Chapter IV: Front Matter (4)

The most unsuspicious and confiding of men, Dr Wagner here remarks, will become mistrustful, and prone to suspect evil, before he has been long a resident or rambler in the East, and will acquire a habit of constant caution and vigilance in a country where all classes, from the Pasha to the horse-keeper, lay themselves out to plunder and overreach Europeans. The Doctor had been for three years wandering in Oriental lands, where he had encountered some perils and innumerable attempts at imposition. He was much upon his guard, and kept a sharp eye upon his hyena-looking guide, especially when the latter, under pretence of conducting him to quarters for the night, struck off from the road, and led him over crag and fell, through rain and darkness, into a wild, cut-throat district, where he every moment expected to be handed over to the gentle mercies of a band of Kourd brigands. Putting a pistol to the fellow’s ugly head, the Doctor swore he would shoot him at the first sign of treachery. The Turk said nothing, but presently—“Here is the village,” he quietly remarked, as he led the drenched travellers round the angle of a mass of rock, whence they perceived the lights of the village of Massat, where Hamilton had passed a night some years previously, and where they soon were comfortably seated by a fire, and supping on a very tolerable pilau; whilst Dr Wagner was fain to atone for his ill-founded suspicions by a double _bakshish_ to his uncouth but trustworthy guide. The next day, the Doctor, whilst riding over the mountains with loaded pistols in his belt, and a double gun across his shoulders, fell over a precipice nearly a hundred feet high. The soil of a narrow ledge, softened by the rain, had given way under his horse’s feet. Man and beast rolled over and over five or six times in the course of the descent. Fortunately there were no rocks in the way—nothing but soft earth. They reached the bottom bruised and bleeding, but without broken bones, and were able to continue their march.

The journey from Erzroum to Persia, through the Alpine district of Armenia, is usually made with a caravan or with post-horses—more rarely in company with a Tartar in the employ of the Turkish government, who rides courier-fashion, changes his horse every four or five leagues, goes at a gallop, never rests for more than an hour, rides many horses to death, and performs the distance from Erzroum to Tabriz (nearly a hundred leagues) in the extraordinarily short time of two days and a half. Dr Wagner had no taste for travelling in such true Tartar fashion. Would he go post? There are no postmasters in Turkey, nor post-horses, nor posting-stables, nor even postilions, properly so called. Posting in the East has nothing in common with European posting. But on presentation of a firman from the Sublime Porte or the Pasha of the province, every town or village is bound to supply the traveller with the needful horses, and with a horse-guide, at moderate charge. The expense is greatly augmented by the necessity of being accompanied by a Turkish cavass. Without such escort the journey from Erzroum to the Persian frontier is unsafe, and, even with it, all danger is not removed; for in the neighbourhood of the Alpine passes of Armenia lurk the lynx-eyed Kourds, watching for prey. Less daring and dangerous than they were, they are still sufficiently audacious. When pursued by the Pashas—who occasionally make expeditions, at the head of bodies of the Nizam soldiery, to chastise them, and to wrench from them their booty—they take refuge upon Persian ground, send a present to the Sardar of Tabriz, and are suffered to pasture their flocks amongst the mountains of Azerbijan, until they again give way to their predatory propensities, and are threatened or pursued by the Persian authorities. Over the rugged summits of the Agri Dagh they then fly to Russian territory, where the gift of a horse to the Cossack officer in command usually procures them tolerance upon the grassy slopes of Ararat. When driven thence, for a repetition of their lawless raids, they have still a last refuge in the high mountains of Kourdistan, where they purchase the protection of a chief, and whose inaccessible fastnesses defy Turkish pursuers.

