Five Years in a Persian Town

by Napier Malcolm

Another great difficulty is the Persian language. Persian is a pretty language with an extremely large vocabulary. What is more, every class of Yezdi, that is, of the men, uses a very large number of words. For all this it is almost impossible to accurately define an idea, for the language largely consists of synonyms, which cannot be used indiscriminately, but must be carefully selected according to the occasion. Some of these synonyms really possess accurate meanings, but if you choose your word according to the sense you wish to convey, you talk bad Persian. To give an illustration of this, suppose in dealing with the Incarnation you desired to bring out the Christian doctrine that God is not only the Friend of man but also his close Companion. I am quite certain that in ordinary Yezdi Persian there is no sufficiently appropriate term for “companion,” that could be applied to God in such a way as to bring out your meaning, without exposing you to a charge of irreverence. As a matter of fact I once tried to convey this idea in a Persian sermon, and was met with this difficulty. I afterwards tried to get three or four native Christians, one of whom was a teacher of Persian, to suggest a possible word, but the only expression they could propose was the word I had used.

The words one uses in a letter in Persian, even for the commonest objects, are almost entirely distinct from the words one uses conversationally, and the words which one would use in an ordinary prose history book are again different. Then it is almost impossible to distinguish the tenses; the true future is hardly ever used, consequently the present and the future are indistinguishable; and the preterite is frequently used of action which was begun in the past but which is still continuing. Lastly, the adjective is generally indistinguishable from the substantive, and the link between an adjective and the term which it qualifies is the same as the sign of the genitive. For instance the text, “This is My beloved Son,” may be read in the Persian Bible, “This is the son of My beloved” without the slightest violence to the grammar; nor, indeed, is there any obvious way out of the difficulty. I have mentioned these peculiarities of language because I think they are greatly connected with the Yezdi’s inaccuracy of ideas, though which is the cause and which is the effect is sometimes difficult to say.

There is no situation in which the Yezdi is so incalculable as that which seems to demand a certain amount of daring. Sometimes the people seem absolutely wanting in the power of taking the initiative, and expect to be directed like children. They have an aversion to killing animals except for food, even when there is danger to human life in allowing them to live. One day an English lady asked why a dangerous dog which had bitten several people was not killed. The answer was, “If you tell us to kill it we will do so, but not otherwise.” The fact is no one minded killing the dog, but they fancied the curse might lie with the initiator of the movement. They will go on letting things be, or allowing them to get more and more dangerous, until they have accustomed themselves to an amount of risk to incur which would be accounted by a European mere foolhardiness. In this they are largely influenced by predestinarian notions. An English lady was one day standing by an open tank in a Persian compound, into which one of the children had fallen that morning, and she remarked on its extreme danger. “Yes,” said the mother, “I have lost three children in that tank.” To build a small wall round such a tank would be in Persia exceedingly easy. Perhaps the little power of initiative that is left them by their predestinarianism is destroyed by the insecurity of the country. People get in the way of making as few improvements as possible, and of never exposing their capital more than they can help. In fraudulent business, however, there is a great deal of audacity, sometimes combined with a good deal of ingenuity. They are exporting at present to China a quality of so-called opium in which there is absolutely no morphia. The stuff is really an entirely different substance, and very cheap, and it is tied up in bags steeped in a solution of opium. It is, I believe, more harmful to smoke than the real article.

Passive courage the Yezdi possesses to a very high degree, but he must have a cause for which he cares sufficiently, if this courage is to be called out. If the terrible Babi massacres that have taken place from time to time in Persia have proved nothing else, they have at least shown that there is grit somewhere in Persian character. The way in which mere lads in Yezd went to their death in that ghastly summer of 1903 was wonderful. There was one boy whom they tried very hard to spare, for sometimes the mob were moved by something akin to pity. They took him to the mujtahid first, and told him to recant, and he would not. Then they took him to the open square, and held him up to give him one more chance, if he would curse the Behāu’llah and the Behāīs. “The curse be on yourselves,” was all he said; and then they tore him in pieces. The early Babis showed good fighting qualities in the north of Persia, as well as passive courage, and, as they were chiefly townsmen, we may presume that there are military possibilities in the Persian people, even amongst those who dwell in cities. But to look for military feeling in the kind of soldier that we get in Yezd is not fair. He is, I believe, collected by a sort of conscription from certain localities. When collected he is taught about as much of the ordinary elements of drill as is considered necessary in England for the national schoolboy. He is also assigned a wage of a toman a month, which if punctually paid would be insufficient to cover anything but the barest food expenses. This mistake is, however, generally remedied by his superior officers, who usually intercept so much of his wages that he is bound to look for other means of support. In this he is not discouraged. If he has a little ready cash he usually sets up as a money-lender, his official position and possession of a bayonet assisting him to collect his debts. Otherwise he steals shoes, or takes up some other similar form of employment which does not demand an extensive capital; sometimes he even makes shoes. Once a year he is supposed to be supplied with a uniform, but, though the uniforms are probably not worth more than a few shillings, they are very seldom regularly supplied. He is, however, free to add to his uniform as well as to his pay, and at certain times of the year there is very little left of the original outfit except an old cap with a metal badge, and possibly a belt. When on sentry duty he amuses himself by planting a small garden, four inches by two, in front of his station, and he keeps a heap of rose-heads to press into the hands of passers-by on the chance of extracting odd halfpence.

