The King

11. The Cannon

The matter of the hanging of the half-brothers had jolted the vizier awake. Mahdolia’s influence over the shah was still considerable. The vizier had been able to calm the popular unrest after the execution, but now he had to be on his guard against the shah’s unpredictable behaviour. The desire to retake Herat was still smouldering beneath the surface.

The vizier had instructed the shah in the ways of the world, but he had enough experience to know that some of a child’s traits cannot be corrected by lessons. The shah was his father’s son: weak. But he was also his mother’s son: vindictive, hungry for power, obstinate and headstrong. And he was his grandfather’s grandson: a valiant fighter, a hard man whose will was law. The shah was a mixture of his father, his mother, his grandfather and his tutor.

The vizier had to be able to cope with all these contradictions, not for the sake of the shah, nor for his own sake, but for the sake of the country, even though he knew he would probably have to sacrifice his life for his ideals.

In the meantime the shah had put his troubles behind him for the time being. He took pleasure in life and he was going hunting. He had his own cannon, a cannon that Napoleon had given as a gift for the crown prince just after his birth, and he liked to shoot it.

The French emperor had once written to the father of the shah.

Bonaparte, the Emperor of the people of France, writes to the King of Persia:

Greetings. Je vous salue.

You are the king of a noble land that God has blessed with his devotion and his mercy.

The inhabitants of Persia are magnanimous, clever and courageous, and they are worthy of good kings, but we know that the kings before you forsook their people and ignored the needs of the country.

I am sending you one of my best advisors, who will personally convey to you my views and feelings with regard to your country. You may also tell him anything you wish. He is the most trustworthy man on our staff.

May God help Persia.

Napoleon Bonaparte

What the British and the Russians wanted was nothing new. Napoleon Bonaparte already wanted to get to India by way of Persia, and he tried to form an alliance with the father of the shah behind the backs of the Russians and the British. The late king had hoped that with Napoleon on his side he would be able to attack Russia and to free Azerbaijan from Russian hands. But Napoleon was forced to give up his dream. He did not keep his promises, and in failing to do so he abandoned the Persians. Russia punished the shah and took possession of part of the country.

Napoleon was now a page in the annals of history, but he had left a tangible part of himself behind in Persia. During his Russian campaign he had sent Persia a cannon, a special gift for the young crown prince. The design of the cannon was new — it had two wheels — and Napoleon had arranged for the name of the crown prince and the royal coat of arms to be engraved on it in gold. It was clear from the elaborate ornamentation that this was a princely cannon.

When he went to Tabriz as crown prince, Naser brought the cannon with him. After his father died, the cannon came along in the move to Tehran. It was kept in well-oiled readiness at Golestan Palace. The king never left the palace without it.

‘Sharmin?’ called the shah.

The cat sprang from the chair.

‘We’re going for a little ride over the hills.’ When he reached the top of the outer stairs he took a deep breath and said, ‘Magnificent! You can smell the trees. What a fragrance!’

Three servants took care of the cat. They placed her in a basket covered with a sheer white cloth and carefully put the basket in a coach that was furnished just for her.

The shah climbed into his saddle and looked to make sure his cannon was ready. With great poise he rode to the gate, followed by a number of guards. His cannon was mounted on a decorated cart, which was pulled by two horses. The shah looked excited and happy.

No sooner had he left the palace than the drummers and the trumpeter announced to the city that the shah was approaching. It was the first time in a long time that the shah had let himself be seen by his people. He had been afraid there would be disturbances after the execution of his brothers, but except for a few minor scuffles it had remained peaceful. This led the shah to believe that his subjects agreed with his decision. Now he was going hunting in the hills outside the city, but he had mapped out a route through a number of busy streets.

The drummers beat their drums even harder and the town criers shouted, ‘Blind be the enemy, the king is approaching!’

The people tried to catch a glimpse of the shah’s cat in her royal coach. It became more and more crowded, and the officers leading the procession had to lash the people with their whips to keep them away from the shah. Hundreds of blind, disabled and deformed people, who begged for coins or bits of bread in the street or in the bazaar, tried to get as closed as they could, crying out, ‘Javid shah, javid shah, long live the shah, long live the shah!’

The guards raised their guns and beat the beggars, but they threw themselves on the ground in front of the horses and stretched out their hands to the shah, weeping and imploring.

Deep in his heart the shah felt troubled. Recently he had complained once again to his mother, ‘We keep having the feeling that we have become king of an endless procession of indigents.’

‘You may complain, but what you say is not true,’ his mother had said to comfort him. ‘You are the king of a very special land. The king of the princes who live in mysterious palaces, the king of the enigmatic Persian women, the king of the rich carpet dealers who populate our beautiful cities, and the king of thousands of large landowners in the villages. And you are also king of your mother.’

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, tossing them into the crowd. The people fought for them.

‘Javid shah, javid shah,’ cried the multitude.

And once again Shah Naser threw out a handful of coins. The drummers beat their drums even harder and the trumpeters blew louder on their trumpets. Just like Napoleon on his horse in the painting, the shah pointed to a spot in the distance. The horsemen surrounded the shah and galloped through the city gate.

Once they reached the hills the king took the lead, hunting for wild stags. Shooting from a galloping horse was a uniquely Persian feat. No one in the world could hit their mark on horseback the way a Persian soldier could. It was a skill acquired by all the future kings during their childhood years. The little princes practised it while hunting, and Shah Naser was a master. It made him happy when he shot and the animal fell.

The shah also loved fighting. He who was sometimes so frightened in the palace proved quite courageous on the front. He had fought in two wars with his father. The first time they lost to the Russians. The second time was the battle of Herat, which ended in disaster when the British took possession of the city and handed it over to the Afghan tribal leaders. Everyone knew that the grief over the loss of Herat was what had caused the old king’s death.

Hunting was in the shah’s blood. He used to hunt in the forests of Tabriz, searching for lions and tigers. Now he had to content himself with the stags of Tehran. While he pursued the animals his guards dragged the cannon to the top of the highest hill. When they reached the summit a sergeant blew on his trumpet to announce that everything was ready. The shah rode up the slope and, covered in sweat, sprang from his horse and thrust his arm in the air. ‘This is an exceptional day! How good we feel!’

He stroked the cannon’s barrel. One of the guards handed him a cannonball. The shah kissed the ball, placed it securely in the barrel and aimed it at a target on another hill. He was handed a burning torch with which he lit the fuse. Then he bent down, his hands over his ears. The cannon went off.

After he had shot the cannon seven times an officer threw a coat around the shah to keep him from catching cold. He was handed some sweet rose water. He walked up to a table on which a large dish of delicacies had been placed and ate his fill of dates stuffed with walnuts, crisp almond biscuits and ginger cooked in butter and honey.

When the servants had loaded all the bagged game onto the cart, the shah jumped back on his horse. He would have stayed longer, but he could tell from the eyes of his cat that she preferred to lie on her own sleeping spot at home.