Curious to see something of my old friends the Persians, I called with Haji Wali upon one Mirza Husayn, who by virtue of his dignity as “Shahbandar[FN#25]” (he calls himself “Consul-General"), ranks with the dozen little quasi-diplomatic kings of Cairo.  He suspends over his lofty gate a sign-board in which the Lion and the Sun (Iran’s proud ensign) are by some Egyptian limner’s art metamorphosed into a preternatural tabby cat grasping a scimitar, with the jolly fat face of a “gay” young lady, curls and all complete, resting fondly upon her pet’s concave back.  This high dignitary’s reception room was a court-yard sub dio:  fronting the door were benches and cushions composing the Sadr or high place, with the parallel rows of Diwans spread down the less dignified sides, and a line of naked boards, the lowest seats, ranged along the door-wall.  In the middle stood three little tables supporting three huge lanterns-as is their size so is the owner’s dignity-each of which contained three of the largest spermaceti candles.

The Haji and I entering took our seats upon the side benches with humility, and exchanged salutations with the great man on the Sadr.  When the Darbar or levee was full, in stalked the Mirza, and all arose as he calmly divested himself of his shoes; and with all due

[p.87]solemnity ascended his proper cushion.  He is a short, thin man about thirty-five, with regular features and the usual preposterous lamb-skin cap and beard, two peaked black cones at least four feet in length, measured from the tips, resting on a slender basement of pale yellow face.  After a quarter of an hour of ceremonies, polite mutterings and low bendings with the right hand on the left breast, the Mirza’s pipe was handed to him first, in token of his dignity-at Teheran he was probably an under-clerk in some government office.  In due time we were all served with Kaliuns[FN#26] (Persian hookahs) and coffee by the servants, who made royal conges whenever they passed the great man; and more than once the janissary, in dignity of belt and crooked sabre, entered the court to quicken our awe.

The conversation was the usual Oriental thing.  It is, for instance, understood that you have seen strange things in strange lands.

“Voyaging-is-victory,” quotes the Mirza; the quotation is a hackneyed one, but it steps forth majestic as to pause and emphasis.

“Verily,” you reply with equal ponderousness of pronunciation and novelty of citation, “in leaving home one learns life, yet a journey is a bit of Jahannam.”

Or if you are a physician the “lieu commun” will be,
“Little-learn’d doctors the body destroy: 
Little-learn’d parsons the soul destroy.”

To which you will make answer, if you would pass for a man of belles lettres, by the well-known lines,

“Of a truth, the physician hath power with drugs,
Which, long as the patient hath life, may relieve him;
But the tale of our days being duly told,
The doctor is daft, and his drugs deceive him.”