Five Years in a Persian Town

by Napier Malcolm

In an emergency it is frequently almost impossible for a European to get what is needed, if the things required are not such as he has been accustomed to buy at other times. To offer rather more than the price one usually gives is not of much use, and frequently has the very reverse effect to what is intended; for the seller in such a case may decide to forego the profits of legitimate trading for the chances of effecting a coup. But the real difficulty is rather that the retail trading of Yezd is totally devoid of ordinary enterprise. When the trader moves out of the ordinary rut of his every-day commerce he prefers to be fraudulent. In his customary business the shop-keeper makes a fair profit, and although his dealings may not be very extensive, there is always the chance of something really good coming his way. Meanwhile he has a position very much more dignified than that of the English shop-keeper. In Yezd the seller, not the buyer, is the conferrer of the benefit, and so far as the relation is concerned, the superior. When he sells very small quantities, he often charges less than the usual price. When he sells large quantities, he frequently charges something extra. Europeans in an ordinary way have not much difficulty in getting regular supplies when they become well known, though they have to pay more for them than the natives do. An Armenian also has to pay more than a Yezdi, but less than a European. I am inclined to think that the poorer natives suffer from the difficulty of procuring on emergencies things which they do not ordinarily buy quite as much as ourselves, though probably the richer Persians have more facilities. This is just one specimen of the inertia of Yezd. In matters of transport one is even more in the hands of other people. It is extremely difficult to find transport at less than three days’ notice, and one can seldom get off on a journey within two hours of the time arranged. During the journey there is the same difficulty in controlling affairs. Under such circumstances people naturally get a tendency towards fatalism, and undue persistence even gets to be regarded as a sin. Probably this has some effect on the religious conceptions of the people, for, if a man who sticks to his point is not to be admired, it is difficult to understand why we should consider unchangeableness of purpose a necessary attribute of the Deity. Whatever may be the orthodox doctrine of Islam upon the subject, there is no doubt that the Yezdi fails utterly to understand why there should be any persistence or consistency in the view taken by the Deity of human sin, for the Yezdi himself would hardly feel justified as a father, or person in authority, in taking a similar firm stand. One of the consequences of this doctrine is that weakness is hardly accounted a sin at all. I remember two conversations with Babi mullas in which this came out very forcibly. They tried to argue that taqīya, that is, the custom of denying one’s faith under the stress of danger, was sanctioned in the gospels by the story of Peter’s denial. I have also found other Persians who have disputed the sinfulness of Peter’s action, on the ground that he was the victim of compulsion. But the most curious suggestion with regard to the defensibility of weak conduct was made by another party of Babi mullas, who considered that the difference between the forbearance of Christ towards His enemies and the impatience exhibited by Mohammed was fully accounted for by the respective lengths of their ministries.

One finds the marks of this want of persistence everywhere. I have seldom seen a tombstone in Yezd that has been finished accurately, and there is scarcely a building that has not got a rough, unfinished corner. Similarly every one who has seen a Persian carpet knows that the design is almost always broken in at least one place.

I suppose the prima facie conclusion is that the Yezdi is the weakest of weak beings, but I am very doubtful whether this conclusion is true. Repose and weakness are two different things, and although we seldom find the Yezdi putting out his strength, the condition of the country is hardly such as to rouse him. Certainly in the sphere of morals the Yezdi’s religion gives him very little inducement to a consistent life. “The Light That lighteth every man that cometh into the world” is not wanting in Persia. Sometimes it makes Mussulmans superior to their creed, but, if I may be allowed to express an opinion, I think this Light operates more in calling men out of Islam than in guiding them in it.[6] I should hesitate to make a similar statement about the Parsis. It is not my intention to discuss Zoroastrianism at length, but although it is a religion without a gospel, almost all the essential ideas about God, and right and wrong, and the bases of human action are undoubtedly true so far as they go.

If one wants to know whether the Yezdi Mussulman is strong or weak, one must examine his conduct when he is sure of his cause. I think he is worthy of some praise for the self-restraint he habitually shows when he is conforming to the by no means easy restrictions of an established and elaborate etiquette. But, as I have previously said, the thing which has opened people’s eyes to the enormous strength of Persian character under partially favourable moral conditions, is the way in which the Babis have exposed themselves to martyrdom, and have stood firm to their beliefs and cause under tortures too horrible for description. It has been mentioned that, although Yezdis, while they remain Mussulmans, do not show any great enthusiasm for a distinction between right and wrong, they still possess the greatest powers of loyalty both to causes and to individuals. In their affection for those for whom they care they are anything but weak, and when they really attach themselves to Christianity and realise the personal presence of Christ, they develop an unexpected strength of character. We must, however, beware of expecting an utter change of constitution to take place at the time of conversion.

A Yezdi’s personal attachments do not run so closely along the lines of duty and relationship as might be expected by people coming to Persia from other Eastern countries. The family tie is not always a very strong one, though it is sometimes exceedingly strong. Perhaps one reason for this is the extreme looseness of matrimonial relations. A Shiah may have four regular and permanent wives. When he marries, a settlement is made on the woman, who may be divorced at any time if he cares to pay the settlement. The woman may also divorce her husband, if she cares to forfeit the settlement, that is if she is sufficiently mistress of her own movements to be able to make the necessary arrangements. There is no limit to the number of divorces and re-marriages, so long as no man possesses at any time more than four wives. Besides these he may have as many temporary wives as he likes. It is true that these wives are theoretically only slaves, but this, after all, is simply a legal quibble. They can be married either for a few days or for a few years. Babis may only have one wife, and divorce is discouraged, though amongst the less respectable Babis in Yezd divorce is as common as anywhere. Some of the more respectable Mussulmans in Yezd openly profess a belief that monogamy is the more respectable state, and among the better Yezdi merchants it is very common. Girls are sometimes married extremely young, for instance at nine or ten, but there is a growing feeling that to marry a very young child is not altogether respectable, and some of the better class merchants prefer not to let their girls be married before fourteen. Of course this is an unsatisfactory state of things, but one must not fly to the conclusion that there is no affection in Persian marriages. One of the missionaries had a lad of about eighteen in his employment, and there had been talk of a marriage between him and a child of ten or twelve. Going home one evening for his night off, he found that he had landed in the middle of his own marriage ceremony, which took place that night. He was a good-natured lad, fond of children, and the little wife was devoted to him and was terribly distressed at his not coming home the next night, for she had got everything ready for him, and would not believe he was not coming. When one of the ladies from the missionary’s house went to call on her some days after she came very close up and whispered that she wanted her husband to come home every night.

