House & Garden 
not strew his apartments with them, at once 
confusing his thought and tempting their 
destruction. 
In the walls of every Persian house of 
any pretension are deep niches, usually 
arched after the manner of the mihrab , or 
prayer arch. In these are shelves, hidden 
from view by a silk or very fine wool rug, 
or a piece of the old, beautiful and incredi¬ 
bly fine embroidery, which is now hardly to 
be had for love or monev. The.se are his 
cabinets. Here are his treasures, the subtle 
carvings of Ispahan, the silver repousse of 
Shiraz, the blue ware and reflet m'etallique of 
centuries ago. They are for his delectation, 
not to impress visitors with the multitude of 
his possessions. In his worship he has the 
habit of the Japanese, who never gloats be¬ 
fore a cupboard full of vases, but passes an 
hour in silent contemplation of one, then 
restores it to its place and goes about his 
more material business. 
All this has only an indirect relation with 
the rug. It may not improperly be added, 
however, that curios of the sort referred to 
are growing more and more unusual in 
Persia, that is, in the bazaars and for sale 
generally. The Russians, who are the most 
avid of collectors, have taught the value of 
such things to the Persians; and besides 
having effected good collections for them¬ 
selves, have been instrumental in the general 
gathering of them for shipment and sale in 
Europe. Most of the table-ware now used 
in Persia is either of metal or of the coarse 
modern pottery, but up to a dozen years 
ago there were plenty of Persian families 
that took their food from dishes of vast 
worth, hundreds of years old, without any 
accurate idea of their value. The trade col¬ 
lectors are most unblushing in their pursuit 
of good things in ware, as they are latterly 
in the quest of all sorts of rugs. It is not 
unusual for a buyer to invade the dwelling 
of a Persian gentleman and bid for his 
dishes or the rugs on his floors or walls. 
The wretched part of it is that very often he 
gets them. Persia is being stripped with all 
the rapidity possible. 
The average Persian, unless he be inter¬ 
ested in a trade way, has no passion for 
things solely because they are old. 1 n buying 
a rug he will not buy an antique, any more 
than an American of means would buy a 
second-hand Wilton or a cast-off' suit of 
clothes. He selects a new rug, and ages it 
by use, as his grandfather did. The trouble 
is that for the most part the rugs now made 
in Persia are in no respect the equals of 
those of three or four generations ago, and 
their old age will display little, if any, of the 
mellow charm that marks the old bits now 
passing, or for that matter, already passed. 
The Persian does not seem to care. He 
believes in the bird in the hand, and besides 
is even now beginning to incline toward the 
Western carpet in preference to his own. 
In most of the districts where the best of 
old-time weaving was done the industry is 
organized, usually with European backing, 
and carpets of enormous size are made. 
The Western demand for these is much 
greater than the supply, and the weavers, 
while despising the quality of their work, are 
content in its profit. Appreciating the de¬ 
sirability of old colors, they have taken to 
fading the rugs artificially, and a great share 
of those shipped in their natural colors are 
“treated” after arriving in this country. 
A PERSIAN INTERIOR 
For the “washed” Kerman and Tabriz rugs 
there is now an enormous demand, which 
no rug dealer can afford to neglect. 
The heavy carpets of Herez—known as 
Gorevans and Serapis—are popular now in 
Persia. The Kurds also have taken to 
weaving big carpets. These are all in bold, 
pronounced designs. Meanwhile, the Per¬ 
sian of real refinement cherishes the soft, 
old-time Khorassan kalin and the heavy, 
lustrous sedjadeh and “runners” made by 
the Kurds in the mountains of the Zagros 
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