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<pre>
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Behind the Veil in Persia and Turkish Arabia, by
M. E. Hume-Griffith and A. Hume-Griffith
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Behind the Veil in Persia and Turkish Arabia
An account of an Englishwoman's Eight Years' Residence
amongst the Women of the East
Author: M. E. Hume-Griffith
A. Hume-Griffith
Release Date: April 16, 2012 [EBook #39463]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEHIND THE VEIL IN PERSIA ***
Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously
made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
</pre>
<div class="front">
<div class="div1 cover"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first"></p>
<div class="figure xd20e113width"><img src="images/frontcover.jpg" alt=
"Original Front Cover." width="439" height="720"></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div1 frenchtitle"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first xd20e119">Behind the Veil in Persia and Turkish
Arabia</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div1 frontispiece"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first"></p>
<div class="figure xd20e124width" id="p000"><img src="images/p000.jpg"
alt="The Author and her Husband in Bakhtian Costume" width="481"
height="720">
<p class="figureHead">The Author and her Husband in Bakhtian
Costume</p>
<p class="first">Dr. Hume-Griffith’s dress is that of a chief,
and is of blue cloth lined with red flannel: and the lady’s is of
richly-brocaded velvet, and her head-coverings are of very pretty
muslin, embroidered with silk.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div1 titlepage"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first"></p>
<div class="figure xd20e133width"><img src="images/titlepage.gif" alt=
"Original Title Page." width="428" height="720"></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="titlePage">
<div class="docTitle">
<div class="mainTitle">Behind the Veil in Persia and Turkish
Arabia</div>
<div class="subTitle">An Account of an Englishwoman’s Eight
Years’ Residence Amongst the Women of the East</div>
</div>
<div class="byline">By<br>
<span class="docAuthor">M. E. Hume-Griffith</span><br>
<i>With Narratives of Experiences in Both Countries</i><br>
By<br>
<span class="docAuthor">A. Hume-Griffith</span>, M.D., D.P.H.<br>
With 37 Illustrations and a Map</div>
<div class="docImprint">Philadelphia<br>
J. B. Lippincott Company<br>
London: Seeley & Co. Ltd.<br>
<span class="docDate">1909</span></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd20e175" href="#xd20e175" name=
"xd20e175">vi</a>]</span></p>
<div class="div1 imprint"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first xd20e119">Printed by <span class="sc">Ballantyne,
Hanson & Co.</span></p>
<p class="xd20e119">At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd20e184" href="#xd20e184" name=
"xd20e184">v</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div1 dedication"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first xd20e119">I DEDICATE<br>
THIS BOOK<br>
TO<br>
<i>MY HUSBAND</i><br>
IN LOVING REMEMBRANCE OF<br>
EIGHT HAPPY YEARS<br>
1900–1908 <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd20e203" href=
"#xd20e203" name="xd20e203">vii</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div1 preface"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="main">Preface</h2>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">I have endeavoured in this book to give some account
of that inner life of the East of which a traveller, however
keen-sighted and intelligent, seldom gains more than a passing glimpse.
In a residence of eight years in Persia and Turkish Arabia I have
become intimate with a large circle of friends whose life is passed
behind the veil, and as the wife of a medical missionary I have had
unusual opportunities of winning their confidence and becoming
acquainted with their thoughts. Of direct missionary effort I have said
very little, but I hope that the picture I have given may arouse
interest in lives spent amongst surroundings so different from our
own.</p>
<p>It is impossible for any one, however unversed in politics, who has
lived so long in Mesopotamia, not to be deeply interested in the future
of the country. While all Europe has been filled with astonishment at
the bloodless revolution in Turkey, we who have become familiar with
its inner life are touched with a feeling of admiration and something
akin to awe. Whatever misgivings there may be as to the permanence of
this reformation we hope and trust that it will endure.</p>
<p>Of one imminent change the effect is likely to be far-reaching. The
new government has secured the services of Sir William Wilcox as their
adviser <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd20e213" href="#xd20e213" name=
"xd20e213">viii</a>]</span>in great irrigation schemes. Irrigation in
Mesopotamia will change the whole face of the country; vast stretches
of desert will be transformed into a garden, ruined villages will be
restored, a new kingdom may be born, and Babylon possibly rebuilt.
Mosul, practically on the site of ancient Nineveh, will become easy of
access from Europe by means of the Baghdad railway and the restored
navigation of the Tigris. Its waste places may be filled with corn, and
the city be crowned once more with some of its ancient glory.</p>
<p>I should like to take this opportunity of thanking all those who
have kindly allowed me to use their photographs, amongst them the Rev.
C. H. Stileman, Dr. Saati of Mosul, and the Publishing Department of
the Church Missionary Society.</p>
<p>I am indebted to Professor Brown’s valuable book entitled
“A Year amongst the Persians” for information on the Babi
religion, and to Sir A. H. Layard’s classical work on the
excavations of Nineveh, which I have frequently had occasion to
consult.</p>
<p class="signed">M. E. H.-G. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd20e221"
href="#xd20e221" name="xd20e221">ix</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="toc" class="div1 contents"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="main">Contents</h2>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first tocChapter">Part I</p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter I</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch1">Early Impressions</a>
<span class="tocPagenum">Page</span></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Start for Persia—Arrival at
Isphahan—Departure for Kerman—The Land of the Lion and the
Sun—A rainy day and its
effects—Eclipse—Locusts—Sand-storms—Land of
cats—Modes of conveyance—Inhabitants
<span class="tocPagenum">17</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter II</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2">Kerman</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Short history of Kerman—Its
overthrow—City of beggars—Story of the fort—The
jackal’s “tale of woe”
<span class="tocPagenum">30</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter III</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch3">Persian Industries</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Carpet-making—How to tell a good
carpet—How to make a carpet—The cry of the
children—Shawl
manufactures—Calico-printing—Brass-work—Agricultural
industries—Water disputes—Kanâts—Poppy
crops—Wheat and corn—Tobacco-growing
<span class="tocPagenum">40</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter IV</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch4">The Climate of Persia</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Resht, Teheran, Isphahan—Dryness of
atmosphere—Cellars—Roof life—Children attacked by
jackals—Chequered history of work in Kerman
<span class="tocPagenum">50</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter V</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch5">Holidays in Persia</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">How to ensure a prosperous
journey—Natanz—Astonishment of natives at sight of
hairpins—Pulivagoon—Mahoon—Aliabâd—Prince
under canvas—Visit from a Persian princess—A Persian deer
hunt <span class="tocPagenum">59</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter VI</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch6">Social Life in Persia</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Kerman—House-hunting and
building—White ants—Housekeeping in Kerman—Servant
question—Truth <i>v.</i> falsehood—Abdul
Fateh—Bagi—Recreations—Some exciting
rides—Persian etiquette—Dinner at the governor’s
<span class="tocPagenum">71</span>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd20e300" href="#xd20e300" name=
"xd20e300">x</a>]</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter VII</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch7">The Women of Persia</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Home Life—Anderoon, women’s
quarters—Jealousy in the anderoon—Anderoon of Khan Baba
Khan—Two days in an anderoon—H.R.H. Princess
Hamadané Sultané—Visit to the anderoon of H.R.H.
the Zil-es-Sultan <span class=
"tocPagenum">84</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter VIII</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch8">More About Persian Women</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Costumes—Wedding festivities—Wedding
dinner—Kindness of Persian husbands—Story of
brutality—Divorce—Aids to beauty—Degradation and
cruelty of women <span class=
"tocPagenum">95</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter IX</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch9">Some Points in the Moslem
Faith</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Fasts and feasts—Seyyids, Dervishes,
Mullahs—Legends of the drowning mullah, and the yard-square hole
<span class="tocPagenum">106</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter X</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch10">Other Religious Sects</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">The Báb and Babism—Short sketch of
life of the Báb—His imprisonment and
execution—<i>Parsees</i>, or Zoroastrians—Persecutions of
Parsees in seventh century—Sacred writings of Parsees,
Zendavesta—Fire-worshipping—Fire temples—Holy
fire—Parsee wedding—Costume of women—Death
customs—Burial customs <span class=
"tocPagenum">116</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter XI</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch11">Desert Delights</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Songs of the desert—Sunsets, sunrises,
mirages—Illness in the desert—Mehman khanehs,
caravanserais—Chappa khanehs—Lost in the desert—Its
cruelties and sadness <span class=
"tocPagenum">130</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter XII</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch12">Persian Medical Missions</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">The need of them—Work in
Isphahan—The “little devil” transformed into a
boy—Amputation—Brothers in adversity—H.R.H.
Zil-es-Sultan as a patient—Fanaticism overcome
<span class="tocPagenum">140</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter XIII</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch13">Pioneer Medical Mission Work in
Kerman</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Waiting for drugs and instruments—Native
assistant proves a broken reed—First operation in Kerman—An
anxious moment—Success—Doctrine of “savab”
convenient to the Moslem—Fanaticism tempered with
prudence—Opium slaves—Persian therapeutics—Persian
quacks and their methods—Sure way of curing cancer—Hysteria
<span class="tocPagenum">151</span>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd20e383" href="#xd20e383" name=
"xd20e383">xi</a>]</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter XIV</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch14">Medical Mission Work in
Yezd</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">A hospital—A friendly governor—A
suspicious case—Superstition—The opium habit—A case
of cataract—We return to England
<span class="tocPagenum">164</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Part II</p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter I</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.1">The City of Nineveh</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">The fast of Jonah—The bridge of
boats—Traditions as to ancient history of Mosul—Elkos,
birthplace of Nahum the prophet—Shurgât—Climate of
Mosul—Cultivation and industries—Importance of Mosul
<span class="tocPagenum">173</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter II</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.2">The People of Mosul</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">
Population—Moslems—Christians—Chaldeans—Nestorians—Jacobites—Arabs—Kurds—Jews—Yezidees—Recreations—Warfare
of the slingers—Hammam Ali—The recreation ground of Mosul
men and women <span class=
"tocPagenum">186</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter III</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.3">The River Tigris</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Ancient historical interest—Garden of
Eden—Origin of name
unknown—Swiftness—Sources—Navigation—Keleqs—Bathing,
fishing, washing—Crossing rivers
<span class="tocPagenum">198</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter IV</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.4">The Children of Mosul</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Spoiling process—Despair of the
parents—The “god” of the hareem—Death by
burning—Festivities at birth of boy—Cradles and cradle
songs—School life—Feast in honour of a boy having read the
Koran through—“Only a girl”—Girl
life—Girl victims of Naseeb—Marriage
<span class="tocPagenum">208</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter V</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.5">The Moslem Women of
Mosul</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Beauty behind the veil—Types of
beauty—My dear old friend of 110 years of age—Aids to
beauty described—Pretty children—Beauty tainted with
sin—Imprisonment of women—Peeps into some
hareems—Warm receptions—A visit from the ladies of a select
hareem—Love the magic key to open hearts
<span class="tocPagenum">219</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter VI</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.4">Moslem Family Life</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">No home life—Women equal with the
beasts—Evils of divorce—Naseeb—The will of
God—Truth and falsehood—Honesty prevalent—A thief
caught—Swearing and
anti-swearing—Fighting—Hair-tearing and
biting—Hammam, the ladies’ club
<span class="tocPagenum">231</span> <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"xd20e465" href="#xd20e465" name="xd20e465">xii</a>]</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter VII</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.6">Customs of Mosul</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Wedding ceremonies—Great expense to
parents—Method of procedure—Funeral customs—Customs
at birth—Some other customs <span class=
"tocPagenum">244</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter VIII</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.7">Dreams and Visions</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Ezekiel’s vision by the river
Chebar—Our vision by the river Khabour—Rivers
identical—“A wheel within a wheel”—Babylonish
emblem of divinity—Origin of the cherubim—Dream of a woman
suffering from cataract—Effect of dream on her
character—Watch and chain recovered by means of a
“faked” dream—Illustration of the doctrine of Kismet
or Naseeb—“Ghosts” in our compound—Atmosphere
of ghosts bad for fowls <span class=
"tocPagenum">257</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter IX</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.9">Manners and Superstitions in
Mosul</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Characteristics of inhabitants of
Mosul—Social habits—Love of drink—An effectual
cure—Gambling—Tel Kaif: a story of Uncle Goro—The
Angel of Death, and other titles—Difficulties over name and
age—Some superstitions—Effect of scent on women—Birds
of good omen—Thieves—Sheep-killing—Sheikh
Matti—An angel’s visit—Medical
superstitions—Cure for hydrophobia
<span class="tocPagenum">269</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter X</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.10">The Yezidees</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Gratitude to the
English—Persecutions—“Devil-worshippers”—Sun
and fire worship—Priesthood—A visit to Sheikh
Âdi—Peacock wands—A sacred shrine
<span class="tocPagenum">284</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter XI</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.11">Travelling in the
Desert</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Monotony of desert travelling—A puppy and
a kitten tragedy—Accident by the river Euphrates—Riots in
Mosul—Robberies and murder excited by love of gold
<span class="tocPagenum">294</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter XII</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.12">The Pleasures of Desert
Travelling</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Desert blossoms as a rose—Flowers of the
desert—Arabs, their occupation and women—Arab
dancing—Robbers of the desert—An army of 10,000—Five
hundred armed men—False alarms—Lost in the
desert—Delights and disturbances of travelling
<span class="tocPagenum">307</span></p>
<p class="tocChapter">Chapter XIII</p>
<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2.13">Pioneer Medical Mission Work in
Mosul (Nineveh)</a></p>
<p class="tocArgument">Winning the confidence of the
people—Native surgery—Difficulties to be
overcome—Backward patients—Encouraging work—Prevalent
diseases—Lunatics—Possible future of Mesopotamia
<span class="tocPagenum">317</span>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd20e545" href="#xd20e545" name=
"xd20e545">xiii</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div1 contents"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="main">List of Illustrations</h2>
<ul>
<li> <span class="tocPagenum">Page</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p000">The Author and her Husband in
Bakhtian Costume</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum"><i>Frontispiece</i></span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p026-1">Persian Conveyances</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">26</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p026-2">A Halt for Lunch</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">26</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p046-1">A Novel Drying Ground</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">46</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p046-2">Persian Mode of
Irrigation</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">46</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p054-1">A “Chimney” of
Yezd</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">54</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p054-2">A Korsi Or Heating
Contrivance</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">54</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p072-1">House-building in
Persia</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">72</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p072-2">Persian Shops</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">72</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p076-1">Scene from the Roof of our House
at Kerman</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">76</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p076-2">A Street in Kerman</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">76</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p086">The Mosque Gate, City of
Kerman</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">86</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p132-1">A Mountain Pass</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">132</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p132-2">A Caravanserai</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">132</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p142-1">A Very Ancient Bridge</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">142</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p142-2">A Typical Street in
Baghdad</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">142</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p148-1">Using the X Rays in Julfa
Hospital</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">148</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p148-2">A Ward in the Julfa
Hospital</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">148</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p158-1">Opium Making</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">158</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p158-2">The Rich Beggar</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">158</span></li>
<li><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd20e697" href="#xd20e697" name=
"xd20e697">xiv</a>]</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p166-1">Types of Persian Jews</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">166</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p166-2">The Water Square</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">166</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p174">Our Home in Nineveh</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">174</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p176">A Bridge of Boats</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">176</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p180">The Bridge of Boats Over the
Frozen Tigris</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">180</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p188">A Picnic Party</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">188</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p192">Mutrar Paulus, Syrian Roman
Catholic Bishop</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">192</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p210-1">Dr. Hume-Griffith’s Study
in Mosul</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">210</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p210-2">Our Drawing-room in
Julfa</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">210</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p216">A Group of Persian
Girls</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">216</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p222-1">The Camera in Mosul</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">222</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p222-2">Tired of Play at a
Picnic</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">222</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p224">An Itinerant Cook preparing
Kabobs</a></span> <span class=
"tocPagenum">224</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p240">Bread-making</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">240</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p246">A Mosul Bride</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">246</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p259">A Wonderful Vision</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">259</span></li>
<li><span class="sc"><a href="#p296">Travelling in Winter</a></span>
<span class="tocPagenum">296</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb15" href="#pb15" name=
"pb15">15</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="body">
<div class="div0 part">
<h2 class="main">Part I</h2>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter xd20e825">
<p class="line">“So, after the sore torments of the route,</p>
<p class="line">Toothache and headache, and the ache of mind,</p>
<p class="line">And huddled sleep and smarting wakefulness,</p>
<p class="line">And night and day, and hunger sick at food,</p>
<p class="line">And twenty-fold relays, and packages</p>
<p class="line">To be unlocked, and passports to be found,</p>
<p class="line">And heavy well-kept landscape—we are glad</p>
<p class="line">Because we entered (Persia) in the Sun.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">D. G. Rossetti.</span></p>
</div>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb17" href="#pb17" name=
"pb17">17</a>]</span>
<div id="ch1" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="super">Behind the Veil in Persia and Turkish Arabia</h2>
<h2 class="label">Chapter I</h2>
<h2 class="main">Early Impressions</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Start for Persia—Arrival at
Isphahan—Departure for Kerman—The Land of the Lion and the
Sun—A rainy day and its
effects—Eclipse—Locusts—Sand-storms—Land of
cats—Modes of conveyance—Inhabitants.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“’Tis the sight of a lifetime to behold</p>
<p class="line">The great shorn sun as you see it now</p>
<p class="line">Across eight miles of undulant gold</p>
<p class="line">That widens landward, weltered and rolled</p>
<p class="line">With patches of shadow and crimson stains.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Lowell.</span></p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Shadow maker, shadow slayer, arrowing light from
clime to clime.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Lord Tennyson.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Our life in Persia extended over a period of three
years, dating from the spring of 1900 to that of 1903.</p>
<p>It was with great joy I heard the news, early in February of 1900,
that my husband had been appointed by the Church Missionary Society to
open medical work in Kerman, and that we were to start almost at once.
Within a month we were married, had bought our outfit, bid sorrowful
farewells to our relations and friends, and started for the romantic
land of Persia. From London to Isphahan took us just nine weeks, as we
were delayed by illness for some weeks both in Russia and in the
Persian Desert. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb18" href="#pb18" name=
"pb18">18</a>]</span>However, on 9th May we entered the beautiful city
of Isphahan, to find a warm welcome awaiting us from friends there.
This place will always have a very warm corner in my heart, for it was
there we made our first home. The doctor in charge of the work at Julfa
(the Christian quarter of Isphahan) having left on furlough, my husband
was asked to remain there till his return, which he accordingly did. It
was not till the following spring that we left for Kerman. Thus our
first impressions of this land of light and darkness were gathered from
Isphahan and its neighbourhood. There is no after time so full of
interest to those who live abroad as the first year spent in a new life
and country, gleaning fresh ideas, seeing new sights, gaining
experiences often dearly bought, but which must be purchased ere the
newcomer can settle down to life in the East with any comfort or peace
of mind.</p>
<p>The native servants love to obtain posts with fresh comers, knowing
that for the first few months, at any rate, they will have an
exceedingly good time, being able to make a huge <i>medâqal</i>
(profit) from the unsuspecting Feringhi. I sigh to think of the many
ways in which we were cheated those first few months of our life in
Persia, but no one breathed a word to us, realising that our eyes would
be opened only too soon, and that experience was the most effectual
teacher. It is a strange fact that all housekeepers new to the land
think their servants are perfect till they find out, perhaps when too
late, their foolish delusion.</p>
<p>From the very first my heart went out in affection to the dear
Moslem women, and now, after <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb19" href=
"#pb19" name="pb19">19</a>]</span>eight years spent amongst them, I can
truly say that my love has deepened, and my sympathies become enlarged,
for these charming but, alas, too often unhappy followers of
Mohammed.</p>
<p>Our knowledge of Persia extends especially to three cities, in each
of which we spent a year. Isphahan, as we have seen, was our first
home, then came a year at Kerman, a distance of some 500 miles
separating the two cities. Finally we spent a very happy year at Yezd,
that City of Sand, situated midway between Isphahan and Kerman. Of each
of these cities we shall hear more in other chapters.</p>
<p>Persia has well been called the Land of the Lion and the Sun.
Certainly the latter name is well deserved, for the sun is almost
always shining, and without the brilliant sunshine we should hardly
recognise it as the land of Persia.</p>
<p>The symbol of the Lion and the Sun originated in the days when the
Zoroastrians were the inhabitants of the land. The Sun, being the
emblem of the Fire Worshippers, was taken as their national badge. The
Lion was added later because Ali, the grandson of Mohammed, was called
“The Lion of God.” The woman’s face in the Sun was
inserted some years later by one of the Persian kings as a tribute to
his favourite wife.</p>
<p>The sunshine of Persia forms one of its greatest attractions. Even
in winter the dull, cloudy days are few and far between. When by chance
a rainy day does come, the people are so surprised and taken aback that
they seem paralysed for the time being, and are unable to go about
their usual business. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb20" href="#pb20"
name="pb20">20</a>]</span></p>
<p>The remembrance of our first experience of a rainy day still lingers
in my memory. We had awakened one morning much later than usual to find
the sky clouded over and the rain coming down in torrents. I was
surprised to find that we had not been called as usual, but imagined
the servants had forgotten to do so. Upon entering the dining-room,
what was my surprise to find no preparations for a meal. Calling the
servant, I asked him why breakfast was not ready. At this he seemed
quite hurt, as he answered, “But, Khanum (lady), it is
raining!” This fact was to his mind quite sufficient reason for
everything. As long as the rain lasted the servants could be prevailed
upon to do nothing except crouch over the fire and shiver! The moment
the rain ceased and the sun once more shone out they resumed their
normal state.</p>
<p>This constant sunshine is a great boon to the beggars and poor,
helping to make life endurable for them; they need very little
clothing, as a rule, to enable them to keep warm. So long as they can
lie and bask in the sunshine, picking up bread enough to sustain life,
they trouble very little about working or earning money.</p>
<p>There is only one place where there is very little sunshine, and
that is in the hearts and lives of the people. Especially, perhaps, is
this true in the case of the women of the land, as we shall see
presently.</p>
<p>A Persian gentleman once visited England, and on his return to his
native country was questioned by his friends as to which was the better
land to live in. His reply was to the effect that in England the houses
were grander, the scenery more beautiful, <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb21" href="#pb21" name="pb21">21</a>]</span>but that there was no
sunshine! This lack, to his mind, far outweighed all the other
advantages which might<a id="xd20e913" name="xd20e913"></a> belong to
England, and his friends decided that, after all, Persia was the better
country to live in.</p>
<p>When there happens to be a cloudy day or night in summer, the result
is anything but cooling, for the air becomes terribly oppressive, it is
almost impossible to breathe, and during the night it is quite useless
to think of or hope for sleep till the clouds have rolled away.</p>
<p>The natives are very much alarmed when an eclipse of the sun takes
place, as they are afraid they are going to lose their benefactor.
Once, while we were in Yezd, the sun was eclipsed. Suddenly hundreds of
guns and cannons were fired off from all parts of the town. We ran out
to see what had happened, and were met by our frightened servants
carrying their guns, who told us that an enormous fish was trying to
swallow the sun, and that they hoped, by making a terrific noise, to
frighten it away! Great was their joy and relief when the shadow began
to pass from the sun.</p>
<p>Sand-storms are terrible trials in Persia. Quite suddenly, without
any warning, the light disappears, clouds upon clouds of dust come
rushing in. Before you have time to shut all the doors and windows,
everything in the house is covered with a fine white dust. Sand-storms
are disagreeable and trying to the patience when they find you in the
house, but when you are caught in a heavy sand-storm out in the desert,
it is often a source of great danger. If riding, the only possible
thing to do is to dismount, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb22" href=
"#pb22" name="pb22">22</a>]</span>cover your head and face as well as
possible, turn your back to the storm, and hope for the best.</p>
<p>At other times the light is obliterated in the daytime by a swarm of
locusts passing overhead. Till I saw this myself I could hardly believe
it was possible for these little insects to obscure the light of the
sun as they did. One day in Kerman we were just ready to set off for a
ride, when suddenly the light vanished, and I thought a fearful
thunderstorm was about to burst upon us. On looking up we saw what
appeared to be a huge black cloud hovering overhead: presently this
descended and resolved itself into myriads of flying insects. As some
fell to the earth we found them to be locusts from two to three inches
long. The natives were dreadfully alarmed lest they should settle on
their fields, as it was springtime, and the ground was already green
with promise of harvest. Had the locusts settled, it would have meant
ruin and starvation to many. Fortunately, they passed over that
time.</p>
<p>We have seen that Persia is a land of sunshine, we must not forget
that it is also a land of cats.</p>
<p>I was amused the other day to see how differently two people can see
the same thing. In the course of a conversation with a friend who was
for some years in Persia, I asked him if he did not admire the Persian
cats very much. “Never saw one,” was his answer, and he
maintained that the whole time he was in Persia he never saw a
long-haired cat. My experience was quite the reverse, for I hardly
remember ever seeing an ordinary short-haired one during the three
years we were in Persia. We had <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb23"
href="#pb23" name="pb23">23</a>]</span>some beautiful white ones, but
they were very delicate, and generally came to an untimely end. We
tried to take one to Kerman, but it met with a sad death when only half
way there.</p>
<p>Cats are exported on quite a large scale to India and other places.
They are taken to the coast by horse-dealers, who tether them in much
the same way as they do their horses.</p>
<p>One of the late Shahs is said to have been very devoted to cats, and
always took one with him when he travelled, a special baggage animal
being reserved for the cage of this favourite pet.</p>
<p>There are many ways of journeying in Persia, and the would-be
traveller can take his choice according to his own ideas of comfort and
convenience. To my mind the most pleasant way of all is to have your
own horses for riding, and thus be able to set your own pace and not
have to be bound down to the slow, wearying, never-changing rate of the
caravan.</p>
<p>For those who do not care for, or are not strong enough for riding,
there are many conveyances. Here, again, the traveller has quite a
large choice of good things. First of all there is the
“kajâvah.” This consists of two cage-like boxes,
suspended one on each side of the animal: the interior of these boxes
sometimes boasts of a little low seat, but as a rule is innocent of any
such luxury. Two people of about the same weight must sit on each side,
or the result is disastrous. I remember once being with a large
caravan. In one of these kajâvahs was travelling a Government
official and his wife. He was very tiny, she was quite the reverse, the
result being <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb24" href="#pb24" name=
"pb24">24</a>]</span>that the little man was generally up in the air
while the opposite side of the kajâvah was weighed down nearly to
the ground. They tried all manner of experiments in their endeavour to
strike the balance, gathering stones and depositing them in the lighter
side, tying bags of fuel, &c., to the outside of the kajâvah,
but all of no avail. At last, in disgust and anger, the woman jumped
out without giving her husband any warning: the result to onlookers was
ludicrous! The wife refused all that day again to enter the
kajâvah, preferring to walk, till one of the muleteers offered
her a seat on the top of one of the baggage mules. The little man was
soon balanced with stones picked up by the wayside, and travelled for
the rest of that day in peace and comfort. At the end of the stage,
however, his wife would not speak to him or cook his dinner for him!
and the man (who was quite the reverse of an ordinary Moslem man) came
to one of my husband’s assistants, begging him to act as
mediator. In this case the man and woman seem to have exchanged places
as regards character, the wife being decidedly the master, and he, poor
man, looked as if he hardly dared call his soul his own. Even amongst
Moslems there doubtless are some strong-minded women.</p>
<p>I have travelled many miles in one of these kajâvahs, finding
them very comfortable and restful, after riding for hours. My husband
had a pair specially made for me, with seats inside, and nicely
cushioned: these always went with us on our journeys in Persia, so
that, when I tired of riding, I could rest awhile. While I was not
using them <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb25" href="#pb25" name=
"pb25">25</a>]</span>our servants had to take my place, a favour they
did not always appreciate. When travelling by night, I have slept for
hours at a stretch in one of these kajâvahs, the steady measured
walk of the mule favouring slumber. Sometimes, however, the monotony is
broken by the mule suddenly dropping on to its front knees, and you
find yourself deposited on the ground, shot out like an arrow from its
bow.</p>
<p>If this form of conveyance does not appeal to the traveller then
there is the “takhtiravan.” This is a most luxurious mode
of conveyance, and is, as a rule, only used by invalids or high-class
Moslem ladies. It consists of a box, with doors and windows, measuring
about six or seven feet by four in length and five in height. The top
is covered with heavy felt or some material which will keep out the sun
or the rain, according to which season of the year you are travelling
in. Inside is placed a mattress with plenty of cushions: the whole is
built on shafts which are slung between two mules, one in front and one
behind. The motion is rather like that of a rolling ship, and, unless
the occupant is a good sailor, the experience is not always a pleasant
one. I once travelled for a week in one of these conveyances, and on
arriving at our destination found my back was a mass of bruises. The
takhtiravan is very good for night travelling, as you can lie flat down
and sleep, provided the animals keep in step and the road is good. On
an uneven road the sensation is not too comfortable.</p>
<p>We once had a never-to-be-forgotten week of torture in a springless
wagon; it really was too <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb26" href=
"#pb26" name="pb26">26</a>]</span>terrible. Oh, the jolting, the
jarring, and the bone shaking! Each day the misery increased, till
every bone in our bodies was bruised and aching, and every nerve racked
to its utmost. I should not recommend this mode of conveyance to any
one contemplating a journey in Persia. When we first went to the Land
of the Lion and the Sun, carriages were very scarce and very expensive
south of Teheran. Now they are becoming much more generally used, at
any rate as far as Isphahan. When we left Kerman in 1902 we drove to
Yezd in a carriage kindly lent to us by one of the Kerman native
gentlemen. Albeit the wheels came off occasionally and various other
accidents took place, still it was a very luxurious way of travelling,
comparatively speaking. Then, when we finally left Persia in 1903, we
drove from Isphahan to Teheran in a private carriage belonging to a
friend who lent it to us for the journey; so that I fully expect by now
that travelling by carriage has become quite the ordinary mode of
journeying in Persia.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e952width" id="p026-1"><img src=
"images/p026-1.jpg" alt="Persian Conveyances" width="585" height="380">
<p class="figureHead">Persian Conveyances</p>
<p class="first">The takhtiravan is a slow but comfortable conveyance
for travelling in. It is a species of sedan-chair, slung on two long
poles; to these shafts mules are harnessed, one in front and the other
behind. The Kajâvahs are a much less luxurious mode of
travelling. They consist of two cage-like boxes slung one on each side
of the mule. If the animal is sure-footed and the balance of the boxes
maintained, the sensation of riding in them is not unpleasant.</p>
</div>
<div class="figure xd20e958width" id="p026-2"><img src=
"images/p026-2.jpg" alt="A Halt for Lunch" width="582" height="402">
<p class="figureHead">A Halt for Lunch</p>
<p class="first">The midday break in the day’s march is always
welcome and refreshing, especially when it is possible to rest in the
luxury of shade.</p>
</div>
<p>The last part of that drive into Teheran has left a vivid
remembrance on my mind. It was a Saturday, and we were very desirous of
reaching Teheran that night, otherwise it meant spending Sunday at a
village near the city, as we did not like travelling on that day. So we
determined to push on at all costs. To add to our difficulties it began
to pour with rain soon after starting in the morning, and continued a
steady drench the whole day. Long before we reached the end of our
stage we were both wet through to the skin. Sunset found us still some
twenty miles out of Teheran, and, the horses beginning <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb27" href="#pb27" name="pb27">27</a>]</span>to show
signs of fatigue, we perforce had to rest them for a while. When we
were within five miles or so of the city, we found the road all
flooded, and it was difficult to know where the road ended and the
ditch began which ran parallel to the road on both sides. It was by
then pitch dark, so there was nothing to be done but let the horses
take their own way, hoping their instincts would lead them and us
safely. All went well till we were within sight of the lights of
Teheran, when suddenly smash went the carriage, and down fell the
horses into a deep ditch. One poor horse (our own, which we were taking
to Teheran to sell) never moved, and we thought he was dead. I jumped
down from the dogcart and landed in the ditch nearly up to my waist in
water! The lamps had gone out, and we were in total darkness. We called
and called for help but no one came, so my husband and I walked on a
little to see if we could find any one to help, leaving the horses and
carriage in charge of the driver, who was half beside himself with
fear.</p>
<p>Presently we came across a little wayside coffee-house, and found
some men who were willing to go and help extricate the poor horses from
their dangerous position, while we walked on to the gate of the city
and waited in the porter’s lodge. After about an hour the
carriage came along, the horses looking none the worse for their
escapade. Our kind friends of the American Mission were waiting up, and
had prepared hot baths and hot drinks for us, knowing that if we did
arrive that night at all we should be in a terrible plight. Thanks to
their <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb28" href="#pb28" name=
"pb28">28</a>]</span>kindness and thoughtfulness, we suffered no harm
from our damp and adventurous drive.</p>
<p>The inhabitants of Persia are: Moslems, the Persians of to-day;
Zoroastrians (Parsees), the Persians of yesterday; Armenians, and Jews.
Of the two former I will not speak now, as we shall make their
acquaintance a little later. A few words will suffice for Armenians and
Jews. The former were brought from Julfa in Armenia many years ago by
some former Shah on account of their industry and workmanship. He gave
them a suburb of Isphahan to live in, and very soon a large Armenian
settlement sprang up. Julfa of Persia is about three miles from
Isphahan. Here all the Armenians live, and until quite lately the
Europeans also, as it was not considered safe for them to reside in
Isphahan. However, of late years this is all changed, most of the
Europeans now having houses in Isphahan.</p>
<p>The Armenians are very clever workmen in all crafts and trades. Also
to their shame be it said that they are the wine and spirit makers for
the Isphahanis. A true Moslem is not allowed to make or drink wine.
Thanks to the Armenians, however, the temptation is ever at hand ready
for him, with plenty of opportunities afforded him of indulging in
secret.</p>
<p>The Armenians make very good assistants for hospital work, some of
them turning out quite good doctors. One young fellow was with my
husband for two years. After we left he went to India, where he took a
medical course, and is now a fully qualified doctor practising in
India. They have plenty of “push” in them, and once they
make <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb29" href="#pb29" name=
"pb29">29</a>]</span>up their minds to get on, no obstacle is too great
for them to overcome.</p>
<p>The Jews of Persia are a miserably poor, degraded class of people.
Their lot is a very hard one; despised and oppressed by the Moslems,
hated and cursed by all, their life is not enviable. They are to be
found everywhere, in Isphahan, Yezd, Kerman, and many other cities. My
heart often ached for these poor, wretched people as they flocked to
the dispensaries. Fortunately for them, there is a Mission amongst the
Jews in Persia which helps in no small way to brighten the lives of the
poor, downtrodden people.</p>
<p>We have taken a fleeting glance at the Land of the Lion and the Sun;
we must now try and become more intimately acquainted with some of its
towns and their inhabitants. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb30" href=
"#pb30" name="pb30">30</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch2" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter II</h2>
<h2 class="main">Kerman</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Short history of Kerman—Its overthrow—City
of beggars—Story of the fort—The jackal’s “tale
of woe.”</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“A little red worm—the
gard’ner’s special dread.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">V. Fane.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">The first view we had of Kerman was a very picturesque
one. We had been travelling for about twenty days, and on Easter Eve
reached a lovely garden some four or five hours’ ride from
Kerman, and here we decided to stay for Easter Day. Early on Monday
morning we started for the last stage of our journey. Just as the sun
was rising we came to the top of a hill, and there away in the distance
lay the city of Kerman, the city towards which our hopes and thoughts
had been tending for so long, as it was the goal to which we had been
pressing for the past twelve months, and which we fondly hoped was to
have been our home for many years; but God ordered otherwise.</p>
<p>Kerman is a very interesting old city, having passed through many
vicissitudes and seen many changes during its varied and chequered
history. It is also a very pretty place, especially as seen from a
short distance, surrounded on three sides by the eternal mountains,
with their ever-changing shades and shadows, and forming a magnificent
background <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb31" href="#pb31" name=
"pb31">31</a>]</span>to the city nestling at their feet. On the fourth
side the desert stretches away to Yezd and Isphahan.</p>
<p>Kerman is said to have derived its name from a Persian word Kerm,
meaning a worm, and the legend connected with it is as follows. The
princess who founded the city was one day walking with her followers
over the site of the future town, and plucked an apple from a tree:
upon eating it she found to her disgust and annoyance a worm at its
core. As she threw it away in anger, she declared that the new city
should be called Kerm-an, a worm. Kerman is certainly a very ancient
city: the inhabitants claim that it was a large town in the time of
Solomon. Whether this is so I do not know. The first time it is
mentioned in history is by Herodotus. Alexander is said to have marched
his army through Kerman on his way to India, and Cyrus passed that way
on his return from India. Perhaps few places have suffered more at the
hands of invaders than Kerman. It has been sacked at least six times,
and in 1794 the city was almost entirely destroyed by Agha Mohammed
Khan. The city was bravely defended by the prince-governor, who was one
of the last of the Zend dynasty; he sustained a long and severe siege,
till two-thirds of his troops had perished from starvation, and then
the city was betrayed treacherously into the hands of the enemy and its
brave defenders obliged to flee, only to meet with a cruel death some
two years later from the hands of the same oppressor. This incarnation
of cruelty, Agha Mohammed Khan, gave the city over to the will of his
soldiers, who resembled their leader in cruelty and barbarity. There
was no compassion in his heart, and he would <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb32" href="#pb32" name="pb32">32</a>]</span>listen
to none of the entreaties of the unfortunate inhabitants for mercy, nor
would he withdraw his troops from the city till he had received a gift
of twenty thousand pairs of human eyes. When these were brought to him,
he insisted on counting them over himself to see if the number was
correct, and is reported to have said to the trembling man who carried
the baskets piled high with these awful trophies: “It is a good
thing the number is correct; if it had not been, <i>your</i> eyes would
have gone to make up the exact number.” The city never recovered
from this terrible blow, and to-day Kerman is a byword among Persians
for its poverty and extraordinary number of beggars. If you were to
ride through the bazaars you would be struck by the tremendous number
of beggars, all holding out their hands, beseeching you for the love of
God to give them a copper.</p>
<p>There is a quaint saying among the beggars which one hears very
often; it is as follows:—</p>
<div lang="fa-latn" class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Khuda guft, ‘Beddeh,’</p>
<p class="line">Shaitan guft, ‘Neddeh’”</p>
</div>
<p class="first">(God says, “Give”; Satan says,
“Don’t give”).</p>
<p>Just outside Kerman are the remains of two old fortresses, the
larger of which is called the <i>Galah i Doukhta</i>, or the Fort of
the Maiden, doubtless on account of the story connected with it.</p>
<p>These fortresses were built on small hills, and so alike are they in
formation and colour to the soil that it is difficult to see where the
castle begins and the hill ends. Between these two old fortresses lie
the ruins of ancient Kerman. This city was the last <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb33" href="#pb33" name="pb33">33</a>]</span>to fall
under the Moslem sway in its invasion of Persia, and the legend
connected with it is interesting.</p>
<p>The city was surrounded on all hands by the Moslem invaders, and it
seemed as if the enemy would be obliged to retreat, as its defenders
had withdrawn themselves into the castles or fortresses already
mentioned. These had been well provisioned for a long siege in case of
need, and also were connected with the outer world by means of
underground passages, known only to those in the castles. All, perhaps,
might have gone well but for the fact that there lived in the fortress
a beautiful woman—alas! as treacherous as beautiful. She was the
idolised daughter of the king of the castle; nothing was too good for
this loved and spoilt beauty. Her father showered gifts upon
her—gold, jewellery, silks, all were hers; and it is said that
just before the siege began her father had planned and designed a
beautiful garden for her, such as never had been seen before.</p>
<p>Being so loved and such a favourite of all, she was allowed to roam
at will within the castle walls, and often beguiled the time by
watching the besiegers who lay far below in the plain. One day her
attention was attracted by a handsome Arab general, who always seemed
to be foremost in all that was going on, leading his men into the most
dangerous and exposed parts. Where the arrows fell fastest and most
often, there this Arab prince was sure to be seen, always brave and
courageous. His bravery, added to his good looks, so appealed to this
spoilt and petted woman that she immediately fell in love <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb34" href="#pb34" name="pb34">34</a>]</span>with
him. Day by day this love increased, till her whole soul was afire with
all the abandon of an Eastern love, and she felt that nothing could or
should keep her from her hero. “Love” soon found means of
communicating with the object of its affection, for love is stronger
than barred or barricaded fortresses. By some means, known only to
herself and one other, she gave this Arab to understand that if only he
would promise to marry her, she would deliver the castle into his
hands.</p>
<p>The Eastern as well as the Western agree that “All is fair in
love and war,” so this general of the East consented to this
plan, and agreed to accept victory at the hands of treachery.</p>
<p>Accordingly, all was arranged satisfactorily to both parties, and
one dark, moonless night the deed was done. The lady of the castle, the
idolised and beloved of all, became the betrayer of her people. After
all had retired to rest that night, and the sentinels were lost in the
dense darkness, she stealthily crept out of the castle, safely passed
the sleeping men supposed to be on guard, and opened the secret gate to
her lover and his soldiers—the enemies of her father and her
country. A terrible massacre ensued, in which the father was slain,
fortunately dying without the knowledge of his daughter’s base
action. The prince-general had given strict orders to his men that on
no account was the girl to be touched during the attack on the castle,
but that she was to be conducted to a place of safety till all was
over. At last, in the early hours of the morning, the general had time
to think of his ward.</p>
<p>Tired out with his work of bloodshed and <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb35" href="#pb35" name=
"pb35">35</a>]</span>slaughter, but rejoicing in his unexpected
victory, he sent for the girl to find out the reason of her willingness
to thus betray her own people and land into the hands of the enemy.
When brought into his presence he was amazed at the beauty and
loveliness of the girl before him, and his heart went out in great love
and admiration towards her. She, still thinking only of her own wicked
infatuation, was congratulating herself that <i>now</i> her
heart’s desire was to be granted her, and she would soon become
the wife of the man so long idealised and idolised. But alas! for her
fair hopes.</p>
<p>The general, notwithstanding her beauty, desired to find out what
her motive was for doing as she had done, and so he plied her with
questions. “Was she very unhappy?” “Was her father
very cruel to her?” or “Had she done this to avenge herself
for some wrong?” To all these she replied in the negative.
“Then, in the name of wonder, <i>what</i> was your reason for
sacrificing father, home, country and all?” cried the general.
“For love of you,” answered the now frightened girl, and
she then told him how kind her father had been to her, how he had done
all in his power to make her happy, and how nothing was ever denied her
that he could possibly procure, but assured him that all this was as
nothing to her compared to the great love which she felt towards him,
her lover, and ended by beseeching him, now that she had sacrificed all
for him, not to cast her away.</p>
<p>At this the general was so disgusted and enraged with her, that he
determined that she must die, and cast about in his mind for some means
of death worthy of her selfishness and wickedness, “for,”
said <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb36" href="#pb36" name=
"pb36">36</a>]</span>he, “you are not a woman, you are a fiend,
and therefore must die.”</p>
<p>He therefore ordered his men to bind her with cords, face downwards,
on to the back of a wild horse, and to turn horse and its rider into
the desert. This order was carried out amidst heartrending cries and
entreaties for mercy from the girl, but to all the general paid no
heed, declaring that she was only suffering a just death for the
abominable behaviour to her own people. The soldiers followed the horse
for some distance into the desert to prevent its returning, and thus
perished the beautiful traitress of Kerman.</p>
<p>I may say here that this form of death is not unknown even now in
Persia, and I heard a story of a man who treated his wife in much the
same way, only the idea was perhaps a little more diabolical. He was
angry with her for some reason, and desired to rid himself of her, so
he caught a cow, and kept it shut up without water for some days. Then
he bound his wife under the body of the animal and sent it off. Of
course the cow made for the nearest stream, and we can imagine better
than describe the fate of the poor woman.</p>
<p>The Kerman of to-day is a large walled-in city of about forty
thousand souls. This wall is pierced by some dozen gates, some of which
are in good repair, but others are fast falling into ruin. In fact,
most of the buildings in Kerman, as well as other parts of Persia, are
“kharab shodeh”—that is, either in ruins, or fast
falling into that state. The “kharab” buildings outside the
town are the abode of jackals, hyænas, owls, and other creatures
of the desert. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb37" href="#pb37" name=
"pb37">37</a>]</span></p>
<p>The story of how the jackals came to be inhabiters of the desert is
told by the Kermanis with great gusto, and they quite sympathise with
them in their banishment from the civilisation of town life. When in
Kerman our house was outside the city, so we had the full benefit of
the cries and wailings of these jackals, and at first it used to make
me feel quite creepy, but after a time we became more accustomed to the
weird music of the night, and missed the evening concerts when absent
from Kerman. Sometimes the jackals would come right up into our garden,
at other times their howling would come from the desert, like the
far-away cry of a soul in torment, or the wailing of the banshee; but
all night and every night the wailing, wailing went on, always crying
for what they had not and never could have—never satisfied, and
always letting people know the fact!</p>
<p>The story of the dispute between the jackals and the dogs of Kerman
was told me soon after our arrival there. It is said that, in olden
days, the jackals were the domesticated pets of the inhabitants of the
town, and lived quite happily and contentedly in their respective
homes, always enjoying security and peace within the closed gates,
while the dogs had to be content to be dwellers of the desert and
ruins, outside the walls of the city. One day the dogs awoke to the
fact that the jackals had much the better time of it, and they did not
see why this unequal state of things should remain. They were tired of
being always outsiders, always short of food, and exposed to all the
chances of wind and weather—so they resolved to make a great
effort to obtain a position <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb38" href=
"#pb38" name="pb38">38</a>]</span><i>inside</i> the gates, where there
was plenty of everything. Being Socialists, they believed in the maxim
of “share and share alike,” so they called a committee to
consider by what means they could oust the jackals from their
comfortable quarters and <span class="corr" id="xd20e1075" title=
"Source: instal">install</span> themselves in their places. After due
thought and much discussion, they determined to send some leading
representatives to the city to interview the jackals. This they
accordingly did, telling them that many of the dogs had been ill, and
the doctor had ordered change of air for three days. Would not the
noble jackals allow their humble neighbours the dogs to exchange places
with them just for three days, in order that the invalids might have a
chance of recovering their strength and health. At the same time they
enlarged upon the beauties of the desert air, which they said would be
so good for those who had been cooped up in the stifling city for so
long. The jackals, after long and careful consideration, agreed to this
proposition, arranging to leave their comfortable homes for three days
only, at the expiration of which time all were to return to their
original places.</p>
<p>The next night the change was accomplished, and in the morning the
people were all surprised to see dogs where the night before there had
been jackals. However, they did not object very much. At the end of the
three nights, the jackals came to the gates of the city and demanded
admission, longing to return to their own haunts and homes, having
found three days in the desert quite enough, there being no comparison
between the comforts of the town and the dreariness and cold of the
outside life. The dogs appreciated the change so much that they
answered, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb39" href="#pb39" name=
"pb39">39</a>]</span>“No, thank you, we prefer to stay where we
are, and do not wish ever to return to the desert.” So the poor
jackals saw that they had been fooled, and went away sad and sorrowful,
and every night since then have come howling for admission to the
gates, and on the dogs answering “No,” they go away
wailing. And that is the reason why every night we can hear the howling
and wailing of these disappointed creatures. And they will probably go
on howling and wailing till the end of time, for the dogs are never
likely to wish to return to the desert life.</p>
<p>Such is the legend of the jackals and the dogs of Kerman.
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb40" href="#pb40" name=
"pb40">40</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch3" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter III</h2>
<h2 class="main">Persian Industries</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Carpet-making—How to tell a good
carpet—How to make a carpet—The cry of the
children—Shawl
manufactures—Calico-printing—Brass-work—Agricultural
industries—Water disputes—Kanâts—Poppy
crops—Wheat and corn—Tobacco-growing.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<p class="first">Saying in Persia—“One plum gets colour by
looking at another.”</p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Do ye hear the children weeping, O my
brothers,</p>
<p class="line xd20e1099">Ere the sorrow comes with years;</p>
<p class="line">They are leaning their young heads against their
mothers,</p>
<p class="line xd20e1099">And <i>that</i> cannot stop their tears;</p>
<p class="line xd20e1108">... the child’s sob in the silence
curses deeper</p>
<p class="line xd20e1099">Than the strong man in his wrath.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">E. B. Browning.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">The subject of the industries of Persia is such an
extensive one that I cannot even attempt to discuss it here at any
great length. I only wish to describe a few of the manufactures and
industries which came under our notice while in Persia.</p>
<p>By far the most interesting of them all, to my mind, are the carpet
manufactories to be found in many parts. Very few Europeans live for
any length of time in Persia or other carpet-manufacturing countries
without being affected by the carpet craze. They may try to fight
against it, but they are almost sure to succumb, sooner or later!</p>
<p>When choosing a carpet the first thing to do is to make sure that
the colours are fast. This is done by moistening a handkerchief or
small piece of white <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb41" href="#pb41"
name="pb41">41</a>]</span>cloth and rubbing the carpet. If the
slightest tinge of colour comes off, the carpet is not a good one. So
much depends upon the nature and durability of dyes used. In olden
days, the only dyes used were indigo, madder, and vine leaves. From
these three ingredients they were able to mix and make most delicate
and artistic shades, all of which were “fast” colours. Now,
however, the aniline dyes are so commonly used that it is difficult to
find a carpet in which all the colours are permanent. Europeans are
often deceived when buying carpets, but natives seldom! When the latter
invests in a carpet he expects it to last the whole of his lifetime,
and not only of his life, but also of that of his children,
grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and perchance be more valuable
at the end of that period than the day he purchased it. As a rule he
realises his expectations. When a native buys a new carpet the first
thing he does with it is to put it down in the bazaars for all the
traffic to pass over it. The more muddy and filthy the shoes of the
passers-by, the greater will be the beauty of the carpet afterwards,
provided the colours are fast. This statement may perhaps refer more
especially to Syria and Turkish Arabia, but I believe it is also true
of Persia. I have, myself, often seen carpets laid down in this way in
the bazaars of Damascus, Beyrout, Baghdad, and Mosul. I could never
quite make up my mind to allow our carpets to be subjected to this
treatment, though my husband always assured me it was the only way for
the carpets to acquire that beautiful silky gloss, so dear to the heart
of the carpet-lover. As a matter of fact that gloss is <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb42" href="#pb42" name=
"pb42">42</a>]</span>maintained by the native custom of leaving the
shoes at the door. The constant walking upon the carpet with bare or
stockinged feet tends to bring about this desirable finish: whilst, on
the other hand, our barbarous custom of wearing dirty shoes in a room
is not so good for the carpet, nor are tables and chairs great
carpet-improvers. Before the time of exporting carpets from Persia in
any great number only good carpets were made, but now the demand is so
great that to keep up the supply a good deal of shoddy work is
manufactured and sent out of the country.</p>
<p>To be a good judge of a carpet you need to be quite an expert. Many
things have to be taken into consideration. First the dyes, as we have
already seen; then the number of stitches to the inch must be counted,
and it is said that a good carpet contains about 10,000 stitches to the
square foot, while some of the better ones have as many as 40,000.
Another point to notice is to see whether both ends are the same width.
This is done by doubling the carpet: if the ends do not coincide it is
not a well-made carpet. Then, again, it should lie perfectly flat on
the floor, otherwise it will crease in a very short time, and be
worthless. My husband had a beautiful Kerman carpet given to him once:
it was valued at £20, and, but for the fact that it does not lie
flat on the floor, would be worth a good deal more. As it is, we have
to keep it hanging on the wall, where it cannot get
“rucked” or creased.</p>
<p>Prices vary, of course, according to the size and make of the
carpets. Very fair ones, the size of an ordinary hearthrug, can be had
from £2, 10s. to £8 <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb43"
href="#pb43" name="pb43">43</a>]</span>or £10. Silk ones cost a
great deal more, but are worth the money. A small silk rug can be
bought for £50, but they can be obtained any price up to
£500 or £1000. A mixture of wool and silk is now made to
suit the European market, but is not so durable as the pure silk ones.
It is generally acknowledged that the Kurdistan carpets are the best:
they are the most expensive, being about £3 the square yard. The
chief attraction of these lies in the fact that they are alike on both
sides, and are very smooth and fine. Next to these come those made at
Kerman, the design being quite different to those of Kurdistan. In the
Kerman carpets it is not at all uncommon to find figures of men and
animals, sometimes almost life size. Whilst in Kerman we visited one or
two of the carpet manufactories, and were very much interested in
watching the process.</p>
<p>All carpets are, of course, made without machinery of any kind. The
warp is stretched on a loom, which is merely a frame. The woof consists
of short threads woven and knotted by hand without the aid of a
shuttle. When a row is finished it is pressed tightly to the rest of
the web by means of a comb inserted into the warp. The
“pile” is regulated by the amount clipped off. For a velvet
pile the woof is clipped very close, till a perfectly smooth, even
surface is obtained. The weaver does not see the pattern as he works,
as he sits with the reverse side of the web towards him. The looms are
generally kept in an underground vaulted room, often with water running
through the centre. At each loom three or four workers sit, according
to the size of <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb44" href="#pb44" name=
"pb44">44</a>]</span>the carpet. Sometimes the workers consist of one
man and two children, and occasionally the owner uses boys and girls
only for the weaving, one man acting as overseer to the children.</p>
<p>I sat on the high stool by the side of a tiny girl whose fingers
were working away so fast I could hardly follow her movements. The
overseer was walking up and down the room, calling out instructions to
the workers. To me it sounded a horrible, incoherent jumble, but the
children seemed to understand it perfectly. The overseer held in his
hand a paper, from which he was apparently reading out instructions.
Not having a very thorough knowledge of the Persian language, it was
impossible to follow, but as far as I could make out it was something
as follows: To No. 1. Three blue threads, one white, two green; No. 2.
Four yellow, one white; and so on, each child repeating after the
“master” the instructions given. As it was all said in a
high-pitched monotone, the result was confusing and deafening, but
there the little weavers sit, day in, day out, week after week, in this
damp, gloomy cellar, kept hard at it by the unrelenting overseer.</p>
<p>The children are taken on as “weavers” when very young,
some even starting when five or six years old. Their hours of work are
from sunrise to sunset in the summer, and until two or three hours
after sunset in the winter, and they are paid at the enormous rate of
about 2d. a day, sometimes starting with even less, whilst learning the
work.</p>
<p>The consequence of this abominable sweating system is that to-day
there are hundreds of little children in Kerman, from eight to nine
years of age, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb45" href="#pb45" name=
"pb45">45</a>]</span>confirmed cripples from rheumatism and other
diseases. From sitting so long in one position, while still of tender
years, amid such damp surroundings, their little feet and hands become
knotted and deformed. They can no longer earn their daily bread, so
perforce must help to swell the great multitude of beggars who throng
the streets and bazaars of Kerman.</p>
<p>I once saw a little girl about seven years old sitting by the
roadside just outside our house. On asking her why she was sitting
there all alone, her reply was, “Mother sent me to my work
(carpet-weaving), but my feet hurt me so, I can’t walk.”
She was waiting there whilst a companion in work and sorrow ran to try
and find some one who would carry her friend to the workroom.</p>
<p>When we think of the sufferings of these hundreds of poor innocent
children, do not our hearts ache with sadness for them? Surely the
“Cry of the Children” of Kerman will go up to God, and He
will have mercy.</p>
<p>In the meantime, because people want cheap Persian carpets, these
little martyrs must be willing to sacrifice childhood’s happy
days, health, aye, and often life itself, on the altar of
cheapness.</p>
<p>Major (now Colonel) Phillott, then acting British Consul in Kerman,
was so horrified at what he saw of the state of these little sufferers,
that he determined to start a loom of his own, employing men only to do
the weaving. This he accordingly did, finding, of course, that the
expense was enormous, as men’s wages were so much higher than the
children’s, and also that they would not consent to such long
hours. So long as children are to be had for a mere nominal
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb46" href="#pb46" name=
"pb46">46</a>]</span>wage, so long will the weavers use them, caring
nothing for their sorrows, only bent on making money—the god of
the Persian.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e1154width" id="p046-1"><img src=
"images/p046-1.jpg" alt="A Novel Drying-Ground" width="590" height=
"404">
<p class="figureHead">A Novel Drying-Ground</p>
<p class="first">The dry bed of the river at Isphahan is used in
summer-time as a drying-ground for curtains and printed cloths, which
are manufactured in the city.</p>
</div>
<div class="figure xd20e1160width" id="p046-2"><img src=
"images/p046-2.jpg" alt="Persian Mode of Irrigation" width="586"
height="406">
<p class="figureHead">Persian Mode of Irrigation</p>
<p class="first">The ox, who patiently walks up and down the inclined
passage, draws up from the well a large skin of water, or sometimes an
iron bucket, which empties itself into trenches prepared
beforehand.</p>
</div>
<p>A soft kind of felt carpet is also made in Persia, specially in
Isphahan and Yezd. These are called Namads. The materials used are
wools of all kinds, chiefly camel’s hair. The colour is a light
ochre shade of brown, and there is generally a pattern woven in the
centre of different colours, red predominating. Some of these Namads
are an inch or more in thickness, and are delightfully soft for walking
on. They make a splendid foundation in a room for laying carpets on.
There is yet another kind of rug much used, called the Galeem. These
are much cheaper than carpets, and are suitable for rough use, such as
travelling. They wash well, but do not improve with use as carpets do,
having no pile.</p>
<p>There are still shawl-manufactories to be seen in Kerman, though
they are rapidly on the decrease. The best kind of shawl sells for
fifty tumans (about £10) each, but there are others less
expensive, which resemble the famous Cashmere shawls of India. These
“shawls” are given as coats of honour by the governor or
other high official, and are sought after and valued by all. They are
woven in much the same manner as the carpets, and are made from the
under hair of a special kind of white goat called “koork,”
which is only found in the neighbourhood of Kerman.</p>
<p>The silks of Persia are very pretty and durable. They are woven
principally at Yezd, Kashan, and Resht. The latter place is noted, too,
for its patchwork <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb47" href="#pb47"
name="pb47">47</a>]</span>and embroidery. This work consists of tiny
pieces of cloth pieced together into some floral or other design. I had
two or three pieces of this work given me by a Persian gentleman of
high rank. One is a study in red, and the other consists chiefly of
black and green, enlivened here and there by bright patches of other
colours.</p>
<p>Another rather interesting industry to be seen in Isphahan is the
calico-printing; this is done by means of blocks, and, as a rule, one
design covers the whole piece. These prints are used very much as
curtains, table-cloths, &c., and have the advantage of being
inexpensive. The natives often use them as shrouds for the dead, for
which purpose special ones are manufactured, bearing suitable
quotations from the Koran.</p>
<p>During the summer in Isphahan the bed of the river may be seen
covered with these prints, laid out to dry in the sun after having gone
through the process of dyeing and “blocking.”</p>
<p>Space forbids my mentioning all the many other articles manufactured
in Persia—the brass-work of Isphahan, copper-work of Kashan,
silver of both Isphahan and Shiraz, mosaic also from Shiraz. But enough
has been said to show that the Persians are a very clever and artistic
race of people, and considering the primitiveness of their methods and
implements, the results are astonishingly beautiful and charming. The
agricultural industries of Persia, too, are considerable—the
water supply necessary for these being a fruitful source of quarrelling
and fighting, which sometimes leads even to murder. The labourers whose
duty it is to look after the watering of the <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb48" href="#pb48" name="pb48">48</a>]</span>crops
are armed with long spades, for the purpose of digging trenches and
clearing a way for the water, &c. In a dispute these spades become
very formidable weapons, and many a broken head have they caused.</p>
<p>Often when riding in the desert we have met a company of these men
returning from their labours, each carrying his murderous-looking
implement on his shoulder, and in the gloaming they resembled an army
of soldiers marching. The water supply is very often conducted into a
town or village from the mountains by means of kanâts, or long
underground passages. Pits are dug at a distance of about 25 feet
apart, each one being connected with the other by a subterranean
passage, and so on till the place is reached where the water is needed.