“Not long before my departure from Erzroum,” says Dr Wagner, “Mr Abbott, the English consul at Teheran, had fallen into the hands of Kourd robbers, and, with his travelling companions, had been stripped to the shirt, inclusively. It was a serio-comic affair. They were attacked near Diadin. Mr Abbott, a man of great personal courage, fired a pistol at the first Kourd who rode at him with his long bamboo lance, and missed—fortunately for him, for had he killed or wounded him, his own life would assuredly have paid the penalty. Two vigorous lance thrusts, which fortunately pierced his _burka_, not his body, cast the courageous Briton from his horse. His Oriental servants and companions had no portion of his combative spirit, but laid down their arms, terrified by the jackal-like yells and hideous figures of the Kourds. The robbers were tolerably generous, after their manner. They took away horses, baggage, and clothes, stripping their victims stark naked, but they left them their lives. And if Mr Abbott had a taste of lance staves and horse-whip, that was only in requital of the pistol-shot. His Armenian servants, who resisted not, received no injury. Amidst the infernal laughter of the Kourds, the naked travellers set off for the nearest village, where they were scantily provided with clothes by compassionate Armenians. Consul Brant at Teheran made a great noise about this business, and the Pasha had to make compensation. But the Kourds retreated southwards to the high mountains, and there, in inaccessible hiding-places, laughed alike at the British consul’s anger, and at the Turkish Pasha’s threats.”

With such a warning before him, Dr Wagner preferred adopting the safest, and at the same time the most convenient, although the slowest mode of travelling in those regions—namely, per caravan. Almost weekly a commercial caravan starts from Erzroum for Tabriz. It consists of from 300 to 900 horses, laden chiefly with English manufactures, also with Bohemian glass, furs, and cloth from the Leipzig fair, and even with toys from Nuremberg. If the convoy be particularly valuable, the Pasha sends with it a cavass, who rides a head, a horse’s tail at the end of his long lance, as a warning to predatory Kourds not to meddle with that which is under the high protection of the _muschir_ of Erzroum. But the caravan’s own strength is its best protection. There is a man to every three or four horses, armed with a gun, often with sabre and dagger also; and the Armenians, although tame enough in general, will fight fiercely for their goods, or for those intrusted to their care. Of course there is no security against nocturnal theft, at which the Kourds are as skilful as North-American red-skins, or as the Hadjouts of the African Metidja.

A rich Armenian, by name Kara Gos, (Black-eye,) led the caravan to which Dr Wagner annexed himself. Half the 360 horses comprising it were his. A considerable rogue was Kara Gos, who asked the Doctor double the fair price for the use of six horses, a place under the principal tent, and daily rations from his kitchen. When the Doctor pointed out the overcharge, Kara Gos turned away in silence and in dudgeon, and spoke no word to him during the whole journey. Dr Wagner made his bargain with another Armenian, one Karapet Bedochil, and the journey was prosperously accomplished in twenty-seven days from Erzroum to Tabriz. This was rather slow work—scarcely twelve miles a-day on an average; but Dr Wagner was well pleased to have leisure during the long hours of repose—rendered necessary by hot weather and scanty pasturage—to pursue his geological researches, to go shooting, and to collect rare insects and beautiful Alpine plants. He took interest, also, in observing the habits and intelligence of the horses of the caravan. These were as disciplined as any Russian soldiers, and understood their duty almost as well as their human masters. When, at two in the morning, the Karivan-Baschi gave the signal to march, they responded by a general neighing, snorting, and tinkling of the bells hung to their necks. Notwithstanding the thick darkness, every horse found his right place, his owner, and his groom, and stood motionless till pack-saddle and bales were placed upon his back. The load duly balanced, he instantly started off of his own accord. The march was in file, two abreast. The oldest and most experienced horse took the lead, seemingly proud of the distinction, and displaying an instinct almost amounting to reason. No danger was there of _his_ going astray, or shying at some oddly-shaped rock, dimly seen through the twilight, or at a corpse upon the road, or even at the passage of camels, to which horses have a special antipathy. If stream or torrent barred the way, he halted, unbidden, until the nearest horseman had sought out a ford, and then calmly entered the water, his example giving confidence to his followers. These caravan horses love society, soon attach themselves to their companions, whether biped or quadruped, but are very inhospitable, and do not easily admit strange horses to their company. They dislike separation from the caravan, just as cavalry chargers often object to leave the ranks. Karapet Bedochil gave up his best and youngest horse to Dr Wagner for the journey. This was a well-shaped brown mare, of excellent paces, and easy to govern, so long as her habits were respected. But it took some time to accustom her to quit the caravan, and carry Dr Wagner on his rambles off the road.

