Sketches of Central Asia (1868) / Additional chapters on my travels, adventures, and on the ethnology of Central Asia

In consequence of this diversity of the physical externals, there is also a distinction not to be mistaken in the moral properties of these two races. The East Iranian, although far superior to the Turks in vigour of mind and body, is far inferior to the Persian of modern Iran; and it appears as if the stamp of the mental superiority of the latter was imprinted in the symmetrical formation of their limbs and elegance of their features.

East Iranians.

We can form the following subdivisions or branches according to the geographical position of their north-easterly extension? 1. Sigistani or Khafi. 2. Tchihar Aymak. 3. Tadjik and Sart; each of which counts many subdivisions or degrees. As in our progress towards the west we lose, in the Turanian race, the Mongolian character in physiognomy more and more, and find in the single branches a continually increasing mixture of races; in the same way we discover, also, that the East Iranians become less Iranian, and more Turanian, the farther they remove from the mother land. The relation that exists between the Burut and the pure-blooded Anatolian, the same is to be found between the Sigistani and the Tadjik of Kashgar. The latter may, indeed, be called the old inhabitant of that region, yet no one will dispute that the Turanian elements, surrounding him in such numbers, have strongly influenced him.

1. Sigistani or Khafi;

Or that Shiite population of East Iran which inhabit the eastern part of Iran, from the southern borders of modern Khorassan to beyond Bihrdjan. They are as frequently called Khafi as Sigistani, as the principal mass occupy Khaf and its neighbourhood, Ruy, Tebbes, and Bhirdjan; whilst the ancient, classical Sigistan, more traversed in modern times by Afghans and hordes of Beloochees, offers to the peaceable Persian but a very insecure retreat. Judging by historical accounts of Merv, which, in the Vendidad, is enumerated as the thirteenth locality under the name Mun, as the third spot marked, one might easily conclude that the inhabitants of modern Khorassan, especially of the northern part, might be reckoned with the East Iranians. This was naturally more or less the case before the Arabian occupation; but at this day the people of Khorassan are so powerfully intermingled with Turco-Tartar elements, that the genuine East Iranian type only begins on the other side of the southern rocky chain, behind Shehri No. Without being furnished with an especial ethnographical representation, the traveller will easily perceive that the Khafi (we preserve the appellation which is usual in the country), although brown in complexion, is to be distinguished from the Isfahani; for example: in that his complexion is more olive-brown, whilst that of the latter, tanned by the sun, appears more of a dark brown. In the second place, the afore-named difference in stature and features, but especially the less fiery eye, will strike him. And in the third place, he will miss, in intercourse, that sprightliness and activity which he meets everywhere among the lively West Iranians under the same situation of climate. It can hardly be doubted, that many will be surprised that this relative difference should exist between such tribes as those in question,—of common origin, language and religion, for hundreds of years, nay, for thousands of years, of one and the same political connection. This circumstance would be with difficulty explained through an analagous case in other lands. We shall, however, recognise the cause directly, when we take into nearer view the following points:—

1st. The whole portion named of East Iran has been spared from all times the influence of the Semitic as well as Turanian nations, since the first extended themselves only toward the western side of the desert; the last, on their march westward, only at intervals passed from the high road, Merv, Nishabur, and Rei to the southern slope of the Djagatay Hills. 2nd. East Iran herself, in an earlier period, remained separated through the great desert, when the Shiite sect, the chain of solid union, embraced the Persian population of Iran; and, despite all the wildest sect-hatred, the traffic now is as great with the Sunnite Afghans and Heratis as with their western brethren. It is true that, despite all the fatigue of travel in the desert, despite all fear of the Beloochees, caravans go annually from Shiraz, Isfahan, over Yezd, Tebbes up to holy Meshed. Yet Khaf and Bihrdjan, situated south-east, are never touched upon; and then, as now, it was always the case. In the mutual intercourse of nations, language assumes foreign elements easiest and preserves them the longest. The Persian dialect of modern Iran is overloaded with Arabian-Turkish words. Fars in the south, as well as Mazandran in the north, is in this only a little distinctive. In East Iran, nevertheless, the borrowed richness of language is certainly less; and we find in much that Persian in which Firdusi, with a premeditated rejection of Arabic, wrote his great epic. In what concerns the use of old forms and words, the Persian of Bokhara is of that character, and especially we may name the Tadjiks in the first place; yet these last have too much lexicographical and grammatical material borrowed from the Turks; and this circumstance it is that has produced the conviction in our minds, that in East Iran the purest and oldest Persian is spoken.

As for the language, I should be inclined to cite the Khafi or the Sigistani as the primitive tongue of all the Iranians, yet, in regard to their ethnographical position in relation to the whole Iranian race, I would not venture to attribute that position to them in which the Buruts stand to the whole Turko-Tartar race. What branch of the East Iranian families may be the primitive is one of those questions to which no one could deny a high degree of importance, yet is the reply much more difficult as to the Turko-Tartar race. For the appearance of the latter on the stage of historical events is comparatively fresh, whilst the former stepped forward in a period of which we can hardly form a conception. We must, therefore, again repeat that the Sigistani or Khafi are named as the first among the East Iranians, only in consequence of their geographical position, and not from induction on the more primitive character of their branch.

Tchihar Aymak.[51]

These are the four people or races which, from the time of the conquest of Herat, have been thus named by the Mongols. They consist of the Timuri, Teimeni, Firuzkuhi, and Djemshidi. The whole are of Iranian origin and Persian speech, and enough so to distinguish them from the Hezareh,[52] who, though they speak Persian, yet show their pure Mongolian type, their Turanian origin without a doubt. On the spot itself there is but a confused understanding as to its name Tchihar Aymak, because many appropriate to themselves the same, and are again opposed by others. Our travellers have most contradictory statements concerning these races, and especially this erroneous idea, that the Hezareh are to be reckoned among the Tchihar Aymak, who appeared at the Southern part of Central Asia, at a time when the latter were already indicated by the name in question.

During my abode of six weeks in the town and neighbourhood of Herat, I devoted considerable attention to this question. My knowledge is grounded, not so much on hearsay touching the race, as on their physiognomical characteristics, which are incontestably the best proof. The Timuri, or the Sunnite Persians of East Iran, dwell now partly on the western boundary of Herat, as Gurian, Kuh'sun, &c., and partly also in the villages and towns situated to the east of Iran, from Turbet Sheikh Djam as far as Khaf. In the first-named region they constitute exclusively an united population, in the latter they are only to be found sporadic, for although two hundred years ago the greater number were Sunnites, yet the sect-hatred of the Shiites converted them partly by force, partly drove them into the neighbouring Sunnite city of Herat. In consequence of the frequent confusion of boundary, for Herat has endured in ancient and modern times more than forty sieges, one can easily imagine what an amalgamation has been produced by these continued movements among the solitary branches which approach so nearly to East Iran, and it is truly a wonder that the Timuri are still to be distinguished from the Shiites of East Iran.

