Toward midnight all the pilgrims were obliged to dismount and walk, because the animals buried themselves to the knees in the sand. It was a severe trial for Vambéry; his infirmity doubled the fatigue of a tramp over a moving ground, in the midst of a continuous chain of little hills, therefore he hailed with joy the point designated for the morning station. The place, however, bore a name little calculated to inspire confidence. Adamkyrylgan (the place where men perish) justified in appearance its sinister appellation. As far as the eye could reach, extended only a sea of sand, which, on one side raising itself in hills like furious waves, still bore the visible imprint of the tempest, and on the other resembled a tranquil lake hardly ruffled by a light breeze. Not a bird traversed the air, not an animal, not an insect gave an appearance of life to this desolate spot. Far and near were seen only the blanched bones of men and camels, frightful witnesses of the disasters caused by the Tebbad or fever-wind, which from time to time poured upon the desert its burning breath.

The travellers were not pursued; the Tekkes themselves, bold cavaliers, hesitated to penetrate the Khalata. According to the calculation of the kervanbashi, six days' journey at most separated the caravan from Bokhara; the bottles being well filled, the pilgrims hoped they should not suffer from thirst; they had not counted upon the burning sun of the dog-days, which evaporated the precious liquid. In vain, to escape from this cursed region, they endeavored to double the hours of march; many camel died of fatigue, and the water diminished all the more rapidly. At last two hadjis, exhausted by privations, became so ill that it was necessary to bind them upon their donkeys with cords, for they were unable to hold themselves up. "Water! Water!" they murmured in dying accents. Alas, their best friends refused to sacrifice for them the least swallow of this liquid, each drop of which represented an hour of life; so, on the fourth day, when the pilgrims reached Medemin Bulag, one of these unhappy men was released by death from the cruel tortures of thirst. His palate had assumed a grayish tint, his tongue had become black, the lips like parchment and the open mouth displaying the naked teeth. Horrible to relate, the father hides from the son, brother from brother, the provision of water which would relieve his torture! Under any other proof, these men would, perhaps, have shown themselves generous and devoted, but thirst drives from the heart every sentiment of compassion.

Vambéry soon experienced himself its terrible effects. He managed with the parsimony of a miser the contents of his bottle, until he perceived with fright a black point formed upon the middle of his tongue. Then, blinking to save his life, he swallowed at once half the water which he had left. The fire which devoured him became more violent toward the morning of the fifth day, the pains in the head increased, and he felt his strength failing him. Meanwhile, they approached the mountains of Khalata, the sand became less deep, all eyes eagerly sought the tracks of a flock, or the hut of a shepherd; in this instant the kervanbashi called the attention of the pilgrims to a cloud of dust which rose at the horizon, warning them to lose not a moment in dismounting from their camels.

"The poor animals," relates Vambéry, "felt the approach of the Tebbad. Uttering a doleful cry, they threw themselves upon their knees, extended their long necks upon the ground, and endeavored to hide their heads in the sand. We sheltered ourselves near them as behind a wall; hardly were we upon the ground when the tempest broke over us with a sullen roar, leaving us the moment after, covered with a thick coat of dust. When this rain of sand enveloped me, it seemed to me burning like fire. If we had been attacked by this tempest two days before in the midst of the desert, we must all have perished.

"The air had become of an overwhelming weight; I could not have remounted my camel without the aid of my companions; I suffered intolerable pains, of which no words can give the least idea. In face of other perils, courage had now left me, but in this moment I felt broken down, my head ached so that I could not think, and a heavy sleep overcame me. On awaking, I found myself lying in a hut of clay, surrounded by long-bearded men whom I recognized as Iranians."

They were, in fact, Persian slaves sent into the desert to watch the flocks of their master; these brave fellows made Vambéry swallow a warm drink, and, soon after, a beverage composed of sour milk, water, and salt, which soon restored his strength. Before quitting the Sunnite pilgrims, in whom they must have recognized the bitterest enemies of their race, the poor prisoners shared with them their slender provision of water, an act of meritorious charity which without doubt was regarded with complacency by the God of mercy who is the Father of all.

The caravan at last reached Bokhara, the most important city of central Asia, but which preserves to-day few traces of its ancient grandeur. Still, it possesses fine monasteries and colleges which rival those of Samarcand. These schools, founded at a great expense and sustained by great sacrifices, have given Europeans a high idea of Asiatic learning; but it must be remembered, they are controlled by a blind fanaticism. The exclusive spirit of the Bokhariots restricts singularly the circle of studies, all instruction turning upon the precepts of the Koran and religious casuistry. We do not find to-day a single disciple who occupies himself with history or poetry; if any one were tempted to do it, he would be obliged to conceal it, for attention given to subjects so frivolous would be considered a proof of weakness of mind.

Vambéry and his companions found asylum in a Tekki or convent, a vast square building, of which the forty cells opened upon a court planted with fine trees. The Khalfa, or "reverend abbot," as our Hungarian traveller calls him, was a man of agreeable exterior and gentle and published manners. He received Vambéry most graciously, and the two interlocutors opened a pompous, subtle conversation, full of reticence and mental reserves, which charmed the good Khalfa and gave him also the highest opinion of his new guest; so from his arrival in Bokhara, our traveller acquired a great reputation for learning and sanctity.

