desert, were not yet within sight. Our camels were unable to proceed,
their weakness and fatigue necessitating a further stay of one day, the
fourth day, amid the burning sand of the desert. My store of water was
reduced to about six glasses of water, which I kept in my leather flask;
of this I durst not drink more than a drop at a time, the consequence
being that I was constantly suffering from thirst. To my horror I
discovered a black spot in the middle part of my tongue, and this was
sufficient to make me at once swallow one half of my store. I thought I
was saved, but on the following morning a burning sensation accompanied
by a violent headache made itself felt, more and more, and by the time
the Khalata mountains loomed up in the distant horizon like towering
blue clouds, my strength gradually failed me. The nearer we drew to the
mountains the scarcer the sand became, and every eye was eagerly looking
out for some herd or shepherd's hut. All of a sudden some one called the
kervanbashi's attention to an approaching cloud of dust, who seeing it
became deadly pale with fright, and exclaimed: "This is the tebbad."
Every one dismounted at once from the camels. The animals were quicker
to feel the approach of the stifling wind and had knelt down, roaring
loud, on the ground, laying down their long necks flat before them, and
trying to hide their heads in the sand. We used the animals as a bulwark
against the coming storm, crouching down near them, and hardly had we
time to do so when the wind swept over our heads with a deep roar,
covering us with a layer of sand of the thickness of half an inch, its
first grains burning as like drops of fiery rain. Had we been attacked
by the tebbad five miles more inland, we should have been all
irretrievably destroyed. I did not observe the symptoms of fever
attended with vomiting which are said to be the effects of this wind,
but the atmosphere became sensibly heavier and more oppressive.
We scrambled up when it was over, and found to our intense satisfaction
after a short while that the sand was gone. From three roads which led
from the edge of the sandy desert to Bokhara we chose the shortest one,
and resuming our march we came, towards evening, across several wells
that had not been visited, even by herdsmen, this year. The water we
found in them was unfit for man, but the animals drank their fill from
it. We were all of us in the last stages of exhaustion, and nothing but
hope kept up the spark of life within our enfeebled frames. Coming to
the next station I was not able to get off my animal without assistance,
and was taken down and laid on the ground. I felt a dreadful internal
fire and my head stupified by the violence of the headache. My pen has
no power to describe the tortures of thirst unallayed which I underwent
at that moment, nor do I think there is any more painful mode of death,
for I had hitherto bravely faced all kind of dangers, keeping up my
manhood--but now I was completely broken down; I felt my power of
resistance had deserted me and had no hopes of ever surviving the night.
Towards noon we took up our march again; I fell asleep, and on awaking
on the 10th of July I found myself lying on the ground in a mud hut,
surrounded by men with long beards whom I at once recognized as natives
of Iran. They first administered to me tepid milk, then I had to take
some sour milk mixed with salt and water, called _ayran_ by them, and
very soon recovered my strength from the combined effect of both these
beverages. I now learned that, together with my companions, we were the
guests of a couple of Persian slaves camping here, in the desert, at a
distance of forty miles from Bokhara, they having charge of large flocks
of sheep, but being very sparingly provided with bread and water, so as
to prevent them from making an attempt to escape. Yet these Persians,
poor slaves as they were, had the broad charitableness which gives water
to their ancient and inveterate foes, the Sunnite mollahs. They became
particularly kind to me when they heard me addressing them in their
native language, the Persian. The sight of a child-boy only five years
old, who was also a slave, inspired me with feelings of profoundest
pity. He had been taken prisoner two years ago, together with his
father; and being asked the particulars of his life he answered: "My
father has bought (ransomed) himself; nor am I to remain a slave above
two years, for my father will earn the necessary money to set me free by
that time." The poor child had hardly a rag to cover his nakedness, and
his skin was as dark as tanned leather.
XXIII.
IN BOKHARA.
