THE COURT OF KHIVA.
The courts of oriental princes have been frequently and variously
described. Beginning with the shore of the Bosphorus, where Dolma
Bagtsche, Beshiktash and Serayburun furnish the first pictures in
the panorama, and ranging as far as the palaces of Pekin and Yedo,
we have read again and again of the love for ostentation and empty
splendour, the glitter of gold and diamonds of oriental life. But
to complete the series, a few sketches of life at the court of
Turkestan sovereigns are wanting, and the description of such may
not, therefore, be deemed superfluous.
My readers must not expect either to be dazzled, or to have their
amazement and admiration excited, and yet it will repay the trouble
to accompany me through the tortuous streets of Khiva and the bazaar
with its vaulted roof to the Ark (the Royal Castle.) Like all the
residences of sovereigns in Central Asia, this castle is strangely
fortified and surrounded by a double wall. Through a narrow gate
we enter into the first court, which is crowded with the royal
body-guard and other soldiers and servants. Near the entrance two
cannons are planted, brought thither by the mighty Nadir, and
left behind on his hasty retreat. They are decorated with pretty
symmetrical ornaments, and seem to have been made at Delhi. After
having passed the second gate, we enter a more spacious court, with
a mean looking building on one side, not unlike an open coach-house;
it is here that the high officials pass the hours of office, the
Mehter (Minister of the Interior) presiding. To the left of this
building is a kind of guard-house, in which divers servants,
policemen and executioners live during the day time, awaiting the
commands of their royal master. A small gate leads between these two
buildings, to the residence of His Majesty of Khiva. On the outside
it resembles a poor mud-hut, like all the other houses in the town,
and is of course without windows, nor is any particular luxury to
be met with inside, except several large and valuable carpets, a
few sofas and round cushions, together with a considerable number
of chests--the entire furniture of this place--which serve in
some degree to remind us of the princely rank of the master. The
number of apartments is very small, and as every where the case, is
divided into the Harem, (the rooms set apart for the women,) and the
Selamdjay, (the reception hall.)
Nowhere are any signs of splendour perceptible; the large train of
followers alone mark the distinction, the lacqueys are the sole
insignia of the ruler. Let us pass them in review before us. At the
head of the household is the Desturkhandji, (literally, the man who
spreads the table cloth,) whose peculiar office is to superintend
the royal table. He is present during dinner, clothed in full armour
and state dress, and on him devolves the inspection and control
of the entire number of servants. Next to him follows the Mehrem,
a kind of valet de chambre _in officio_, but in reality rather a
privy councillor, who shares in the business of the state besides
his immediate domestic affairs, and, conjointly with the former,
exercises the most powerful influence upon his royal master. Then
follows the rest of the servants, of whom each has his distinct
office. The Ashpez, or cook, prepares the food, whilst the Ashmehter
serves it. The Sherbetshi prepares tea, sherbet, and other drinks,
but he is expected to be skilled besides in the decoction of
wonder-working elixirs. The Payeke is entrusted with the tchilim
(pipe,) which at court is made of gold or silver, and must be
replenished with fresh water every time it is filled with tobacco.
This office does not exist in any other court in Central Asia,
tobacco being strictly forbidden by law. His Tartar Majesty has no
dressing room, it is true, but, nevertheless, several servants are
appointed to assist at the toilet. Whilst the Shilaptshi kneeling
holds the wash-hand basin, the Kumgandshi (the man who holds the
can or jug) pours the water from a silver or golden vessel, and
the Rumaldshi is ready, as soon as the two former have withdrawn,
to throw the towel to the prince, holding it with the tips of
his fingers. The Khan has an especial Sertarash (who shaves the
head,) who is expected to have nimble fingers and at the same time
a skilful hand for squeezing the skull, a favourite operation
throughout the east. Then the prince possesses a Ternaktshi, or nail
cutter, a Khadimdshi, whose duty it is to knead and pummel his back,
also to kneel upon him and make his limbs crack, whenever the Khan,
after long fatigue, wishes to refresh himself. Lastly, there is a
Töshektshi, or bed maker, whose office it is to spread out at night
the soft pieces of felt or the mattresses. The magnificent harness,
saddles and weapons are in charge of the Khaznadshi (treasurer,)
who, whenever the sovereign rides out in public, walks beside him.
The Djigadj, or keeper of the plumes, walks at the head of the train
of servants.