Sometimes these tunnels extend for many miles, and as the mouth of each
pit is surrounded by mounds of earth thrown up, it gives the appearance
of a succession of huge mole-hills running across the country. Great
loss of life is associated with the sinking of these shafts from the
constant falling in of the sides; on this account very high wages are
given to compensate for probable loss of life.</p>
<p>One of the principal crops around Isphahan is that of the poppy. It
is a beautiful sight to see field after field of these lovely white
flowers, stretching away for miles, maybe. How sad to think that such
beauty should lead to misery, wretchedness, and degradation! When the
poppy is ripe, the “head” is scratched at sunset with a
kind of comb in three places; from these gashes the opium oozes out. It
is then collected in the morning before sunrise, dried, <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb49" href="#pb49" name="pb49">49</a>]</span>and
rolled into cakes ready either for use in the country or for export. It
is calculated that about 8000 cases of opium, each case containing some
200 cakes, are exported from Persia every year.</p>
<p>Although the growth of opium enriches those directly concerned, yet
it tends to impoverish the country; for the ground which before was
cultivated with wheat and corn is now required for the poppy, thus
making grain much dearer.</p>
<p>There is also a large quantity of tobacco grown in Persia, which is
used for the “kalian” (or water-pipe) and cigarette
smoking. The best kind is grown in the neighbourhood of Shiraz.</p>
<p>Wheat and barley are largely grown, and are always reaped with the
sickle. The land is very fertile, and with very little trouble a good
crop is obtained, provided the water supply is good.</p>
<p>It has been said of Persia that “it is only necessary to
tickle the land and it will laugh into blossom.” <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb50" href="#pb50" name="pb50">50</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch4" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter IV</h2>
<h2 class="main">The Climate of Persia</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Resht, Teheran, Isphahan—Dryness of
atmosphere—Cellars—Roof life—Children attacked by
jackals—Chequered history of work in Kerman.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“The climate’s delicate, the air most
sweet.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Shakespeare.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">When speaking of the climate of Persia, Cyrus is
supposed to have said, “People perish with cold at one point,
while they are suffocated with heat at another,” and this may be
applied equally well to the climate of Persia to-day, for every town
has a different climate according to its height above sea-level. When
we land on Persian soil from the Caspian we find ourselves some feet
below sea-level, consequently the climate is very damp, and vegetation
is profuse. The rainfall in Resht is so great that the wells are often
overflowing, rain falling during quite two-thirds of the year. Always
having thought of Persia as a very dry, parched land, our surprise was
very great on reaching Resht, the port on the Caspian, to see such
lovely forests of trees, and flowers in abundance, both wild and
cultivated. Primroses, anemones, periwinkles, cyclamen, and many other
kinds of flowers, all were in bloom as we drove through Resht on our
way to Isphahan. The ferns, too, were splendid, maiden-hair and
ox-tongue being especially beautiful. With all these <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb51" href="#pb51" name="pb51">51</a>]</span>homelike
flowers and ferns around us, we could hardly realise that we were not
driving through some dear Devonshire lane in Old England. But as we
mounted, higher and ever higher over the Elburz Mountains, we soon lost
this English type of scenery. The climate became dry and warm, till by
the time we reached Teheran we were thankful indeed for the shelter of
the comfortable quarters of our American friends, who extended to us
the most hospitable kindness during our stay in that city. The climate
of Teheran is very good; its winters are pleasantly cold, and the
summer heat is not so overpoweringly great as in other places. Then,
too, there are lovely summer gardens near at hand, whither the
residents can retire during the warm months of the year. And for those
who love the mountain heights there is the beautiful and picturesque
Mount Demavend, rising some 19,400 feet above sea-level. This mountain
adds greatly to the beauty of Teheran, both as regards its scenery and
climate. It stands as a sentinel guarding the valley in which Teheran
lies, and has an ever-changing beauty of its own, with its eternal
snows catching and reflecting all the radiant hues of the rising and
setting sun. It also forms a most valuable health resort and summer
retreat for all the heat-wearied ones of the neighbourhood. This is the
highest mountain in Persia, but there are many others from 10,000 to
13,000 feet high, so, if necessary, a cool climate is to be found at
all times of the year. Once over the Elburz, the whole of Persia is a
high plateau land, till we descend once more to the shores of the
Persian Gulf. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb52" href="#pb52" name=
"pb52">52</a>]</span></p>
<p>Isphahan has a very pleasant climate; the winters are cold and
bright, and it is possible to enjoy sitting out in the sunshine most of
the winter months. The mornings and evenings are cold, but the days are
delightful during the sunshine. The atmosphere here, as elsewhere in
Persia, is very dry, and one’s skin gets very cracked and
“chapped,” not from the cold, but from the dryness of the
air. This is the cause, too, of much “nerve” trouble
amongst the Europeans, especially, perhaps, with the ladies. In the
winter the natives warm themselves and their rooms by means of a
“korsi” (literally, a chair). This “korsi” is a
contrivance for giving warmth at a minimum cost. A hole is dug in the
floor of the room in which the whole family live. Into this hole is put
a clay or iron firepan full of lighted charcoal: above this, the
“korsi,” a wooden frame varying in size according to the
number of the family, is placed, and over all is spread a large
“lahaf” or padded quilt. All round the “korsi”
are placed soft mattresses and cushions, and here the family pass the
time eating, sleeping, talking; the “korsi” acting as a
dining-table and the “lahaf” as a covering by day and
night. This arrangement is very unhealthy, but the natives love it, and
the more friends and relations they can gather round the
“korsi” the happier they are.</p>
<p>The summers at Isphahan are rather warm, but there are many places
near by, which are cool, pleasant, and within easy distance for those
whose business keeps them in the vicinity of the town during the hot
season.</p>
<p>There is always plenty of ice to be had during <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb53" href="#pb53" name="pb53">53</a>]</span>the
summer here—perhaps not always of the cleanest, but still good
enough for the purpose of cooling fruits and drinks. The native method
of making ice is rather clever. A “yakh khaneh” or
ice-house is generally situated outside the town or near some running
water: a trench is dug some two or three feet deep, and a wall from
twenty to forty feet is built facing north and south, thus shielding
the trench from all rays of the sun. As soon as frost sets in, an inch
or two of water is let into the trench: this freezes during the night,
and the next day more water is diverted into the hole, on top of the
ice. This is repeated several days in succession, till about a foot or
more of ice is formed. This is then broken up and stored in deep
caverns or wells for use during the summer. The process is continued as
long as the frost lasts, and thus there is generally enough to keep the
town supplied with ice during the great heat. Well-to-do Persians have
their own “yakh khanehs,” and others use them for a means
of livelihood. If the supply runs short before the hot season is over,
frozen snow is brought from the mountains; but this is very expensive,
as it has to be brought such a long distance.</p>
<p>Yezd has a much warmer “hot season” than Isphahan, and
the heat is much more trying and of longer duration. The houses are
essentially summer houses. The winters being shorter and much less
severe, little attention is paid to the comforts necessary for cold
weather, but everything is considered which will add to the coolness
and airiness of the houses.</p>
<p>As a traveller approaches Yezd he cannot fail to <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb54" href="#pb54" name="pb54">54</a>]</span>be
struck by the number of tall “chimneys” rising from the
city, and he almost fancies he is approaching some large manufacturing
town, and speculates perhaps as to the nature of the manufactures
possible in such a sandy city of the desert. But as he draws nearer he
sees there is no smoke rising from these “chimneys,” and so
concludes that, after all, they are not for manufacturing purposes.
What, then, is the purpose of all those tall, square, chimney-like
buildings, appearing from the roofs of nearly all the dwelling-places
of Yezd? They are air shafts, built with the hope of bringing a little
cool air into the houses during the hot season, when the atmosphere
below is so stifling that it seems impossible to breathe. These
structures are called “<span lang="fa-latn">bâd
geers</span>,” or “wind-catchers.” There was a very
large one connected with the house in which we lived in Yezd, and even
on the hottest days, some air was always to be felt coming from the
“<span lang="fa-latn">bâd geer</span>.” It was so
arranged in our house that after the air had been caught and brought
down by means of the chimney, it passed over a “hoze” (tank
of water), and in this way was cooled before circulating through the
house. Another aid to bearing the heat in Yezd is the custom of
spending the middle part of the day underground in cellars.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e1238width" id="p054-1"><img src=
"images/p054-1.jpg" alt="A Chimney of Yezd" width="430" height="443">
<p class="figureHead">A Chimney of Yezd</p>
<p class="first">These tall chimney-like buildings are air-shafts,
constructed with the hope of bringing any cool air which may be
circulating above the houses into the rooms below. The above is a photo
of the house in which we lived in Yezd.</p>
</div>
<div class="figure xd20e1244width" id="p054-2"><img src=
"images/p054-2.jpg" alt="A Korsi or Heating Contrivance" width="582"
height="418">
<p class="figureHead">A Korsi or Heating Contrivance</p>
<p class="first">In a hole made in the floor a pan of lighted charcoal
is placed. This is covered by the Korsi, a wooden frame varying in size
according to the family; and over this again is spread the lahaf or
padded quilt. This arrangement serves as a table, and is an effectual
but unhealthy heating device.</p>
</div>
<p>Some of these cellars are quite palatial, the walls and floors being
made from the famous Yezd marble, which closely resembles alabaster.
One such I remember very well: it was a room about 40 feet by 30 feet,
very lofty, and lit from the top by windows on a level with the ground
above. In the centre of this room was a “hoze” (water
tank), of which the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb55" href="#pb55"
name="pb55">55</a>]</span>Persians are so fond, and rising from the
water was a fountain capable of playing to the height of 30 feet; a
large bowl turned upside down had been fixed on the ceiling to catch
the spray and prevent it from becoming damp. Here the inmates of the
house took their mid-day siesta, and very charmingly cool it was
compared to the upstairs world. Some cellars are not at all healthy,
and, if slept in during the day, the sleepers are very liable to
contract malaria or some other fever. When dry and well ventilated no
harm seems to come from this custom of retiring underground during the
great heat of the day, and certainly a good cellar is a great boon to a
European, and a great blessing when the thermometer registers 110 in
the shade upstairs, while in the cellar it rarely goes above 86 or 90
degrees.</p>
<p>Scorpions, centipedes, tarantulas, and suchlike creatures have a
good time in Yezd. The climate agrees with them, and they thrive and
enjoy life to an alarming extent. One day my husband killed three
scorpions within the hour, two of which were the poisonous black kind.
Tarantulas abounded inside the house and out. They always seemed to
make a point of running across my path during prayer times; to say the
least it is very disconcerting to see one of these creatures glide
softly past you with the evident intention of seeking shelter under
your skirt! Our cat always used to make a dart directly he saw any of
these tarantulas, just to draw our attention to them, but he would
never kill one.</p>
<p>From life in the cellar we pass to life on the roof. This was often
the most enjoyable part of the day. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb56"
href="#pb56" name="pb56">56</a>]</span>It is lovely, when the heat of
the day is over, to lie and watch the stars, knowing that the same
stars were watching over our loved ones in the Homeland.</p>
<p>Sleeping on the roof had its disadvantages as well as its
attractions and advantages. One great disadvantage is the fact that the
sun wakes you up so early; another, the talking and singing which goes
on all round you from the adjoining roofs, often make it difficult to
sleep. In addition there is this very serious drawback, that often the
jackals visit the roofs of the houses at night, seeking for something
wherewith to appease their hunger, and if they cannot find anything
else to satisfy them will attack sleeping children. On several
occasions poor little mites have been brought to the hospital terribly
mutilated and torn by the jackals, some just slightly bitten on the
face, others so mauled and eaten as to be quite unrecognisable. One
especially sad case I remember; the poor mother was wild with grief,
for her child, a baby of only a few weeks old, had been almost eaten up
by these abominable creatures.</p>
<p>Life on the roof begins soon after sunset. It is very interesting to
watch, from a height, roof-life springing into existence. First one and
then another will bring out the family bedding, spread it on the floor
of the roof or on low wooden benches, and then sit and chat till
dinner-time. Very often the evening meal is eaten on the roof, and
shortly after the family retires to rest. A Moslem takes great pains to
have his roof well shielded from the gaze of onlookers, and if he is at
all suspicious that he is overlooked he will immediately raise his
wall. This being the case, the roofs in a Moslem quarter are generally
very much <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb57" href="#pb57" name=
"pb57">57</a>]</span>shut in by high walls, which keep out the air and
make the nights much less bearable.</p>
<p>The climate of Kerman is almost perfect for those who can stand it.
Situated about 6500 feet above the sea, surrounded on all sides by
mountains and deserts, the result is a delightful bracing air and
invigorating climate. In Kerman there is no need of resting in cellars
by day or sleeping on roofs by night. Indeed the climate would be hard
to beat anywhere. The winters are charming, bright and cold, with
snow-covered mountains always in view. For a month or two in the summer
it becomes fairly hot, when flies and mosquitoes nearly drive one wild,
but it is generally possible to get away for a little time, and during
the remainder of the year the climate is all that could be desired. And
yet it seems strange that in spite of all this Europeans have found it
difficult to live there.</p>
<p>Our mission in its infancy had a very chequered career, owing to the
breaking down in health of its missionaries. The first to open the work
there was a Mr. Carless, a clergyman of the Church of England. He went
there a young man in the vigour of youth, and at the end of three
years, having gained the love and admiration of Moslem and Parsee
alike, he was laid in a solitary grave away in the desert, in a valley
surrounded by hills. After a short time his work was taken up by a Mr.
and Mrs. Blackett, but the latter was able to remain only a few short
months, at the end of which time she returned to England, broken down
and shattered in health. Then my husband was appointed to open Medical
Mission work there. Unfortunately, before the year was out,
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb58" href="#pb58" name=
"pb58">58</a>]</span>we too had to leave, this time on account of my
health. During our stay there an English engineer came to seek for
artesian wells. After two or three months he contracted fever and died
at our house, and he too is resting in that quiet spot amongst the
mountains by the side of Mr. Carless. On our leaving, another doctor
was appointed to take my husband’s post, but his stay in Kerman
was not even as long as ours had been. And so it seemed as if the work
there could not be carried on, but fortunately this chapter of
accidents has now come to an end, for our missionaries have been living
and working there for some three or four years. All agree, too, in
saying that the climate is a very healthy one, provided the people
living there have sound hearts! <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb59"
href="#pb59" name="pb59">59</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch5" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter V</h2>
<h2 class="main">Holidays in Persia</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">How to ensure a prosperous
journey—Natanz—Astonishment of natives at sight of
hairpins—Pulivagoon—Mahoon—Aliabâd—Prince
under canvas—Visit from a Persian princess—A Persian
deer-hunt.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“If all the year were playing holidays,</p>
<p class="line">To sport would be as tedious as to work.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Shakespeare.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">In a climate such as has been described in the
foregoing chapter, it is necessary for the sake of health to get away
during a part of the hot season. Fortunately there are suitable places
near at hand to each of the large cities, so it is no very difficult
matter to get away for a few weeks. The difficulties lie rather in
reaching these places, and in transporting all one’s
belongings—at least all those that are absolutely
necessary—to the place chosen.</p>
<p>After having decided upon the desirability of having a holiday, the
next thing is to fix a day of departure. This sounds easy to say. Yes,
it is quite a simple matter for you to say, “We will start on
such and such a day,” but you are perhaps reckoning without
considering your muleteer. On the morning appointed you rise early, see
that everything is in readiness, and then sit down to wait for the
baggage animals to arrive. Time goes on, the sun begins to get hot, and
no sign of the muleteer or mules, so by-and-by you send your servant to
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb60" href="#pb60" name=
"pb60">60</a>]</span>investigate matters, and he brings back with him
the muleteer, who smiles sweetly and says, “Ensha’allah
farda (to-morrow, God willing) we will start on our journey.” His
mules have gone to a village, and will be back “ensha’allah
farda.” We can console ourselves that very likely the same thing
will occur again on the next day. It is always “farda” with
these people, so we must try to possess our souls in patience, and hope
for the best. Persians are never in a hurry, and cannot understand why
it should make any difference whether we start “to-day” or
“to-morrow.” Oh, those endless “fardas”! how
tired we got of them before we had been very long in the land. But it
is good to learn patience, and the sooner you have mastered this lesson
well, the happier will you be living in the East.</p>
<p>Preparing for a holiday in Persia is rather a different matter to
starting off at home for the seaside or elsewhere. Everything has to be
taken—pots and pans, tables, chairs, beds and bedding—in
fact, everything that is necessary for four or five weeks’ stay
in a house where nothing is provided but the bare walls. It is
wonderful what a number of things are necessary even for a short stay,
in the so-called simple life.</p>
<p>The natives are very superstitious about many things when starting
on a journey. For instance, it is very unlucky, in their eyes, to
proceed if any of the party happens to sneeze on the point of starting.
They would much rather postpone the start for a more propitious
occasion, than disregard this bad omen. I heard of one man who insisted
on continuing his journey in spite of the warning given in <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb61" href="#pb61" name="pb61">61</a>]</span>the form
of a sneeze, and the consequence was he fell off his mule and broke his
leg! The natives also are careful to have a good supply of copper coins
ready when starting on a journey, to give to the beggars. Whenever we
left home our servants always distributed freely to the poor who were
living around, to ensure a blessing on our journey, but they never
forgot to put the amount down in the daily account!</p>
<p>While in Persia we had some very enjoyable holidays, but as I could
not endure the altitude we were never able to go to the mountains,
which of course make the ideal summer resorts. However, we managed to
find some very pretty and fairly cool places in the plains or on
slightly elevated ground. Our first holiday in Persia was spent in a
very pretty little village called Natanz. I had been taken ill on our
way to Isphahan, and the lady doctor who came out to meet us suggested
our going for a week or so to this little village before entering
Isphahan. Spring was already well advanced, and it is difficult to
recruit in the hot season.</p>
<p>Natanz is a picturesque little village, slightly off the general
route, so that the natives had not then become very much used to
Feringhis staying with them, and our coming caused no little
excitement. We arrived there about twelve o’clock one night, and
were conducted to our room by an admiring throng, and this throng
continued to “admire” for the whole time we were there. The
windows of our room were composed of lattice work only, so all
interested could always have a good view of our movements. On waking in
the morning there were our faithful followers to be seen with their
faces flattened against <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb62" href=
"#pb62" name="pb62">62</a>]</span>the trellis work, waiting for us to
wake, and see what we were going to do next! At times this interest
shown on the part of the inhabitants was a trifle embarrassing, but as
often as they were driven away by our servant just as often did they
return again whenever his back was turned. For the first day or two I
did not leave the room, but when I felt stronger I used to sit in a
chair outside the window reading or writing. The moment my husband left
me the women all swarmed round like bees, full of curious questions.
Unfortunately at that time I was not able to talk to them, not knowing
the language, but I could make out what they were saying to a great
extent from their gestures. My fountain pen was a cause of great
amusement and astonishment, as were also my hairpins. The delight of
some of the women on being presented with a hairpin was very funny.
They seemed to think I stuck them into my head, as into a pincushion.
At first the women were rather shy, as they could not be quite sure
whether I was a man or a woman, but one of them came and peeped under
my hat and seeing I had long hair concluded I was a woman. My husband
received a visit from the governor of the village, who was very
delighted to see an English hakeem. We were quite sorry when our little
holiday in Natanz was over, but being anxious to push on to Isphahan,
did not care to prolong our stay longer than was necessary.</p>
<p>Our next holiday was in the summer of the same year 1900. This time
we went only a few hours’ drive out of Isphahan to a place called
Pulivagoon. It was a very pretty little village, and a nice house,
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb63" href="#pb63" name=
"pb63">63</a>]</span>belonging to the Zil es Sultan, had been lent to
us for a month. The house was built practically on the river, as our
windows hung right over the water, and the sound of its rushing torrent
reminded us of the lapping of the waves on the seashore in dear Old
England. There were some lovely woods near by, to which we often used
to take our tea, and pass the time pleasantly paddling, bathing, and
fishing in the river. The following year we were at Kerman, and went
for our holidays to a lovely garden about nine hours’ ride from
the city. Mahoon lies very high; it must be at least 6700 feet above
sea-level. The climate is beautiful, but the altitude proved too high
for me to enjoy it much. We had a very tiring ride from Kerman;
starting one day soon after noon we rode for three or four hours, then
had a refreshing cup of tea under the shadow of a large spreading tree.
But we could not afford to linger, for we still had a good half of our
journey before us, so once more we mounted our respective steeds,
hoping to reach our destination about nine o’clock, but alas for
our hopes! Nine o’clock came and went, and still we seemed no
nearer; ten o’clock, and still no sign of our village. It was now
pitch dark, and we were all very tired and hungry, and I was so dead
beat that I could hardly sit upright on my animal. My husband rode
close by my side, to be in readiness in case I should fall off in my
sleep. To the oft-repeated question, “How much farther?”
the answer always came, “Ensha’allah—only
half-an-hour.” Oh, those half-hours, how wearisome they became! I
did so wish that they would say two hours or three hours for a change,
for the everlasting half-hour was <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb64"
href="#pb64" name="pb64">64</a>]</span>so tantalising. Our servants
told me afterwards that they said this to keep up my spirits, as they
thought, if they told the truth about the distance, “the
Khanum’s heart would melt within her.” At last, just after
midnight, we heard a very energetic coo-ing ahead of us, and knew that
at last we were within sound of rest and food. It was so dark that we
could not find the path leading to the garden, and our animals went
floundering about over great boulders of stones or stumbling into
ditches, and of course all in the wrong direction, till some one met us
and conducted our tired party into the house. Here we found that our
baggage animals, with Bagi and the other servants, had not yet turned
up, though they had started an hour or two before us. They did not
arrive till morning, so there was nothing for it but to lie down on
bare boards and go to sleep supperless. The only drinking vessel to be
found was a saucepan, from which we had a most refreshing drink of
water and retired to our luxurious couch, sleeping as well and as
soundly as if we were lying on beds of softest down. We were awakened
about eight o’clock next morning by the sound of bells, and knew
that our belated caravan had come in. While they were settling disputes
and unpacking we strolled off into the garden to dip our faces into the
cool water that was flowing through the grounds. It was, or rather had
been, a magnificent garden, but, like everything else in Persia, was
even then fast falling into decay. There was water in abundance,
flowing on both sides, and fountains playing on the top terrace and
also at the foot of the garden. The whole garden was built in a series
of terraces, and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb65" href="#pb65" name=
"pb65">65</a>]</span>steps led from one level to the next. The houses
and gardens had been built by H.H. Farman Farma, at one time governor
of Kerman, and must have cost a great deal of money.</p>
<p>We took up our quarters in the house at the top of the garden, and
after a few days our consul came out from Kerman and occupied the lower
one. We spent a very enjoyable month here, riding, shooting, bathing,
&c. My husband opened a dispensary for the villagers, to which he
went two mornings each week, and the people appreciated this very much,
as I do not think they had ever had an English doctor amongst them
before. We much enjoyed the use of the Persian “hammam”
(bath) while there. It comprised a series of rooms built a little way
off from the house; each room was built of marble and blue tiles. The
first or outer room was simply for resting in, having a fountain in the
centre; passing through this, you entered a large vaulted room, which
was used for a dressing-room and “cooling-down” place; from
this you passed to the actual hammam, which was a large tank of water
about 15 feet by 10 feet, and from 1 to 6 feet deep, shelving gradually
in depth from the edge. This had not been used for some years
apparently, but my husband had it cleaned out and filled with fresh
water, and we were very thankful for it during the hot weather. At
first we tried taking our afternoon siesta in the outer or
resting-room, but found it too feverish; however, we were able to sit
in it during the early part of the day, and generally had our Persian
lesson there, as it was easier to work in the cool. We always made our
holidays a time for language study, as my <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb66" href="#pb66" name="pb66">66</a>]</span>husband rarely could find
time for it while at work in the city, and we both longed to be able to
speak Persian properly. I must say the natives were always wonderfully
good and patient over our mistakes, and never laughed, however terrible
and feeble our attempts at conversation might be. Unfortunately, just
as we were beginning to feel our way in Persian a little, we had to
start learning a new language, so to a great extent we have forgotten
our Persian.</p>
<p>Our last holiday in Persia was spent in Aliabâd, a dear little
village about ten hours’ drive from Yezd. H.R.H. the Jalal el
Dowleh (nephew of the late Shah) kindly lent us a house there, and as
it was rather a small one, he erected a large tent in the garden for
us, which did duty as dining and sitting-room combined. The Jalal also
kindly lent us one of his carriages to drive from Yezd to
Aliabâd. The first part of the way the road was very good. We
left Yezd just before sunset, reaching our half-way place shortly
before midnight. Here we had to rest the horses till morning, so we
spent the night in a garden by permission of the owner. Spreading a rug
on the ground, and using two of the carriage cushions as pillows, we
spent a very comfortable night, and awoke in the early morning fresh
and ready for the second part of our journey. We were off before
sunrise, as we wished to reach our destination before the great heat of
the day began. I shall never forget that drive. For the greater part of
the way there was not even a semblance of a road, and the whole path
was strewn with huge stones and boulders; it was a marvel to me how the
carriage ever got safely over them. But oh, the jolting and
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb67" href="#pb67" name=
"pb67">67</a>]</span>the shaking! Driving up the Pyramids would be
smooth and easy compared to the horrors of that road! We repented often
of having accepted the kind offer of the carriage, as the saddle is
much more preferable on such roads. However, all things come to an end
to those who have patience; so at last this memorable drive ended, and
we were very thankful, about ten o’clock, to see the trees of our
village rising on the horizon. We found the little house very
comfortably arranged and breakfast waiting for us in the tent, as our
servants had pushed on instead of resting during the night.</p>
<p>Aliabâd contained, I suppose, some fifty houses, all of which
were occupied by Moslems of rather a fanatical type. It was surrounded
on all sides by mountains and hills, and this gave it a rather shut-in
feeling at times. After sunset, too, it was very chilly and damp, as
there were so many gardens lying under water at that time, this being
the usual method of irrigation. I wanted to make the acquaintance of
the village women, so I let it be known that I should generally be in
the garden during the morning, and should welcome all who came to see
me. In this way I saw most of the women, but they were not very
responsive on the whole. It was here, sitting in the garden one
morning, that I tried to learn from them how to “tell the
beads” according to the Moslem method, but I found it too
intricate and difficult. I managed, however, to master one very simple
method of trying the beads for good or ill fortune. This was as
follows: holding the rosary before you in both hands, you separate a
certain number of the beads; then, closing your eyes, you <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb68" href="#pb68" name=
"pb68">68</a>]</span>“tell” them, repeating the mystic
words “Adam, Eve, Satan,” until the last bead is reached.
If this happens to be “Adam,” the luck is sure to be of the
best; if “Eve,” the result is neutral, and the beads must
be counted again; while “Satan” indicates the worst of
fortune, and would absolutely prevent any one from undertaking any
contemplated action.</p>
<p>It was no uncommon sight to see the women counting their beads and
mumbling to themselves, “Adam, Hava, Shaitan (Adam, Eve, Satan),
Adam, Hava, Shaitan,” before making up their minds as to whether
they should drink their medicine or not. Or perhaps some patient has
been advised an operation, and he is trying his beads to see whether
the doctor’s advice is to be taken or not. It is a strange thing
that, when they <i>very</i> badly want to do a thing, they can
generally make it come to “Adam,” or else they keep on
repeating the words till it does come to the lucky name, and then they
are happy.</p>
<p>When we had been in Aliabâd some days the prince-governor of
Yezd brought his “anderoon” to the same village. Of course
there was no accommodation for them in the village, so they erected a
town for themselves. It sprang up in one night, and looked in the
morning as if a large company of soldiers had suddenly come along and
fixed their camp. The ladies’ quarters consisted of about twenty
large tents, and were enclosed by a huge canvas wall, quite shutting
them off from the outside world. The prince had his reception tents and
others outside the wall, but quite near to it. <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb69" href="#pb69" name="pb69">69</a>]</span></p>
<p>A day or two after their arrival the princess sent down her carriage
for me, with a request that I would go and see her, which I gladly did,
and found her surrounded by all her home comforts, and dressed, as
usual, in some lovely silk costume. After this she always sent for me
about three times a week, and we had walks and talks together. Whenever
we came to a garden, she and her ladies always gathered the cucumbers
and onions and ate them, thoroughly enjoying the impromptu picnic, and
never giving a thought to the poor unfortunate owner, who dared not
voice a remonstrance, however much his garden was stripped of its
produce.</p>
<p>A eunuch or two always went before when the princess walked out, to
warn off any of the dreaded menkind who happened to be about. One day
the prince gave permission for his wife to come and call upon me. This
was the first time she had ever been allowed to pay a visit. I was
sorry we were not in our own house, as I should have liked to show her
an English home. However, we made the place as tidy and home-like as
possible for her reception. My husband had to be banished, and also all
the men-servants. Bagi (our woman servant) prepared all the
refreshments, but the princess’s own servants handed them to her,
as Bagi was a Parsee, and it would have meant defilement for a Moslem
to take food from a despised follower of Zoroaster.</p>
<p>The prince spent most of his time hunting, and my husband went with
him on several occasions. The sport did not seem to be very exciting,
from all accounts. The Jalal would take with him about thirty to forty
of his followers, and form a kind of <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb70" href="#pb70" name="pb70">70</a>]</span>cordon round the spot
where the gazelles were known to be; they then gradually closed in,
each rider knowing and keeping his own position. At last the gazelles
would be sighted, and all would gallop madly towards the spot, and
shoot as they got within range.</p>
<p>We were kept so well supplied with venison during those holidays
that I felt I never wanted to taste it again!</p>
<p>Quite near to Aliabâd there were some large caves in which the
natives had stored frozen snow, so that even in the height of summer we
were able to have a large block of ice every day.</p>
<p>Altogether our time at this little village was very enjoyable, and
we were quite sorry when our holiday was over and we had to return to
the broiling heat of Yezd. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb71" href=
"#pb71" name="pb71">71</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch6" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter VI</h2>
<h2 class="main">Social Life in Persia</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Kerman—House-hunting and building—White
ants—Housekeeping in Kerman—Servant question—Truth v.
falsehood—Abdul Fateh—Bagi—Recreations—Some
exciting rides—Persian etiquette—Dinner at the
governor’s.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Society is no comfort to one not
sociable.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Shakespeare.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">The social life of Europeans in Persia differs very
much according to the town lived in. In some parts much life and gaiety
are to be found, and in others this element is conspicuous by its
absence. In Teheran, where we have our Legation, of course social life
is at its height. At Isphahan, too, there is quite a large European
community. When we were there in 1900 and 1903 there must have been at
least fifty Europeans, and very happily and sociably all lived
together. From Isphahan we went to Kerman, where for some five or six
months we were the only foreigners, but in spite of having none of our
own countrymen to call upon or visit, we were very happy. After a time
a British consul was appointed, and we felt quite gay, and I at once
started a European “at home” day, and every Wednesday our
consul was a most regular visitor. He was always very homesick, and
liked anything that helped to remind him of dear Old England.</p>
<p>On one occasion we actually mustered four <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb72" href="#pb72" name=
"pb72">72</a>]</span>Englishmen to dinner, as two travellers happened
to be passing through at the same time, one of whom was Mr. Savage
Landor, who entertained us with most harrowing accounts of his time
amongst the Thibetans. Just before we left two English ladies arrived,
so the social life at Kerman began to grow, and to-day it boasts of
quite a number of Europeans, consisting of consuls of various nations,
as well as missionaries, bank and telegraph employees.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e1374width" id="p072-1"><img src=
"images/p072-1.jpg" alt="House-Building in Persia " width="586" height=
"405">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">House-Building in
Persia</span></p>
<p class="first">The houses are built chiefly of sun-dried bricks of
earth and chopped straw, and then plastered on the outside. The bricks
are generally made on the premises.</p>
</div>
<div class="figure xd20e1382width" id="p072-2"><img src=
"images/p072-2.jpg" alt="Persian Shops" width="589" height="438">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">Persian Shops</span></p>
<p class="first">A peep into the bazaars of Isphahan. In these open
shops all goods are exposed to view, and the passer-by is invited to
take a seat and inspect<span class="corr" id="xd20e1388" title=
"Not in source">.</span></p>
</div>
<p>When we arrived at Kerman we found great difficulty in choosing and
leasing a house. Many were only too anxious to show us their houses,
and to assure us that all their property belonged to us, to do what we
liked with; but when it came to making definite arrangements it was
quite a different matter. So long as it was only “talk” the
various would-be landlords were willing to promise everything and
anything, but it was quite another question when suggestions were made
as to the desirability of committing those promises to paper. At last
we settled on a house outside the town, which possessed a nice large
garden, but the house itself only consisted of about two rooms, and
these were in a very tumble-down and filthy condition.</p>
<p>The landlord (a Parsee) promised to build according to our plans,
and to spend the whole of the first three years’ rent in making
improvements and additions to the house. The consequence of this
delightful arrangement was that during the greater part of our time in
Kerman building operations were going on, and only just as we were
leaving was the work completed and the house made inhabitable. But in
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb73" href="#pb73" name=
"pb73">73</a>]</span>the end a very fairly comfortable house was built,
and has been occupied ever since, I believe, by our C.M.S.
missionaries.</p>
<p>Our garden was very large, but only half of it had been cultivated;
the further end we had hoped to have made into a tennis court, but
unfortunately we had to leave before it was possible to do so. All the
bricks used for building were made from the earth of the garden. The
process is simplicity itself. Water is mixed with the earth till it
becomes a thick mud, then it is stamped into the required shape by
means of a wooden block, and then left in the sun to dry. Sometimes
straw is mixed with the mud, when it is necessary to have very strong
bricks.</p>
<p>Directly we moved into our house I found to my horror that it was
infested with white ants. This was my first experience of these
wretched little creatures, and I hope it may be my last. They are
disturbers of one’s peace of mind, for once they are settled in a
house it is impossible to get rid of them, and the only thing to hope
for is that by continually waging war against them you may keep them
slightly in subjection. I remember so well the day I first made the
acquaintance of these noxious things. I had with much difficulty
succeeded in finishing our drawing-room, and considering all things I
may be forgiven if I confess to having felt a certain amount of pride
as I looked at the result of my labours. Certainly it was not too
luxurious; but it was comfortable and “homey.” Alas! my
pride soon had a fall. After a day or two my husband had need of some
book, and upon taking it from the shelf found it eaten half through! I
then <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb74" href="#pb74" name=
"pb74">74</a>]</span>began to hunt about, and found the room was
swarming with these abominations, under the carpets, behind the
pictures, cosily ensconced in books—everywhere they were having a
right royal time. From that moment almost to the day we left, I never
ceased to hunt and destroy these ubiquitous ants. We were having two
new rooms built, and I said to my husband, “One comfort is that
the ants cannot be in the new rooms;” but, alas, my hopes were
vain! The builders had used an old piece of wood for a beam on which
the ceiling rested, and this was infested with white ants, and so in a
very short time they had <i>that</i> room, too, to revel in. I tried
all manner of things to get rid of them, but found the most successful
remedy was pouring petroleum down the holes from which they came. This
drove them away from <i>that</i> hole, but they only burrowed a little
further, seeking for a new outlet. Nothing could or can destroy them.
As long as the queen ant remains they can never be exterminated. An
English engineer who came to Kerman told me that, when he was living in
India, he was building a house, and before he laid the foundations he
offered large rewards for all queen ants found in the grounds near,
for, said he, “This is the only way to ensure freedom from these
pests.” He also told me that one night he left his evening shoes
out in his room, and in the morning the leather was eaten half away. I
can quite believe this now, after having seen for myself their
tremendous digestive powers.</p>
<p>One of our missionaries had to leave Kerman quite suddenly while we
were there. Before leaving he packed all his most valued books into
tin-lined <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb75" href="#pb75" name=
"pb75">75</a>]</span>cases and had them soldered down, thinking they
would be safe against the intrusions of white ants. Shortly after his
departure we suspected these wretches of being at work amongst the
books, and so came to the conclusion we had better open and see. There,
sure enough, they were, and busily they had been engaged too, for like
“Mother Hubbard who went to the cupboard,” when we went to
the box we found it bare! if not quite, almost so; for, with the
exception of a few stout leather covers, all trace of Mr.
Blackett’s valuable library was gone! Such are the literary
instincts of white ants. But indeed nothing comes amiss to their
tastes—books, boots, pictures, carpets, clothes, papers—all
vanish under the business-like efforts of these horrible creatures.
What with white ants and bad servants to contend and combat with,
housekeeping in Kerman was enough to turn one’s hair grey! The
struggle was unequal, and I generally got the worst of it.</p>
<p>To begin with, the servants we had brought with us from Isphahan
refused to stay in such an out-of-the-world spot as Kerman, so no
sooner had we begun to unpack than first one and then another declared
his intention of going, until we were left stranded. Then began the
joys of servant-hunting. In some parts of Persia this is not a
difficult task, but in Kerman it was practically impossible to find a
decent servant, or one that knew anything about his work.</p>
<p>The chief drawback to Kerman domestics is the fact that they are all
opium-smokers. The native saying in Kerman is, “That every fourth
man out of three” is an opium-smoker. Although this may
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb76" href="#pb76" name=
"pb76">76</a>]</span>be a slight exaggeration, yet it was decidedly
hard to find any one who was not addicted to this terrible habit. Awful
specimens presented themselves as “cooks,” but one look at
them was enough! At last a veritable “Uriah Heep” offered
his valuable services to us; he came armed with wonderful credentials
and menu cards. These latter he claimed to have successfully negotiated
when in the employ of some Frenchman, but I have grave doubts as to the
veracity of this statement. On the strength of these menus we thought
we could not do better than engage him; so he came, and proved himself
to be a most aggravating specimen of humanity, specially formed, I
believe, to try the patience and tempers of poor unsuspecting
foreigners. Nothing ever put him out or ruffled his sweet amiability.
How I wished it would, and that he would depart in wrath and anger at
my repeated complaints against him! But no, nothing of the kind; he
came to stay, and stay he did, till he bade us an affectionate and
touching farewell on our departure from Kerman. His money accounts were
always atrociously high, but so cleverly did he manage them that I
could rarely detect him cheating, and at last I gave it up as a
hopeless task, concluding the game was not worth the candle.</p>
<p>When we were alone his cooking was passable—at least it was
generally eatable; but if ever we had friends to dinner he always
managed to surpass himself with some act of stupidity or wickedness, I
never could make out which it was.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e1422width" id="p076-1"><img src=
"images/p076-1.jpg" alt="Kerman" width="598" height="449">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">Kerman</span></p>
<p class="first">A photo taken from the top of our house in Kerman,
showing the mountains in the distance and our garden in the foreground.
The circular roofs are those belonging to our kitchens, the round hole
at the top being the only means of ventilation.</p>
</div>
<div class="figure xd20e1429width" id="p076-2"><img src=
"images/p076-2.jpg" alt="A Street in Kerman" width="585" height="405">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">A Street in Kerman</span></p>
<p class="first">A corner of a street in Kerman, leading into the long,
covered bazaar.</p>
</div>
<p>On one occasion the English consul and one or two others were dining
with us. We had safely <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb77" href="#pb77"
name="pb77">77</a>]</span>reached the “sweet” stage, and I
was just beginning to congratulate myself that this time, at any rate,
our lovely cook was not going to disgrace himself or play any trick.
Just then a “chocolate cream” was handed round. It looked
all right. The consul took some, tasted it, and promptly laid down his
fork; his example was followed by others. I hastily called the
“boy” to bring me some, and on tasting it found to my
horror that the chocolate cream was highly flavoured with naphthalene!
We had lately received a box from home; in it was some of this useful
stuff for destroying moths; doubtless the cook thought it was a nice
and specially delicate flavouring for puddings! On another occasion I
had been experimenting on some dessert dish, which necessitated part of
the ingredients soaking for an hour or two over a slow fire. I put
everything ready, and left strict injunctions with “Uriah”
that he was to touch <i>nothing</i>, and so I left. Shortly after,
feeling rather uneasy as to the welfare of my concoction, I returned to
the kitchen, just in time to see the wretched man pouring my
“Dream of Delight” down the sink! I confess to having been
guilty then for the first and last time of boxing a servant’s
ears; but really was the provocation not great?</p>
<p>Another of our “treasures” was a man called Neamat
’allah. He was a splendid “show man,” but no good for
work of any kind. He shone when visitors came, as he felt the dignity
of his Sahib depended in a great measure on him.</p>
<p>Then there was an awful boy, Rustem. I did my best to make him into
a decent parlour-maid, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb78" href="#pb78"
name="pb78">78</a>]</span>but utterly failed. Although only about
eighteen years of age, he was a confirmed slave to the opium habit. His
chief <i>forte</i> was smashing crockery and telling lies. Of course we
never expected our servants to speak the truth, but this boy seemed the
most incorrigible of all. One day he said to me, after I had been
trying to instil into his mind some idea as to why we should speak the
truth, “Well, Khanum, what is the use of my speaking the truth,
for if I did you would not believe me, and would only say it was a
lie?” This is true, I am afraid, to a great extent, for after
being deceived so often one gets sceptical about the possibility of a
native speaking the truth, especially if he is an opium-smoker too. And
yet sometimes they look at you so innocently, with such an air of
injured righteousness, that you begin to wonder if after all they are
not for once speaking the truth; but, alas, the wonder soon passes!</p>
<p>Shortly before leaving Kerman we were fortunate enough to secure the
services of a real treasure in the person of an Indian. He came to
Kerman with his master, Mr. Patrick Duncan, whose object was to sink
artesian wells, but unfortunately he died before his work was
completed. His man, Abdul Fateh, was heartbroken at the death of his
master, as he had been with him for many years. He begged my husband to
engage him, and very gladly we did so, and he proved a great comfort to
us all our time in Persia, acting as “<span lang=
"fa-latn">pishkhedmat</span>” (chief servant), not only being
good and honest himself, but keeping the others up to their work, and
not allowing them to cheat us too much. <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb79" href="#pb79" name="pb79">79</a>]</span>Before leaving the
subject of servants I must say just a word about our woman servant; she
was such a dear little body—a Parsee. We called her Bagi, which
means a female servant. She had been with Miss Sykes for a time, so
knew a little about Feringhi ways. She was a picturesque figure,
waddling about the house in her big baggy trousers and her gaily
coloured overall reaching to her knees, while on her head she wore the
usual number of coverings, in compliance with the Zoroastrian idea that
a woman’s head must be well covered! It is a great
“shame” for a Parsee woman to be seen with her head
uncovered. One day Bagi had been washing her hair, and the doctor
happened to see her in passing before she had replaced her many
coverings. She came to me in great distress to know what was she to do.
The Sahib had seen her with her head uncovered!</p>
<p>The recreations of Kerman are confined almost entirely to horse
riding. There are many very good picnic places near by, and an
excellent stretch of desert for a canter or gallop, but not so good as
the desert outside Yezd. When we first went to Kerman I was told that I
must on no account ride through the bazaars, as no Englishwoman had
ever been seen in them. I might ride outside the town and view the
bazaars from a safe distance, but this did not fall in with my ideas at
all, and as soon as we were fairly settled down in our house I asked my
husband to take me to see the bazaars. So one afternoon we started off
to try the experiment, taking with us two servants, one to walk in
front and one behind, my husband and I riding our horses. I will
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb80" href="#pb80" name=
"pb80">80</a>]</span>not say that as we entered the dark,
dreary-looking archways leading to the bazaars my heart did not beat a
little faster than usual, as I thought of all the horrible things which
had been told me as to what <i>might</i> happen when first an
Englishwoman was seen in the open bazaar. After a few minutes, however,
I saw there was nothing to fear, for beyond a good stare and a few
curses from some of the people, nothing happened. I had, of course,
taken the precaution of wearing a thick veil. My second ride through
these same bazaars was much more exciting. It was during the time of
the Passion Play in the month of Mohurram, referred to in another
chapter. As we were riding quietly along we suddenly came across the
whole company of excited, maddened creatures returning to their homes
after the play was over. The crowd was headed by about a hundred men,
whose garments were streaming with blood, their heads and faces covered
with gashes of all sorts and sizes. In their hands they held and waved
frantically their swords or daggers.</p>
<p>Our servants were fearfully alarmed, and hurriedly turned our
horses’ heads into a narrow passage, and hoped the crowd would
not notice us. But unfortunately they did, and with a wild cry of
“Feringhi! Feringhi!” they immediately formed up just in
front of the opening to our passage and began their wild dance for our
benefit. It was rather a gruesome sight in the dimly-lighted bazaars to
see a hundred or more naked swords flashing, blood on everything and
everybody, men yelling, shouting, cursing, and dancing. We were not
sorry <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb81" href="#pb81" name=
"pb81">81</a>]</span>when in a few minutes they took it into their
heads to move on, thinking, no doubt, that they had paid great honour
to the Feringhis by this exhibition for their special benefit. After
this experience I felt there certainly was no longer any need for fear,
and since then we have all ridden and walked quite freely in and
through the bazaars. Only once was I spat upon in Persia, and that was
in Yezd.</p>
<p>Persians have often been called the Frenchmen of the East. They
certainly are a most courteous and polite people, outwardly at all
events, and are masters in the art of paying compliments to one
another. But to a novice it is no light matter to know just the right
amount of flattery to deal out, as it is almost as bad a mistake to
give any one a great deal too much flattery as not to give him enough.
The art lies in knowing just what is due to each person, according to
the rank of life he occupies. When you wish to visit any one it is not
polite to send word to say, “I am coming.” You must couch
your message in much more flowery language, such as, “I want to
honour myself by coming to see your nobleness.” The answer will
be “Bis’millah—Please bring your tashrif
(dignity).” There is great etiquette, too, over the
kalian-smoking and tea-drinking, each one deprecatingly suggesting that
his neighbour should partake first and the other declining the honour
with a sweeping bow; but every one knows who is entitled to the first
whiff of the kalian or the first cup of tea, and no one would dare to
think of defrauding him of his right.</p>
<p>It seems such a pity that Persians of high class <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb82" href="#pb82" name="pb82">82</a>]</span>are
gradually falling into European ways, for they do not suit these
Frenchmen of the East half so well as their own manners and
customs.</p>
<p>While we were in Kerman the governor was one who had lived in Europe
a good deal, and liked everything done <i>à la</i> Feringhi; he
much enjoyed English afternoon teas, home-made cakes, &c. Soon
after our arrival there an invitation came from the governor for dinner
the following week. On the evening appointed a carriage came for us and
drove us to the “Arg,” as the house of the governor is
called. We found a splendid dinner waiting for us, served in French
style, about twenty courses of excellently cooked dishes. After dinner
we were amused by Persian musicians and singers. We were entertained by
the nephew of the governor, who apologised for the absence of his
uncle, who, he said, was suffering from a bad attack of fever which
prevented his presiding at the table. We heard afterwards that the real
reason of his non-appearance was not fever, but a fear of being laughed
at. He knew how things ought to be done according to European fashion,
and was afraid that he had not all the necessaries to carry out a
dinner successfully, and so preferred not to show himself. However,
when he saw how splendidly the first dinner-party went off he decided
to give another, so in about a week’s time we received a second
invitation to dinner. This time the governor himself took the head of
the table, and did the honours of it well, too. He certainly had
nothing to be ashamed of, for everything was served in perfect French
style. From the soup to the dessert, with all the intermediary
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb83" href="#pb83" name=
"pb83">83</a>]</span>courses, everything was dished up in perfect taste
and on good china. The glass and table decorations would not have
disgraced a European table.</p>
<p>The Governor of Yezd, on the other hand, preferred to hold more to
his own traditions, and I have much enjoyed a meal there with his
family, served and eaten in true Persian style. <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb84" href="#pb84" name="pb84">84</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch7" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter VII</h2>
<h2 class="main">The Women of Persia</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Home life—Anderoon, women’s
quarters—Jealousy in the anderoon—Anderoon of Khan Baba
Khan—Two days in an anderoon—H.R.H. Princess
Hamadané Sultané—Visit to the anderoon of H.R.H.
the Zil-es-Sultan.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<p class="first">“The more your prayers to me, the more will your
wives be in Paradise.”</p>
<p class="signed"><i>From</i> <span class="sc">Life of
Al-Jazuli</span>.</p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Women are weak, as you say, and love of all
things to be passive,</p>
<p class="line">Passive, patient, receptive, yea, even of wrong and
misdoing,</p>
<p class="line">Even to force and misdoing, with joy and victorious
feeling,</p>
<p class="line">Patient, passive, receptive; for that is the strength
of their being,</p>
<p class="line">Like to the earth taking all things and all to good
converting.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">A. H. Clough.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Whilst in Persia I had a good many opportunities of
becoming well acquainted with some of the Moslem women, especially in
Kerman, as there I was for some time the only Englishwoman, and
naturally the women liked to see as much of me as possible, in order to
see and hear about life amongst the Feringhis. The Persian women are
much more volatile and genial than their Arab sisters, but on the whole
I prefer the latter, perhaps because I have had so much more to do with
them. The Persian lady is ready, the moment she sees you, to shower
compliments upon you and to tell you how much she loves you, while her
more austere sister of Arabia takes time to consider whether you are a
person to be trusted or not; and if after a time she does give you her
love, it is something worth the having. <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb85" href="#pb85" name="pb85">85</a>]</span></p>
<p>When I first went to Persia I found the questions of the women most
disconcerting, but after a time, if their conversation became too
objectionable, I always told them it was not our custom to talk on such
subjects, and they generally took the hint, at any rate for the time
being. When in Kerman I started an “At Home” for Moslem
ladies, and in this way I got to know some of them very well, and also
by visiting them in their homes. They quite liked the idea of an
“At Home” day, and I well remember our first one. About
twenty ladies came, each one attended by a slave or two and a small boy
to guard their shoes, which of course they left at the door. It was
quite a business unrobing all these ladies from their black silk
“chuddars,” and arranging each lady in her respective
place, according to the honour due to her. We had in our drawing-room a
long divan, about 12 feet by 6, occupying the whole of one end of the
room, and cushioned according to Eastern ideas. On this about twelve of
the ladies seated themselves and looked very comfortable and at ease,
while the rest sat on chairs arranged round the room, and looked most
uncomfortable and uneasy. By-and-by I noticed first one foot being
tucked up and then another, till most of the ladies were sitting native
fashion on their chairs, and it looked so curious I could hardly keep
from smiling. After all were settled, and their chuddars and veils
carefully folded up and put aside by the slaves, then the kalian or
water-pipe was brought in, each slave preparing the pipe for her own
mistress.</p>
<p>I had arranged that my woman-servant, Bagi, should hand round tea,
but the ladies were horrified <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb86" href=
"#pb86" name="pb86">86</a>]</span>at the idea of taking tea which had
been poured out by a Parsee, as they believed it would make them
unclean for I don’t know how long; so my poor Bagi had to take a
back seat and see others take her place. My next “At Home”
day I was wiser, and secured the services of the mother of our syce,
who was a Moslem, as I did not like to see a strange woman doing the
honours of the tea-table.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e1528width" id="p086"><img src="images/p086.jpg"
alt="The Mosque Gate, City of Kerman" width="720" height="494">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">The Mosque Gate, City of
Kerman</span></p>
</div>
<p>Amongst the ladies that day was the wife of one of the ex-governors
of Kerman, and the good lady did not let any one forget that fact! They
were always most interested in seeing and hearing all about Feringhi
life, and were specially interested in photographs and pictures. One
lady said to me directly she was seated, “I want to see a picture
of Jesus Christ;” and on my showing her one, she most reverently
kissed it and put it to her forehead. They much enjoyed listening to
our little organ, and one lady was so delighted that she gave her
husband no peace till he bought her one, and then nothing would satisfy
her but I must go and teach her how to play. As her instrument arrived
from Teheran with half its notes missing, it is easy to imagine that
her musical talent (?) was somewhat put to the test. However, she was
very proud of her instrument, and quite happy playing with one finger
an accompaniment to some weird Persian song.</p>
<p>Of “home life” in Persia there is none; there is no word
in their language for “home,” and so it plays no part in
their lives. Life in the home varies very much according to the rank of
the husband. The poorer wives and village women are blessed by being
obliged to work, but the better class have absolutely <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb87" href="#pb87" name="pb87">87</a>]</span>nothing
to do, from morning till night, but smoke, drink tea, and talk scandal.
The poorer wife is certainly the better off of the two, for she has to
rise early in the morning to get her husband his early cup of tea
before he goes off to work; then she has the house to look after and
the children to think of and sew for; and last, but not least, the
evening meal of pillau or kabob to cook ere her lord and master returns
from his labours; while her less fortunate neighbour has nothing to do
but to talk of the latest scandal of the anderoon, and then to pay a
visit to another anderoon to tell and receive the latest news
there.</p>
<p>The anderoon is that part of the house which is given up to the
women, and is as a rule the best part of the house, for there the men
of the house retire when their work is done, to be waited on and fussed
over by the womenfolk.</p>
<p>When a man is well off and has more than one wife, he generally
keeps them in separate compounds; but often two will be living together
in the same anderoon, and as a rule they do not love each other very
much.</p>
<p>The great and chief causes of jealousy in the anderoon are the
children, or rather lack of children. For instance, a young bride is
brought to her husband’s house, and for a time she is the pet and
favourite of her husband, and all is well; but if as time passes no
child comes to cheer her heart, then the husband soon tires of his new
plaything and looks about for a new and prettier one, till one sad day
the poor young wife hears that her husband is about to bring home
another to share her life and home. We <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb88" href="#pb88" name="pb88">88</a>]</span>can imagine what rage and
jealousy will burn in her heart, and how she will hate the new inmate
of the anderoon, and especially if after a time her enemy becomes the
mother of a boy. Then her hatred reaches a climax, and it is by no
means uncommon for her to have recourse to the “cup of
coffee” either for herself or her enemy. That “cup of
coffee” is a most useful (?) institution in Persia, as it is
often very difficult to detect the poison hidden therein.</p>
<p>It is impossible for us even to think of the miseries through which
some of these poor women pass; and if we see how unhappiness and
wretchedness is fostered in an anderoon containing two wives, how much
more miserable and awful must be the life when the number of wives is
multiplied by two or even more.</p>
<p>But while there are many unhappy anderoons, yet as “the
exception proves the rule” in most cases so it does here. For I
remember one home in which two wives were living in apparent peace and
happiness; but here, again, there was reason for their unity, as
neither of them had any children, and so there was no cause for
jealousy. Their husband was an aristocratic old man of about seventy
years of age, and he had taken these two young wives to cheer his old
age. He had a little son by one of his many former wives, of whom he
was passionately fond, and this boy was very ill for some months,
suffering from heart disease. His two young wives nursed this boy day
and night in a most devoted manner, and apparently really loved the
boy, and were very sorry when he died. It was owing to this boy’s
illness that we had the opportunity of spending two days in the
anderoon of Khan Baba Khan, and very pleasant and interesting
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb89" href="#pb89" name=
"pb89">89</a>]</span>days they were too. It was the year that we were
in Kerman, and we had just gone away for our summer holiday to that
lovely garden of Mahoon, when one day a very urgent messenger came to
my husband from Khan Baba Khan begging him to go and see his boy, who
was very ill. The old man had sent his carriage for us, with
instructions to his man to drive the doctor straight to his garden,
situated some sixteen miles on the other side of Kerman, where the boy
had been taken ill. As soon as we were ready we started off, but could
only reach Kerman that night, where we rested, and the next day arrived
at the garden of the Khan.</p>
<p>It was a very pretty garden, with plenty of trees and running water.
On our arrival we were ushered into the room prepared for us, and in a
few minutes the poor little invalid was brought in, and even then he
seemed to have the mark of death on his face; but he was a very
self-willed boy, and every one had to humour him in everything, as the
fits of temper which he indulged in were very dangerous for him in his
weak state of health. While the doctor was examining and prescribing
for the invalid in another room the two ladies came to see me, and
brought a very appetising dinner; chickens cooked to perfection and
pillaus formed the staple part of the meal. The ladies then retired,
and my husband and I thoroughly enjoyed our first meal taken together
in a Persian anderoon.</p>
<p>After dinner my husband again visited the patient, and the ladies
came to prepare our room for the night. This was quite an elaborate
undertaking. First of all, a huge mosquito net was fixed up by
attaching <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb90" href="#pb90" name=
"pb90">90</a>]</span>the four corners to tapes and nailing them to the
wall. The underneath part of the net rested on the floor; on this the
mattresses were placed, so that once you were inside the net you were
in what seemed like a good-sized room. In fact, during the next two
days we used to sit inside the net reading or writing, as outside there
was no respite from the plague of mosquitoes and sandflies. Sleeping on
the floor is very comfortable; in fact, I don’t quite see the
need of bedsteads, unless the room is infested with rats or other
creeping creatures! The next two days passed very pleasantly; whenever
my husband went out of the room, almost simultaneously I would hear a
voice at the window asking permission to enter, and the ladies would
come in for a chat. We became great friends, and this friendship lasted
till we left Kerman some months later, and then the Khan lent us his
carriage to drive to Yezd, as he wished to express his gratitude for
all my husband had done for his boy. Unfortunately the boy even then
was past human aid, and after two or three months of suffering he
died.</p>
<p>I have always been glad of these two days actually spent in a
Persian home, as it enabled me to see what their everyday life really
was; but as I have said, this was quite an exceptionally happy
anderoon, with none of the wrangling and quarrelling generally
connected with the homes of Persian women.</p>
<p>While in Yezd I met and soon became very friendly with a most
charming Persian lady. She was a daughter of one of the late Shahs, and
thus was a princess in her own right; her husband was a <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb91" href="#pb91" name="pb91">91</a>]</span>nephew
of the late Shah, so she was doubly connected with Persian royalty.</p>
<p>H.R.H. Princess Hamadané <span class="corr" id="xd20e1568"
title="Source: Sultanê">Sultané</span> was in many ways
quite unlike the majority of Persian ladies. She was a strong-minded,
clever woman, and was very anxious that her children should be brought
up in European fashion. These children certainly had a very good time
compared with other Persian children, as their mother refused to let
them become little women before they had passed out of
childhood’s days, and although they were then nine and ten years
old were generally playing with their dolls or other toys brought from
Paris for their amusement. The princess very much wished her children
to learn English, but I suggested that she should learn it herself
first and then teach it to her children. To this she gladly consented,
and so twice a week I used to go up and give her lessons. She quickly
got over the A B C stage, as she had some slight knowledge of French,
and took a great delight in picking out the words of an easy English
reader, and in a very short time she greeted me in very quaint broken
English: “Good morning; I hope you are well.”
Unfortunately, I had to leave my interesting pupil at this stage, as we
were leaving Persia for England, and I never saw her again; but I have
heard that she continued her English lessons for some time. I do not
think I ever knew any one with so many dresses as this princess had;
every time I saw her she appeared in a different costume, and always in
rich silks, satins, or brocades. I asked her once if she knew how many
gowns she possessed, and she confessed that she had no idea, and added
that it <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb92" href="#pb92" name=
"pb92">92</a>]</span>would not be at all right for me to see her more
than once in the same dress! And I certainly never did, although I was
visiting her twice weekly for some months.</p>
<p>This good lady exercised a very great influence over her husband (a
most unusual thing in Persia), partly, perhaps, on account of her
social position and also because she possessed a large amount of
property in her own right. Before she came to live with her husband in
Yezd she said she would only come with the understanding that she was
to be the only wife, and I believe the prince kept to the agreement as
long as she was with him. But he must have found it very hard, for I
have heard that before his wife came no girl dared be out after dusk,
so afraid were they of the prince and his courtiers.</p>
<p>One day I was visiting in the anderoon in company with the lady
doctor who was attending one of the children, and lunch was announced;
so the prince made us sit down with them and partake of the mid-day
meal. After lunch the prince amused himself by vaccinating all the
children he could lay hands on (not his own, but those of the
servants). The children did not seem to see the joke quite so much as
the prince did! They were much too frightened to run away, and stood
trembling in their shoes waiting for their turn to come. At that time,
too, no one in the anderoon dared say they had toothache, for if they
did immediately the prince would call for his forceps, and out would
come a tooth. Perhaps it might happen to be the offender, but just as
likely it would be an innocent tooth which had never given its owner a
moment’s pain! <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb93" href="#pb93"
name="pb93">93</a>]</span></p>
<p>I shall never forget the delicious coffee which was always served
when visiting at this house. It was a mixture, I believe, of coffee and
chocolate; and I have never tasted anywhere such coffee. I asked the
princess to give me the recipe, but my make never came up to the
original, and I think perhaps they did not mean it to!</p>
<p>The princess was very fond of sending to Paris for boxes of goods on
approval, and it was rather amusing to be there when the things
arrived. Sometimes most beautiful Parisian blouses would come, quite
unsuitable for her; but she loved to try them on and then put them
away, never, perhaps, to be looked at again. I have very pleasant
memories of my friendship with Princess Hamadané, and have as a
<i>yâd gari</i> (remembrance) a lovely silver tray of Persian
work, which she presented to me on our leaving Yezd; also the
photographs of her three children—two girls and a boy.</p>
<p>It is quite impossible to tell of all the interesting visits paid to
different anderoons; but I should like to mention some visits paid to
the anderoon of the Zil-es-Sultan, a brother of the late Shah. He was
then Governor of Isphahan, and my husband at that time was taking
charge of the medical work there for a year.</p>
<p>The governor one day sent his carriage, with the request that the
English doctor would go to see one of his wives, and also bring his
wife with him; so we went, and had a very pleasant three-mile drive
from Julfa to Isphahan. Arriving at the palace, we were met by the
chief eunuch and conducted to the anderoon, into a large room
surrounded by glass mirrors. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb94" href=
"#pb94" name="pb94">94</a>]</span>Here in a far corner, seated on the
ground, was “something” covered with what looked like a
large white sheet. This “something” turned out to be one of
the ladies of the anderoon, who was suffering from dimness of sight.
