from Kuhrud goes uphill for a time, and then inclines with a rather abrupt slope towards the plain lying on the other side of the mountain, where our next station was to be. The mornings had grown rather chilly and the travellers used to dismount on the way and pick up stray sticks of buta, a species of gumwood growing in bushes, which burns very well in its green state, but blazes with a loud crackling sound when dry. It is usual to raise a large pile of these sticks and then kindle it; the travellers range themselves round the blazing fire and afterwards resume their journey. MURDER IN THE DESERT.We were standing for the second time, on the same morning, around this sort of fire when we were suddenly startled by the sound of voices, in the rear, mingling with savage exclamations, as if people were quarrelling, and upon listening attentively we heard two reports from firearms, and the loud yelling of some person badly hurt. The whole caravan was thoroughly alarmed, and, running in the direction whence the report of the firearm had proceeded, found there lying on the ground one of our companions, with a shattered arm. The affray had happened in this way. Several horsemen who were conveying the annual taxes from Shiraz to Teheran had come up with a couple of Jewish shopkeepers, whom they first insulted, and afterwards, passing from insult to injury, were about to lay violent hands upon. One of our company, a Persian, happening to be present, had pity on the poor Jews, stood up in their defence and took the impudent fellows from Shiraz rather roughly to task for their unbecoming conduct. One of the horsemen, a hotheaded young fellow, became so enraged at this interference, that he lifted his rifle and shot at the Jews. He afterwards pretended that the whole thing had been a joke, that he intended only to frighten one of the Jews by sending a bullet through his tall fur cap, but that unluckily he missed his aim and hit, instead, the Persian's arm. The incident so exasperated the whole caravan that our men at once started in pursuit of the culprit, who had meanwhile turned his horse's head and galloped away for his life, at a break-neck speed, but he was finally overtaken, dreadfully beaten, spit at amid loud curses, securely tied and brought back to the caravansary. Both the Shiraz man, who was bruised all over, and our wounded companion being unable to proceed either on foot or on horseback, they were placed side by side each in a basket, upon the back of a mule, and in the course of half an hour they were chatting away in the friendliest manner. They tied up each other's wounds, consoled one another, and went so far in their newborn friendship as to kiss each other; for according to the Eastern way of thinking neither of them was to be held responsible for what had happened. Fate had willed it so, and in its decrees every one must acquiesce.

In a village, called Murtchekhar, the judge of that place, evidently desirous of currying favour with the governor of Shiraz, attempted to liberate him, but the caravan stoutly refused to give him up, and only delivered him over, later, into the hands of justice, at Isfahan.

On the 13th of September I saw Isfahan, the former capital of Shah Abbas, through the thin mist of the morning. Whenever a Persian, and, especially a native of Isfahan, sets his eyes, after an absence of some time, upon his native town he is sure to exclaim: "Isfahan is half the world, but for Lahore," meaning thereby that Isfahan is, after Lahore, the largest city in the world. But its beauty is only on the surface; its streets are small, dirty and miserable.

XIII.
FROM ISFAHAN TO THE SUPPOSED TOMB OF CYRUS.

A road leads from the bazaar to the celebrated Meidani Shah (the Shah's chief public square). This is an immense square, enclosed on every side by shops, which were in olden times the marts for the most costly articles of luxury, but are now crumbling into dust. I then visited the mosque of Lutf Ali, the gates of which are said to have been covered in ancient times with silver. From the balcony of this building the view is a splendid one, and I enjoyed a truly impressive sight. There lay stretched out before me the immense square of Meidani Shah, and in my imagination I conjured up the ancient splendour of the city and repeopled the square with surging crowds. I fancied I saw the great Shah Abbas review from this very balcony thousands of his warriors who had gathered from every part of Asia to pay homage to their powerful king; the Persians who had inherited the horsemanship of the Parthians, the Turkomans on their swift Arab steeds, the Afghans, the Georgians, the Indians, the Armenians—these savage and stalwart forms of antiquity, they all used to gather here. And to-day it is a sad and forlorn desert, the silence of the grave brooding over it. One corner of the square serves twice a week as a market-place for dealers in asses, and occasionally, on a holiday, a green turbaned procession headed by the chief priest may be seen passing through it.

