The Adventures of a Special Correspondent: Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Kachgaria is Oriental Turkestan which is gradually being metamorphosed
into Russian Turkestan.

The writers in the _New Review_ have said: "Central Asia will only be a
great country when the Muscovite administration have laid hands on
Tibet, or when the Russians lord it at Kachgar."

Well, that is a thing half done! The piercing of the Pamir has joined
the Russian railway with the Chinese line which runs from one frontier
of the Celestial Empire to the other. The capital of Kachgaria is now
as much Russian as Chinese. The Sclav race and the Yellow race have
rubbed elbows and live in peace. How long will it last? To others leave
the future; I am content with the present.

We arrive at half-past four; we leave at eleven. The Grand Transasiatic
shows itself generous. I shall have time to see Kachgar, on condition
of allowing myself an hour less than the time stated.

For what was not done at the frontier has to be done at Kachgar.
Russians and Chinese are one as bad as the other when there are vexing
formalities; papers to verify, passports to sign, etc., etc. It is the
same sort of meddling, minute and over-fastidious, and we must put up
with it. We must not forget the terrible threat of the formula the
functionary of the Celestial Empire affixes to his acts--"Tremble and
obey!" I am disposed to obey, and I am prepared to appear before the
authorities of the frontier. I remember the fears of Kinko, and it is
with regard to him that the trembling is to be done, if the examination
of the travelers extends to their packages and luggage.

Before we reached Kachgar, Major Noltitz said to me:

"Do not imagine that Chinese Turkestan differs very much from Russian
Turkestan. We are not in the land of pagodas, junks, flower boats,
yamens, hongs and porcelain towers. Like Bokhara, Merv and Samarkand,
Kachgar is a double town. It is with the Central Asian cities as it is
with certain stars, only they do not revolve round one another."

The major's remark was very true. It was not so long ago since emirs
reigned over Kachgaria, since the monarchy of Mohammed Yakoub extended
over the whole of Turkestan, since the Chinese who wished to live here
had to adjure the religion of Buddha and Confucius and become converts
to Mahometanism, that is, if they wished to be respectable. What would
you have? In these days we are always too late, and those marvels of
the Oriental cosmorama, those curious manners, those masterpieces of
Asiatic art, are either memories or ruins. The railways will end by
bringing the countries they traverse down to the same level, to a
mutual resemblance which will certainly be equality and may be
fraternity. In truth, Kachgar is no longer the capital of Kachgaria; it
is a station on the Grand Transasiatic, the junction between the
Russian and Chinese lines, and the strip of iron which stretches for
three thousand kilometres from the Caspian to this city runs on for
nearly four thousand more to the capital of the Celestial Empire.

I return to the double town. The new one is Yangi-Chahr: the old one,
three and a half miles off, is Kachgar. I have seen both, and I will
tell you what they are like.

In the first place, both the old and the new towns are surrounded with
a villainous earthen wall that does not predispose you in their favor.
Secondly, it is in vain that you seek for any monument whatever, for
the materials of construction are identical for houses as for palaces.
Nothing but earth, and not even baked earth. It is not with mud dried
in the sun that you can obtain regular lines, clean profiles and finely
worked sculptures. Your architecture must be in stone or marble, and
that is precisely what you do not get in Chinese Turkestan.

A small carriage quickly took the major and myself to Kachgar, which is
three miles round. The Kizil-Sou, that is to say the Red River, which
is really yellow, as a Chinese river ought to be, clasps it between its
two arms, which are united by two bridges. If you wish to see a few
ruins of some interest, you must go a short distance beyond the town,
where there are the remains of fortifications dating from five hundred
or two thousand years ago, according to the imagination of the
archaeologist. What is certain is that Kachgar submitted to the furious
assault of Tamerlane, and we will agree that without the exploits of
this terrible cripple the history of Central Asia would be singularly
monotonous. Since his time there have been fierce sultans, it is
true--among others that Ouali-Khan-Toulla, who, in 1857, strangled
Schlagintweit, one of the most learned and most daring explorers of the
Asiatic continent. Two tablets of bronze, presented by the Geographical
Societies of Paris and Petersburg, ornament his commemorative monument.