She was one of the prince’s favourite wives, and so he had taken
the trouble to allow her to see the doctor. After a great deal of
palaver she consented to lift a corner of her chuddar, and, while
shielding the other part of her face, to uncover her eyes. Her husband
was very anxious for her eyes to be thoroughly examined, and he ordered
a dark room to be speedily prepared, so that the examination should be
as complete as possible. While we were waiting for the room and lamp to
be ready the prince took out a little pocket-mirror from his waistcoat
and carefully looked to see if his hair was in perfect order, and then,
having satisfied himself that all was as it should be, he entered into
conversation with my husband over the state of his wife’s
eyes.</p>
<p>Another day I paid quite an informal friendly visit to two or three
of his wives. Each wife had a separate compound to herself, and her own
set of servants and slaves, and no wife was allowed to visit another
without special permission from the chief eunuch or from the prince
himself.</p>
<p>That afternoon two or three had asked for and received permission to
drink tea in the house to which we had been invited, so we had quite a
nice little tea-party, and a very gay one too so far as the costumes
were concerned; but the subject of dress being so stupendous, we will
leave it for another chapter. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb95" href=
"#pb95" name="pb95">95</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch8" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter VIII</h2>
<h2 class="main">More About Persian Women</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Costumes—Wedding festivities—Wedding
dinner—Kindness of Persian husbands—Story of
brutality—Divorce—Aids to beauty—Degradation and
cruelty of women.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Women are made by men:</p>
<p class="line">The nations fade that hold their women slaves:</p>
<p class="line">The souls of men that pave their hell-ward path</p>
<p class="line">With women’s souls lose immortality.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">John Davidson.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">The indoor costume of the Persian women is not at all
pretty or graceful. It consists of a short, loose jacket, generally
made of some gaily coloured material, and in the case of rich women of
bright brocaded silk or velvet, and a very short skirt, just the length
of a ballet dancer’s. In fact their dress is an exact copy of the
Parisian ballet dancer. Many years ago all the women wore those
picturesque baggy trousers, with long flowing garments over them, but
while one of the late Shahs was visiting Europe he saw the ballet
dancer, and his fancy was so taken by the costume, that on his return
he ordered all the inmates of the royal harem to adopt the same dress;
and as royalty always sets the fashion for the country, in a short time
all the Moslem women of Persia had adopted this hideous fashion.</p>
<p>I remember so well the first time I saw this costume; it was the
evening of the day on which we <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb96"
href="#pb96" name="pb96">96</a>]</span>first arrived in Isphahan. After
dinner Miss Stuart (the bishop’s daughter) and I were walking on
the roof of their house, when suddenly a woman appeared on the other
side of a wall and began chattering with Miss Stuart. I felt inclined
to look the other way, thinking the good lady had forgotten to complete
her toilet, but seeing that Miss Stuart did not seem surprised, I
supposed it was all right, and so began to feel more at ease; but
certainly the first sight of these costumes is rather alarming,
especially if the woman is not wearing the long stockings, as they
generally do, but often leave off in very hot weather. On their heads
they wear a square of white muslin, and flowing down their backs, and
attached by a pin to their hair, is a long, graceful chuddar, generally
made of a pretty muslin or silk; and as the women walk about the house,
these chuddars flow behind, and look very graceful indeed. The ladies
do not like the fashion of the short skirts, and many were the requests
made to me to cut out dresses such as I was wearing, and if I had
wished, I could have had my time in Kerman fully occupied in cutting
out dresses according to European fashion; but with the exception of
pleasing two or three of my special friends, I always told them I had
no time for dressmaking, but would always be pleased to lend them
patterns. So ashamed were some of the women of their short skirts, that
they would often take their long, flowing chuddars from their heads and
wrap them round their waists, giving the appearance of a draped
skirt.</p>
<p>The outdoor costume of the Persian women is much more becoming than
the indoor, though it is decidedly hot in the warm weather. It is made
up <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb97" href="#pb97" name=
"pb97">97</a>]</span>of three pieces; the big voluminous trousers which
slip over the feet and cling closely to the shape of the foot, but
above the ankle fall full and baggy; over these are worn the large
black chuddar, the poor wearing black calico and the rich silk; and
then, covering the face, is the veil. This veil is a long strip of
white calico with open work for the part covering the eyes, and
fastened together at the back of the head by brass, silver, or gold and
jewelled clasps, according to the rank of the wearer. Through the open
work part of the veil the woman is able to find her way about, and see
all that there is to be seen, while no one can see the face behind the
veil.</p>
<p>To see a group of Persian ladies decked out in their silks and
satins is a sight not easily forgotten. There is nothing these women
love more than some festivity at their own or a friend’s house,
which gives them an opportunity of showing off their finery, and also
of meeting all their acquaintances, and having a good “gufti
goo” (chat). I was often invited when in Kerman upon these
occasions, but found, if I accepted all invitations, my time would be
taken up with going to betrothal feasts, weddings, &c., and so I
used to look in for a few minutes and then excuse myself. On one
occasion I went to a wedding at the house of one of the chief mullahs
of the town. I was asked to go at sunrise, but did not put in an
appearance till about nine o’clock. When I arrived, all the
guests had been there already some hours; it was certainly a very
pretty sight. Two large compounds were given up to the entertainment of
the bride’s party, while the bridegroom was holding his reception
in another house. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb98" href="#pb98"
name="pb98">98</a>]</span></p>
<p>As I entered the door leading into the anderoon, I could but stand
and admire the scene before me. Quite two hundred ladies were present,
each one dressed in gorgeous silks and satins, and all wearing the
graceful chuddar falling from the head. The majority of these chuddars
were of silk—Indian, Japanese, or Persian silks, all vying with
each other in their brilliancy and beauty. Some were rainbow silks, all
colours merging into each other; then again, others were gaily
flowered, and others “shot” or lustre silks—the whole
forming a wonderfully harmonious and striking picture, and I longed for
a camera that might give a true representation, both in colour and
vivacity, of this butterfly scene before me. To add to the gayness of
their attire, each married lady was wearing a spray or wreath of
flowers in her hair, and many carried or wore bouquets of roses. The
whole effect was charming, and formed a marvellous study of colour,
gracefulness, and Eastern beauty.</p>
<p>We have kept our hostess waiting quite a long time while we have
been admiring her guests, but now we must hasten to pay our respects to
her, and take our seat amongst this gay throng. I was alone that day,
being the only European woman in the town; but it will be much more
pleasant if my readers will come with me in imagination to that wedding
feast.</p>
<p>We are ushered into a large room full of gay ladies, who immediately
all rise from the ground as we enter, and salaam us. It is rather
difficult to know which is our hostess amongst so many, so we must be
impartial in our salutations, and pray God that <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb99" href="#pb99" name=
"pb99">99</a>]</span>“their kindnesses may never grow
less,” or “their hands never pain them,” &c. Then
we all take our seats, and conversation is resumed. The ladies will
begin with a series of questions, such as—</p>
<p>“How old are you?” “Have you a mother?”
“Why do you not black your eyebrows?” “Are you
happy?” “Is your husband kind to you?” “Do you
like him?” “How much did your dress cost?” and so on,
like a group of children—and when you think they have finished,
they will begin again. After a short interval tea is handed round. Tea,
did I say? well, it is dignified by that name, but in reality Persian
tea is not much more than sweetened water coloured with a drop of tea.
To begin with, the cups are very tiny, generally made of glass. They
are first filled up with three or four lumps of sugar, then a
teaspoonful of tea is poured over these, and water added until the cup
is full, and the result is—Persian tea! However, it is rather
pleasant to drink, and helps to pass the time. After a short interval
more tea is handed round, and then glasses of sherbet, made from juices
of different fruits, and then, for a change, coffee is served.</p>
<p>About noon, just as I am afraid we are all feeling very tired and
sleepy, a welcome change comes; a stirring and commotion begins in the
courtyard, women rush about with enormous trays on their heads and
carrying all kinds of dishes: this is but a prelude to dinner being
announced. Two large rooms are laid out for dinner; in each room about
one hundred guests sit down. I was taken in by the mother of the
bridegroom, so we will all pass in under her protection. (The mother of
the bride <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb100" href="#pb100" name=
"pb100">100</a>]</span>is not in evidence on these occasions, being
supposed to be overwhelmed with grief at losing her daughter.) The
“table” is the ground, so we must gracefully (?) sit on our
heels. On the “table” are over two hundred different
dishes—pillaus, chillaus, chicken, kabobs, vegetables,
fruits—all laid out in tempting array. The hostess having
pronounced the Moslem benediction, “Bismi’llah” (In
the name of God), all the guests fall to work in real earnest: very
little talking is done, eating being the business of the moment. Spoons
and forks were provided for me, but I preferred to do as they did, and
so ate with my fingers, though it requires a good deal of practice to
do it neatly and gracefully. As a mark of respect and honour, the
hostess from time to time breaks off pieces of meat from her portion
and places them on my plate, and once as a special mark of favour
placed a dainty morsel of chicken in my mouth. I hope my readers have
enjoyed their dinner as much as I have, for to my mind a Persian feast
is a most delectable entertainment.</p>
<p>After dinner we all washed our hands in a basin brought round for
the purpose, the water being poured from an ewer on to our hands by a
servant. Then we all retired to our reception-room of the morning, and
again tea and sherbet were handed round, and the kalian or water-pipe
was much in request, each lady taking a whiff and passing the long tube
to her neighbour.</p>
<p>But where is the poor little bride all this time? We have neither
seen nor heard her all day long, and yet the feast is supposed to be in
her honour. All through the long, hot June day she has been cooped
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb101" href="#pb101" name=
"pb101">101</a>]</span>up in a tiny room, and as sunset approaches her
friends and relations go to dress her and to decorate her from head to
foot with jewellery and finery. Into her hair is woven a quantity of
golden thread, so that in the distance it looks like a mass of gold,
and must be very heavy on the poor tired little head. She is brought
out into a large room, and seated on a chair in the middle of it; then
every one goes up to her, and after kissing her, says, “May you
be blessed.” The poor little mite (she might be thirteen years
old, but hardly looks it) seems absolutely wretched and miserable, and
when food is brought to her refuses to eat. Just at sunset she is taken
to her husband’s house in a closed carriage, and our hearts must
ache as we think of what is in store for her. Even if her husband is
kind to her at first, yet she has nothing much to look forward to but
misery and degradation, and if by chance she goes to an anderoon
already containing two or three wives, then may God take pity on her,
for her fate will be a sad one. As soon as a man marries a girl she is
absolutely his property, and he may do exactly as he pleases with her;
there is no redress for the poor unfortunate girl. If the man is a
brute and half kills his wife no one dare say a word to him, or if
perchance there is one brave enough, he will only be told that
“the girl is his wife, and he can do as he likes with his
own,” and so it is no wonder if the shadow of the future lies
darkly on the faces of those poor little children, as they leave their
mother’s home as brides to go out into the unknown which lies
before them.</p>
<p>I remember a poor little girl who was brought to the hospital in
Julfa, while we were there. She had <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb102" href="#pb102" name="pb102">102</a>]</span>been married to a
brutal man, when about eleven years old. Being very unhappy with him,
she often used to run away and take refuge with her mother, who lived
in a village a mile or two away from her husband’s house. On many
occasions he had beaten her severely for some childish fault, and each
time she had fled to her mother, and stayed with her till her husband
came and carried her off again by force. This went on for some time,
till the poor child’s life was nothing but wretchedness and
misery.</p>
<p>One day she displeased her husband by not cooking the dinner to his
liking, and he was so enraged with her that he behaved in the following
abominable manner.</p>
<p>First of all he saw that the windows of his house were barricaded
and the door locked: then he stripped the trembling, frightened child,
and deliberately poured paraffin oil all over her body, and finally set
a light to her and left her to her fate, taking care to lock the door
after him, as he went out. The neighbours, hearing the girl’s
screams, rushed to the house, but the doors being locked and the
windows fastened much precious time was wasted. When they finally
smashed open the window it was only to find the child a mass of flames.
They picked her up and rushed wildly with her into the street, and
dropped her into the nearest stream to quench the flames! It was a
marvellous thing to think that after all this there was any life left
in the poor child. The neighbours took her to her mother, who plastered
all her wounds with red earth and left her lying in the corner of the
room for some ten days. Then, taking the advice of some friends, they
procured a cradle and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb103" href=
"#pb103" name="pb103">103</a>]</span>lifted the poor wee child into it,
and hoisted the cradle and its occupant on the back of a donkey, and
took her some five days’ journey to Julfa. They had heard of the
Mission Hospital through some of their villagers, who had been treated
there, and so they brought this little victim of Persian cruelty to the
lady doctor, who took her in, dressed her wounds, and laid her in a
clean, comfortable bed. All that human love and kindness could do was
done to alleviate her sufferings, but nothing could save her life, and
after three days she passed away—a martyr indeed to the creed of
Islam, which enables and allows men to treat their women as something
lower than the beasts of the field.</p>
<p>Ought not the cries of distress and agony from the poor women of
Persia so to rouse us, their sisters in England, that we shall
determine to do all that lies in our power to lighten their burdens and
to bring some rays of light into the dark lives of our Eastern
sisters?</p>
<p>One thing which adds greatly to the misery of these women is the
ease with which their husbands can divorce them. A wife never knows
from day to day whether or no her lord may not divorce her. Often for
most trivial matters a man will cast away his wife. This being the
case, the woman will lie and deceive her husband in order to escape
divorcement. If the wives of Persia could only be raised to the level
of true womanhood I believe they would become good wives and mothers,
but while they are what they are, how can there be any hope for them?
There is nothing but utter darkness till the true Light shines into
their lives, and then and then only <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb104" href="#pb104" name="pb104">104</a>]</span>will the day break
for these downtrodden, degraded beings.</p>
<p>The Persian ladies are great beauty specialists, and bestow a good
deal of attention upon their complexion and general make-up. They do
not believe in beauty unadorned, for even when quite young they use the
rouge-pot very freely, and often use it to great advantage too! I have
often known a girl who was quite ordinary-looking, sallow and dark in
complexion, but when dressed for her wedding I hardly recognised her,
so changed was she by all the numerous “aids” to beauty.
Her cheeks were now a lovely rose tint, and her eyebrows darkened and
lengthened till they almost met in the middle, and the edges of her
eyelids were also blackened with “kola,” and really the
effect was very good.</p>
<p>They also spend much time and trouble in dyeing their hair with
henna, not only from a fear of grey hair, but also because the dull red
tint produced by henna is the fashionable colour.</p>
<p>The Persian lady has very little in her life to elevate or refine
her mind, and so we cannot wonder if at times we see in her many
revolting characteristics. When we think of all she has to endure, and
how little happiness comes to her lot, our wonder is that she retains
even a semblance of womanhood. Should we be any better under like
circumstances?</p>
<p>If a woman is treated continually as if she was nothing but a beast
of burden, is it to be wondered at that in some cases her nature
becomes almost as the beasts of the field? Weird stories are told of
the extremities to which women have been driven, and the cruelties
which they have perpetrated. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb105" href=
"#pb105" name="pb105">105</a>]</span></p>
<p>The following is one which I heard when in Persia. It was in the
days when famine was rampant throughout the land. There was a certain
man of high position who collected and stored all the corn he could
gather, and then refused to sell at anything but famine prices; finally
he was arrested and sent to Teheran, where he was tried and condemned
to death. The Shah could not determine on the manner of death to be
ordered for this rascal, but at last decided to hand the unfortunate
man over to the mercies of the royal anderoon to be put to death by
them. The ladies and women servants consulted together, and decided to
keep the wretch in their quarters and kill him by inches, day by day.
The method they chose was to cut him to pieces with scissors till he
died!</p>
<p>I cannot vouch for the truth of this story, and I trust it is not
true, but I give it to you as I heard it. But one thing I know to be
true, and that is, when a Persian woman is once roused to anger,
jealousy, and passion, there is hardly anything too dreadful for her to
contemplate doing, in her longing for revenge. <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb106" href="#pb106" name="pb106">106</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch9" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter IX</h2>
<h2 class="main">Some Points in the Moslem Faith</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Fasts and Feasts—Seyyids, dervishes,
mullahs—Legends of the drowning mullah, and the yard square
hole.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<p class="first">“Religion’s all or nothing.”</p>
<p class="signed"><span class="sc">R. Browning.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">There are five things which every true Mohammedan must
either believe or do. The first is the declaration of their faith or
“Kalimat.” “I declare that there is no God but God,
and Mohammed is His Apostle;” “La Allaha il Allah wa
Mohammed rasool Allah,” this is the all-important witness, and
must be continually recited by all true believers. Secondly, Moslems
are bound to repeat prayers five times a day—at daybreak, noon,
shortly before sunset, during twilight, and an hour after dark. I do
not say all Moslems do repeat prayers at each of these times, but that
is their rule, and those who consider themselves <i>good</i> Moslems
adhere most righteously to these set times for prayers. Needless to
say, it is but a form of words and position, any slight error in
posture taking away all the benefit to be derived from the prayer.
Often in Persia women have said their prayers in our drawing-room, if
the call to prayer sounded while they were visiting me.</p>
<p>Living in the East, one gets very fond of the <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb107" href="#pb107" name="pb107">107</a>]</span>call
to prayer, heard from some neighbouring minaret. The first sound that
catches the ear at daybreak is “Allah, Allaho Akhbar” (God
is most great), repeated four times. “La Allaha il Allah wa
Mohammed rasool Allah”—this is said twice, and then other
calls and invocations, always finishing up with the final declaration
of “Allah, Allaho Akhbar.”</p>
<p>There is a great difference in the way this call to prayer is
chanted, some men having most melodious voices, others harsh and
grating; but wherever a true Moslem may be when he hears this call, he
lays aside his work at once and begins to repeat his prayers, bowing,
prostrating, touching the ground with his forehead, &c., till the
duty is finished, when he returns to his work, perhaps to his cheating
and his lying, for this repetition of prayers has no effect on his life
or manner of living.</p>
<p>Thirdly, all good Moslems are supposed to give voluntarily to the
mullahs a tithe of all they possess, also alms to the poor. In the
Koran we read, “Prayer carries us half way to God, fasting brings
us to the door of His palace, but giving of alms procures
admission.” In many cases the mullahs are provided for entirely
by the freewill offerings of the people, all gifts being sent
anonymously.</p>
<p>Fourthly, every true believer is expected to undertake, if at all
possible, a pilgrimage, preferably to Mecca, but if that is out of the
question then to Kerbela or Meshed. The former, of course, brings the
greatest merit, and men and women <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb108"
href="#pb108" name="pb108">108</a>]</span>will do all they can to
perform this pilgrimage. On their return they are treated with great
respect, and looked up to as little gods. They generally think so much
of themselves after having performed this wonderful act of self-denial
that they become quite unbearable to their friends. There is an Arabic
proverb which shows the effect this pilgrimage to Mecca is supposed to
have on the pilgrim. It is as follows: “If your friend has been
to Mecca, trust him not. If he has been there twice, avoid him. But if
he has made the pilgrimage three times, then flee from him as you would
from Satan himself.”</p>
<p>Women often undertake these pilgrimages, spending weeks or months it
may be over the journey, but resting for ever afterwards in the great
glory and honour resulting from it.</p>
<p>The fifth point to be observed by Moslems is that of fasting during
the month of Ramadan. This lasts for thirty days, and is a real
hardship for the poorer people when the fast falls during the summer,
as from sunrise to sunset not a morsel of food or drop of water may
pass their lips—or, as the Koran expresses it, from “the
time you can distinguish between a white thread and a black, then keep
the fast until night.” For the rich and idle it is no great
effort, for they simply feast and revel all night and sleep by day, but
for the servants and labouring class it comes harder, as they must work
by day and cannot sleep properly at night. Children are always very
anxious to begin fasting, and often little mites of five or six will
tell you with great pride that they are keeping <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb109" href="#pb109" name="pb109">109</a>]</span>the
fast. They generally start by fasting for half days, and how proud they
are, and how they gloat over other children who have not yet begun this
work of devotion! Perhaps what the people who fast miss more than
anything else during Ramadan is their smoking: they are such slaves to
this habit, both men and women, that it is almost life to some of them,
and they find it very hard to go without. When the cannon booms forth
the hour of sunset, giving the Prophet’s permission to his
faithful ones to break their fast, generally the first thought, after
moistening their lips with water, is that now they may enjoy their
smoke, either of a cigarette or kalian.</p>
<p>Mohurram is the month of mourning, when all the country mourns for
Hassain and Hussein, the martyred sons of Ali, who are looked upon by
the Shiahs as the rightful successors of the Prophet. During this
season the majority of the people go into deep mourning, and the
bazaars are sometimes draped in black. It is in this month that the
great Passion Play of Persia is enacted, and while in Kerman we were
fortunate enough to have an opportunity of witnessing this
“tazieh,” as the Passion Play is called. It certainly was a
sight worth seeing at least once in a lifetime.</p>
<p>The tenth day of this month of Mohurram is the one set aside for
this festival, and is kept as a general holiday, so that all might go
to see the great spectacle enacted on that day in memory of the death
of Hassain and Hussein, the two grandsons of Mohammed.</p>
<p>The Governor of Kerman had kindly invited us to view the performance
from his house, and accordingly <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb110"
href="#pb110" name="pb110">110</a>]</span>that morning at about eight
o’clock he sent his carriage for us, and we were driven through
the packed bazaars till we arrived at his house, or “Arg,”
as the governor’s residence is called in Kerman. We were at once
admitted by a private entrance, and ushered into a large verandah,
which had been set apart for the use of Feringhis. As my husband and I
were the only Europeans in the city at that time, we had it to
ourselves. Here, before the commencement of the Play, we were regaled
with tea, coffee, jam, bread, cheese, and cakes. Looking out, the sight
was a wonderful one. In front of us was a large garden in which I
suppose some 10,000 people were gathered. At one end of the garden was
a large “hoze” or tank of water, over which was spread a
huge awning, and near by a large pulpit from which the mullahs preached
to the people, and tried to rouse their feelings to a high pitch of
excitement. One man was specially successful in doing this, causing the
women to wail wildly and beat their breasts frantically, and the men to
smite their heads. After a delay of about an hour, the performance
began with a long procession, which entered the garden at the far end
and wound in and out till it had traversed the whole garden. This
procession represented the family travelling as captives after the
death of Hassain and his brother.</p>
<p>First of all came six gaily decorated camels, with men riding upon
them, beating drums and making a tremendous noise. Then came more
camels carrying the tent furniture and other goods, followed by horses
and mules laden with heavy loads. After these came four stretchers
borne by men, on which lay four dead <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb111" href="#pb111" name="pb111">111</a>]</span>bodies (figures
stuffed) representing Hassain and his three brothers, who perished from
want of water, which had been cut off from them by their enemies. On
each dead body sat a dove, supposed to be mourning. Then came a
horrible sight, one which I never wish to see again. About a hundred
madly excited men dressed in long white robes, armed with swords, were
slashing their heads until the blood was streaming down their faces on
to the robes, white, alas, no longer! As they reached the tank of water
they formed into a line all round it, and kept up for some length of
time a horrible kind of war dance. It was a ghastly sight. The dancers
looked more like demons than men. One poor man fainted from loss of
blood, and had to be carried away, and a little boy of about eight
years of age also collapsed. It was bad enough to see grown men cutting
themselves, but to see the little children being wounded in this way
was terrible. This is, of course, looked upon as a work of great merit.
The more numerous and deeper the gashes, the greater the merit they
accrue to themselves. The wild dance was continued till a sign was
given to the dancers by the governor, that he had seen enough to
satisfy him. Then they all lined up in front of the verandah where the
governor was sitting, and demanded that five notorious prisoners should
be released from the prison close by. He at once acceded to their
request, as it was the custom at this festival for the governor to
release from the prison any prisoners who are interceded for by these
wild, fanatical dancers.</p>
<p>After this ghastly sight came a motley crowd of men and children on
horses, all beating their breasts or heads. Some of the riders were so
tiny that <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb112" href="#pb112" name=
"pb112">112</a>]</span>they had to be held on to their steeds by
men-servants.</p>
<p>Then came another body on a bier, with a man dressed in a
lion’s skin, embracing and fondling the dead body. It looked so
weird to see the pseudo-lion kissing and hugging the remains of its
late friend and master, and expressing in various ways great sorrow and
anguish over its loss.</p>
<p>After this came several batches of boys stripped to the waist, all
beating their breasts. It was really a very pretty sight, for the boys
kept such perfect time, one boy acting as leader, like a group of
children performing gymnastic exercises. As their hands simultaneously
clapped their breasts, there was a sharp report, at which they all
shouted “Hassain! Hussein! Hassain! Hussein!” The whole
proceeding was an interesting but sad spectacle, which I shall never
forget. The clash of swords, the beating of drums, the weird wailing of
the women, accompanied by their spasmodic shrieks, the shouting and
yelling of the fanatical mob, all contributed to the making up of one
of the most notable scenes of Eastern life. And yet it made one’s
heart ache to watch this crowd of human beings for whom Christ died,
and who as yet know nothing of Him, but are only anxious to obtain
merit for themselves by taking part in these gruesome religious
performances.</p>
<p>All over Persia “religious men” are much looked up to
and respected. Of these the dervish is one very much to the fore. He is
a religious mendicant, having taken a vow either for a certain time or
permanently. The vow is not a very strict one, only consisting of
poverty and obedience to a <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb113" href=
"#pb113" name="pb113">113</a>]</span>chief, to whom a portion of the
alms received must be paid.</p>
<p>These dervishes wander from place to place, chanting, singing, and
begging. The natives do not like to refuse them anything, from fear
more than love, perhaps, as it is considered meritorious to give alms
to these religious people.</p>
<p>They generally dress in dirty white, wear their hair long, and carry
an axe or club, more often than not beautifully chased and inlaid, also
the well-known dervish bowl, which is made from a huge nut, carved and
decorated. Often these dervishes will come and seat themselves in the
courtyard and begin their monotonous chant, and it is very difficult to
get them to move, as the servants will never use force, and their
reiterated requests to “move on” meet with no success
whatever till the dervish is satisfied that he has extracted all the
“backsheesh” likely to be forthcoming.</p>
<p>The Seyyids are another class of people much respected in the
country. They claim to be the direct descendants of the prophet
Mohammed, and are allowed many privileges on account of this. They wear
a green turban or waistband, to be known of all men. Looked upon as a
religious body, the natives are afraid to offend them in any way.</p>
<p>Then there are the “mullahs,” or priests of the Islamic
faith. They exercise a great deal of power over the people, but are
not, as a rule, loved by them over much.</p>
<p>The Persians are Shiah Mohammedans, whilst the Arabs and Turks are
Sunnis. As the former <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb114" href=
"#pb114" name="pb114">114</a>]</span>know very little Arabic, the
reading of the Koran is to them an unknown tongue, and they regard
their “mullahs” as “sacred men,” able to
interpret the “Holy Book.” Thus the Shiah priest gains
great influence, not to say considerable wealth, in Persia, and the
Shah himself fears the influence of the priesthood. The Sunnis, on the
other hand, know Arabic, as a general rule, and many of them are able
to consult the Koran for themselves, the result being that the
“mullah” gains but little influence compared to the
“Shiah” priest, and is often quite poor. Briefly, the Shiah
priesthood is comparable with that of the Roman Catholic Church of
Christendom, while “Sunni” mullahs do not claim, or would
claim in vain, any such authority, thus more nearly resembling the
“status” of Church of England clergy. The result is
obvious: Persia is a priest-ridden country; in “Sunni”
lands the people are freer, and dare think for themselves. It is a
well-known fact that a Persian mullah will exact the uttermost farthing
from his followers, but will never lend a helping hand to them in their
need. For instance, if a man dies without an heir, his property
according to law goes to the poor, but unfortunately it has to be done
through a medium, and that medium is the mullah. He promptly pockets
the property and gives its <i>supposed</i> value (valued, mark you, by
himself) to the poor. We can imagine what a large percentage the poor
receive of that property.</p>
<p>Here is a story which was told us in Kerman, illustrating how loath
the mullahs are to give anything away. The scene is a large pool of
water, in it a mullah struggling to reach the bank, and in <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb115" href="#pb115" name=
"pb115">115</a>]</span>danger of drowning. A passer-by, seeing his
distress, runs to his aid and cries, “Give me your hand, oh my
lord, and I will pull you out.” “No, indeed,” answers
the mullah, “I have never yet given anything to any one, and I
certainly will not begin now.” The kindly passer-by, not liking
to leave the mullah in his sad condition, tries to think of another way
out of the difficulty. Suddenly a bright idea strikes him, and running
to the priest, he calls out, “Will you <i>take</i> my hand, then,
oh my lord?” “Gladly,” says the mullah, and allows
himself to be drawn out of his perilous position.</p>
<p>Another rather good story is told, showing the meanness of the
priests. A man had agreed to pay a workman eight krans (2s. 8d.) for
digging a hole one yard square. At the end of the day the workman had
only dug a hole half a yard square, so the master went to a mullah to
ask him how much he ought to pay the workman. “Why, of
course,” says the mullah, “half the sum agreed upon, that
is, four krans.” After deliberating awhile he said, “No,
two krans is enough,” and this decision he gave as final,
although he impressed upon the man that one kran was all he could
legally claim, as he had scientifically only done one-eighth of his
work!</p>
<p>In the next chapter we shall see a little of another religious sect,
which is fast becoming a power in Persia. <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb116" href="#pb116" name="pb116">116</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch10" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter X</h2>
<h2 class="main">Other Religious Sects</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Other religious sects—The Báb and
Babism—Short sketch of life of the Báb—His
imprisonment and execution—<i>Parsees</i>, or
Zoroastrians—Persecutions of Parsees in seventh
century—Sacred writings of Parsees,
Zendavesta—Fire-worshipping—Fire temples—Holy
fire—Parsee wedding—Costume of women—Death
customs—Burial customs.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<p class="first">“How many crimes have in religion’s name
been wrought.”</p>
<p class="signed"><span class="sc">Lucretius.</span></p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Too oft religion has the mother been</p>
<p class="line">Of impious act and criminal.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Lucretius.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">The founder of Babism was a native of Shiraz, by name
Mirza Ali Muhammed, born in 1820; it was not till 1844 that he publicly
proclaimed himself to be The Báb or Gate, through which all who
wished for peace and happiness might pass into the inner chambers of
mysticism and sacred mysteries. He soon gathered a large following
around him, and in an astonishingly short time the fame of the
Báb was noised abroad throughout the length and breadth of
Persia. At first the Government and mullahs paid little attention to
this new religion, thinking and believing it to be only a passing fancy
of the people, but in its second year it took such rapid strides that
they began to be alarmed, and to look about for means of checking its
progress. The Báb was placed in prison, and his followers were
forbidden, on pain <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb117" href="#pb117"
name="pb117">117</a>]</span>of death, to teach or discuss their new
religion. Soon afterwards, however, the Báb escaped, and fled to
Isphahan, where the governor of that city protected him for some
months, but on the death of the governor the Báb was again cast
into prison. During his imprisonment he was not idle, for he wrote many
books, setting forth his doctrines, and exhorting his followers to
remain firm to their new faith in the face of all opposition and
persecution.</p>
<p>While the Báb was busy in prison, his followers were also
busy, preaching and teaching, and by all means trying to extend the
doctrines of their leader, and so great was the opposition and strife
raised that the Government decided that the Báb must forfeit his
life as a means of putting a stop once and for all to this new and
dangerous sect. Accordingly the Báb was brought from Tabriz,
where he had been imprisoned, and after a mock trial was sentenced to
death. On the day appointed for his execution an enormous crowd
gathered to witness his end—many from curiosity, and also many
from love and pity for the youthful martyr, who to the last maintained
the calmness and courage which had characterised his whole term of
imprisonment.</p>
<p>To make the lesson more emphatic, it was decided that two of the
Báb’s chief disciples were to be executed with him. One of
these at the last moment recanted, and so was allowed to go free. It
was said that his recantation arose not from cowardice or fear of
death, but from a special revelation given to him, whereby he was
commanded to recant in order to be able to carry <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb118" href="#pb118" name="pb118">118</a>]</span>away
all books and papers belonging to the Báb, and deposit them in a
safe place: however that may be, it is known that after an interval of
two years he too became a martyr. Efforts were made to entice the other
disciple to recant, but all proved unavailing, and he and his master
the Báb were suspended, by ropes placed under their arms, to a
beam placed a few feet from the ground. As they hung thus the disciple
was heard to say, “Master, art thou satisfied with me?” and
then the order was given to fire. When the smoke cleared away the body
of the disciple was found to be riddled with bullets, but no Báb
was visible. What had happened? Had a miracle been performed, and an
angel been sent to rescue him from the hand of his persecutors? This
was the thought of some, and, indeed, a miracle had been performed, for
in spite of the many bullets which had been aimed at him not one had
touched the Báb, but had only brought him deliverance by
severing the ropes which bound him, so that he fell to the ground
unhurt. At first it seemed as if the multitude would have pity on the
unfortunate man, and spare him a second attempt, but these feelings
were only of short duration, and the Báb was again dragged forth
from his hiding-place, where he had taken refuge, and was a second time
suspended. A fresh batch of soldiers had to be told off for the
execution, as the first company absolutely refused to fire again. This
time there was no intervention, and in a second or two the body of the
young martyr of Shiraz was pierced with bullets. The bodies were cast
out to the jackals, but were afterwards recovered and buried
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb119" href="#pb119" name=
"pb119">119</a>]</span>in Teheran by the order of the new Báb,
Mirza Yahya.</p>
<p>This event took place in 1850, and in spite of persecutions,
oppositions, and cruelties, the Babis continued to grow in number and
strength, and to-day they form a very large and important community
throughout Persia. In fact, by the very barbarity of the persecutors
their own end was defeated, for all the people were astonished at the
heroism and fortitude displayed by the martyrs. Professor
Brown<a class="noteref" id="xd20e1814src" href="#xd20e1814" name=
"xd20e1814src">1</a> says, “Often have I heard Persians who did
not themselves belong to the proscribed sect tell with admiration how
Suleymán Khan, his body pierced with well-nigh a score of
wounds, in each of which was inserted a lighted candle, went to his
execution singing with exultation.” The effect of such courage
and heroism was only to stir up more people to be disciples of the
Báb, as the following story shows.</p>
<p>During the persecutions in Yezd, a young man went to scoff and jeer,
but when he saw with what courage the martyrs endured torture, and met
death, he called out, “I am a Babi, kill me too.” While we
were in Yezd the Babis were keeping very quiet, but, nevertheless, a
great work was going on amongst them, but none dared say, “I am a
Babi.” A year or two after our departure from Persia we heard of
terrible cruelties and persecutions enacted against these suffering
people, but in spite of all, their number continues to grow and
increase throughout the whole land of Persia, and to-day the Babis are
stronger and more numerous than ever before. <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb120" href="#pb120" name="pb120">120</a>]</span></p>
<p>The Parsees of Persia are another most interesting and important
sect: they live chiefly in Yezd and Kerman. They are a people within a
people, living in Persia, and with the Persians, yet keeping quite
distinct from the present inhabitants of the land. Only a few thousand
of this large and influential body of people, who up till the seventh
century were the inhabitants of the land, now remain in Persia. When
the armies of Mohammed conquered Persia, most of these people fled to
India; others preferred to adhere to the new religion, while a few
remained faithful to their old belief, and refused either to flee to a
new and strange country, or to change their creed, and so they remain
till this day a distinct people, following their own customs, and
holding to their own religion amidst a new and domineering nation.</p>
<p>The founder of the Parsee religion was one called Zoroaster. Very
little is known of his life; his birthplace is uncertain, though it is
known he lived for many years in Bactria of Eastern Persia, and it is
probable that it was in this place that he thought out the idea, from
which in later years he constructed his religious system. The priests
of this religion were the “magi” of the Old and New
Testament, and it is very likely that at least one of the “wise
men of the East” who went to offer their adoration to the
new-born King was from these Parsees of Persia.</p>
<p>The date of Zoroaster is very uncertain too. It is known, however,
that in the sixth century B.C., when Cyrus was king, the Zoroastrian
religion was firmly established in Western Persia. Some <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb121" href="#pb121" name=
"pb121">121</a>]</span>historians give him a date between 1000 and 1400
<span class="sc">B.C.</span></p>
<p>The sacred writings of the Parsees are called the Zendavesta, and
are said to be inspired by God through one of their priests. This
priest, having cleansed and bathed himself in the most careful manner,
lay down to sleep clothed in pure white linen. He is said to have
fallen into a deep sleep, from which he did not awake for seven days;
at the end of which time he awoke and recited the faith of the
Zoroastrians, while priests in waiting committed the whole to writing.
In this way was the Zendavesta reduced to the form of a book.</p>
<p>While fire-worshipping forms a large part of their religion, it is
quite a mistake to suppose it comprises the whole, for Zoroaster laid
down many laws concerning morality and the duties and destiny of
man.</p>
<p>The Parsees of to-day, as seen in Kerman and Yezd, are a fine race;
their commercial ability is very much above that of the ordinary
Persian, and they are a much cleaner and more moral set of people than
their conquerors. They regard fire as something sacred, as being the
symbol of their god, and nothing will induce them to treat fire
lightly. For instance, we could never persuade our Parsee servants to
blow out a candle; and smoking is prohibited on account of their
religious principles, though nowadays many do smoke in secret. Their
habits of cleanliness and continual personal ablutions have perhaps
contributed to make them the healthy race they are to-day. A good
Parsee will wash <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb122" href="#pb122"
name="pb122">122</a>]</span>many times a day, always before and after
praying, as well as on many other occasions.</p>
<p>All Parsees wear a girdle round their waists, twisted into three
knots in a most complicated and intricate way. Whenever they wash they
must take this off, and after their ablutions are over they replace the
girdle, repeating certain prayers for each knot. These three knots
represent the threefold cord, which is not easily broken, of good
thoughts, good words, good deeds.</p>
<p>There are said to be some thirty or forty fire temples still
existing in Yezd, and in these the holy fire is always burning; the
light is never allowed to go out, it being the work of the priests to
keep it continually bright and trimmed.</p>
<p>The office of priesthood descends from father to son, and besides
attending to the religious needs of the people, the priest is also
supposed to look after their temporal necessities, especially in the
case of poverty-stricken families.</p>
<p>Parsee women have a much freer life than their Persian sisters; they
go about the streets quite openly, never veiling their faces, and
altogether enjoy a much better position than the Mohammedan women. In
some cases the women are even allowed to eat with the men of the
house—a great concession indeed! The children are bright, and in
many cases clever. When seven days old an astrologer is consulted as to
the future of the infant; and when seven years old a boy is blessed by
the priest, who invests him with the sacred girdle, at the same time
throwing upon the child’s head portions of fruit, spices, and
drops of perfume. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb123" href="#pb123"
name="pb123">123</a>]</span></p>
<p>Girls are married when quite young, and the astrologer is again
consulted on this important matter. When in Yezd we were invited to a
Parsee wedding, and a very interesting sight it was. The
invitation—which was written in letters of gold, and arrived some
days before the date fixed for the ceremony—was acknowledged and
accepted by us with much pleasure, as we were anxious to see something
of the customs of these interesting people.</p>
<p>When the day arrived we arrayed ourselves in gala attire, and set
out to the house of the bride. It was just midnight when we arrived,
and already the guests, some hundreds of them, had been feasting for
hours—in fact, I might say “days,” for this was the
seventh and last day of the wedding festivities, and many of the guests
had been present each day. They all looked thoroughly worn-out and
tired. A room had been set apart for the Europeans to dine in, and just
after midnight a most sumptuous dinner was served, consisting of about
a dozen courses. When this had been satisfactorily disposed of we
dispersed to visit the different rooms occupied by the guests, my
husband remaining with the men, while I and another English lady sought
out the bride to give her our salaams and good wishes. The confusion
was terrible—drums beating, cymbals clashing, women dancing and
singing, children yelling and crying, and amid it all, seated upon the
ground, sat the poor little bride-elect. No one seemed to be taking
much notice of her, every one apparently aiming to amuse herself in the
most noisy way possible.</p>
<p>By-and-by a large, silk-covered cushion was brought out from a back
room, and on this the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb124" href=
"#pb124" name="pb124">124</a>]</span>bride was placed, and covered
entirely with a large silk shawl. I wondered what was going to happen
next, when suddenly a group of men appeared at the door. These were the
representatives of the bridegroom, who came to ask formally for the
hand of the bride. They came and stood in front of the covered-up
bride, and called in a loud voice, “Oh, my daughter, will you
consent to be the bride of this man?” (naming the bridegroom).
This was repeated six times amidst a silence which could be felt, all
listening for the answer of the bride. On their repeating the question
the seventh time, a very timid “Balli” (Yes) was heard
coming from the region of the shawl, upon which the commotion started
again with redoubled vigour, in the excitement caused by the acceptance
on the part of the bride of her bridegroom. Of course this was a mere
form, as everything had been arranged long beforehand. I shocked one
good old lady by asking what would happen if the bride had said
“No” instead of “Yes” to the oft-repeated
question!</p>
<p>After receiving this very satisfactory answer to their inquiries the
men went off, and the women began to prepare the bride for the last and
most important part of the programme—viz. that of taking her to
the home of the bridegroom. They covered her with a large silk chuddar,
and over her head threw a thick shawl, so that the poor girl could see
nothing, and had to be led and supported on each side by her proud
relatives. The distance between the two houses might perhaps have taken
five minutes to walk in an ordinary way, but that night we took quite
an hour. The procession was headed by two <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb125" href="#pb125" name="pb125">125</a>]</span>“vakeels”
(agents), who were bargaining the whole way as to the dowry of the
bride. Every now and then they would come to a standstill, and the
bride’s vakeel would refuse to go a step further till more money
had been paid, and after a great deal of shouting, gesticulating, and
wrangling, the bridegroom’s vakeel would end by throwing some
coins into the other’s hand, and then the procession would
proceed for a few steps till blocked once more, while the whole process
of bargaining was gone through again. Fireworks were going off the
whole time, and were apparently laid along the route, for every now and
then we were startled by having a rocket fly up from beneath our feet.
About every twenty yards or so we came across huge bonfires of dried
faggots right in our path, and the whole procession had to wait till
these had died down before they could pass on. Arriving at the door of
the bridegroom’s house, a final and most exciting scene took
place between the two vakeels, the one threatening even then to take
the bride away, and the other, getting more wildly angry every minute,
declaring he did not want the bride, and would not pay a
“para” (½d.) more for her, and ending up by giving
the sum bargained for. If we had not known it was all part of the
ceremony, we might have expected the two men to come to blows; but it
all ended happily, and we trooped into the new home of the bride. Then
came a long time of weary waiting, during which my sympathies went out
to the tired, frightened bride; but just as we thought there was
nothing more to wait for, three interesting scenes took place. The
first was the actual marriage <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb126"
href="#pb126" name="pb126">126</a>]</span>ceremony, in which a priest
read many long prayers from a book, and then tied the couple together
with a silk thread and pronounced a blessing upon them.</p>
<p>The second scene took place in the open courtyard, in the centre of
which was burning the sacred fire placed on a pedestal. The priest and
parents of the bride and bridegroom now joined hands with the happy
couple and walked in solemn single file round and round the fire, the
priest chanting the whole time; this was done seven times, and then all
retired quietly, leaving the fire burning in the court.</p>
<p>To the third and final scene only a favoured few were admitted;
fortunately I was amongst that number. Into the room prepared for the
newly-married couple the little wife was now led, and for the first
time the coverings were taken from her head and face. She was placed on
a huge silk-covered mattress, then the husband came and took his seat
by her side: both of them were looking thoroughly miserable! One of the
women then brought a copper basin and ewer filled with milk, and the
bridegroom proceeded to wash his wife’s feet in milk, and she in
her turn washed his hands. This done, we all bade farewell to the
newly-married couple and the wedding ceremony was at an end. Hastily
saying good-bye to our host and hostess, and expressing our good wishes
for the welfare and happiness of the young people, we made our way
homewards, to find it was not very far off dawn, but having thoroughly
enjoyed our first experience of a Parsee wedding ceremony.</p>
<p>The costume of the Parsee women is rather <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb127" href="#pb127" name=
"pb127">127</a>]</span>quaint and pretty; it consists of very baggy
trousers gathered in at the ankle. These trousers are often made of
very pretty pieces of embroidery joined together. As soon almost as a
girl can sew she begins to embroider strips of brightly-coloured
materials in order to have them ready for her wedding trousseau. Over
these garments they wear a loose shirt reaching to just below the
knees; this is also made of strips of different coloured materials, or
in the case of a bride is also embroidered. Then comes the head-dress:
it is far beyond my powers to say of how many pieces this is composed,
or as to how they are arranged. The number of coverings on their heads
is legion! First comes a little tight cap fitting closely over the head
and ears. Over this is arranged in a most marvellous way some six or
seven different pieces of calico or linen, the top one of all generally
being a very bright calico, a mixture of red and yellow being the
favourite pattern. The men are obliged to wear dowdy colours as a mark
of submission to the powers that be. For the same reason also they are
not allowed to ride through the bazaars, and if a Parsee is riding
outside the city and meets a Moslem he promptly has to dismount and
walk till he has passed his more fortunate neighbour; <i>then</i> he
may resume his riding. This is, I believe, the case even if the Moslem
be a poor man and the Parsee a flourishing merchant.</p>
<p>To pass from life to death. A Parsee when he is dying sends for the
priest, who anoints him with sacred juice, repeats some verses from the
“Avesta,” and prays for a safe crossing of the
“bridge” and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb128" href=
"#pb128" name="pb128">128</a>]</span>admission into Paradise. As soon
as the breath has left the body, a dog is brought in from the street to
ascertain if life is really extinct. This idea originated evidently
from the old Zoroastrian idea that the evil spirit is expelled from a
dead body by means of a “four-eyed dog” being brought in
and made to look at the dead, the extra “two” eyes being
represented by two black spots over the brow of the dog. The body is
then placed on a bier and carried to the Towers of Silence, or
“dakhmehs,” by men specially set apart for that purpose.
These men are looked upon as unclean from their contact with the dead,
therefore only those whose work it is to do so will touch the body, the
cleansing necessary after defilement from contact with the dead being
so exacting and laborious.</p>
<p>On arriving at the dakhmeh, prayers are recited by the priests and
the body laid on an iron grating, so that when the vultures and other
birds of prey have done their horrible work, the bones fall down and
are safe from molestation by dogs and jackals.</p>
<p>The dakhmehs, always some distance from the town, are built in a
circular shape, some of the largest being 200 or so feet in diameter.
They are generally built on rising ground, and form a landmark for many
miles around.</p>
<p>Prayers for the dead are said for three or four days after the
death, and holy fire is kept burning in the house of the deceased
during the whole of that time, as the soul is not supposed to leave the
body till the fourth day after death.</p>
<p>The better-class Parsees “mourn” for a year after the
death of a near relative; that is, they keep up <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb129" href="#pb129" name=
"pb129">129</a>]</span>certain ceremonials for that length of time, and
offer flowers and fruits on behalf of their dead.</p>
<p>The Parsees have a governing body called the Anjiman. This consists
of a number of leading men, representatives of each class of society.
The Persian Government acknowledges the Anjiman, and accepts one of its
number to act as its representative. <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb130" href="#pb130" name="pb130">130</a>]</span></p>
</div>
<div class="footnotes">
<hr class="fnsep">
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" id=
"xd20e1814" href="#xd20e1814src" name="xd20e1814">1</a></span> “A
Year amongst the Persians.”</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch11" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter XI</h2>
<h2 class="main">Desert Delights</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Songs of the desert—Sunsets, sunrises,
mirages—Illness in the desert—Mehman khanehs,
caravanserais—Chappa khanehs—Lost in the desert—Its
cruelties, and sadness.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“The desert wide</p>
<p class="line">Lies round thee like a trackless tide</p>
<p class="line">In waves of sand forlornly multiplied.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">F. W. Faber.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">To a lover of the desert a journey across its
boundless tracts is always full of interest and delight. It is strange
what an attraction the desert has for some people, and stranger still
is the fact that this magnetic power increases as time passes, and
instead of wearying of the wilderness, they love it more and more. And
any one who has once heard the call of the desert is always longing to
answer that call, and to fly once more, as a needle to its magnet, to
that great, wondrous world. For it <i>is</i> a world of its own, this
great, boundless ocean of sand—a world altogether different from
any other part of God’s earth.</p>
<p>I once heard an address on “The Desert,” and the speaker
said that he did not think it possible for any one with an uneasy
conscience to bear the solitariness of the desert. Be this as it may,
one thing is sure: no one can live and travel in the desert without
feeling the majestic Presence of God. <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb131" href="#pb131" name="pb131">131</a>]</span>Everything speaks of
Him, the great sea of sand, the flowers springing into blossom at His
word, the tiny lizard darting across your path, and other countless
creatures, all finding life and sustenance in the desert, each telling
of the wonderful Creator who watches over and cares for all.</p>
<p>The songs of the desert, too, are fascinating; songs which, heard
elsewhere, would seem incongruous and lacking in harmony. The camel or
mule bells, booming out in the silence of the night, remind one of home
and loved ones. Often have I been awakened in the night by the sound of
the caravan bells, and for a moment thought they were the bells of the
dear old church in Devonshire. Then, again, the crooning songs of the
muleteer, as he trudges along hour after hour, have a peculiar charm,
which grows on one wondrously after a while. And what can be said of
the marvellous mirages—visions which come as messengers of hope
and leave us victims of despair? For who has not experienced relief and
joy at the sight of some beautiful mirage, resembling the welcome sight
of a village with trees and water, all apparently within easy reach of
the weary traveller, but which in a moment of time vanish, leaving
blank disappointment behind. And where can be seen such glorious sunset
effects as in the desert? especially when, as is so often the case in
Persia, the desert is surrounded by mountains and hills, which catch
the after glow, and reflect all those indescribable shades of crimson,
gold, and blue, all merging into a beatific and not easily forgotten
vision.</p>
<p>But to come to the more practical side of desert life. Travelling in
the desert is not all a path of <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb132"
href="#pb132" name="pb132">132</a>]</span>roses, but, given good
health, fine weather, and pleasant company, it is a very enjoyable way
of passing two or three weeks. On the other hand, I know of nothing
more wretched than being overtaken by illness when far away in the
desert. <i>Then</i> you feel how utterly alone and helpless you are,
for it is impossible to travel on, and at the same time well-nigh
impossible to stay where you are! We have had this experience more than
once during our many travels, and found it not at all pleasant. Once I
was taken ill in this way, and the only place to be found as shelter
was a filthy stable, full of rats, cockroaches, and other horrible
creatures.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e1929width" id="p132-1"><img src=
"images/p132-1.jpg" alt="A Mountain Pass" width="587" height="407">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">A Mountain Pass</span></p>
<p class="first">The traveller from Resht to Teheran passes through
very varied scenery. Beginning with beautiful forests of walnuts,
planes, willow, and olives, he soon loses this wealth of vegetation as
he ascends the Elburz, and once these mountains are crossed, the track
lies chiefly through the desert, with its ranges of mountains away in
the distance.</p>
</div>
<div class="figure xd20e1936width" id="p132-2"><img src=
"images/p132-2.jpg" alt="A Caravanserai" width="586" height="408">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">A Caravanserai</span></p>
<p class="first">A specimen of one of the “hotels” of
Persia. These caravanserais are built in the form of an open square.
The rooms are situated round the quadrangle, while the courtyard is the
resting-place of camels, mules, horses, and donkeys.</p>
</div>
<p>If you wish thoroughly to enjoy a journey across the desert, you
must choose your time well and wisely. The best time is the early
spring, before the great heat begins. If it is essential to travel
during the summer, all the stages have to be done by night, and this is
much more tiring, as it is seldom possible to sleep during the day
owing to the pest of flies, mosquitoes, and other lively
companions.</p>
<p>The rest-houses of Persia are of three grades or kinds, viz.
“mehman khanehs,” “chappa khanehs,” and
caravanserais. The first of these three are found between Resht and
Teheran. They are supposed to be run after the plan of a European
hotel! Beds are supplied, and sometimes a tooth-brush and comb! The
traveller is shown into a room in which the beds are kept ready for all
passers-by: it is not thought necessary to change the bedding too
often! The furniture consists of a washstand, table, and couple
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb133" href="#pb133" name=
"pb133">133</a>]</span>of chairs, and everything is as dirty as can be.
I much prefer the ordinary caravanserai, which is found all over
Persia. These are generally built by a wealthy man who wishes to do
some “good deed,” to make a name for himself, and gain
merit in Paradise. A caravanserai is not the cleanest spot on earth!
But after travelling a little you get used to a certain amount of dirt,
and are very much surprised if by chance you come across a fairly clean
rest-house. These caravanserais are built, as a rule, in the form of a
square, the sides of which are occupied by rooms leading off the
courtyard, the centre being the resting-place of mules, donkeys,
horses, and all other kinds of animals. At the end of the stage you fix
on the cleanest of these rooms, and your servant sweeps all the
accumulated dirt and dust of ages into one corner, thus raising a cloud
of dust and disturbing the peace of myriads of “pilgrims of the
desert.” After waiting a few minutes to allow the dust to settle
a little, you then furnish your room for the night by spreading a rug
on the filthy floor, and setting up your travelling beds, chair,
tables, &c. As likely as not, there will be no door to the room, so
you knock in a couple of nails and fasten a curtain over the doorway to
keep out the prying eyes of your too near and inquisitive neighbours.
Then you begin to think about your evening meal, and your servant goes
off to bargain and wrangle over some unfortunate fowl, the result being
that in about an hour’s time your dinner is ready, and shortly
after you very thankfully retire to rest, hoping for the best.</p>
<p>The chappa khanehs, or post-houses, are often <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb134" href="#pb134" name="pb134">134</a>]</span>a
trifle cleaner than the caravanserai. Here the animals are kept for the
post, and any one travelling “chappa” is supposed to find
fresh relays of horses at each of these places, but very often the
number is short, and the poor, wretched, underfed animal has to do duty
for a second stage: a “stage” is anything from fifteen to
thirty miles. My husband once rode “chappa” from Yezd to
Kerman, a distance of 250 miles, in 2½ days, to attend an
English doctor who was very ill with typhoid fever. It was very hard
and rough riding; the roads were bad, the horses worse, some of the
animals being blind, others lame, while the majority of them were so
over-worked and badly fed that it seemed impossible that they could
ever do the stage. A doctor once riding in this way to visit a
European, is said to have arrived at one of these post-houses, and
finding no horse, demanded a mule. On this beast he made the next
stage, to be told on arrival that there was only a donkey available.
Nothing better presenting itself, he accepted this mount, and in time
reached the next stage, where he was met with the comforting
announcement that the only animal at liberty was a cow! History seems
uncertain after this point, so we will draw a veil over it!</p>
<p>Sometimes these caravanserais and chappa khanehs are the only signs
of life to be seen at the end of a stage. There they stand, alone,
surrounded on all hands by vast stretches of desert, and form a
landmark for miles around. One such I remember very well, as each time
we passed that way it seemed to have become more lonely and desolate.
Visible from a distance of 5 farsakhs (18 miles), it made <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb135" href="#pb135" name="pb135">135</a>]</span>the
stage seem very long! The atmosphere is so rarefied that distant
objects appear near, and the buildings, which were in reality 15 miles
away, looked quite close at hand. In this chappa khaneh we were once
guilty of inscribing our names on its already well-filled walls. Some
years after a lady was visiting us in Mosul, and told us she had read
our names in that far-distant chappa khaneh.</p>
<p>It is not a very pleasant sensation to be lost in a desert. Only
once did this experience befall us, and then we were glad when it was
over.</p>
<p>We were on our way from Yezd to Kerman, and had reached the second
stage out. We had arranged with our muleteer to start at a certain hour
that morning, but when we came down from the “<span lang=
"fa-latn">bala khaneh</span>” (upstairs room) where we had been
sleeping, we found no signs of our caravan being ready to start. After
loitering about for some time, we decided not to wait any longer, but
to ride on ahead. This was quite contrary to our usual custom, as we
always found it wiser to see the caravan off first, otherwise the
muleteers dawdled half the morning away. However, we thought this once
we would alter our plans, as the dawn was even then breaking, and we
knew that in a very short time the sun would be scorchingly hot. So off
we went, telling our servant to follow as soon as possible. We received
minute instructions as to which direction we were to take, and thought
we could not possibly mistake our road.</p>
<p>Outside the town, on the edge of the desert, we came to two roads,
one leading straight ahead, the other branching to the left. We decided
to take the former, thinking it looked more trodden, thereby
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb136" href="#pb136" name=
"pb136">136</a>]</span>showing more signs of traffic. So we went gaily
on. My husband occasionally remarked, “I hope we are on the right
road,” and I always lightly answered, “Oh yes, I am sure we
are,” as I pointed out to him the fact that we were following the
same path along which another caravan had evidently passed a few hours
before. Howbeit we were <i>not</i> on the right road, as we very soon
found to our cost. By this time the sun was blazing down upon us, and
we began to wonder why our servants and caravan had not caught us up.
Time went on, and not a sign of life was to be seen. Standing in our
stirrups, we scanned the horizon, but nothing could we see but the
scorching sand. We then began seriously to think that we had taken the
wrong turning and were lost. Lost in the desert, without a drop of
water or a scrap of food! Pleasant thoughts these were as companions!
We could not go back: to go forward was worse than useless. After
considering a little as to the best thing to be done, we decided to
gallop on till we came to a small hill to be seen in the distance. This
we accordingly did, and as we neared the summit saw to our great
thankfulness a tiny speck on the horizon in the direction from which we
had come. This “speck” soon developed into a moving object,
and by-and-by we could see the figure of a man and horse galloping
hard. As the horse and rider came nearer, our thankfulness was indeed
great to see that the rider was our own servant, George. If ever we had
cause for thankfulness it was then, and we certainly said, and felt
from our very hearts, “Alhamd’ llillah” (Praise be to
God!), and vowed we would never stray <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb137" href="#pb137" name="pb137">137</a>]</span>away again from our
caravan unless we were quite sure of our road.</p>
<p>Our man was so delighted to see us safe and sound that he wept for
joy. After a long delay the caravan had at last started from the chappa
khaneh just as the sun was rising, and set out upon its way. They were
all surprised to think we had gone so far, but concluded at first that
we had galloped on in order to reach the lunching-place before the
great heat. On arriving at the spot, however, great was their dismay to
find we had not yet arrived. Our servant immediately rode back to the
village to make inquiries. On his way he met a man who told him he had
seen us riding off in the opposite direction. George immediately took
the path indicated, with the result already told. By the time we
regained our caravan we were well-nigh worn out with heat and thirst,
having been under the blazing sun without food or water for most of the
hottest hours of the day, but very thankful to be on the right track
once more.</p>
<p>One thing that saddens a European traveller during a journey in
Persia is to see the cruel way in which the muleteer often treats his
animals. The sufferings of these poor beasts are terrible. I often
longed to be able to thrash the muleteer for his cruelty to a poor,
long-suffering little donkey. Bowed down, maybe, under a load twice his
own size, the poor ass does his best to keep up with the other animals,
but only receives kicks and hard knocks for his pains. The wretched
creature is urged on and on by having a steel or iron instrument run
into some horribly sore place by his kind <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb138" href="#pb138" name="pb138">138</a>]</span>and compassionate
owner. Often have I seen a mule or donkey stumble and fall beneath its
enormous load, unable to raise itself, till its master with blows and
curses comes to lend a hand. Again and again will this happen, till at
last the poor beast can go no further, and is left to its fate. Death
is the kindest master some of these suffering creatures possess.</p>
<p>I remember once seeing a mule unloaded, and the sight under the
pack-saddle was enough to make one’s heart ache. A deep wound
about twelve inches long was exposed to view, just under the arch of
the saddle, where all the heaviest pressure and friction came. The
owner then heated till red hot a long wire rod, passing it through and
through this wound till the poor creature was nearly mad with pain and
agony. The next day a boy was ordered to ride this wretched beast, but
the stench from the wound was so great, and the flies attracted by it
so numerous, that he could not endure it, and asked to be given another
animal. This request was granted, but the poor brute of a mule had to
pay the penalty by receiving an extra load upon his poor wounded back.
At the first town we came to, the muleteer sold this mule, doubtless to
some one who would work the last particle of strength out of him. Poor
burdened beasts of the desert! one can only hope for them a speedy end
to their troubles, and rest hereafter.</p>
<p>Another sad sight to be seen in the desert sometimes, are brick
pillars in which some unfortunate victim has been walled up alive. This
is a horrible method of inflicting capital punishment. The victim is
put into the pillar, which is half built up in readiness; <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb139" href="#pb139" name="pb139">139</a>]</span>then
if the executioner is merciful he will cement quickly up to the face,
and death comes speedily. But sometimes a small amount of air is
allowed to permeate through the bricks, and in this case the torture is
cruel and the agony prolonged. Men bricked up in this way have been
heard groaning and calling for water at the end of three days. At other
times the victim is placed in the pillar head first, and in this way he
is walled up.</p>
<p>The first time I saw these pillars was in the desert outside Yezd,
and I could hardly believe the awful tales which were told me of the
cruelties perpetrated; but alas, they were all too true! It is sad that
the beauty of the desert should be desecrated by such things.
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb140" href="#pb140" name=
"pb140">140</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch12" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter XII</h2>
<h2 class="main">Persian Medical Missions<a class="noteref" id=
"xd20e1994src" href="#xd20e1994" name="xd20e1994src">1</a></h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">The need of them—Work in Isphahan—The
“little devil” transformed into a
boy—Amputation—Brothers in adversity—H.R.H.