The next day, accompanied by Hadji Bilal, he went out to see the city. The streets and houses of this noble city are chiefly remarkable for their slovenly appearance and ruinous condition. After having crossed the public squares, where they went up to the ankles in a blackish dust, the two friends arrived at the bazaar which was filled with a noisy and busy crowd. These establishments by no means equal those of Persia in extent and magnificence, but the mingling of races, of costumes and habits, forms a bizarre spectacle which captivates the eye of a stranger. Persians, their heads wrapped in their large blue or white turbans, according to the class to which they belong, jostle the savage Tartar, the Kirghiz with his slouching gait, the Indian with his yellow and repulsive face, bearing upon the forehead the red brand, and, finally, the Jew, who preserves here, more than anywhere else, his distinctive type, his noble features, his deep-sunk eyes, where an astute intelligence glitters. Here and there we meet also a Turcoman, easily recognized by his proud mien and bold glance; motionless before the shops of the merchants, they think perhaps of the precious booty which the riches displayed before them will furnish for their forays.

The pilgrims received everywhere marks of enthusiastic sympathy; the foreign appearance of Vambéry excited particular admiration. "What {394} faith he must have," said one, "to come from Constantinople to Bokhara, and endure the fatigue of a journey through the great Desert, in order to meditate at the tomb of Baveddin!" [Footnote 62] "Without doubt," replied another, "but we also go to Mecca, the holy city by eminence, and in order to accomplish this pilgrimage we leave our business, and endure, I should think, quite enough fatigue. These people," and he pointed his finger at Vambéry, "have no business to occupy them; their whole life is consecrated to exercises of piety and to visiting the tombs of the saints."--"Bravo, very well imagined!" thought our traveller, while he cast glances which he tried to render indifferent, upon the display of Russian and other European goods exposed for sale; he often had great difficulty in repressing an imprudent emotion when he saw articles of merchandise bearing the stamp of Manchester or Birmingham. Quickly turning his head for fear of betraying himself, he fixed his attention upon the products of the soil and of native industry, examined a fine cotton fabric called Aladja, where two colors alternate in narrow stripes, silken stuffs, rich and various, from the elegant handkerchief as thin as the lightest gauze, to the heavy atres, which falls in large luxurious folds. Leathers play an important part in Bokharist manufactures, the shoemakers of the country make of them long boots for both sexes; but the shops towards which the people pressed most eagerly were those of the clothes-merchant, where ready-made garments strike the eye by their dazzling colors, for Bokhara is the Paris of central Asia, regarded by the Turcomen as the centre of elegance.

[Footnote 62: An ascetic celebrated throughout Islam, founder of the order of the Nakishbendi, to which the Hungarian traveller pretended to belong.]

When he had sufficiently contemplated this curious tableau, Vambéry asked Hadji Bilal to take him to a place where he might rest and refresh himself; and the two friends went together to a place called Lebi Hanz Divanbeghi(quay of the reservoir of Divanbeghi), where all the fashionables of the city collect. In the middle of the square is a reservoir one hundred feet deep and eighty wide, bordered with cubic stones forming a stair of eight steps to the water's edge. All around magnificent elms shade the inevitable tea-shop, and the colossal samovar, not less inevitable, invites every passer-by to take a cup of the boiling liquid. On three sides of the square, little stalls, sheltered by bamboo matting, display to the eye bread, fruits, confectionery, hot and cold meats. The fourth side takes the form of a terrace, and close by rises the mosque Mesdjidi Divanbeghi, Before the doors are planted a number of trees, under which the dervishes and meddah (popular orators) recount to the wondering crowd, the exploits of heroes, or the holy deeds of the prophets. Just as Vambéry arrived, the Nakishbendis crossed the square, making their daily procession. "Never shall I forget," says our traveller, "the impression which these wild enthusiasts made upon me: their heads covered with pointed hats, with flowing hair, and long staves in their hands, they danced a round like the orgies of witches, yelling sacred songs, of which their chief, an old man with a gray beard, intoned alone the first strophe."

The secret inquisition established in Bokhara began very soon to annoy Vambéry in spite of his reputation for sanctity. Spies sent by the government came almost every day, upon one pretext or another, to open with the stranger conversations which always turned upon Europeans, their diabolical artifices, and the chastisements which had punished the audacity of many of them. They hoped that some imprudent word would drop to justify their suspicions, but the European was too much on his guard to be caught; he listened at first with patience, and then affecting an air of contemptuous indifference, "I left Constantinople," said he, "to get away from these {395} cursed Europeans, who, no doubt, owe their arts and sciences to the demon. Now, Allah be praised! I am in Bokhara, and I don't want to be troubled with thinking about them."

The emir was then absent; the minister who directed the inquest, seeing that his emissaries were completely foiled, resolved to make the stranger appear before a tribunal composed of onlemas, where his orthodoxy would be scrupulously examined. He had, in fact, to sustain a running fire of embarrassing questions which would be sure some day to pierce his incognito. Fortunately, he perceived the snare in time, and changing his character, took himself the part of questioner. Urged by a pious zeal, he consulted the learned doctors on the most minute cases of conscience, wished to know the differences, often imperceptible, between the Farz and the Sunnet, precepts of obligation, and the Tadjib and the Mustahab, simple religious counsels. This artifice had complete success; many an obscure text furnished material for an animated discussion, in which Vambéry never lost an occasion of making a pompous eulogium of the Bokharist oulemas, and loudly proclaiming their superiority. Then the judges, gained to his cause, told the minister that he had committed a grave mistake. Hadji Reschid was a very distinguished mollah, well prepared to receive the divine inspiration, precious heritage of the saints.

