About two hours after sunset the Khan retires to the harem, or to his sleeping apartment, and with it his daily labours as sovereign are ended. The harem is here very different from those of the Turkish or Persian court. The number of women is limited, the fairy-like luxuriousness of life in a harem is entirely wanting, strict chastity and modesty pervade it; and in this respect the court of Khiva is eminently superior to all Eastern courts. The present Khan has only two lawful wives, although the Koran allows four. These are always chosen from among the royal family; and it is an extremely rare thing for the daughter of a dignitary, who does not belong to the family, to be raised to this rank. The Khan, although possessing the same unlimited power over his wife as over any of his subjects, treats her without severity, and on the whole with tenderness, unless she be found guilty of any particular offence. She possesses no titles or prerogatives whatever; her court is distinguished in nothing from the other harems, but that she has more female servants and slaves about her; the former consisting of the wives or daughters of officials, the latter for the most part of Persian and a few dark Arab women. The daughters of Iran are far inferior to the Œzbeg women in personal beauty, and their mistress has no cause to fear from either of them any rivalry. As regards their intercourse with the outer world, the princesses of Khiva are far more restricted than the wives of other Eastern potentates. The rules of modesty require that they should pass the greater part of the day in the harem, where comparatively little time is lavished upon the embellishments of the toilet. And in fact, the ladies of the harem have very little leisure for idleness, since in accordance with the custom of the country it is desirable that the greater part of the clothes, carpets, and other stuffs, for the use of the prince, should be prepared by the hand of his wife. This custom reminds one strongly of the patriarchal mode of life of which Turkestan, in spite of its roughness, has preserved many remnants of simple refinement.
The princess of Khiva is permitted occasionally to visit the neighbouring royal summer palaces and chateaux, never on horseback, as is the general custom in Persia, but in a large carriage, painted with gaudy colours, and completely covered and shut in with red carpets and shawls. Before and behind the vehicle trot a couple of horsemen, furnished with white staves. On her progress all rise respectfully from their seats and salute her with a profound bow. Nobody thinks of daring to cast a look of curiosity into the interior of the carriage; not only would this be useless, so closely is it covered, but such temerity would have to be atoned for by death, whether the object be the wife of the sovereign or any subordinate official. Whenever the Queen of Persia takes a ride on horseback, the numerous ferrash (servants) who head the cavalcade cut right and left with their sabres at the crowd, who disperse in terror and confusion, in spite of their eager curiosity. Such a proceeding, however, is not necessary with the grave Œzbegs; for here life in the harem is not regulated with the same severity, and it is well known that the less strictly its laws are administered, the less frequently they are transgressed.
During the summer the royal family inhabit the castles of Rafenek and Tashhauz, near Khiva. Both were erected in the Persian style by former princes, and are distinguished by possessing some window-panes and small looking-glasses—the latter, especially, being considered articles of great luxury in the eyes of the people of Khiva. Tashhauz has not been built without taste. The chateau stands in a large garden; it has several reservoirs, and resembles the castle of Nigaristan, near the town gate, Shimran at Teheran. The winter is spent in the town, but when here his Œzbeg highness occupies a light tent which is pitched inside the walls; and herein he shows no bad taste, for the round-shaped dwelling, made of snow-white felt, with a cheerful fire burning brightly in the middle, is not only quite as warm as any building of stone, but there is something pleasant about it, and it makes a far less gloomy impression than the windowless mud-huts of Turkestan.
Joy and sorrow are undoubtedly the mirror, in which not only is the character of a people clearly reflected, but which likewise offers the most faithful image of their manners and customs. In joy and sorrow every sign of dissimulation vanishes, man shows himself in his true colours, and the lights and shades of his temperament become at once apparent; for, in any matter of real feeling, it is vain to try to speak and act differently to the dictates of this potent voice within us. And nowhere is a better opportunity offered for studying the various features of joy and sorrow, than at a birth, marriage, and death,—those three stages in the great family of mankind. The main outlines are no doubt everywhere the same, but in the colouring and composition a variety is produced, not found even among civilized nations. Ethnography has frequently thrown light on this subject in different parts of the world; but we must confess that Central Asia in this respect is wrapt in considerable obscurity. To attempt to dispel this darkness may therefore not be deemed superfluous; and, the savage Polynesian and Central African having resisted vainly the spirit of inquiry, we will in like manner raise the veil from the rude and suspicious Œzbeg. It is a first attempt, and consequently a feeble one.
As soon as a woman in Central Asia (I refer to a settled family), about to become a mother, feels the first pangs of childbirth, she sends for her neighbour, her nearest relations, a midwife, and a nurse for the child. A new felt or carpet is spread out in the tent or room, and upon this the woman is placed, with her legs doubled under her. As the pains increase, her nearest relations squat round her; and she, flinging both her arms round the neck of two of her most intimate friends, the midwife seizes her by the thighs, and moves her about, until she has been delivered of the child. She is now placed upon a bed, the relations taking the mother under their care, and the midwife having charge of the child. The former is restored to strength by friction on the temples and pulse, whilst the midwife sets about cutting out swaddling-clothes from a new piece of linen, in which she wraps the infant, strictly observing the various superstitious customs. Then taking the remainder of the linen to the mother, she informs her of the sex and appearance of her child; she also is the bearer of the happy tidings to the father, from whom she receives a present on this occasion. In fact, the kindik kesen (swaddling-clothes maker) plays a very important part in the whole affair. For three days the child is invisible to every one, during which time it is frequently smeared over with butter, and, to prevent any redness in them, which is considered extremely objectionable, the eyes are washed with salt water. It is then clothed in a little shirt, and finally it is laid upon a pillow of camel's hair, and exhibited. Now all the friends and acquaintances pay their visits, and the husband offers a present to his wife, who is anxious to hear from her guests their prognostications as to the future of her child, which experienced matrons draw from the limbs and movements of its little body. Thus for instance, it is a bad sign, if it has entered the world with the left foot or hand first; a small apple of the eye augurs that her offspring will be a thief; a broad forehead denotes valour; a restless kicking of the feet future wealth, and so forth. Every one scrutinizes the infant with insignificant gestures; and well might the fear of the evil eye make the mother uneasy, but that she herself has tied the white magic-stone on the left arm of her child.
After the chille (forty days) have elapsed, festivities begin. In the case of a girl, not much is done; but if the child be a boy, even the poorest make every effort to gather round them a considerable number of guests, and to feast them as sumptuously as possible. Grand banquets, horse-racing, wrestling and music, are the order of the day; and finally, a special celebration in honour of the birth, the so-called Altin Kabak, takes place, which consists in hanging up a golden or silver ball on the top of a high tree, and whosoever brings it down at the first shot, with either ball or arrow, gains this prize, together with a certain number of sheep, and often even camels and horses.
During the first year the greatest care is taken to guard the child against cats, evil spirits, and other dangerous influences, after which time the above-mentioned white stone is replaced by a round-shaped bone, and on his little cap are hung the argushtek (a piece of wood, carved and dyed mysteriously), a nusha (amulet), which must be written by the hand of some learned man, several corals, the tooth of an hyæna, and, if circumstances permit, a small bag with holy earth from the grave of Mohamed. All these things, together, often make up a considerable weight, which presses very heavily on the head of the poor little creature; but this is not taken into consideration. On the contrary; the mother examines with jealous care to see that not a single thing be found wanting, each being looked upon as a certain means of protection against so many dangers.
