The Russians’ quarter of Samarkand lies to the south of the native city. Their occupation has lasted for thirty years, and their dwellings have lost the garish newness which strikes a jarring note at Askabad and Merv. Broad avenues, at right angles to each other, a leafy park, and a splendid Boulevard, which Samarkand owes to its good genius, General Abramoff, who was governor in 1874,[737] such are the pleasant, if somewhat prosaic, features of Russian Samarkand. Government House has the vast reception-rooms met with in such places throughout the empire, and it has a large garden, which has trees, water, statues—everything except flowers. The officials’ bungalows mostly face the Abramovsky Boulevard, and are planned on the familiar Anglo-Indian lines. Then there is the obligatory military casino, which eclipses the finest of our mess-houses and has a splendid ballroom. Hard by is the garrison church, a clumsy erection, which seems the more insignificant by reason of its juxtaposition with the glorious remains of Mohammedan days. The museum is still more unworthy of a provincial capital. It contains the dreary array of stuffed beasts and wide-mouthed bottles familiar nearer home. No region in the world is richer in memorials of past ages than the valley of the Zarafshān. Heaps of small clay figures, supposed to represent the horse, show that Hinduism prevailed there at some remote period, for they are identical in shape with those deposited as ex votos at many Indian shrines. Crosses figuring on rude bas-reliefs serve as a reminder of another vanished faith. The Nestorians, hounded as heretics from Europe in the fifth century, spread over the Asiatic Continent, and established bishoprics in Samarkand, Merv, and Herāt.[738] With a degree of moderation which belied their uncompromising tenets, the Caliphs protected the professors of this rival faith. Its golden age was the twelfth century; but Tīmūr was not a man to tolerate any dissidence in his empire. His ruthless persecution stamped out Christianity in Central Asia. The museum also exhibits vessels of beautiful iridescent glass and pottery, the spoils of Afrāsiyāb, a city of immemorial antiquity, which covered the hills and ravines between Samarkand and the Zarafshān. The semi-mythical king whose name it bears[739] lived, according to tradition, in the eleventh century before Christ. That a high degree of civilisation was attained by the people of his long buried realm is proved by the exquisite designs of the lamps, urns, and pottery exhumed there. A rich harvest awaits systematic exploration.[740] The collection of mineral specimens is equally unworthy of Samarkand, for the mountains to the east of the city contain the potentialities of wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. There is a mountain of fine coal not twenty-five miles from the walls; and metals of all kinds abound.[741] The other modern institutions at Samarkand are more creditable to Russian enterprise. The jail, a large castellated structure resembling our own prison at Holloway, is scrupulously clean, and has most modern appliances for enforcing labour. The convicts are employed in weaving cotton, and all are healthy and well nourished. But the jail population in Central Asia is a fluctuating one; for criminals sentenced to long terms of imprisonment are deported by rail and steamer to Saghaleen, in the North-West Pacific.[742] Two orphanages for Russian children flourish; and the little inmates are happy, clean, and not depressed by that badge of servitude, a uniform.
Samarkand is still a great emporium of trade, though it no longer serves as a depôt for the produce of British India and Afghanistān. The roads are thronged with shaggy camels, and carts perched on two gigantic wheels, which preserve their contents from the thorough wetting which an ordinary vehicle would give them while traversing the innumerable streams. The bazaars are not under cover as are those of Bokhārā, but the contents are quite as varied. Hides are a speciality of those parts—Astrakhans, prepared from the covering of the unborn lamb by Arabs, beautiful silky goats’ skin, and nearly every kind of furs are to be purchased at very moderate prices. An English merchant, who has been engaged for three years in this trade, avers that the profits exceed 40 per cent. The manufactures of silk and cotton are still important, in spite of the competition of Russian looms.
