What an abyss is there between the modern Persians and their great poet!5

Meanwhile I had been preparing at my leisure for the winter journey to Teheran. The means for doing so had been furnished by the governor of the place, who received me most affably, loaded me with presents and overwhelmed me with marks of distinction. Teheran was still thirty days' journey from Meshed, and so long a ride in winter was by no means a pleasant prospect, yet my heart burned with delight as I rode out of the city gates.

XXVIII.
FROM MESHED TO TEHERAN.

My spirits rose high as I set out on my journey in the company of my Tartar. Two routes from Meshed to Nishapur were open to me—one leading over a mountainous tract, the other through a lower hilly country. I chose the latter. As I passed out of the city, mounted on an active nag, the horse of my Tartar being loaded with everything requisite for the journey, I felt in an exceptionally cheerful humour. It was not merely the pleasurable feeling of returning home which produced this effect. The contrast between the journey now before me, furnished with all the proper equipments, and that which I had made, suffering from all sorts of privations amid the deserts of Turkestan, without doubt greatly added to this feeling. We were continually meeting with caravans either of pilgrims or of merchandise, proceeding towards or returning from the holy city. On such occasions words of greeting are always exchanged. AN OLD FRIEND.My surprise at recognizing an old acquaintance in the leader of one of these caravans may be easily imagined. He was a Shirazer, in whose society I had two years before visited the ruins of Persepolis, Nakshi Rustam, and that fair city which was the birthplace of the poet Hafiz. To have travelled a long time with a man is in Asia looked upon as a sort of relationship. The gossiping Shirazer was delighted to see me. The caravan was obliged, whether or no, to submit to a quarter of an hour's halt, while we seated ourselves on the sand to enjoy together the friendly kalian (Persian pipe). As its fragrant smoke rose before my eyes, vivid pictures of the past, of the majestic monuments of bygone civilizations, arose before my memory. How those recollections animated me! Valerius in his chains, the majestic figure of the proud Shapur, above him floating the form of the beneficent Ormuzd,—all those magnificent bas-reliefs whirled kaleidoscope-like past my mind's eye; but their charms were multiplied as I reflected that since I saw them, I had seen, and left behind me, the classical realms of Bactria and Sogdiana, which had inspired with terror the stout hearts of the Macedonians of Alexander.

I was obliged to assure my Shiraz friend that I would speedily revisit his native country, for it was not until I had soothed him with this sort of promise that he would allow me to part from him. So cheerily did I then go on my way that the first day's journey was not in the least fatiguing to me, and by night we reached the station of Sherif Abad. This was the first evening I spent as a well-equipped traveller. In my previous travels in Turkestan I had first of all to gather firewood and collect flour; I had to pronounce prayers and blessings as payment for my night quarters; and I was always liable to be turned out tired and hungry. Now, on the contrary, I was a great man. I rode proudly into the tchaparkhane (post-house), and with a loud voice called for lodgings; for although I was still completely Oriental, so far as outward appearances went, the postmaster could easily observe that he had to do with one who had at his command a sufficiency of the sinews of war. And what will not a Persian do for money? My Tartar prepared me an excellent supper; rice, sugar, fat, meat—in a word, everything in abundance. The eyes of my simple Uzbeg sparkled with joy as he thought of his former poverty and looked on the abundance which surrounded him. If the supper which he could prepare was not exactly fit to appear on the table of a Lucullus, it was a very good one for a Persian wayside station.

We had before us as our next day's work, a distance of nine German miles or thirty-six English miles to the next station, Kademgiah. Nine fersakhs in Khorassan is a good deal, for there is a saying that in that province the miles are as interminable as the chatter of women, and that he who measured them must have done so with a broken chain. European travellers, without exception, complain of the monotony and wearisome character of the road. But what was that to me who had escaped from the torments of Turkestan? Quite alone with my Tartar, and well armed and well mounted, I now for the first time felt the charms of true travelling. SADDLE V. CUSHIONS.Little know they who coop themselves up amidst the heat of July in close railway carriages, and find, perforce, delight in the dusty, grimy countenance of the guard, what travelling really means. A good saddle is better than all your stuffed cushions. Thereon a man feels himself free and unconstrained. His bridle is his Bradshaw, his sword is his law, his gun is the policeman who protects him, and though he is an outlaw and fair game for all who meet him, so all are fair game for him. When in addition to this, he is familiar with the languages, laws, and customs of the land through which he proceeds, and is independent of dragomans, firmans, and guards, then his journey is truly delightful. Travelling the whole day in the open air, he finds the hour of midday halt both a pleasure and a necessity. And then the enjoyments of the evening, when having arrived at the spot where he means to rest for the night, his steed pasturing near him, and he himself surrounded by the saddles and baggage, gazing at the crackling fire which is to cook his savoury supper! The rays of the setting sun are not then so bright and cheerful as the glances of the traveller's eyes. No meal is so savoury as his supper, and his slumber under the starry canopy of heaven is a hundred times more refreshing than that of those who sleep on luxurious down in princely chambers.

