[Book Bazaar]
These bloodhounds were for the most part Hadjis who had long dwelt in Constantinople, and whose design was to test at once my knowledge of its language, and my acquaintance with its mode of living. After listening to them a long time with patience, it was my habit to put on an air of disgust, and to beg them to spare me any further conversation about the Frenghis. 'I quitted Constantinople,' I said, 'to get away from these Frenghis, who seem indebted to the devil for their understanding. Thank God I am now in the "noble" Bokhara, and do not wish to embitter the time I spend here by any recollections.' Similar language I employed also with the crafty Mollah Sherefeddin, the Aksakal of the booksellers, who showed me a list of books which a Russian ambassador, a few years ago, had left behind him. I threw my eye carelessly over them and observed, 'Allah be praised, my memory is not yet corrupted by the science and books of the Frenghis, as unhappily is too often the case with the Turks of Constantinople!' [Footnote 49]
[Footnote 49: One day, a servant of the Vizir brought to me a little shrivelled individual, that I might examine him to see whether he was, as he pretended, really an Arab from Damascus. When he first entered, his features struck me much, they appeared to me European: when he opened his mouth, my astonishment and perplexity increased, for I found his pronunciation anything rather than that of an Arab. He told me that he had undertaken a pilgrimage to the tomb of Djafen Ben Sadik at Khoten in China, and wanted to proceed on his journey that very day. His features during our conversation betrayed a visible embarrassment, and it was a subject of great regret to me that I had not an occasion to see him a second time, for I am strongly disposed to think that he was playing a part similar to my own!]
When Rhamet Bi saw that he could not, by his emissaries, found any accusation, he summoned me to attend him. Of course, this was in the form of a public invitation to a Pilow, which was also attended by a circle composed of Bokhariot Ulemas. At my very entry I found that I had a hard nut to crack, for the whole interview was a sort of examination, in [{178}] which my incognito had to stand a running fire. I saw, however, while it was yet time, the danger to which I was exposed; and, to escape being surprised by some sudden question or other, I assumed the part of one himself curious of information, frequently interrogating these gentlemen as to the difference of religious principles in the Farz, Sünnet, Vadjib, and Mustahab. [Footnote 50]
[Footnote 50: These are the four grades expressing the importance of the commandments of Islam. Farz means the duty enjoined by God through the Prophet; Sünnet, the tradition emanating from the Prophet himself without Divine inspiration. The latter two words, Vadjib and Mustahab, signify ordinances originating with more recent interpreters of the Koran; the former being obligatory, the latter discretionary.]
My earnestness met with favour; and soon a very warm dispute arose upon several points in Hidayet, Sherkhi Vekaye, and other books treating of similar subjects; in this I was careful to take part, praising loudly the Bokhariot Mollahs, and admitting their great superiority, not only over me, but over all the Ulemas of Constantinople. Suffice it to say that I got safe through this ordeal also. My brethren, the Mollahs, gave Rahmet Bi to understand, both by their signs and words, that his reporter had made a great mistake, and that, even supposing me not to be a Mollah of distinction, I was still one on the high road to receive worthily the lightning-flash of true knowledge.
After this scene they left me to live a quiet life in Bokhara. It was my practice first of all to fulfil at home the different duties imposed upon me by my character of Dervish. I then proceeded to the book bazaar, which contains twenty-six shops. A printed [{179}] book is here a rarity. In this place, and in the houses of the booksellers (for there is the great depot), many are the treasures that I have seen, which would be of incalculable value to our Oriental historians and philologists. Their acquisition was, in my case, out of the question, for in the first place I had not the adequate means, and in the second, any appearance of worldly knowledge might have prejudiced my disguise. The few manuscripts that I brought back with me from Bokhara and Samarcand cost me much trouble to acquire, and my heart bled when I found that I was obliged to leave behind me works that might have filled many an important history in our Oriental studies. From the book market I was in the habit of resorting to the Righistan (public place); it lay rather remote. Although larger and more bustling than the Lebi Hauz, which I before described, it is far from being so agreeable; we find here also a reservoir surrounded by booths for tea; from the bank we can discern the Ark (castle or palace) of the Emir, which is on the opposite side, situate upon high ground. The portal was crowned by a clock; it had a gloomy appearance. I shuddered when I passed by this nest of tyranny, the place where, perhaps, many who preceded me had been murdered, and where, even at that moment, three wretched Europeans were languishing so far from their country and every possibility of succour. Near the gate lay fourteen pieces of brass cannon, the long barrels of which were highly ornamented. The Emir had sent them home from Khokand as trophies of the victories gained in his campaign. Above, to the right of the palace, is Mesdjidi Kelan, the largest mosque in Bokhara; it was built by Abdullah Khan Sheibani.
After leaving the Righistan, I entered the tea-booth of a Chinese from Komul, [Footnote 51] a man perfectly acquainted with the Turko-Tartar language, and who passed here for a Musselman. This good man was very friendly to me, and yet how far were our homes asunder! He recounted to me much concerning the beautiful locality, much of the customs, and the excellent dishes, too, of his fatherland! But his experience was particularly great in matters connected with teas. How enthusiastically he spoke when treating of the tea-shrub, which displayed upon a single stem leaves of such a variety of flavours! He had in his shop sixteen different kinds, which he could distinguish by the touch. [Footnote 52]
[Footnote 51: Komul is distant 40 stations from Kashgar and 60 from Bokhara.]
[Footnote 52: The teas were of the following kinds:--
(1) Kyrkma.
(2) Akhbar.
(3) Ak Kuyruk.
These kinds, rarely seen in Central Asia and in China, are more used in Russia, Persia, and Europe.
(4) Kara Tchaj.
(5) Sepet Tchaj.
These two, sold like Chinese Kynaster, pressed into the form of a brick, are drunk only in the morning with cream and salt, and are very stimulating.
(6) Shibaglu.
(7) Gore Shibaglu.
(8) Shivin.
(9) It Kellesi.
(10) Bönge.
(11) Poshun.
(12) Pu-Tchay.
(13) Tun tey.
(14) Gülbuy.
(15) Mishk-göz.
(16) Lonka.
These are all green teas, none others are in favour in the north of China and in Central Asia. The last-named (Lonka) is regarded as the most precious, a single leaf suffices for a cup which equals two of ours.
The purchaser first forms a judgment of his tea by tasting a leaf that has been already boiled: when the tea is good the leaf is extremely fine and soft.]