The encouraging words of the vizier did the shah a great deal of good.
Gradually the journey took shape. First they would travel to Moscow via the Azerbaijan–Russian border, then cut straight across Europe to France, and from there go on by boat to England. After this lengthy state visit they would return home by way of a shorter route.
In an effort to dispel his doubts once and for all the shah consulted the Quran. He closed his eyes and turned to a random page. When he opened his eyes he saw with astonishment that God had given him just the right advice: the title of the surah that he had opened to was ‘The Romans’. It was a surah about the Persians who had once conquered the Byzantine Empire: ‘Have they not travelled on the earth and seen how the others before them had met their end?’ The shah kissed the Quran and joyfully pressed it to his bosom with both arms.
Reassured, the shah began to concentrate on his journey. He invited Pirnia, scion of a prominent business family, to come and talk with him. Pirnia had spent a few years in Vienna, and as a merchant he had travelled back and forth between Austria and Switzerland.
The day was pleasant and warm, and the shah sat on a couch in the shadow of the trees. The servant brought in a tray with a plate of lettuce and a small bowl of syrup on it. The shah loved fresh lettuce. He dipped the leaves in the syrup and stuffed them in his mouth. When he had eaten his lettuce the servant let him know that his guest had arrived.
The young man, who wore a single round eyeglass over his left eye, was fitted out in a most unusual suit. He had put grease in his hair, and his beard was clipped in a remarkable fashion. He bowed his head slightly and greeted the shah. The scent that enveloped him stung the shah’s nose, which made him sneeze.
‘Please sit down,’ said the shah with a gesture.
Pirnia sat down on a cushion, but not on his knees, as was customary. The servant placed a hookah next to the shah, and as he smoked he noticed that the young man was wearing strange shoes that had a black sheen. It looked as if he had rubbed them with the same grease that he had used on his hair.
‘We understand you have spent some time in Europe? We know your father. He is a trustworthy businessman. So we have asked you to come here to share your experiences with us. We are listening.’
Without the usual introduction, which was supposed to consist of words of praise for the shah, Pirnia plunged right in with a description of his stay abroad. He gave a brief report of where he had lived and which countries he had visited.
‘What exactly did you do there?’
‘I traded in rough precious stones, but what really interested me were the local languages and customs! My business gave me the opportunity to travel.’
The man’s self-assurance did not go down well with the shah. He found his obtrusive odour particularly unpleasant.
‘So you travelled,’ said the shah with emphasis. ‘Tell us, what did you see?’
‘Many impressive things!’ responded Pirnia crisply.
‘Mention a few!’
‘It’s difficult to describe a journey in just a couple of sentences. I did keep a travel diary, though. When it’s finished I will send Your Majesty a copy.’
‘There’s no time for that. Just tell me about a few striking things.’
Pirnia, who knew Jamal Khan and had contact with his committee, was aware of the current political situation. He had immediately accepted the shah’s invitation and hoped to use the opportunity to discuss the governing of the country with him.
‘They had two chambers, for example.’
‘Chambers?’ asked the shah with surprise.
‘Yes, chambers.’
‘And what was so special about those chambers?’
‘In those chambers they discussed matters that were important to the country and then they made decisions.’
‘They? Who are they?’
‘The representatives of the people.’
The shah shifted his weight from one knee to the other. He had sensed that the man sitting across from him was an undesirable, and his instincts had not proven him wrong.
‘We have already heard about that. Tell us something new,’ he answered.
‘Another custom that I found strange was the newspaper – or newspapers, rather,’ said Pirnia, who noticed the shah was irritated.
‘We have them too,’ the shah shot back.
‘But in those newspapers people write their opinions about all kinds of things and carry on a kind of war of the pens.’
‘A war of the pens? What do they fight about?’
‘About everything! About politics, about cities, about bridges, about women, about buildings and about art.’
‘A war of the pens, fighting about women and bridges. You make us curious, young man.’
‘Each of these countries has a book that contains a constitution with all the laws and regulations of the land. All that is allowed and is not allowed is in that book.’
The shah nodded. He remembered the translation of the French constitution that his vizier had made.
‘Each country has its own form of government. What one regime does is not universally applicable. On the other hand, a book like that would take a great weight off our shoulders. We’d have our hands free and could spend more time on ourself. Do you have anything else informative to tell us?’ He turned to his servant. ‘Our hookah is cold!’ he snarled.
A fresh hookah was brought in instantly.
Pirnia, who was afraid the shah would send him away if he became annoyed with the conversation, changed the subject.
‘Although the East is known for its secrecy and we are the masters of mysterious tales, the West also has something we lack. In the East the secret lies in the past, in books, in our narratives and behind our curtains, but the Europeans have made the hidden things visible. There the secret things can be touched. You can even sit in them. Take the train, for instance.’
‘We already know that. In the palace there’s a whole stack of catalogues about trains. Tell us, what language or languages did you speak when you were travelling?’
‘Although each land has its own language, French is usually spoken within the better circles.’
