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?