The inhabitants of this region, though very poor themselves, did not turn a deaf ear to our appeals for charity. With food we were tolerably supplied, poor and mean as it was in quality; but what caused us the most terrible suffering was the bitter cold prevailing towards autumn in this part of the world. Such was the effect of the cold cutting blasts coming from the north-eastern plains that the intense cold would pierce through the thickest cloak in which a person might wrap himself; and the animals themselves came very near being benumbed by it. All the way from Shebesh until we were two stations from Meshed, I had to pa.s.s the night in the open air, lying on the hard frozen ground, in the ragged dervish dress which I had on me, and which served the purposes of both pillow and coverlet. Many a time I would not dare to close my eyes for fear of freezing to death. I besought the hard-hearted Afghans to let me have one of their spare horse blankets; with chattering teeth and in a most piteous voice I vainly appealed for hours together to the cruel barbarians bundled up in their warm fur skin cloaks. They only jeered at me, saying, "Dance, hadji, and thou wilt get warm." The high plateaus of Eastern Persia will for ever rank in my memory with the sand of the deserts of Central Asia.

Near Kafir-Kale we met with a caravan coming from Meshed. From a member of this caravan I learned that Colonel Dolmage, an English officer in the Persian service, an old acquaintance of mine, was still residing in Meshed, a piece of news which was very welcome to me. Ferimon was the first village inhabited by Persians, and a warm stable made me forget the sufferings of many a day past. At length, on the twelfth day after our departure from Herat, the gilded cupolas of Imam Riza loomed up before our eyes. We had reached the city of Meshed, for the sight of which I had been longing.

Besides, in approaching Meshed, there were other motives--motives of humanity--at play, which quickened my pulse and made my heart beat with something of the regained dignity of a man who escapes from moral slavery. In Meshed I was at length to be restored to myself; I was to fling off, to some extent, the artful disguises with which, in fear of life, limb and liberty, I had had to surround myself, to discard the shameful rags which lowered me in my own estimation, to put an end to the pitiful anxieties to which I had been continually exposed, and last not least to exchange a life of hardship, discomforts and privations for one of comparative ease and comfort. Nor did I entertain the usual fears, which haunted me elsewhere, as to the reception I might meet at the hands of the authorities; the governor of the province was an enlightened prince, an uncle of the king of Persia, and under his auspices the government was conducted, in appearance at least, more in accordance with European ideas. To all these cheering reflections was added the hope of meeting and embracing again, after all these weary wanderings, an old friend of mine--perhaps the solitary European who had pitched his tent so far east and was now living in Meshed. Under all these combined impressions the very cupola, under which the mortal remains of Imam Riza repose, blazing with its resplendent light far into the outlying country, seemed to me a beacon which was to guide me to a harbour of safety. I even caught the enthusiasm of the thousands of people who were flocking to the tomb of the saint, and could almost imagine myself one of the pilgrims who hail with emotions of unutterable thankfulness and pious joy the sight of the holy place, after having wearily wandered over the immense distances from their several homes.

It may not be uninteresting to know who this Imam Riza is, the renown of whose sanct.i.ty has made such a lasting and deep impression upon the minds of a large portion of the Eastern world. Of the twelve Imams he is the eighth. He was a contemporary of the Caliph Maamun, a son of the famous Harun el Rashid. This Caliph's envy and jealousy of Imam Riza was roused by the general esteem in which he was held, and the unbounded devotion which was shown to him by the sect of Shi-ites, then already very numerous, but not daring yet to enter publicly into the area of religious sectarianism. He was banished by the Caliph to Tus, a town in the vicinity of the present site of Meshed. The banishment had not the desired effect; in his abode of humiliation he became again the object of general veneration, so the Caliph had poison administered to him in a cup of wine, thus ridding himself of a dangerous and hated rival. The memory of his name did not die with him; from a beloved leader of a sect he rose to be a martyred saint. His death in exile seems to have especially commended him to the imagination of the travelling public as their patron saint; and he was honoured, in this, his quality, with the t.i.tle of Sultan al Gureba (Prince of Strangers).

XXVII.

IN MESHED.

