 Section 4 of A Year Amongst the Persians by Edward Granville-Brown This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Nicholas James Bridgewater. A Year Amongst the Persians by Edward Granville-Brown Section 4 The eighth day of our march, which was to conclude the first portion of our journey, saw us in the Saddle bitines. After riding for four hours through a scorched-up plane, we arrived about 10.30am at the large village of Elija, so named from its hot springs over which a bath had been erected. From this point the gardens and minarets of Erzerum were plainly visible, and accordingly we pushed on without halting. Fully three hours elapsed, however, ere we had traversed the weary stretch of white dusty road which still separated us from our goal, and the sun was well past the meridian when we finally entered the gate of the city, and threaded our way through the massive fortifications by which it is surrounded. Erzerum has one hotel which stands midway in the scale of development between the Hotel d'Italie at Trebizond and an average caravanserai. Were these two towns connected by a railroad so as to bring them within a day's journey of one another, this institution might perhaps form a happy transition between the West and the East. As things are at present, it is too much like a caravanserai to be comfortable and too much like a casino to be quiet. On a lighting at this delectable house of entertainment we were met by a young Armenian representing the bank on which our cheque was drawn, who informed us in very fair French that his name was Missac Venezian, and that his principal Simon Dermunukian had been apprised of our coming by a letter from Trebizond and instructed to give us some help as we might need. After a brief conversation in the balcony of a coffee room thronged with Turkish officers and enlivened by the strains of a semi-oriental band, he departed inviting us to visit his chief so soon as we were at leisure. We now requested an attendant to show us to our room and were forthright conducted to a large, dingy, uncarpeted apartment on the first floor, lighted by several windows looking out upon the street, and containing for its sole furniture a divan covered with faded chints, which ran the whole length of one side and a washing stand placed in a curtained recess on the other. It was already occupied by a Turkish mudir bound for the frontier fortress of Bayezid, whom the landlord was trying to dislodge so that we might take possession. This he very naturally resented, but when I apologised and offered to withdraw, he was at once mollified, declared that there was plenty of room for all of us, and politely retired, leaving us to perform our ablutions in private. Just as we were ready to go out, an officer of the Turkish police called to inspect our passports. So, while H went to visit Mr Deve, the acting British consul, I remained to entertain the visitor with coffee and cigarettes, an attention which he seemed to appreciate, for he readily gave the required visa, and then sat conversing with me till H returned from the consulate. We next paid a visit to our banker, Simon Dermunukyan, called by the Turks, Simun Oral, a fine-looking old man who only spoke Turkish and Armenian, and whose appearance would have led one to suppose that the former, rather than the latter, was his native tongue. After the ordinary interchange of civilities, we drew a check for three or four pounds, and returned to the hotel to settle with the muleteers. On the way to Erzerum, these had frequently expressed a wish to go with us as far as Tehran, but since their arrival, they had been so alarmed by fabulous accounts of the dangers of travelling in Persia, the inhospitality of the country, and the malignant disposition of the people that they made no further allusion to this plan, and on receiving the money due to them, together with a small gratuity, took leave of us with expressions of gratitude and esteem. After a thoroughly Turkish dinner, I again proposed to go out, but the mudir told me that this was impossible, as the streets were not lighted, and no one was allowed to walk abroad after nightfall without a lantern. He offered, however, to introduce me to some acquaintances of his who occupied an adjoining room. One of these was a Turk who spoke Persian with a fluency and correctness rarely attained by his countrymen. The other was a Christian of Caesarea. Both were men of intelligence, and their conversation interested me so much that it was late before I retired to rest on the Cincecouver Divan, which I would gladly have exchanged for the fragrant hay of Pasha Punari. Next day, our troubles began. The news that two Englishmen were about to start for Persia had got abroad, and crowds of muleteers, Persians, Turks, and Armenians came to offer their services for this journey. The scene of turmoil which our room presented during the whole morning baffles description, while our ears were deafened with the clamour of voices. It was like the noisiest bazaar imaginable, with this difference that whereas one can escape from the din of a bazaar when it becomes insupportable, this turmoil followed us wherever we went. An Armenian called Vartan demanded the exorbitant sum of five pounds Turkish per horse to Tabriz. A Persian offered to convey a slither in a mighty wagon which he possessed, wherein he declared we should perform the journey with inconceivable ease. This statement, which I was from the first but little disposed to credit, was subsequently denied in the most categorical manner by our friend the mudir, who assured me that he had once assayed to travel in such a vehicle, but had been so roughly jolted during the first stage that he had sworn never again to set foot in it, and had completed his journey on horseback. Any lingering regrets which we might have entertained at having renounced the prospect of inconceivable ease held out to us by the owner of the wagon were entirely dispelled some days later by the sight of a similar vehicle hopelessly stuck, and abandoned by its possessor in the middle of a river which we had to ford. At length, partly because no better offer seemed forthcoming, partly from a desire to have done with the matter and enjoy a little peace and quietude for the remainder of our stay in Erzurum, we accepted the terms proposed by a Persian militeer called Farac, who proposed to supply us with five horses to Tabriz for two pounds Turkish, and two Mejidiyez ahead, to convey us thither in twelve days, and to allow us the right of stopping for two days on the road at whatever place we might choose. I now flattered myself that I should be allowed a little peace, but I found that I had reckoned without my host, no sooner had I satisfied myself as to the efficiency of Farac's animals, agreed to the terms proposed by him, and accepted the peh, a pledge of money which it is customary for the militeer to place in the hands of his client as a guarantee that he will hold to the bargain and be prepared to start on the appointed day, than our ears were assailed on all sides with aspersions on the honesty and respectability of the successful candidate Farac. So I was assured was a native of the village of Seyvan, Nihoy and the Seyvan-Liz were, as was well known, the wickedest, most faithless and most dishonest people in Persia. In this assertion, all the militeers present agreed, the only difference being that while the Persians rested content with the reprobation of the Seyvan-Liz, the non-Persians further emphasized it by adding that the Persians were the wickedest, most faithless and most dishonest people in the world. At first I paid no attention to these statements, but my suspicions were in some degree aroused by Farac's disinclination to go before the Persian consul, and by the doubts expressed by Venetian and Simun Agha as to his honesty and trustworthiness. With Venetian I was somewhat annoyed because he, being present when I engaged Farac, had withheld his advice till it was too late to be useful. I therefore told him that he should either have spoken sooner or not at all, to which he replied that it was still possible to rescind the bargain. Farac was accordingly summoned and requested to take back his pledge. This however he resolutely declined to do, and I could not help admitting that he was in the right. Finally Venetian desisted from his attempts to annul the contract, and indeed retracted to some extent the objections which he had raised against it. What motive impelled him to this change of front I cannot say, and I am unwilling to credit an assertion made to me by Farac a few days later to the effect that the Armenian sole object in these maneuvers was to extort a bribe from the poor mulitia, and that having obtained this he was content to withdraw all opposition. Although these annoyances combined with a temporary indisposition due probably to the badness of the water supply somewhat marred the pleasure of our stay at Erzerum. The kindness shown us by Mr Dewey, the British consul, and Mr Chambers, an American missionary, and