 Section 7 of A Year Amongst the Persians by Edward Granville Brown Chapter 4 From Tabriz to Tehran We have a horror for uncouth monsters, but upon experience all these bugs grow familiar and easy to us. Less strange. On Monday, 7th November, bidding farewell to our kind host, we quitted Tabriz as we had entered it, with Farah's animals, which we had decided to re-engage at sixty-five croons ahead, nearly two pounds sterling, for our journey to the capital. Contrary to the general rule, we managed to begin our journey with a good long stage of eight farsachs. We passed nothing of interest except a large sheet of water lying to the north of the road, on which were multitudes of waterfowl. And as we had made a late start, it was more than an hour after sundown when we reached Haji-Aqqar, where we halted for the night. Next day we were joined on the road by a horseman of respectable appearance, who accompanied us on our journey as far as me-ya-ne. His name, as I discovered, was Mirzor Hoshin, and his conversation did much to beguile the tediousness of the way. Approaching the subject with some diffidence, I asked him to tell me what he knew about the Baal-Bee insurrection at Zan-Jal. He answered that he could not tell me much about it, except that the insurgents, whose numbers hardly exceeded three hundred fighting men, held at bay an army of nearly ten thousand men for nine months. He added that he had himself known one of them, who had succeeded in effecting his escape after the sack of the town, and who used to boast that he had with his own hand slain one thousand of the royal troops. In the course of the morning we passed a fine-looking, though somewhat ruined building, situated on the left side of the road opposite to the village of Dikine-Tosh, which our companion informed us was a palace built for the Shah nearly forty years ago on the occasion of his visiting this part of his dominions. Since then it has remained unused, and has been allowed to fall into disrepair. Another neglected palace of this sort exists further east, at Sultaniye. Farther on we passed two fine old caravanser eyes, constructed with the care and solidity which characterise all the work done in the glorious days of the Safavi kings. These however we passed without halting, and pushed on to Karakchiman, a picturesquely situated village, lying somewhat to the south of the main road, in a little valley through which runs a river bordered with groves of poplar trees. Here we obtained very good quarters, in a clean, well-constructed Bala-Khani upper room, commanding a fine view of the valley, river and village. Next morning, 9th of November, we passed, soon after starting, two large villages situated at some distance from the road, the one to the north, the other to the south. The former is called Bash-Siz, the Latta-Burghawar. Beyond these there was little worthy of note, in the parched-up undulating country through which our road lay, until about 3pm, we reached our halting place, Sumar, where we obtained good quarters, at the house of one Mashhadi Hassan. In the evening we received a visit from our travelling companion, Mirzol Harsim, and as our next stage would bring us to Mianne, which enjoys so evil a reputation by reason of the poisonous bugs which infest it, we asked him whether it was true, as is currently reported, that the bite of these animals proves fatal to a stranger. After assuring us that this was sometimes the case, he informed us that the so-called Mianne-Burgh or Mala was not altogether confined to that town, but that it also occurred in Sumar, the village wherein we then were. The villagers, he added, have the following curious story about its origin. Once upon a time a native of Sumar went to the neighbouring village of Hashtarud, where he became involved in a quarrel with the inhabitants, which culminated in his being murdered by them. From the body of the murdered man emerged a number of these Malas, which established themselves in the village of Sumar. Whenever a native of Hashtarud arrives there they remember the blood feud which exists, and avenge the death of their ancestor by inflicting a fatal bite upon the descendant of his murderers. To all others, however, their bite, though painful, is comparatively harmless. Mirza Hashim then told us of the severity of the winters at Ardabil, and showed us a wooden cap with coverings for the ears admirably adapted for a protection against severe cold. Having informed me that he had refused to sell it for fifteen krans, rather less than ten shillings, he offered to make me a present of it. Of course I politely declined his offer, telling him that I could not consent to deprive him of so valuable a possession, for I had no need of the cap, and did not think it worth the sum he had mentioned. Europeans travelling in Persia have sometimes complained of what they regard as the meanness of the Persians in offering presents in return for which they expect money. It appears to me that this complaint arises from a failure to understand the fact that such an offer from a man of distinctly lower rank than oneself is merely tantamount to a declaration that he is willing to sell or exchange the article in question. When he offers to give it as a present, he merely uses the same figure of speech as did Ephron the Hittite in negotiating the sale of the cave of Machpela with Abraham. All peoples make use, to a greater or less extent, of similar euphemisms, and we have no more right to blame a poor Persian for offering us a present in return for which he expects to receive equivalent value than to censure assorted the desire expressed by a capman to be remembered by us. As I have touched on this subject, I may as well say something about presents in general. There are not fewer than eight words more or less commonly used in Persian in this sense, of these three viz armagan, rakh avad and sargat signify any object which one brings back from a journey to give to one's friends at home. Yadigarh is a keepsake to remind the owner of the absent friend by whom it was given. Hadiyyeh is a general term for any sort of present. There remain the terms ta'aruf, pishkesh and in arm, each of which requires a somewhat fuller explanation. The first of these signifies a present given to someone of about the same social rank as the donor. In such cases no return is usually expected at any rate in money. Sometimes however the term is used by one who, while desirous of receiving the monetary equivalent of that which he offers, does not wish to admit his social inferiority to the person to whom the present is offered by using the term pishkesh. When however a peasant, servant, mulitia, gardener or the like offers a present of flowers, fruits or fowls to the traveller, he calls it a pishkesh offering, and for such he generally expects at least the proper value in money of the article so offered. When the present is something to which a definite monetary value can be assigned, e.g. an article of food, this is only right and proper. To expect a poor villager to supply travellers gratis with the necessaries of life, which he can often ill spare, and to blame him for desiring to receive the value of the same is surely the height of absurdity. With presence of flowers the case is somewhat different. It often happens that the traveller, on visiting a garden, for instance, is confronted on his exit by a row of gardeners, each of whom offers him a bunch of flowers. He is then placed in rather a dilemma, for on the one hand he feels some delicacy in refusing, what may, after all, be a gift prompted solely by courtesy and kindness, while on the other hand he may not care to pay several croons, for that which is of no use to him. Even in this case I think that Europeans are partly to blame for a custom which has in some of the more frequented parts of Persia become an intolerable nuisance. My reason for believing that what sometimes amounts to little less than a system of extortion, theoretically capable of unlimited expansion, so long as there is a handful of flowers in the village and a peasant to bring and offer the same. Originally grew out of a graceful and courteous custom of welcoming a stranger by presenting him with a nose-gay, is that in parts of Persia less frequently visited by Europeans, such as the neighbourhood of Yezd or Kiermon, I have often been given a handful of roses or other flowers by a passing peasant, who continued on his way, after the accomplishment of this little act of courtesy, without once pausing or looking back in expectation of receiving a reward. As regards the last kind of present, the in-arm or gratuity, it is, as its name implies, one bestowed by a superior on an inferior, and is almost always given in the form of money. The term is applied not only to the presence of money spoken of above, but to the gratuities given to villages in whose houses one puts up for the night, keepers of caravanser eyes, and post houses at which one alights, shagir chapars, who accompany one on each stage in posting to show the way, and bring back the horses, servants in houses at which one stays, and in short anyone of humble rank who renders one a service. To determine the amount which ought to be given in any particular case is sometimes rather a difficult matter for the