'Persia and the Persian Question by the Hon. George Nathaniel Curzon, M.P.' [‎252] (291/714)

252
PERSIA
sometimes a surprise to me that persuasion, however extreme
could extract from them anything more than a hobble.
But supposing the traveller to have reached the end of his
day's journey and to have arrived at the post-house where he pro-
The bala- P oses to pass the night, what then ? The answer to the
khcmch question is contained in the projecting square tower
above the entrance gateway. Access thereto is gained by stair
ways of almost Alpine steepness, fashioned in the mud at the
angles of the court inside. Clambering up these with difficulty,
we reach the flat roof that runs right round the building, and find
that the tower consists of a single chamber, which invariably has
two, sometimes three, doors (that are never known to shut), and
usually a couple of open window spaces in the walls, so that it may
literally be said to stand
Four-square to all the winds that blow.
This is the bala-hhaneh, or upper chamber, specially reserved for
the comfort of foreign guests, and within this forlorn and wintry "
abode, which is not much less draughty than the rigging of a ship,
the wayfarer must spend the night. The interior has at one time
been plastered and whitewashed. Its only decorative features are
a number of shallow niches in the walls, in which Persian visitors
have sometimes scrawled the most fearful illustrations, and occa
sionally, but not always, a fireplace. Of furniture it is absolutely
destitute. To have the floor swept clean of vermin, to spread a felt
01 cai pet in the corner and one's sack of straw upon it, to buy fire-
wood and light a fire, to stuff up the open windows and nail
curtains over the ramshackle doors—all these are necessary and
pieliminary operations, without which the dingy tenement would
be simply uninhabitable, but which it is sometimes hard work to
undertake in a state of extreme stiffness and exhaustion after a
long day's ride upon a freezing winter's night. Even so, this
aeiial roost is sometimes too chill for endurance, and one is com
pelled to descend and seek refuge in the dank and cellar-like
apartments below. In half an hour's time, however, when the
work has been done, as the genial warmth begins to relax stiff joints
and weary limbs, and as the samovar puffs out its cheery steam, a
feeling of wonderful contentment ensues, and the outstretched
tiaveller would probably not exchange his quarters for a sheeted
bed in Windsor Castle. But it is upon the following morning,