Vambéry, free henceforth from all fear, could study at leisure the character and aptitudes of the people of Bokhara. This city, which is, according to him, the Home of Islam, since Mecca and Medina represent Jerusalem, is not a little proud of its religious supremacy. Though it recognizes the spiritual authority of the Sultan, it does not, like Khiva, blindly submit to it, and it hardly pardons the emperor for permitting himself to be corrupted by the detestable influence of Europeans. Our traveller, in his supposed quality of Turk, was frequently obliged to defend Constantinople from the reproaches addressed to him: "Why," demanded, for example, the fervent Bokharists,--"why does not the sultan put to death all the Europeans who live in his states? why does he not ordain every year a holy war against the unbelievers?" Or again: "Why do not the Turks wear the turban and the long robe which the law prescribes? Is not this a frightful sin? and also, why have they not the long beard and short moustache which the Prophet wore?"

The emir Mozaffar ed Din watches carefully over the maintenance of the sacred doctrines. Every city has its Reïs or guardian of religion, who, whip in hand, runs through the streets and public squares, interrogating every one he meets upon the precepts of Islam. Woe to the unhappy passenger taken in the flagrant crime of ignorance: if it were a gray-headed old man he is also, all business ceasing, sent for a fortnight to the benches of the school. A discipline equally rigorous, obliges every one to go to the mosques at the hour of prayer. Finally, the espionage of the Reïs does not stop at the threshold of the private dwelling, and in the privacy of his family a Bokharist takes care not to omit the least rite, or even to pronounce the name of the emir without adding the sacramental formula, "May Allah give him a hundred and twenty years of life!" It needs not to say that all joy and gaiety are banished from social life, except the momentary animation of the bazaar. Bokhara presents a sad and monotonous aspect. During the day, every one fears perpetually to find himself in the presence of a spy; in the evening, two hours after sunset, the streets are deserted; no one ventures to visit a friend, the sick may perish for want of help, for Mozaffar ed Din forbids any one to go out under the most severe penalties.

Nevertheless, this prince is generally beloved by his subjects: he is strictly faithful to the policy of his predecessors, but they cannot reproach {396} him with any crime, or arbitrary or cruel act. A pious and instructed Mussulman, he has taken for device the word "justice," and he conforms himself to it scrupulously. This Bokharist justice might appear a little summary to Europeans, and the war against Khokand, is not, as we shall see by-and-bye, just in the full acceptation of the word, yet a prince of central Asia, educated in the bosom of the most fiery fanaticism, must be judged with some indulgence. It must be said in his praise, that if he is sometimes lavish of the blood of his nobles, he spares at least that of the poorer class, so that his people have surnamed him "the destroyer of elephants, and the protector of, mice."

A declared enemy of all innovation, the emir applies himself especially to maintain the austere manners of the ancient Bokhara. The importation of articles of luxury is forbidden, very rigorous sumptuary laws regulate not only dress, but even the structure and furniture of the dwellings. Mozaffar ed Din gives the first example of the contempt of all luxury; he has reduced by half the number of his servants; and one vainly seeks in his palace the least appearance of princely pomp. The same simplicity resigns in the harem, the oversight of which is intrusted to the mother and grandmother of the sovereign; the wise direction of these two princesses merits for this sanctuary a high reputation for chastity. Its doors, carefully closed to laics, open only to the mollahs, whose sacred breathings bring with them only happiness and piety. The sultanas, four in number, are accustomed to the exercise of domestic virtues; their table is frugal, their dress modest; they make their own garments and sometimes those of the emir, who exercises over all expenses a minute control.

Before quitting Bokhara, Vambéry wished to visit the tomb of Baveddin, the supposed end of his long pilgrimage.

This saint, the patron of Turkestan, is the object of profound veneration throughout all Asia. They regard him as a second Mohammed; and even from the heart of China, the faithful come in crowds to kiss his relics. The sepulchre is in a little garden, near which they have built a mosque; troops of blind, lame or paralytic beggars completely obstruct the approach. In front of the mausoleum is found the famous Stone of Desire, which has been much worn by the contact of the foreheads of pilgrims; on the tomb are placed rams' horns, a banner, and a broom sanctified by a long service in the temple of Mecca. Many times they have tried to cover all with a dome, but Baveddin prefers the open air, and always after three nights the buildings are thrown down. At least such is the legend, related by the sheiks, descendants of the saint.

V.

The two companions of Vambéry, Hadji Salih and Hadji Bilal, were impatient to quit Bokhara in order to reach before winter the distant province where they lived. Our traveller proposed to accompany them to Samarcand; he wished to see this celebrated city, and anticipating an interview with the emir, he wished to secure for himself the support of the pilgrims. The day of departure the caravan was already much reduced, being contained entirely in two carts. The European, sheltered from the sun by a hanging of mats, expected to repose comfortably in his rustic carriage, but this illusion was soon broken. The violent jolting of the vehicle threw the pilgrims every instant here and there, now against each other, now against the heavy wagon-frame; their heads were beaten about like billiard-balls. "For the first few hours," adds Vambéry, "I was literally sea-sick; I suffered much more than when mounted upon the camel, the swaying of which, {397} resembling the rolling of a ship, I had dreaded very much."