traveller. A reliable native servant is of great use in this matter, and should the traveller possess such, he will do well to follow his advice until he is able to judge for himself. The most costly in arms, and those which one is most inclined to grudge, are such as must occasionally be given to the faraches of a governor or other great man who are sent to bear a present from their master, or to meet the traveller and form his escort. To these I shall have occasion to allude again. I must now return from this digression to our march of the 10th of November. The day was cloudy and overcast, and soon after we had started a gentle rain began to fall. We crossed the river Kizil or Zan in several places, and for a considerable distance wended our way along its broad, gravelly bed. Traversing the crest of a hill, soon after midday, we came in full view of the little town of Miyone, which looked very pretty with its blue domes and background of poplars and willows. We had no sooner reached the outskirts of the town than we were met by a number of the inhabitants, each eager to induce us to take up our quarters at his house, the advantages of which he loudly proclaimed. No sooner had we alighted at one place to examine the quarters offered than all the competitors of its owner, cried out with one accord that if we put up there we should assuredly suffer from the bite of the poisonous bugs with which they averred the house in question swarmed. We accordingly moved on to another house, where the same scene was repeated, each man representing his own house as the one place in the town free from this pest, and everyone except the owner uniting in the condemnation of any quarters which we seemed likely to select. Finally, in despair, we selected the first clean-looking room which presented itself and occupied it, regardless of the warnings of the disappointed competitors, who at length departed, assuring us that we had pitched on one of the very worst houses in the whole town. Soon after our arrival, we took a walk through the town and visited the tolerably good bazaars in which we purchased some dried figs and a fruit called Idar, or in Turkish Khunab, somewhat resembling a small date with a very large stone, and the imam zadeh, of which the blue dome is the most conspicuous feature of Miyaneh. Here, as it was Thursday evening, Shabi Jum'ah, the eve of Friday, many people were assembled to witness a ta'zia, or representation of the sufferings of the imams Hassan and Hussein. In the enclosure surrounding the building was seated a half-naked man, who held in his hand a scourge armed with iron thongs, wherewith he occasionally struck himself on the shoulders and back. All those who entered this enclosure, from which we were excluded, kissed the chains which hung in festoons across the gate. On returning to our quarters, we found a man who had brought his horse to consult us about its eye, which had received a slight injury. After advising him as to its treatment, we entered into conversation with him. He warned us that in spite of the apparent cleanliness of our lodging, he knew for certain that there were bugs in it. But on questioning him further, it appeared that his only reason for saying so was that he had seen one three years ago. Nevertheless, he advised us to take two precautions which assured us would protect us from injury. Firstly, to keep a candle burning all night. Secondly, to take a small quantity of the spirit called araq just before going to bed. We neglected the first of these measures, but not the second, and whether owing to this or to the absence of the malas, we slept untroubled by the noxious insects which have given to Miyaanay, so evil a reputation. Our road next day led us towards the imposing looking mass of the Qaflan Qul. A tortuous path brought us to the summit of the pass whence we again descended to the river, which we crossed by a fine bridge. On the other side of this bridge, we were met by a man who besought us to help him in recovering his horse from the soldiers at an adjacent guard-house who had, as he alleged, forcibly and wrongfully taken it from him. We accordingly went with him to the guard-house and endeavoured to ascertain the truth of the matter and, if possible, effect a satisfactory settlement. In answer to our inquiries, the soldiers informed us that they had reason to suspect that the horse had been stolen as it was too valuable an animal to be the lawful property of the man in whose possession they had found it. They added that if he desired to recover it he must go to Miyaanay and obtain a paper from some respectable citizen to certify that the horse really belonged to him, when it would be restored to him. With this explanation and promise we were compelled to be satisfied and proceeded on our way till we reached another pass. Upon crossing this we entered on an immense flat table-land, the surface of which was thrown into conical mounds resembling gigantic ant hills, and thinly covered with mountain plants which perfumed the air with their fragrance. The ground was riddled with the holes of what appeared to be a kind of jarboa. These little animals were very fearless and allowed us to approach quite close to them before they retreated into their burrows. At four p.m. we reached the compact and almost treelist village of Sarhan, where we halted for the night. Just before reaching it we came up with one of those caravans of the dead, so graphically described by Van Berri. The coffins, which differ in some degree from those used in Europe, the upper end being flat instead of convex, and furnished with two short handles like a wheelbarrow, were sewn up in sacking, to which was affixed a paper label bearing the name of the deceased. Each animal in this dismal caravan was laden with two or three coffins, on the top of which was mounted, in some cases a man or woman, related probably to one of the deceased, whose bodies were on their way to their last resting place in the sacred precincts of Qom. We had no difficulty in getting lodgings at Sarham. For the place contains an extraordinary number of caravans that arise, considering its small size, and the inhabitants vied with each other in offering hospitality. Next day, Saturday, 12th of November, we started early, being given to understand that a long stage lay before us. All day we followed the course of the river, which is a tributary of the Qizil or Zun, though here it seems to be known by the name of the Zun-Jun-Ob. Dense fogs obscured the sun in the earlier part of the day, but these rolled away as the heat increased, leaving a cloudless sky. The air was perfumed with the scent of the plant, which we had observed on the preceding day. On our march we passed three immense caravans, consisting respectively of 102, 72 and 39 camels, bearing merchandise to tabriz. There is, to my mind, an indescribable dignity about the camel, who seems to eye one scornfully with a half-turned head as he passes majestically on his way, and the sight of a string of these animals was one of which I never grew weary. On the road we saw a serpent, as well as numbers of lizards, and a small tortoise, which our muletiers called Spalcha, a word which I have never heard elsewhere, and which seems to be purely local. At 3 p.m. we reached the village of Nih-Beg, where we halted. It is a squalid-looking place, devoid of trees, and the only remarkable for a very fine old caravan Sarai of the Safar-V period, which bears an inscription over the gateway to the effect that it was repaired by order of Shah-Safi, who alighted here on his return from the successful siege of the fortress of Elevan. While copying this inscription we were surprised and pleased to perceive the approach of Mr. Whipple, the American missionary, who was posting from Tabriz to Hama-Don to visit his fellow workers there. Our next stage brought us to the considerable town of Zun-Jon, so celebrated for its obstinate defence by the Barbies against the royal troops in the year 1850. It lies in a plain surrounded by hills, and is situated near, but not on, the river called Zun-Jon-Obb, which is at this point surrounded by gardens. The town has never recovered from the effects of the siege for, besides the injury which it sustained from the cannon-aid to which it was exposed for several months. A considerable portion was burnt by the besieged on one occasion, when they were hard-pressed by the enemy, to create a diversion. We entered the town by the western gate, passing on our left an extensive cemetery, of which two blue-domed Imam-Zadis constitute the most conspicuous feature. We alighted at a caravan-serai near the Bazaar, which we visited shortly after our arrival. It is not very extensive, being limited to one long street running east and west, more than half through the town, which is much longer in this direction, than from north to south. The great drawback to Zun-Jon-Obb is the enormous number of beggars who throng its streets, and importune the traveller for arms, with cries of, Allah nejat versin, Allah nejat versin, may God give you salvation. In this respect it is unrivaled, so far as I have seen, by any town in Persia, with the exception of Kir-Mal, and even there, though the poverty of the mendicant classes is probably greater, their importunity is far