My friend the Moollah, Hadji Ali Akbar (the priest who had accompanied me in my march), impressed on me the great importance of making my own wine. I pointed out that probably a first brew would turn out badly, but he overruled me.

“The fact is,” said he, “I want to make wine for myself. I can’t do it in my own house, I a Mahommedan priest; and if I get the Jews to make it for me, that is worse, for it will be bad, and I am a connoisseur. If I make it here, sahib, I shall make it good, and kill two birds with one stone: you and I will get good wine, and there will be no scandal.”

After some hesitation I consented. I gave my priestly friend carte blanche to buy grapes for me, and, in fact, left it all to him.

The grapes used for making the real “Cholar” wine are brought from the vineyards, four days’ march off, on camels or mules; they are carefully packed in strong baskets, called lodahs, and are covered with brushwood to keep off the hands of the hungry.

The grapes brought from the immediate vicinity of the town, being cultivated by irrigation, are watery, and the wine made from them will not keep: it is made and drunk at once, and, being quite new, gives fearful headaches.

Of course we were to buy the Cholar grapes, and as many of the Shiraz grandees were wanting them for wine-making, the Hadji thought it better that we should send a trusty muleteer and his string of mules with one of my own men. It was arranged that the grapes already bought by the Hadji were, on nearing the town, to be escorted by all my servants, and so brought direct to my house, as otherwise they would be surely intercepted, and taken to the house of some big-wig, whose servants would simply carry them off, thus securing the real “Cholar” grape, and then sending me the value, with a polite message, saying that he thought that the grapes were his own.

I sent my head-man off, and we began our preparations. A large dry room was carefully swept out to receive the jars or kumrahs. These jars had been carefully selected by the Hadji, and were all old ones that wine had been previously made in; good wine cannot be made in new jars. Several were rejected as having held vinegar; these, had they been used, would have spoiled the wine. Each jar was scrubbed inside and out, and then put in the strong sun for several days to air and thoroughly dry it; then they were carefully dusted, and the insides painted with hot tallow; this rendered the porous jars thoroughly water-tight. They were now taken into the room which had been made ready, and placed in rows, but clear of each other, and a cloth placed over the mouth of each, and on this a lid an inch thick of woven rushes. Each jar was about four feet high; the shape was that of two cones standing base to base; the size round the middle was seven feet, and the mouths were three feet in circumference—each jar held about one hundred and forty quarts or bottles. I had thirty jars, and as each jar would make on an average half the wine it would hold, I might reckon on two thousand one hundred bottles! Of these the Hadji was to have one-third, and the rest I was to lay down for my future use.

The Hadji warned me that a good deal of trouble was incurred in wine-making, and that it was impossible to trust to servants in the matter. “You or I will have to be actually present to see the various processes carried out, and the rest of the time the wine must be under lock and key.”

On the night of the 7th of October I got a note from my servant that he had bought his grapes, and should enter the town an hour after midnight, and he besought me earnestly to send a sufficient escort, or, better, to go myself.

Off I started with all my servants, except my door-keeper; the Hadji accompanied me, to act as a disinterested witness in case there was any row. It was quite as well I went, for I found my man with his thirty-five mule-loads of grapes being marched off to the house of a Persian grandee. Fortunately, the streets were clear, and as my servants outnumbered the two blusterers who had terrified the muleteers by threats, I succeeded in arriving at my own door with the entire thirty-five loads in good order.

Here I was met by two men from the custom-house, who insisted on the whole consignment going at once to the custom-house, and suggested backshish. This offer I declined, and, at the Hadji’s suggestion, I gave them an acknowledgment that I had thirty-five loads of grapes, and that if any duty was leviable I would pay it. With this they had to be contented, and walked off grumbling.

After some hours’ work the seventy “lodahs” (or hampers) of grapes were got into the courtyard; then they had to be weighed, a lengthy process; there were exactly twelve hundred maunds Tabriz, or eight thousand four hundred pounds nett of grapes. They were quite ripe, and unbruised, and were carefully packed in the lodahs with leaves and covered with brushwood.

And now commenced the wine-making. Basket after basket was emptied into hasseens, or flat earthen pans. In these the grapes were trodden thoroughly out, and the juice, stalks, and husks were shot into the jars. As each jar was filled within an eighth of the top the cloth was spread over the mouth of it, and the lid placed on it. It then was left to ferment.

The treading-out process occupied forty-eight hours, and I was heartily glad when it was over. Either the Hadji or I was present all the time, to see that the work was thoroughly done, and that no water, under any pretext, was brought to the scene of operations. The slightest moisture spoils the wine. The bunches were sorted as they were taken from the lodahs; all the unripe or rotten grapes, of which there were very few, removed; and the examined bunches were then thrown under the feet of the treaders. When each pan was thoroughly trodden its contents were carefully gone over, to see that there were no unbroken grapes. Those that were discovered were crushed at once by the fingers, and then the panful was emptied into the jar.