his wife, rendered it much more agreeable than it would otherwise have been. Before leaving we paid a visit to the Persian consul, who received us very courteously and gave us a letter to Pasha Khan of Avadek, the Persian warden of the marches, from whom he added, we should receive an escort to conduct us to Khoi, should this be necessary. Beyond Khoi, the country was perfectly safe, and no such protection would be required. The consul next inquired whether we were travelling with our own horses or with hired animals, and on learning that the latter was the case, insisted on summoning the mulitia to admonish him. Knowing that Farach was unwilling to appear before the consul, I ventured to deprecate this proceeding, and made as though I had forgotten the mulitia's name. The consul however insisted, and at once dispatched some of his servants to make inquiries. These returned in a surprisingly short space of time, bringing with them the mulitia, whose appearance indicated the utmost disquietude. After demanding his name and that of his native place, the consul asked him whether it was true that he had promised to convey us to Tabriz in 12 days, and whether, if so, he had any intention of keeping this promise. To these questions, the mulitia replied, in a voice trembling with fear that, perhaps, ensha' la, we would do so. This statement was received by the consul with derision. You lie, Mr. Per-Haps, cried he. You eat dirt, Mr. Ensha' la, hence rascal, and be assured that if I hear any complaints about you, you shall give a full account of your conduct to me on your return to Erzerum. Whether in consequence of this admonition, or whether, as I believe, because the mulitia was really an honest fellow, we certainly had no cause for complaint, and indeed we were glad to re-engage Farach at Tabriz for the journey to Tehran. On Monday, 17th October, we quitted Erzerum. In consequence of the difficulty of getting fairly underway, to which I have already alluded, it is usual to make the first stage a very short one. Indeed, it is often merely what the Persians call Nagle Macaun, change of place. A breaking up of one's quarters, a bidding farewell to one's friends, and a shaking one's self-free from the innumerable delays which continue to arise as long as one is within the walls of an eastern town. We therefore did not expect to get farther than Hassan Qal'a, which is about three hours ride from Erzerum. Before we had finished our leave taking, and settled the hotel bill, which only reached the modest sum of 108 piastras, about one pound sterling, for the two of us and Ali for three days, the rest of the caravan had disappeared, and it was only on emerging from the town that I was able to take note of those who composed it. There were, besides the muleteers, our friend the mudir, and his companions, and servants, who were bound for Bayezid, a Turkish Zabtiyeh who was to escort us as far as Hassan Qal'a and three Persians proceeding to Tabriz. Of these last, one was a decrepit old man, the other two were his sons. In spite of the somewhat ludicrous appearance given to the old man by a long white beard of which the lower half was dyed red with henna, the cause which had led him to undertake so long a journey in spite of his advanced age commanded respect and sympathy. His two sons had gone to Trebizond for purposes of trade, and had there settled. And although he had written to them repeatedly in treating them to return to Tabriz, they had declined to comply with his wishes, until eventually he had determined to go himself, and, if possible, persuade them to return home with him. In this attempt he had met with the success which he so well deserved. As we advanced towards the low pass of Deve Boyun, the camel's neck over which our road lay, I was much impressed with the mighty redoubts which crowned the heights to the north east and east of Erzerum, many of which have, I believe, been erected since the Russian War. Beyond these, and such instruction and amusement, as I could derive from our travelling companions, there was little to break the monotony of the road till we arrived at our halting place about 3pm. As the horn was full, we were obliged to be content with Quarters even less luxurious, and even there, the Mudir, with prudent forethought, secured the best room for himself and his companions. Hassan Qala is, like Ilija, which is about equidistant from Erzerum on the other side, remarkable for its natural hot springs, over which a bath had been erected. The Mudir was anxious to visit these springs, and invited us to accompany him. To this, I agreed, but H, not feeling well, preferred to remain quiet. The bath consists of a circular basin, 25 or 30 feet in diameter, surrounded with masonry and roofed in by a dome. In the summit of the dome was a large aperture, through which we could see the stars shining. The water, which is almost as hot as one can bear with comfort, bubbles up from the centre of the basin, and is everywhere out of one's depth. After a most refreshing bath, we returned to our quarters. Next day, we started about 6am, and were presently joined by a Turkish Mufti, proceeding to Bayezid, with whom I conversed for some time in Persian, which he spoke very incorrectly and with great effort. He was, however, an amusing companion, and his conversation beguiled the time pleasantly enough till we halted about midday at a large, squalid Armenian village called Kumasur. Our Turkish fellow travellers occupied the Mosafer Oda, or guest room, and intimated to us that they wished to be left undisturbed for their midday devotions, so we were compelled to be content with the stable. As the rest of the caravan had not yet come up, we had nothing for lunch, but a few biscuits and a little brandy and water, which we fortunately had with us. Several of the Armenian villagers came to see us. They were apathetic and dull, presenting a sad contrast to the Armenians of the towns. They talked much of their grievances, especially of the rapacity of the Multizim, or tax-gatherer of the district, who had, as they declared, mortally wounded one of the villagers a few days previously, because he had brought eight piastres short of the sum due from him. They said that the heaviest tax was on cereals, amounting to one in eight of their total value, and that, for the privilege of collecting this, the tax-gatherer paid a certain fixed sum to the government, and made what profit he could. Quitting this unhappy spot as soon as the rest of our caravan appeared, we again joined the Mudir's party, which had been further reinforced by Achar Vush, Sergeant, and two Zabties, one of whom kept breaking out into snatches of song in the shrillest voice I ever heard. For some time, we succeeded in keeping up with these, who were advancing at a pace impossible for the baggage animals. But presently, our horses began to flag, and we were finally left behind in some doubt as to the road which we should follow. Shortly after this, my horse, in going down a hill to a river, fell violently and threw me on my face. I picked myself up and remounted, but having proceeded some distance, discovered that my watch was gone, having probably been torn out of my pocket when I fell. We rode back and sought diligently for it, but without success, and while we were still so occupied, Farach the Mulatir came up with Ali. These joined us in the fruitless attempt to find the lost watch, the former attributing my misfortune to the inconsiderate haste of the Mudir. The latter attempting to console me with the philosophical reflection that some evil had evidently been destined to befall me, and that the loss of the watch had probably averted a more serious catastrophe. At length, the near approach of the sun to the horizon warned us that we must tarry no longer. And though we made as much haste as possible, it was dark before we reached the village of Delibaba. Here we obtained lodgings in a large stable, at one side of which was a wooden platform, raised some two feet above the ground and covered with a felt carpet. On this our host spread cushions and pillows, but the hopes of a comfortable night's rest, which these preparations raised in our minds, were not destined to be fulfilled, for the stable was full of fowls, and the fowls swarmed with fleas. There were also several buffaloes in the stable, and these apparently were endowed with carnivorous insects, for during the night they ate up some cold meat, which was to have served us for breakfast. At this place I tasted buffalo's milk for the first time. It is very rich, but has a peculiar flavour, which is, to my mind, very disagreeable. On starting the next day, we found that the mudir, who had obtained quarters elsewhere in the village, had already set out. Neither did we again overtake him. Soon after leaving our halting place, we entered a magnificent defile leading into the mountains, and surrounded by precipitous crags. On the summit of one of these crags, which lay to our left, was a ruined castle, said to have been formerly a stronghold of the