“To ride in the rank and file of a caravan,” says the Doctor, “is wearisome enough. When morning dawned, and the first sunbeams illumined the green Alpine plateau, I loved to ride up some rising ground by the wayside, to contemplate the landscape, and to enjoy the picturesque aspect of the Kourd camps, and of the long-line of the caravan. My horse did not share my enjoyment. Much spurring did it cost me to habituate him to even a few minutes’ separation from his friends. Love of society, and aversion to solitude, are amongst the most striking and affecting characteristics of these animals. At times I remained behind the caravan, when I found an interesting spot, where the geological formation or the mountain vegetation invited to examination and collection. My horse, well secured near at hand, kept his gaze immovably fixed upon the vanishing caravan. When the last straggler had disappeared, he still pricked up his ears so long as he could hear the bells. When these were no longer audible, he drooped his head, and looked inquiringly and reproachfully at his botanising rider. If it cost me trouble to detach him from the caravan, he needed no urging to rejoin it. Suddenly displaying the fire of the Oriental courser, he galloped with winged swiftness, till the bells were once more heard, and broke into loud and joyous neighings on again joining his friends.”

The gregarious and sociable propensities of Armenian horses are a great obstacle to the designs of the Kourd thieves, who at nightfall prowl around the camp. To lessen the difficulty they come mounted upon stolen caravan horses, which they train to the work. A noose is flung round the neck of a grazing horse, and whilst one thief pulls the animal along, another drives it with a whip. The Armenian horse-keepers fire their guns to give the alarm, and mount their best horses to pursue the marauders. If they overtake them, they at first endeavour to obtain restitution by fair words or by threats. Only at the last extremity do they use their firearms, for they have a not unfounded fear of Kourd vengeance for bloodshed.

Less dreaded, and far less frequent than these depredations, are attacks upon caravans by wolves. These occur scarcely once in ten years, and then only in very severe winters, when long frosts keep the flocks from the pastures. Under such circumstances, the wolves, spurred by extreme hunger, sometimes overcome their natural cowardice, and make a dash at a caravan, breaking suddenly into the column on the march, pulling down horses, and tearing them in pieces, before there is time to drive them away with bullets. But these cases are of extremely rare occurrence. It more often happens that, in summer, a single wolf will sneak down upon the grazing caravan horses, whose instinct, however, soon detects his approach. They form a circle, heads inwards and heels out, and if the wolf does not succeed, at a first spring, in fixing upon one of their throats, his best plan is to decamp, before he gets shot. The attacks of these wolves are always nocturnal. From other beasts of prey the caravans between Erzroum and Tabriz have nothing to fear. The jackals are weak and timid, and content themselves with dead horses; and bears are few in number, and confine their feeding to sheep and goats. Southwards from Tabriz to Teheran, and thence to Ispahan, the danger increases. Kourds are replaced by Turkomans; wolves by panthers and tigers. But even from these, so far as Dr Wagner could gather from repeated conversations with caravan leaders, the peril is trifling, except far south, towards Shiraz, or eastwards in the deserts of Khorassan, where tigers are more numerous and aggressive.