In Central Asia, as throughout the whole East, children are allowed but a very few years to devote merely to play. Girls are early taught to spin, weave, sew, to make cheese, &c.; and boys are put on horseback, and learn to ride as early as their fifth year, and are employed as horsemen in sham fights, and as jockeys in horse races in, and even before, their tenth year. It is only the more wealthy parents who give their children in charge of a Mollah. When they have learned to read, the Korantoy, or the festival of the Koran, is celebrated, which is of the same nature as the Chatemdüyünü of the Osmanlis, with this difference: that the latter takes place when the lad has, for the first time, read through the sacred book of Mohamed, and here, when he begins reading.
Although childhood is of short duration among the Œzbegs, yet a youth does not receive the name of yighid (a mature youth) until his eighteenth year, nor the girl that of kïz (virgin) before she is sixteen years old. In the country the intercourse between the two sexes is not in the least degree influenced by the Koran. Here, as in Western countries, we see the "rosy play of love" represented with all its joys and sorrows, all its fascination and enthusiasm. At first I felt amazed that the tenderest of feelings should find room in the heart of a man in Central Asia, accustomed as he is from his earliest youth to robbery and murder, and hardened to the tears of widows, orphans and slaves. But I had the opportunity of convincing myself, that love is here more frequently the cause of the most extraordinary adventures than in other Mahomedan countries. The Œzbeg is passionately devoted to music and poetry, and hence it is but natural that his heart should be susceptible to the emotions of love.
When two young people have formed a mutual attachment the secret is entrusted to their parents, and if these make no objections, the young man opens the transaction by despatching two female ambassadors, Soutchi Khatin, to ask them formally for the hand of their daughter. The parents, for the most part, have been previously informed of the demand, and receiving the embassy with honour and distinction, they express their satisfaction at the offer, but refrain from giving any decisive answer. To pronounce a regular straightforward "yes," is contrary to the rules of propriety, and the young man has to interpret, from trivial allusions, whether his suit will be granted or not. The next thing is to talk over the kalim (marriage portion) which the man is ready or able to give for his future wife. The question is always, how many times nine, i.e., how many times nine sheep, cows, camels or horses, or how many times nine ducats, as is the custom in a town, the father is to receive for giving up his daughter. The less wealthy give twice nine, the wealthier six times nine, and the Khan alone has to pay nine times nine, for the purchase of his bride. The kalim having been settled, the next question to be considered is one of great importance, the eginbash (present in ornaments) to be presented by the future husband. It consists of eight rings, yüzük, a semi-tiara (sheghendjin), a tiara (shekergül), a bracelet (bilezik), ear-rings (isirga), nose-rings (arabek), and ornaments for the neck (öngülük). This whole set of ornaments must be presented complete, and not a single article wanting; it is also previously settled, whether it is to consist of gold or silver. No doubt a man in Central Asia has to pay dearly for his wife. The negotiations are generally a protracted business; and finally, when every thing is definitely settled, neighbours and relations are invited to the fatiha toy (feast of promise), which is celebrated for two days in the home of the future bride, and two more in that of the future husband. The Mollah, or some grey-beard, announces the new arrangement to the guests. He tells them the exact purchase-price for the girl, and when the wedding is to take place, and concludes his short address with a fatiha, after which the festivities begin and are continued for four days. In entertainments of this kind, called toy, all the guests are assembled in one and the same apartment, but form different groups. The upper part of the room is occupied by the elderly people; the women range themselves along the right side of the wall and the girls and lads sit down in some corner, generally near the musicians and singers. The toy consists not merely in eating and drinking, but there is also music and singing, and above all, horse-racing, which latter forms the chief part of all festivities in Central Asia. Prizes of considerable value are given, and young and old take the most lively interest in the sport. The race-course varies from one to three fersakh in length; on the former only two year olds are admitted, on the latter full-grown strong horses. Two villages are chosen, lying at this distance apart, and whilst the crowd are assembling in one of them, a toy emini, steward, is appointed in the other. It is his duty to see that a fair start is effected, and that horse is proclaimed the winner, who first passes the goal which is fixed at the entrance of the opposite village. The horses are trained for several weeks for the race, and are ridden by young boys, who wear on this occasion short and tight-fitting clothes, very similar to those worn by jockeys in England.
The interval between the fatiha toy and the marriage is fixed according to the age of the "promessa." A week before the wedding, the toyluk (food for the wedding) is sent by the man to the house of his future wife; and consists of meat, flour, rice, fat, sugar and fruit. Soon after, his mother and nearest female relations arrive, who have been invited as guests for several weeks. Two days before the beginning of the festival the future husband mounts his horse, and, surrounded by his friends, all of whom, as well as their horses, are decked out in the gayest colours, goes also to the home of her parents, his father alone remaining behind, not for the sake of taking care of the house, but in order to make all necessary preparations for the due reception of the newly-married couple on their return.
Meanwhile, in the house of the future wife, where the first days of the marriage-feast are celebrated, the greatest bustle and activity prevails. The young girls have to do the cooking, and are fully employed with their gigantic cauldrons. The quantity of food brought together for an Œzbeg wedding is as enormous as the appetite of the numerous guests. Whilst the young girls are busy at cooking and baking, the young swains carry on a lively flirtation with them. The galant homme, who is lucky enough to obtain from his beloved a bone or some tit-bit out of the cauldron, regards the gift as a signal sign of favour, but still more lucky is he who gets a few sharp raps with the cooking ladle, the highest of all favours, and appreciated far above the daintiest morsels. Men and women gather round the fire-place in groups, laughing, talking, joking and shrieking, whilst musicians play and sing, and children shout and yell. These noises are mingled with the bleating of sheep, barking of dogs, neighing of horses and braying of donkeys, while loud above the general hubbub is heard the clown's stentorian voice in coarse sallies of Œzbeg wit and humour. He is the very life of the whole party. His gesticulations, the grimaces with which he accompanies his jests, give rise to continual bursts of laughter. Now he mimics this person or that, now he tells of some droll prank or merry adventure, or whistles like a bird and mews like a cat, and thus he has to continue without interruption, although from sheer exertion the perspiration runs down his face in streams.
It is a strange custom that, for the last few days before his wedding, the young man is not allowed to leave his tent, the young girl and her companions watching it, meanwhile, with looks of the utmost curiosity. It is said that friends and relations sometimes assist in bringing about a secret tête-à-tête, but not until after the marriage ceremony is he permitted to mix with the company. This ceremony takes place at the end of the second day, in the presence of the whole assembly. Each party is represented by two witnesses, to whom the Mollah puts the question, whether the two young people mutually agree as to the marriage. He then proceeds at once to perform the ceremony, when the witnesses of the young girl put in their veto. They declare (with a feigned reluctance) their unwillingness to give up the treasure entrusted to them, unless the young man should present them with a certain sum of money, or some other present. He finds the demand exorbitant, and now begins a bargaining and haggling, which continues until both parties are satisfied, when the solemn ceremony is at last performed. The Mollah reads aloud the permission of the reis (religious chief,) the witnesses attest on oath, and with significant gestures, the marriage compact, a short prayer is read, and the ceremony is over.