Kademgiah, the name of my second station, means "footprint," and is a place of religious pilgrimage, where pious faith discovers on a marble stone the print of Ali's foot. Such miraculous footprints are by no means of rare occurrence in the East. Christians, Mohammedans, and Brahmins, all hold them in equal veneration. What especially excited my wonder was the vast size of most of them, suggesting as they did rather the idea of the foot of an unwieldly elephant than that of a man. But religious credulity does not trouble itself about such trifles as logic or the fitness of things. In the mountains near Shiraz, for instance, there is a footprint three feet long; the one in Herat is of the same size, as is also that on Mount Sinai; and even in the distant Kothen, in Chinese Tartary, a large footprint is shown, where, as the story goes, the holy Jafer once strolled near Sadik. As I have observed, their monstrous size creates no surprise or doubt in the minds of the pious. Under the auspices of the holy place stand numerous inns for the accommodation of pilgrims. In one of these I had comfortably established myself, and was just engaged in making tea in the shade of the fine poplars, when one of the priests of the place made his appearance, and with a devout look invited me to visit the holy spot. As the only thing the priest seemed to want at the time was a cup of tea, I treated him to one. His further importunities proved him to have more mercenary views; so as the cold marble stone which contains the sacred footprint was of little interest to me, who had seen so many of its kind already, I contrived at the expense of a few krans (francs) to dispense at once with the society of my guest and the performance of a religious duty.

My third day's march took me over a region of low hills into the plain of Nishapur, so celebrated in Persia, and I may add in all Asia. Djolghe-i Nishabur (Plain of Nishapur) is in the eyes of the Persian the ne plus ultra of beauty and wealth. For him the air there is purer and more fragrant than elsewhere; its water the sweetest in the world, and its products without rivals in creation. It is difficult adequately to describe the proud joy which is pictured in his countenance as he points out the hills lying towards the north-east, abounding in turquoise mines and precious metals. For myself, I must own that the plain, like the city situated in its midst, produced a pleasing, but by no means the entrancing effect I felt justified in anticipating. Its historical importance would hardly have occurred to me, had it not been that a Persian, who discovered I was a foreigner, joined in conversation with me by the way, and unasked, began to sound with no little exaggeration the praises of his native city.

No less inconsiderable did I find the town of Nishapur itself. The bazaar is tolerably well filled with European and Persian wares, but the traveller in vain explores the town for remains of that wealth and architectural beauty which have been so highly lauded by Eastern historians. The only things of note in the town are workshops for grinding and polishing the turquoises found in the neighbourhood. The stones in their unwrought state are of a gray colour, and only acquire their well-known sky-blue hue after repeated polishings. The deeper its colour, the more prominent its shape, and the smoother its surface, so much the more costly is a stone—veins being regarded as flaws. A CURIOUS PHENOMENON.A curious phenomenon observable in these turquoises is that in many specimens the colour fades a few days after being polished. The inexperienced purchaser who is not aware of this circumstance not seldom becomes a victim to Persian fraud; and many pilgrims who have purchased in Nishapur stones of brilliant azure, have no other choice left them on their return home than to throw them away as faded and colourless. At the present day these mines are by no means so profitable as in former times, they being rented altogether for the low sum of two thousand ducats yearly. The commerce in the stones, which was once actively carried on between Persia and Europe, especially with Russia, has also of late years very much fallen off.

From Nishapur the road leads to Sebzevar, distant three days' march. The intervening stations have been often described. No one who has travelled in Persia can have failed to have heard the names of the four "stations of terror," so rich are they in danger and in strange tales of adventure. Whoever amongst the people has the ambition of laying claim to a character for bravery, he never forgets to introduce their names into the story of his adventures. Do you ask why? The answer is very simple. The four stations are posted on the edge of the great plain which extends far away into the steppes of the Turkomans. No river, no mountain, breaks its uniformity, and as those rapacious children of the desert have but little respect for political boundaries, their predatory inroads are frequent, and these four places are just those which are most exposed to their ravages. They seldom fail to profit largely by such incursions, as here runs the principal road towards Khorassan, which is ever full of heavily laden caravans and well-equipped pilgrims. The Persian never tires of dwelling on adventures with Turkomans. At one of the stations, among much else that was curious, I heard the following story. A Persian general had sent his troops of six thousand men on before him, and was only staying behind for a few minutes to enjoy comfortably the last whiffs of his kalian. He had just finished his pipe and was about to join his soldiers, followed by a few body servants, when he was pounced upon by a body of Turkomans and carried away on their swift horses. In a few minutes he was robbed and made captive, and a few weeks later was sold as a slave in the market of Khiva for the sum of twenty-five ducats.