In dress and food, the prince's household is little distinguished
from that of rich merchants or officials of rank. The king wears
the same heavy cap of sheep-skin, the same clumsy boots, stuffed
out with several yards of linen rags, the same thickly-wadded coats
of print or silk as his subjects, and, like them, endures in this
Siberian costume, under the oppressive heat of July, a state of
fearful perspiration. On the whole, the position of the Prince of
Kharezm is one little to be envied, nay, I feel inclined to say,
it is far more wretched than that of other Eastern princes. In a
country, where pillage and murder, anarchy and lawlessness, are
the rule, and not the exception, a sovereign has to maintain his
authority by inspiring his subjects with the utmost dread and
almost superstitious terror for his person; never with affection.
Even those nearest to him fear him for his unlimited power; and wife
and children, as well as relations, not unfrequently attempt his
life. At the same time, the sovereign is expected to be the model
of Islamitic virtue and Œzbeg manners and customs; every most
trifling, insignificant error of his Majesty, becomes the talk of
the town; and although nobody would venture to blame him for very
considerable offences, yet in the former case it is the influential
Mollahs who would feel affronted,--a result entirely opposed to the
interests of the sovereign.
The Khan, like every orthodox Mussulman, is obliged to leave his
bed before sun-rise, and to be present at the morning prayer in
full assembly. It lasts rather more than half an hour, after which
he partakes of several dishes of tea, seasoned with fat and salt.
Not unfrequently some of the learned Mollahs are invited, in order
to enliven the breakfast, by explaining some sacred precept or
arguing upon some religious question, of which his highness rarely
of course understands anything. Profound discussions generally
invite sleep, and no sooner does his Majesty begin to snore aloud,
when the learned men take it as a signal to withdraw. This sleep
is called the morning doze, and lasts from two to three hours.
When it is over, the selam (reception) of the ministers and other
high dignitaries commences, and the Khan enters in full earnest
upon his duties as sovereign. Consultations are held as to the
maurauding expeditions to be undertaken, politics are discussed
in reference to the neighbouring state of Bokhara, the Yomut-
and Tchaudor-Turkomans, the Kasaks, and at present probably the
Russians, who are pushing their advances nearer and nearer;--or
the governors of the provinces and the tax-gatherers, who had been
sent out over the country, have to submit to the Khan and his
ministers their several accounts. Every farthing has to be paid over
with the most scrupulous accuracy, and woe to that man in whose
account the smallest error is detected; it may happen that he is
dismissed, leaving his head behind. And now, after having transacted
for several hours the ordinary business of the state, breakfast
is served, consisting for the greater part of rather light food,
that is to say, "light" for an Œzbeg digestion--the déjeuner à
la fourchette of his Majesty of Khiva sufficing in all probability
for several of our active working men at home. During this meal all
present have to stand round respectfully and look on, and after
having finished, he invites one or the other of his favourites
to sit down and play with him at chess,--an amusement which is
continued until the time for mid-day prayer. This lasts about an
hour. When it is over, his Majesty proceeds to the outer court, and
taking his seat on a kind of terrace, the arz (public audience)
takes place, to which every rank, every class is admitted,--men,
women, and children, either in the greatest négligé or even half
naked. All crowd round the entrance, where amidst noise and
shouting they wait for audience. Each in turn is admitted, but only
one person at a time, who is allowed to approach quite close to his
sovereign; to speak out freely and without reserve, to make entreaty
or complaint, nay, to engage even in the most violent altercation
with the Khan, the smallest sign from whom would suffice to deliver
his subject, without any reason whatever, into the hands of the
executioner. Thus the East is, and ever was from times immemorial,
the land of the most striking contradictions. The inexperienced may
interpret this as love of strict justice. I, however, see in it
nothing but a whimsical habit of demeanour, permitting one person
to defy the royal authority in the coarsest terms of speech, while
another forfeits his life for the smallest offence against the rules
of propriety.
At the arz not only all great and important lawsuits are settled,
and sentences of death pronounced and executed; but even trifling
differences are not unfrequently adjusted, as for instance, a
quarrel between a husband and wife, or between one man and his
neighbour on account of some few pence or the stealing of a hen. No
complainant whatever can be refused a hearing; and although the Khan
may send him to the Kadi, yet he must first listen to whatever he
has to say. The afternoon prayer alone puts an end to this wearisome
occupation. Later in the day the prince takes his customary ride on
horseback outside the town, and usually returns just before sunset.
Evening prayers again are said in full assembly, and these ended,
the prince retires to take his supper. The servants, and all those
who do not live in the palace, withdraw, and the king remains alone
with his confidants. Supper is a luxurious meal, and lasts longer
than any other. Spirituous drinks are seldom taken by the sovereigns
of Khiva and Bokhara, although the other members of the royal family
and the grandees frequently transgress on this point, and indulge
in the practice to excess. After the supper, singers and musicians
make their appearance, or jugglers, with their various performances.
