ADVENTURES OF GILBERT GO-AHEAD (from Robert Merry's Museum, January 1855, pp. 18-21)
The Koords are good storytellers, and some of them have a wonderful talent at making up poetry and tales offhand, and these they recite with great effect. Our rough companion, on the present occasion, told his story in such a way as to make it very interesting.
We now called upon the Turcoman for his story, and so he began. But before I repeat what he said, I must any a word about Turcomania, and the strange people who inhabit it. It lies along the eastern shore of the Caspian Sea, and extends to the sea of Aral, on the east. Southward it stretches in deserts of sand, intersected by occasional patches of verdure, to the borders of Persia. The people appear to be a mixed race, descended from the Usbeks and other Tartar tribes, yet they are of a very peculiar character. They are small in size, of a square build and swarthy complexion. They live in rude tents, and some of them dwell in caves. They manufacture a coarse camel's hair cloth, which, with goat and sheep-skins, serve for clothing. Their tents are covered with a species of felt. For the most part they are wanderers from place to place, though a portion of them have fixed habitations, and raise a few melons, with some nice cucumbers, &c. They are governed by chiefs, yet these have no great authority. Small companies of these people may be seen in all the surrounding countries, and especially in Persia, Syria, and Asia Minor. These resemble the Gipsies, and wherever they go they are thieves and robbers on a small scale. In their own country they are shepherds and horsemen, always taking advantage of opportunities for plunder. The caravans of traders and travellers, constantly crossing the interior of Asia in every direction, have from time immemorial furnished opportunities to the Arabs, the Koords, and the Turcomans for plunder, and no doubt have served to perpetuate the predatory habits of these ruthless races. In former ages, the Turcomans, at several periods, have been numerous, and have made themselves formidable to the surrounding countries. Northern Persia has been rendered desolate by their ravages, and to this day it remains almost a waste, where formerly there was a rich and thriving population. At certain periods they have established kingdoms which have risen to importance and power. Even the Turkish dynasty originated with a body of Turcoman soldiers. I will now give you the narrative of our Turcoman fellow-passenger.
"Our Armenian friend has told us the story of his family of seven sons, all of whom prospered in life by observing a certain rule, that is, 'Do the best you can, and pray to God to help you.' That may do for a Christian, but it will not answer for a Mahometan. Our doctrine
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is that all things are decided, and that our own conduct cannot change the decision of fate. My story will illustrate this principle.
"At the north-eastern corner of the Caspian Sea is a large bay called the Dead Gulf. Upon the shore of this sheet of water, there once lived a man by the name of Agour. He was very poor, and dwelt in a cave with his family, consisting of a wife and two children. These were twin boys, and were so much alike that it was almost impossible to tell them apart. Even the parents often mistook one for the other, and for this reason their names were marked on their breasts with a hot iron. One (the eldest) was called Kamil, and the other Irak.
"When they were twenty years old they said they did not wish to live all their lifetime in a cave, cultivating a little patch of ground, and half starving in spite of their hard exertions. They chose rather to go forth and seek their fortunes. So they departed together.
"They joined a small band of Turcomans who were going in search of plunder. These proceeded eastward, and at length they reached the country of Khorassau. While in the neighborhood of the city of Mesched, they came across a caravan; this they attacked and secured a considerable booty. Among the spoils were two beautiful young ladies; and these being captured by the twin brothers, fell to their share. One of the ladies was fair, and the other was dark, and as both brothers preferred the fair one, they could not agree as to the division. Accordingly they drew lots for the choice, and Kamil, the elder brother, obtained the one he desired. It turned out that she was the daughter of the Pacha of Mesched, and Kamil obtained for her ransom a thousand crowns. The brunette was her maid, and Irak received for her ransom only a hundred crowns.