Of other animals accustomed to follow caravans, the Doctor particularly mentions ravens and carrion birds, which in winter consume the excrement, in summer the carcasses, of horses. In Armenia and Persia, he recognised an old friend whom he had often seen hovering over the expeditionary column which he had accompanied to Constantina. The white-headed vulture (_Vultur fulvus_) floated in the air at a prodigious height above the caravan, and as often as a horse fell dead, dozens of the loathsome birds lowered their powerful pinions, and sank plumb-down upon the carrion. The beasts of the caravan, even the dogs, were pretty good friends with these obscene creatures; or at least, from the force of habit, usually endured their proximity. Dr Wagner speculates on the possibility of some eccentric sympathy between the horse and his future coffin. He often saw the little carrion kite (_Cathartes percnopterus_,) when it had gorged itself with the flesh of some dead animal, settle down, its feathers all puffed out, upon a horse’s back, there to digest its copious meal—a process which the horse, by his immobility, seemed studiously to avoid disturbing. Grouped together in the great heat, from which they sought to shelter their heads under their neighbours’ bellies, the horses stood, each one with his plumed and impure rider. “Sometimes,” says the Doctor, “I saw ravens sitting in the same confidential manner upon the backs of horses and dromedaries. In North Africa I observed similar intimacy between kites and cows, ravens and swine. Dr Knoblecher relates that in the Nile districts of Central Africa he often saw waterfowl, particularly herons and ibises, sit upon the backs of elephants. Only to one kind of animal has the Armenian caravan-horse a natural hatred and strong aversion—namely, to the camel, who, on his side, detests the horse. Even in caravans composed of both kinds of beasts, long accustomed to each other’s presence, this antipathy endures. Horses and camels, if left in any degree to their own free will, go separately to pasture. Long habit of being together restrains them from hostile outbreaks, but I never witnessed, during the whole period of my Oriental travels, an example of even a tolerably good understanding between them.”

On the 20th of June—so cold a morning, that, in spite of cloak and mackintosh, Dr Wagner was half-frozen—the caravan reached the Kourd village of Yendek, and encamped in a narrow valley, the mountains around which had been reckoned, a few years previously, amongst the most unsafe in Kourdistan, a caravan seldom passing unassailed. Towards evening a Kourd chief came into camp. “He wore no beard, but thick and long moustaches—as formerly the Janissaries—a huge turban, a short _burka_, very wide trousers. He had his horse shod by one of our Armenians, took a fancy to Karapet-Bedochil’s pocket-knife, and asked him for it as a keepsake. He did not pay for the shoeing, and rode off, with small thanks, amidst the courteous greetings of all the Armenians—even of our haughty Karivan-Baschi. I afterwards laughingly asked the _Kadertshi_ why he had not demanded payment from the Kourd for the shoes and his work. ‘Laugh away!’ was his reply; ‘if ever you meet that fellow alone, you won’t be quite so merry.’ The Kourd, who was armed with pistols, gun, and sabre, certainly looked the very model of a captain of banditti.”

Before reaching Persian territory, where the risk from robbers diminishes, some pack-horses were cleverly stolen by the Kourds; and two men, who were sent, well mounted, to overtake the thieves and negotiate for the restoration of the property, returned to camp despoiled of clothes and steeds. Ultimately, the Pasha of Erzroum extorted the bales from the Kourds, who are too prudent to drive things to extremities. But, for the time, Kara Gos had to pursue his journey minus his merchandise, and greatly cast down at the loss, which he merited for his griping effrontery, and for the poltroonery with which, a few days before, he had deviated from his direct road on the rude demand of some Kourds, who sought to pick a quarrel with him—a sort of wolf-and-lamb business—for riding through their pastures. He forgot his loss, however, when reckoning at Tabriz the full sack of sounding gold tomauns received for carriage of goods; and in the joy of his heart he even condescended to speak to Dr Wagner, and to extend to him his forgiveness for having refused to be imposed upon, so that they parted in amity at last.