The remarkable characteristics are first, that among them more people are to be found short and thick-set than among the Sigistanis; also as regards colour, the latter are, on an average, of an olive brown, and with dark black hair, whilst among the former a whiter complexion, with chestnut brown hair, is not uncommon. As I have said, the united number of the Timuri on the East Iran boundary amounts now in its fullest extent to one thousand families, because the great majority dwell in Herat.

The Teimeni are hardly in any respect to be distinguished from the latter dwelling in the Northern and Southern parts of the so-named Djölghei Herat, from Kerrukh to Sebzewar: only a small part has extended as far as Ferrah, and is named by the Afghans Parsivan (Farszeban, speaking Persian). Since the Afghan rule has taken place in the Western valleys of the Parapamisian mountains, many attempts have been made to establish in the midst of the Persian population Afghan colonies, yet until this day all have failed, for the discord and strife which have wasted this neighbourhood for centuries still continue; each member of the Tchihar Aymak knowing no greater enemy than the Afghan. In consequence of this circumstance the Teimeni, although an agricultural people, are of wild, warlike nature, and there is no longer any trace of that spirit of wisdom, which in the time of the descendants of Taimur, viz., Sultan Husein Mirza, animated them.

The Sunnite Persians of former times contended in poetry, learning, and music, with the Shiite confederates in the west; at the present time they are raw barbarians in comparison with the latter.

Firuzkuhi is the name of the little people that dwell on the steep hill, north-east of Kale No, and from their inaccessible situation afflict the whole neighbourhood with robbery and plunder. To the traveller are narrated the most gloomy stories of Kale No on the summit of the mountain, and the fortified places of Derzi Kutch and Tchekseran are considered the same as the robber nests of the Bakhtiari and Luri in the environs of Isfahan. As all dwellers in mountains remain distinct from their nearest kindred in the valleys, so is this the case also between the Firuzkuhi and the remaining Aymaks, and one could almost name them the Gileki and Mazemderanis of East Persia. On the first glance they appear to have much resemblance with the Hezareh. It is even asserted that they came forth from them, yet neither has their formation of the forehead and of the chin, nor the complexion and figure of the body,—a decided Turanian character; and although it might present a strong mixture, yet does the Iranian element prevail, for, besides that they all speak Persian, the names of their dwelling-places and khans are pure Persian words.

They inhabited those hills from immemorial time, and though Taimur settled them by force in Mazenderan, they soon returned back to their old hilly home, and have lived since that time in constant warfare with their neighbours, partly supporting themselves from their scanty breed of cattle and tillage; partly also from robbery and plunder, which they perpetrate on the caravans upon the road to Maymene, or upon the scattered tents of the Djemshidi. Their total number hardly amounts to eight thousand families.

The Djemshidi, the only tribe of the East Iranians living exclusively in a nomadic state, inhabited from time immemorial the shores of Murgab, whither they, according to their own statement, settled out of Sigistan in the time of Djemshid, from whom they derive their descent. This national myth cannot be considered quite true, yet is it incontestable, that among all Iranians who now inhabit Central Asia the Djemshidi have the most striking resemblance with the Sigistani, which is so much the more to be wondered at, because these for so long a time have led a settled life, whilst those have led a nomadic; and the vast influence which the difference of the two ways of life has on the development of the body needs hardly be mentioned. Khanikoff thinks they approach rather the Tadjiks; but I cannot coincide in this view, because, in the first place, the Djemshidi is thinner; secondly, has a longer face and a far more pointed chin than the Tadjik; and in the third place, their language, as well in form as in copiousness, agrees much more with the Persian dialect of East Iran than with that of Central Asia. As to what concerns their method of life, they are the only Iranians who, in every respect, have taken much from the Turanians; that is to say, from the Salor and Sarik Turkomans living in their neighbourhood; whilst the other half-nomadic Aymak used a long Afghan tent, which here is named the Tent of Abraham, one sees among the Djemshidi that round, conical tent of the Tartars surrounded with felt and a reed matting; their clothing also and food is Turkomanish; indeed, even in their occupation, they copy these last. For when a flourishing position, that is, abundance of horses and arms befalls them, they are just such fearful robbers of mankind as the children of the desert. They enjoy also the reputation of the best riders and warriors amongst all Aymak, and abide, partly in service at Herat or Maymene, partly in league with one or other of the Turkoman tribes, when the immediate question among them is a large tchapao (razzia). In consequence of this aforesaid connection they were transported to the banks of the Oxus by force by Allah Kuli Khan, from Khiva, after he had conquered them with the allied Sariks. They remained more than twelve years there; a fruitful place, which was assigned to them as their new home, and rendered them well to do. Yet the longing for the poorer, but old home-like hills, was soon felt by them, and availing themselves of the confusion which a war of the Khivians with the Turkomans called forth, they packed up everything quickly and fled, without fearing the danger of pursuit, across Hezaresp, Tchardjuy, Maymene, back towards the town of Murgab. In their march one thousand Persian slaves joined them, who, in consequence of their escape, obtained their freedom; but, having reached Moorgab, were again taken in a treacherous manner and sold in Bokhara. Although the Djemshidi among all the Iranian races of the East, as well as of the West, have most truly retained the warlike spirit of old Persia, yet they are in proportion less rough in their customs and intercourse with strangers than the neighbouring Turkomans, with whom they have had relations for a long time; and, notwithstanding his wild exterior, the Djemshidi, even in the lowest class, is polite in word and manner:—the light and shade of the Iranian character are not recognisable in him, and we must not be surprised if in the customs of this nomadic people we meet with the most lively marks of the pre-Islamite time. Islam with them has taken still less root than among the other Turanian nomads, and the greater part of them use it as a veil, under which lurk concealed many features of the religion of Zoroaster; thus, for instance, fire among them is in higher estimation than among the Tadjiks; the door of the tent is always facing the East, and the idea of the good and evil spirit is so universal that the lowest class of the people, especially the women, when a sheep or goat is slaughtered, never neglect to throw certain parts of the animal which are considered by other nomads as delicacies, to the bad spirit as kende, "unclean;" and they are only eaten by the dogs. It is worthy of remark, that among the ruins of Martchah the same stories are in circulation, as among the Yomuts of the old remnants of the ruins at Meshdi Misrian. Martchah was in olden times the Kaaba of the whole region until the wicked Turkomans appeared there, and destroyed the whole.

This is all that I can say in respect to the Tchihar Aymaks. I can, notwithstanding all inquiries, learn nothing of their name before their last appellation. According to all probability they were reckoned among the Tadjiks, yet now they are distinct from these latter, and form the second gradation of the Iranian race in its extension to the North-East.