"After a variety of adventures, the brothers returned to their country, Kamil having obtained a large sum of money, and Irak only about a tenth part as much. Leaving all this in the care of their father, they set out with another band for a still more distant enterprise. Passing around the southern point of the Caspian Sea, they crossed the Persian territories, traversed Mesopotamia, and at last came to Syria. On the desert which spreads around the famous ruins of Palmyra, they met a party of travellers, under the escort of a large body of Arab soldiers. The Turcomans, being deceived as to their number, immediately began the attack. A furious battle followed, in which every Turcoman was slain except the twin brothers. Kamil was wounded, taken captive, and carried to Damascus. He soon recovered, and was sold as a slave to a rich merchant.
"He was now employed in a flower garden, in which situation he remained foe several months, his chief duty being to water the flowers. The garden was surrounded by a high wall on every side, save one, which was closed by the merchant's house. Here was a latticed window, out of which the merchant's wife and daughter could look into the garden, though they could not themselves
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be seen. But one day, perhaps by accident, the lattice flew open, and Kamil saw, sitting at the window, the most beautiful young lady he had ever seen. She immediately ran away, but the next day the same thing happened, and at last the lattice got such a trick that it flew open every day, and just at the time that Kamil happened to be in the garden.
"Well, Kamil plucked a beautiful moss rose, and, without being seen, by means of a pole, he placed it on the window. After a time the maiden came and took it, and then she let fall, in reply, a small white rose. An acquaintance thus began, ended in mutual affection, and after a time Kamil and the young lady went away together. They had plenty of means, for the girl brought all her jewels; so they proceeded to Mecca, where they were married. On their way back they saw a small party of travellers beset by a band of Bedouin Arabs. In a moment Kamil discovered that his father-in-law was among the travellers, and that he and his party were on the point of being overwhelmed. Sending off his wife and attendants to a distance, he mounted a fleet horse, seized his scimetar, and dashed into the midst of the fight. The Bedouins, amazed at this sudden attack, and seeing two or three of their number instantly fall beneath the blade of the stranger, suddenly took to flight.
"Kamil now went to his father-in-law, who was trampled in the sand, and a good deal bruised, though not otherwise injured. When the old man had recovered his senses, Kamil made himself known. He also brought his wife, who fell upon her knees before her father, and begged his forgiveness. The old man had suffered very much by the loss of his daughter, and was now on a pilgrimage to Mecca, as well to expiate the sins supposed to have brought such a calamity upon him, as to ask advice of the seers of the Holy City, which might enable him to rescue her. Now that he found her in safety, and apparently happy, after some scolding, he forgave her, and took her husband into favor. After completing their pilgrimage to Mecca, they all returned to Damascus, where Kamil received from his father-in-law a beautiful house, and a great deal of money, so that he was very rich, and with his beautiful wife, he was very happy.
"A number of years now passed away, but at length a war broke out between the different tribes of Syria. Kamil was selected as one of the captains, and went forth to the battle. In one of the conflicts he bore down every thing before him. His courage and his energy attracted the attention and applause of all around him. At last a horseman belonging to the enemy singled him out and made a furious attack upon him. They fought for a long time, their weapons ringing with the blows aimed at each other. Finally, Kamil's horse, having received a sabre cut in the throat, fell dead upon the field. Kamil fell and was buried beneath him. His enemy dismounted, but as he was about to plunge his weapon in the heart of
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Kamil he stumbled, and as he plunged forward Kamil's scimetar passed through his bosom.
"As soon as Kamil could extricate himself from his horse, he went to the relief of his fallen enemy. The latter groaned as he looked upon him. Surprised at this exclamation, Kamil gazed intensely at the dying soldier. 'Is it possible that this is my brother?' said he. 'I thought he was slain in the battle near Palmyra: but surely this man greatly resembles him.' He then opened his mantle, and upon his breast he saw the name of Irak!
"Great was the grief of Kamil, for he almost felt that he had killed his brother. He stooped down and kissed the pallid brow of the wounded man. The latter, who had been in a swoon, awoke, and looked on Kamil, and said:
"'Is this paradise?'