We marched into Bokhara on the 12th of July, and betook ourselves
straight to the spacious _tekkie_ (convent), shaded by trees, which,
forming a regular square, is provided with forty-eight cells on the
ground floor. The chief of this building was the descendant of some
saint, the court-priest of the Emir, and a man enjoying universal
respect. Hadji Salih, my intimate friend and companion, had been at one
time a pupil of this holy man, our present host, and, in that capacity,
he took upon himself at once to introduce me and the more prominent
members of our party to him. The recommendation and introduction coming
from such a source, we were received in the most friendly manner by the
chief of the tekkie; and having indulged in half an hour's conversation
with me, his satisfaction seemed to know no bounds, and he loudly
expressed his regret at the Badevlet's (his Majesty the Emir's) absence
from Bokhara, which prevented him from taking me to the Emir at once.
He immediately ordered a separate cell, in the most hospitable location
near the mosque, to be assigned to me, one of my neighbours being a
learned mollah, and the other Hadji Salih. The tekkie was full of
celebrities, and I had happened to light on the principal nest of
religious fanaticism in Bokhara. The official reporter had given
information of my arrival as an event of great importance, and
Rahmet-Bi, the first officer of the Emir and commander-in-chief in
Bokhara during the Emir's absence on his campaigns in Kokhand, was
making inquiries of the hadjis about me, on the first day of my stay.
But as the Emir's power does not extend to the tekkie, the
inquisitiveness of his first officer was made so little account of, that
nobody had thought it worth while to inform me of the same. In speaking
of me my friends said: "Hadji Reshid is not only a good Mussulman, but a
learned mollah besides; and he who entertains a suspicion against him
commits a most grievous sin."
On the following day I went out with Hadji Salih and four others of our
party, to take a look at the city and its bazaar. Although the squalid
and rickety buildings and the streets covered with sand, one foot thick,
did not tend to place "noble Bokhara" in the most favourable and
imposing light, yet upon entering the bazaar and beholding the thronging
multitude animating it, I could not refrain from being intensely
interested at the novel sight. The beauty and wealth of the bazaar were
not the things that surprised me, so much as the immense and
multifarious variety in races, dress and manners which struck the eye
everywhere. The type of Iran was visible in the faces of a great portion
of the people; but the Tartar features, which could be seen in all their
shades, from the Uzbeg to the wild Kirghiz, claimed my particular
attention owing to their prominence. The last, and generally the
Turanian race, may be distinguished from the people of Iran by their
heavy and awkward gait. Jews and Hindoos could be seen in great numbers,
too. I cast, now and then, a stealthy glance at the contents of the
shops, finding in them but few goods of the manufacture of Western
Europe, but Russian manufactures were all the more extensively
represented in them. Home-made articles have a separate place assigned
to them in the bazaar, and it is to this place that the Kirghizes, the
Kiptchaks, the Kalmuks and the inhabitants of Chinese Tartary resort to
make their purchases of clothing.
After loitering about and observing for nearly three hours I became so
exhausted with fatigue that I had to request my guide, Hadji Salih, to
allow me to take some rest. He led me, through the tea bazaar, to a
place called the "Divanbeg's Reservoir." It was a tolerably regular
square, in the centre of which a lake, flagged with stones and shaded by
magnificent elm trees, was visible. The place is encircled by tea-shops,
in which gigantic _samovars_ (teapots), manufactured in Russia
especially for Bokhara, are standing. In numerous shops are sold
candies, sweetmeats, bread and fruit, around which thousands of
gourmands and hungry people swarm. A mosque stands on one side of the
palace, in front of which dervishes and _meddahs_ (story-tellers)
recount the heroic deeds of renowned prophets and warriors, distorting
their features in every possible way as they do, to a large and curious
audience. As we were entering the square we saw a procession of fifteen
dervishes from the cloister of Nakishbend pass before our eyes. It was a
sight not to be easily forgotten--the mad jumping about of these
dervishes, in their wild fanaticism, with tall caps on their heads and
their long flowing hair, waving their sticks, and bellowing forth in
chorus a hymn, the several strophes of which were first sung to them by
their gray-headed chief.
Although I had put on a costume such as they wore in Bokhara, and the
sun had disfigured my face to such an extent that my own good mother
would not have recognized me, I was followed, nevertheless, by a crowd
of curious people, whose embraces and hand-shaking became very annoying
to me. Judging by my gigantic turban and the large Koran suspended from
my neck, they evidently took me to be some ishan or Sheikh, and there
was no way to escape the unpleasantness. While in Bokhara, its people
never, during the whole time of my stay there, suspected me, although
they are rather cunning and distrustful. They would come to me for
benedictions, listen to my recitals in public places, but never a
farthing did I get from them.
