Chapter XL: Part III (5)

The Catholic population is variously estimated at from 300,000 to 400,000. As no census has been taken, all estimates must be merely approximate. One way in which an estimate may be made, is by taking the returns of the census giving the total population of foreign birth, and getting the proportion of Catholics to non-Catholics among the various nationalities. Some probable estimate of the native-born Catholics must then be made and added to the number of foreign-born. In 1860 the number of inhabitants of foreign birth was 383,717, out of a total of 813,669. If we suppose that the foreign-born population has increased to 460,000, it seems not improbable that the Catholic proportion of it, with the home-born Catholics added, will reach the total of 400,000.

Another basis of calculation is the ratio of baptisms to the whole population. A register is kept with the utmost exactness in each parish, and the result transmitted once a year to the chancery, where it is entered in the diocesan record. We are furnished, therefore, with an authentic census of births from Catholic parents each year, and if the exact multiplier could be ascertained by which to multiply this number, we should reach a certain result. It can only be conjectured, however, with more or less probability, and varies in different localities remarkably according to the character of the population. The baptisms for one year are 18,000. Multiply the number by 33, as is usually done in making the estimates of the general census, and you have 594,000. This number is too large, however. If we take 20, it gives us 360,000; 25, 450,000. We do not profess to come any nearer than this to an estimate of the actual Catholic population. The two conjectural calculations, compared with each other, appear to settle the point that it is, as we have already stated, between 300,000 and 400,000.

The number of churches is 32, or one to from 10,000 to 12,000 people; and the number of priests 93, or one to about 4,000 people. In the lower section, embracing the first seven wards, there are five churches: St. Peter's in the Third ward, St. James's in the Fourth, St. Andrew's and Transfiguration in the Sixth, and St. Teresa's in the Seventh. These churches furnish nearly three times as much accommodation as the Protestant churches in the same district. It must be remembered that the capacity of a Catholic church includes standing room as well as sittings, and must be multiplied by the number of masses. A church which will hold, when crowded, 2,000 persons, and where four masses are celebrated, will accommodate 8,000 on one Sunday; and, considering the causes which keep many from attending church regularly, 12,000 different individuals who attend regularly or occasionally. One of these churches, St. Teresa's, is a very fine building of stone, which was purchased about four years ago from the Presbyterians, and was called in former times the Rutgers street Presbyterian church. No Catholic church in the lower part of the city has ever been closed, or moved up town, with the exception of St. Vincent de Paul's.

The middle district has nine churches: St. Alphonsus' in the Eighth ward (German and English), St. Joseph's in the Ninth, St Bridget's in the Eleventh, St. Mary's in the Thirteenth, St. Patrick's in the Fourteenth, St. Ann's in the Fifteenth, Holy Redeemer (German), St. Nicholas's (German), Nativity, in the Seventeenth.

Below Fourteenth street we have, therefore, fourteen churches, most of them very large, surrounded by a dense Catholic population, and crowded with overflowing congregations. A very large proportion of our Catholic population is in this part of the city.

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Between Fourteenth and Eighty-sixth streets we have fifteen churches: St. Columba's and St. Vincent de Paul's (French) in the Sixteenth ward, St. Francis Xavier's and the Immaculate Conception in the Eighteenth, St. Francis's (German), St. John Baptist's (German), and St. Michael's in the Twentieth, St. Stephen's and St. Gabriel's in the Twenty-first, Holy Cross, Assumption (German), and St. Paul's in the Twenty-second, St. Boniface's, St. John's, and St. Lawrence's in the Nineteenth. Above Eighty-sixth street we have St. Paul's, Harlem, and the Annunciation and St. Joseph's (German), Manhattanville. [Footnote 61]

[Footnote 61: Of these churches, St. Teresa's, Immaculate Conception
St. Michael's, St. Gabriel's, St. Boniface's, Assumption, St.
Paul's, and St. Joseph's (German), are comparatively new; and a very
large cathedral, capable of containing 10,000 persons is building.
St. Stephen's is also being enlarged to a capacity of 5,000, and a
church has been purchased for the Italians.]

After the old Catholic fashion of jamming and crowding, all these churches might allow somewhere near 200,000 persons, or two-thirds of the adult Catholic population, to hear mass on any one Sunday, if they should all attempt to do so on the same day. Judging by the way churches are crowded, we would suppose that more than two-thirds attend occasionally; and of those who do not, the majority neglect it through poverty, discouragement, indolence, and a careless habit, or some other reason which does not imply loss of faith. As to confessions and communions, they flow in a ceaseless stream throughout the year, as if the paschal time were perpetual. In cachone of our churches there are from 100 to 500 communions every week, and a much greater number on the principal festivals. Probably the usual number of communions in the city, on any Sunday taken at random, is not short of 5,000. At least 8,000 children receive first communion and confirmation every year; and from 40,000 to 50,000 are instructed every week in the catechism, the Sunday schools varying in their numbers from 500 to 2,500.