The “Cholar” grape is generally white, very few black vines being found. These grapes, being grown on terraces on the mountains, cannot be irrigated; hence the keeping properties of the wine. Probably no other wine would keep, made in such a hot climate as Shiraz is, more than the year. That from the Cholar grape never goes bad. The grape is quite globular, and the size of a large marble-taw; they cannot be mistaken for any other kind. They are not nice for eating, having a harsh skin and many stones.

At last all the grapes being crushed and in the jars, or kumrahs, as they are called, the room was carefully swept out again and the door locked. Fermentation had already commenced, as a slight crackling noise could be heard from the jars that had been filled first.

The Hadji now prepared three plungers of wood. Each was made like what laundresses call a copper-stick, but had at the extremity four blades of thin plank at right angles to the stick, about six inches long and two broad. These were for thoroughly mixing and working up the mass of husks, stalks, and juice.

On going to the wine-room fifty-six hours after the process had been commenced, the six first jars were found sufficiently progressed to proceed with. The grapes and husks had come to the surface and formed a compact cake, which floated on the fermenting juice, and nearly touched the lid. A buzzing noise came from most of the jars, caused by the bursting of innumerable small bubbles, and the temperature of the room was considerably raised by the heat evolved.

The Hadji drew my attention to the fact that the jars were getting hot, which was satisfactory, showing that fermentation had thoroughly set in. With the plunger he now thrust the cake of crushed grapes, etc., that had formed on the four first jars, to the bottom, and a considerable escape of gas ensued. The plunger was spun round in the liquor with both hands, and the contents of the jar thoroughly mixed, the cloth and cover were replaced, and the door locked.

In four hours’ time the process had to be repeated on eleven more jars and the four original ones. Again in three hours’ time a fresh visit had to be made, and these had to be more and more frequent. Thus great attention was required, for as the room got warmer, from the heat evolved by the fermenting juice, so did the fermentation increase in violence. In some jars it was very furious, and from these the Hadji removed the rushwork lids, leaving the cloths, however, on. The Hadji had with him two of my servants, and he and they crushed in their hands all the grapes that they found in the risen cake that had escaped the feet of the treaders.

I had arranged that the wine when made was to be divided between us haphazard, and now the priest told me that I must make up my mind how I wished to have my wine—fruity, syrupy, dry, or very dry. For though as yet the jars had been treated exactly in the same way, now the treatment must differ for making the various different varieties.

He told me that for immediate drinking, i. e. after the next summer, a dry variety was best, but that for indefinite keeping the more fruity the wine the better.

The jars were now marked, and from those that were wanted to contain very fruity wine the husks and stalks were removed, and these husks were added to those which were wished very dry and very astringent. For the fruity, the stalks only were removed and thrown away; while for the dry, things were left in statu quo, and the stalks removed with the husks on the twenty-first day (at about this time fermentation had nearly ceased).

On the fifth day after commencement the Hadji began to tilt the jars, and after removing any unripe grapes and some stalks from the cake which always formed, but each day grew thinner, he with bare arm and expanded fingers began to stir up the liquor, which he had previously mixed with the plunger. A sweep all round the wall of the jar was taken at the full depth of his arm, and he counted one for each stir that was done with all his strength. As he stirred he counted aloud, and his four attendants had to do the same. When he got to a hundred strokes they all stopped stirring. This was done at first once a day, afterwards twice, and as fermentation was passing away, again only once a day.

It was really hard work, and the Hadji did it and saw it done, never shirking. I was considerably amused at seeing the priest actually carrying on the art of wine-making and instructing the unbeliever.

By about the twenty-fourth day the wine was ready for clearing of the husk.

The sweet wine had already no husks in it, these having been transferred to the jars containing the very dry. The stalks, too, of all the various jars had in the process of mixing been gradually removed. These, with all the unripe grapes and husks, which had been day by day taken out and squeezed, a handful or two at a time, were cast into a jar and preserved for distillation.

A few jars were cleared by being filtered through a coarse canvas bag, which was hung into the interior of a kumrah, being lashed to the rim by a cord, and gradually drawn off by a tap which had been inserted in the bottom. This was stored in sealed carboys. The Hadji, however, strongly advised me to treat the wine I meant to lay down in a different manner, assuring me that I should find it a better plan. I did as he directed, and my men pouring the contents of each jar into a basket, I thus cleared it of the coarser impurities only, such as husks, grape stones, etc., and the fluid, of the colour and consistency of thin pea-soup, was put into the jars, which were now filled to within an inch of the brim; the mouth was tied over with the cloth, on the cloth was placed the rushen lid, and the corners being turned over, the whole was plastered with a layer an inch thick of straw and mud.