Nature seemed to have put on her holiday garb as we were approaching the city. The weather was splendid; it was one of those fine autumnal mornings which are so common in the Eastern part of Persia. The road leading to the city pa.s.ses through a bare, almost, level, tract, its monotony being relieved only here and there by a few hills. The contrast which the city presented to the unromantic aspect of the environs was all the more striking. With its bright and flashing cupolas, and surrounded by gardens, it lay there like a rich and glittering gem embedded in a rare setting of leafy verdure. My gaze was fixed upon the buildings that seemed to detach themselves as we approached from the confused ma.s.s presented at a distance. For the time being I was utterly lost in thought, careless of the movements of the caravan, and even my looking at the city was more in a dreamy vacant way than for the purpose of gratifying my curiosity. The traveller had for once merged in the human being; casting aside all interest in historical reminiscences, not even caring to recall the names of the great saints whose splendid tombs formed the attraction of the place, I fairly rioted in the consciousness of being able now to turn my back upon the black and ugly experiences of the past, and looked forward to the attractive vista of a bright future.

I was roused from these pleasant reveries by our entrance through the Dervaze Herat (Herat Gate). We pa.s.sed along the wide and long street of Pajin Khiaban (Lower Alley), and proceeded towards the Sahni Sherif (the Holy Vestibule). A very pleasing sight is offered by the broad ca.n.a.l, winding through the city, its banks studded with trees which spread a pleasant shade; indeed this is a feature rendering Meshed one of the most attractive cities in Iran. The concourse of people, representing all the nations of Asia who are adherents of the Shi-ite faith, gives a most striking character to the streets, which are pulsating with stirring life. Every variety of costume prevalent in Persia and the whole of Eastern Asia meet the eye wherever you look. It does not take long to realize the fact that Meshed is one of the strongholds of Shi-itism. The proud Sunnites, the Turkoman and Uzbeg, walk about with an humble and apologetic air as if to beg pardon of those whom he oppressed in his own home; whilst the men of Bokhara, Hezare, India and Herat are treading proudly and lightly on a ground which seems to inspire them with a consciousness of their superiority--their forms erect, their carriage haughty and independent and their looks scornful and defiant. The Sunnite is by no means, however, exposed to any danger of retaliation on the part of those whose compatriots have often been the victims of his ferocity. In Iran he is safe, but he cannot shake off a guilty sense of the merited retribution his cruelty amply deserves, and the impress of this unpleasant consciousness betrays itself in his movements and demeanour.

Especially during the bright days of autumn the streets are crowded with a dense ma.s.s of humanity, rolling in an endless stream along the thoroughfares, and in vain does the eye attempt to find a resting-place amid the varied confusion of the spectacle, nor is it possible in the throng of conflicting sights to treasure up some distinct recollection which might shape itself into a reminiscence at some future day. The neighbourhood of the magnificent building of the Imam for several hundred paces forms the centre of most bewildering sights and sounds.

Standing beside their booths or stands, or in front of their shops, on both sides of the street, on the banks of the ca.n.a.l, and moving through the streets, are to be seen and heard a mult.i.tude of men, active, scrambling, energetic, carrying their wares on their heads, shoulders, or in their hands, pushing through the crowd, offering them vociferously for sale, and producing a strange din and noise whilst they recommend them to buyers with their sing-song cries. It seems utterly impossible to elbow your way through this compact ma.s.s of humanity, and yet there is a sort of order in this wild confusion, for an actual block but seldom occurs. This scene of confusion is only an apparent one, especially to the unfamiliar eye of the European, who cannot separate order from quiet, for an attempt to push your way through the throng is attended with no evil consequences or harm; every one is sure to reach safely the place he is bound for. This bustling life, however, was quite agreeable to me after the experience of the dull and stolid constraint so characteristic of the cities of Turkestan which I had lately seen.

I now wished to meet as soon as possible my English friend, Colonel Dolmage, of whom I spoke before. First of all I entered a caravansary in order to wash myself, and to put in some kind of decent order my tattered toilet. This done, the next thing was to find the house where my friend lived. It is always a ticklish thing to go about in Meshed inquiring after the whereabouts of a Frengi, but it becomes immeasurably so in the case of a person like me--who bore about him the unmistakable garb, gait and mien of a hadji--undertaking to do it. By dint of perseverance, and much ingenious cross-questioning I stood at last in front of his house. Almost overcome with emotion I knocked at the door.

