Chapter 12

Samarkand is situated in the rich oasis watered by the Zarafchane in
the valley of Sogd. A small pamphlet I bought at the railway station
informs me that this great city is one of the four sites in which
geographers "agree" to place the terrestrial paradise. I leave this
discussion to the exegetists of the profession.

Burned by the armies of Cyrus in B.C. 329, Samarkand was in part
destroyed by Genghis Khan, about 1219. When it had become the capital
of Tamerlane, its position, which certainly could not be improved upon,
did not prevent its being ravaged by the nomads of the eighteenth
century. Such alternations of grandeur and ruin have been the fate of
all the important towns of Central Asia.

We had five hours to stop at Samarkand during the day, and that
promised something pleasant and several pages of copy. But there was no
time to lose. As usual, the town is double; one half, built by the
Russians, is quite modern, with its verdant parks, its avenues of
birches, its palaces, its cottages; the other is the old town, still
rich in magnificent remains of its splendor, and requiring many weeks
to be conscientiously studied.

This time I shall not be alone. Major Noltitz is free; he will
accompany me. We had already left the station when the Caternas
presented themselves.

"Are you going for a run round the town, Monsieur Claudius?" asked the
actor, with a comprehensive gesture to show the vast surroundings of
Samarkand.

"Such is our intention."

"Will Major Noltitz and you allow me to join you?"

"How so?"

"With Madame Caterna, for I do nothing without her."

"Our explorations will be so much the more agreeable," said the major,
with a bow to the charming actress.

"And," I added, with a view to save fatigue and gain time, "my dear
friends, allow me to offer you an arba."

"An arba!" exclaimed Caterna, with a swing of his hips. "What may that
be, an arba?"

"One of the local vehicles."

"Let us have an arba."

We entered one of the boxes on wheels which were on the rank in front
of the railway station. Under promise of a good "silao," that is to
say, something to drink, the yemtchik or coachman undertook to give
wings to his two doves, otherwise his two little horses, and we went
off at a good pace.

On the left we leave the Russian town, arranged like a fan, the
governor's house, surrounded by beautiful gardens, the public park and
its shady walks, then the house of the chief of the district which is
just on the boundary of the old town.

As we passed, the major showed us