The peculiar honesty of the Persian servant towards his master in respect to his goods and chattels has been previously remarked; and in commercial morality, I fancy that a Persian merchant will compare not unfavourably with that of the European generally, if he does not always attain the high standard theoretically adopted by the Englishman.
To the poor, Persians are unostentatiously generous; most of the rich have regular pensioners, old servants, or poor relations who live on their bounty, and though there are no workhouses, there are in ordinary times no deaths from starvation; and charity, though not organised, is general.
The Persian is, I regret to say, a liar, but Oriental exaggeration and a tendency “to run into poetry,” as Mr. Wegg said, perhaps accounts for much of this. After a time one learns to mentally discount the statements made by the natives, and habit generally enables one to do this correctly. All ranks of society exaggerate and draw the long bow; a curious instance of this occurred in Shiraz. I was conversing on the subject of hunting with the king’s son, and a large circle of courtiers and priests filled the room.
The prince narrated his exploits in hunting the antelope the previous day, and gravely stated that while pursuing a pair of “ahū,” when riding a very restive horse that he had, his head-stall broke.
“What should you have done, doctor?”
“I should have tried to stick on as long as the ground was good, and, expecting an accident, have awaited it.”
“Ah, that was because you were not a prince,” he said. “I leant forward, and unclasping my belt, placed it in the horse’s mouth as a bridle, and thus directing him, pursued my game and killed both antelope.”
All the circle applauded (as of course they were bound to do). I was silent.
“You don’t mean to say you don’t believe that?” said the prince.