In the sunken beds of many of the courtyards are orange trees; the scent from the blossoms of these is rather overpowering in spring; the beds beneath are generally covered with a tangle of luxuriant convolvulus or clover. The oranges are the bitter orange, like that of Seville; generally a few of the fruit are allowed to remain, and all through the winter the golden balls make the trees gay. In the bazaar the sweet oranges from Kafr and Kazerān, limes, fresh dates, pomiloes, shaddocks, and fresh lemons, show that we are in a warmer zone. And the complexions of the natives are more swarthy. Here, too, we see the type of the ancient inhabitant of Fars, the tall straight figure, the clear-cut features, and the aquiline nose; the eye, too, is much larger, and the foot much smaller; quite a Jewish cast of countenance is often seen. Here, too, the ladies’ dresses are gayer. The hideous blue veil is often of silk, and, among the ladies of rank, generally trimmed with gold braid. These “Chadūr,” or veils, are very expensive, at times costing, when the embroidery is deep (and it is always really gold thread), some ten pounds.
The shirts are clean and white, the big baggy trousers always of bright silk and always fitting the feet like a glove, the slippers tiny; whereas the Ispahan lady never goes beyond a sad-coloured cotton for her nether garment, and the feet coverings are much larger and less natty in cut and material, as are the feet themselves.
The tall hats of the lower orders are often of felt, and the hideous triangular cap of chintz of the Ispahani is unknown, save among the Jews.
As evening approaches the sound of music and singing is heard in every direction, and the professional musicians, singers, and dancers, under their Mūrshed, Chelinjeh Khan, drive a roaring trade. There are here, too, many amateurs among the upper classes even; such a thing in Ispahan as an amateur is very rare. The “kosh guzerān,” or “free liver,” is openly a toper, and considerable licence is the rule. Even the merchant out of office hours enjoys himself, and as a rule does not work more than four days a week.
The numerous gardens, public and private, are open to all the world, and little picnic parties may be seen every day, all the year round, taking tea and smoking and singing near a stream or under the trees. The servants all smile, and everybody seems to be enjoying himself. The thrifty Ispahani when transferred to Shiraz becomes another man, and the corners of his mouth turn down less; the few Ispahan merchants soon make fortunes, and having done so seldom return to their native place.
The climate is much hotter than Ispahan; snow is rare, though at times very heavy. At night as a rule, during three months of the year, one sleeps on one’s roof in the open air. Intermittent fever, diarrhœa, dysentery, and typhoid are frequent. Guinea-worm among those who have come from the Persian Gulf is often seen, and cholera of a severe type is a frequent epidemic; diphtheria and small-pox are rife. Shiraz is not a healthy place, and drink in this hot climate has many victims. Ophthalmia, too, is a great scourge, but phthisis here is happily unknown, and is rare in Persia.
During my first sojourn in Shiraz I had the pleasure of putting up Mr. Stanley, of ‘Across the Dark Continent’ renown; he had not then been to Africa, but was on his way. One thing that he brought with him, then a novelty, was a Winchester repeating rifle which carried a magazine of, I think, eleven or fourteen cartridges. One day my landlord happened to come in, and he being a travelled man had doubts on the authenticity of Stanley’s “many-shooter.” The fellow had been in India, and was a horse-dealer, and smart for that.
Stanley showed him the gun.
“Ah, I see,” said he, “it has two barrels” (the second barrel is underneath and forms the magazine for cartridges).