severely persons guilty of the varieties of imposition we mention.
We have no objection to such a remedy being sought for; but the best
of all preservatives against flagrant attempts at imposition, is the
exercise of a little shrewd common-sense, and, in time of need, an
application to a legitimate quarter.
A JOURNEY IN TURKESTAN.
A good deal has been heard lately about Turkey and Turkestan. Leaving
Turkey in the meanwhile to the newspapers, which have sad work in
dealing with it, we wish to say a few words about Turkestan, a country
that was taken possession of by Russia a few years ago. In the first
place, where is Turkestan? It is a tract of country in Asia, lying on
the east of the Caspian Sea, and having Persia and Afghanistan on the
south. On the north, is that inland sheet of water known as the Sea of
Aral, into which runs the river Oxus or Amu Daria. Near the left bank
of this river, which drains Turkestan, is situated Khiva, the capital
of the country. We should have heard little of this obscure Asiatic
region but for the possibility of the Russians some day pushing their
conquests onward through Afghanistan to India. On that we offer no
opinion. The character of Turkestan has been materially cleared up by
the work of Mr Eugene Schuyler, concerning whose travels we propose to
say something.
Mr Schuyler started on his long journey in March 1873, travelling for
some way in company with Mr M'Gahan, correspondent of the _New York
Herald_, who a few months later, by reason of his interesting account
of his desert ride to Khiva, awoke to find himself famous. Travelling
on the smooth snow-roads with their tarantasses well packed with
provisions, and strapped on to sledges, they struck across the Volga,
through Orenburg to Uralsk, the capital of the Cossack settlement.
Two or three native servants and an interpreter were added to the
little party, which at first advanced by means of sledges, these
being replaced by the luxurious tarantass--a carriage so built that
the occupant can lie at length--when they suddenly passed from bitter
winter into an oriental midsummer.
As the travellers steadily pursue their long way, the reader finds
himself looking at an endless variety of dissolving views, all changing
and shifting with the picturesque rapidity of kaleidoscope patterns.
He sees in succession glimpses of the Aral Sea, great barren stretches
of desert steppe, at first white with snow, and further on black, and
then red, and afterwards more desolate than ever--the only human beings
on it being wandering families of Kirghiz, going with their cattle,
flocks, and kibitkas (tents), to seek pasturage south of Orenburg. The
Kirghiz are a race of Turkish origin, speaking one of the purest Tartar
dialects. They solicited Russian protection in the time of Peter the
Great. They are Mohammedans, and possess as usual many wives, from whom
they exact one very curious mark of respect. The women are not allowed
to mention the name of any of their male relatives in conversation;
and in illustration of the occasional inconvenience attendant on this
custom, our author relates the following amusing anecdote: 'A Kirghiz
woman wanted to say that a wolf had stolen a sheep and taken it to the
reedy shore of the lake. Unfortunately, the men of the family bore
names corresponding to most of these words, and she was obliged to gasp
out "that in the rustling beyond the wet a growler gnaws one of our
woollies."' This story shews that the Kirghiz are named after natural
objects and animals, in the same way as in European nations.
Following the travellers along the river Syr Darya, and past the
groves of dark-green trees marking the site of Turkestan, we see them
at Tashkent, a flourishing quiet little town, where there is quite a
colony of Russian officials and their families. Here is the palace of
the governor-general, which stands in an immense garden, beautifully
laid out; in summer every one migrates to the gardens outside the
town, where they live in Kirghiz kibitkas, which are very spacious
and comfortable. The native part of the town is interesting from the
variety and unevenness of the buildings.
Tashkent was captured in October 1864 by General Tchernaieff, who seems
to have behaved exceedingly well, and to have won golden opinions from
the people. Mr Schuyler was several times in this town, and gives a
very interesting account of native Mussulman life and customs. He shews
us their occupations and amusements, and their civil and religious
ceremonies. He takes us through the quaint bazaar, which forms such
a characteristic part of every Asiatic town, and introduces us to
the tea-houses, and various shops of the jewellers, sword-blade, and
saddle and harness makers, dye, cosmetic and soap vendors, porcelain
and pottery makers, &c. Whole streets are devoted to separate trades,
such as tanning and shoemaking; and long rows of booths are filled
with cotton and silk goods, the best of which latter come from Bukhara
and Khokand. The entire care of the rearing of silkworms and winding
the silk is intrusted to the women--it being an occupation considered
derogatory to the dignity of the men--and the methods employed are so
rude, that the yield of silk is far less than it would be if managed by
Europeans; but faulty as is the system pursued, the silk manufacture is
of great importance to the country, and is more developed than other
branches of industry.