Kachgar is an important centre of trade, which is almost entirely in
Russian hands. Khotan silks, cotton, felt, woolen carpets, cloth, are
the principal articles in the markets, and these are exported beyond
the frontier between Tachkend and Koulja, to the north of Oriental
Turkestan.

Here, as the major told me, Sir Francis Trevellyan should have special
cause for manifesting his ill humor. In fact, an English embassy under
Chapman and Gordon in 1873 and 1874 had been sent from Kashmir to
Kachgar by way of Kothan and Yarkand. At this time the English had
reason to hope that commercial relations could be established to their
advantage. But instead of being in communication with the Indian
railways, the Russian railways are in communication with the Chinese,
and the result of this junction has been that English influence has had
to give place to Russian.

The population of Kachgar is Turkoman, with a considerable mixture of
Chinese, who willingly fulfil the duties of domestics, artisans or
porters. Less fortunate than Chapman and Gordon, Major Noltitz and I
were not able to see the Kachgarian capital when the armies of the
tumultuous emir filled its streets. There were none of those Djiguit
foot soldiers who were mounted, nor of those Sarbaz who were not.
Vanished had those magnificent bodies of Taifourchis, armed and
disciplined in the Chinese manner, those superb lancers, those Kalmuck
archers, bending bows five feet high, those "tigers" with their daubed
shields and their matchlocks. All have disappeared, the picturesque
warriors of Kachgaria and the emir with them.

At nine o'clock we are on our return to Yangi-Chahr. There, at the end
of the streets near the citadel, what do we see? The Caternas in
ecstatic admiration before a troop of musical dervishes.

Who says dervish says beggar, and who says beggar evokes the completest
type of filth and laziness. But with what an extraordinary combination
of gestures, with what attitudes in the management of the long-stringed
guitar, with what acrobatic swingings of the body do they accompany
their singing of their legends and poetry which could not be more
profane. The instinct of the old actor was awakened in Caterna. He
could not keep still; it was too much for him.

And so these gestures, these attitudes, these swingings he imitated
there with the vigor of an old topman joined to that of a leading
premier, and I saw him as he was figuring in this quadrille of dancing
dervishes.

"Eh! Monsieur Claudius!" he said, "it is not difficult to copy the
exercises of these gallant fellows! Make me a Turkestan operetta, let
me act a dervish, and you will see if I don't do it to the very life."

"I do not doubt it, my dear Caterna," I replied; "but before you do
that, come into the restaurant at the railway station and bid farewell
to Turkestan cookery, for we shall soon be reduced to Chinese."

The offer is accepted all the more willingly, for the reputation of the
Kachgarian cooks is well justified, as the major made us remark.

In fact, the Caternas, the major, young Pan Chao and I were astonished
and enchanted at the quantity of dishes that were served us, as well as
at their quality. Sweets alternated capriciously with roasts and
grills. And as the Caternas could never forget--any more than they
could forget the famous peaches of Khodjend--there are a few of these
dishes which the English embassy wished to retain in remembrance, for
they have given the composition in the story of their journey: pigs'
feet dusted with sugar and browned in fat with a dash of pickles;
kidneys fried with sweet sauce and served with fritters.

Caterna asked for the first twice, and for the other three times.

"I take my precautions," said he. "Who knows what the dining-car
kitchen will give us on the Chinese railways? Let us beware of shark
fins, which may perhaps be rather horny, and of swallows' nests which
may not be quite fresh!"

It is ten o'clock when a stroke of the gong announces that the police
formalities are about to begin. We leave the table after a parting
glass of Choa-Hing wine, and a few minutes afterward are in the waiting
room.

