CHAPTER XXI SHIRAZ, THE HOME OF THE PERSIAN POETS 'There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; The bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone in the bloom of the year is the nightingale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer?' SHIRAZ lies about forty miles south of Persepolis, but the two stages of the journey are not easy, so I arranged to make my start from the desolate and ruined halls of the Achæmenians in time to reach the native city of Hafiz and Saadi before nightfall. The first relay of horses for the journey I found good, which proved an omen for the second; and a series of long and hard gallops, with only occasional halts to adjust the load on the pack-horse, brought my little cavalcade in two hours to the end of the hill-girt marshy plain of Mervdasht. At no great distance from this point the road crosses a bridge over 'Bendemeer's stream.' This watercourse owes its name Band-i Amir, Dam of the Amir,' to an arched causeway constructed by Azad ad-Daulah, who governed Fars in the tenth century, and who also adorned the banks of the river at various places with parks and palaces.1 The latter, unfortunately, have vanished generations ago. A few miles beyond the Bendemeer bridge the village of Zargan, or Zergun, lies nestled at the foot of a mountain, where 1 See Yakut, pp. 313, 480. the chāpār khānah is located, and here a change of horses may be obtained. As the weather was warm the post-quarters at the time had been moved out on the main trail in the plain and were lodged in a couple of small tents, so I was saved the extra ride to the halting-place. An unexpected delay, however, occurred. At the moment when we were about to change mounts the horses stampeded and scampered away a mile or more before the muleteer could recapture them. Meanwhile we had time to rest and console ourselves for the loss of time with a good glass of tea. The half hour passed quickly in taking notes of the surroundings and in observing the different types among the natives, for the inhabitants of Farsistan impressed me as being the handsomest Persians I had seen. I was interested also in the primitive tankards of goatskin in which the water for the tea was brought. These rude vessels were made from the undressed hide of a goat, with the animal's hair left on the outside and the skin drawn tightly around a wooden rim and a circular board bottom so as to form a bucket, while three sticks were used as fastenings to give firmness to the whole and as props for the uncouth vessel to stand upon. I presume it was from tankards such as these that the hardy soldiers of Cyrus used to drink, before luxury taught them the use of silver beakers and the accompanying vices which sapped away the vigor that had conquered kingdoms. Zergun remains clear in my memory because of an accident to the postilion, who was seriously kicked, on the return journey, by my pack-horse, a vicious stallion, as most of the Persian horses are. At first I thought that the man's leg was broken, but on examining the wound I found that the kneecap was not shattered, though I fear that the injury to the bone may have proved in some way a permanent one. After leaving Zergun the hard stage of the road began. Nature has thrown up a barrier on the north to protect the approach to her chosen city of Shiraz, or perhaps to set bounds to the too enthusiastic admiration that might be bestowed upon |