On another occasion a pilgrim was captured on his way to the shrine of Imam Riza. Luckily he saw the approaching enemy, and had just time to hide his little store behind a stone ere the plunderers came upon him. After he had been sold as a slave and brought to Khiva, he wrote from thence to his tender spouse as follows: "My dear child, in such and such a place, under such and such a stone, I have hidden forty ducats. Send thirty of them to this place to ransom thy loving husband, and take care of the remainder until I return from the land of the Turkomans, this house of bondage, in which I must now, perforce, perform menial service."

It is true that there is good cause here for fear and caution, but the absurd pusillanimity of the Iranians is the main source of their misfortunes. Their caravans are wont to assemble here in large masses. They are protected by soldiers with drawn swords, and cannons with their matches burning. Often their numbers are very considerable. No sooner, however, do a few desperate desert robbers make their appearance than caravan and escort alike lose their courage and presence of mind, fling away their weapons, offer all their property to the enemy, and putting out their hands to be fettered, allow themselves to be carried away into painful, often lifelong, captivity and slavery. ALONE IN THE DESERT.I rode from station to station with my Tartar for my only escort—a journey which no European had ever made before me. Of course I was warned not to do so. But in my Turkoman dress what cared I for Turkoman robbers? As for my Tartar, he looked wistfully around in hope that he might espy a countryman of his. If we had fallen in with some of those Sunnite sons of the desert, travelling as we were in a Shi-ite land, I believe that so far from injuring a mollah of their own faith, they would have rewarded us richly for the fatiha which we would have bestowed on them. For four days I wandered in the steppe; once in the dusk of the evening I lost my way, yet not a single Turkoman crossed my path. I met no one except a few scared Persian travellers.

The reader will easily imagine the eagerness with which the traveller's eyes look out for the gardens which surround Shahrud. As this town is situated at the foot of a mountain, it is visible for miles off on the plain. The wearied horseman thinks he has already reached the end of his day's journey, when it is in reality five German miles distant. The road is as monotonous as can possibly be imagined. It affords nothing whatsoever to attract the eye. In summer, owing to utter want of water, it must be very unpleasant to travel over it. Unfortunately I had mistaken a village which lies in the vicinity of Shahrud for the town itself, which at the point of the road was concealed in a hollow. My anger when I discovered my mistake may be easily conceived. It was in truth no joke to have added to the long day's journey a good half-hour's additional ride. I had mounted my horse before twelve o'clock the night before, and it was already past six o'clock in the evening, when I at last gained the badly paved streets of Shahrud, and dismounted in one of its principal caravansaries. My poor beast was utterly exhausted, and I myself scarcely less so. AN ENGLISHMAN.But as I looked around the square of the caravansary, how great was my astonishment at beholding a son of Britain, yes, actually an unmistakable living Englishman, with a genuine John Bull physiognomy, sitting at the door of one of the cells. An Englishman alone here in Shahrud—that is certainly a rarity, almost a miracle. I rushed towards him. He also, although apparently absorbed in deep thought, regarded me with wondering eyes. My Bokhariot dress, and my evident fatigue had attracted his attention. Who knows what he thought of me then? For myself, in spite of my extreme exhaustion, I hastened as well as I could to this extraordinary rencontre. I dragged myself towards him, and staring at him with weary eyes, addressed him with a "How are you, sir?" He appeared not to have understood me, so I repeated my question. At this he sprang from his seat in surprise, the greatest astonishment depicted in his countenance, while he gave vent to his feelings with "Well I——. Where have you learned English?" asked he, stammering with emotion; "perhaps in India." I should have liked to have screwed up his curiosity a peg or two higher, and at any other time might have enjoyed a mystification amazingly. But my long ride had so thoroughly tired me out that I had not the spirits required for carrying on the joke. I made a plain confession of what and who I was. His joy was indescribable. To the great astonishment of my Tartar, who until now had always regarded me as a true believer, he embraced me and took me into his quarters. We spent a famous evening together, and I allowed myself to be induced to rest there the whole of next day; for it did the poor fellow no end of good to be able to speak of the West after six months' separation from European society. A few months after our strange meeting he was robbed and murdered on the road. His name was Longfield, and he was agent for a large Lancashire house, for which he had to purchase cotton. He had to carry a great deal of money about him, and unfortunately forgot, as do too many, that Persia is not the civilized land which the glowing representations of its lying agents in Europe would lead us to suppose, and that one cannot place much reliance on passports and royal firmans.