Zil-es-Sultan as a patient—Fanaticism overcome.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“What restless forms to-day are lying, bound</p>
<p class="line">On sick beds, waiting till the hour come round</p>
<p class="line">That brings thy foot upon the chamber stair,</p>
<p class="line">Impatient, fevered, faint, till thou art there,</p>
<p class="line">The one short smile of sunshine to make light</p>
<p class="line">The long remembrance of another night.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">H. E. Hamilton
King</span>.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">“Medical Missions” need no apology or
excuse. Even in the comparatively few years that have elapsed since
their commencement, they have abundantly justified their existence,
both from the missionary standpoint, and also as philanthropic
agencies. If this be true for purely pagan lands, it applies even more
accurately to work in Mohammedan countries. Medical missionary work is,
without doubt, the golden key that unlocks the door of the heart of the
most fanatical Moslem, be he Persian, Arab, Kurd, or <span class="corr"
id="xd20e2019" title="Source: Yezedee">Yezidee</span> (devil
worshipper). I write this deliberately, after eight years’
experience in Persia, Palestine, and Mesopotamia. But in this book it
is not meant specially to emphasise the missionary aspect of our life
in these distant lands, but more to give a slight glimpse of
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb141" href="#pb141" name=
"pb141">141</a>]</span>native life as we found it, and the following,
therefore, must be taken as notes from a doctor’s diary, covering
a period of eight years’ work in Persia and Mesopotamia.</p>
<p>The year 1900 found us at Isphahan. We were living in Julfa, the
Armenian suburb of that great city, and I had temporary charge of the
C.M.S. Medical Mission. The hospital at that period was simply a native
house that had been adapted, more or less, for the requirements of a
dispensary and hospital. There was no lack of work, patients coming
from Isphahan itself, and from all the country round about. Soon after
settling down to the routine work, a little Persian boy was brought to
me from an outlying village by his father. He was about twelve years of
age, and his face was badly disfigured from a “hare-lip.”
The Persians believe that this congenital malformation is the mark left
by the foot of the Evil One, so this poor boy was known in his village
by the unenviable title “little devil,” and had been a good
deal tormented by his playfellows. He was admitted to hospital,
operated upon successfully, and after some ten days’ careful
treatment the dressing was finally removed, and I handed the boy a
mirror that he might look for the first time upon his “new”
face. As I watched his countenance while he regarded himself
steadfastly in the glass, I was amply repaid for the time and trouble
spent, by his look of joy, incredulity, and amazement. Tears of joy
rolled down his face as he kissed my hand, and murmured brokenly,
“I am no longer a little devil, I am no longer a little
devil!” He could go back to his village now gladly, no longer
fearing <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb142" href="#pb142" name=
"pb142">142</a>]</span>to join in the games of his comrades, and I feel
sure he afterwards often posed as a hero in his little village, as, the
centre of an admiring throng, he recounted the details of his visit,
treatment, and cure at the Mission Hospital.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2028width" id="p142-1"><img src=
"images/p142-1.jpg" alt="A Very Ancient Bridge" width="584" height=
"401">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">A Very Ancient Bridge</span></p>
<p class="first">Built over the river which divides the city of
Isphahan from its Christian suburb of Julfa.</p>
</div>
<div class="figure xd20e2035width" id="p142-2"><img src=
"images/p142-2.jpg" alt="A Typical Street in Baghdad" width="513"
height="419">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">A Typical Street in
Baghdad</span></p>
</div>
<p>In all Mohammedan lands, doctors always find it extremely difficult
to persuade their patients to submit to amputation. However hopeless a
condition the injured limb may be in, many would rather die than enter
Paradise maimed. Some perhaps fancy that after death, when the prophet
Mohammed comes to conduct them over that fragile bridge that leads to
the “realm of the blest,” he would indignantly repudiate
the claims of an armless or legless disciple! However that may be, the
fact remains that many a poor patient dies who might, by timely
amputation, have recovered and lived for many years. But curiously
enough, soon after our arrival in Julfa, I admitted, within a few days
of each other, two Persians suffering from diseases of the legs
necessitating amputation, and both, after much persuasion, agreed to
the operation being performed. Both were men, and had been admitted to
different wards, but as after-events proved, neither knew of the
other’s presence in the hospital: both thus believed that
<i>he</i> was the only Mohammedan doomed to pass the rest of his life
bereft of one leg, with the possible risk of non-admittance hereafter
to the Moslem Paradise.</p>
<p>The two amputations were duly performed, on different days; the
amputated limbs being at once handed to the relatives for decent
interment. Both patients made good recoveries, their progress being
somewhat retarded by their continual lamentation <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb143" href="#pb143" name="pb143">143</a>]</span>over
their irreparable loss. In due course of time, crutches were provided,
and the two men were encouraged to practise walking with their aid. A
day or two later I was standing at the door of the operation theatre,
which opened into a corridor, with which both the men’s wards
communicated. Suddenly the doors of each ward opened simultaneously,
and on the threshold stood these two men, leaning on their crutches,
their faces a perfect picture as they beheld each other. Remember that,
in some curious manner, neither had heard of the presence of the other
in the hospital, and both firmly believed that <i>he</i> was the only
Mohammedan that had ever submitted to the indignity of losing a limb,
and lo and behold, here was a brother in affliction! Crutches were
hurled on one side, and the two men, hopping across the corridor,
excitement lending them the needed strength, fell into each
other’s arms, rolling over and over on the floor, weeping,
condoling, exclaiming, while we watched the scene, highly amused, but
also feeling inclined to weep in sympathy.</p>
<p>The Governor of Isphahan was H.R.H. Zil-es-Sultan (Shadow of the
King), elder brother of the late Shah. In former years he had been much
more powerful, and practically ruled over Southern Persia, but his
enemies in Teheran roused the suspicions of the Shah against him. He
was summoned to the capital, and there kept a prisoner in his house,
but ultimately allowed to return to Isphahan shorn of his former
power.</p>
<p>The Zil-es-Sultan had his own private physician, but would often
call in the English doctor either for himself or his household; in this
way I made his <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb144" href="#pb144" name=
"pb144">144</a>]</span>acquaintance, and, like most Europeans who have
come in contact with him, admired both his shrewdness and ability. He
always proved himself a good friend to the English mission, and later I
got to know much more intimately his eldest son, H.H. Jalal-el-Dowleh,
who was the able governor of Yezd, a city some three hundred miles
eastward of Isphahan.</p>
<p>Soon after reaching Julfa, I was sent for by the governor to examine
his eyes. I found him in a garden outside the city, which he had just
had constructed for a summer residence. He received me cordially, and,
after the business part of the interview was over, chatted freely,
telling me of all he had undergone at the hands of other physicians. A
few years before, he had become alarmed about the state of his
eyesight, and became possessed with the idea that he was gradually
going blind. He believed himself to be suffering from a very hopeless
eye disease, very prevalent in Persia, known as “black
cataract” (glaucoma), and despite the assurance to the contrary
given by Dr. Carr (the English doctor) and others, he persisted in
sending for two eye specialists, one from Paris, the other from London.
Both had thoroughly examined his sight, and had confirmed Dr.
Carr’s assurances that there was no disease, but his fears had
put him to considerable expense, as both the specialists were treated
right royally. Laughingly he told me how much he had dreaded the
interview with the London specialist, and how the fateful day had at
last come. The doctor had merely lightly placed his fingers on the eye,
felt the tension, and then had smilingly assured His Royal Highness
that there was no fear of glaucoma, <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb145" href="#pb145" name="pb145">145</a>]</span>a subsequent careful
examination confirming this verdict. “And to think,”
pathetically added the governor, “that I had spent all those
thousands of pounds for nothing!” Of course I at once suggested
that to have had all his fears of blindness so happily set at rest more
than compensated for any expense that he might have incurred, but he
remained unconvinced.</p>
<p>During the year we remained in Isphahan I had many opportunities of
being received by the governor. He always treated me with the same
kindness, and upon our departure for Kerman, presented me with a large
signed photograph of himself.</p>
<p>Isphahan is a great city that has passed through many vicissitudes:
at one time it was the capital of Persia. Its population to-day is
probably about 150,000. As in all Shiah (Mohammedan) lands, the priests
(mullahs) possess great power. The Moslem archbishops are termed
“mujtiheds.” In each Persian city there are generally two
mujtiheds, one official (Sheikh-es-Islam), the other elected by the
people, and the latter, as a rule, possessed the greater influence.</p>
<p>In 1900 the popular mujtihed was the eldest of three brothers, all
mullahs. His power was very great—too great for the taste of the
Shah, if one may credit rumour. Only a few days after our arrival, a
carriage was sent for me, from the second brother of this mujtihed, who
for many weeks had been anxiously looking forward to the arrival of an
English “hakim,” as he was suffering from a troublesome
disease which might at any time develop serious symptoms. All these
Isphahan mullahs had proved themselves hostile <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb146" href="#pb146" name="pb146">146</a>]</span>to
the presence of foreigners, and on more than one occasion they had
endeavoured, by preaching against them in the mosques, to inflame the
populace and cause a riot.</p>
<p>At the patient’s house I was joined by another doctor (Dr.
Aganoor), who was also the English Vice-Consul, and to whom we were
indebted for many acts of kindness during our stay in Isphahan. The
mullah was really his patient, and I was called in for consultation as
to the advisability of operating. We were ushered into a large room
with a fountain playing in the centre, and there we found the patient,
supported by both his brothers, besides innumerable friends.</p>
<p>We sat in solemn conclave for over an hour, discussing the pros and
cons of the case, and then, having decided upon the course of
treatment, we took our departure. Some days later we were again sent
for, and found our patient in great pain, and the whole house crowded
with his innumerable friends, who had hurriedly come together at the
rumour of his approaching death.</p>
<p>Our patient was in a very excited state, angrily refusing the
consolation offered by his disciples and friends, and violently
shouting, “A thousand tomans (£200) to any one who can take
away this pain.” Then, as he felt an extra bad twinge, “Ten
thousand tomans to any one who will cure this pain” (about
£2000).</p>
<p>However, we soothed him, injected a little morphia, assured him
there was no immediate danger, and as the sedative commenced to work,
and the pain disappeared, with it went all thought of rewarding
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb147" href="#pb147" name=
"pb147">147</a>]</span>his benefactors: on the contrary, he took extra
trouble to explain how poor a man he really was, and that it was due to
the malice of his enemies that rumour reputed him wealthy. However, to
cut a long story short, by means of a simple operation, and much
patient care and attention on the part of Dr. Aganoor, he ultimately
made a good recovery, and was really grateful, using his influence
afterwards rather to restrain than augment the anti-European fanaticism
of his other two brethren. Later a nephew of the chief mujtihed,
himself a mullah, actually consented to come into hospital to undergo
an urgently needed operation, and this proving successful, gained for
us another staunch friend from priestly quarters, whose friendship
stood us in good stead on another occasion which might have ended
rather differently, but for his intervention. A few months had elapsed:
rumours still reached us from the city of occasional attempts made to
stir up the fanaticism of the people against us, the chief offender
being the third and youngest brother of the mujtihed before
mentioned.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2081width" id="p148-1"><img src=
"images/p148-1.jpg" alt="Using the X-rays in Julfa Hospital" width=
"583" height="405">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">Using the X-rays in Julfa
Hospital</span></p>
<p class="first">The two assistants are both Armenians. The girls make
very good nurses, and the boys as a rule quickly become very efficient
helpers in the mission hospitals.</p>
</div>
<div class="figure xd20e2088width" id="p148-2"><img src=
"images/p148-2.jpg" alt="A Ward in the Julfa Hospital" width="585"
height="403">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">A Ward in the Julfa
Hospital</span></p>
<p class="first">This was a corner of the men’s ward in the old
hospital at Julfa. Now a large new hospital has been built in Isphahan
with accommodation for one hundred patients.</p>
</div>
<p>One day Dr. Aganoor and I were both sent for in a great hurry. We
heard that the whole city was in an uproar, that this fanatical mullah
had been poisoned, some said “by order of the Shah,” others
that the governor had asked him to a feast, and as he returned, ere
reaching home, the symptoms had started; others that the women of his
“anderoon” (quarter of the house in which no man but the
husband may enter) had given him “oil of bitter almonds” by
mistake. On approaching the house we found a crowd round the door, and
the house itself packed with disciples and friends of the great
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb148" href="#pb148" name=
"pb148">148</a>]</span>man. We were hurriedly shown into a large hall,
with marble pillars and floor, densely crowded with a mass of human
beings, all engaged in watching the last gasps of the poor mullah, who
was lying on a pile of carpets stretched on the marble floor. We learnt
to our dismay that he had been unconscious for four hours, and
apparently precautions had been taken that the English doctors should
not be called in until that amount of time had elapsed. Before that
intent, silent, fanatical crowd, we did all that could be done to save
the life of the man who had been our bitter enemy, taking turns to
perform artificial respiration, &c., but all in vain, for, as in my
turn I worked the dying man’s arms, he took his last breath, and
I whispered Dr. Aganoor that all was over. It was getting towards
midnight. Julfa was three miles distant, and we were alone in the midst
of that fanatical crowd. Well did my colleague know that once the
intimation was given that the end had come, the scene would baffle
description; the whole city would be roused, and our lives might even
be in danger; knowing these things, he whispered me to go on performing
artificial respiration while he got ready to go. So I went on with my
task, working the dead man’s arms until all was ready for our
instant departure. Then reverently folding his hands on his breast, I
drew over his face the coverlet, as an intimation that all was over. I
never again wish to hear such a yell as then arose from the throats of
that great throng. Doors were flung open, the mob from without rushed
into the room, women poured in belonging to the dead man’s
household, shrieking, wailing, tearing their clothes and hair.
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb149" href="#pb149" name=
"pb149">149</a>]</span>Some of them made a wild rush at us as they
passed, and it really looked a bit serious, for already amidst the
uproar we could detect occasional cries of “The Feringhis have
poisoned him.” To my relief, amidst the excited throng I noticed
the face of my old friend the mujtihed’s nephew, who had been an
in-patient in the hospital, and when he noticed that I had observed
him, he beckoned us to follow him. We obeyed gladly, and he led us away
by a private passage, which finally emerged into a public square a long
distance from the dead man’s house. There our good Samaritan left
us, promising to send us our horses and servants, whom we had left
waiting outside the patient’s house. As we waited for them to
come, we could hear the sound of cries from all parts of the city,
followed by wailing of women, and the scurrying of many feet, as all
flocked to the quarter where the holy man’s body lay. At last our
servants and animals arrived, and we made haste to escape, reaching
home after midnight, thankful to God for preserving us from what might
have proved a very dangerous position. Next day we heard that the whole
city had gone into mourning; all the bazaars were shut, and the shops
draped with black, and this mourning was kept up five whole days.
Rumours were persistently circulated that the English doctors had
poisoned the mullah, but no one really believed it, and I was able to
attend the city dispensary as usual, even during the funeral
ceremonies, and patients rather increased than diminished, some of the
dead man’s relatives even coming for treatment.</p>
<p>So ended priestly opposition; the chief mujtihed himself was
frightened at the mode of his brother’s <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb150" href="#pb150" name=
"pb150">150</a>]</span>death, and kept very quiet, for fear, perhaps,
that a similar accident might happen to him. His surviving brother and
relatives were now quite friendly, and a few years later Dr. Carr was
able to obtain ground and build an excellent hospital in Isphahan
itself, welcomed alike by officials and priests. There is also an
excellent Women’s Hospital (C.M.S.), in charge of Dr. Emmeline
Stuart, who has for many years given her life to work amongst Moslem
women, and whose name is held dear by many a poor Persian village
woman, who has found relief and loving care at her hands, and those of
her staff. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb151" href="#pb151" name=
"pb151">151</a>]</span></p>
</div>
<div class="footnotes">
<hr class="fnsep">
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" id=
"xd20e1994" href="#xd20e1994src" name="xd20e1994">1</a></span> By Dr.
A. Hume-Griffith.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch13" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter XIII</h2>
<h2 class="main">Pioneer Medical Mission Work in Kerman<a class=
"noteref" id="xd20e2111src" href="#xd20e2111" name=
"xd20e2111src">1</a></h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Pioneer Medical Mission work in Kerman—Waiting
for drugs and instruments—Native assistant proves a broken
reed—First operation in Kerman—An anxious
moment—Success—Doctrine of “savab” convenient
to the Moslem—Fanaticism tempered with prudence—Opium
slaves—Persian therapeutics—Persian quacks and their
methods—Sure way of curing cancer—Hysteria.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Charms for lovers, charms to break,</p>
<p class="line xd20e1099">Charms to bind them to you wholly,</p>
<p class="line">Medicines fit for every ache,</p>
<p class="line xd20e1099">Fever and fanciful melancholy.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">R. Bridges.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">We had been appointed to open a Medical Mission in
this city, and as soon as our temporary residence in Isphahan was
finished, proceeded to our original destination. We arrived at Kerman
early in 1901, and received a hearty welcome from the only other
European there—the Rev. A. R. Blackett, also of the Church
Missionary Society. Two houses were secured, both outside the city
wall; in one we took up our residence, while the other was made into a
dispensary, and small temporary hospital. Unfortunately we arrived
before our supply of drugs and surgical instruments, so we had to do
our best with the very small stock of medicines borrowed from our
stations in Isphahan and Yezd. However, patients began to come in large
numbers, and the out-patient department was soon in full swing.
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb152" href="#pb152" name=
"pb152">152</a>]</span>We had brought with us from Isphahan two
Armenians to act as assistants, one for dispensing, the other (a man
who had been employed in the Mission for many years) to interpret and
help generally in the work. I had hoped much from this last-named
assistant, and had relied upon him greatly for advice and help, as he
had been in Kerman before, and knew the people; but I soon found him a
“broken reed.” He was married and had a large family, which
he had been obliged to leave behind in Isphahan, and very soon he began
to show signs of home-sickness. Then he commenced to imagine himself
ill, and developed symptoms of different ailments. In the first place
he one day came to me with a woeful face, and besought me to carefully
examine his chest, for he was convinced he was developing phthisis.
After being reassured on this point, he became absolutely sure that he
had heart disease; next his kidneys troubled him, and so on, until he
became a confirmed hypochondriac, and completely useless for work. One
day I remember his coming to me imploring that I would inject morphia
to relieve him of the intense pain from which he was suffering. I
gravely took the hypodermic syringe, and carefully injected distilled
water, and the pain disappeared with lightning rapidity!</p>
<p>However, I had to send him home, and I believe that, once safely
reunited to his family, he at once lost all his symptoms, and was able
to resume his old work at the hospital.</p>
<p>In the meanwhile my surgical patients were clamouring for
operations, more especially those <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb153"
href="#pb153" name="pb153">153</a>]</span>afflicted with cataract. I
had opened another dispensary in the city itself, and many poor blind
people had come for treatment. It went to one’s heart to have to
send them away day after day with the same disheartening story.
“The instruments have not yet come; until they arrive, nothing
can be done.” I fear that many commenced to think that the
English doctor was a fraud, and that his excuses concerning the
instruments resembled those framed by their own “hakims” to
hide their own ignorance. At last the boxes actually arrived. They had
to be brought by caravan from Bushire (the port in the Persian Gulf) to
Kerman, <i>viâ</i> Shiraz and Yezd, a distance of some eight
hundred miles, taking a couple of months.</p>
<p>We admitted our first in-patient, a well-known merchant in the city,
who had been blind for three years with cataract. The Persian surgeons
also operate for this disease, using the old Eastern operation known as
“couching.” An incision is made into the white of the
eyeball (without any anæsthetic), then a thick, blunt probe is
worked into the interior of the eye, directed so as to dislocate the
lens. If successful, the lens drops back into the posterior chamber of
the eye, and the patient “sees,” but alas, the vision
obtained is, in ninety-eight cases out of a hundred, only temporary!
Twenty-four hours later, inflammation of the eye supervenes, and the
sight is gone, and the eye lost. Needless to say, the operator obtains
his fee either before the operation is done, or during the few hours
that his patient is rejoicing in his newly found vision; then if he is
wise he disappears from the town, and <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb154" href="#pb154" name="pb154">154</a>]</span>resumes his practice
elsewhere. However, during eight years’ practice in the East, and
having had the opportunity of examining thousands of eyes, I can
remember <i>two</i> cases only where this operation had been done and
there had been no subsequent inflammation, but the great majority of
eyes are lost.</p>
<p>Well, we had our first Kerman cataract patient, and it seemed to us
as though the whole future of the little pioneer Medical Mission
depended upon the success or failure of that operation.</p>
<p>The day fixed for the operation arrived: a Persian doctor practising
in the city had requested leave to be present, no doubt on behalf of
the many friends of the patient, to report particulars and see fair
play. The patient was brought in, looking exceedingly nervous. After a
short prayer (a practice almost invariably adopted in medical
missionary hospitals, and much appreciated by the patient, even though
he be a fanatical Moslem), the operation was started. I am afraid we
were all unduly nervous, the possible consequences for good or ill to
the Mission assuming undue proportions. At any rate everything went
wrong; the cocaine (used as the anæsthetic) would not work, the
old man <i>could</i> not keep his eye still, and <i>would</i> look up
when he was told to look down. I was only able to complete the
incision, and that with the greatest difficulty; and fearing to proceed
further, the patient getting more and more excited, I had reluctantly
to postpone the operation for a couple of days. We all felt very
depressed, except, perhaps, the Persian “hakim,” who
doubtless greatly relished the failure of the English doctor. However,
two days later we tried again, the Persian hakim <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb155" href="#pb155" name="pb155">155</a>]</span>once
more being amongst the spectators. Much prayer had been offered up that
<i>this</i> time there might be no hitch. Everything at first went
well; the patient lay quite quietly, moved his eye exactly as he was
told, the cocaine proved satisfactory, the incision was remade, and
other preliminary steps in the operation disposed of: then came the
hitch. In the European method of operating for cataract, the opaque
lens is extruded from the eye by gentle pressure, through the incision
first made. Well, when the time came for the lens to be extruded, it
would not budge! I tried all possible means of extraction without
success (afterwards I discovered that adhesions had formed between the
lens and the curtain of the eye, as a result of the first operation).
The perspiration ran down my face, as I realised what this second
failure meant, not so much for my own reputation, but the hindrance it
would prove to the success of the work I loved. I glanced at my wife:
she was looking very anxious. I looked at my assistants: their faces
were pictures of dismay. They had seen me before in Isphahan do many a
cataract, and could not imagine what had gone wrong. The Persian doctor
looked particularly happy: he smiled as he politely expressed his
sorrow that I was experiencing any difficulty in bringing the operation
to a successful issue. It certainly was an awkward fix—perhaps
the most awkward that I have ever been in; but as I lifted up my heart
in silent prayer to God, asking for guidance, the thought flashed into
my mind, “The man has both eyes blind: you have failed with the
one; do the other at once, and it <i>will</i> prove successful.”
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb156" href="#pb156" name=
"pb156">156</a>]</span></p>
<p>Gently covering the eye that had proved a failure, I explained
matters to the patient, obtained his permission, thoroughly cleansed
his other eye, and proceeded to operate, meeting with no difficulty and
easily extracting the lens, to the palpable disappointment of my
Persian medical friend, and was overjoyed to find that the patient old
man had obtained exceedingly good vision. After a week the patient went
back to his friends, seeing well, and full of gratitude for all the
kindness and care he had received. I saw him some months later, and
inquired whether he cared to let me have another try at the eye that
had proved unsuccessful; but he refused, saying he was an old man, and
had obtained good sight with the one, and did not need to see with the
other. Of course the result of this first operation had been anxiously
awaited by many, and since it proved successful, we soon had our little
temporary hospital full, and had no further trouble in getting
in-patients. I have described this case rather fully, avoiding
technical terms as far as possible, as it illustrates fairly well the
difficulties and responsibilities met with and tackled by pioneer
workers, be they missionary or official.</p>
<p>The Persians (especially the Kermanis) have a great idea of doing
“savabs” (good works), hoping to reap their reward
hereafter. This is common to the West as well as the East; but the
Kermanis in addition hold a convenient doctrine, namely, the
appropriation of the savabs of infidels for themselves! At least one of
the chief mullahs in Kerman surprised me somewhat by the cordial
reception he accorded me; but later said, “How glad he was that I
had <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb157" href="#pb157" name=
"pb157">157</a>]</span>come to Kerman and was doing such ‘good
works’ amongst the sick and poor, as hereafter God would credit
the true Moslems with all the savabs done by infidels, who of course
could derive no benefit at all from their performance.”</p>
<p>As Kerman is a city proverbial amongst the Persians for its great
wickedness, I could understand the old mullah’s satisfaction, as
doubtless he felt that many of their savab accounts were rather low and
needed a trifle of “credit,” which might with advantage be
obtained from the savabs of an infidel doctor!</p>
<p>Once yearly the Persians celebrate the death of the martyrs Hassain
and Hussein, as has already been described in a previous chapter. We
had a good opportunity of witnessing this Persian Passion Play while in
Kerman. The sword-dancers, clad in white garments, work themselves up
into a frenzy, gashing their heads with the swords and sometimes
inflicting severe wounds. A true believer is supposed to have his
self-inflicted wounds healed spontaneously through the agency of
Hazrati Ali (grandson of the prophet Mohammed); but I was a little
amused by the appearance of several of these devotees at my out-patient
clinique some days previous to the “celebration,” all of
them begging for a little English ointment to keep by them for use in
case miraculous healing should be delayed.</p>
<p>As has been already mentioned, the curse of Kerman is opium;
everybody smokes or eats it—generally the former. The native
doctors are partly responsible, as they recommend the drug as a
“cure-all”; but even the cultured Kermani smokes opium,
possibly to relieve the monotony of his life! <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb158" href="#pb158" name=
"pb158">158</a>]</span>Cases of poisoning repeatedly occur, and some of
these we were called upon to treat. Our dispensary had a small garden
attached to it, and when the Mission had gained the confidence of the
people it was no uncommon sight to see several opium patients being
treated at the same time in this garden. The treatment used, though
somewhat vigorous, proved very effective. A man would arrive at the
dispensary, escorted by an excited throng of relatives. On inquiry we
would find that he had taken a big dose of opium to end his life:
afterwards repenting, he had confessed to his relatives, and they had
at once brought him to the English doctor. The treatment began with the
administration of a strong emetic followed by repeated doses of strong
coffee; then he would be handed over to the care of an attendant, with
instructions to walk him round and round the garden and prevent his
going to sleep. The native assistants and the patient’s friends,
armed with sticks, carried out these instructions, and at the first
signs of languor exhibited by the unfortunate man he would be beaten
and kept effectually awake!</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2184width" id="p158-1"><img src=
"images/p158-1.jpg" alt="Opium-Making" width="404" height="584">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">Opium-Making</span></p>
<p class="first">An enormous quantity of opium is grown and exported
from Persia every year. The juice is extracted from the poppy head by
scratching it with a small iron instrument, and as it oozes out it is
gathered, and when dry rolled into cakes ready either for use in the
country or for export.</p>
</div>
<div class="figure xd20e2191width" id="p158-2"><img src=
"images/p158-2.jpg" alt="The Rich Beggar" width="403" height="585">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">The Rich Beggar</span></p>
<p class="first">This old man is said to be very rich. By day be dons
his rags and goes forth on his lucrative profession of begging; at
sunset he returns to his home and, exchanging his rags for more
respectable garments, spends his earnings in luxury and feasting.</p>
</div>
<p>One day I was summoned in haste to the house of an influential
Kermani; his only son, a child of two years, had been poisoned with
opium. It is a common practice in Kerman for mothers to keep their
babies from crying by giving them a little opium to suck. This
boy’s mother had given him a big lump by mistake, and grew
alarmed when she found that all her attempts to wake him were
ineffectual! On arriving at the house with my assistant, we had
considerable difficulty in making our way into the courtyard, as it was
thronged with all the relatives <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb159"
href="#pb159" name="pb159">159</a>]</span>and friends; the neighbouring
houses were crowded, a great multitude thronging the flat roofs, which
commanded a good view of the courtyard belonging to the patient’s
father. On examining my little patient I found him nearly dead,
exhibiting all the symptoms of an overdose of opium. However, for over
an hour we worked away, washing out the child’s stomach,
injecting strong coffee, &c., all in the open air before the
excited multitude, and gradually the little patient showed signs of
recovery. When he had come completely round and was crying vigorously,
there was great rejoicing. Thinking the opportunity too good a one to
be lost, I asked my assistant to tell the father that God had heard
prayer and restored him his child, and that we would now like him to
join with us and thank God for answering our prayers, if he would tell
the crowd what we intended doing. Although the father was a mullah, and
had the reputation of being very fanatical in his hatred of Christians,
he at once consented to our proposition, announcing to the crowd our
intention. During the short thanksgiving prayer every head was bowed
and not a sound of protest heard, while Christian and Moslem alike
returned thanks to the great God who had heard and answered prayer.
Medical Missions had once again won a triumph over Moslem fanaticism,
and the scowls and threatening looks which had greeted our arrival were
replaced by cordial thanks and vehement expressions of gratitude!</p>
<p>Persian therapeutics are very simple, dating back to the time of
Hippocrates. All diseases are divided into two classes—hot and
cold—to be treated <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb160" href=
"#pb160" name="pb160">160</a>]</span>accordingly with hot or cold
remedies. All foods are similarly classified. With this knowledge, plus
a few Persian medical books and an appropriate turban, the native quack
sets up as a doctor. His impudence and native wit are inexhaustible; he
will cheer his patients with extracts from Hafiz or Ferdosi (the great
Persian poets), talk learnedly of vapours, and have a specific for
every mortal ailment. The quack physician is amusing, and probably
confines himself to fairly harmless compounds; but the Persian surgeon
is a man to be avoided at all costs. Of course, I am only here speaking
of quacks; in Teheran there is a good medical school, and many of the
graduates from that school proceed to Paris or Berlin, and return fully
qualified to exercise their profession; but they also have to compete
with these native quacks.</p>
<p>I remember one case of a poor man brought to the dispensary with a
big swelling on the left knee, which prevented his straightening the
leg. Careful examination convinced me that the case was one of
malignant cancer of the thigh bone, and that nothing could be done but
amputation. This was explained to the patient and his father, who
indignantly rejected the proposed operation. I lost sight of the man,
but some weeks later one of my assistants asked me if I remembered the
case; on my replying in the affirmative, he informed me that the
patient had since died. It seems after leaving the dispensary the
father had taken his son (a young man twenty years old) to a native
surgeon (who combined the exercise of his profession most appropriately
with the trade of a butcher) and asked his advice, saying the English
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb161" href="#pb161" name=
"pb161">161</a>]</span>doctor had advised amputation of the leg; but he
had refused, as the swelling caused little pain, and all his son wanted
was to be able to straighten his leg so that he might once again walk.
“Oh,” replied the butcher, “that’s easily done;
that English doctor knows nothing; I will cure him.” So he got
the father and other men to hold the unfortunate youth firmly and some
other helper to seize the leg; then seizing a huge slab of stone in
both his hands, he brought it down with all his force on the bent knee.
The leg was straightened ... and needless to add, the poor patient only
survived a few days.</p>
<p>My wife has written quite sufficient about the Persian women to
enable her readers to appreciate the monotony of their lives behind the
veil. This is more especially true of the upper classes, who have no
need to work for their living. In Kerman the usual result is that many
of these poor women suffer from hysteria. I have often been called in
to treat some of these patients, and have found them develop almost all
the varying types of that curious disease; but one of the most
interesting cases I ever remember occurred in Kerman.</p>
<p>I had been treating the unmarried daughter of one of the wealthiest
men in the city, and had prescribed for her some simple bismuth
mixture, as she had complained of indigestion. Two days later her
brother came galloping his horse to the dispensary, and demanded to see
me immediately. He was greatly excited, and said that his sister had
been taking the medicine I had prescribed for her and had suddenly gone
blind. This was in the early days of the Medical Mission, and I was
especially anxious to <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb162" href=
"#pb162" name="pb162">162</a>]</span>win the confidence of the people,
so did not at all appreciate this complication. I assured the brother
that I would return with him at once, and informed him that the
medicine could not possibly have caused the blindness; but he was not
at all appeased. Upon reaching the house I found all the family
distracted with grief, and not at all inclined to be cordial. Moreover,
they had called in a native eye-doctor, who had gravely announced that
the blindness was most certainly due to the patient having taken the
infidel’s medicine! In order to reassure the parents I bade them
bring the bottle of medicine, and, finding there were still two or
three doses left, called for a glass, poured out the remainder, and
drank it. This seemed to reassure them partially, so they allowed me to
examine the girl. She was a nervous, highly-strung patient, and I had
expected to find that she had been malingering; but to my surprise,
upon thorough examination I convinced myself that she had really gone
blind. Examination of the interior of the eyes showed no disease, and
upon inquiry, finding that she was the subject of periodical hysterical
attacks, I ventured to predict to the parents that with suitable care
and supervision the girl would regain her sight. They were still
inclined to be sceptical, but ten days later I heard that my prediction
had come true and that she was quite cured. Similar cases of hysterical
loss of vision are on record, but are exceedingly rare.</p>
<p>Barely had we managed to get the little Medical Mission well started
when circumstances connected with my wife’s health arose that
forced us to leave at a moment’s notice the people we had learnt
to love. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb163" href="#pb163" name=
"pb163">163</a>]</span>Fortunately the work was not given up; another
doctor succeeded me, and now there is a flourishing Medical Mission
with two hospitals, one for men and the other for women patients, with
a lady doctor and nurse; while the influence exerted by that Mission is
felt throughout the whole of the great Kerman province, which stretches
eastwards to the border of Beloochistan, and is bounded on the south by
the Persian Gulf. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb164" href="#pb164"
name="pb164">164</a>]</span></p>
</div>
<div class="footnotes">
<hr class="fnsep">
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" id=
"xd20e2111" href="#xd20e2111src" name="xd20e2111">1</a></span> By Dr.
A. Hume-Griffith.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch14" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter XIV</h2>
<h2 class="main">Medical Mission Work in Yezd<a class="noteref" id=
"xd20e2226src" href="#xd20e2226" name="xd20e2226src">1</a></h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">A hospital—A friendly governor—A
suspicious case—Superstition—The opium habit—A case
of cataract—We return to England.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“By medicine life may be prolonged....</p>
<p class="line">With the help of a surgeon he may yet
recover.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Shakespeare.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">The last of our three years’ sojourn in Persia
was spent in Yezd. Here there was already a small Mission Hospital, all
the pioneer work having been done by Dr. White of the C.M.S. A wealthy
Parsee merchant had presented the site for a hospital in the form of an
old caravanserai (an Eastern inn). This had been gutted and made into a
nice little hospital, with an out-patient department. Dr. White being
on furlough, the doctor taking his place in Yezd exchanged with me, as
it was hoped that my wife would be able better to stand the lower
altitude of Yezd than the heights of Kerman. Yezd is an island city in
a sea of sand. The waves, driven by the winds, surge against the city
walls and threaten to engulf the whole place. At some parts of the
wall, the drifted sand reaches almost to the level of the wall
itself.</p>
<p>The Governor of Yezd during the time we lived there was H.R.H.
Jalal-el-Dowleh, the eldest son of the Prince-Governor of <span class=
"corr" id="xd20e2244" title="Source: Ispahan">Isphahan</span> (the
Zil-es-Sultan). <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb165" href="#pb165"
name="pb165">165</a>]</span>The Jalal-el-Dowleh had the reputation,
like his father, of being a strong man, and ruled with a firm hand. He
had already proved a good friend to the Mission, and was accustomed to
pay a state visit once yearly to the hospital, where, after being
entertained at the doctor’s house, he would proceed to make a
very thorough tour of inspection, and before leaving would hand the
English doctor a sealed envelope containing the munificent sum of
£40 as a donation. During our stay in Yezd we saw a good deal of
the governor, and I had to add to my duties those of court
physician.</p>
<p>In Yezd, as in other Persian cities, there are many quacks, who not
unnaturally resent the presence of a European doctor. I had not been
long in the city before I made the acquaintance of some of these
gentry, in a somewhat dramatic manner.</p>
<p>Early one morning I was hurriedly called to the house of the chief
native doctor, as his brother had been taken seriously ill.</p>
<p>On entering the patient’s room, I found it crowded with his
friends, the patient himself lying upon a mattress placed on the
ground. One glance at the patient sufficed: he was dead, and had
apparently been so for some hours. When I announced the fact to the
brother, he became very angry, and assured me that I was mistaken. He
begged me to pour some medicine down the man’s throat, or to do
something to rouse him, as he had only fainted!</p>
<p>Upon further inquiry, I found that he had been poorly for some days,
and his brother had been treating him. My suspicions were aroused, as
the brother and his friends crowded round me, imploring that
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb166" href="#pb166" name=
"pb166">166</a>]</span>English medicines should be tried, and after
further careful examination only served to confirm my first opinion, I
refused absolutely to comply with their entreaties, and left the house
with my assistant. The brother and some of his friends pursued us,
offering large fees if only we would give some medicine, absolutely
refusing to accept my verdict. It is a necessary custom in Persia and
the East generally, to bury a dead body within a few hours of death,
but we heard that the brother refused to allow this corpse to be buried
for three whole days, alleging that the English doctor was mistaken:
however, in the end they were obliged to bury him. The native doctor
was strongly suspected of having poisoned his brother, and this
doubtless accounted for the urgent manner in which he begged me to pour
something down the dead man’s throat, so that he could accuse me
of being responsible for his death.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2259width" id="p166-1"><img src=
"images/p166-1.jpg" alt="Types of Persian Jews" width="586" height=
"402">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">Types of Persian Jews</span></p>
<p class="first">The Chief Rabbi at Yezd (sitting in the centre). This
photo was taken in the author’s garden at Yezd.</p>
</div>
<div class="figure xd20e2266width" id="p166-2"><img src=
"images/p166-2.jpg" alt="The Water Square" width="587" height="404">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">The Water Square</span></p>
<p class="first">The “Maidawi ob,” or water square, is a
favourite gathering-place of the inhabitants. They love to linger round
the edges of the water, drinking their coffee, striking bargains, and
exchanging news. The water is none too clean, nor the odour too sweet
which greets the senses as we ride by.</p>
</div>
<p>All Persians are superstitious, and are great believers in goblins
and ‘jinns.’ One day a young man was brought to me
suffering from an acute attack of chorea (St. Vitus’ dance). He
was well educated, and had been employed as a clerk in a
merchant’s office: now he was unable to hold a pen in his hand,
and exhibited all the symptoms of the disease in a very marked degree.
He was promptly admitted to hospital, and discharged cured in a few
weeks. According to his own statement the cause of the attack was as
follows. He had gone for a walk in the desert outside the city after
his day’s work was over, and had wandered on further than usual.
Suddenly he came across an old well, and round the well were numbers of
hideous dwarf-like goblins pelting <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb167"
href="#pb167" name="pb167">167</a>]</span>each other with stones. When
they saw him they crowded round laughing, jeering, pulling his clothes,
and then began to pelt him with stones. He turned and fled, running the
whole way back to the city, and to this shock he attributed the
commencement of his symptoms.</p>
<p>In my last chapter I referred to the prevalence of the opium habit
in Kerman, but we found many addicted to it also in Yezd. So much was
this the case, that I started admitting some of those who expressed a
desire to give up the habit into the hospital, submitting them to a
special treatment, with very good results. It was a curious sight to
see these patients grouped together in the ward, smoking their
carefully weighed out amount of opium, which was gradually reduced day
by day, until they could go without altogether.</p>
<p>The opium habit is in truth a curse, but upon one occasion I really
believe it greatly helped to save a man’s life. It happened in
this way. A well-known merchant in Yezd was found in his house
apparently sleeping. His women-folk, unable to rouse him, became
alarmed, and sent for me. I found the patient unconscious, exhibiting
every symptom of belladonna poisoning. An excited crowd, as usual,
collected, watching us as we tried every possible means of saving the
poor fellow’s life. Strychnine and morphia had been injected,
cold water poured on his face, all without avail: there was no sign of
returning consciousness. A happy thought struck me. Turning to some of
the men in the crowd, I asked whether they were opium-smokers. Three or
four somewhat shamefacedly acknowledged that they did a little, so I
ordered them to bring a pipe and a little of the <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb168" href="#pb168" name=
"pb168">168</a>]</span>drug. Then I made them sit round the
patient’s body, take the pipe in turn, and as they smoked, puff
out the smoke into the patient’s face, occasionally blowing it
into his nostrils, and down his throat. I confess that I had but little
hope of any good result, but what was my delight and surprise, after
about a quarter of an hour’s perseverance in the treatment, to
see unmistakable signs of recovery in the patient’s face. His
widely dilated pupils began to contract, and soon he returned to
consciousness and was able to sit up. On the following day I found him
quite well, and thoroughly enjoying the sensation that his marvellous
recovery had made in the city. Hundreds of people had been to see him,
and I am a little afraid that the value of the opium as a
“cure-all” was not diminished by the incident!</p>
<p>We had quite a number of cataract patients in the hospital, many
coming several days’ journey for operation. A small hospital for
women had been started, and a lady doctor had been sent to take charge.
The first case admitted was an old lady with cataract. When the day
arrived for the operation, everything went well at first, but in the
middle of the operation the patient started up screaming. She said she
had seen a snake, and she thought it was going to bite her. Her vision
cost her dearly, the operation necessarily being spoilt, and the eye
lost, but unfortunately it also kept away other patients suffering from
the same disease, but only for a short time, the lady doctor soon
winning their confidence, and finding more work on her hands than she
could comfortably get through.</p>
<p>After a very happy year in Yezd, my wife’s health <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb169" href="#pb169" name=
"pb169">169</a>]</span>still remaining unsatisfactory, we were obliged
to leave Persia, and return to England for a short rest. Both of us
were grieved at having to leave a country and people that we had learnt
to love, and amongst whom we had hoped to spend our lives.</p>
<p>Medical Missions in Persia have already worked wonders, breaking
down opposition, winning friends even amongst the most fanatical. Here
is not the place to speak of results, neither would it be wise to do
so, but I would like once for all definitely and decisively to
repudiate the oft-quoted statement, often made, unfortunately, by
Christians who should be better informed, “that it is impossible
for a Mohammedan to become a Christian.” With God <i>all</i>
things are possible! <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb171" href="#pb171"
name="pb171">171</a>]</span></p>
</div>
<div class="footnotes">
<hr class="fnsep">
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" id=
"xd20e2226" href="#xd20e2226src" name="xd20e2226">1</a></span> By Dr.
A. Hume-Griffith.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div0 part">
<h2 class="main">Part II</h2>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb173" href="#pb173" name=
"pb173">173</a>]</span>
<div id="ch2.1" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter I</h2>
<h2 class="main">The City of Nineveh</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">The city of Nineveh—The fast of Jonah—The
bridge of boats—Traditions as to ancient history of
Mosul—Alkosh, birthplace of Nahum the
prophet—Shurgât—Climate of Mosul—Cultivation
and industries—Importance of Mosul.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“A ruin, yet what ruin! from its mass</p>
<p class="line">Walls, palaces, half cities have been reared.</p>
<p class="line">Heroes have trod this spot—’tis on their
dust ye tread.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Byron.</span></p>
<p>“Nineveh, an exceeding great city of three days’
journey.”</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">The ancient city of Nineveh, the former capital of the
Assyrian Empire, is situated on the eastern bank of the river Tigris.
Little is to be seen to-day of the once famous city but huge mounds of
earth which cover the site of this historical and interesting place.
There are two principal mounds, separated from each other by a small
rivulet. The larger of these is called Kouyunjik, the smaller Nabbi
Eunice. The former contains the ruins of the palace of Sennacherib,
before whom Jonah stood and delivered his message; but nothing now
remains to tell of its former glory and wealth. When we first visited
the spot over three years ago, there was one huge man-headed lion
remaining, and a few pieces of sculpture representing fish swimming in
water, &c. But now even these have disappeared, for about eighteen
months ago the Turkish Government <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb174"
href="#pb174" name="pb174">174</a>]</span>sold <i>all</i> the visible
remains of Nineveh for the enormous sum of two Turkish liras (36s.)!
the buyer grinding everything to powder, including the huge statue, for
purposes of building!</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2329width" id="p174"><img src="images/p174.jpg"
alt="Our Home in Nineveh" width="720" height="483">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">Our Home in Nineveh</span></p>
<p class="first">The houses of Mosul generally consist of two
compounds. The inner one is used as the “hareem” or
women’s quarters, while the outer one is the men’s
reception rooms, stables, etc. The above picture shows the
“hareem.” The pillars are made of marble, which abounds in
the neighbourhood of Mosul.</p>
</div>
<p>Nineveh is best seen to-day at the British Museum or the Louvre,
Paris, as both of these places contain many interesting and valuable
remains of that city. Nineveh was closed to excavators about four years
ago, but it is hoped that investigations will be renewed again in the
near future, as there still remain thirteen rooms of the palace to be
examined.</p>
<p>The other and smaller mound, known as Nabbi Eunice (Prophet Jonah),
was once the site of a church named after the prophet, on account of
the tradition that he preached upon that spot. The church stands to
this day, but is used as a mosque, as it now belongs to the Moslems,
who venerate the place as being the tomb of the prophet.</p>
<p>They accept the whole story of Jonah’s mission to Nineveh and
the adventures he encountered <i>en route</i>, as we have it recorded
in Holy Scripture. It is an interesting fact, too, that year by year
the inhabitants of Mosul, Christians and Moslems alike, keep in
remembrance the three days of fasting and repentance mentioned in the
Book of Jonah. The fast is still kept for three days, by some very
strictly, while others keep it from sunset to sunset, only eating once
a day. Every one may please herself as to the severity of her fasting,
but almost all join in the remembrance of those three memorable days in
the history of Nineveh. “Herself” is used advisedly, as it
is especially kept by women who are seeking some particular gift from
God, and they will often fast <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb175"
href="#pb175" name="pb175">175</a>]</span>absolutely for the three
days, not even allowing a drop of water to touch their lips. They hope
by so doing that God will hear their prayers, even as He answered the
petitions of the Ninevites of old. The memory of Jonah is perpetuated,
too, in Mosul by parents naming their boys after the prophet, Eunice
being quite a favourite name amongst Christians, Moslems, and Jews.</p>
<p>The tomb of Jonah is guarded very zealously by the Mohammedans
against the Christians, and it is very difficult for the latter to gain
admission to the interior of the building. A friend staying with us in
Mosul was very anxious to see the tomb, so we rode over to Nabbi Eunice
one day, but the mullah in charge politely but firmly refused us
permission to enter beyond the portal!</p>
<p>Kouyunjik is now a favourite place for picnics from Mosul, and in
the early spring a day spent amongst the old ruins of Nineveh is very
delightful. It is too hot in summer, as there is no shade. From the top
of the mounds we have a beautiful view of Mosul, with the Tigris in the
foreground and the mountains stretching away on either side. It is not
considered safe for any one to wander about alone on the mounds; the
natives will never go there alone after dusk. Some years ago two
Europeans who were passing through Mosul visited Nineveh by themselves.
As they were rambling over the old remains, one said to his companion,
“I am going round there,” indicating a projecting piece of
marble. His companion waited and waited, and as his friend did not
return went in search of him, but not a sign of him could be seen.
After <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb176" href="#pb176" name=
"pb176">176</a>]</span>seeking in every possible place without success,
he returned to Mosul to institute a search party, but all efforts
proved fruitless, and to this day nothing has been discovered as to the
fate of this man. Whether he fell down some disused shaft or was
carried off by Arabs is not known, and probably will always remain a
mystery.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2353width" id="p176"><img src="images/p176.jpg"
alt="A Bridge of Boats" width="720" height="483">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">A Bridge of Boats</span></p>
<p class="first">This bridge over the Tigris connects Nineveh with
Mosul. When the rush of water is very great the bridge swings open, and
is sometimes only closed with great difficulty. In the right-hand
corner of the background may be seen the village of “Nabbi
Eunice,” where the prophet Jonah is said to be buried.</p>
</div>
<p>Mosul is connected with Nineveh by an old bridge of boats, which
probably existed in the days of Jonah. There are twenty-one or
twenty-two of these old-fashioned flat-bottomed boats, fastened
together by heavy chains, a platform of wood being laid from boat to
boat and the whole covered with earth. This part of the bridge is
movable, and is connected at one end with the mainland by a permanent
stone bridge consisting of thirty-three arches. In the spring, when the
rush of water is very strong consequent upon the snow melting in the
mountains, it is loosened at one end and allowed to swing with the
current. Sometimes, however, the river rises suddenly, carrying the
bridge away and playing havoc with the banks. When this takes place it
is very difficult to replace the bridge. Often for weeks together the
bridge is not open, and all traffic across the river has to be conveyed
by boats, the owner of the ferries reaping a golden harvest. The toll
of the bridge is taken by a man who rents it from the Government. He is
said to be one of the richest men in Mosul. Foot passengers are allowed
to pass freely, but all four-footed beasts have a small charge levied
on them ranging from a halfpenny to twopence, and carriages are charged
half a mejideh (1s. 8d.). As some thousands of camels, mules,
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb177" href="#pb177" name=
"pb177">177</a>]</span>and donkeys are continually passing to and fro,
it is no wonder that the toll-collector is a rich man.</p>
<p>I am not at all fond of riding across this bridge; it is not very
wide, and camels jostle you on one side with their huge burdens,
donkeys and mules vie with each other in trying to pass on the other,
quite oblivious of the fact that there is no room; while underneath the
river rushes madly on. Altogether, I always heave a sigh of relief when
the opposite bank is safely reached.</p>
<p>There are many traditions as to the probable origin of Mosul, but
its true early history is involved in obscurity. The following has been
gleaned from some of the many traditions circulated amongst its
inhabitants.</p>
<p>Mosul is said to have been built some four thousand years ago, and
was then a small village consisting of a few houses built of mud. This
village was believed to be the fourth village built after the Flood.
About four days’ journey from Mosul there is a mountain called
Judy, on which the ark is supposed to have rested after the Flood. The
natives living near this mountain say it <i>must</i> be Mount Ararat,
because close by grows the only olive tree for miles around! and also
they have in their possession enormous wooden nails <i>said</i> to have
been used in the construction of the ark! These nails were found on the
mountain many years ago. At the foot of this mountain lies a village
which claims to have the honour of being the <i>first</i> built after
the Flood. Quite near by is another small town called Jezirah, which is
said to have been the second village to spring into existence, while
some village in Egypt takes the third place, and Mosul the <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb178" href="#pb178" name=
"pb178">178</a>]</span>fourth! If these traditions are to be trusted,
then Mosul has indeed a right to be termed ancient.</p>
<p>Some 1260 years ago Omar el Khattab the Calipha conquered Jerusalem
and Damascus, and then turned his attention to Mosul. He sent down one
of his chiefs named Eyath, son of Ghoonum, to besiege Mosul, with
orders to convert the city to Mohammedanism at all costs, if necessary
at the point of the sword. Many of the inhabitants at that time were
Parsees, belonging to the old fire-worshipping religion; others were
called “Charamika,” but no trace of their belief has been
found. These and many others were converted to Mohammedanism by the
strong argument of the sword.</p>
<p>In the twelfth century Mosul had a sovereignty of its own, a brother
of the Sultan of Damascus then reigning over this province. In 1180 it
withstood the armies of the famous Saladin, who was a native of a town
some five days’ ride from Mosul. In the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries it suffered defeat from the hands of its enemies, and in 1743
Nadir Shah of Persia bombarded the town for forty days. Since then
Mosul has suffered much from time to time through various
causes—from the cruelties of some of its governors, from a famine
caused by the crops being utterly destroyed by locusts, and also from
the plague which visited it in 1831 and left the town almost a desert.
It is stated that 100,000 people perished at that time from this
terrible scourge.</p>
<p>The walls surrounding Mosul are very old. They were built, in the
first instance, about 2000 years ago by a man named Marvan, one of the
kings of a tribe called “Umayya.” They were repaired 170
years ago <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb179" href="#pb179" name=
"pb179">179</a>]</span>by Hadji Hussein Pasha, one of the Abdul Jaleel
family. They are now in many places fast falling into ruin, and are in
great need of restoration. These walls are pierced by about twelve
gates, which are shut at sunset or soon after.</p>
<p>About five hours’ journey from Mosul is the little village of
Elkosh, believed by many to have been the birthplace of the prophet
Nahum, and also the scene of his life-work and burial. This village,
now inhabited by Chaldeans, is reverenced by Moslems and Christians
alike, but more especially is it looked upon as a holy place by the
Jews. There is a synagogue in which is supposed to lie the tomb of the
prophet; to this the Jews flock for the yearly pilgrimage, having done
so from time immemorial.</p>
<p>Kalah Shurgât is another interesting place, situated two
days’ journey from Mosul. It consists of an old Assyrian ruin,
said to be the remains of the ancient city of Asshur. The Germans have
been excavating there for some years, and are doing it very thoroughly.
The whole ground floor of the palace and temple are laid bare, and are
in a wonderful state of preservation. One of the excavators pointed out
to us the “bathroom” of the palace, running through which
was a mono-rail, evidently having been constructed for the purpose of
conveying water from the reservoir to the bath. This tram-line must
have been one of the first ever invented! It was simply a groove cut in
the marble floor, on which probably a one-wheeled trolley ran.</p>
<p>The climate of Mosul is a very variable one, the summers being
excessively hot and the winters cold.</p>
<p>During the hot months all the inhabitants sleep at <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb180" href="#pb180" name=
"pb180">180</a>]</span>night on their roofs, starting about the 1st of
June, and continuing to do so for five months, or till the first rains
come. Many of the houses are provided with “sirdâbs”
or underground rooms, for use during the middle part of the day. The
marble from which most of the houses are built retains the heat of the
sun so long that they do not cool down in the evenings; on account of
this, as the summer wears on, the houses become almost unbearable with
accumulated heat. For this reason we generally try to go away somewhere
for a month’s holiday in August or September. There are no cool
places near Mosul, and to find a suitable summer retreat it is
necessary to go three or four days’ journey. For two years we
only went to a large house about three miles from Mosul, kindly lent us
by a patient of my husband’s. Here the heat was intense during
the day, but the evenings were delightfully cool as a rule, for the
river ran at the foot of the garden.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2400width" id="p180"><img src="images/p180.jpg"
alt="The Bridge of Boats over the frozen Tigris" width="720" height=
"484">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">The Bridge of Boats over the
frozen Tigris</span></p>
<p class="first">Such an occurrence is very unusual. It is 150 years
since the river was frozen over before.</p>
</div>
<p>The winters in Mosul are often very cold. Two years ago the Tigris
was nearly frozen over, and for three days the only water we could
obtain was from melted snow. The cold was so severe that men died as
they sat at their work. While such cold weather lasted it was
impossible to keep the patients in the hospital, as having no stoves in
the wards we were not able to warm them sufficiently. But this was a
record winter, there having been no such frost for one hundred and
fifty years.</p>
<p>Spring and autumn are beautiful seasons in Mosul, especially,
perhaps, the former. During March, April, and part of May the land for
many miles around Mosul is green with waving corn—a refreshing
sight <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb181" href="#pb181" name=
"pb181">181</a>]</span>for weary eyes. When the grass is about a foot
in height, all the inhabitants pitch tents outside the town and spend
their days there. Those who have horses tether them in front of their
tents, and allow them to eat grass to their hearts’ content. A
friend lent us a tent last year, and for a month or six weeks we
enjoyed the luxury of green scenery! Every day some of our congregation
were able to get out, each of us taking our turn at providing afternoon
tea. It was such a relief to get away from the heat of the city walls,
and to enjoy, if only for a short time, the lovely fresh air of the
corn-fields!</p>
<p>The autumn days are very pleasant too, but as a rule this season is
only too short. The summers last till the rains begin, and then almost
at once cold weather sets in. The most trying part of the whole year
comes towards the end of summer, when the clouds “come up.”
It is very marvellous the way the natives can tell, almost to a day,
when to expect the first clouds. They generally last from ten to twelve
days, and the relief is great when they depart. On the whole the
climate of Mosul seems to be a healthy one. At certain times of the
year malarial fever is very prevalent, but,
“alhamd’llillah!” neither of us have ever contracted
it.</p>
<p>The highest degree of heat registered in the coolest part of our
house is 110°, but the average heat of the three hottest months is
about 98° to 105°.</p>
<p>Three to four months of this kind of heat is generally quite
enough!</p>
<p>The land round Mosul is cultivated to a great extent, corn being the
chief product. The success of the crops, however, is entirely dependent
upon the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb182" href="#pb182" name=
"pb182">182</a>]</span>winter and spring rains. Should the rainfall be
great, the harvest is abundant; but if the season is a dry one, then
the result is disastrous. Mr. Layard speaks of one such occasion when,
during the whole of the winter and spring, no rain fell. As a
consequence of this, the crop failed and famine ravaged the land. This
famine is still spoken of in Mosul as something never to be forgotten,
and many events are marked as dating from “the famine.”
Some are not ashamed to own that they made their fortunes during that
awful time, by storing corn and then selling it at famine prices; while
others, who had been prosperous merchants till that year, were then
rendered penniless, and have never been able to retrieve their
fortunes. There are a few rude wheels constructed along the banks of
the Tigris for the purpose of irrigation; but as these are highly taxed
by the local government, they are by no means general. This mode of
raising water is very simple but expensive, as it requires the labour
of several men and at least two animals, either oxen or mules.</p>
<p>Gardens near the town are irrigated in this way, either by drawing
water from the river or from deep wells, but the great stretch of land
sown with corn is dependent for its nourishment on the rainfall.</p>
<p>Cotton is also grown and exported. Melons, cucumbers, and tomatoes
are cultivated very largely, and as the river recedes in the summer,
the moist bed is sown with water-melon seeds, which flourish splendidly
in the damp soil.</p>
<p>Fruit is largely grown in the mountains, and brought down on
donkeys. Apricots are very abundant; cherries, plums, peaches are less
plentiful. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb183" href="#pb183" name=
"pb183">183</a>]</span>The best apples are brought from Damascus; they
<i>look</i> good, but are flavourless. Grapes are very largely
cultivated, and are brought to great perfection. The large black kind
are very delicious; there is also a white grape which has a very sweet
flavour. Vegetables of all kinds are grown in the gardens near Mosul:
beans, peas, spinach, carrots (red), beetroot, onions, artichokes, as
well as many other varieties. Potatoes are brought from Persia, and
sometimes suffer so much from the long journey that they are only fit
to be thrown away when they reach Mosul. Last winter several hundreds
of sacks of potatoes were thrown into the river at Mosul, as they had
been frostbitten on the journey from Persia, and so were useless.</p>
<p>“Manna” is found in the mountains, and is collected and
sent to Mosul, where it is made into a sweetmeat called
“halawwi.”</p>
<p>The industries of Mosul are chiefly spinning and weaving. A very
strong kind of cotton cloth is woven, also calico and woollen goods.
Many years ago this industry was much larger than it is at present, and
in those days Mosul gave its name to muslin, a fabric exported by the
French from that town in the last century. Weaving is done by men,
while the women do the spinning and dyeing of the cotton or wool.
Weaving is a very favourite occupation, as the weaver can do just as
much or as little as he likes, being paid accordingly. For this reason
a man who is inclined to be lazy would much rather be a weaver than a
servant.</p>
<p>Furs are largely exported from Mosul. The skin of the fox is most
common, but there is another fur <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb184"
href="#pb184" name="pb184">184</a>]</span>much resembling the sable
which is highly prized amongst the natives, a coat lined with this fur
costing something like £50. Some years ago furs could be bought
quite cheaply in Mosul, but the merchants finding a good market for
their goods in Europe, the prices soon went up, and now even fox is
becoming expensive.</p>
<p>The industries of Mosul are not what they were, but we trust better
days are coming, when the old prosperity of the town will be renewed
and increased.</p>
<p>The three great questions now under consideration with regard to the
land of Mesopotamia will have great influence on the future of Mosul.