The Catholic population is increasing at the rate of at least 20,000 a year. New York is now about the fourth city in the world in Catholic population, and bids fair, in a few years, to rank next to Paris in this respect.

The Catholic institutions for education, strictly within the city limits, are:

1. Two colleges, St. Francis Xavier's and Manhattan colleges, the first conducted by Jesuits, and the second by Christian Brothers.

2. Two academies for boys and twelve for girls.

3. Twenty-one parochial schools for boys, and twenty for girls, the whole containing about 14,000 pupils.

There are other very large and fine establishments in the vicinity of New York, practically belonging to the city, but not within its limits.

There are 4 orphan asylums, a protectory for the reception of vagrant children in two departments, male and female, which is out of town, another for servant girls out of place, a very fine industrial school for girls, 2 hospitals, 4 religious communities of men; and 11 of women. The most numerous of these religious congregations are the Jesuits and the Sisters of Charity; the former having in the diocese 39 fathers, beside numerous members of inferior grade, and the latter 333 sisters and 39 different establishments.

In every sense except as regards municipal government, Brooklyn, which is on the other side of East River, is a part of New York; and there we have another diocese of immense proportions, with another great congeries of Catholic institutions. On the opposite side of the town, and on the Jersey shore of the Hudson, the churches of Jersey City, which is remarkably advanced in Catholic institutions, are plainly visible.

Our object in this article has been to give a general idea of the provision made for the religious wants of the mass of the population in the city of New York.

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In spite of the uncertainty of the estimates and statistics we have given in regard to exact numbers, it is plain that this provision is very inadequate; that a vast mass of our population is unprovided for or totally indifferent; that the orthodox Protestant societies have lost to a great extent their influence over the mass of the population, and that a great body of practically heathen people has been gradually forming and accumulating in the very bosom of our social system.

Where are we to look for a remedy to this state of things? It is necessary to our political and social well-being that crime and vice should be restrained, that the mass of the people should be instructed and formed in virtue, taught sobriety, chastity, honesty, obedience to law, fidelity to their obligations, and universal morality. Soldiers, policemen, prisons, poor-laws, and all extrinsic means of this kind are insufficient preventives or remedies for the disorders caused by a prevalence of vice and immorality. They will burst all these bonds, and disrupt society, if not checked in their principle. Can liberal Christians, philanthropists, philosophers, political economists, and our wealthy, well-informed gentlemen of property, who have thrown away their Bibles, and who sneer at all positive revelation, indicate to us a remedy? Can they apply it? Is it in their power, by scientific lectures, by elegant moral discourses, by material improvements, by societies, by laws, by any means whatever, to tame, control, civilize, reform, make gentle, virtuous, conscientious, this lawless multitude? Can they give us incorruptible legislators, faithful magistrates, honest men of business, a virtuous commonalty? Can they create truth, honor, and magnanimity, patriotism, chastity, filial obedience, domestic happiness, integrity? If not, then give them their way, let their doctrines prevail, throw away faith in a positive revelation, and they will not be safe in their houses. The rogues will hang the honest men, and might will be the only right. One of the leaders of the party has not hesitated to avow that the prevalence of his principles would necessarily produce a social and moral chaos of disorder, before mankind could learn in a rational way that their true happiness lies in intellectual and moral cultivation. What has the sect of the philosophers ever done yet to produce virtue and morality in the mass of mankind? What can they do now? They cannot even reproduce what was good in heathenism, for that was due to an imperfect and corrupted tradition of the ancient revelation, and the influence of the sophists tended to destroy even that. Our modern sophists act on the same principle, and are busily at work to destroy the Christian tradition of faith, and with it the principle which vitalizes Christian civilization.

Can orthodox Protestantism recover its ancient sway, and reproduce a state of religions belief and moral virtue equal to that which once prevailed? We would like to have them prove their ability to do so, and show that they have even made a fair beginning toward recovering their lost ground. We leave them to do what they can, and to try out their experiment to the end on the non-Catholic majority of our population. If their intelligence, wealth, zeal, and prestige of position were thrown into the defence of the common cause of Christian revelation by union with the Catholic Church, the victory would be certain. Unbelief and indifferentism could never make any stand against a united Christianity, in a population so full of religions reminiscences and predilections, and so susceptible to persuasive logic and genuine eloquence, as our own. The Christian cause is weakened by its divisions, and by the political and social schisms which are bred by the schisms in religion. Not only those who are separated from the common trunk of the Catholic Church suffer from the separation, but the trunk itself suffers and is mutilated by the loss. {389} The Catholic Church cannot do her work completely where the majority of those who prefer Christianity are opposed to her, especially when this majority includes the greater part of the more elevated classes.