Before reaching Teheran I had a journey of eleven days yet before me. The road is safe. The only point of interest offered along the stations is the observation of the contrast between the manners of the inhabitants of Khorassan and those of Irak. The proximity of Central Asia has left its mark of many rude habits on the people of Khorassan, whilst the polish of Iranian civilization is unmistakable in the inhabitants of Irak. The traveller who is supposed to be possessed of worldly means is always sure here of most polite treatment. Not but that in outward appearance they pretend to a vast amount of guilelessness with not a touch of greediness. The guest is treated as a most welcome personage. He is overwhelmed with the very quintessence of courtly phrases which accompany the presents offered to him. But he had better be careful of his purse if he is uninitiated in the intricacies of Persian politeness. I had become well acquainted with Iranian etiquette during my travels in Southern Persia, and on such occasions I always played the Iranian, meeting compliments with phrases even more complimentary. I accepted, of course, the presents offered me, but never failed with most flowery speeches to invite the giver of the gift to partake of it. It rarely happened that he was proof against my high-flown bombast, and quotations from Saadi and his other favourite poets. Forgetting compliments and courtesy, he would then make a fierce onslaught on the food and fruits he had himself heaped on the khondja (wooden table), and tell me with repeated and significant shakes of the head, "Effendi, thou art more Iranian than the Iranians; thou art too polished to be sincere."

The nearer we approached Teheran the worse became the weather. We were now in the latter part of December. I had felt the cold of the impending winter while still on the plains; but here, in more elevated regions, it was doubly severe. The temperature in Persia is liable to sudden changes, and a journey of a few hours often makes a serious difference. But the weather in the two stations of Goshe and Ahuan was so very severe as to cause me anxiety. These two places are situated on a mountain, and can afford accommodation to but a small number of people. I fared tolerably well at Goshe, where I had the caravansary all to myself and could arrange myself comfortably and cosily, while outside a cruel, bitter cold prevailed. The next day, on my way to Ahuan, I found snow in many parts of the roads. The biting north wind compelled me often to dismount in order to keep my feet warm with walking. The snow lay already several feet deep when I arrived at Ahuan, and it was frozen so hard as to form along some parts of our road two solid walls. In catching sight of the solitary post-house, I had but one intense longing, to get beneath a roof and to find a good fire by which to warm myself. The eye roving over the hills, white with snow, could not discover within its range anywhere a human habitation or even the wreck of one. We rode into the yard of the tchaparkhane in our usual demonstrative manner in order to attract attention. A SNUG BERTH.The postmaster was exceedingly polite, which, in itself, was a good omen, and I was delighted as he led me into a smoky, but withal well-sheltered room; and I paid but little attention to what he was saying, as he expatiated at great length, with an air of great importance, on the expected arrival of the lady of Sipeh Salar, the Persian generalissimo and minister of war, who was on her way back from a pilgrimage to Meshed, and would arrive either that night or the following day with a retinue of from forty to sixty servants. To be overtaken by them in a place affording such meagre accommodations as this post-house did, would of course be far from pleasant. But the likelihood of such an event little disturbed my equanimity; on the contrary I made myself and my weary beast as comfortable as I could. As the fire began to blaze cheerily on the hearth, and the tea to send its steamy flavour through the room, I entirely lost all sense of the cold and discomfort I had so lately endured, and listening to the shrill whistling of rude Boreas without, who seemed to wish to rob me of my slumbers out of spite for having escaped his fury, I gave no thought to the probability of being ousted from my comfortable quarters. After I had taken my tea and felt a pleasant warmth creeping through my whole body I began to undress. I had thrown myself on my couch, my pilar and roast fowl were almost ready, when, about midnight, through the howling of the wind I heard the tramp of a troop of horsemen. I had scarcely time to jump up from my bed when the whole cavalcade dashed into the court with clashing arms, oaths and shouts. In an instant they were at my door, which was of course bolted. "Hallo! who is here? Out with you! The lady of Sipeh Salar, a princess of royal blood, is come; every one must turn out and make room for her." I need not say that there were cogent reasons for not immediately opening the door. The men asked of the postmaster who was the occupier of the room, and upon learning that it was only a hadji, and he too a heretic, a Sunnite, they began to level their swords and the butt ends of their guns at the door, crying out, "Ha, hadji! take thyself off, or wilt thou have us grind thy bones to meal!"