Singing is very popular in Khiva, and the native singers of this
place are the most renowned in Turkestan, and indeed throughout the
whole Mahomedan East of Asia. The instrument upon which they excel
is called girdshek, and bears a general resemblance to our violin.
It has a longer neck and three strings, one of wire and two of silk;
the bow, too, is like our bow. Then there are the tambur and dutara,
on which instruments the Bakhshi plays the accompaniment to his
songs, improvised in praise of some popular hero of the day; whereas
at the royal court they select for the most part ghaseles from Nevai
and the Persian poets. The young princes are instructed in music,
and it often happens that the Khan invites them to perform either
alone or with the troubadours at court. Particular merriment and
good humour, such as presides at the drinking-bouts at Teheran, or
at the banquets in the palaces on the Bosphorus, is not to be met
with at the court of Œzbeg princes; it is unknown here, or at
least such is not the custom. The national character of the Tartar
is chiefly marked by seriousness and firmness; to dance, jump, or
show high spirits, is in his eyes only worthy of women or children.
I have never seen an Œzbeg person of good manners indulge in
immoderate laughter.
About two hours after sunset the Khan retires to the harem, or to
his sleeping apartment, and with it his daily labours as sovereign
are ended. The harem is here very different from those of the
Turkish or Persian court. The number of women is limited, the
fairy-like luxuriousness of life in a harem is entirely wanting,
strict chastity and modesty pervade it; and in this respect the
court of Khiva is eminently superior to all Eastern courts. The
present Khan has only two lawful wives, although the Koran allows
four. These are always chosen from among the royal family; and it
is an extremely rare thing for the daughter of a dignitary, who
does not belong to the family, to be raised to this rank. The Khan,
although possessing the same unlimited power over his wife as over
any of his subjects, treats her without severity, and on the whole
with tenderness, unless she be found guilty of any particular
offence. She possesses no titles or prerogatives whatever; her court
is distinguished in nothing from the other harems, but that she has
more female servants and slaves about her; the former consisting of
the wives or daughters of officials, the latter for the most part
of Persian and a few dark Arab women. The daughters of Iran are
far inferior to the Œzbeg women in personal beauty, and their
mistress has no cause to fear from either of them any rivalry. As
regards their intercourse with the outer world, the princesses
of Khiva are far more restricted than the wives of other Eastern
potentates. The rules of modesty require that they should pass the
greater part of the day in the harem, where comparatively little
time is lavished upon the embellishments of the toilet. And in fact,
the ladies of the harem have very little leisure for idleness, since
in accordance with the custom of the country it is desirable that
the greater part of the clothes, carpets, and other stuffs, for the
use of the prince, should be prepared by the hand of his wife. This
custom reminds one strongly of the patriarchal mode of life of which
Turkestan, in spite of its roughness, has preserved many remnants of
simple refinement.
The princess of Khiva is permitted occasionally to visit the
neighbouring royal summer palaces and chateaux, never on horseback,
as is the general custom in Persia, but in a large carriage, painted
with gaudy colours, and completely covered and shut in with red
carpets and shawls. Before and behind the vehicle trot a couple
of horsemen, furnished with white staves. On her progress all
rise respectfully from their seats and salute her with a profound
bow. Nobody thinks of daring to cast a look of curiosity into the
interior of the carriage; not only would this be useless, so closely
is it covered, but such temerity would have to be atoned for by
death, whether the object be the wife of the sovereign or any
subordinate official. Whenever the Queen of Persia takes a ride on
horseback, the numerous ferrash (servants) who head the cavalcade
cut right and left with their sabres at the crowd, who disperse in
terror and confusion, in spite of their eager curiosity. Such a
proceeding, however, is not necessary with the grave Œzbegs; for
here life in the harem is not regulated with the same severity, and
it is well known that the less strictly its laws are administered,
the less frequently they are transgressed.
During the summer the royal family inhabit the castles of Rafenek
and Tashhauz, near Khiva. Both were erected in the Persian style
by former princes, and are distinguished by possessing some
window-panes and small looking-glasses--the latter, especially,
being considered articles of great luxury in the eyes of the people
of Khiva. Tashhauz has not been built without taste. The chateau
stands in a large garden; it has several reservoirs, and resembles
the castle of Nigaristan, near the town gate, Shimran at Teheran.
The winter is spent in the town, but when here his Œzbeg highness
occupies a light tent which is pitched inside the walls; and
herein he shows no bad taste, for the round-shaped dwelling, made
of snow-white felt, with a cheerful fire burning brightly in the
middle, is not only quite as warm as any building of stone, but
there is something pleasant about it, and it makes a far less gloomy
impression than the windowless mud-huts of Turkestan.