Chapter I: Introduction: ix

1. LEAVING VLADIKAVKAZ 1

2. WHERE THE DESERT BLOSSOMS 15

3. WONDERFUL BOKHARA 24

4. MOHAMMEDAN CITIES AND MOHAMMEDANISM 35

5. THE HISTORY OF THE TRIBES 44

6. TO TASHKENT 55

7. THE RUSSIAN CONQUEST 63

8. ON THE ROAD 72

9. THE PIONEERS 134

10. FELLOW-TRAVELLERS 156

11. ON THE CHINESE FRONTIER 173

12. “MIDSUMMER NIGHT AMONG THE TENT-DWELLERS” 184

13. OVER THE SIBERIAN BORDER 203

14. ON THE IRTISH 210

15. THE COUNTRY OF THE MARAL 218

16. THE DECLARATION OF WAR 228

APPENDICES

1. RUSSIA AND INDIA AND THE PROSPECTS OF ANGLO-RUSSIAN
FRIENDSHIP 237

2. THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE AND THE BRITISH EMPIRE 249

INDEX 271

List of Illustrations

THE TOMB OF TIMOUR _Photogravure Frontispiece_

FACING PAGE

THE CENTRAL ASIAN RAILWAY: NEARING THE OXUS 18

THE CENTRAL ASIAN DESERT 20

BOKHARA: THE ESCORT OF A MAGISTRATE 28

OUTSIDE ONE OF THE MOST FAMOUS OF THE MOSQUES 32

A HOLIDAY AT SAMARKAND: BOYS OF THE MILITARY SCHOOL
PLAYING AMONG THE RUINS OF THE TOMB OF TAMERLANE 36

MOHAMMEDAN TOMBS AND RUINS IN THE YOUNGEST OF THE
RUSSIAN COLONIES 40

A MOHAMMEDAN FESTIVAL AT SAMARKAND--THE HOUR OF PRAYER 48

CENTRAL ASIAN JEWESSES 50

FINE-LOOKING SARTS IN OLD TASHKENT 56

OUTSIDE A GERMAN SHOP IN OLD TASHKENT 58

TASHKENT: A FOOTBALL MATCH AT THE COLLEGE 60

PLEASANT COUNTRY OUTSIDE TASHKENT 64

HEARTY SHEPHERDS: ALL KIRGHIZ 66

THE RUSSIAN TEACHER: A NATIVE SCHOOL IN TASHKENT 68

A KIRGHIZ GRANDMOTHER: VENDOR OF _Koumis_ 74

RUSSIANS AND KIRGHIZ LIVING SIDE BY SIDE AT THE FOOT
OF THE MOUNTAINS 76

A TENT OF LONELY NOMADS ON A SUMMER PASTURE IN CENTRAL ASIA 80

SARTS SELLING BREAD: THE _Lepeshka_ STALL 84

THE NATIVE ORCHESTRA: SEE THE MEN WITH THE TEN-FOOT HORNS,
“TRUMPETS OF JERICHO,” AS THE RUSSIANS CALL THEM 104

“PAST THE RUINS OF ANCIENT TOWERS” 120

A SETTLED KIRGHIZ: ONE OF THE CHARACTERS OF PISHPEK 130

THE IRRIGATED DESERT--AN EMBLEM OF RUSSIAN COLONISATION
IN CENTRAL ASIA 136

THE SHADY VILLAGE STREET--ONE LONG LINE OF WILLOWS AND
POPLARS 152

THE CATHEDRAL OF ST. SOPHIA AT VERNEY--AFTER THE EARTHQUAKE
OF 1887 158

VISITORS AT A KIRGHIZ WEDDING 168

CHINESE PRAYING-HOUSE AT DJARKENT 178

LEPERS IN A FRONTIER TOWN 180

A PATRIARCHAL KIRGHIZ FAMILY 186

SHEEP-SHEARING OUTSIDE THE TENT HOME 194

IN SUMMER PASTURE: EVENING OUTSIDE THE KIRGHIZ TENT 198

FOUR WIVES OF A RICH KIRGHIZ 205

AT A KIRGHIZ FUNERAL 207

KIRGHIZ PRAYING 215

IN THE ALTAI: KIRGHIZ TOMBS NEAR MEDVEDKA 222

ALTAISKA _Stanitsa_: VIEW OF MOUNT BIELUKHA 230

MOBILISATION DAY ON THE ALTAI: THE VILLAGE EMPTIED
OF ITS FOLK 232

MAP OF ROUTE TAKEN BY AUTHOR 270

Introduction

The journey recorded in these pages was made in the summer before the great war, and although the record of my impressions and the story of my adventures were fully written in my road diary and in the articles I sent to _The Times_, I had thought to postpone issuing my book to some quieter moment beyond the war. But the days go on, and we are getting accustomed to live in a state of war; war has almost become a normal condition of existence. At first we could do nothing but consider the facts of the great quarrel of nations and the exploits of the armies. War for the moment seemed to be our life, our culture, and our religion. But things have changed. War started by concentrating us and making us narrow, but now it is giving us greater breadth. We have become more interested in the home life of our Allies, in the “after-the-war” prospects of Europe, in the future of our own British Empire and of the wide world generally. The war has given us a larger consciousness, and we have become, as some say, “Continental.” In any