The Adventures of a Special Correspondent

Chapter 14

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 s*x 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 Weissschnitzerd**** 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

Mont****' 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 c******n this question? What was he

thinking about?