IT is often said that far too many books are
written on the subject of Persia. Certainly a very huge mountain of bosh has risen in the name of that fascinating country, a greater mountain, even, than the excitements of travel in the Near East or India have thrust forth ; almost as vast as those towers of tripe marked " Russia " and " America." The time has come, in fact, when the rule should be applied that books on
Persia are not to be published unless they are : 1. Books by specialists. 2. Books of general travel by writers who have mastery of that difficult art. (I wish the gentleman in the parlour would go and record the beaten highways of Iran.) 3. Books on the general subject which can correlate existing
knowledge with new facts. The Wild Asses belongs to this third category. It was worth writing.
The author visited Persia in 1936 as a member of a large cosmopolitan band of students, and although they did an enormous journey, including a visit to Afghanistan, at break- neck speed, Mr. Emanuel found time to observe a great deal.
It is evident too that he and his friends had a grand lark, though without wishing to appear unduly solemn, I regret that he did not leave out much of the larking and make his book shorter, neater, and more serious. I mean that Mr. Emanuel has collected facts with great care, and shows in his work remarkable ability for clear and accurate statement, but that by giving his book so uproarious a title, and devoting so many pages to jokes on the way, he has not lightened his account but confused the reader. The author of a first book is often tempted to disarm critics by a show of jollity, but nothing is so fatal to a book's reputation as disguise. Never- theless, what he has written should take a place as a valuable reference book. With (I confess) a very limited experi- ence to guide me, I have searched it for a definite bloomer, and all I can show for a day of this ferocious sport is a sen- tence on page 321, where he points the wrong way to the Bakhtiarri Mountains.
Mr. Emanuel is among the first to record a journey on the Yezd-Meshed road which crosses the great Eastern deserts of Persia. The building of this road was one of the most unexpected of Reza Shah's Napoleonic inspirations. The feat is almost incredible, but it is evident from Mr. Emanuel's account that there remain several years' hard work before this road will be a decisive factor in the life of Iran. It may stimulate the trade of Meshed, but its main value will be from a military and police point of view. More than the railway, and much more, I hope, than the bowler hats, this and the Chalus road will be Reza Shah's enduring monument. For the character of the ruler Mr. Emanuel has much admiration, although the sensitive autocrat who broke off relations with France for a pun is not likely to relish some of the criticism in this account of his kingdom. It is inter- esting to note, however, how much milder such criticism tends to become. A few years ago the reign of the Shah seemed a terrible example of the inability of modern influ- ences to mitigate a strong Oriental tyranny, but now, in com- parison with our own worse Europe, it is easy to think of the Persian regime as an emergency measure necessary to the establishment of civilised ideas. The time-lag between Europe as it is, and as it is understood in the East, is large, and no doubt Reza Shah, in his predilection for European manners, believes that we still breathe the air of liberal pro- gress. His career is dotted with Brumaires and purges, but under his rule Parsees, Jews and Armenians enjoy absolute equality with Persians fir the first time. Mr. Emanuel drives this point home with well-judged force.
One part of the book puzzles me : the chapter on Meshed. Mr. Emanuel entered the mosque and Shrine, but he talks as though he had kissed the black stone at Mecca. Throughout this chapter he seems, for once, to have allowed the afterglow of memory to dazzle his judgement. Many people have been into the holy precincts of Meshed, and, of late years, with the tacit approval of the Persian Government. The only case of a Christian manhandled, so far as I know, was on an occasion, some ten years ago, when an American, in the midst of the courtyard, was unable to stifle a long, loud denunciation of Islamic art, ceremony, and morals. He was swiftly removed, but there was more laughter than bloodshed, so I was told. Mr. Robert Byron and I found the routine of charcoaling our moustaches growing monotonous at our fifth attempt on the sacred building. We entered it twice in 1934. On my first visit in 1931 the police who accompanied me were almost angry that I had left my camera behind. I intend no boast, but rather an indication that, a few years ago, the entry of a moderately disguised Christian into Meshed was attended by the same amount of danger as the entry of a disguised Moslem into Canterbury Cathedral. But Mr. Emanuel seems to have found the experience overpoweringly terrifying. On the other hand, is must be remembered that since my visit there has been a horrible massacre in the Shrine area, and though this did not involve Christians, the feeling of Meshed may have changed much as a result. This may explain what a few years ago would have been an absurdly melodramatic account. But outside the mosque, when droshky-driving in a town which was once the headquarters of a large British force, the author should not suggest that he is a pioneer. Well, Meshed is a captivating town in which fact and fiction may be eas;lV confused, and Mr. Emanuel's book is good and strong enou :11 to carry a little nonsense without much harm.
CHRISTOPHER SYKES.
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