Our Russian friends drove instead of riding, and, as my brother and I much preferred our saddles to being jolted in a carriage, we never organised any joint-picnics. To be perfectly frank, a dinner or a garden-party always left me quite exhausted in my efforts to play the hostess, talking French to this one, helping out the inadequate German of that one, and cudgelling my brains for some Russian sentence of welcome to those guests, alas, in the majority, who knew no language save their own. The Russians enjoyed coming to our garden, especially when the strawberries were in season, and I always took them over the house, winding up with the roof for the sake of the view. The ladies were specially interested in the kitchen arrangements, and the Princess declared that the Consulate was far more convenient in every way than the grandiose building that was in course of erection for her future residence. When my brother and I went over it later I was struck with the difference between British and Russian ideals. We love comfort and privacy in our homes, but our Slavonic friends appeared to need constant social intercourse. They had crowded many buildings on to a small piece of ground, each house raked by the windows of the others, and at the end of a long avenue stood the imposing-looking Consulate. I was surprised at its internal plan; for there were four very large reception rooms, but only three fair-sized bedrooms and a couple of small servants’ rooms. There was apparently no pantry, scullery, larder or storeroom; and, as there was no central passage in the house, all the rooms opened one into another, an intolerable arrangement according to English ideas.
We were also shown over the Cossack barracks close by, big rooms with rows of grey blanketed beds, the long tables and benches for meals being in the same apartments, and the icons in a prominent position. The Cossacks all looked healthy and hardy, replying to their officer’s salutations with a formula of greeting that they chanted with precision, but I fancy that Kashgar must be a place of exile to men who have left their farms on the Don at the bidding of the Tsar, and they must look forward to settling down upon them for good when their term of service is ended.
Shortly after our arrival we had an interesting guest in the person of M. Romanoff, a young Russian archaeologist whom my brother had met both in London and Bokhara. He was studying the Moslem art of Central Asia, and showed us carvings, pottery, carpets and embroideries that he had bought at Kashgar and Yarkand, and was consequently able to help us with our own purchases.
The old Khotan carpets, their colours made from vegetable dyes, were attractive, and the silk carpets are highly prized and very difficult to obtain. One belonging to our guest had a pale yellow colouring, but was terribly damaged. The best woollen Khotan carpet that I inspected had a pattern in a series of panels; indigo, a faded-looking madder and yellow being the chief tints. There were Chinese vases in the design, and also the conventionalized swastika, that symbol of good luck which originally came from India, and which later on I saw copied ad nauseam in glaring aniline dyes. Certainly none of the old carpets that I came across, whether woven of wool or of silk, could compare in design, colouring or texture with the beautiful Persian works of the loom with which I was familiar. The modern Khotan carpet, with its aniline dyes, is rarely pleasing to the eye. A favourite subject is a row of magenta, purple and orange pots, with flowers stiffly protruding from them, the whole design being thrown upon a scarlet background and making one wonder how the artistic Chinese can descend to such depths.
STUDY OF KASHGAR WOMEN.
(One woman is shown with face veiled.) Page 82.
The pottery brought to us for sale and sold in the bazars was rough and not particularly good as to pattern, while the tiles on the façades of mosques and those that covered a few of the tombs were practically all white and blue, comparing unfavourably with the fine work of much of Central Asia. What specimens of jewellery I saw were heavy and clumsy and to me devoid of charm. The native art seemed to find its chief expression in the columned verandahs of mosques and dwelling-houses, the pillars and roofs of these being often profusely carved with charming patterns in the style known as chip-carving; and also in the fretwork of doors and windows, frequently carried out with a wealth of intricate design that reminded us strongly of the art of Kashmir, and may possibly have been influenced by that country.
The old brass and copper utensils are often very beautiful, with open metal work showing Persian influence; in fact my brother and I sometimes thought that they must have been brought from Iran, so much did they resemble those we had picked up at Kashan.
It seemed to me that the embroideries produced by the women were more typical of the race than anything else. Shaw mentions that in the ’sixties the women wore wide trousers, the borders of which were embroidered, and though the trousers are now narrower and worn without adornment, we were able to collect many specimens of the old work. Moreover, the long gowns worn by the women were formerly profusely embroidered, conventional flowers appearing with charming effect on the red, green or yellow silk of which the costume was made. Now, alas, this beautiful handicraft seems almost to have died out, and is reserved for the pretty skull-caps which are worn by both sexes, and over which both alike place the “little pork-pie hat” with fur border mentioned by Shaw.