The bride now hands round fruit and a rich cake, and distributes white kerchiefs, garments, or other presents among the Mollahs, grey-beards, and above all, the young men who have acted as witnesses.
The bridegroom now makes his appearance, but is not permitted to approach the company nearer than a few steps from the door! and all having partaken of an enormous repast, the festivities in the bride's home terminate.
The elderly, as well as the married folk, now take their departure, but the young people remain, and pack the bride and her marriage portion on a sort of carriage, and thus accompanied by her female companions and friends, she sets out for the home of her husband. The journey, called bolush, is protracted as much as possible, and often when the distance is short, one or two long circuits are made, in order to have the opportunity of continuing the amusements on the road. The bride sits in the first carriage with her future sister-in-law, the young men accompany the procession on horseback, and he who can manage to force his way first to the front, riding full gallop, receives from her a handkerchief as the prize. The others try to snatch it from him, he flies and is pursued, and the chase does not cease till he has reached the carriage again. The handkerchiefs thus gained are tied to the horse's head, and preserved a long time as valuable trophies.[11] Whenever the procession passes a village on the route, they are generally stopped, and a toll is demanded. The sister-in-law sitting next the bride distributes cake, and the passage is again free. Amidst continued sport and chaff the bride arrives at the home of her husband, and no sooner does she draw near it, than she wraps her veil around her, changing her merry expression of face to one of the utmost gravity. Her father-in-law lifts her from the carriage, conducts her into the room, and leads her to a tent improvised with curtains and carpets in a corner of the apartment. The husband soon follows her, and for the second time raises her veil in the presence of his father, who compliments his daughter-in-law on her charming appearance, the first sight of which he has to requite with presents. The young couple are left alone, but have to endure for some time the jokes of the noisy crowd assembled outside the tent, who are eager to exhibit on these occasions their slender store of wit and humour. They disperse late at night, and at last all is quiet.
Among the Turkomans and Kirghis it is customary for newly-married people to be separated for a whole year, after they have lived together for a few days, and although the husband is allowed to make his appearance in the house of his wife, it must be only at night and in the most clandestine manner. In the opinion of the nomads, married life, in its beginning, is made all the more pleasant by acting up to the proverb, "stolen kisses taste the sweetest," and hence also the belief, that the first born child must always be handsome and vigorous.
The great national festival, called noruz (new year), of the Œzbegs, has been transmitted to them by the Persians, and is celebrated in Central Asia with the same pomp which distinguishes it in Persia, with this only difference, that the Œzbegs have an old and a new noruz. The latter, however, is of no especial importance. There is no lack of amusing games, but it is very remarkable that some have degenerated into the most pernicious gambling. Playing cards (sokti) are introduced from Russia (without the court cards), but have not yet come into general use. The favourite game is the Ashik-game (Ashik—the anklebones of sheep), which is played in the manner of European dice with the four anklebones of a sheep, and with a degree of passionate excitement of which one can form no idea. The upper part of the bone is called tava, the lower altchi, and the two sides yantarap. The player takes these four little bones into the palm of his hand, throws them up and receives half of the stake, if two tava or two altchi, and the whole of the stake, if all four tava or altchi turn up. The advantage to be gained arises entirely from dexterity in throwing; trickery is impossible, since the bones are frequently changed. This game is equally popular with the dweller in settlements as with the nomad; and although apparently a trivial amusement, it not unfrequently happens that the Ashik player, in the heat of his passion, stakes the whole of his possessions, nay, even his wife. Mankind, in fact, are everywhere the same. The refined European makes his offerings at rouge et noir upon the green table; the Œzbeg on the sandy ground with four anklebones.
Whenever a member of a family is on the point of death, his nearest relations usually leave the house or tent. The Mollah, or the elderly among the neighbours, surround the dying man, watching for the last breath and repeating the customary prayers, while outside the air is filled with wailing and lamentations. If he should have been lying speechless for some time, some wool is moistened by his friends, and water dropped into his mouth, for fear lest, deprived of his speech, he might die of thirst. The rolling of the eyes and the contraction of the nose are regarded as symptoms of death; and no sooner has the dying man drawn his last breath than his jaws are tied up, and the body is stripped and then covered over. The clothes are destroyed, for even the poorest Œzbeg could not be persuaded to put on anything worn by a dying man.
The corpse is not allowed to be kept longer than twelve or fifteen hours, in accordance with the custom among all Mahomedan nations. It is not washed upon a board, but on a mat (buria), which is immediately after burnt; and the relations and neighbours, nay, often the whole population of the place, having wept and wailed their fill, the body is taken to be buried. The settled inhabitants of Central Asia possess cemeteries for their dead, but among the nomads each dead body is buried singly in the desert; and if he has been a man of influence and consideration, a large mound (tumulus) is generally raised over his grave, in the construction of which all the male members of the tribe are expected to take part. The more honoured the person, the higher and larger the mound (yoska). The surviving relations look upon it with pride; on certain festivals, and on the anniversary of the death, food or other presents are placed upon it for the benefit of the poor; and no sooner does the nomad come in sight of it, however great the distance may be, than he mutters a short prayer for the repose of the dead.
Men that fall in battle are neither undressed nor washed. The blood of a brave soldier being regarded as his greatest adornment, is consequently not removed.
The funeral feast begins immediately after the burial with a simple repast, at which the iyis (bread baked in fat) is distributed among rich and poor, and must be eaten by everybody. The feast is repeated on the third, seventh, and fortieth day after the death took place, besides which the anniversary is celebrated in like manner,—a duty which even the poorest would not omit to perform, for fear lest, by neglecting it, the departed might appear to them at night, and, exhorting the survivors, complain that they had forgotten to invite those of this world who are to pray for the welfare of his soul.
Among the nomads, the funeral feast occupies a more important part. Once every week, throughout the first year, a repast is prepared on the day of the death, and daily, as mentioned already in our "Travels among the Turkomans," the women sing the song of lamentation at the hour in which the member of the family breathed his last. With the latter, moreover, the memory of a dead person is held in the highest regard, and peculiar respect is paid to his grave for a long time after, if he has fallen in battle, or on some marauding expedition. The shaft of his lance is planted upon it, and decked with various-coloured pieces of stuff, ram's horns, a horse's tail, or like mementos,—friends and members of the same tribe contributing, as a matter of course, every time they pass it. The "yoskas" are called by the name of those that repose beneath; children play around, but, however playfully inclined, are careful not to climb upon them. It is even said, that horses go to visit the yoskas of their former masters, and are seen standing before them, with heads bent downward in mourning; and young warriors habitually look with veneration on these mounds, and draw from them the inspiration to their greatest deeds of valour.
Whenever we happened to meet one of these graves in our travels in the steppes of Central Asia, each member of our caravan was obliged to tear off a little piece of his clothes and fasten it to the shaft, or to a bench, or all joined in a hymn sung in his praise, Karavan bashi saying every time: "He who does not honour the dead will never receive honour from the living."