During the latter days of the Babi massacres, a guard of four men, a sergeant and three privates, was placed at the doors of the European houses by the Governor. Every soldier came to us with a thing that looked like a gun and certainly had a bayonet attached to it; but we heard that at one house it became necessary to send down an extra weapon which would shoot for the common use of the party. Of course the gun that would shoot was withdrawn at the earliest possible opportunity. The higher officers of this extraordinary force are surprisingly numerous, but as there are among them, I believe, boys of about twelve who hold the title of Field-Marshal, there is some excuse for a reduplication of officers. It is only justice to add that some of these soldiers are in their way very good fellows: the guard sent to our house were by no means a bad lot; and I shortly afterwards met a military officer whom I would class with the best Persians I know.

Nor does the courage of Persia come out very strongly in the high official class, though here too there are honourable exceptions. Still, as a general rule, amongst those who claim nobility there is very little apprehension of the maxim “noblesse oblige.”

Of course there is in Yezdi manners and customs much that strikes the outsider as intensely funny. For instance, the etiquette is distinctly peculiar, and although very ceremonious, it does not always appear to the European to be characterised by great politeness. When you come into the room the first two minutes will be spent in phrases intended to convey an exaggerated respectfulness. In upper middle-class houses your host will take upon himself the menial offices of service, not only making your tea himself, but going out of the room every two minutes to supplement the crockery, or to fetch another lump of sugar. If you have a servant with you, your host or his other visitors will discourse freely with this man before your face as to your most trivial personal affairs, and if there is a pause in the conversation they will make side remarks to one another on the number of your virtues, and when they have discovered a certain consensus of opinion, they will turn to you and give you the benefit of it directly, by telling you that you are a very good man. From this you must not infer that Persian friendliness is hollow: all that can be said is that the etiquette is artificial. Even so it means something; for when a man is anxious to pay you proper respect he adheres to it closely, unless he has reason to suppose that you would like him to adopt something of European manners, which some Persians dealing with Europeans try to do. However the etiquette is too elaborate and artificial for universal use, and generally speaking it is not much used except in matters relating to visits and to letter-writing. On other occasions Persians who have no intention of impoliteness are often a little off-hand as compared with other Easterns, and those who intend to be rude find plenty of opportunities for being so.

There is, I suppose, between the Persian and the European a difference of opinion as to what constitutes puerility. One of the Governors of Yezd once boasted to an English resident that it was no good trying to hide things from him, as he knew what every European in the town had for dinner. Then there is the custom of making absolutely worthless presents with the most superb empressement. Once when I was in a big village near Yezd with my wife and baby and mirza, a woman whom my wife knew came in, and after greeting us presented us with four very crumpled lettuce leaves, selecting the leaves according to her ideas of our exact precedence with the utmost care and circumspection, and having in the whole transaction very much the air of a maiden aunt giving a tip to a schoolboy. Nor must it be supposed that these customs only obtain amongst the women. A European banker once told me that if one of his brokers gave him anything, the others always followed his example; and that once at the bank one of them presented him with a rose-head, the second at once plunged his hand into his pocket and produced an old sweet, the third fumbled among his treasures, and at last found something which looked like a lump of gum. He could not quite remember what the fourth presentation was, but he fancied it was another sweet. Sometimes, particularly in Parsi houses, presents of this sort will be elaborately handed about, somewhat after the fashion of a round game, everybody giving something to everybody, and finishing with exactly the same amount as they had at the beginning. This game, however, is generally played on a special occasion, and the presents of fruit and sprigs of myrtle have a certain symbolical significance which gives grace and dignity to the performance. Of course the interchange of presents which although trifling have a positive value is one of the most striking features of the social intercourse of Persia. This is a custom which needs to be understood, and which soon degenerates into extravagance, but essentially it is a good custom. A higher value is always placed on what are called saughāts or travellers’ presents, and Europeans either travelling or residing in Persia should remember that a certain number of these will be expected of them. When a Persian has done you a real civility, he feels that to a certain extent he has introduced you to his home, and any little European thing which you may give him he takes as a graceful introduction to your separate life, and he values it from this point of view much more than would be otherwise possible. The custom, however, has its drawbacks; for it is the fashion in Persia always to present anything which a visitor has admired, and this becomes a peculiarly hollow piece of etiquette. Occasionally big Persians in dealing with inferiors use this custom as a means of enriching themselves, but this of course is exceptional.