less. In the evening we received a visit from a very rascally-looking Teorani, with a frightful squint, who inquired if we had any Arak, and on learning that we had, requested permission to introduce some companions of his who were waiting outside. These presently appeared, and having done full justice to the Arak, which they finished off, suggested that we might perhaps like to hear a song. Without waiting for an answer, one of them broke forth into the most discordant strains, shouting the end of each verse which struck him as peculiarly touching, into the ear of the man who sat next to him, who received it with a drunken simper and a languid bali, as though it had been a question addressed to him. In this entertainment had come to an end. The eyes of our visitors fell on my pocket flask, which they began to admire, saying, this bottle is very good and admirably adapted for the pocket, but we have already given enough trouble. As I effected not to understand the purport of their remarks, they presently departed to our great satisfaction. From the difficulty which the squint-eyed man seemed to experience in getting his feet into his shoes, I fancied that our Arak was not the first which he had tasted that night. Section 8 of A Year Amongst the Persians, by Edward Granville-Brown Chapter 4. From Tabriz to Tehran We remained at Zanjan during the next day, for I was anxious to examine the town and its walls, with a view to obtaining a clearer idea of the history of the siege and the causes which had enabled the Barbie insurgents to keep the royal troops at bay so long. Sir Henry Betoun, quoted by Watson in his History of Persia under the Qajar dynasty, says that in his opinion the place ought to have been subdued by a regular army in a few days, and so far as I can judge, it possesses no natural advantages as a stronghold. It is true that it is surrounded by a wall, now destroyed in some places, but though this average is twenty or twenty-five feet in height, it is built of no stronger material than unbaked clay. The desperate resistance offered by the Barbies must therefore be attributed less to the strength of the position which they occupied than to the extraordinary valour with which they defended themselves. Even the women took part in the defence, and I subsequently heard it stated on good authority that, like the Carthaginian women of old, they cut off their long hair and bound it round the crazy guns to afford them the necessary support. The fiercest fighting was on the north and north-west sides of the town, by the cemetery and Tabriz gate. Unfortunately there was no one from whom I could obtain detailed information about the siege. This I regretted the more, because I was convinced that, could I have found them, there must have been many persons resident in Zanjan who had witnessed it or even taken part in it. I had, however, at that time no clue to guide me to those who would probably have preserved the most circumstantial details about it, viz the Barbies. There was therefore nothing to induce me to prolong my stay, and accordingly, after one day's halt, we left Zanjan on the fifteenth of November for Sultaniye. The road from Zanjan to Sultaniye runs through a perfectly flat stony plain, bounded by low hills to the north and the south, and is devoid of interest. Nearly three hours before reaching the latter place we could plainly see the great green dome of the mosque for which it is so celebrated. From a distance this appeared to form part of a mass of buildings, which on nearer approach proved to be a large palace constructed in the modern style, and situated some way to the north-west of the mosque. We paid a visit to the mosque immediately on our arrival, and were shown over it by an old Sayid who spoke Persian. It is built in the shape of an octagon, and is surmounted by the large green dome, which forms so conspicuous a feature of the landscape. From one side of the octagon, that farthest from the road, is thrown out a rectangular annex containing the Mihrab. The main entrance is on the east side. The interior of the building is lined with most exquisite tile work and beautiful inscriptions in Arabic. In some places, where these tiles have been destroyed or removed, an older, deeper layer of still finer pattern is visible. As the mosque is no longer used, the European traveller meets with none of the difficulties which usually form an insuprable obstacle to visiting similar buildings in Persia. The village of Sultaniyyat must formally have been a flourishing place, but it now consists of only a few hovels, which form a sad contrast to the ancient splendour of the mosque. As to the date when the mosque was built, our guide was unable to inform us, but he said that it had been repaired and beautified by Shah Khudabande, concerning whom he repeated some lines of dogrol, which we had already heard from the mulatiyah, and which ran as follows. O Shah Khudabande, practiser of tyranny, two fowls to one village. The last line of this is Turkish. What event it alludes to, or what its real purport is, I was unable to ascertain. Our guide informed us that some time ago a European engineer had spent a week at this place making elaborate plans and drawings of the mosque. Having completed our inspection, we offered a small sum of money to the old Sayyid who had accompanied us, but he bad us give whatever we wished to his son, a little boy, who had also followed us. I accordingly gave him two crayons, which appeared to me a sufficient recompense for the amount of trouble we had given, but the Sayyid seemed to be of a different opinion, remarking that it was a very trivial sum for people of distinction. I asked him what reason he had for supposing that we were people of distinction, to which he only replied that we were muhtar, free to do as we pleased. Besides the mosque and the palace, there are several little imams ades at Sultaniyeh, and I was anxious to remain another day to examine these. Farach, however, appeared to divine my intention, and took pains to frustrate it, for he avoided me all the evening, instead of coming in after supper, as he usually did, to discuss the events of the day, and sent off all the baggage early in the morning, so that we had no course open to us but to proceed. After another uneventful stage, we reached our next halting place at Khurumdereh, a pretty village situated on a river surrounded by poplars and willows, about 4.30 p.m. Here as usual we were very hospitably received by the villagers, two of whom came out some distance to meet us and conduct us to their house, where we were lodged in a very good upper room, thickly carpeted and furnished with eight large windows provided with shutters. Next day we started early, the muleteers pretending that they would try to reach Khazvin that evening, which, as I believe, they had from the first no intention of doing. Our road ran towards the northeast in the direction of a low range of hills. On reaching the highest point of the ridge we could see before us the mighty range of the El Burus Mountains, which separates Persian Iraq from the humid, richly wooded provinces bordering on the Caspian Sea. Between us and these mountains lay a wide, flat, stony plain in which the position of Khazvin was clearly indicated by the thin pole of blue smoke which hung over it. Towards this plain our road now began to descend, and in a few minutes we arrived at the village of Kirishkeen, where the muleteers announced their intention of halting for the night, a decision from which it was impossible to move them, and to which I was in great measure reconciled by the kindly welcome given to us by the inhabitants. Here indeed a marked change was observable in the people who appeared much brighter, more intelligent, and more amiable than the natives of Azerbaijan. The latter, with their scowling faces and furtive grey eyes, are not popular amongst the Persians, whose opinion about the inhabitants of their metropolis, Tabriz, is expressed in the following rhyme. Zee Tabrizee Bijuz Hizina Bini Chaman Bihtaki Tabrizina Bini From a Tabrizee thou wilt see naught but rascality, even this is best, that thou shouldst not see a Tabrizee. The change in the appearance of the people is accompanied by a change in language, for this was the first place we came to, at which the Persian tongue appeared to preponderate over the Turkish. At this village we obtained the most sumptuous quarters in a large room, twenty-five feet long by fifteen wide, thickly spread with carpets. A few works of Persian poetry placed in niches in the wall showed that our entertainers united a taste for literature with a love of comfort. In the course of the evening we received a visit from our host and his sons. One of the latter, the one to whom the books chiefly belonged, was a bright intelligent youth who discussed the merits of various Persian and Turkish poets with great zest. I was much amused at one remark which he made, speaking of the recently concluded Taziyah's dramatic representations of various moving episodes in the lives of the Prophet and his successors, and especially of the scene wherein the Firanghi ambassador at the court of Damascus, moved by the misfortunes and patience of the captive believers, embraces Islam, and is put to death by the cruel