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Around the World on a Bicycle V1

T >> Thomas Stevens >> Around the World on a Bicycle V1




The road continues fair wheeling, but nothing compared with the road
between Zendjan and Kasveen; it is more of an artificial highway; the
Persian government has been tinkering with it, improving it considerably
in some respects, but leaving it somewhat lumpy and unfinished generally,
and in places it is unridable from sand and loose material on the surface;
it has the appreciable merit of levelness, however, and, for Persia, is
a very creditable highway indeed. At four farsakhs from Kasveen I reach
the chapar-khana of Cawanda, where a breakfast is obtained of eggs and
tea; these two things are among the most readily obtained refreshments
in Persia. The country this morning is monotonous and uninteresting,
being for the most part a stony, level plain, sparsely covered with gray
camel-thorn shrubs. Occasionally one sees in the distance a camp of
Eliauts, one of the wandering tribes of Persia; their tents are smaller
and of an entirely different shape from the Koordish tents, partaking
more of the nature of square-built movable huts than tents; these camps
are too far off my road to justify paying them a visit, especially as I
shall probably have abundant opportunities before leaving the Shah's
dominions; but I intercept a straggling party of them crossing the road.
They have a more docile look about them than the Koords, have more the
general appearance of gypsies, and they dress but little different from
the ryots of surrounding villages.

At Kishlock, where I obtain a dinner of bread and grapes, I find the
cyclometre has registered a gain of thirty-two miles from Kasveen; it
has scarcely been an easy thirty-two miles, for I am again confronted
by a discouraging head breeze. Keaching the Shah Abbas caravanserai of
Yeng-Imam (all first-class caravanserais are called Shah Abbas caravanserais,
in deference to so many having been built throughout Persia by that
monarch) about five o'clock, I conclude to remain here over night, having
wheeled fifty-three miles. Yeng-Imam is a splendid large brick serai,
the finest I have yet seen in Persia; many travellers are putting up
here, and the place presents quite a lively appearance. In the centre
of the court-yard is a large covered spring; around this is a garden of
rose-bushes, pomegranate trees, and flowers; surrounding the garden is
a brick walk, and forming yet a larger square is the caravanserai building
itself, consisting of a one-storied brick edifice, partitioned off into
small rooms. The building is only one room deep, and each room opens
upon a sort of covered porch containing a fireplace where a fire can be
made and provisions cooked. Attached to the caravanserai, usually beneath
the massive and roomy arched gateway, is a tchai-khan and a small store
where bread, eggs, butter, fruit, charcoal, etc., are to be obtained.
The traveller hires a room which is destitute of all furniture; provides
his own bedding and cooking utensils, purchases provisions and a sufficiency
of charcoal, and proceeds to make himself comfortable. On a pinch one
can usually borrow a frying-pan or kettle of some kind, and in such
first-class caravanserais as YengImam there is sometimes one furnished
room, carpeted and provided with bedding", reserved for the accommodation
of travellers of importance.

After the customary programme of riding to allay the curiosity and
excitement of the people, I obtain bread, fruit, eggs, butter to cook
them in, and charcoal for a fire, the elements of a very good supper for
a hungry traveller. Borrowing a handleless frying-pan, I am setting about
preparing my own supper, when a respectable-looking Persian steps out
from the crowd of curious on-lookers and voluntarily takes this rather
onerous duty out of my hands. Readily obtaining my consent, he quickly
kindles a fire, and scrambles and fries the eggs. While my volunteer
cook is thus busily engaged, a company of distinguished travellers passing
along the road halt at the tchai-khan to smoke a kalian and drink tea.
The caravanserai proprietor approaches me, and winking mysteriously,
intimates that by going outside and riding for the edification of the
new arrivals I will be pretty certain to get a present of a keran (about
twenty cents). As he appears anxious to have me accommodate them, I
accordingly go out and favor them with a few turns on a level piece of
ground outside. After they have departed the proprietor covertly offers
me a half-keran piece in a manner so that everybody can observe him
attempting to give me something without seeing the amount. The wily
Persian had doubtless solicited a present from the travellers for me,
obtained, perhaps, a couple of kerans, and watching a favorable opportunity,
offers me the half-keran piece; the wily ways of these people are several
degrees more ingenious even than the dark ways and vain tricks of Bret
Harte's "Heathen Chinee." Occupying one of the rooms are two young
noblemen travelling with their mother to visit the Governor of Zendjan;
after I have eaten my supper, they invite me to their apartments for the
evening; their mother has a samovar under full headway, and a number of
hard boiled eggs. Her two hopeful sons are engaged in a drinking bout
of arrack; they are already wildly hilarious and indulging in brotherly
embraces and doubtful love-songs. Their fond mother regards them with
approving smiles as they swallow glass after glass of the raw fiery
spirit, and become gradually more intoxicated and hilarious. Instead of
checking their tippling, as a fond and prudent Ferenghi mother would
have done, this indulgent parent encourages them rather than otherwise,
and the more deeply intoxicated and hilariously happy the sons become,
the happier seems the mother. About nine o'clock they fall to weeping
tears of affection for each other and for myself, and degenerate into
such maudlin sentimentality generally, that I naturally become disgusted,
accept a parting glass of tea, and bid them good-evening.