Leaving Tashkent behind them, the little caravan slowly advances
towards Samarkand, crossing the Golodnayo or 'Famished Steppe,' which
is a desolate waste, containing but a few wells of brackish water.
Samarkand appears to be a beautiful city, possessing magnificent
ruins, many mosques, and of course a bazaar, and is backed by dazzling
snow-peaks. Of all central Asiatic towns, Samarkand is the most
surrounded by old-world romances and traditions of bygone splendour. It
was conquered by Alexander the Great, and afterwards by the Arabs. As
the writer places before us in succession the beautiful medressés of
Hodja Akhrar and of Shir Dar, with their partially remaining delicate
facing of blue and white tile-work, vast ruins, and mighty domes;
mosques, with their towers and minarets, and famous tombs (amongst
them that of Timur), we seem to be looking at a wonderful city of the
far past transplanted from the pages of the _Arabian Nights_. The city
was finally captured by General Kaufmann, and taken under Russian
protection in 1866.
Again the travellers advance; and we have shifting views of mountain
and valley to Urgut, beyond which the peaks of the Zarafshan Range rise
to from twelve to eighteen thousand feet high. The next halt across
the mountains and steppes is Hodjent, from whence Mr Schuyler decided
to take a journey to Khokand with a retired Russian officer, who was
also going; and on June 9th they started, stopping first at Makralm,
the frontier fortress of Khokand, and then continuing their way through
cultivated country and pretty villages till they reached Khokand,
which is modern, and has wider and more commodious streets than most
Asiatic towns. Its population numbers about seventy-five thousand, and
one of its chief characteristics is a large paper manufactory, where
nearly all the paper used in Central Asia is made. The rule of the
khan throughout Khokand is arbitrary and tyrannous; executions are
very frequent, and are constantly accompanied by the most frightful
tortures. After overcoming very considerable difficulties, and after
much time had been wasted in the exchange of presents, compliments,
and tiresome ceremonials, the travellers succeeded in obtaining an
interview with the khan, to whom they had letters to deliver from the
authorities at Tashkent.
The almond-shaped valley of the Khokand, about one hundred and
sixty miles long and sixty-five broad, is an exceedingly fertile
district; and owing to the excellence of the soil and the climate, the
agriculture is in a highly flourishing condition, and its mountains
abound in minerals. But in spite of so many natural advantages, Khokand
has been the scene of constant rebellions, owing to the cruel tyranny
and shameful exactions of the Khan Khudayar and of the Beks, to whom
are intrusted, with absolute power, the various towns and provinces. Of
all the Asiatic races the Khokandians seem to be the most fancifully
superstitious, the simplest actions, movements, and affections, such
as sneezing, coughing, whistling, drinking, &c., having a good or evil
significance. A buzzing in one's ears means a death, and a prayer is
repeated, connected with which fancy the writer gives the following
legend: 'In heaven there is a tree, on each leaf of which is written
the name of some soul; and what men call a buzzing in their ears is
the rustling of one of these leaves as it falls from the tree. If the
noise be a ringing as of bells, then it is a Christian soul whose leaf
has fallen, and who is to die; and so for each faith the noise is
different.' There is scarcely an occurrence of their daily life which
is not similarly bound up with some poetical and fanciful story.