celebrated bandit minstrel Goroglu. The face of the rock showed numerous cave-like apertures apparently enlarged, if not made, by the hand of man, and possibly communicating with the interior of the castle. About noon we reached a Kurdish village, situated amidst grassy uplands at the summit of the pass, and here we halted for a rest. Most of the male inhabitants were out on the hills looking after their flocks, but the women gathered round us, staring, laughing, and chattering Kurdish. Some few of them knew a little Turkish, and asked us if we had any mungas to give them. This word, which I did not understand, appeared to denote some kind of ornament. On quitting this village, our way led us through fertile uplands, covered thinly with low shrubs, on which hundreds of draft animals were feeding. The bales of merchandise, unladen from their backs, were piled up in hollow squares, in and around which the Persian camel drivers were resting, till such time as the setting of the sun, for camels rarely travel by day, should give the signal for departure. A little further on, we passed one of the battlefields of the Russian War, and were shown an earthwork close to the road, where we were told that Fareg Pasha had been killed. Soon after this, on rounding a corner, the mighty snow-covered cone of Mount Ararat burst upon our view across a wide hill-girt plain, into which we now began to descend. During this descent, we came upon a party of Kurdish mount-banks, surrounded by a crowd of peasants. In the midst of the group, a little girl in a bright red dress was performing a dance on stilts, to the sound of wild music, produced by a drum and a flute. It was a pretty sight, and one which I would feign have watched for a time. But the muleteers were anxious to reach the end of our day's journey, and indeed it was already dusk when we arrived at the village of Zeytikian. The inhabitants of this place were, as we entered it, engaged in a violent altercation, the cause of which I did not ascertain, while a few Turkish Zabtiers were making strenuous efforts to disperse them, in which they eventually succeeded. It was only after Ali had been to half the houses in the village that he succeeded in obtaining a lodging for us in the house of a poor Armenian family, who were content to share with us their only room. As usual, no sort of privacy was possible, numbers of people coming in to stare at us, question us, and watch us eat. Next day's march was both short and uninteresting. At 2pm, we reached the large, squalid village of Korakilisa. As the day was still young, and the place far from attractive, we were anxious to proceed farther. But this, the muleteers declined to do, answering, after the manner of their class, that they had agreed to take us to Tabriz in 12 days from Erzerum, and that this they would do. But that for the rest, we must allow them to arrange the stages as they thought fit. Farach concluded the argument by making a propitiatory gift of a melon, which he had just received from a fellow countryman whom he had met on the road. And half amused, half annoyed, I was obliged to acquiesce in his arrangement. We obtained wretched quarters in the house of a very ill-favoured and inquisitive Armenian, and, after allaying our ill-humour with tea, strolled through the village to see the Yuzbashi, or captain of the police, about securing a Zabtiere as an escort for the morrow. From him we learned that our friend the mudir had not forgotten us, for on his way through the village that morning he had left instructions that we were to be provided with a Zabtiere should we require one. The dustiness of the streets, combined with the inquisitiveness of the inhabitants, soon drove us back to our lodging, where a night disturbed by innumerable fleas concluded a miserable day. In spite of our desire to quit so unattractive a spot, we did not start till 7.45 am, a much later hour than usual. Partly because we knew that the stage before us was a short one, and had no reason to anticipate better quarters at the end of it than those we were leaving, partly because Ali's whip had disappeared and could not be found till our host was informed that no money would be paid him until it was forthcoming, whereupon it was speedily produced. We were accompanied by a fine old Armenian Zabtiere who presented a thoroughly soldierly, as well as a very picturesque, appearance. The scenery through which we passed reminded me more of England or Scotland than anything which I had seen since leaving home. Close to the road ran a beautiful clear river rippling down over its stony bed to join the western Euphrates. On either side of this lay undulating grassy hills, beyond which appeared in the distance more lofty mountains. The warm cloudy day too and the thin mists which lay on the hills favoured the fancy that we were back once more in our native land. About 1pm we reached our halting place, Toshlychoy, and found lodgings in a gloomy hovel which served the double purpose of arresting place for guests and a stable for buffaloes. The people however were better than the place. Our host was an old Persian with henna-dyed beard and nails who manifested his good feeling toward us by plunging his hand with an introductory besmelah into a dish of poached eggs which was set before us for luncheon. His son, a bright handsome lad of 16 or 17, made every effort to enliven us, and on my inquiring whether there were any fish in the river offered to conduct us thither and show us not only where they were but how to catch them. Having collected several other youths he commenced operations by constructing a dam of stones and turf half across the river at a point where it was divided into two branches by a bed of shingle. The effect of this was to direct the bulk of the water into the left hand channel while the depth of that which remained in the right hand channel at the lower end of which a boy was stationed to beat the water with a stick and so prevent the imprisoned fish from affecting their escape sunk to a few inches. Having completed these preparations the operators entered the water with sticks in their hands, struck at the fish as they darted past thereby killing or stunning them and then picked them up and tossed them onto the bank. One lad had a sort of gaff wherewith he hooked the fish very dexterously. In less than an hour we had nearly 50 fish, several of which must have weighed two and a half or three pounds. Some of these we ate for supper, others we gave to the mula tears and to our fellow travellers. They were not unpalatable and made a pleasing change from the fowls and eggs of which our fare had so long consisted. Although our lodging was not much superior in point of cleanliness and comfort to that of the preceding night it was with something like regret that I bade farewell to the kindly folk of Toshley Choy. Farach had started on in front with the baggage leaving his brother Faiz-O-La, of whom we had hitherto seen but little, to bear as company. This Faiz-O-La was a smooth-faced narrow-eyed smug-looking sturdy rascal whose face wore a perpetual and intolerable grin and whose head was concealed rather than crowned by the large, low, conical, long-haired par-poche which constitutes the usual headdress of the peasants inhabiting that region which lies just beyond the Turkish Persian frontier. We were also accompanied by a Turkish Zabtiyeh who proved to be unusually intelligent, for when we were come opposite to the village of Uçkilisar which lies on the farther side of the river he told us that there was an old Armenian church there which was worth looking at and that we should by no means neglect to pay our respects to an aged Armenian ecclesiastic entitled by him the Morachas Effendi who, as he assured us, enjoyed such influence in the neighborhood that were he to give the command a hundred men would escort us to Tabriz. We therefore turned aside from our course to the infinite disgust of Faiz-O-La whose only desire was to reach the end of the stage as soon as possible and first proceeded to the church. This was a fine old building but it had suffered at the hands of the Kurds during the Russian war and the beautiful designs and paintings with which it had before that time been adorned had for the most part been destroyed by fire. Leaving the church we passed the house and mill of the Morachas Effendi who on hearing our approach came out to meet us and begged us to enter his house and for take of some refreshment. The opposition offered by Faiz-O-La to any further delay compelled us to decline his hospitality yet would he scarcely take nay for an answer saying that he was ashamed to let strangers pass by without a lighting at his house. Finally seeing that we were firm in our resolve he bad us farewell with the words I pray Almighty God that he will bring you in safety to Tabriz. It was with a sense of comfort and encouragement that we parted from the venerable and reverend old man but this feeling was presently changed to one of indignation against Faiz-O-La who had urged the length of