The house, or fixed dwelling, has never, up to the present day, gained a firm footing among the nations in Central Asia, not even in those parts where regular settlements have existed for several hundred years. Part of the population build houses for themselves, but they are generally looked upon as gloomy places, producing feelings of melancholy, and the light, airy tent is in all cases preferred. It is principally the Œzbeg people who build houses, an art they have learnt from the original Persian settlers, and, as they resemble in many points the inhabitants of Iran, the architecture in Central Asia is in the early Iranic style, and at the same time very similar to the new Persian.
The first thing before building a house, is to level and prepare the ground by stamping it down with a heavy pounder. Foundations are only made to large buildings. The common-sized houses are made with a mud flooring, two feet high, and upon this, after it has dried hard, the walls are raised with a layer of rushes or wood underneath, in order to keep them from the damp rising from the ground. The walls are either "tam," i.e., of clay or stone, or "akchub," i.e., of wooden laths, laid crossways, and the interstices filled up with clay and unbaked tiles. The ceiling consists of planks, closely fitting together; in the houses of the poor these are left bare, and in those of the rich they have a coating of plaster and lime. Small holes serve as windows; they are open in summer, and in winter are pasted over with oiled paper. The roof, similar to those in Persia, is like a terrace, and serves as a sleeping place during the heat of the summer. Regular bricklayers are seldom met with. Every man is his own architect, convinced of possessing sufficient knowledge to build for himself a house suitable to his wants; and the plumb-line being still unknown, it is not to be wondered at that the walls are crooked and uneven, bulging either in or out, and soon become dilapidated.
The interior arrangement of a house is as follows: you enter by a wide gate, which forms the chief entrance, into a covered passage, called dalar. To the right of the gate are one or two rather large apartments (mihmankhane), which serve as reception-rooms for guests, and contain weapons as well as useful domestic utensils. Next to these are two small rooms, used as store-rooms. To the left are the stable and the shed for the carts and trucks, whilst a small door at the back of the dalar, opposite the entrance, leads to the inner apartments or harem. These are for the most part ayvans, that is, rooms which are open on one or two sides, and generally look out upon a garden. In towns they are used as favourite summer apartments, and it is really pleasant to live in them, especially during the night, with a peshekhane, a square tent made of gauze, like mosquito-nets, over one's bed, as a protection against catching cold, which is as dangerous in Central Asia as it is in Persia. In the country the dwellings are scattered. The farmstead (havli), which consists of several different parts, is always surrounded with a high wall for protection, and looks like a small fortress. The interior is very roomy; on one side are the buildings, always lower than the wall, on the other the tents, the fixed dwellings being set apart here also exclusively for animals and store-rooms. Sometimes the inner space is so large that a small kitchen-garden has found room within it. Outside, but near the walls, is a large reservoir, the edges of which are bordered with plantains, and afford a most agreeable resting-place. These trees flourish admirably in this part of Asia, where they are found of an astonishing height and breadth, and reach the great age of from 300 to 400 years. On hot summer days they afford the most refreshing shade, and for hours the Œzbeg is seen sleeping beneath the spreading branches. Not only does the thick foliage protect him from the burning rays, but the breeze, which always blows under the plantains, drives away tormenting insects.
The furnitures of a house are the same as in Persia, and consist of carpets, coverlets of felt, large chests, painted red, for keeping clothes, some cauldrons and other vessels for cooking, and holding water. Splendour or luxury are entirely wanting, and even the modern improvements in windows and doors, met with sometimes, come from Persia, from whence some clever and expert slave has introduced them into Central Asia. Nothing can find its way here from Europe, it has always to pass through the channel of Turkish and Persian civilization, And everything travels its customary snail's pace; the Persian imitates European institutions second hand from the Turks, and the nations in Central Asia adopt nothing but what reaches them through the medium of Persia.
The food of the Tartars consists principally of meat. Bread, in many parts of the country, although not unknown, is yet a rare luxury. Mutton is the favourite meat; next to this goat's flesh, beef, and horse flesh; camel's flesh is least valued. Occasionally, the horse is declared to be "mekruh" by the religious, and is not eaten, but in the country little notice is taken of it; and the Torama, horse flesh boiled soft and mixed up with onions, carrots and dumplings, is a very popular dish. It is worthy of remark, that the water first used in boiling the horse flesh is poured away, as far too strong and heavy for even Tartar digestion, and that only the second infusion can be eaten as broth. In some parts of Central Asia sausages are made of the entrails, and considered a dainty dish; but I have nowhere found, that the delicate parts of this animal are held in such high favour among the Œzbegs as is asserted throughout Persia. Camel's flesh is hard and tough; it is cut in small pieces, covered with paste, boiled, and then fried in lard. This dish, called Somsa, is not quite tasteless, but to our digestions like a weight of lead.
The favourite national dish is the Palau, also called ash, which, though related to the pilau of the Persians and the pilaf of the Turks, by far surpasses both these in savour. I have lived on it for a long time, and willingly impart to Europeans my knowledge of how it is prepared. A few spoonfuls of fat are melted (in Central Asia the fat of the tail is usually taken) in a vessel, and as soon as it is quite hot, the meat, cut up into small pieces, is thrown in. When these are in part fried, water is poured upon it to the depth of about three fingers, and it is left slowly boiling until the meat is soft; pepper and thinly-sliced carrots are then added, and on the top of these ingredients is put a layer of rice, after it has been freed from its mucilaginous parts. Some more water is added, and as soon as it has been absorbed by the rice the fire is lessened, and the pot, well-closed, is left over the red-hot coals, until the rice, meat and carrots, are thoroughly cooked in the steam.
After half an hour the lid is opened, and the food served in such a way that the different layers lie separately in the dish, first the rice, floating in fat, then the carrots and the meat at the top, with which the meal is begun. This dish is excellent, and indispensable alike on the royal table and in the hut of the poorest. From here it was introduced among the Afghans; by them to the Persians, who call it kabuli (kabul). The pilau, if I am not mistaken, has its origin in Central Asia, and spread from thence far and wide over Western Asia.
Another national dish of the Tartars is Tchörek, a soup with small dumplings in it, which are filled with spice and minced meat. I say "a soup," and yet this dish alone suffices for a whole dinner, since it is partaken of in such quantities that any other dish can be easily dispensed with. It is known among the Osmanlis, by the name of tatar börek. Thirdly, Sheöle, a porridge of rice mixed up with meat and dried meat. Fourthly, bulamuk, a dish consisting simply of flour, water and fat. Fifthly, Mestava, rice boiled in sour milk, a dish exclusively for the summer, as the former is for the winter. Besides these dishes there are the Yarma, corn bruised and boiled in milk; Godje, a kind of porridge, made of the molcussorghum; and Mashava, likewise a porridge of grits, eaten with fat, and sometimes with oil. Heavy, strong and piquant dishes are generally preferred, few sweets are eaten, sugar and honey being unknown, and the many syrups (shires) prepared of grapes, melons, and other fruits, are rarely used in cooking. Of bread only enough for the day's consumption is baked, as is the custom everywhere in Asia. The dough is not made into thin cakes, as in Persia, but into round thick loaves, such as are used in the neighbourhood of Erzerum, and are called lavash. There is also a sort of biscuit baked in fat, eaten when travelling.
