Our Moslem Sisters / A Cry of Need from Lands of Darkness Interpreted by Those Who Heard It

by Unknown

The Persian wife seldom ventures into the beroon, and when she does, it is as an outsider only, who is tolerated as long as no other visitor is present. All its belongings are in charge of men-servants, and the dainty touches of the feminine hand are nowhere seen in their arrangement, and her presence is lacking there, to greet its guests, or grace its entertainments.

When the Khanum suffers from any of the ailments, for which in America or Europe outdoor exercise, travel, a visit to the seaside, to the mountains, or to the baths is required, the physician feels his helplessness. He sees that the patient cannot recover her nervous tone in her present environment. But there is no seaside except at impossible distances and in impossible climates. A visit to the mountains would mean being shut up in a little dirty village, whose houses are mud hovels, the chief industry of whose women is the milking of goats and sheep, and working up beds of manure with bare feet, and moulding it by hand into cakes for fuel. Or, if the husband have both the means and the inclination, for her sake to make an encampment upon the mountains large enough to afford security from robbers and wandering tribes, she would be confined largely to the precincts inclosed by the canvas wall surrounding the harem. She rides only in a kajava, or basket, or in a closed takhterawan, or horse litter, or, as she sits perched high up, astride a man's saddle, looking in her balloon garments, and doubtless feeling, more insecure than Humpty Dumpty on the wall. In her outdoor costume, the Khanum never walks. At best she can only waddle, therefore she is almost as effectually shut out from this important form of exercise as the women of China. In both countries the peasant class are blessed with more freedom than those of higher rank, and the village women, dispensing with the baggy trousers and in some districts also with the chader, or mantle, swing by on the road with an elastic stride that would do credit to a veteran of many campaigns.

Travelling in Persia is, for women particularly, a matter of so great discomfort, that even the shortest journey could seldom be recommended as a health measure. There are some famous mineral springs in Northern Persia, but they are usually in regions difficult of access, and often dangerous on account of nomads and robbers, and they generally have only such facilities for bathing as nature has afforded. If they really do heal diseases their virtues must be marvellous, for the sick who visit them usually stay but a day or two, though they make a business of bathing while they have the opportunity. To prescribe travel, therefore, would be about the equivalent of prescribing a journey to the moon, and to recommend outdoor exercise for an inmate of the andaroon would be like prescribing a daily exercise in flying, the one being about as practicable as the other. Should the physician find it necessary on the other hand to isolate his patient for the treatment of hysteria, which is exceedingly common, or for mental troubles, which are also very common, he is equally at sea. No nurse, not even a "Sairey Gamp" could be found. When it is known that one has a severe illness or visitation from God, they come, as in the days of Job, "every one from his own place—to mourn with him."

In cases where absolute isolation has been ordered, as an essential condition of the patient's recovery, the physician may expect on his next visit to find the room filled with chattering women, who have gathered to speculate on the possibilities of a recovery or each to recommend the decoction which cured some one else, whose case was "just like this." There is but little watching done at night in the most severe cases, and a physician is seldom called up at night to see a patient.

On my first introduction to the andaroon, I had little acquaintance with either Persian customs or costumes. I had been asked to see the wife of a high dignitary, and on my arrival was at once ushered into her presence. I found my fair patient awaiting me, standing beside a fountain, in the midst of a garden quite Oriental in its features. She was closely veiled, but her feet and legs were bare, and her skirts were so economically abbreviated as at first to raise the question in my mind, whether I had not by mistake of the servant been announced before the lady had completed her toilet. She, however, held out her hand, which apparently she did not intend me to shake, and I presently made out that I was expected to feel her pulse as the preliminary to my inquiries concerning her symptoms; or rather in lieu of them, the competent Persian physician needing no other clue to the diagnosis. Then the pulse of the other wrist had to be examined, and I inspected the tongue, of which I obtained a glimpse between the skilfully disposed folds of the veil. This woman had been suffering from a malarial disease, which had manifested some grave symptoms, and I tried to impress upon the family the importance of her taking prompt measures to avert another paroxysm. Feeling somewhat anxious as to the result, I sent the next morning to inquire about her condition and the effect of the remedy prescribed, but learned to my disgust that the medicine had not yet been given, the Mullah who must make "istekhara" (cast the lot) to ascertain whether the remedy was a suitable one for the case, not having yet arrived.

Seclusion, lack of exercise, the monotony that leaves the mind to prey upon itself, ignorance, early marriage, unhappiness, abuse, and contagious diseases bring upon the Persian woman a great amount of physical suffering directly traceable to the system of Mohammedanism. One special demand of her religion, the month of fasting, is a case in point. At the age of seven, the girls must assume this burden, not taken up by boys till they are thirteen. For a mere child to be deprived of food and drink, sometimes for seventeen hours at a stretch, day after day, and then allowed to gorge herself at night, cannot but be a physical injury.

In illness, no pen can depict the contrast between a refined Christian sickroom and the crowded noisy apartment, poisoned with tobacco smoke, where lies the poor Persian woman in the dirty garments of every-day wear, covered by bedding in worse condition.

Mentally, the Persian women are as bright as those of any race. The same physician says, "The Persian woman is often neither a doll nor a drudge. I have known some who were recipients of apparently true love, respect, and solicitude on the part of their husbands, as their sisters in Christian lands; some who were very entertaining in conversation, even in their husbands' presence; some who were their husbands' trusted counsellors; some who were noted for learning; some who were successfully managing large estates; some who have stood by me in my professional work, in emergencies demanding great strength of character and freedom from race and sectarian prejudice."

But these are the exceptions; scarcely one in a thousand has any education, even in its most restricted sense of being able to read and write her own language intelligently. It is marvellous to see how all the advantages are lavished on the boy, who will have Arabic, Persian, and French tutors, while his sister is taught nothing. In consequence, the ignorance and stupidity of woman have become proverbial. It is a common saying, "Her hair is long, but her wit is short."