The travellers followed, at first a monotonous road; short, stinted pastures extended everywhere to the horizon, but nothing justified the marvellous stories of the inhabitants of the charming villages and enchanted gardens which lie between Bokhara and Samarcand. The caravan crossed the little desert of Chol Melik, and reached the next day the district of Kermineh; there the landscape suddenly changes, beautiful hamlets, grouped near each other, offer to the eye their inns, before which the gigantic samovar makes the traveller dream of solace and comfort; their farms, surrounded by rich harvests, by prairies where magnificent cattle feed, and by farm-yards sheltering their feathered population. Everything breathed life and abundance, and Vambéry could not contemplate without emotion this smiling picture, which recalled his fertile Germany.

After a journey of five days the hadjis arrived within sight of Samarcand. Thanks to the remembrances of the past, and the distance which separates it from Europe, the ancient capital of Timour excites a lively curiosity. We will permit the Hungarian traveller to describe, himself, this famous city.

"Let the reader," says he, "take a seat beside me in my modest carriage. He will perceive toward the east a high mountain, the cupola-like summit of which is crowned by a small edifice; there reposes Chobanata, the venerated patron of shepherds. Below extends the city. Its circumference nearly equals that of Teheran, but it must be much less populous, for the houses are much more scattered; on the other hand its ruins and public monuments give it an air more grand and imposing. The eye is first attracted by four lofty dome-like buildings, which are the midresses or colleges. Further on we perceive a small, guttering dome, then toward the south another, larger and more majestic; the first is the tomb, the second the mosque of Timour. Just in front of us, at the extreme southwest of the city, rises on a hill the citadel (Ark), itself surrounded by temples and sepulchres, which define themselves against the blue sky. If now we imagine all this intermingled with gardens of the most luxuriant vegetation, we shall have an idea of Samarcand. A feeble and imperfect idea, it is true, for the Persian proverb justly says 'It is one thing to see and another to hear.'

"Alas! why must we add that in entering this city all this prestige vanishes, and gives place to a bitter disappointment? We were obliged to cross the cemetery before reaching the inhabited quarters, and in spite of myself, this line of a Persian poet, which to-day seems tinged with a cruel irony, came to my mind?

"Samarcand is the sun of the world."

The same evening Vambéry and his companions were received in a house very near the tomb of Timour. Our traveller was delighted to learn that his host filled important functions near the Emir. The return of this prince, who had just finished a victorious campaign in Khokand, being expected very soon, Hadji Salih and Haji Bilal consented, out of regard to their friend, to prolong their stay in Samarcand until Vambéry had obtained an audience of Mozaffar ed Din, and found a caravan with which he might return to Persia. While waiting the pilgrims visited the ancient monuments of the city, which, in spite of its miserable appearance, is the richest city in Central Asia in historical remembrances. The plan of this sketch does not permit us to follow the author in the details which he gives of these remarkable buildings. We only cite.

1. The summer palace of Timour, which preserves, even to-day, some vestiges of its ancient magnificence. The apartment, to which we ascend by a marble staircase of forty steps, {398} contains rich mural paintings, made with colored bricks, and the pavement, entirely of mosaic, preserves the freshness and brilliancy of the first day.

2. The citadel, where we admire in a vast apartment called "Timour's audience-hall," the celebrated Köktash (green stone) upon which was placed the throne of the famous conqueror.

3. The tomb of Timour, surmounted by a very beautiful stone of deep green, two spans and a half wide, ten long, and of the thickness of six fingers. Not far from this a black stone shades the sepulchre of Mir Seid Berke, the spiritual director of the emir, near whom the powerful monarch wished to be buried. In the vaults of this mausoleum is preserved a copy of the Koran written upon gazelle skin, by the hand of Osman, the secretary and successor of Mohammed.

4. The Midusses, of which many, entirely abandoned, are falling into ruin; others, yet flourishing, are maintained with care. The most remarkable is that of Tillakair, so called from its golden ornaments.

The new city is much smaller than the ancient capital of Timour; it has six gates, and several bazaars where they sell at a very low price manufactured articles, confessedly of European workmanship. Vambéry, without thinking, like the Tartars, that "Samarcand resembles Paradise," still found it quite superior to other Turcoman cities, by the beauty of its situation, the splendor of its monuments, and the richness of its vegetation.

Meanwhile, days passed and the emir did not arrive, the caravan which was to take Vambéry back prepared to start, when the conqueror of Khokand at last made his triumphant entry. Mozaffar ed Din, following the unscrupulous policy adopted in the east, had organized a vast conspiracy against the sovereign of the rival khanat; then hired assassins, by his orders, delivered him from his enemies; and profiting by the confusion thus caused, Mozaffar succeeded in making himself master of the capital. At this news Samarcand burst into transports of joy, the people considered Mozaffar as a new Timour, who was about to reduce successively under his dominion, China, Persia, Afghanistan, India, and Europe; in their warlike ardor the Turcomen saw already the world divided between their prince and the Sultan of Constantinople. Nor must we be so much surprised that the taking of Khokand had so greatly excited them; this city, four times as large, they say, as Teheran, is the capital of a powerful khanat, which has for a long time remained in a state of perpetual hostility to the Bokharists. But one foresees that the Russian government will soon establish peace between these two enemies, in assuming the part of the judge in the fable. It slowly pursues its end, sows division, and already its bayonets have subjected Tashkend, the most western city of Khokand, and equally important in a commercial and military point of view.

