The Elchee on this occasion told the truth, but not the whole truth. The character of the court in which he was giving evidence did not perhaps require the latter, and it might have lessened the pleasure imparted, to have spoken of the plundered bales of cloth, and the dread of being made over to the Tûrkûmâns, which had so fixed the recollection of his majesty's family in the mind of poor Jonas Hanway. As it was, the king was delighted, and conversed familiarly on various subjects. Amongst others, he inquired very particularly into the frame of the English government.
The Elchee explained it to him as well as he could. When he spoke of the liberty of the subject, his majesty was puzzled to understand what it meant; but on being told it implied, that no man was so high in England as to be able to do anything contrary to the law of the land; and no man so low, but that he might do everything not contrary to that law, he appeared to comprehend this, as well as the other points which had been explained to him.
"I understand all you have said," he observed; and after some reflection, he added—"Your king is, I see, only the first magistrate of the country."[130] "Your majesty," said the Elchee, "has exactly defined his situation." "Such a condition of power," said he, smiling, "has permanence, but it has no enjoyment: mine is enjoyment. There you see Sûlimân Khan Kajir, and several other of the first chiefs of the kingdom—I can cut all their heads off: can I not?" said he, addressing them. "Assuredly, 'Point of adoration of the world,'[131] if it is your pleasure."
"That is real power," said the king; "but then it has no permanence. When I am gone, my sons will fight for the crown, and all will be confusion: there is, however, one consolation, Persia will be governed by a soldier."
The king, at this visit, appeared in great good humour with the Elchee, and gratified the latter by showing him his richest jewels, amongst which was the "sea of light,"[132] which is deemed one of the purest and most valuable diamonds in the world. Many of the others were surprisingly splendid.
On the evening after this visit, my excellent friend, whom I have before mentioned as preferring a shot at a duck to a view of the ruins of Persepolis, said he would like to be king of Persia. Knowing that inordinate ambition had no place in his mind, I asked him what he would do if he attained that station: "Run away with my crown," was the prompt answer. We had a hearty laugh at the genuine simplicity of this expression. It is perhaps the first time sovereignty was ever desired for such a purpose; but, considering all that attends, in Persia, the wearing of the article he wished for, it would perhaps be the best mode of converting to real advantage so dangerous and precarious a possession.
The condition of Fatteh Ali Shâh, at the time I first saw him, was deemed, by his Mahomedan subjects, as fortunate as could be attained by any human being in this world. He added to youth and personal endowments, four wives, more ladies than I will venture to name, and nearly one hundred children, the possession of a splendid throne, and the prospect of living long to enjoy it, for his cruel but able uncle, Aga Mahomed, had destroyed all who were likely to dispute his possession of the crown. "He had," to use his own words, "raised a royal palace, and cemented it with blood, that the boy Bâbâ Khan (the name he always gave his nephew) might sleep within its walls in peace."
The king has elegant manners and many accomplishments. Among others, he is a poet, and has written a book of odes, of the merits of which the critics of Persia speak in perfect raptures. I only wish I had the same power that he possesses of disarming severity and propitiating favour. What a magnifying glass would then be applied to these pages, now doomed, I fear, to be viewed through a reversed telescope, which will make them appear so diminutive as hardly to be worth the trouble of perusing. But to return to his majesty of Persia.