sidered that, for the honor of special correspondents in
general, it would never do to have been at Samarkand without seeing
Tamerlane's tomb, our arba returned to the southwest, and drew up near
the mosque of Gour Emir, close to the Russian town. What a sordid
neighborhood, what a heap of mud huts and straw huts, what an
agglomeration of miserable hovels we have just been through!

The mosque has a grand appearance. It is crowned with its dome, in
which the raw blue of the turquoise is the chief color, and which looks
like a Persian cap; and on its only minaret, which has now lost its
head, there glitter the enamelled arabesques which have retained their
ancient purity.

We visited the central hall beneath the cupola. There stands the tomb
of the lame Timour the Conqueror. Surrounded by the four tombs of his
sons and his patron saint, beneath a stone of black jade covered with
inscriptions, whiten the bones of Tamerlane, in whose name is gathered
the whole fourteenth century of Asiatic history. The walls of the hall
are covered with slabs of jade, on which are engraven innumerable
scrolls of foliage, and in the southwest stands a little column marking
the direction of Mecca. Madame De Ujfalvy-Bourdon has justly compared
this part of the mosque of Gour Emir to a sanctuary, and we had the
same impression. This impression took a still more religious tone when,
by a dark and narrow stairway, we descended to the crypt in which are
the tombs of Tamerlane's wives and daughters.

"But who was this Tamerlane?" asked Caterna. "This Tamerlane everybody
is talking about."

"Tamerlane," replied Major Noltitz, "was one of the greatest conquerors
of the world, perhaps the greatest, if you measure greatness by the
extent of the conquests. Asia to the east of the Caspian Sea, Persia
and the provinces to the north of it, Russia to the Sea of Azof, India,
Syria, Asia Minor, China, on which he threw two hundred thousand
men--he had a whole continent as the theater of his wars."

"And he was lame!" said Madame Caterna.

"Yes, madame, like Genseric, like Shakespeare, like Byron, like Walter
Scott, like Talleyrand, but that did not hinder his getting along in
the world. But how fanatic and bloodthirsty he was! History affirms
that at Delhi he massacred a hundred thousand captives, and at Bagdad
he erected an obelisk of eighty thousand heads."

"I like the one in the Place de la Concorde better," said Caterna, "and
that is only in one