Tadjiks.

As the remnants of the Persian population of Central Asia are called, whom we meet in their largest numbers in the Khanat of Bokhara and in Bedakhshan. But there are, besides, many settled in the cities of Khokand, Khiva, Chinese Tartary, and Afghanistan; although here and there little deviation in their physiognomical outward developments are observable, in consequence of the different climacteric and social relations under which the Tadjiks live. And thus, for example, the Tadjiks of Bokhara and the Afghanistan towns have much more resemblance one with another than the former with the Bedakhshanis, or the confederate races of Chinese Tartary; notwithstanding, the leading features of one common type are generally observable among them. They are usually of a good middle height, broad, powerful frame of bones, and especially wide shoulder bones. Their countenance, the Iranian type of which immediately strikes the eye at first sight, is more oblong than that of the Turks; but by the wide forehead, thick cheeks, thick nose, and large mouth, we soon perceive that this most eastern branch of the Iranian family has much that is heterogeneous, that is to say, Turanian, in its stamp of countenance as well as in the formation of body, and is in nowise to be regarded as the primitive type of the Iranian race, as M. de Khanikoff imagines.

According to the statements of the Vendidad and Greek historians, it is no longer matter of doubt that the native country of the modern Tadjik was in those celebrated regions of ancient times, Bactria and Sogdiana,—the most ancient seat of Iranian civilisation, the cradle of the religion of Zoroaster, and the source of the heroic legends of Persia. We must own, that even in the most ancient times they were inhabitants of this region, for the ancient Khorassan, which stretched far into Chinese Tartary, was, as is proved by topographical nomenclature, founded and occupied by Iranian colonies. And who is there that does not perceive the continuous stream of Scythian-Turkish elements which has overflowed Central Asia, from the valleys of the Altaic Mountains, that officina gentium, from 700 B.C. to 400 A.D.?

No country which was situated along the chief route of these migrations could remain unaffected by the intermingling of foreign blood; and as the northern half of Persia, the modern district of Maymene, Andchoi, and the western declivities of the Parapamisian Mountains could preserve, but in a slight degree, the primitive unity of race; so also was it equally impossible to the Iranians of Transoxiana. The inhabitants only of the mountains of Bedakhshan, namely, the Vakhani (in which name the learned writer of the article, "Central Asia," in the Quarterly Review, July—September, 1866, believes that he has detected the origin of the Greek, ὀξος[53]), can have a greater claim, from their less accessible homes, to unity of race; for all the Feizabadis[54] whom I have seen have more indelible marks of the Iranian type than the Tadjiks: even their very language is freer of Turanian words. And since one can imagine that a people, though in strictest retirement, can preserve for centuries its primitive type, the Vakhani alone, and not the Tadjiks in general, must be considered the truest remnants of the ancient East Iranian.

As regards the appellation Tadjik, I have always found that those concerning whom we are speaking never use it themselves willingly; for, if this does not sound exactly in their ears as a term of reproach, people are yet accustomed to understand by it that expression of contempt with which the Œzbeg conquerors regard the subdued aborigines. By the word Tadjik, the Tartar population of Turkestan understand a man without warlike disposition, of a covetous, avaricious nature;[55] with crafty and vaunting ideas; in a word, everything that stands in opposition to Œzbeg frankness, simplicity, and uprightness. These relations are, moreover, to be found everywhere between Turanian conquerors and the subjugated Iranians; for as the latter, in Persia, are far inferior to the Turks in mental endowments, so is this also the case in Central Asia. And Bokhara has only become the head quarters of Central Asiatic civilisation, because here, from the earliest ages, existed the overwhelming numbers of the Tadjik population; who, continuing their previous exertions in mental culture from the pre-Islamite times, notwithstanding the oppression of foreign power, have civilised their conquerors. As in the earliest ages, after the reception of the Islam faith, all the celebrities in the field of religious knowledge and belles lettres were mostly Tadjiks; so, to-day, one still meets in Bokhara, Khokand, and Kashgar, the most conspicuous Mollahs and most celebrated Ishans. At the court of Bokhara, notwithstanding the Œzbeg origin of the prince, the chief ministers are always Tadjiks; nay, even in the rude Œzbeg government of Khiva, the Mehter (Secretary of State), as an officer whose qualifications must be of the highest order, is chosen invariably from the Persian population of the place. It is truly wonderful how the Tadjiks, notwithstanding more than a century of co-existence with the Œzbegs, are to be distinguished from the latter, not only in their individual nature but in their habits. A proverb says, "Look at the Œzbeg on horseback,—the Tadjik in his house;" for, the same care that the one bestows on his steed, arms, saddle and horse, the other spends on his house and attire. However poor the Tadjik, he will yet pass for a man of more substance than he is, and will always appear rich and great in public, although sparing and abstemious in his family circle. Nor is his conversation less choice: the courteous expressions, the compliments of which he makes use, sound somewhat Tartarian, to ears accustomed to Persian refinement; yet, in contrast with the Œzbeg, he is to be considered an accomplished gentleman. Attuned by nature to peaceful occupations, the Tadjiks are devoted everywhere considerably to tillage, commerce, and industrial pursuits, as they hate war; and if they are compelled to handle weapons, they are rarely valiant, but frequently cruel. They are also defective in that national feeling that strikes one so forcibly among the Œzbegs. This has best shown itself in recent occurrences in Tashkend. In a letter from General Kryjanovsky from the town above-named, (Ausland, December 4th, 1866, H. 1159), we see that, among the diversified population of that place, the Sarts were the first who drew near, in a friendly fashion, to their conquerors, and certainly rendered very readily considerable help in hard labours of pacification; and that probably to the dislike of all the Œzbegs, who certainly took no part in the pretended petition to the Russian Government.

