The population of Isfahan, notwithstanding such exceptions, may be described as an active industrious people. They are considered the best manufacturers and the worst soldiers in Persia. But whatever may be their department in the field of battle, they are remarkable for the boldness of their language in the field of argument, and have great confidence in their ready wit and talent for repartee.
Some years ago, this city was governed by a brother of the celebrated Hajee Ibrahim, whose family at that time held several of the first offices in the kingdom; and I heard that minister tell the Elchee the following anecdote:
A shopkeeper, he said, went to his brother to represent that he could not pay an impost. "You must pay it, like others," said the governor, or leave the city." "Where can I go?" asked the man. "To Shiraz or Cashan." "Your nephew rules the one city, and your brother the other." "Go to the king and complain, if you like." "Your brother the Hajee is prime minister." "Then go to hell," said the enraged governor. "Hajee Merhoom, the pious pilgrim, your father, is dead—" retorted the undaunted Isfahânee. "My friend," said the governor, bursting into a laugh, "I will pay the impost myself, since you declare my family keeps you from all redress, both in this world and the next."
The merchants of Persia form a distinct class. I had now seen those of Abusheher, Shiraz, and Isfahan, and found their general character nearly the same.
So long as they have no concern with state affairs, and accept of no employment from government, they enjoy considerable security. The plunder of a merchant, without some pretext, would shake all confidence, and be fatal to that commerce from which a great proportion of the public revenue is derived; the most tyrannical monarchs therefore have seldom committed so impolitic an act of injustice. But this class have suffered so severely in the late revolutions of the country that they continue to act with great caution. They are not only very circumspect in their dealings, but, like wary diplomatists, every merchant has a cipher, known only to himself and his correspondents. By this means they receive and convey that intelligence which is essential to give safety to their speculations. Some few make a display of their wealth; but in general their habits are not merely frugal, but penurious. This disposition often increases with age to a degree that would hardly be credited if we had not similar instances in our own country.
The popular impression is so strong on this subject, that they relate the following story as a fact, to exemplify it:
A merchant who had lately died at Isfahan, and left a large sum of money, was so great a niggard, that for many years he denied himself and his son, a young boy, every support, except a crust of coarse bread. He was, however, one day tempted by the description a friend gave of the flavour of cheese to buy a small piece; but before he got home he began to reproach himself with extravagance, and instead of eating the cheese he put it into a bottle, and contented himself, and obliged his child to do the same, with rubbing the crust against the bottle, enjoying the cheese in imagination.
One day that he returned home later than usual, he found his son eating his crust, and rubbing it against the door. "What are you about, you fool?" was his exclamation. "It is dinnertime, father; you have the key, so I could not open the door;—I was rubbing my bread against it, because I could not get to the bottle." "Cannot you go without cheese one day, you luxurious little rascal? you'll never be rich!" added the angry miser, as he kicked the poor boy for not being able to deny himself the ideal gratification.
Our stay at Isfahan was short. I regretted this the less, as I had, on the former mission, full time to trace those remains of the splendour of the Seffavean kings, which are still to be found at this their favourite capital. The names of almost all these monarchs are now forgotten, excepting that of Shâh Abbas the Great, who, in Persia, is not only the builder of all bridges, cârâvânserâis, and palaces, but his name is associated with all good sayings, liberal acts, and deeds of arms. I was really quite tired with hearing of this most gallant, most sage, most witty, and most munificent monarch, at his seat of glory; and when sixty miles to the northward of that city, we were entering the delightful little town of Nethenz, which lies in a narrow valley between two high mountains, I said to myself, "Well, we are now, thank God, clear of Abbas and his grand palaces; this scene of repose abounds in beauties for which he had no taste."
Hajee Hoosein, who was riding near me, said, as if he had read my thoughts, "This is a charming place, and the inhabitants are remarkable for their wit, as well as for their pears, peaches, and pretty ladies. When Abbas the Great"—I pulled up my horse, and looked at him with a countenance that indicated any thing but anxiety for his story; but not observing, or not choosing to observe, he continued:—"When Abbas the Great was hunting in this valley, he met, one morning as the day dawned, an uncommonly ugly man, at the sight of whom his horse started. Being nearly dismounted, and deeming it a bad omen, he called out in a rage to have his head struck off. The poor peasant whom they had seized, and were on the point of executing, prayed that he might be informed of his crime:—'Your crime,' said the king, 'is your unlucky countenance, which is the first object I saw this morning, and which had nearly caused me to fall from my horse.' 'Alas!' said the man, 'by this reckoning, what term must I apply to your majesty's countenance, which was the first object my eyes met this morning, and which is to cause my death?' The king smiled at the wit of the reply, ordered the man to be released, and gave him a present instead of taking off his head."