CHAP. XI.
TEHERAN.

It had been decided on the day of our arrival, that the first visit was to be paid by the owner of the house in which we lodged, Hajee Mahomed Hossein Khan, Ameen-ed-Doulah, or Lord Treasurer: but on the next day the Minister seemed to make some hesitation in according the compliment, and said that he rather expected it from the Envoy. Sir Harford Jones, however, immediately obviated the difficulty by representing that even among the most uncivilized nations the host pays the first attentions to his guest. When this explanation was satisfactorily received the Minister came, and with him the King’s Chief Poet, and some other officers of state.

We went through the common routine of compliments and presentations. When the poet was introduced to the Envoy, the conversation turned on poetry and the works of the bard himself. He was extolled above the skies; all exclaimed that in this age he had not an equal on earth, and some declared that he was superior even to Ferdousi, the Homer of their country. To all this the author listened with very complacent credulity, and at length recited some of his admired effusions. His genius, however, is paid by something more substantial than praise; for he is a great favourite at court, and, according to my Persian informers, receives from the King a gold tomaun for every couplet; and once indeed secured the remission of a large debt due to the King by writing a poem in his praise. Yet the people, from whom the supplies of this munificence are drawn, groan whenever they hear that the poet’s muse has been productive. Having exhausted the topics of the weather, and the relative temperature and air of Teheran, Ispahan, and Shiraz, our host took his leave, telling us that the house was our own, a common compliment of the East. In the evening the Envoy went to a conference with him, and settled some points of importance in the negociation. The ceremonial of the Envoy’s presentation to the King on the following day was then arranged; and it was agreed that the audience should be exactly the same as that given to Embassadors at Constantinople.

On the morrow accordingly we made every preparation of form for our introduction; and each appeared in green slippers with high heels, and red cloth stockings, the court dress always worn before the King of Persia. Early in the morning we received a message desiring us to be in readiness. At about twelve o’clock we proceeded to the palace. The presents for the King were laid out on a piece of white satin over a gold dish. It consisted of His Britannic Majesty’s picture set round with diamonds; a diamond of sixty-one carats valued at twenty thousand pounds; a small box, on the lid of which Windsor Castle was carved in ivory; a box made from the oak of the Victory, with the battle of Trafalgar in ivory; and a small blood-stone Mosaic box for opium. The Kings letter (which was mounted in a highly ornamented blue morocco box, and covered with a case of white satin, and an elegant net) was also laid on a piece of white satin. The Envoy carried the letter, and I the presents. When we went forwards to place them in the takht-e-ravan (the litter), and again, when the procession advanced, the trumpet sounded “God save the King.”

The order of the procession was as follows:

Officers of the King of Persia,
Led horses belonging to the Envoy,
Native officers of cavalry, swords drawn,
The trumpeter,
Four troopers,
The takht-e-ravan,
Guard of native cavalry, swords drawn,
Persian officers of the Envoy’s household, in scarlet and gold, dismounted,
The Envoy,
The Secretary and Gentlemen of the Mission,
Guard of native cavalry under Cornet Willock, with drawn swords,
colours displayed,
Servants, &c.

The procession proceeded through miserable streets, which were crowded by the curious, until we came to the large Maidan, at the entrance of which were chained a lion and a bear. It then turned to the right, and, crossing over a bridge, entered into the Ark or fortified Palace of the King, the building which contains every part of the royal household. Here the Envoy, as a mark of respect to the King of Persia, ordered the guard to sheath swords. There were troops on both sides, and cannon in several parts, and when we reached the first court, two very thick lines of soldiers were ranged to form an avenue for us. They were disciplined and dressed something after our manner, and went through their exercise as we passed. About thirty paces from the Imperial gate the takht-e-ravan stopped: we then dismounted, and the Envoy and I advancing uncovered to it, took out the King’s letter and the dish of presents. We proceeded through dark passages, until we came to a small room, where were seated Norooz Khan (a relation of the royal family, and Ish Agassi, or Master of the Ceremonies) and Mahomed Hussein Khan Mervee, a favourite of the King, and a deputy Lord Chamberlain, with other noblemen, who were waiting to entertain us. Our presentation was to take place in the Khalvet Khonéh, or private Hall of Audience, for it was then the Ashooreh of the month of Moharrem, a time of mourning, when all matters of ceremony or of business are suspended at court: the King of Persia therefore paid a signal respect to his Britannic Majesty, in fixing the audience of his Envoy so immediately after his arrival, and more particularly at a season when public affairs are so generally intermitted.