The Tadjiks hold well together, but this is more from the mutual support of one with another in an oppressed race than a special effort for Tadjik public interest; and if they wish to distinguish themselves, which is only the case in Bokhara, then they are in the habit of showing with pride their Arabian descent. The emptiness of this last vaunt Khanikoff has shown sufficiently. He derives the word Tadjik from Tadj (crown), a head-dress, which the old fire worshippers had, and the Ghebrs wear even now;—the name Tadjik arose from it, by which the adherents of the teaching of Zoroaster were called at that time—before Mohamedanism, or else it was a term of their own adoption; for the word Tadji in Huzvari, and Tazi in Persian, which signifies Arab, has with the first no connection. It is remarkable that the word Tadjik is even found in Western Asia. There are Armenians who call Turks as well as Arabs, i.e., Mohamedans, Tadjik, but only among themselves privately. And it seems to me to be constantly a nickname affixed by the oppression of their tyrannic rulers. Since I have found this universal among the Armenians of Asia Minor, it appears to me that they did not wish to express by it only Mohamedans, but also the adherents of a strange religion, and that this, according to all appearance, old word, has been transmitted later to the Arabians by the old inhabitants of Persia, with whom the Armenians, under the Sassanides, were in contact. That the name Tadjik has been missing among both Arabic and Persian authors of the first century, after the entrance of Islam, but existed early in Central Asia, the Uïgur MS. (Kudatku Bilig the lucky knowledge) best shows. This bears the date of 462 Heg., and we find there the word Tadjik often quoted in opposition to Turk. The above-named work, which Jaubert has mentioned in the Asiatic Journal, 1825, is an Uïgur version, or rather rifacimento of the Chinese original. The Turks themselves have always called the Transoxanian aborigines Sart, a word of which I know not the origin. M. de Khanikoff mistakes when he supposes that this is only the case in Khiva, for he must know that in the Russian Army the Persian population of conquered Tashkend at a later period was enrolled under the name of Sart, and they were so called in all Khokand. Also the above-named General Krijanovsky speaks of Tadjik and Sart as of two different races. As to this word Sart, the derivation of which is wholly unknown to me, it is a term of which the famous Mir Ali Shir, in the time of Sultan Husein Mirza Baïkera, makes use in a treaty on the Persian and Turkish language. The latter, he always calls the Sart tili (Sart language), and not the Tadjik tili. Sart is hence legally used for the Turkish appellation of Tadjik. Here and there Œzbegs busy themselves in making a distinction between Sart and Tadjik; but I cannot agree with this view, although I will not conceal the fact, that the Sarts seen in mass differ greatly in some physiognomical peculiarities from the Tadjiks. They are, for instance, more slender-built, have a longer face, and, moreover, a higher forehead than the Tadjiks; but it must also be mentioned as a qualification of the above, that they formed frequent alliances with the free Persian slaves of Central Asia, which the Tadjiks never or very seldom did.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LITERATURE IN CENTRAL ASIA.

Tartar muse! Œzbeg Melpomene! This will to many sound passing strange! That poetry should exist in the oldest spots of rudeness and barbarism—that persons in those regions where robbery, murder, and spoliation rage most, should busy themselves with literature, may to many seem strange; but yet such a notion would be incorrect. The East was at all times the seat of poetic enthusiasm, and the more the social relations retain the stamp of olden time, that is, the nearer civilisation is to its infancy, the more general is the inclination to poetry and fables, the more passionate the sound of forced hyperboles and enthusiasm.

That the dwellers in a Kirghis tent are more disposed to poetry than the members of a polished society in Paris and London, must surprise no one. Among us it is only over a certain age that poetry indicates herself more or less; there are only certain individuals that linger round the Castalian fountains. In Central Asia those bowed down by age, as well as youthful lovers, passionately affect poetry, the warrior equally with the shepherd, the priest as well as the layman,—each one attempts the composition of poetry or devises tales; and if this attempt is probably not successful in every instance, still, nevertheless, the habit of even listening to the compositions of others may be said to be universal.

Since literature in the East is in close connection with religion, we must then divide the literary productions of Central Asia at the commencement into two parts.

1st. The Literature of Islam or the Settled Nations.

2nd. The Literature of the Nomadic or Wandering Tribes.

This distinction dates from that time when, with the entrance of Islam, foreign literary conceptions became universally diffused, which, without retaining at the present time any special national character, are in vogue among the different followers of Islam. Poetry, for this is the essence of that literature, is always the same now with Arabs, Turks, Persians, and Central Asiatics. Vainly would one seek there the stamp of a national mint; it is everywhere the same sprightly imagery of the poets; everywhere the same metaphors, parables; everywhere the stereotyped image of the rose and the nightingale, the thorn-resembling eyelashes, the fuming vapors of rising sighs, &c. Everywhere the same muse of which the learned M. de Khanikoff rightly says:—"That she comes forth free and wild, like those plants of strange forms to be met with in the calcined soil of southern Asia, covered with thistles and thorns, incrusted with salt; they diffuse through a rugged bark, here and there, aromatic, beneficent odours, and wave upon their withered stems wreaths of flowers of elegant forms and brilliant colours."—Asiatic Journal, vol. v., p. 297. Of this literature, however, which is well known in western countries, through many translations and learned treatises, we shall say nothing. We rather pass over the religious literature of many eccentric devotees, who, in zealous ardour towards God and the prophets, have written volumes full of pompous expressions on the subject of their love and resignation. These last productions in the three Khanats are considered as the exclusive property of the Mollah and Ishan world. The people listen very patiently to their recitals, but are not enthusiastic, for the mystical current of thought in copious language is beyond the reach of their understanding. What we wish to say, then, of the literature of Central Asia is confined, to speak correctly, to the Popular Poetry. Here we do still find something original, here some types which deserve the real name of Turkestan, and with these we wish to make our readers acquainted. The most poetically attuned people are in the Khanat of Khiva. This part of Central Asia had at the beginning of the twelfth century acquired the reputation of a special eminence in music, tuneful voices, distinguished poets and poetesses; indeed, it is hardly fifty years ago that in the courts of the Kadjars, in Teheran, a Khivite lute-player was in great honour. Bokhara, before the ascendancy of the Turkish element, had only a few great poets, such as Rudeki and Figani; but these must be rather classed in Persian literature. To return to Khiva, I must remark that as it always surprised myself when I heard a heavy-looking, coarsely-dressed Œzbeg, with wild, sun-burnt features, sing one or another soft minor air; so, also, with travellers in general, this feeling will be found to exist on their entry among Turkomans and Kirghis. These people esteem music and poetry as their highest pleasure. After a fortunate adventure the marauder, however tired and hungry he may be, will listen in the open street with real delight to the bakhshi (troubadour), who comes to meet him. Returning home from a foray, or other heroic deed, the young warriors are in the habit of amusing themselves throughout the night with poetry and music. In the desert, where man is either ignorant of the luxuries of life, or does without them, it is, nevertheless, that the bakhshi is very seldom wanting, and besides, that the latter are found in great numbers, going about to exercise their art. The nomads have the habit of amusing themselves with poetic games.