Among the settled nations of Central Asia, tea is the favourite drink, and among the nomads, especially the Kirghis tribe, it is the Kümis. In summer they drink green tea, which thins the blood and promotes digestion; but in winter a black tea (brick tea) of a very harsh taste and an extraordinary stimulant; its effects are for a long time unbearable, and must be very dangerous. Cooling drinks are the Airan, sour milk mixed with water, and various decoctions made of dried fruit. Coffee is entirely unknown; even in Persia it is only met with in the southern province of Fars, and in Irak among the higher classes. Wine and brandy are sometimes sold secretly in the capitals, by Jews who manufacture both, but the number of consumers is very small. The Islamitic laws are severe on this point, and forbid, under pain of death, the use of spirituous liquors, but they do not prevent the vice of intoxication. Those who wish for stimulants use opium, teriak, or other narcotic poisons, and thus, in order to obviate a small evil, the door is opened to a much larger one, the gratification of which costs health and life.
The wretched poverty among the inhabitants of Central Asia is shown in nothing more strongly than in their dress, and the eye is with difficulty accustomed to the simple cotton stuff, or silks of glaring colours, in which every one is clothed, man and woman, young and old. Cloth or other European manufactures are only exhibited on extraordinary festive occasions, and are worn by wealthy or great dignitaries, as a ne plus ultra of luxury. At any other time, whether winter or summer, a garment, the so-called Aladja, is worn, and the only difference made in the various seasons is, that they put in a thicker lining, of either linen, wool, or fur. The cut of it is, perhaps, the most primitive among all the settled nations of Asia. No one has any idea of dressing tastefully and yet conveniently, or of setting off their figure to advantage, the only object is to cover or rather envelope it, and the Persian is perfectly right when he satirically says of his rude neighbours, that the whole nation moves about wrapt up in bed clothes. The Tchapan (upper coat) is the chief article of a man's wardrobe; it is not unlike our European dressing gowns, and cut out in Khiva so as to fit the body pretty well; in Bokhara it is already so large that two people can envelop themselves in it, and in Khokand it is widest of all. It is a highly ludicrous sight to see a man trot along in this smock-frock-like garment, full of folds, and puffing out at every part, and though I can well understand the many folds round the chest, forming as they do a receptacle for a whole set of cooking utensils, and all the necessaries for travelling, and food to last at least for two days, yet it will always be a mystery to me why the sleeves are twice as long as the arms, and what is the advantage of tucking them up and making an enormous roll or puff on the top of the arm. Under the tchapan is worn in summer a Yektey (a thin under dress), and under this the shirt, which reaches down to the ankles, and is distinguished from other shirts, worn in Asia, by being open on the left shoulder instead of in front, very much like a sack. At night the Turkestans have the strange habit, before going to sleep, of drawing their arms out of their shirt sleeves, and doubling themselves up. In winter an extra garment, Tchekmen, of ample dimensions and made of coarse stuff, is added to this costume. In some parts of the country, especially in Khiva, where the cold is greater, thickly-wadded, clumsy trousers are worn. As a covering for the head they wear in Khiva the telpek, a broad, conical-shaped hat of fur, which is very heavy; throughout Bokhara the turban is worn. It has a very picturesque appearance, with its long loops hanging down on the left side, and the trim natty way in which it is put on. In Khokand a small light cap used to be worn until twenty years ago, not unlike our clergyman's scapula (skull cap,) but since then it has yielded to Bokhariot civilisation, and has been supplanted by the turban. As to boots, those made in Bokhara and Khokand are the best. The leather is good, the shape rather handsome, but for the ludicrously long and thin heel, the end of which is scarcely broader than a nail's head. People of rank wear a kind of stocking made of morocco leather (mest), and over these, shoes, of which the best are made in Samarkand.
With respect to the dress of the women, it seems as if they were still more desirous than the men to avoid any approach to ostentation, luxury or smartness. When in undress, the women wear in summer a long shirt, reaching down to the ankles, the hind part of which is made of coarse linen, and the front mostly of a light coloured strong Russian print. The trousers are in like manner made of linen down to the knee, and the lower part, which fits close to the ankle, is made of print, or any other coloured stuff. The women wear in winter, over the shirt, one or two thickly-wadded jackets, fastened round the loins with a shawl. When abroad they put over all this a long garment, not unlike a man's coat, in which the woman muffles herself, holding it tightly together with both hands across her chest. The feet are covered with clumsy boots. It is a sorry sight to see a town woman of Central Asia walk about in this wretched costume, with her whole attention engrossed by the effort not to let the over-coat escape from her hands, since she would be regarded as an impudent woman indeed, if she allowed her under garments to be seen, and although the boldest stare cannot penetrate the coarse veil of horse-hair, yet she has to be for ever on the watch not to attract the looks of the passers by.
In the country, women are allowed to move with less restraint. Married women are seldom veiled, young girls never. The overcoat is shorter, and is merely thrown across the shoulder, and the broad shawl girded round the waist, with long ends fluttering to the breeze, gives a certain picturesqueness to their appearance. This indulgence, however, is only enjoyed in Khiva and Khokand; in Bokhara, even in the country, the tyrannical laws of Islamitic civilisation are executed with great severity, and it is rare to meet with an exception.
Among the men, various objects of ornament are seen, those which hang from the Koshbag, such as good knives with silver or other ornamented handles, gold-embroidered bags for tea, pepper and salt; further, rings for the fingers, tesbih (rosaries,) seals sometimes, but rarely, bracelets, gold and silver sheaths for amulets and watches, which latter are especial articles of luxury, and only to be found among the great. The objects of ornament among women I have already mentioned when speaking of the customs at weddings. It is useless to look for comfort or luxury either in the dwellings, food, or clothing of the natives of Central Asia, every thing here bears the impress of very ancient manners and customs, and every one conforms to them willingly, not wishing for anything better. The government, supported by the Mollahs, labours to keep up this status quo of things, by declaring all foreign productions contraband, and endeavouring to supplant them in the market, for fear the inhabitants of Turkestan might become aware of their poverty, and attribute it, not to the natural, but to the social circumstances of their country. And yet such an endeavour is fruitless, railroads and steam vessels bring their powerful veto, even in these rude countries, to bear upon a whole nation's backwardness. The ships which plough the Indian Ocean, the Black Sea, the Caspian Sea, the Lake of Aral, the Volga, and, at the present time, the Yaxartes likewise, have considerably lessened the distance between Central Asia and the west of Europe. The locomotives, which on the south run as far as Lahore, on the north to Nishnei-Novgorod, and astonish and perplex the eastern nations, are still, it is true, far from the inland waters of the Oxus and Yaxartes; yet, nevertheless, they exercise a considerable influence upon the communication of these countries. The Œzbeg trader need only go as far as Orenburg on the one, and Peshawur on the other side, and he has St. Petersburg, Bombay, and the whole of Europe before him. Inaccessible as Central Asia still is to all scientific, as well as commercial travellers, yet within the last twenty-five years an essential material advancement is apparent. We need only look over the custom-house list of the English and Russian frontier towns, and we should be surprised at the enormous increase of articles imported from Europe. From 1840 to 1850 goods were transported across the Russian frontier of nearly a million pounds sterling in value, and in the year 1860 they amounted already to the value of two millions. Cotton and silk stuffs have been more largely imported than any other goods, and in spite of the detestation and horror felt towards the producer, the productions of the west grow more and more in request, and are well paid for. Cottons, handkerchiefs and cambrics, as is well known, are the great forerunners of civilisation, the mute apostles of western culture, who spread blessings in their path, even though European arms and military tactics occasionally accompany their footsteps. And, however much the condition of half savage nations may be extolled for its happiness by foolish and weak-brained enthusiasts, yet a practical observer must feel convinced that our civilisation is preferable, and that it is a sacred duty on our part to transplant it to every clime and country.
