The country immediately beyond the frontier was as desolate and devoid of cultivation as that which we had just quitted, and it was not until we reached the Persian frontier-village of Avajik that we had any opportunity of observing that change of costume which constitutes the other great sign of entry amongst a new race. Indeed the approach of night, which overtook us ere we reached our destination, prevented us even then from getting more than a very partial idea of the differences which distinguish a Persian from a Turkish village. So far as we could see, however, the change was distinctly for the better, the, square houses, built of unbaked clay, were clean and commodious, while a goodly array of poplar trees gave to the place an appearance of verdure which contrasted pleasantly with our too vivid recollections of the hideous waste of Diyadin.
Immediately on our arrival we sent our letter of introduction,
which had been given to us by the Persian Consul at Erzeroum,
to Pasha Khan, the sar-hadd-dar, or Warden of the Marches,
intending to pay our respects to him in the morning before our
departure. While we were eating our supper, however, a message
came from him to say that he would, if we pleased, receive us at
once, as he was in the habit of rising late. As this invitation was
practically equivalent to a command, we hastened, in spite of our
weariness and disinclination to move, to respond to it, and were
presently ushered by our host, who was one of the great man's
retainers, into the presence of Pasha Khan, having previously
removed our boots on an intimation from the farrashes who stood
at the door of the presence-chamber. We were invited to seat
ourselves on the floor opposite the frontier-chief, who sat in
a corner of the room, on the side next the door, reclining on
Next day (24th October) we started a little before 8 a.m., and we were now able to contrast the appearance of the numerous villages through which we passed with those on the Turkish side of the frontier. The comparison was certainly very much to the advantage of Persia. The houses, surrounded by gardens of poplars, were neater, cleaner, and better built than is usual in Turkey; while nearly every village contained at least one house of considerable size. The change in the costume of the people was equally striking: the fez had entirely disappeared, and its place was taken either by the thickly-lined, close-fitting skull-cap of cloth trimmed with black wool, which is called "shikari," or by the hideous long-haired papak of black or brown colour which I have already noticed as constituting the head-dress of our muleteers.
Before we had gone very far we were overtaken by two more of Pasha Khan's mounted irregulars, who appeared desirous of attaching themselves to us as an additional escort, in spite of our unwillingness to accept their services. About 2 p.m. we reached the village of Kara Ayne, which was to be our halting-place for the night. Hearing that there was a bazaar, I was minded to visit it, but found it to be a single shop kept by a leper, whose stock- in-trade appeared to consist chiefly of small tawdry mirrors and very rank tobacco.
On the following day we were joined by two more armed
horsemen, making five in all, so that our cavalcade now
presented a most imposing appearance, and there seemed to be
every chance that, at this rate of proceeding, we should
accumulate a small army before reaching Tabriz. In order, as I
believe, to sustain our flagging faith in their utility, and to
convince us of the danger of the road, an alarm of robbers was
started by our escort as we were traversing a narrow defile.
Next day (26th October) we found to our delight that our
escort was reduced to two, who still continued their attempts
to scare us with alarms of robbers. Whether the road was indeed
dangerous I do not know, but it was certainly amazingly bad.
About mid-day, on emerging from a very fine gorge, we saw
at our feet a wide and cultivated plain, surrounded almost
entirely by mountains, except to the right, in the direction of
Urumiyye. In this plain lay the beautiful little city of Khuy, and,
somewhat nearer to us, the suburb of Pire--both surrounded by
a mass of gardens. The latter we reached in about an hour, and
here we rested for a while. Thence onwards to the very walls of
While the baggage was being unloaded, I perceived that we
were undergoing an attentive scrutiny on the part of a
magnificent-looking dervish, who wore on his head a green turban,
of which one end depended over his shoulder, and carried in his
hand a shining battle-axe. Presently he began to address
enquiries to 'Ali, and, on learning from him that I spoke Persian,
approached me and entered into conversation. He proved to be
a native of Kirman, Mir Jalalu'd-Din by name; and his extraordinary
fertility of imagination, which often carried him far beyond
the bounds, not only of the probable, but of the possible,
rendered him a very amusing companion, if not a very reliable
informant. He at once constituted himself our guide, philosopher,
and friend, and hardly quitted us during the three days
which we spent at Khuy, declaring that he perceived us to be
excellent fellows, worthy of his society and conversation. He
assured us that he had travelled much, and had thrice visited
London, once in company with the Shah; that he had instructed