As people regard in company the happy finding of a rhyme or cadence as indispensable to education, the young nomad girl will also, say, give the preference to him who would answer her question in a verse with happy rhymes. The poetry of the Œzbegs consists first of narratives, which either appeal to religious life or famous heroic deeds. The first are composed by the Mullah world, or by the more polished bakhshis, after Arabic or Persian sources, and adapted to native taste,—the last are genuine Tartar compositions, in which there are not wanting at times both glowing language and good metaphors. These tales of heroic exploits, which are similar to our romances, begin already to be of even greater extent, and are often recited or sung many evenings together, and although Islam plays here and there a conspicuous part, nevertheless those pieces are preferred in which home-heroes figure on well-known historic fields. Of these last-named compositions, one much esteemed in Central Asia may serve as a specimen. It bears as its title

"Ahmed and Yusuf,"

And is the history of two sons of heroes, who, after their country's fashion, even in early youth undertake a tchapao or razzia against heretical Iran, in which the leading motive is not so much the thirst for spoil as the chastisement of the unbelieving Shiites. Just at the beginning Yusuf harangues his heroes ready for the foray in the following fashion:—

"With the worthless fellow unite not, for he makes known the deepest secret. Speak no secret words in bad spots, for thy deep hidden mystery will become known. Better is the bare leaf than the faded rose. Better is dry earth than worthless grass. Better is a staff than a stupid fellow-traveller. For he makes known the direction of thy route to the foe. Do not instruct the fool, because he will, nevertheless, reach the grave of misery unconsciously. When you enter at a good-for-nothing fellow's as a guest, he attacks you like the little cur, and makes his vice known. Would that I could give you the picture of a true hero! He draws his sword only for the destruction of the unbelievers. Do not march against the enemy with a coward, since he makes known the trodden track as well as his own path. Yusuf Beg says, 'Such a time is come. This home-land is for us no longer. Fools know not their own lair; they speak angrily, and make their evil speech known.'"

They march away. The report of their heroic deeds spreads far and wide, and naturally reaches their home-land. Here governed only petty princes, each of whom would take renowned warriors into his service. The usual career of warfare proceeds, and Yusuf takes the command, but only with the consent of his comrades.

They draw out afresh for an expedition against Guzel Shah, the Governor of Isfahan. The Œzbegs are overpowered by Persian cunning. Both princes are taken and dragged in chains to Iran. This misfortune rouses deep cries from the heart of Yusuf, and as he could not turn for sympathy to his captors, he pours forth his wail to the lofty hills that surround him, and exclaims:—

"Ye snow-bedecked, many coloured hills, what has befallen me; have you seen it? I am become the slave of these unbelievers; my tarrying behind, have you seen it? No one pities my tears, the hills only throb at my tears. With lashes around my head, how must I have stepped along the way; have you seen it? Heedless were my attendants. Ah! I weep tears of blood! How captured with Ahmed Beg came I here, have you seen it? I drink blood,—in this world too heavy is my sorrow! Walking on foot, unbelievers on steeds; have you seen it? Yusuf Beg says, 'I am inwardly consumed, my sorrow is endless. Dragged with these bound hands at a horse's pleasure, have you seen me?'"

He is then thrown into prison, where he finds a fellow-sufferer in the person of a Sunnite, who as enchanter and fortune-teller by profession, had drawn on himself the displeasure of the Persian monarch; and he also finds in the daughter of the gaoler, who had become enamoured of him, a kind friend. Up to this point the strifes, the mighty hero-deeds, the religious enthusiasm, are constantly detailed. From this point love also mingles in the strain. Yusuf Beg had left at home a sister and a lady love. The former vainly waiting his return, cries bitterly, and in tears calls on her maidens to loosen her hair; the latter, in his absence, maintains her passionate regard, and sends the trained cranes of the hero with a love-letter to him. It contains the following charge:—

"Oh, ye five cranes of Yusuf Beg! Rush out and draw near to N. Strengthen yourselves and fly away over the hills! Seeing Yusuf Beg, hasten back, that the hawk see not on the plains the tips of your wings. I am deprived of half my heart. Come back, asking him of his health! Hasten back! I was once the world-rose; flown hence is the nightingale of my grove! Should my lover be living, then brush with your lively wings early back. Should the red roses have become withered; should his life have reached its end; should my lover be dead, put on mourning, and weeping return! Calling on God, shake then your wings. With ardour look forth to the heaven; burst out for the town of Ürgendj. Break out and draw towards the town of N. Gain true intelligence, and come back. Oh, hear Gul Assl's cry! Carry to him my heart-sorrow! Oh, make a pilgrimage to his grave. Bring me a little dust, and hasten back."

The birds circle around the prison of their sorrowful master with plaintive chirping. He remarks them, and sends back to his home the following message:—

"Oh, ye cranes! Fly round me, right and left, in mazy sweep in air. Go back,—say my greeting to my people! Oh, ye cranes! right and left, looking round, go back.—say my greeting to my people! The crane flies and rests high in the air. Tired are his wings with the long way. Here in prison breaks out afresh my sorrow. Oh, greet, then, my kinsmen! Kharezm town is my home. There stays my friend, my beloved, my well-wisher, my dear one, my tender one. Oh, greet her, my mother! my Kaaba! On the mountains of sorrow are pines high, high. Oh, pray for me all of you, young and old. Mournful autumn became my fate; before the life's blossoms had opened yet! Oh, greet for me my poor little sister! She from early morn waiting for me looks around. She is inwardly consumed by the torture of separation. Looking on the path in the morning with dishevelled hair, she cries: 'He is not come!' Her whole soul for me is waste and empty,—my love Gul Assl, for her I mourn. Oh, greet her! In one day, oh crane! thou wilt reach from here to Kharezm. On the way thither go over the seven mountains. Note this thou hast seen, Yusuf Beg; greet the cowardly Begs for me."

The birds depart, but the heroes languish yet long in prison. At last they are condemned to die. But the miraculous power of the Sunnee saints saves them. All the weapons employed become blunt. The Persian tyrant remarks it, and summons the heroes to his presence. As the chief condition of obtaining the wished-for freedom, Yusuf must improvise in opposition to the court fool, Kökche, and in the event of his overcoming the latter in poetic ability, then he is to be restored to his home in full liberty. Yusuf improvises in strikingly bold language. He sings not the praises of the tyrant, but his own, while he says,—

"My people is a fine people. Winters there are continually summers, gardeners tend the gardens, the trees give their fruits. In white tents repose the aged, the youths hunt around them. In cordial companionship live the youths, spending time in delight and pleasure. Fast as the wind the steeds. In racing thy steeds lay behind them. High soaring to heaven is the flight of the birds. In scorn they carry off men. Should intelligence of me arrive in a day, in a day also an army can come. Out of six pounds of thick cord are the strings of their bows. Their princes rule in equity, partiality is far from them. Hear me, Guzel Shah, thou unbeliever, should I return to wage war on thee, then know that one wave of my arm kills 100,000 men. Of Isfahan are their swords. Their streets are united bazaars, their fields like beds of tulips. With deers, hares, falcons, the fields of my people are full. Their free inhabitants are like Hatem,[56] their leaders are like Behram and Rustem in the day of battle, heroes in the strife. I am a slave without power, the unbeliever regards not this; without fate the fly dies not; let not my tears flow in vain."

