The face of Manchuria, Korea, & Russian Turkestan

by E. G. Kemp

The first building that arrests the attention at the entrance to the town is the citadel, but it has been transformed into Russian barracks, so that the exterior is the main thing of interest. It boasts in modern times of having been the scene of a stirring episode when the Russians first took possession in 1868. A small garrison having been left there while the main army went in pursuit of the Amir of Bokhara, found itself surrounded by 20,000 men, and for five days succeeded in holding the position until relieved by the timely arrival of a corps from Tashkent. Then a terrible vengeance fell upon the doomed city, which was given over for three days to pillage as in the days of Tamerlane. What grim irony to call Samarkand la bien gardée, when through all the centuries it has been desolated, beginning from the conquest of Alexander the Great, more than twenty-two centuries ago, down to the present time. Under the Arab Sámánids in the eighth century it became a great centre of learning, and was renowned throughout the world; then Genghiz Khan fell upon it in 1219, and although it is said to have been defended by 110,000 men, he took the city and let loose his ferocious hordes upon it. When they left the city the population had been reduced to one-fourth of the size it had been, but even then it was said to boast 25,000 families. In the days of Tamerlane it rose again to 150,000, and at the present day the native city covers a great area, being enclosed within a low wall of nine miles in extent.

The next group of ancient buildings which meets the eye is the great market square, the Righistan, three sides of which are surrounded by madressahs or colleges, the fourth side being bounded by a row of small native shops. The four sides are quite separate from one another, a street passing along the north side of the square in front of the Tilla-Kari Madressah. It would be impossible to describe the magnificent effect of these buildings due to their great height, simplicity of design, brilliancy of colour, and the noble space which they enclose. The square is more than two centuries later in date than the days of Tamerlane, but it is the harmonious continuation and completion of his work. The eastern building is the oldest of the madressahs, called after its builder, Uleg Beg (A.D. 1420 approximately); he was the grandson of Timur, a great patron of art and science. He made a table of the fixed stars, agreeing pretty closely with that made by the celebrated Danish astronomer, Tycho-Brahé, more than a century later. It is the smallest of the three madressahs, containing accommodation for only fifty students, but attached to it was the world-renowned observatory and school of mathematics. Uleg Beg used the quadrant, the radius of which, says d’Herbelot, equalled the height of St. Sophia. A description of one madressah will suffice for the three, as they are all built on the same plan. The front of the quadrilateral building is about 100 to 150 feet in height, with an immense porch nearly extending to the top of it; the porch is mostly filled in with beautiful tiles, but contains a small window in the upper part and a wide door below, with smaller ones on either side. The broad spaces of masonry flanking the porch are subdivided into three sections, which are all differently and richly decorated with tiles, in which blue is the predominating colour. The two small doorways lead into a paved court surrounded by buildings, in the centre of each of which is a pointed porch called “pichtack,” similar to that of the façade, but on a much smaller scale, and generally of finer workmanship. This is surrounded by arcades, the central one being a hall for prayer, decorated with suitable inscriptions cut in hard stone or marble slabs in the walls. The courtyard corresponds to our cloister of the West, and trees cast a pleasant shade in it where the studious Mohammedans spend so many weary hours, for the university training lasts from twenty to twenty-seven years. One of the students showed us his tiny cell with its store of books—a very limited one. As we entered another student or Mullah stood praying just within the porch at the top of his voice, and in shrill and dolorous accents: the Sunnites adopt this tone in order that there may be no suspicion of tune or melody. The studies are by no means confined to religion, however, for they embrace all the faculties, and men are here trained to fill every office of Church and State. The Koran and its commentaries are considered fundamentals, and when one reflects that Mohammedanism owes its widespread success no less to the proselytising spirit of its merchants and soldiers than of its religious teachers, one is forced to admire the wisdom which requires that such thorough teaching be given to the educated classes. We were told that the students have to observe strictly certain rules throughout the whole course of their university career; married men are allowed to spend two nights a week in their own homes, but the remaining five must be spent in the madressah. The length of the course is a heavy strain on the resources of a family, but many of these people, living in mean surroundings and with no outward pomp, are possessors of considerable wealth. In Tashkent the Government is offering free education for boys in the Russian schools, in order to attract the Sarts to send their sons to them, and the lessons are given both in Russian and in Sart, half and half. This is done for political purposes, and with a view to getting more into touch with the native population: at present there is a great gulf fixed between them.

