We approach Samarkand station; the city of Samarkand is some miles distant. It represents a bushy forest in the middle of which low-roofed houses, towers and minarets are scattered. It was annexed to Russia in 1868, after the taking of Bokhara. Samarkand has been one of the most famous cities of the Mussulman world, and had only the town of Pekin as rival in Asia; its princes were equal to the Emperors of China. The glory of Samarkand is departed; alone and desolate stand the ruins, the remnants of ancient splendour. Samarkand has seen fine old doings. My thoughts wandered back to the time when it had echoed to the tramp of the Greek legions, as they thundered forth on their way to India, under the command of Alexander the Great, King of Macedonia, who had rested here during his triumphal march. It is here that the sun of the power of Timur or Tamerlane, the greatest King of the country, who reigned in the fourteenth century, rose and set. Ruins and sandy plains replace now Tamerlane’s beautiful palaces and magnificent gardens. On what does human greatness hang! These ruins of ancient splendour surpass the ruins of Rome and Greece by their magnificence, and can be compared only with the ruins of Egypt. Unfortunately, these vestiges of vanished civilisation are destroyed, little by little, by frequent earthquakes, and still more by the inhabitants who continue to pull them unmercifully to pieces for their new buildings. In one of the streets of Samarkand a house was pointed out to my husband whose whole front had been taken from the ruins of one of the most beautiful minarets of the town.
On the platform of the railway station, adorned with flags and wreaths of flowers, the Governor of Samarkand presented to Sergy a deputation of Sartes, one of the richest tribes of Turkestan. Behind the station all the soldiers of the garrison of Samarkand, ranged in lines, cheered my husband by loud hurrahs, which produced a great effect upon the natives.
I was not in a condition to respond to civilities just now, looking very hot, dusty and unbrushed, and presented altogether a very disreputable appearance. I would not be seen in such a state, and as it was too late to pay tribute to vanity, I feigned a bad headache in order not to take part at the dinner which had been prepared for us in the state rooms of the stations, transformed into beautifully arrayed saloons.
The railway-line from Samarkand to Tashkend is not yet inaugurated officially, and the whole way is guarded by patrols to prevent the damage frequently caused to the line by hostile natives.
June 6th.—We have crossed this night the so-named Starving Plain. This waste land is well worthy of its denomination. There was nothing but plain, endless plain, always the same dull colour. The soil is arid, and the want of water seemed more pronounced as we went on. The Grand Duke Nicolas Constantinovitch, uncle to our Emperor, who inhabited Turkestan for more than seventeen years, spent the greatest part of his life in this desert, occupying himself with irrigation works in the plain, a part of which he has furrowed with canals. The Grand Duke has spent more than a million roubles already for the digging of these canals, which are to transform the barren soil of the Starving Plain into fertile fields some day. It is a splendid plan, but how is one to get the quantity of water necessary for this purpose?
CHAPTER CXX
TASHKEND
At ten o’clock in the morning the train stopped at Tashkend station, where we met a royal reception. A great crowd was on the platform and all around the station. The courtyard was full of carriages and natives curious to see us. I think all the inhabitants were gathered there to stare. We mounted into our carriage, drawn by a pair of splendid long-tailed horses which my husband had bought from the widow of the late Governor-General. A hundred Cossacks, and a great number of natives on horseback, escorted us from the station to our house, called a palace. The horses flew along the streets full of people; enthusiastic cheers resounded as we passed. We nodded to right and left. Great preparations were made to greet us; the streets were all dressed with flags, the windows and balconies hung with carpets and wreaths of flowers. The photographers made the best of their opportunities and prepared their kodaks for action. We drove fast and soon reached the cathedral, where a Te Deum was sung in our honour. The Bishop in a few hearty words bade us welcome to Tashkend, and pointed out to Sergy that it was the third Asiatic country already which had been confided to him—Erzeroum, Khabarovsk and Tashkend.
From the cathedral we walked to the palace; a very large crowd, which was waiting outside the church, followed us.
The excitement of the day had utterly exhausted me. I had gone to rest, and slept the sleep of the weary and the just, when the Grand Duke called upon my husband and asked him to give me a beautiful bouquet of roses, freshly cut by the Grand Duke from the garden of his palace, bound with a sand-coloured ribbon, the emblem of the Starving Plain, which was also welcoming me.