‘On parle très bien le français,’ said the shah proudly.
He smoked his hookah, inhaled a few times and said, ‘What do they call the hookah in French?’
‘They don’t have hookahs.’
‘Oh, yes. You’re right. How odd!’ remarked the shah.
Pirnia had something else he wanted to say, but he saw that the shah’s thoughts were elsewhere.
‘Bring a glass of tea for our guest,’ called the shah unexpectedly. ‘You also mentioned the women. Do you have anything special to tell us about them?’
‘I don’t know how to describe this,’ said Pirnia, ‘but … in the West the women show their faces in public. Everyone is free to show off their eyes, nose, lips, chin and arms. At parties there are even women who leave their necks and part of their breasts uncovered.’
The shah made a gesture of apparent indifference.
‘All right, you can go once you’ve finished your tea.’
Pirnia didn’t wait for the tea and left.
‘If you have anything else to say that’s worth saying, say it now,’ the shah called out to him. He had the feeling that Pirnia had not told him everything.
Pirnia paused, and then he said, ‘Recently a French engineer has come up with something extraordinary: an incredibly high tower made out of millions of iron beams.’
‘How high?’
‘Very high. At least as high as that mountain over there!’ He pointed to a mountain in the distance.
‘Why did they do that?’
‘No one knows. It caused quite a sensation. Supporters and opponents harassed each other in the press. At the same time, hundreds of curious men and women came to climb the tower every day and every night out of curiosity.’
‘To climb what?’
‘The tower!’
?
??Stack millions of kilos of iron beams on top of each other and then climb it?’ said the shah.
‘The engineer who came up with the idea is famous now. He invented a machine, a kind of horseless carriage, big enough for one or two or – I don’t know – twenty men. You get in and press a button. Suddenly the carriage starts to move. The amazing thing is that it doesn’t go forward or backwards, but up and down. It takes you to the top of the tower in just a few seconds.’
‘What do they do when they get up there?’ asked the shah curiously.
‘Look around. Admire Paris! The view at night is marvellous. You look at the Seine, the river that runs through the city. You see the new street lamps, lights on the banks of the river where the elegant French women go for strolls—’
‘All right. Enough,’ interrupted the shah. He was watching a peacock who had spread all his feathers for him. ‘You can go.’ His thoughts wandered off to the girl to whom he had given the necklace. She too had walked along the banks of the Seine.
Preparations for the journey had lasted a year. The day of his departure was coming more quickly than expected. In recent months he had visited his harem more often and spent more nights with his wives than usual. He received them in small groups, arranged them in a circle round him and let himself be indulged. He enjoyed their enticements, kissed them, pinched them, bit them and laughed with them.
He could also be found dining more often with his elderly mother. These were not at all like their normal meetings. They embraced each other longer and exchanged tender endearments.
‘My boy, you are my son and my king.’ She kissed his hands with tears in her eyes. The shah wiped away her tears and kissed her grey hair.
One day before his departure he went to see his daughter, Taj Olsultan. Since the birth of his grandson he had received his daughter and her child in the palace almost daily, but now he was visiting her.
Taj saw he was sad. She wanted to ask him what was bothering him, but she kept silent. In the past, before she was married, she could speak more easily with the shah and ask him, ‘Father, why are you sad?’
But since her marriage the shah had kept his distance, as if she were the girl or wife of another man and no longer belonged to him. It hurt her that their intimate contact was gone and that he no longer wanted to share with her his fatherly secrets. The attention he used to lavish on her now went to her son. Perhaps she was a bit jealous, but she did understand her father. She belonged to another man now. When all was said and done she was glad the shah was so happy with his grandchild that he gave him the love he had once given her.
Taj put her son in the shah’s arms and said, ‘How lucky I am to have the shah as a babysitter for the prince.’
‘My pleasure, I’m sure,’ said the shah with a grin. He sat down in a rocking chair with the child on his lap.
The shah always spoke to his grandchild in complete sentences because he believed it was essential for proper brain development. He read short paragraphs from the Persian classics and enjoyed them himself. This time he told the child a story from a very old Persian book called Kélilé and Demné.
‘“Once upon a time there was a merchant who lived in Herat. His wife was called Jamis and she was as beautiful as the moon. No one could imagine that such a magnificent woman ever having existed before. Her face shone like the day of victory and her hair was as dark and long as the night you spend waiting in vain for your beloved.”
‘“Living in their neighbourhood was a celebrated artist who could work magic with a pencil and brushes. He was having a secret affair with the merchant’s wife …”’
‘Father, why are you telling the child such things? He’s only a baby,’ protested Taj laughingly.
‘He is a child and he is a man. These are things that he must learn early on,’ responded the shah, taking great pleasure in Taj.
‘Shah-my-Father, there’s no need to raise my son with such love stories,’ said Taj with a smile.
‘He is a man,’ said the shah. ‘And some day he will be king.’
‘And that is why you’re drumming the city of Herat into his head, even now,’ said Taj.
The shah handed his heir back to her. He knew how important this child was for the future.
