Mozaffar-ed-din Khan has (for it is a custom of his religion) four legitimate wives and about twenty others, the former natives of Bokhara, the latter slaves, and, as I was told seriously, only employed to tend upon the children, of whom there are sixteen, ten girls (but I beg pardon, princesses), and six boys (Tore). The two eldest princesses are married to the governors of Serepool and Aktche; only, as these two cities have fallen into the hands of the Afghan, his two sons-in-law live as the Emir's guests, like kings _sans portefeuilles_. The harem is presided over by the sovereign's mother, formerly a { 190} Persian slave (born at Kademgihah, near Meshed), and by his grandmother, Hakim Ayim. It bears a high character for chastity and orderly training. It is forbidden to the laity on pain of death to enter, or even to throw a glance or direct a thought thither: this is permitted alone to pious Sheikhs or Mollahs, whose Nefes (breath) is of notorious sanctity; and it was by this title that our friend Hadji Salih was summoned to administer a dose of the Khaki Shifa (health powder from Medina). The cost of the harem, as far as dress, board, and other necessaries are concerned, is very small. The ladies make not only their own clothes, but often even the garments of the Emir, who is known to be a strict economist, and to exercise severe control over everything. The daily kitchen expenses of the palace are said to be from sixteen to twenty Tenghe (rather more than from nine to ten shillings), which is very likely, as his table rarely offers any confectionery, and consists merely of pilow boiled with mutton fat. The expression 'princely table' is inapplicable to Bokhara, where one and the same dish satisfies prince, official, merchant, mechanic, and peasant.
The man that has wandered about through the deserts of Central Asia will still find in Bokhara, in spite of all its wretchedness, something of the nature of a metropolis. My fare now consisted of good bread, tea, fruit, and boiled meats. I had two shirts made, and the comforts of civilised life became to me so agreeable that I was really sorry when I received notice from my friends to prepare for the journey, as they wished to gain their remote Eastern homes before the winter set in. My intention was to keep them company provisionally as far as Samarcand, { 191} as I somewhat dreaded my interview with the Emir, and their society in many respects would be of great service to me. I was to decide in the last-named city whether to proceed to Khokand and Kashgar, or to return alone by Kerki, Karshi, and Herat. My excellent friends, Hadji Bilal and Hadji Salih, did not wish to influence me, but to provide for the case of a possible return. Desirous as far as they could to aid me, they had introduced me to a Kervanbashi from Herat, who was staying in Bokhara, and thought of finally returning in three weeks to the former city. His name was Mollah Zeman: he had been formerly known to my friends. They recommended me to his care, as if I had been their own brother, and it was determined, if I returned from Samarcand, that we should meet three weeks afterwards in Kerki, on the farther bank of the Oxus. This, the first step suggestive of a final separation, was very affecting to us all. Hitherto I had found consolation in the very uncertainty of my purpose; for to my fancy an extension of my travels to Kashgar, Aksu, and Khoten, rich in musk--countries to which no European before me had penetrated--had infinite charm and poetical attraction.