Eunuch Agha-Mohammad-shah spent his life like Napoleon, waging wars.
Once, when he had conquered a town, the eunuch ordered scales to be set up by the city gates.
The scales were for weighing gouged eyes: he had ordered the gouging-out of the eyes of all the men in the city. In the town of Astrabad, he took into his court his young nephew, Fat’h-Ali.
When Fat’h-Ali grew up, the shah made him the ruler of Fars and declared Tehran the new capital. In 1796, when at last the eunuch entered Shusha to conquer Georgia, two of his servants quarreled. Agha Mohammad ordered both to be executed. But they did not want to die. In the middle of the night, they stole into his bedroom and stabbed him with their daggers.
Having taken the opportunity to murder his brother, Fat’h-Ali-shah, whom his eunuch uncle had affectionately nicknamed Baba-Khan, took over the Persian throne.
The shah’s elder son, Muhammad-Vali-Mirza, was not of pure blood—his mother was a Christian. Ermolov sent an envoy to him and promised his support: Muhammad-Vali-Mirza died in 1820.
The shah’s third son, Abbas Mirza, who had conquered Azerbaijan and had his seat in the capital city of Tabriz, was declared heir, shah-zade, veliagd, even though the second son, Hussein-Ali-mirza, the governor of Shiraz, a lecher and a loafer, was still alive.
This is how the war with Russia started.
2
How did the war with Russia start?
Over the thrones, Persian and Russian.
In 1817, when the Gulistan Treaty was being concluded, Ermolov denied Abbas Mirza the status of heir. Emperor Alexander I, who was privy to the circumstances of his own father’s death and distrustful of his brothers, knew the essence of the matter. He had no desire to take part in Persian slaughter on behalf of any prince, although the ulterior considerations kept nagging him—that in the ensuing shambles, “certain Persian territories, essential to Russia, could be unobtrusively annexed.”
Alexander waited for the old Fat’h-Ali to die; Fat’h-Ali waited for his “uncle, the sublime Alexander” to die. Alexander died first. Fat’h-Ali had absolutely no intention of dying.
Shah-zade Abbas Mirza learned that Shah-zade Constantine’s troops were fighting the troops of Shah-zade Nicholas.
And when, after Nicholas succeeded to the throne, Abbas Mirza was informed that Shah-zade Constantine had assembled his troops in Warsaw and that an internecine struggle was taking place in Russia, he made up his mind. Abbas Mirza immediately sent a courier to Tehran and ordered the army to be ready to mobilize.
But what could have made him decide on war?
3
There is always a third party, silently jubilant.
England did not deny Abbas his status of heir. Alexander, the juggler of Europe, perfectly aware of all the moves of the balancing act, wrote in his brief to Ermolov as early as 1817: “England will naturally wish the aims and intentions of the Persian government to be concentrated entirely on her northern neighbor, and she will foment suspicions against us so as to distract the Persians’ attention from what is happening south of her borders.”
England was thinking not of Persia, but of India. Alexander was not thinking of Persia, but of the Caucasus. Persia in itself was a tattered scrap of paper, but that scrap of paper was a banknote.
Alexander wrote: “It is imperative to curb the ascendancy of English influence in Persia, to weaken it covertly and finally to put an end to it altogether.” The emperor was fond of and good at “putting an end to things covertly.” He declined the English mediation at the conclusion of the Treaty of Gulistan. But the English, who were not present at its signing, had “actively participated in it,” as even Nesselrode observed.
And when the Turkmenchai Treaty was being concluded—in Russia’s favor—Paskevich and Griboedov could not do without the mediation of the English, and Colonel Macdonald, as an old friend, used his own authority to ensure Persia’s timely payment to Russia of her indemnity.
Alexander’s “inconspicuous” actions were, in essence, extremely conspicuous.
England did not even have its own mission: there was only a humble legation of the East India Company.
Colonel Macdonald’s base was in Tabriz, close to Abbas, and Dr. McNeill was placed in Tehran.