The moment was a very exciting and a very critical one. It is but a sorry jest to be turned out of a warm shelter, where one is perfectly comfortable, and to have to pass a bitterly cold winter's night in the open air. CONFOUNDING THE DISTURBERS.It was not, perhaps, so much the fear of harm from exposure to the cold as the suddenness of the surprise and the shock of the unwelcome disturbance, which suggested to me the bold thought not to yield, but fearlessly to accept the challenge. My Tartar, who was in the room with me, turned pale. I sprang from my seat, seized gun and sword, while I handed my pistols to him, with the order to use them as soon as I gave him a sign to do so. I then took up a position near the door, firmly resolved to fire at the first person who would intrude. My martial preparations seemed to have been observed by those without, for they began to parley. Indeed I remarked that the elegance of the Persian which I employed in talking with them rather staggered them into a suspicion that they might be mistaken after all in supposing me to be a Bokhariot. "Who art thou, then? Speak, man, it seems thou art no hadji," was now heard from without. "Who talks about hadjis?" I cried; "away with that abusive word! I am neither Bokhariot nor Persian. I have the honour to be a European, and my name is Vambéry Sahib."

Silence followed this speech of mine. My assailants seemed to be utterly dumbfounded. Its effect, however, was even more startling on my Tartar, who now, for the first time, heard from his hadji fellow-traveller's own lips that he whom he had looked upon as a true believer was a European and that his real name was Vambéry. Pale as death, and with eyes glaring wildly, he stared at me. I was in fact placed between two fires. A sharp side-glance from me restored his equanimity. The Persians too changed their tactics. The name of European, that word of terror for Orientals, produced a magic effect. Terms of abuse were followed by expressions of politeness; menaces by entreaties; and as they earnestly besought me to allow two of the principal members of the escort to share my room, while the others would resign themselves to occupy the barn and the stable, I opened the door to the trembling Persians. My features convinced them at once of the truth of my assertions. Our conversation soon became very lively and friendly, and in the course of half an hour my guests were reposing in a corner of the room, completely stupified by over-indulgence in arrack. There they lay snoring like horses. I then applied myself to the task of explaining matters to my Tartar, and found him, to my agreeable surprise, quite willing to appreciate my explanations. Next morning when I left the snow-clad hills, and rode over the cheerful plain of Damgan, the recollection of the adventure came back to me in all its vividness, and I own that on sober second thoughts I was disposed to quake somewhat on contemplating the unnecessary danger my rashness had exposed me to the preceding night.

Damgan is supposed to be the ancient Hecatompylae (city with the hundred gates); a supposition which our archæologists will maintain at every hazard, although the neighbourhood affords no trace of a city to which the hundred gates might have belonged. Of course one must make large deductions from all assertions made by either Greeks or Persians, who rival each other in the noble art of bragging and exaggerating. If we reduce the hundred gates to twenty, it will still remain a matter of considerable difficulty to discover a city of over twenty gates in the obscure spot now called Damgan. The place boasts of scarcely more than a hundred houses, and two miserable caravansaries in the midst of its empty bazaar are sufficient indications that Damgan's reputation for importance in commercial respects is equally unfounded.

REPUTATION WITHOUT FOUNDATION.From Damgan I travelled over two stations to Simnan, celebrated for its cotton, and still more for its tea-cakes. Almost every town in Persia is conspicuous for some speciality, in the production of which it claims to be not only the foremost in Persia, but unrivalled in the whole world. Shiraz, for instance, is famous for lamb, Isfahan for peaches, Nathenz for pears, and so on. The odd thing about it is, that on arriving in any of these towns and looking for the article so much bragged of, the traveller is either greatly disappointed as to its quality, or, more amusing still, he fails to find the article at all. In Meshed I heard the tea-cakes of Simnan talked of, nay even in Herat; but as I had often had occasion to value these exaggerations at their true worth, I did not expect too much. Nevertheless, I went into the bazaar to inquire after tea-cakes. My search, long and painful, was rewarded by a few mouldy specimens. "Simnan," said one, "is justly celebrated for the excellence of this article, but the export is so tremendous that we are left without any." Another said: "It is true that Simnam was once famous for the production of this article, but hard times have caused even the quality of the tea-cakes to deteriorate." Here at any rate people had the grace to invent some excuses, but in most places not even an apology is attempted; and the unblushing fraud of the pretended claim to the production of some excellent article shows itself without any disguise.