To return to our subject—the architecture of the schools. On the right and left of the central façade there are side wings, originally covered with tiles, but now somewhat injured by time, and at their outer end rise lofty cylindrical towers of great height and entirely covered with tiles; they are now quite out of the perpendicular, and it is impossible to do anything to preserve them from the effects of the violent earthquakes which are continually destroying the priceless monuments of Samarkand.

The madressah of Shir Dar (“the lion bearing”), built in 1601, faces that of Uleg Beg, and the only difference of importance between the two is that the former has two domes rising from the side wings of the façade, namely, between the porch and the towers. It is the largest of the three madressahs, and contains rooms for one hundred and twenty students. Its name is due to the heraldic figures of lions (only they are more like tigers) on the façade. Most of the designs on all the architecture at Samarkand are arabesques, inscriptions, or geometrical figures, but there are occasionally animals introduced, such as lions, griffons, and dragons. As regards colour, in the later architecture, black, green, and gold are added to the blues and yellow characterising the earlier tiles, but there is comparatively so little other colouring than blue, that it passes unnoticed without close inspection.

From the summit of the northernmost tower criminals used to be hurled, we were informed, in the “good old days,” into the square below called “the Gluttonous Place”; this was the case at Bokhara only last century: they were trussed up like fowls. Visitors are usually taken by the professional guide up this madressah to look over the city, from the platform upon which the cupolas rest. It is perhaps desirable to warn ladies visiting Samarkand to beware of this guide, as he bears an unsatisfactory character. Our unofficial guide took us to the top of the Tilla Kari (“dressed in gold”) façade, which is much loftier, and from which a fine view of the mountains is to be obtained. The ascent was steep, rough, and perilous, but well worth not only the effort, but also the resultant stiffness of many days. The vision that burst upon our view as we emerged from the dark staircase was that of a city gleaming among a wealth of trees, stretching far across the plain to the distant, snow-capped mountains. Far below the motley crowd looked like ants; the vivid colouring of their robes was almost indistinguishable, and only a hushed murmur rose to our ears from the busy throng.

In the Tilla-Kari Madressah (built in 1618) there is room for fifty-six students. It has an important mosque, of which the inside walls were not only decorated with blue tiles, but also with fine marble slabs handsomely cut and bearing gilded inscriptions, but the gilding was somewhat dimmed by time. Evidently there was a large and costly carpet on the floor, for our feet sank noiselessly into the soft pile, but it was covered with a drugget, and we were only allowed to see a small corner. This madressah has no flanking towers, and a less ornate façade, which probably gave rise to the idea that it was the oldest, whereas it is the most recent of the three.

Our evident delight in the beauty of the place was obviously a source of no little gratification to the people; our only regret was that we were unable to talk to them. Few people know the Sart language, or even know of its existence, but in the mosques and bazaars Persian as well as Arabic is current. The people to whom the glories of the place are like a twice-told tale, watched our expression with some wonder, but keen appreciation; when they had further inquired as to our nationality, it seemed as if we were admitted into a sort of friendly intimacy.

We started one day from our hotel with a pleasant old man as droshky driver; to him our host gave elaborate instructions as to where we should go and what we should see; but in the old city he picked up a picturesque native in white turban and wine-coloured robe, who forthwith constituted himself our guide. Our inability to talk or even to understand his language was a slight bar to our enjoyment, yet in the course of the morning we gathered a certain amount of information about the city, and felt that we had missed seeing nothing of real importance.

One of the finest ruins is the madressah of Bibi Khanum, the daughter of the Chinese Emperor, and favourite wife of Tamerlane. She is said to have built this not only as a school, but also as a mausoleum for her remains; its greatness and beauty, however, were such that she offered it instead to her lord and master (no doubt a wise policy on her part), and built instead for her tomb what is known as the little Bibi Khanum, an unimposing structure overlooking the grain market.