One of the first books was a curious little vocabulary of Arabic, written in verse, as he says himself, for the instruction of “Kurmanj,” i.e. Kurdish, children when they have finished their course of the Quran, “when it is well that they become acquainted with reading and writing.”

The little volume begins with the admonition:

The text is cleverly written in various metres, the name of which the author states at the head of each stanza, and which it is impossible to imitate in translation:—

In this manner some two thousand words are taught to the child, and, with the excellent memory of the Aryan, this style of teaching (a popular one throughout the East) is less automatic and “parrot-like” than might be imagined.

From Ahmadi Khani we may turn to the Sharaf Nama, a famous history of the Kurds written by Sharaf ud Din Bey Hakkari of Bitlis, a rare and eagerly sought after volume, of which there is a copy in the British Museum. This is the best known of the literary works of Kurds, the fact, however, of its not being written in Kurdish denying it a place in Kurdish literature.

Sulaimania, during its short life of two centuries, has produced a great number of poets, who have contributed in verse to the literature of Kurdistan, generally in Kurdish, and some have progressed so far as to have written very bulky volumes.

The best known was Nali, who was the author of most of the various styles of poems that go to make up a complete “Divan,” or, as it may be called, “set of Works.”

The subject of the Sulaimania poet is like that of nearly all the poems of townsmen, love; page after page of fanciful allusion and play upon words, quite in the Persian style, which the Kurd always allows to influence the poem when it is of one of the forms used in Persian. The Kurdish poets of Sulaimania have, however, committed to writing some of the peculiar Kurdish chorus poems, which have a grace all their own. To translate such is to lose all the beauty of the original, which depends for its charm upon the language and the turn of the phrases more than upon the idea, for the love poems are much restricted in their simile, using all the stereotyped metaphor that Persian prosody allows, and little else, so close does the Kurdish taste in literature run to the Persian, unconsciously. Still, I only speak of the Sulaimania poets here. Outside, in the plain and upon the mountain-side one hears myriad songs, simple and pretty, for the Kurds are a race naturally gifted with all the kindred abilities to the linguistic sense, and it is extremely infrequent to meet one whose memory (unweakened by the use of memoranda and the art of writing, and unburdened by too many ideas) is not a storehouse of ancient folk-songs.

My bovine Hama was very fond in quiet moments of singing to a curious tune the old Mukri song, that of the fighter leaving his wife to go to the blood-feud:—

There are many hundreds more of this kind of song, some of love, some of war, and others of nothing more than comic histories, such as the Kurds love, and a collection, once started, would never end.

Of the written poetry there is a large quantity—from Sina—written in the old Guran dialect by Kurds who learned it at the Court of Sina, and the following verses are taken from a manuscript volume containing some of the poems of the most celebrated poets of Sina, Aoraman, and Sulaimania, mostly written about A.D. 1750.

From the poems of Zain ul Abidin Palangani:—

The Early Dawn of Spring.

From Shaik Ahmad Takhti, about A.D. 1770:—

An old song of the Mukri:—

These are not scraps and doggerel as it appears here, owing to the translator’s poor English: the originals are sweet, and go far enough to show that the nation is not devoid, as is popularly imagined, of all poetry or any idea beyond savage and insensate war and killing.

The race certainly is, these days, a savage one, and many tribes fully merit the execration that has been poured upon them for outrages and massacres; that is, they fully merit the execration of modern European times. Yet, if justice be done, we must for purposes of comparison place Kurdistan side by side with the Europe of six hundred years ago, and then it requires but little comparison to show very conclusively that in point of mercilessness, lawlessness, and savagery, this people of a militant creed stand out in almost creditable relief against the black deeds of the Middle Ages in a land where the religion of submission was supposed to be the guiding motive of life. Nor, in the present day, does the Kurd appear unfavourably in comparison with the European, judging him by the gauge of ideal and precept, upon the adherence to which alone a man can be judged, having in mind the exalted nature of each, or, as is too often the case, their absence. There is less crime of a despicable nature among any thousand Kurds, picked at random, than among the same number of Europeans taken in the same manner.