the stage as a reason for hastening on when not much after 1 30 p.m. we arrived at the wretched town of Diyal-Din where we were to sleep for the last time on Turkish territory. A more desolate spot I do not think I have ever seen the dirty dusty town which scarcely contains two respectable houses stands in a barren treeless waist and is half encompassed by a vast crescent shaped chasm with precipitous sides. Heaps of refuse lie about in all directions both before the doors of the miserable hovels which compose the town and amongst the graves of the extensive and neglected cemetery which surrounds it. Of the two respectable houses which I have noticed one belongs to the governor the other is the post office. To the latter we paid a visit and conversed for a while with the postmaster and telegraph clerk for both functions were united in one individual who was a Turk of Adrianople. He complained bitterly of the dullness of Diyal-Din where he had been for two years and to which a marriage contracted with a Kurdish girl had failed to reconcile him. On returning to our lodging we found that the aperture in the roof which did duty for window and chimney alike admitted so much wind and dust that we were compelled to cover it with sacking. While to add to our miseries we discovered that all our candles were used up. Having eaten our supper by the dim light of a little earthenware lamp we therefore had no resource but to seek forgetfulness of our discomforts in sleep. Next morning 23rd October the seventh day of our departure from Erzerum we were in the saddle by 6 a.m. My spirits were high for I knew that before sunset we should enter the land which I had so long and so eagerly desired to behold. The Zabtiyeh who accompanied us remarkable for an enormous hooked nose took pains to impress upon us the necessity of keeping well together as there was some danger of robbers. Presently on rounding a corner a glorious view burst upon us Ararat which had been hidden from us by lower hills since we first saw it from the heights above lay far to the left its snowy summit veiled in clouds which however left unconcealed the lower peak of little Ararat. Before us at the end of the valley perched midway up the face of a steep rocky mountain lay the town and fortress of Bayezid which keeps solitary watch over the northeast frontier of the Turkish empire. This we did but see a far off for while two or three hours march still separated us from it we turned sharply to the right into the valley leading to Gizl Dizeh the last village on Turkish soil. At this point we left the telegraph wires which had since our departure from Trebizond kept us company and indicated the course of our road. Soon after midday we reached Gizl Dizeh and leaving our baggage in the custom house we took ourselves for rest and refreshment to a large and commodious khan. The custom house officials gave us no trouble but as soon as we were again on the road Farac informed us with many lamentations that they had extracted from him a sum of 45 piastras alleging as a pretext for this extortion that whereas he had brought seven horses with him on his last journey into Turkey he was returning with only five that they suspected him of having sold the two missing horses in Turkish territory and that they should therefore exact from him the duty payable on animals imported into the country for purposes of commerce. It was in vain that Farac protested that the two horses in question had died on the road for they demanded documentary proof of this assertion which he was unable to produce and indeed to me it seemed an absurd thing to expect a certificate of death for an animal which had perished in the mountains of Asia Minor. The hook-nosed veteran who had accompanied us from Diyal Dean had yielded place to a fresh Zabtiyeh who rode silently before us for two hours during which we continued to ascend gradually through wild but monotonous hills till on reaching a slight eminence over which the road passed he reigned in his horse and turning in his saddle said further I cannot go with you for this is our frontier and yonder before you lies the Persian land. End of section four. End of chapter two from England to the Persian frontier. Recording by Nicholas James Bridgewater. Recorded in London, England. Section five of A Year Amongst the Persians by Edward Granville Brown. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Anthony Taubman. A Year Amongst the Persians by Edward Granville Brown. Chapter three from the Persian frontier to Tabriz. How good it is when one with weighting tired obtaineth that which he hath long desired. The talisman of magic might hid in some ruins lonely sight emerges from its ancient night at the mild glance of Darvish's. Hafiz, rendered by Herman Bicknell. There is always a pleasant sense of excitement and expectation in entering for the first time a foreign country. Especially is this the case when to visit that country has long been the object of one's ambition. Yet that which most sharply marks such a transition and most forcibly reminds the traveller that he is amongst another race. I mean a change of language is not so observable by one who enters Persia from the northwest. For the inhabitants of the province of Azerbaijan, which forms this portion of the Persian Empire, uniformly employ a dialect of Turkish, which though differing widely from the speech of the Ottoman Turks, is not so far removed from it as to render either language unintelligible to those who speak the other. If amongst the better classes in the towns of Azerbaijan, and here and there in the villages, the Persian language is understood or spoken, it is as a foreign tongue acquired by study or travel. While the narrow effected enunciation of the vowels, so different from the bold, broad pronunciation of Persia proper, and the introduction of the Y sound after K and G at once served to mark the province to which the speaker belongs. It is not until Gazvin is reached, and only four or five stages separate the traveller from Tehran, that the Persian distinctly predominates over the Turkish language. While even four stages south of the capital, as far as the sacred city of Gom, the latter is still generally understood. The country immediately beyond the frontier was as desolate and devoid of cultivation as that which we had just quitted, and it was not until we reached the Persian frontier village of Adavit that we have any opportunity of observing that changing of costume, which constitutes the other great sign of entry amongst a new race. Indeed, the approach of night which overtook us ere we reached our destination prevented us even then from getting more than a very partial idea of the differences which distinguish a Persian from a Turkish village. So far as we could see, however, the change was distinctly for the better. The square houses, built of unbaked clay, were clean and comodious, while a goodly array of poplar trees gave to the place an appearance of vergeo, which contrasted pleasantly with our two vivid recollections of the hideous waste of Diyadeem. Immediately on our arrival we sent our letter of introduction, which had been given to us by the Persian consul at Erzurum, to Pasha Khan, the Sahadar, or Warden of the Marchers, intending to pay our respects to him in the morning before our departure. While we were eating our supper, however, a message came from him to say that he would, if we pleased, receive us at once, as he was in the habit of rising late. As this invitation was practically equivalent to a command, we hastened, in spite of our weariness and disincarnation to move, to respond to it, and were presently ushered by our host, who was one of the great man's retainers, into the presence of Pasha Khan, having previously removed our boots on an intimation from the Pharisees, who stood at the door of the presence chamber. We were invited to seat ourselves on the floor, opposite the front-head chief, who sat in a corner of the room, on the side next to the door, reclining on cushions. On one side of him was seated his Vazir, on the other, a grim-looking secretary, whose face was adorned with a pair of fierce moustaches, and whose hand still held the letter of introduction, which he had been reading to Pasha Khan. The warden of the marches conversed with me for a short time, in a somewhat fitful manner, in Persian, inquiring particularly about the terms on which England stood with Russia. Seeing, however, that he was disinclined to prolong the interview, and that he appeared moody and preoccupied, a fact due, as we subsequently learned, to a quarrel which had arisen between him and his brother, we were preparing to take our leave, when several servants entered, bearing trays of pilau and sherbet, of which, though we had already supped, we were compelled by politeness to partake. The sherbet was excellent, as was also the pilau, consisting of pieces of lamb's flesh buried in rice, which we had to eat, awkwardly enough, with our hands. This accomplishment, which, in spite of assiduous efforts, I never