I heard footsteps approaching, and a moment later a servant opened the door. The portal was as quickly re-shut in my face, for the servant just deigning to glance at me, overwhelmed me with a volley of oaths, and slammed the door. My emotion disappeared in the twinkling of an eye, and angry and impatient at this unexpected rebuff, I vigorously set to rapping at the door again. The servant reappeared, and this time I gave him no opportunity for parley or remark, but went past him into the court without vouchsafing a solitary word of explanation to him. The man was quite dumbfounded with what seemed to him my impertinence, but recovering himself soon, he asked me roughly what I, a hadji, wanted with his master, who, as I knew, was an unbeliever. I very emphatically told him that this did not concern him, but that he should without delay advise his master that a stranger from Bokhara wished to see him.

Whilst the servant was gone, I leisurely found my way into a room, on entering which I was struck with the sight of the furniture, which vividly recalled European comfort and civilization. The furniture was quite plain, merely a table and chairs, but to my unaccustomed eye they looked like an epitome of all the things towards which my orphaned heart was warming. Yes, these lifeless, homely objects of daily use seemed sanctified to me, and I stood gazing at them as if they were things of life. A newspaper on the table, the _Levant Herald_, caught my eyes next, and to seize it and devour its contents was the work of a moment.

How many things had happened since I had a newspaper in my hands! Every item of news, the humblest and that of the highest political importance, possessed an equally intense interest for me, and immersed in the perusal of its columns I even forgot Colonel Dolmage, who had softly entered and was now standing before me. Dressed in a European uniform, a fine specimen of British manhood, he looked at me silently, searchingly, but I vainly watched for a look of recognition. Thus standing face to face for a few moments, the situation became almost painful. To be sure the ravages which hunger, thirst, cold, anxiety, and the thousand trials of the journey had made in my appearance, sadly altered my looks, and no wonder the young colonel failed to recall in the ragged hadji before him his former acquaintance. I broke in upon the silence by exclaiming in English, "What, Colonel, do you not recognize me?" The familiar voice dispelled like a charm his uncertainty as to who I was, and in an instant we were locked in a close embrace. He now remembered everything, knew even something by hearsay of the perilous journey I had ventured upon, and, seeing the pitiful condition I was in, tears of manly compa.s.sion rose to the young officer's eyes.

Distinctions of cla.s.s, profession, or nationality, entering so largely into European life, separating man from man, lose their hold upon Europeans meeting in the distant East. The great West, seen at that distance, becomes their common country; they are drawn together by the bond of common views, feelings and modes of thought which obliterate the artificial lines of nationality--nay, they feel for, and treat each other as only blood relations and brothers would in Europe. Colonel Dolmage's conduct towards me ill.u.s.trated this in a conspicuous manner.

His very first question, accompanied by a look of almost tender sympathy, "For G.o.d's sake, what have you been doing? what has happened to you?" made me feel like a long-lost brother who had found his way home again. I saw the terrible alterations and the sad havoc which hardships had made in my appearance reflected in his questions and accompanying looks. He was a most sympathizing listener to the story of my late experiences, and it was rather late in the evening when I rose to leave him.

Colonel Dolmage proved my staunch friend during the four weeks I stayed in Meshed, and although I dare say I occasioned him no little trouble, I found him unflagging in his zeal for my welfare. Not only did his kind offices largely contribute to making my stay in Meshed an exceedingly pleasant one but to his generosity and active friendship I was chiefly indebted for the means which enabled me to proceed on my journey with renewed vigour and a cheerful mind. And no matter what unpleasantnesses the interest he bore me drew upon him, his invariable good humour and friendly conduct to me remained unaltered.

Upon my arrival in Meshed, after having visited Colonel Dolmage, I felt, above all, the necessity of recuperating somewhat before turning my attention to the remarkable sights of the city. The first few days, therefore, I entirely devoted to rest, a species of _dolce far niente_ which did infinite good to both body and mind, invigorating the one and brightening the other. After my few days' rest I returned with redoubled interest to the main duty of a traveller, to see, observe, inquire, and remember. Nor is there any other city in Eastern Persia abounding in such a variety of curiosities as may be seen here. Indeed I was sorely puzzled which way first to turn my attention. Rich in monuments appealing alike to the student of history, the curious in holy things, and the literary man--it is hard to know where to begin.