THE MARKET NEAR BĪBĪ KHĀNŪM, SAMARKAND
According to local tradition, the art of weaving dates back to the expulsion of our first parents from Paradise. The Archangel Michael, in pity for their forlorn state, brought Adam a supply of cotton, and taught Eve how to fashion the fibre into cloth. Russian yarn has now entirely banished this native product. Before use it is boiled with soda, dyed, generally with aniline, and sized with wheaten starch. The looms are worked by hand, and the largest can turn out muslin nearly 4 yards wide. The wholesale price is 13s. 6d. for ten pieces with an aggregate length of 90 yards. Silk velvets and mixed fabrics are also produced in small factories with very inadequate light and ventilation. Each loom produces 16,000 yards annually, worth about £60, and giving a net profit of £32. Capital fares better than labour; for the journeyman weaver works ten hours a day for a weekly pittance of 4s. 6d. Viticulture is a far more lucrative industry; for Samarkand vineyards are three times as productive as those of any other part of the empire. The out-turn per acre is 134 cwt., as compared with 40 cwt. yielded in the Caucasus and the Crimea. The cost of cultivation is proportionately less, and hardly exceeds £22, as compared with £60 in the western provinces. Thus the area under vines has trebled since the Russians gave Samarkand a just and settled government. In 1895 it had reached 15,000 acres, and is now probably 20 per cent. greater. Attempts have been made of late years to introduce foreign stock; but the native varieties, of which 24 are grown, are more prolific and give produce of greater body.[743] The soil selected for vineyards is composed of equal parts of sand and loam. Three hundred and seventy vines are planted to the acre. They begin to yield in their fourth year, and are at their best between the 8th and 25th. The tops are laid in trenches, and covered with earth at the beginning of winter; and when spring comes round they are uncovered and allowed to trail on the ground without the support of poles or trellis-work. The vine requires higher cultivation than any other plant which ministers to our needs or luxury. In Samarkand manure is applied in the proportion of 4 cwt. an acre, and the vineyards are thrice drenched with water. At the end of October the grapes are fit to gather. The return is enormous, and in one district it reaches 26 tons an acre. The bulk of the fruit is dried and exported as kishmish, or raisins. Though the cost of transport by rail makes this delicacy dearer than the Persian product, it commands a higher price; no less than 7300 tons were sent to Russia by rail in 1896.
The manufacture of brandy is a new industry at Samarkand. About 155,000 gallons are made annually for local consumption. The out-turn of wine is on nearly the same scale. In the opinion of French experts, the produce of a Central Asian grape is at least as good as that of the Medoc and Burgundy districts. The wine is of high alcoholic strength, and mellows rapidly. In this costly process, however, large capital is required, and the manufacture languishes in its absence. Casks, bottles, and corks are imported at great expense from Russia; and a reduction of railway rates is urgently called for. We have not yet exhausted the uses of Central Asian grapes. Those which are fit for nothing else are boiled into a syrup which serves to sweeten green tea, ices, and confectionery.[744]
Samarkand resembles Bokhārā in the character of its population, which does not exceed 50,000. The Rīgistān is a happy hunting-ground for the ethnologist. Here one may listen unmolested to the professional story-teller, who holds his audience enthralled by oft-repeated tales of ancient chivalry.
There are two classes of public reciters: the maddāh, who stands while he relates edifying or amusing anecdotes; and the risālachi, who, seated on the ground, recites tales and legends in verse to a monotonous accompaniment on the two-stringed lute. Among these public entertainers there exists a system of organised applause. Two or three men or boys (very often themselves entertainers taking an interval) sit down at a distance of some ten yards facing the story-teller, and, throughout the entertainment, ejaculate at fixed intervals (as it were punctuating the commas and full stops in the story) such words as hakkan, “of a truth,” and khūsh, “bravo,” etc.
At the close of every recitation they are warned that “Amin” must be said, and in pronouncing it they place their hands with fingers clasped beneath the chin. Then follows a collection, and as the tiny brass coin rain into the performer’s cap he acknowledges the generosity of each giver by a nicely graduated meed of thanks.
The legends of Samarkand which these performers have at their finger-ends are very curious. The popular hero is a Bokhāran Amīr named `Abdullah, who is credited with most of the ancient buildings of the provinces. Once, so the story goes, he marched against this city with a great army, to crush a rebellious governor, but was foiled by its triple ramparts. He sat down before it and waited in vain for the surrender. At last his troops began to suffer the pangs of hunger; and the Amīr himself found provisions running short. One evening, while wandering incognito in the suburbs, he came upon an old woman preparing her evening porridge, which smelt so good that the Amīr cast his dignity to the winds and begged permission to share the repast. It was granted, but his impatience did not permit him to wait till the smoking mess was properly served. He thrust a spoon into the pot and conveyed the contents to his mouth, burning that sensitive organ severely. His hostess roared with laughter at his grimaces, and said: “Now thou resemblest `Abdullah! Hadst thou taken the porridge from the edge of the dish, thou wouldst not have suffered thus. So, if our Amīr had begun by closely investing Samarkand, and allowed the citizens’ passions to be cooled by hunger, he would not have burnt his fingers as he has done.” The sovereign took the jest to heart, and starved out the rebels. In gratitude to his monitress, he bestowed on her a strip of land on either bank of the Ak Daryā in fee simple.