The King Read online

  He spoke with Eyn ed-Dowleh in private and ordered him to protect the palace with everything at his disposal.

  The crowd had now reached the palace square, but armed guards managed to keep the people at a distance. The head of the guards was waiting impatiently for reinforcements from the army. He had warned the demonstrators that if they took one more step, his men would fire on them with cannons.

  When Eyn ed-Dowleh rode onto the palace square with his column of cavalrymen, the head of the guards breathed a sigh of relief. Eyn ed-Dowleh positioned the cavalrymen between the cannons and the crowd. He rode his own great black horse right to the front line. With sword drawn he stood before his troops.

  The demonstrators began shouting ‘Shah! Shah! Shah!’ at the top of their voices. ‘Tobacco! Tobacco! Tobacco!’

  Eyn ed-Dowleh put his sword away and pulled out his rifle. This awkward threat provoked the masses, who pressed forward.

  ‘Halt or I’ll shoot!’ shouted Eyn ed-Dowleh menacingly.

  No one listened to him.

  ‘Telegraph! Telegraph! Telegraph!’ the crowd shouted. ‘Shah! Shah! Shah!’

  The shah stood on the roof and looked through his binoculars to see how his son-in-law would deal with this difficult situation.

  ‘Halt!’ threatened Eyn ed-Dowleh again.

  But no one listened.

  ‘Halt!’ he shouted once more, and he shot three times over their heads.

  The people were alarmed. They scattered, only to come back together and surround him. Sensing the danger his horse whinnied anxiously and tried to clear a path through the mass of people. The demonstrators blocked his flight and came threateningly close.

  ‘Fire!’ shouted Eyn ed-Dowleh, obeying his own command.

  The troops behind him opened fire. It was a one-sided battle. The unarmed demonstrators tried to escape down the square’s side streets, where new troops flew at them with truncheons. Desperate, the people forced their way into the government buildings on nearby streets and set several departments on fire. No one was in charge. In the chaos everyone did whatever occurred to him. Heavy smoke began to rise, blanketing the palace square in an impenetrable fog. Dead bodies lay everywhere, and the people dragged the wounded to surrounding houses.

  This was a development that Jamal Khan and the committee had not counted on. They knew there might be some deaths, but a blind outburst like this had been unexpected. The age-old frustration of an entire people had been expressed in a single day.

  The fighting continued all through the evening. Only when it was dark, and the muezzins called the people to evening prayer, did the demonstrators withdraw. The fight had been fought, for now. There was no more shooting or shouting of slogans.

  Although it remained relatively calm outside for the rest of the night, the palace was alive with activity. The shah met with his vizier and advisors, and received repeated visits from the messenger, who was riding back and forth between the palace and his mother.

  Another messenger was also riding back and forth in the dark, to and from the British embassy. Behind heavy curtains that kept out even the slightest breeze, the ambassador and his staff were intent on leaving their mark on history. All week long they had been in contact with an ayatollah in Tehran who operated as an envoy for the aged Ayatollah Shirazi.

  At the same time the mother of the shah received two visits in her palace from a messenger of the Russian embassy.

  The demonstrators had been working deep into the night, barricading the houses and streets around the palace with sandbags. When the sun came up the cavalrymen on the palace square were surprised to find rows of men positioned behind sturdy sandbag bulwarks. They were armed with the rifles they had taken from the soldiers during the previous day’s fighting.

  The parties stood there, face to face and motionless. They waited until the sun reached its zenith. It was time for afternoon prayers, but the muezzins were silent.

  Suddenly there was movement in the crowd. The people were making way for Tabatabai, one of the old ayatollahs of Tehran. It was he who was making decisions on behalf of Shirazi. He had received a special message from the British ambassador the night before and had notified Jamal Khan immediately. Accompanied by seven prominent businessmen from the Tehran bazaar and carrying his walking stick, the ayatollah walked calmly up to the palace, where the shah was waiting for him.

