In 1870 the Russians endeavored without success to establish a fair at
Tachkend which would rival that at Nijni-Novgorod. Some twenty years
later the attempt would have succeeded, and as a matter of fact the
fair now exists, owing to the making of the Transcaspian to unite
Samarkand and Tachkend.
And now not only do merchants with their merchandise crowd into this
town, but pilgrims with their pilgrimage outfits. And there will be
quite a procession, or rather an exodus, when the time comes for the
Mussulman faithful to ride to Mecca by railway.
Meanwhile we are at Tachkend, and the time-table shows that we stop
here two hours and a half.
Of course I shall not have time to visit the town, which would be worth
my while to do. But I must confess that these cities of Turkestan are
very much alike, and to have seen one is to have seen another, unless
we can go into details.
Crossing a fertile region where poplars like distaffs rise gracefully
erect, skirting fields bristling with vines, running by gardens where
fruit trees abound, our train stops at the new town.
As is inevitable since the Russian conquest, there are two towns side
by side at Tachkend as at Samarkand, as at Bokhara, as at Merv. Here
the old town has tortuous streets, houses of mud and clay, bazaars of
poor appearance, caravanserais built of bricks dried in the sun, a few
mosques, and schools as numerous as if the czar had decreed by ukase
that everything French should be imitated. It is true that the scholars
are wanting, but there is no want of schools.
The population of Tachkend does not differ very much from that met with
in other parts of Turkestan. It comprises Sarthes, Usbegs, Tadjiks,
Khirgizes, Nogais, Israelites, a few Afghans and Hindoos and--as may be
naturally supposed--a fair supply of Russians.
It is perhaps at Tachkend that the Jews are gathered in the greatest
numbers. And from the day that the town passed under Russian
administration their situation has considerably improved. From that
epoch dates the complete civil and political liberty they now enjoy.
I have only two hours to spare in visiting the town, and I do my work
in true reporter style. You should have seen me dashing through the
grand bazaar, a mere wooden building, which is crammed with Oriental
stuffs, silk goods, metal ware, specimens of Chinese manufacture,
including some very fine examples of porcelain.
In the streets of old Tachkend a certain number of women are to be met
with. I need hardly say that there are no slaves in this country, much
to the displeasure of the Mussulmans. Nowadays woman is free--even in
her household.
"An old Turkoman," said Major Noltitz, "once told me that a husband's
power is at an end now that he cannot thrash his wife without being
threatened with an appeal to the czar; and that marriage is at an end!"
I do not know if the fair sex is still beaten, but the husbands know
what they may expect if they knock their wives about. Will it be
believed that these peculiar Orientals can see no progress in this
prohibition to beat their wives? Perhaps they remember that the
Terrestrial Paradise is not far off--a beautiful garden between the
Tigris and Euphrates, unless it was between the Amou and the Syr-Daria.
Perhaps they have not forgotten that mother Eve lived in this
preadamite garden, and that if she had been thrashed a little before
her first fault, she would probably not have committed it. But we need
not enlarge on that.
I did not hear, as Madam Ujfalvy-Bourdon did, the band playing the
_Pompiers de Nanterre_ in the governor-general's garden. No! On this
occasion they were playing _Le Pere la Victoire_, and if these are not
national airs they are none the less agreeable to French ears.
We left Tachkend at precisely eleven o'clock in the morning. The
country through which the Grand Transasiatic is now running is not so
monotonous. The plain begins to undulate, for we are approaching the
outer ramifications of the eastern orographic system. We are nearing
the tableland of the Pamirs. At the same time we continue at normal
speed along this section of a hundred and fifty kilometres which
separates us from Khodjend.
As soon as we are on the move I begin to think of Kinko. His little
love romance has touched me to the heart. This sweetheart who sent
himself off--this other sweetheart who is going to pay the expenses--I
am sure Major Noltitz would be interested in these two turtle doves,
one of which is in a cage; he would not be too hard on this defrauder
of the company, he would be incapable of betraying him. Consequently I
have a great desire to tell him of my expedition into the baggage van.
But the secret is not mine. I must do nothing that might get Kinko into
trouble.
And so I am silent, and to-night I will, if possible, take a few
provisions to my packing case--to my snail in his shell, let us say.
And is not the young Roumanian like a snail in his shell, for it is as
much as he can do to get out of it?
We reach Khodjend about three in the afternoon. The country is fertile,
green, carefully cultivated. It is a succession of kitchen gardens,
which seem to be well-kept immense fields sown with clover, which yield
four or five crops a year. The roads near the town are bordered with
long rows of mulberry trees, which diversify the view with eccentric
branches.