It is evident, nevertheless, that the Catholic Church in New York has done a great work in our population, and has a great work to do. We have much more than one-third of the whole population, and the majority of the laboring class, and of the poor people, on our hands. The Catholic clergy alone possess a powerful and extensive religions sway over the masses of the people. The poor are emphatically here, as they have been always and everywhere, our inheritance. Nearly all that has been done, and is now doing, in an efficacious manner and on a large scale, for the religions welfare of the populace, is the work of our priesthood and their coadjutors. It is impossible to estimate the benefit to society in a political, social, and moral point of view, accruing from the influence and exertions of the Catholic clergy. This is persistently denied by a certain class of writers, who never do justice to the Catholic Church except under compulsion. One of them, writing in one of our principal weeklies, recently qualified the Catholic Church in the United States, whose growth and progress he could not ignore, as a mere empty shell without any moral life or power. He accused the Catholic clergy of not exercising that moral influence in the country at large which they ought to exercise, and have exercised in other times and places.

What a change of base this is! But now, the Catholic religion was a kind of embodied spirit of evil, and her ministers had to vindicate their title to the rank of men and Christians. Religion, morality, liberty, happiness, would be swept from the country if they were not exterminated! Now, forsooth, we are gravely asked why we do not exert a greater influence for promoting the general well-being of the country? The truth is, that the influence of the Catholic clergy on the people at large has until now been a cipher. They have had no recognized position, and have been counted for nothing, except so far as certain individuals have commanded a personal respect. There is, moreover, a great amount of sham and trumpet-blowing about the great moral demonstrations of the day. The Catholic clergy have not chosen to meddle with questions which were none of their business, or to parade and speechify on platforms or at anniversaries. They have enough to do in looking after the immediate and pressing spiritual and temporal wants of their own people. And in doing this they prevent and reform more vice, produce more solid morality, and work more effectually for the well-being of their fellow-men, than could be done by the best devised philanthropic schemes. One mission in a city congregation, one paschal-time with its labor in the confessional, will do more to uproot drunkenness, dishonesty, and licentiousness, or to hinder these upas-trees from striking root in virgin soil, than our amateur philanthropists could _describe_ if they were all to write and lecture on the subject for a year.

The one great, palpable fact which confronts us on every side is, that the religious and moral education of nearly one-half our population is in the hands of the Catholic Church, and that the well-being of our commonwealth depends, therefore, to a great degree on the thorough fulfilment of this task. It is evident that we have enough to do in making provision for our vast and increasing Catholic population, to employ all the energies and resources which can possibly be brought into play, both by the clergy and the laity.

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Translated from Le Correspondant

A PRETENDED DERVISH IN TURKESTAN.

BY ÉMILE JONVEAUX.

IV.

The next day the hadjis assembled in the court of the monastery in which they had resided since arriving in Khiva. The caravan, thanks to the generosity of the faithful, presented a very different appearance from that which it offered at its arrival. They were no more those ragged beggars, covered with sand and dust, whose pious sufferings the multitude had admired; every pilgrim had the head enveloped in a thick turban as white as snow, the haversacks were full, and even the poorest had a little ass for the journey.

"It was Monday, toward the close of the day," relates our traveller, "that making an end of our benedictions, and tearing ourselves with difficulty from the passionate embraces of the crowd, we left Khiva by the gate Urgendi. Many devotees in the excess of their seal followed us more than a league; they shed many tears, and cried despairingly, 'When will our city have the happiness again to shelter so many saints?' Seated upon my donkey, I was overwhelmed with their too lively demonstrations of sympathy, when happily for me, the animal, fatigued by so many embraces, lost patience and started off at a grand gallop. I did not think it proper at first to moderate his ardor; only when at a considerable distance from my inconvenient admirers I endeavored to slacken somewhat his pace. But my long-eared hippogriff had taken a fancy to the course; my opposition only vexed him, and he testified his ill-humor in noisy complaints which displayed the extent and richness of his voice, but which I could have preferred to hear at a distance."

The travellers, after a day's march, encamped on the bank of the Oxus, which they wished to cross at this point. The river, swollen by the melting of the snows, becomes so wide in the spring that one can hardly see the opposite bank. The yellow waves, hurried rapidly along, contrast with the verdure of the trees and cultivated lands which extend as far as eye can reach. Toward the north, a mountain--Oveis-Karaine--is defined like an immense cloud upon the azure sky. The passage of the Oxus, begun in the morning, lasted till sunset. It would not have required so long a time, but the current carried the voyagers into the midst of little arms from which it was necessary afterward to ascend or re-descend, and this accident occurred every few paces. The transportation of the donkeys, which it was necessary now to put upon land, and again to gather into the boats, was, as one may imagine, a prodigious labor. "We were reduced," says our traveller, "to carry them in our arms like so many babies, and I laugh yet when I think of the singular figure of one of our companions, named Hadji Yakaub. He had taken his _monture_ upon his back, and while he tenderly pressed the legs to his bosom, the poor animal, all trembling, tried to hide his head upon the shoulder of the pilgrim."