succeeded in thoroughly acquiring, is far from being so easy as might at first sight appear. The rice is pressed by the four fingers into a wedge-shaped bolus, which is then thrust into the mouth by an upward motion of the terminal joint of the thumb placed behind it. Any grains of rice which remain clinging to the fingers must then be collected by a semicircular sweep of the thumb into another smaller bolus, which is then eaten before a fresh handful of rice is taken up. It is wonderful what dexterity the Persians acquire in this method of eating, which is indeed far more cleanly and convenient than might be supposed. To the foreigner, however, it is hardly less difficult of acquisition than the Persian manner of sitting on the hills, and, if on the first attempt we did not meet with the ridicule of our entertainers, it was rather from their politeness than from any dexterity on our part. On the conclusion of the meal we took our leave, Pashachan, ordering our host in his capacity of Farosh, to accompany us on our journey as far as Qara Ayeneh. For this we were very grateful, not so much because we hoped for any advantage from our escort, as because we feared that it might be larger, for a large escort naturally involves considerable expense. Next day, 24th October, we started a little before 8am, and we were now able to contrast the appearance of the numerous villages through which we had passed with those of the Turkish side of the frontier. The comparison was certainly very much to the advantage of Persia. The houses, surrounded by gardens of poplars, were neater, cleaner, and better built than as usual in Turkey, while nearly every village contained at least one house of considerable size. The change in the costume of the people was equally striking. The fares had entirely disappeared, and its place was taken either by the thickly lined, close-fitting skullcap of cloth trimmed with black wool, which is called Shikari, or by the hideous long-haired papah of black or brown color, which I have already noticed as constituting the headdress of our muleteers. Before we had gone very far, we were overtaken by two more of Pashachan's mounted irregulars, who appeared desirous of attaching themselves to us as an additional escort, in spite of our unwillingness to accept their services. About 2pm, we reached the village of Kaira Aynay, which was to be our halting-place for the night. Hearing that there was a bazaar, I was minded to visit it, but found it to be a single shop kept by a leper, whose stock-end trade appeared to consist chiefly of small tawdry mirrors and very-ranked tobacco. On the following day we were joined by two more armed horsemen, making five in all, so that our cavalcade now presented a most imposing appearance, and there seemed to be every chance that, at this rate of proceeding, we should accumulate a small army before reaching Tabriz, in order, as I believe, to sustain our flagging faith in their utility, and to convince us of the danger of the road. An alarm of robbers was started by our escort as we were traversing a narrow defile. Assuring this that only three days ago three men had been robbed and murdered in this very spot, they galloped wildly ahead, now cautiously ascending and peeping over the summit of a hillock, now madly descending it at breakneck speed, and scouring across the country. In the caravan all were huddled together in a compact mass, and, in spite of our skepticism, Ali insisted on the rifle-bing got ready for action, while he continued to brandish an old sword, which he had bought at Erzurum, in the most truculent manner. Notwithstanding all these preparations, no robbers appeared, and after we had been sufficiently entertained by the evolution to our escort, we were permitted to lapse once more into tranquility. Early in the afternoon, after fording a river, the eminently picturesque bridge being broken down, and passing a pretty hamlet situated by the side of a stream, we arrived at the village of Zoroa, where we halted for the night. Here we obtained very fair quarters in the house of a fine-looking old man, with some knowledge of Persian. Four or five of the inhabitants came in to stare at us, and to smoke their kalyans, hobble-bobbles, with intermittent attempts to mend a broken door. Ali struck up a great fenn-trip with our host, and inspired by this, and the reflection that on the morrow we should reach a town of some importance, made him a present of all that remained of our tea. Next day, 26th October, we found to our delight that our escort was reduced to two, who still continued their attempts to scare us with alarms of robbers. Whether the road was indeed dangerous, I do not know, but it was certainly amazingly bad. About midday, on emerging from a very fine gorge, we saw at our feet a wide and cultivated plain, surrounded almost entirely by mountains, except to the right, in the direction of Urumye. In this plain lay the beautiful little city of Khoi, and, somewhat nearer to us, the suburb of Pyre, both surrounded by a mass of gardens. The latter we reached in about an hour, and here we rested for a while. Thence onwards to the very walls of Khoi. Appropriately styled, Dairus so far. The abode of delight. Our way lay through pleasant gardens of poplars, willows, and fruit trees, and fields planted with cotton. At 3.30 p.m. we entered the town, and put up at a clean and well-constructed caravan sarai. While the baggage was being unloaded, I perceived that we were undergoing an attentive scrutiny on the part of a magnificent looking tavish, who wore on his head a green turban, of which one end depended over his shoulder, and carried in his hand a shining battle-axe. Presently he began to address inquiries to Ali, and, on learning from him that I spoke Persian, approached me and entered into conversation. He proved to be a native of Khurman, Meir Jalalaldin by name, and his extraordinary fertility of imagination, which often carried him far beyond the bounds, not only of the probable, but of the possible, rendered him a very amusing companion, if not a very reliable informant. He at once constituted himself our guide, philosopher, and friend, and hardly quitted us during the three days which we spent at Khoy, declaring that he perceived us to be excellent fellows, worthy of his society and conversation. He assured us that he had travelled much, and had thrice visited London, once in company with the Shah, that he had instructed members of the Russian royal family in Persian, and that besides this, his native tongue, he was conversant with no less than ten languages, including Kurdish, Russian, and the dialect of Sistan on the eastern frontier of Persia. Having given us these details about himself, he began to question us as to our destination, and on learning that we were bound for Tabriz, told us that we must on no account omit to visit the towns of Salmas, Khusravabad, and Dilmaran. More especially the latter in which he, as he declared, there were no less than a thousand English residents, who, through converse with Darvishas and Sufis, had become enlightened and philosophical. While we were engaged in conversation, a man entered the room to inquire our names and whence we came, the object for which this information was sought being, as Mir Jalal al-Din informed us with perfect gravity, that it might be inserted in the newspapers of Tabriz. His imagination being now temporarily exhausted, our worthy friend Beda's good night, and promising to be with us betimes in the morning, and to show us something of the town left us to repose. Our first business on awakening in the morning was to make inquiries as to the possibility of obtaining a bath in the adjacent Hamam, and this indulgence was without difficulty accorded to us. On our return we found our friend the Darvish awaiting our arrival. He at once launched out into a disquisition on things pertaining to his order. The true Arif or adept, he informed us, was distinguished by four external signs, the Tabar or axe, which serves to protect him during his wanderings in the desert from ferocious beasts, the Keshqid or Gord, slung on chains in which he receives arms, the Taj or felt cap embroidered with texts which crowns his head, and the Gishu or long locks which fall over his shoulders. He then showed me some pills, compounded as he assured me, after a prescription of the sage Lakhman, of a substance called Barsh, and known by the name of Habe Nishat, or Pills of Gladness. One of these he offered me to eat, assuring me that it would not fail to produce a most delightful sense of exhilaration and ecstasy, but although I complied with his invitation, I failed to observe any such effect. About 11 a.m., we accompanied him for a stroll through the town. He first took us to a neighbouring Karavansarai, and introduced us to a Syrian Christian of Arumiye, named Simon Abraham, who practised the trade of a photographer and spoke English, which he had learned from the missionaries settled at that place very well. He, in his turn, introduced us to another Syrian