The first is the navigation of the Tigris from Baghdad to Mosul. This,
when an accomplished fact, will make a great difference in the export
and import trade of the city. The Baghdad railway will also greatly
increase the importance of Mosul, for the line running through it will
bring the East in close touch with the near West. Perhaps the most
important subject of all in connection with the future of Mosul is that
of the irrigation of Mesopotamia, which, once accomplished, will turn
the whole of that vast desert into a garden. The means to be employed
for this end are simply the reviving of the old Assyrian method of
irrigation. This method consisted in the digging of canals to intersect
the land between the rivers Tigris and Euphrates. Maps of these same
canals are still to be seen in the British Museum and other places, and
are of great interest. These great canals, made in the prosperous days
of the Assyrian Empire, are now <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb185"
href="#pb185" name="pb185">185</a>]</span>choked up, after having been
in use for many centuries by the inhabitants of the country. Layard, in
his “Discoveries at Nineveh,” says, “Herodotus
describes the extreme fertility of Assyria and its abundant harvests of
corn, the seed producing two and three hundred-fold”; and adds
later, “But in his day the Assyrians depended as much upon
artificial irrigation as upon the winter rains. They were skilful in
constructing machines for raising water, and their system of canals was
as remarkable for its ingenuity as for the knowledge of hydraulics it
displayed.” Since the result of irrigation in those ancient days
was two to three hundred-fold, surely if carried out to-day with the
additional knowledge of modern science and experience the ground would
yield an even larger return. It has been estimated that
£8,000,000 would be sufficient to reopen all the old canals of
Mesopotamia, with the certainty that the land thus irrigated would
yield an abundant profit.</p>
<p>“Ensha’allah,” this much-talked-of scheme will
soon be carried out, and Mesopotamia become once more “a land of
corn and wine, a land of bread and vineyards, a land of olive oil and
of honey.” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb186" href="#pb186"
name="pb186">186</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch2.2" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter II</h2>
<h2 class="main">The People of Mosul</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">
Population—Moslems—Christians—Chaldeans—Nestorians—Jacobites—Arabs—Kurds—Jews—Yezidees—
Recreations—Warfare of the slingers—Hammam Ali—The
recreation ground of Mosul men and women.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line xd20e2463">”... The world is great,</p>
<p class="line">But each has but his own land in the world.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">A. C. Swinburne.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">The population of Mosul has been estimated to be
anything between sixty and eighty thousand people. If the whole
“vilayet” is included the number will be something like a
million and a half. These people are made up of many different
nationalities and tribes, each retaining its own leading
characteristics, whilst many have a language peculiar to
themselves.</p>
<p>The inhabitants of Mosul are chiefly Arabs, of whom by far the
larger part are Mohammedans. These of course form the strong religious
element in the city, as they are the conquerors of the land. This is a
fact, too, which they take care never to lose sight of. In the market,
the mosque, and the street, the Mohammedan is always proclaiming by
look, word, and deed that <i>he</i> is the master. A Christian finds
himself at a great disadvantage in the market, for when buying from a
Moslem he is not allowed to handle the food, and must purchase his
goods to a great extent on trust. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb187"
href="#pb187" name="pb187">187</a>]</span></p>
<p>In all mosques, which once were Christian churches, it is customary
for the mullah to preach with a naked sword in his hand. This is done
in order to remind the people that the Mohammedan religion was
propagated by the sword, and must, if necessary, be retained by the
same means. In the streets the difference is very marked between the
two, the Mohammedan behaving as if the whole place belonged to him,
while the Christians, and more especially the Jews, always appear as if
they were apologising for their very existence.</p>
<p>The Moslems are the rulers, and they make their power felt. An
amusing instance illustrating this feeling occurred a short time ago. A
little Moslem boy was walking through the street on his way to our
house when, apparently without any provocation, a Christian girl began
to revile him as he passed. The boy instantly turned on the girl and
gave her a thrashing. I did not hear anything of this for some days,
and then only in an indirect way. Some one told me that the boy had
received a severe beating from the master of the school which he was
attending, and on asking the reason of the punishment was told the
foregoing story. I am very fond of the boy, he is such a dear, bright
little chap, with great wondering eyes. Upon hearing the history of his
encounter with the girl, I sent for the boy, and tried to tell him how
wrong it was for a man to strike a woman. “But,” said the
boy, quite innocently, “she was a Christian!” Thus early in
life is instilled into the young mind of the Moslem his inherent right
to act the tyrant.</p>
<p>On the other hand, it is a strange truth that <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb188" href="#pb188" name=
"pb188">188</a>]</span>Moslems very often prefer to have Christian
servants in their houses, as they find they are more faithful. In many
hareems the “slaves,” or girls who have been bought for
life, are very often children of Christian parents, who have been
willing for a few pounds to sell their girls. The reverse of this is
also true, that Christian families often find that a Moslem servant is
more trustworthy than one of their own religion. A few months ago I
heard of a little black boy in Mosul, whose mother, a Moslem negress,
was anxious to find him a home. We offered to take the boy and bring
him up, but the mother absolutely refused our offer, as we were
Christians, and she was afraid her boy might become the same, as he was
then only one year old, and had not yet learnt to hate the
Christians!</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2486width" id="p188"><img src="images/p188.jpg"
alt="A Picnic Party" width="720" height="478">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">A <span class="corr" id=
"xd20e2490" title="Source: Pic-nic">Picnic</span> Party</span></p>
<p class="first">The women of Mosul thoroughly enjoy a day spent in the
country. On the day on which this photo was taken about forty Christian
women had come to spend the day with us in a lovely garden, kindly lent
to us for the occasion. Lunch was served in the verandah of the house,
and afterwards games were played till tea-time.</p>
</div>
<p>There are some 15,000 to 20,000 Christians in Mosul, who are said to
date their conversion back to the time of St. Adday, who was a disciple
of St. Thomas; others migrated from Baghdad to Mosul at the time of the
Caliphas. These Christians have remained firm to the religion of their
forefathers in spite of much persecution and many trials. To-day in
Mosul there are many different sects of Christians to be found, viz.
the Chaldean, Syrian, Nestorian, Jacobite, Armenian, and Greek. The
Chaldeans in Mosul now entirely belong to the Romish Church, having
been admitted to that body about a hundred years ago by means of the
Dominican Mission who started work amongst these ancient Christians.
They have their own bishop and archbishop, the Patriarch making Mosul
his headquarters since 1256. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb189" href=
"#pb189" name="pb189">189</a>]</span></p>
<p>The Nestorians are the true Chaldeans, and repudiate the name
Nestorian. They live amongst the mountains, have resisted all efforts
of the Romish Church, and remain true to the faith of their fathers.
They, in common with the other Christians, date their Christianity from
the time of the Apostles as the converts of St. Thomas. They refuse to
accept Nestorius, the Patriarch of Constantinople, as their founder,
saying that he was a Greek, while they were Syrians. They assert that
“he did not even know our language, and so how could he have
propagated his doctrines among us?” and they also declare that
their religion was an established fact long before Nestorius was born.
They have their own Patriarch, who resides near Van, a distance of ten
days from Mosul. They regard the Pope and his followers with feelings
of great hatred, and are said to curse him and his forefathers
regularly every day. In answer to a message from the Pope urging
reconciliation with Rome, the Patriarch sent the following answer:
“I shall never become a Roman Catholic, and should you ever
induce my people to do so, I would sooner become a dervish or a mullah
than degrade myself by an alliance with the Pope.”</p>
<p>The Patriarch of the Nestorians is not allowed to marry; he is also
compelled to be a strict vegetarian. When it is thought advisable to
nominate a successor to the archbishopric, the wife of a near relative
(if possible, a brother) of the then Patriarch is chosen as the
possible mother of the future dignitary. She is set apart as holy till
the birth of her child, her diet meanwhile being strictly <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb190" href="#pb190" name=
"pb190">190</a>]</span>vegetarian. If the child proves to be a boy, he
is solemnly dedicated to God from his birth, and is never allowed to
touch meat or flesh of any kind. Should the child unfortunately be a
girl, the choice has to be made again, and great is the disappointment
of the mother, the honour of being the mother of a Patriarch being much
coveted and prized.</p>
<p>In 1843 these people suffered a terrible massacre at the hands of
the Kurds; 10,000 of them are said to have perished, and after being
hunted from place to place the Patriarch finally fled for refuge to the
English Consulate at Mosul.</p>
<p>The Jacobite section of the Christian Church in Mosul is a small
one, and so far remains firm to its old faith, resisting all attempts
by the Church of Rome to effect a union. It, too, has its own bishop in
Mosul, but the Patriarch resides in Mardin, where he has many thousands
of adherents. He pays periodical visits to his scattered flock in Mosul
and the surrounding country. They trace the origin of their name to one
Jacob Baradæus, a Reformer who arose in the sixth century, and
refusing to follow the lead of the other Syrians in joining the Romish
Church, continued in the old faith, which has since been called by his
name (an alternative name being the Old Syrian Church).</p>
<p>The population of Mosul also consists of Arabs, Kurds, Yezidees, and
Jews.</p>
<p>The Arabs are the original inhabitants of the desert, who date their
descent back to the time of Shem, the son of Noah. They are divided
into many tribes, of which the most important in Mesopotamia
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb191" href="#pb191" name=
"pb191">191</a>]</span>is that of the great Shammar clan, who are to be
found in all parts. There are three classes of Arabs, namely, those who
have settled down in one place and become town Arabs, such as the
inhabitants of Mosul: the wandering tribes of the desert or Bedouins,
who live in tents and whose occupation is sheep farming: a third class
of Arabs are the robbers of the desert, who subsist solely by plunder,
and roam the desert seeking for a livelihood by any means that may come
to their hand. The wandering tribes find it very hard to settle down to
a fixed abode after the free life of the desert, and they prefer often
to suffer pain and inconvenience rather than spend a few days or weeks
beneath a roof and within the walls of a hospital.</p>
<p>A story is told of a Bedouin lady of the seventh century, whose
husband rose afterwards to be one of the Caliphs. When taken to
Damascus to live in luxury and state, she pined for the freedom of the
desert, and gave utterance to her loneliness in the following
verses:—</p>
<div class="lgouter">
<div class="lg">
<p class="line">“A tent with rustling breezes cool</p>
<p class="line xd20e1099">Delights me more than palace high,</p>
<p class="line">And more the cloak of simple wool</p>
<p class="line xd20e1099">Than robes in which I learned to sigh.</p>
</div>
<div class="lg">
<p class="line">The crust I ate beside my tent</p>
<p class="line xd20e1099">Was more than this fine bread to me;</p>
<p class="line">The wind’s voice where the hill-path went</p>
<p class="line xd20e1099">Was more than tambourine can
be.”<a class="noteref" id="xd20e2537src" href="#xd20e2537" name=
"xd20e2537src">1</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="first">Arab women have come to the hospital from time to
time, but they always long to return to their <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb192" href="#pb192" name=
"pb192">192</a>]</span>desert life, and are impatient at the restraints
of town life.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2543width" id="p192"><img src="images/p192.jpg"
alt="Mutrâv Paulus" width="483" height="720">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">Mutrâv Paulus</span></p>
<p class="first">Bishop of the Syrian Roman Catholic Church in
Mosul.</p>
</div>
<p>The Kurds are a warlike people inhabiting the mountains round Mosul.
They are the descendants of the wild people of the mountains mentioned
by Xenophon as the Karduchi, who so severely harassed the Greeks during
their retreat. In later years they were known as the Parthians, who
opposed the Romans. From this people came the celebrated Saladin, the
opponent of Richard Cœur de Lion in the crusading days. The Kurds
have been compared to the old Scottish Highlanders, who were noted for
their devotion to their chiefs. A well-known writer, in speaking of
this trait in the character of these people, says that once he heard
the following story: “A chieftain having died, one of his
followers, who was standing on the roof of his house when the news of
his master’s death was brought to him, exclaimed, ‘What! is
the Beg dead? Then I will not live another moment,’ and
immediately threw himself from the roof and was dashed to
pieces.”</p>
<p>A few of these Kurds are Nestorians, but the majority of them are
Moslems, and are a very fierce-looking set of people. They carry as a
rule large daggers in the waistband, and are quite capable of using
them when necessary. We once had a servant who was a Kurd, and although
as a rule a peaceable man, he often longed to be off when he heard of
any fighting going on in his country. He used to boast to the other
servants of the many people he had robbed and murdered! but said of
course he would never harm us, as we <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb193" href="#pb193" name="pb193">193</a>]</span>were in the place of
father and mother to him. We are quite hoping to secure his services
again on our return to Mosul.</p>
<p>There are about two thousand Jews in Mosul, who date their descent
from the time of the Captivity. When Cyrus issued his decree allowing
all Jews to return to their native land, about fifty thousand of those
living in Mesopotamia joyfully availed themselves of this permission,
but a few preferred to remain in their adopted land, and their
descendants are there to this day. In spite of much persecution, they
have remained firm in their belief. Mohammed quite hoped at first that
the Jews would easily be converted to Mohammedanism. He therefore
instructed all his followers to turn their faces towards the temple at
Jerusalem when praying, but before many months he saw that his hopes in
this direction were doomed to disappointment. He therefore withdrew his
former instructions, and ordained that in future all Mohammedans should
turn to the Ka’aba at Mecca when engaged in prayer.</p>
<p>The Jews in Mosul are looked down upon and despised by Christian and
Moslem alike. In the dispensary it is sad to see with what loathing the
Jews are treated. The scornful way in which the word
“Yahudi” (Jew) is hurled at these people is enough to make
one’s heart ache for them. If there is anything degrading to be
done, a Jew is the only one to be found willing to do it. The Jews are
the shoe-blacks of Mosul. It being considered very degrading to clean
boots and shoes, the Jew undertakes this task, receiving payment at the
rate of about ¼d. a pair. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb194"
href="#pb194" name="pb194">194</a>]</span></p>
<p>It is a wonderful sight to see all these different
nationalities—Moslems, Christians, Jews, Kurds, Arabs, Devil
Worshippers—all sitting down together in the waiting-room of the
dispensary while waiting their turn to see the doctor.</p>
<p>It reminds one of the picture of Peace, in which the artist depicts
the lion, the leopard, and the wolf living in harmony with the lamb. I
am afraid the resemblance is only superficial, for in the hearts of
that rude miscellaneous throng there is little of peace, and much of
anger, wrath, jealousy, hatred, and murder.</p>
<p>The dwellers in the desert and mountain would scorn the idea of
passing the time in recreations of any kind, but the town gentlemen
much enjoy a little relaxation from their arduous (?) labours. Riding
and racing are much in vogue in Mosul. Just outside one of the gates is
a long, level stretch of land, uncultivated, which is used by the
sporting part of the population for racing. Betting is not a part of
the programme. Any one who possesses a horse is at liberty to enter it
for the races; and every Thursday afternoon a large conclave of people
may be seen watching the performance with great interest. Horse dealers
who have horses for sale race their animals with the hope that they
will carry off the palm, in which case the value of the horse is
considerably raised.</p>
<p>A few of the Mosul men go in for hunting, but it is not a favourite
pastime. My husband sometimes goes with some of the Begs, who are fond
of hawking. The boys much enjoy slinging, and some of them are quite
experts at it, at times their <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb195"
href="#pb195" name="pb195">195</a>]</span>aim being rather too
accurate. The spring is the season for slinging, and hundreds of boys
may be seen outside the town on a fine day armed with these instruments
of torture. They line up along the walls of the city, and take aim at
every passer-by. This is somewhat disconcerting, especially when some
little boy takes a shot at your horse’s head or tail, a game of
which the animal does not at all approve. Or sometimes the boys form
armies, each opposing side being composed of an equal number of
slingers. They stand at a distance of about fifty yards apart and
commence warfare in real earnest. It is rather a terrible ordeal to
have to run the gauntlet of these two opposing armies. The stones seem
to whizz round one’s head in a most alarming manner; but although
my mare has received a few stray shots of which she much disapproved,
yet I have fortunately never actually been hit. Occasionally boys
become so vicious in their excitement that the Government here has to
put a stop to their “wars” for a time, as they do so much
injury to one another.</p>
<p>A form of recreation which is indulged in by all the Mosul people is
that of paying a yearly visit to a hot sulphur spring. This spring is
situated about twelve miles from Mosul on the Baghdad road, and is
called Hammam Ali.</p>
<p>A small village has grown up around the spring, but cannot furnish
anything like the accommodation needed for the thousands of visitors
who flock there in the early summer. To meet this need, small booths
are built of dried grass, each family renting one for the time of their
visit. Two years ago it <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb196" href=
"#pb196" name="pb196">196</a>]</span>was estimated that ten thousand
people from Mosul were there at one time, all congregated together
without any proper accommodation, or any sanitary arrangements; the
consequence was that disease and sickness were very prevalent amongst
them, and many went seeking health, and found death.</p>
<p>Last year a similar number were as usual gathered at Hammam Ali,
when one evening a lighted match was carelessly thrown down, with the
result that in a few minutes many of these booths were a mass of
flames. Several children were burnt to death and two women.</p>
<p>The next day the exodus from the place was universal. We were
staying then at a house midway between Mosul and Hammam Ali, and
watched the procession of people returning, a steady stream from
morning till night. After a day or two, however, the sad episode was
forgotten, and visitors began to flock back again.</p>
<p>We once saw this celebrated place. It was on our way to Mosul, and
we arrived late one night at Hammam Ali, minus our tent. The villagers
kindly offered us the use of the Hammam (bath) for the night, so we
made a tour of inspection, but decided to decline their offer with
thanks.</p>
<p>The place was damp, dirty, and malodorous. We preferred to pass the
night in a stable, which looked a trifle more inviting, although full
of rat-holes. In the morning I paid a visit to the Hammam, as it was a
ladies’ bathing day, and found the bath crowded with women and
children, packed in like sardines in a box! The water was very hot, and
I wondered the women could stand <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb197"
href="#pb197" name="pb197">197</a>]</span>so long in it. Some of them
looked rather as if they had been boiled. Here were women and children,
apparently healthy, bathing in the same water as others suffering from
all manner of skin diseases and other horrible things. However, they
all looked perfectly happy and contented; and I would not grudge these
poor creatures any little pleasure which might help to brighten their
lives.</p>
<p>We shall see in the following chapters how little brightness they
possess, and, on the other hand, how much of sadness and sorrow.
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb198" href="#pb198" name=
"pb198">198</a>]</span></p>
</div>
<div class="footnotes">
<hr class="fnsep">
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" id=
"xd20e2537" href="#xd20e2537src" name="xd20e2537">1</a></span> Extract
from “The Literary History of the Arabs,” by R. A.
Nicholson, M.A.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch2.3" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter III</h2>
<h2 class="main">The River Tigris</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">The river Tigris—Ancient historical
interest—Garden of Eden—Origin of name
unknown—Swiftness—Sources—Navigation—Keleqs—Bathing,
fishing, washing—Crossing rivers.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“The softly lapsing river,</p>
<p class="line">It whispers in its flow,</p>
<p class="line">Of dear days gone for ever,</p>
<p class="line">Those days of long ago.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">P. B. Marston.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">The river Tigris, on the banks of which Mosul is
situated, is a noble stream. Though inferior in length to its sister
the Euphrates, yet it is no mean rival, either in antiquity or
historical fame. They share together the distinction of having on their
banks the romantic spot reputed to be the Paradise of Adam and Eve. The
Garden of Eden is situated, according to the tradition of the country,
near the junction of the Euphrates and Tigris. When we passed that way
on our journey from Busrah to Baghdad, the land was flooded by the
spring rains, so we saw nothing of the beauties of Paradise.</p>
<p>The Tigris can also claim, in common with the Euphrates, an
interesting connection with some of the ancient kingdoms of the world,
extending back to early post-diluvian times. Near by, the Assyrian
Empire built its towns of splendour and strength. <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb199" href="#pb199" name=
"pb199">199</a>]</span>Daniel records visions seen upon its banks,
Cyrus is said to have marched his troops along its shores, Alexander
overthrew the armies of the Medes and Persians near its basin, while in
the plain of Nineveh the dynasty of the Ommiade caliphs was destroyed
and supplanted by that of the Abassides. The origin of its name is
unknown, but it is thought that the swiftly-flowing character of the
river gave rise to its name. Hence the old Scriptural name Hiddekel,
signifying “swift or quick.” Owing to its wealth of
fertilising power, it is sometimes called by the Arabs
“Nahar-as-Salam,” the River of Peace. At all times the
Tigris is a swift river, but the velocity with which it travels differs
according to the season of the year, the swiftest time of all being in
the spring, when the snows from all the surrounding mountains melt and
rush down to the river, causing it often to overflow its banks, and
increasing its impetuosity to a great extent. At this time it is
possible to travel on the river from Mosul to Baghdad in forty-eight
hours, while in the late summer or autumn it takes at least ten or
twelve days. When flowing at its fastest rate, the Tigris is said to be
swifter than the Danube. The course of the river is a very winding one,
extending for about 1040 miles. Its breadth varies very much. At Mosul
it is a little less than 400 feet, at Baghdad about 600, while in one
place where another river flows into it, the width amounts to over 1000
feet.</p>
<p>The sources of the Tigris are at an altitude about 5000 feet above
sea-level, but the greater part of its fall is accomplished at its
commencement, by the time it reaches Mosul the elevation above
sea-level <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb200" href="#pb200" name=
"pb200">200</a>]</span>is only 353 feet, the remainder of its course, a
distance of about 650 miles, being made by easy descent.</p>
<p>With a very little trouble the river could easily be made navigable
as far up as Mosul, the chief hindrance to this being obstructions in
the river which could be removed by dynamite or other explosives. A
day’s journey from Mosul by water there is a large dam stretching
right across the river, believed to have been built by Darius with the
intent to prevent Alexander from penetrating his dominions by means of
the river. When the Tigris is full this is not an insurmountable
barrier even as it exists now. During the summer and autumn the water
is very shallow, and steamers would find it difficult to reach Mosul,
but a little engineering could render the river navigable at all
seasons. Once or twice steamers have reached Mosul, thereby causing
great excitement amongst the natives. For the last thirty years it has
been the talk of Mosul that “steamers are coming,” but they
have not yet started. We heard a year ago that two steamers had been
chartered for plying between Mosul and Baghdad, and were only awaiting
a firman from the Sultan, but so far nothing has been seen of them.</p>
<p>Pending the inauguration of steamers, the natives still continue to
use the same method of river transport as existed in the days of
Abraham and Jonah. This consists of a raft-like construction, and is
employed for both passenger and goods traffic. It is composed of a
number of sheep or goat skins inflated and fastened close together,
upon which <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb201" href="#pb201" name=
"pb201">201</a>]</span>cross-bars of wood are laid and bound firmly in
place. The skins are examined daily and when necessary reinflated;
great care must be taken to keep them moist, for if they become dry
they are liable to burst. The raft is manned by one or two natives,
whose only work is to guide the “keleq,” as the raft is
called, to keep it in the middle of the stream, away from all dangerous
rocks and shoals. For this purpose a rough kind of oar is used, made
from the branch of a tree, with palm branches at the end forming the
blade. The keleq floats down the river with the current, the passengers
amusing themselves with singing and reciting stories.</p>
<p>When a European travels, a little hut is built for his convenience.
A light framework of lath is run up, just large enough to hold a
travelling bedstead and chair; this is covered with felt or water-proof
sheeting and placed upon the raft. On arrival at Baghdad the whole is
sold for about half its original price. The owner of the keleq sells
the planks of wood forming the floor of the raft, packs up carefully
his skins, and returns by land to Mosul, as the current is too strong
to allow of his return the same way as he came. He is then ready to be
hired for another journey. In good weather a journey on a raft is a
very pleasant mode of travelling. It has many advantages over
caravaning by land. There is no need of the early morning or midnight
scramble preparatory to the start. The owner simply ties up after
sunset, and as soon as dawn appears he quietly slips the rope, and off
the raft glides, while the passenger is still sweetly slumbering,
unconscious of any movement. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb202" href=
"#pb202" name="pb202">202</a>]</span></p>
<p>In summer, however, the river is the happy hunting-ground of flies
and mosquitoes, the result being that rest and sleep are impossible
either by day or night. In a storm, too, the keleq is not a very secure
place of refuge. An English lady travelling from Mosul to Baghdad was
once caught in a hurricane and her keleq blown about in such a way that
she expected every minute to find herself precipitated into the river,
while her little hut and all its contents were saturated through and
through with water.</p>
<p>A raft is a good target for the Arabs whose villages lie along the
banks of the river. An Englishman once placed his bicycle, which he was
taking home, on the top of his hut, thinking to keep it out of
harm’s way. The Arabs, seeing this extraordinary-looking machine,
at once came to the conclusion that it was a Maxim gun or some such
deadly weapon. They immediately opened fire, and continued shooting
till the raft was out of sight—fortunately with no serious
result.</p>
<p>The French Consul at Mosul was also attacked by Arabs when
travelling on a keleq. For seven hours they kept up an active fusilade,
both parties making good use of their guns.</p>
<p>The merchants of Mosul use these rafts for exporting their goods to
Baghdad and other places. After the harvest enormous keleqs may daily
be seen leaving Mosul, loaded heavily with wheat and corn. All goods
for the south are exported in this way. For these large commercial
rafts, about three to four hundred skins are used, while others contain
from fifty to two hundred, according to the size of <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb203" href="#pb203" name="pb203">203</a>]</span>raft
and number of passengers. A European travelling alone would need about
one hundred and fifty to two hundred skins to make a fairly comfortable
raft.</p>
<p>Natives often use a single inflated skin for travelling down the
river, sometimes even going as far as Baghdad on one. This latter feat
a man has been known to accomplish in twenty-four hours. It is by no
means as easy as it looks, to balance yourself on a skin; when bathing
we have often tried, but found it very difficult. The Arabs use these
skins as ferry-boats when the river is unfordable. They take off their
garments and tie them round their head as a turban, so that when they
reach the opposite side their clothes are quite dry.</p>
<p>In a village near Mosul I have seen women crossing the river in this
way, many of them carrying a child on her back in addition to a large
bundle of clothes which she has been washing in the river. The Arabs,
both men, women, and children, are quite at home in the
river—swimming as easily as ducks, and playing all manner of
games in the water; it is quite interesting to watch them from a
distance. The women do not take off their long loose garment, but just
hold the skirt of it in their teeth if it impedes their swimming. Last
summer we were staying for a time at a castle quite near the river,
about an hour’s ride from Mosul; while there we bathed almost
every day, a small wood running to the edge of the water acting as a
convenient dressing-place. The owner of the castle gave notice to all
the villagers that the wood was “hareem” each afternoon, so
we were always quite private. I engaged the services of an <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb204" href="#pb204" name="pb204">204</a>]</span>Arab
woman to teach me to swim whenever my husband could not be there. She
could swim like a fish herself, but had no idea of teaching any one
else; however, before our holidays were over I had mastered the art.
She would make me put one hand on her shoulder and then call out:
“Now, kick”—that was the sum total of her
instructions, “kick”! The river is considered very
dangerous for bathing unless you know it well. Shortly before we were
there last year, an Arab woman had been drowned. She was a good
swimmer, and was swimming in deep water, when suddenly she called out
that she was drowning, and before any one could go to her rescue she
sank, and was quickly carried down the stream by the current; when the
body was recovered life was quite extinct. For a few days the women
were too frightened to bathe in that place, thinking that death was due
to something in the water; but when we arrived a fortnight later they
had apparently quite recovered from their fright, and were bathing as
usual.</p>
<p>Another day we were watching the men playing in the water, when
suddenly a black object appeared in the distance floating down the
stream; it looked like the head of a baby. As it approached the place
where the men were bathing, one of our servants swam out to see what it
was, and found to his horror it was the body of a man. He brought it to
the bank, and every one rushed to view the corpse. Then came the
question as to who would bury it; no one was willing to do this,
although the body was that of an Arab, and all the onlookers were also
Arab villagers. We offered backsheesh to any one who <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb205" href="#pb205" name=
"pb205">205</a>]</span>would dig the grave, but no one volunteered, and
suggested pushing the body out into the current again to be carried to
Baghdad, as the easiest way of settling the matter. Finally a mullah
passed by, and seeing the body, ordered some men to bury it at once. We
were very thankful, as we could not bear to think of the poor body
floating down the stream, or being left exposed on the banks of the
river.</p>
<p>We watched some men dig a very shallow grave, and the body was laid
to rest, the mullah reciting some Moslem prayers ere it was covered
with earth and stones.</p>
<p>As one sees such scenes as this taking place, it is not pleasant to
think that this same river forms our sole water supply for drinking and
all domestic purposes! If we take a walk down the river to the place
where the water-carriers fetch the water, we shall have all the more
reason thoroughly to enjoy our water! There hundreds of women are to be
seen washing their clothes, men and boys enjoying a swim, horses,
mules, and donkeys revelling in the mud; while not at all unlikely a
few dead dogs or cats may be seen floating around! All congregate in
this favourite spot. This being the case, it is not surprising that
often our water resembles <i>mud</i> much more than water when brought
to the house. Needless to say, all our drinking-water is filtered and
boiled before using. The water is brought from the river in skins on
the back of donkeys or mules, at the rate of 3s. 4d. a hundred skins.
It seems so absurd to be paying in this way for water when, with a
comparatively speaking small outlay, it could easily be conveyed to
each house by means of pipes from the river running close <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb206" href="#pb206" name="pb206">206</a>]</span>by.
This has been done by an energetic Vali in Damascus, and the result is
enviable.</p>
<p>The Tigris cannot be said to contain a great or varied supply of
fish, but there are two or three kinds to be found, which help to vary
the housekeeping monotony of everlasting mutton and chicken. A very
large fish called “bis” is the best kind, as the meat is
tender and mild, while the bones are few; the others seem to be all
bones, and are hardly worth eating, besides being absolutely
flavourless.</p>
<p>Fishing is carried on from the bridge by the fish-sellers. A line is
generally used, baited with melon or pieces of flesh. Sometimes poison
is thrown into the river in order to kill the fish, which then float on
the top of the water and are easily caught. In the summer it is very
risky buying fish in the bazaar, as it so soon becomes stale; so if I
want to be quite sure of having fresh fish, I send a servant down to
the bridge to <i>see</i> a fish caught and then bring it home. As a
matter of fact, I fancy he does not at all like sitting in the sun
waiting, so often beguiles the time by sitting in the coffee-house
situated on the banks of the river; and then, having allowed an hour or
two to elapse, returns empty-handed, saying: “There are no fish
in the river to-day.”</p>
<p>Rivers without bridges are a great trial of patience when
journeying; it takes such a long time to transport everything, and the
crossing generally takes place at the end of a stage when every one is
tired, and—shall I confess it?—often cross too. The waiting
in the burning sun while the boats are fetched, the weary bargaining,
and all the usual trials of patience become exaggerated out of their
due proportions <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb207" href="#pb207"
name="pb207">207</a>]</span>when you know that just across the water is
the resting-place for the night—so near and yet so far! And as
you sit on the <i>wrong</i> side of the river waiting, waiting, it is
difficult to feel restful and at peace with all men. I long often to be
able to do as the animals do, <i>i.e.</i> swim over. A small charge is
made for the transport of each animal, so the muleteer often prefers to
swim over himself, taking his animals with him. There is as a rule only
one ferry-boat, so that you have to take your turn; and as each passage
takes about an hour, a great deal of patience is often needed.</p>
<p>The ferry-boat is a large flat-bottomed, antediluvian-looking
construction, and you wonder how ever it can bear the weight of all
that is put upon it. When a carriage is to be transported the horses
are first unharnessed, then the vehicle is lifted bodily on to the
boat, with all its contents, the passengers and horses finding
standing-room as best they can.</p>
<p>When you get to the other side your troubles are not over, for on
starting to put up the tent you find one of the poles has been left
behind on the other side; so there is nothing to do but to sit still
and continue the waiting process. Or perhaps you think a cup of tea
would help while away the time, only to find that the charcoal has not
yet arrived! So there is only one thing to do, and that is to wait till
everything is safely landed; then you can begin to prepare for the
long-delayed rest. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb208" href="#pb208"
name="pb208">208</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch2.4" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter IV</h2>
<h2 class="main">The Children of Mosul</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Spoiling process—Despair of the
parents—The “god” of the hareem—Death by
burning—Festivities at birth of boy—Cradles and cradle
songs—School life—Feast in honour of a boy having read the
Koran through—“Only a girl”—Girl
life—Girl victims of Naseeb—Marriage.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<p class="first">“The household must weep for forty days on the
birth of a girl.”</p>
<p class="signed"><span class="sc">Arabic Proverb.</span></p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Is it all forgot? All schooldays’
friendship,</p>
<p class="line">Childhood’s innocence?”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Shakespeare.</span></p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Where children are not, heaven is
not.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">A. Swinburne.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">The children of Mosul have on the whole a very good
time. From their earliest days they are allowed to do pretty much as
they like, and only when the process of spoiling is completed, and the
child has become a terror to all, do the parents realise that it is far
easier to spoil a child than to “unspoil” him, once the
deed is done. This method, or rather lack of method, of bringing up the
children, is a great cause of trouble and sorrow in after years both to
the parents and to the children themselves, but yet they never seem to
profit by their experiences, for they still continue to say that it is
a great “aib” or shame to deny a child anything he may
want. Although this spoiling process is carried on with both boys and
girls in the earlier years of their lives, it is brought to perfection
in their treatment of the boys.</p>
<p>I remember a pretty little child called Jamila <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb209" href="#pb209" name=
"pb209">209</a>]</span>(beautiful); she was so fair and pretty that she
was known by many as “the English child.” When she was
about three years old she became very ill, and the mother brought her
to my husband, who prescribed for her, but said that the chief part of
the treatment lay in the diet. On no account was solid food to be given
for at least three or four days. The mother looked in despair when she
heard this, as she said, “Jamila will cry if she cannot have her
meat and bread and pillau!” A day or two later I was calling at
the house, and saw that Jamila was looking very ill, and asked the
mother what the child had been eating. “Oh,” she said,
“poor little child, I had to give her meat and bread, for she
tore her hair and clothes in her anger, on my refusing to give them to
her, and so, how could I deny them to her?” And sure enough,
while I was there, Jamila began to cry for bread, and on her mother
refusing, threw herself on the ground in a paroxysm of anger, beating
her head and face with her clenched fist, till she was quite blue and
black in the face. The mother ran at once and brought bread and meat,
and gave to the child, who immediately recovered her equanimity of mind
and temper.</p>
<p>Then again, I have seen a room full of people all in despair over a
child of perhaps two or three years old, who refuses to drink his
medicine ordered by the doctor. The father begins the performance by
solemnly taking the glass containing the medicine up to the child, and
saying to him, “Oh, my beloved, <i>will</i> you take this
medicine?” “No,” says the child, and pushes it away.
The father looks round on the audience for signs of wonder and
astonishment at the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb210" href="#pb210"
name="pb210">210</a>]</span>marvellous doings of the child. Then
perhaps the uncle has a try, and meets with like success; then the
mother, the aunts, and a few friends all beseech the child to take the
medicine, saying, “For my sake, for the sake of your father, your
mother, &c., take this,” but, of course, all are
unsuccessful, and they all shake their heads and say, “I told you
so, he will <i>not</i> take it,” and it being a
“khatiya” (sin) to force a child to do anything against his
will, the child, of course, gains the victory in this as in everything
else. If you suggest pouring the medicine down the child’s throat
by force, the parents and friends will put you down as being a monster
of cruelty.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2731width" id="p210-1"><img src=
"images/p210-1.jpg" alt="Dr. Hume-Griffith’s Study in Mosul"
width="588" height="431">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">Dr. Hume-Griffith’s Study
in Mosul</span></p>
</div>
<div class="figure xd20e2736width" id="p210-2"><img src=
"images/p210-2.jpg" alt="Our Drawing-Room in Julfa" width="586" height=
"441">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">Our Drawing-Room in
Julfa</span></p>
</div>
<p>If there happens to be only one boy in the hareem, he becomes almost
like a little god to all the women folk. A small friend of mine was in
this position, and although a very jolly little boy, was fast becoming
unbearable in his actions towards his grandmother, mother, and aunts.
He was only about eight years old, but one day he was calling on me
with his aunt, whom I loved very much, when, without the smallest
provocation, he suddenly took up a stick and gave his aunt two or three
hard cuts across her shoulders with it, and then ran laughing out of
the room. I did not say anything to the boy, but presently my husband
came in to lunch, and I asked him to give the boy a beating, and told
him what he had done. So we went to hunt for the boy, and found him
hiding behind his grandmother, who besought us not to touch the darling
boy. My husband gave the boy a very slight whipping, and told him if
ever he did such a thing again, he would give him something to
remember! The boy was so <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb211" href=
"#pb211" name="pb211">211</a>]</span>astonished at being chastised,
that to this day he has been a changed boy, and much more bearable in
his home life.</p>
<p>Another instance of the way the boys are spoilt. A woman and her
daughter, a little girl of about eight years, were sitting in their
verandah one day behind a pile of cotton which had just been
“fluffed” by the man whose work it is to fluff cotton. The
son of the woman, a boy of seven, thought it would be great fun to set
a light to this cotton, which he promptly did by throwing a lighted
match into the midst of it, with the result that his mother and sister
were burnt to death. I called at the house some days after, and found
the boy who had done this deed quite a hero in the eyes of the women
folk, and far from being blamed and punished, on the contrary they were
fondling and caressing him more than ever. I told them I thought the
boy was so pleased with all the attention he was receiving, that very
likely he would do the same thing again if he had the opportunity.</p>
<p>Let me give you a short sketch of a child’s life, in order
that you may see for yourself something of their everyday life.</p>
<p>As we are talking of Eastern children, we must begin with the boy,
as he is so much more important a personage than a mere girl.</p>
<p>A boy’s birth is celebrated by great rejoicings and feastings,
and if the family is a well-to-do one, at least two sheep will be slain
and cooked and given to the poor. Our next-door neighbours were
rejoicing over the birth of a boy a short time ago, and they thought it
necessary to sacrifice three sheep, and for <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb212" href="#pb212" name="pb212">212</a>]</span>two
days the poor were coming with their little dishes and pots to carry
away portions of the meat. I went to see this ceremony, and it was very
interesting. Apparently no questions were asked, the only
recommendations necessary being poverty and need. Also hundreds of
loaves of bread were given away at this time. If we go to the hareem to
admire and pay our homage to the little king, we must be careful not to
praise him too much, or, if we do, we must qualify our praise by saying
“Mash’allah,” which will counteract any evil
influence. We shall find the baby boy swathed up tightly in his
swaddling clothes, his eyebrows and eyelids pencilled with native
cosmetics, and very likely a beauty spot on his forehead; his little
head will be covered with a little silk cap, over which a handkerchief
will be wrapped, and on the cap will be seen some coins and blue beads,
to avert the dreaded evil eye. We shall find him very probably strapped
tightly into a cradle made of brightly-painted wood; the baby is laid
on the top of the little mattress, which is level with the sides of the
cradle, and then strapped down. As he grows out of his first cradle he
will be given another and larger one, and much more comfortable, in
which he need not be strapped, as the sides are high enough to prevent
his falling out; a cord is attached to the cradle, so that his mother
can swing him gently while she sits and spins or does anything she has
to do. It is very quaint to listen to their monotonous chant as they
rock the cradle, and very often they sing to the swing of the cradle,
“Allah ho, Allah hi, Allah ho, Allah hi,” “He is God,
He is living, He is God, He is living.” <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb213" href="#pb213" name="pb213">213</a>]</span></p>
<p>The first time of shaving a boy’s head is looked upon as a
very important day, and the barber must be careful to leave a little
tuft of hair on the top of the head, by which he can be pulled up into
heaven, otherwise he might get left behind.</p>
<p>When the boy is about five, he will probably be sent to school. He
is then dressed as a miniature man, in white knickerbockers, shirt,
coloured vest, and silk or cloth “zeboon,” a loose garment
reaching to the ankles; on his head, of course, will be the inevitable
red fez, adorned with charms to bring him good luck and keep off evil.
Arrived at the school, our little friend will seat himself on the
ground, and his education will begin by learning the <span class=
"Arabic" lang="ar">ا ب ت</span> (<i>alef</i>,
<i>bey</i>, <i>tey</i>), the A, B, C, of the Arabic language. After he
has mastered the alphabet, and can write a few words, then the Koran
will be started, and the boy will be kept hard at this, each day
learning a short portion till a chapter is known perfectly by heart.
All the boys in the school may be reciting different portions of the
Koran at the same time, and in a sing-song tone, so that, as you pass
up and down the streets, it is easy to recognise these seats of
learning for the young. I have often peeped into some of these schools,
and watched the boys, all seated on the ground, swaying themselves
backwards and forwards, repeating the Koran in a loud, monotonous
voice. When a boy has been through the Koran once, a great feast is
made in his honour. He is decked out in grand new garments, generally
of silk and embroidery, and men dancers are engaged for a day or more,
according to the means of the parents.</p>
<p>The son of a friend of mine in Mosul had just <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb214" href="#pb214" name=
"pb214">214</a>]</span>completed this part of his education, and his
mother sent word to know if the dancers might come and dance before us
in our compound. We thought this might be rather trying, as they would
probably have stayed all day, so I sent a message thanking her for the
honour, but saying I would prefer to come to her house to see the
“tamash” (sight), as I only had a limited time to give to
it. So at the time appointed I went, accompanied by a woman servant and
a man, as I thought there would probably be a great commotion. On
arriving at the door of the house, it seemed hopeless even to think of
getting in, as the courtyard was full of men, dancing, shouting,
yelling, whirling and slashing naked swords and daggers. The court was
a very small one, and my first thought was to turn and fly, but the
hostess was a very dear friend of mine, and I did not like to
disappoint her, so I sent the man-servant in front to open a passage in
the crowd and followed hard after him, and felt very thankful when we
reached a room safely. The women were gathered there looking out of the
windows at the fun. But this did not seem to please the dancers, for
they called repeatedly for the “khatoun” (lady) to come and
watch them, and some even followed me into the room, thereby throwing
the women into a state of panic and fright. The men were so wildly
excited that they hardly knew what they were doing. Stripped to the
waist, they flourished their swords and yelled, then jumped high into
the air, then crouched on the ground and again leapt into the air, all
the time pointing the daggers or swords either at their own hearts or
some one else’s. To <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb215" href=
"#pb215" name="pb215">215</a>]</span>add to the general excitement,
other men were beating drums and playing on a weird kind of stringed
instrument. After receiving their “backsheesh” they
departed, for which I was not sorry. The boy in whose honour all this
is taking place is very happy and delighted, and thinks <i>now</i> he
is a man, and so, as he is leaving his childhood behind him, we too
will leave him and pass on to the much less important subject (from an
Eastern standpoint) of the childhood of a girl.</p>
<p>“Only a girl”—“Only a girl.” These are
the words which generally follow the announcement of the birth of a
girl. Poor little mite, her entrance into the world is not a cause of
great joy or rejoicing, and from her earliest days, I think, this lies
as a shadow upon her; for to my mind there is a sadness and pathos
about the little girls quite different to the masterful looks and ways
of the boys, the lords of creation. As it is a part of the
Moslem’s creed to bow in submission to the will of God, so the
parents now, as always, say, “It is God’s will”
(“Al Allah”), and bow their heads in submission to this new
yoke put upon them. Of course there are exceptions, and some love their
little daughters very much, but taken as a rule, girls are not
welcome—certainly not more than one. If the parents of the girl
baby are well-to-do, perhaps they may sacrifice one sheep, but the
feastings and almsgiving are done in a much quieter way and with as
little ostentation as possible; and if you visit the mother it is not
necessary to say <i>very</i> much about the new arrival as it is
“only a girl,” and it is not well to make the poor mother
feel too sad.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2787width" id="p216"><img src="images/p216.jpg"
alt="A Group of Persian Girls" width="720" height="483">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">A Group of Persian
Girls</span></p>
<p class="first">Many of these little girls are very pretty and
winsome. The one sitting at the extreme left of the front row is a very
attractive child, and a great favourite of mine. Her name is
“Beloved.”</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb216" href="#pb216" name=
"pb216">216</a>]</span></p>
<p>So the little girl starts her life, with not too much love and
attention. If she happens to be well and strong she will thrive apace
in spite of all, but if she is at all inclined to be weak or delicate,
the chances are that she will be neglected until it is too late for
human aid, and then perhaps, as a conscience salve, she will be taken
to the doctor by the mother or some other relative. How many of these
little victims have been brought when too late to my husband I should
not like to say. Directly the doctor sees a child suffering from some
terribly neglected disease he at once says, “A girl, of course!
If the child had been a boy you would have brought him long ago.”
And so, alas, it is true of many cases. It is a convenient way of
getting rid of some of a too numerous family of girls, and then the
mothers and relations will piously clasp their hands and say, “It
is the will of God.” The will of God, indeed! This so-called
submission to the will of God, or “kismet” or
“naseeb,” as the Turk and Arab call it, is often
responsible for a great deal of neglect by mothers of their little
girls. For instance, there was such a nice-looking young widow who used
to come and see me. She had two children, both girls, the elder about
five years of age, and the younger nearly three. This younger child was
a perfectly beautiful child—just like a lovely wax doll; indeed,
so much did she resemble a doll that she was often called
“l’abbi,” which means a doll. Her sweet little face
had a complexion which any English mother might have been proud of, and
her large brown eyes were full of life and fun, while her dear little
golden curls falling over her forehead and <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb217" href="#pb217" name=
"pb217">217</a>]</span>forming a halo round her head gave her an
appearance of a little cherub. I found out very soon that this child
had the beginnings of a terrible disease in her, which, if attended to
at once, might be cured, but which neglected would mean certain and
sure death. I spoke to the mother about it, and implored her to bring
the child to the hospital for treatment; but no, she would not listen;
she simply shrugged her shoulders and said, “Naseeb, al Allah. If
the child is to die, she will die; if it is written she is to live, she
will live,” and nothing I could say would induce her either to
bring the child or to let us have her to take care of; and I heard
afterwards from a neighbour that the mother wanted the little girlie to
die, so that she might be free to marry again, as no man would take a
wife who already was burdened with two girls. Instances of this kind
might be multiplied by the hundred, showing how girl life is neglected,
under the blasphemous idea that it is “naseeb.”</p>
<p>As a rule it is not considered at all necessary to send a Moslem
girl to school, but quite lately the Turkish authorities have opened
some schools for girls in Mosul, and have sent women teachers from
Constantinople, so this is a step in the right direction. I visited one
of these schools, and was very much struck by the happier looks of the
girls compared with the faces of the same girls in their own homes.
They are taught to read and write and, of course, to recite the Koran.
Also, we were shown some very pretty pieces of silk embroidery which
the girls had just finished, and really some were quite artistic and
pretty. These schools are free, the <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb218" href="#pb218" name="pb218">218</a>]</span>teachers being paid
by Government, and, therefore, girls of all classes sit side by side.
The pasha’s daughter and the daughter of the pasha’s slave
may both attend the same school and mix quite freely and happily
together.</p>
<p>For the first seven or eight years of a girl’s life she may go
unveiled and run about pretty freely with only a silk scarf on her
head, but when she reaches the age of nine or thereabout a great change
takes place in her life. She is prohibited from going out, except
occasionally with the mother or other relations, and then she must be
closely veiled. Poor children, I do so often pity them—they so
soon leave their childhood behind them and become women before they
come to girlhood. Of course the great aim and object of parents is to
marry the girls as soon as possible to the man who can offer the
highest price for her; but the subject of weddings is so extensive that
we must leave it for another chapter. Only I will say here that I think
the reason girls are looked upon more or less as a nuisance is because
they cost so much to get married; for if a father has three or four
girls to marry, he needs to be a rich man. From the time the girl is
four or five years old he begins loading her with gold and jewellery,
so that by the day she comes to be of a marriageable age she shall have
a good supply to offer to her would-be husband. <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb219" href="#pb219" name="pb219">219</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch2.5" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter V</h2>
<h2 class="main">The Moslem Women of Mosul</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Beauty behind the veil—Types of beauty—My
dear old friend of 110 years of age—Aids to beauty
described—Pretty children—Beauty tainted with
sin—Imprisonment of women—Peeps into some
hareems—Warm receptions—A visit from the ladies of a select
hareem—Love the magic key to open hearts.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<p class="first">“Women are worthless creatures, and soil
men’s reputations.”</p>
<p class="signed"><span class="sc">Arabic Proverb.</span></p>
<p>“As I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not
together.”</p>
<p class="signed"><span class="sc">Shakespeare.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">It has often been said that there is very little
beauty to be seen behind the veil in Turkish Arabia. I certainly do not
agree with this statement, for I have seen some very beautiful faces
amongst the Mohammedan women of Mosul. There is beauty, too, to suit
all tastes: the winsome blonde, with her pale blue eyes and fair hair;
the striking brunette, peeping from behind her veil with laughing brown
eyes, which at times are as full of pathos as those of a faithful
collie which has lost its master.</p>
<p>I think the chief attraction of Eastern women lies in their eyes.
One face comes to my mind as I write. It is not a pretty face in the
ordinary sense of the word, but the eyes are wonderful, revealing a
soul full of sadness, a longing for something not attainable: eyes that
might make you <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb220" href="#pb220" name=
"pb220">220</a>]</span>weep as you feel them fixed upon you in
unspeakable yearning for love. Another type of face is the bright,
vivacious one, seen chiefly amongst young unmarried
women—marriage in the East generally having the effect of taking
all brightness out of a face or a life. There is also many a sweet face
to be seen in Mosul. Perhaps these could not be called beautiful except
for the sweetness. One such I can see now as my memory takes me back a
few months. A dear face is pressed close to mine, and with pleading
blue eyes and such a sweet, expressive mouth which utters words such as
these: “Khatoun, I cannot go—I cannot leave you. Will you
let me live always with you?”</p>
<p>If only you knew the history of this woman, you would wonder that
her face could bear such a sweet look, or, indeed, how she managed to
endure life at all.</p>
<p>Beauty of the East is all too fleeting as a rule, a woman of thirty
years of age being quite <i>passée</i>. Nevertheless, there are
some very fine-looking old ladies in Mosul. One dear friend of mine is
proud of the fact that she has reached the grand age of 110! Her face
still retains some of its former beauty. Her daughter is a young woman
of nearly ninety, her grand-daughter can boast of seventy years, while
as to her great-grandchildren, they are countless!</p>
<p>This old lady came one day to the dispensary for medicine, as she
wished to be “made strong” enough to take a journey
consisting of six hours’ riding to a hot-water spring outside
Mosul, a place to which she had been in the habit of going regularly
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb221" href="#pb221" name=
"pb221">221</a>]</span>for the last 100 years or so! She was also quite
distressed because her skin was rough, and asked the doctor to give her
some medicine to make it smooth again. Even at 110 she was capable of
thinking of and longing for a renewal of her lost beauty. Aids to
beauty are much sought after by the ladies of Mosul, as they do not at
all approve of becoming “old.” It is quite a rare sight to
see a white-haired woman. The moment grey hairs commence to appear they
have recourse to henna, a dye much in request by Easterns of both
sexes. Freckles are a cause of much sorrow of heart to Mosul ladies.
One girl, who was really very pretty, was brought constantly to the
dispensary by her mother, who implored my husband to eradicate the
freckles with which her daughter’s face was covered, as, if they
were not removed, she might never get a proposal of marriage. However,
a man was forthcoming who apparently did not object to freckles, for
shortly before leaving Mosul I received an invitation to this
girl’s wedding-feast.</p>
<p>There are some very pretty children in Mosul, some dark, others
fair, with blue eyes and curly hair. However, this latter style of
beauty is not as a rule admired. Mothers have a great horror lest their
children should have curly hair. If a child possesses it, the women try
by all means in their power to straighten out the curls, sometimes even
coming to ask for medicine for this purpose.</p>
<p>Very often, however, the children lose a great deal of their beauty
when five or six years old. Perhaps it is because their souls at that
age become tainted with knowledge of evil, and this knowledge is
reflected <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb222" href="#pb222" name=
"pb222">222</a>]</span>on their faces. It is heartrending to see pretty
little children listening open-mouthed to some horrible tale of sin and
wickedness told by a member of the hareem. It is true there is beauty
behind the veil, but, alas! it is beauty tainted with the blackness of
sin. How can lives be beautiful when the souls within are
dead?—as dead as sin and sorrow can make them. Boys and girls
grow up amidst surroundings which soon soil their souls; the
“innocency of childhood,” so dear to the hearts of English
parents, is unknown in a Moslem hareem.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2849width" id="p222-1"><img src=
"images/p222-1.jpg" alt="The Camera in Mosul" width="587" height="403">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">The Camera in Mosul</span></p>
<p class="first">The women love to be photographed, and often ask me to
“make pictures of them.” These are Christian women, for no
Moslem woman is allowed to have her photo taken.</p>
</div>
<div class="figure xd20e2856width" id="p222-2"><img src=
"images/p222-2.jpg" alt="Tired of Play at a Picnic" width="586" height=
"403">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">Tired of Play at a
Picnic</span></p>
<p class="first">When all were tired out with playing games and
swinging, tea was handed round.</p>
</div>
<p>Many and many a time have I interrupted a conversation consisting of
things which should not be spoken of, by pointing out to the women some
boys or girls sitting near by, listening with evident delight to their
unclean talk. Sometimes they would desist, but as a rule would only
laugh, saying: “What does it matter? They know all about
it!” Oh! the pity and horror of it—young lives spoilt and
contaminated almost before their feet have started on the difficult and
perilous walk through life. Is it any wonder that these children grow
up with diseased minds and deadened souls? Then they in their turn
become the parents of another generation, to whom they teach the same
soul-destroying creeds.</p>
<p>There is no hope for the children of Mohammedan lands until the
mothers have learnt a little of the meaning of pure life and
conversation. There is no hope for the women while the men are what
they are. The whole system is one of degradation and vice. When
Mohammed, acting under what he declared to be a revelation from Allah,
introduced the use of the veil, he swept away for ever all hope
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb223" href="#pb223" name=
"pb223">223</a>]</span>of happiness for Moslem women. By means of the
veil he immured them for ever in a living grave. “Imprisoned for
life” is the verdict written against each Moslem woman as she
leaves childhood behind her. Before the days of Mohammed the Arabs were
in the habit of burying alive yearly a certain number of new-born
girls; surely the fate of these innocents was better than that of the
millions of women to-day who are buried alive behind the veil.
“Ensha’ Allah” (God willing), in the near future the
same Power which raised British women to hold the position they now do
will also penetrate through the prison bars of the hareems of
Mohammedan lands and set free the prisoners. An enlightened Mohammedan
gentleman once said: “The only hope for our women is
Christianity.” God grant that their “only hope” may
not be denied them.</p>
<p>How often I have said to these women, “Alhamd-’llillah
(thank God), I am not a Moslem woman!” and the heartfelt answer
has always been, “Yes, indeed, you may thank God; but it is
naseeb” (fate). The longer I live amongst Moslem women the more
my heart yearns with love and pity for them, and the more thankful I am
that their lot is not mine.</p>
<p>Let us now peep into some of the many hareems of Mosul. There are
some into which I should blush with shame to take my readers, on
account of the conversations we might hear; but we will choose some
where, in all probability, we shall see and hear nothing
objectionable.</p>
<p>Our first visit shall be to a near neighbour of ours. The house is a
large one, the owner holding a high social position in the town. As we
enter the outside <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb224" href="#pb224"
name="pb224">224</a>]</span>gates we see a large reception-room, in
which the master of the house is sitting holding court. We must not
look that way, as we are in native costume; so, pulling our veils a
little closer, we hurry on till we reach the door of the hareem. This
is always kept locked; upon knocking, it is opened by a native girl or
woman, who immediately kisses our hands or dress, then ushers us into
the presence of the khatoun. In this case the head lady of the hareem
has been a widow for some years, and is still wearing her black
mourning dress. She rises from her place amongst the cushions on the
floor as we enter and salaams low, bidding us welcome to her house, at
the same time indicating our seats by her side. We arrange ourselves as
comfortably as possible, sitting cross-legged in true Arab fashion.
By-and-by the daughter-in-law comes in—a frail, delicate-looking
woman, and with her a little girl, her only child. She is sad because
she has no boy, and is afraid her husband will divorce her on this
account.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e2878width" id="p224"><img src="images/p224.jpg"
alt="An Itinerant Cook preparing Kabobs" width="720" height="560">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">An Itinerant Cook preparing
Kabobs</span></p>
<p class="first">Kabobs are a favourite dish amongst the Arabs. The
meat is chopped very finely, wrapped round iron skewers, and roasted
over a red-hot charcoal fire.</p>
</div>
<p>Since leaving Mosul I have heard that her fears on this point were
not groundless, for her husband has since divorced her and taken
another wife in her place. The usual coffee is handed round by one of
the many women servants, and our hostess is very much surprised that we
will not join her in smoking a cigarette. Sometimes there are a dozen
or so women living in the same hareem, wives of brothers, and it is
often difficult to know who is who. The relationships are sometimes
most perplexing. Even to this day there are houses which I visit
frequently, but have not yet mastered the intricate
“connections” of the various members of the hareem.
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb225" href="#pb225" name=
"pb225">225</a>]</span></p>
<p>Here is another hareem, quite different from the last one we
visited. My special friends in this house are two young girls who are
not yet married. They are such dear, bright girls, and as I enter throw
their arms round my neck and bid me welcome in a most demonstrative
way. If I am expected I always find a meal ready, and if my visit is
unannounced, a woman is always despatched to the nearest
“sook” (market) to buy an impromptu meal. They are poor
people, and I always beg them not to do this, but they never listen to
my entreaties. The meal consists sometimes of “kabobs,”
<i>i.e.</i> meat minced and pressed round iron skewers and grilled over
a charcoal fire; this is placed on a plate and garnished with sliced
raw onions and bitter herbs. Another time a sheep had been killed, and
our meal consisted of the “interiors,” dished in a most
tempting manner. Sometimes salads form the principal dish; but whatever
the meal consists of, it is always served with love, and is
consequently thoroughly appreciated. This house seems always to be full
of women, all more or less related. If I get mixed up, as I sometimes
do, in the relationship of those present, and show my ignorance of
their names, they are quite hurt, and exclaim: “What, you have
forgotten me?” “Was I not in the hospital for a
week?” or, “Did I not bring So-and-so to see you?” If
they have seen me once, they are quite surprised if I cannot remember
all about them, and often I have to resort to stratagem to find out
their names without exposing my forgetfulness. While we sit and talk
the girls are all busily engaged in crotcheting caps. These are sold in
the sook at about six-pence <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb226" href=
"#pb226" name="pb226">226</a>]</span>a dozen, cotton included. In
certain “mahullahs” (quarters) of the town you will see all
the women doing this work; in another part of the town they are all
occupied with knitting socks, in another cigarette-making is the
fashion. Each mahullah seems to have its own style of work for the
women, to which it adheres more or less.</p>
<p>In one house where I visit, a basin of delicious
“lebban” is always set before me. We all sit on the floor
round a diminutive table about five inches high, and each one being
provided with a wooden spoon dips out the lebban from the central dish.
This lebban makes a delicious food in the hot weather. It is made
something after the same manner as “junket,” only lebban is
more tart and acid. Eaten with grated cucumbers, it makes a very
refreshing salad. Fortunately for me, I can eat and, as a rule,
thoroughly enjoy native food. In fact, I often prefer it to our own,
for almost all attempts at European cookery by native cooks are decided
failures. My husband, on the other hand, cannot indulge in this
respect, the excessive fat used being too much for his digestive
powers.</p>
<p>But to return to our ladies. Not only do I visit in the hareems of
the towns, but the hareems very often pay me a visit at our house. The
poorer class of women come very freely, and they know that they are
always welcome. We have a room specially set apart for women visitors,
so that they may feel quite safe from any men servants who might happen
to be about. The higher-class ladies do not come so frequently, the
idea being that the more strictly they keep to their own hareem, the
more select and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb227" href="#pb227"
name="pb227">227</a>]</span>important will they become in the eyes of
the people. There is one family in Mosul who boast that their hareem
have never visited any other house. So strictly have the ladies been
kept in seclusion, that they were not even allowed to go to the
“hammam” (bath) till quite lately. Now, however, they are
allowed the luxury of once a month walking a hundred yards or so to the
nearest bath. After becoming acquainted with the ladies of this hareem
I was very anxious to obtain permission for them to come and visit me.
They did not at all hold out any hope that their lords and masters
would allow such an unheard-of proceeding. One day, however, my husband
told the head of the house that I was very anxious for the ladies of
his hareem to come and see me. To the great surprise of all he
acquiesced, only stipulating that the visit should be kept as secret as
possible. The ladies were very excited, and for days beforehand were
talking about the proposed visit and making preparations for it. On the
day fixed the way had to be cleared of all menkind. The doctor was
banished from the house for the whole afternoon, the men servants were
given a holiday, and all doors through which a stray man might happen
to wander were carefully bolted and barred.</p>
<p>At the hour appointed a woman servant arrived to know if all was
ready. When she had satisfied herself that no men were visible, nor
could become so unexpectedly, she returned to fetch the ladies. They
arrived in all the glory of black silk chuddars, which Judy (our woman
servant) carefully removed and folded up. The two older ladies were
quite <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb228" href="#pb228" name=
"pb228">228</a>]</span>simply dressed in print or muslin, but the young
wife was decked out in one of her many bridal costumes, and looked very
charming. She was then only about sixteen years of age, but was the
mother of two pretty children, a girl and a boy. They were all so
delighted to be allowed out for the first time in their lives. We began
by eating cucumbers and water-melons, followed by tea, coffee, and
English biscuits and cakes. These latter they much appreciated, asking
permission to carry away some for other members of the hareem to taste.
After refreshments had been partaken of they were very anxious to see
all over the house. As we went from room to room it was so funny to
hear their remarks. The bedroom seemed to take their fancy most of all,
as they could not see why we needed a room specially for sleeping
in.</p>
<p>They were very charmed with our little harmonium, and listened with
great delight while I played and sang to them some of our old English
hymns translated into Arabic. One of the ladies trying to play could
not understand why it would not “speak” for her, and upon
my moving the pedals was overjoyed to find that she could “make
music.” Their delight at everything was just like that of little
children on finding a new toy. Their visit lasted about three hours,
and they went away promising to come again soon. This hareem is a most
exceptionally happy one. There is only one wife in it, the two elder
ladies being sisters-in-law to the bride, and unmarried. They all seem
to live together in peace and happiness. Unfortunately, this is only
the exception, which always goes to prove the rule, <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb229" href="#pb229" name="pb229">229</a>]</span>that
hareems are not the abode of peace. How can there be peace when the
heart is full of jealousy and hatred? One such case comes to my mind.
There are two brothers living in one house, one of them being married.