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The caravan followed the banks of the Oxus for many days, or rather during many nights, for the heat was so great that it was impossible to travel until sunset. The pale light of the moon gave to the landscape something fantastic; the long file of camels and travellers extended itself in tortuous folds upon the flinty soil, the waters of the river flowing slowly with a mournful noise, and beyond extended afar the formidable desert of Tartary. This district, which bears the name of Toyeboyun (camel's back), no doubt on account of the curves described by the Oxus, is inhabited at certain seasons of the year by the Kirghiz, a nomad people among the nomads. A woman to whom Vambéry made some remarks on the subject of this vagabond existence, replied laughing, "Oh, certainly! one never sees us, like you other mollahs, remain days and weeks sitting in the same place; man is made for movement. See! the sun, the moon, the stars, the animals, the fish, the birds, everything moves in this world; only death remains motionless." As she finished these words, the cry was heard, "The wolf! the wolf!" The shepherdess cut short her philosophical dissertation to fly to the assistance of her flock, and made so good a use of voice and gesture, that the ferocious beast took flight, carrying with him only the beautiful fat tail of one of the sheep.

The Kirghiz are very numerous in central Asia; they inhabit the immense prairies situated between Siberia, China, Turkestan, and the Caspian sea; but it is difficult to compute their number. Ask them a question on this subject, and they will reply emphatically, "Count first the sands of the desert, then you will be able to number the Kirghiz." Their wandering habits have secured them against all authority, and Europeans are in an error when they believe them to be subject to the government of Russia or that of the Celestial Empire. None of these nations have ever exercised the least power over the Kirghiz; they send, it is true, officers charged to left taxes among them, but the nomads regard these functionaries as the chiefs of a vast foray, and they only admire how, instead of despoiling them of everything, they content themselves with levying upon them only a slight tax. Revolutions have often changed the face of the world, the inhabitants of the desert have remained the same for thousands of years; singular types of savage virtue and vice, they offer today a faithful image of the ancient Turani.

The pilgrims were anticipating with delight the end of their journey; only six or eight stages remained, when one morning at break of day, two men almost naked approached the caravan, crying in suppliant tones: "A morsel of bread, for the love of God!" Every one hastened to assist them, and when food had somewhat restored their strength, they informed the dervishes that, surprised by a band of Cossacks, _ataman Tekke_, they had lost baggage, clothes, provisions, and were only too happy not to have lost their lives. The brigands, one hundred and fifty in number, were planning a raid upon the troops of Kirghiz camped upon the banks of the Oxus: "Fly, then, or hide yourselves," added the men, "or else you will meet them in a few hours, and in spite of your sacred character, these bandits without faith or law will abandon you in the Khalata, after robbing you of all you possess." The kervanbashi, who had already been pillaged twice, no sooner heard the words Tekke and ataman than he gave the order to beat a retreat. Consequently after having rested the animals a short time and filled their bottles, the hadjis, casting a look of inexpressible regret upon the tranquil banks of the Oxus, made their way toward those frightful solitudes which had already swallowed up so many caravans. They advanced in perfect silence, not to arouse their enemies; the step of the camels upon the dusty soil returned no sound, and very soon the shades of night enveloped them.

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Toward midnight all the pilgrims were obliged to dismount and walk, because the animals buried themselves to the knees in the sand. It was a severe trial for Vambéry; his infirmity doubled the fatigue of a tramp over a moving ground, in the midst of a continuous chain of little hills, therefore he hailed with joy the point designated for the morning station. The place, however, bore a name little calculated to inspire confidence. _Adamkyrylgan_ (the place where men perish) justified in appearance its sinister appellation. As far as the eye could reach, extended only a sea of sand, which, on one side raising itself in hills like furious waves, still bore the visible imprint of the tempest, and on the other resembled a tranquil lake hardly ruffled by a light breeze. Not a bird traversed the air, not an animal, not an insect gave an appearance of life to this desolate spot. Far and near were seen only the blanched bones of men and camels, frightful witnesses of the disasters caused by the _Tebbad_ or fever-wind, which from time to time poured upon the desert its burning breath.