In 1826, the Russian chargé d’affaires Mazarovich reported to Ermolov in passing, among other things: “The only English produce available at the Persian bazaars are: fabrics, sugar, and various goods from India.”
When Abbas Mirza introduced his Peter the Great–style reforms—regular sarbazes, infantry—it just so happened that at his disposal, there turned out to be Major Monteith, who was in the British service; Captain Hart, who was given command of the entire infantry; the English Lieutenant Shea, who for reasons unknown had been expelled from Petersburg after December 14; and Lieutenant George Willock, the brother of the former ambassador to Persia. As early as 1809, the English ousted from Tabriz Napoleon’s General Gardane and his officers—Abbas Mirza’s first military instructors. France was now represented only by the gunner Bernardi, a lieutenant who had become an officer during the Hundred Days before fleeing France, and the freebooter Semino.
Russia was represented by Samson.
Only the English served their homeland.
Mazarovich wrote about them: “They are here what Greek captains were for the satraps of Asia Minor in the days of Pausanias.”1
Ermolov put it himself more harshly: “all these mercenary bastards.” He had a good nose—and a meaty one at that—for what was going on.
Long before the campaign, he had written: “England will use her strong influence to incite a war, in order to divert Persia’s attention from the unrest in India. England’s greatest fear is that our friendly ties with Persia would make her turn her attention to the actions of the English.”
And more than ten years before the war, he visited Persia and took a close, mistrustful look at the mechanism of English politics. He wrote that by setting up a regular army in Persia, the English presented themselves as its only saviors. “And the Persians are too stupid to see that this is done not for their protection, but in order to have the means of selling them the poorest-quality fabrics and substandard weapons at a favorable price. And while setting up foundries and building fortresses, the English do whatever they can to prevent the Persians from establishing their own textile, silk, and paper factories. They allow them no opportunities to refine sugar, which they import in abundance from India every year for a million chervon. In other words, they have a complete stranglehold on the trade, and, while presenting their actions in an honorable light, base all their actions on the rule of usury; that is, on the laws of honor characteristic of mercantile nations.” And he took particular delight in reporting how, in order to please the heir Abbas, the English wore sheepskin hats and “made no use of chairs,” sitting instead on rugs with their legs crossed, and they entered his chambers with no boots on, wearing only socks; and he concluded: “Consequently, the gentlemen merchants have flung in their honor along with the interest rate, certainly a profitable one. I am not sure they won’t also include corporal punishment.”
And on the eve of the war, it was reported to Ermolov:
“England has undertaken to pay Persia annually 200 thousand tumen, on condition she wages war against Russia.”
And when the war was already under way, Madatov reported:
“Up to 200 loads of English weapons have been brought to Isfahan for the troops of Abbas Mirza, and the shah’s son-in-law, Qasim-Khan, has traveled through Isfahan to the English in the guise of an envoy.”
Old Ermolov’s marginal comment on the message was: “Very likely.”
Very likely, it was not about Shah-zade Abbas, nor even Shah-zade Constantine, but rather the big game was taking place, and the stakes were high.
4
When Napoleon, wearing a bearskin coat, fled through Poland, he danced mazurkas with Polish ladies and, having learned that the Poles liked him, gave a wh
istle and said: “The war is not yet over.”
Abbas Mirza is a black-bearded, forty-year-old man with a light dancing gait. He has ruined Persia through his unfortunate war. The European courts are informed that he has exhausted himself to the point of making himself ill and, a little later, that his illness is caused by his amorous affairs and he has made a full recovery.
The light and tripping walk displays the elegance with which the Persians face adversity.
He has not inherited many character traits from the ferocious eunuch.
A light movement of the tender hand, a smile to his wives, a smile to the English, a smile to the Russians.
And that wild, time-honored fury on the battlefield that is called courage.
And generosity to those dark, lily-white, and pink-skinned wives, of whom his recollections are somewhat blurred, but who remain in his body for the rest of the day. The heir apparent is the father to thirty children.
And sudden rages when his thin nostrils widen at the mere mention of his brothers.