Yet the character of the Kurds is one on which the would-be writer is to experience enough difficulty, for the tribal character differs so much as to make one summary quite inadequate for the whole nation.

In the north, circumstances have to a great extent made the Kurd what he is, a brigand. Among the tribes of Hasananlu, Sipkanlu, Haidaranlu, Adamanlu, and Zirkanlu, who inhabit the mountains of Armenia and the country on the Turkish frontier, the character resultant from the precarious life of a robber is developed to the full. With the tribes on the frontier, who have always lived a life of duplicity, by the nature of the stratagems they adopt to escape the wrath of the countries whose frontiers they ravish, the man becomes suspicious, wary and unscrupulous. Their mountains, too, are not such as to lend to much cultivation, nor are there any commercial towns. So they are driven back to the horse and rifle, and as is natural, such a life demands scheme and counter-scheme, which speedily becomes a treacherous habit. Of their bravery there is little doubt, though I take it that it is more the bravery of “derring-do” than a calm, cool courage against steady odds. This, however, is a feature of many mountain peoples and guerilla fighters.

The true feudal spirit is strong in the race. Devoted to the mountains, to his own clan, intensely proud of being a Kurd, the northerner will take to arms at the word of his chief, never asking to hear his reason. Fraser, a traveller in the early part of the 19th century, observes: “The similarity between these Kurds as they are, and the Highland (i.e. Scottish) clans as they were not many centuries ago, is wonderfully strong.”

The fighting Kurd is, like the Highlander of old, looking about him ever for the enemy, always on the defensive, and the character developed by these circumstances, coupled with the wild and terrible country in which the northern Kurd lives, has gone to make that character, composed of suspicion, bravery, an intense alertness, and highly developed faculty of observation.

In considering the criminal characteristics of a race or class, the conditions among which it exists must always be regarded, as also the amount of instruction in what we may call recognition of the existence of others.

Self-sacrifice, except that of the mother for the child, which is an instinct, is a purely artificial quality, and one instilled with great difficulty, and easily lost by those who fail to hold before them an ideal or principle. Now Islam provides no such ideal. The Christian has the highest incentive to this quality, which must be the foundation of all true civilisation, and yet even he is extraordinarily apt to forget it as time goes on.

The Kurd has not even the strict commands of Islam before him, and so is fain to learn by hard experience how he must live his life if he is to exist, and this, as among most rough communities, is a pure selfishness; and since the man thinks of nought but himself, there is no occasion for the birth of those qualities by which we are apt to appraise men. Moreover, it may be said, though it be a platitude, that the decadence and backward condition of the Islamic states generally is due to this omission in the religious code, for every public improvement is fundamentally due to the recognition of the existence of others.

If, then, we are to find in the Kurdish character any quality that falls within our Western category of good qualities, it must be ascribed to a nature which, fundamentally possessing such tendency, would be capable of development along those lines to the ultimate good of the community.

And we do find it.

A steady faithfulness, a recognition of the given word, a generous affection for the near relatives,93 a manlier treatment (among the southern and middle Kurds) of his women than is seen among any other Musulman race, a keen literary sense and love of poetry, a ready willingness to sacrifice himself for his tribe, and a fine pride of country and race. With what a fine air does the Kurd draw himself up and say, according to his dialect, “Az Kurmanjam,” or “Min Kurdim” (“I am a Kurd.”)

If, then, one can hardly acquiesce in the eulogistic description by a French traveller, that “en somme les Kurdes sont des beaux hommes, forts, intelligents, d’un joli type, et lorsque la civilisation les aura policés, ils seronts supérieurs à leurs voisins les Turcs et les Persans,”94 one can still see that there is more good in them than in many races at present preening themselves in the sunshine of “civilisation.”

They have a terrible temper, suddenly roused—consequence again of the violent and precarious life they lead—and with it all, among the southerner, an extraordinarily keen sense of humour. They are always ready to tell stories against themselves of this very characteristic.

There was once a khan of the Herki of Oramar (in the Hakkari), who being bitten by a fly, scratched the place, five minutes afterwards it irritated still, and again he scratched. Yet again it commenced, and he snatched a pistol from his belt, and cursing the father of flies, shot his finger off.