Later that afternoon the shah invited Taj Olsultan to go for a walk with him in the garden. As they walked he told her he would be going to Europe on his upcoming journey and not to Karbala.
‘Listen, my daughter, only a few people have been told about this trip. Later, during our absence, the nation will be in your hands. Be on your guard, take good care of your child. He already has many enemies. If it were up to me I wouldn’t make the journey until he is big and strong. But I cannot put it off. Life has made its decision and I must submit.’
The shah wanted to tell her about the golden treasury in the cellar of his palace. Anything could happen to him during this journey, even death. In the face of such risk it was his duty to share the secret with his heir. The shah took his daughter to the other side of the garden, where no one ever ventured.
‘Listen!’ he whispered. ‘I want to tell you a state secret. It is not meant for you but for your son. If you tell anyone else you will be committing treason. Keep it locked in your heart until your son becomes the nation’s king.’
‘Father, you’re going to live a long life,’ said Taj.
‘Death can strike us all at any moment. Listen well and remember everything.’
The shah picked up a stick and drew an outline of his room in the dirt. He drew his closet and the hole behind the closet, the narrow tunnel, the stairway, the short tunnel and the next stairway. Then another tunnel, the small door and the treasury. He told her about the jewels from India, and he also told her about the hole and the passage in the treasury through which the king could flee in case of emergency.
Taj Olsultan embraced her father and whispered, ‘I thank you, Father, for putting so much trust in me. I will devote my life to the task of passing your message on to your heir.’
The evening before his departure the shah received Eyn ed-Dowleh in his study. Although at first he had decided not to tell him anything about his trip to Europe, he finally realised that as his son-in-law and a soldier of the highest rank, Eyn ed-Dowleh could not be left in the dark. He told him that he was probably going to visit a number of western countries. Then he dictated the following statement: ‘We hereby order that all possible dissidents are to be arrested in our absence. When we return, we do not want to hear any more about them. This letter gives you full authorisation to carry out your task.’
The shah slipped the letter into Eyn ed-Dowleh’s inside pocket and said, ‘Bring Taj Olsultan and her child to the palace regularly. Let them spend their days and occasionally their nights here. It is good for the child to become accustomed to the palace.’
The shah grasped Eyn ed-Dowleh’s arm and said softly, ‘Protect your wife and your son with your own life. They are the most precious things in the kingdom. In any matter concerning them don’t trust anyone.’
The next day the shah began his journey, which would take six months. He brought with him a select group, having warned them beforehand that they were going on a secret mission. The vizier had advised him not to take Malijak, but the shah had rejected his advice: ‘That’s impossible. If I leave him alone, he’ll suffer the same fate as my cat. Besides, we’ve got to have someone to talk to if we happen to feel out of sorts while travelling abroad.’
The shah had decided to keep a diary during his journey. The book was not meant for people living then but for future generations, when the shah would be long gone. He was aware that he would never be as greatly admired as the ancient Persian kings, that he would not leave his mark on this new age, but he could distinguish himself by writing a travelogue. New machines would be able to print many copies of his book, and one day he would be read by everyone. He wanted to make the journey for people who did not yet exist but undoubtedly would someday.
Late that
night he pushed the curtain aside and peered into the dark blue sky and at all the stars. Perhaps this was the last time he would be granted the opportunity to marvel at the Persian night.
Even though he was anxious about the country there was something strangely pleasant about the prospect of travel. He felt as if he were suddenly being relieved of a burden that he had been predestined to carry for the rest of his life. He was a caged bird who was about to be freed, to fly away into that endless blue sky.
Although it had been late when he went to bed he woke up early and took a stroll through the gardens. It was early spring and the trees were putting out enormous blossoms. His patience was gone. In fact he would have happily made an early departure, but he had to wait until his travelling companions were ready.
He wanted to cast one last glance at the harem, but much to his surprise he found his wives standing in the garden dressed in festive attire. They were all holding mirrors in their hands. They wept silently and smiled at the same time. A couple of them stepped forward carrying crystal bowls filled with clear water, and they sprinkled the shah as a good luck token. It moved the shah to tears. The women came closer, touched him and led him to the gate, where his fellow travellers were waiting.
The servants appeared with lit chafing dishes into which they threw fragrant herbs to ward off evil spirits. A group of musicians accompanied a young singer, who sang melancholy songs of farewell. The shah wiped away his tears with his handkerchief and waved to everyone.
Seven royal coaches stood at the ready. The government officials, members of the royal house, a delegation from the bazaar and the British and Russian ambassadors were all lined up at the gate to say goodbye. His mother had already wished him a good journey.
The shah nodded to a few of them, shook hands with others, had a friendly chat with the Russian ambassador and exchanged a few words with his British counterpart. The residents of Tehran also waved him farewell. The chamberlain stood beside the shah with a tray full of new coins, which the shah then tossed to the gathered throng. Never before had he distributed so many coins, but he did it mindful of the fact that these people would never forget him if he failed to return.