It is the custom in Persia to send to all governors, royal personages, and ministers, a yearly present from the king, to show the royal satisfaction. These presents are all termed kalāats (or dresses of honour), even though the gift may be in jewellery, or even specie; a dress or robe of greater or less value, or a jewelled weapon, being the general kalāat. The withholding of the yearly robe of honour to a provincial governor is generally the sign of the royal disfavour, and the despatching of it often the token of the recipient’s confirmation in office, though at times it is what gilds the bitter pill of his recall. The kalāat is usually sent from the capital by the hands of some person of consequence, generally some favoured servant of the Shah, and this man is sent down that he may receive a present, generally large in amount, from the recipient, and may bring back the usual bribe to the Prime Minister for retention in power, or even the same thing to the king himself.
The New Year’s festival is generally the time of the despatch of the official dresses of honour from the capital. The bearer, and his two or more attendants, generally come on post-horses, and the etiquette is that the recipient goes out to meet the royal gift. The bringer, on arrival at the last stage, is met by the servants or friends of the recipient, who send off to announce the arrival. He now takes off his travel-stained garments, puts on his finery, and starts on horses sent out for him, bearing the royal bounty at his saddle-bow wrapped in a Cashmere shawl. The recipient, accompanied by all his friends and the greater portion of the populace—for the bazaar is closed by order, and a general illumination commanded for the evening; all the shops are visited, and severe fines inflicted on any one disobeying—proceeds to meet the present, and await its arrival. The distance that is gone is regulated by the position of the recipient—the greater the personage, the less distance he goes.
One morning the prince sent for me and told me that a kalāat from the Shah would arrive for him the next morning, and that he wished his hakim-bashi and myself to ride out with the magnates of the place, who would accompany him, to meet it. I of course expressed my readiness to attend his Royal Highness, and I was told by the hakim-bashi, who was very jubilant, that probably a decoration would be given to each of us. To have declined would have been to give mortal offence, and to have lost the favour of the Governor of the province, whose partiality secured me against annoyance from the natives of any kind. So the next day I presented myself at nearly noon and found the prince in great feather, the head astrologer having appointed two in the afternoon for the enduing of the dress of honour. Every one was in gala dress, the streets were thronged by a holiday mob in high good humour. And out we all rode. First came four yessaouls, or outriders, with silver maces, showing off their horses by capering in circles; then six running footmen, each with his silver-headed staff and clad in the royal scarlet, in the ancient costume of Persia, and with the strange head-dress somewhat like a fool’s pointed cap—these men are called “shahtirs;” then grooms mounted, leading the handsomest horses of the prince’s stud with gold and jewelled harness and a Cashmere shawl spread over each saddle; then the “mir-achor” (literally, lord of the manger), or master of the horse—a coarse, heavy fellow, the prince’s maternal uncle (his mother, they say, was a peasant girl who struck the king’s eye while washing linen at a village stream)—the mir-achor riding a big and valuable animal; then the prince himself, on a handsome iron-grey, the tail of which is dyed red (a royal custom permitted only to the sons of the king besides the Shah himself), clad in his best—a handsome shawl-coat of great value and trimmed with sable, an under dress of blue satin embroidered in silver, gold, and coloured thread, a gold belt having a rosette of diamonds with a huge central emerald, the thing being four inches in diameter, and wearing his various decorations and the portrait of the Shah set in brilliants. His black cloth hat is fiercely cocked, and he smiles at the acclamations of the people, and is evidently delighted at his apparent popularity. After him come the two rival magnates of Shiraz, the Kawam and Muschir (the minister of the young prince); then the two secretaries, the hakim-bashi, and myself; then the principal people of Shiraz and the prince’s attendants, all on horseback; then some merchants on mules; then a shouting crowd which follows the procession. Soldiers lined the road, and a battery of artillery is drawn up to fire one hundred and one guns when the royal dress of honour is donned. We ride to about a mile and a half from the town on the Ispahan road. Half-a-dozen horsemen station themselves at distances of one hundred yards along the post-road in the direction whence the king’s messenger must come. In a few moments a gun is fired by one of these, then another as he perceives the messenger’s arrival, and we see three men, one bearing a bundle, advancing at full gallop. A letter is handed to the prince, it is the royal firman; he raises it to his head and hands it to the Muschir, the principal official present; the messenger rides at the prince’s side, who asks him the news of Teheran.
We all ride slowly back towards the town, and so enter the “Bagh-i-No” (new garden), a Government garden where the dress of honour is to be publicly put on.
The prince invites me into an inner room, and I am given coffee. He then tells me that he has requested the Order of the Lion and Sun to be conferred on me, for which I express my gratitude; and the hakim-bashi, who is also to get it, does the same.
The doctor and I enter the big open verandah, or talár, and are given a prominent place among the grandees there, a few priests and officials also being honoured with places, as are the chief merchant and some others. Vases of roses and common flowers are placed at intervals along the front of the talár, beyond this is the big tank, round which are crowded the merchants, tradesmen, and populace of Shiraz, an orderly crowd. The Muschir who presides is affable, and regales us with sweetmeats, pipes, and sherbet.
The prince enters, followed by the bearer of the kalāat. We all stand up, the royal firman or order is read by the Muschir. The kalāat, a Cashmere shawl-coat worth some eighty pounds, and trimmed with rich furs, having a string of big pearls and a bored but uncut emerald attached to the top button, is put on by the prince amid acclamations, being handed to him by the bearer. Then a jewelled wand or rod of office some four feet long is handed by the Muschir to the Kawam, or mayor of Shiraz; he bows, more acclamations—this is his kalāat. Then the star (having a centre enamelled on gold of the Lion and Sun) is affixed to the breasts of the hakim-bashi and myself; and now we all rush for our horses, and the mob rush for the flower-vases, which are mostly smashed in the struggle.
We return to the town in procession as we came. On nearing the bridge, the Jews, as is customary, behead a little ox at the feet of the prince, and their chief man runs with the bleeding head by the prince’s side till driven off by the farrashes or stick-men; then glass jars of sweetmeats were smashed by the tradesmen under the feet of the royal horse, and amidst shouts, dust, and the reports of the cannon, we enter the town, and I, popping my star in my pocket, canter off to my own house. I have never worn it since, but I could not refuse it, as it was meant in kindness, and I did not wish to offend.