"'It is not paradise,' said Kamil, weeping to see the mind of his brother thus wavering.
"'Why then,' said Irak, 'do I see Kamil?'
"'We are both on earth, my brother, and both, I trust, destined to live and die happy.'
"'No, no, there is no happiness for me. But I thought you were killed at the battle of Palmyra.'
"'No; I was taken and carried into slavery. I am now rich, and you shall come with me to Damascus, where I will make you rich also.'
"'It is impossible; ever since we parted I have been the constant sport of misfortune. It cannot be. Fate has so decreed. Ah, it is dark: it is death! Farewell, my brother.'"
This story was rather serious, and for a time we were all silent. The conversation, however, was soon renewed, and we had several other tales. At length we arrived at Farsabad, from whence, in company with the Armenian merchant, I went to Teheran.
S. G. G.
[To be continued.]
ADVENTURES OF GILBERT GO-AHEAD (from Robert Merry's Museum, April 1855, pp. 108-113)
In my last chapter, I stated that after a long voyage from Baiku, we reached Farsabad, and that I proceeded thence to Teheran, in company with the Armenian merchant. I gave some of the stories told by our ship companions, but I had not space for those of the Greek priest and the Tartar, who were our fellow-passengers. These were too characteristic to be lost, and therefore I will now repeat them. The tale of the priest was as follows:--
"There was once a monk, who came to the monastery of Saint Basilius, at Morcru, and desired admittance. He was very much emaciated, and seemed so weak as to be scarcely able to walk. He was taken to a room, and everything required for his comfort was provided for him. He, however, distinctly refused to take food, and soon he sank into a sort of swoon or lethargy, which seemed like death itself.
"In this state he remained for several days, until at last it appeared that he was really dead. Accordingly, preparations were made to bury him, but just as they were screwing down his coffin, he rose up in his grave-clothes, looking around with a horrible stare. Everybody was frightened, and run away. Pretty soon the monks, who looked upon what had happened as a terrible apparition, saw a form moving along the avenue which led to the chapel where they had assembled. It was clad in a shroud, with a fillet around its head, giving to the ghastly countenance the very face of Death. They all fell upon their knees, crossed themselves, and began to say the prayers appointed for the casting out of evil spirits.
"Very few dared to look at the horrible spectre; but those who did were thrilled with terror to see the ghost walk up and down the chapel, as if looking for something. Finally, it came to a smooth stone, set in the wall near the altar. Here it paused, and began to examine it. After a little space, it touched a spring, and the stone flew round, presenting some inscription upon the surface thus disclosed to the view. The ghost fell upon its knees, and seemed to peruse this mystic writing with profound interest. The chapel was dark, and only the light of the tapers burning at the altar fell upon the stone; yet the apparition seemed to have no great difficulty in making out the purport of the inscription. Apparently satisfied at what he had seen, he again touched the spring; the stone flew round, and all seemed as it was before. The ghost then walked out of the chapel, and disappeared.
"The whole monastery was thrilled with horror at this awful visitation. After a time, however, some of the priests ventured to approach the room
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of the strange father. On entering the place they found it vacant. They went to the coffin, and the dead body was no longer there!
"For a long time the story of this strange event was the theme of wonder and discussion among the brotherhood of Saint Basilius' monastery. A great many attempts were made to unravel the mystery. The general opinion was that the apparition was the ghost of some monk, who had committed a great crime, and who, having died without absolution, his spirit wandered forth from the regions of torment to which it was consigned. It was generally supposed that his history was in some way connected with the stone in the side of the chapel, but for a long time no one dared to approach the place. After some months, it was determined to seek the mysterious spring, and try to solve the mystery.