Probably led by the dervish instinct, developed in me by months of devout pilgrimage, I found myself entering the Sahni Sherif, looking about me with unfeigned admiration. The quick eyes of several loitering Seids did not fail to discover the stranger and the Sunnite pilgrim in me; and I was soon surrounded by them, each anxious to acquaint me with the notable features and wonders of the holy tomb. That the sanctuary at which Conolly, Fraser, Burnes, Chanikoff, nay, the official Eastwick himself, endeavoured from a safe distance to steal a hasty glance, was thrown open to me, and I was almost forced to enter it by the hungry descendants of the Prophet, involuntarily recurred to my mind as I declined the services proffered by them. For, truth to tell, the months of compulsory pilgrimage I had gone through had strangely palled my appet.i.te for holy sights appertaining to Islamism, and I felt relieved when I was left to myself to continue my observations. My attention was next engaged by the monument lying to the left of the Sahn, and the splendid mosque of Gowher Shah. The former of these two buildings surpa.s.ses in magnificence and richness the most renowned tombs to which the Mohammedan world perform their devout pilgrimages, not even excepting those of Medina, Nedjef, Kerbela and k.u.m. It is inlaid with gold inside and outside. Much of its former glory is gone, and many of its richest ornaments have been carried away at different periods of time by Uzbegs, Afghans and others. Since the monument was first erected it has been several times plundered. Meshed suffered most at the hands of Abdul Mumin, Khan of Bokhara, in 1587, when entering it at the head of the Uzbegs, the city was sacked and its inhabitants carried into slavery. It was laid waste again by the Afghans, and at different times civil wars spread desolation within its very walls. The golden ball on the top of the dome of the tomb, weighing four hundred pounds, is said to have been removed by the impious hands of the sons of Nadir, and several jewels of great price pa.s.sed, in later times, into the unhallowed possession of the rebel leader Salar. But in spite of the ruthless conduct of foreign enemies and the violence of intestine war, the tomb still harbours an immense amount of treasure. The walls of the monument are fairly resplendent with jewels and trinkets of the rarest kinds offered up to their favourite saint by the devout Shi-ites. The eye is dazzled by the splendour of the pious gifts, consisting of precious ornaments of every imaginable shape, a headgear shaped like a plumed crest (_djikka_) of diamonds, a shield and sabre studded with rubies and emeralds, ma.s.sive candelabra of great weight, costly bracelets, and necklaces of incalculable value.

The sight without and the sights within court a like amount of admiration, and the balance is constantly preponderating, now in one, now in the other direction. Without the cupola and the towers with their rich incrustations of gold, within the ma.s.sive fretted work and grating of silver, the artistically stained windows, the construction of the dome denoting a fine perception of refinement and elegance in form, and rich Oriental carpet stuffs with diamonds and precious stones woven into them, continually challenged and divided my wondering interest.

This cold and glittering acc.u.mulation of wealth was not wanting in the touch of humanity which warmed it into a scene of life and bustle. The groups within were not mere sight-seers, come to gratify their curiosity. They were pious visitors at a holy shrine, with silent devotion stamped upon their features, denoting ecstasy, enthusiasm, deep contrition, humble self-abas.e.m.e.nt, and every shade of religious joy and sadness, which none so well as the faces of Islamite devotees know how to express or simulate; whilst to their lips rose muttered prayers, interrupted by guttural yells, their chests were heaving with wild sobs.

Those who did not know their prayers by heart, or could not read from the tablets inscribed with them, which were suspended from the grating, had them repeated by the leader of the group they belonged to. All seem anxious to propitiate the divinity by acts and prayers of praise or humiliation in order to secure a place in the dwellings of the blessed and happy. One all-absorbing feeling seems to inspire at such a moment men of all races and cla.s.ses alike, whether they be lords, merchants, or servants--the cautious dwellers in Central Asia, the shrewd men from Isfahan and Shiraz, the guileless Turks, or the ferocious Bakhtiaris and Kurds. None are too high or too low for the performance of acts of pious tenderness; the sons of Khans, the Mirzas and the poor peasants mingle freely together; and it is a touching and sublime spectacle, indeed, to see these sons of Asia, both rude and refined, pressing forward to kiss, with unfeigned humility, the silver trellis, the padlock hanging from the door of the grating and the hallowed ground itself.

Of the mosque of Gowher Shah, which I visited next, the Persians say with great justice, that whilst the monument of Imam Riza is more gorgeous, the mosque far surpa.s.ses it architecturally. The mosque is situated in the same court, opposite to the monument. The _kashi_ work (glazed tiles) enters largely into the structure inside and outside, and there is an artistic beauty about it which more than compensates for the comparative absence of richer materials such as gold and silver. The lofty portal is admirable, both for the elegance of its design, and the rich colouring it derives from the many-hued and brilliant kashi work, especially when lit up by the rays of the sun. The gate is of the same style as those I saw in Herat and Samarkand.