Christian, called Dr. Samuel, who kept a dispensary at the opposite side of the Karavansarai, and who likewise possessed a good knowledge of English. Both received us very cordially, and did much to render pleasant our sojourn at Khoi. In the afternoon we were taken by the indefatigable Mirjala Ladin to visit a tekye, or retreat for dervishes, situated near the walls of the town. The dervishes, who were a most heterogeneous crew, including besides Persians, Kurds, and Negroes, received us very hospitably and gave us tea. On our return to the Karavansarai, our companion introduced us to a Ramal, or Geomancer, who occupied a room adjacent to ours. This votary of the occult sciences, Mirjala tekye by name, was a native of Khomanshah. So far as I could see, he never quitted his cell, dividing his time between opium-smoking, tea-drinking, and casting the four dice-like brass cubes pivoted together, whereby he essayed to unravel the mysteries of the future. After offering us a share of his tea, he proceeded to cast his dice and tell me my fortune, scribbling on a piece of paper the while, somewhat as follows, three, two, one, two, counting the numbers of a most on the dice. Praise be to Allah, Thou wert born under a lucky star. One, one, three, four. Thy journey will be a long one. And seven months at least will elapse ere Thou shalt see again Thy native land. Two, two, four, two. I take refuge with Allah, the Supreme, the Mighty. What is it that I see? Thou shalt, without doubt, incur a great danger on the road, and indeed it seemeth to me that one will attempt Thy life before Thou reachest debris. Four, three, one, four. Thou hast already lost, or wilt shortly lose, two things of value. I immediately thought of my watch, and then recollected that I had informed Mir Jalaluddin of its loss. Four, four, two, one. Our refuge is in God. A violent storm will overtake the on thy voyage homewards, but from this Thou wilt, inshallah, escape, by means of a talisman which I will prepare for thee. Three, one, one, three. On thy return home Thou wilt marry and have four sons and three daughters. Four, two, three, one. Thou hast alas several powerful enemies, and an evil influence threatens thy star. But shouldst thou escape these, as please God, thou wilt do, by the help of a charm which I will presently write, for thee, thou wilt, without doubt, gain the favor of thy Queen, and attain unto great prosperity, inshallah. By fortune, he continued, sweeping up the implements of his craft, is, praise be to Allah, far from bad. A proof of which is that Thou hast fallen in with one truly skilled in the occult sciences, and endowed with all kinds of knowledge, who is able, not only to warn thee of the misfortunes which threaten thee, but also to provide thee with the means of averting, or at least of mitigating the same. The talismans which Thou needest now are as follows. One, to protect thee from the attempt on thy life, which will be made before Thou reaches Tabriz. One, to ensure thy safety in the storm, which will assail the on thy homeward voyage. One, honoured sir, I interrupted at this point. Before giving you the trouble of writing so many charms, I would feign have some further proof of the efficacy of your science. I do not indeed, like many of my countrymen, deny its existence. But of its truth I would desire a proof which you can easily afford me. To describe the events of the past is without doubt less difficult than to predict those of the future. Tell me then the name of my birthplace, the number of my brothers and sisters, and the adventures which have already befallen me. Then, indeed, shall I know for certain that you are a skillful magician, and that the science which you practice is not, as some of my unbelieving countrymen assert, a vain and useless thing. Reasonable as this request appeared to me to be, it did not seem to meet with the approbation of the Geomancer, who appeared suddenly to lose interest in the conversation, seeing which we withdrew to our own room, where we subsequently received a visit from our Syrian friends. Next morning, before I was dressed, Mir Jalal al-Din appeared with two small manuscripts, both of which, he said, belonged to a poor Sufi who was willing to sell them for a small sum, only because he was stricken down by a mortal disease. One of these manuscripts contained, besides the well-known philosophical poem of Sheikh Mahmoud Shabestadi, known as the Golshan-e-Ruz, or Rose Garden of Mystery, a treatise on the mystical science of managing the breath from which he read me several long extracts. The other consisted of a few scattered pages from a work on medicine, which, he gravely informed me, had been written by the hand of Galen himself, and discovered by himself and a comrade amongst the ruins of one of the pyramids destroyed by the English, not wishing to hurt the feelings of my ingenious friend by giving expression to my darts, and thinking that some compensation was due to him for the trouble which he had been at to entertain us. I agreed to purchase these manuscripts for the moderate sum which he named. End of Section 5 Section 6 of A Year Amongst the Persians by Edward Granville Brown This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Year Amongst the Persians by Edward Granville Brown We next visited the dispensary of Dr. Samuel, where the H had already preceded us. Here for the first time I was able to appreciate the difficulties incidental to the practice of medicine, amongst the people whose curiosity prompts them to hover around the physician long after their own cases have been dealt with, and who are only too eager to throw out hints on diagnosis and treatment whenever they get the opportunity. Our visit to the dispensary was so far unfortunate that, on returning to our caravanserite towards evening, after a stroll in the bazaar in a chat with the postmaster, I found a crowd of people assembled outside who, on beholding me, cried out, He comes! The Ferengi Hakim has arrived! and thronged after me into the square. This assembly consisted of several sick people, accompanied by a number of their friends and relatives, who, hearing that we had some knowledge of medicine, were anxious to consult us. On enquiry I learnt that they had previously been attending Dr. Samuel, from whom they had obtained medicine, of which they had only made a very brief trial. I therefore told them that they had better give his treatment a fair chance before deserting it for some new remedy, especially as I was convinced, both by conversation with the Syrian doctor, and by observation of his practice, that he was at least as competent as myself to advise them. It was with much regret that, on the following morning, 29th October, we prepared to quit Hoi. For some time I despaired of ever getting off. Inside the room where we were vainly attempting to pack our things were our Syrian friends, together with Mir Jalaluddin, who had come to bid us farewell. Outside were crowds of sick people come for advice and treatment, irregular soldiers anxious to be engaged as an escort, and idle spectators. While above all was visible the ugly grinning face of Faizalala, the mula-tear, trying to hasten our departure with cries of Gulach, which in the Turkish dialect of Azerbaijan signifies, let us go. At length, about eleven a.m., our preparations were completed, and we were on the point of starting when Mir Jalaluddin, who had disappeared for a while previously, approached me to bid me fair well, and to give me two more proofs of his good will. The first of these was a letter of introduction to a brother Davish at Tabriz, who, he assured me, would very probably consent to accompany me on my travels, and would perhaps even return with me to my native country. Unfortunately I was unable to put this statement to the test, and the letter was never used. The second was a small white circular object, looking like an unperforated and much worn shirt-button, which he said was a talisman, sufficient, in all probability, to protect me against the danger of being robbed or murdered, which had been predicted by the opium-smoking geomancer. As a further precaution, however, he added that I should do well, in the event of robbers making their appearance, to dismount from my horse, take a handful of dust from the road, blow on it, and scatter it around me, at the same time uttering the Bismillah, when the robbers would infallibly disperse. He then asked me to give him a Nazr, or offering of money, for the Davishers, who would exert their influence to protect me from harm, and, having received this, he finally bade me fair well. Quitting the town by a gate opposite to that by which we had entered it, we passed through a long avenue of poplars, and shortly afterwards reached a point where the road bifurcated, one branch leading southwards in the direction of Orumiye, and the other, which we pursued, eastwards towards the hills which we must cross to reach Tabriz. Near the summit of one of these hills was a small Imam Zadeh, or Shrine, which, as Farah informed