Again, this pair of cities, old and new. Both of them had only thirty
thousand inhabitants in 1868 and they have from forty-five to fifty
thousand now. Is it the influence of the surroundings which produces
the increase of the birth rate? Is the province affected by the
prolific example of the Celestial Empire? No! It is the progress of
trade, the concentration of merchants of all nations onto these new
markets.
Our halt at Khodjend has lasted three hours. I have made my
professional visit and walked on the banks of the Syr-Dana. This river,
which bathes the foot of the high mountains of Mogol-Taou, is crossed
by a bridge, the middle section of which gives passage to ships of
moderate tonnage.
The weather is very warm. The town being protected by its shelter of
mountains, the breezes of the steppe cannot reach it, and it is one of
the hottest places in Turkestan.
I met the Caternas, delighted with their excursion. The actor said to
me in a tone of the best humor:
"Never shall I forget Khodjend, Monsieur Claudius."
"And why will you never forget Khodjend, Monsieur Caterna?"
"Do you see these peaches?" he asked, showing me the fruit he was
carrying.
"They are magnificent--"
"And not dear! A kilo for four kopeks--that is to say, twelve centimes!"
"Eh!" I answer. "That shows that peaches are rather common in this
country. That is the Asiatic apple and it was one of those apples that
Mrs. Adam took a bite at--"
"Then I excuse her!" said Madame Caterna, munching away at one of these
delicious peaches.
After leaving Tachkend the railway had curved toward the south, so as
to reach Khodjend; but after leaving town it curved to the east in the
direction of Kokhan. It is at Tachkend that it is nearest to the
Transsiberian, and a branch line is being made to Semipalatinsk to
unite the railway systems of Central and Northern Asia.
Beyond we shall run due east, and by Marghelan and Och pass through the
gorges of the Pamirs so as to reach the Turkesto-Chinese frontier.
The train had only just started when the travelers took their seats at
the table, where I failed to notice any fresh arrival. We shall not
pick up any more until we reach Kachgar. There the Russian cookery will
give place to the Chinese, and although the name does not recall the
nectar and ambrosia of Olympus, it is probable that we shall not lose
by the change.
Ephrinell is in his usual place. Without going as far as familiarity,
it is obvious that a close intimacy, founded on a similarity in tastes
and aptitudes exists between Miss Horatia Bluett and the Yankee. There
is no doubt, in our opinion, but what it will end in a wedding as soon
as the train arrives. Both will have their romance of the rail.
Frankly, I like that of Kinko and Zinca Klork much better. It is true
the pretty Roumanian is not here!
We are all very friendly, and by "we" I mean my most sympathetic
numbers, the major, the Caternas, young Pan Chao, who replies with very
Parisian pleasantries to the actor's fooleries.
The dinner is a pleasant one and a good one. We learn what is the
fourth rule formulated by Cornaco, that Venetian noble, and with the
object of determining the right amount for drinking and eating. Pan
Chao pressed the doctor on this subject, and Tio-King replied, with a
seriousness truly buddhic:
"The rule is founded on the quantity of nourishment proportionate for
each temperament as regards the difference of ages, and the strength
and the food of various kinds."
"And for your temperament, doctor?" asked Caterna, "what is the right
quantity?"
"Fourteen ounces of solid or liquid--"
"An hour?"
"No, sir, a day," replied Tio-King. "And it was in this manner that the
illustrious Cornaro lived from the age of thirty-six, so as to leave
himself enough strength of body and mind to write his fourth treatise
when he was eighty-five, and to live to a hundred and two."
"In that case, give me my fifth cutlet," said Pan Ghao, with a burst of
laughter.
There is nothing more agreeable than to talk before a well-served
table; but I must not forget to complete my notes regarding Kokham. We
were not due there till nine o'clock, and that would be in the
nighttime. And so I asked the major to give me some information
regarding this town, which is the last of any importance in Russian
Turkestan.
"I know it all the better," said the major, "from having been in
garrison there for fifteen months. It is a pity you have not time to
visit it, for it remains very Asiatic, and there has not been time yet
for it to grow a modern town. There is a square there unrivalled in
Asia, a palace in great style, that of the old Khan of Khondajar,
situated on a mound about a hundred yards high, and in which the
governor has left his Sarthe artillery. It is considered wonderful, and
there is good reason for it. You will lose by not going there a rare
opportunity of bringing in the high-flown words of your language in
description: the reception hall transformed into a Russian church, a
labyrinth of rooms with the floors of the precious Karagatch wood, the
rose pavilion, in which visitors receive a truly Oriental hospitality,
the interior court of Moorish decoration recalling the adorable
architectural fancies of the Alhambra, the terraces with their splendid
views, the harem where the thousand wives of the Sultan--a hundred more
than Solomon--live in peace together, the lacework of the fronts, the
gardens with their shady walks under the ancient vines--that is what
you would have seen--"
"And which I have already seen with your eyes, dear major," said I. "My
readers will not complain. Pray tell me if there are any bazaars in ."
