In the land of the lion and sun, or, modern Persia

by C. J. Wills

As each piece had the water thus thoroughly beaten out of it, a boy on the bank seized it and proceeded to spread it on the gravel, fixing the edges and corners with a stone; his duty was never to let the wrung cloth get dry, which he managed to do by constantly dashing water over the out-spread rows of dyed cloths with a pan. Often the process has to be repeated several times, as the cloths are sent down from the printers in the various stages. Above each furiously beating rinser rose a cloud of variously coloured spray which gradually became colourless; in every direction the sheets of water thrown by the boys glittered in the strong sun, and the loud choruses of the half-naked rinsers, and the barking of their watch-dogs—for each batch had their dogs—made a cheerful and exciting scene.

Of course the calico, cotton-cloth, or T-cloth, as it is variously termed, had to be strong and good to stand such a process; and the adulterator had little chance with the wily calico-printer, who always weighed his cloth prior to purchasing, washed and dried it, and then weighed it again; the consequence is that, save of the best quality, little cotton-cloth is sold in Ispahan. Certain brands well known for their genuineness command a high figure, such as that of the Ace of Spades, though they are soon closely imitated by unscrupulous makers. However, the calico-printer is generally quite a match for the adulterator.

Many of the rinsers make little hovels of brushwood and earth, and live altogether on the banks of gravel, and in February, when the waters suddenly rise, the scene is exciting as they collect their traps at the last moment, and a few seconds after, their huts are swept away—banks, huts, and millstones disappearing, and a furiously rushing river of muddy water taking their place. This yearly occurrence of the rise of the waters happens on the melting of the snows on the mountains. The Ispahan river (Zend-a-Rūd) usually presents the appearance near the town of a number of chains of pools of water united by a central brook just occupying the middle of a wide but dried watercourse, having a hardly perceptible stream, and as clear as crystal. No sooner, however, do the spring rains commence than the stream becomes muddy, or at all events discoloured; and when the “sale ab,” or rise of the waters, comes, the dams that have been placed to regulate the amount of water taken off by the various canals for supplying the town and irrigation—some of which are very old and really important works—are carried away, the river is seen to rise many feet an hour; at times even a large wave appears, and trees torn up by their roots come rapidly down in large numbers. The huge bridges are crowded by a shouting and excited populace, the banks and all coigns of vantage are thronged, and for a couple of days all Ispahan enjoys the sight. Then the river sinks, the stream becomes clear, and a broad and swift river is seen till May, when it gradually sinks to its normal summer insignificance, most of its waters being taken off for irrigation and the supply of the town.

THE PUL-I-KOJŪ.

During the “sale ab” the great sight is at the Pul-i-Kojū, Bridge of Kojū. This handsome structure, crossing the river from one of the ruined quarters of the town of Ispahan to the palace of Haft Dust, in which Futteh Ali Shah died, is built of brick with well-made stone piers, and is of very original construction. As through its arches for eight months in the year a small stream slowly flows, the huge piers are separated at the bottom by merely narrow channels; these are arched over, and a level causeway is the result; over this is built the second or real bridge, which has rooms on each side of it at each pier, with open doorways looking towards the waters; there are stairs and rooms too in the upper piers.

When the rise of the waters takes place, this bridge, rooms, staircases, and parapets are crowded, also the causeway. Rapidly the lower arches become filled with the roaring torrent, still more quickly it rises above them; at length it flows over the causeway of stone, which at the last moment is left by the crowd, and falls with tremendous noise into the seething flood the other side; still rising, it thunders through the large archways, and soon the curious appearance from the lower side is presented of a regular waterfall the whole width of the stream, with as many torrents as there are arches, seething out above this; above all, the double-storied bridge covered with sightseers shouting, singing, and shrieking, with the additional possibility of the whole being washed away at any moment. The upper bridges are often damaged; somewhat of the beauty of the scene, however, is detracted from by the river at these times being the colour of café au lait.

In summer, fording the river, I entered the Char Bagh (four gardens), or in winter approached it by the bridge. There are several Char Bagh in Ispahan, but the principal one extends for about a mile on either side of the river in a straight line, the centre of the line being formed by the bridge, which is quite level—a rare thing in Persia; and also a rare thing in Persia, it has many large arches; the parapet is some twelve feet high, and at each pier is a small chamber having three apertures to the river; above the parapet is ample room for foot passengers.

The Char Bagh contains a double avenue of magnificent plane-trees, some of great age—alas! too soon to disappear. As these gigantic planes decay in the inside, they are felled and become the perquisite of somebody: at times in great gales they fall with a crash, the inside being quite gone. Also whenever the Governor wants a big tree for any purpose he takes one, but nobody plants any new ones.

A high wall bounds the Char Bagh on either side; at intervals are edifices pierced by gates of from three to four stories, of no architectural pretensions; they are of brick, ornamented with barbarous designs on plaster in flaring colours, which time has happily toned down; these gates lead to what were once lovely fruit gardens, now mere enclosures sown with grain, grass, etc. The Char Bagh is some thirty yards or more wide: about half-way up on the right-hand side is the Mehdresseh, or college, the tiled dome of which, now fast decaying, is a very ornamental object for miles. The dome is surmounted by a golden ornament which is stated to be solid and of pure metal; this, I fancy, is very doubtful. The college is entered by a high gateway, and here are the celebrated silver doors—of the genuineness of these there can be no doubt; the centre plates are very handsomely made, and have been heavily gilt; the plates are not, however, very thick, and the substance of the doors is wood under thin silver. The gateway, which is in bad repair, contains nothing of interest, and is blocked up by fruit-stalls and pipe-sellers. A rough kind of orchard and a tank occupy the courtyard, a few pomegranates and roses being the principal shrubs, though there are some large trees. Several halls for instruction are seen on either side; these, like the mosque beneath the dome, are lined and roofed with one sheet of perfect tile-work, green, black, and yellow on a white ground; the whole interior of the college, too, is tiled. Taken separately, there is nothing particular about these tiles, but the tout ensemble is grand and cool in the extreme.