The travellers were not pursued; the Tekkes themselves, bold cavaliers, hesitated to penetrate the Khalata. According to the calculation of the kervanbashi, six days' journey at most separated the caravan from Bokhara; the bottles being well filled, the pilgrims hoped they should not suffer from thirst; they had not counted upon the burning sun of the dog-days, which evaporated the precious liquid. In vain, to escape from this cursed region, they endeavored to double the hours of march; many camel died of fatigue, and the water diminished all the more rapidly. At last two hadjis, exhausted by privations, became so ill that it was necessary to bind them upon their donkeys with cords, for they were unable to hold themselves up. "Water! Water!" they murmured in dying accents. Alas, their best friends refused to sacrifice for them the least swallow of this liquid, each drop of which represented an hour of life; so, on the fourth day, when the pilgrims reached Medemin Bulag, one of these unhappy men was released by death from the cruel tortures of thirst. His palate had assumed a grayish tint, his tongue had become black, the lips like parchment and the open mouth displaying the naked teeth. Horrible to relate, the father hides from the son, brother from brother, the provision of water which would relieve his torture! Under any other proof, these men would, perhaps, have shown themselves generous and devoted, but thirst drives from the heart every sentiment of compassion.

Vambéry soon experienced himself its terrible effects. He managed with the parsimony of a miser the contents of his bottle, until he perceived with fright a black point formed upon the middle of his tongue. Then, blinking to save his life, he swallowed at once half the water which he had left. The fire which devoured him became more violent toward the morning of the fifth day, the pains in the head increased, and he felt his strength failing him. Meanwhile, they approached the mountains of Khalata, the sand became less deep, all eyes eagerly sought the tracks of a flock, or the hut of a shepherd; in this instant the kervanbashi called the attention of the pilgrims to a cloud of dust which rose at the horizon, warning them to lose not a moment in dismounting from their camels.

"The poor animals," relates Vambéry, "felt the approach of the Tebbad. Uttering a doleful cry, they threw themselves upon their knees, extended their long necks upon the ground, and endeavored to hide their heads in the sand. We sheltered ourselves near them as behind a wall; hardly were we upon the ground when the tempest broke over us with a sullen roar, leaving us the moment after, covered with a thick coat of dust. When this rain of sand enveloped me, it seemed to me burning like fire. If we had been attacked by this tempest two days before in the midst of the desert, we must all have perished.

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"The air had become of an overwhelming weight; I could not have remounted my camel without the aid of my companions; I suffered intolerable pains, of which no words can give the least idea. In face of other perils, courage had now left me, but in this moment I felt broken down, my head ached so that I could not think, and a heavy sleep overcame me. On awaking, I found myself lying in a hut of clay, surrounded by long-bearded men whom I recognized as Iranians."

They were, in fact, Persian slaves sent into the desert to watch the flocks of their master; these brave fellows made Vambéry swallow a warm drink, and, soon after, a beverage composed of sour milk, water, and salt, which soon restored his strength. Before quitting the Sunnite pilgrims, in whom they must have recognized the bitterest enemies of their race, the poor prisoners shared with them their slender provision of water, an act of meritorious charity which without doubt was regarded with complacency by the God of mercy who is the Father of all.

The caravan at last reached Bokhara, the most important city of central Asia, but which preserves to-day few traces of its ancient grandeur. Still, it possesses fine monasteries and colleges which rival those of Samarcand. These schools, founded at a great expense and sustained by great sacrifices, have given Europeans a high idea of Asiatic learning; but it must be remembered, they are controlled by a blind fanaticism. The exclusive spirit of the Bokhariots restricts singularly the circle of studies, all instruction turning upon the precepts of the Koran and religious casuistry. We do not find to-day a single disciple who occupies himself with history or poetry; if any one were tempted to do it, he would be obliged to conceal it, for attention given to subjects so frivolous would be considered a proof of weakness of mind.

Vambéry and his companions found asylum in a _Tekki_ or convent, a vast square building, of which the forty cells opened upon a court planted with fine trees. The _Khalfa_, or "reverend abbot," as our Hungarian traveller calls him, was a man of agreeable exterior and gentle and published manners. He received Vambéry most graciously, and the two interlocutors opened a pompous, subtle conversation, full of reticence and mental reserves, which charmed the good Khalfa and gave him also the highest opinion of his new guest; so from his arrival in Bokhara, our traveller acquired a great reputation for learning and sanctity.

