LIFE IN BOKHARA.On the following day I went out with Hadji Salih and four others of our party, to take a look at the city and its bazaar. Although the squalid and rickety buildings and the streets covered with sand, one foot thick, did not tend to place "noble Bokhara" in the most favourable and imposing light, yet upon entering the bazaar and beholding the thronging multitude animating it, I could not refrain from being intensely interested at the novel sight. The beauty and wealth of the bazaar were not the things that surprised me, so much as the immense and multifarious variety in races, dress and manners which struck the eye everywhere. The type of Iran was visible in the faces of a great portion of the people; but the Tartar features, which could be seen in all their shades, from the Uzbeg to the wild Kirghiz, claimed my particular attention owing to their prominence. The last, and generally the Turanian race, may be distinguished from the people of Iran by their heavy and awkward gait. Jews and Hindoos could be seen in great numbers, too. I cast, now and then, a stealthy glance at the contents of the shops, finding in them but few goods of the manufacture of Western Europe, but Russian manufactures were all the more extensively represented in them. Home-made articles have a separate place assigned to them in the bazaar, and it is to this place that the Kirghizes, the Kiptchaks, the Kalmuks and the inhabitants of Chinese Tartary resort to make their purchases of clothing.

After loitering about and observing for nearly three hours I became so exhausted with fatigue that I had to request my guide, Hadji Salih, to allow me to take some rest. He led me, through the tea bazaar, to a place called the "Divanbeg's Reservoir." It was a tolerably regular square, in the centre of which a lake, flagged with stones and shaded by magnificent elm trees, was visible. The place is encircled by tea-shops, in which gigantic samovars (teapots), manufactured in Russia especially for Bokhara, are standing. In numerous shops are sold candies, sweetmeats, bread and fruit, around which thousands of gourmands and hungry people swarm. A mosque stands on one side of the palace, in front of which dervishes and meddahs (story-tellers) recount the heroic deeds of renowned prophets and warriors, distorting their features in every possible way as they do, to a large and curious audience. As we were entering the square we saw a procession of fifteen dervishes from the cloister of Nakishbend pass before our eyes. It was a sight not to be easily forgotten—the mad jumping about of these dervishes, in their wild fanaticism, with tall caps on their heads and their long flowing hair, waving their sticks, and bellowing forth in chorus a hymn, the several strophes of which were first sung to them by their gray-headed chief.

Although I had put on a costume such as they wore in Bokhara, and the sun had disfigured my face to such an extent that my own good mother would not have recognized me, I was followed, nevertheless, by a crowd of curious people, whose embraces and hand-shaking became very annoying to me. Judging by my gigantic turban and the large Koran suspended from my neck, they evidently took me to be some ishan or Sheikh, and there was no way to escape the unpleasantness. While in Bokhara, its people never, during the whole time of my stay there, suspected me, although they are rather cunning and distrustful. They would come to me for benedictions, listen to my recitals in public places, but never a farthing did I get from them.

MORE SUSPICIONS.The authorities did not trust me as implicitly as the people did. Rahmet-Bi, the Emir's chief officer, whom I have mentioned before, could not assail me publicly, but he pestered me with spies whose business it was to engage me in conversation, dragging into it all the time the Frengistan name, in the hope of seeing me betray myself before them, through some inadvertent remark. Failing in this method they thought to frighten me by stray remarks, such as that the Frengis covet the possession of Bokhara, and that several of their spies and emissaries had already met with condign punishment. Or they would talk of some Frengis (unfortunate Italians) who had come to Bokhara a couple of days ago, and were arrested owing to their alleged importation of several boxes of tea, sprinkled with diamond dust, for the purpose of poisoning the entire population of the sacred city. These spies were for the most part hadjis who had been living for years in Constantinople, and were now trying to test my knowledge of the language and the circumstances of that place. To get rid of their obtrusions I pretended to a feeling of indignation and impatience at their everlasting discussion of the Frengi. "Why," said I to them, "I have left Constantinople for this very reason, to get rid of the sight of these Frengis who have robbed the devil of his reason. I am now, thank God, in noble Bokhara, and have no wish to waste here my time on speaking about them."