Persia has surrendered, but Abbas does not. He has secret plans; each day is different with him. He loses heart in a flash and recovers just as quickly.
It is hot in Tabriz, and the shah-zade has moved to a country residence, Bagi shumal—the Northern Garden. The northerly name itself evokes coolness.
A rectangle of swimming pool is in front of the house, and paths lead away from it.
The walls of the chamber are decorated with the fragments of a mirror, and a Persian brush has portrayed women not entirely according to the law of Allah.
A portrait of Napoleon above the door.
And the Persian equivalent of furniture—rugs.
“Has the artist brought the portrait of the Russian tsar yet?”
“Pearl of the shah’s sea, he is daubing it.”
“I’ll have it hung over the door to the anderun. Right opposite Napoleon. Has Mirza Taghi arrived?”
“He is waiting.”
A conversation with Mirza Taghi begins, not at all about what Mirza Taghi has come for but about slaughtered goats, rugs, robes, and rings. Mirza Taghi has brought them as a gift to Abbas.
And Abbas is yearning to feel them; he is yearning to put one of the rings on his finger and to sit down on a new rug.
But he is silent, observing the etiquette, tashahhus.
And then he says in passing:
“Mirza Taghi, I forget what price you sell my grain at?”
“An abbas for a batman.”
“You sell it too cheaply. Two abbas for a batman. I was told that this is the right price.”
He was told nothing of the sort. But he is in dire need of money. Abbas trades in grain: he sells it to the hungry populace.
Mirza Taghi retreats from the shah-zade with his back to the door.
He is silent; such is tashahhus.
The women on the windows are so shapely. Napoleon’s picture is less of a success. Abbas sends for the eunuch.
A short and self-important eunuch who looks like a granny.
“How does Amie-Begium feel today?”
“Happy enough.”
“Get Fakhr-Djan-Khanum and Maryam-Khanum ready for me.”
“They’ll be immaculate, Shadow of the Shah, but Maryam-Khanum is still unwell.”
“Has Dr. McNeill arrived?”
“He is expected any day now.”
“Hakim-bashi should treat her better. Call the scribe and come later, after he’s gone.”
The scribe writes a note in French to Colonel Macdonald.
Would it be possible for Colonel Macdonald and his spouse to share their furniture and quarters with the arriving Russian minister, since, unfortunately, the palace that had been prepared for him is practically bare? The colonel may wish to consider this a huge personal favor to Abbas.
Abbas signs the note:
Ma reconnaissance et ma sincère amitié vous sont acquises à jamais.2
And attaches a diamond stamp with the Persian words:
Pearl of the Shah’s sea, Abbas.
The Pearl of the Shah’s Sea knows perfectly well what he is doing. He has been informed that lately, his brother, the governor of Shiraz, has been very friendly with the Indian authorities. Abbas needs to express his own trust and friendship as clearly as possible before the Russian minister arrives. Since the governor of Shiraz is the second son and Abbas is only the third. The Persian throne, which is still occupied by Fat’h-Ali-shah, may become vacant any day now. Fat’h-Ali is getting on.
And then, when the Russian minister arrives, it may even be useful to have the lion and the bear share the same furniture.
They can get to know one another, talk to each other, and friends always chat away between themselves about what both of them know best. What one of them is unaware of will remain unknown to the other.
One of them is bound to slip up. And then Abbas will have to talk only to one of them. But he will talk; he will talk with both until he drops. Besides, “the palace is bare” will suggest to the Russian: there is no furniture, no money, no nothing—lower the price.
To the eunuch:
“You will take the earrings out of my wives’ ears—issue them with the proper receipts and give them to me.”
The granny pouts but does not move.
“Oh, Shadow of the Shah, they still haven’t forgiven me for taking away their diamonds.”
Abbas’s nostrils flare. The eunuch’s belly heaves anxiously. Abbas smiles.
“Good. Off you go.”
And the day continues. He has dinner and then reads a French novel about robbers. Then he says a prayer, rather cursorily.