He conquers, goes laden with treasure to Ürgendj; and though he has to undergo some hard struggles on the road, arrives happily home, where his reception is described in many deeply-moving, highly poetical images. After an interview with his beloved and his sister they conduct him to Lalakhan, his mother, who in consequence of mourning for him for several years, has almost lost her sight. They bring her the joyful intelligence, which she disbelieves at first, and says,—"My ardent desire has bent me low. Am I really to see thee, my dear child? Sunk in sorrow, I only sighed, with eyes tremulously searching for you. The whole world would I look through could I really find thee, my child. Shall I mourn like the nightingale? Shall I, like Mansur, succumb to sorrow? Shall I, like Djerdjis, weep tears of blood? Am I again to find thee, oh my dear child," &c.

Yusuf Beg is led to her. He bides apart, and when he hears the cry of his mother, his anguish bursts forth for their fatal separation in yet more sorrowful words. By the voice his mother recognises him. Overpowered by excessive joy, she yet welcomes him in the following words:—

"Oh, thou seven years' sufferer in prison! Oh, thou balsam of my wounded heart! My star of happiness brightens. Vanished is the night of misery! Oh, prince of my people and land! Thou Rustem, thou hero of the world! My Yusuf, my glorious son, my comfort, my life-power! Thou crown of happiness, thou highest grace of my life! Lalakhan has found her son, the All-powerful has shown mercy to her. Gone is all pain from my breast, all sorrow. Yusuf, my son, is come!"

Soon after this the marriage of the lovers takes place, his hero blood suffers not the adventure-seeking chief to rest. He collects an army, of which all the people of Central Asia form part. It is to take vengeance on Guzel Shah. Fortune attends his arms. The Persian is conquered; his old fellow-sufferer, Kamber, freed. He goes home crowned with glory, and the conquered Guzel Shah must pay him the following tribute.

Demands of Yusuf from Guzel Shah.

"He shall give me the whole Kharads of the town, N.,—40,000 silk stuffs embroidered with gold, and 40,000 khimhal (stronger silk stuffs) shall he send. His tolls and taxes he shall collect; 40,000 magnificent dresses shall he send; 40,000 chargers, with golden saddles; 40,000 male and female camels; 40,000 young slaves with golden girdles; 40,000 youths, with beautiful eyes, shall he send; 40,000 oxen (well bred) shall he send; 40,000 rhinoceri, bound in chains, shall he send; 40,000 reins, well shod, with gold nails, and 40,000 grey falcons shall he send; 40,000 whips shall he send, the nails of which shall be symmetrically arranged; lashes, worked in silver, the handles with golden spangles; 40,000 iron greys, 40,000 foxes, 40,000 noble steeds, with snake like tails, shall he send; 40,000 ambling nags, 40,000 roadsters, 40,000 peasants, as caravan guides, shall he send; these, with black locks falling down right and left, whose faces are covered with moles; 40,000 wonderfully beautiful maidens, with golden girdles, shall he send; 40,000 caps, 60,000 turbans, shall he send. Also, 70,000 sheep and double horned rams shall he send. Yusuf Beg says he shall have all ready quickly; 100,000 Russian thalers and 10 gold dishes shall he send."

This was, in short, the material of an Œzbeg romance, of which there is an innumerable quantity, and of domestic tales also; and these are considered the most valuable portion of their literature. Here and there, one finds an union of religion and valour. The Heroes are taken out of the Islam world, as, for instance, in the story of Zerkum Shah, where Ali conquers the last named heathen prince of Persia, in wonderful engagements, which border upon the imaginative, and may be compared to the poems of Ariosto and Bojardi; finally, he converts him to Islam. There are also numerous tales of Ebu Muslim, the old Field-Marshal of the Abassides, and, later, the independent ruler of Khorassan and Kharezm. The historical facts are pretty old, and yet each Œzbeg, in the great desert which separates his home from Persia, points out many a spot where the Arabian Field-Marshal encamped, fought, and enacted supernatural deeds of valour. Finally, there are also the epics, in which the old princes of the house of Shah Kharezmian are extolled. In these, as well as in those which tell of Mohamed Emin, Khan of Khiva, Mohamed Ali Khan of Khokand, we find many an image which indicates the natural feeling and pride of the Œzbegs.

Then follow, also, on these compositions, which are always of greater length, short poems, which tell of love, morality, heroism,—or contain special directions for handling of weapons, dressing of horses, and the duties of a good warrior. These are, for the greater part, productions of plain burghers, professional Bakhshis, people who are unacquainted with reading and writing, and leave their poetry to be written by others; or, finally, productions by women and young girls, who break out into poetic effusions from the fire kindled by passion. I brought with me a pretty collection, written on soiled paper, in a bad hand, bound in rough leather, which I found among the Turkomans at a Bakhshi's, who hid the "Opus Curiosum" in the broad leg of his boots; and it has really very strange things in it, sometimes not without beauty. We wish to produce some specimens, under the names of the writers; some of them appear to be anonymous. The first one, in the genuine Oriental style, mourns the transitory condition of humanity and the vanity of the world.

Allah Yar.

1. To build castles in this world is a fruitless thing; finally, all will become ruin, and building is really not worth the trouble.

2. Day and night, for each poor wanderer to labour and strain himself, is really not worth the trouble.

3. Friends! For idle good in this empty world, to mourn and lament oneself, is really not worth the trouble.

4. To do homage to passion out of ostentation, to torment the poor and the sick, is really not worth the trouble.

5. To destroy the lands of Islam, and to draw the sword to annihilate, is really not worth the trouble.

6. With taxes, duties, with hundredfold griefs and sorrows to vex Molla Khodja,—nay, the whole world, is really not worth the trouble.

7. As you cannot, Allah Yar, stand the brunt of the world, why plague yourself going up and down it? it is really not worth the trouble.

Revnak.

1. I went to my love one evening, on foot, treading softly. In sweet sleep lay the dear one. I embraced her softly, softly.

2. I took a kiss from her lips and refreshed my soul by it. I embraced her tender limbs, and kissed her once more,—softly, softly.

3. I said, give me a kiss, then. What, are you not ashamed, said she? Return whence you came, quickly,—treading softly, softly.

4. I was obstinate, and would not go. She seized my arm and pushed me out. At last, I saw no other chance, and sneaked off,—softly, softly.

5. I departed; could not endure separation, and came back. Oh, merciless one, I implore thee, give me a kiss,—softly, softly.

6. Too genial to suit European taste.

7. Revnak says, as the whole world is full of jokes and sport, so let no one blame me, and read this softly, softly.

Meshref.

1. My soul blazes in flame, yet my mistress comes not. What said I,—Mistress! The beloved of my heart comes not.

2. I am inwardly consumed for the love of this cypress-like beauty. She is so cruel. Into her thoughts I enter not.

3. I see in dreams her ringlets, and rise deeply saddened at noon. From this lock of her hair my heart separates not.

4. Medjnun and Leila, take a lesson from me in love; my charming dear one heeds me not.

5. The life of foolish Meshref seems coming to its end, and the sad flirt heeds me not.

Fuzuli.