tyrant Yazid. How I wish you had come here a little earlier, for then we could have borrowed your hats and clothes for the Firanghis, and indeed you might have even taught us some words of your language to put in the mouths of the actors who personated them. As it was, not knowing anything of the tongue of the Firanghis, we had to make the actors who represented them talk Turkish, which seemed to us the nearest approach possible to Firanghi's speech. The next day we reached Kazvin after a short stage during which we descended into the plain of which I have already spoken. Here we intended to halt for a day to see the town which is of considerable size and contains many fine buildings. Amongst these is a Mi'hman khanay, or guest-house, which is one of a series constructed between Anzeli and Tehran, and thence as far south as Qum. At this, however, we did not put up, as I was anxious to cling for a few days longer to the more oriental abodes to which I had become not only accustomed, but attached, and which I foresaw would have to be abandoned on reaching Tehran in favour of more civilised modes of existence. Unfortunately our mula-tears, either through indifference or ignorance, took us to a very poor caravanserai, far inferior in comfort to the quarters which we had enjoyed since leaving Zanzhan, where we had suffered in a similar way. Indeed, it is usually the case that the traveller, unless provided with introductions, fares less well in the towns than in the villages. We spent most of the following day in wandering through the bazaars and examining the appearance of the town and its inhabitants. The bazaars were much like those which we have already seen at Zanzhan, but as regards the people, the advantage was decidedly in favour of the Kazviniz, who are more pleasing in countenance, more gentle in manners, and rather darker in complexion than the Azerbaijanis. Persian is spoken by them universally, but almost all understand Turkish as well. The road from Resht to Tehran, which is the route usually taken by those entering Persia from Europe, passes through Kazvin. This road we now joined, and by it we proceeded to the capital, accomplishing the journey thither in three days. As it is probably the best known and the least interesting of all the roads in Persia, I will not describe it in detail, and will only notice certain points which appear worthy of mention. First of all, the Michman-Khaniz, or Guest Houses, of which I have already spoken, merit a few words. They were built, I believe, by order of the present Shah, on his return from his first visit to Europe. They are intended to afford the traveller by the ordinary route to the capital greater comfort and better accommodation than are obtainable in caravanser eyes, and to fulfil in some degree the functions of a hotel. I cannot say that I was at all favourably impressed by these institutions, at the first of which, called Tislach, we arrived on the evening of the day of our departure from Kazvin, 20th November. It is true that they are well built and stand in gardens pleasantly surrounded by trees, that the rooms are furnished with European beds, chairs and tables, and that cooked food can be obtained from the attendance. But these advantages are, to my mind, far more than counterbalanced by the exorbitance of the charges and the insolence of the servants, which contrasted painfully with the ready hospitality, genial courtesy and slight demands of the villagers in whose humble but cleanly homes we had hitherto generally found a resting place at the end of our day's journey. The Mi'hman Khane, in short, has all the worst defects of a European hotel without its luxury. Let me briefly describe our experiences at one, that of Tislach, as a specimen which will serve for all. On our first arrival we are discertiously told that there is no room. Remonstrances and requests are alike useless, so we prepare to move on and try to find a village where we can halt for the night, which is now rapidly advancing. We have hardly started, after a considerable delay, to allow of the baggage animals coming up, when a man runs after us and informs us that there is room. No explanation or apology is offered for the previous statement, but, as no other habitation is in sight, we decide to turn back. On dismounting we are conducted to a room littered up rather than furnished, with several beds, a number of cane-bottomed chairs, and a table or two. The windows are furnished with tawdry curtains, the walls are bedecked with tinseled mirrors and gaudy pictures, while on the washing-stand a single ragged toothbrush is ostentatiously displayed by the side of a clothed brush, which would seem to be intended to serve as a hairbrush as well. While contemplating this chaos of luxury and meditating somewhat sadly on the unhappy effect produced in eastern lands by the adoption of Western customs, I became aware of a stir outside, and rushing out was just in time to see the Imam Jum'ah, or chief ecclesiastic of Tabriz, drive up in a carriage followed by a number of attendants in other vehicles. By the side of the road lay the bleeding carcass of a sheep, whose throat had just been cut to do honour to the approaching dignitary. This not very graceful custom is common in Persia, and Mr Abbott, the British consulate at Tabriz, informed me that he had great difficulty in preventing its performance whenever he returned to Persia after an absence in Europe. Before we retired for the night, not on the unattractive-looking beds, but as usual, on our wool-zee-valises, we received another proof of the advance of European ideas in the neighbourhood of the capital in the form of a bill, a thing which we had not seen since we left Erse Rum, in which two crowns were charged for service, which charged the bearer of the document was careful to inform us was not intended to prevent us from bestowing on him a further gratuity. The total amount of the bill was eight crowns, not much indeed, but about double the sum which we had usually expended for a night's lodging hither too, and we were requested to settle it the same evening, a request which showed that a becoming suspicion of one's fellow-creatures was amongst the European improvements introduced by the Mi'hman Chanez. The mula-tears who had been compelled to pay an exorbitant price for food for their animals were not less disgusted than ourselves, and declared that they would henceforth avoid Mi'hman Chanez entirely. Next day accordingly, passing two of these, we made a long stage and halted about nightfall at a walled village called Kala'i Imam Jum'ah, where we were assured by Farach that we should find everything that our hearts desired. Unless we fancied that our hearts would desire nothing but melon-peel, which was scattered freely about the floor of the little cell where we took up our quarters, Farach's promise must have been dictated less by a strict regard for truth than by a fear of being compelled by us to halt at a Mi'hman Chanez. However we eventually succeeded in obtaining some bread from a kindly Persian who had become cognizant of our need, and with this and the last remains of the preserved meats bought at Trebizond, we managed to appease our hunger, consoling ourselves with the thought that this would be our last night in the wilderness for the present, and that on the morrow we should be amongst the flesh-pots of Tehran. Next morning we were astir early for the excitement of being so near the Persian capital made sloth impossible. Yet to me at least this excitement was not free from a certain tinge of sorrow at the thought that I must soon bid farewell to the faithful Farach, whom, notwithstanding his occasional obstinacy and intractability, I had learnt to like. Moreover, difficult as may be the transition from European to Asiatic life, the return is scarcely easier. I sighed inwardly at the thought of exchanging the free, unconstrained, open-air existence of the caravan for the restraints of society and the tramples of town life, and it was only when I reflected on the old friends I should see again and the new friends I hoped to make that I felt quite reconciled to the change before me. This day's march was the most interesting since leaving Khazvin. To the north, on our left hand, towered the long range of the Elburas Mountains, much loftier and bolder in outline here than at their western extremity, nor had we proceeded far when their burst suddenly on our view the majestic snow-capped cone of Mount Demavend, where, as ancient legend runs, the tyrant parricide, Zuhark, lies bound in chains. At the base of this giant wall are gentler slopes covered with villages which serve as a summer retreat to the more opulent when the heat of the capital has become intolerable. Near the road for some distance runs the river Karach, bright and rippling, while to the south of this numerous little villages set with poplars diversify the monotony of the grey stony plain. Once or twice we passed bands of soldiers returning from their military service to their homes in Azerbaijan, and then a mighty caravan of 111 camels wending its slow course westward. Then all at once our eyes were dazzled by flashes of light reflected from an object far away towards the south, which shone like gold in the sun. This, I at first imagined, must