In twenty-four hours this was dry, and wine-making was over.

I had ten jars of unfiltered wine, of which about one-twelfth would be sediment; each jar contained forty maunds Tabriz each of seven pounds or pints. I thus had four hundred maunds of wine, or fourteen hundred quarts, of which one-twelfth, or say one hundred bottles, had to be deducted. Thirteen hundred bottles of wine remained, certainly enough for three years. Besides this, I had about one hundred bottles cleared and filtered for present drinking.

Total, fourteen hundred bottles for my share.[20]

When the next autumn-time came, I took the uncleared wine and put it in carboys. These were sealed up and placed in a dry cellar.

The remnant of my wine, years after, I had the pleasure of seeing sold by auction for the highest price wine had ever fetched in Persia on the spot, viz., two kerans (one and sixpence) a bottle. It had then been nine years in bottle, and was very like a virgin sherry, very astringent and light to the taste, but very powerful.

I only once made wine again; one’s house is thoroughly upset, and one has wine on the brain. It is very interesting, of course, to do it all for the first time, but it is a ticklish affair, and requires an immense amount of personal attention. The new wine is drinkable, and is like a light Bucellas to the taste by the succeeding May; but it is then exceedingly heady, and most intoxicating; one glass will give the most fearful headache, while to the taste it appears a light wine.

No one who is a connoisseur will drink the new wine, on account of the headaches which follow. These, however, need not be dreaded after the second year, when the wine is thoroughly drinkable. The fine aroma and bouquet only come with age; and the nutty flavour, which is very strongly marked in good old Shiraz wine, is not found until it has attained five years in the carboy.

Of all Persian wines, Shiraz, or rather “Cholar,” wine is the most renowned. That made in Ispahan is not to be compared to it; while the stuff concocted in Teheran, of watered grapes and vine leaves, is good only in colour. The Hamadan wine will not keep, and is very heady, though pleasant in flavour. The Kerman wine is rough, and carelessly made, but when old is very good, tasting like a fair specimen of Caucasus wine.

Persian wine much improves by bottling. I made a point of filling all wine, brandy, and beer bottles with Shiraz wine: a thick crust is thrown down, and it matures more rapidly, strange to say, when in bottle than when in bulk.

As a rule the Persians, when they store it in carboys, merely put a bit of rag or cotton-wool in the mouth, not even trying to keep out the air; but so good is the wine that it stands even this treatment, and this, too, though perfectly pure, and with no addition of spirit, or other adulteration!

From the refuse the arrack is distilled by the Jews, and it is a profitable operation; they sell the strong pure spirit at one shilling a quart.

The room where the wine-making goes on is much haunted by wasps, but the exhalations kill them. I fortunately did my wine-making in a separate courtyard, and so was not troubled by them; but they are, unless one takes this precaution, a great nuisance.

The carboys have to be ordered of the glass-blowers. They are well made, and hold from ten to four-and-twenty bottles. A rushworker has then to be engaged, who sits in a corner of the courtyard, and with handfuls of rushes makes a kind of rope. This he sews into an upper and a lower cup. The upper one, having a hole in the middle, is thrust over the neck of the carboy, which is then placed on the lower one; the two edges are sewn together, and the fragile carboy is safely packed, and will travel long distances securely.

Many, for economy’s sake, buy the carboys in which rose-water has been stored, for they are to be had very cheap; but a sort of false bouquet is produced, which is very distasteful to the connoisseur, and puzzles one much on first tasting it.

When wine is to be packed for transport, it is usually packed in baghallis, or native bottles; these, too, have to be ordered from a glass-blower; they are, when empty, very fragile, but of considerable strength when full; they hold a pint and a half. They have a little cotton-wool crammed into the neck, and on this is poured melted beeswax; they are thus securely fastened.

A box of thin planks, three feet by two, is made (the planks sewn, not nailed together); in this four to six dozen are packed in loose straw, a rush mat two inches thick is sewn on the top, and the thing is done.

A load of wine thus packed will travel over the roughest roads by mule or camel for a thousand miles without coming to grief.

I was glad to have made my wine myself, or rather under my own eye, as the same year that made by the Jews for the Governor all turned sour, and was, of course, spoilt.

I did not have to pay any duty, as the English employés of the telegraph in Persia are allowed to escape customs exactions of every kind—by treaty. But, as a rule, the customs people detain our goods, and only give them up on an order being got from the authorities in the capital, which has been obtained by the interposition of the Legation. Thus cases at times lie in the sun spoiling for weeks.