The caravanserai-Jee assigns me the furnished chamber above referred to;
the room is found to be well carpeted, contains a mattress and an abundance
of flaming red quilts, and on a small table reposes a well-thumbed copy
of the Koran with gilt lettering and illumined pages; for these really
comfortable quarters I am charged the trifling sum of one keran.

I am now within fifty miles of Teheran, my destination until spring-time
comes around again and enables me to continue on eastward toward the
Pacific; the wheeling continues fair, and in the cool of early morning
good headway is made for several miles; as the sun peeps over the summit
of a mountain spur jutting southward
a short distance from the main Elburz Range, a wall of air comes rushing
from the east as though the sun were making strenuous exertions to usher
in the commencement of another day with a triumphant toot. Multitudes
of donkeys are encountered on the road, the omnipresent carriers of the
Persian peasantry, taking produce to the Teheran market; the only wheeled
vehicle encountered between Kasveen and Teheran is a heavy-wheeled,
cumbersome mail wagon, rattling briskly along behind four galloping
horses driven abreast, and a newly imported carriage for some notable
of the capital being dragged by hand, a distance of two hundred miles
from Resht, by a company of soldiers. Pedalling laboriously against a
stiff breeze I round the jutting mountain spur about eleven o'clock, and
the conical snow-crowned peak of Mount Demavend looms up like a beacon-light
from among the lesser heights of the Elburz Range about seventy-five
miles ahead. De-niavend is a perfect cone, some twenty thousand feet in
height, and is reputed to be the highest point of land north of the
Himalayas. From the projecting mountain spur the road makes a bee-line
across the intervening plain to the capital; a large willow-fringed
irrigating ditch now traverses the stony plain for some distance parallel
with the road, supplying the caravanserai of Shahabad and several adjacent
villages with water. Teheran itself, being situated on the level plain,
and without the tall minarets that render Turkish cities conspicuous
from a distance, leaves one undecided as to its precise location until
within a few miles of the gate; it occupies a position a dozen or more
miles south of the base of the Elburz Mountains, and is flanked on the
east by another jutting spur; to the southward is an extensive plain
sparsely dotted with villages, and the walled gardens of the wealthier
Teheranis.


At one o'clock on the afternoon of September 30th, the sentinels at the
Kasveen gate of the Shah's capital gaze with unutterable astonishment
at the strange spectacle of a lone Ferenghi riding toward them astride
an airy wheel that glints and glitters in the bright Persian sunbeams.
They look still more wonder-stricken, and half-inclined to think me some
supernatural being, as, without dismounting, I ride beneath the gaudily
colored archway and down the suburban streets. A ride of a mile between
dead mud walls and along an open business street, and I find myself
surrounded by wondering soldiers and citizens in the great central top-
maidan, or artillery square, and shortly afterward am endeavoring to
eradicate some of the dust and soil of travel, in a room of a wretched
apology for an hotel, kept by a Frenchman, formerly a pastry-cook to the
Shah. My cyclometre has registered one thousand five hundred and seventy-six
miles from Ismidt; from Liverpool to Constantinople, where I had no
cyclometre, may be roughly estimated at two thousand five hundred, making
a total from Liverpool to Teheran of four thousand and seventy-six miles.
In the evening several young Englishmen belonging to the staff of the
Indo-European Telegraph Company came round, and re-echoing my own above-
mentioned sentiments concerning the hotel, generously invite mo to become
a member of their comfortable bachelor establishment during my stay in
Teheran. "How far do you reckon it from London to Teheran by your
telegraph line." I inquire of them during our after-supper conversation.
"Somewhere in the neighborhood of four thousand miles," is the reply.
"What does your cyclometre say?"