The same sensations which overcame me when I arrived in Meshed, I felt now with even greater intensity as I drew near Teheran, the starting-place of my adventurous journey, where I was to meet so many kind friends who, in all probability, had long ago resigned themselves to the thought of my having paid with my life the penalty of my rash enterprise.

XXIX.
FROM TEHERAN TO TREBIZOND.

I formed no exception to the rule in this particular; the change in my behaviour was the theme of many facetious remarks from my European friends, and drew upon me more than once their good-natured sallies. They made my salutations, my gesticulations, my gait, and above all my mode of viewing things in general, an object of their mirth. Many went so far as to insist upon my having been transformed into a Tartar, to my very features; saying that even my eyes had assumed the oblique shape peculiar to that race. This good-natured "chaff" afforded me great amusement. It in no wise interfered with the extreme pleasure I felt in being restored to European society. THE DISCOMFORTS OF CIVILIZATION.Nevertheless, besides the strange sensation of enjoying the rare luxury of undisturb I repose for several weeks, there were many things in the customs and habits of my European friends to which reconciliation caused great difficulty. The close-fitting European dress, especially, seemed to cramp me and to hamper me in my movements. The shaved scalp was ill at ease under the burden of the hair which I allowed to grow. The lively and sometimes violent gestures which accompanied the friendly interchange of views, on the part of the Europeans, looked to me like outbursts of passion, and I often thought that they would be followed by the more energetic argument of rude force. The stiff and measured carriage and walk, peculiar to military people, which I observed in the French officers in the Persian service, seemed to me odd, artificial and stilted. Not but that it afforded me a secret pleasure to have occasion to admire the proud and manly bearing of my fellow Europeans. It presented such a gratifying contrast to the slovenly and slouching gait of the Central Asiatics, amongst whom I had been lately living. It would serve no purpose to point out to my readers, and to multiply, the numerous instances of the strange perversion of views and tastes to which my late experiences among strange Asiatic people had given rise. Those who, from personal observations, are enabled to draw a parallel between life in the East and West, will find no exaggeration in my saying that Teheran compared to Bokhara seemed to be a sort of Paris to me.

The surprise and astonishment of the Persian public at the capital was general when the successful issue of my perilous adventure became known. Ketman (the art of dissimulation allowed by Islam) is a gift well known and diligently cultivated by Orientals; but that a European should have acquired such a degree of excellence in this peculiarly Eastern art as to impose upon the natives themselves seemed to them incomprehensible. Without doubt they would have grudged the successful termination of my journey, had it not been that the joke I had played at the expense of their arch enemies the Sunnite Turkomans tickled their fancy. The steppes of Turkestan are many ways a terra incognita to the inhabitants of Teheran; and although they are situated near the confines of Persia, the strangest and most fanciful ideas prevail amongst the people in regard to them. I was the recipient of a thousand questions from everybody on this subject. PRESENTED TO THE SHAH.I was invited by several ministers to visit them, and had even the distinction conferred upon me of being presented to his Majesty, "the Centre of the World" or "Highly Exalted Ruler of the Universe," as the Persians call him. I had to undergo the wearisome ceremonial of the Persian court, before I was ushered into the august presence of the Shah Nasr-ed-din, in the garden of the Palace, and when there I received from him the condescending compliment of being asked to tell the story of my adventures. I acquitted myself in this with no little vivacity. The ministers who graced the interview with their presence were quite dumbfounded with the easy coolness I exhibited on that occasion, and as I was afterwards told, could scarcely recover from their astonishment at my being able to endure without trembling the looks of a sovereign whose least glance strikes terror into the heart of the boldest mortal. The king himself seemed pleased with my performance, for he afterwards testified to his satisfaction by sending me the Order of the Lion and Sun, and what was more to the purpose, a valuable Persian shawl. PERSIAN OFFICIAL CORRUPTION.The insignia of the Order, consisting of a plain piece of silver, I was permitted to retain, but the rapacity of the minister, so characteristic of the court of Teheran, confiscated the shawl, worth at least fifty ducats, for his own benefit. This conduct is by no means astonishing: his Majesty the King lies and deceives his ministers, and they, in their turn, repay his amiability towards them with usurious interest. Inferior officials cheat the people, and the latter again avail themselves of every opportunity to cheat the officials. Every one in that country lies, cheats and swindles. Nor is such behaviour looked upon as anything immoral or improper; on the contrary, the man who is straightforward and honest in his dealings is sure to be spoken of contemptuously as a fool or madman.