"It chanced to be just a year from the time on which the ghost had visited the chapel that the fathers had all assembled to make their experiment. With beating hearts and trembling hands they approached, and passed their fingers along the wall. One after another they tried to discover the secret, and at last one of them chanced to press his thumb on a particular place, when a sharp click was heard, and instantly the stone flew round just as it had done when touched by the ghost. All the priests started, and looked around. What was their horror to see, coming down the aisle of the chapel, the image of a man, but so thin and ghastly that it seemed only a spirit. They all fled in terror, and left the unwelcome stranger alone. One monk only dared to look through the screen of the organ to see what happened.
"He saw the apparition approach the stone; the latter discovering that it was turned round, knelt and read the inscription with extreme interest. When he had done, he seemed relieved, and, with a noiseless tread, departed.
"This incident revived the previous wonder and terror of the whole monastery. Again all sorts of conjectures were formed as to its meaning, but no one could interpret the marvellous appearance and strange demeanor of the ghost. At length a year had passed away, and again a thin, emaciated friar begged admission at the gate. He seemed like the holy father who had appeared some two years before, and who had been supposed to die in his room; but, if possible, he was even more worn and wasted. His hair was white, and his thin, snowy beard fell down to his girdle. When he walked, no sound was made by his footstep; when he spoke, a whisper only issued from his lips. His eye seemed but a transparent ball of glass, which, however, reflected a single glowing ray of light.
"He was received, though a chill feeling of terror ran through the monastery. He went to his room, where he remained four days without food. At last he seemed about to die, and a confessor was sent for. One of the brethren came to him, and at last he said in a faint whisper,
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"'Are we alone?'
"There was something so soft, yet so distinct, in this tone, that the holy confessor felt his heart grow cold, and his hair rise on end. He was so disturbed, that for a time he could not reply. At last, he said,
"'Yes, brother, we are alone.'
"'And are you a monk of the order of Saint Basilius?'
"'I am.'
"'And have you been recently shriven, and have you partaken of the holy Eucharist, so that you have full power to hear the confession of a great sinner, and a dying man?'
"'I have, brother.'
"'And is what I am about to reveal to you under the sacred seal of secresy?'
"'It is; and you may speak as if addressing the Son of God.'
"'Alas! it is a terrible revelation, but it must be made, or I must die, and my unshriven soul must pass into perdition. Let me proceed, then--but, brother, put your ear close, for my voice is faint.'
"'Well, I can hear; proceed, therefore, with your confession.'
"'Not here--not here; I must go to the chapel. It is there alone I can tell my story.'
"At this the holy father confessor felt a sense of terror seize upon his limbs, and he was on the point of flying from the power of this mysterious stranger. He, however, summoned up all his courage, and, assisting the fainting friar to rise, led him to the chapel. The sufferer requested to be conducted to a place at the left hand of the altar, near the wall. When he reached this he was completely exhausted. After a time he was able to rise on his knees, and, in this position, he proceeded in a faint tone as follows:--
"'Holy father, you see before you a wretch who has committed sacrilege!'
"The confessor groaned--but he encouraged the patient to proceed.
"'My name,' said the trembling friar, 'is--'"
* * * * * *
Here the Greek priest, who had told the story with great effect, and had wrought up the interest of his listeners to the highest pitch, suddenly paused. We all waited some moments in anxious suspense to hear the horrible revelation. But the priest took out his pipe, lighted it, and began very quietly to smoke. Several of us then asked him to proceed, and finish his tale.
"It is finished!" said he.
"But tell us the confession!" said one of the party.
"The secrets of the confessional are sacred," said the priest.
"But who was this man that had committed sacrilege, and what became of him?"
"I have told you the story just as it was told to me."
As the priest said this, there was a sly smile in the corner of his mouth, and thereupon we all burst into a laugh, acknowledging that it was a very clever quiz.