I had always, however, managed to obtain any little things I had from England, till just now, by cajoling the custom-house farmer, which was a shorter process than writing letters to the embassy at Teheran.

I had been getting some photographic apparatus for the Governor, and the muleteer arrived to tell me that the two cases were in the custom-house. I sent a verbal message to the man in charge, to ask him to let my servant take them, as he knew no duty was payable by Europeans. But I got back a rude reply that unless I had an order I must pay five per cent. ad valorem or in kind. Now these particular cases were the Governor’s photographic apparatus, for which he was very anxious: and in them I saw an opportunity of retorting on the custom-house people for the continual annoyance given in the clearing our cases. So I went to the custom-house and saw the gumrūkji, or customs-master.

“Where is your order, sahib? I can deliver nothing without an order.”

Here the man’s eye said, “Give me something, and take your boxes.”

I now appeared very anxious to get them, and pretended to try and cajole the man by compliments. I argued, I was flattering; but no. No order, no boxes.

“Of course you can pay the duty, five per cent.; or I will take a twentieth part of the contents in kind.”

I now pretended to be greatly enraged, and I dared the man to take his twentieth.

He, equally disgusted, gave the order to break open the boxes. This was done in the roughest manner; the tin was cut open, and parcel after parcel piled on the ground. One parcel containing photographic albumenized paper was opened, and the gumrūkji, to the delight of the assembled throng of loafers and merchants, proceeded to count the quires and take his twentieth in kind. I thought he had now gone far enough, so I pretended to discover, with an appearance of astonishment, that the things belonged to the Governor!

Now his air changed.

“Oh, sahib, doctor sahib, do assist me! These things must be replaced. Oh, ashes, ashes on my head, oh, descendant of seven generations of asses” (apostrophising himself). “Sahib, doctor sahib, I will never annoy you any more. I will now, now this instant, give you a writing, which will enable you to always clear your goods on arrival; but do, dear friend, help me to repack these accursed boxes. You have burnt my father, indeed you have. Just smoke one kalian, just one in the shade, and you will, I am sure, help me.”

“No, my friend; you are doing your duty in detaining my boxes, and of course the law is the same for all. I will inform the Governor of your virtue, and doubtless he will be pleased to possess a Government servant so just, that he does not hesitate to detain even his cases. Besides, how pleased he will be to find them unpacked, and even the parcels examined. These things, too, are easily injured. I even fear you may have to pay for some.”

Here I pointed to two large lenses that, stripped of their paper, lay on the stones. The agony of the customs-master was now complete. He was afraid even to touch the various parcels. There they lay. He wept.

Regardless of his entreaties, as he had been of those of various Europeans whose bottled stout lay exploding in the sun, I smilingly retired, telling him he would doubtless hear from the Governor.

He did. The Governor was furious; when the custom-house master’s zeal touched him personally, he was really enraged; though when we had appealed to him to get perishable things given up to us, offering an indemnity, if it could be at any time proved that any duty was due, he had told us he could do nothing.

The customs-master was heavily fined, and at any time during the rest of my stay in Shiraz when I sent for my boxes, they were given up at once, and when my servant, as directed, asked if it were wished to examine them or not, the customs-master, pale with rage, would reply:

“Go, son of a burnt father, no; I have opened his boxes once, I never want to do so again.”

All this my man would gleefully narrate on triumphantly bringing home my beer, or whatever had arrived.

I had had one other transaction with this customs-master. He had a handsome colt rising three; I had long tried to buy it, but he would never sell, or demanded a preposterous price. At last he sent over one day to me saying, “What will you give me in cash for my grey colt?”

I replied, “Ninety-five tomans” (about thirty-eight pounds). This is really a very high price for a horse only rising three. To my astonishment and delight the horse was sent over. I gave a cheque for the money and tied my purchase up. The next day I was left in peace to admire him; the third day came a letter politely written, the pith of which was, “Return me my colt, I have repented.” I looked on the affair as a joke, but no; the man had not cashed my cheque. Had I paid him in specie the bargain would have been concluded; as it was he was in the right, and I reluctantly gave back the horse I had had my eye on for months.

It was the law, and by that one must abide.

A peculiarity of the Shirazi is his fondness for repeating words, changing the initial of the second. Use is second nature, and a curious instance of the habit is narrated of the late Kawam-u-Dowlet. When in the presence of the Shah, the Kawam-u-Dowlet was asked by his Majesty—

“Why is it, Kawam, that you Shirazis always talk of kabob-mabob, and so on? you always add a nonsense word; is it for euphony?”

“Oh, ‘Asylum of the Universe,’ may I be your sacrifice; no respectable person in Shiraz does so, only the lūti-pūti says it.”

Pūti is, of course, a nonsense (or meaningless) word, and lūti, as here used, means a “blackguard!”