caught PERSIA PAST AND CHAPTER I EN ROUTE FOR THE LAND OF THE LION AND THE SUN 'I am bound To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage.' A Comedy of Errors, 4. 1. 3. It was at the end of January, 1903, that I received leave of absence from Columbia University for half a year to enable me to visit the Orient again. The previous voyage had been to India and Ceylon, two years before; my present goal was Persia and Central Asia. The purpose of my journey was antiquarian study and scholarly research, especially with regard to Zoroaster and the ancient faith of the Magi, for I had come early under the spell of those Wise Men from the East and had long felt the charm drawing me toward the Province of the Sun; but I hoped also to contribute something to our knowledge of Persia's present, as well as past, and to a better understanding of the relations existing between them. My plan was to traverse as much of the territory known to Zoroaster as I could, including Transcaspia and Turkistan, and to visit the places most celebrated in the history of Persia. The route which I marked in advance on the map, and was able to accomplish, carried me from the Caucasus on the north nearly to the Persian Gulf on the south, thence to Yezd in the central desert and back northward to Teheran and the Caspian Sea. Crossing this, I continued the journey into the heart of Asia, to Merv, Bokhara, and Samarkand. to the Caspian more than distance had first to be covered The first four thousand miles of It is a far cry from Newseven thousand miles - but before the real journey bega. the trip by steamer and rail were uneventful. At Berlin I stayed a few days to see my teacher, Professor Karl F. Geldner, whose writings first inspired me with an interest in Persia, and to make some visits among old friends, as well as calls upon officials, before starting on my forty-eight-hour journey to St. Petersburg, where I found my friend and former pupil Mr. Montgomery Schuyler, Jr., then a secretary at the American Embassy. I had brought with me official letters of recommendation from Washington to St. Petersburg, as well as to Teheran and Tabriz, which proved an open sesame to the Ministers of State, and I shall not forget the kindness of the various official representatives, Russian and American, at the capital of the Tsar. Besides this I met with courtesies from scholar friends both there and at Moscow; they had not only been in Persia, but were well acquainted with Transcaspia and Turkistan and could give valuable suggestions for the journey. At Moscow, rich in historic memories, I had an excellent opportunity to inspect the interesting Verestchagin collection of paintings in the Tretiakoff Gallery. This collection is particularly rich in paintings which illustrate Central Asian life, and they gave me a glimpse in advance of the scenes which I should see at Merv, Bokhara, and Samarkand. After a day's stay I took the weekly train de luxe bound southward toward the Caucasus, the Caspian, and the highway to Persia. For three full days the train rolled on through the steppecountry, level, and uninteresting when covered with snow. The stops were infrequent but long, and I welcomed each time the third of the set of bell signals which the Russian railways employ at their stations, because it was a sign for the journey to be resumed toward the goal I had in view. At Vladikavkas, on the morning of the fourth day — it was THROUGH RUSSIA TO THE CASPIAN 3 Thursday, I remember - I caught my first sight of the giant barrier of the Caucasus towering against a cloudy sky and frowning down on the white plain beneath. Its beetling cliffs were bare of snow in places, and here and there a deep gorge or ravine looked like the scar of some Titan wound upon its sullen face. The lonely scene grew in impressive grandeur as the day wore on. The old myth of Prometheus rose before my imagination. Far in the distance I could picture the desolate vulture-peak where the demigod lay chained in fetters because he had stolen fire from heaven as a boon for men. Well might the suffering benefactor of mankind have longed for the sun to rise and dispel the hoar frost at dawn,' or, when scorched by the heat and torn by the ravening bird, have yearned for 'starry-kirtled night to hide day's sheen.'1 I could hear faint echoes of the dialogue with Io and mutterings of the Titan's curse against the wrath of Zeus. Little did I dream when I read Prometheus in college days that I should ever see the place where Eschylus had laid his tragic scene. The streams rushing from the mountains and the flocks of sheep huddled together in the open places of the snow recalled to my mind the story of Colchis and the Golden Fleece. I learned en route that tradition tells how the shepherds of by-gone days were wont to find grains of gold clinging to the new-shorn fleece when they lifted it from the stream where it was washed, because the mountain torrent had left a golden deposit amid the woolly strands. The legend of the rich reward seems not to be quite forgotten. For a moment, Greek mythology, classic reminiscences, and thoughts of college days made me forget that the land of my quest was Iran, not Hellas, and that I was seemingly deserting the Orient for Greece. I had to recall myself once more to the East. All day the railway skirted the great plain beneath the Caucasus, which was never more than twenty miles distant. 1 Eschylus, Prometheus Bound, 20 seq. The scenery at this time of the year was barren and dreary. Hardly a trace of vegetation was visible except where the wind had blown a space bare in the snow and revealed a possible. promise of verdure when spring should come. Flocks of sheep and goats were to be seen wherever a bit of fodder could be found, and scant herds of rugged cattle lounged disconsolately about. I was interested in watching the changes in the types of the people as the journey progressed. Some of the natives represented to perfection the type of the Scythian shepherd in antiquity; they wore huge sheepskin coats and had their feet wrapped in coarse bagging which was lashed about the legs with thongs; their heads were covered with a cap of heavy fur which was almost indistinguishable from the shock of hair and heavy beard. A few looked a little more modern because of the long rifle with which they stood guard over their flocks. Most of them had the shambling gait of the East and the Oriental fashion of squatting, which was particularly noticeable around the railway stations. All of them had dark complexions which looked weather-beaten and coarse. The Iranian type of features grew more and more pronounced as the Caspian was approached, and I could recognize distinct likenesses to the Pathans and Waziris, those Afghan tribesmen of Iranian blood, whom I had seen in the Khaiber Pass two years before. It is clear that Iran begins ethnologically with the Caucasus and the Caspian, the historic borderland between Europe and Asia, although the Russian frontier line to-day has encroached a hundred or two miles over the old Persian border. Darkness had fallen when the train arrived at Petrorvsk, but through the gloom I could catch sight of the white waves of the Caspian lashed into foam by the wintry winds. Before daylight the next morning, Friday, March 6, I had reached Baku. Instead of proceeding thence across the Caspian to Teheran, which would have been more convenient in many ways, I decided to continue the journey to Tiflis in order to |