The reader will remember that all this time we were on the deck of a little
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schooner, making our way slowly to Farsabad. At sea, people catch at straws for amusement, and therefore it will be readily understood that we all listened to the stories of the company, whether they were good or bad. Each person was called upon to tell a story, and when we had done laughing at the horrible legend of the ghost of Saint Basilius' monastery, it was the turn of a fierce looking Tartar, from the banks of Lake Baikal, and he proceeded as follows:--
"As there are persons here from various countries, I must tell them that among the Tartars of the Kirquis nations, it is the custom, when a man is about to marry, for him and the bride to be mounted on horseback. The bride then sets out, and goes to the distance of about half a mile, when her lover sets out to overtake her. In general she rides fast, and even if she is willing to be caught, she pretends to do all in her power to escape. In point of fact, our history records many instances in which ladies thus pursued have not been overtaken."
"The reason is, perhaps," said one of the company, "that they don't know how to ride."
"On the contrary," said the Tartar, "our women are good horsewomen, and many of them equal the other sex in this accomplishment. Our people, of both sexes, are trained to riding on horseback from infancy. If you were to visit one of our encampments, you would see children climbing upon the horses, and playing upon their backs, as you see monkeys sporting among the branches of the trees.
"Well, once upon a time, near the borders of Lake Baikal, there was a Tartar maiden of great beauty, who was courted by at least a dozen lovers. Among them were several persons of great wealth, and one who bore the title of Khan. He was, in fact, the chief of a considerable tribe who dwelt in the neighborhood. The lady seemed not to fancy any of these persons, but at last a young man came to offer himself who fairly won her heart. He was a chief, but of a small tribe, and destitute of riches. He was, indeed, brave, and a famous horseman, but the father of the maiden wished his daughter to make a more ambitious match.
"Thus affairs went on for some time, until, at last, the maiden, weary of the importunity of her lovers, and the impatience of her father, proposed to mount a fleet horse, and having a start of half a mile, her lovers might pursue, and he who caught her first should have her.
"This arrangement was finally accepted by all parties. The preparations for the chase were soon made, and the tribes all around assembled to witness it. The maiden, whose name was Maoki, which means the Flying Deer, was mounted on a small black mare, of the breed of Mount Libanus, and celebrated for their swiftness.
"The Khan, whom I have mentioned as one of the lovers, was mounted on a horse of iron gray, of prodigious strength and vigorous action. When he moved, it seemed like the working of a machine
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of iron. His step was high, yet direct, and far-reaching. All who saw him, said in their hearts, that his master would win the prize. Maoki herself looked with dismay upon the noble animal and his proud rider, for of all her suitors, she liked him the least. Nay, there was something about him so hard, dark and severe, that she feared, if she did not hate him.
"The other lovers were variously mounted, but all had selected the most famous steeds known in the whole country round for their speed and their endurance. The young chief favored by Maoki, and who bore the name of Larone, or the Whirlwind, came on a milk-white charger, his eyes beaming with intelligence and fire, while his dilating nostrils seemed like two blazing coals, fanned by the wind. As he came up, Maoki smiled, though she seemed not to look at him. As he passed near her, she said in a low tone, 'I shall be the bride of death or the Whirlwind.' This met no ear but his.
"The arrangements all being completed, Maoki set forward, and soon reached the point fixed upon as marking the advance she was to have in the race. At the signal for a start, all the lovers bounded away like the wind. The course taken by Maoki was a level plain stretching out for miles. Her fleet black mare, with long silky ma[ne] and tail, laid herself down, and seemed to fly with the wings of a raven. On came the thundering band along her track, some piercing the air with wild cries, and some lashing their steeds with the knout. Soon the whole clan was only to be seen in the distance, and at last they all seemed in the remote surface of the plain, like insects creeping along the edge of the horizon.
"The spectators long watched the scene with intense interest. At last there was among them a shout, 'They are coming! they are coming.' It was indeed true. Maoki had made a wide sweep on the plain, and having eluded her pursuers, was flying back, as if to take shelter at the point of her departure. Swift as a hawk she came, her beast reeking with foam, and his nostrils seeming to be on fire. Close at her heels was the Khan and his iron charger. Next came the white steed of Larone, springing and gathered with the facility and speed of a mountain deer. Then, straggling far behind, but yet with desperate efforts, came the rest of the pursuers.