The authorities did not trust me as implicitly as the people did.
Rahmet-Bi, the Emir's chief officer, whom I have mentioned before, could
not assail me publicly, but he pestered me with spies whose business it
was to engage me in conversation, dragging into it all the time the
Frengistan name, in the hope of seeing me betray myself before them,
through some inadvertent remark. Failing in this method they thought to
frighten me by stray remarks, such as that the Frengis covet the
possession of Bokhara, and that several of their spies and emissaries
had already met with condign punishment. Or they would talk of some
Frengis (unfortunate Italians) who had come to Bokhara a couple of days
ago, and were arrested owing to their alleged importation of several
boxes of tea, sprinkled with diamond dust, for the purpose of poisoning
the entire population of the sacred city. These spies were for the most
part hadjis who had been living for years in Constantinople, and were
now trying to test my knowledge of the language and the circumstances of
that place. To get rid of their obtrusions I pretended to a feeling of
indignation and impatience at their everlasting discussion of the
Frengi. "Why," said I to them, "I have left Constantinople for this very
reason, to get rid of the sight of these Frengis who have robbed the
devil of his reason. I am now, thank God, in noble Bokhara, and have no
wish to waste here my time on speaking about them."
At one time again one of the servants of Rahmet-Bi brought to me, by
orders of his master, a thin little man, requesting me to examine the
individual, and then tell if he were an Arab from Damaskus, as he
claimed to be. Immediately on his entering I was struck by his features,
and set him down at once for a European. I was strengthened in this
opinion after having talked with him for a while, for I found his
pronunciation not to be the true Arabic at all. He told me he was going
to China to visit the grave there of some saint. He was visibly
embarrassed in the course of our conversation. I rather regret not
having met him afterwards, for I strongly suspect he was acting the same
part I was.
The commander-in-chief, finding himself foiled in his attempts to draw
me out by spies, invited me to a _pilar_ (a dish of rice and meat) at
his house, where a brilliant galaxy of the representatives of the ulema
world of Bokhara were awaiting my appearance. As soon as I entered and
looked about me I saw at once that the whole company were assembled to
sit in judgment upon my case; that a hard task awaited me, and that my
powers of dissimulation would have to pass through a fiery ordeal. I
thought best to anticipate their design, and instead of giving them
time to address questions to me, I boldly plunged into a discussion of
some religious dogmas and requested their opinions concerning them. My
zeal met with applause at the hands of the pious assemblage, and a very
heated dispute arising soon after, in which I was careful not to take
any part, concerning some mooted points in the sacred book, I took
occasion to loudly declare the mental superiority of the mollahs of
Bokhara over the ulemas of Constantinople. At length, my trial ended
with my triumph; the learned mollahs gave Rahmet-Bi to understand by
nods and winks and words, that his official reporter had been
outrageously mistaken, and that there could not be the slightest doubt
about my identity.
During my whole stay in Bokhara the heat was intolerable, and I had to
undergo besides the additional infliction of drinking warm water as a
preventative against getting the _rishte_, viz., the filaria medinensis,
with which every tenth person here is afflicted. People in Bokhara think
as little of feeling in summer an itching sensation in their feet or any
part of their bodies, as Europeans do of a cold. The itching is followed
after a while by a red spot, from the centre of which a worm of the
thickness of a thread issues to the length at times, of several yards,
and it must be carefully unwound in the course of a couple of days. This
is the regular course of the disease, which is otherwise unaccompanied
by any pain. But if the worm happens to break whilst being unwound,
inflammation sets in, and six to ten appear where there had been one
before, compelling the patient to keep his bed midst great sufferings
for a week. The more courageous gets the rishte at once removed from his
body, by having it cut out. The barbers in Bokhara perform the operation
with considerable skill; the spot where the itching is felt is cut open
in an instant, the worm removed, and the wound heals in a very short
time.