He dictates letters. He reads Abu’l-Qasim-Khan’s report: Griboedov is delayed in Tiflis, either by love or by design. The Russian ambassador let slip that he might wait in Tiflis for the repayment of the kurors in order to arrive both in good spirits and certain of the sincerity of Abbas’s intentions.
Abbas recalls Griboedov.
Tall, bespectacled, calm.
Beware of a lean man, Sa’di once said; beware of a lean stallion.
“Parbleu!”3 said Abbas, looking at Napoleon’s portrait.
… But, writes Abu’l-Qasim-Khan, all is not lost: rumor has it that Petersburg insists on the ambassador’s speedy departure.
Abbas pulls a European-style handkerchief from under his belt and blows his nose.
“Petersburg, Petersburg—there is more than one will there too. They say one thing in Petersburg, they say another one in the Caucasus. And yet Allah be praised for this too.”
And in the evening, he comes to the harem-hane and the motley chicken coop, after the singing, smoking, and squabbling quietens down.
He approaches his forty-year-old wife, the oldest; she lowers her eyes, and the wives’ jaws drop: that hasn’t happened for a very long time.
Abbas pulls the earrings carefully out of her ears.
Only on the fifteenth wife, the thirtieth earring, do the wives start to worry.
And they burst into tears, begin to whine in thin voices, hugging Abbas’s legs.
Abbas laughs.
He touches the thirty-first ear, tickly, delicate, and swarthy.
The eunuch turns up:
“O, Shadow of the Shah, Nazar-Ali-Khan has arrived. The Russian ambassador is in Nakhchivan and is fast approaching Tabriz.”
Abbas pauses on the thirty-first ear and puts the earring back.
“It’s a joke, my sweeties, it’s a joke. Take your earrings back. Bring in the rings and rugs that I have bought for them today.”
5
Colonel Macdonald has an excellent house in Tabriz, not far from either the Miermilar or the Tadjil gates. It is close to the outskirts with their green gardens. Tabriz in Persian means “pouring heat.” The Asian scholars, however, derive it from tab-riz, “curing fever.” There is a watered lawn and a flowerbed in front of the house. Lady Macdonald looks after both and complains that the flowers wither and perish in the dusty wind.
The trees are unable to protect them.
Colonel Macdonald is having his evening tea with two visitors, both French merchants.
The gray-mustachioed colonel tells them about India, where he lived for a long time.
“Here, elephants take part in the parades. In India, they work. Do you care for a hookah?”
The valet brings three hookahs: one for each of them.
“They are sent to the woods to fell trees, and they do it with amazing agility.”
The Frenchman says that this rings a bell.
“Oh, yes, white elephants.”
“Not at all, quite common gray ones. A glass of wine?”
Wine is brought in and served with English biscuits, as white as snow, as hard as stone, and with no taste whatsoever. But they have been brought from England; they have traveled a long way, and the colonel crunches them slowly with his firm teeth.
“An elephant approaches a tree, leans on it with its shoulder, and then, if the tree gives way at once, moves on to the next one. If the tree stands firm, the elephant trumpets, and his mates come to his assistance.”
Everyone but the French has heard it many times, but they enjoy the story. Lady Macdonald smiles quietly.
“This is what I call making animals work for you. Quod erat probandum.”4
The French have brought some fashion news. The elderly Frenchman is having a laugh at the hats à la Carbonari. Mademoiselle George has aged and has set off on a tour.
They leave the table without ceremony. Play billiards. Go home.
At night, the colonel knocks on his lady’s door. This is his night.
“Have you made arrangements about the rooms for the Russians, dear?”
“I think they’ll be comfortable downstairs. It’s not too hot there.”
“On the contrary, I believe the front rooms would be better. Upstairs.”
“They say he is a poet and an eccentric? A sort of Byron?”
“Nonsense. He is very courteous, a gentleman through and through. His wife’s ancestors are Georgian royalty. You’ll have good company. Have you received the magazines?”
“I have. They seem so boring.”
The Death of Vazir-Mukhtar Page 35