Shaping my course after that of the numerous pilgrims and beggars, who all went in the same direction on leaving this splendid building, I went to the refectory of Imam Riza, or as the natives call it, _Ashbaz Khanei Hazret_ (the kitchen of his Highness). The Hazret, so his Holiness is ent.i.tled, _par excellence_, enjoys the reputation of being immensely rich. He is very hospitable, and every new-comer has the choice of becoming his guest; but this hospitality is limited in point of time to seven days only. The wealthier pilgrims rarely take advantage of this liberal arrangement, but the poorer cla.s.ses eagerly avail themselves of the privilege of boarding and lodging at his Highness's expense. The convenience of the guest is cared for on a very large scale, and the vast machinery of baths and caravansaries, boarding-houses and soap-boiling houses, of which his Highness is the owner, is put in motion in order to satisfy the various wants of the strangers flocking to the Hazret. I could not resist the temptation of adding one more experience to those for which I was indebted to my Oriental disguise. I squatted down, unheeded in the midst of the crowd of hungry Shi-ite and Sunnite pilgrims. Very soon large dishes of smoking rice were brought in by a troop of servants. Rancid fat and damaged rice, of the kind of which I had already collected reminiscences enough to last me for a lifetime, made up the delicious dish, which gave me but a mean opinion of the boasted riches of his Highness. I pretended to be as eager about fishing out my share of it as any other, splashing about with my fist in the plate, but thought it best to save my appet.i.te for a more favourable occasion.

The avarice and greediness, so characteristic of the Persians, induce me to believe that their admiration for Imam Riza is owing, not so much to the renown of his sanct.i.ty and the inviolable right of asylum belonging to him, as to the vast and fabulous wealth of which he is supposed to be the owner.

An accident led me to discover the precarious condition in which the Jews were living in Meshed. I met one day in the streets of Meshed a former fellow-traveller of mine, on my journey from Bokhara. As he was about to pa.s.s on without heeding me, I called out after him, knowing him to be a Jew, "Yehudi, Yehudi." He hurriedly came up to me and said confidentially in a low voice: "For G.o.d's sake, Hadji, do not call me a Jew here. Beyond these walls I belong to my nation, but here I must play the Moslem." It was the old story over again of persecution fanned by bigotry and fanaticism, and taken advantage of by murderers and robbers.

The cause of their present distress and their fear of being recognized as Jews dates from an occurrence which had happened several years ago in Meshed. A Persian doctor, who was consulted by a Jewess about an eruption on her hand, advised her to plunge her hands into the entrails of a newly-slaughtered dog. She took his advice, and had one of those unhappy street scavengers of the East killed in order to try the cure prescribed to her. Unfortunately she had this done on the very day on which the Mohammedans celebrated the Eidi Kurban (Feast of Sacrifice).

The rumour of it soon spread amongst the people; and the slaughtering of the dog was interpreted as an impious mockery of the religious rites of the true believers. The rapacity and murderous instincts of the mob gladly seized this frivolous pretext wherewith to cloak their thirst for the blood of the detested Jew, and their love of pillage. In an instant the Jewish quarter of the city was overrun with a savage rabble, rioting, robbing and murdering. Those that survived the fatal day had their lives spared on condition of abjuring the faith of their fathers and embracing that of their oppressors and persecutors. They yielded to dire necessity, but in their hearts they remained Jews, conforming only in outward appearance, as long as they had to stay in Meshed. Years had pa.s.sed since, and although the tolerant spirit, which began to prevail under the benign influence of European interference, made the Mohammedans relax somewhat their former rigour, the Jews still deemed it more prudent to pa.s.s themselves off in Meshed for Mohammedans.