The next day, accompanied by Hadji Bilal, he went out to see the city. The streets and houses of this noble city are chiefly remarkable for their slovenly appearance and ruinous condition. After having crossed the public squares, where they went up to the ankles in a blackish dust, the two friends arrived at the bazaar which was filled with a noisy and busy crowd. These establishments by no means equal those of Persia in extent and magnificence, but the mingling of races, of costumes and habits, forms a bizarre spectacle which captivates the eye of a stranger. Persians, their heads wrapped in their large blue or white turbans, according to the class to which they belong, jostle the savage Tartar, the Kirghiz with his slouching gait, the Indian with his yellow and repulsive face, bearing upon the forehead the red brand, and, finally, the Jew, who preserves here, more than anywhere else, his distinctive type, his noble features, his deep-sunk eyes, where an astute intelligence glitters. Here and there we meet also a Turcoman, easily recognized by his proud mien and bold glance; motionless before the shops of the merchants, they think perhaps of the precious booty which the riches displayed before them will furnish for their forays.

The pilgrims received everywhere marks of enthusiastic sympathy; the foreign appearance of Vambéry excited particular admiration. "What {394} faith he must have," said one, "to come from Constantinople to Bokhara, and endure the fatigue of a journey through the great Desert, in order to meditate at the tomb of Baveddin!" [Footnote 62] "Without doubt," replied another, "but we also go to Mecca, the holy city by eminence, and in order to accomplish this pilgrimage we leave our business, and endure, I should think, quite enough fatigue. These people," and he pointed his finger at Vambéry, "have no business to occupy them; their whole life is consecrated to exercises of piety and to visiting the tombs of the saints."--"Bravo, very well imagined!" thought our traveller, while he cast glances which he tried to render indifferent, upon the display of Russian and other European goods exposed for sale; he often had great difficulty in repressing an imprudent emotion when he saw articles of merchandise bearing the stamp of Manchester or Birmingham. Quickly turning his head for fear of betraying himself, he fixed his attention upon the products of the soil and of native industry, examined a fine cotton fabric called _Aladja_, where two colors alternate in narrow stripes, silken stuffs, rich and various, from the elegant handkerchief as thin as the lightest gauze, to the heavy _atres_, which falls in large luxurious folds. Leathers play an important part in Bokharist manufactures, the shoemakers of the country make of them long boots for both sexes; but the shops towards which the people pressed most eagerly were those of the clothes-merchant, where ready-made garments strike the eye by their dazzling colors, for Bokhara is the Paris of central Asia, regarded by the Turcomen as the centre of elegance.

[Footnote 62: An ascetic celebrated throughout Islam, founder of the
order of the Nakishbendi, to which the Hungarian traveller pretended
to belong.]

When he had sufficiently contemplated this curious tableau, Vambéry asked Hadji Bilal to take him to a place where he might rest and refresh himself; and the two friends went together to a place called _Lebi Hanz Divanbeghi_(quay of the reservoir of Divanbeghi), where all the fashionables of the city collect. In the middle of the square is a reservoir one hundred feet deep and eighty wide, bordered with cubic stones forming a stair of eight steps to the water's edge. All around magnificent elms shade the inevitable tea-shop, and the colossal _samovar_, not less inevitable, invites every passer-by to take a cup of the boiling liquid. On three sides of the square, little stalls, sheltered by bamboo matting, display to the eye bread, fruits, confectionery, hot and cold meats. The fourth side takes the form of a terrace, and close by rises the mosque _Mesdjidi Divanbeghi_, Before the doors are planted a number of trees, under which the dervishes and _meddah_ (popular orators) recount to the wondering crowd, the exploits of heroes, or the holy deeds of the prophets. Just as Vambéry arrived, the Nakishbendis crossed the square, making their daily procession. "Never shall I forget," says our traveller, "the impression which these wild enthusiasts made upon me: their heads covered with pointed hats, with flowing hair, and long staves in their hands, they danced a round like the orgies of witches, yelling sacred songs, of which their chief, an old man with a gray beard, intoned alone the first strophe."

The secret inquisition established in Bokhara began very soon to annoy Vambéry in spite of his reputation for sanctity. Spies sent by the government came almost every day, upon one pretext or another, to open with the stranger conversations which always turned upon Europeans, their diabolical artifices, and the chastisements which had punished the audacity of many of them. They hoped that some imprudent word would drop to justify their suspicions, but the European was too much on his guard to be caught; he listened at first with patience, and then affecting an air of contemptuous indifference, "I left Constantinople," said he, "to get away from these {395} cursed Europeans, who, no doubt, owe their arts and sciences to the demon. Now, Allah be praised! I am in Bokhara, and I don't want to be troubled with thinking about them."

The emir was then absent; the minister who directed the inquest, seeing that his emissaries were completely foiled, resolved to make the stranger appear before a tribunal composed of onlemas, where his orthodoxy would be scrupulously examined. He had, in fact, to sustain a running fire of embarrassing questions which would be sure some day to pierce his incognito. Fortunately, he perceived the snare in time, and changing his character, took himself the part of questioner. Urged by a pious zeal, he consulted the learned doctors on the most minute cases of conscience, wished to know the differences, often imperceptible, between the _Farz_ and the _Sunnet_, precepts of obligation, and the _Tadjib_ and the _Mustahab_, simple religious counsels. This artifice had complete success; many an obscure text furnished material for an animated discussion, in which Vambéry never lost an occasion of making a pompous eulogium of the Bokharist oulemas, and loudly proclaiming their superiority. Then the judges, gained to his cause, told the minister that he had committed a grave mistake. Hadji Reschid was a very distinguished mollah, well prepared to receive the divine inspiration, precious heritage of the saints.