After some years of married life had passed and they remained
childless, he took another wife, and the first one was thrown into
misery and despair. Shortly after this we were awakened one night by
hearing most fearful shrieks and yells coming from this house. The
following day we heard that the two wives had been quarrelling and
fighting, as usual, till at last the husband took the first wife and
turned her forcibly out of doors. Fortunately, her mother’s house
was near by, to which she went, and where she remains to this day.</p>
<p>It has been said, and unfortunately too often truly said, that love
has no part in the life of a Moslem woman; and yet it is also true that
they are, as a rule, a most loving and lovable set of people. It is
because they have so little love and kindness in their own lives that,
when it does come to them, their hearts are ready to overflow in
response.</p>
<p>Perhaps the Arab women are slow to give their love and trust, but
when once given it is sure and lasting. Often these women have said to
me, “Why do you love us, Khatoun?” They cannot understand
that any one should care for them. Such an idea is outside the range of
their experience altogether. One of the first sentences I learnt in the
Arabic language was, “Ana ahubkum” (I love you all), and
this is one of the most useful and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb230"
href="#pb230" name="pb230">230</a>]</span>necessary phrases to be
learnt. Love is the magic key which opens a way to the hearts of the
Moslem women, and which brings forth much fruit in return. It is sad to
think that these women, who are endowed with such great possibilities
of loving, should be condemned to live their lives, aye, and die too,
without one spark of love to brighten and cheer them through the weary
years of their lives. Sad, too, that their favoured sisters of England
should be content that these things should remain so. Who is to tell
them of love if we do not? They know nothing of the God of Love, who
looks in pity and compassion on their stricken lives. They only know of
a God who is inexorably hard and unfeeling, who holds the destiny of
each life in His hand, and against whom it is no use repining, for
“What is written is written.”</p>
<p>Mohammed says in the Koran, “The noblest of you in the sight
of God is he who most doth fear Him.”</p>
<p>Truly has it been said that the God of the Mohammedans is an
Oriental despot. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb231" href="#pb231"
name="pb231">231</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch2.6" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter VI</h2>
<h2 class="main">Moslem Family Life</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">No home life—Women down-trodden—Evils of
divorce—Naseeb—The will of God—Truth and
falsehood—Honesty prevalent—A thief caught—Swearing
and anti-swearing—Fighting, hair-tearing, and
biting—Hammams, the Ladies’ Club.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<p class="first">“The heart of a woman is given to
folly.”</p>
<p class="signed"><span class="sc">Arabic Proverb.</span></p>
<p>“May Allah never bless womankind.”</p>
<p class="signed"><span class="sc">Quotation from Moslem
Author.</span></p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“The Very God! think, Abib, dost thou think?</p>
<p class="line">So, the All-Great, were the All-Loving too—</p>
<p class="line">So, through the Thunder comes a human voice</p>
<p class="line">Saying, ‘Oh, heart I made, a heart beats
here!</p>
<p class="line">Face, my hands fashioned, see it in myself!</p>
<p class="line">Thou hast no power nor mayst conceive of mine,</p>
<p class="line">But love I gave Thee, with Myself to love,</p>
<p class="line">And Thou must love me, who have died for
thee.’”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">R. Browning.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">There is no “home life,” such as we
understand the term, in Mosul. The word “beit” (house) is
the only one in the Arabic language used for describing a home. It
would indeed be mockery to call such by the sacred name so dear to the
hearts of English people.</p>
<p>In a book lately published in Cairo the author, a well-known and
clever Moslem writer, says: “Man is the absolute master and woman
the slave. She is the object of his sensual pleasures, a toy as it were
with which he plays whenever and however he pleases. <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb232" href="#pb232" name=
"pb232">232</a>]</span>Knowledge is his, ignorance is hers. The
firmament and the light are his, darkness and the dungeon are hers. His
is to command, hers is blindly to obey. His is everything that is, and
she is an insignificant part of that everything.” This being the
sentiment of every Moslem man, is it any wonder that there is no
happiness or mutual regard in the family life? The men look upon the
women, and treat them, as little better than brutes; then when they
become so, turn and revile them. They keep their heels firmly planted
on women’s necks and then dare them to rise. A man may be as vile
as he likes himself, but the moment he suspects one of his hareem of
misconduct there is nothing but death, or mutilation which is worse
than death, for the offender.</p>
<p>A woman once came to the hospital who always insisted on keeping her
face entirely covered with the exception of the eyes; I soon found that
the reason of this was because her nose and lips were missing. These
members had been cut off in a rage by an infuriated son-in-law, who
declared that this woman had intrigued with his wife in allowing
another man to enter the hareem in his absence. This is a
husband’s ordinary method of wreaking revenge on any of his women
folk whom he suspects of being false to him. This, or death.</p>
<p>The facility with which a man is able to divorce his wife is a great
source of trouble to the women. They never feel secure in the hearts of
their husbands, knowing that at any moment he may tire of them and send
them adrift.</p>
<p>When a woman is divorced she returns as a rule to her mother’s
house; but should she have no relation <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb233" href="#pb233" name="pb233">233</a>]</span>at hand to whom she
can appeal for protection, her condition is deplorably sad.</p>
<p>A man may divorce his wife in a fit of anger and receive her back
the next day if he so desire; this may occur twice, but if he
pronounces the fatal words “I divorce thee” three times the
divorced wife may not be taken back till she has been married to
another man for a time and <i>he</i> also has divorced her; <i>then</i>
her former husband may marry her again if he wishes. This is one of the
good (?) laws of Mohammed the Prophet, and needs no comment.</p>
<p>When a woman is divorced the husband can claim the children if he
desires; if not, the wife is allowed to retain them. Should she marry
again the poor children are often left to look after themselves as best
they can. As a rule the new husband does not wish to bear the expense
of the children belonging to his wife’s former husband. If,
however, he should consent, and the two families are brought up
together, the result is generally not conducive to peace of mind. One
of our servants in Mosul had a little boy five years of age; having
divorced the boy’s mother, he looked about for another wife, and
finally selected one who had already been divorced and was the mother
of a boy four years old. The two boys now live together, and are a
fruitful source of friction between husband and wife. A short time ago
the mother came to our compound early in the morning looking
dishevelled and angry, saying that her husband had turned her out of
the house at midnight, refusing to admit her again. On inquiring into
the matter we found that the root of the quarrel lay in the fact that
the man was jealous of his wife’s <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb234" href="#pb234" name="pb234">234</a>]</span>treatment of her own
boy, declaring that he had only married her to look after <i>his</i>
boy. He divorced her; but acting on our suggestion forgave, and
reinstated her in his hareem.</p>
<p>A short time ago a woman came to me in great distress with her tale
of sorrow. I had known her for some months, and loved her very much.
She was the mother of two fine boys and a girl. When the girl was about
eighteen months old the mother became very ill. The doctor attended her
for some days, but finally gave up all hope of her recovery. As a last
resource, however, some stringent means were used which, with
God’s blessing, proved successful, and the woman began to
recover. So near death had she been, that the neighbours came to the
house inquiring what time the funeral would take place! The husband, a
“mullah” (priest), never came near her the whole time of
her illness, and the first news the poor woman heard on her recovery
was that he intended taking another wife, doubtless thinking that,
after such a severe illness, she would not be of much use to him for
some long time.</p>
<p>As soon as she could walk she came to tell me her trouble, and to
ask me what I should advise her to do. I told her that, if I were in
her place, I should leave the man altogether. This, she said, she could
not do, as it would mean separation from her children. Finally, she
concluded that there was nothing else to do but to go back to her
husband and submit to his will. This she did, and I saw her there
before we left; but such a different face greeted me to the sweet one
of old. Misery, discontent, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb235" href=
"#pb235" name="pb235">235</a>]</span>and anger were depicted there
instead of content and happiness. Up to the time of her illness she had
been in the habit of frequently coming to see me: now her husband
forbade her to do so any more. The week before we left, however, she
turned up again with a bad abscess on her leg, for which she gave
continual praise to God, saying repeatedly,
“Alhamd’llillah. God sent me this bad leg in order that I
may come to you”—her husband not objecting to her coming to
the hospital to be treated, but only when she came to the house without
any apparent reason.</p>
<p>A Moslem woman has very little hope of gaining Paradise. Old
pictures by Mohammedan artists always represent hell as being full of
women. Their hope of gaining Paradise rests a great deal on the will of
their husbands. Some holy men say, “I don’t want my wives
in heaven. I prefer those provided by God for all good Moslems from
amongst the angels.” Yet, if you question the women about their
hope for the future life, they all fervently express the belief that,
eventually, they will have a place in Paradise afforded them.</p>
<p>Poor, blind, misguided Moslem women of Mosul and other Mohammedan
lands! How my heart aches for them! Will no one heed the cry of anguish
and despair which goes up from their midst? As we think of their lives
our cry can only be, “How long, O Lord, how long will these
things be?”</p>
<p>Women are great believers in the doctrine of Naseeb or fatalism. To
everything that comes to them they bow their heads in submission and
say, “Naseeb” (fate). <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb236"
href="#pb236" name="pb236">236</a>]</span></p>
<p>This doctrine often leads to great neglect of children and invalids,
the women excusing themselves by saying, “Maktoob” (It is
written). It often rouses our indignation to hear this oft-quoted word
misapplied as an excuse for wrongdoing or selfish desires.</p>
<p>For instance, parents will enter into negotiations for the marriage
of their daughter with a man known to be an evil liver; then, when the
girl is suffering, maybe, for their sins, say piously,
“Naseeb—Min Allah” (from God). “Min
Allah” indeed! “Min Shaitan” (from Satan) would be
more correct!</p>
<p>Then, again, it is somewhat annoying to be told it is “the
will of God” that your horse should develop a cough, because the
groom neglected to cover him when standing in the rain; or, when your
best china tea-set is smashed, you would rather not be told it is
“Naseeb”!</p>
<p>Albeit this is an annoying doctrine to the European at times, yet it
certainly helps the Eastern woman to bear her troubles and trials, and
it is good for her to have this at command, for she has nothing else to
aid her. To sorrow, loss, bereavement, and all the ills that human
nature is subject to, the Moslem answers always “Naseeb,”
or, “It is the will of God.” Should their children die, or
the locusts destroy the crop, it is “Naseeb.” Is the
weather hot or cold, dry or moist, the remark is always the same,
“Naseeb.” If the river water is filthy and they choose to
drink it, thus contracting typhoid or one of the hundred other ills
consequent on drinking such water, they have only to assure themselves
that it is “Naseeb,” and there remains nothing more to be
said or done. It is easier to <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb237"
href="#pb237" name="pb237">237</a>]</span>say “Naseeb” than
to take the trouble to filter or boil the water for drinking.</p>
<p>In a thousand ways this belief in fatalism is convenient to the lazy
or careless ones, a help to the over-burdened and weary, who know no
other succour or helper in time of need or sorrow, while it is, in some
cases, a blasphemous libel on God, blaming Him for what is really a sin
wilfully indulged in.</p>
<p>As in Persia, so in Mosul, truth plays little part in the characters
of some of the people. They have not yet learnt to value God’s
gift as expressed by the poet Browning—</p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“God’s gift was that man should conceive of
Truth</p>
<p class="line xd20e2463">And yearn to gain it.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first">It is strange how even the most enlightened find it
difficult to speak the truth always, and correspondingly easy to tell
an untruth. A boy was once found out in a fault (quite a trivial one),
but, when questioned, he absolutely denied all knowledge of it, until
he was confronted by one who had been an eye-witness of the whole
scene. Then only did he confess, adding, “I said with <i>my
lips</i> I did not do it, but in <i>my heart</i> I confessed.”
What can be said to people whose mind is capable of evolving such
ideas? We often had to complain of dishonesty amongst the hospital
women servants, especially of the cook for petty thefts, such as eating
the patients’ food, thus causing them to go on short commons,
unless I was there to see that each one had his or her proper quantity.
One day I was crossing the compound before superintending the
distribution of the evening meal to the in-patients, when, as I
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb238" href="#pb238" name=
"pb238">238</a>]</span>approached the kitchen, I distinctly saw the
cook helping herself most liberally to the food out of the pot. On
remonstrating with her, she indignantly denied that she had ever tasted
a morsel, until I made her open her mouth and reveal to the amused
onlookers proof positive of her lies. Even then she was not ashamed,
but only laughed at the idea of the “khatoun” finding her
out.</p>
<p>A woman will bring a child to the dispensary and swear that it is
her child, all the time knowing that the real mother is waiting
outside, too ashamed to be seen coming to the poor people’s
dispensary, but not wishing to pay the usual doctor’s fee. Or
some lady from a high-class hareem will dress in her servant’s
clothes and come to the dispensary, posing as a poor woman who cannot
afford a piastre (2d.) for her medicine!</p>
<p>You get so tired of always hearing lies that you begin to feel it is
no use to question people at all. I do not wish to imply that there is
no truth to be found in Mosul; but it certainly is a rare and, when
found, precious virtue. It is a sad fact, too, that the natives do not
trust or believe each other, knowing that, given the opportunity, a
brother will cheat a brother or a son his father. Every one is
suspicious of his neighbour. On the whole the people are honest, at
least with the exception of the many trifling pilferings always to be
expected amongst the servants.</p>
<p>Some of them are rather fond of “eating money” entrusted
to their care. We had two or three servants who were good at this. They
would come to me every day with their accounts, receive payment for
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb239" href="#pb239" name=
"pb239">239</a>]</span>same, but instead of handing over the money to
the shopkeeper would calmly appropriate it for themselves, till one day
the baker or butcher leaves a message at the door politely asking to be
paid for past favours. Then the culprit is sent for, and acknowledges
having “eaten the money.”</p>
<p>Another servant once tried to steal some dolls from a box lately
received from England for distribution amongst the in-patients of the
hospital. He had helped me unpack the box and carry the contents to the
storeroom, pending the arrival of Christmas Day. A few days after I was
passing this room, and hearing a rustling inside looked to see what it
was, but seeing the door still locked thought I must have imagined the
noise. But just as I was passing on the rustling became more distinct,
and I went nearer to examine more closely the door, and found that,
while the lock was still intact, the door had been lifted bodily off
its hinges and then carefully replaced!</p>
<p>Calling my husband, we entered the room and found a poor frightened
man trying to hide himself under the pile of paper and sacking which
had been removed from the box. He was absolutely shaking with fear,
thinking that he would be bastinadoed (beaten on the feet with sticks)
or imprisoned. He declared at first that he had come for some string,
which he had noticed on a shelf, to mend my saddle; but finally
confessed that the dolls had been the object of his visit. About six
small ones were found in his pockets; he had wanted them for his
children. We told him that if he had only asked he should have had one
given him. I shall never forget his <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb240" href="#pb240" name="pb240">240</a>]</span>astonishment when my
husband told him to choose the one he liked best and take it to his
little girl. He wept for joy and gratitude.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e3049width" id="p240"><img src="images/p240.jpg"
alt="Bread-Making" width="720" height="478">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">Bread-Making</span></p>
<p class="first">Baking-day is one to be dreaded. The process begins
soon after midnight, when the woman arrives to prepare the flour and
set the dough. Every woman is pressed into service: one to make the
dough into little cakes, another to give it a preliminary roll. She
then passes it on to her neighbour to be rolled still thinner, until
finally the loaf is as thin as a wafer. It is then placed in the oven
on a cushion such as is seen in the woman’s hand.</p>
</div>
<p>Swearing is very largely indulged in by men and women alike; it
seems to come as naturally to them as swimming to a duck. Originally
the words “wallah,” “yallah,”
“billah,” were used as swear expressions; but are now
looked upon more as ejaculations equivalent to our “good
gracious!” “goodness!” &c.; the real swear words
being “wallahi,” “billahi,” &c. Some of the
women cannot keep the expression <i>wallah</i> out of their
conversation, though I try hard to persuade them to do so. For
instance, a visitor comes; you remark to her on the extreme heat.
“Wallah,” comes the answer, “it is hot!” Or you
inquire after some member of her family. “Wallah, she is very
ill,” is the reply.</p>
<p>I was visiting one day in a Moslem house, and the old mother-in-law
said to me, “What has happened to X.?” mentioning her
daughter-in-law; “she never swears now!” I was indeed
thankful for this unexpected tribute to that woman’s efforts. We
started an anti-swearing society amongst a few of the women; it was
quite funny to see how they endeavoured to keep back the old familiar
words which had been on their lips since childhood.</p>
<p>One little boy joined with the women, and he found it hardest of
all; but when we left he was still persevering. He learnt the Ten
Commandments by heart, so whenever I heard him use a swear word I made
him repeat the third commandment.</p>
<p>The women are terribly fond of couching their denials in the form of
oaths, as “May my hand be <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb241"
href="#pb241" name="pb241">241</a>]</span>broken,” “May I
become blind,” “May my interior become dried up if I did
such and such a thing!” It makes me shiver sometimes to hear them
swearing to a lie in this way; and I often tell them that if God only
took them at their word, they would be stricken blind many times
over.</p>
<p>It is not an unknown thing for women to resort occasionally to
fighting as a pastime, but I am thankful to say I have not seen much of
it. A woman came to the Dispensary once with a fearful-looking hand:
the thumb was about six times its normal size and had become
gangrenous. My husband said the only possible cure was amputation; to
this the woman would not consent. She said that a short time before she
had been fighting with another woman, who had bitten her thumb in her
fury. I asked this woman what she had done to her opponent.
“Oh,” she said, “I only pulled out her
hair!”</p>
<p>Another woman once brought me quite a handful of hair to show, which
she declared her husband had just pulled out of her head in his anger;
while he at the same time exhibited several ugly wounds on his hand
caused by his wife’s teeth! The man vowed he would divorce her,
refusing to listen to any suggestions as to forgiveness, saying,
“What would my neighbours say of me if I kept for my wife a woman
who would do that?” pointing to the bites on his hand. However,
in the end he did consent to take her back, being on the whole an
amicably disposed man. Can we wonder that these things should happen
when neither the men nor the women have ever learnt to control their
passions? We have glanced at the lives of the Moslem women of Mosul.
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb242" href="#pb242" name=
"pb242">242</a>]</span>Can we say that they lead an ennobling,
beautiful life? Are the home influences such as to foster a happy,
peaceful spirit? On the contrary, we have seen that a woman deserves
our pity and sympathy for all the sorrow she has to endure.</p>
<p>Have we not seen that at birth she is unwelcome, as a child
uncared-for and untaught, as a young woman imprisoned behind the veil,
as a wife unloved, as a mother unhonoured; and when her weary life
draws to a close she knows that she will go to her grave unmourned.
Such in brief outline is the life of a Moslem woman.</p>
<p>A woman’s one place of recreation is the hammam. It is indeed
a kind of ladies’ club; here she throws away for the time being
all her home worries and troubles, enjoying thoroughly her few hours of
liberty. As a rule the bath takes at least two hours, and often half a
day, if the woman has no special demands on her time. She generally
goes in the morning, taking with her a complete change of raiment, a
mat to sit upon in the cooling chamber, and plenty of towels, also some
food to be partaken of after the exertions of the bath are over. I once
went to one of these hammams, but the heat was so intense that I could
only stand it for a few minutes. I often wonder how ever the women can
exist in such great heat for so long; I suppose it is because they are
used to it. Many illnesses date from a visit to the hammam; but still
they would not give it up for any consideration, thinking it quite
impossible to take a bath in the house. Certainly the Turkish bath is
much cleaner than the Persian one. In the latter a large tank is used,
and as it costs a good deal to warm up, the <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb243" href="#pb243" name=
"pb243">243</a>]</span>water is not changed very often. In the Turkish
hammam each person has a tap for herself, from which flows presumably
clean water. As a matter of fact sometimes this water has already been
used, but only in the cheaper hammams. The most expensive baths have
river water brought up for the purpose; in the others well water is
used, and as this is brackish and very hard it is impossible to use
soap, for it will not lather; therefore a special kind of earth is
used, which is said to be very good for washing the hair with.</p>
<p>When Judy, our woman servant, returns from the bath, she always
comes and gives me a kiss, this being their custom, and we exchange the
salutations usual upon any one returning from the hammam. <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb244" href="#pb244" name="pb244">244</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch2.7" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter VII</h2>
<h2 class="main">Customs of Mosul</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Wedding ceremonies—Great expense to
parents—Method of procedure—Funeral customs—Customs
at birth—Some other customs.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“The bridegroom’s doors are open wide,</p>
<p class="line">And I am next of kin;</p>
<p class="line">The guests are met, the feast is set;</p>
<p class="line">May’st hear the merry din.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">S. T. Coleridge.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">We have seen that a wedding is a very expensive matter
in Mosul, especially to parents who possess three or four daughters;
for unless the necessary gold, jewellery, and clothing are forthcoming
as a dowry, the marriage will never take place. For this reason a man
with a number of daughters will begin saving for their marriage portion
and expenses while the girl is yet a baby, and the mothers will often
commence gathering together clothing even before the child is
betrothed, so that they may be better prepared for the expensive event
when it does take place.</p>
<p>Then, too, not only is there the outlay for the dowry and clothing,
but also for the feasting of some hundreds, it maybe, of guests during
the seven days following the marriage. A man of very fair means in
Mosul once told me that the marriage of his daughters cost him at least
£200 each, and as he had seven daughters the sum total required
was not small. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb245" href="#pb245" name=
"pb245">245</a>]</span>If this man with a good income found it hard
work to produce the necessary cash, how much harder is it for those who
have no settled income, or whose earnings are small. For instance, a
native Christian whom we respected and liked very much had two
daughters; both were betrothed and ready to be married. He was earning
about £3 a month, and had a wife and six children to
support—how could he provide all the necessary gold and other
ornaments for his girls? And yet, if he did not, in all probability his
daughters would never be married. There was only one way out of the
difficulty, and that was to borrow at high interest, crippling himself
for many years to come, perhaps for the rest of his life. Instances
might be multiplied, but I think enough has been said to show that
girls are expensive luxuries in Mosul as regards their weddings! Now as
to the “preparations” for the great and eventful day.</p>
<p>When a man makes up his mind to be married, or his parents decide in
<i>their</i> minds that it is high time their son should take to
himself a wife, many are the consultations which take place, and great
is the importance of the women folk concerned. They are never so happy
as when arranging for a marriage, loving the mystery and secrecy of it;
for it would never do for a fond mother to offer the hand of her dear
son in marriage to the mother of a possible bride and be refused. The
shame and ignominy would be too great; so the mother and other female
relations of the would-be bridegroom have to go very carefully to work
in selecting the girl and in making any proposal for marriage. Before
the actual “asking” is done, the way has to be prepared by
very careful <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb246" href="#pb246" name=
"pb246">246</a>]</span>hints and indirect inquiries as to the
girl’s health, accomplishments, and dowry. If all proves
satisfactory, then a formal proposal is made. The matter having gone so
far, a refusal is very unusual, and, if given, is considered a great
insult. I heard of one young man who threatened to murder all the
relations of a girl for whom he had made proposals of marriage upon her
parents refusing to accept his offer.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e3119width" id="p246"><img src="images/p246.jpg"
alt="A Mosul Bride" width="476" height="720">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">A Mosul Bride</span></p>
<p class="first">The girl in the centre of the picture is a Christian
bride decked out in her wedding costume. The gold coins, necklaces, and
girdle are her dowry.</p>
</div>
<p>I have often been asked by Moslem women to suggest some girl as a
suitable bride either for their brother or son. On mentioning some
girls whom I knew, their answers were something as follows: “Oh,
but she has a white patch on her eye,” or “She is too
poor,” or “She has a bad temper,” or “She is
not pretty.” Their idea of beauty is that of a white, pasty, fat
face, without a vestige of colour, except that which art applies! Of
course, the man never sees the girl till the day of betrothal, and in
the case of Moslems not till the actual marriage takes place. The old
custom amongst the Christians of marrying a girl against her will is
still extant in some villages. Sometimes it happens that a girl
persists in her dislike to marry, even till the priest has arrived to
tie the knot: in this case the father would bind the girl’s arms
and legs till the marriage ceremony was completed, when she was
released, it being useless then for further resistance on her part.
This is done even now in some villages near Mosul when the girl proves
obstinate. As a rule, though, they accept their fate as
“Naseeb,” knowing it is little or no use to struggle
against custom. How often my heart aches for some poor child who is
bound to a man old enough to be her grandfather <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb247" href="#pb247" name="pb247">247</a>]</span>or
great-grandfather sometimes. Alas, too often old in sin as well as
years!</p>
<p>When the day of the marriage approaches, invitations are sent out to
all friends and relations for the specified days of feasting. First
comes the day for taking the bride to the bath—this is considered
a great function; then follows a week of excitement, dancing, singing,
feasting, all forming part of the great event. All thoroughly enjoy
themselves, even those who have to work the hardest in preparing the
food. The guests are expected to remain from morning till sunset. Three
meals are provided each day, the morning one consisting of bread,
cream, butter, fruit, &c.; the midday meal is a substantial one of
meat, cooked in various ways, rice, chicken, and vegetables according
to the season. The evening meal is also a very heavy one, causing the
guests to depart perfectly satisfied both with their dinner and
themselves.</p>
<p>During the whole of the week the poor bride has to sit in the
reception room on a cushion specially prepared for brides, and takes no
part in the surrounding gaieties. Each day she appears in a fresh silk
dress, and is often covered with golden jewellery. She is not supposed
to speak till spoken to, and the guests do not take much notice of her
beyond the usual kiss of salutation. At meal times she is
“fed” by her relations, a bride being supposed to be too
overcome to help herself or eat without assistance.</p>
<p>After the days of feasting are over, the bride takes her place in
the house as “servant” to her mother-in-law. In a Moslem
house the youngest <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb248" href="#pb248"
name="pb248">248</a>]</span>and latest bride always becomes the servant
of all for the first year of married life, or till another and younger
one is brought to the home. Much depends on the mother-in-law’s
character as to the happiness or otherwise of the inmates of the
hareem. If they wish, they can make the lives of the young wives
perfectly miserable, or the reverse.</p>
<p>The same custom of feasting for a certain number of days takes place
too in connection with funerals. The guests who come to mourn sit in
solemn silence all day long; their mourning does not lessen their
appetite, however, for they thoroughly enjoy their “feast”
of sorrow. After a death, the “wailers” are brought in. I
went once to a Christian house of mourning to see these wailing women.
It was a ghastly sight. The professional wailers sat on the ground in
the centre of the relations and guests, and worked themselves and
others into such a frenzy that I thought some would have fainted from
exhaustion; slapping their knees, tearing their hair and clothes, till
they resembled maniacs more than women.</p>
<p>A short time ago a very sad and sudden death took place in Mosul in
a house very close to us. We were awakened one night, while sleeping on
the roof, by hearing the terrible wailing sounds coming from our
neighbour’s house. At the same time a messenger arrived in great
haste, asking my husband to go at once to see the patient, as his
relatives were not sure if he was dead or only in a fit. He had been
out during the night to some Moslem religious function, and died quite
suddenly on his return.</p>
<p>The wailing went on in the hareem for seven days, <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb249" href="#pb249" name="pb249">249</a>]</span>and
was terrible to hear. The sound of the weird wailing of some hundred
women is perfectly indescribable, always ending up with a piercing
shriek which seems to rend the air and freeze one’s blood.</p>
<p>Being friends and neighbours, I paid daily visits to the mourners
during that week, but did not sit amongst the guests, preferring to
spend the time with the sisters of the deceased in a quiet room above
the din and uproar of the courtyard. The wailing has such a hopeless
sound, as of a lost soul in anguish. One longed for them to know of
Jesus the Living One, and of the time when partings shall be no
more.</p>
<p>After death has visited a family, the whole house in which the
departed one lived is not swept for three days: this is because they
believe that the angel of death is still hovering near, and they fear
lest, while they are sweeping, others of the household may be swept
from the house by the angel. So the house becomes very dirty, the
carpets covered with cigarette ash and ends, but nothing can be touched
till the third day is safely passed.</p>
<p>Amongst the Christians it is also the custom after the death of a
relative, not to go to the hammam (bath) for six months, and for the
men to go unshaven for at least six weeks. The women are very
particular about not going to the hammam while mourning, as I found to
my sorrow. Our woman servant Judy lost her father just before she
entered our service, and she allowed a whole year to elapse before she
could be prevailed upon to go to the bath. They are very particular,
too, about wearing “deep” <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb250" href="#pb250" name="pb250">250</a>]</span>clothing—that
is, dresses of some dark colour, not necessarily black.</p>
<p>I am sure that the custom of burying a few hours after death is
often the cause of many people being buried alive. I have often been
regaled by an old woman with horrible stories of how some friends of
hers have just escaped being buried alive. For those who providentially
escape being entombed alive one is thankful; but what of the many who
most certainly are condemned to this awful fate. It is too terrible to
contemplate. In a land where no medical certificates are required, and
where the body is carried to the cemetery almost before it is cold, how
can it be otherwise?</p>
<p>But to proceed to other and more pleasing customs—let us pass
from death to life. When a child is born in Mosul, whether Moslem or
Christian, the first idea of the parents is to protect the child from
the baneful influence of the Evil Eye. The usual custom is to thread a
gall, and suspend it round the neck of the infant. Moslems enclose a
portion of the Koran in a little bag, and fasten that round the arm of
the child or sew it on to the cap. The custom of wearing charms to
avert the Evil Eye is very prevalent, and deeply rooted in the minds of
the Mosul people.</p>
<p>The kissing of hands is a very pretty custom. Children are all
taught to do this even before they can speak or walk. Servants are
always very anxious to kiss your hands after they have done something
especially annoying or irritating. They make a grab for your hand, and
kiss it before you realise what they are doing. In this way they
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb251" href="#pb251" name=
"pb251">251</a>]</span>secure your forgiveness before the fault is
confessed. I am getting more wary now, and prefer to hear first what
they have done before letting them kiss my hand. It is also a sign of
gratitude. Upon receiving any backsheesh or present, the recipient is
always ready to kiss your hand. Sometimes, when riding through the
city, I have had my hand grasped and kissed by some passer-by who has
been an in-patient in the hospital, and wished to show his gratitude in
this way. It requires a great deal of gratitude or love for a man to
kiss a <i>woman’s</i> hand, so, when by chance it does occur, I
feel very much honoured indeed.</p>
<p>There is one custom which is often the cause of a great deal of
heartburning, even as it was in the days of Haman and Mordecai. It is
usual for a host or hostess to rise from their seat upon the arrival of
each guest—that is, if they desire to do honour to that person.
As a rule this custom is most carefully adhered to, but it lends itself
admirably to any one wishing to be rude to his guest or to shame him
before his friends. Fortunately, this is not often the case, but when
it does happen one feels very uncomfortable. There is one dear old lady
in Mosul, who thinks it beneath her dignity to rise to a Feringhi. But,
perhaps, it is excusable for her as she is a Hadji—that is, one
who has made the pilgrimage to Mecca, and, consequently, is treated as
an exalted being by all her friends and relations.</p>
<p>A rather quaint and pleasing custom in Mosul is that of sending
trays containing a dinner all ready cooked and dished to new-comers, or
to those <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb252" href="#pb252" name=
"pb252">252</a>]</span>returning after a long period of absence. We did
not know of this custom when first we went to Mosul, so were very
surprised at sunset on our second day after arrival to see two or three
men coming into the compound carrying huge trays on their heads. They
explained that their master, a Moslem merchant, had sent this meal,
with many salaams and good wishes. It was a dinner large enough for
twenty people, so we gathered together all we could find on the
premises, assistants, catechist, and others, who had been kindly
helping us to settle down. Spreading some Persian carpets in the
courtyard, we sat down and thoroughly enjoyed our first Arab meal in
Mosul.</p>
<p>When any one is leaving the place or starting on a journey, it is
customary for the people to send in large trays containing sweetmeats,
cakes, and other eatables suitable for taking with you on the road.
When we were leaving Mosul, we received quite a large number of these
trays—so many, indeed, that at the end of our fourteen days of
desert we still had a good many of their contents remaining. Some of
these were made of almonds pounded and mixed with sugar; others were
made from puff pastry sandwiched with honey: these latter were
especially nice.</p>
<p>Distributing food to the poor as a mark of gratitude and
thankfulness is another of Mosul’s good customs. After recovering
from a dangerous illness, it is usual to make and distribute a large
quantity of bread, baked in a special way, and flavoured with caraway
seeds.</p>
<p>The birth of a son and heir is also celebrated <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb253" href="#pb253" name="pb253">253</a>]</span>by a
generous and lavish distribution of meat and bread. When starting on a
journey, too, it is usual to give away to the poor either money or
food. On every occasion of life which calls for gratitude to God, this
custom of presenting offerings to the poor is carried out. One dear
woman, a friend of mine, went even further than this. It was thought at
one time that we should be leaving Mosul for good, the Mission being
withdrawn. Providentially, this was over-ruled, and when the news
arrived from England that the Mission was to be kept on, great were the
rejoicings amongst the people. The woman mentioned above immediately
desired to show her thankfulness to God in a very special way, so spent
one whole day in making a large supply of small loaves of bread, not to
distribute to the poor, but to feed the hungry, starving <i>dogs</i> of
the streets. This by a Moslem woman was, indeed, a work of love, dogs
being looked upon as unclean beasts. Surely she “that loveth much
shall be forgiven much.”</p>
<p>Coffee-making and drinking is associated very much with life in
Mosul. It is the custom there to give every one who comes to the house
a cup of Arab coffee. This meant sometimes for us giving at least 200
cups in a day. Not only those who come as social visitors receive the
coffee, but also all who come to the house on whatever pretext, whether
for meetings, classes, or what not. At feast times one servant is
always told off to do nothing else but prepare the coffee for the
guests. On each of the great feasts, such as Christmas and Easter, it
is the custom for every one to call, Moslems <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb254" href="#pb254" name="pb254">254</a>]</span>and
Christians alike. At Christmas the feast lasts for three days, and at
Easter a week, the whole of which time coffee must be ready to be
handed at once to every caller; also a tray of sweets, consisting of
Turkish delight, almond sugar, and other Mosul-made confections.</p>
<p>When a house is “mourning,” bitter coffee is given to
all callers for six months, and on the first day of each feast for a
whole year.</p>
<p>I do not think I have ever visited a Moslem house, however poor,
without receiving either a cup of coffee or some sweets. I often beg
them not to make preparations for me, but they always insist, as their
hospitable instincts are very strong. Indeed, more often than not, they
set before me not only coffee or sweets, but meat, fruit, and lebban
(sour milk).</p>
<p>A true Arab of the desert takes about an hour to make a cup of
coffee. First of all the coffee has to be roasted, then ground to
powder, and, lastly, boiled. The Arabs never sweeten their coffee,
sugar not being a commodity of the desert.</p>
<p>I once heard the recipe for making Arab or Turkish coffee. Perhaps
some readers may like to try their hand at making it.</p>
<p>First roast the coffee to a rich brown, neither too light nor too
dark, then grind it to a soft powder. Now comes the art of making good
coffee. Half-fill the pot with cold water; bring it to boiling point.
Throw in a handful of powdered coffee; allow it to boil; shake down and
bring it to the boil again. Repeat this process three times, and the
coffee is ready. Specially note: Never wash the <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb255" href="#pb255" name="pb255">255</a>]</span>pot!
Needless to say, this last injunction I do not carry out, but the
servants quite believe in that part of the recipe. It is only with
great difficulty I can persuade them to wash out the coffee-pot
occasionally.</p>
<p>In summer, this reluctance on their part often leads to serious
complications. The kitchen, as may be supposed, is not a very cool
place during the hot season, consequently it suffers continually from a
plague of flies. Dead flies are often served up in puddings and other
dishes, to act presumably as an appetiser! Then eating requires a great
effort. The coffee-pot seems to serve as a trap for many of these
flies, attracted no doubt by the sugar, and there they find a coffee
grave. Suddenly a visitor is announced, and the message is conveyed to
the kitchen to “Send coffee at once.” The cook seizes the
pot, never looking to see how many victims are struggling in the dregs
at the bottom, adds a little freshly-ground coffee, boils it up, and
sends it in to the visitor served in dainty little cups. The visitor
takes one sip, and...! I will draw a veil over the sequel. A mouthful
of dead flies is not a very palatable drink. My feelings may be better
imagined than described.</p>
<p>Sometimes a guest does not approve of the way the coffee is made
(even when minus flies); if so, she is not shy, and does not hesitate
to hand it back with a grimace, saying to your servant: “What
horrid coffee! why do you not make better?” and often demands
another cup properly made.</p>
<p>A visit to the bread-makers may not be out of place here. It is the
custom amongst some of the people to bake bread once a month,
sufficient to last <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb256" href="#pb256"
name="pb256">256</a>]</span>that length of time. Baking-day is a day to
be dreaded. The process begins soon after midnight, when the woman
arrives to prepare the flour and “set” the dough for
rising. The whole of that day every woman on the premises is pressed
into service—one to make the dough into little cakes, another
gives it a preliminary roll, then hands it to her neighbour, who uses a
smaller roller, and finally hands it on to some one else to finish it
off. When completed, the bread is about as thin as note-paper and as
large round as a child’s wooden hoop. The bread is now ready to
be baked. The fuel used for heating the oven is chopped straw and
goats’ dung, which is burnt till the required heat is obtained;
then these large thin pieces of bread are plastered to the sides of the
oven, and removed as they are browned to an exact nicety. This bread is
very nice when fresh and crisp; when stale, it is generally soaked in
water before being brought to the table.</p>
<p>We do not make our bread in this way. I tried it once for the
hospital in-patients, but found it took far too much time. The daily
baking is much more suitable when from thirty to forty people have to
be fed daily. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb257" href="#pb257" name=
"pb257">257</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter VIII</h2>
<h2 class="main">Dreams and Visions</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Ezekiel’s vision by the river Chebar—Our
vision by the river Khabour—Rivers identical—“A wheel
within a wheel”—Babylonish emblem of divinity—Origin
of the cherubim—Dream of a woman suffering from
cataract—Effect of dream on her character—Watch and chain
recovered by means of a “faked” dream—Illustration of
the doctrine of Kismet or Naseeb—“Ghosts” in our
compound—Atmosphere of ghosts bad for fowls.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<p class="first">“O dreamer, dream thy dream, and dream it
true.</p>
<p class="signed"><span class="sc">Sir Lewis Morris.</span></p>
<p>“Did not Heaven speak to men in dreams of old?”</p>
<p class="signed"><span class="sc">Lord Tennyson.</span></p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line xd20e2463">”... The vision of my soul</p>
<p class="line">Has looked upon its Sun and turns no more</p>
<p class="line xd20e1108">To any lower light.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Sir Lewis Morris.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Dreams and visions have a great influence on the
Eastern mind. They believe most firmly that God often speaks by means
of these agencies, using them as a warning of impending danger, or as a
voice of instruction.</p>
<p>Ezekiel was no exception to this rule, for we read in the words of
his prophecy, “That the heavens were opened, and I saw visions of
God.” This vision was given to him as he stood by the river
Chebar in the land of the Chaldeans. The river Chebar is none other
than the Khabour, over which we have passed more than once in our
“journeyings oft.” When <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb258" href="#pb258" name="pb258">258</a>]</span>on our way back to
England we crossed this river, and as we sat near its banks, even as
Ezekiel did of old, we too were vouchsafed a “vision of
God.”</p>
<p>We had travelled through a weary stretch of waterless desert that
day, and were rejoicing in the fact that our camping-ground for the
night was by the banks of a river—the Chebar. Only those who have
journeyed for days through a parched-up desert land can tell the joy
with which a river is sighted. We experienced something of that joy on
the evening when we saw water for the first time for two or three days.
We pitched our camp as close to the river as possible, and, sitting at
our tent door, prepared to enjoy to the full the beauties before us.
Looking up I saw in front of me a glorious sight. I quickly called my
husband, and together we stood and watched this wonderful vision. The
sun was sinking as a ball of fire behind the river, when suddenly from
its centre there arose beautiful prismatic lights. These gradually
resolved themselves into the form of a huge wheel, each spoke of the
wheel being of a different colour, merging gradually and almost
imperceptibly into the next, as in the rainbow. Within this
“wheel” was another and smaller one, also composed of the
same prismatic hues. The outer circle of each wheel was formed by a
band of bright opaque light. On the top of these wheels was a visionary
form resembling the beginning of another wheel, but it was too
indistinct for me to say what definite shape it possessed. At either
side of these wheels was a large wing, as it were overshadowing the
wheels; these were also of a bright white. The whole formed a most
wonderful and never to be <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb259" href=
"#pb259" name="pb259">259</a>]</span>forgotten sight, and we felt
indeed that this was a vision of God.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e3253width" id="p259"><img src="images/p259.gif"
alt="A Wonderful Vision." width="394" height="321"></div>
<p>While in Mosul my husband had received a letter from a gentleman in
England, asking him to keep a look-out for any such phenomenon as this.
On reaching home it was interesting to find on good authority that the
sight we had seen on the banks of the Khabour was one of historical
interest. The form of the wheels is almost identical with the emblem
which the Babylonians adopted to represent Divinity. On the same
authority I learnt, too, that in all probability a vision similar to
this was the origin of the cherubims. It is believed by an expert on
the subject that the whole of the “vision” is caused by
atmospheric influences, the sun acting on the particles of frost in the
air, thus forming the prismatic colours. Be this as it may, the result
was truly marvellous, and we were thankful that we had been privileged
to see “the heavens open,” revealing this vision of God.
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb260" href="#pb260" name=
"pb260">260</a>]</span></p>
<p>The whole spectacle could not have lasted more than five minutes,
but the sky retained its blaze of colour for about a quarter of an hour
after; then darkness covered the heavens.</p>
<p>The natives of Mosul are great believers in dreams, and accept them
as good or bad omens. A short time ago a Moslem woman came to the
Dispensary suffering from double cataract. She had been quite blind for
many years, and was very anxious for an operation, saying if only she
could have enough sight to sweep the compound she would be satisfied,
as then she could earn her livelihood. The doctor, after examining her
eyes, told the woman that he could not promise her a good result from
the operation, as her eyes were not healthy. However, as she was
absolutely blind, it was worth while to try, and perhaps she might see
sufficiently afterwards to find her way about. Accordingly she was
admitted to the Hospital to await her time for operation. She was a
very affectionate woman, and seemed to be gifted with great powers of
intuition. When I went to the door of the ward, even before I spoke,
she always called out, “There’s my khatoun!”
Sometimes I crept in quietly just to see if she would know I was
present; she almost invariably did, and sitting up in bed would listen
intently, and then say to one of the other patients, “Is not the
khatoun here?” Then when she felt my hand, she would grasp it and
say, “I knew it, I knew it; I <i>felt</i> here” (pointing
to her heart) “that my khatoun was in the room!” She was
such an excitable woman that my husband feared that she would do
something foolish either at the time of the operation or after. He
warned her that <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb261" href="#pb261"
name="pb261">261</a>]</span>if she did not keep quiet she might lose
her eye altogether; but as the fateful day approached she became more
and more nervous. One morning, however, she appeared quite calm, and
hastened to tell us the reason of her peace of mind. During the night
she had seen a vision which had quieted all her fears and made her
trustful and believing.</p>
<p>In her dream she seemed to be walking in the desert, where she met a
mullah, who immediately began to revile and curse her. While he was
thus engaged the woman saw a form coming towards her which she knew to
be that of our Lord (Jesus the Living One, as He is called in Arabic).
He began to speak gently to the woman, asking her why she was weeping;
she replied by telling our Lord that the mullah had been cursing her.
In her dream she then <i>saw</i> (although blind) that our Lord turned
to the mullah and rebuked him for cursing the woman. Then turning to
the wondering woman, He said, “Do not weep, my daughter, for the
English doctor is going to give you sight in a few days,” and
then He left her. She awoke firmly convinced that this was a special
revelation from God through Jesus our Lord to assure her that her
eyesight was to be restored. From that time she was perfectly calm and
quiet, and remained so the whole time she was in the hospital. The day
before the operation she was again warned that she might not see any
better after; but she smiled and said, “To-morrow I shall
see!” Her faith was rewarded, as the operation was successful,
and after two or three weeks she went out with very good vision in one
eye, and she is waiting for our return to have the other operated upon.
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb262" href="#pb262" name=
"pb262">262</a>]</span></p>
<p>My husband was once travelling “chappa” (post) in Persia
from Yezd to Kerman, when one evening he found to his great sorrow that
he had lost his gold watch and chain. Both were very valuable to him on
account of their associations, so he was very sad at the thought of
losing them. The same night he met another Englishman who was returning
to Yezd. He told him of his loss, and asked him to make inquiries along
the road, offering a reward to any one who would bring back his watch
and chain. His friend promised to do all he could, and, calling his
servant, explained to him about the loss, and told him to keep a sharp
look-out for any news of the lost goods. This servant was a very smart
man. The next morning they met a camel caravan on the road to Kerman,
and the servant went up to the driver and said to him—</p>
<p>“Oh, my noble brother, may your kindness never grow less; my
sleep has been troubled last night by dreams of you.”</p>
<p>“<i lang="fa-latn">Estakfarullah!</i>” (God forbid),
says the camel-driver. “Why was my lord’s sleep disturbed
by dreams of me, who am not worthy?”</p>
<p>“Yes; I saw in my dream that you stooped and picked up
something.”</p>
<p>“Then your dream was wrong,” hastily interposed the
camel-driver, “for I have picked up nothing.”</p>
<p>“And lo! in my dream,” continued the wily servant,
“I saw that the thing which you picked up was worthless, only a
cheap thing which will bring you no gain.” The camel-driver here
looking sad, the servant continued: “But the owner of that
worthless thing is very anxious to find it, as although of <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb263" href="#pb263" name="pb263">263</a>]</span>no
value in money, yet he cherishes it as a thing he loves.”</p>
<p>“But I told you,” repeats the camel-driver, “that
I never picked up anything.”</p>
<p>“Then in my dream,” continues the servant, carefully
ignoring the reiterated denial of the camel-driver, “I saw you
glance at this useless object in your hand and then place it inside
your <i>aba</i>” (cloak).</p>
<p>“No, no,” cries the driver, “I never picked it
up.”</p>
<p>“So if you will let me show you where it is, I can relieve you
of this worthless object.”</p>
<p>After a little more parleying of this sort, the camel-driver
produces my husband’s watch and chain, and receives in return a
small backsheesh. The servant, highly delighted with himself and his
sagacity, smiled as he pockets in imagination the promised reward of
five <i>tomans</i> (£1). The camel-driver confessed afterwards
that he was so taken aback at the idea of his deeds being revealed in a
dream to this man that he would not have kept the watch at any
cost.</p>
<p>Needless to say the “dream” was only a faked one,
manufactured to work on the superstitious mind of the simple
camel-driver.</p>
<p>In Mosul the chief of the Seyyids once told the doctor a story
relating to a remarkable dream. It was as follows. Two men once called
on a mullah to question him regarding a matter which had been troubling
them. The cause of their dispute was this. On going to their work each
day these men passed a ladder leaning against a wall. One of the two
always avoided going under lest it should fall and kill him; while the
other said, “No, I will not run from danger, <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb264" href="#pb264" name="pb264">264</a>]</span>for
whatever Allah has decreed must be. If it is written that I am to be
killed by the ladder, I shall be.” So the two friends, after
having spent much time in arguing this knotty question, decided to lay
the matter before a mullah and leave the decision to him. The mullah
listened to them both, but told them that such a serious question
needed much thought. He appointed a day for them to return and hear his
verdict. After their departure the mullah fell into a sleep, and in his
sleep he dreamed. In the dream he beheld a beautiful boy, the son of a
king whom his soul loved exceedingly; then later he met a stranger, who
told him that he (the mullah) was to cause the death of the boy he
loved so much. The mullah, filled with indignation, repudiated the
idea, saying that he loved the boy too much to do him any harm.
“Nevertheless,” said the stranger, “it must be, for
Allah has decreed that the boy is to meet his death through you, and
what is written is written.” The old mullah returned to his house
troubled and sad at heart, but determined that he would do nothing that
could in any way bring disaster to the boy. Still dreaming, the mullah
received a summons to visit the young prince. Remembering the words of
the stranger, he took with him nothing that could in any way injure the
boy, contenting himself by taking with him one gift only—an
apple. The boy received the mullah in his beautiful island home, and
the two enjoyed some blissful hours of converse together.</p>
<p>Finally, ere saying farewell, the old man with extended hands
presented the apple to the boy, who gladly accepted it, and proposed
eating it at once. The mullah, taking a penknife from his inner pocket,
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb265" href="#pb265" name=
"pb265">265</a>]</span>peeled the apple, and returned it on the point
of the knife to the young prince, who, boylike, grasped it eagerly. In
taking the apple the point of the knife pricked the finger of the lad,
with the result that blood poisoning set in, and in a short time the
beautiful boy lay dead. The mullah in his sorrow wept aloud, and as he
wept he awoke. With humble heart and head bowed in submission, he gave
glory to Allah.</p>
<p>On the day appointed the two men returned to hear the verdict of the
wise mullah. He received them kindly, but sorrowfully, assuring them
that it made not the slightest difference whether they walked under the
ladder or not.</p>
<p>“For,” said the old man, “if it is written that
you are to be killed by a ladder falling upon you, it must be so, you
cannot escape. What Allah has written must be fulfilled. His designs
cannot be frustrated.”</p>
<p>This doctrine, taught to the old mullah by means of his dream, is
very prominent in the minds of all Moslems to-day.</p>
<p>When in Persia we had an Indian servant who was a Mohammedan. He
told us that three times on successive nights our Lord had appeared to
him in a dream, in the form of an old man with a long white beard. So
struck was he with the persistency of the dream, that he went to an
English clergyman, asking to be taught the Christian religion.</p>
<p>The women in Mosul have often told me of wonderful things which they
declared were going to happen to me, as had been revealed to them in
dreams. Even now I receive letters from some of <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb266" href="#pb266" name=
"pb266">266</a>]</span>these women in which they say, “We see you
every night in our dreams.”</p>
<p>The first women in-patients in our so-called hospital in Mosul had
to be content with a kind of outhouse for their ward. The only place we
could find for them which would be hareem was a large room which we
used as a wood-house. This my husband had whitewashed and thoroughly
cleansed and disinfected. The first unfortunate woman to be put in this
ward (?) was a very quiet, gentle Moslem woman, who came for an
operation. Her mother came with her to look after her, and these two
were alone in their none too comfortable quarters.</p>
<p>Two or three days after the operation, these women declared that in
the night a huge form of dragon-like appearance rose from the ground at
their side!</p>
<p>Some weeks later this ward was occupied by a little Jewish girl who
had been terribly burnt, her mother and grandmother looking after her.
There were also two or three other women in the ward. One morning very
early, word was brought to us that all the inmates of that room had
been terribly frightened in the night. On going out to see what had
happened, we found them all lying in the passage, having carried their
bedding out of the room. They were looking very unhappy and frightened,
and requested to be allowed to leave the hospital at once, saying they
would not pass another night in that awful place. Then they all began
to recount their experiences of the night at the same time, so it was
with great difficulty we could find out what really had happened. It
seems that soon after midnight <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb267"
href="#pb267" name="pb267">267</a>]</span>they were talking to one
another, when suddenly they saw two soldiers sitting on the edge of
their bedsteads. Terribly alarmed, they asked the men however they came
to be there—did they not know it was “hareem”? At
first the soldiers remained silent, but afterwards told the women that
they had come from a village about twelve miles off. That they had been
told in a dream to come to the <i lang="fa-latn">beit hakeem
Engelisi</i> (house of the English doctor). In obedience to this
command they had come. Then, as suddenly as they had arrived, they
disappeared. The women, of course, were all fearfully alarmed, some
believing that they were real soldiers, others that they were genii in
the form of soldiers. They immediately left the room, carrying their
bedding with them, and spent the rest of the night in fear and
trembling. The next morning we made a very careful examination of the
roof, to see if by any possible means soldiers could have entered our
compound. We found that next door was the house of the head of the
soldiers, and it was possible that some of his guard might have found
their way over the walls and down to our house.</p>
<p>Nothing, however, was ever proved; but no one could ever be induced
to use that room again, the women declaring that it was haunted by evil
spirits. Finally, we made it into a hen-house; but the fowls and
turkeys all sickened and died, so there evidently was something very
wrong with the atmosphere of that room! Our first attempt at a
women’s ward was certainly a failure, but “it is an ill
wind that blows nobody any good,” and so good came out of this
evil. As the women would not use the haunted (?) <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb268" href="#pb268" name=
"pb268">268</a>]</span>room, other accommodation had to be found, so we
gave up our house for them, while we moved into the one next
door—the room which was neither good for human beings nor for
feathered fowls being now used as a wood-house.</p>
<p>Once when travelling in the desert, a spot was pointed out to us as
being the abode of Jinns and Genii. This spot is much abhorred by the
muleteers, as they believe that any one camping on that ground is
liable to be overtaken by a terrible death. The enchanted ground is
encircled by some landmarks, and it is said that any one going to sleep
within that magic circle will at once be visited by the Jinns
inhabiting the spot, who will immediately come and suck his blood till
he is dead. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb269" href="#pb269" name=
"pb269">269</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch2.9" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter IX</h2>
<h2 class="main">Manners and Superstitions in Mosul</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Characteristics of inhabitants of Mosul—Social
habits—Love of drink—An effectual
cure—Gambling—Tel Kaif: a story of Uncle Goro—The
Angel of Death and other titles—Difficulties over name and
age—Some superstitions—Effect of scent on women—Birds
of good omen—Thieves—Sheep-killing—Sheikh
Matti—An angel’s visit—Medical
superstitions—Cure for hydrophobia.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<p class="first">“Nothing has more effect upon the mob than
superstition.”</p>
<p class="signed"><span class="sc">Quintus Curtius.</span></p>
<p>“To be superstitious is a crime.”</p>
<p class="signed"><span class="sc">Anon.</span></p>
<p>“Sickness and sorrow come and go, but a superstitious soul
hath no rest.”</p>
<p class="signed"><span class="sc">R. Burton.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">The natives of Mosul are, as a rule, a very
simple-hearted folk. They are easily amused, easily taken in, and as
easily roused to passion. They are, on the whole, good-tempered and
patient, and, considering the absolute lack of self-control in their
method of bringing up, they give way far less to their passions than
might be expected.</p>
<p>They dearly love social habits, and spend much time in company,
telling and listening to stories, smoking, and drinking coffee.
Unfortunately, they do not confine their drink to coffee, and these
social habits often lead to a great deal of drinking. Arak is the
favourite refreshment at these times, and is <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb270" href="#pb270" name=
"pb270">270</a>]</span>indulged in by both Christian and Moslem alike.
It is a pure spirit, and is made by the Christians and Jews of Mosul,
and sold by them to the Moslems. No ceremony is complete without the
arak bottle. At weddings, funerals, dinner parties, at each and every
season of life, it is thought necessary to provide this fire-water. I
am sorry to say that the women also drink, but not to such an extent as
the men.</p>
<p>It is, of course, considered a great sin for a Moslem to drink
either wine or spirit, as both have been forbidden in the Koran: but
their love for the arak is stronger in many cases than their love of
the Koran. A Mosul Moslem woman told me a short time ago that she did
not think there was one Moslem man in Mosul who did not drink either
wine or arak. I hope this is an exaggeration, but the tendency to be
less ashamed of the drinking habit and to indulge in it more freely is
growing more and more. It is sad to think that the Christians of the
city are the manufacturers and vendors of spirit and wines, and that
they are responsible for introducing them into Mosul.</p>
<p>A story is told of a Sultan of Turkey who, desirous of putting a
stop to the ever-increasing drink traffic, made a law by which every
Moslem found the worse for drink should be cast into prison. The first
morning after the new law had come into action, a Moslem was found
drunk lying in the street, incapable of walking to his home. He was
immediately taken to prison, and allowed to sleep off the effects of
the drink. When he awoke, great was his surprise to find himself in the
interior of <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb271" href="#pb271" name=
"pb271">271</a>]</span>a prison. On being taken before the judge, he
pleaded “Not guilty,” and said that he had been suffering
for some days from a terrible pain in his tooth, and yesterday had gone
to the hakeem (doctor) to obtain medicine to relieve the pain. The
doctor had told him that the best cure for his pain was to drink a
little brandy, so he had followed his advice, with the result that he
fell asleep and only awoke to find himself in prison. The judge then
commiserated the man on having such bad pain, but assured him it was
easily remedied. Calling to one of his servants, he ordered him to go
at once and fetch the barber, who acted as dentist to all such
sufferers. The prisoner assured his excellency the judge that it really
did not matter, the pain was better. “But,” said the judge
sympathetically, “it may come back.” The barber was brought
and told to examine the man’s mouth. Finding no sign of decay, he
assured the judge that the teeth were sound. The judge began to revile
the dentist, saying, “You call yourself a dentist and do not know
which is the tooth causing this man pain. Find it, and pull it out at
once.” Trembling, the dentist took his forceps and extracted a
back tooth. “Let me see,” cried the judge. “Why, that
is not rotten; what do you mean by pulling out a good tooth? Pull
<i>the</i> rotten one out at once.” Then the dentist again
operated on his unwilling victim, and a second time the judge upbraided
him for not drawing the right tooth, and ordered him to go on till he
had found the one that was decayed. The wretched prisoner, feeling he
could not bear to lose any more teeth, <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb272" href="#pb272" name="pb272">272</a>]</span>called out that it
was all a lie: he never had had any toothache, and only drank brandy
because he loved it, and promised never to touch it again. The judge
smilingly bade his prisoner begone, warning him, however, that next
time he offended all his teeth might have to come out.</p>
<p>Closely associated with drinking is the gambling habit. This too,
alas! is very prevalent in Mosul. In almost every house card-playing
forms the chief pastime both in the hareem and amongst the men, and, as
a rule, they play for money. Enormous sums of money are lost and won in
this way, and, unfortunately, those in good positions are the ones who
profit most by this gambling habit. One lady was the possessor of many
beautiful jewels, diamonds, pearls, &c., and I was told that she
had won them all by gambling.</p>
<p>We are always very glad to take part in the social customs of the
people when neither drinking nor gambling is part of the programme, and
I, at least, certainly very much enjoy a dinner served <i lang=
"fr">à l’Arabe</i>, with its attendant native
entertainment. The after-dinner story-telling is very amusing when you
have mastered the language sufficiently to be able to follow the drift
of the tale. Shortly before leaving, we gave a farewell dinner to some
of our friends, and, after dinner, entertained them with fireworks,
while one of the guests amused us all by recounting stories, some of
which were very interesting. One was as follows:—</p>
<p>“There is a village near Mosul called Tel Kaif, in which all
the inhabitants are Christians. They are a very original set of people,
differing altogether <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb273" href="#pb273"
name="pb273">273</a>]</span>from the Christians of Mosul in language,
dress, and customs. They consider they are quite the most clever and
important people under the sun, and this idea is apparent in all their
actions. Many years ago there lived in Tel Kaif a very clever and wise
man called Uncle Goro. If any one was in trouble he immediately went to
this man for advice; if any were sorrowful, it was to Uncle Goro they
looked for consolation; were any sick, again it was Uncle Goro alone
who could heal them. In fact, Uncle Goro was looked upon by the
admiring villagers as their one hope and stay in times of need. One day
a cow belonging to the village felt very thirsty. Now, the water supply
of Tel Kaif is not very good, the villagers being dependent upon a
large pool of rain-water, which sometimes dries up during the
long-continued season of drought. Doubtless this cow did not approve of
drinking dirty rain-water, so, while seeking for other means of slaking
her thirst, she espied near the doorway of a house a large earthen
water-pot. Into this she looked longingly, but her horns at first
prevented her from reaching the water. However, after a little careful
manipulation and perseverance, she managed to insert her head into the
jar. When she had satisfied her thirst, she tried to withdraw her head,
but found she could not, so there it had to remain, while the
bewildered villagers looked on in helpless astonishment. At last they
decided to appeal to their wise man, so one went off in search of him.
When he arrived on the spot and beheld the cow with her head in the
water-jar, he considered thoughtfully for <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb274" href="#pb274" name="pb274">274</a>]</span>a while, and then
gave his advice in the following learned manner.</p>
<p>“Oh, my children,” he cried, “here is such a
simple matter, and yet you could not find a way out of the difficulty.