Two Kurds were discussing the position in which the star Sirius (which marks the end of the warmest weather) might be expected in the firmament. Without any abusive language they disagree as to the position, stop upon the road, and fall upon one another. One remains there dead.

Such is, as briefly as possible, the character of the Kurd. In the south the same description holds good, except that the furious savageness of the northerner is absent, tempered to a steadfastness, a humour of determination in any business he undertakes.

Yet of course there is the terrible ignorance of the mountain tribesman. How many among them even know their own age? or have any idea of what is outside Kurdistan? They learn swiftly enough, given the opportunity, and the Kurd learning is as rapacious for knowledge, as robbing he was for loot. The linguistic ability is remarkable, and, as has been mentioned, the literary instinct inherent.

Among the people of the south, where a large population has become sedentary, a very good type has been evolved, mostly recruited from the Kalhur, Bajlan, and Jaf tribes, and they have had an opportunity for discovering their natural aptitude for mechanical work with an Oil Concession, which commenced boring near Qasr-i-Shirin. Here these men were employed on the well-rigs and in the machine shop, and displayed such ability that when the company transferred its work to the present oil-field in south-western Persia, a number of Qasr-i-Shirin Kurds were taken there, and still remain one of the most satisfactory and skilled sections of the workers, some having attained great proficiency in technical and mechanical work. The type is steady and quiet, hard-working, with a great enthusiasm for all things appertaining to engineering.

The Kurd from north to south is monogamous, and the family seldom exceeds three or four. The wife has a remarkable freedom, and the Kurdish women are a fine class of unaffected, brave women, deserving as much praise for their domestic qualities as for the physical beauty that is so often theirs. Many are fine, bold riders, and can handle a rifle, and among the more warlike tribes the women themselves join in the fray.

Millingen, a traveller among the Kurds, quotes a fantastic story of how the Kurdish women form themselves into bands for the decoy and robbery of the unfortunate traveller.95

In the house they look after everything, and while they are, particularly among the sedentary tribes, forced to do excessively arduous manual labour, such as the fetching and carrying of water, they get through all their labours with a jovial and hearty spirit, and keep the family and flocks in excellent order, taking the severest hardships as but a trivial incident in a life in which they seem to find plenty of enjoyment.

Many a time in villages has the housewife, in the absence of her man, entertained the writer, sat with and talked to him, never displaying any of the false shame or modesty of the Turk or Persian, and sharing cheerfully with him whatever the house had to eat and drink; and when the man came in, ignoring him in the attention to the guest, till having bestowed his horse, the husband comes in and joins the guest. Mind, I speak of their attitude towards those they consider humble like themselves. Towards the European I understand there is a different attitude.96

As a result of this frank nature and free life, it may be credited that in the Kurmanj language the only words for “prostitute” are Turkish and Persian, and those only understood in towns. Adultery among the country Kurds is looked upon as a remarkable and unnatural lapse from all reason and tradition, and is punished by death.

Many and many a marriage is one of mutual attraction—an example of which I have quoted in the chapter dealing with my stay in Halabja. Genuine affection between husband and wife (so rare among the Islamic nations) is by no means unknown among the less savage tribes, and there is no finer feature of the race than its open intercourse and good understanding between the sexes. Witness the example of Lady Adela,97 of the widow of Ghulam Shah, khan of Sina; of the women of the ancient Hakkari family—who are entitled “Khan”—whose power is equal to, nay, greater than many of the men of their own families; and many others all over central and southern Kurdistan. Such can be solely the result of an understanding between the sexes more nearly approximating to our English ideas than obtains among any other Oriental race, and at the same time goes to show how little Islam has affected what must be the habit of ancient times.