Among the ruins of Tus to the north of Meshed lies, according to the belief of modern Persians, the tomb of one of the greatest of Iran's bards, the tomb of Firdusi. Before leaving the city I made an excursion to it. It was with feelings of sincere piety and admiration that I approached the modest monument which commemorates the resting-place of one of the greatest national poets in the world. In sixty thousand verses he sang the history of his people, without admitting more than a few foreign, that is Arabic, words into his narration. This wonderful feat will be especially appreciated, if the fact is borne in mind that Persian--which he wrote as well as the modern Persian does--contains four words of Arabic origin to every six words purely Iranian. His generous patriotism rebelled against the thought of employing the language of the oppressors of his country. Not only as a poet, not only as a pa.s.sionate lover of his country, will Firdusi's memory live for ever, but his exalted private character will always excite the admiration of mankind. He was fearless and independent. As an instance of his high-mindedness, it is told that Sultan Mahmud, the Ghazvenite, sent him on one occasion the remuneration of thirty thousand drachms.

This was much less than the sum the Sultan had promised. He happened to be in the bath when the gift was brought, and immediately scornfully directed that the entire sum should be divided among the servants of the bathing establishment. The Sultan, probably repenting of his parsimony, subsequently sent the poet camels laden with treasure, but they came in time only to meet his funeral procession. The gift was sent back to the ungrateful monarch, the poet's proud daughter declining to accept of it.

The poet had left a sting in the memory of the Sultan, in a satire which is remembered by the people to this day, which begins with the following verse:

"Oh! Sultan Mahmud, if thou fearest none, yet fear G.o.d!"

What an abyss is there between the modern Persians and their great poet![5]

[Footnote 5: Amongst the various great poetical compositions of Mohammedan Asia, we may boldly call the poems of Hafiz, Saadi, and Firdusi the household works of every enlightened or rather of every educated Mohammedan. As to the latter one, I have scarcely met with any Persian who was not conversant with the heroes of the great epic called the "Shah-Nameh;" and there is rarely a bath, a caravansary or any other public building, excepting mosques and colleges, which would not be adorned with primitive pictures, representing the heroic feats of Rustem, Zal and Kai Khosrau. The "Shah-Nameh" is the only popular history of the Iranian world, it is the mirror in the resplendent radiance of which the Persian and the Central Asian delight to find the glory of by-gone ages; and really, without having read the "Shah-Nameh," we shall never be able to realize the wonderful spirit of that Asiatic world which was superseded by Islam. A popularization of this masterly epic is therefore a great service done to the knowledge of the East. In Germany Ruckert and Schack have tried this task; but owing to the form which they selected, their success was only a partial one, and the large public of the said country possesses but a fragmentary notion of the "Book of Kings."

Quite recently there has come out in England "The Epic of Kings" (since re-published under the t.i.tle of "Heroic Tales"), stories retold from Firdusi, by _Helen Zimmern_ (London: T. Fisher Unwin), which relates in delightfully written prose the chief and most moving stories referring to the great heroes of Iranian antiquity from the Shahs of old to the death of Rustem.

Although she has written a paraphrase and not a translation, the author, by uniting a rare poetical gift with a true understanding of the East, has succeeded in rendering the great epic accessible to the large reading public, which can now taste this justly famous poetical production of the East, and which will certainly be thankful to Miss Zimmern for the rare enjoyment.]

Meanwhile I had been preparing at my leisure for the winter journey to Teheran. The means for doing so had been furnished by the governor of the place, who received me most affably, loaded me with presents and overwhelmed me with marks of distinction. Teheran was still thirty days'

journey from Meshed, and so long a ride in winter was by no means a pleasant prospect, yet my heart burned with delight as I rode out of the city gates.

XXVIII.

FROM MESHED TO TEHERAN.

The impress of the character of the reigning sovereign leaves its mark on everything in the kingdom of Persia; and so, in a certain limited way, does the character of the governors for the time being of the several provinces of that kingdom determine the comparative safety and comfort of the highways. To travel from Meshed to Teheran is looked upon as an enterprise demanding a staunch spirit, and the bravest man may recoil from the dangers threatening him on that first portion of the road through Khora.s.san, where Turkomans, Beloochees and Kurds are an object of terror to all men, but more particularly to the cowardly native of Persia. Sultan Murad Mirza, surnamed "The Sword of the Empire," was governor of the province at the time I set out for Teheran.

In the flowery language of the country the praise was bestowed on him that a child might with perfect security carry a plateful of ducats upon the highways, without being molested. And, indeed, he was fully deserving of the compliment implied in this high-flown saying, for there was not in the whole kingdom a governor devoting a greater amount of energy and talent than he did to render the public highways safe, and to advance and encourage commerce and safe travelling.