THE POPE OF ISFAHAN.I had an opportunity of getting acquainted with all classes of the inhabitants of Isfahan at the house of the Imam Djuma, i.e., the high priest. He was the most influential priest in Persia, and at the capital he went by the name of Aga Buzurg (great lord). Indeed he was the real Pope of the Shi-ite sect, and the letters of recommendation, brought with me from Teheran, procured me admission to his house. I was very cordially received by him and invited to call on him on the evening of the following day. Aga Buzurg is one of those Seids whose descent from the house of Ali is least doubted, and very proud he is of his origin. The company I met there treated me as Shi-ites generally treat their Sunnite guest—they could not refrain from occasionally launching out in satirical and biting remarks. The master of the house only made a few condemnatory remarks, blaming the government of Constantinople for its friendship with the European Powers. But he did not omit to praise the tolerance of the Sultan towards the Shi-ites, who could now journey, unmolested, to Mecca and Medina, without being exposed to the annoyances and outrages they had formerly to submit to. To avoid familiarity and for the purpose of preserving his dignity, he was very chary of his words, and retired very soon after supper was over.

I found the middle classes of Isfahan to be remarkably cultivated. There were shoemakers, tailors and shopkeepers who knew hundreds of verses of their best poets by heart, and were quite familiar with the masterpieces in the literature of their country. They are, as a rule, very intelligent, poetic, and quick at a telling retort. Malcolm, the excellent English writer on Persia, relates the story how, at the time when most of the high offices in the Persian towns were filled by relatives of the Vezir Hadji Ibrahim, a merchant who was unable to pay his taxes was summoned to the presence of a brother of Hadji Ibrahim, the governor of Isfahan, and upon entering was addressed by the latter, in an angry tone of voice, as follows:

"If thou art not able to pay like the others, begone, get thee gone!"

"Where shall I go?" asked the merchant.

"Go to Shiraz or Kashan."

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

"Then go to the king and make complaint."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We left Isfahan at last, and proceeded on our way in the direction of the mountains lying to the south. Upon reaching an eminence I took another look at the endless mass of houses, gardens and ruins. Our caravan, which consisted of three divisions, two having joined us for our journey to Shiraz, now numbered above 150 animals and about sixty passengers, and even on this much-travelled road we were looked upon as a caravan of considerable size. The combining of the three caravans into one was caused by the fear of certain nomadic Persian tribes who were camped amongst the mountains to the right, and who were in the habit of attacking and plundering smaller caravans either from avarice or as a pastime. Only a few days had passed since a smaller caravan had been roughly treated by them. In the East, however, people are fond of inventing such stories. Many a time one is told, "At this place ten men were killed yesterday," "The day before, at another place, a merchant was set upon and robbed;" but the traveller need not take fright at these accounts, for he may be sure that the events related either happened ten years ago, or did not occur at all. Indeed our party of travellers had no need of the frightful stories with which they had been regaling each other on the eve of their departure to make their courage ooze out, for to a man they were remarkably deficient in that valuable article, the virtue of courage. Since the Persian in general is looked upon in all Asia as a most cowardly creature, who is scared to death by his own shadow, one may easily imagine the state of mind of a caravan consisting chiefly of pilgrims, merchants and mollahs. It was rather amusing to see them keeping close to, and crowding, each other in their fright, although we were only at a distance of two hours from the town. They were conversing in whispers as if a single loudly spoken word might have brought down upon them the most frightful calamities. One man who was conveying wine with which he had loaded four of his mules, was peremptorily made to leave our ranks at the instigation of a devout mollah, lest his sinful merchandise might bring bad luck to the entire company of the truly faithful. It was in vain the poor mule driver whiningly insisted that he had never tasted a drop of wine all his life, and that he was conveying this abhorred beverage to Bombay where the godless Frengis would drink it; in vain he swore by all the saints of the calendar he did not even know if the wine were red or white; he had to leave the caravan and keep a distance of a hundred feet between himself and it.

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

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

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

In leaving Shulghistan we were joined on our way by a horseman of distinguished appearance, followed by a number of servants, whose place of destination was the same as ours. He seemed to be mustering closely the members of the caravan, as if trying to make up his mind whom he should choose for his associate during the journey. FARS.After a while he approached me with the friendliest salutation. I soon found out that he was going to visit the governor of Fars, by orders of the Shah, in order to collect last year's arrears, amounting to 50,000 ducats. The Shah had been repeatedly urging the remittance of the sum, but it was never sent. The Khan was now ordered by the Shah to send the unremitting governor to prison for a few days; and should this punishment fail to produce the desired effect to withdraw for a couple of days his kallian (water-pipe) from him. This peculiar method of collecting debts is by no means rare in Persia. The Khan was a person of refinement and culture; he was very tolerant, and to him Sunnite or Shi-ite was the same thing. He saw in me the most travelled and experienced man in the caravan, and had therefore joined me, of which I was all the more glad, as it had procured for me a very agreeable fellow-traveller. When we arrived at our next station, Abade, we took a lodging together, and also took our meals together.

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