The two principal men of Shiraz are the Kawam,[24] the calamter or mayor of the town, in whose family the dignity has been for some generations hereditary; and the Muschir,[25] an aged official who has held all the offices of the province of Fars: he has farmed the customs, collected the revenue, been the minister (really responsible Governor) of the young prince during his nonage, he has even been Governor himself; rising from a small official, Abol Hassan Khan has succeeded in enriching himself and at the same time making many friends and dependants; his rivals have generally gradually succumbed to his vigorous policy, and the free system of bribery at Teheran adopted by the Muschir has generally removed them from his path; when that has failed he has not scrupled to have recourse to other measures. Careful to allow himself to be looted, at times nearly ruined, by the powerful king’s uncle, the Hissam-u-Sultaneh, he has always thus secured a friend at court, and while feathering his own nest during the governorship of the Zil-es-Sultan, he has always satisfied the young prince by large subsidies. Having several daughters, all ladies of mature age and all married save the favourite child—for whom he obtained the title of Lika-ul-Molk—on the Muschir’s death, the Governor of Shiraz, whoever he may happen to be, will have a gigantic prize. After fifty years of successful official life the savings of the old man must be enormous; besides his own estates, which are very large, he inherited the entire property of his brother, a very wealthy man, and much of that of his son-in-law, the late Governor of Fussa. In 1879 and 1880, however, came an evil day for him. Khosro Mirza, the Motummad-ul-Molk and uncle of the king, was made Governor of Fars. This powerful and politic prince had on a previous occasion been compelled to leave Shiraz, and was subsequently deprived of his governorship by the successful intrigues of the Muschir, whose son-in-law, specially kept at Teheran for the purpose of having access to the royal ear, had administered on the Muschir’s behalf bribes to the king, to such an amount as to induce the Shah to deprive his uncle of his governorship, and to appoint a man of straw, thus giving the real power into the hands of the Muschir. And now came the day of reckoning. The Muschir became, as it were, a prisoner in his own house. The Kawam, his wealthy and ancient rival, was at once taken into the Governor’s favour, and titles of honour and local governorships conferred on his son, a youth long supposed to be an idiot, but who now showed a capacity for Persian political life which astonished even his own people. The hungry sons of the Motummad, despatched into the richest governorships of the province, proceeded to fleece the dependants of the Muschir. And to be a dependant, friend, or adherent of the old man became a crime.

Mirza Mahomoud, the secretary of the Muschir, was arrested, his house and property arbitrarily confiscated, and his accumulations wrung from him as the price of his life. And at last the Governor seized the Muschir himself, and actually administered a severe bastinado to his enemy, now an old man of seventy-five: the Muschir’s life was also attempted by poison. All that could be confiscated was taken, the ready cash and jewels to an enormous amount became the property of the Motummad-ul-Molk (the king’s uncle) and his sons, while claims were made against the Muschir for great amounts.

But though Khosro Mirza hungered for the old man’s life, he had yet influence sufficient at the capital to preserve it, and an order came that the Muschir should retire to Kerbela (in Turkey), the shrine of the prophets Houssein and Hassan, there to end his life in prayer and repentance. But the Muschir may yet prove a thorn in the side of his enemies; he is now back in Shiraz and apparently inactive.

The Kawam (grandson of the celebrated Hadji Kawam of Shiraz, executed by boiling to death), after being for some years in the shade, through the successful intrigues of the Muschir, is now in the full blaze of power. His son has his foot in the stirrup of success, and he is the only local man in real power in the province of Fars. Rather boorish in manner, the Kawam is kind and honest, liberal and true to his adherents in adversity; it remains to be seen whether he will show the politic moderation of the Muschir, who never made an enemy unless he was able to remove him. The system of the Kawam has been to strengthen his local influence by marriages of the various members of his family, and his open and honest, if at times obstinate, policy has made him many personal friends, more valuable than those of the Muschir, whose adherents were either mercenary or those who for their safety assumed the name.

The policy of the Governors of Fars has invariably been to play off the Kawam against the Muschir, so taking bribes from both, but never destroying either. However, one thing is quite certain, the Kawam is an old and honoured citizen of Shiraz without a personal enemy save the Muschir, while the latter does not possess a real friend, and being heirless may fall a victim to some unscrupulous Governor, who may take his life on some pretext, secretly or openly, for the sake of the pickings from his still gigantic estates.