As an instance of this general moral obliquity, I will relate a neat little story of what occurred while I was staying in Teheran. The king, as is well known, is an inveterate sportsman and an excellent shot. He passes about nine months in the year in hunting excursions, to the no small annoyance of the officers of the court, who, on such occasions, are compelled to leave the luxurious comforts of the harem, with its dainty food and soft couches, for the rude life in a tent, the simple fare of the country-people, and the long and fatiguing rides of the chase. The king, on returning from the chase, is wont to send presents of some of the game killed by him to the European ambassadors as a special mark of his favour. This generosity, however, must be paid for in the shape of a liberal enaam, or gratuity, to the servant who has brought the roe, partridges and other game laid low by the royal hand. The Corps Diplomatique at first submitted patiently to this exaction, but as these royal gifts became more and more frequent, the ministers began to surmise that these repeated acts of distinction did not emanate from the royal household, but were a mere fiction invented by the servants to secure the expected large fees, and that the game brought to them was purchased for the purpose. In order to obviate the recurrence of similar frauds, the Minister of Foreign Affairs was to certify, at the request of the ambassadors, to the bonâ fide character of the royal gifts. For a while this proved to be a preventative of the annoyance; but for a short time only, for very soon the presents began to pour in again with an alarming rapidity. Strict inquiries were now instituted, and the astonishing fact was brought to light that his Excellency the Minister connived at the fraud by issuing false certificates, and that he shared in the profits of the disgraceful transaction. The whole thing, when it transpired, was treated as an excellent joke; and the king himself deigned to be highly amused at the account of this singular method of taking in the Frengis.

As I did not intend leaving Teheran before spring, my stay there was prolonged to two months. This time I passed very agreeably in the society of the little European colony. Their joy at my return was sincere, and this they demonstrated not only by cordial and warm congratulations, but by a hundred little acts of politeness and goodwill which rendered my stay with them exceedingly pleasant. The embassies did not fail to acquaint their respective governments with my remarkable adventures. As for myself I was quite astonished at the ado made about my performances; nor could I very well comprehend the extraordinary importance attached to my dervish trick, which presented itself to my imagination, apart from the real dangers, rather in the ludicrous light of a comedy brought to a prosperous end.

I was not a little proud as I left the Persian capital to find myself provided with letters of recommendation to the principal statesmen of England and France. A CHARACTER.I was especially touched by the interest shown by a Hungarian countryman of mine, a Mr. Szantó, who plied the trade of a tailor in Teheran. Born on the banks of the Theiss, he left his country to escape conscription, preferring the life of an honest tradesman to that of a soldier. His wanderings took him to Constantinople, and on leaving that city he went through Asia Minor to Arabia, and thence through South Persia to India. This singular man had made all these journeys for the most part on foot. He was about to set out for the capital of China when news reached him of the rising of his people in 1848, in order to achieve independence. Without a moment's hesitation he determined to hasten back and enrol himself in the army of those who were ready to fight and die for their country. But he had calculated without taking into account the immense distance from Asia to Europe and his slender means, which permitted him only the slow locomotion of a pedestrian and conveyance in a sailing vessel. Thus, upon arriving in Stambul he heard of the fatal day at Vilagos, the closing act of the glorious revolutionary drama. In his disappointment he once more seized the wanderer's staff, and, resuming his old trade, reached Teheran by way of Tabreez. The good man spoke a most extraordinary language, jumbling together all the different dialects he had partly picked up in the countries through which he had passed. He did tolerably well at the beginning of a conversation, starting fairly with Hungarian; but no sooner had he become animated with his subject than a perfect farrago, consisting of a conglomeration of Hungarian, German, French, with a still more confusing mass of Turkish, Arabic, Persian and Hindustani words, would ensue, putting the comprehension of his hearers to a sore trial. His generous heart warmed towards me, his countryman, at whose escape from so many dangers he was overjoyed; and in his simple way, to demonstrate his sympathy, he insisted upon my accepting of him a pair of pantaloons of his own handiwork, although his circumstances were rather straitened. As I could not be induced to accept his gift, he persuaded my Tartar to take it. The inhabitant of Central Asia laughed at what seemed to him a ridiculous garment; but at last curiosity prevailed with him so far as to induce him to put it on, and kind-hearted Szantó was beside himself with delight and pride at having been the first tailor who had put a Tartar into a pair of European trousers.