  The head of the palace guards received the delegation. The negotiations continued until late in the afternoon, and all that time everyone patiently waited. When the delegation finally came out the ayatollah waved his walking stick as a sign of victory. A loud cheer rose up from the palace walls. The shah had signed the document spelling out the terms under which the British tobacco company would hand over the tobacco trade to the Persian government.

  An agreement had also been reached with the British embassy concerning plans for a domestic telegraph network. British engineers would come to discuss the execution of the plans with the shah. What no one else knew was that the ambassador had also firmly urged the shah to replace Sheikh Aqasi. He was a weak link.

  What followed was spectacular. For the first time in Persian history people took to the streets carrying flags, and street musicians could be heard everywhere. The shopkeepers treated everyone to free biscuits and tea, and in all the bazaar squares across the country great pots of food were cooked over fires for the entire population. The festivities lasted a whole week.

  49. The Journey

  The shah was convinced that Taj would bear him a grandson. He never let on that the thought so preoccupied him, but secretly he had a camel sacrificed at the tomb of the holy Abdoldawood.

  Right before Taj was due to give birth the shah dreamed about a young branch growing from an old tree. Suddenly a storm broke and the old tree fell over, but the young branch kept on growing. It grew bigger and bigger. The shah was frightened by the dream. He wanted to ask his dream interpreters about it, but he didn’t dare. He kept it to himself and entrusted it to no one but his diary. The birth could happen any minute.

  He was standing at the window lost in thought when he saw his son-in-law Eyn ed-Dowleh come riding into the palace grounds. This could mean but one thing: his daughter had given birth to a son. Eyn ed-Dowleh stormed into the hall of mirrors, took the shah’s right hand, planted a kiss on it and said, ‘God is working for our good.’

  It was customary for fathers not to see their daughters until forty days after the birth, but the shah asked for his horse and rode to Taj Olsultan.

  According to tradition a wise man of the family was supposed to whisper a short surah from the Quran into the ear of a newborn, but the shah had already forbidden this. He wanted to be the one to whisper the first words into the ear of his grandchild. The shah was received by his daughter’s old servant in the residential part of the small castle where Taj had moved after her wedding. It took a while before the midwife finally brought him the child, wrapped in a beautifully worked blanket.

  The shah wanted to admire the child, but the baby’s face was still covered by a lovely sheer silken cloth, milky white. Before he could see the little boy he had to pay the midwife a ru-nama, an admiration present. Smiling, he let a couple of gold coins jingle into her hand. Only now could he pull the little silken cloth away. With a great laugh he gently kissed the tiny hand of the baby, who looked at him with penetrating eyes.

  Solemnly the shah took from his coat the collection of poetry written by the medieval poet Hafez. He kissed the cover, closed his eyes, opened the book to a random page, lowered his head to the child’s right ear and whispered the melodious poem, which was all about love.

  Bolboli barg-e goli dar menqar dasht

  Wa andar an barg o nava khush naleh-ha-ye zar dasht.

  Goftam-ash, ‘dar in wasl in naleh o faryad chist?’

  Goft, ‘ma-ra jelveh-ye ma’shuq bar in kar dasht.’

  After reading the poem he carefully ran his finger over the nose of his grandson and said, ‘He looks just
like us. He has our nose.’ The shah had seen enough.

  ‘Convey our greetings to Taj Olsultan,’ he called to the servant when he left. ‘Tell her she has made us happy.’

  All the way back to the palace he kept seeing the face of his successor.

  The shah consulted with people in his inner circle and managed to find a suitable candidate for the position of vizier, someone who was acceptable to both England and to his opponents.

  After seeking even more advice and listening to what the wise men of the bazaar had to say, he finally chose Mostovi Almamalek. His mother complained about Sheikh Aqasi having to step aside, but Mostovi Almamalek was from the same tribe as the shah. Mahdolia had no choice but to submit.