At one time again one of the servants of Rahmet-Bi brought to me, by orders of his master, a thin little man, requesting me to examine the individual, and then tell if he were an Arab from Damaskus, as he claimed to be. Immediately on his entering I was struck by his features, and set him down at once for a European. I was strengthened in this opinion after having talked with him for a while, for I found his pronunciation not to be the true Arabic at all. He told me he was going to China to visit the grave there of some saint. He was visibly embarrassed in the course of our conversation. I rather regret not having met him afterwards, for I strongly suspect he was acting the same part I was.

The commander-in-chief, finding himself foiled in his attempts to draw me out by spies, invited me to a pilar (a dish of rice and meat) at his house, where a brilliant galaxy of the representatives of the ulema world of Bokhara were awaiting my appearance. As soon as I entered and looked about me I saw at once that the whole company were assembled to sit in judgment upon my case; that a hard task awaited me, and that my powers of dissimulation would have to pass through a fiery ordeal. THEOLOGY IN BOKHARA.I thought best to anticipate their design, and instead of giving them time to address questions to me, I boldly plunged into a discussion of some religious dogmas and requested their opinions concerning them. My zeal met with applause at the hands of the pious assemblage, and a very heated dispute arising soon after, in which I was careful not to take any part, concerning some mooted points in the sacred book, I took occasion to loudly declare the mental superiority of the mollahs of Bokhara over the ulemas of Constantinople. At length, my trial ended with my triumph; the learned mollahs gave Rahmet-Bi to understand by nods and winks and words, that his official reporter had been outrageously mistaken, and that there could not be the slightest doubt about my identity.

During my whole stay in Bokhara the heat was intolerable, and I had to undergo besides the additional infliction of drinking warm water as a preventative against getting the rishte, viz., the filaria medinensis, with which every tenth person here is afflicted. People in Bokhara think as little of feeling in summer an itching sensation in their feet or any part of their bodies, as Europeans do of a cold. The itching is followed after a while by a red spot, from the centre of which a worm of the thickness of a thread issues to the length at times, of several yards, and it must be carefully unwound in the course of a couple of days. This is the regular course of the disease, which is otherwise unaccompanied by any pain. But if the worm happens to break whilst being unwound, inflammation sets in, and six to ten appear where there had been one before, compelling the patient to keep his bed midst great sufferings for a week. The more courageous gets the rishte at once removed from his body, by having it cut out. The barbers in Bokhara perform the operation with considerable skill; the spot where the itching is felt is cut open in an instant, the worm removed, and the wound heals in a very short time.

Bokhara is supplied with water from the Zerefshan (gold-scattering) river by means of open aqueducts. The canal is sunk to a sufficient depth, but not kept clean. As it frequently happens to run dry, the water coming in again is received by the populace with shouts and screams of delight. First of all the people, young and old, dive into the basin and take a regular bath; then comes the turn of the horses, cows, and asses, followed by the dogs. When this general bathing of man and beast is over any further going into it is forbidden; the water settles somewhat and becomes clear again, but it remains, nevertheless, tainted with dirt and messes of all kinds.

There is something of the metropolitan character, withal, about Bokhara, at least it was so to a man like myself who had been wandering for a considerable time through the deserts of Central Asia. I had good hot bread, I could get tea, fruit and cooked eatables; I even went to the length of having two shirts made for myself, and indeed got to like the comforts of civilized life to such an extent that it was with a pang of regret that I listened to my companions talking of the preparations I should make for our departure, as they wished to reach their distant Eastern homes before the setting in of winter. I intended, at all events, to accompany them as far as Samarkand, where I might easily happen to meet the Emir, in which case my fellow-hadjis would be of great service to me. There, in Samarkand, I should then have to choose either to continue the journey to Kokhand and Kashgar, in their company, or to return by myself to Teheran by way of Herat. I was warmly urged by Hadji Bilal and Hadji Salih to remain with them, but in order to afford me every facility, in case I would not be persuaded by them and insisted upon leaving them at Samarkand, they made me acquainted with a kervanbashi from Herat, who was staying in Bokhara with one hundred and fifty camels, and was going to leave for his home, Herat, in three weeks. Molla Zeman was the name of the kervanbashi; he had known my friends for a long time, and they recommended me to him in such cordial terms as if I had been their brother. It was consequently arranged between me and Molla Zeman, that in case I made up my mind to return from Samarkand I should meet him in three weeks at Kerki, on the other side of the Oxus.