At the period when Vambéry visited Samarcand, the intoxication of the victory obtained by the emir dispelled all gloom; the Europeans and their encroachments were forgotten in the noisy rejoicings. The happy return of Mozaffar ed Din was celebrated by a national festival, in which rice, mutton, tallow, and tea were distributed to the people with royal prodigality; the next day, the emir having granted his subjects a public audience, our traveller seized the occasion to be presented. Accompanied by his friends the pilgrims, he was preparing to enter the palace, when a Mehrem stopped him, saying that his Majesty desired to see the hadji of Constantinople alone. "We were extremely alarmed," relates Vambéry; "this distinction seemed to us an ill omen. Nevertheless, I followed the officer with a firm step. He introduced me into a spacious hall, where I perceived the emir seated upon an ottoman, and surrounded with books and manuscripts of all sorts. I did not suffer myself to be intimidated by the cold and severe air of the {399} prince, and after having recited a short sura, followed by the habitual prayer for the sovereign, I seated myself without asking permission near the royal person. He did not appear offended, for my character of dervish authorized this conduct, but he fixed upon me his great black eyes with a suspicious and interrogatory air, as if he would read to the bottom of my soul. Fortunately, for a long time I have lost the habit of blushing, therefore I sustained this scrutiny with coolness.

"Hadji," at last the emir said to me, "you have come from Turkey, I understand, to visit the tombs of Baveddin and the saints of Turkestan?"

"'Yes, Takhsir' (Your Majesty), but I wished also to refresh myself with the sight of your divine beauty.'

"'It is very strange! how, have you no other motive for undertaking so long a journey?'

"'No, Takhsir; I have always had an ardent desire to behold the noble Bokhara, the enchanting Samarcand, the sacred soil of which, according to the remark of the sheikh Djilal, ought to be trodden with the head rather than with the feet. I have beside no other business in this world, and for a long time I have wandered about like a pilgrim of the universe.'

"A pilgrim of the universe! you, with your lame leg!'

"'Remember, Takhsir, that your glorious ancestor Timour, [Footnote 63] peace be with him, had the same infirmity, which did not hinder him from being the conqueror of the universe.'

[Footnote 63: This prince, from whom the emirs of Bokhara pretend to descend, was lame, from whence came the surname of Timonr-leuk, or Timour the lame, of which we make Tamerlan (Fr.), Tamerlane (Eng.) ]

"These words charmed the emir; he addressed to me various questions relating to my journey, asking the impression which Bokhara and Samarcand had made upon me. My answers, all wrapped in Persian sentences and verses of the Koran, gained the confidence of the prince. Before dismissing me, he gave an order to remit to me a complete suit of clothes, and to count me out thirty tenghes."

Vambéry, much elated, hastened to inform his friends of the result of the interview; they advised him not to count too surely on the royal protection, and not to defer his departure. It cost him much to quit these good dervishes, generous and devoted hearts, the faithful companions of his hours of suffering. The bold explorer, the witty and sarcastic writer, full of pungent humor, here finds words which indicate deep feeling "I cannot describe," says he, "the emotion with which we parted. For six months, we had lived the same life, shared the same perils; perils in the midst of the burning sands of the desert, perils from the savage Turcomen, perils from the inclemency of nature and the elements. Differences of age, of position, of nationality, had disappeared; we were members of one family. Now we were to separate, never to meet again; death could not have parted us more widely, nor left in our souls a deeper grief. My heart overflowed, and I sobbed aloud, when I thought that even in this supreme hour, I could not confide to these men, my best, my dearest friends, the secret of my disguise. I must deceive those to whom I owed my life. This thought caused me a real remorse: I sought, but in vain, an occasion for bringing out the dangerous confidence."

How, in fact, could he tell these pious pilgrims, zealous believers, that the friend whose religious learning they had admired, whose faith and virtue they respected, was an impostor, who, urged by the thirst for secular learning, had surprised their confidence, profaned their ministry, had trifled, in a word, with their dearest sentiments? Such an avowal might not, perhaps, have broken the bonds of affection which united him to the two dervishes, but what a bitter deception for these fervent and sincere souls t {400} And why destroy an illusion so sweet? Vambéry retained the secret ready to escape him; his eyes swimming in tears, he tore himself from the embraces of his friends. "I see them always," he adds, "motionless in the place where I had quitted them, the hands raised toward heaven, imploring the blessing of Allah for my journey. Many times I turned my head to see them again; at last they disappeared in the fog, and I could distinguish only the domes of Samarcand, feebly lighted by the rays of the moon."

The journey home was marked by fewer dramatic incidents. Vambéry had to cross the country of Bokhara, but avoiding the capital, he arrived after three days at Karshi, the second city of the khanat in extent and commercial relations. It contains six caravansaries and a well-supplied market, where are seen very remarkable articles of native cutlery, which are largely exported into central Asia, Persia, Arabia, and even into Turkey. These fine blades, richly damaskeened, the handles covered with incrustations of gold and silver, are far superior to the best products of Sheffield or Birmingham. Vambéry's new companions advised him to use such funds as he had left, in purchasing knives, needles, and glass-ware, the exchange of which would secure a pilgrim the means of existence among the nomad tribes. Our traveller thought it best to follow this prudent counsel, and add, as he gaily remarks, "the profession of merchant to that of antiquary, hadji and mollah, without prejudice to a crowd of not less important functions, such as bestowing benedictions, holy breathings, amulets, and talismans."