My spirits rose high as I set out on my journey in the company of my Tartar. Two routes from Meshed to Nishapur were open to me--one leading over a mountainous tract, the other through a lower hilly country. I chose the latter. As I pa.s.sed out of the city, mounted on an active nag, the horse of my Tartar being loaded with everything requisite for the journey, I felt in an exceptionally cheerful humour. It was not merely the pleasurable feeling of returning home which produced this effect.

The contrast between the journey now before me, furnished with all the proper equipments, and that which I had made, suffering from all sorts of privations amid the deserts of Turkestan, without doubt greatly added to this feeling. We were continually meeting with caravans either of pilgrims or of merchandise, proceeding towards or returning from the holy city. On such occasions words of greeting are always exchanged. My surprise at recognizing an old acquaintance in the leader of one of these caravans may be easily imagined. He was a Shirazer, in whose society I had two years before visited the ruins of Persepolis, Nakshi Rustam, and that fair city which was the birthplace of the poet Hafiz.

To have travelled a long time with a man is in Asia looked upon as a sort of relationship. The gossiping Shirazer was delighted to see me.

The caravan was obliged, whether or no, to submit to a quarter of an hour's halt, while we seated ourselves on the sand to enjoy together the friendly _kalian_ (Persian pipe). As its fragrant smoke rose before my eyes, vivid pictures of the past, of the majestic monuments of bygone civilizations, arose before my memory. How those recollections animated me! Valerius in his chains, the majestic figure of the proud Shapur, above him floating the form of the beneficent Ormuzd,--all those magnificent bas-reliefs whirled kaleidoscope-like past my mind's eye; but their charms were multiplied as I reflected that since I saw them, I had seen, and left behind me, the cla.s.sical realms of Bactria and Sogdiana, which had inspired with terror the stout hearts of the Macedonians of Alexander.

I was obliged to a.s.sure my Shiraz friend that I would speedily revisit his native country, for it was not until I had soothed him with this sort of promise that he would allow me to part from him. So cheerily did I then go on my way that the first day's journey was not in the least fatiguing to me, and by night we reached the station of _Sherif Abad_.

This was the first evening I spent as a well-equipped traveller. In my previous travels in Turkestan I had first of all to gather firewood and collect flour; I had to p.r.o.nounce prayers and blessings as payment for my night quarters; and I was always liable to be turned out tired and hungry. Now, on the contrary, I was a great man. I rode proudly into the _tchaparkhane_ (post-house), and with a loud voice called for lodgings; for although I was still completely Oriental, so far as outward appearances went, the postmaster could easily observe that he had to do with one who had at his command a sufficiency of the sinews of war. And what will not a Persian do for money? My Tartar prepared me an excellent supper; rice, sugar, fat, meat--in a word, everything in abundance. The eyes of my simple Uzbeg sparkled with joy as he thought of his former poverty and looked on the abundance which surrounded him. If the supper which he could prepare was not exactly fit to appear on the table of a Lucullus, it was a very good one for a Persian wayside station.

We had before us as our next day's work, a distance of nine German miles or thirty-six English miles to the next station, _Kademgiah_. Nine fersakhs in Khora.s.san is a good deal, for there is a saying that in that province the miles are as interminable as the chatter of women, and that he who measured them must have done so with a broken chain. European travellers, without exception, complain of the monotony and wearisome character of the road. But what was that to me who had escaped from the torments of Turkestan? Quite alone with my Tartar, and well armed and well mounted, I now for the first time felt the charms of true travelling. Little know they who coop themselves up amidst the heat of July in close railway carriages, and find, perforce, delight in the dusty, grimy countenance of the guard, what travelling really means. A good saddle is better than all your stuffed cushions. Thereon a man feels himself free and unconstrained. His bridle is his Bradshaw, his sword is his law, his gun is the policeman who protects him, and though he is an outlaw and fair game for all who meet him, so all are fair game for him. When in addition to this, he is familiar with the languages, laws, and customs of the land through which he proceeds, and is independent of dragomans, firmans, and guards, then his journey is truly delightful. Travelling the whole day in the open air, he finds the hour of midday halt both a pleasure and a necessity. And then the enjoyments of the evening, when having arrived at the spot where he means to rest for the night, his steed pasturing near him, and he himself surrounded by the saddles and baggage, gazing at the crackling fire which is to cook his savoury supper! The rays of the setting sun are not then so bright and cheerful as the glances of the traveller's eyes. No meal is so savoury as his supper, and his slumber under the starry canopy of heaven is a hundred times more refreshing than that of those who sleep on luxurious down in princely chambers.