After we had sat here about half an hour, smoked, and drank coffee, the Master of the Ceremonies informed us that the King was ready, and we proceeded again. We entered the great court of the Dewan Khonéh, (the Hall of Public Audience) on all sides of which stood officers of the household, and in the centre walk were files of the new-raised troops, disciplined after the European manner, who went through the platoon as we passed, while the little Persian drummers beat their drums. The line presented arms to the Envoy, and the officers saluted. In the middle of the Dewan Khonéh was the famous throne built at Yezd of the marble of the place, on which the King sits in public, but to which we did not approach sufficiently near for any accurate observation. We ascended two steps on the left, and then passed under arched ways into another spacious court filled in the same manner; but the men were mostly sitting down, and did not rise as we approached. We crossed the centre of this court, and came to a small and mean door, which led us through a dark and intricate passage. When we were arrived at the end of it we found a door still more wretched, and worse indeed than that of any English stable. Here Norooz Khan paused, and marshaled us in order: the Envoy, first, with the King’s letter; I followed next with the presents, and then at the distance of a few paces the rest of the gentlemen. The door was opened, and we were ushered into a court laid out in canals and playing fountains, and at intervals lined by men richly dressed, who were all the grandees of the kingdom. At the extremity of a room, open in front by large windows, was the King in person. When we were opposite to him, the Master of the Ceremonies stopped, and we all made low bows; we approached most slowly again, and at another angle stopped and bowed again. Then we were taken immediately fronting the King, where again we bowed most profoundly. Our Conductor then said aloud,

“Most mighty Monarch, Director of the World,

Sir Harford Jones, Baronet, Embassador from your Majesty’s Brother, the King of England, having brought a letter and some presents, requests to approach the dust of your Majesty’s feet: (Hag paee mobarek bashed, literally,) that the dust of your feet may be fortunate.”

The King from the room said in a loud voice, “Khosh Amedeed, you are welcome.” We then took off our slippers, and went into the royal presence. When we were entered, the Envoy walked up towards the throne with the letter; Mirza Sheffeea, the Prime Minister, met him half way, and taking it from him, carried it up and placed it before the King: he then came back and received the presents from my hands, and laid them in the same place. The Envoy then commenced a written speech to the King in English, which at first startled his Majesty, but seemed to please him much, as soon as Jaffer Ali Khan, the English Resident at Shiraz, came forward and read it in Persian. The original was as follows:

“May it please your Majesty,

“The King my Master, willing to renew and strengthen those ties of friendship and alliance which subsisted between the Kings of Persia and of England, has deputed me to the foot of your Majesty’s throne, with the expression of these His Royal wishes and intentions.

“To have been charged with such a commission, I shall always consider as the most distinguished and honourable event of my life; and, when I thus deliver to your Majesty the letter of my most gracious and Royal Master, I feel confident in being honoured with your Majesty’s protection and favour.

“May the Great Disposer of all events grant your Majesty an increase of honour and prosperity, and may the friendship and interests of England and Persia henceforward become inseparable.”

The King then answered in return, that the states had been long allied, and he hoped that the friendship would increase daily; this the Prime Minister explained. The King then said, “How does the King of England, my Brother? Damaughist chauk est? How is his health?” He then asked, if this were the son of the former King, with whose subjects he had had communications, and when he was told that the same King was still reigning, he exclaimed, “the French have told lies in that also!” (For they had spread the report that the King of England was dead.) The Envoy was then conducted to a gilt and painted chair placed for him, an honour never paid before to any Mission. I stood on his right; Jaffer Ali Khan on his left; Mirza Sheffeea, the Prime Minister, next to me; Hajee Mahomed Hossein Khan, the Ameen-ed-Doulah, and Mirza Reza Kooli, another of the Ministers, succeeded; and the Master of the Ceremonies closed the line. The other gentlemen stood in a row behind. The King informed the Envoy that the choice which his Brother the King of England had made of him as a Minister in Persia, was agreeable and acceptable to him; he then inquired about the Envoy’s journey, and asked some very familiar and affable questions. The gentlemen of the Mission were then separately introduced by their names and situations; the King said “Khosh Amedeed,” and we made very low bows. We returned with nearly the same ceremonies as we entered the palace, except that in the outer court, the Envoy was further honoured with a salute from three pieces of cannon.

The King is about forty-five years of age; He is a man of pleasing manners and an agreeable countenance, with an aquiline nose, large eyes and very arched eye-brows. His face is obscured by an immense beard and mustachios, which are kept very black; and it is only when he talks and smiles that his mouth is discovered. His voice has once been fine, and is still harmonious; though now hollow, and obviously that of a man who has led a free life. He appeared much pleased at finding that the Envoy could talk to him in Persian, as he did indeed after the first introductory speech; and when he was told that Sir Harford read and studied much, he asked many questions on literary subjects, for he professes to be a protector of learning and of learned men. He was seated on a species of throne, called the takht-e-taoos, or the throne of the peacock, which is raised three feet from the ground, and appears an oblong square of eight feet broad and twelve long. We could see the bust only of his Majesty, as the rest of his body was hidden by an elevated railing, the upper work of the throne, at the corners of which were placed several ornaments of vases and toys. The back is much raised; on each side are two square pillars, on which are perched birds, probably intended for peacocks, studded with precious stones of every description, and holding each a ruby in their beaks. The highest part of the throne is composed of an oval ornament of jewelry, from which emanate a great number of diamond rays. Unfortunately, we were so far distant from the throne, and so little favoured by the light, that we could not discover much of its general materials. We were told, however, that it is covered with gold plates, enriched by that fine enamel work so common in the ornamental furniture of Persia. It is said to have cost one hundred thousand tomauns.