THE SLAVE TRADE.Before saying good-bye to Bokhara I shall make some mention of the place where I first met him. It was one of those caravansaries where the unfortunate slaves are put up for sale. The Turkoman karaktchi, who hunts the Persians, cannot afford to wait a long time for his money, he therefore usually sells his human booty to some wealthier Turkoman, who makes a business of buying a good many of them, and then takes a large troop of slaves to Bokhara to be sold there. He then sells as many as he can during the first days after his arrival, the rest which he is not able to dispose of he hands over to the dellal to be sold for him; the latter is the person who does the real wholesale business in slaves. Slaves of from three to sixty years of age, unless from some cause or other they have become crippled, are constantly for sale in the marts of Bokhara and Khiva. The tenets of their religion, it is true, forbid them to sell into slavery any but unbelievers, but hypocritical Bokhara knows how to elude the law. Besides the Shi-ite Persians, who are declared to be unbelievers by the Sunnite law, any number of Sunnite true believers are sold into slavery, conscience being salved by the simple process of compelling them before their sale and by the most cruel tortures to confess to being Shi-ites.

The male slave who is exposed for sale is publicly examined, and the seller is bound to guarantee that the article sold by him is without a flaw. The hour in which a slave gets out of the clutches of the slave-dealer is his happiest, for it is impossible that such ill-treatment could await him, even at the hand of the worst master, as he endures whilst in the warehouses of the dealer in human flesh. The prices paid for the slaves vary according to the political situation, being favourable or unfavourable, as the Turkomans send their alamans (robber-bands) into the neighbouring countries. At the time of my visit the price paid for an able-bodied strong man was from forty to fifty tillas (from. £2 10s. to £3 10s.); but at the time when the Persians were defeated near Merv, and 10,000 prisoners were taken, a man could be bought at the low price of from three to four tillas. This abominable traffic, I am happy to remark, has since the time of my sojourn in Bokhara, if not entirely ceased, yet certainly greatly abated; and it is very probable that ere long slaves will not be exposed for sale at all in Central Asia. For the cessation of this horrible practice we are indebted to Russia, who has forbidden the slave trade in her own Asiatic possessions, as well as in the countries under her protection. Nor can the Turkomans, the chief men-stealers, continue as before their inroads into Persia to carry away men and cattle.

We had already passed eighteen days in Bokhara, and my friends being unwilling to remain any longer, we had to proceed on our journey to Samarkand. Our purses, too, were at a rather low ebb, for in Bokhara we got nothing beyond hand-shaking. All that we had saved up in Khiva was spent by us in Bokhara. I had to sell even my animal; and many of my companions sharing my fate, we were compelled to hire a waggon in order to continue our journey. Some of our fellow-hadjis said good-bye to us here, and many and affectionate were the leave-takings and embraces.

Before leaving I paid a farewell visit to Rahmet-Bi, who was kind enough to furnish me with a letter of recommendation for Samarkand, and made me promise that I would get myself introduced to the Emir.

THE ROAD TO SAMARKAND.The road to Samarkand leads for the most part through well-cultivated fields, populous and nicely built villages. We halted at five stations on this road. Now that I was drawing near Samarkand all my curiosity and interest revived to see this Mecca of my longings of old. Mount Tchobanata, at the foot of which the city spreads, was already visible, and climbing up an eminence we saw Samarkand, the city of Timur, before us in all its pomp and splendour, shining out, with fairy-like enchantment, with its many coloured cupolas and towers, illumined by the rosy hue of the rising sun.