It does not excite less wonder on our part when we see the men in Bokhara clad in wide garments of brilliant colour, whereas the women wear only a dress that is tight to the shape, and of a dark hue. For in this city, where the civilization has retained with the greatest fidelity its antique stamp of Oriental Islamism, women, ever the martyrs of Eastern legislation, come in for the worst share.
In Turkey the contact with Christian elements has already introduced many innovations, and the Yaschmak (veil) is rather treated as part of the toilette than as the ensign of slavery. In Persia the women are tolerably well muffled up, still they wear the Tchakshur (pantaloons and stockings in one piece) of brilliant colouring and silken texture, and the Rubend (a linen veil with network for the eyes) is ornamented with a clasp of gold. In Bokhara, on the other hand, there is not a trace of tolerance. The women wear nothing that deserves to be named full dress or ornament. When in the streets, they draw a covering over their heads, and are seen clad in dark gowns of deep blue, with the empty sleeves hanging suspended to their backs, so that observed from behind, the fair ones of Bokhara may be mistaken for clothes wandering about. From the head down to the bosom they wear a veil made of horsehair, of a texture which we in Europe would regard as too bad and coarse for a sieve, and the friction of which upon cheek or nose must be anything but agreeable. Their chaussures consist of coarse heavy boots, in which their little feet are fixed, enveloped in a mass of leather. Such a costume is not in itself attractive; but even so attired, they dare not be seen too often in the streets. Ladies of ranks and good character never venture to show themselves in any public place or bazaar. Shopping is left to the men; and whenever any extraordinary emergency obliges a lady to leave the house and to pay visits, it is regarded as bon ton for her to assume every possible appearance of decrepitude, poverty, and age.
To send forth a young lady in her eighteenth or twentieth year, in all the superabundant energy of youth, supported upon a stick, and thus muffled up, in the sole view that the assumption of the characteristics of advanced life may spare her certain glances, may be justly deemed the ne plus ultra of tyranny and hypocrisy. These erroneous notions of morality are to be met with, more or less, everywhere in the East; but nowhere does one find such striking examples of Oriental exaggeration as in that seat of ancient Islamite civilization, Bokhara. In Constantinople, as well as other cities of Turkey, there are certain Seir-yeri (promenades), where ladies appear in public. In Teheran, Ispahan, and Shiraz, it is the custom for the Hanims, en grande toilette, and mounted on magnificent horses, to make excursions to the places of pilgrimage situate in the environs of those cities. The tomb of the Said is the place of rendezvous, and instead of prayers, reciprocal declarations of love are not seldom made. In Bokhara, on the contrary, there is not a shadow of all this. Never have I seen there a man in the company of his wife. The husband slinks away from his other half, or third, or fourth, as the case may be; and it is a notorious fact, that when the wives of the Ameer pass by any place, all men are expected to beat a hasty retreat. Under such circumstances it is easy to see how society must constitute itself, and what shapes it must assume. Where the two sexes are so separated, it can never put on an appearance of gladness and geniality; all becomes compulsion and hypocrisy; every genuine sentiment is crushed by these unnatural laws which are imposed as God's ordinances, and as such expected to be observed with the strictest obedience.
To study that part of their lives which is before the public eye, we must first pay a visit to the tea-booths, which are the resorts of all classes. The Bokhariot, and the remark applies indeed universally to all Central Asiatics, can never pass by a second or third tea-booth without entering, unless his affairs are very urgent indeed. As I before mentioned, every man carries with him his little bag of tea: of this, on his entry, he gives a certain portion to the landlord, whose business is rather to deal in hot water than in tea. During day-time, and particularly in public places, the only tea drunk is green tea, which is served without sugar, and with the accompaniment of a relish or two, consisting of little cakes made of flour and mutton suet; for the making of these Bokhara is famous. As any attempt to cool tea by blowing upon it, however urgent on account of its heat some such process may be, is regarded as highly indecorous—nay, as an unpardonable offence—the Central Asiatic is wont to make it revolve for this purpose in the cup itself until the temperature is tolerable. To pass for a man comme il faut, one must support the right elbow in the left hand, and gracefully give a circular movement to the cup; no drop must be spilt, for such an awkwardness would much damage a reputation for savoir faire. The Bokhariot can thus chatter away hours and hours, amidst his fellow tea-drinkers; for the meaningless conversations that are maintained weary him as little as the cup after cup of tea which he swallows. It is known to a second how much time is required for each kind of tea to draw. Every time the tea-pot is emptied, the tea-leaves that have been used are passed round: etiquette forbids any one to take more than he can hold between finger and thumb, for it is regarded by connoisseurs as the greatest dainty.