Kademgiah, the name of my second station, means "footprint," and is a place of religious pilgrimage, where pious faith discovers on a marble stone the print of Ali's foot. Such miraculous footprints are by no means of rare occurrence in the East. Christians, Mohammedans, and Brahmins, all hold them in equal veneration. What especially excited my wonder was the vast size of most of them, suggesting as they did rather the idea of the foot of an unwieldly elephant than that of a man. But religious credulity does not trouble itself about such trifles as logic or the fitness of things. In the mountains near Shiraz, for instance, there is a footprint three feet long; the one in Herat is of the same size, as is also that on Mount Sinai; and even in the distant Kothen, in Chinese Tartary, a large footprint is shown, where, as the story goes, the holy Jafer once strolled near Sadik. As I have observed, their monstrous size creates no surprise or doubt in the minds of the pious.

Under the auspices of the holy place stand numerous inns for the accommodation of pilgrims. In one of these I had comfortably established myself, and was just engaged in making tea in the shade of the fine poplars, when one of the priests of the place made his appearance, and with a devout look invited me to visit the holy spot. As the only thing the priest seemed to want at the time was a cup of tea, I treated him to one. His further importunities proved him to have more mercenary views; so as the cold marble stone which contains the sacred footprint was of little interest to me, who had seen so many of its kind already, I contrived at the expense of a few krans (francs) to dispense at once with the society of my guest and the performance of a religious duty.

My third day's march took me over a region of low hills into the plain of Nishapur, so celebrated in Persia, and I may add in all Asia.

Djolghe-i Nishabur (Plain of Nishapur) is in the eyes of the Persian the _ne plus ultra_ of beauty and wealth. For him the air there is purer and more fragrant than elsewhere; its water the sweetest in the world, and its products without rivals in creation. It is difficult adequately to describe the proud joy which is pictured in his countenance as he points out the hills lying towards the north-east, abounding in turquoise mines and precious metals. For myself, I must own that the plain, like the city situated in its midst, produced a pleasing, but by no means the entrancing effect I felt justified in antic.i.p.ating. Its historical importance would hardly have occurred to me, had it not been that a Persian, who discovered I was a foreigner, joined in conversation with me by the way, and unasked, began to sound with no little exaggeration the praises of his native city.

No less inconsiderable did I find the town of Nishapur itself. The bazaar is tolerably well filled with European and Persian wares, but the traveller in vain explores the town for remains of that wealth and architectural beauty which have been so highly lauded by Eastern historians. The only things of note in the town are workshops for grinding and polishing the turquoises found in the neighbourhood. The stones in their unwrought state are of a gray colour, and only acquire their well-known sky-blue hue after repeated polishings. The deeper its colour, the more prominent its shape, and the smoother its surface, so much the more costly is a stone--veins being regarded as flaws. A curious phenomenon observable in these turquoises is that in many specimens the colour fades a few days after being polished. The inexperienced purchaser who is not aware of this circ.u.mstance not seldom becomes a victim to Persian fraud; and many pilgrims who have purchased in Nishapur stones of brilliant azure, have no other choice left them on their return home than to throw them away as faded and colourless. At the present day these mines are by no means so profitable as in former times, they being rented altogether for the low sum of two thousand ducats yearly. The commerce in the stones, which was once actively carried on between Persia and Europe, especially with Russia, has also of late years very much fallen off.

From Nishapur the road leads to Sebzevar, distant three days' march. The intervening stations have been often described. No one who has travelled in Persia can have failed to have heard the names of the four "stations of terror," so rich are they in danger and in strange tales of adventure. Whoever amongst the people has the ambition of laying claim to a character for bravery, he never forgets to introduce their names into the story of his adventures. Do you ask why? The answer is very simple. The four stations are posted on the edge of the great plain which extends far away into the steppes of the Turkomans. No river, no mountain, breaks its uniformity, and as those rapacious children of the desert have but little respect for political boundaries, their predatory inroads are frequent, and these four places are just those which are most exposed to their ravages. They seldom fail to profit largely by such incursions, as here runs the princ.i.p.al road towards Khora.s.san, which is ever full of heavily laden caravans and well-equipped pilgrims.