  At first the shah was going to summon the sheikh and have a long talk with him, but now that he had a grandson he just wanted to get the whole thing over with. During the revolt Sheikh Aqasi had shown that he was incapable of helping the shah in a complex situation. When the demonstrators had surrounded the palace and so many people died, he just sat by and watched, paralysed. The sheikh would have to go.

  The shah spoke with the vizier for less than an hour. Then he sent him home and appointed Mostovi Almamalek as the new prime minister, to take effect immediately.

  ‘Whatever the shah decides,’ was the response of Sheikh Aqasi, who obeyed the shah without protest. ‘I understand Your Majesty completely.’

  ‘But we want you always to be close at hand. Your advice comforts us,’ added the shah, so as not to dismiss him too brusquely.

  ‘I served your father, and it will be my honour to continue to serve you as well,’ said Sheikh Aqasi, and he bowed.

  By letting him go the shah had actually relieved the sheikh of a heavy burden. He had been yearning for the peace and quiet of his prayers, the pleasure of reading old books and meditating in the mountains.

  The new vizier was a skilled politician. He had worked as the Minister of Industry and Trade in the cabinet of the murdered Mirza Kabir and had been one of the first young men to be sent to Europe by the old vizier. In Paris he had studied mechanical engineering and obtained his engineering degree.

  Mostovi Almamalek picked up where the murdered vizier had left off and continued down the path he had taken. He knew it would be very difficult, since the shah had a hand in everything and would not allow any decision to be made without his approval. The shah’s mother and her supporters also tried to influence the new vizier. Mostovi Almamalek was aware of this and thought he had enough experience to resist the shah and his mother. Besides, his family ties with the shah offered him a certain amount of protection.

  The shah valued him as a professional politician without a hidden agenda. He felt relaxed listening to Almamalek and gradually granted him more latitude. Deep in his heart the shah actually liked this new vizier because he looked like Mirza Kabir. By working so closely with the old vizier, Almamalek had even adopted some of his gestures and linguistic habits. He wrapped himself in the same long garments and wore the same long beard, but in place of a tall cylindrical hat he copied the headgear of western diplomats.

  During one of their discussions Mostovi surprised the shah with a proposal: ‘In the interests of the nation it might be wise for His Majesty to travel to Europe, to enable him to see at first hand the far-reaching changes taking place in the West.’

  For a moment the shah didn’t know how to respond. He rang his little bell and had the chamberlain bring in a tea set and two glasses.

  Years before, the former vizier had also broached the subject of a trip across Europe. He had even wanted to take the shah to Russia with him when the shah was still crown prince, but an early and severe frost set in and the journey to Moscow had had to be cancelled. Moreover, the new developments taking place back then were not nearly as visible and impressive as the ones today. With all the recent tension the prospect of such a journey had been set aside for the time being, but now that peace had returned it was a real possibility. This was not just another domestic matter or a personal idea of the vizier and the shah. Europe itself was knocking at the door.

  In the past the shah met only with the political representatives of western countries, but now all sorts of foreigners were entering the country, and with greater frequency. These were people who had come in search of threadbare carpets. They went from village to village, showing extraordinary interest in broken bowls and dishes. They packed all this stuff in their trunks and carried it away. Recently a number of them had been found in the mountains, using magnifying glasses to study ancient scenes carved into the rocks.

  ‘What are they looking for?’ the shah had asked his son-in-law.

  ‘They’re scientists, Your Majesty. They come from Farang [Europe] and they want to record the history of the human race.’

  ‘They can read the history of the human race from our broken bowls?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to them. They say the great stories of history are hidden away in these small fragments.’

  Now the shah understood more than ever why his new vizier would suggest that a trip to Europe was necessary and of great importance. Yet he still hesitated.

  ‘We have given it some thought, but we cannot leave the country unattended,’ answered the shah. ‘The unrest of the past few years has proven us right.’

  ‘But we really have entered a more peaceful phase.’