CHAPTER XXI.




TEHERAN.

There is sufficient similarity between the bazaar, the mosques, the
residences, the suburban gardens, etc., of one Persian city, and the
same features of another, to justify the assertion that the description
of one is a description of them all. But the presence of the Shah and
his court; the pomp and circumstance of Eastern royalty; the foreign
ambassadors; the military; the improvements introduced from Europe; the
royal palaces of the present sovereign; the palaces and reminiscences
of former kings - all these things combine to effectually elevate Teheran
above the somewhat dreary sameness of provincial cities. A person in the
habit of taking daily strolls here and there about the city will scarcely
fail of obtaining a glimpse of the Shah, incidentally, every few days.
In this respect there is little comparison to be made between him and
the Sultan of Turkey, who never emerges from the seclusion of the palace,
except to visit the mosque, or on extraordinary occasions; he is then
driven through streets between compact lines of soldiers, so that a
glimpse of his imperial person is only to be obtained by taking considerable
trouble. Since the Shah's narrow escape from assassination at the hands
of the Baabi conspirators in 1867, he has exercised more caution than
formerly about his personal safety. Previous to that affair, it was
customary for him to ride on horseback well in advance of his body-guard;
but nowadays, he never rides in advance any farther than etiquette
requires him to, which is about the length of his horse's neck. When his
frequent outings take him beyond the city fortifications, he is generally
provided with, both saddle-horse and carriage, thus enabling him to
change from one to the other at will. The Shah is evidently not indifferent
to the fulsome flattery of the courtiers and sycophants about him, nor
insensible of the pomp and vanity of his position; nevertheless he is
not without a fair share of common-sense. Perhaps the worst that can be
said of him is, that he seems content to prostitute his own more enlightened
and progressive views to the prejudices of a bigoted and fanatical
priesthood. He seems to have a generous desire to see the country opened
up to the civilizing improvements of the West, and to give the people
an opportunity of emancipating themselves from their present deplorable
condition; but the mollahs set their faces firmly against all reform,
and the Shah evidently lacks the strength of will to override their
opposition. It was owing to this criminal weakness on his part that Baron
Eeuter's scheme of railways and commercial regeneration for the country
proved a failure. Persia is undoubtedly the worst priest-ridden country
in the world; the mollaha influence everything and everybody, from the
monarch downward, to such an extent that no progress is possible. Barring
outside interference, Persia will remain in its present wretched condition
until the advent of a monarch with sufficient force of character to
deliver the ipeople from the incubus of their present power and influence:
nothing short of a general massacre, however, will be likely to
accomplish complete deliverance. Without compromising his dignity as
"Shah-iri-shah," "The Asylum of the Universe," etc., when dealing with
his own subjects, Nasr-e-deen Shall has profited by the experiences of
his European tour to the extent of recognizing, with becoming toleration,
the democratic independence of Ferenghis, whose deportment betrays the
fact that they are not dazed by the contemplation of his greatness. The
other evening myself and a friend encountered the Shah and his crowd of
attendants on one of the streets leading to the winter palace; he was
returning to the palace in state after a visit of ceremony to some
dignitary. First came a squad of foot-runners in quaint scarlet coats,
knee-breeches, white stockings, and low shoes, and with a most fantastic
head-dress, not unlike a peacock's tail on dress-parade; each runner
carried a silver staff; they, were clearing the street and shouting their
warning for everybody to hide their faces. Behind them came a portion
of the Shah's Khajar bodyguard, well mounted, and dressed in a gray
uniform, braided with black: each of these also carries a silver staff,
and besides sword and dagger, has a gun slung at his back in a red 'baize
case. Next came the royal carriage, containing the Shah: the carriage
is somewhat like a sheriffs coach of "ye olden tyme," and is drawn by
six superb grays; mounted on the off horses are three postilions in
gorgeous scarlet liveries. Immediately behind the Shah's carriage, came
the higher dignitaries on horseback, and lastly a confused crowd of three
or four hundred horsemen. As the royal procession approached, the Persians-
one and all-either hid themselves, or backed themselves up against the
wall, and remained with heads bowed half-way to the ground until it
passed. Seeing that we had no intention of striking this very submissive
and servile attitude, first the scarlet foot-runners, and then the advance
of the Khajar guard, addressed themselves to us personally, shouting
appealingly as though very anxious about it: "Sahib. Sahib!" and motioned
for us to do as the natives were doing. These valiant guardians of the
Shah's barbaric gloriousness cling tenaciously to the belief that it is
the duty of everybody, whether Ferenghi or native, to prostrate themselves
in this manner before him, although the monarch himself has long ceased
to expect it, and is very well satisfied if the Ferenghi respectfully
doffs his hat as he goes past. Much of the nonsensical glamour and
superstitious awe that formerly surrounded the person of Oriental
potentates has been dissipated of late years by the moral influence of
European residents and travellers. But a few years ago, it was certain
death for any luckless native who failed to immediately scuttle off
somewhere out of sight, or to turn his face to the wall, whenever the
carriages of the royal ladies passed by; and Europeans generally turned
down a side street to avoid trouble when they heard the attending eunuchs
shouting "gitchin, gitchin!" (begone, begone!) down the street. But
things may be done with impunity now. that before the Shah's eye-opening
visit to Frangistan would have been punished with instant death; and
although the eunuchs shout "gitchin, gitchin!" as lustily as ever,
they are now content if people will only avert their faces respectfully
as the carriages drive past.