We saw the whole court to disadvantage during our first visit: it was then the days of mourning, and the King himself did not at that time wear his magnificent and celebrated ornaments of precious stones. He appeared in a catebee of a very dark ground, embroidered with large gold flowers, and trimmed with a dark fur over the shoulders, down the breast and on the sleeves. On his head he wore a species of cylindrical crown covered with pearl and precious stones, and surmounted by a light feather of diamonds. He rested on a pillow embossed on every part with pearl, and terminated at each extremity by a thick tassel of pearl. On the left of the throne was a basin of water in which small fountains played; and on its borders were placed vases set with precious stones. On the right, stood six of the King’s sons richly dressed: they were of different sizes and ages; the eldest of them (brother by the same mother to the Prince of Shiraz) was the Viceroy of Teheran, and possessed much authority in the state. On the left behind the basin stood five pages, most elegantly dressed in velvets and silks: one held a crown similar to that which the King wore on his head; the second held a splendid sword; the third a shield and a mace of gold and pearls; the fourth a bow and arrows set with jewels; and the fifth a crachoir similarly ornamented. When the audience was finished, the King desired one of his Ministers to inquire from Jaffer Ali Khan (the English Agent) what the foreigners said of him, and whether they praised and admired his appearance.

The room in which we were introduced to the King was painted and gilded in every part. On the left from the window is a large painting of a combat between the Persians and Russians, in which the King appears at full length on a white horse, and makes the most conspicuous figure in the whole composition. The Persians of course are victorious, and are very busily employed in killing the Russians, who seem to be falling a sufficiently easy prey: at a farther end of the scene is the Russian army drawn up in a hollow square, and firing their cannon and muskets without doing much apparent execution. Facing this great picture, is another of equal dimensions, which represents the Shah in the chase, having just pierced a deer with a javelin. In other parts are portraits of women, probably the King’s favourites, who are dancing according to the fashion of the country.

On the 19th, the Envoy visited Mirza Sheffeea, the Prime Minister. He is an old man, of mild and easy manners, who displayed more knowledge of general politics than any other person whom we met in Persia. This was our first impression, and his subsequent management of the negociation convinced us of its accuracy. He was sufficiently acquainted with all the different courts of Europe, and knew perfectly the name of every Minister employed either within the state or on foreign service; and was deeply versed in the particular interests of Persia. He had acquired something of geography, when the French Embassador and suite were his guests; the Persians in general, however, live in the profoundest ignorance of every other country.

In the Ministers assembly we met Mirza Reza, who had been sent Embassador to Buonaparte, and who entertained us with an account of Frangistoun, [Europe.] He expatiated with seeming ecstasy on every thing which he had seen; and Mirza Sheffeea, who probably had often heard his stories, said to Sir Harford Jones, “I can believe many of the things which he has related to us, but one circumstance staggers me; he gives an account of an ass, which he saw at Vienna, with stripes on its back; that I shall not believe, unless you confirm it.” When Sir Harford told him that it was very true; that there were many such animals at the Cape of Good Hope, he was satisfied. The traveller proceeded to describe every part of the Continent: when he talked of the beauties of Vienna, and particularly when he mentioned that the streets were lighted up at night with globe lamps, one of the company (whose face during the different relations had exhibited signs of much astonishment, and sometimes doubt) stopped him, and said, “I can believe any thing else but that they light the streets with globe lamps: you can never make me believe that. Pray who will pay for them?”

Mirza Sheffeea entertained us with a breakfast more elegant than any of the similar meals to which we had been invited. Just before we were rising to depart, the Minister, after having talked much on the hopes which he cherished, that the friendship of the two nations would long subsist, pulled a diamond ring from off his own finger, and placed it on the Envoy’s, saying, “And that I may not be thought to be insincere in my professions, let me beg of you to accept this as a pledge of my friendship for you; and I intreat you to wear it for my sake.” This gift, unlike the generosity of Persian presents, was really handsome; it was a beautiful stone, perfect in all its parts.