be the situation of the capital, but I was mistaken. It was the dome of the holy shrine of Shah Abdul-Azim, situated five or six miles south of Tehran, which lying as it does somewhat in a hollow is not clearly seen until it is almost reached. At length, however, at a little roadside tea-house where we halted for refreshment, we came in sight of it. Many such tea-houses formally existed in the capital, but most of them were closed some time ago by the order of the Shah. The reason commonly alleged for this proceeding is that they were supposed to encourage extravagance and idleness, or as I have also heard said, evils of a more serious kind. Outside the town, however, some of them are still permitted to continue their trade and provide the bona fide traveller with refreshment, which, needless to say, does not include wine or spirits. At length about sunset we entered the city by the Deroisei Nav, Newgate, and here we were accosted by one Yusuf Ali, who, though he wore the Persian dress, was, as he proudly informed us, a British subject of Indian nationality. We asked him what accommodation was to be found in Tehran. He replied that there were two hotels, one kept by a family called Prevost, a French or Swiss extraction, the other by a man called Albert, and advised us to go to the latter, because it was cheaper. As, however, we purposed making a sojourn of some length in the capital, and the comfort of our abode was therefore a matter of more importance than when we were halting only for a night or two. We determined to inspect both places on the following day, and in the meantime, as it was now late, to take up temporary quarters at a caravan Sarai, situated not far from the gate whereby we had entered. A year amongst the Persians by Edward Granville Brown Chapter 5 Tehran There was a most ingenious architect who had contrived a new method for building houses by beginning at the roof and working downwards to the foundation, which he justified to me by the light practice of those two prudent insects, the bee and the spider, swift. Hitherto I have, in describing my travels, followed pretty closely the journals which I kept during their continuance, only amplifying such things as appeared unfamiliar or interesting, and suppressing or abridging entries which I deemed to be of consequence to no one but myself. Now, however, a different plan becomes necessary, for since I continued at the Persian capital for about ten weeks, and since many days passed uneventfully, either in study or in conversation with friends and acquaintances, a full record of this period would necessarily be both prolix and unprofitable. I shall therefore include in this chapter all that I have to say about the people, topography, institutions, public buildings, gardens, squares, palaces, mosques, and educational establishments of Tehran, to which I shall add a short notice on the Royal Family, a description of some entertainments to which I was admitted as a guest, and a few anecdotes illustrative of the Persian genius and character. Now, my stay at Tehran was divided into two periods, differing somewhat in character. During the first, which began on the second day after our arrival, 24th of November, and ended with the departure of my companion, H., on the 29th of December, we lodged at Privost's Hotel, and were, for the most part, occupied with sight-seeing and social distractions, from both of which we derived much profit and pleasure. But when we had become thus generally conversant with the life of the capital, H., who had no special interest in the language, literature, or science of the Persians, at whose time was moreover limited, desired to continue his journey to the Persian Gulf, while I, finding at Tehran facilities for the prosecution of my studies, which I was unwilling to let slip, wished to remain there. So, finding our objects incompatible, we were compelled to separate. He left Tehran for the south on 29th of December, taking with him our Turkish servant, Ali, who was unwilling to remain in Persia longer than he could help, since he found the people and the climate equally uncongenial. These then journeyed gradually southward, halting for a while at the chief towns through which they passed, until about the beginning of April they reached Bushir, and then took ship homewards. Soon after their departure, about the beginning of the new year, 1888, I was invited by my friend, the Nawab Mirza Hassan, Ali Khan, a Persian nobleman, whose acquaintance I had made in London, to take up my abode with him, in a house which he had rented near the English embassy. Of this kind offer I very gratefully availed myself, and continued for the remainder of my stay in Tehran, I ate till the 7th of February, 1888, an inmate of his house, to my great pleasure and advantage. For my whole desire was, as my host well knew, to obtain as full an insight as possible into Persian life, and though he was thoroughly conversant with the English language, yet out of regard for me he rarely talked with me save in Persian, except that in the evening he would sometimes ask me to read with him a chapter of Carlile's Heroes and Hero Worship, which work, by reason of the favourable opinion of the Prophet Muhammad, entertained by the author, is very highly esteemed by Muhammadans acquainted with English. Moreover, most of my host's visitors and all his servants were Persian, and spoke for the most part only Persian, though his younger brother, an officer in the Persian army, and two of his nephews, whom I had known in London, had been educated partly in England, and spoke English extremely well, so that I was not only able, but forced to make much progress in speaking and understanding. And during all this time I was able to benefit by the teaching of a very able scholar, Mirza Asadullah of Sabzawar, a pupil of the late Hadjimullah Hadi of Sabzawar, the greatest philosopher whom Persia has produced during the present century. Thus was I enabled to obtain some insight into the philosophical doctrine's current in Persia, of which I shall say something in the next chapter. The European colony in Tehran is considerable, and the society which it affords equally remarkable for distinction and hospitality. It comprises the core diplomatic attached to the different embassies, and almost every European nation of note is represented, as well as the United States of America. The staff of the Indo-European telegraph, the American missionaries, several merchants and men of business, and a few Europeans employed in the Persian service. For many of these I received much hospitality and kindness, which I shall not soon forget, and on which I would gladly dwell. Did I feel justified in so doing? But my business at present is not to attempt an inadequate discharge of personal obligations, a discharge, moreover, which would probably be unacceptable to those to whom I am so indebted, but to depict with such fidelity as I may the life, character, and customs of the Persians. Of the European colony, then, I will say no more than this, that it is associated in my mind with every feeling of gratitude and every pleasant remembrance, which kindness and hospitality received in a strange land can evoke in the heart or impress on the mind of the recipient. Tehran, as everyone knows, was not always the capital of Persia. In the most ancient days, the province of Fars, or Persia proper, and at a later time Isfahan, generally enjoyed this dignity. At other times, when on the decay of some great dynasty the empire was split up into numerous fragments, princes of different dynasties often reigned over one or two provinces, fixing the seat of government at the most important town in their dominions. Under the Safavi kings, when the ancient greatness of Persia enjoyed a temporary revival, it was Isfahan which was graced by their splendid court. About a century ago, when the great struggle between the Zend dynasty and the present reigning family of Qajars was in progress, the former, represented by the noble and generous Karim Khan, had its capital at Shiraz, while the latter, personified by that atrocious and bloodthirsty tyrant, Akka Muhammad Khan, fixed their headquarters at Tehran. On the final victory of the latter, the northern city, situated as it is near the lands from which sprung the originally Turkish tribe of the Qajars, was definitely raised to the rank of capital, and has enjoyed this dignity ever since, while each of the three kings who succeeded the founder of the dynasty, had further exerted himself to enlarge and beautify the city. Tehran, as it is at present, is a large town lying in a slight hollow, just sufficient to prevent its being seen from any distance on the plain, roughly speaking circular in shape, and entirely surrounded by walls of unbaked clay, and for the most part by a ditch as well. Access is given to the interior by twelve gates, which are as follows. Between the north and east, one, the Derwaze-Bech-Djetabad, two, the Derwaze-Yedalat, three, the Derwaze-Yeshamran, leading to the gardens, palaces, and villages situated to the north of the city on the slopes of Elburs. Between the east and south, four, the Derwaze-Yedalshantepe, leading to the Shah's Hunting Palace of Dalshantepe, or Hair Hill, five, Derwaze-Yedulab, the Millgate, six, the