The caravan passed through Bokhara without disturbance; the rigor with which the emir enforces the police regulations rendering all the roads from across the desert perfectly secure, not only for caravans, but even for individual travellers. Vambéry could hardly contain his joy in crossing the frontier: at every step he approached the West; he was about to revisit Persia, the first stage of civilization, the object of his ardent desires. Other members of the caravan were not less impatient, these were Iranian slaves, returning to their own country. One of them, an old man, bent under the weight of years, had been to Bokhara to pay the ransom of his son, the only support of his family, the price demanded was fifty ducats, and the poor father had exhausted his resources in the payment. "But," said he, "better to fear the staff of the beggar than to leave my son in chains." Another of these unhappy men greatly excited Vambéry's compassion; his wasted features, and hair prematurely white, proved sufficiently his sufferings, eight years previous, a Turcoman raid had carried away his wife, his sister and his six children; the unfortunate man pursued them, vainly sought them in the two Khanats of Khiva and Bokhara; when at last he discovered the place of their captivity, his wife, his sister and two children had perished under the rigors of slavery. Of the four who remained he was able to ransom only two; the others having become men, their master exacted so heavy a ransom that the unhappy father was unable to raise the sum.

These instances give but a faint idea of the scourge which has for centuries depopulated the north of Persia and neighboring countries. The Turcomen Tekkes number to-day more than fifteen thousand mounted plunderers, whose only occupation consists in organizing a system of vast brigandage, to decimate families and ravage hamlets. The travellers crossed whole districts desolated by war and exactions of all sorts; the laws are powerless to repress disorders, a bribe suffices to exculpate one from the most odious crime; therefore every one speaks with admiration of Bokhara, whose emir is regarded as a model of justice and wisdom. An inhabitant of Audkuy acknowledged that his compatriots envied the happiness of being {401} subject to the sceptre of Mozaffar ed Din, and added that the Europeans would be preferable to the present Mussulman chiefs.

Meanwhile, the journey was long, and Vambéry saw with anxiety his little package of merchandise diminish. He hoped to obtain assistance at Herat; but unfortunately, when they arrived in this city, the key of central Asia, it had just been put to sack by the Afghans. The fortifications and houses were only a heap of ruins, the citadel trembled, half demolished upon its crumbling base, some few inhabitants here and there showed themselves, the celebrated bazaar, which had stood so many sieges, alone offered some animation, but the shops were opened timidly, the remembrance of the foray still terrifying the people. Moreover, the custom-house system, established by the rapacity of the Afghans, promises little prosperity either to commerce or industry, an article of fur which has been purchased for 8 francs, pays 3 francs tax; they levy one franc upon a hat of the value of two francs, and so of every thing else. When we add to that, for articles brought from distant provinces, the rights already collected in intermediate districts, we see how much the merchant must raise his price in order to realize anything.

In a city so ravaged, the trade of a dervish is not lucrative; no one asked Vambéry for his holy breathing, his cutlery and pearls were exhausted; his travelling companions, very different from Hadji Bilal, lent him no help. Only one young man named Ishak, remained faithful to him. Every morning he begged the food for the day, and prepared the frugal repasts of our traveller, whom he regarded as his master, and served with affectionate respect.

In order to neglect nothing which might enable him to continue his journey, Vambéry resolved to apply to the Viceroy of Herat, Serdar Mehemmed Yakoub, the son of the King of Afghanistan. The halls of the palace were filled with servants and soldiers; but the large turban of the pretended dervish, and the hermit-like air which long fatigues had given him, were letters of recommendation which opened all doors. The prince, not more than sixteen years old, sate in a large easy chair, surrounded by high dignitaries. Vambéry, faithful to his character, went directly to him, and sat by his side, pushing aside the vizier to make himself a place. This behavior excited general hilarity. Serdar Mehemmed regarded the stranger attentively, then rose suddenly, and cried, half-laughing, half-bewildered: "You are an Englishman, I'll take my oath!" He approached our traveller, clapping his hands like a child who has made a happy discovery: "Say, say," added he, "are you not an Englishman?" In the presence of this innocent joy, Vambéry had half a mind to discover himself, but remembering that the fanaticism of the Afghans might yet expose him to great perils, he resolved not to raise the mask which protected him. Taking, then, a serious air: "That will do," said he to the prince, "have you then forgotten this proverb--'He who even in joke treats a true believer as an infidel, makes himself worse than an infidel?' Give me rather something for my benediction, that I may have the means of pursuing my journey." Vambéry's look, and the maxim which he so appropriately recalled, put the young viceroy out of countenance. He stammered some excuses, alleging the singular physiognomy of the stranger, which was not of the Bokhariot type. Vambéry hastened to reply that he was a native of Stamboul; he showed to Serdar Mehemmed and to the vizier his Turkish passport, spoke of an Afghan prince residing in Constantinople, and succeeded in completely effacing the impression which he had at first made.

The 15th of November, 1868, the grand caravan which was going to Meshed, left Herat, taking with it our traveller. It comprised not less than two thousand persons, at least {402} half of whom were Afghans, who, in spite of the most frightful misery, had undertaken, with their families, a pilgrimage to the tombs of the Shiite saints. In proportion as Vambéry approached civilization, he let fall little by little the veil of his incognito, and let it be understood that in Meshed he should find powerful protectors, and financial resources which would enable him to recompense the services of his companions. The doubtful light which surrounded him furnished inexhaustible matter for conjecture, and gave rise to some lively discussions, which very much amused Vambéry. At last, twelve days after leaving Herat, the dome of the mosque, and the tomb of Iman-Riza, gilded by the first rays of the sun, announced the approach to Meshed. The sight caused the European deep emotion, his dangerous exploring expedition was finished, and he had no further need of disguise. In passing the gates of the city he forgot the Turcoman, the desert, the Tebbad, to think of the happiness of seeing friendly faces, and of speaking at his ease of Europe. He passed successively through Meshed, Teheran, and Constantinople, where he bade adieu to Oriental life; then through Pesth, where he left his Turcoman companion, the faithful Ishak, who had followed him even to Europe, and the 9th of June, 1864, he arrived in London.

