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

by C. J. Wills

Above the garden is the “Sau-sau-rac,” or sliding-place; here for centuries the young of both sexes were accustomed to resort; the rocks slope sharply down, and generations of sliders have polished the stones till they have become like glass. After a breakfast at Dilgooshah, whenever there are children or young people, the whole party adjourn to the “Sau-sau-rac,” and the juveniles, and not unfrequently the elders, run up the edge and, squatting at the top, slide rapidly down in strings, the whole tumbling over pell-mell at the bottom; the more adventurous slide down on their stomachs head downwards, but they generally squat and go down in strings for mutual safety; all, however, thus conduce to the polishing of the “Sau-sau-rac.”

A difficult climb of three-quarters of an hour brought one to the Chah Ali Bunder, a well cut in the surface of the living rock; a huge square aperture yawns in the surface. The well was probably originally constructed to supply a mountain fastness with water (which was, I think, never reached); the shaft is of great depth, and is popularly supposed to be without bottom. I have attempted to measure it by dropping a stone, but the echoes thus produced render it impossible. One hears no sound of water on throwing objects into it, and I have lowered six hundred yards of string, and the cord has remained still taut.[27]

There are no ruins round it, and this points to an unsuccessful boring for water. Such a position in the times previous to artillery—and it is only of very modern introduction in Persia—would have been, if supplied with water, almost, if not quite, impregnable, for the road up is very steep, and could easily be rendered quite impassable.

The use to which the Chah Ali Bunder is now put reminds one of the ‘Arabian Nights’; it is the place of execution of faithless women. I am not sure whether it has been used within the last ten years for that purpose, I believe it has. But some seventeen years ago a friend of mine was present at such an execution. The woman was paraded through the town bareheaded, with her hair cut off, on an ass, her face being to the tail. She was preceded by the lutis or buffoons of the town singing and dancing, while the Jewish musicians were forced to play upon their instruments and join in the procession. All the rabble of the town of course thronged around the wretched woman. The ass was led by the executioner, and it was not till nearly dusk that the place of punishment was reached. The victim had been mercifully drugged with opium, and was probably unaware of her fate; she was ordered to recite the Mussulman profession of faith; this she was of course unable to do. Her hands were bound behind her, a priest recited the profession of faith in her name, and the executioner, saying “Be-ro!” (“Get thee gone!”) by a touch of his foot launched her into eternity. Such executions are getting less common in Persia than formerly.

In Shiraz, where intrigues among married women are very rife, the husband’s relatives—and often the woman’s make common cause with them—generally take the matter into their own hands, and either fling the woman from a roof or into a well, or administer a dose of poison; the adulterer generally taking refuge in flight, or getting off with a severe bastinado if the affair is brought home to him; generally, however, such things are hushed up. In any case no notice is taken of them by officials, and no punishment is visited upon the actors in these private tragedies.

I had a man-nurse for my children, one Abdul Hamid, by trade a gold lacemaker, a native of Shiraz; he was the quietest and most humble of little men—nearly a dwarf. I was told by him a curious incident in his history. Marrying his cousin, a young and handsome Shirazi, she was not long faithful to him; and his mother, who is usually the master-spirit and guardian of her son’s honour in a Persian household, finding that the lady’s amours were becoming notorious, at length informed her son; there was unfortunately no room for doubt; the husband ran with his woes to his mother and brothers-in-law, respectable artisans; one of these the same evening brought some corrosive sublimate, and the girl’s own mother, her mother-in-law, her brothers, and her husband compelled her to swallow a fatal dose of the drug.

Although in a few days the affair was common bazaar talk, no notice was taken of the matter, the thing being looked on as a natural ending to the woman’s intrigue. I asked my man one day if the story were true; he replied, “Oh yes, sahib, it was her fate,” and proceeded to inform me that he was on the best of terms with the family of his late wife.

In the garden of Jahn-i-ma (my soul) is the grave of Rich the traveller; he died in Shiraz when on his road home. Close to this garden, in a small cemetery having a mud mosque, is the monolith covering the grave of the poet Hafiz; it is a huge block of Yezd marble beautifully carved with verses from the writings of the poet. The Yezd marble is very similar in appearance to alabaster. It is a favourite place of resort of the literary, who may be frequently seen reading the works of the poet, and smoking or meditating over his tomb. Around him are buried many who look on his works as religious and inspired writings; some, and the major portion of educated Persians, simply consider Hafiz as an Anacreontic dreamer, and his works the ways of wickedness made bright.

A mile off is the tomb of Saadi, another poet, the author of the moral tales upon whose teaching the mental course of most Persians is guided. The first story forms the keynote to this system, and explains the otherwise mysterious course pursued by most Orientals, who usually prefer the crooked to the straight. The tale is well known, and I may be permitted to quote it from memory. All these “moral tales” are very concise. It is as follows:—

“Once a great king, having overcome his enemies in battle, caused the principal captives to be brought bound into his presence. On their arrival they commenced to revile him. The monarch, being ignorant of their language, turned to his minister and requested him to explain their speech. The minister, instead of faithfully repeating their sentiments, said, that overcome with the magnificence of the king, they were expressing their astonishment at his greatness, and imploring his clemency. The king, pleased, ordered their release. The moral is, ‘It is better to tell a lie that produces good, than to tell the truth which produces evil.’”