"Maoki approached the place of her departure, and a cry of applause burst from the assembled spectators: but all wondered what she intended to do. Just as she came close to the crowd, she touched the rein, and her horse shot by like an arrow. Two bounds behind was the Khan, and close upon him was Larone. It was a fine but fearful sight. The horses were gushing with blood at the nostrils, and each breath they drew, was like the plash of hail against the frozen cover of a tent.
"Suddenly a cry of horror burst from the crowd. Maoki was speeding directly toward the cliff that beetled along the shore of the lake. She was
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already on its verge. Another bound, and she and her horse disappeared. They had gone over the cliff. In an instant the Khan followed with his stted, and almost at the same moment, Larone also was lost to the view. The people hurried to the shore, and there they saw a strong swimmer in the waters of the lake, mounted upon his steed, and approaching the land. It was the Khan, and he was soon safe on the shore, but all beside had disappeared, and were never seen after that fatal day."
S. G. G.
ADVENTURES OF GILBERT GO-AHEAD (from Robert Merry's Museum, June 1855, pp. 169-173)
In the course of my voyages and travels, to and from the Caspian sea, I had got very well acquainted with the Armenian merchant, and he seemed to have formed a pretty good opinion of me. At least, I so inferred, for he offered to engage me in his service as a trading agent, and as I had nothing better to do, I accepted his proposal.
My first expedition was to Bagdad, situated on the Tigris, four hundred miles in a south-westerly direction from Teheran. My equipage consisted of a dromedary, or one-humped camel, loaded with raw silk, pipe sticks, and dressed lamb skins. Altogether these weighed two hundred pounds, and cost about two hundred dollars. I was expected to sell them for at least a thousand.
In all respects I was equipped like a prince, with a long loose coat, loose trowsers, red morocco boots, and a turban. My beard, now fourteen inches long, gave me a venerable appearance. My height, one-third greater than that of most of the Persians, rendered me an object to be looked at, in such a country as this.
No one who has goods with him ever travels alone in this country; so I joined one of the caravans, which contained two hundred and thirty-seven camels, and a few horses. Nearly all the persons belonging to it were traders, though there were a few pilgrims, bound for Mecca. There was a Persian poet, or story-teller, four jugglers from Hindostan, and a prince of Beloochistan, with six attendants.
We followed the great route which connects Teheran with Mesopotamia, and in five days reached Hamadan, a distance of one hundred and ninety miles. We found this place to contain about thirty thousand inhabitants. It covers a large space, the houses being interspersed with a great many trees. It has a mean appearance, and is, indeed, only important as a stopping place, and rendezvous, on a great trading thoroughfare. To a historian, it is exceedingly interesting, for here was the city of Ecbatana, capital of the Median empire, and built two thousand years before Christ. The immense ruins of walls and buildings, scattered here and there, fully support the ancient accounts of its magnificence.
Now, I need not tell the reader that I am a man of no learning. My school education was pretty much confined to reading, writing, and arithmetic; but I have the curiosity natural to a Yankee, and the lively interest in everything that bears the marks of antiquity, common to Americans. The people of old countries, born and brought up in the midst of ruins, even though these may be associated with the deeds of Alexander, or
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Nebuchadnezzar, or Pharoah, or Moses, or some other great character, regard them only as common stone; but we of the United States, to whom antiquity is a novelty, look upon these things with a curiosity amounting almost to reverence. When I found out that Semiramis had been here; when they showed me a building, which, by its inscription, claimed to be the tomb of Mordecai and Esther; when I saw a heap of ruins, said to be the sepulchres of the Median kings, and among them, Arphaxad of the Scriptures; when I learned that the place had been besieged and taken by Nebuchadnezzar; all my American readers will readily understand that, simple and common as was my early education, I felt a profound interest in wandering about and looking at the vestiges of this curious city.