Judged as specimens of the human form, there is probably no higher standard extant than that of the Kurds. The northerner is a tall, thin man (obesity is absolutely unknown among the Kurds). The nose is long, thin, and often a little hooked, the mouth small, the face oval and long. The men usually grow a long moustache, and invariably shave the beard. The eyes are piercing and fierce. Among them are many of yellow hair and bright blue eyes; and the Kurdish infant of this type were he placed among a crowd of English children, would be indistinguishable from them, for he has a white skin. In the south the face is a little broader sometimes, and the frame heavier. Of forty men of the southern tribes taken at random there were nine under six feet, though among some tribes the average height is five feet nine. The stride is long and slow, and the endurance of hardship great. They hold themselves as only mountain men can do, proudly and erect, and look what they are—the Medes of to-day, worthy, were they only united, of becoming once again a great military nation, whose stern, hard nature could keep in hand the meaner races among whom they live. Many and many a man have I seen among them who might have stood for the picture of a Norseman. Yellow flowing hair, a long drooping moustache, blue eyes, and a fair skin—one of the most convincing proofs, if physiognomy be a criterion (were their language not a further proof), that the Anglo-Saxon and Kurd are one and the same stock.

In dress they have always been fantastic, and I cannot do better than quote from travellers the style of the Kurds of a hundred and of seventy years ago:—

“In front, on a small, lean, and jaded horse, rode a tall, gaunt figure, dressed in all the tawdry garments sanctioned by Kurdish taste. A turban of wonderful capacity, and almost taking within its dimensions horse and rider, buried his head, which seemed to escape by a miracle being driven in between his shoulders by the enormous pressure. From the centre of this mass of many-coloured rags rose a high conical cap of white felt. This load appeared to give an unsteady rolling gait to the thin carcase below, which could with difficulty support it. A most capacious pair of claret-coloured trousers bulged out from the sides of the horse, and well-nigh stretched from side to side of the ravine. Every shade of red and yellow was displayed in his embroidered jacket and cloak; and in his girdle were weapons of extraordinary size, and most fanciful workmanship.”98

The following refers to the dress of the northern Mukri Kurds, south of Urumia:—

“On their heads they wear a large shawl of striped silk, red, white, and blue, with fringed ends, which is wound in the most graceful manner round their red skull-cap. Its ample folds are confined with some sort of band, and the long fringes hang down with a rich fantastic wildness; their true Saracenic features, and bright black eyes, gleam with peculiar lustre from under this head-tire. Their body garments consist of a sort of ample vest and gown, with magnificent wide Turkish sleeves, over which is worn a jacket, often richly embroidered and furred, according to the owner’s rank. Their lower man is enveloped in ample shulwars, not unlike those of the Mamlucs, into which, in riding, they stuff the skirts of their more flowing garments. Around their waist, instead of a shawl, they wear a girdle fastened with monstrous silver clasps, which may be ornamented according to the owner’s taste with jewels, and in which they stick not only their Kurdish dagger, but a pair of great brass or silver-knobbed pistols. From this, too, hang sundry powder-horns and shot-cases, cartridge-boxes, etc., and over all they cast a sort of cloak or abba, of camel’s hair, white, or black, or striped white, brown, and black, clasped on the breast, and floating picturesquely behind.”99

The costume here described has changed not at all, except perhaps that the big pistols have given place to revolvers, and a carbine swings over the shoulder, four and sometimes even five rows of cartridge-belts, one above the other, encircling the horseman’s body.

Of the southern Sulaimanian and Jaf, J. C. Rich gave the following description:—

“His gown was of a rich flowered gold Indian stuff; he had a superb cashmere shawl, ornamented with gold fringe, on his head, put on in a wild, loose manner; his upper dress was a capot, or cloak of crimson Venetian cloth, with rich gold frogs, or bosses, on it.

“The Jaf men wore a dress belted round their middles, light drawers, with the worsted shoe, which is a comfortable covering for the feet, and a conical felt cap on their heads.”100

Describing the costume of the northern Hakkari, Binder, a modern traveller, says:—“ils ... se coiffent d’un bonnet de feutre blanc conique autour duquel ils enroulent d’énormes turbans; leur pantalon, d’une largeur demesurée, est en tissu de poil de chèvre rouge et souvent bariolé de dessins; ils portent une petite jaquette descendant à peine à la taille, pardessus laquelle ils mettent souvent un manteau, pas plus long que la jaquette en poil de chèvre, garni sur le devant de grossières passementeries; comme chaussures, ils ont des bottes en cuir rouge, avec de fortes ferrures au talon.”101

The Mukri and Rawanduz Kurds have exchanged the pointed white cap for one in green, and of cloth, and not so high, but with a little stiff tassel sticking up from the point. The turban is smaller, and wound so that the fringes conceal both sides of the face. They have adopted the Persian “qaba,” a short tunic not reaching to the knee, and over it often wear the “sardari” or plaited frock-coat, but made in a bright-coloured velvet.