Tabriz, in size the second, in population the first city of the Persian empire, was the limit of Dr Wagner’s travels in an easterly direction. Thence he made excursions; and finally, turning his steps southwards, made the circuit of that extremity of Lake Urumia, and so got back to Bayasid in Turkish Armenia; so that he visited, in fact, but a nook of Persia—including, however, one of its most important cities and some rarely-explored districts. His first visit at Tabriz was to Mr Bonham, the English consul-general, with whom he found a Maltese physician, Dr Cassolani—then the only European medical man resident in the place—who offered him, in the kindest manner, an apartment in his house. Here Dr Wagner interpolates a gentle stricture on British hospitality in Asia. Mr Bonham, he says, “was certainly also very obliging, but seemed less hospitable; and although he had a very roomy house and a very small family, he, like his colleague, Mr Brant at Erzroum, was not fond of putting himself out of his way. I confess that I have not formed the most favourable opinion of English hospitality in the East. My letters from Lord Aberdeen and Sir Stratford Canning had not the effect which might have been reasonably expected from the high position of those statesmen. In Russian Asia, less exalted recommendations generally procured me a friendly and truly hospitable reception. On better acquaintance, and after repeated interviews, the dry, thoroughly English reserve and formal manner gave way, in Mr Bonham, to a certain degree of amiability. He took a particularly warm interest in my communications from the Caucasus, and gave me in return valuable information concerning Persian matters. Mr Bonham was married to a niece of Sir Robert Peel’s, a beautiful, amiable, and accomplished lady.”

In Dr Cassolani’s house Dr Wagner made the acquaintance of a great number of Persians, who besieged the learned _hekim_ for advice, and he thus had excellent opportunities of noting the peculiarities of Persian character, manners, and morals. But the most favourable place for the pursuit of such studies, on a large scale, he found to be the Tabriz bazaar, which is composed of a number of bazaars, or spacious halls full of shops. Thither daily repaired Dr Wagner, escorted by one of Dr Cassolani’s Persian servants, a fellow of herculean proportions, whose duty it was to open a passage through the curious crowd which at first thronged round the European. Here were displayed prodigious masses of merchandise, chiefly English, only the coarser kinds of goods coming from Germany and Russia, glass from Austria, amber from Constantinople. Here were children’s watches from Nuremberg, with a locomotive on the dial, and the inscription, “Railway from Nuremberg to Furth;” lithographed likenesses of the Shah of Persia, taken and printed in Germany; snuff-boxes from Astrakan, with the Emperor Nicholas’s portrait; and portraits of Benkendorf, Paskewitch, Neidhard, and other Russian generals distinguished in recent wars. There were shawls and carpets from Hindostan, and sabre-blades, of wonderful temper and finish, from Shiraz. Of these latter Dr Wagner saw some, adorned with beautiful arabesque designs in gold, and inscribed with passages from the Koran, whose price was two hundred tomauns, or Persian ducats. Made of strips of metal, hammered together cold, these excellent blades are the result of prodigious labour, much time, and great skill. The chief value of such weapons is usually in the steel, for the hilt and mounting must be unusually rich to exceed the cost of the blade itself. Hitherto the armourers of Tabriz, Teheran, and Ispahan have vainly endeavoured to rival those of Shiraz.

Dr Wagner soon found himself at home in the European circle at Tabriz, which consists chiefly of the members of the Russian and English consulates, and of the managers of four Greek commercial houses, branches of Constantinople establishments. The English consul-general, as already hinted, lived rather retired, gave a dinner or two each half-year to the Europeans, and took but small share in the pleasures and amusements after which most of them eagerly ran. An old Greek gentleman, named Morfopulo, was the great Lucullus and Amphitryon of the place. Introduced to him by his Maltese friend, Dr Wagner was at once cordially invited to a dinner, which gave him the first idea of the sumptuous manner of living of Europeans in Tabriz. Nothing was spared; Oriental delicacies were embalmed and ennobled by the refinements of Western art. There were fish from the Caspian, game from the forests of Ghilan, grapes and mulberries from Azerbijan, the most exquisite pasties, and the cream of the vineyards of Champagne cooling in abundant ice. The guests were as motley, the talk as various, as the viands. From East to West, from Ispahan to Paris, the conversation rolled. The Russian Consul-general sketched the Persian court at Teheran; Dr Cassolani gave verbal extracts from his life and experience at Erzroum and Tabriz; an Italian quack, who had just arrived, and who had long led a roving existence in Asiatic Turkey—professing alternately to discover gold mines, and to heal all maladies by an infallible elixir—related his adventures amongst the Kourds; whilst a young Greek diplomatist, named Mavrocordato—a relation of the statesman of that name—just transferred, to his no small regret, from Paris to Tabriz, was eloquent concerning the balls, beauties, and delights of the French capital.