The women of the highest official class are kept very close in Yezd, perhaps only going out once in six months, except to the bath; but the merchants’ wives have considerably more liberty, and the commoner women go about freely. Sometimes there is a great deal of real affection in the home, at other times exceedingly little, especially when there is more than one wife, and sometimes there is the grossest cruelty. The fact is that Persians are led by impulse in these matters. They are very slightly constrained by any feeling of principle. As a class perhaps the old mothers are the worst treated, and an old woman generally prefers going to her daughter rather than to her son. One of the richest merchants in Yezd had an old mother who was very ill, and he refused even to buy a chicken to make the broth the doctor had ordered. At last a favourite black slave wheedled one out of him, and made the broth for the old woman. Slaves in Persia are very valuable and are generally well treated. On the other hand, another well-known merchant and landowner, whose old mother-in-law was very ill, thought nothing too good for her; he insisted on her having all she wanted promptly, and came himself to her room at least once a day to enquire after her health. The same man took a personal interest in seeing that every provision was made for the comfort of his old cook when she was past work, and the general tone of the household was one of affection and consideration. Another big merchant, whose old mother had fallen off a roof, showed the very greatest solicitude for her comfort in every possible way, spending hours with her, and himself lifting her most carefully. At the same time the old women as a class are not well treated, and in the better class houses it is often difficult to distinguish them from the servants. The poorer classes are generally no better. I remember that at one time my wife was trying to explain to one of my servants’ wives what ingratitude meant. The woman was very fond of her children, so my wife asked, “Would you not think it very ungrateful, if, when you were old and poor, your boy refused to do anything for you?” “No,” she said, “of course that is what I expect. Our boys are always like that. We only say, ‘It is the will of God.’” Several women present joined in the laugh at my wife’s ignorance.

Of course a great deal of cruelty goes on in the less respectable Persian households, and the use of poison is not uncommon. It should be explained that in Persia people who are not even professedly respectable are to be found in every class, and in a commercial town like Yezd status goes largely by wealth, and carries with it no obligation to keep up even a superficial reputation. The organisation of the household is very largely outside the operation of the ordinary law. I do not know what is the exact legal limit of the jus paternum, but I am quite sure that it is very difficult to bring to book the head of a household for murdering any member of his family. Also in the case of a member of the family leaving Islam, the matter would probably be primarily left to the head of the household, although if the case was flagrant the matter might also be taken up by outsiders. It is very necessary to understand this when discussing the possibility of religious liberty in Persia. Religious liberty, proclaimed by a firman of the Shah, would not have the enormous value which is sometimes supposed. Indeed it would be almost entirely without immediate value, unless the Persian government were considerably strengthened, and a limitation put on the jus paternum. A decision by leading mujtahids that it was expedient to give such liberty either to the individual or to the family, would probably have more immediate effect, but, even were such a thing possible, it would be difficult to say how long such a decision would remain unchanged if advantage was really taken of it, and the precedent of the decision would on the whole be rather a bad one.

Another conceivable form of religious liberty is that the right of making converts from Islam should be secured by treaty to the European missionary. This, however, would not put a stop to the persecution of converts. There is so much injustice that is done in Persia as a matter of course, that it would be very difficult to prove that Persian subjects who were converts had been interfered with for religious reasons. One of the difficulties that missionaries experience at present, is that converts are always bringing forward instances of injustice which they themselves believe to be due to their profession of Christianity, whereas the missionary, who has considerable doubts on the subject, is often afraid of calling down real persecution by using his influence on their behalf.

The subject of religious liberty is a very difficult one, and although some people feel that an extension of treaty rights would be a good thing, and others, that a firman of the Shah giving religious liberty to his subjects would help the growth of sound and civilised ideas in his domain, there can be no doubt that the primary want is strong and good government. I have tried in this chapter not to discuss the government of Persia more than is absolutely necessary. It is of course far from perfect. At the same time, during my stay in Yezd, the governors of the town, and notably the Jalālu’d Daula, showed great friendliness to the whole European colony, and great fairness in their attitude towards the mission. The strengthening of the Persian government is a clear gain to the missionary, and seeing that strong government without religious liberty could certainly do for us infinitely more than religious liberty without strong government, I personally feel that the strengthening of the Persian government, central and local, is at present the main desideratum. At the same time, with God all things are possible, and I should hesitate to press this view on other people.

One or two instances of the lengths to which crime can go in Persian houses without arousing much notice from the authorities might be recorded. There was in Yezd one man who stabbed his own child in its mother’s arms, and remained absolutely unpunished. He was still flagrantly ill-treating his wife and children while we were in the town. In the Isfahan district, a man murdered his child-wife by pouring paraffin over her and lighting it. The child died in the Julfa hospital. If any punishment was inflicted it was a very light one. There was another woman in Yezd dangerously stabbed by her son-in-law, but as she did not die, even her family took very little notice of the matter. These are a few typical specimens of the way in which the family is allowed to manage, or mismanage, its own affairs.