case, we are much less insular. France and Russia have become real places to the man in the street, and the account he gives of them is more credible. Even our country labourer can say where Gallipoli is, Mesopotamia, Egypt, Salonica, Bulgaria, Serbia, though, indeed, I have frequently heard the latter spoken of as Siberia. “My son’s gone to Siberia,” says the countryman; “it’s a cold place.” Our imagination ranges farther afield, and young men of all classes think of making far travels when the war is over. We are not less interested in other things, but more; only less interested in the old suffocating business and industrial life of the time before the war, of the stuffy rooms, the circumscribed horizons, the dull grind. All eyes are opened wider, all hearts have greater hopes, and that which dares in us dares more. We are reading more, reading better, and, among other matters, are thinking more of foreign countries, empires, far-away climes. The war, bringing so many nations together, has touched imaginations. It has mixed our themes of conversations and enriched our life with new colours, new ideas. So, perhaps, the story of this journey and my impressions of an interesting but remote portion of the Tsar’s Empire will not come amiss just now. Moreover, during the war many problems have become clearer, especially those of the British Empire, clearer, but none the less unsolved, and I feel that a study of a vast stretch of the Russian Empire, and of its problems and its prospective future, cannot but be helpful.

Among the letters sent me care of _The Times_ there is one written about an article which has become a chapter in this book:

“Since I was a child and steeped myself in the ‘Arabian Nights,’ I
have never been so enthralled as I was by an article of yours called
‘Towards Turkestan,’ which appeared in _The Times_ long since, as
it seems now (last May?). I am an old, tired recluse. I have been
reading for over sixty years. I’m very much extinct, but my desert
also blossomed with your roses.

“Charm _inexpressible_ breathed from the roses (I think they must
have been the black-red sort). Strange figures--rich garments,
all solemnised by, as it were, a twilight glamour made of magical
influences. All so real, yet remote. I repeat, I have never been
taken away so far since I was a child. There was another article
which I cut out and lost ... but I did not prize it as I did the
Turkestan article, where figures both bizarre and dignified greeted
you and bade you farewell with roses. And sunset steeps them in a
golden haze. And they still move there whilst the traveller who has
spell-bound them in his writing has gone on his way....”

I have printed this letter because it was sweet to have it, and it touched me. May the roses bloom again!

I am indebted to the Editors of _The Times_ and _Country Life_ for permission to republish portions of this book previously printed in their columns, and to _Country Life_ for permission to republish photographs. For these photographs, except those relating to the Altai, I am chiefly indebted to the professor of French at Tashkent Military School and to M. Drampof, of Pishpek. Special permission has to be obtained to enter Russian Central Asia, and, as I was going on foot, the possession of a camera might have led to the suspicion of military spying. So I had my camera sent to Semipalatinsk, which is in Siberia, and only used it on the Siberian part of my journey. My thanks are also due to Mr. Wilton, the courteous and able correspondent of _The Times_ at Petrograd, who obtained for me my permit for travel in Russian Central Asia.

STEPHEN GRAHAM.

Through Russian Central Asia