Hamadan may, indeed, be regarded as one of the most wonderful places in the world, on account of its antiquity, and its history. It is, perhaps, as ancient as Babylon or Nineveh. Like them, it has been the capital of many successive empires and kingdoms; like them, it has been often besieged, taken, and destroyed; but, unlike them, it has always arisen from its ruins. While Babylon and Nineveh have been buried and almost forgotten, for more than a thousand years, Hamadan has existed, and even in modern times has been successively conquered by Othman, Genghis Khan, Timour, Hussein, Ahmed, and Nadir Shah. Where is there another city, that for four thousand years, is known to have been the favorite residence of kings? The history of this place reaches back to early Bible times, and coming down to the present day, would fill a volume, presenting, perhaps, a more extraordinary gallery of portraits than were ever before collected into one picture.
However interesting it might have been to have pored over the ruins of Hamadan, I stayed there only two days. Our caravan then took up its line of march, and soon reached Kermanshah, which is a place of some note, having thirty thousand inhabitants. It is the capital of a province, and the beglerbeg, or governor, is a Persian prince. Six miles to the east, are the celebrated excavations and sculptures of Taki Bortan. Here, an arch sixty feet high, twenty feet deep, and twenty-four feet wide, is cut in the solid rock. Above and around are gigantic figures, carved on the face of the rock, and executed in an admirable manner. These stupendous works are imputed to Semiramis. Is it not a strange country, where one is constantly meeting with works executed by those who lived four thousand years ago?
We found this place in a thriving condition, and, in that respect, different from most other cities of Persia, for nearly all are on the sites of ancient towns, which have decayed, leaving behind their ghastly ruins, to show the contrast between former prosperity and present degradation. We remained here, however, but a single day, to rest our beasts. In four days after leaving Kermanshah, we reached Bagdad--our
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whole journey of nearly four hundred miles having been performed in about fifteen days.
Everybody has heard of Bagdad, the capital of the Saracen caliphs, or emperors, and the residence of Haroun al Raschid, who figures so largely in the amusing stories of the Arabian Nights; but everybody has not seen it, or even read about it, aa it now is. I must, therefore, give a brief account of it.
It stands on both sides of the river Tigris--the greater part of the city being on the eastern bank. The stream is crossed by a bridge of planks, resting on boats, anchored side by side. The width of the river is about two hundred yards. It is an insignificant looking stream for one so famous--for it must be remembered that it has been renowned from the days when Nineveh began to rise along its borders.
The city is now a miserable skeleton of what it was a thousand years ago, in the time of the splendid caliphs Haroun, Almamoun, and others. Its population does not exceed seventy or eighty thousand; the wall which encompasses it is five miles in circuit. This is of mud and brick, and at intervals is banked with towers: some of them, built by the caliphs, are of surprising magnitude.
Most of the streets are dark and narrow. In many of them, two persons can hardly pass each other. There are several bazaars, which are very extensive, and supplied with a great variety of merchandise, but they are all destitute of beauty. Few of the ancient buildings remain, yet there are enough to show the magnificence of the place in the time of its glory. The palace of the caliphs, so superb that one can hardly conceive its olden beauty and splendor, has totally disappeared. Among the existing relics of former glory, is the tomb of Zobeida, the most beloved of the wives of Haroun al Raschid, with the gate of the Talisman--both exquisite specimens of Saracenic skill and taste.
