The
Former City Was Founded By Sultana Zobeide, Wife Of The Celebrated
Haroun-Al-Raschid.
Ransacked and destroyed by the Afghans in the
eighteenth century, it was again restored, or rather rebuilt, by Haji
Husein Khan.
Perhaps the most interesting thing the city contains is
a leaning minaret which dates from the thirteenth century. It is
ascended by a rickety spiral staircase. From here, not so many years
ago, it was the custom to execute adulterous wives. The husband,
accompanied by his relations, forced his unfaithful spouse to the top
of the tower and pushed her over the side (there is no balustrade),
to be dashed to pieces on stone flags about a hundred and thirty feet
below.
"Pas de chance, monsieur," was Gerome's greeting as I entered the
caravanserai. "The Koudoum Pass is blocked with snow, and almost
impassable. What is to be done?" Mature deliberation brought but one
solution to the question: Start in the morning, and risk it. "It
cannot be worse than the Kharzan, anyhow," said Gerome, cheerfully, as
we rode out of Kashan next day, past the moated mud walls, forty feet
high, that at one time made this city almost impregnable. I more than
once during the morning, however, doubted whether we had done right in
leaving our comfortable quarters at the caravanserai to embark on this
uncertain, not to say dangerous, journey.
Twenty-nine farsakhs still lay between us and Ispahan; but, once past
the Khurood Pass (which lies about seven farsakhs from Kashan), all
would be plain sailing. The summit of the pass is about seven thousand
feet above sea-level. Its valleys are, in summer, green and fertile,
but during the winter are frequently rendered impassable by the deep
snow, as was now the case. Khurood itself is a village of some size
and importance, built on the slope of the mountain, and here, by
advice of the villagers, we rested for the night. "It will take you at
least a day to get to Bideshk," said the postmaster - "that is, if you
are going to attempt it."
The ride from Kashan had been pleasant enough. No snow was yet
visible, save in the ravines, and the extreme summits of a chain of
low rocky hills, of which we commenced the ascent a couple of hours
or so after leaving Kashan. Half-way up, however, it became more
difficult, the path being covered in places with a thick coating of
ice - a foretaste of the pleasures before us. Towards the summit of the
mountain is an artificial lake, formed by a strong dyke, or bank of
stonework, which intercepts and collects the mountain-streams and
melted snows - a huge reservoir, whence the water is let off to
irrigate the distant low plains of Kashan, and, indeed, to supply the
city itself. The waters of this lake, about fifteen feet deep, were
clear as crystal, the bottom and sides being cemented.
This reservoir was constructed by order of Shah Abbas, who seems to
have been one of the wisest and best rulers this unfortunate country
has ever had, for he has certainly done more for his country
than Nasr-oo-din or any of his stock are likely to. Pass a finer
caravanserai than usual, travel a better road, cross a finer bridge,
and interrogate your Shagird as to its history, and you will
invariably receive the answer, "Shah Abbas." At the village of
Khurood, a huge caravanserai (his work) lies in ruins, having been
destroyed seven or eight years ago by an earthquake. Several persons
were killed, the shock occurring at night-time, when the inmates were
asleep.
The post-house at Khurood was cold, filthy, and swarmed with rats - an
animal for which I have always had an especial aversion. Towards
midnight a Persian gentleman arrived from Kashan - a mild,
benign-looking individual, with a grey moustache and large blue
spectacles. The new-comer, who spoke a little French, begged to be
allowed to join us on the morrow, as he was in a hurry to get to
Ispahan. Notwithstanding Gerome's protestations, I had not the heart
to refuse. He looked so miserable and helpless, and indeed was, as
I discovered too late next day. Our new acquaintance then suggested
sending for wine, to drink to the success of our journey. At this
suggestion Gerome woke up; and seeing that, in my case, the rats had
successfully murdered sleep, I gladly agreed to anything that would
make the time pass till daylight. A couple of bottles were then
produced by the postmaster; but it was mawkish stuff, as sweet as
syrup, and quite flavourless. Gerome and the Persian, however, did
not leave a drop, and before they had finished the second bottle were
sworn friends. Although wine is forbidden by the Mohammedan faith, it
is largely indulged in, in secret, by Persians of the upper class. I
never met, however, a follower of the Prophet so open about it as
our friend at Khurood. The wine here was from Ispahan, and cost,
the Persian told us, about sixpence a quart bottle, and was, in my
opinion, dear at that. Shiraz wine is perhaps the best in Persia. It
is white, and, though very sweet when new, develops, if kept for three
or four years, a dry nutty flavour like sherry. This, however, does
not last long, but gives place in a few months to a taste unpleasantly
like sweet spirits of nitre, which renders the wine undrinkable.
With proper appliances the country would no doubt produce excellent
vintages, but at present the production of wine in Persia is a
distinct failure.
Leaving at 8 a.m., we managed to reach the summit of the Koudoum by
two o'clock next day, when we halted to give the horses a rest, and
get a mouthful of food. Our Persian friend had returned to Koudoum
after the first half-mile, during which he managed to get three falls,
for the poor man had no notion of riding or keeping a horse on its
legs.
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