Derwaze-Ye Mashhad, the Mashhad Gate. Between the south and west, seven, the Derwaze-Yesha Abdul-Azim, through which passes the Great Caravan Road to the south, eight, the Derwaze-Yeghar, the Cave Gate, nine, the Derwaze-Yenal, the New Gate. Between west and north, ten, the Derwaze-Yegumruk, the Custom House Gate, eleven, the Derwaze-Ye-Kazvin, the Kazvin Gate, twelve, the Derwaze-Ye-Asptavani, the Racecourse Gate. To the north of the city are numerous gardens, some, like Behr, Yetabad, and Yusufabad, situated within a short walk of the walls, some in the villages of Shimran, like Kulahak and Tadjirish, which serve as summer retreats to the Europeans and rich Persians, distant five or six miles from the town, and others, yet more distant, on the slopes of Elborus. Some of the gardens belonging to the royal family are very beautifully laid out, as, for example, the garden called Kamra Niye, which is the property of the Shah's Third Son, the Naibus Sultanah. The Persians take the greatest delight in their gardens and show more pride in exhibiting them to the stranger than in pointing out to him their finest buildings. Yet to one accustomed to the gardens of the West they appear as a rule, nothing very wonderful. They generally consist of a square enclosure surrounded by a mud wall, planted with rows of poplar trees in long, straight avenues, and intersected with little streams of water. The total absence of grass seems their greatest defect in the eyes of a European, but apart from this they do not, as a rule, contain a great variety of flowers, and, except in the spring, present a very bare appearance. But in the eyes of the Persian, accustomed to the naked Stony Plains, which constitute so large a portion of his country, they appear as veritable gardens of Eden, and he will never be happier than when seated under the shade of a poplar by the side of the stream, sipping his tea and smoking his Qalyan. What I have said applies to the great majority of gardens in Persia, but not to all, for some of those in Shiraz are very beautiful, and except for the lack of the well-trimmed lawns, which we regard as so indispensable to the perfect beauty of a garden, might well defy all competition. Many of the gardens near Tehran are cultivated by Gebrz, the remnant of the ancient faith of Zoroaster. The headquarters of Zoroastrianism in Persia are at Yezd and Kirman, in and about which cities there may be in all some seven thousand or eight thousand adherents of the old creed. In other towns they are met with but sparingly, and are not distinguished by the dull yellow dress and loosely-wound yellow turban, which they are compelled to wear in the two cities above mentioned. As I shall speak of this interesting people at some length, when I come to describe my stay amongst them, in the only two places in Persia where they still exist in any numbers, I will not at present dwell on their characteristics further than to allude briefly to their Dakhmei, or Tower of Silence, situated two or three miles south of Tehran, on one of the rocky spurs of the jagged mountain, called Kohibibi Sharbanu. Bibi Sharbanu was the daughter of the unfortunate Yezdi Gir III, whose sad fate it was to see the mighty empire of the Sasanians and the ancient religion of Zoroaster fall in one common ruin before the savage onslaught of the hitherto despised Arabs. Here he himself, a hunted fugitive, perished by the hand of a treacherous miller in whose house he had taken refuge. The daughter subsequently married Hussein, the son of Ali, thus uniting the royal blood of the house of Sasan, with the holy race of the imams and the kindred of the Arabian prophet. To this union is perhaps to be attributed, in some degree, the enthusiasm with which the Persians, bereft of their old religion, espoused the cause of Ali and his successors, or, in other words, the Shi'ite faction of the Mohammedans, against the usurpations of those whom the Sunnis dignify with the title of Khalifa, or vice regent of the prophet. After the calamities suffered by the family of Ali at the hands of their ruthless foes, Bibi Shah Banu is said to have fled to Persia and to have found a refuge from her oppressors in the mountain just to the south of Tehran, which still bears her name. It is said that the place where she hid is still marked by a shrine which has the miraculous property of being inaccessible to men, though women may visit it unimpeded. Where this shrine is I do not know, neither did I make any attempt to test the truth of the legend. The Gebresdachme is situated midway up a sharp ridge which descends from the summit of this mountain on the northern side, and is a conspicuous object from a distance. It consists of a circular tower of clay, or unbaked brick, of the grayish color common to all buildings in Persia. The wall which is provided with no door or gate is about forty-five feet high on the outside. Inside, as we could see by ascending the spur on which it stands, to a point which overlooked it, its height, owing to the raised floor, is probably not more than ten feet. The floor of the tower consists of a level surface, broken regular intervals by rectangular pits. Whenever a Zoroastrian dies, his body is conveyed hither, and deposited by two of his co-religionists, set apart for this duty, inside the Dachme, and over one of these pits. The carrion-birds which hover round this dreary spot, soon swoop down, tear it in pieces, and devour its flesh, till nothing is left but the disarticulated bones which fall into the pit below. Little, therefore, remains to tell of those who have been laid in this charnel house, and from the ridge above, where I could see almost the whole of the interior, I counted not more than two skulls, and a few long bones. Of course, the total number of Zoroastrians in Terran is very small, and the deaths do not probably exceed two or three a year, which may, to some extent, explain the paucity of remains in the Dachme. Yezd and Kirmon have each two Dachme's, similarly constructed, and situated in light manner, on the spurs of mountains at a distance of several miles from the city. These five Dachme's constitute, so far as I know, the total number now in use in Persia. This method of disposing of the dead often strikes Europeans as very disgusting, and indeed it would clearly be inapplicable to a thickly populated, flat country with a humid atmosphere. In Persia, however, where the air is so clear, the sun so strong, the population so sparse, and mountains so numerous, I can well imagine that no inconvenience was caused by its adoption, even in the days when the whole population was Zoroastrian. Near the mouth of the valley, which lies to the north of the Kuhibibi-Shatbanu, and on the opposite side to the Dachme, is a tablet cut in the rock, in rough imitation of the ancient monuments about Persepolis, bearing the figure of a king and an inscription in modern Persian. Though of such recent date, it possesses none of the clearness still discernible in its Sasanian prototypes, and the writing on it is already almost illegible. Below this, at the end of the valley, are to be seen the remains of gigantic mud-walls, which are said to have formed a portion of the ancient city of Ray, Raghiz, though by some, this is supposed to have lain farther from Tehran, towards the east, near the present village of Varami. Rather nearer to the Shah-Abdul-Azim road, which crosses the mouth of the valley at right angles, are two hybrid towers, one of which is called the Tower of Toghrul. Of the little town of Shah-Abdul-Azim itself, which is chiefly notable for its very fine mosque, and its very detestable population, the place being what is called Bust, that is, a sanctuary or city of refuge, where all criminals are safe from pursuit. I shall have something to say in another chapter. It was to this place that the railway of which such great things were expected, and which it was hoped might be extended farther south, perhaps even to the Persian Gulf, was laid from Tehran. When I returned there, in the autumn of 1888, on my way home, this railway was open, and was running some eight or ten trains a day each way. Its prosperity, alas, was short-lived. Before the end of the year it was torn up and completely wrecked by a mob, exasperated at the accidental death of a man who had tried to leap from the train while it was in motion. That the friends of this man, whose death was brought about solely by his own folly and rashness, acted unreasonably in avenging themselves on the railway, I do not for a moment wish to deny, that the deep-seated prejudice against this and other European innovations which found its manifestation in this act is equally unreasonable, I am not, however, disposed to admit. I think that the jealousy with which the Persian people are prone to regard these railways, tramways, monopolies, concessions and companies, of which so much has been heard lately, is both natural and reasonable. These things, so far as they are sources of wealth at all, are so not to the Persian people, but to the Shah and his ministers on the one hand, and to the European promoters of the schemes on the other. People who reason about them in Europe too often suppose that the interests of the Shah and of his subjects are identical when they are, in