XVII
DARKNESS AND DAYBREAK IN PERSIA
One can never forget the first sight of a Moslem woman—that veiled figure, moving silently through the streets, so enshrouded that face and form are completely concealed. Men and women pass each other with no greeting or token of recognition, and if a wife accompanies her husband, she never walks beside him, but at a respectful distance behind, and neither gives a sign that they belong together.
A woman's first instinct is to efface herself. Even the poor, washing clothes in the street at the water-course, pull their tattered rags over their faces. The Persian expression for women, "those who sit behind the curtain," shows that their place is silence and seclusion. When the closed carriage of a princess passes, her servants, galloping before, order all men to turn their faces to the wall, though all they could possibly see would be carefully veiled figures. The beggar sitting on the ground at the street corner is equally invisible under her cotton chader, as with lamentable voice she calls for mercy on the baby in her arms.
During the month of mourning, we often pass a brilliantly lighted mosque, where men sit sipping tea or smoking, listening to the tale of the death of their martyrs, but crouching on the stony street outside in the darkness, a crowd of women are straining their ears to catch what they can. Such are the passing glimpses one gets of the Persian woman in public.
Her real life is lived in the "harem." We realize its meaning, "the forbidden," when after passing through the imposing street gate, and the outer court where are the men's apartments, we are conducted to a curtained door, guarded by a sentinel, who summons an old eunuch to lead us through a dark, narrow passage into the inner court, or andaroon. Here no man may enter but the very nearest relatives of the inmates, and they under severe restrictions. As women, we have free access, and this privilege is shared by the Christian physician, who is welcomed and trusted. One such gives us this picture.
The andaroon is usually very far from being an abode of luxury, even in wealthy families, unless the number of wives is limited to one or two. The favorite wife has many advantages over her rivals, but she is usually encouraged to set an example of severe simplicity, in respect to her house and its furnishings, to the other wives; each of whom would make life a burden to her lord, were marked discrimination shown in such things. He, therefore, contents himself with reserving the best of everything for the beroon, or outer apartments, where he receives his own guests. Here are fountains, spacious courts, shady walks, and profusion of flowers without, while within are large, high-ceiled and stuccoed rooms, elaborate windows, delicately wrought frescoes, the finest rugs and divans, showy chandeliers and candelabra, stately pier glasses brought on camels' backs from distant Trebizond or Bushire, inlaid tables from Shiraz, and portières from Reshd.
The andaroon presents a marked contrast. The rooms are usually small and low without ventilation, the courts confined, sunless, and bare; the garden ill-kept, and the general air of a backyard pervading the entire establishment. This order is reversed by many ecclesiastics, who in deference to the popular idea, that to be very holy, one must be very dirty, reserve all their luxuries for the andaroon, and make a show of beggarly plainness in the part of the house to which their pupils and the public have access.