Vambéry, free henceforth from all fear, could study at leisure the character and aptitudes of the people of Bokhara. This city, which is, according to him, the Home of Islam, since Mecca and Medina represent Jerusalem, is not a little proud of its religious supremacy. Though it recognizes the spiritual authority of the Sultan, it does not, like Khiva, blindly submit to it, and it hardly pardons the emperor for permitting himself to be corrupted by the detestable influence of Europeans. Our traveller, in his supposed quality of Turk, was frequently obliged to defend Constantinople from the reproaches addressed to him: "Why," demanded, for example, the fervent Bokharists,--"why does not the sultan put to death all the Europeans who live in his states? why does he not ordain every year a holy war against the unbelievers?" Or again: "Why do not the Turks wear the turban and the long robe which the law prescribes? Is not this a frightful sin? and also, why have they not the long beard and short moustache which the Prophet wore?"

The emir Mozaffar ed Din watches carefully over the maintenance of the sacred doctrines. Every city has its _Reïs_ or guardian of religion, who, whip in hand, runs through the streets and public squares, interrogating every one he meets upon the precepts of Islam. Woe to the unhappy passenger taken in the flagrant crime of ignorance: if it were a gray-headed old man he is also, all business ceasing, sent for a fortnight to the benches of the school. A discipline equally rigorous, obliges every one to go to the mosques at the hour of prayer. Finally, the espionage of the Reïs does not stop at the threshold of the private dwelling, and in the privacy of his family a Bokharist takes care not to omit the least rite, or even to pronounce the name of the emir without adding the sacramental formula, "May Allah give him a hundred and twenty years of life!" It needs not to say that all joy and gaiety are banished from social life, except the momentary animation of the bazaar. Bokhara presents a sad and monotonous aspect. During the day, every one fears perpetually to find himself in the presence of a spy; in the evening, two hours after sunset, the streets are deserted; no one ventures to visit a friend, the sick may perish for want of help, for Mozaffar ed Din forbids any one to go out under the most severe penalties.

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?

"Samarcand is the sun of the world."

The same evening Vambéry and his companions were received in a house very near the tomb of Timour. Our traveller was delighted to learn that his host filled important functions near the Emir. The return of this prince, who had just finished a victorious campaign in Khokand, being expected very soon, Hadji Salih and Haji Bilal consented, out of regard to their friend, to prolong their stay in Samarcand until Vambéry had obtained an audience of Mozaffar ed Din, and found a caravan with which he might return to Persia. While waiting the pilgrims visited the ancient monuments of the city, which, in spite of its miserable appearance, is the richest city in Central Asia in historical remembrances. The plan of this sketch does not permit us to follow the author in the details which he gives of these remarkable buildings. We only cite.

1. The summer palace of Timour, which preserves, even to-day, some vestiges of its ancient magnificence. The apartment, to which we ascend by a marble staircase of forty steps, {398} contains rich mural paintings, made with colored bricks, and the pavement, entirely of mosaic, preserves the freshness and brilliancy of the first day.

2. The citadel, where we admire in a vast apartment called "Timour's audience-hall," the celebrated _Köktash_ (green stone) upon which was placed the throne of the famous conqueror.

3. The tomb of Timour, surmounted by a very beautiful stone of deep green, two spans and a half wide, ten long, and of the thickness of six fingers. Not far from this a black stone shades the sepulchre of _Mir Seid Berke_, the spiritual director of the emir, near whom the powerful monarch wished to be buried. In the vaults of this mausoleum is preserved a copy of the Koran written upon gazelle skin, by the hand of Osman, the secretary and successor of Mohammed.

4. The _Midusses_, of which many, entirely abandoned, are falling into ruin; others, yet flourishing, are maintained with care. The most remarkable is that of Tillakair, so called from its golden ornaments.

The new city is much smaller than the ancient capital of Timour; it has six gates, and several bazaars where they sell at a very low price manufactured articles, confessedly of European workmanship. Vambéry, without thinking, like the Tartars, that "Samarcand resembles Paradise," still found it quite superior to other Turcoman cities, by the beauty of its situation, the splendor of its monuments, and the richness of its vegetation.