As one comes south the dress becomes more like that of the Arab. The workmanlike costume of the north, where the man is, so to speak, in his shirt-sleeves all the time, is replaced by a long tunic reaching to the ankles, over a white shirt, the sleeves of which, made like “bishop-sleeves,” touch the ground. A “salta” or zouave jacket is worn, generally of some sober-coloured cloth ornamented with gold-thread work, and according to the tribe different kinds of turbans are worn, the skull-cap usually being of cotton cloth embroidered.

In addition to this costume all tribes of the south wear the typical Kurdish felt waistcoat, which is sleeveless, and about half an inch thick.

It may be said that in the south the Kurd has preserved no prejudices in the matter of dress, except the turban, which is his distinguishing feature.

The costume of the women is simple. In the north, a long coloured shirt, and full trousers, or full skirts, supplemented in cold weather by more shirts, and perhaps a felt, constitutes the dress. A large turban is worn.

In central and southern Kurdistan, however, the dress becomes more complicated. The Mukri and Sina women enjoy the reputation of wearing the biggest turbans of any tribes, huge masses of coloured silk handkerchiefs cocked to one side. Earrings, bracelets, strings of gold coins around their foreheads, are all common enough features of their dress. Among the Mukri the women often wear the “sardari,” and if not that, the “charukhia,” a kind of heavy cloth thrown over one shoulder.

The veil is absolutely unknown to the Kurds, and the women never hide their faces.

The dress adopted by the Sulaimania women is, while Kurdish in character, yet influenced by the Arab style.

The underclothes are a short shirt and baggy trousers, the upper parts of which are made of white cotton and the lower of some striped material. Over this is a long shirt reaching to the feet, with small bishop-sleeves of white cotton, and open at the neck. Over this again is the “kawa,” a long coat—also reaching to the feet—buttonless, not meeting at the front, of some heavier stuff, the sleeves of which are tight, but slit on the inner side for a few inches from the wrist.

The headgear consists of, first, a little ornamented skull-cap, over which is thrown the “jamana,” a coloured handkerchief, which hangs behind and is often brought once round the neck. The Kurdish turban has given place to a long thick cord with pieces of black cloth fastened in it, in contact with one another, making an apparatus more like a “boa” than anything else. This, the “pushin,” is wound round the head over the jamana, and the costume altogether is graceful and dignified, particularly when the wearer is tall, as are most of the women of Sulaimania.

The Kurds are by no means devoid of the superstition and folklore that is to be expected among such a people.

Like the Persians, whose Islamiyyat has not expelled the ancient fables, they still believe in the fairies, and although the Jinn of the Arabs have taken a large place in the scheme of beings of the underworld, Peri and Shait still hold their own. There is too the Pir or saint, the origin of whom is wrapped in obscurity, and who is popularly supposed to exist in certain spots and tombs, where the votive offering of rags is made, just as in Persia—relic of a custom surely older than Islam.

The Shaits are a curious class of supernatural beings, for among them are classed all the martyrs of Islam and many Kurds who have fallen in defence of their tribe, and they, like the living, are a wandering tribe of beings, beneficent, and desirous of helping the mortal Kurd to his desires. In fact, they are regarded in a light very similar to the Pir, and may be appealed to at their halting-places—often enough great trees on the hill-sides.

The Peri—whence our own word and idea of fairies—are essentially the same beings as our own folklore teaches us, for as our lore has come from the northern Aryans, so are our fairies the same little folk as the Peri.

As to the Jinn, they have adopted the unfortunate Arabic fellow, just as Muhammad, perhaps in his turn borrowing from tradition, introduced him, “a being made of fire, but like men, dependent upon food for existence, and like men, some malignant and some well disposed, and not all malignant like the devils.”102

As to the Div—devils—they exist, as they did in the days of Zoroaster, but the Kurd, living the strenuous life he does, seems to think but little of them.