Singular force of habit. Vambéry had so identified himself with the character of a learned effendi, he was so impregnated with Asiatic manners and customs, that this son of Germany found himself ill at ease in England. "It cost me," says he, "incredible difficulty to accustom myself to my new life, so different from that which I had led at Bokhara some months previous. Everything in London seemed strange and novel; one would have said that the remembrances of my youth were a dream; only my travels had left upon my mind a deep impression. Is it astonishing that sometimes in Regent street or in the saloons of the English aristocracy I felt myself as embarrassed as a child, and that often I forgot everything around me to dream of the profound solitudes of central Asia, of the tents of the Kirghiz and the Turcomen?"

Vambéry's book paints in vivid colors the real condition of central Asia; it contains curious and characteristic details regarding the three khanats of Turkestan (Khiva, Bokhara, and Khokand), on the particular manners of each people, the commerce and industry of the cities. We follow there the slow but continuous progress of the Russian government, whose ambition is excited by the riches of these fertile provinces. It advances with persevering obstinacy toward the conquest of Turkestan, the only country which is wanting to-day to the immense Asiatic kingdom dreamed of, four centuries ago, by Ivan Vasilievitch. Since that period the czars have never lost an opportunity to extend their influence in the Orient. Russia maintains with the khanats regular and active commercial relations; her exportations into central Asia were valued in 1850 at twenty-five millions of francs, and her importations from thence at not less than thirty-three millions. England, whose possessions in India approach Turkestan, has not taken so deep root there, she understands less the tastes, and submits less to the exigencies, of the Tartar populations. At the same time, the protection which she gives the Afghans, the declared enemies of the Khivites and Bokhariots, gives her a part to play in the events which are preparing, and which the taking of Tashkend by Russian troops will perhaps precipitate.

Central Asia is destined to be absorbed by one or other of the rival powers which every day embrace her more closely. Will she be Russian or English? that is the only form the question takes to-day.

Persia and Turkey, tottering themselves, cannot protect her. The grand contest, commenced centuries ago, between the two hostile civilizations, between the sword of Mohammed and the cross of Christ, to-day touches its term. Of the different oriental tribes, these endeavor to revive themselves by the contact of our arts and sciences, those intrench themselves behind their mountains and their deserts; but these powerless barriers cannot hinder European activity from reaching them. They are, moreover, condemned to inevitable ruin by barbarism, superstition, and fatalism, which form the basis of their character and their creeds, the populations, bent under an implacable despotism, consider even the encroachments of Europeans as a benefit, their faith, moreover, delivers them without defence to misfortune, to tyranny, to the joke of the stranger, for it persuades them that an inflexible destiny, against which the will of man is powerless, rules the lot of individuals and nations. "Who can prevail agamst the Nasib?" said to Vambéry an unfortunate man whose wife and children had been carried off. "It was written!" replied the Mussulmans when their most beautiful provinces were snatched from them.

The European race, on the contrary, energetic and indefatigable, makes all obstacles yield before it; its science and industry transform nature into a docile instrument; difficulties stimulate its courage: "This sea I will cross," it cries; "I will level this mountain; this people, reputed invincible, I will subjugate." From antiquity it had raised upon its flag this proud device, which made the grandeur of the Roman world: "Audaces fortuna juvat." Afterward, Christianity, in elevating minds, and pouring upon all hearts sentiments of tenderness and charity heretofore unknown, brought new elements to this expansive force. It showed God respecting, even in their errors, the liberty of men; it showed the sacrifice of Jesus, this Son of the Most High come upon earth to suffer all griefs, yet voluntarily powerless to save man without his concurrence and his own participation. This noble morality not only regenerated consciences, it developed individual action, made known the value of the hidden force which we call the will, and contributed largely to the social and political progress of the western nations. At the same time, it is true, the Christian dogma preached resignation in sufferings, but this pious resignation resembles as little the oriental indolence as the calm of death resembles that of strength and health.

Such are the causes of European supremacy. The Asiatics, not less gifted by nature, have stifled, under the double influence of fatalism and a sensual morality, the germs of civilization which might have given them a durable life and glory. To-day, as we learn from the intrepid traveller who has penetrated into the very heart of Turkestan and returned again safe and sound, everything among them is in decay; their cities and institutions, alike, offer nothing but ruins.

From The Lamp,

UNCONVICTED; OR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS.

CHAPTER I.

"Mr. Thorneley presents his compliments to Mr. John Kavanagh, and would feel obliged if he would call in Wimpole street this evening at seven o'clock. Mr. Thorneley wishes to have Mr. Kavanagh's professional assistance in a matter of business.