All my numbers are present, with the exception, of course, of Kinko,
who would have done honor to our breakfast if it had been possible for
him to take part in it. There was Doctor Tio-King, his _Cornaro_ under
his arm; Fulk Ephrinell and Miss Horatia Bluett, mingling their teeth
and hair, figuratively, be it understood; Sir Francis Trevellyan,
motionless and silent, intractable and stiff, smoking his cigar on the
threshold; Faruskiar, accompanied by Ghangir; Russian, Turkoman,
Chinese travelers--in all from sixty to eighty persons. Every one had
in his turn to present himself at the table, which was occupied by two
Celestials in uniform; a functionary speaking Russian fluently, an
interpreter for German, French and English.

The Chinese was a man about fifty, with a bald head, a thick moustache,
a long pigtail, and spectacles on his nose. Wrapped in a flowery robe,
fat as if he belonged to the most distinguished people in the country,
he had not a prepossessing face. After all, it was only a verification
of our papers, and as ours were in order it did not much matter how
repulsive he looked.

"What an air he has!" murmured Madame Caterna.

"The air of a Chinaman!" said her husband, "and frankly I do not want
to have one like it."

I am one of the first to present my passport, which bears the visas of
the consul at Tiflis and the Russian authorities at Uzun-Ada. The
functionary looks at it attentively. When you are dealing with a
mandarin, you should always be on the lookout. Nevertheless, the
examination raises no difficulty, and the seal of the green dragon
declares me all in order.

The same result with regard to the actor and actress. Nevertheless it
was worth while looking at Caterna while his papers were being
examined. He assumed the attitude of a criminal endeavoring to mollify
a magistrate, he made the sheepiest of eyes, and smiled the most
deprecating of smiles, and seemed to implore a grace or rather a favor,
and yet the most obdurate of the Chinamen had not a word to say to him.

"Correct," said the interpreter.

"Thank you, my prince!" replied Caterna, with the accent of a Paris
street boy.

As to Ephrinell and Miss Bluett, they went through like a posted
letter. If an American commercial and an English ditto were not in
order, who would be? Uncle Sam and John Bull are one as far as that
goes.

The other travelers, Russian and Turkoman, underwent examination
without any difficulty arising. Whether they were first-class or
second-class, they had fulfilled the conditions required by the Chinese
administration, which levies a rather heavy fee for each visa, payable
in roubles, taels or sapeks.

Among the travelers I noticed an American clergyman bound to Pekin.
This was the Reverend Nathaniel Morse, of Boston, one of those honest
Bible distributors, a Yankee missionary, in the garb of a merchant, and
very keen in business matters. At a venture I make him No. 13 in my
notebook.

The verification of the papers of young Pan Chao and Doctor Tio-King
gave rise to no difficulty, and on leaving they exchanged "ten thousand
good mornings" with the more amiable of the Chinese representatives.

When it came to the turn of Major Noltitz, a slight incident occurred.
Sir Francis Trevellyan, who came to the table at the same moment, did
not seem inclined to give way. However, nothing resulted but haughty
and provoking looks. The gentleman did not even take the trouble to
open his mouth. It is evidently written above that I am not to hear the
sound of his voice! The Russian and the Englishman each received the
regulation visa, and the affair went no further.

My lord Faruskiar, followed by Ghangir, then arrived before the man in
spectacles, who looked at him with a certain amount of attention. Major
Noltitz and I watched him. How would he submit to this examination?
Perhaps we were to be undeceived regarding him.

But what was our surprise and even our stupefaction at the dramatic
outburst which at once took place!

After throwing a glance at the papers presented to him by Ghangir, the
Chinese functionary rose and bowed respectfully to Faruskiar, saying:

"May the General Manager of the Grand Transasiatic deign to receive my
ten thousand respects!"

General Manager, that is what he is, this lord Faruskiar! All is
explained. During our crossing of Russian Turkestan he had maintained
his _incognito_ like a great personage in a foreign country; but now on
the Chinese railways he resumed the rank which belonged to him.