Another grandee of Shiraz was Mirza Naim, the paymaster of the forces of Fars, a military officer of high rank and great age. (He was the general who in the time of the Baabi revolt besieged the walled city of Zinjan, the capital of a province of Persia held by those fanatics; the place was obstinately defended, the women even appearing on the walls, and fighting and dying for the sake of their ridiculous creed. On the taking of the city by assault, a kuttl-i-aum, or general massacre, was ordered, and the atrocities committed were too horrible to mention.) The Governor of Fars (at that time, 1870-5), the Zil-es-Sultan, wishing to wring a large fine, and a considerable sum of money supposed to have been appropriated by the paymaster-general, after numerous indignities placed Mirza Naim in a snow-chair—the man was seventy-five years of age—compelled him to drink water-melon juice, to produce the well-known diuretic effect, and while the sufferer was frozen to the snow-seat, caused a dog to be placed on his lap, thus insulting his aged co-religionist. Although the man had borne these horrible tortures for some hours, he now consented to pay the sum demanded. Of course the result to his aged frame was not long in doubt; he soon succumbed to the effects of the injuries he received.

I am particular in describing his treatment from the Zil-es-Sultan, as it shows the improbability of the story told by a radical politician who recently travelled through Persia, and among other marvellous tales inserted the groundless calumny, seen at page 15, volume ii., of Mr. Arthur Arnold’s ‘Through Persia by Caravan,’ in which he says, “A European doctor, to his shame be it said, talking one day with the Zil-i-Sultan [sic] upon the interesting topic of torture, suggested an ancient method which, we were told, at once struck the prince as applicable to the snowy regions of Ispahan. To draw the teeth of Jews who refused gifts to the Government was the practice in days when the civilisation of England was no more advanced than that of Persia; but I never heard before of stuffing a man’s trousers with snow and ice as an efficient way of combating his refusal to pay a large demand in the season when the thermometer stands—as it does in Central Persia—for months below zero.” Now, as possibly I may be alluded to under the vague title of “A European doctor,” not many of whom exist in Persia to speak to the Zil-es-Sultan, and the story is glibly told by this author, yet I fancy that it will not be credited, even on the statement of the retailer of scandals, said to be heard, through interpreters, from Orientals; when it is considered that it was hardly needful to apprise the Zil-es-Sultan of a means of cruelty, since he was so ingenious as to use the very same old method on a general of over seventy-five, some years before—I being in Shiraz at the time, as the prince well knew—and the supposed refinement of cruelty no new thing to the prince.[26] When an author swallows and repeats such yarns, as that one of our sergeants shot an unoffending Armenian, etc.—the unoffending Armenian and the shooting being alike myths (see vol. ii. p. 167, etc.)—one can only suppose that the capacity for swallowing such tough stories is equalled by the pleasure found in retailing them. Whoever the cap fits—and I do not believe it fits any one—it does not fit me, and I will not wear it. One can only pity a man who travels through a country, mostly by night in a closed litter, with his eyes very tightly shut and his ears very widely open, all whose facts are hearsay, and most of whose deductions are mistaken.

One of the means of making presents used by the great in Persia is the giving of Cashmere shawls; the gift of a shawl is supposed to be an honour as well as a money payment to the recipient. Among other presents made to me by the Persians in my professional capacity was a pair of handsome shawls; as it is not expected that these should be retained, and as they were useless to me as dress-stuffs, for which they are used by the upper classes in Persia of both sexes, I disposed of one for eighteen pounds in the bazaar to a merchant, and retained the other as a present to my mother. On taking it to England I was astonished to find that it was unappreciated, and still more surprised to learn that, as it was made in several strips, as are all the real Cashmere shawls that go to Persia, and fringeless, it was nearly absolutely valueless; in fact, one of the large West End drapers offered as a favour to give me thirty shillings for it. I took it back to Persia, as my mother said it was useless to her, and sold it for twenty pounds, my servant probably making a five pound commission on the transaction.