fact, generally diametrically opposed, and that the Shah is an enlightened monarch, eager for the welfare and progress of a stubborn and refractory people who delight in thwarting his benevolent schemes, when in reality he is a selfish despot, devoid of public spirit, careful only of his own personal comfort and advantage, and most averse to the introduction of liberal ideas amongst the people whose natural quickness, intelligence, and aptitude to learn cause him nothing but anxiety. He does everything in his power to prevent the diffusion of those ideas which conduce to true progress, and his supposed aberration for civilisation amounts to little more than the languid amusement which he derives from the contemplation and possession of mechanical playthings and ingenious toys. I can only pause to notice one other object of interest outside the city walls, to wit the pleasantly situated palace of Dalshan Tepe, which means in Turkish, Haya Hill, where the Shah often goes to pursue the chase, to which he is passionately devoted. This palace of dazzling whiteness stands on an eminence to the northeast of the town and forms a very conspicuous feature in the landscape. Besides the palace on the hill, there is another in a garden on its southern side, attached to which is a small menagerie belonging to the Shah. This collection of animals is not very extensive, but includes fine specimens of the Persian lion, Shia, whose most famous haunt is in the forests of Dashti Arjin, between Shiraz and Bushir, as well as a few tigers, Babur, Leopards, Palang, and baboons, Shanggal. And of Section 9, Section 10 of A Year Amongst the Persians by Edward Granville Brown. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain, for further information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Year Amongst the Persians by Edward Granville Brown. Having spoken of what is without the city, I must now say something about the chief monuments contained within its walls. These are very few, and for the most part of little interest. Tehran is an essentially modern town, and as such lacks the charm which invests is Fahan, Shiraz, Yezd, and other Persian cities of more respectable antiquity. In the eyes of its own inhabitants, however, it appears the Ney plus Ultra of Splenda. It has two European hotels. It is intersected, especially in the northern quarter, by several wide, straight thoroughfares, some of which are even lighted by gas, and one of which certain Europeans and their Persian imitators are pleased to designate the Boulevard des Ambassadeux. There are also several large squares, some of which are embellished with tanks and fountains worthy of a sincere admiration. In addition to all this, the bazaars, situated in the southern quarter, are extensive and flourishing. The situation of the town in full view of the snow-capped mountains of El Purs is unquestionably fine, and the air is clear and exhilarating. In a word, it is a pleasant place to stay in, rather than an interesting place to see. Nevertheless, some of my readers may desire to obtain a clearer notion of what is, after all, the present capital of Persia. Let me ask them, then, to accompany me in imagination for a stroll through the northern quarter of the city, in which are situated most of the parks, palaces and public buildings, all the embassies except the Russian, and the residences of almost all the Europeans, and many of the more opulent and influential Persians. We will begin our walk at the northern end of the Kriyabani-a-la-ud-da-la. Boulevard des Ambassadeurs, a fine, broad, straight avenue running almost due north and south. Entering this from the north through the wasteland which intervenes, or did intervene, six years ago, between it and the Bechtet Abad and Daulat gates, we first pass, on the right-hand side, the fine garden and buildings of the English Embassy. Lower down on the same side are the German and American legations. Near the latter, a street running westwards leads to the church, schools and residences of the American missionaries. On the left, east side of the avenue, the finest building, is the Turkish Embassy, remarkable for a magnificent gate adorned with an inscription in letters of gold. On the same side are the French and Italian legations, and a little lower down, the office of the Indo-European telegraph. Beyond this are a few European shops, as well as the two hotels already mentioned. Opposite these are several more shops, one of which belongs to a photographer, a Russian, I believe, who sells excellent photographs at the very cheap price of four Tumans, about twenty-four shillings, a hundred. Below this point, as well as in some places above it, the sides of the avenue are formed by colonnades of brick, within which are situated a few small Persian shops, dealing chiefly in groceries. Passing under an archway guarded by centuries, we enter the northwest corner of the Meydani Topkhanei, or Artillery Square. This is of great size, and is surrounded by barracks, the white walls of which are profusely decorated with rude representations of the national symbol, the lion and the sun. From this square emerge five great streets or avenues, one, sometimes called the Roudegas, on the east side, two on the south, and two, one of which we have already traversed, on the north. Leaving the three which belong to the eastern portion of the square for future consideration, we continue in a direct southward line across the western end, and enter another avenue, which leads us past some of the Persian government offices, the road opposite to which is during a considerable part of the day, blocked by carriages and horses, into a very pretty square, well paved, and girt with trees, called the Meydana Yarg, Citadel Square. The central portion of this is occupied by a large basin of water of octagonal shape, surrounded by gas-lamps. At its southern end is a raised stone platform, on which stands a large gun mounted on wheels. This gun is remarkable, in common with Shah Abdul Azim, the royal stables and sundry other places, as affording sanctuary to those who are pursued by the law. It has indeed the disadvantage of being a very small city of refuge, and one which would not long be tenable. Nevertheless, for the time being, the fugitive is safe in its shadow. Quitting the Meydana Yarg, and traversing a short bazaar containing a few small shops, we come out into another broad street, which at this point runs at right angles to our path, but which, if we turn to the left and followed its course eastward, would be found to bend gradually into a northerly direction, and would conduct us back to the Meydana Topkhanei. By this road we propose to return, but before doing so, let us take a glance at the intricate mazes of the bazaar. To do this, we cross the road and enter a square known as Sabze Meydana, or Herb Market. In its centre is the usual tank of water, and it is surrounded by the shops of watchmakers, tobacconists, and other tradesmen, mostly of Armenian nationality. We cross towards its southern side, and enter the Hatmaker's Bazaar, Kocea Kula Duzan, where any variety of Persian headdress may be purchased, from the light cloth hat affected by the Armenians, and Europeanized Virangima Arb Persians, costing only three or four Khrans, about two shillings, to the genuine Lamskin Kula, costing 30, 40, or even 50 Khrans. Having passed the Hatmaker's, we come to the Shoemaker's, and if we continue our way perseveringly towards the south, we shall eventually arrive at the Gate of Shah Azeem, unless, as may easily happen, we lose our bearings hopelessly in the labyrinthine mazes, which we must traverse, distracted either by a string of majestic camels, past which we can drive to edge ourselves, or by a glittering array of antique gems, seals, and turquoise's, exposed in a case at our very elbow. As, however, we have already visited the Dakhmei and the mountain of Bibi Shah Banu, and the ruins of Ray, and as we shall pass through Shah Abdul Azeem on our journey southwards, it is unnecessary to explore the bazaar any farther at present. Bazaars, after all, are much alike, not only in Persia, but throughout the Mohammedan world. There are the same, more or less torturous, vaulted colonnades, thronged with horses, camels, and men, the same cool recesses, in which are successively exhibited every kind of merchandise, the same subdued murmur and aroma of spices, which form a tuton som, so irresistibly attractive, so continually fresh, yet so absolutely similar, whether seen in Constantinople, or Kirman, Tehran, or Tabriz. Instead of pursuing our way farther, therefore, we strike to the left from the shoemaker's bazaar, and without even pausing to examine the array of saddles, bridles, whips, saddlebags, leather waterbags, and other traveller's requisites exhibited to our gaze, make for the bazaar idumbali khandak, mark it behind the moat, and following this for a while, soon emerge once more into the broad open street, which we crossed at a point farther west, to reach the subse medan. At the point where we have now entered it, it has already begun to assume a northerly direction, to reach the medan itopkhane, towards which we again bend our steps. On our left we pass the very modern-looking palace, called Shamsulimara, the son of