1. Hold fast to the leading strings of modesty, for nothing is lovelier than modesty. Immodesty, mark this well, advances neither in this nor that world.

2. Oh! bird of my heart, flutter not in the air, but light on the hand of a king. The too high-flying hawk is never employed in the chase.

3. Desire treasure only from God; he has many storehouses. Should a drop only fall to thee for portion, this is amply sufficient: it ends not.

4. He, on whom the bird of happiness has rested, flies high, even without wings. He, on whom a dark lot has fallen, can scarcely raise his own hand.

5. Be always humble: strive to obtain a contrite spirit. He who suffers gold-hunger can never be satisfied.

6. You, Fuzuli, live in this world only for friendship. Winter lives in unfriendly hearts; never can it be summer there.

Nesimi.

1. Saturday. I met my cypress-like charmer, and she made me distracted.

2. Sunday. I was frantic, and a wanderer, and fell down senseless. I saw her face, and thought it was the shining moon.

3. Monday. At last I told her my heart-secret. Her eyes are like the narcissus, her cheeks resemble roses, her eyebrows are like a bow.

4. Tuesday. I became a huntsman, and went over the country (walked), yet I myself became the chased, and fell a sacrifice to the ever coy one.

5. Wednesday. My beauty walked in the fields; the nightingale saw her face and uttered wild cries.

6. Thursday. I said to my loved one: Hearken, then, to my advice: hide thy secret still from both good and bad.

7. Friday. At last Nesimi saw her beauty, and drank to satiety of the sherbet of her rosy lips.

These, although through the poetic beauty of our European tastes they may not prove quite agreeable, give yet sufficient evidence that the inhabitants of Central Asia, apart from the roughness of their social relations, despite their incessant wars and forays, are not unskilled in the expression of traits of poetic feeling and tender love. The higher classes, though they do not look on the popular poetry with contempt, still wish to show traces of refined taste, a higher education, and enjoy the works of the elder Persian poets, or the books of Nevai, who stepped forward as the first of the Tchagatay poets in that kind of accomplishment, by which all the rest of the poets of the Islamitish polite world acquired renown. Nevai is a scholar of the celebrated Sheikh Abdurrahman Djami, during many years minister, field marshal, and governor of many provinces. He is of rare genius in poetry, and of great fertility; for he has produced more than thirty-two distinct works on poetry, history, morals, logic; and though his works are thoroughly Persian in spirit, and not pervaded with the spirit of Central Asia, yet the merit of having reined and ennobled the Turkish dialect of Central Asia cannot be taken from him.

Here I give a few specimens.

Nevai.

1. Oh! heart, come, let us seek out a love; the cypress-growing one, the silver-cheeked one, let us seek.

2. As the darling of our eyes has looked for another friend, we also have eyes; therefore, another let us seek.

3. She greets the glance of men only with the dust of death. Why stand longing here? Another beauty let us seek.

4. Should I not find another like thee, who destroyest all the world, then a lowly, modest, but tender one, I will seek.

5. We will hasten through field and plain for the loved one; we will search garden and meadows. Her will we seek.

6. As the wish is good, it shall not remain unfulfilled. Among small and great, through all as far as possible, we wish to seek.

7. Oh! Nevai, from this passion you will never get freed. Come, therefore, before the meeting. Patience and perseverance let us seek.

Nevai.

1. Absent from the loved one, the heart is like a land without a king. A land without a king is like a body without a soul.

2. Oh! Mussulman, what service is a body without a soul! It is like black earth, which has no sweet smelling roses.

3. Black earth, that has no sweet smelling roses, is like a dark night, that has no bright moonbeams.

4. A dark night, that has no bright moon, is like darkness without a life-source.

5. A darkness, that has no life-source, is like a hell, which has no paradise-plains.

6. Oh! Nevai, as the loved give so much pain, it is certain that absence has its pangs, and the return no aid.

His Tchihardivan is beautiful, in which he celebrates the various ages of men, as also his adaptation of the well-known romances, Ferhad and Shirin, Medjnun and Leila, Yusuf and Zuleikha, &c. Also his versification of some stories out of the 1,001 Nights, among which Prince Seif-ul-Muluk is the most successful. The following will serve as a specimen of the latter.

How Seif-ul-Muluk sets out from the town of Tchin, and journeys to the sea.

1. Come, tale-teller, let us hear the story of the adverse fate that befel the king's son?

2. The tale-teller replied, "That is hard to do; for the sword of sorrow cleaves the breast."

3. The prince had everything prepared for his departure, and first enquired about the town of Katine.

4. Satisfactory information was soon received; all his effects brought to the ship.

5. The whole crew were on board, the officers stood prepared, and the army equipped.

6. Then the prince betook himself on board, and confided his person to the "god's device" (the ship).

7. The pilots led the way, followed by an endless host of ships.

8. There sat the prince in sweet reverie, with smiling lips and a heart free from sorrow.

9. Six months he went across the sea, with pilot carefully watching his way.

10. Soon, Fate made him feel the sting of envy, and maliciously opposed him.

11. The sea became moved and girded on the blood-thirsty sword.

12. She opened herself, and the deluge wildly burst forth,—a deluge on all sides of streams of fire.

13. Every moment she showed a fresh scene of horror—every instant makes a thousand souls tremble.

14. Wildly swelled the waves, and threatened with mighty floods: with blood-thirsty jaws rush and roar the waters of the sea.

15. Then dark fearful winds arise—the horizon veils itself in pitchy darkness, and from the surface of the sea there sounds forth wild lamentation.

16. The day, bright with the sun, becomes a pitch-dark night. What a fearful day! It is the image of the day of judgment.

17. Wherever thou lookest no man is visible, not even the hand before the eyes,—all, and over all, is water.

18. The salt waves toss and roll incessantly, and raise the ships with keels upward.

19. Ever does the mighty sea rage and roar and mount with fury from the deep abyss.

20. Wild cries of creatures break out together, you would think it was the day of Resurrection.

21. In frightful hurly-burly one ship runs into the other; they split, and sink to the bottom of the sea.

22. The yards break, the planks fall in pieces, no possibility of escape.

23. Those hundred ships, said the tale-teller; that crew, those possessions,

24. All was wrecked on the sea coast, not a trace remained behind on the surface of the waters."

Wide as the territory of Turkestan-Proper extends, so far does the literature of which we have tried to give a slight sketch in the foregoing pages. And the further we betake ourselves from the frontiers into the desert, so in like manner does Islam become weaker, and here commences the change from Mohamedan civilisation into the old Shamanism. Among the Kirghis, notwithstanding the greater part of them profess Islam, one meets here and there with a tale which was generated in the Khanats; this, however, is looked upon as an exotic plant, and never preferred to the native. The popular poetry that one finds among them forms the point of transition from the currents of ideas of one society into another. Indeed, only two days' distance from the borders of the Yaxartes, or northward from the Sea of Aral, may a bakhshi prosper, provided he can give in the best fashion tales or narratives of a purely Kirghis character. The poetry of the wild inhabitants of the steppe is more strange and odd than pretty. Here and there a happy image occurs, at other times there are only broken exclamations and solitary verses without the smallest connection. Since each person is a poet, a tale cannot long preserve its originality, either they add something new to it or cast the whole off, and few people can keep themselves from annexing to their songs the momentary influence of their fantasy. Of the love-lays of the Kirghis, Lewschine has introduced a short poem, not without charm, in his book, p. 380:—

"Dost thou see this snow? The body of my loved one is whiter still."