us, was reputed most efficacious in curing persons afflicted with hydrophobia, or bitten by a serpent. After a short stage of four hours, we reached a little village called Sayed Tajadin, where we halted for the night. Next day we continued to ascend for about two hours, until we reached the top of the pass. From this we had a magnificent view of the great Salt Lake of Orumiye, glittering in the sun, and studded with numerous rocky islands, which, as an effect of the mirage, appeared deeply indented at the base. Descending by the dry bed of a river which did duty for a road, we soon entered the plain which skirts the lake on this its northern side. Here we fell in with a wandering snake-chama who, after exhibiting to us the immunity with which he handled his snakes, pressed us to buy pieces of dirty bread, which he assured us would prove an infallible remedy for snake bites. This, however, I declined to do, for I thought myself sufficiently provided with talismans for the present. Before two p.m. we reached our halting-place, Tarsukh, a large but uninteresting village, distant about a mile from the shore of the lake. Nothing worthy of note befell us here, except the loss of a purse of money, which event our friend the Geomancer, had he known of it, might perhaps have claimed as the fulfilment of a part of his prediction. The following day's march took us to Dizehalil, a good-sized village with a fair bazaar, situated amidst gardens of poplars near the northeast corner of the lake. Here we obtained good quarters, where our host brought us, together with a present of flowers, an old copy of the pilgrim's progress left behind by some previous traveller. Next day, Tuesday 1st November, after a tedious march of nearly 10 hours, broken by a short halt about 2 p.m., at a disconsolate village called Miyan, we reached a bridge, the capital of the province of Azerbaijan, the residence of the Valiad, or Crown Prince, and one of the largest, if not the largest, of the cities of Persia. Although we were provided with letters of introduction to Mr. Abbott, the British Consul, it was too late to think of presenting them that evening, and accordingly, after threading our way for nearly an hour through the vast suburbs which surround the city, we were glad to alight at the first respectable caravan saray, which we came to. On the following morning we repaired the British Consulate, and were very kindly received by Mr. Abbott and his wife. Who invited us to be their guests during our sojourn in Tabriz. We gladly accepted this invitation, for we had not seen a European since leaving Osirum, and had not slept in a proper bed, since we quitted the Oto d'Italie at Trebizond. We remained at Tabriz for four days. During this time we became acquainted with Mr. Whipple, one of the American missionaries, who kindly undertook to pilot us through the interminable labyrinth of Bazaars, perhaps the most extensive in Persia, and the Turkish Consul, Bezir Bey, who, in addition to an excellent knowledge of Persia, possessed the best temper, the keenest sense of humour, the cheeriest laugh, and the most voracious appetite that I have ever seen in one of his nation. Although Tabriz is so important a town, it offers few attractions to the sightseer, beyond the Bazaars, the Blue Mosque, Masjid-e-Kabud, and the Citadel, Agh, of which the two last are said to date from the time of Haruna Rashid. Both of these monuments of antiquity we visited on the second day after our arrival. The Blue Mosque is now little more than a ruin, but the handsome tiles and inscriptions, which still adorn its walls, bear witness to its ancient splendour. The Citadel, also said to have been originally a mosque, consists of a square enclosure with a single entrance, opposite to which rises a lofty, massive, rectangular tower, accessible by means of a staircase in the left lateral wall of the quadrangle. The opposite side of the quadrangle is formed by a large ambar, or magazine, now used as a saw-house for arms and ammunition. The view from the summit of the Citadel is very extensive, and enabled me, in some degree, to realise the magnitude of the city, which lay below us like a map. From this height, in former days, criminals were sometimes hurled into the ditch below. On one occasion, we were informed, a woman condemned to suffer death in this manner was so buoyed up by the air inflating her loose garments, that she reached the ground uninjured. Whether this story is true or false, I cannot say. Neither did I pay much attention to its recital. My thoughts being occupied with the tragic death of the young prophet of Shiraz, Mirza Ali Muhammad, better known as the Bob, which took place on 9 July 1850, out or near this spot. As I shall have to say a good deal about the bobby religion in subsequent chapters, it may not be altogether out of place to give here a brief account of the life and death of its founder, although the history of these is well known, and has been repeatedly set forth. Footnote 1. See Kobenez, religion et philosophie dans l'osie centrale, Mirza Kozembeg's articles on Bob et les bobby, in the Journal Asiatique for 1866, several articles by myself in the Journal of the Royal Asiatique Society for 1889 and 1892, the Traveller's Narrative, written to illustrate the episode of the bob, edited, translated, and annotated by me for the syntax of the Cambridge University Press, 1891, and my forthcoming translation of the new history of Mirza Ali Muhammad, the bob, 1893. Footnote 2. Mirza Ali Muhammad was born at Shiraz on 9 October 1820. His father, Syed Muhammad Reza, a cloth merchant in that town, died while he was still of tender age, leaving him to the care of his uncle, Hadji Syed Ali. At the age of 17 he was sent to the port of Bushir on the Persian Gulf, where, while engaged in transacting the business with which he had been entrusted, he rendered himself conspicuous, not less by the austerity of his morals than by the sweetness and amiability of his disposition. Addicted from an early age to religious meditation, he was soon impelled to abandon commercial pursuits and to undertake a pilgrimage to Mecca and the shrines of the Imams, so dear to every pious Persian, at Najaf and Kabbalah. Here he became the pupil of Hadji Syed Khazim of Rasht. A theologian who notwithstanding the enmity and opposition of the Orthodox Shiite clergy had already begun to exert a considerable influence on Persian thought and to gather round him a numerous band of art and disciples. Mirza Ali Muhammad, in spite of his youth and retiring disposition, soon attracted the attention of this teacher, who did not fail to be struck by the sweet and thoughtful countenance of the young Shirazi. Nor was Syed Khazim the only one who yielded to a charm which few could wholly resist. Many other learned and devout men began to look with respect and affection on one whose humility only served to throw his other virtues into bolder relief. Thus were sown the seeds of that devotion, which was destined ere long to write the testimony of its sincerity in letters of blood throughout the length and breadth of the Persian land, and which was to prove once more to the world that all the torments which the tyrant can devise or the torturer execute are impotent to subdue the courage born of faith and enthusiasm. It is unnecessary for me to describe in detail the process whereby there grew up in the mind of Mirza Ali Muhammad, a conviction that he was destined to become the reformer and saviour of his nation. Suffice it to say that, after a prolonged inward struggle, on 23 May 1844 he proclaimed himself to the world as the bob or gate, whereby men might win to the sacred mysteries and spiritual truths of which he had become the recipient. Before long he had gathered round himself a number of disciples. Amongst these were many of the most distinguished pupils of Syed Khazim whose recent death had left them temporarily without a recognised head. They eagerly adopted the doctrines of their former fellow student and began to preach them openly wherever they went, so that in a short time the fame of Mirza Ali Muhammad was noise to broad throughout the whole of Persia, and everywhere men began to say that the Imam Mahdi had come at last for the deliverance of the nations and the establishment of universal justice and peace. At first but little attention was paid to the new sect by the government or clergy, but towards the end of the summer of 1845 they began to be alarmed at its rapid spread and took measures to check its progress. The bob who had just returned from Mecca to Bushir was brought to Shiraz and placed in confinement. His followers were prohibited from discussing his doctrines in public, and some of the more active were beaten, mutilated, and expelled from the town. In the early summer of 1846 however a plague broke out in Shiraz, and during the general consternation caused by this the bob affected his escape and made his way to Isfahan where he was well received by Manasheh Khan, Governor of that city, who afforded him protection and hospitality