architecture, with its lofty tower, and come to the Darulfanun, or university. Here English, French, Russian, Medeson, both ancient and modern, mathematics, and other useful accomplishments are taught on European methods. The students vary in age from mere boys to youths of eighteen or nineteen, and are distinguished by a military-looking uniform. They not only receive their education free, but are allowed one meal a day, and two suits of clothes a year, at the public expense, besides being rewarded, in case of satisfactory progress and good conduct, by a very liberal distribution of prizes at the end of the session. Arabic, theology, and metaphysics do not enter into the curriculum, but are relegated to the ancient madrasas, attached to some of the mosques, and endowed by pious bequests. The best madrasas, however, must be sought for not in Tehran, but in Isfahan, the former capital. Just above the Darulfanun is another fine building, intended, I believe, to serve as a central telegraph office, which shall combine the hitherto-separated European and Persian branches. Not far above this we re-enter the Medan-i Topkhane, this time at the south-east corner. To our right, the Rudagaz emerges from the square, and runs eastward. In it dwells a Turkish hair-cutter of well-deserved fame, but beyond this it possesses few features of interest, and we may, therefore, pass it by, and cross to the north-east corner of the square, once we enter another avenue, similar to, and parallel, with the Chiaibani al-Audawla, in which we commenced our walk. This avenue is bounded on the right by a fine garden, the Bahril al-Lezar, garden of the Tulip-bed, which belonged, I believe, to the talented Rizakuli Khan, generally known as the Lalabashi, or Chief Tutor of the Shah, whose numerous works varied in matter but uniform in merit, are alone sufficient to prove that Persian literary ability has not, as some would pretend, cease to exist. Little else besides this claims our attention here, and if we pursue our way up this avenue, we shall finally reach a point where it is crossed by another broad road running at right angles to it. This latter, if we follow it to the left, will bring us out where we started from, in front of the English Embassy. Although the walk just described has led us through most of the principal streets and squares and past a number of the chief buildings and palaces, a few objects of interest which lie apart from the route traversed deserve a brief notice. First amongst these I will mention, because it can be disposed of in a very few words, another large square called Medani Mashq, drill square, which lies to the northwest of the Medani Topkhane. Though somewhat smaller than the latter, it is very spacious and serves admirably the purpose to which, as its name implies, it is appropriated, that of a plus-dum, or exercising ground for the troops. Next to this, the palace called Nigaristan, picture gallery, which was the favourite residence of the second king of the present dynasty, Fatali Shah, deserves mention. It is situated at no great distance from the English Embassy and derives its name from the numerous highly finished paintings with which the walls of some of its chambers are decorated. In the largest room, I counted not less than 118 full-length portraits, which included not only Fatali Shah and his numerous sons and ministers, but also the staffs of the French and English embassies, headed respectively by General Gardan and Sir John Malcolm, then resident at the Persian court, the names of all these being indicated in Persian characters. The portraits, which seem to have been carefully and accurately executed, were completed in the year AH 1228 AD 1812 to 1813 by one Abdullah, as is witnessed by an inscription placed under them. The only other noticeable feature of the Nigaristan is a beautiful marble bath, furnished with a long smooth glissoire called by the Persians Sur Surak, the slide, which descends from above to the very edge of the bath. Down his slope, the numerous ladies of Fatali Shah's harem used to slide into the arms of their lord, who was waiting below to receive them. It remains to say a few words about the mosques, which are of less interest than those of almost any other Mohammedan city of equal size. One of the finest is quite recent, and was indeed still in process of construction when I visited it. It was commenced by the late Sipah Sadar, whose career is generally reported to have been brought to an abrupt close by a cup of qadiar coffee, while he was in retirement and disgrace at Mashhad. The construction of the mosque, rudely interrupted by this sad event, was subsequently resumed by his brother, the Mushiro Dawla, whom I had the honour of visiting. He received me with the easy courtesy characteristic of the Persian nobleman. Question me as to my studies, the books I had read, and the towns I proposed to visit on leaving Tehran, and after allowing me to inspect the various rooms, some furnished in Persian and others in European style, in his large and beautiful house, kindly sent a servant with me to show me the mosque, which I might otherwise have had difficulty in seeing. The fine large court of the mosque, in the centre of which is a tank of water, is surrounded by lofty buildings, devoted partly to educational, partly to religious purposes. On the walls of these is inscribed on tiles the Waqf Nami, or Detail of Endowment, in which is set forth the number of professors and students of theology and the kindred sciences, who are to be maintained within the walls of the college. Of the former there were to be four, and of the latter I think one hundred and fifty. It is generally very difficult to visit the interior of mosques in Persia, for in this respect the Shiite Mohammedans are much more strict than the Sunnis, and a non-Muslim can as a rule only enter them in disguise. I once resorted to this expedient to obtain a glimpse of another mosque in Tehran, the Masjid Isha, which I visited with two of my Persian friends. Although we only remained in it for a very short time, we did not wholly escape the critical gaze of sundry mullahs, who kept hovering round us, and I was not sorry to emerge once more into the bazaar, for the consequences of discovery would have been, to say the least of it, disagreeable. From the little I have seen of the interiors of Persian mosques, I should say that they were decidedly less beautiful than those of Constantinople or Cairo. I have already had occasion to speak of the Darul Funun or University, and I mentioned the fact that it included a school of medicine. Through the kindness of Dr. Tholazan, the Shah's physician, I was enabled to be present, at one of the meetings of the Majlis Isikhat, Congress of Health, or Medical Council, held once a week within its walls. The assembly was presided over by the learned Mughpiru Dawla, the Minister of Education, and they were present at it, 16 of the chief physicians of the capital, including the professors of medicine, both the followers of Galen and Avicenna, and those of the modern school. The discussion was conducted for the most part in Persian, Dr. Tholazan and myself, being the only Europeans present. But occasionally a few remarks were made in French, with which several of those present were conversant. After a little desultory conversation, a great deal of excellent tea flavoured with orange juice, and the inevitable Qalyan or water pipe, the proceedings commenced with a report on the death rate of Tehran and the chief causes of mortality. This was followed by a clear and scientific account of a case of acute ophthalmia, successfully treated by inoculation, the merits of which plan of treatment were then compared with the results obtained by the use of Jechiriti, called in Persian Chazmi Chorus and in Arabic Ainu Dik, both of which terms signify Cox Eye. Reports were then read on the death rates and causes of mortality at some of the chief provincial towns. According to these, Kirman Shah suffered chiefly from Agu, Dysentry and Smallpox, while in Isfahan, Kirman and Shahrud, Typhus or Typhoid joined its ravages to those of the above mentioned diseases. My faith in these reports was, however, somewhat shaken when I subsequently learned that they were in great measure derived from information supplied by those whose business it is to wash the corpses of the dead. Some account was next given of a fatal hemorrhagic disease which had lately decimated the Yomut Turkman's. As these wild nomads appeared to entertain an unconquerable aversion to medical men, no scientific investigation of this outbreak had been possible. Finally a large stone extracted by lithotomy was exhibited by a Persian surgeon, and after a little general conversation the meeting finally broke up about 5 p.m. I was very favourably impressed with the proceedings which were from the first to last characterised by order, courtesy and scientific method, and from the enlightened efforts of this centre of medical knowledge I confidently anticipate considerable sanitary and hygienic reforms in Persia. Already in the capital these efforts have produced a marked effect, and there, as well as to a lesser extent in the provinces, the old galenic system has begun to give place to the modern theory and practice of medicine.