The domestic arrangements of the European residents in Tabriz are peculiar, and may possibly account for the limited nature of the intercourse maintained with them by the gentleman who filled the post of British consul-general at the time of Dr Wagner’s visit. Some of the managers of the Greek houses—few of whom remain more than half-a-dozen years, which time, owing to the profitable nature of the trade, and especially of the smuggling traffic with the trans-Caucasian provinces of Russia, usually suffices to make their fortunes—were married, but had left their wives in Constantinople. Most of them, as well as the members of the Russian consulate-general, were bachelors. All, however, whether married or single, had conformed to the custom of the place, by contracting limited matrimony with Nestorian women. This Christian sect, numerous in Azerbijan, entertains a strong partiality for Europeans, and has no scruple, either moral or religious, in marrying its daughters to them for a fixed term of years, and in consideration of a stipulated sum. There is great competition for a new-comer from Europe, especially if he be rich. The queer contract is known in Tabriz as _matrimonio alla carta_. Very often the whole of the lady’s family take up their abode in the house of the temporary husband, and live at his charges; and this is indeed often a condition of the bargain. The usage is of such long standing amongst Europeans in Persia, and especially in that particular province, that it there scandalises no one. Every European has a part of his house set aside for the women, and calls it his harem: the ladies preserve their Persian garb and manner of life, cover their faces before strangers and in the streets, frequent the bath, and pass their time in dressing themselves, just like the Mahomedan Persians. Handsome, but totally uneducated and unintellectual, they make faithful wives and tender mothers, but poor companions. When the term stipulated in the contract expires, and if it be not renewed, they find no difficulty in contracting permanent marriages with their own countrymen; the less so, that, in such cases, they take a dowry with them, whereas, in general, the Nestorian has to purchase his wife from her parents. The children of the European marriage almost always remain in possession of the mother; and Dr Wagner was assured that she testifies even stronger affection for them than for those of her second and more regular marriage; whilst the stepfather rarely neglects his duty towards them. “Still more remarkable is it,” continues the Doctor, “that the European fathers, when recalled to their own country, abandon their children, without, as it would seem, the slightest scruple of conscience, to a most uncertain fate, and trouble themselves no further concerning them. But a single instance is known to me, when a wealthy European took one of his children away with him. Even in the case of men otherwise of high character and principle, a prolonged residence in the East seems very apt gradually to stifle the voice of nature, of honour, and of conscience.”

Dismissing, with this reflection, the consideration of European society and habits in Persia, Dr Wagner turns his attention to the natives, and to an examination of the curious incidents and vicissitudes of modern Persian history, to which he allots an interesting chapter—based partly on his many conversations with British and Russian diplomatic agents, with French officers who had served in Persia, and with French and American missionaries, partly on the works of various English travellers—and then commences his wanderings and explorations in the mountains of Sahant, and along the shores of Lake Urumiah. In these and other investigations, occupying his second volume, the length to which our notice of his first has insensibly extended forbids our accompanying him, at least for the present. Judging from the great number of books relating to Western Asia that have of late years been published in this country—many of them with marked success—the number of readers who take an interest in that region must be very considerable. By such of them as read German, Dr Wagner’s series of six volumes will be prized as a mine of entertainment and information.

KATIE STEWART.
A TRUE STORY.