AN EXPENSIVE PHOTOGRAPHER.I must not omit to mention another European I met here, a M. de Blocqueville, who may be justly called one of the most expensive of photographers—at least to the Shah of Persia. In the service of the latter, he had taken part in an expedition against the Turkomans, had the misfortune of being taken prisoner, and was at last released upon payment of the enormous ransom of ten thousand ducats. M. de Blocqueville, a perfect French gentleman, had come to la belle Perse in search of adventures. He did not wish to practise as a physician, the orthodox career of a European in the East, but preferred to try his luck with photography, which, being less known in Persia, promised greater success. This amiable young man, as the sequel showed, was right in his calculations, for the king immediately engaged him to be his Court Photographer, and he was attached to the army in the capacity of painter of battle pieces. The king was delighted at having secured an artist who would immortalize on canvas the gallant feats of his heroic army, and his lively imagination conjured up visions of grand pictures in which every one of them would be portrayed as a very Rustem. Unfortunately, fate had willed it otherwise; the twenty-five thousand Rustems were attacked by five thousand Turkomans and shamefully defeated. A large portion of the brave Persian army were taken prisoners, and slaves became such a drug in the market that they could be bought back at the reasonable price of from five to six ducats. M. de Blocqueville, however, on account of his fair complexion and strange cut of features, was suspected of being worth more to his masters, and more, therefore, was asked for his release. Of course the Persians refused to accept other terms, but every new refusal brought on an increase of the ransom, until finally the exorbitant sum of ten thousand ducats had to be paid by the court of Teheran for the freedom of a French subject. Nor would this have been done but for an energetic hint conveyed by the Government of France through their representative, Bellaunay, that if the Persians had not ducats enough to ransom this French subject, they would lend him French bayonets. The gentle warning had its effect, the money was paid, and the young photographer restored to liberty. A year and a half had been spent in these negotiations, and M. de Blocqueville, formerly an officer in a regiment of the Guard, was exposed during all this time to the galling experiences of slavery among the Turkomans. The bitter contrast between the life of a gentleman in the Champs Elysées and that of a captive loaded with irons on neck and feet must have often suggested itself to him as he shivered in rags beneath the insufficient shelter of a Turkoman tent, with cutlets of horse-flesh the greatest culinary delicacy within reach. He had gone through a great deal of suffering, and he all but wept for joy when he safely returned from that terrible country. To a greater degree than any one else he had leisure to study the dreadful realities of life in Central Asia, and I found in him a ready sympathizer with the hardships I had gone through, he being able to appreciate their magnitude.

Now that we are on the subject of the Turkomans, I must not leave unmentioned that several of them, who were at Astrabad on business, hearing of my arrival in Teheran, called on me and asked my fatiha (blessing). They assured me that my fatihas had worked wonders, and that the people in the Gomushtepe were often wishing to have me there back again. Although dressed in European clothes, these simple people reverently bowed down before me while I gave each of them a blessing, citing at the same time a few verses from the Koran. They left me apparently much edified, and they were the last people to whom I gave a fatiha, and that was the last occasion on which I performed spiritual functions of the kind. My imagination caught fire at the idea of my religious fame. I picture to myself the possibilities I might achieve among these untutored Children of the Desert, if I had only the will and the courage to dare. Such is usually the way in which Oriental heroes commence their career. They shroud themselves in a mysterious magical obscurity, and crowds follow blindly their lead, and determination alone is wanted to make a man an autocrat whose slightest command is obeyed with slavish and unreasoning submission.

With the very first breath of vernal air I bade farewell to the Persian capital, the seat of Oriental civilization, and took the regular post-road through Tabreez, Erzerum, and Trebizond to the Black Sea. As on my journey from Meshed to Teheran I had been well supplied with all things requisite for a traveller in the East, so now from Teheran to Trebizond I lacked in nothing to render the journey comfortable. I was provided with even better horses; I had more funds; and the treatment along the road corresponded with my change of fortune. I reached the Persian frontier in the highest spirits, and made merry all along the road, encouraged by the finest imaginable spring weather.

Gazing from the Pontic mountain, from whose top the Black Sea is first visible, as I arrived in the neighbourhood of Trebizond, I saw before me the coast upon which I had turned my back with so many strange misgivings two years ago this very month. The harbour, the flag of Lloyd fluttering in the breeze—there they were again, as if to salute me on my return. What a wild rush of thoughts were conjured up by those familiar sights, from which my parting had been so bitter!

To reach a harbour, where a ship rode at anchor ready to start, was the same thing as to reach Europe. The comforts of a splendid and commodious cabin on board the Lloyd steamer, the tokens of European life multiplying round us in every imaginable form, may foster the illusion that we are at home again, in spite of the several days' voyage separating us from Europe. I passed two days only in Trebizond, employing my time chiefly in disposing of the larger part of my equipment for Eastern travel, for which I now had no further use, retaining only a few articles as relics and keepsakes of my roamings. In the middle of May I went on board the steamer which bore me back to the scene of my future—Europe.