"100 Wimpole street, Cavendish Square,
"Oct. 23, 185--"

The above note lay amidst a heap of letters awaiting my return from a pleasant mountaineering tour among alps and glaciers, perpetual snows, and ice-bound passes. Yes, it had been in every sense of the word a delightful excursion, a real holiday to me,--me, a dusty, musty, hard-working lawyer, living in chambers, poring over parchments, and deeds, and matters dull and dry to all, save them whom those things concerned,--me, a middle-aged bachelor, a solitary man, with little of kith or kin left to surround my dying bed or follow my old bones to their grave. It was a renewal of youth and early days to climb those mountains, to face those majestic peaks, to scale those rugged passes, and feel the fresh clear air fanning my brow as I raised it to God's heaven above, whilst all that was of the world worldly seemed to lie beneath my feet. My two months' holiday and repose from labor, when I packed my modest portmanteau, locked up my papers, left my rooms to the care of clerk and laundress, and took my ticket at London Bridge for Dover or Boulogne, bound for Chamouni, Unterwalden, or the Simplon,--these eight weeks of pure enjoyment were the oasis in the desert of my life. But now, for this year at least, it was over. I was back to busy life again; to work and daily duty; to my calf-bound volumes, my inky table, my yellow sheets inscribed with the promises of one said party to another said party--how soon to be broken, God only knew--or the blue folio pages stating how this said man is to bully that said fellow man, and how there is to be war between two Christian beings, not to the knife, but to the bar, the judge, jury, prison, and future ruin of one or the other fellow heir to the great inheritance of a hereafter. I had returned to it all--this turmoil of strife and struggle, out of which quagmire I got my daily bread, like hundreds of others cruising in the same barque on the sea of life; and my table was heaped with the business correspondence that once more was to induct me into my ordinary avocations. There were communications from old clients about affairs of long standing, and familiar to me as my morning shave; and letters from new clients promising fresh labor and new grist to the mill, but I scanned them all with the same feeling of weariness and disgust--casting many a regretful thought to the scenes I had left behind me,--inclined to throw business, law, and clients wholesale and pell-mell into the Red Sea. It was in this frame of mind that I opened the above note, but as I read it, my ennui and lassitude gave place to the keenest interest and curiosity. That old Thorneley should send for me professionally, when I knew for certain that all his affairs were completely in the hands, and he entirely under the thumbs, of my highly-respected brother lawyers Smith and Walker, was enough to rouse one from a mesmeric sleep. Old Thorneley; who {405} lived like a hermit, never meddling with anything nor anybody; whose last intentions were supposed amongst us in Lincoln's Inn to be hermetically sealed up in a certain tin box, lodging at Messrs. Smith and Walker's; whose frugal house-keeping and simple taste could involve him in no pecuniary trouble,--what could he want with the professional advice of one who was almost a stranger to him, whose standing in the law was of much later date and whose clientage much less distinguished than that of the firm above mentioned, and who had been his legal advisers during his whole lifetime?

Again I referred to the note--"Oct. 23;"--the interview was asked for that very evening I looked at my watch--it was half-past six, the hour named, seven. Tired with travel and hungry as a hunter, I was little inclined to leave my cosy fire, my tender steak, my fragrant cup of bohea, my delicious plate of buttered toast, and face the raw air and mizzling rain of an autumnal evening at the beck of a man whose hand I had never shaken, at whose table I had never sat, and whose foot had never crossed my threshold. But curiosity and interest prevailed at last, and these were induced by two motives. 1. Thorneley was a millionaire--a man whose name Rothschild had not scorned on 'Change, and whose breath had once fluttered the money-markets of Europe. 2. And a far more powerful one,--he was the uncle of Hugh Atherton. O Hugh, best of friends, thou man of true and noble heart, if these pages ever meet your eyes, and you look back through the dim vista of intervening years, bear witness how mournfully I stand by the grave of our buried affection, opened on this night, how tenderly I touch the fragments of our wrecked friendship! and from your heart, O lost comrade and brother, believe that, whatever of pain lay between us two, severing our lives, no thought disloyal to you ever crossed my soul or shook the fealty of my honor and reverence. Hastily I despatched the meal, made a few changes in my dress, threw myself into the first hansom, and knocked at 100 Wimpole street, at five minutes past seven.

I was ushered at once into Mr. Thorneley's study--a comfortably-furnished room, lined with well-stocked bookcases, and hung with neatly-framed engravings of first-rate excellence. He was sitting reading beside a cheery fire when I entered, and on a table near him stood fruit, biscuits, and wine. I had not seen him for many months; and as he rose to receive me, the light of the shaded gas lamp falling upon his head and face revealed to me how aged and broken his appearance had become in that period of time. Then I remembered him as a hale, hearty old man, strong of limb, straight and square about the shoulders, carrying himself with the air of an old soldier, gaunt, upright, stern, unbending and unbent. Now, before me stood a bowed infirm figure, with trembling hands and tottering feet, with thin pinched features and sunken eyes. Little as I knew the man, and little as I liked what I knew or had heard of him, I was touched to see what a wreck he looked of his former outward self. Involuntarily I stretched out my hand to him, and expressed my regret at seeing him look so ill. He bowed, and touched my hand with the tips of his fingers, which were clammy and cold. Then he motioned me in silence to a chair on the opposite side of the fire to where he sat, and resumed his own seat.

"You are somewhat late, sir," he said querulously, glancing at me from beneath his shaggy brows; the same keen searching glance I remembered of old--the glance of a man who has made money.

"But five minutes, Mr. Thorneley," I replied; "and that I think you will excuse when I tell you I have crossed the Channel to-day, and only arrived home about an hour ago."

"Have you dined? Allow the to order you something."