Meanwhile, days passed and the emir did not arrive, the caravan which was to take Vambéry back prepared to start, when the conqueror of Khokand at last made his triumphant entry. Mozaffar ed Din, following the unscrupulous policy adopted in the east, had organized a vast conspiracy against the sovereign of the rival khanat; then hired assassins, by his orders, delivered him from his enemies; and profiting by the confusion thus caused, Mozaffar succeeded in making himself master of the capital. At this news Samarcand burst into transports of joy, the people considered Mozaffar as a new Timour, who was about to reduce successively under his dominion, China, Persia, Afghanistan, India, and Europe; in their warlike ardor the Turcomen saw already the world divided between their prince and the Sultan of Constantinople. Nor must we be so much surprised that the taking of Khokand had so greatly excited them; this city, four times as large, they say, as Teheran, is the capital of a powerful khanat, which has for a long time remained in a state of perpetual hostility to the Bokharists. But one foresees that the Russian government will soon establish peace between these two enemies, in assuming the part of the judge in the fable. It slowly pursues its end, sows division, and already its bayonets have subjected Tashkend, the most western city of Khokand, and equally important in a commercial and military point of view.

At the period when Vambéry visited Samarcand, the intoxication of the victory obtained by the emir dispelled all gloom; the Europeans and their encroachments were forgotten in the noisy rejoicings. The happy return of Mozaffar ed Din was celebrated by a national festival, in which rice, mutton, tallow, and tea were distributed to the people with royal prodigality; the next day, the emir having granted his subjects a public audience, our traveller seized the occasion to be presented. Accompanied by his friends the pilgrims, he was preparing to enter the palace, when a Mehrem stopped him, saying that his Majesty desired to see the hadji of Constantinople alone. "We were extremely alarmed," relates Vambéry; "this distinction seemed to us an ill omen. Nevertheless, I followed the officer with a firm step. He introduced me into a spacious hall, where I perceived the emir seated upon an ottoman, and surrounded with books and manuscripts of all sorts. I did not suffer myself to be intimidated by the cold and severe air of the {399} prince, and after having recited a short _sura_, followed by the habitual prayer for the sovereign, I seated myself without asking permission near the royal person. He did not appear offended, for my character of dervish authorized this conduct, but he fixed upon me his great black eyes with a suspicious and interrogatory air, as if he would read to the bottom of my soul. Fortunately, for a long time I have lost the habit of blushing, therefore I sustained this scrutiny with coolness.

"Hadji," at last the emir said to me, "you have come from Turkey, I understand, to visit the tombs of Baveddin and the saints of Turkestan?"

"'Yes, Takhsir' (Your Majesty), but I wished also to refresh myself with the sight of your divine beauty.'

"'It is very strange! how, have you no other motive for undertaking so long a journey?'

"'No, Takhsir; I have always had an ardent desire to behold the noble Bokhara, the enchanting Samarcand, the sacred soil of which, according to the remark of the sheikh Djilal, ought to be trodden with the head rather than with the feet. I have beside no other business in this world, and for a long time I have wandered about like a pilgrim of the universe.'

"A pilgrim of the universe! you, with your lame leg!'

"'Remember, Takhsir, that your glorious ancestor Timour, [Footnote 63] peace be with him, had the same infirmity, which did not hinder him from being the conqueror of the universe.'

[Footnote 63: This prince, from whom the emirs of Bokhara pretend to
descend, was lame, from whence came the surname of Timonr-leuk, or
Timour the lame, of which we make Tamerlan (Fr.), Tamerlane (Eng.) ]

"These words charmed the emir; he addressed to me various questions relating to my journey, asking the impression which Bokhara and Samarcand had made upon me. My answers, all wrapped in Persian sentences and verses of the Koran, gained the confidence of the prince. Before dismissing me, he gave an order to remit to me a complete suit of clothes, and to count me out thirty tenghes."

Vambéry, much elated, hastened to inform his friends of the result of the interview; they advised him not to count too surely on the royal protection, and not to defer his departure. It cost him much to quit these good dervishes, generous and devoted hearts, the faithful companions of his hours of suffering. The bold explorer, the witty and sarcastic writer, full of pungent humor, here finds words which indicate deep feeling "I cannot describe," says he, "the emotion with which we parted. For six months, we had lived the same life, shared the same perils; perils in the midst of the burning sands of the desert, perils from the savage Turcomen, perils from the inclemency of nature and the elements. Differences of age, of position, of nationality, had disappeared; we were members of one family. Now we were to separate, never to meet again; death could not have parted us more widely, nor left in our souls a deeper grief. My heart overflowed, and I sobbed aloud, when I thought that even in this supreme hour, I could not confide to these men, my best, my dearest friends, the secret of my disguise. I must deceive those to whom I owed my life. This thought caused me a real remorse: I sought, but in vain, an occasion for bringing out the dangerous confidence."