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

by C. J. Wills

We rode up to the door of the Governor, whom I found propped up with pillows in a corner of the room, a huge, fat man about thirty-eight, who was a general debauchee, opium-eater, wine and spirit drinker, and bhang smoker. He was suffering from gout.

An aged Syud, with a long beard and blue turban, was in attendance from Shiraz as his physician. The Governor himself was a strikingly good-tempered, even jovial man, and between the paroxysms of his gout, joked and talked. The village, or rather district, magnates sat round him chiming in with all his observations, and trying to soothe his pains. They were, master and retainers, the fattest set of men I ever saw collected in one room. A long description of the patient’s ills ensued, many pipes of peculiar construction were smoked, and I was offered a tumblerful of strong spirit as a matter of course, considerable surprise being expressed at my refusing it.

Tea was continually handed round, which everybody, including the patient, swallowed; a native bottle was frequently produced from under his pillow from which he partook of copious draughts of pure spirit, taken from a silver bowl holding half a pint: this was emptied frequently. Every two hours my patient swallowed a bolus of opium. Though we were in the middle of summer, some thirty to fifty people were always in the room, and every window was shut and curtained; thus a semi-darkness was produced. Smoke from innumerable pipes filled the air, while the heat was rendered greater by a huge samovar, in which water for tea-making bubbled. The temperature was ninety degrees out of doors at five P.M. The chatter of conversation was continuous, and four musicians strove to drive dull care away by playing loudly in a corner. I found my patient had just had an attack of delirium tremens, and was going the right way for another.

At seven, after having prescribed for him, I escaped to my quarters under the pretext of dining, and lay down to rest. At nine my servant informed me that my dinner was about to be served; and a large circular tray, having some six dishes on it, with bread and all et cæteras, a huge bowl of iced sherbet and a bottle of wine, was brought in. I was very hungry and anxious to fall to, and I felt a sense of anguish, when, to my astonishment, my servant (whom I had brought from Shiraz), assuming the part of the Governor of Barataria’s physician, ordered the whole away in an indignant voice.

As soon as my dinner had disappeared, I demanded an explanation of my man. It was this: “I know, sahib, that the dinner I sent away was quite enough for the sahib, and a good dinner, but here in Persia a man’s position is reckoned by the quantity of the dinner sent him, and the number of plats. They have sent you six plats. I have told them that you couldn’t think of dining on less than eighteen; and if I allowed you to eat the dinner that was sent, good as it was, you would be looked down on. Are you less than the prince’s physician? Certainly not. They would send him, or rather he would demand, at least twelve plats. I assure you I am acting in your interest.”

I suppose the fellow was right. Dinner for at least twenty-four persons was brought on three huge trays. I tasted some half-dozen well-cooked dishes, and then my servant removed the rest, and I observed him, with the master of the house and numerous hangers-on, dining in the open air on the very copious dinner that remained. The man was right. Such are some of the ways a Persian has of keeping up his consequence.

About ten P.M. I went, a few doors off, to the house of my patient the Governor. The same stifling room, the same hard drinking, only now everybody was drinking. Dancing-boys and singers, shrieking the noisy love-songs of Persia in chorus, were keeping up the spirits of my patient. To the few who were not drinking wines or spirits, tea was continually handed. Long conversations on the topic of the patient’s illness took place, and on local politics. Wearily, at two A.M., on the ground that my patient must try to sleep, I succeeded in getting away. I was accompanied home by a big man with a jet black beard, a Khan who was one of the Muschir’s retainers, and a polite fellow. What was my disgust to find his bedding spread in my little room. I told my man to bring him my water-pipe to smoke, and then I remonstrated. I said it was not a “Feringhi” custom to sleep in a room with strangers. But the Khan said it was late, that there were no other quarters, and commenced to disrobe. “If you must have a separate room, take that,” said he, pointing to two heavy doors at the end of the apartment.

I opened them, and found a small room, windowless, in which apparently charcoal had been stored. Impossible for me to sleep there; but, thought I, “these are really my quarters, why shouldn’t the Khan sleep there? he is the intruder.” I pretended to collect my bedding.

“You are never going in there!” said he.