From Khokand our author proceeded to Bukhara, through a country that
gave signs of an older and more perfect civilisation; and throughout
Bukhara the treatment he met with from the inhabitants was very polite
and obliging. The journey lay through a mountainous district; and
wherever he staid on the road, he was welcomed with kind hospitality,
if with rigid etiquette, by the various Beks. The hardships of the
journey from Karshi to Bukhara were great--a bare sandy desert, great
heat, very little and very bad water. On the road, the Amir Mozaffir
Eddin passed with a guard of about eight thousand men, on his way to
Shahrisabs, his usual summer residence. Having a letter to deliver to
him from General Abramof, Mr Schuyler succeeded after some difficulty
in obtaining an interview with him in person. The Amir, who is detested
by his subjects, was polite although very curt, and gave his permission
for the party to proceed to Bukhara, with the gracious injunction to
pass the time pleasantly and to travel as his guest. The slave-trade,
although supposed by the Russians to be utterly a thing of the past,
was still carried on here, Mr Schuyler having been present at the sale
of several Persian men and boys. He himself bought a boy, meaning to
take him to Russia and then send him back to Astrabad, to his friends;
but the boy was stolen from him on the day of his purchase by order
of the Bukharan authorities. Determined to outwit them in his turn,
he secretly purchased another boy; and this second rather dangerous
acquisition was successfully taken to St Petersburg. On the return of
the army from Khiva, General Kaufmann concluded a treaty with the Amir,
which has put an end to the slavery in Bukhara for ever.
From thence the writer returned to Tashkent, then diverged to
Aulié-Ata, on the rapid river Talas, which town was taken by storm
by General Kaufmann in June 1864, that being the commencement of the
campaign of that year, and which resulted in the Russian conquest of
nearly the whole of Central Asia.
The subsequent journey through Kuldja was one of painful interest, as
in many parts it led through scenes of ruin and devastation, caused by
the late insurrection. On every side were dried-up canals, unfilled
fields, burned forests, and dismantled and ruined cities. From Suidun
were visited the ruins of Illi, the former capital of the province,
the road traversing a country that had once been highly cultivated,
but was now a desolate waste; the town itself was almost entirely
destroyed, the ground being everywhere strewn with fallen houses,
remains of all sorts, broken pottery, human bones, skulls, and even
entire skeletons. During the Chinese rule this province was extremely
fertile, and in an altogether flourishing state; but since, it has
been utterly crippled by the internal insurrections and wars waged
against it by Yakub Khan, chief of the small Uzbek principality, who
has given a great deal of trouble both with Kuldja and Kashgar, and who
is at present making war on China. The Russian occupation of Kuldja is
supposed to be only temporary, as its restoration to China has been
promised as soon as a sufficient Chinese army is sent to enforce and
maintain order; and indeed Mr Schuyler considers that the only way of
successfully increasing the prosperity and productiveness of Kuldja,
Kashgar, Khokand, Bukhara, and Russian Turkestan, will be found to be
by introducing the patient and economical industry of the Chinese.
According to the statistical computations made by the writer, the
expenses entailed on the Russian government by the conquest of Central
Asia are enormous, being greatly augmented as they are by the reckless
extravagance, and gross mismanagement and maladministration of the
various officials in power, who are almost entirely exempt from the
supervision of their government. The cost of the army is immense, and
enormous sums have been all but wasted in attempting to build a fleet
on the shallow Aral Sea, and to navigate the Amu and the Syr Darya to
any great distance.
Once Central Asia was thought to be a very rich country, that would
bring in large and increasing revenues to the government; but this has
been found to be very far indeed from the case; and in the writer's
opinion, could the Russian government but have known fifteen years
ago as much about the interior of Asia as is known now, they would
probably have hesitated long before making any movement in that
direction. On the whole, and in spite of the great corruption of the
troops, officers, and the authorities, and the local misgovernment,
which exert a very bad and serious influence on the natives, Russian
rule may be considered to have been beneficially exercised, and to
have certainly relieved the different states in a great measure from
the cruel despotisms of the Khans and Beks. Great good has also been
effected, and facilities for trading much increased, by the improved
communications and good roads that have everywhere resulted from the
Muscovite occupation. In the matter of education little or nothing has
been attempted. Mr Schuyler seems to consider that England has no need
to fear Russian designs on India, and that in advancing she wishes
only to round off the Asiatic boundaries of her dominions by China
on the east, and Persia and Afghanistan on the south-west. The only
danger to India from Russia, our author thinks, lies through Persia,
as the nature of the country in Afghanistan is such as would render
the transit of a large army extremely difficult if not impossible. In
his opinion, it would be more dignified as well as wiser if England,
instead of protesting and threatening at every new advance of the
Russians, and then doing nothing, were to give the Russian government
plainly to understand what limits they must not pass in their onward
movement.