On the 23d we were invited by the Jemidars (Indian officers) of the Envoy’s guard, to see that part of the ceremony of the Moharrem which was appropriated to the day. We ascended an elevated platform, surrounded by a great crowd of Persians and Indians, and seated ourselves on Nummuds prepared for us. On one side was a small ornamented temple, in which was represented the tomb of the Imaum; and all around it were the Indians who had changed their regimentals for a variety of fantastical habits, after the fashion of their own country. As every Indian can turn fakir, the greater part had assumed that character to perform the ceremonial of this feast. Many of them arose, and made long speeches (for every man has this liberty) on the death of the Imaum, though they intermixed much extraneous matter. After this a Persian Mollah, a young man of a brisk and animated appearance ascended a temporary pulpit, and commenced a species of chaunted sermon proper for the day. At the end of every period, he was answered in chorus by the multitude: and when he was nearly at the end, and had reached the most pathetic part of his harangue, he gave the signal for the people to beat their breasts, which they did accordingly with much seeming sincerity, keeping time to his chanting. When the Mollah had finished, a high and cumbrous pole was brought into the scene. It was ornamented with different coloured silks and feathers, and on the summit were fixed two curious weapons made of tin, and intended to represent the swords of Ali. This heavy machine was handled by a man who, having made his obeisance to it (by first bowing his head, then kissing it) took it up with both his hands, and then amidst increasing applauses balanced it on his girdle, on his breast, and on his teeth. Next, on a small temporary stage, appeared several figures, who acted that part of the tragedy of the history of the Imaum appointed for the day. It consisted of the death of the two children of his sister Fatme, who, at the close of the performance were killed by Ameer, one of the officers of Yezid. The actors each held in their hands their speeches written on paper, which they read with great action and vociferation, and excited much interest in their audience, so that many sobbed and wept aloud; and when the ceremonial required the beating of breasts, many performed that part with a species of ferocious zeal, which seemed to be jealous of louder intonations from any breast than their own. In a part of the scene were then introduced water-carriers, who were emblematical of the thirst of the Imaum at his dying moments. They bore on their backs bullocks’ skins filled with water, no inconsiderable weight; but in addition, they each received five well-grown boys, and under the united burthen walked round a circle ten feet in diameter, three times consecutively.

On the following night the Envoy and I visited the Ameen-ed-Doulah Hajee Mohamed Hossein Khan. At his house, Mirza Sheffeea, Hajee Mohamed Hussein Khan Mervee, Fath Ali Khan the poet, and other great men were assembled. The commemoration of the death of Hossein was performing in his court-yard; and when the Mollah begun to read that part of the ceremonial appointed for the day, the windows of the room, in which we were seated, were thrown open, and we all changed our positions, and sat with our faces towards the Mollah. His preaching lasted about an hour, and was followed by the representation of that part of the history of Hossein’s death, which succeeded the scene performed on the preceding evening. First came Hossein’s horse, with his turban on the saddle. Then, in a row on chairs, were seated Yezid, with three others; one of whom, dressed in the European habit, represented an European Embassador, (Elchee Firing.) Zain Labedeen, Hossein’s brother, chained, and with a triangular wooden collar round his neck, appeared as a captive before Yezid, and was followed by his sister and children. Yezid’s executioner treated them with much barbarity, repelling the women when they implored his protection; and using the captives with great insult, at the instigation of Yezid. When Zain Labedeen, by Yezid’s firman, was brought to be beheaded, the Elchee Firing implored his pardon, which instead of appeasing the tyrant, only produced an order for putting the Elchee himself to death. All this scene produced great lamentation among the spectators, who seemed to vie with each other in the excess of their weeping, and in the display of all the signs of grief. The Prime Minister cried incessantly; the Ameen-ed-Dowlah covered his face with both his hands, and groaned aloud; Mahomed Hussein Khan Mervee made at intervals very vociferous complaints. In some I could perceive real tears stealing down their cheeks, but in most I suspect that the grief was as much a piece of acting as the tragedy which excited it. The King himself always cries at the ceremony; his servants therefore are obliged to imitate him. When the mob passed the window, at which we were seated, they again beat their breasts most furiously.

25th. This day was the last of the Moharrem, when all those, who had performed the ceremonies peculiar to this season, appeared before the King. He was seated in a more elevated chamber, which looked towards the Maidan. A tent had been pitched for the Envoy, who was invited to attend, but he was too unwell to venture out. The representation of the day happened, indeed, to be incomplete. A strange circumstance had occurred at a village near Teheran, which so much frightened the man appointed to personify Hossein before his Majesty, that in fear of the same fate he absconded. His alarm was natural, for at this village the man who performed the part of the executioner chose to act to the letter, what was only intended as a very bloodless representation; and when Hossein was brought before him to be beheaded, he cut off the poor actor’s head. For this the King fined him one hundred tomauns. His Majesty was pleased to take much notice of the Indians, whose ceremonial seemed to affect him much more than the others. Some keep the Moharrem three days later.

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