Bagdad is in what is generally called Kurdistan, the site of the ancient empire of Assyria. To the west of it lies Mesopotamia, the ancient Babylonia or Chaldea. These two countries, lying between the Koordedan mountains on the east, and the desert of Arabia on the west, comprise a territory of one hundred thousand square miles--and one of the finest valleys in the world. Here the first families, after the flood, began to swell into nations. Here were Babel, and Babylon, and Nineveh, and here are their remains, buried beneath heaps of soil, having been hidden from the eye of man for ages. There is not on the globe, perhaps, a finer region. Here, no doubt, was the garden of Eden--and here, we know, was the great nursery of mankind in the infant days of our race. It was, no doubt, chosen by the Creator, on account of its fertility, as the place where the human family should multiply and increase, and replenish the earth. And what is it now? "The mighty cities of Babylon, and Nineveh, and Seleucia, and Ctesiphon, have crumbled into dust. The humble tent of the Arab, occupies the spot formerly adorned with the palaces of kings, and his flocks pro-
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cure but a scanty pittance of food amid the fallen fragments of ancient magnificence. The banks of the Euphrates, and the Tigris, once so prolific, are, for the most part, covered with thickets of brushwood; and the interior of the province, which was traversed and fertilized by innumerable canals, is destitute of either inhabitants or vegetation."
The cause of all this degradation is the government, for this fine region, like Asia Minor, Syria, and other countries renowned in history, and blessed by nature, has long been subject to the crushing sway of Turkey. "No grass grows beneath the hoof of the Sultan's horse," is a proverb, the truth of which is written wherever the mosque and the harem are known. Nothing is more certain than that the Turks are a degenerate race, incapable of improvement themselves, and always debasing those who have the misfortune to fall under their dominion. Even Bagdad, which, in the first flush of Saracen glory, attained an almost unexampled pitch of splendor, refinement, and civilization, has gradually sunk lower and lower, under the Turkish government. Degradation, physical and moral, is written in the very faces of the population--for never, any where on earth, have I seen so ugly a people, at once so mean in aspect and expression!
Although the trade of Bagdad has declined, and is still declining, the bazaars present scenes of considerable activity. Crowds of camels are seen in the squares, and along the stalls for merchandise. There are dealers from Persia, Hindostan, Tartary, Arabia, Armenia, Constantinople, and various parts of Syria. Gold brocade, rich silks, sumptuous carpets, and magnificent shawls, are displayed among spices of all kinds, gall nuts, sugar, pepper, sandal wood, cutlery, leather, otto of roses, saffron, velvets, and tamarisk. The scene presented is picturesque, for although there is a certain uniformity in the general outline of Asiatic costumes, there is still a good deal of contrast, and variety of form and color, in the details of the dress, among these traders gathered from the four winds.
The air and manner of the merchants differs in a singular degree from those of our Christian cities. Instead of the brisk, acquisitive, eager conduct of our traders, these Asiatics have all the gravity, quiet, and submissiveness of a Chinese idol. The shops, or stalls, are ranged in rows. In one of them a dealer in silks, for instance, seats himself upon a cushion, with his legs under him. To aid his digestion, and to pass the time, he perhaps solaces himself with a pipe, in which he either smokes tobacco or opium. If any one comes to look at his goods, he merely replies to questions; he probably does not stir from his seat. He seems sublimely indifferent as to whether his wares be purchased or not. A question and an answer are usually sufficient for the longest bargain. There is but one price, and of course there is no chaffering.
I adopted the same plan as the rest. I hired a small stall, put a sample of my silk, pipe sticks, and lamb skins in the
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window, and squatted upon my cushion. Like a patient fisherman I waited three days, with only here or there a nibble: the fourth I had a strong bite, sold my whole stock, and set out immediately on my return to far Teheran.
I had gone about half the journey, when I saw a sudden agitation in the caravan. The people leaped to the ground and fell with their faces to the earth. The camels kneeled and thrust their noses close to the ground. I asked for explanation, and the man of whom I inquired, pointed across the plain before us. I then saw a cloud of sand, agitated like boiling water. It came rolling toward us with a sound like that of a heavy fall of rain. Before I could leap from my camel, I was smitten with a burning wind, which took away my breath, and I fell senseless to the earth.
S. G. G.