And I--in a joke, it is true--had permitted myself to identify him with
the pirate Ki-Tsang. And Major Noltitz, who had spent his time
suspecting him! At last I have some one of note in our train--I have
him, this somebody, I will make his acquaintance, I will cultivate it
like a rare plant, and if he will only speak Russian I will interview
him down to his boots!

Good! I am completely upset, and I could not help shrugging my
shoulders, when the major whispers to me:

"Perhaps one of the bandit chiefs with whom the Grand Transasiatic had
to make terms!"

"Come, major, be serious."

The visit was nearing its end when Baron Weissschnitzerd�rfer appeared.

He is preoccupied, he is troubled, he is anxious, he is confused, he is
fidgety. Why is he shaking, and bending, and diving into his pockets
like a man who has lost something valuable?

"Your papers!" demands the interpreter in German.

"My papers!" replies the baron, "I am looking for them. I have not got
them; they were in my letter case."

And he dived again into his trousers pockets, his waistcoat pockets,
his coat pockets, his great-coat pockets--there were twenty of them at
the least--and he found nothing.

"Be quick--be quick!" said the interpreter. "The train cannot wait!"

"I object to its going without me!" exclaimed the baron. "These
papers--how have they gone astray? I must have let them drop out of my
case. They should have given them back to me--"

At this moment the gong awoke the echoes of the interior of the railway
station.

"Wait! wait! Donner vetter! Can't you wait a few moments for a man who
is going round the world in thirty-nine days--"

"The Grand Transasiatic does not wait," says the interpreter.

Without waiting for any more, Major Noltitz and I reach the platform,
while the baron continues to struggle in the presence of the impassible
Chinese functionaries.

I examine the train and see that its composition has been modified on
account of there being fewer travelers between Kachgar and Pekin.
Instead of twelve carriages, there are now only ten, placed in the
following order: engine, tender, front van, two first-class cars,
dining car, two second-class cars, the van with the defunct mandarin,
rear van.

The Russian locomotives, which have brought us from Uzun-Ada, have been
replaced by a Chinese locomotive, burning not naphtha but coal, of
which there are large deposits in Turkestan, and stores at the chief
stations along the line.

My first care is to look in at the front van. The custom-house officers
are about to visit it, and I tremble for poor Kinko.

It is evident that the fraud has not been discovered yet, for there
would have been a great stir at the news. Suppose the case is passed?
Will its position be shifted? Will it be put hind side before or upside
down? Kinko will not then be able to get out, and that would be a
complication.

The Chinese officers have come out of the van and shut the door, so
that I cannot give a glance into it. The essential point is that Kinko
has not been caught in the act. As soon as possible I will enter the
van, and as bankers say, "verify the state of the safe."

Before getting into our car, Major Noltitz asks me to follow him to the
rear of the train.

The scene we witness is not devoid of interest; it is the giving over
of the corpse of the mandarin Yen Lou by the Persian guards to a
detachment of soldiers of the Green Standard, who form the Chinese
gendarmerie. The defunct passes into the care of twenty Celestials, who
are to occupy the second-class car in front of the mortuary van. They
are armed with guns and revolvers, and commanded by an officer.

"Well," said I to the major, "this mandarin must be some very exalted
personage if the Son of Heaven sends him a guard of honor--"

"Or of defence," replies the major.

Faruskiar and Ghangir assist at these proceedings, in which there is
nothing surprising. Surely the general manager of the line ought to
keep an eye on the illustrious defunct, entrusted to the care of the
Grand Transasiatic?

The gong was struck for the last time; we hasten into our cars.

And the baron, what has become of him?

Here he comes out on to the platform like a whirlwind. He has found his
papers at the bottom of his nineteenth pocket. He has obtained the
necessary visa--and it was time.

"Passengers for Pekin, take your seats!" shouts Popof in a sonorous
voice.

The train trembles, it starts, it has gone.

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