Under the hills, some mile and a half from Shiraz, is the garden of the Dilgooshah, or “Heartsease,” the property of the Kawam; in the middle is a large and solid brick building, having a small tank in the centre, the water flowing into which is warm, about 70° Fahrenheit. Above the tank is a dome, once decorated with a large picture of a battle; this was painted on plaster, but all, save a few pieces, has crumbled away. The garden is planted with orange-trees, and is very large.

Above the garden is the “Sau-sau-rac,” or sliding-place; here for centuries the young of both sexes were accustomed to resort; the rocks slope sharply down, and generations of sliders have polished the stones till they have become like glass. After a breakfast at Dilgooshah, whenever there are children or young people, the whole party adjourn to the “Sau-sau-rac,” and the juveniles, and not unfrequently the elders, run up the edge and, squatting at the top, slide rapidly down in strings, the whole tumbling over pell-mell at the bottom; the more adventurous slide down on their stomachs head downwards, but they generally squat and go down in strings for mutual safety; all, however, thus conduce to the polishing of the “Sau-sau-rac.”

A difficult climb of three-quarters of an hour brought one to the Chah Ali Bunder, a well cut in the surface of the living rock; a huge square aperture yawns in the surface. The well was probably originally constructed to supply a mountain fastness with water (which was, I think, never reached); the shaft is of great depth, and is popularly supposed to be without bottom. I have attempted to measure it by dropping a stone, but the echoes thus produced render it impossible. One hears no sound of water on throwing objects into it, and I have lowered six hundred yards of string, and the cord has remained still taut.[27]

There are no ruins round it, and this points to an unsuccessful boring for water. Such a position in the times previous to artillery—and it is only of very modern introduction in Persia—would have been, if supplied with water, almost, if not quite, impregnable, for the road up is very steep, and could easily be rendered quite impassable.

The use to which the Chah Ali Bunder is now put reminds one of the ‘Arabian Nights’; it is the place of execution of faithless women. I am not sure whether it has been used within the last ten years for that purpose, I believe it has. But some seventeen years ago a friend of mine was present at such an execution. The woman was paraded through the town bareheaded, with her hair cut off, on an ass, her face being to the tail. She was preceded by the lutis or buffoons of the town singing and dancing, while the Jewish musicians were forced to play upon their instruments and join in the procession. All the rabble of the town of course thronged around the wretched woman. The ass was led by the executioner, and it was not till nearly dusk that the place of punishment was reached. The victim had been mercifully drugged with opium, and was probably unaware of her fate; she was ordered to recite the Mussulman profession of faith; this she was of course unable to do. Her hands were bound behind her, a priest recited the profession of faith in her name, and the executioner, saying “Be-ro!” (“Get thee gone!”) by a touch of his foot launched her into eternity. Such executions are getting less common in Persia than formerly.

In Shiraz, where intrigues among married women are very rife, the husband’s relatives—and often the woman’s make common cause with them—generally take the matter into their own hands, and either fling the woman from a roof or into a well, or administer a dose of poison; the adulterer generally taking refuge in flight, or getting off with a severe bastinado if the affair is brought home to him; generally, however, such things are hushed up. In any case no notice is taken of them by officials, and no punishment is visited upon the actors in these private tragedies.

I had a man-nurse for my children, one Abdul Hamid, by trade a gold lacemaker, a native of Shiraz; he was the quietest and most humble of little men—nearly a dwarf. I was told by him a curious incident in his history. Marrying his cousin, a young and handsome Shirazi, she was not long faithful to him; and his mother, who is usually the master-spirit and guardian of her son’s honour in a Persian household, finding that the lady’s amours were becoming notorious, at length informed her son; there was unfortunately no room for doubt; the husband ran with his woes to his mother and brothers-in-law, respectable artisans; one of these the same evening brought some corrosive sublimate, and the girl’s own mother, her mother-in-law, her brothers, and her husband compelled her to swallow a fatal dose of the drug.

Although in a few days the affair was common bazaar talk, no notice was taken of the matter, the thing being looked on as a natural ending to the woman’s intrigue. I asked my man one day if the story were true; he replied, “Oh yes, sahib, it was her fate,” and proceeded to inform me that he was on the best of terms with the family of his late wife.