Bokhara is supplied with water from the Zerefshan (gold-scattering)
river by means of open aqueducts. The canal is sunk to a sufficient
depth, but not kept clean. As it frequently happens to run dry, the
water coming in again is received by the populace with shouts and
screams of delight. First of all the people, young and old, dive into
the basin and take a regular bath; then comes the turn of the horses,
cows, and asses, followed by the dogs. When this general bathing of man
and beast is over any further going into it is forbidden; the water
settles somewhat and becomes clear again, but it remains, nevertheless,
tainted with dirt and messes of all kinds.
There is something of the metropolitan character, withal, about Bokhara,
at least it was so to a man like myself who had been wandering for a
considerable time through the deserts of Central Asia. I had good hot
bread, I could get tea, fruit and cooked eatables; I even went to the
length of having two shirts made for myself, and indeed got to like the
comforts of civilized life to such an extent that it was with a pang of
regret that I listened to my companions talking of the preparations I
should make for our departure, as they wished to reach their distant
Eastern homes before the setting in of winter. I intended, at all
events, to accompany them as far as Samarkand, where I might easily
happen to meet the Emir, in which case my fellow-hadjis would be of
great service to me. There, in Samarkand, I should then have to choose
either to continue the journey to Kokhand and Kashgar, in their company,
or to return by myself to Teheran by way of Herat. I was warmly urged by
Hadji Bilal and Hadji Salih to remain with them, but in order to afford
me every facility, in case I would not be persuaded by them and
insisted upon leaving them at Samarkand, they made me acquainted with a
kervanbashi from Herat, who was staying in Bokhara with one hundred and
fifty camels, and was going to leave for his home, Herat, in three
weeks. _Molla Zeman_ was the name of the kervanbashi; he had known my
friends for a long time, and they recommended me to him in such cordial
terms as if I had been their brother. It was consequently arranged
between me and Molla Zeman, that in case I made up my mind to return
from Samarkand I should meet him in three weeks at Kerki, on the other
side of the Oxus.
Before saying good-bye to Bokhara I shall make some mention of the place
where I first met him. It was one of those caravansaries where the
unfortunate slaves are put up for sale. The Turkoman karaktchi, who
hunts the Persians, cannot afford to wait a long time for his money, he
therefore usually sells his human booty to some wealthier Turkoman, who
makes a business of buying a good many of them, and then takes a large
troop of slaves to Bokhara to be sold there. He then sells as many as he
can during the first days after his arrival, the rest which he is not
able to dispose of he hands over to the dellal to be sold for him; the
latter is the person who does the real wholesale business in slaves.
Slaves of from three to sixty years of age, unless from some cause or
other they have become crippled, are constantly for sale in the marts of
Bokhara and Khiva. The tenets of their religion, it is true, forbid them
to sell into slavery any but unbelievers, but hypocritical Bokhara knows
how to elude the law. Besides the Shi-ite Persians, who are declared to
be unbelievers by the Sunnite law, any number of Sunnite true believers
are sold into slavery, conscience being salved by the simple process of
compelling them before their sale and by the most cruel tortures to
confess to being Shi-ites.
The male slave who is exposed for sale is publicly examined, and the
seller is bound to guarantee that the article sold by him is without a
flaw. The hour in which a slave gets out of the clutches of the
slave-dealer is his happiest, for it is impossible that such
ill-treatment could await him, even at the hand of the worst master, as
he endures whilst in the warehouses of the dealer in human flesh. The
prices paid for the slaves vary according to the political situation,
being favourable or unfavourable, as the Turkomans send their _alamans_
(robber-bands) into the neighbouring countries. At the time of my visit
the price paid for an able-bodied strong man was from forty to fifty
tillas (from. £2 10s. to £3 10s.); but at the time when the Persians
were defeated near Merv, and 10,000 prisoners were taken, a man could be
bought at the low price of from three to four tillas. This abominable
traffic, I am happy to remark, has since the time of my sojourn in
Bokhara, if not entirely ceased, yet certainly greatly abated; and it is
very probable that ere long slaves will not be exposed for sale at all
in Central Asia. For the cessation of this horrible practice we are
indebted to Russia, who has forbidden the slave trade in her own Asiatic
possessions, as well as in the countries under her protection. Nor can
the Turkomans, the chief men-stealers, continue as before their inroads
into Persia to carry away men and cattle.