They seek to find amusements of a higher kind in excursions to the environs of the city. These are made sometimes to the tombs of the saints; sometimes to the convents of certain Ishans (sheiks), in the odour of sanctity; sometimes to the Tchiharbag Abdullah Khan, situate near the Dervaze Imam. The visit to a Khanka, that is to a dignitary of religion still instinct with life, is an act of more importance and involving greater outlay than the pilgrimage to a grave. The sainted men, whether departed or still living, have equally their fixed days for levées and receptions. In the former case the descendants of his Sanctity receive the tribute, in the latter a man has the good fortune to have his purse emptied by the holy hands themselves. On the occasion of these formal visits the Ishans are tuned to a higher pitch than ordinary, and as the holy eye distinguishes at once by the exterior of the visitor the amount of the offering that is to be received, so does that measure serve to fix with precision how long or how short the benediction is to be cut. Scenes of this kind, in which I performed my part as a spectator, or stood by, were always full of interest to me; and one, over which I have had many a hearty laugh, has made an indelible impression upon my mind. In the environs of Bokhara, I entered the residence of a sheikh to ask for his blessing and a little assistance in money. Upon the first point no difficulty was made, but the second seemed to stagger him. At this moment a Turkoman was announced as an applicant for a Fatiha. He was allowed to enter. His holiness made his hocus-pocus with the greatest devotion. The Turkoman sat there like an innocent lamb, and after being subjected to the influences of the sanctifying breath, energetically administered, he dived into his money-bag, from which he extracted some pieces of coin, and, without counting them, transferred them to the hand of him from whom he had received the benediction. I noticed that the latter rubbed the money betwixt his fingers, and was really astounded when he beckoned to me, and without once looking at the number of pieces, handed them over to me in the presence of the Turkoman. That was real liberality, the reader may say. I thought so myself until coming to the bazaar and seeking to make a purchase from a baker, one of the coins was rejected by him as false. I tendered the others, and they were all pronounced to be bad—valueless. The nomad, as crafty as he was superstitious, had paid for the spurious ware with spurious money, and as his holiness on his side had at once detected the cheat by the touch, he had no scruple in making it over to me.
On the occasion of their excursions to the environs of the city, persons of wealth are in the habit of taking with them their tea-things, and a servant to prepare tea. Those who are not so well off have recourse to establishments that are to be found at these places of resort. Visitors evince just as much desire to hide themselves, where possible, in the booths, as they do to avoid encamping close to the road. As it is the approved custom to invite every passer-by, be he of what rank he may, to take some refreshment of food or drink, each host entertains an apprehension, not unjustified by experience, lest those whom he accosts, not content with returning for answer the ordinary word expressive of gratitude—khosh (well)—may actually close at once with the invitation. Still, not to give it is everywhere regarded as a mean sin. Conditional acceptance only is usual in some places. These rules of hospitality so exaggerated, and at the same time so specious, operate oppressively and unpleasantly, both on him that takes and him that gives; and the confounded, I might almost say the aghast, air of the host who is taken at his word always produced upon me the drollest effect.
The spectacle which these private parties of pleasure generally afford is one of no great gladness, they rather seem to produce a deadly-lively effect. The significant joke, the peal of laughter, the loud cry are, it is true, none of them wanting on these occasions; but where the crown of society, woman, is absent, all is in vain, and never can life assume its real aspect of genuine enjoyment.
If I do not err, it is the Tchiharbag Abdullah Khan that still preserves most of the characters of a public place of entertainment. It is a spot well shaded by lofty trees; a canal flows through it, to whose banks the pupils of the numerous colleges and the young men belonging to the wealthier classes, resort generally on Friday afternoons. The inevitable tea-kettle is here again in requisition, and tea is the article for which the place is renowned; but not the only one, for the combats of rams are here celebrated also. The savageness with which these sturdy animals rush against each other when irritated, the fearful shock of their two heads, particularly when they struggle to push their antagonists back, present a spectacle very attractive to the inhabitant, not only of Bokhara, but of every part of Central Asia. What the bull-fight is in Spain, and horse-racing in England, these combats of rams are in Turkestan. The rams are trained to this sport, and it is really surprising how these brutes support with obstinacy often as many as one hundred charges. When they first make their appearance on the avenue, the bystanders begin to wager as to the number of shocks their chosen champion will support. Sometimes the weaker combatant beats a retreat; but very often the battle only ends with the entire discomfiture of one animal, consequent upon the cracking of his skull. It is a cruel spectacle; still the cruelty does not seem so great in the middle of Tartary as some of the sports in which so many civilised nations of the West still find amusement.
Let me now attempt to portray in the following slight sketch the external mode of living in Bokhara. In the morning—I mean by the term before sunrise, as by religious compulsion every man is an early riser—one encounters people, half-asleep, and half-awake, and half-dressed, hurrying one by one to the mosques: any delay in arriving not only entails reproach, but is considered as meriting punishment. The stir made by these devotees in running through the streets rouses the houseless dogs from their lairs in the out-of-the-way corners or upon the heaps of dung. These famished, horrid-looking animals—yet contrasted with their Stambouli brethren, presenting a princely appearance—are crying proofs of the miserly nature of the Bokhariots. The poor creatures first struggle to rear their gaunt frames, mere skin and bone, from sleep; then they rub their rough, hairless carcases, against the mouldering walls, and this toilette at an end, they start upon their hunt for a dejeûner à la fourchette, for the most part made up of a few fleshless bones or carrion, but very often of kicks in the ribs administered by some compassionating and charitable inhabitant of Bokhara. At the same time as the dogs, awake the hardly-better lodged Parias of the Tartar capital—I mean the wretched men afflicted with incurable and contagious skin diseases, who sit at the corners of the streets en famille, and house in miserable tents. In Persia they are met with, remote from cities and villages, on the high roads; but here, owing to the absence of sanitary regulations, they are tolerated in the middle of the city. Their lot is far the most terrible to which any son of earth can have to submit, and unhappily they are long livers too. Whilst the mother is clothing her other accursed offspring with a scanty covering of rags, the father seats himself with the most disfigured one amongst them by the roadside, in order to solicit charity and alms from those who pass. Charity and alms to prolong such an existence!