for nearly a year. Early in 1847 Manasheh Khan died, and his successor, anxious to curry favour with the government, sent the bob under the care of an escort of armed horsemen to the capital. So serious were the apprehensions already entertained by the government of a popular demonstration in the prisoner's favour that his guards had received instructions to avoid entering the towns by which they must needs pass. At Khoshan however a respectable merchant named Mirza Jani, footnote one, Mirza Jani's chief claim to distinction is as the historian of the movement for which he gave his life. His history of primary importance for the study of Barbism contains a vast number of curious particulars, doctrinal and biographical, which have been omitted, not unintentionally, by later bobby writers. It is however extremely rare. So far as I know only two manuscripts of it exist, and one of these contains only a third part of the work. Both these manuscripts belonged formally to the Khan to Gobineau, and both are now in the Bibliothèque Nationale at Paris. See my translation of the new history, introduction and appendix two, end of footnote. Mirza Jani, who subsequently suffered martyrdom for his faith, prevailed on them by means of a bribe to allow their prisoner to tarry with him two days. At the village of Khonlik, also near Tehran, a number of believers came out to meet the bob. Amongst these was Mirza Hasein Ali of Nour in Mazandaran, who, at a later date, under the title of Bahulala, the splendor of God, was recognized by the great majority of the Barbies as their spiritual chief, and, who, till his death, on 16th May 1892, resided at Aqa in Syria, surrounded by a band of faithful followers, and visited yearly by numbers of pilgrims. The late king, Mohamed Shah, and his chief minister, Haji Mirza Ar-Ghasi, dreading the effect likely to be produced in the capital by the presence of the bob, determined to send him to the fortress of Maku, on the northwest frontier of Persia, without allowing him to enter Tehran. Lither he was accordingly conveyed, but at Zanjan and Milan he received a popular ovation, and even at Maku it was found impossible to prevent him from receiving occasional letters and visits from his adherents. Nor did the plan of transferring him to the stern accustody of Yahya Khan, governor of the castle of Chihrik near Rumye, meet with much better success in this respect. Meantime, while the bob was occupying the weary days of his imprisonment in compiling and arranging the books destined to serve as a guide to his followers, after the fate which he had but too much cause to apprehend should have removed him from their midst, his emissaries were actively engaged in propagating his doctrines. Fiery enthusiasm on the part of these was met by fierce opposition from the Orthodox party, headed by the clergy, and it needed only the confusion and disorder introduced into all departments of the empire by the death of Muhammad Shah, 5th October 1848, to bring the two factions into armed collision. The strife, once kindled, rapidly assumed the most alarming proportions, and the reign of the present king, Nasreddin Shah, was inaugurated by formidable insurrections of the Barbies at Yazd, Nirdiz, Zanjan, and in Mazandaran. Of the latter two risings I shall have to say something when I come to speak of the places at which they occurred. For the present it is sufficient to state that, after the rising in Mazandaran had been suppressed with great difficulty and the sacrifice of many lives, a revolt which threatened to defy the united efforts of the whole Persian army broke out at Zanjan. Thereupon, by the advice of Mirza Taqi Khan, at that time prime minister to the young king, an attempt was made to strike terror into the hearts of the insurgents, and to fill their minds with despair by the public execution of the bob, who, though innocent of any direct share in the plans or councils of the rebels, was regarded as the source from which they drew the enthusiasm which inspired them with a resolution so obstinate and a courage so invincible. Accordingly orders were dispatched to Tabriz to bring the bob wither from his prison house, and, after the form of the trial, to put him to death. After enduring all manner of insults at the hands of the government authorities, the clergy, and the rabble of the city, through the streets of which he was dragged for many hours, he was finally brought to the place of execution, near the citadel, a little before sundown, an immense crowd, drawn wither, some by sympathy, others by a vindictive desire to witness the death of one whom they regarded as an arch heretic, but actuated for the most part, probably, by mere curiosity, was here assembled. Many of those who composed it were at least half convinced of the divine mission of the bob. Others, who had come with feelings of animosity or indifference, were moved to compassion by the sight of the youthful victim, who continued to manifest the same dignity and fortitude which had characterised him during the whole period of his imprisonment. The bob was not to suffer alone. The sentence which had been pronounced against him included also two of his disciples. One of these, Agar Sayyed Hussain of Yazd, who had been his companion and a menuentess during the whole period of his captivity, either actuated by a momentary but uncontrollable fear of death, or, as the bobbies assert with more probability, obediently to orders received from his master, bidding him escape at all hazards and convey to the faithful the sacred writings of which he was the depository, declared himself willing to renounce the creed for which he had already sacrificed so much, and the master to whom he had hitherto so faithfully adhered. His recantation was accepted and his life spared, but his death was only deferred for two years. In September 1852 he met the fate which he no longer affected to fear amongst the martyrs of Tehran. The other disciple was a young merchant of Tabriz named Agar Muhammad Ali. Although every effort was made to induce him to follow the example of his comrade, and though his wife and little children were brought before him in treating him with tears to save his life, he stood firm in his faith, and only requested that at the moment of death he might still be allowed to fix his gaze on his master. Finding all efforts to alter his decision unavailing, the executioners proceeded to suspend him alongside of his master at the distance of a few feet from the ground by means of cords passed under the arms. As he hung thus he was heard to address the bob in these words, Master, aren't thou satisfied with me? Then the file of soldiers drawn up before the prisoners received the command to fire, and, for a moment, the smoke of the volley concealed the sufferers from view. When it rolled away a cry of mingled exultation and terror arose from the spectators, for, while the bleeding corpse of the disciple hung suspended in the air pierced with bullets, the bob had disappeared from sight. It seemed indeed that his life had been preserved by a miracle, for, of the storm of bullets which had been aimed at him, not one had touched him. Nay, instead of death, they had brought him deliverance by cutting the ropes which bound him, so that he fell to the ground unhurt. For a moment even the executioners were overwhelmed with amazement which rapidly gave place to alarm as they reflected what effect this marvellous deliverance was likely to have on the inconstant and impressionable multitude. These apprehensions, however, were of short duration. One of the soldiers aspired the bob, hiding in a guard room which opened onto the stoned platform over which he had been suspended. He was seized, dragged forth, and again suspended. A new firing party was ordered to advance, for the men who had composed the first refused to act again. And before the spectators had recovered from their first astonishment, although bob ease had had time to attempt to rescue, the body of the young prophet of Shiraz was riddled with bullets. The two corpses were dragged through the streets and bazaars and cast out beyond the city gates to be devoured by dogs and jackals. From this last indignity, however, they were saved by the devotion of Solomon Khan, and a few other believers who, whether by force, bribes, or the influence of powerful friends, succeeded in attaining possession of them. They were wrapped in white silk, placed in one coffin, and sent to Tehran, where, by order of Mirza Yahya, Saba Azal, the morning of eternity, who, though but 20 years of age, had been chosen to succeed the bob, they were deposited in a little shrine called Imam Zadeh Masum, which stands by the Hamadan road, not far from Ribata Karim. Here they remained undisturbed for 17 or 18 years, till the schism originated by Beha deprived his half-brother Azal of the supremacy in the bobby church, which he had hitherto enjoyed, when they were moved by the Baha'is, to whom alone is now known the last resting place of the glorious martyrs on Tabriz. End of section 6