Each Corpse Was In A Separate Room - A Plain Whitewashed
Compartment, With A Square Brick Edifice In The Centre Containing The
Body.
Some of the catafalques were spread with white table-cloths,
flowers, candles, fruit, and biscuits, which the friends and relations
(mostly women and children) of the defunct were discussing in anything
but a mournful manner.
A visit to a departed one's grave is generally
an excuse for a picnic in Persia.
Hard by the tomb of Hafiz is a garden, one of many of the kind around
Shiraz. It is called "The Garden of the Seven Sleepers," and is much
frequented in summer by Shirazis of both sexes. A small open kiosk, in
shape something like a theatre proscenium, stands in the centre, its
outside walls completely hidden by rose and jasmine bushes. Inside
all is gold moulding, light blue, green, and vermilion. A dome of
looking-glass reflects the tesselated floor. Strangely enough, this
garish mixture of colour does not offend the eye, toned down as it is
by the everlasting twilight shed over the mimic palace and garden by
overhanging branches of cypress and yew. An expanse of smooth-shaven
lawn, white beds of lily and narcissus, marble tanks bubbling over
with clear, cold water, and gravelled paths winding in and out of the
trees to where, a hundred yards or so distant, a sunk fence divides
the garden from a piece of ground two or three acres in extent, - a
perfect jungle of trees, shrubs, and flowers.
Here, from about 4 p.m. till long after sunset, you may see the
Shirazi taking his rest, undisturbed save for the ripple of running
water, the sighing of the breeze through the branches, and croon of
the pigeons overhead. Now and again the tinkle of caravan-bells breaks
in upon his meditations, or the click-click of the attendant's sandals
as he crosses the tiled floor with sherbet, coffee, or kalyan; but
the interruption is brief. A few moments, and silence again reigns
supreme - the perfection of rest, the acme of _Dolce far niente._ From
here my way usually lay homewards, through the dusky twilight, past
the city gates and along the now deserted plain. A limestone hill to
the south of Shiraz bears an extraordinary resemblance to the head of
a man in profile. Towards sunset the likeness was startling, and the
nose, chin, and mouth as delicately formed as if chiselled by the
tools of a sculptor. On fine, still evenings, parties of people would
sometimes sit out on the plain till long after dark, conversing,
eating sweetmeats, and tea-drinking, till the stars appeared, and the
white fever mist, gathering round the ramparts, hid the city from
view. Shiraz has been called the "Paris of Persia," from the cheerful,
sociable character of its people as compared with other Persian
cities; also, perhaps, partly from the beauty and coquetry (to use no
other term) of its women.
I was enabled, thanks to my host, to glean some interesting facts
concerning the latter, many European ladies having, from time to
time, resided in Shiraz, and, obtaining access to the "anderoon," had
afterwards given Mr. F - - the benefit of their observations.
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