Free The Road to Oxiana by Robert Byron Page A

century.”
    Teherani
: What’s that about?
    Christopher
: About the Pope.
    Teherani
: The Foof? Who’s that?
    Christopher
: The Caliph of Rum.
    Muleteer
: It’s a history of the Caliph of Rum.
    Teherani
: Shut up! Is it a new book?
    Assistant
: Is it full of clean thoughts?
    Christopher
: It is without religion. The man who wrote it did not believe in the prophets.
    Teherani
: Did he believe in God?
    Christopher
: Perhaps. But he despised the prophets. Hesaid that Jesus was an ordinary man (
general agreement
) and that Mohammad was an ordinary man (
general depression
) and that Zoroaster was an ordinary man.
    Muleteer
(
who speaks Turkish and doesn’t understand well
): Was he called Zoroaster?
    Christopher
: No, Gibbon.
    Chorus
: Ghiboon! Ghiboon!
    Teherani
: Is there any religion which says there is no god?
    Christopher
: I think not. But in Africa they worship idols.
    Teherani
: Are there many idolaters in England?
    The road led into mountains, where a great gorge brought us to the river of the Golden Swimmer. He was a shepherd, a Leander, who used to swim across to visit his beloved, until at last she built the truly magnificent bridge by which we also crossed. A herd of gazelle frisked along beside us. At length we came out on the Azerbaijan highlands, a dun sweeping country like Spain in winter. We passed through Miana, which is famous for a bug that bites only strangers, and spent the night in a lonely caravanserai where a wolf was tethered in the courtyard. At Tabriz the police asked us for five photographs each (they did not get them) and the following information:
    AVIS

    The features of Tabriz are a view of plush-coloured mountains, approached by lemon-coloured foothills; a drinkable white wine and a disgusting beer; several miles of superb brick-vaulted bazaars; and a new municipal garden containing a bronze statue of Marjoribanks in a cloak. There are two monuments: the wreck of the famous Blue Mosque, veneered in XVth-century mosaic; and the Ark, or Citadel, a mountain of small russet bricks laid with consummate art, which looks as if it had once been a mosque, and if so, one of the biggest ever built. Turkish is the only language, except among officials. The merchants were formerly prosperous, but have been ruined by Marjoribanks’s belief in a planned economy.
    Maragha
(4900
ft
.),
October 16th
.—We drove here this morning in four hours, through country that reminded me of Donegal. Lake Urmiya appeared in the distance, a streak of blue and silver, with mountains beyond. Square pigeon-towers, perforated at the top, gave the villages a fortified appearance. Round about were vineyards, and groves of
sanjuk
1 trees, which have narrow grey leaves and clusters of small yellow fruit.
    Maragha itself is not attractive. Broad straight streets have been cut through the old bazaars, and take away its character. A Persian-speaking infant adorned with eyelashes as long as ospreys conducted us to the necessary officials, and these in their turn showed us a fine polygonal grave-tower of the XIIth century, which is known as the grave of the Mother of Hulagu and is built of plum-red brick arranged in patterns and inscriptions. The effect of this cosy old material, transferred as it were from an English kitchen-garden to theservice of Koranic texts, and inlaid with glistening blue, is surprisingly beautiful. There is a Kufic frieze inside, below which the walls have been lined with nesting-holes for pigeons.
    We have conceived the idea of riding from here direct to Miana, thus cutting off two sides of a triangle with Tabriz at its apex. This should take us through unknown country, unknown at least architecturally; it is empty enough on the map. Horses are the difficulty. We agreed to one owner’s price; at which he was much taken aback, having lately lost his wife, and having no one to care for his children during the journey. An hour’s argument overcame this objection. But then, having