In the garden of Jahn-i-ma (my soul) is the grave of Rich the traveller; he died in Shiraz when on his road home. Close to this garden, in a small cemetery having a mud mosque, is the monolith covering the grave of the poet Hafiz; it is a huge block of Yezd marble beautifully carved with verses from the writings of the poet. The Yezd marble is very similar in appearance to alabaster. It is a favourite place of resort of the literary, who may be frequently seen reading the works of the poet, and smoking or meditating over his tomb. Around him are buried many who look on his works as religious and inspired writings; some, and the major portion of educated Persians, simply consider Hafiz as an Anacreontic dreamer, and his works the ways of wickedness made bright.

A mile off is the tomb of Saadi, another poet, the author of the moral tales upon whose teaching the mental course of most Persians is guided. The first story forms the keynote to this system, and explains the otherwise mysterious course pursued by most Orientals, who usually prefer the crooked to the straight. The tale is well known, and I may be permitted to quote it from memory. All these “moral tales” are very concise. It is as follows:—

“Once a great king, having overcome his enemies in battle, caused the principal captives to be brought bound into his presence. On their arrival they commenced to revile him. The monarch, being ignorant of their language, turned to his minister and requested him to explain their speech. The minister, instead of faithfully repeating their sentiments, said, that overcome with the magnificence of the king, they were expressing their astonishment at his greatness, and imploring his clemency. The king, pleased, ordered their release. The moral is, ‘It is better to tell a lie that produces good, than to tell the truth which produces evil.’”

Thus the tenets of the Persian sage and those of the Jesuits are similar. To do evil is lawful, if a greater good be the result. I fear the evil is often done without the expected good resulting.

A visit to the tomb of Saadi, or that of Hafiz, is common among the Shirazis for the taking of omens or “fal,” as they are termed. For a few coppers the dervish who usually acts as guardian to the tomb produces his well-thumbed manuscript copy of the poet, and, after an invocation to the Deity, he thrusts his knife into the closed volume between the leaves. Taking the passage at the top of the right-hand page, he recites it to the anxious inquirers, and, if they be ignorant people, he generally manages to recite a passage favourable to their wishes. Nothing serious is done in Persia without the taking an omen, “fal,” the casting of lots, “istikhara,” or the decree of an astrologer. It was a common thing for a patient to tell me that the reason he consulted me was, that he had put all the names of the doctors of the town in a bag, and mine had been drawn. I also was commonly told that a man had refused his physic because the omen was against it. They will close a bargain or not by an omen, start on a journey or refrain from the same reason; and their action in such little doubtful points as the staking in games is ruled in the same manner. A common way to take an omen (in this case “istikhara,” for “fal” is generally confined to the omen by the book, be it Hafiz, Saadi, or the Koran) is to grasp the rosary haphazard (every Persian man or woman carries a rosary) and count from the bead grasped till the end is reached—good—doubtful—no; the last bead reached being the decisive one.

On a taking the “fal” at the tomb of Hafiz by Captain T—, R.E., who was a gold medalist in Persian, a curious incident occurred. The old dervish, taking the book of poems between his palms, muttered the usual invocation to God, and opening the book proceeded to recite some stanzas highly favourable to Captain T—’s proceeding on his journey. But T—, taking the book from his hand, and looking only at the first line, closed the volume and recited from memory that line and some fifty that followed it. The dervish certainly was nonplussed. Here was a Feringhi, who could not make himself understood by even the servants (so different is the Persian of books and that learnt in India from the colloquial), reciting correctly, and with appropriate gesture, the poetry that he, the dervish, prided himself on being familiar with. His eyes rolled, he looked with astonishment on the gifted European, put his spectacles in his pocket, bowed, and disappeared, not even waiting for the present that he knew he could be sure of. We were naturally much surprised, but we were cognisant of Captain T—’s being well versed in the Persian classics; for did he not address my servant as “cupbearer,” “sorki”? and did he not request, to the man’s astonishment, when requiring beer, that he should bring “the soul-inspiring bowl”?—which phrases, being poetical, were quite as Dutch to the servant as if a London waiter were ordered to “fill high the bowl with Samian wine.”

Saadi, though more influencing the actions of the people, is less read by the upper classes than Hafiz, to whom are paid almost divine honours; and the humble tomb of the one, in its little unkept garden, is little visited, while the handsome stone over the grave of the other has generally a few reverent idlers round it.