I am surprised that my fellow-men should be so ignorant.”</p>
<p>Then they all crowded round Uncle Goro, beseeching him out of his
great wisdom to tell them what to do.</p>
<p>“First,” said Uncle Goro, “you must cut off the
cow’s head, then break the water-pot and take out the
head!”</p>
<p>This brilliant suggestion was at once put into practice, the owner
of the cow being the only one who was not quite so sure of the
exceeding greatness of the wisdom of Uncle Goro. When the deed was
accomplished and the head extricated from its awkward position, the old
man stood and proudly addressed the assembled crowd who had flocked to
hear his words of wisdom. “My beloved children,” said he,
“a day will come when your old Uncle Goro will die, and then what
will you do when you have no one to settle such difficult matters as
these for you? Pray to God that your Uncle Goro may long be spared to
advise and counsel you.”</p>
<p>A rather pretty custom exists in Mosul which gives people titles
according to their work, or any special characteristics belonging to
them. For example, the butcher is called “the father of
meat”; the baker, “the father of bread.” In the
hospital, when I am giving orders for the diet list, we hardly ever
speak of the patients by name, but according to their disease, as
“Aboo” (father) liver abscess,
“Aboo-mai-abiyud” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb275"
href="#pb275" name="pb275">275</a>]</span>(father of cataract). One of
the assistants in the hospital was named “The Angel of
Death” by a poor little girl who was brought to the doctor a mass
of burns. It was the duty of this assistant to dress the terrible
wounds of the child every day, and though as gentle as a woman, he
necessarily pained her a great deal—hence the term “Angel
of Death.” The women are designated in the same way as the men,
only substituting “mother” for “father,” as
“Em haleeb,” milk-woman; “Em saba’
saba’een,” mother of seventy-seven (or centipede), this
last simply referring to a girl suffering from hysteria.</p>
<p>This was an interesting case which was in the women’s hospital
for some weeks. The patient was a young woman about sixteen years of
age. She was under the delusion that she had swallowed a
“saba’ saba’een” (a horny centipede, measuring
some seven or eight inches, common in Mosul). She declared she could
not eat anything, for every time she swallowed, the saba’
saba’een opened its mouth and ate the food just partaken of! She
absolutely refused to touch anything of her own accord, so we had to
force food down her throat. Two or three women would hold her hands and
feet while I fed her with a spoon. As time went on she became worse
instead of better, and was always beseeching my husband to operate on
her and take out the saba’ saba’een. After a time he
consented to give her an anæsthetic and operate. On the day
appointed she was taken to the theatre and given a whiff of chloroform,
while the doctor made a slight incision in her skin. This was stitched
up, and she was shown her wound and assured that the doctor had cut her
and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb276" href="#pb276" name=
"pb276">276</a>]</span>found nothing. After this she was much happier,
and was soon well enough to leave the hospital.</p>
<p>Women never know their age in Mosul. On dispensary days each woman
is required to give her name and age. The first difficulty is over the
name. Many do not know their surnames at all. When asked, “What
is your father’s name?” they say, “How do I
know?” and then add with a laugh, “Say Bint Abdulla”
(daughter of a servant of God). Abdulla is often a very convenient name
when the parentage is uncertain.</p>
<p>With regard to their age, women are quite hopeless. I have often
seen an old lady, bent double with the weight of many years, come into
the dispensary.</p>
<p>“Well, mother, how old are you?” I ask her.</p>
<p>“How old am I? How do I know, my daughter?”</p>
<p>“Do you think you are fifteen?”</p>
<p>“Well, I may be.”</p>
<p>“Are you twenty yet?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps I am,” replies the fair damsel of eighty.
“I know I was born two years before the year that the locusts ate
all the corn.”</p>
<p>As to how many years ago the locusts destroyed the crop she has not
the remotest idea.</p>
<p>Or another woman will come, certainly not more than twenty or
twenty-five, the mother of a baby in arms. On being asked her age she
replies, “About sixty”! The natives never have any idea
when their birthdays are, but keep their name-days instead. Thus
amongst the Christians all Johns will keep the feast of St. John as
their feast-day, and so on.</p>
<p>Parents have a convenient way of forgetting the date of the birth of
their daughters. A girl who is <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb277"
href="#pb277" name="pb277">277</a>]</span>not betrothed will remain
twelve or thirteen for much more than one year; for when she has passed
fourteen or fifteen years she is no longer considered young, and not
very likely to be betrothed at all if her real age is known.</p>
<p>The natives of Mosul are very superstitious; more especially,
perhaps, is this true of the women. One curious superstition they have
with regard to scent. Now an odour which is filthy and dangerous, such
as may be <i>felt</i> in most of the houses, is not at all injurious
from their standpoint, but a sweet-smelling scent is an abomination to
the women. If by any chance I have been using anything in the way of
scent (though as a rule I am very careful not to), the first thing I
see on entering a room is that the women all immediately apply their
handkerchiefs to their olfactory organs. At first this custom appears,
to say the least, not too polite; but when you realise \ what it means
to them, you understand and excuse them. They firmly believe that a
sweet smell brings sickness and sorrow—that it is equally fatal
to mothers and young children—hence the great fear of anything in
the way of scent. One day our reception-room was full of women who had
come to visit me. Suddenly a visitor was announced (a native of the
country, but not of Mosul); immediately all the women crowded into one
corner, burying their heads in their chuddars. I could not make out
what had disturbed them till I discovered that the new-comer was
strongly scented. She was left severely alone by all the others, who
kept as far away as possible from her, some even leaving the room,
fearing lest evil should overtake them. <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb278" href="#pb278" name="pb278">278</a>]</span></p>
<p>Another day I went to visit a little patient of my husband’s
in whom he took a great interest. This little boy was the spoilt
darling of his parents, the father especially idolising him, watching
over him carefully lest any harm should befall him. Great was his
consternation and distress when it was found that an operation was
necessary to save the life of the boy. When the little chap was
convalescent I went to see him. After talking to the mother some time
in another room, she suggested our going to see the boy. No sooner had
I appeared at the threshold of the door, when the boy buried his face
in his hands, calling out, “Oh, you smell, you smell!” I
assured both the mother and the boy that I had no scent of any kind on
me, but the boy would not be pacified, and continued crying out,
“Go away—you smell!” As he was still weak, I thought
I had better depart, as excitement was bad for him. When visiting
amongst the women it is better not to use scented soap, as they detect
even that sometimes!</p>
<p>Birds have a good many superstitions connected with them. Last year,
while we were waiting for the decision of our committee regarding the
future of the mission in Mosul, some women informed me that “good
news was coming.” Good news meant to them that the Mission was to
be kept on. On asking how they knew, they told me they had just heard a
bird singing which is supposed never to raise his voice except as the
harbinger of good tidings. Storks are looked upon as omens of good
luck. These birds return every spring to Mosul, hatch their eggs, and
migrate in early autumn. The natives of Mosul always hail their return
with great joy, especially if they nest <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb279" href="#pb279" name="pb279">279</a>]</span>on their roofs. Some
will even go so far as to put baskets on the roofs, hoping that the
storks will be attracted by them and make them their home for the
summer. They agree with Longfellow in his love of storks, as expressed
in his poem—</p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line xd20e3462">“By God in heaven</p>
<p class="line">As a blessing, the dear white stork was
given.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first">If there had been any truth in this superstition, we
ought to have been very prosperous; for at one time we had no less than
three families of storks on our roof. Personally I think they are not
altogether too desirable, for when sleeping on the roof they are apt to
become very noisy companions. I do not think I like to be laughed at by
these birds. In the early morning they stand close by one’s bed,
throw back their heads till they rest on their backs, and then laugh
aloud at the idea of any one sleeping when once dawn has appeared.</p>
<p>The common name for storks in Mosul is “the thieves,” as
they sometimes steal small articles of clothing hanging out to dry,
such as handkerchiefs; and no one would ever dare to go to the nest to
hunt, lest they should disturb the birds and cause them to fly away.
These birds are rather a convenience sometimes for the washerwoman:
when blouses disappear it is easy to lay the blame on the
“thieves.” They are almost as useful as the proverbial
“cat.”</p>
<p>Our servant Judy is a little woman full of queer superstitious
ideas. While in Mosul I received the sad news of the death of my
father: poor Judy was so distressed lest by over-much mourning I should
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb280" href="#pb280" name=
"pb280">280</a>]</span>tempt God to take my husband too. As dressmaking
is rather primitive in Mosul I decided to have some things dyed black.
Judy would not hear of such a thing, saying that only widows must wear
dyed clothes, and that if I wore dyed dresses for my father, she was
sure something would happen to my husband.</p>
<p>Another thing she never would do, and that is to step over our feet!
In the summer evenings we used to sit in our verandah, which was rather
narrow, and if by chance we should place our feet on a hassock in front
of us there remained no room for any one to pass. I could not make out
why Judy would never pass that way when it was necessary to enter the
room at our back. At last she told me that if she stepped over our
feet, she would be in danger of “cutting our life,” and
that if we died it would be her fault. After this I often tried to make
her step over my feet, by blocking her pathway, but she never would, so
strong was her belief that by so doing she would cut short my life!</p>
<p>It is surprising how ignorantly superstitious some of the
better-class people are. A wife of a very wealthy Christian merchant in
Mosul had a child who suffered terribly from sore eyes. She brought him
to the dispensary for some time, but finding that the treatment pained
the child and made him cry, ceased to bring him. We heard afterwards
that she had resorted to the following superstitious method of
healing.</p>
<p>A sheep was bought, killed, and opened: while the blood was still
hot the head of the child was inserted into the middle of the
sheep’s body and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb281" href=
"#pb281" name="pb281">281</a>]</span>allowed to remain there about
fifteen minutes. Could any treatment be more revolting and disgusting
than this? and yet these people, rich and influential members of Mosul
society, really believed that by doing this their child’s eyes
would be cured. Needless to say it had not the desired effect, and
months afterwards they again brought the child to the dispensary, and
having learnt their lesson by experience, were content to leave the
child in the English hakim’s hands, with the result that after a
couple of months’ daily treatment the eyes were quite healed.</p>
<p>I do not know what virtue is supposed to exist in the killing of the
sheep or goat, but it is a custom very much in vogue in Mosul. On our
return from Beyrout, after having been absent three months, a live goat
was brought out into the desert to meet us, and the moment we alighted
from our carriage this poor creature was slaughtered right under our
eyes. In Persia the custom amongst the Armenians at a wedding feast was
for a sheep to be killed just as the bride and bridegroom were stepping
over the threshold of their new home. It was not considered lucky if
the bride did not put her foot into the blood as she passed. In Mosul,
too, I believe a sheep is sometimes slaughtered at weddings in this
way, but I have never seen it done.</p>
<p>When a wife is desirous of becoming a mother, there are various
superstitious methods to which she may resort, but perhaps the
favourite one of all is that connected with Sheikh Matti. This is a
monastery situated some twelve hours’ ride from Mosul,
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb282" href="#pb282" name=
"pb282">282</a>]</span>on the side of a lonely mountain. The woman
makes a pilgrimage to this place, and is then told that she must spend
a night in the solitary chapel there. While she sleeps an angel will
visit the building, and if her request is to be vouchsafed her, will
place an apple by her head. If the angel desires to be especially kind
to the woman, he will place two, or even three apples near her, the
number of apples indicating how many children God is going to honour
her with. Strange to say, these angel visits do not take place unless
provoked by a fair amount of backsheesh!</p>
<p>There are a good many superstitions regarding medical treatment of
diseases and accidents, but these, I believe, are fast dying out in the
face of European learning and skill. The people are learning by
experience how much better are the English methods than their own. For
instance, it used to be the common custom for those suffering from
fever to go to the mullah, who would lay his hands on the
patient’s head while reading a few verses from the Koran. If the
fever did not go at once, well, it was the fault of the fever, not of
the mullah. I fancy fever patients are beginning to prefer English
medicines rather than to trust to the laying on of hands by the mullah.
When any one has been bitten by a mad dog, which, considering the
number of street dogs, is of very rare occurrence, he goes at once to a
sheikh, who will give him an antidote. This consists of a date from
which the stone has been taken, and into which the sheikh has spat two
or three times to fill up the gap caused by the removal of the stone.
Upon eating this, the man <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb283" href=
"#pb283" name="pb283">283</a>]</span>is supposed to be free from all
fear of the development of hydrophobia.</p>
<p>These are merely a few of the superstitious customs found in Mosul
to-day. Had we time or space they might be multiplied many times over,
but enough, I trust, has been said to awaken love and sympathy in our
hearts for these simple folk, whose minds are so easily influenced and
guided by these useless and often degrading</p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Heart-chilling superstitions, which can
glaze</p>
<p class="line">Even Pity’s eye with her own frozen
tears.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Coleridge.</span> <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb284" href="#pb284" name="pb284">284</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch2.10" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter X</h2>
<h2 class="main">The Yezidees</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Gratitude to the
English—Persecutions—“Devil-worshippers”—Sun
and fire worship—Priesthood—A visit to Sheikh
Âdi—Peacock wands—A sacred shrine.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Whoever thou art, if thy need be great,</p>
<p class="line">In the Name of God, the Compassionate</p>
<p class="line">And All-Merciful One—</p>
<p class="line xd20e1108">For Thee I wait.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Whittier.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">The Yezidees, or, as they are commonly called,
“devil-worshippers,” are a very remarkable tribe living in
the near vicinity of Mosul. Very little is really known as to their
religious beliefs, and whether they worship the devil or only fear him,
has never yet been discovered by Europeans.</p>
<p>These curious people are very favourably disposed towards the
English, as many years ago the British representative in Mosul was able
to assist them very materially. The Mohammedans have always been very
bitter against this people, and have done all in their power to
exterminate them. A former Pasha at one time captured the high priest
of the Yezidees, whose name was Sheikh Naser; he somehow managed to
escape, substituting in his place a priest under him in authority. The
priest never revealed this fact, and bore with resignation the tortures
and imprisonment inflicted upon him. The Yezidees applied to
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb285" href="#pb285" name=
"pb285">285</a>]</span>Mr. Rassam, who was the British Vice-Consul at
Mosul, and he obtained the release of the priest by paying a large sum
as ransom money. This debt was faithfully repaid, and since that time
the Yezidees have cherished very grateful memories of the English.</p>
<p>Many years ago these Yezidees were a very powerful tribe. They had
two principal strongholds, one in the mountains lying to the west of
Mosul, and the other only twenty-four hours’ journey to the
north. By means of continual attacks and massacres at the hands of the
Kurds, their population has been reduced considerably, only about
one-third remaining of their original number.</p>
<p>Mohammedans are always very bitter against any sect which is
supposed to have no “Book.” The Yezidees, coming under this
category, receive little mercy from them, and for centuries have been
exposed to persecutions from these their oppressors. Of late years the
Yezidees have seen the uselessness of rebelling against their fate,
and, acknowledging their defeat, are patiently bearing their
misfortunes.</p>
<p>These so-called devil-worshippers recognise one Supreme Being, but
apparently do not offer any prayers directly to Him. The name of God is
often on their lips in the form of oaths, but that of the evil spirit
is never to be heard. So far do they carry this superstition, that not
only will they not use the word Shaitan (Satan), but any word beginning
with “sh” is also shunned by them. Then, again, such a
veneration have they for Satan, that it is prohibited amongst the
Yezidees to utter any word containing the letter <span class="Arabic"
lang="ar">ش</span> (shin), being the first letter of the
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb286" href="#pb286" name=
"pb286">286</a>]</span>Arabic word for Satan. Thus they have to find
other words to express such commonly spoken of objects as the sun,
river, water-melon, &c., as they each begin with the prohibited
letter. Layard, in his Travels amongst them, tells of one instance
illustrating this superstition. He was standing in the midst of a large
crowd of Yezidees gathered to take part in their yearly feast, when he
espied a boy climbing a tree at the apparent risk of his neck. He says,
“As I looked up I saw the impending danger, and made an effort by
an appeal to the chief to avert it. ‘If that young
Sheit—’ I exclaimed, about to use an epithet generally
applied in the East to such adventurous youths. I checked myself
immediately, but it was too late; half the dreaded word had
escaped.” He goes on to say that the effect was instantaneous, a
look of horror spreading over the faces of all present. Fortunately for
him, he was a favourite amongst the Yezidees, and so they allowed it to
pass. So great is the horror of this letter, that they have often
killed those who use it wilfully. When speaking of the devil they do so
reverently, calling him the “mighty angel.”</p>
<p>The symbol of their religion is the “Malek el Taous,” a
peacock, and is held in great reverence by them. Satan is said to be
the head of the angelic host, and he is supplied with seven archangels,
who minister to him and exercise great influence over the world; they
are Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Azrail, Dedrail, Azrapheel, and
Shemkeel. Our Lord is also counted amongst the angels, though not one
of these seven, and is acknowledged to have taken upon Himself the form
of man. They, in common with <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb287" href=
"#pb287" name="pb287">287</a>]</span>the Mohammedans, do not believe in
His crucifixion; but declare that He ascended to heaven just before
that event took place, some saying that the angel Gabriel took our
Lord’s place on the Cross, while others say Judas was the real
victim. They are looking forward to the second coming of Christ and
also to the reappearance of the Imam; this latter being also the
Mohammedan’s hope. Their patron saint is one called Sheikh
Âdi, who is supposed to have lived many years before Mohammed;
but very little is known of his history.</p>
<p>They reverence the sun, and are in the habit of kissing the object
on which its first rays fall. Fire as a symbol is also connected with
their worship, the disciples frequently passing their hands through the
flame, kissing them, and then rubbing them over their faces. They have
four orders of priesthood, which is hereditary, and consists of the
Pirs, Sheikhs, Cawals, and the Fakirs.</p>
<p>The Pirs (from a Persian word meaning old man) are the most
reverenced next to their great sheikh or head of the sect. These are
believed to possess the power not only of interceding for their
adherents, but also of curing disease and insanity. They are
<i>supposed</i> to lead a life of great sanctity, and are in
consequence much looked up to by the people.</p>
<p>The Sheikhs come next in order of rank. These are supposed to know a
little Arabic, as their work is to write the hymns which are chanted at
their religious services. They guard the tomb of Sheikh Âdi,
bring fuel to keep up the holy fire, and provisions to those who dwell
within the shrine.</p>
<p>The third rank of priesthood is perhaps the most <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb288" href="#pb288" name=
"pb288">288</a>]</span>active of all. These are called Cawals or
preachers, and it is their duty to go from village to village teaching
the doctrines of the Yezidees. They are all musicians, being taught to
sing when very young; they also perform on the flute and tambourine,
both of these instruments being looked upon as holy. Before and after
playing they often kiss their instruments, and pass them to the
audience for them to do likewise. They dress as a rule in white and
wear black turbans, while the sheikhs always wear nothing but white.
They are generally venerable-looking men with long beards. They act as
emissaries for the sheikh, and yearly go forth and collect the
revenues. Their emblem of office is a wand, on the top of which is
perched a brazen peacock, and they boast with pride that never have
their enemies been able to capture one of these staves. They relate how
on one memorable occasion a priest, being chased through the desert by
Arabs, in the heat of the pursuit stopped his mare, descended, and
buried the precious badge of office; then, marking the exact site for
future reference, resumed his flight. Having escaped with his life, six
months later he managed to recover the buried staff, creeping down by
night into the desert from his mountain shelter. Now why should they
place such a high value on these emblems? A possible solution was given
me by the Rev. Dr. St. Clair Tisdall, who recalled to my mind an old
Mohammedan tradition that it was the peacock who admitted Satan into
the garden of Eden. This would strengthen the suspicion that the
Yezidees really do worship the evil one.</p>
<p>The lowest order in the priesthood are called <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb289" href="#pb289" name=
"pb289">289</a>]</span>Fakirs. These wear coarse dresses of black or
dark-brown canvas, which reach only as far as the knees. Their office
is to perform all the menial work connected with the tomb of Sheikh
Âdi, sweeping and cleaning the sacred buildings, trimming and
lighting the holy lamps. These lamps are offerings made by pilgrims who
have visited the tomb in times of danger or sickness.</p>
<p>A yearly sum is subscribed for the oil necessary for the lamps and
for the support of the priests. At sunset each evening these lamps are
lit, and give the appearance of a multitude of stars glittering on the
side of the mountain; for not only are the lamps placed in the shrine
and walls of the courtyard, but they are also scattered about on rocks
and ledges and in the dark corners of the woods. As the priest goes
from lamp to lamp lighting each one, men and women pass their hands
through the flame and smear their foreheads, and those who have
children do the same to them. This reverence for fire reminds one of
the Parsees of Persia, whom these people in many ways resemble.</p>
<p>Unfortunately I was unable to visit these interesting villages, but
I hope to do so on a future occasion. We had intended to spend a month
amongst them during the summer of 1906, the sheikh having extended a
cordial invitation to us. My husband accordingly went up to
reconnoitre, and see if there was any place possible either to stay in
or to pitch our tent. He found, however, that it was hardly a suitable
place for a summer holiday, as the climate was not very satisfactory,
besides which it was difficult to find a place for the tents; so we
decided we would not go that <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb290" href=
"#pb290" name="pb290">290</a>]</span>year at any rate. Both my husband
and the men with him were quite ill for a few hours after visiting
Sheikh Âdi, so they were not anxious to return. The natives say
that this illness is caused by drinking the water, but that the effect
passes off after a few days, when one has become accustomed to the
water.</p>
<p>My husband, however, much enjoyed his visit amongst these strange
people, and in writing of that time he says:—</p>
<p>“These interesting people dwell in the mountains round about
Mosul, the ancient Nineveh. They are ruled over by a sheikh, who claims
to be able to put some ten thousand armed horsemen in the field. On
account of their suspected devil-worship they are detested by Moslems
and Christians alike. The Turks have more than once endeavoured to
exterminate them; but, entrenched in their mountain fastnesses, they
are very hard to overcome.</p>
<p>“When in Mosul their sheikh called on me and asked me to pay
him a visit up in his mountain home. Thus I was able to see their homes
for myself, also the sacred shrine, hidden away in the mountains, where
their reputed founder (Sheikh Âdi) lies buried, from whom it
derives its name.</p>
<p>“The Yezidees, like the Druses of Mount Lebanon, are very
reluctant to discuss their religion, and it is said that death is the
penalty for any one among them who reveals the truth concerning what
they worship.</p>
<p>“On paying a visit to their sacred shrine (Sheikh Âdi),
I found it hidden in the hollow of thickly-wooded mountains, and
composed of two large compounds, the inner compound containing the
shrine <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb291" href="#pb291" name=
"pb291">291</a>]</span>in a church-like building with a newly-built
steeple. On the right side of the entrance porch is the figure of a
huge serpent graven in the stone of the building, with its head
uppermost. This serpent is kept blackened daily with charcoal by the
two or three old monks who live in the shrine. Upon inquiring the
meaning of this symbol, the monk told me it was graven there to remind
the worshippers to remove their sandals from off their feet, as the
ground around the shrine is holy. If any should be careless or wicked
enough to disobey, it was said that they would be bitten on the heels
by some of the snakes that were said to infest the place.</p>
<p>“The steeple rises immediately from the room in the church
that once contained the body of their founder, Sheikh Âdi. This
sheikh was a great Mohammedan teacher who many centuries ago used to
preach and teach in Damascus. He gathered around him many disciples,
and it is said he was accustomed to vary the monotony of his teaching
by drawing a circle on the ground, and, placing therein himself and
some favourite disciple, would enable the latter to hear and understand
the teaching of another famous mullah speaking in far-away Baghdad.</p>
<p>“This Sheikh Âdi some years before his death retired to
this place in the mountains, two days’ journey from Mosul, and
there he was visited by many, as his fame spread abroad, and in this
place he died and was buried. The Yezidees claim that, ere he died, he
forsook Mohammedanism and instituted a new religion. The Moslems,
however, reverence his memory, and say that the Yezidees, <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb292" href="#pb292" name=
"pb292">292</a>]</span><i>after</i> his death, started a new religion
of their own.</p>
<p>“In the church there was to be seen a pool of water, said by
them to be used as a baptistery, and little else but bare walls. My
guide assured me it used to look very different, but fifteen years
previously the Turks had captured the place and destroyed all they
could lay hands on. On the roof near the steeple are two stones, facing
east and west, said to be used as prayer-stones, the Yezidees praying
as the <i>first ray</i> of the rising sun appears, and as the <i>last
ray</i> of the setting sun departs, and use these stones as indicators.
This, again, is interesting, as (according to Dr. Tisdall) it is a
curious fact that Mohammedan tradition avers that it is alone at these
two times daily that the devil has power to intercept the prayers of
the faithful, and they are, therefore, to be scrupulously avoided by
all true Moslems.</p>
<p>“The Yezidees are loath to venture into the city, but a few
have already commenced to attend the Mission Dispensary. They are
easily recognised by their costume, and by the fact that no Yezidee is
allowed to wear any garment exposing the breast. One of these patients
informed me that when he wanted to worship he went to the priest
(cawal), paid him a small fee, and was placed in a small room, the
filthier the better, and made to sit on the floor. The priest would
then sit in front of him and make him imagine himself to be in Paradise
(the Eastern idea of Paradise—lovely garden, flowing stream,
trees laden with fruit, houris, &c.). If (and it is a big
‘if’) his statement was true, it <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb293" href="#pb293" name=
"pb293">293</a>]</span>would point to their priests having some
knowledge of hypnotism, but the Yezidees will say anything to mislead
an inquirer.</p>
<p>“We had a little Yezidee boy in hospital with his mother. He
had been successfully operated upon for stone, but developed jaundice
and gradually sank. One evening, ere his mother took him back to her
village, a message was brought to us imploring my wife and me to wash
our hands in the water our servant brought us; the same water was then
to be given by the Yezidee mother to her dying boy that he might drink
and live!</p>
<p>“One longs to be able to tell them of Him who is the Water of
Life: but they have a language of their own, and understand but little
Arabic.</p>
<p>“Will not my readers pray that the Mosul Mission may be
strengthened and properly equipped; that the Gospel may be preached to
these poor Yezidees, as well as to their Mohammedan neighbours; and
that they may learn to love Him who alone has power to cast out
devils?” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb294" href="#pb294" name=
"pb294">294</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch2.11" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter XI</h2>
<h2 class="main">Travelling in the Desert</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Monotony of desert travelling—A puppy and a
kitten—Tragedy—Accident by the river Euphrates—Riots
in Mosul—Robberies and murder excited by love of gold.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“Of moving accidents by flood and field,</p>
<p class="line">Of hairbreadth ’scapes....</p>
<p class="line">The shot of accident, nor dart of chance</p>
<p class="line">Could neither graze nor pierce....”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Shakespeare.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Travelling in the desert is apt to become rather
monotonous when each day goes by with nothing to mark it from the
preceding one, so that when some event out of the common does take
place it is quite exhilarating. For instance, once during our mid-day
halt, which happened to be on the site of a newly-deserted Arab
encampment, we heard a cry, and looking about found a wee puppy about
two days old. This puppy afforded us amusement for at least two days,
much to the amazement of our muleteers. We wrapped it in flannel,
placed it in the sunshine to try and instil some warmth into its chilly
body, and presently we had the satisfaction of hearing its wailing
gradually cease as the sunshine penetrated the flannel. We managed to
keep life in the poor little beast for two or three days, but, as milk
is <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb295" href="#pb295" name=
"pb295">295</a>]</span>scarce in the desert, it was impossible to feed
it properly.</p>
<p>One evening we arrived at an Arab encampment, and thought it would
be kinder to leave the poor puppy with one of the Arabs, who are
supposed to be fond of dogs. So we persuaded our servant to take the
puppy and deposit it in one of the tents. He did so very reluctantly,
thinking he might be shot at for venturing near after dusk. However, he
crept up quietly and placed the puppy just inside one of the tents.
Immediately the owner demanded who was there, but Aboo (our servant)
fled without waiting to answer. We heard the Arab using some strong
language, and then, catching sight of the poor puppy, he took it up and
threw it out into the desert. We could hear the little thing squealing
and crying, so my husband went to rescue it once more from an untimely
end. He found it on top of a rubbish heap, brought it back to our tent,
and we tried again to warm and soothe it. The next day, however, the
little spark of remaining life was quenched. So the short story of this
little forsaken waif ended in a sad tragedy, and my husband undertook
the dismal duty of committing its body to the deep waters of the
river.</p>
<p>Another day one of our escort galloped up with great excitement to
show us a kitten he had just found in the desert—the poor little
mite was so thankful to see a human being again, and had evidently been
left behind in much the same manner as the puppy when the Arab tribe
was migrating.</p>
<p>These are small episodes of the desert which help <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb296" href="#pb296" name="pb296">296</a>]</span>to
break the monotony. I may perhaps be allowed to misquote the well-known
lines of S. Gregory:—</p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“A little thing is a little thing,</p>
<p class="line">But ‘excitement’ in little things</p>
<p class="line">Is a great thing”—in the desert.</p>
</div>
<p class="first">On one occasion we passed an Arab lying on his back
and covered with his <i>aba</i>, the native cloak worn by all classes.
We heard afterwards that it was a case of murder; that the man had been
dead three days, and only then had been found by his sons, who were out
searching for their father. Hastily covering him with one of their
cloaks, they had rushed off to try and find the murderer and avenge
their father’s blood. We met them soon afterwards, and they told
the whole story to our escort.</p>
<div class="figure xd20e3657width" id="p296"><img src="images/p296.jpg"
alt="Travelling in Winter" width="720" height="338">
<p class="figureHead"><span class="sc">Travelling in Winter</span></p>
<p class="first">A large caravan leaving Isphahan for Yezd while snow
is lying on the ground. The man who is holding the horse’s head
was our servant for a year. He is an Armenian, and is now working as an
assistant in the Isphahan Hospital.</p>
</div>
<p>In the preceding chapters we have seen how often the cry of
“Wolf, wolf!” was raised when there was no wolf, till we
began to think that the much-talked-of robbers of the desert did not
exist at all, or, if they did exist, would not dare to touch a European
caravan. However, we soon learnt to our cost that this was not the
case.</p>
<p>Two years ago we were travelling from Mosul to Aleppo, and had
almost reached our destination when we met with the following
adventure.</p>
<p>Having reached the end of our stage one day, we had encamped within
a stone’s throw of the river Euphrates, just outside the town of
Beridjik. Our tent was pitched beneath a lovely spreading tree, under
which ran a sparkling stream on its way from the mountains to the
river. We thought what an ideal camping-ground it made, and apparently
the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb297" href="#pb297" name=
"pb297">297</a>]</span>same thought entered the minds of some others,
only from a different standpoint. All round us were signs of the
industry of the villagers in the form of huge stacks of corn freshly
reaped, now waiting for the threshing time to begin. Ere we retired for
the night we were strolling by the stream and amongst the corn, where
we noticed two men sitting in the field, who gave us the evening
salutations as we passed by. We did not attribute any importance to
this fact, as it is not unusual for the villagers to set watchmen to
guard their corn during harvest time and afterwards, till the grain is
safely housed.</p>
<p>So, committing ourselves to the care of Him who never slumbers or
sleeps, we retired to our tent, hoping for a good night’s rest to
prepare us for the journey of the morrow. Our “ideal
camping-ground” I found to have at least one great
disadvantage—a disadvantage common to all grounds which are used
by flocks of goats and sheep for their resting-places. That night these
“pilgrims of the desert” were particularly active, and gave
me no peace or chance of sleep till the early hours of the morning;
then at last, worn-out with the unequal warfare, I fell asleep. I could
not have been sleeping long when I was awakened by a movement on the
part of my camp bedstead. Sleepily I decided in my mind that our donkey
had loosened his tether and was trying to pay us a friendly visit.
Often in the night some animal would get loose, and rub himself against
our tent ropes till he had succeeded in rooting up one peg, when he
would go and practise on another. Thinking this was the case now I
promptly fell asleep again, only to be <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb298" href="#pb298" name="pb298">298</a>]</span>reawakened in a short
time by the same sensation. This time I was quite awake, and in an
instant flashed my electric torch round the tent, just in time to see a
man decamping by the door. I roused my husband (whose sleep is never
disturbed by pilgrims of the night), and told him what had happened. He
immediately rushed out and gave the alarm to the camp. Unfortunately it
was a very dark night, and nothing could be seen a yard ahead, so the
robbers had ample opportunity for beating a retreat. Our tent was some
little way from the village, so my husband returned to the tent to put
on some more garments before going to interview the head-man of the
village, who is always supposed to be responsible for the safety of
caravans. When he came to look for his clothes, the only article he
could find was one shoe, the thieves having cleared the tent of
everything available, even to our tooth-brushes! Not only did they
clear off everything from the tent, but also emptied a large box which
was standing outside the tent, and also took a large valise containing
my husband’s portmanteau and my “hold-all.” Had they
been content with these, we should never have known of their nocturnal
visit till the morning; but in their desire to secure the small carpet
which lay in the middle of the tent, they awoke me, hence the movement
of my bed which twice disturbed my sleep. We felt there was nothing to
be done till daybreak, so retired once more to rest.</p>
<p>As soon as dawn appeared some of the caravan party rode off in
different directions to see if they could find any trace of the
thieves, but of course they had disappeared long ago under cover of the
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb299" href="#pb299" name=
"pb299">299</a>]</span>darkness. The search party, however, brought
back a few garments picked up along the road, which the thieves had
evidently dropped in their hurry when the alarm was given. Our escort,
a soldier from Beridjik, was sent back to the town to notify the
Government officials of the robbery. In a short time the governor of
the place rode out with six or seven other officials, all evidently
much disturbed in their minds lest they should get into disgrace for
allowing any harm to come to a European caravan. The first thing the
governor did was to send for the head-man of the village and have him
bound and beaten. I was so sorry for the poor man, who had a flowing
white beard. I could not bear to witness his beating, so retired to the
tent, and tried to shut out the sound as well as the sight of the old
man’s sufferings. As a matter of fact I do not think the beating
was a very severe one, but the victim made the most of it.</p>
<p>This proving of no avail, they all set out for the neighbouring
villages, and spent the whole of that day and the next scouring the
country for the thieves, returning each day at sunset and renewing the
search early next morning. My husband accompanied them the first day,
and was very much amused by the behaviour of some of the villagers at
sight of the officials. At some villages they would find nothing but
women, the men all having fled at the news that soldiers were coming.
They found plenty of other stolen goods buried in the ground of the
huts, but none of our belongings. In one village a man confidentially
whispered to one of the soldiers that <i>he</i> knew where the stolen
goods were. On being told to lead the <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb300" href="#pb300" name="pb300">300</a>]</span>way to the place, he
led them all to a large field in which were some hundred or more large
corn-stacks, and said that the goods were in one of those. I expect he
much enjoyed his little joke, for after turning over a dozen or so of
these ricks under the scorching sun, the soldiers gave up the task as
hopeless. All efforts proving unavailing, we had perforce to proceed on
our journey, managing as best we could till we reached Aleppo, where we
were able to replenish that which was most lacking in our wardrobe. The
fame of our adventure preceded us to Jerusalem, where a month or two
later we heard a most exaggerated account of our state when we entered
Aleppo.</p>
<p>My husband went at once to our consul on reaching Aleppo, laying
before him the whole story. Fortunately for us, Mr. Longworth was a
most energetic and painstaking man, having great influence with the
Government officials. He asked us to write out an estimate of our
losses, which he presented to the Vali, assuring us he would either
make the Government pay full compensation or produce the lost goods.
After six months of endless work and worry, Mr. Longworth sent my
husband a telegram saying that compensation to the full amount had been
given. We were very thankful to our consul for his unceasing energy in
the matter, and sent him our very grateful thanks. Thus happily ended
No. 1 of our chapter of accidents. When we think of what “might
have been” that night with those wild men of the desert in our
tent while we were sleeping, our hearts go up with great thankfulness
to God, who ever watches over His children, <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb301" href="#pb301" name="pb301">301</a>]</span>and
who can keep them as safely in the deserts of Mesopotamia as in the
homeland.</p>
<p>The two men we had noticed sitting amongst the corn had probably
been hired for the purpose of robbing us, but the real culprit was
suspected afterwards to have been one of the leading men of
Beridjik—in fact we were told that he was a member of the
“town council.” Doubtless he wished to procure for himself
and his hareem some European clothing, without the expense of buying
it.</p>
<p>Another peril from which in God’s mercy we were delivered had
its origin in Mosul.</p>
<p>The Vali, in obedience to orders from Constantinople, endeavoured to
register every woman in Mosul. To accomplish this it was necessary to
find out the number and “write” a list of every woman in
each house. Moslems and Christians alike rose in revolt at the idea of
their women being “written,” as it appeared to them
contrary to all the laws of God and Mohammed that such a thing should
be. The whole town was in an uproar, the shops were shut, no business
was done in the sook (bazaar), and men congregated everywhere, talking
angrily and making ugly threats. This went on for five days; such a
thing had never been known before. Sometimes, in times of trouble, work
has been suspended for three days, but no one could remember the sook
being shut for such a length of time as five days.</p>
<p>The Christians began to be very much alarmed for their safety, as it
was rumoured that, unless the Vali gave way, at the expiration of the
fifth day a general massacre of Christians would take place. The French
convent was guarded by soldiers; our <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb302" href="#pb302" name="pb302">302</a>]</span>agent wired to the
Consul-General at Baghdad for a like guard for the English, which
happily, however, was not needed. When my husband was in the house I
did not feel at all nervous, but if he was called out to see a patient
after dark I certainly felt very anxious till he returned; for all
around us was heard the continual firing of guns and pistols, and I
pictured to myself the possibilities and probabilities of some of those
stray bullets. “Alhamd’llillah!” nothing happened,
and we realised again once more that the traveller’s God
<i>is</i> able to keep, as expressed in those incomparable words
commonly known as the Traveller’s Psalm.</p>
<p>On the evening of the fifth day the governor recalled his order for
the names of the women to be written, and all was quiet once more, at
least outwardly. For some time, however, a feeling of unrest was
abroad, several murders taking place that week, one of which still
remains wrapt in mystery. A Moslem enticed a Jew into the country on
the pretext of having some work for him to do; he then made the man dig
a grave; after which he stabbed him, and threw the body into the grave
made by the victim’s own hands. The reason of the murder is
unknown.</p>
<p>One evening we were having dinner, when in rushed my husband’s
chief assistant, in a great state of excitement, to say that his
brother had been stabbed in the sook, and they had brought him to our
outer compound. My husband immediately went out and found the young man
with a wound in his thigh. Had it been a little higher up the result
would probably have been fatal, but <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb303" href="#pb303" name="pb303">303</a>]</span>happily it was a
comparatively trivial wound, and a few stitches and a week’s rest
soon put him right again; but naturally Daoud (the name of the victim)
was very much alarmed, and it was some time before he quite recovered
his nerve and could walk through that sook again. It seemed such an
absolutely meaningless assault, that we could only hope it was a case
of mistaken identity. Daoud had been an assistant for over a year, and
as far as he knew had not a single enemy in the town.</p>
<p>Matters of private dispute and jealousy are often settled by means
of the revolver. An Armenian doctor, a short time ago, was shot when
riding home from visiting a case. He was passing under a dark archway,
when suddenly he heard bullets whizzing and became aware that he was
the target. His horse was so badly hit that he was afraid it could not
recover, but fortunately he himself escaped with only a slight graze or
two. He attributed the motive of this attack to private grudges borne
against him by some of his professional brethren.</p>
<p>There is in Mosul an Armenian woman, whose husband was a doctor who
had been celebrated for one special kind of operation. On his death his
widow thought she might as well continue her husband’s practice,
as she had often assisted him with the operations. Accordingly she set
herself up amongst the many quack doctors of Mosul. Many of her
operations were successful, while the results of a still greater number
remain in obscurity. Her charges were tremendous; no matter how poor
her patient, she would do nothing till a very large fee had been paid.
In this way she made a rich harvest <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb304" href="#pb304" name="pb304">304</a>]</span>while no European
doctor was in the city, but after our arrival I am afraid her income
was considerably lessened. Upon our departure from Mosul I imagine she
again started her lucrative profession of grinding money out of the
poor, for we heard not long ago that she had been stabbed five times
while walking in the streets one evening.</p>
<p>Robberies are very common in Mosul. Almost every evening may be
heard on all hands sounds of shooting, telling of houses being visited
by robbers. Fortunately, so far, they have not favoured us with a
visit, and I sincerely hope they never will. One evening we were
sitting quietly in the verandah when a woman came rushing in from the
women’s hospital compound, saying that there were three men on
the roof. We all rushed out, armed with anything we could lay hands on,
and made a dash for the roof on which the men had been seen, but no
sign of them could be found. One of our servants climbed on to the top
of the wall connecting our house with our neighbour’s, flashing
his lantern all round in his endeavours to see any trace of the
supposed thieves. Excited voices were at once heard asking “Who
is there?” “Why do you throw a light here?” &c.;
and the lantern-bearer found to his horror that he was illuminating
with his lamp the whole of the hareem of our next-door neighbour, who
were all sleeping on the roof, the time being summer. His descent was
much quicker than his ascent, as he was in deadly fear of being shot by
the irate owner of the hareem.</p>
<p>As a rule thieves only think it worth while to go after gold. Silver
is not accounted of any value in <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb305"
href="#pb305" name="pb305">305</a>]</span>Mosul. The natives,
especially perhaps the Christians and Jews, always have a great deal of
gold in their houses, and in consequence live in terror of the robbers
coming to relieve them of it.</p>
<p>Shortly before we left I heard of a very sad case of robbery and
murder. A young Christian girl, who had just been married, was awakened
one night by a man roughly forcing the gold bracelets from her wrist,
holding at the same time a revolver at her head, and telling her if she
made a sound he would shoot her dead. For a time she suffered in
silence, but an extra sharp wrench from the rough hands of her
tormentor made her cry out in pain. Her cry roused her husband, and he
immediately made a dash for the robber, who calmly turned the revolver
at the man’s head and shot him dead. Thus the bride of only a few
days’ duration was left a widow. Another day two women belonging
to one of the leading Christian families were returning from an early
service at their church, when they were attacked by a Moslem man, who
tore the gold coins from their heads and necks. The terrified women
could hardly reach their own homes, so stunned were they by the harsh
treatment of the robbers. The strange sequel to this story is, that
after a few days a parcel arrived at the house to which the women
belonged, which on being opened was found to contain all the gold which
had been wrested from them a few days before. Another lady in Mosul,
also a Christian, was the proud possessor of a most valuable set of
jewels. One day everything disappeared. She neither saw nor heard a
robber, but evidently one must have gained admission to the house, for
all her <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb306" href="#pb306" name=
"pb306">306</a>]</span>jewels were taken; and to this day she has never
had a clue as to their fate.</p>
<p>I often say to the women in Mosul who sometimes commiserate me on
having no gold: “Which is better—to have gold for the
robbers to get, or to have none and be able to go to rest with a quiet
mind?” I think most of them would prefer to have the gold and
risk the rest, so devoted are they to it and all jewellery. Every
woman, except the very poor, has on her marriage, gold coins for her
head, gold chains for her neck, a golden band for her waist, gold
bracelets for the arms, and the same for her ankles. Is it any wonder
that these form attractions which prove too strong for the average
robber to resist? I was once visiting at the house of a poor Jewess.
She was telling me how poor she was, as her “man” was ill
and could not work; but I said, “I expect you have gold?”
“Oh yes, of course,” was the answer; and going to a
cupboard she pulled out a secret drawer and showed me her store of gold
coins and bangles, valued at about £200. Before putting away her
“gods,” she asked me if I thought her hiding-place was
secure enough against the invasion of robbers. These people certainly
lay up for themselves treasures where thieves break through and steal,
the result being that when their “treasures” are taken they
are left disconsolate. Having nothing better to live for, are they not
worthy of our love and pity? <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb307" href=
"#pb307" name="pb307">307</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch2.12" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter XII</h2>
<h2 class="main">The Pleasures of Desert Travelling</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Desert blossoms as a rose—Flowers of the
desert—Arabs, their occupation and women—Arab
dancing—Robbers of the desert—An army of ten
thousand—Five hundred armed men—False alarms—Lost in
the desert—Delights and disturbances of travelling.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<div class="lg">
<p class="line">“Truth is truth: too true it was,</p>
<p class="line">Gold! She hoarded and hugged it first,</p>
<p class="line">Longed for it, leaned o’er it, loved
it—</p>
<p class="line xd20e1108">Alas!</p>
<p class="line">Till the humour grew to a head and burst,</p>
<p class="line">And she cried at the final pass.</p>
</div>
<div class="lg">
<p class="line">Talk not of God, my heart is stone!</p>
<p class="line">Nor lover nor friend—be gold for both!</p>
<p class="line">Gold I lack, and, my all, my own....”</p>
</div>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">R. Browning.</span></p>
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line">“O that the desert were my
dwelling-place.”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Byron.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">It can with all truth be said that in springtime the
Desert of Mesopotamia blossoms as a rose. Two years ago we travelled
from Mosul to Aleppo by the northern route <i>viâ</i> Mardin,
Diabekir, and Orfa. We left Mosul about the 20th June, just as the
harvest had all been gathered in and the earth had once more resumed
its parched-up appearance for another summer. No sooner had we left the
neighbourhood of Mosul behind us than we were surrounded again on all
sides by fields of waving corn, in many instances still green, and this
continued <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb308" href="#pb308" name=
"pb308">308</a>]</span>the whole way to Aleppo; the harvest becoming
later as we travelled north. Where the land was not cultivated the wild
flowers were a perfect delight, and the desert air was filled with
their sweetness. In one place the effect of these flowers was
peculiarly enchanting. As far as the eye could see, the fields were
covered with hollyhocks of all hues, the different shades being grouped
together; thus a vast expanse of red hollyhocks would be succeeded by a
field of white ones, these again changing to a delightful mauve. I have
never anywhere seen such a wealth of wild flowers as we saw in that
so-called desert journey from Mosul to Mardin. To try to enumerate the
countless tiny flowers of the desert would be futile; they go very near
to rival in number and beauty the wild flowers of Palestine. Once we
were sitting in a field waiting for our caravan, and my husband said he
would see how many different kinds of flowers he could pick without
moving. In a minute or two he had gathered over a dozen, all within
arm’s reach. In that field alone there must have been at least a
hundred varieties of flowers.</p>
<p>As we approached Aleppo the flowers became scarcer, and fruit-trees
took their place. One day I was riding on the top of the pack mule,
when suddenly the animal (who had only one eye) stumbled, and I was
deposited on the ground before I realised what had happened. Feeling
rather hot and bruised, I looked about for a place to rest in.
Fortunately we were near an orchard, so finding a delightfully shady
tree, we decided to make this our lunching-ground. As we sat and rested
ripe apricots fell from the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb309" href=
"#pb309" name="pb309">309</a>]</span>tree into our laps. The owner of
the orchard informed us we could eat as many as we liked—for a
consideration!</p>
<p>But desert travelling is not all as pleasant as this. Were we to
retrace our steps a month or two later we should see no beautiful
flowers or waving corn-fields, nothing but burnt-up desert land.</p>
<p>The direct route from Mosul to Aleppo lies through land almost
entirely desert. For two whole days nothing is to be seen save an
occasional Arab encampment, and sometimes not even that.</p>
<p>The Arabs of Mesopotamia belong as a rule to the great Shammar
tribe. They wander up and down the country living in black tents made
from camel or goats’ hair. When wishing to seek pastures new they
migrate from one place to another with all their flocks and herds, the
tending of which forms one of their chief occupations. The Arab women
are most industrious: in addition to the ordinary cares of the family,
they fetch the water, carrying it home from the well or river in large
jars balanced on their heads; they drive the flocks to pasture, milking
them night and morning; they spin the wool of the sheep and goat, and
weave it into cloth for the men’s garments or for the tent
canvas. In fact, there is hardly anything the Arab woman does not do,
while her lord and master passes the time in scouring the country on
horseback, or settling quarrels with his neighbours. Arabs of different
tribes are very quick to go to war against each other, and will fight
for the merest trifle, though blood is rarely shed, the consequences of
a blood feud being so dreaded. With the Arab it must be blood for
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb310" href="#pb310" name=
"pb310">310</a>]</span>blood, and once blood has been shed, there can
be no rest till vengeance has been satisfied.</p>
<p>The Arabs are very proud of their horses, as they have every reason
to be, a true Arab horse being a lovely creature. As a rule they do not
shoe their horses at all.</p>
<p>One day two men from an encampment near Mosul were walking along
when they saw something on the road which attracted their attention.
Picking it up, they examined it very carefully, turned it over and
over, but could not come to any satisfactory conclusion regarding it.
The object under discussion was a horseshoe, but as neither of them had
ever seen such a thing before they could not guess its use. After
discussing it gravely for some time one Arab said to the other,
“Of course I know what it is. This is an old moon which has
fallen down from heaven!”</p>
<p>The Arabs are very hospitable people, and were often profuse in
their invitations for us to eat with them. I have once or twice joined
the women in sitting round a big cauldron full of “borghol”
(crushed corn boiled with plenty of fat) and dipping with them into the
one dish, and thoroughly enjoyed it. When you have a desert appetite it
is possible to enjoy anything. Once my husband and I accepted an
invitation to a meal with an Arab, and were regaled with chicken boiled
with a green vegetable called “<span lang=
"fa-latn">barmiya</span>,” and pillau. Our host would not eat
with us, but employed himself brushing the flies away from the food as
we ate.</p>
<p>The Arab dance is a very weird performance to watch. The men and
women all join hands, and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb311" href=
"#pb311" name="pb311">311</a>]</span>shuffle with their feet, at the
same time working every muscle of the body in a most grotesque fashion.
As they warm to the dance they get very much excited, yelling and
shouting in a frantic manner.</p>
<p>These Arabs are the dreaded robbers of the desert, and our guard
always impressed upon us, when travelling, what a dangerous set of
people they were. Every speck on the horizon is magnified into a
probable Arab; and if by chance one is met in the desert, the
excitement is great. On one occasion we were riding in a very lonely
spot when suddenly an Arab horseman rode into view. Immediately our
gallant guard swooped down upon the unfortunate man, asking him what he
meant by spying upon our movements, for they did not think it possible
that he would be there alone if it were not for that object. The Arab
assured us he had no such intentions, but had only come to meet a
friend whom he believed to be in our caravan. However, our escort would
not credit his story, so took him prisoner till we had safely passed
the dangerous part, and then allowed him to return. We could not help
wondering whether, if there had been twenty Arabs instead of one, our
guard would have been so brave.</p>
<p>Another time we were crossing a huge track of waterless desert, said
to be infested with marauding Arab tribes, when suddenly we saw the
escort becoming highly excited, waving their guns about, preparatory to
galloping off. Before we had time to ask what it was all about they
were off. We were then driving in a carriage, so making inquiries
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb312" href="#pb312" name=
"pb312">312</a>]</span>from our driver were assured it was nothing,
only he pointed ominously to a long black line seen far away in the
distance. Our servant assured us this was the shadow of the mountain,
but this was only said to reassure us in case we felt alarmed.</p>
<p>The “black line” appeared to be steadily advancing,
every moment becoming more and more like a huge army of mounted men
marching straight for us. Our driver, thinking, no doubt, of the
probable capture of his horses by the robbers, lashed up the poor
beasts into a gallop, urging them on ever faster and faster till they
could go no quicker. Our servant, who was sitting on the box-seat, made
valiant attempts to draw off our thoughts from the impending danger, as
he thought the “khatoun” would be much frightened. But the
“khatoun” was not to be blindfolded, and much preferred to
see and know what was going on. By this time the “army” had
assumed enormous proportions, for as each section appeared in sight,
another one loomed behind, away in the distance. Already in my mind I
resignedly (?) bade farewell to all the contents of our boxes, as I
pictured the Arabs ruthlessly breaking them open and spreading the
contents on the ground for inspection and division. We soon saw that we
must give up the race, for every moment brought us nearer our dreaded
enemies; till just as we reached the top of a small rise in the ground
we came face to face with our “army of soldiers.”
“Alhamd’llillah!” they were nothing more alarming
than a huge cavalcade of about 10,000 camels being taken to water in
companies of 500, each company being in charge of a drover, the order
and regularity with which they <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb313"
href="#pb313" name="pb313">313</a>]</span>walked giving the impression
that they were regiments of mounted soldiers. I fancy the alarm of the
guards and driver was only assumed for our benefit, for on our return
journey they began the same story at the identical spot, and there
again, sure enough, was the steady advancing line; but this time we
were wiser, and could laugh at our would-be alarmists.</p>
<p>Another time we had just crossed a river at the end of a long
day’s march, and were enjoying a well-earned rest and cup of tea,
when our escort came up in great distress of mind to say that he had
just heard that a band of 500 armed men had that morning crossed the
river with the avowed intention of lying in wait for the Feringhi
caravan and attacking it. We were getting used to alarms of this kind,
and at first only laughed at their anxious faces; but they were so
persistent in their entreaties that we should not remain on that side
of the river, that we began to think that perhaps, after all,
<i>this</i> time they might have foundation for their fears. So we made
a compromise to the effect that, if they wished, we would pack up and
move on to some village, although we were very tired. So with this they
had to be content, and it was arranged that at midnight we were to
start. However, just before turning in for a short rest, the guard
again made their appearance, this time to say they had considered that
it would not be at all safe to travel by night, and that we had better
wait till daylight, adding in the usual way: “But do not be
afraid; we will watch all night long.” So we all retired very
thankfully to rest. It was a very hot night, and being unable to sleep
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb314" href="#pb314" name=
"pb314">314</a>]</span>I went outside the tent door for a little air,
and found our gallant guard all fast asleep and snoring. In the morning
they assured us that they had never closed their eyes all night, but
had sat up watching for robbers!!</p>
<p>We had experienced once in Persia the pleasant sensation of being
lost when alone in the desert. In the Turkish-Arabian desert we, in
company with the whole caravan, were once lost, and spent many weary
hours wandering about seeking for our right road in vain. It was a day
or two after leaving Diabekir; our escort, reduced to one soldier as
the road was considered fairly safe, was quite sure he knew the way.
Our muleteer and servants had never travelled that road before, so we
were completely in the hands of one man; but as he seemed quite sure,
we did not trouble about it, knowing that these men are always on the
road acting as escort. But we soon found that we were trusting to a
broken reed, so far as his knowledge as a guide was concerned. We
started one day on what we supposed to be a short stage, but to our
surprise it seemed to lengthen out into a longer one than usual, till
we began to despair of ever reaching the end. At last, when sunset was
a thing of the past, we began to suspect that our guide was not too
sure of his where-abouts; and this suspicion soon changed to certainty
when we suddenly found ourselves on the top of a steep bank, down which
it was impossible for the animals to climb. Our clever guide then
confessed that he did not know where we were.</p>
<p>It was now quite dark, and we had been riding since early morning,
so felt pretty tired; but our <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb315"
href="#pb315" name="pb315">315</a>]</span>muleteer said it was quite
out of the question to stay where we were, as there was no water for
the animals, and the hills with which we were surrounded were known to
be full of robbers. So we wandered on and on and <i>on</i>, listening
in vain for some sound of habitation and hearing none, longing even to
hear the joyful sound of the barking of dogs or croaking of frogs,
telling of life and water; but our longings were not to be realised
that night. At last, about ten o’clock, we said we could not
possibly go any further; so, amidst much discontent and fear on the
part of the men, we dismounted and declared our intention of staying
where we were till dawn. The animals were all tethered, and we all sat
round in a circle, so that if the robbers came we should be able to
show a good front. The men appeared to be quite frightened, and
declared they would not sleep, but each would take his turn at
watching. We were too sleepy to care much whether the robbers came or
not, so wrapping ourselves in blankets we were soon fast asleep.
Awaking about half-an-hour later, I looked out to see how the
“watchers” were getting on, and saw that they were all fast
asleep, covered up in their <i>abas</i> or long cloaks. I soon followed
their example and slept till morning, no robbers having come in the
night to disturb our slumbers. We discovered that we had wandered a
good distance out of our way, but found the right path soon after nine
o’clock, and very thankful we all were to obtain water to
drink—the animals more so than any of us, perhaps.</p>
<p>Travelling in the desert is very pleasant if the stage is not a very
long one. To start about sunrise <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb316"
href="#pb316" name="pb316">316</a>]</span>or a little after, ride three
or four hours, then have a lunch of bread and melons, and finish up
with another three hours’ ride, makes a very pleasant picnic; but
when the stage takes twelve or thirteen hours to do, the pleasure
becomes a burden. At the end of a short stage it is delightful to sit
outside our tent and enjoy the cool breeze of the desert, and watch the
stars peeping out one after the other. Sometimes, however, the weather
is not such as to allow of this form of enjoyment. When we were coming
home in 1907, in crossing the desert we came in for some tremendously
heavy thunderstorms. One night we were simultaneously awakened by a
tremendous gust of wind which threatened to bring down the tent. We
sprang up and clung to the poles; but thinking the whole structure was
bound to fall, and preferring to be outside, I forsook my pole to which
I had been clinging, and rushed out into the pouring rain. My husband
went to call some of the men, and found them all happily asleep in the
carriage: with great difficulty he awoke them, and together they made
secure all the tent-pegs. By this time the great fury of the storm was
over, and we crept inside the tent, wet, cold, and miserable. Wonderful
to say, neither of us caught cold after our adventure. The next morning
we spread all our wet bedding, &c., in the sun to dry; and just as
it was nearly ready, down came another storm and soaked everything
again. Such are some of the joys of travelling in the desert.
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb317" href="#pb317" name=
"pb317">317</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ch2.13" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="label">Chapter XIII</h2>
<h2 class="main">Pioneer Medical Mission Work in Mosul
(Nineveh)<a class="noteref" id="xd20e3843src" href="#xd20e3843" name=
"xd20e3843src">1</a></h2>
<div class="argument">
<p class="first">Winning the confidence of the people—Native
surgery—Difficulties to be overcome—Backward
patients—Encouraging work—Prevalent
diseases—Lunatics—Possible future of Mesopotamia.</p>
</div>
<div class="epigraph">
<div class="lgouter">
<p class="line xd20e2463">”... My soul is full</p>
<p class="line">Of pity for the sickness of this world;</p>
<p class="line">Which I will heal, if healing may be found!”</p>
</div>
<p class="first signed"><span class="sc">Sir E. Arnold.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">It is often thought that in the East, whenever an
English doctor arrives at a city, patients throng to him from all
quarters. This is only partially true, at least in the near East. If
medicine and attendance are granted free indiscriminately, doubtless at
first crowds will attend the out-patient department, many coming merely
out of curiosity. If good work is to be done, it is better to make some
charge, however small, exempting only the very poor. This principle
has, I believe, been adopted by all our medical missionaries, and fees
thus earned go to help in making the work self-supporting.</p>
<p>The European doctor in Persia or Turkey has first to win the
confidence of the people, and this is sometimes no easy matter. On our
arrival in Mosul we rented a house in the centre of the city, which had
two compounds. We lived in the inner compound, and made the outer into
a dispensary and small hospital. At first everything looked rather
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb318" href="#pb318" name=
"pb318">318</a>]</span>hopeless, the house being an old one and nearly
in ruins. However, we made a big stable into a waiting-room for the
patients; other rooms were patched up and transformed into
consulting-room, dispensary, operating theatre, and wards, all of a
most primitive kind. In this great city of 60,000 to 80,000 people our
staff consisted of my wife and me and two native assistants, who had
been trained in our Baghdad Medical Mission.</p>
<p>There was no lack of physicians in the city, but excluding two or
three Turkish army doctors, and one or two others with Constantinople
diplomas, the rest were quacks of the most pronounced type. Nearly
every old lady in the city thinks herself competent to treat diseases
of the eye, the barbers are the surgeons, bone-setters abound,
hereditary physicians are by no means scarce. These latter inherit
“herbal prescriptions” from their forefathers, and though
now forbidden to practise by the Turkish Government, yet contrive to
visit many houses as a “friend” after dark, and earn enough
for a livelihood. The Dominicans (who have a large Mission in Mosul)
also give away many medicines, and have now a qualified native doctor.