  ‘We do not doubt the value of such a journey, but the country has begun charting a new course. We are indispensable. And don’t forget that God has given us an heir. We want to see the child grow up and become a man.’

  ‘Preparations for such a journey would take at least a year. That will give the shah plenty of time to enjoy his grandson. The journey itself will last several months at the most. It will be a difficult journey and will be physically demanding. But fortunately the shah is in good health. It would be a mistake for the shah to postpone the journey any longer. On behalf of the nation I beg the shah to reconsider.’

  With this serious request the new vizier was letting the shah know that the time was ripe.

  ‘We shall think it over,’ answered the shah.

  Later, in conversation with his mother, she said, ‘I trust Mostovi Almamalek. He is right. But I wonder whether such a journey is wise at the present moment. What does the shah think?’

  ‘We are not opposed to a journey to Europe to visit other kings. Persian kings have always conquered other countries first before taking a deeper interest in them. We would be the first Persian king to break this pattern. Our fear is that as soon as we cross the border, England will put our crown on the head of some insurgent. We would no longer be able to return home and would become a Wandering Jew, a nomad, banished from hearth and home.’

  ‘Now you have an heir. I don’t know whether I should encourage you to make this trip or discourage you. We can lay it before the wise men of the tribe. But one thing should be clear to you: if you go travelling, I will guard your throne like an old lioness.’

  To whet the shah’s appetite Mostovi contacted the Russian, British and French ambassadors and asked them if they had catalogues or photo albums with pictures of their factories and scenes from everyday life.

  It wasn’t long before three large books compiled especially for this purpose were sent from the embassies. They were impressive albums that were decorated with the colours of the countries’ flags and portraits of their heads of state. They were full of images of trains and their passengers, newspapers, lamps, lamp posts, cafés, railways, harbours, squares, fountains, bridges, concert halls, theatre performances and portraits of writers, poets, women, wine and food.

  Finally Mostovi got the shah to pen the following words and to seal them with his own ring:

  Besmellah.

  For us this journey is as inevitable as birth and death. This is something we must experience, which is why we are submitting to it. Our vizier may make the necessary preparations.

  Just as the vizier was about to take the letter in his hands, th
e shah insisted on one condition: ‘This is to remain between the two of us. No one is to know that we want to go on such a journey.’

  ‘That will make the preparations difficult. And how are we to explain the shah’s long absence?’ asked the vizier.

  ‘Once we are gone you can announce that we are going to Karbala to visit the grave of the holy Hussein. If necessary we will reveal where we really were later on. We are doing this for the nation, you understand. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed!’ said Mostovi. The shah did not notice his vizier’s slight hesitation.

  50. The Light

  During the entire length of Ayatollah Shirazi’s ban on tobacco the women of the harem gave the shah the cold shoulder because he had smoked despite the fatwa. Now the shah was getting even by refusing to share his bed with them. He decided to hold a sabuhi.

  Sabuhi was a clever contrivance, a real feast for the Persian kings. They too had been forbidden from drinking alcohol ever since Islam had become the country’s official religion. But the kings found it impossible to stay away from wine. They drank nothing but the fruit of the vine produced in the city of Shiraz.

  The wine of Shiraz was the wine of paradise, and you had to have read the poetry of the great medieval Persian masters to understand what that meant. As Hafez wrote:

  Make haste, O steward, and gladden my cup with wine!

  O minstrel, sing my fate and make it kind.

  My lover’s face doth sparkle in my cup.

  The traveller on the road to this café

  Would be a fool to seek another way.

  For a king, the shadow of God on earth, drinking wine in public was simply not done. But if the great master had been so warmly inclined towards wine, why should the kings begrudge themselves that pleasure? Life was short and, like the great poet Hafez, they understood that wine and recollections of past lovers were all that remained. So they devised an exception that would allow them to withdraw for a time and to abandon themselves completely to wine and love.