The young Mollah from Kungrat, who had joined our caravan in order to reach Samarkand, was planning to go and take leave of his native town and kindred whilst we were staying at Khiva; and great was his joy when he learned that I was desirous of accompanying him thither, partly from a wish to make a begging tour and collect all I could, and partly for the sake of escaping the uncomfortable crowding in hot, sultry Khiva. In his delight he promised me mountains of gold, describing everything in the most glowing colours, to sustain me in my resolve. I needed, however, no urging, too glad to meet with such an opportunity; and two days after I was actually on my way to Yengi Urgendj, from whence I hoped to reach the Oxus, where a half-laden vessel was ready to take us on board for a moderate fare.
The journey from Khiva to Kungrat is chiefly made by water in the summer, and down the river at high water it never lasts longer than five days; that is, during the very heat of summer, when the river has reached its greatest height, owing to the melting of the snow on the Hindukush and the tops of the Bedakhshan mountains. In the autumn and spring, at low water, the voyage lasts longer, and in winter it is entirely interrupted, the Oxus being in many parts, although not wholly, covered with ice.
The traveller can take ship, if so inclined, from the very walls of Khiva, that is, on the canal Hazreti Pehlivan, but not without making a great détour, since its mouth is to the south, near Hezaresp, instead of being to the north. The same objection applies to the second canal, Gazavat, which is at a considerable distance from the town, and flows rather eastward than northward. For this reason the traveller prefers to go to Yengi Urgendj, the first manufacturing and commercial city in the Khanat, and then on to Akhun Baba, the tomb of a saint, with a few scattered havlis (farmsteads) near it, which is situated on the banks of the Oxus, and is the first stage on the road. The distance is about eighteen English miles, in a well cultivated and tolerably populous district, the road leading through fields, gardens and meadows. Here are found the finest mulberry trees in the greatest abundance, and consequently the cultivation of silk is extremely flourishing; in fact, this part of the country justly deserves to be called one of the most beautiful in the whole Khanat.
The heat was so fierce and intolerable on the banks of the Oxus, that I could not help expressing some uneasiness to the boatmen, but they comforted me by saying, that down stream this evil would be remedied, by putting up a Peshekhane (mosquito net), which would not be in their way, the boat being steered only at either end. The mosquito net was at once put up; it had the shape of a canopy, and was to protect us in the day time from the sun, at night from the dangerous mosquitoes; and the necessary fatiha (blessings) on starting having been pronounced, we pushed off in company of four boatmen and two other passengers.
The voyage was at first very monotonous. The two men, one at the upper end and one at the lower end of the boat, kept steering it to those parts of the river where the water was yellowish and turbid, the current being here the strongest, as they explained to us. The rudders consisted of long poles, flattened at the end, and the two steersmen generally remained seated down at their work, unless special care and attention were required. They were relieved about every two hours, when, less fatigued by their labour than scorched by the sun, they would join us in our sheltered retreat, stretch themselves out at full length, to our great annoyance, and soon be heard snoring in chorus, until they had to return to their task. Of our two fellow-travellers, happily only one was very loquacious; and whenever my Tartar friend explained to me this or that point of interest, he would interrupt him with his copious emendations, and thus satisfy my curiosity by a full and detailed commentary.
The banks of the Oxus present few features especially worthy of interest, although far more than Boutenieff notices in his travels, who, in his mission in 1858, took the same route from Kungrat to Yengi Urgendj, up stream. On the right bank, opposite the place where we embarked, is seen the great ruin, Shahbaz Veli (the sacred hero), which is said to have been a strong fortress in ancient times, and which was destroyed by the Kalmucks. In the history of Khiva these people are regarded as the great destroyers of the Khanat; and although it is true that at the time of their invasion under Djengiz, the then flourishing Kharezm suffered terribly at their hands, yet it is an exaggeration to assert, as tradition does, that all the ruins are the sole work of their lust for devastation. Farther on I met with another extensive ruin with the remains of stone buildings, called Gaur Kaleszi (the fortress of the Gaurs). Under the term "Gaur," I first understood the Gebers or fire-worshippers, but soon I learned to my great astonishment, that by this name are designated, throughout Central Asia, the Armenians or rather the Nestorians, who possessed here large colonies, extending from the Sea of Aral far into China, in pre-Islamitic times down to the decline of the Mongol dominion.
On the right bank extends for more than three leagues, from the above-mentioned ruins down to the water's edge, a somewhat dense forest (togay), called Khitabegi. The trees are not particularly high, but the sun is nevertheless unable to penetrate and dry up the marshes fed by the Oxus. Only in very few places is the forest inhabited, and that by the Karakalpak tribe, who rear cattle. The left bank is the really inhabited part; here the chain of Havlis is scarcely interrupted, and here and there villages of some size are seen lying close to the water, such as the Œzbeg village Tashkale, which is situated on a high bank, and the smaller village of Vezir, near which the canal Kilidjbay discharges, or rather forms a basin, previous to losing itself beyond Yilali in the sand.
To make tea, prepare palau, and either listen to or tell sacred legends, was the alternate occupation of the day. Sometimes it happened that all my companions, the steersmen alone excepted, fell fast asleep, producing a pause, which was to me a most pleasant change; and as I fixed my eyes upon the yellow, turbid waters of the ancient Oxus, my imagination loved to revert to the clear mirror of many a European river, whose waters are ploughed by hundreds of ships, and whose verdant, smiling banks, are full of life and activity. What a gigantic contrast!
The Oxus is the typical representative of the country it traverses,—wild and unruly in its course, like the temperament of the Central Asiatics. Its shallows are as little marked as the good and bad qualities in the Turkoman; daily it makes for itself new channels similar to the nomad, whose restless spirit, wearied of staying long in one spot, is ever craving for novelty and change.