We had already passed eighteen days in Bokhara, and my friends being
unwilling to remain any longer, we had to proceed on our journey to
Samarkand. Our purses, too, were at a rather low ebb, for in Bokhara we
got nothing beyond hand-shaking. All that we had saved up in Khiva was
spent by us in Bokhara. I had to sell even my animal; and many of my
companions sharing my fate, we were compelled to hire a waggon in order
to continue our journey. Some of our fellow-hadjis said good-bye to us
here, and many and affectionate were the leave-takings and embraces.
Before leaving I paid a farewell visit to Rahmet-Bi, who was kind enough
to furnish me with a letter of recommendation for Samarkand, and made me
promise that I would get myself introduced to the Emir.
The road to Samarkand leads for the most part through well-cultivated
fields, populous and nicely built villages. We halted at five stations
on this road. Now that I was drawing near Samarkand all my curiosity and
interest revived to see this Mecca of my longings of old. Mount
Tchobanata, at the foot of which the city spreads, was already visible,
and climbing up an eminence we saw Samarkand, the city of Timur, before
us in all its pomp and splendour, shining out, with fairy-like
enchantment, with its many coloured cupolas and towers, illumined by the
rosy hue of the rising sun.
XXIV.
IN SAMARKAND.
The Tadjiks maintain to this day that _Samarkand_, this ancient city of
Central Asia, is the centre of the world. And it does, in truth, excel
all the other cities of Central Asia, in its ancient monuments as well
as in the splendour of its mosques, its grand tombs and new structures.
We put up at a large caravansary where hadjis are provided with free
quarters, but having been invited on the day of our arrival to establish
my quarters as a guest in a private house near the tomb of Timur, I
readily accepted the invitation and left the caravansary. I was
agreeably surprised to find in my host an officer of the Emir who was
charged with the superintendence of the Emir's palace at Samarkand. The
return of the Emir, who was about to terminate a successful campaign at
Kokhand, having been announced to take place in a few days, my
fellow-travellers determined to oblige me by putting off their departure
from Samarkand until I had an opportunity to see the Emir and find
suitable companions for my return journey. I employed my time, in the
meanwhile, in looking at the remarkable sights in the city, of which a
greater variety is offered here than in any city in Central Asia. Being
a hadji I had, of course, to begin with the saints. There are here about
a hundred holy places to be visited, and the pilgrims do their visiting
by a certain established rote, according to the superior claims of
persons and places to sanctity. I would not deviate from the observance
of this routine, and looked at everything, in its proper turn, down to
the smallest object, with the zeal and devotion becoming the character I
was acting. Amongst the many, I will mention in passing only the mosque
of Timur; that castle in one of the halls of which the celebrated
_Kök-Tach_ (_i.e._, green stone) is still to be seen upon which the
great Emir had his throne erected, when its hall was crowded with
vassals who hied from all the quarters of the world to do him homage; at
that time when three messengers on horseback were always standing ready
in the precincts of the amphitheatrically constructed hall to blazon
forth the edicts of the conqueror of the world to the remotest corner of
it. The tomb of Timur, and its many brilliant medresses are worth
mentioning too. Only a portion of the latter are used as
dwelling-places, and many of them are threatened with decay. The
medresse of Hanim, once so grand, is in ruins now, and in vain did I
search within mouldering walls for even a trace of the renowned Armenian
and Greek library which Timur is alleged to have brought to Samarkand to
form one of the ornaments of his capital.
[Illustration: SAMARKAND.]
Whilst I was in Samarkand crowds were always thronging in the bazaars as
well as in the public places and streets, to which the soldiers
returning from the war contributed, to a great extent. The number of its
regular population hardly exceeds fifteen to twenty thousand
inhabitants, two-thirds of whom are Uzbegs, and one-third Tadjiks. The
Emir, whose seat of government is properly speaking in Bokhara, used to
spend two or three months during the summer in Samarkand, owing to its
more elevated position and more genial climate.