members of the Russian royal family in Persian; and that besides
this, his native tongue, he was conversant with no less than ten
languages, including Kurdish, Russian, and the dialect of Sistan
on the eastern frontier of Persia. Having given us these details
about himself, he began to question us as to our destination, and,
on learning that we were bound for Tabriz, told us that we must
on no account omit to visit the towns of Salmas, Khusravabad,
and Dilmaghan, more especially the last, in which, as he declared,
there were no less than a thousand English residents, who, through
converse with dervishes and Sufis, had become enlightened and
philosophical. While we were engaged in conversation, a
man entered the room to enquire our names and whence we
Our first business on awaking in the morning was to make enquiries as to the possibility of obtaining a bath in the adjacent hammam, and this indulgence was without difficulty accorded to us. On our return we found our friend the dervish awaiting our arrival. He at once launched out into a disquisition on things pertaining to his order. The true 'arif or adept, he informed us, was distinguished by four external signs: the tabar, or axe, which serves to protect him during his wanderings in the desert from ferocious beasts; the keshkul, or gourd slung on chains, in which he receives alms; the taj, or felt cap embroidered with texts, which crowns his head; and the gisu, or long locks, which fall over his shoulders. He then showed me some pills, compounded, as he assured me, after a prescription of the sage Lokman, of a substance called barsh, and known by the name of habb-i-nishat, or "pills of gladness." One of these he offered me to eat, assuring me that it would not fail to produce a most delightful sense of exhilaration and ecstasy; but, although I complied with his invitation, I failed to observe any such effect.
About II a.m. we accompanied him for a stroll through the
town. He first took us to a neighbouring caravansaray and
introduced us to a Syrian Christian of Urumiyye, named Simon
Abraham, who practised the trade of a photographer, and spoke
English (which he had learned from the missionaries settled at
that place) very well. He, in his turn, introduced us to another
Syrian Christian, called Dr Samuel, who kept a dispensary at the
opposite side of the caravansaray, and who likewise possessed
a good knowledge of English. Both received us very cordially
and did much to render pleasant our sojourn at Khuy.
In the afternoon we were taken by the indefatigable Mir
Jalalu'd-Din to visit a tekye, or retreat for dervishes, situated
near the walls of the town. The dervishes, who were a most
heterogeneous crew, including, besides Persians, Kurds and
negroes, received us very hospitably, and gave us tea. On our
return to the caravansaray, our companion introduced us to a
rammal, or geomancer, who occupied a room adjacent to ours.
This votary of the occult sciences, Mirza Taki by name, was a
native of Kirmanshah. So far as I could see, he never quitted
his cell, dividing his time between opium-smoking, tea-drinking,
and casting the four dice-like brass cubes pivoted together
whereby he essayed to unravel the mysteries of the future. After
offering us a share of his tea, he proceeded to cast his dice and
tell me my fortune, scribbling on a piece of paper the while,
somewhat as follows:--"Three, two, one, two" (counting the
numbers uppermost on the dice), "Praise be to Allah! thou wert
born under a lucky star. One, one, three, four; thy journey will be
a long one, and seven months at least will elapse ere thou shalt
see again thy native land. Two, two, four, two; I take refuge with
Allah, the Supreme, the Mighty! What is it that I see? Thou
shalt without doubt incur a great danger on the road, and indeed
it seemeth to me that one will attempt thy life before thou
reachest Tabriz. Four, three, one, four; thou hast already lost, or
wilt shortly lose, two things of value " (I immediately
thought of my watch, and then recollected that I had informed
Mir Jalalu'd-Din of its loss). "Four, four, two, one; our refuge
is in God! A violent storm will overtake thee on thy voyage
homewards, but from this thou wilt, In-sha'llah, escape, by means
of a talisman which I will prepare for thee. Three, one, one, three;
on thy return home thou wilt marry and have four sons and three
daughters. Four, two, three, one; thou hast, alas! several powerful
enemies, and an evil influence threatens thy star; but shouldst
thou escape these (as, please God, thou wilt do, by the help of
a charm which I will presently write for thee), thou wilt without
"Honoured sir!" I interrupted at this point, "before giving you the trouble of writing so many charms, I would fain have some further proof of the efficacy of your science. I do not, indeed, like many of my countrymen, deny its existence, but of its truth I would desire a proof which you can easily afford me. To describe the events of the past is without doubt less difficult than to predict those of the future. Tell me, then, the name of my birthplace, the number of my brothers and sisters, and the adventures which have already befallen me. Then, indeed, shall I know for certain that you are a skilful magician, and that the science which you practise is not (as some of my unbelieving countrymen assert) a vain and useless thing."
