On the 18th of February, just before midnight, we rode into Shiraz.  The approach to the city lying before us, white and still in the moonlight, through cypress-groves and sweet-smelling gardens, gave me a favourable impression, which a daylight inspection only served to increase.  Shiraz is the pleasantest reminiscence I retain of the ride through Persia.

[Footnote A:  Small copper money.]

CHAPTER VIII.

SHIRAZ—­BUSHIRE.

  “The gardens of pleasure where reddens the rose,
  And the scent of the cedar is faint on the air.” 
  OWEN MEREDITH.

Shiraz stands in a plain twenty-five miles long by twelve broad, surrounded by steep and bare limestone mountains.  The latter alone recall the desert waste beyond; for the Plain of Shiraz is fertile, well cultivated, and dotted over with prosperous-looking villages and gardens.  Scarcely a foot of ground is wasted by the industrious inhabitants of this happy valley, save round the shores of the Denia-el-Memek, a huge salt lake some miles distant, where the sun-baked, briny soil renders cultivation of any kind impossible.

Were it not for its surroundings—­the green and smiling plains of wheat, barley, and Indian corn; the clusters of pretty sunlit villages; the long cypress-avenues; and last, but not least, the quiet shady gardens, with rose and jasmine bowers, and marble fountains which have been famous from time immemorial—­Shiraz would not be what it now is, the most picturesque city in Persia.

Although over four miles in circumference, the city itself has a squalid, shabby appearance, not improved by the dilapidated ramparts of dried mud which surround it.  Founded A.D. 695, Shiraz reached its zenith under Kerim Khan in the middle of the eighteenth century, since when it has slowly but steadily declined to its present condition.  The buildings themselves are evidence of the apathy reigning among the Shirazis.  Incessant earthquakes destroy whole streets of houses, but no one takes the trouble to rebuild them, and the population was once nearly double what it now is—­40,000.

There are six gates, five of which are gradually crumbling away.  The sixth, or Ispahan Gate, is the only one with any attempt at architecture, and is crenellated and ornamented with blue and yellow tile-work.  A mean, poor-looking bazaar, narrow tortuous streets, knee-deep in dust or mud, as the case may be, and squalid, filthy houses, form a striking contrast to the broad, well-kept avenues, gilded domes, and beautiful gardens which encircle the city.  Shiraz has fifteen large mosques and several smaller ones, but the people are as fanatical as those of Teheran are the reverse.  Gerome, who had a singular capacity for getting into mischief, entered one of these places of worship, and was caught red-handed by an old moullah in charge.  Half the little Russian’s life having been spent among Mohammedans, he quickly recited a few verses