"A Turkestan town without bazaars would be like London without its
docks."
"And Paris without its theaters!" said the actor.
"Yes; there are bazaars at Kokhan, one of them on the Sokh bridge, the two
arms of which traverse the town and in it the finest fabrics of Asia
are sold for tillahs of gold, which are worth three roubles and sixty
kopeks of our money."
"I am sure, major, that you are going to mention mosques after bazaars."
"Certainly."
"And medresses?"
"Certainly; but you must understand that some of them are as good as
the mosques and medresses of Samarkand of Bokhara."
I took advantage of the kindness of Major Noltitz and thanks to him,
the readers of the _Twentieth Century_ need not spend a night in Kokhan. I
will leave my pen inundated with the solar rays of this city of which I
could only see a vague outline.
The dinner lasted till rather late, and terminated in an unexpected
manner by an offer from Caterna to recite a monologue.
I need scarcely say that the offer was gladly accepted.
Our train more and more resembled a small rolling town It had even its
casino, this dining-car in which we were gathered at the moment. And it
was thus in the eastern part of Turkestan, four hundred kilometres from
the Pamir plateau, at dessert after our excellent dinner served in a
saloon of the Grand Transasiatic, that the _Obsession_ was given with
remarkable talent by Monsieur Caterna, grand premier comique, engaged
at Shanghai theater for the approaching season.
"Monsieur," said Pan Chao, "my sincere compliments. I have heard young
Coquelin--"
"A master, monsieur; a master!" said Caterna.
"Whom you approach--"
"Respectfully--very respectfully!"
The bravos lavished on Caterna had no effect on Sir Francis Trevellyan,
who had been occupying himself with onomatopic exclamations regarding
the dinner, which he considered execrable. He was not amused--not even
sadly, as his countrymen have been for four hundred years, according to
Froissart. And yet nobody took any notice of this grumbling gentleman's
recriminations.
Baron Weissschnitzerdörfer had not understood a single word of this
little masterpiece, and had he understood it, he would not have been
able to appreciate this sample of Parisian monologomania.
As to my lord Faruskiar and his inseparable Ghangir, it seemed that in
spite of their traditional reserve, the surprising grimaces, the
significant gestures, the comical intonations, had interested them to a
certain extent.
The actor had noticed it, and appreciated this silent admiration.
As he rose from the table he said to me:
"He is magnificent, this seigneur! What dignity! What a presence! What
a type of the farthest East! I like his companion less--a third-rate
fellow at the outside! But this superb Mongol! Caroline, cannot you
imagine him as 'Morales' in the _Pirates of the Savannah_?"
"Not in that costume, at any rate," said I.
"Why not, Monsieur Claudius? One day at Perpignan I played 'Colonel de
Montéclin' in the _Closerie des Genets_ in the costume of a Japanese
officer--"
"And he was applauded!" added Madame Caterna.
During dinner the train had passed Kastakos station, situated in the
center of a mountainous region. The road curved a good deal, and ran
over viaducts and through tunnels--as we could tell by the noise.
A little time afterward Popof told us that we were in the territory of
Ferganah, the name of the ancient khanate of Kokhan, which was annexed by
Russia in 1876, with the seven districts that compose it. These
districts, in which Sarthes are in the majority, are administered by
prefects, sub-prefects, and mayors. Come, then, to Ferganah, to find
all the machinery of the constitution of the year VIII.
Beyond there is an immense steppe, extending before our train. Madame
de Ujfalvy-Bourdon has justly compared it to a billiard table, so
perfect in its horizontality. Only it is not an ivory ball which is
rolling over its surface, but an express of the Grand Transasiatic
running at sixty kilometres an hour.
Leaving the station of Tchontchai behind, we enter station at nine
o'clock in the evening. The stoppage is to last two hours. We get out
onto the platform.
As we are leaving the car I am near Major Noltitz, who asks young Pan
Chao:
"Have you ever heard of this mandarin Yen Lou, whose body is being
taken to Pekin?"
"Never, major."
"But he ought to be a personage of consideration, to be treated with
the honor he gets."
"That is possible," said Pan Chao; "but we have so many personages of
consideration in the Celestial Empire."
"And so, this mandarin, Yen Lou?"
"I never heard him mentioned."
Why did Major Noltitz ask the Chinaman this question? What was he
thinking about?