Reasonable as this request appeared to me to be, it did not seem to meet with the approbation of the geomancer, who appeared suddenly to lose interest in the conversation, seeing which we withdrew to our own room, where we subsequently received a visit from our Syrian friends.
Next morning, before I was dressed, Mir Jalalu'd-Din
appeared with two small manuscripts, both of which, he said,
belonged to a poor Sufi, who was willing to sell them for a small
sum only because he was stricken down by a mortal disease.
One of these manuscripts contained, besides the well-known
We next visited the dispensary of Dr Samuel, whither H---
had already preceded us. Here for the first time I was able to
appreciate the difficulties incidental to the practice of medicine
amongst a people whose curiosity prompts them to hover round
the physician long after their own cases have been dealt with,
and who are only too eager to throw out hints on diagnosis and
treatment whenever they get the opportunity. Our visit to the
dispensary was so far unfortunate that, on returning to our
caravansaray towards evening, after a stroll in the bazaar and
a chat with the postmaster, I found a crowd of people assembled
outside, who, on beholding me, cried out, "He comes! the
Firangi hakim has arrived," and thronged after me into the square.
This assembly consisted of several sick people, accompanied by
a number of their friends and relatives, who, hearing that we had
some knowledge of medicine, were anxious to consult us. On
enquiry I learned that they had previously been attending Dr
Samuel, from whom they had obtained medicine, of which they
had only made a very brief trial. I therefore told them that they
had better give his treatment a fair chance before deserting it for
some new remedy, especially as I was convinced, both by conversation
with the Syrian doctor, and by observation of his practice,
that he was at least as competent as myself to advise them.
It was with much regret that on the following morning (29th October) we prepared to quit Khuy. For some time I despaired of ever getting off. Inside the room, where we were vainly attempting to pack our things, were our Syrian friends together with Mir Jalalu'd-Din, who had come to bid us farewell Outside were crowds of sick people come for advice and treatment, irregular soldiers anxious to be engaged as an escort, and idle spectators; while above all was visible the ugly grinning face of Feyzu'llah, the muleteer, trying to hasten our departure with cries of "Gidakh!" which, in the Turkish dialect of Adharbayjan, signifies "Let us go." At length, about 11 a.m., our preparations were completed, and we were on the point of starting, when Mir Jalalu'd-Din (who had disappeared for a while previously) approached me to bid me farewell and to give me two more proofs of his good will. The first of these was a letter of introduction to a brother dervish at Tabriz, who, he assured me, would very probably consent to accompany me on my travels, and would perhaps even return with me to my native country. Unfortunately, I was unable to put this statement to the test, and the letter was never used. The second was a small white circular object, looking like an unperforated and much worn shirt button, which he said was a talisman, sufficient, in all probability, to protect me against the danger of being robbed or murdered which had been predicted by the opium-smoking geomancer. As a further precaution, however, he added that I should do well, in the event of robbers making their appearance, to dismount from my horse, take a handful of dust from the road, blow on it, and scatter it around me, at the same time uttering the "Bismi'llah," when the robbers would infallibly disperse. He then asked me to give him a nadhr, or offering of money for the dervishes, who would exert their influence to protect me from harm, and, having received this, he finally bade me farewell.
Quitting the town by a gate opposite to that by which we
had entered it, we passed through a long avenue of poplars,
Next day we continued to ascend for about two hours, until we reached the top of the pass. From this we had a magnificent view of the great salt lake of Urumiyye, glittering in the sun, and studded with numerous rocky islands, which, as an effect of the mirage, appeared deeply indented at the base. Descending by the dry bed of a river which did duty for a road, we soon entered the plain which skirts the lake on this its northern side. Here we fell in with a wandering snake-charmer, who, after exhibiting to us the immunity with which he handled his snakes, pressed us to buy pieces of dirty bread, which he assured us would prove an infallible remedy for snake-bites. This, however, I declined to do, for I thought myself sufficiently provided with talismans for the present.
Before 2 p.m. we reached our halting-place, Tasuch, a large but uninteresting village distant about a mile from the shore of the lake. Nothing worthy of note befell us here, except the loss of a purse of money, which event our friend the geomancer, had he known of it, might perhaps have claimed as the fulfilment of a part of his prediction.
The following day's march took us to Dize-Khalil, a good-
sized village with a fair bazaar, situated amidst gardens of poplars
near the north-east corner of the lake. Here we obtained good
quarters, where our host brought us, together with a present
of flowers, an old copy of the Pilgrim's Progress left behind by
some previous traveller.