Early the second day we passed the town of Görlen at a short distance from the shore. The proper landing place is a village near, called Ishimdji, and opposite to it on the right bank is situated the fort Rehimberdi Beg, which I mention merely because here begins the mountain chain of Oveis Karayne, extending from south-east to north.[12] At first sight it bears much resemblance, as well in height as in its formation, to the Great Balkan in the desert, between Khiva and Astrabad; but on a nearer approach its larger circumference soon becomes apparent, and the luxuriant vegetation and the woods with which several of its heights are clothed, present a scene of agreeable surprise. On one of them is said to be the tomb of Oveis Karayne, a celebrated place of pilgrimage in Khiva, and in the distance we discovered several buildings, which Rehimberdi Beg had erected for the convenience of the devotees. Further on is the Munadjat daghi (mount of devotion), which is pointed out as the resting place of a holy lady, called Amberene (Mother Ambra). Holy women are not often met with in Sunnitic Islamism; there are, however, a few of them in Central Asia, which may be taken as a fresh proof that Islamism does not treat the fair sex with such unnatural harshness as people in Europe are apt to imagine. As to my lady Amberene, tradition tells us that, a Zuleikha in beauty, a Fatima in virtue, she was hated and afterwards expelled by her husband, solely because she professed the Mohammedan religion, of which he was an arch-enemy. Driven from her princely abode in Urgendj, she was obliged to take refuge in this wild spot, and would have died of starvation but for a hind which appeared daily at the entrance of her cave, waiting to be milked, and then again disappeared. Who, in hearing this tale, is not reminded of the story of Genoveva? The Parisians in those days were not better than the Œzbegs of to-day; nor can we fail to be struck with the identity that exists in fables of social and religious life, among nations living widely separated from each other.
After leaving Görlen we went on for about four hours down stream, and came to Yengï yap, an insignificant hamlet, surrounded by earth walls, and about one hour and a half distant from the river. Two hours later we reached the district of Khitayi, which begins where the Yumalak, a conical hill, rises close to the left bank. On the right the Oveis mountains approach nearer and nearer to the Oxus, and soon we passed the prominent peak Yampuk, crowned with the ruins of an old castle. Opposite Yumalak the mountain chain, Sheik Djeli, which runs from east to west, forms a very narrow channel (here called kisnak), much narrower than the Iron Gates on the Danube, and often dangerous to navigation from the force and rapidity of the current. The waters here roar, as if the Oxus, that unruly son of the desert, were angry at being so imprisoned between the rocks. The narrowest part is, however, very short; on the left bank the mountains terminate abruptly, while on the right bank the high lands gradually slope, and after having passed Tama, which lies on the left, the country is everywhere flat. With the mountains disappeared every romantic feature along the banks of the Oxus. After a voyage of two days our eyes and imagination were fully satisfied, and although the morning and evening hours had their charms, yet the heat became intolerable in the day-time, and the mosquitoes and flies at night—insects, in comparison with which the Golumbacz on the Lower Danube are harmless and insignificant as butterflies. As soon as the sun began to set, every one crept carefully under the mosquito-net, made, of course, of linen, the air under which had become so thoroughly poisoned by my fellow-travellers, that I felt keenly not to be able to exchange it for the purer air outside. Towards evening we reached the district of Mangit, which has a town of the same name, about two hours' distance from the river, but not visible from the boat on account of a small wood which intervenes. Here we remained for some time moored along the bank, and having comfortably cooked our dinner in the open air, instead of on the narrow hearth in the boat, we continued our voyage. We reached Basuyap, after another hour's journey, at night, much to the regret of my friend, who had been anxious to pay a visit with me to a very celebrated Nogaï Ishan, who resided there, in order to ask his advice and blessing on the journey he had undertaken. These Nogaï, who fled hither to escape the Russian authorities or the conscription, are in Central Asia regarded as martyrs to freedom and Islamism, and revered as such; but I have frequently met among them the most consummate rascals, and thought that they had probably run away from a fully merited chastisement.
Early in the morning we passed Kiptchak, which is the second stage on the journey, and lies on both sides of the Oxus. At this place a rock rises from the water, which, extending across the river, narrows the channel by more than half its width, and renders the navigation so extremely dangerous, that it is never attempted, except at broad daylight. At low water some of the points are visible, and it is no uncommon thing to see children, a foot deep in water, clambering upon them.
Kiptchak itself is a place of considerable importance, inhabited by an Œzbeg tribe of the same name, and possesses several mosques and colleges. Of the latter, the college situated on the right bank of the river was founded by Khodja Niaz, and is deservedly celebrated for its rich endowments. Not far from this building, which stands separately, is seen the ruin Tchilpik, on a hill rising close to the water. Tradition asserts that in ancient times it was a strong castle, and the residence of a Princess, who, having fallen in love with one of her father's slaves, and dreading the anger of her offended parent, fled hither for refuge with her lover. In order to obtain water, they were obliged to pierce the hill downwards to the river, and the subterranean passage exists at the present day.
From Kiptshak up the stream begins the forest already mentioned, which extends with few interruptions along the right bank of the river to some distance beyond Kungrat. I could not see from the boat how far its breadth stretched eastward, but I have been assured that it is from eight to ten hours' journey. Its approach from the river is intercepted by bogs and morasses, which render it only in a few places accessible. In the less thickly-wooded parts graze numberless herds of cattle, the property of the Karakalpaks, who find abundance of game in the forest, but sometimes suffer greatly from the numerous wild beasts, especially panthers, tigers, and lions, which infest that district. From here to Görlen the stream has so many shallows, that we were incessantly striking aground. The left bank rises to an elevated plateau, which extends far in a north-westerly direction, and is called Yilankir (the field of serpents) by the natives. On the western frontier of the desert it forms a declivity as steep as the Kaflankir, or the whole table-land of Ustyurt. The population of this region consists of Jomut-Turkomans and Tchaudors; the former lead a nomadic life near the river, and in the country round Porsu and Yilali; the latter inhabit the skirts of the desert and the several oases of the Ustyurt. Both tribes, as may well be imagined, live in constant feud with each other,—a condition as much to their disadvantage, as it is to the advantage of the Œzbegs, the immediate neighbourhood of a strong and united nomad people proving always most dangerous to the dwellers in settled habitations.
On the evening of the third day we stopped at Khodja Ili,[13] a town about two hours' distance from the river. Most of the inhabitants derive their origin from Khodja, and they are not a little proud of comparing their ancestry with that of the other Œzbegs. The whole district is thickly populated, and the left bank forms as far as Nöks[14] an uninterrupted chain of wood and cultivated land. Here is one of the most dangerous places in the Oxus, a waterfall, which at the time of our voyage rushed down from the height of three feet with the swiftness of an arrow and with a tremendous noise, which is heard at the distance of more than a league. The natives call it Kazankitken, i.e., the spot where the cauldrons went to the bottom, since a vessel laden with these utensils is said to have been lost here. Full fifteen minutes before reaching the waterfall the boats are brought close to the shore, and carefully towed along. From here down the stream the river has formed by inundations very considerable lakes, which communicate with one another by small natural canals, which seldom dry up entirely. The largest are: Kuyruklu Köl and Sari Tchöngül. The former is said to extend for several days' journey far towards the north-east; the latter is smaller in circumference, but much deeper.
We passed Nöks on the fourth day. Even on the left bank we saw cultivation gradually decreasing as we advanced; the river on both sides is bordered with forests, and forms half-way to Kungrat a broad and rather deep canal, called Ogüzkitken, which takes a south-westerly direction and falls into the lake Shorkatchi. Efforts have been made to cut off the latter from the large stream by raising dykes, but in vain, and the immense extent of water renders the navigation here exceedingly troublesome. The forest terminates at the tomb of a saint, called Afakkhodja, and the district of Kungrat begins, covered, as far as the eye can reach, with gardens, fields and "havlis." The town itself did not become visible until the evening of the fifth day, after we had passed the run of a fortress built by the rebel Törebeg at the time of Mehemmed Emin, and a whirlpool near it.