An eccentric Austrian gentleman once saw fit to imitate the natives in
turning their faces to the wall, and improved upon the time-honored
custom to the extent of making salaams from the back of his head. This
singular performance pleased the ladies immensely, and they reported it
to the Shah. Sending for the Austrian, the Shah made him repeat the
performance in his presence, and was so highly amused that he dismissed
him with a handsome present.

Prominent among the improvements that have been introduced in Teheran
of late, may be mentioned gas and the electric light. "Were one to make
this statement and enter into no further explanations, the impression
created would doubtless be illusive; for although the fact remains that
these things are in existence here, they could be more appropriately
placed under the heading of toys for the gratification of the Shah's
desire to gather about him some of the novel and interesting things he
had seen in Europe, than improvements made with any idea of benefiting
the condition of the city as a whole. Indeed, one might say without
exaggeration, that nothing new or beneficial is ever introduced into
Persia, except for the personal gratification or glorification of the
Shah; hence it is, that, while a few European improvements are to be
seen in Teheran, they are found nowhere else in Persia. Coal of an
inferior quality is obtained in the Elburz Mountains, near Kasveen, and
brought on the backs of camels to Teheran; and enough gas is manufactured
to supply two rows of lamps leading from the lop-maidan to the palace
front, two rows on the east side of the palace, and a dozen more in the
top-maid.an itself. The gas is of the poorest quality, and the lamps
glimmer faintly through the gloom of a moonless evening until half-past
nine, giving about as much light, or rather making darkness about as
visible as would the same number of tallow candles; at this hour they
are extinguished, and any Persian found outside of his own house later
than this, is liable to be arrested and fined.

The electric light improvements consist of four lights, on ordinary
gas-lamp posts, in the top-maidan, and a more ornamental and pretentious
affair, immediately in front of the palace; these are only used on special
occasions. The electric lights are a never-failing source of wonder and
mystification to the common people of the city and the peasants coming
in from the country. A stroll into the maidan any evening when the four
electric lights are making the gas-lamps glimmer feebler than ever,
reveals a small crowd of natives assembled about each post, gazing
wonderingiy up at the globe, endeavoring to penetrate the secret of its
brightness, and commenting freely among themselves in this wise:
"Mashallah. Abdullah," says one, " here does all the light come from.
They put no candles in, no naphtha, no anything; where does it come from?"

"Mashallah!" replies Abdullah, "I don't know; it lights up 'biff!'
all of a sudden, without anybody putting matches to it, or going anywhere
near it; nobody knows how it comes about except Sheitan (Satan) and
Sheitan's children, the Ferenghis."

"Al-lah! it is wonderful." echoes another, "and our Shah is a wonderful
being to give us such things to look at - Allah be praised!"

All these strange innovations and incomprehensible things produce a deep
impression on the unenlightened minds of the common Persians, and helps
to deify the Shah in their imagination; for although they know these
things come from Frangistan, it seems natural for them to sing the praises
of the Shah in connection with them. They think these five electric
lights in Teheran among the wonders of the world; the glimmering gas-lamps
and the electric lights help to rivet their belief that their capital
is the most wonderful city in the world, and their Shah the greatest
monarch extant. These extreme ideas are, of course, considerably improved
upon when we leave the ranks of illiteracy; but the Persians capable of
forming anything like an intelligent comparison between themselves and
a European nation, are confined to the Shah himself, the corps diplomatique,
and a few prominent personages who have been abroad. Always on the lookout
for something to please the Shah, the news of my arrival in Teheran on
the bicycle no sooner reaches the ear of the court officials than the
monarch hears of it himself. On the seventh day after my arrival an
officer of the palace calls on behalf of the Shah, and requests that I
favor them all, by following the soldiers who will be sent to-morrow
morning, at eight o'clock, Ferenghi time, to conduct me to the palace,
where it is appointed that I am to meet the "Shah-in-shah and King of
kings," and ride with him, on the bicycle, to his summer palace at
Doshan Tepe.