A chapter at the end of the book is devoted entirely to the Khivan
campaign and its consequences; but as this is of a purely political
nature, we decline to discuss it. Our impression is that the people of
England have little cause to trouble themselves about Turkestan. We
need only add that Mr Schuyler's work is one of the most interesting
accounts of Central Asia that has ever been written, comprising as it
does a history of a country hitherto but little known to the civilised
world.
READY-MONEY.
'So you are going to be married, Kate? Well, I hope you have made a
wise choice.'
'O yes, uncle,' I replied lightly; 'I know I have. Henry is to make me
perfectly happy.'
'What has he got?' was the next pleasant observation that fell from
Uncle Jocelyn's lips.
'Got? uncle! I don't know what you mean,' I answered, growing rosy red
at the unexpected inquiry.
'What are his means? What does he intend to settle upon you?'
'He has his business,' promptly interrupted my mother.
'And he is so clever, he is sure to get on,' I added, in my eagerness
to assure Uncle Jocelyn it was all right as regarded my future.
'That will depend a great deal upon you, Kate,' he replied gravely.
'The wife has more to do in making or marring her husband than is
generally suspected. A careless, extravagant, bad wife is the greatest
curse a man can have; a good one is the greatest blessing.'
'Yes, uncle; O yes,' I assented, glancing towards my mother, who was
smiling somewhat scornfully, I fancied, at his opinions.
'Take care of his pence and his pounds will take care of themselves,'
continued uncle; 'and beware of ever getting into debt, Kate; it's the
easiest thing to get into and the hardest thing to get out of. Take my
advice; live well within your means, and always pay ready-money.'
'Yes, uncle; O yes,' I responded. 'I am sure you are right; and Henry
is so prudent, he is certain to have the same ideas.'
'Well, keep them before your own mind. Don't despise an old man's
counsel: buy nothing that you can't afford; and always pay ready-money.'
* * * * *
I remember that conversation so well with Uncle Jocelyn, some few
weeks before my marriage; at the time it did not strike me so forcibly
as afterwards, for my mind was too filled with other and to me more
interesting matters.
Uncle Jocelyn was an old man, and the amount of his fortune had
always been wrapped in some obscurity; but he lived comfortably, and
possessed a small property in Berkshire, upon which he had built a
pretty and substantial house, where I had often spent many happy days.
He had always shewn a special affection for me, no doubt owing to
the fact of my being the daughter of his only brother, who had died
when I was quite an infant, leaving me to the sole guardianship of
my mother. Unfortunately for me, there had never been any love lost
between the latter and Uncle Jocelyn; the coolness had rather increased
than diminished as years went by; and when invitations were sent for
us to visit Conington, which was the name of my uncle's place, my
mother invariably refused for herself, and only with great persuasion
permitted me to go.
How I enjoyed these visits! How sweet were the hay-fields and
clover-scented meadows! How cool and fresh the marble-slabbed dairy,
with its rows of brimming basins of frothy golden cream! How fragrant
was the old-fashioned garden, with its long grassy walks and great big
dewy roses, and the old cedar-tree so shady, under which Uncle Jocelyn
would sit of an afternoon smoking, listening apparently quite satisfied
with my childish conversation! The sun always seemed to be shining in
those days. I can recall no gloom then, and things all wore a charm,
which I did not know lay chiefly in the fact of my own youth and utter
ignorance of life and its cares.