Our stay in this most northerly town of the Khanat of Khiva was of very short duration, since my young companion, having lost his parents a year before, was not long in taking leave of the relative who dwelt here, and himself urged a speedy return. The town has a far more miserable appearance than those in the south, and is chiefly known for its large fairs, to which the nomads of the neighbourhood resort, offering for sale large quantities of cattle, butter, carpets of felt, camels' hair and wool. A brisk trade is also carried on in fish, especially dried fish, which are brought from the sea of Aral, and sent afterwards from here all over the Khanat. I must mention as a very remarkable fact, that I met here with two Russians, who had turned Mahometans, and lived in the full enjoyment of a comfortable dwelling-house, a flourishing farmstead, and a numerous family. They were prisoners of the Perowsky Army, and received their liberty from Mehemmed Emin Khan, under the condition that they would adopt Islamism. One of them has been presented with a Persian slave: the dark-brown daughter of Iran and the fair-haired son of the north live very happily together, and although the latter has several times had the opportunity of returning to his native home, he has not been able to form the resolution of quitting his adopted fatherland on the banks of the Oxus.
In conclusion, I will state the scanty information I gathered here about the further course of the Oxus from Kungrat to its embouchure in the Sea of Aral. At two hours' distance from this town, going down stream, the river divides into two great arms, which are little distinguished from each other. The right one, which keeps the name of Amu Derya, reaches the lake first, but in consequence of its many ramifications it is too shallow, and at low water extremely difficult to navigate. The left arm, which bears the name of Tarlik (the strait)[15] is narrow, but of a certain depth throughout, and is little used, simply on account of the great circuit it makes on its way to the lake. The traffic on the Lower Oxus is inconsiderable, and not to be compared with that which enlivens the river between Tchihardjuy and Kungrat, where it forms the principal commercial highway between Bokhara and Khiva. In autumn it is chiefly fishing which takes the Œzbegs to the sea, and the trade in dried sea-fish is in all three Khanats an important one. It has become an almost indispensable article to the inhabitants of the steppes, from their being too parsimonious to feed on meat, in spite of their wealth in cattle, and therefore preferring, as they do, dried fish as its substitute. In the spring, on the other hand, it is the wild geese, large numbers of which are found around the several mouths of the river, which tempt all those who are fond of shooting to the shores of the Sea of Aral. At this season of the year also most pilgrimages take place, undertaken by pious Œzbegs to the tomb of Tokmak Baba, which is situated upon an island of the same name, near these outlets. This saint is revered as the patron of fishermen, and rests under a small mausoleum, in the inner cell of which have been carefully preserved through remote ages his clothes and cooking utensils, among which a cauldron is an object of peculiar veneration. I was told, that even the Russians very rarely land on this island, although access to it has been greatly facilitated by steam-vessels, and that in case they do visit it, they never touch these relics,—as if moved by involuntary feelings of respect.
In surveying the whole course of this remarkable river, from its source on the Ser-i-kul (beginning of the sea) down to its embouchure, we perceive firstly, that it is not, as Burnes asserts, navigable throughout its entire length, but on the contrary, that only from Kerki, or rather from Tchihardjuy down stream can it be used for large and small craft. Upwards from these towns we meet nothing but rafts, carrying fuel and timber, in which the slopes of the Bedakhshan mountains abound, and supplying the scantily wooded plains, but seldom used by families emigrating to the Lower Oxus. Between Hezaresp and Eltchig, a part of the river which forms one stage on the way to Bokhara, larger boats already are used from and to Khiva, which carry goods and victuals; but the greatest traffic is undoubtedly on that part of the river, which flows in the Khanat of Khiva, where the river, with its many towns along its banks, affords a favourite and cheap means, up as well as down stream, for the transport of large freight, and is used among the poorer classes even for personal inter-communication. Secondly, it appears to me (I abstain from making any assertion, not possessing sufficient knowledge on the subject), that the Oxus has scarcely the capabilities of becoming the powerful artery for traffic and communication in Central Asia, which politicians, when speaking of the future of Turkestan, confidently expect. It never can become of the same importance as the Yaxartes, whose waters at this very moment are ploughed by Russian steamers, a conjecture sufficiently warranted by the fact, that the Russians entered Turkestan with their flotilla of the Sea of Aral, not by the Oxus, but by the Yaxartes, a river far less favourable to their plans of occupation. It has been urged, that the uninhabited shores of this last-named river are of greater importance to the Court of St. Petersburg; but this is a worthless argument, and rests solely on our want of geographical knowledge with respect to Central Asia.
With steamers on the Oxus, the Russians would not only have been able to keep the Khanat of Khiva in check, to garrison the fortress of Kungrat, Kiptshak and Hezaresp, but they would have had the power of introducing with the greatest ease a strong corps d'armée by Karakul into Bokhara, and thus into the very heart of Central Asia, had not the extraordinary physical difficulties of this route rendered such a scheme impracticable. Moreover, of this the Russians themselves became sufficiently convinced, when making their very first appearance in Central Asia. Apart from the waterfall at Khodja Ili, the dangerous cliffs near Kiptchak and the Kisnak near Yampuk, the Oxus offers perhaps the greatest difficulties to navigation in its numerous sandbanks, which in some parts extend for many miles, and at the same time undergo such rapid changes in consequence of the large quantity of sand the stream carries along with it, that it is quite impossible to take observations, and even the most experienced steersman can do no more than guess the navigable channel by the colour, but can never indicate it with confidence or certainty. Thirdly, to regulate this stream, which at the beginning of the spring, and during the latter part of the autumn, is almost two-thirds smaller than in summer, would be of the greatest disadvantage to the inhabitants, since its numerous arms and canals not only are necessary for the cultivation of their fields, but supply with drinking water even the most distant parts of the country, to say nothing of the rapid current rendering such an undertaking extremely difficult. If the Khan of Khiva wanted to declare war against some rebellious part of his country, he would first of all cut off the canals and aqueducts, a stroke of policy which would be felt most severely; and a government, which were to shut the sluices in order to increase the water in the bed of the Oxus, would commit an act equivalent to a declaration of hostilities against the whole country at once.
Not only has the Oxus extremely rapid currents, but it continually deviates from its original channel. These deviations in the lower part of the river begin after its bend near Hezaresp, and are far more numerous than is generally supposed. Upon enquiring of the inhabitants about them, they reckoned up more than eight on each side, and although they may have included in this estimate former canals, nevertheless its irregularity must be admitted. Taking this view, there is very little difficulty in agreeing with Sir Henry Rawlinson, who founded his assertion on a very valuable Persian manuscript, that in former times the Sea of Aral had no existence whatever.
The journey from Kungrat to Khiva is generally made by land, since it requires from eighteen to twenty days up stream. The transport of freight is made by water. There are three roads by land; 1, by Köhne Urgends, which is called the summer route, and avoids the lakes, outlets and arms of the Oxus, which at that season of the year are full to overflowing. This route is the longest, 56 farsakh[16] in length; 2, by Khodja Ili, a distance of 40 farsakh, which the traveller prefers in the winter, all the waters being frozen; and 3, the road on the right bank of the Oxus by Shurakhan, which makes several détours, and runs through a great many sand-steppes.