But though there is much “physicking” in Mosul, but little
surgery is done, and that gives the opportunity for the European doctor
to step in. Arab surgery is of the crudest description. Let one sample
suffice. A poor Arab woman was brought to the dispensary, soon after we
started work, by her father. She complained of not being able to
breathe through her nose. On examining her throat I found that the
upper air passage had become shut off from the <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb319" href="#pb319" name="pb319">319</a>]</span>back
of the throat as a result of old inflammation. Upon further inquiry I
elicited the following history. Two years before, the patient had
developed a bad sore throat. Her father took her to the native surgeon,
who had the poor woman’s mouth held forcibly open, while he
proceeded to cure the sore throat by rubbing it with a red-hot
flattened piece of iron!</p>
<p>Gradually we commenced to win the confidence of the people: they
came in ever-increasing numbers to the dispensary. Gathered together in
the waiting-room would be a crowd composed of many different
nationalities—Christians, Moslems, Jews, Kurds from the
mountains, Bedouins from the desert, Yezidees (the so-called
devil-worshippers), a motley throng, listening quietly and without
interruption to the reading and exposition of the Gospel, ere passing
one by one through the doctor’s consulting-room, for the
treatment of their multitudinous diseases. The medical missionary is
called upon to do his best to cure every ailment; he must be ready to
accept heavy responsibilities, there are no “specialists”
to consult, often he is without the help of any trained nurse, and in
pioneer work, at least, he has no properly equipped hospital, and must
perforce perform most serious operations under the worst possible
conditions. In addition to all this, in lands under Mohammedan rule
there is always the risk of a riot if a patient should die in a
Christian hospital, especially on the operating table. Yet despite all
these drawbacks, it is a grand life, revealing to a man his own utter
weakness, and making him rely more and more upon his God.</p>
<p>Soon we were able to commence admitting in-patients, being forced to
limit admission to surgical <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb320" href=
"#pb320" name="pb320">320</a>]</span>cases. At first there was
considerable difficulty in getting the patients to come on the actual
day fixed for the operation; each one was anxious for his neighbour to
be the first. Finally I was compelled to threaten to put a black mark
against the name of any patient who had agreed to come in for operation
and then failed to put in an appearance, adding that <i>that</i>
patient would have to wait a long time before having a chance offered a
second time. This had the desired effect, a woman needing a small
eyelid operation being the first to brave the terrors of the Feringhi
hospital.</p>
<p>In due course, instruments and dressings all having been prepared,
the patient, in a condition of mortal terror, was led into the
operating room, and induced to lie on the table. But alas, her fears
gained the mastery, and she instantly jumped up, ran out of the room,
and disappeared from the dispensary. This was not encouraging, but a
few days later a little Jew boy suffering from vesical stone (a very
common disease in Mosul, especially amongst children) was brought to
the hospital by his father. We persuaded him to enter the hospital with
his boy, and thus finally gained our first in-patient. The stone having
been removed, and the boy making a good recovery, we had no further
difficulty in getting in-patients. Our six wooden beds soon all had
occupants, then we added six more beds; finally, obtaining a
neighbouring house for our own residence, we made our old house (the
inner compound) into a small hospital for women and children. Thus we
were able to accommodate twenty-four patients, and as each had at least
one <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb321" href="#pb321" name=
"pb321">321</a>]</span>friend, we often had over fifty people resident
on the premises. It is this in-patient work that gives the most
encouraging opportunities to the medical missionary. There in his
little hospital he has patients of all creeds, lying side by side; many
have been relieved or cured by operation, and will listen gratefully to
all the teaching they can get. Each patient before the operation hears
the doctor pray a short prayer, asking God to bless the operation and
cause it to be successful. Day after day, week after week, he receives
instruction, and gains an entirely new idea of what Christianity really
is, and when he leaves the mission hospital and returns to his home,
whether in the city or in a distant mountain village, all his old
bitter opposition to Christianity has disappeared, and often he will
send other patients for treatment to the English mission. The following
statistics, for two years only, may prove interesting, as showing the
far-reaching influence of even a badly equipped, undermanned medical
mission:—</p>
<div class="table">
<table class="xd20e3882" width="100%">
<tr>
<td colspan="3">Total attendance of out-patients</td>
<td class="xd20e3886">24,519</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td rowspan="2" class="xd20e3889">Operations performed</td>
<td rowspan="2" class="xd20e3891"><img src="images/bracket-left.gif"
alt="" width="6" height="33"></td>
<td>197 Major</td>
<td class="xd20e3886">569</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>372 Minor</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="3">Total number of in-patients</td>
<td class="xd20e3886">288</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="3">Number of villages and towns, <i>excluding</i> Mosul,
from which patients have come to the dispensary</td>
<td class="xd20e3886">348</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<p>This last item is especially interesting; excluding Mosul (from
which naturally most of our patients are drawn), 348 <i>different</i>
towns and villages (some as many as ten days’ journey) have sent
us patients, and yet the work is barely started! <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb322" href="#pb322" name="pb322">322</a>]</span></p>
<p>To illustrate the effect of a medical mission in disarming
opposition, I may add that, in 1907, when it was feared that, owing to
the need for retrenchment, the Society would have to close the work in
Mosul, a petition, signed by most of the prominent Mohammedan
residents, including the chief mullahs, was brought to me, asking that
I would remit it at once to the Society. It was a request that the
Medical Mission should not be withdrawn, as it had been such a boon to
the inhabitants of the city. In a very wonderful manner God heard and
answered our prayers, and the Mission is not to be closed, but rather
it is hoped to equip it more thoroughly.</p>
<p>The operations most frequently called for in Mosul are those for
“cataract” and vesical stone, but patients come with many
other diseases, both surgical and medical. The city is full of
phthisis; the insanitary conditions under which the vast majority of
the inhabitants live favour its rapid dissemination. Smallpox and
typhoid fever are very common, and once these diseases have been
definitely diagnosed, neither the patient nor his friends will permit
any further medical treatment. For the latter disease the patient is
kept on fairly strict diet until he “perspires.” This to
the native mind denotes the end of all possible danger, so he is then
pressed to eat anything and everything, with disastrous results.
Malaria, dysentery, hepatic abscesses are also rife; there have also
been epidemics of cholera and plague, but not of late years. Once the
projected Baghdad Railway (which will pass through Mosul) is an
accomplished fact, we may expect the <span class="pagenum">[<a id=
"pb323" href="#pb323" name="pb323">323</a>]</span>importation of plague
from the south, unless the most stringent precautions are taken.</p>
<p>The Bedouin Arab can rarely be persuaded to stop in the city; after
the freedom of life in the desert, he feels stifled within the four
walls of a house. Ere leaving Mosul I had a curious demonstration of
this fact. An old blind Arab was brought to me by his son, suffering
from double cataract. I told him that by means of a simple operation he
might once again be able to see, but that he would have to stay in the
hospital for a few days. He indignantly refused, saying he would rather
remain blind the rest of his life than sleep beneath a roof. In vain
did his son plead with him, and finding that I would not operate at
once and allow him to be treated as an out-patient, the old man went
sorrowfully away.</p>
<p>Every in-patient admitted had to bring a friend to help to nurse
him, as we had no proper hospital equipment and no trained nurse. Only
twice in the three years did I break this rule, both times with
disastrous results. The first was a poor old man from a village some
days’ journey from Mosul. He was poor and friendless, also blind
with “cataract”; reluctantly I allowed myself to be
influenced by his pathetic pleadings, and admitted him without any one
to look after him. Prior to his admission he had been bitten on the
calf of one leg by a dog, and complaining of pain from this wound, we
dressed it with a simple boracic fomentation. Unfortunately this
dressing was forgotten and left on the leg. The eye was in due course
operated upon successfully, and the patient received the usual strict
injunction <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb324" href="#pb324" name=
"pb324">324</a>]</span>to lie still for twenty-four hours. At the first
dressing everything seemed all right; two days later I found to my
sorrow that the eye had suppurated, and that there was no hope of
saving the vision. The strictest inquiry was at once instituted, but
for some time we could discover no clue as to how the eye had become
infected; then the truth came out. It appeared that the second night
after the operation the old man commenced to feel a slight pricking
pain in the eye that had been operated upon (not an uncommon symptom
after “cataract” extraction, with no bad significance as a
rule). The pain seemed similar to that which he had felt in his leg,
which had been relieved by the application of the boracic fomentation.
The patient reasoned thus with himself: “It is night time, I had
better not call for the doctor; but the medicine on my eye is evidently
doing no good, while that put on my leg cured a similar pain to this at
once, so I had better take off this bandage from my eye and replace it
with the one on my leg”! This he had proceeded to do, and
consequently lost his newly acquired sight.</p>
<p>The other case was somewhat similar, but the patient was a fanatical
Moslem priest, whom I afterwards found out was a well-known
“majnoon” (madman). He also had been admitted alone, and we
had but little trouble with him until after the operation (also for
“cataract”) had been performed. A few hours later my
assistant came running to me, and said: “Doctor, that old
cataract patient declares that he must and <i>he will</i> say his
prayers. We have done our best to prevent him, but in vain.” Now
a Mohammedan, before he prays, performs certain <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb325" href="#pb325" name=
"pb325">325</a>]</span>ablutions, which include washing his hands and
face; so I at once ran up to the ward, but, alas! we arrived too late.
The old priest had taken off his bandage, washed his face and hands,
said his prayers, and was quite unable to understand why the Hakim
Sahib should be angry! We gave the poor old man some lotion and a shade
for his eye, and sent him back to his home (as he lived in Mosul),
refusing to accept any further responsibility. Some weeks later my
assistant met the old priest in the bazaar, quite pleased with himself,
for he had actually obtained sufficient sight to find his way about
alone.</p>
<p>Fortunately the majority of the patients are more reasonable, and
quickly learn to submit more or less to “hospital
regulations.” Children sometimes proved troublesome, especially
boys, when accompanied by a crowd of relations. I remember one morning,
when making my daily round, coming across a group of people surrounding
a little boy six years of age. He had been ordered a dose of castor
oil, and had made up his obstinate little mind that he would <i>not</i>
take the nasty stuff. Being a boy, and only son and heir, he had been
spoilt most royally. Father, mother, aunt, grandmother, and friends
each in turn tried persuasion, varied by gentle threats, all in vain.
He beat and (I am sorry to say) cursed the women, his mother included,
and sullenly refused to accept the medicine from his father, despite
sundry promises of sweets, money, &c.</p>
<p>After watching the scene with some amusement I stepped forward, took
the cup containing the obnoxious castor oil, and forcibly administered
the dose without regarding the boy’s shrieks and tears.
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb326" href="#pb326" name=
"pb326">326</a>]</span>Then I read the parents a little lecture upon
the evil result of spoiling their children, which I fear had but scant
result.</p>
<p>Often do I feel ashamed as I note how patiently pain and diseases
are borne by these poor people. It is always “the will of
God,” and therefore there is no use complaining, and little use
rebelling. Time after time have I had to gently break the news to some
poor patient, who may have come long distances to see the English
doctor, that his blindness could not be cured by operation, being
caused by what is popularly known as black cataract (glaucoma). A few
(usually women) would go away weeping, but the vast majority both of
men and women would quietly respond, “Alhamd’llillah”
(Praise be to God), with but little sign of emotion.</p>
<p>So far as I know there is but one asylum for cases of mental
diseases in the whole of the Turkish Empire, and that one is at
Asfariyeh, near Beyrout, and belongs to an English society. The usual
method of dealing with lunatics in Mosul is, if they are apparently
harmless, that they are allowed to wander about freely and treated
kindly; but once they develop symptoms of mania they are treated as
wild beasts, put into a dark room, and chained to a wall. But we
possess a specialist in “mental diseases” in Mosul,
belonging to an old Mohammedan family, who has a great reputation for
the treatment of “lunatics.” In the courtyard of his house
he has had dug several deep wells, and beside each well is placed a
large tub, having a hole in the bottom which communicates with the
well. The poor madman is made to work from sunrise to sunset,
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb327" href="#pb327" name=
"pb327">327</a>]</span>drawing water from the well and pouring it into
the perforated tub, being told that he may leave off <i>when</i> he has
filled the tub. If he refuses to work, he is unmercifully beaten.
Several cures are said to have resulted from this treatment.</p>
<p>There is nothing so potent as the in-patient work of a hospital in
overcoming opposition. Amongst our numerous “cataract”
patients was an Arab from Singar (a mountainous district near Mosul).
He came armed with a perfectly unnecessary introduction, in the shape
of a letter from one of the chief Mohammedans in the city. After he had
regained his sight and had left the hospital, ere returning to his
mountain home he went to this “big” Moslem to thank him. He
found himself the centre of a large and curious throng, who questioned
him severely upon his experiences in the “Christian”
hospital. Some of the more fanatical (it was in the early days of the
Mission) did not scruple to speak against the hospital and the English
hakim; but, like the man in St. John’s Gospel, this Arab was not
afraid to testify of what had been done for him, “for,”
said he, “you can say what you like—one thing I know,
before I was blind, now I can see.”</p>
<p>But enough—I fear to tire my readers; but ere closing I would
like just to refer to the possible future of Mesopotamia. One thing is
certain, a few years more will exhibit great changes. I have already
referred to the Baghdad Railway. As I write it is rumoured that the
German Government have at last obtained a further concession from the
Sultan of Turkey, which will allow them to continue the line another
five hundred miles, piercing Mount <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb328"
href="#pb328" name="pb328">328</a>]</span>Taurus and reaching near to
the city of Mardin (some ten days’ journey north of Mosul). When
this is accomplished the rest of the work is quite simple. The line
from Mardin to Baghdad (passing through Mosul) should present no
difficulties, and Mosul (with the ruins of Nineveh) will become easy of
access from Europe.</p>
<p>In the next place there is the question of the navigation of the
Tigris. Ere long there is no doubt that boats will be allowed to come
up the river from Baghdad to Mosul, and possibly on up to Diabekir
(300–400 miles north of Mosul). This will mean an enormous
increase in trade, both in imports and exports.</p>
<p>Finally, there is that fascinating problem of the irrigation of the
Mesopotamian desert. The remains of old canals are still visible, and
it needs nothing but an energetic government willing to spend a
comparatively small sum, plus the services of a capable engineer, to
transform the whole of that desert between the two great rivers
Euphrates and Tigris into a veritable Garden of Eden, even as it must
have been in the days of old, when huge armies were able to find
sufficient provender for man and beast throughout the whole of that
vast region. The “finale” of that great province,
containing the ruins of so many ancient cities, has not yet been
written; and there are many signs which tend to suggest to the
thoughtful observer that, ere another century has passed, Mesopotamia
may once again take its place, and that no mean position, amongst the
kingdoms of the earth! <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb329" href=
"#pb329" name="pb329">329</a>]</span></p>
</div>
<div class="footnotes">
<hr class="fnsep">
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" id=
"xd20e3843" href="#xd20e3843src" name="xd20e3843">1</a></span> By Dr.
A. Hume-Griffith.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="back">
<div class="div1 index"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h2 class="main">Index</h2>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">A</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Abdul Fateh, our <i lang="fa-latn">pishkhedmat</i>,
<a href="#pb78" class="pageref">78</a></p>
<p>Aganoor, Dr., <a href="#pb146" class="pageref">146</a></p>
<p>Agha Mohammed Khan, Kerman sacked by, <a href="#pb31" class=
"pageref">31</a></p>
<p>Alexander marched through Kerman, <a href="#pb31" class=
"pageref">31</a></p>
<p>Ali, “The Lion of God,” <a href="#pb19" class=
"pageref">19</a></p>
<p>Aliabâd, the village of, <a href="#pb66" class=
"pageref">66</a></p>
<p>American mission, the, <a href="#pb27" class="pageref">27</a></p>
<p>Amputation, how regarded, <a href="#pb142" class=
"pageref">142</a></p>
<p>Anderoon, the, <a href="#pb68" class="pageref">68</a>, <a href=
"#pb87" class="pageref">87</a>;<br>
of the Zil-es-Sultan, <a href="#pb93" class="pageref">93</a></p>
<p>Animals, cruelty to, <a href="#pb137" class="pageref">137</a></p>
<p>Anjiman, the, a Parsee governing body, <a href="#pb129" class=
"pageref">129</a></p>
<p>Ants, a pest of white, <a href="#pb73" class="pageref">73</a>;<br>
their ravages, <a href="#pb75" class="pageref">75</a></p>
<p>Arab dancing, a weird performance, <a href="#pb310" class=
"pageref">310</a></p>
<p>—— women, their love of freedom, <a href="#pb191" class=
"pageref">191</a>;<br>
industry of, <a href="#pb309" class="pageref">309</a></p>
<p>Arabs of Mesopotamia, the, <a href="#pb309" class=
"pageref">309</a>;<br>
hospitality of, <a href="#pb310" class="pageref">310</a>;<br>
dancing, <a href="#pb311" class="pageref">311</a></p>
<p>—— of Mosul, the, <a href="#pb190" class=
"pageref">190</a></p>
<p>Arak, a favourite drink, <a href="#pb269" class=
"pageref">269</a></p>
<p>“Arg,” the Governor’s residence, <a href="#pb110"
class="pageref">110</a></p>
<p>Ark, remains of the, <a href="#pb177" class="pageref">177</a></p>
<p>Armenians, their virtues and vices, <a href="#pb28" class=
"pageref">28</a></p>
<p>Asshur, remains of, <a href="#pb179" class="pageref">179</a></p>
<p>“At Home,” our, <a href="#pb85" class=
"pageref">85</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">B</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Báb, the, founder of Babism, <a href="#pb116"
class="pageref">116</a>;<br>
imprisonment, <a href="#pb117" class="pageref">117</a>;<br>
execution, <a href="#pb118" class="pageref">118</a></p>
<p>Babism, its origin and founder, <a href="#pb116" class=
"pageref">116</a></p>
<p><i lang="fa-latn">Bâd geers</i>, or
“wind-catchers,” in Yezd, <a href="#pb54" class=
"pageref">54</a></p>
<p>Baghdad railway, the, <a href="#pb184" class="pageref">184</a>;<br>
its importance to Mosul, <a href="#pb328" class="pageref">328</a></p>
<p>Bagi, our servant, <a href="#pb69" class="pageref">69</a>, <a href=
"#pb79" class="pageref">79</a>, <a href="#pb85" class=
"pageref">85</a></p>
<p>Baradæus, Jacob, a Syrian reformer, <a href="#pb190" class=
"pageref">190</a></p>
<p>Bathing in the Tigris, <a href="#pb203" class="pageref">203</a></p>
<p>Bazaar, an exciting experience in the Kerman, <a href="#pb80" class=
"pageref">80</a></p>
<p>Beauty specialists, Persian women as, <a href="#pb104" class=
"pageref">104</a></p>
<p>Bedouin, the, as an in-patient, <a href="#pb323" class=
"pageref">323</a></p>
<p>Bedouins, the, <a href="#pb191" class="pageref">191</a></p>
<p>Beggars, a saying among, <a href="#pb32" class="pageref">32</a></p>
<p>Blackett, Mr. and Mrs., <a href="#pb57" class="pageref">57</a></p>
<p>Blackett’s, Mr., valuable library and the white ants, <a href=
"#pb75" class="pageref">75</a></p>
<p>Boy’s birth, celebrations at a, <a href="#pb211" class=
"pageref">211</a>;<br>
education, <a href="#pb213" class="pageref">213</a></p>
<p>Brass-work of Isphahan, the, <a href="#pb47" class=
"pageref">47</a></p>
<p>Bread-making, <a href="#pb255" class="pageref">255</a></p>
<p>Brick-making, <a href="#pb73" class="pageref">73</a></p>
<p>Brick pillars for capital punishment, <a href="#pb138" class=
"pageref">138</a></p>
<p>Bride, a Persian, <a href="#pb101" class="pageref">101</a>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb330" href="#pb330" name=
"pb330">330</a>]</span></p>
<p>Bridge of boats at Mosul, <a href="#pb176" class=
"pageref">176</a></p>
<p>Burials, danger of hasty, <a href="#pb250" class=
"pageref">250</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">C</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Calico printing at Isphahan, <a href="#pb47" class=
"pageref">47</a></p>
<p>Caravanserais, <a href="#pb132" class="pageref">132</a></p>
<p>Carless, Mr., death of, <a href="#pb57" class="pageref">57</a></p>
<p>Carpet, how to improve, <a href="#pb41" class="pageref">41</a>;<br>
how to tell a good one, <a href="#pb42" class="pageref">42</a>;<br>
prices, <a href="#pb43" class="pageref">43</a>;<br>
Kurdistan, <a href="#pb43" class="pageref">43</a></p>
<p>Carpet manufactories, <a href="#pb40" class="pageref">40</a></p>
<p>Carr, Dr., <a href="#pb150" class="pageref">150</a></p>
<p>Carriages, scarcity of, <a href="#pb26" class="pageref">26</a></p>
<p>Cataract among the Persians, <a href="#pb154" class=
"pageref">154</a></p>
<p>—— operations for, <a href="#pb322" class=
"pageref">322</a></p>
<p>—— patients, <a href="#pb168" class=
"pageref">168</a></p>
<p>Cats, Persia a land of, <a href="#pb22" class="pageref">22</a>;<br>
exportation of, <a href="#pb23" class="pageref">23</a></p>
<p>Cawals, or preachers of the Yezidees, <a href="#pb288" class=
"pageref">288</a></p>
<p>Cellars as dwelling-rooms in hot weather, <a href="#pb54" class=
"pageref">54</a></p>
<p>Census, taking a, at Mosul, <a href="#pb301" class=
"pageref">301</a></p>
<p>Centipede, the girl and the imaginary, <a href="#pb275" class=
"pageref">275</a></p>
<p>Chaldeans in Mosul, the, <a href="#pb188" class=
"pageref">188</a></p>
<p><i lang="fa-latn">Chappa khanehs</i>, or post-houses, <a href=
"#pb133" class="pageref">133</a></p>
<p>Character of the Persian women, <a href="#pb84" class=
"pageref">84</a></p>
<p>—— of the Persians, <a href="#pb60" class=
"pageref">60</a>;<br>
their politeness, <a href="#pb81" class="pageref">81</a></p>
<p>Charamika, an ancient belief, <a href="#pb178" class=
"pageref">178</a></p>
<p>Chebar, or Khabour, River, <a href="#pb257" class=
"pageref">257</a></p>
<p>Children employed in carpet-weaving, <a href="#pb44" class=
"pageref">44</a></p>
<p>—— Persian, <a href="#pb91" class="pageref">91</a>;<br>
Parsee, <a href="#pb122" class="pageref">122</a></p>
<p>—— spoilt, <a href="#pb208" class="pageref">208</a>;<br>
of Mosul, <a href="#pb221" class="pageref">221</a>;<br>
early contamination, <a href="#pb222" class="pageref">222</a></p>
<p>“Chimneys” of Yezd, the, <a href="#pb54" class=
"pageref">54</a></p>
<p>Christians in Mosul, <a href="#pb188" class="pageref">188</a></p>
<p><i>Chuddar</i>, the, <a href="#pb98" class="pageref">98</a></p>
<p>Climate of Persia, the, <a href="#pb50" class="pageref">50</a>;<br>
of Teheran, <a href="#pb51" class="pageref">51</a>;<br>
of Isphahan, <a href="#pb52" class="pageref">52</a>;<br>
of Kerman, <a href="#pb57" class="pageref">57</a></p>
<p>Coffee making and drinking, <a href="#pb254" class=
"pageref">254</a></p>
<p>Cook, our, <a href="#pb76" class="pageref">76</a></p>
<p>Cookery, Persian, <a href="#pb226" class=
"pageref">226</a>–7</p>
<p>Copper-work of Kashan, the, <a href="#pb47" class=
"pageref">47</a></p>
<p>Costume of Persian women, <a href="#pb95" class=
"pageref">95</a>;<br>
of Parsee women, <a href="#pb126" class="pageref">126</a></p>
<p>Cotton grown about Mosul, <a href="#pb182" class=
"pageref">182</a></p>
<p>Cultivation about Mosul, <a href="#pb182" class=
"pageref">182</a></p>
<p>“Cup of coffee,” the danger in a, <a href="#pb88" class=
"pageref">88</a></p>
<p>Cyrus returned from India by way of Kerman, <a href="#pb31" class=
"pageref">31</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">D</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first"><i><span class="corr" id="xd20e4526" title=
"Source: Dakhnehs">Dakhmehs</span></i>, or Towers of Silence, <a href=
"#pb128" class="pageref">128</a></p>
<p>Demavend, Mount, <a href="#pb51" class="pageref">51</a></p>
<p>Dervish, the, <a href="#pb112" class="pageref">112</a></p>
<p>Desert, magnetic attractions of the, <a href="#pb130" class=
"pageref">130</a>;<br>
songs of, <a href="#pb131" class="pageref">131</a></p>
<p>—— travelling in the, its monotony, <a href="#pb294"
class="pageref">294</a>;<br>
a puppy, <a href="#pb294" class="pageref">294</a>;<br>
a kitten, <a href="#pb295" class="pageref">295</a>;<br>
a murder, <a href="#pb296" class="pageref">296</a>;<br>
thieves in the tent, <a href="#pb298" class="pageref">298</a>;<br>
compensation, <a href="#pb300" class="pageref">300</a>;<br>
its pleasures, <a href="#pb307" class="pageref">307</a>;<br>
flowers and fruit, <a href="#pb308" class="pageref">308</a>;<br>
Arabs of Mesopotamia, <a href="#pb309" class="pageref">309</a>;<br>
robbers of the desert, <a href="#pb311" class="pageref">311</a>;<br>
a false alarm, <a href="#pb312" class="pageref">312</a>;<br>
lost, <a href="#pb314" class="pageref">314</a>;<br>
thunderstorms, <a href="#pb316" class="pageref">316</a></p>
<p>Devil-worshippers, Yezidees or, <a href="#pb284" class=
"pageref">284</a></p>
<p>Difficult patients, <a href="#pb323" class=
"pageref">323</a>–5</p>
<p>Dinner, a Persian, <a href="#pb100" class="pageref">100</a></p>
<p>Dinner-party, the Governor’s, <a href="#pb82" class=
"pageref">82</a></p>
<p>“Discoveries at Nineveh,” Layard’s, <a href=
"#pb185" class="pageref">185</a></p>
<p>Diseases in Mosul, the most frequent, <a href="#pb322" class=
"pageref">322</a></p>
<p>—— native treatment of, <a href="#pb160" class=
"pageref">160</a></p>
<p>Divorce, easiness of, <a href="#pb103" class="pageref">103</a>,
<a href="#pb232" class="pageref">232</a></p>
<p>Dogs and the jackals, legend of the, <a href="#pb37" class=
"pageref">37</a> <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb331" href="#pb331"
name="pb331">331</a>]</span></p>
<p>Dream, a “faked,” how a gold watch was recovered,
<a href="#pb262" class="pageref">262</a>;<br>
the mullah’s, <a href="#pb264" class="pageref">264</a>;<br>
Indian servant’s, <a href="#pb265" class="pageref">265</a></p>
<p>Dreams and visions, the belief in, <a href="#pb260" class=
"pageref">260</a>;<br>
the soldiers in the ward, <a href="#pb267" class="pageref">267</a></p>
<p>Drunken Moslem, the judge and the, <a href="#pb270" class=
"pageref">270</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">E</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Eclipse at Yezd, effect of an, <a href="#pb21" class=
"pageref">21</a></p>
<p>Elburz Mountains, the, <a href="#pb51" class="pageref">51</a></p>
<p>Elkosh, village of, <a href="#pb179" class="pageref">179</a></p>
<p>Evil Eye, the, <a href="#pb250" class="pageref">250</a></p>
<p>Eye diseases, prevalence of, <a href="#pb153" class=
"pageref">153</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">F</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Fakirs, an order of priesthood amongst the Yezidees,
<a href="#pb289" class="pageref">289</a></p>
<p>Fasts, <a href="#pb108" class="pageref">108</a></p>
<p>Fatalism, <a href="#pb217" class="pageref">217</a>;<br>
of the women, <a href="#pb235" class="pageref">235</a></p>
<p>Feasting at a birth, <a href="#pb211" class="pageref">211</a>;<br>
weddings, <a href="#pb247" class="pageref">247</a>;<br>
at funerals, <a href="#pb248" class="pageref">248</a>;<br>
at Christmas and Easter, <a href="#pb254" class="pageref">254</a></p>
<p>Ferry-boat on the Tigris, a, <a href="#pb207" class=
"pageref">207</a></p>
<p>Fever, native method of curing, <a href="#pb282" class=
"pageref">282</a></p>
<p>Fighting amongst women, <a href="#pb241" class="pageref">241</a></p>
<p>Fire-worship among the Parsees, <a href="#pb121" class=
"pageref">121</a></p>
<p>Fruit and vegetables at Mosul, <a href="#pb183" class=
"pageref">183</a></p>
<p>Funerals, feasting at, <a href="#pb248" class="pageref">248</a>;<br>
wailers, <a href="#pb248" class="pageref">248</a>;<br>
custom after a death, <a href="#pb249" class="pageref">249</a>;<br>
bitter coffee, <a href="#pb254" class="pageref">254</a></p>
<p>Furs exported from Mosul, <a href="#pb184" class=
"pageref">184</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">G</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first"><i>Galah i Doukhta</i>, or Fort of the Maiden,
<a href="#pb32" class="pageref">32</a></p>
<p>Galeem, a kind of rug, <a href="#pb46" class="pageref">46</a></p>
<p>Gambling habit, the, <a href="#pb272" class="pageref">272</a></p>
<p>Garden of Eden, the, <a href="#pb198" class="pageref">198</a></p>
<p>Girl’s birth, no celebrations at a, <a href="#pb215" class=
"pageref">215</a>;<br>
neglect of girls, <a href="#pb216" class="pageref">216</a>;<br>
education, <a href="#pb217" class="pageref">217</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">H</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Hadji Hussein Pasha, repairs the walls of Mosul,
<a href="#pb179" class="pageref">179</a></p>
<p><i>Halawwi</i>, a sweetmeat, <a href="#pb183" class=
"pageref">183</a></p>
<p>Hamadané Sultané, Princess, <a href="#pb90" class=
"pageref">90</a></p>
<p><i>Hammam</i>, or bath, the, <a href="#pb65" class=
"pageref">65</a>;<br>
women’s one place of recreation, <a href="#pb242" class=
"pageref">242</a></p>
<p>Hammam Ali, sulphur bath near Mosul, <a href="#pb195" class=
"pageref">195</a></p>
<p>Hareems of Mosul, the, <a href="#pb224" class="pageref">224</a>;<br>
jealousy in, <a href="#pb229" class="pageref">229</a></p>
<p>Hassain and Hussein, the mourning for, <a href="#pb109" class=
"pageref">109</a>, <a href="#pb157" class="pageref">157</a></p>
<p>Health of Europeans at Kerman, <a href="#pb58" class=
"pageref">58</a></p>
<p>“Hereditary physicians,” <a href="#pb318" class=
"pageref">318</a></p>
<p>Herodotus, mention of Kerman by, <a href="#pb31" class=
"pageref">31</a></p>
<p>“Home life,” lack of, <a href="#pb86" class=
"pageref">86</a>, <a href="#pb231" class="pageref">231</a></p>
<p>Horses, Arab, <a href="#pb310" class="pageref">310</a></p>
<p><i>Hoze</i>, or water-tank, the, <a href="#pb54" class=
"pageref">54</a></p>
<p>Hunting, <a href="#pb69" class="pageref">69</a></p>
<p>Husband, a brutal, <a href="#pb102" class="pageref">102</a></p>
<p>Hydrophobia, how a sheikh averts, <a href="#pb282" class=
"pageref">282</a></p>
<p>Hysteria amongst Persian women, <a href="#pb161" class=
"pageref">161</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">I</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Ice, how it is made at Isphahan, <a href="#pb53"
class="pageref">53</a></p>
<p>Industries of Persia, <a href="#pb40" class="pageref">40</a>,
<a href="#pb47" class="pageref">47</a>;<br>
of Mosul, <a href="#pb183" class="pageref">183</a></p>
<p>Irrigation about Mosul, <a href="#pb182" class=
"pageref">182</a>;<br>
Assyrian method, <a href="#pb184" class="pageref">184</a> <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="pb332" href="#pb332" name="pb332">332</a>]</span></p>
<p>Irrigation of the Mesopotamian desert, the, <a href="#pb328" class=
"pageref">328</a></p>
<p>Isphahan, journey to, <a href="#pb17" class="pageref">17</a>;<br>
arrival at, <a href="#pb18" class="pageref">18</a></p>
<p>—— settlement of Armenians at, <a href="#pb28" class=
"pageref">28</a>;<br>
Europeans at, <a href="#pb28" class="pageref">28</a>;<br>
Jews at, <a href="#pb29" class="pageref">29</a>;<br>
calico printing, <a href="#pb47" class="pageref">47</a>;<br>
brass-work of, <a href="#pb47" class="pageref">47</a>;<br>
poppy growing, <a href="#pb48" class="pageref">48</a>;<br>
climate of, <a href="#pb52" class="pageref">52</a>;<br>
ice-house, <a href="#pb53" class="pageref">53</a>;<br>
social life, <a href="#pb71" class="pageref">71</a>;<br>
Medical Mission, <a href="#pb141" class="pageref">141</a>;<br>
population, <a href="#pb145" class="pageref">145</a>;<br>
archbishops, <a href="#pb145" class="pageref">145</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">J</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Jackals of the desert, legend of the, <a href="#pb37"
class="pageref">37</a></p>
<p>Jacobite section of the Christian Church at Mosul, <a href="#pb190"
class="pageref">190</a></p>
<p>Jalal el Dowleh, H.R.H. the, <a href="#pb66" class="pageref">66</a>,
<a href="#pb144" class="pageref">144</a>, <a href="#pb165" class=
"pageref">165</a></p>
<p>Jews, the, <a href="#pb28" class="pageref">28</a>;<br>
a degraded class, <a href="#pb29" class="pageref">29</a>;<br>
of Mosul, <a href="#pb193" class="pageref">193</a></p>
<p>Jezirah, village of, <a href="#pb177" class="pageref">177</a></p>
<p>Jinns and goblins, belief in, <a href="#pb166" class=
"pageref">166</a></p>
<p>Jonah, the tomb of, <a href="#pb175" class="pageref">175</a></p>
<p>Judy, mountain, <a href="#pb177" class="pageref">177</a></p>
<p>Judy, our servant, superstitions of, <a href="#pb280" class=
"pageref">280</a></p>
<p>Julfa, <a href="#pb18" class="pageref">18</a>;<br>
Armenians at, <a href="#pb28" class="pageref">28</a>;<br>
medical mission at, <a href="#pb141" class="pageref">141</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">K</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Ka’aba at Mecca, the, <a href="#pb193" class=
"pageref">193</a></p>
<p>Kabobs, <a href="#pb225" class="pageref">225</a></p>
<p><i>Kajâvah</i>, the, as a means of travelling, <a href="#pb23"
class="pageref">23</a>;<br>
the government official and his wife, <a href="#pb24" class=
"pageref">24</a></p>
<p>Kalah Shurgât, an Assyrian ruin, <a href="#pb179" class=
"pageref">179</a></p>
<p><i>Kalian</i>, the, or water-pipe, <a href="#pb49" class=
"pageref">49</a></p>
<p><i>Kalimat</i>, the, or declaration of faith, <a href="#pb106"
class="pageref">106</a></p>
<p><i>Kanâts</i>, or tunnels for supplying water, <a href="#pb48"
class="pageref">48</a></p>
<p>Karduchi, the, or Parthians, <a href="#pb192" class=
"pageref">192</a></p>
<p>Kashan, silk-weaving at, <a href="#pb46" class="pageref">46</a></p>
<p>—— the copper-work of, <a href="#pb47" class=
"pageref">47</a></p>
<p><i>Keleg</i>, or raft of the Tigris, <a href="#pb201" class=
"pageref">201</a></p>
<p>Kerman, medical work opened at, <a href="#pb17" class=
"pageref">17</a>;<br>
arrival at, <a href="#pb18" class="pageref">18</a>;<br>
a cloud of locusts, <a href="#pb22" class="pageref">22</a>;<br>
Jews at, <a href="#pb29" class="pageref">29</a>;<br>
first view of, <a href="#pb30" class="pageref">30</a>;<br>
derivation of the name, <a href="#pb31" class="pageref">31</a>;<br>
antiquity of, <a href="#pb31" class="pageref">31</a>;<br>
vicissitudes, <a href="#pb31" class="pageref">31</a>;<br>
poverty of, <a href="#pb32" class="pageref">32</a>;<br>
ancient Kerman, <a href="#pb33" class="pageref">33</a>;<br>
legend of the jackals, <a href="#pb37" class="pageref">37</a>;<br>
carpet-making, <a href="#pb43" class="pageref">43</a>;<br>
children employed in carpet-weaving, <a href="#pb44" class=
"pageref">44</a>;<br>
shawl manufactories, <a href="#pb46" class="pageref">46</a>;<br>
climate, <a href="#pb57" class="pageref">57</a>;<br>
social life, <a href="#pb71" class="pageref">71</a>;<br>
recreations, <a href="#pb79" class="pageref">79</a>;<br>
Parsees, <a href="#pb120" class="pageref">120</a>;<br>
establishment of Medical Mission, <a href="#pb151" class=
"pageref">151</a>;<br>
native surgery, <a href="#pb153" class="pageref">153</a>;<br>
a trying operation, <a href="#pb155" class="pageref">155</a>;<br>
an opium patient, <a href="#pb158" class="pageref">158</a></p>
<p>—— the beautiful traitress of, <a href="#pb36" class=
"pageref">36</a></p>
<p>Khan Baba Khan, the anderoon of, <a href="#pb88" class=
"pageref">88</a></p>
<p>Kissing the hand, <a href="#pb250" class="pageref">250</a></p>
<p>Koork, a species of goat, <a href="#pb46" class="pageref">46</a></p>
<p><i>Korsi</i>, the, or stove, <a href="#pb52" class=
"pageref">52</a></p>
<p>Kouyunjik, one of the mounds of Nineveh, <a href="#pb173" class=
"pageref">173</a>, <a href="#pb175" class="pageref">175</a></p>
<p>Kurdistan carpets, <a href="#pb43" class="pageref">43</a></p>
<p>Kurds, the, <a href="#pb192" class="pageref">192</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">L</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first"><i>Lahaf</i>, the, or padded quilt, <a href="#pb52"
class="pageref">52</a></p>
<p>Landor, Mr. Savage, <a href="#pb72" class="pageref">72</a></p>
<p>Layard and the Yezidees, <a href="#pb286" class=
"pageref">286</a></p>
<p>Layard’s “Discoveries at Nineveh,” <a href=
"#pb185" class="pageref">185</a></p>
<p>Leasing our house at Kerman, <a href="#pb72" class="pageref">72</a>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb333" href="#pb333" name=
"pb333">333</a>]</span></p>
<p><i>Lebban</i>, a species of junket, <a href="#pb226" class=
"pageref">226</a></p>
<p>Life on the roof, <a href="#pb56" class="pageref">56</a></p>
<p>Lion and the Sun, origin of the symbol, <a href="#pb19" class=
"pageref">19</a></p>
<p>“Little devil,” the, <a href="#pb141" class=
"pageref">141</a></p>
<p>Locusts, <a href="#pb22" class="pageref">22</a></p>
<p>Looms for carpet-weaving, <a href="#pb43" class="pageref">43</a></p>
<p>Lost in the desert, <a href="#pb314" class="pageref">314</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">M</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">“Magi,” the, <a href="#pb120" class=
"pageref">120</a></p>
<p>Mahoon, our holiday at, <a href="#pb63" class="pageref">63</a></p>
<p><i>Mahullah</i>, or quarter of the town, <a href="#pb226" class=
"pageref">226</a></p>
<p><i>Malek el Taous</i>, or peacock of the Yezidees, <a href="#pb286"
class="pageref">286</a></p>
<p>Marvan, the walls of Mosul built by, <a href="#pb178" class=
"pageref">178</a></p>
<p><i>Medâqal</i> of native servants, <a href="#pb18" class=
"pageref">18</a></p>
<p>Medical Missions, <a href="#pb140" class="pageref">140</a>;<br>
at Kerman, <a href="#pb151" class="pageref">151</a>;<br>
at Yezd, <a href="#pb164" class="pageref">164</a></p>
<p>Mental diseases, an asylum for, <a href="#pb326" class=
"pageref">326</a></p>
<p>Mirages, <a href="#pb131" class="pageref">131</a></p>
<p>Mirza Ali Muhammed, the founder of Babism, <a href="#pb116" class=
"pageref">116</a></p>
<p>Mirza Yahya, the second Báb, <a href="#pb119" class=
"pageref">119</a></p>
<p>Mohammed and the Jews, <a href="#pb193" class="pageref">193</a></p>
<p>Mohurram, the month of, <a href="#pb109" class="pageref">109</a></p>
<p>Mono-rail, an ancient, <a href="#pb179" class="pageref">179</a></p>
<p>Mosaics of Shiraz, the, <a href="#pb47" class="pageref">47</a></p>
<p>Moslems, <a href="#pb28" class="pageref">28</a></p>
<p>Moslem women, <a href="#pb18" class="pageref">18</a></p>
<p>Mosquitoes and sandflies, <a href="#pb90" class="pageref">90</a></p>
<p>Mosul, fasting by the women of, <a href="#pb174" class=
"pageref">174</a>;<br>
bridge of boats, <a href="#pb176" class="pageref">176</a>;<br>
conquered, <a href="#pb178" class="pageref">178</a>;<br>
besieged by Saladin, <a href="#pb178" class="pageref">178</a>;<br>
vicissitudes of, <a href="#pb178" class="pageref">178</a>;<br>
climate, <a href="#pb179" class="pageref">179</a>;<br>
spring, <a href="#pb181" class="pageref">181</a>;<br>
rain, <a href="#pb181" class="pageref">181</a>;<br>
cultivation, <a href="#pb182" class="pageref">182</a>;<br>
industries, <a href="#pb183" class="pageref">183</a>;<br>
population, <a href="#pb186" class="pageref">186</a>, <a href="#pb190"
class="pageref">190</a>;<br>
Mohammedans and Christians, <a href="#pb187" class=
"pageref">187</a>;<br>
Arabs, <a href="#pb190" class="pageref">190</a>;<br>
Kurds, <a href="#pb192" class="pageref">192</a>;<br>
Jews, <a href="#pb193" class="pageref">193</a>;<br>
racing, <a href="#pb194" class="pageref">194</a>;<br>
Hammam Ali, <a href="#pb195" class="pageref">195</a>;<br>
children, <a href="#pb208" class="pageref">208</a>;<br>
women, <a href="#pb219" class="pageref">219</a>;<br>
hareems, <a href="#pb223" class="pageref">223</a>;<br>
a census at, <a href="#pb301" class="pageref">301</a>;<br>
disorders, <a href="#pb303" class="pageref">303</a>;<br>
a woman doctor, <a href="#pb303" class="pageref">303</a>;<br>
frequent robberies, <a href="#pb304" class="pageref">304</a>;<br>
violence and murder, <a href="#pb305" class="pageref">305</a>;<br>
surgery not much practised, <a href="#pb318" class=
"pageref">318</a>;<br>
interesting statistics, <a href="#pb321" class="pageref">321</a>;<br>
a petition, <a href="#pb322" class="pageref">322</a>;<br>
a cataract patient, <a href="#pb323" class="pageref">323</a>;<br>
the Moslem priest, <a href="#pb324" class="pageref">324</a></p>
<p><i>Mujtiheds</i>, or Moslem archbishops, <a href="#pb145" class=
"pageref">145</a></p>
<p>Mullah, the dead, <a href="#pb147" class="pageref">147</a></p>
<p>Mullahs or priests, <a href="#pb107" class="pageref">107</a>,
<a href="#pb113" class="pageref">113</a>;<br>
their great influence, <a href="#pb114" class="pageref">114</a>,
<a href="#pb145" class="pageref">145</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">N</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Nabbi Eunice, one of the mounds of Nineveh, <a href=
"#pb173" class="pageref">173</a></p>
<p>Nahar-as-Salam, or Tigris, <a href="#pb199" class=
"pageref">199</a></p>
<p>Nahum, the prophet, supposed burial-place of, <a href="#pb179"
class="pageref">179</a></p>
<p>Namads, species of carpet, <a href="#pb46" class=
"pageref">46</a></p>
<p>Names given according to a person’s characteristic, <a href=
"#pb274" class="pageref">274</a></p>
<p>“Naseeb,” or “Kismet,” <a href="#pb217"
class="pageref">217</a>, <a href="#pb235" class="pageref">235</a></p>
<p>Natanz, the village of, <a href="#pb61" class="pageref">61</a></p>
<p>Neamat ’Allah, our “showman,” <a href="#pb77"
class="pageref">77</a></p>
<p>“Nerve” trouble amongst Europeans, the cause of,
<a href="#pb52" class="pageref">52</a></p>
<p>Nestorians in Mosul, <a href="#pb189" class="pageref">189</a>;<br>
massacre by Kurds, <a href="#pb190" class="pageref">190</a></p>
<p>Nineveh, Kouyunjik, and Nabbi Eunice, <a href="#pb173" class=
"pageref">173</a>;<br>
remains of, <a href="#pb174" class="pageref">174</a>;<br>
bridge of boats, <a href="#pb176" class="pageref">176</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">O</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Omar el Khattab, conqueror of Mosul, <a href="#pb178"
class="pageref">178</a></p>
<p>Operations, most frequent, <a href="#pb322" class=
"pageref">322</a></p>
<p>Opium cultivation, <a href="#pb49" class="pageref">49</a>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb334" href="#pb334" name=
"pb334">334</a>]</span></p>
<p>Opium habit, the, <a href="#pb75" class="pageref">75</a>;<br>
in Yezd, <a href="#pb167" class="pageref">167</a></p>
<p>—— patient, an, <a href="#pb158" class=
"pageref">158</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">P</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Parsee wedding, a, <a href="#pb123" class=
"pageref">123</a></p>
<p>—— women and children, <a href="#pb122" class=
"pageref">122</a></p>
<p>Parsees or Zoroastrians, <a href="#pb28" class="pageref">28</a>,
<a href="#pb120" class="pageref">120</a>;<br>
ceremony at death, <a href="#pb127" class="pageref">127</a></p>
<p>Patchwork and embroidery of Resht, <a href="#pb46" class=
"pageref">46</a></p>
<p>Patriarch of the Nestorians, the, how he is chosen, <a href="#pb189"
class="pageref">189</a></p>
<p>Peacock, the, the symbol of the Yezidee religion, <a href="#pb286"
class="pageref">286</a></p>
<p>Persia, the Land of the Lion and the Sun, <a href="#pb19" class=
"pageref">19</a>;<br>
inhabitants of, <a href="#pb28" class="pageref">28</a>;<br>
industries of, <a href="#pb40" class="pageref">40</a>;<br>
agricultural industries of, <a href="#pb47" class="pageref">47</a>;<br>
climate of, <a href="#pb50" class="pageref">50</a></p>
<p>Persian desert, illness in the, <a href="#pb17" class=
"pageref">17</a></p>
<p>Persians, procrastinating character of the, <a href="#pb60" class=
"pageref">60</a>;<br>
their politeness, <a href="#pb81" class="pageref">81</a>;<br>
superstitions of the, <a href="#pb166" class="pageref">166</a></p>
<p>—— of to-day, the, <a href="#pb28" class=
"pageref">28</a></p>
<p>Phillott, Major, his fight against the sweating of children,
<a href="#pb45" class="pageref">45</a></p>
<p>Pilgrimages, <a href="#pb107" class="pageref">107</a></p>
<p>Pirs, the, an order of priesthood amongst the Yezidees, <a href=
"#pb287" class="pageref">287</a></p>
<p>Poppy, the cultivation of the, <a href="#pb48" class=
"pageref">48</a></p>
<p>Prayer, the call to, <a href="#pb107" class="pageref">107</a></p>
<p>Prayer stones in Sheikh Âdi’s shrine, <a href="#pb292"
class="pageref">292</a></p>
<p>Prince’s vagaries, a, <a href="#pb92" class=
"pageref">92</a></p>
<p>Pulivagoon, the village of, <a href="#pb62" class=
"pageref">62</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">Q</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Quacks, native, <a href="#pb160" class=
"pageref">160</a>, <a href="#pb165" class="pageref">165</a>;<br>
in Mosul, <a href="#pb318" class="pageref">318</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">R</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Rafts on the Tigris, <a href="#pb200" class=
"pageref">200</a></p>
<p>Rain at Mosul, <a href="#pb181" class="pageref">181</a></p>
<p>Rain in Persia, <a href="#pb20" class="pageref">20</a></p>
<p>Rainfall in Resht, the, <a href="#pb50" class="pageref">50</a></p>
<p>Ramadan, the month of, <a href="#pb108" class="pageref">108</a></p>
<p>Rassam, Mr., and the Yezidees, <a href="#pb285" class=
"pageref">285</a></p>
<p>Recreations of Kerman, <a href="#pb79" class="pageref">79</a></p>
<p>Religious bodies, <a href="#pb112" class="pageref">112</a></p>
<p>Resht, silk-weaving, patchwork, and embroidery of, <a href="#pb46"
class="pageref">46</a>;<br>
rainfall, <a href="#pb50" class="pageref">50</a></p>
<p>Rest-houses of Persia, the, <a href="#pb132" class=
"pageref">132</a></p>
<p>Riding, a way of travelling in Persia, <a href="#pb23" class=
"pageref">23</a></p>
<p>Robbers of the desert, the, <a href="#pb311" class=
"pageref">311</a></p>
<p>Roof, life on the, <a href="#pb56" class="pageref">56</a></p>
<p>Rustem, our parlour-maid, <a href="#pb77" class="pageref">77</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">S</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Saladin, siege of Mosul by, <a href="#pb178" class=
"pageref">178</a>, <a href="#pb192" class="pageref">192</a></p>
<p>Sand-storms, <a href="#pb21" class="pageref">21</a></p>
<p>Satan, the Yezidees’ idea of, <a href="#pb286" class=
"pageref">286</a></p>
<p><i>Savabs</i>, or good works, the doctrine of, <a href="#pb156"
class="pageref">156</a></p>
<p>Scent, superstition about, <a href="#pb277" class=
"pageref">277</a></p>
<p>Scorpions at Yezd, <a href="#pb55" class="pageref">55</a></p>
<p>Servant problem at Kerman, the, <a href="#pb75" class=
"pageref">75</a></p>
<p>Servants, cheating by native, <a href="#pb18" class=
"pageref">18</a></p>
<p>Seyyids, the, a religious body, <a href="#pb113" class=
"pageref">113</a></p>
<p>Shammar clan of Arabs, the, <a href="#pb191" class=
"pageref">191</a></p>
<p>Shawl manufactories in Kerman, <a href="#pb46" class=
"pageref">46</a></p>
<p>Sheikh Âdi, the patron saint of the Yezidees, <a href="#pb287"
class="pageref">287</a>;<br>
shrine of the serpent on the porch, <a href="#pb291" class=
"pageref">291</a>;<br>
a great teacher, <a href="#pb291" class="pageref">291</a></p>
<p>—— Matti, superstition about, <a href="#pb281" class=
"pageref">281</a></p>
<p>—— Naser, high-priest of the Yezidees, <a href="#pb284"
class="pageref">284</a></p>
<p>Sheikhs, an order of priesthood amongst the Yezidees, <a href=
"#pb287" class="pageref">287</a> <span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb335"
href="#pb335" name="pb335">335</a>]</span></p>
<p>Shiah Mohammedans, <a href="#pb113" class="pageref">113</a></p>
<p>Shiraz, the silver-work of, <a href="#pb47" class=
"pageref">47</a>;<br>
mosaics of, <a href="#pb47" class="pageref">47</a>;<br>
the birthplace of the Báb, <a href="#pb116" class=
"pageref">116</a></p>
<p>Silk-weaving in Persia, <a href="#pb46" class="pageref">46</a></p>
<p>Silver-work of Shiraz, the, <a href="#pb47" class=
"pageref">47</a></p>
<p><i>Sirdâbs</i>, or underground rooms, <a href="#pb180" class=
"pageref">180</a></p>
<p>Social customs:<br>
kissing the hand, <a href="#pb250" class="pageref">250</a>;<br>
rising, <a href="#pb251" class="pageref">251</a>;<br>
sending trays of cooked meats, <a href="#pb252" class=
"pageref">252</a>;<br>
distributing food, <a href="#pb252" class="pageref">252</a>;<br>
giving coffee, <a href="#pb253" class="pageref">253</a>;<br>
bread-making, <a href="#pb255" class="pageref">255</a></p>
<p>Specialist in mental diseases, a, <a href="#pb326" class=
"pageref">326</a></p>
<p>Statistics of the Mosul Medical Mission, <a href="#pb321" class=
"pageref">321</a></p>
<p>Storks, superstition about, <a href="#pb279" class=
"pageref">279</a></p>
<p>Stuart, Dr. Emmeline, <a href="#pb150" class="pageref">150</a></p>
<p>Suleyman Khan, execution of, <a href="#pb119" class=
"pageref">119</a></p>
<p>Summer at Isphahan, <a href="#pb52" class="pageref">52</a>;<br>
at Yezd, <a href="#pb53" class="pageref">53</a></p>
<p>Sun, the, the emblem of the Fire Worshippers, <a href="#pb19" class=
"pageref">19</a></p>
<p>Sunnis, <a href="#pb113" class="pageref">113</a></p>
<p>Sunset effects in the desert, <a href="#pb131" class=
"pageref">131</a></p>
<p>—— a wonderful, <a href="#pb258" class=
"pageref">258</a></p>
<p>Sunshine, Persia a land of, <a href="#pb19" class=
"pageref">19</a></p>
<p>Superstitions of the Persians, <a href="#pb60" class=
"pageref">60</a>, <a href="#pb166" class="pageref">166</a>;<br>
about scent, <a href="#pb277" class="pageref">277</a>;<br>
storks, <a href="#pb277" class="pageref">277</a>;<br>
how to cure sore eyes, <a href="#pb280" class="pageref">280</a>;<br>
killing goats and sheep, <a href="#pb281" class="pageref">281</a>;<br>
Sheikh matti, <a href="#pb281" class="pageref">281</a>;<br>
to cure fever and avert hydrophobia, <a href="#pb282" class=
"pageref">282</a></p>
<p>Surgery, native, <a href="#pb153" class="pageref">153</a>;<br>
not much practised in Mosul, <a href="#pb318" class=
"pageref">318</a></p>
<p>Swearing, prevalence of, <a href="#pb240" class=
"pageref">240</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">T</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Tabriz, <a href="#pb117" class="pageref">117</a></p>
<p><i>Takhtiravan</i>, the, as a means of travelling, <a href="#pb25"
class="pageref">25</a></p>
<p>Tea, Persian, <a href="#pb99" class="pageref">99</a></p>
<p>Teheran, arrival in, <a href="#pb26" class="pageref">26</a>;<br>
the climate of, <a href="#pb51" class="pageref">51</a>;<br>
social life, <a href="#pb71" class="pageref">71</a>;<br>
execution of the Báb, <a href="#pb118" class=
"pageref">118</a></p>
<p>“Telling the Beads,” <a href="#pb67" class=
"pageref">67</a></p>
<p>Theft, prevalence of petty, <a href="#pb238" class=
"pageref">238</a></p>
<p>Tigris, the, frozen, <a href="#pb180" class="pageref">180</a>;<br>
navigation of the, <a href="#pb184" class="pageref">184</a>, <a href=
"#pb198" class="pageref">198</a>;<br>
Hiddekel, <a href="#pb199" class="pageref">199</a>;<br>
steamers on, <a href="#pb200" class="pageref">200</a>;<br>
bathing, <a href="#pb203" class="pageref">203</a>;<br>
fishing, <a href="#pb206" class="pageref">206</a>;<br>
the ferry-boat, <a href="#pb207" class="pageref">207</a>;<br>
importance of the navigation of, <a href="#pb328" class=
"pageref">328</a></p>
<p>Tobacco growing, <a href="#pb49" class="pageref">49</a></p>
<p>Towers of Silence, the, <a href="#pb128" class="pageref">128</a></p>
<p>Travelling in Persia, different ways of, <a href="#pb23" class=
"pageref">23</a>, <a href="#pb63" class="pageref">63</a>, <a href=
"#pb66" class="pageref">66</a>;<br>
in the desert, <a href="#pb131" class="pageref">131</a>, <a href=
"#pb294" class="pageref">294</a></p>
<p>Truth lightly regarded, <a href="#pb237" class="pageref">237</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">U</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Umayya, an ancient tribe, <a href="#pb178" class=
"pageref">178</a></p>
<p>Uncle Goro of Tel Kaif, the story of, <a href="#pb273" class=
"pageref">273</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">V</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Visiting in Mosul, <a href="#pb226" class=
"pageref">226</a>–8</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">W</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Wagons as a means of travelling, <a href="#pb25"
class="pageref">25</a></p>
<p>Wailers, professional, at funerals, <a href="#pb248" class=
"pageref">248</a></p>
<p>Walling-up as a capital punishment, <a href="#pb138" class=
"pageref">138</a></p>
<p>Water-supply, the, <a href="#pb48" class="pageref">48</a></p>
<p>Weaving at Mosul, <a href="#pb183" class="pageref">183</a></p>
<p>“Weavers,” children employed as, <a href="#pb44" class=
"pageref">44</a></p>
<p>Wedding, a, <a href="#pb97" class="pageref">97</a></p>
<p>—— among the Parsees, a, <a href="#pb123" class=
"pageref">123</a></p>
<p>Weddings, marriage portions, <a href="#pb244" class=
"pageref">244</a>;<br>
negotiations, <a href="#pb245" class="pageref">245</a>;<br>
preliminary feasting, <a href="#pb247" class="pageref">247</a>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="pb336" href="#pb336" name=
"pb336">336</a>]</span></p>
<p>Wheat and barley, the cultivation of, <a href="#pb49" class=
"pageref">49</a></p>
<p>Women, curiosity of the, <a href="#pb62" class="pageref">62</a>;<br>
characters, <a href="#pb84" class="pageref">84</a>;<br>
anderoons, <a href="#pb68" class="pageref">68</a>, <a href="#pb87"
class="pageref">87</a>;<br>
costume, <a href="#pb95" class="pageref">95</a>;<br>
as beauty specialists, <a href="#pb104" class="pageref">104</a>;<br>
cruel and revengeful nature of, <a href="#pb105" class=
"pageref">105</a>;<br>
Parsee, <a href="#pb122" class="pageref">122</a>;<br>
hysteria amongst, <a href="#pb161" class="pageref">161</a>;<br>
Arab, <a href="#pb191" class="pageref">191</a></p>
<p>—— of Mosul, the, <a href="#pb219" class=
"pageref">219</a>;<br>
types, <a href="#pb219" class="pageref">219</a>, <a href="#pb220"
class="pageref">220</a>;<br>
aids to beauty, <a href="#pb221" class="pageref">221</a>;<br>
hopeless condition of, <a href="#pb223" class="pageref">223</a>;<br>
want of love in the life of, <a href="#pb230" class=
"pageref">230</a>;<br>
facility of divorce, <a href="#pb232" class="pageref">232</a>;<br>
and Paradise, <a href="#pb235" class="pageref">235</a>;<br>
<i>Naseeb</i>, <a href="#pb235" class="pageref">235</a>;<br>
fighting amongst, <a href="#pb241" class="pageref">241</a>;<br>
the <i>hammam</i>, <a href="#pb242" class="pageref">242</a>;<br>
never know their age, <a href="#pb276" class="pageref">276</a>;<br>
superstitious, <a href="#pb277" class="pageref">277</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">Y</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first"><i>Yakh khaneh</i>, the, or ice-house, <a href="#pb53"
class="pageref">53</a></p>
<p>Yezd, a City of Sand, <a href="#pb19" class="pageref">19</a>;<br>
the effect of an eclipse at, <a href="#pb21" class=
"pageref">21</a>;<br>
Jews at, <a href="#pb29" class="pageref">29</a>;<br>
silk-weaving, <a href="#pb46" class="pageref">46</a>;<br>
the hot season, <a href="#pb53" class="pageref">53</a>;<br>
the “chimneys” of, <a href="#pb54" class=
"pageref">54</a>;<br>
cellars as dwelling-rooms, <a href="#pb54" class="pageref">54</a>;<br>
scorpions, <a href="#pb55" class="pageref">55</a>;<br>
Prince and Princess, <a href="#pb92" class="pageref">92</a>;<br>
persecution of Babis, <a href="#pb119" class="pageref">119</a>;<br>
Parsees, <a href="#pb120" class="pageref">120</a>;<br>
fire temples, <a href="#pb122" class="pageref">122</a>;<br>
brick pillars, <a href="#pb139" class="pageref">139</a>;<br>
Medical Mission, <a href="#pb164" class="pageref">164</a>;<br>
opium habit, <a href="#pb167" class="pageref">167</a></p>
<p>Yezidees, or devil-worshippers, <a href="#pb284" class=
"pageref">284</a>;<br>
Mohammedan bitterness against them, <a href="#pb284" class=
"pageref">284</a>;<br>
tenets of, <a href="#pb285" class="pageref">285</a>;<br>
Layard and the, <a href="#pb286" class="pageref">286</a>;<br>
the peacock, <a href="#pb286" class="pageref">286</a>;<br>
fire-worship, <a href="#pb287" class="pageref">287</a>;<br>
orders of priesthood, <a href="#pb287" class="pageref">287</a>;<br>
prayer stones, <a href="#pb292" class="pageref">292</a>;<br>
costume, <a href="#pb292" class="pageref">292</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div2 letter"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divHead">
<h3 class="main">Z</h3>
</div>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first">Zendavesta, or sacred book of the Parsees, <a href=
"#pb121" class="pageref">121</a></p>
<p>Zil-es-Sultan, anderoon of the, <a href="#pb93" class=
"pageref">93</a></p>
<p>—— Governor of Isphahan, <a href="#pb143" class=
"pageref">143</a>, <a href="#pb165" class="pageref">165</a></p>
<p>Zoroaster, <a href="#pb120" class="pageref">120</a></p>
<p>Zoroastrians, or Parsees, <a href="#pb19" class="pageref">19</a>,
<a href="#pb28" class="pageref">28</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div1 imprint"><span class="pagenum">[<a href=
"#toc">Contents</a>]</span>
<div class="divBody">
<p class="first xd20e119">Printed by <span class="sc">Ballantyne,
Hanson & Co.</span></p>
<p class="xd20e119">Edinburgh & London</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="transcribernote">
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<p>The following corrections have been applied to the text:</p>
<table class="correctiontable" summary=
"Overview of corrections applied to the text.">
<tr>
<th>Page</th>
<th>Source</th>
<th>Correction</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e913">21</a></td>
<td class="width40 bottom">,</td>
<td class="width40 bottom">[<i>Deleted</i>]</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e1075">38</a></td>
<td class="width40 bottom">instal</td>
<td class="width40 bottom">install</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e1388">72</a></td>
<td class="width40 bottom">[<i>Not in source</i>]</td>
<td class="width40 bottom">.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e1568">91</a></td>
<td class="width40 bottom">Sultanê</td>
<td class="width40 bottom">Sultané</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e2019">140</a></td>
<td class="width40 bottom">Yezedee</td>
<td class="width40 bottom">Yezidee</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e2244">164</a></td>
<td class="width40 bottom">Ispahan</td>
<td class="width40 bottom">Isphahan</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e2490">188</a></td>
<td class="width40 bottom">Pic-nic</td>
<td class="width40 bottom">Picnic</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd20e4526">330</a></td>
<td class="width40 bottom">Dakhnehs</td>
<td class="width40 bottom">Dakhmehs</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
<pre>
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