"Dost thou see the dropping blood of the slain lamb? Her cheeks are redder still."

"Dost thou see the trunk of this burnt tree? Her hair is blacker still."

"Dost thou know with what the mollahs of our Khan write? Her eyebrows are blacker than their ink."

"Dost thou see these glowing embers? Her eyes are brighter still."

Another specimen which follows this consists of detached sentences without any connection.

"The hawk has pounced on the ducks—on a flight of ducks—on a great flight!"

"I am very ill, and hardly ever think of eating," or "yonder is a tall pine-tree, the mist has fallen over it."

"Yesterday she allowed me to enter her house. Formerly she would come herself and caress me."

These more or less may be found among all purely popular tales of oriental people. There is even a trace of them in Hungarian, as for example,—

"Three apples and a half, I invited thee, and thou camest not," or "the crane flies high, singing beautifully, my loved one is angry, for she will not speak to me," &c.

A considerable number of tales or narratives of hero deeds exists among nomadic tribes, partly in verse, partly in prose. In these the spirit of the literature of the Turkish tribes of South Siberia is more prominent than that of their Central Asiatic neighbours; and I have heard many compositions of Kirghis Bakhshis, which I find with little variation and dialectic differences faithfully conveyed in the more recent work,—"Proofs of the Popular Literature of the Turkish tribes of South Siberia," by Dr. Radloff.

It leaves no doubt that as the learned A. Schiffner, in the myths and tales of Dr. Radloff's collection, finds traces of a Buddhist influence, so many of the irtegi (tales) of the modern Kirghis have reached them from the further south, beyond Djungaria; for Islam, coming from the south-west, could take no firm root over the Yaxartes, and now that the mighty waves of Russian power roll down from the north, will certainly prevail no further. This kind of literature belonging rather to the Turks of South Siberia, we shall conclude our present sketch by a tale of the Kirghis, which belongs to this little horde, according to European opinion, but according to inland appellation, to Mangishlak Kazagi, i.e., a Kirghis of Mangishlak. It is from the book of Bronislas Zaleski, who, as a Polish exile, dwelt nine years in the desert, and on his return, 1865, published under the title of "La Vie des Steppes Kirghizes." Paris. Fol. 1865.

The Tale of Kugaul.[57]

Man is, in Heaven, helpless without God; on earth, powerless without a horse.

There was once a Kirghis, named Buruzgay. He had great numbers of sheep and horses, and nothing was wanting to him if God had not denied him children. He was alone, consequently, in an advanced state of life. He said not his daily prayer (namaz), nor kept the enjoined feasts. One day, the sorrow of his childless condition overcame him, and he determined to go to the Holy places, in the hope that his prayers might obtain for him a son. He forged for himself shoes of iron, and took a staff of iron in his hand, and so betook himself on his way. He travelled and travelled ten years long, and probably more. So long, so long did he travel, until his iron shoes were quite worn out, and only the handle of his iron staff remained. At last, he fell down on the ground, prostrate. Great were his sufferings, for he could neither raise himself up nor die.

Lo! before him appeared a holy man, who perceived him lying on the earth, had compassion on him, bent over him and enquired what ailed him. Buruzgay could not utter a word. The holy man fell on his knees, recited his prayer, (namaz) and prayed the Almighty to loosen the tongue of the unhappy man. Hardly had he done this, when Buruzgay began to feel his strength revive. He related his history, and on what grounds he had abandoned his aoul. The holy man withdrew a short distance, and continued in prayer until God said to him, "Thou art well pleasing in my sight. I will accomplish thy wish. But why dost thou interest thyself in Buruzgay? He pays no impost, he says no prayer (namaz), he observes no fast. How shall I have compassion on him?" "Lord," said the holy man, "in time to come he will serve Thee devoutly, and will repeat his prayers; only do not reject my intreaties. Grant my prayer and take me for an hostage." Then God said, "Depart, faithful servant, thy prayers are granted. Enquire of Buruzgay what is his desire. Will he have forty sons and forty daughters, or only one son and one daughter especially approved by me."

The holy man returned to Buruzgay. He found him quite restored, and on his knees; and he cried aloud with joy, "Oh, God, I have not lied to Thee: Buruzgay, before my return, had begun to perform his duty." He then told Buruzgay the words of God. "What shall I do with forty sons and forty daughters? If the Almighty hear my prayers, he will give me one son and one daughter." The holy man blessed him, and conveyed back to the Lord his reply. Buruzgay found his iron shoes as though unworn, and betook himself to his aoul. Approaching it, he appeared to recognize his steppe and flocks. He viewed all with heartfelt joy. Slowly and slowly regaining his recollection, he perceived that nothing had changed since his departure. He approached a shepherd, to enquire of him as to the owner of the herds. The shepherds did not recognise him, he had so fallen away, and become so changed through fasting and hardships, and his clothes were worn out. "What is our master to thee," enquired the shepherds, "go thy way." They went their way to their flocks. Buruzgay waited until their return, and questioned them afresh. The shepherds drove him away as a poor beggar (baygouche), without wishing to speak to him, till at last he uttered his name. They immediately looked at him attentively, recognised him, and told him that his wife, whom he had left in the family way, was near her confinement, and they were expecting guests in the aoul. Then, without waiting for his reply, the shepherds ran off swifter than an arrow, and coming to Buruzgay's wife, demanded the suyundji, (the customary gift for good news). They received it, and informed the wife of the arrival of her husband. She was highly delighted, and immediately afterwards Buruzgay entered. A few days after his arrival, his wife was delivered of two fine, strong children,—twins. One was a son, the other was a daughter. Buruzgay was beside himself with joy, and he kept constantly meditating on what names he should give these children, with whom God had rejoiced his old age. Whilst he was buried in thought, his former intercessor with Heaven, the holy man, came to him, and said, "Thou wilt name thy son Kugaul, and thy daughter Khanisbeg. And Buruzgay hearkened to the holy man, who immediately left him.