Next day, Tuesday, 1st November, after a tedious march of nearly ten hours, broken by a short halt about 2 p.m. at a disconsolate village called Miyan, we reached Tabriz, the capital of the province of Adharbayjan, the residence of the Vali-'ahd, or Crown Prince, and one of the largest, if not the largest, of the cities of Persia. Although we were provided with letters of introduction to Mr Abbott, the British Consul, it was too late to think of presenting them that evening, and accordingly, after threading our way for nearly an hour through the vast suburbs which surround the city, we were glad to alight at the first respectable caravansaray which we came to.
On the following morning we repaired to the British Consulate, and were very kindly received by Mr Abbott and his wife, who invited us to be their guests during our sojourn in Tabriz. We gladly accepted this invitation, for we had not seen a European since leaving Erzeroum, and had not slept in a proper bed since we quitted the Hotel d'Italie at Trebizonde.
We remained at Tabriz four days. During this time we became acquainted with Mr Whipple, one of the American missionaries, who kindly undertook to pilot us through the interminable labyrinth of bazaars (perhaps the most extensive in Persia), and the Turkish Consul, Behjet Bey, who, in addition to an excellent knowledge of Persian, possessed the best temper, the keenest sense of humour, the cheeriest laugh, and the most voracious appetite that I have ever seen in one of his nation.
Although Tabriz is so important a town, it offers few attractions to the sight-seer beyond the bazaars, the "Blue Mosque" (Masjid-i-Kabud), and the citadel (Arg), of which the two last are said to date from the time of Harunu'r-Rashid.
Both of these monuments of antiquity we visited on the
second day after our arrival. The Blue Mosque is now little
more than a ruin, but the handsome tiles and inscriptions which
still adorn its walls bear witness to its ancient splendour. The
citadel (also said to have been originally a mosque) consists of
The view from the summit of the citadel is very extensive, and enabled me in some degree to realise the magnitude of the city, which lay below us like a map. From this height, in former days, criminals were sometimes hurled into the ditch below. On one occasion, we were informed, a woman condemned to suffer death in this manner was so buoyed up by the air inflating her loose garments that she reached the ground uninjured. Whether this story is true or false I cannot say, neither did I pay much attention to its recital, my thoughts being occupied with the tragic death of the young prophet of Shiraz, Mirza 'Ali Muhammad, better known as the Bab, which took place on 9th July 1850, at or near this spot. As I shall have to say a good deal about the Babi religion in subsequent chapters, it may not be altogether out of place to give here a brief account of the life and death of its founder, although the history of these is well known, and has been repeatedly set forth.*
Mirza 'Ali Muhammad was born at Shiraz on 9th October
1820. His father, Seyyid Muhammad Riza, a cloth-merchant in
that town, died while he was still of tender age, leaving him to
the care of his uncle Haji Sewid 'Ali. At the age of seventeen
he was sent to the port of Bushire on the Persian Gulf, where,
while engaged in transacting the business with which he had
been entrusted, he rendered himself conspicuous not less by the
It is unnecessary for me to describe in detail the process
whereby there grew up in the mind of Mirza 'Ali Muhammad
a conviction that he was destined to become the reformer and
saviour of his nation. Suffice it to say, that, after a prolonged
inward struggle, on 23rd May 1844 he proclaimed himself to the
world as the Bab or Gate whereby men might win to the sacred
mysteries and spiritual truths of which he had become the recipient.
Before long he had gathered round himself a number of
disciples. Amongst these were many of the most distinguished
pupils of Seyyid Kazim, whose recent death had left them
temporarily without a recognised head. They eagerly adopted the
At first but little attention was paid to the new sect by the government or clergy, but towards the end of the summer of 1845 they began to be alarmed at its rapid spread, and took measures to check its progress. The Bab, who had just returned from Mecca to Bushire, was brought to Shiraz and placed in confinement. His followers were prohibited from discussing his doctrines in public, and some of the more active were beaten, mutilated, and expelled from the town. In the early summer of 1846, however, a plague broke out in Shiraz, and, during the general consternation caused by this, the Bab effected his escape, and made his way to Isfahan, where he was well received by Minuchihr Khan, governor of that city, who afforded him protection and hospitality for nearly a year.