However, not to digress, I had not seen so much of Uncle Jocelyn since
I had grown up, partly on account of my mother's unabated dislike to
him, partly because of the existence of a new interest in life. I had
met Henry Arden. He was six-and-twenty, five years my senior. His
position in life was a fairly good one, he having a small interest in
a first-rate City business which gave him over three hundred a year;
his character was irreproachable; and when I say that he was a general
favourite wherever he went, it may be surmised that in my opinion he
was, if not quite perfect, very closely akin to it. For myself I was
passable--perhaps a little more than that; but I was penniless until my
mother died; so it was a very astonishing thing to me how so desirable
a _parti_ had fallen to my lot. He was certain to get on; the senior
partners had been known to say so themselves. Consequently our start in
life promised to be a fair one. And to be brief, we were married. Our
honeymoon was of comparatively short duration, but it was long enough
to cost Henry, as I afterwards learned, something like forty pounds,
which was a considerable cut out of three hundred a year; for it had
not occurred to him to lay by any spare cash for those unavoidable
expenses. I had felt rather uneasy at the expenditure; but it was too
early days to venture on any remonstrance, had I been so inclined; we
were sure to live very quietly when we once settled down, and could
easily then make up for any little extravagance of which at the outset
we had been guilty. We were to live in London, and we were fully agreed
on one point--lodgings were not to be thought of, we must have a house
of our own. The prospect of possessing one jointly with Henry was very
pleasant to me. I pictured an endless fund of amusement and occupation
too, in furnishing and adorning it; but the mansion had still to be
selected; so our first business was to find one to suit us, the next to
get into it as soon as possible.
We must have spent a small fortune in cab-hire before we finally found
just what we wanted; even then, though the situation was good and
the domicile desirable, the rent rather frightened us: it was eighty
guineas a year unfurnished; but we should be so comfortable in it.
The smallness of its size--and it was extremely small--was rather an
advantage than otherwise, as it would require so little furniture; and
two maids would be amply sufficient for our establishment, which in
such a place would be a most creditable _ménage_.
We were delighted with the house, the balcony to the drawing-room
being, as we enthusiastically agreed, almost worth the rent itself;
and we made no resistance when the house-agent, who must have had some
amusement over our innocence and inexperience, fixed us for a seven
years' lease, representing to us that our advantages were almost
unequalled, having no premium to pay. We consented--in consideration
of all he enumerated in favour of our bargain--to make any repairs
that were necessary; and in fact were in such delight with the whole
affair that the agreement, as might have been expected, was very easily
arrived at.
We knew nothing about furnishing; never dreamt of the dangers of green
wood, or the inevitable result of cheap investments; thinking ourselves
very acute to get hold of two furnishing lists to compare prices;
beside which we sat down with paper and pencil to calculate exactly how
much we must spend; and I, remembering Uncle Jocelyn's advice, ventured
to say we should resolve not to go beyond it. We came to the conclusion
that actual necessaries might be bought, taking the prices from the
books, for one hundred and fifty pounds; so Henry decided on borrowing
two hundred, with which we felt sure the house could be really nicely
done; and this sum he was to pay interest for until the principal
itself was paid off.
Nothing could have surpassed our prudence--before we set out. When we
got into the shop we had selected as the one to patronise, we found
that the things we had thought of were very inferior to our imaginings;
a trifle more here and a trifle there could make no great difference in
the sum-total, and be everything to us in the niceness and prettiness
of our house; besides which our estimate of necessaries proved a very
inadequate one, when innumerable etceteras were declared absolutely
indispensable by the attendant shopkeeper. We made apparently endless
purchases, which we could hardly remember until they were deposited in
Amberley Villas, where, with my newly engaged domestics, I awaited them
with immense delight.
But vast as the importation appeared, I had yet to learn of the legion
wants undreamt of by us. Scarcely a day passed without some new demand
being made, which apparently it was perfectly impossible to do without.
But at last I was thoroughly satisfied with our possessions, and the
servants seemed to have come to the end of their requirements; so the
only thing that we had to think of was the bill, which had not yet
been sent in to us. I was frightened to think about it; but Henry was
quite prepared for its being considerably over the two hundred pounds.
Judge of our dismay when we did receive it to find it more than twice
that sum--four hundred and fifty-six pounds odd! There were frightful
entries for 'Time,' which in themselves represented a serious item, and
upon which we had never calculated; and our small sundries, which we
had hardly taken at all into account, came to something quite appalling.