"Yes, I shall, of course, be most happy to accommodate; and to be the
means of introducing to the notice of His Majesty, the wonderful iron
horse, the latest wonder from Frangistan," I reply; and the officer,
after salaaming with more than French politeness, takes his departure.
Promptly at the hour appointed the soldiers present themselves; and after
waiting a few minutes for the horses of two young Englishmen who desire
to accompany us part way, I mount the ever-ready bicycle, and together
we follow my escort along several fairly ridable streets to the office
of the foreign minister. The soldiers clear the way of pedestrians,
donkeys, camels, and horses, driving them unceremoniously to the right,
to the left, into the ditch - anywhere out of my road; for am I not for
the time being under the Shah's special protection. I am as much the
Shah's toy and plaything of the moment, as an electric light, a stop-watch,
or as the big Krupp gun, the concussion of which nearly scared the
soldiers out of their wits, by shaking down the little minars of one
of the city gates, close to which they had unwittingly discharged it on
first trial. The foreign office, like every building of pretension,
whether public or private, in the land of the Lion and the Sun, is a
substantial edifice of mud and brick, inclosing a square court-yard or
garden, in which splashing fountains play amid a wealth of vegetation
that springs, as if by waft of magician's wand, from the sandy soil of
Persia wherever water is abundantly supplied. Tall, slender poplars are
nodding in the morning breeze, the less lofty almond and pomegranate,
sheltered from the breezes by the surrounding building, rustle never a
leaf, but seem to be offering Pomona's choice products of nuts and rosy
pomegranates, with modest mien and silence; whilst beds of rare exotics,
peculiar to this sunny clime, imparts to the atmosphere of the cool
shaded garden, a pleasing sense of being perfumed. Here, by means of the
Shah's interpreter, I am introduced to Nasr-i-Mulk, the Persian foreign
minister, a kindly-faced yet business-looking old gentleman, at whose
request I mount and ride with some difficulty around the confined and
quite unsuitable foot-walks of the garden; a crowd of officials and
farrashes look on in unconcealed wonder and delight. True to their Persian
characteristic of inquisitiveness, Nasr-i-Mulk and the officers catechise
me unmercifully for some time concerning the mechanism and capabilities
of the bicycle, and about the past and future of the journey around the
world. In company with the interpreter, I now ride out to the Doshan
Tepe gate, where we are to await the arrival of the Shah. From the Doshan
Tepe gate is some four English miles of fairly good artificial road,
leading to one of the royal summer palaces and gardens. His Majesty goes
this morning to the mountains beyond Doshan Tepe on a shooting excursion,
and wishes me to ride out with his party a few miles, thus giving him a
good opportunity of seeing something of what bicycle travelling is like.
The tardy monarch keeps myself and a large crowd of attendants waiting
a full hour at the gate, ere he puts in an appearance. Among the crowd
is the Shah's chief shikaree (hunter), a grizzled old veteran, beneath
whose rifle many a forest prowler of the Caspian slope of Mazanderau has
been laid low. The shikaree, upon seeing me ride, and not being able to
comprehend how one can possibly maintain the equilibrium, exclaims:
"Oh, ayab Ingilis." (Oh, the wonderful English!) Everybody's face is
wreathed in smiles at the old shikaree's exclamation of wonderment, and
when I jokingly advise him that he ought to do his hunting for the future
on a bicycle, and again mount and ride with hands off handles to demonstrate
the possibility of shooting from the saddle, the delighted crowd of
horsemen burst out in hearty laughter, many of them exclaiming, "Bravo!
bravo!" At length the word goes round that the Shah is coming. Everybody
dismounts, and as the royal carriage drives up, every Persian bows his
head nearly to the ground, remaining in that highly submissive attitude
until the carriage halts and the Shah summons myself and the interpreter
to his side. I am the only Ferenghi in the party, my two English companions
having returned to the city, intending to rejoin me when I separate from
the Shah.

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