Early in 1847 Minuchihr Khan died, and his successor, anxious
to curry favour with the Government, sent the Bab, under the
care of an escort of armed horsemen, to the capital. So serious
were the apprehensions already entertained by the Government
of a popular demonstration in the prisoner's favour, that his
guards had received instructions to avoid entering the towns
by which they must needs pass. At Kashan, however, a respectable
merchant named Mirza Jani*, who subsequently suffered
The king, Muhammad Shah, and his chief minister, Haji Mirza Aghasi, dreading the effect likely to be produced in the capital by the presence of the Bab, determined to send him to the fortress of Maku on the north-west frontier of Persia, without allowing him to enter Teheran. Thither he was accordingly conveyed; but at Zanjan and Milan he received a popular ovation and even at Maku it was found impossible to prevent him from receiving occasional letters and visits from his adherents. Nor did the plan of transferring him to the sterner custody of Yahya Khan, governor of the castle of Chihrik, near Urumiyye, meet with much better success in this respect.
Meantime, while the Bab was occupying the weary days of his
imprisonment in compiling and arranging the books destined
to serve as a guide to his followers after the fate which he had
but too much cause to apprehend should have removed him from
their midst, his emissaries were actively engaged in propagating
his doctrines. Fiery enthusiasm on the part of these was met by
fierce opposition from the orthodox party, headed by the clergy
and it needed only the confusion and disorder introduced into
all departments of the empire by the death of Muhammad Shah
(5th October 1848) to bring the two factions into armed collision
The strife, once kindled, rapidly assumed the most alarming
proportions, and the reign of the new king, Nasiru'd-Din
Shah, was inaugurated by formidable insurrections of the Babis
at Yezd, Niriz, Zanjan, and in Mazandaran. Of the two latter
Accordingly, orders were despatched to Tabriz to bring the Bab thither from his prison-house, and, after the form of a trial, to put him to death. After enduring all manner of insults at the hands of the Government authorities, the clergy, and the rabble of the city, through the streets of which he was dragged for many hours, he was finally brought to the place of execution, near the citadel, a little before sundown. An immense crowd, drawn thither some by sympathy, others by a vindictive desire to witness the death of one whom they regarded as an arch-heretic, but actuated for the most part, probably, by mere curiosity, was here assembled. Many of those who composed it were at least half- convinced of the divine mission of the Bab; others, who had come with feelings of animosity or indifference, were moved to compassion by the sight of the youthful victim, who continued to manifest the same dignity and fortitude which had characterised him during the whole period of his imprisonment.
The Bab was not to suffer alone. The sentence which had been
pronounced against him included also two of his disciples. One
of these, Aka Seyyid Huseyn of Yezd, who had been his companion
and amanuensis during the whole period of his captivity,
either actuated by a momentary but uncontrollable fear of death,
The other disciple was a young merchant of Tabriz, named Aka Muhammad 'Ali. Although every effort was made to induce him to follow the example of his comrade, and though his wife and little children were brought before him, entreating him with tears to save his life, he stood firm in his faith, and only requested that at the moment of death he might still be allowed to fix his gaze on his Master. Finding all efforts to alter his decision unavailing, the executioners proceeded to suspend him alongside of his Master at the distance of a few feet from the ground by means of cords passed under the arms. As he hung thus he was heard to address the Bab in these words: "Master! art thou satisfied with me?" Then the file of soldiers drawn up before the prisoners received the command to fire, and for a moment The smoke of the volley concealed the sufferers from view. When it rolled away, a cry of mingled exultation and terror arose from the spectators, for, while the bleeding corpse of the disciple hung suspended in the air pierced with bullets, the Bab had disappeared from sight! It seemed, indeed, that his life had been preserved by a miracle, for, of the storm of bullets which had been aimed a him, not one had touched him; nay, instead of death they had brought him deliverance by cutting the ropes which bound him so that he fell to the ground unhurt.
For a moment even the executioners were overwhelmed with
amazement, which rapidly gave place to alarm as they reflected
what effect this marvellous deliverance was likely to have on the
The two corpses were dragged through the streets and
bazaars, and cast out beyond the city gates to be devoured by dogs
and jackals. From this last indignity, however, they were saved
by the devotion of Suleyman Khan and a few other believers,
who, whether by force, bribes, or the influence of powerful
friends, succeeded in obtaining possession of them. They were
wrapped in white silk, placed in one coffin, and sent to Teheran,
where, by order of Mirza Yahya Subh-i-Ezel ("the Morning of
Eternity," who, though but twenty years of age, had been chosen
to succeed the Bab), they were deposited in a little shrine called
Imam-zade-i-Ma'sum, which stands by the Hamadan road not far
from Ribat-Karim. Here they remained undisturbed for seventeen
or eighteen years, till the schism originated by Beha deprived
his half-brother Ezel of the supremacy in the Babi Church which
he hitherto enjoyed, when they were removed by the Beha'is,
to whom alone is now known the last resting-place of the
glorious martyrs of Tabriz.
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