In 1870 the Russians endeavored without success to establish a fair at Tachkend which would rival that at Nijni-Novgorod.

Some twenty years later the attempt would have succeeded, and as a matter of fact the fair now exists, owing to the making of the Transcaspian to unite Samarkand and Tachkend.
And now not only do merchants with their merchandise crowd into this town, but pilgrims with their pilgrimage outfits.

And there will be quite a procession, or rather an exodus, when the time comes for the Mussulman faithful to ride to Mecca by railway.
Meanwhile we are at Tachkend, and the time-table shows that we stop here two hours and a half.
Of course I shall not have time to visit the town, which would be worth my while to do.

But I must confess that these cities of Turkestan are very much alike, and to have seen one is to have seen another, unless we can go into details.
Crossing a fertile region where poplars like distaffs rise gracefully erect, skirting fields bristling with vines, running by gardens where fruit trees abound, our train stops at the new town.
As is inevitable since the Russian conquest, there are two towns side by side at Tachkend as at Samarkand, as at Bokhara, as at Merv.

Here the old town has tortuous streets, houses of mud and clay, bazaars of poor appearance, caravanserais built of bricks dried in the sun, a few mosques, and schools as numerous as if the czar had decreed by ukase that everything French should be imitated.