Persian Art: Image-making in Eurasia 9781474469685

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PERSIAN ART

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PERSIAN ART Image-making in Eurasia

Edited by Yuka Kadoi

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Edinburgh University Press is one of the leading university presses in the UK. We publish academic books and journals in our selected subject areas across the humanities and social sciences, combining cutting-edge scholarship with high editorial and production values to produce academic works of lasting importance. For more information visit our website: edinburghuniversitypress.com © editorial matter and organisation Yuka Kadoi, 2018 © the chapters their several authors, 2018 Edinburgh University Press Ltd The Tun – Holyrood Road 12 (2f) Jackson’s Entry Edinburgh EH8 8PJ Typeset in Trump Mediaeval by Servis Filmsetting Ltd, Stockport, Cheshire, and printed and bound in Slovenia at Svet Print d.o.o. by arrangement with Associated Agencies Ltd Oxford A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 978 1 4744 1115 8 (hardback) The right of the contributors to be identified as authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 and the Copyright and Related Rights Regulations 2003 (SI No. 2498). Published with the assistance of a grant from the Iran Heritage Foundation.

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Contents

List of Figures vii Abbreviations x Preface and Acknowledgements xi Note to the Reader xiii CHAPTER 1  The Visual Culture of Greater Iran: Some Examples of Kushano-Sasanian Art Judith A. Lerner

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CHAPTER 2  The Late Sasanian Figurative Capitals at Taq-i Bustan: Proposals Regarding Identification and Origins Matteo Compareti

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CHAPTER 3  Architecture of the Wider Persian World: from Central Asia to Western Anatolia in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries Richard Piran McClary

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CHAPTER 4  From Acquisition to Display: the Reception of Chinese Ceramics in the Pre-modern Persian World Yuka Kadoi

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CHAPTER 5  Devotion and Protection: Four Amuletic Scrolls from Safavid Persia 78 Tobias Nünlist CHAPTER 6  The Minarets of Hurmuzgan Iván Szántó CHAPTER 7  Persian, Indian or Indo-Persian? The Study of Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-century Knotted Pile Carpets Raquel Santos

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CHAPTER 8  The Calligraphic Art of Mishkin Qalam Francesco Stermotich-Cappellari

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CHAPTER 9  The Kashan Mihrab in Berlin: a Historiography of Persian Lustreware 157 Markus Ritter List of the Contributors 179 Index 181

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Figures

1.1  1.2 1.3 1.4 1.5 1.6 1.7

Relief of the king’s horse at Rag-i Bibi, Afghanistan 3 Painting in cave at Ghulbiyan, Afghanistan 5 Silver-gilt plate with investiture and banquet scenes 6 Silver-gilt plate with Shapur II hunting boars 8 Silver-gilt plate with Warahran hunting boars 9 Silver-gilt plate with hunting scene 12 Copper-gilt plate with horseman hunting lions, Mes Aynak, Afghanistan 13 2.1 The site of Taq-i Bustan after renovation 22 2.2 Stone relief fragment on the bank of the pool at Taq-i Bustan 22 2.3 Figurative capital kept in the garden of Chehel Sotun Palace, Isfahan; drawing of an inscribed gold coin of Khusro II 23 2.4 Sketch of the rock reliefs Taq-i Bustan III; Taq-i Bustan IV 23 2.5 Figurative capital from Kermanshah: Sasanian king 27 2.6 Figurative capital from Kermanshah: Zoroastrian deity 27 2.7 Photo of a figurative capital from Bisutun taken in the park at Taq-i Bustan 27 2.8 Third-century ce Roman column capitals reused in the medieval church of Santi Felice and Regolo, Pisa 28 3.1 Qarakhanid Minaret, Uzgend; Burana Minaret, Balasagun 38 3.2 Tepsi Minaret, Erzurum; Harput Great Mosque Minaret 39 3.3 Tepsi Minaret, Erzurum; damaged area to right of clock face on upper shaft 43 3.4 EÌri Minaret, Aksaray; Yivli minaret, Antalya; Kesik Minare Mosque Minaret, Aksaray 44 3.5 Kesik Minare Mosque Minaret, Aksaray; balcony detail 48 3.6 Bekar Sultan Tomb, GülaÌaç; Selime Sultan Tomb, Selime 50 3.7 Selime Sultan Tomb portal moulded tile detail 52 3.8 Selime Sultan Tomb portal cross-section 53 3.9 Ferruh S¸ah Mescidi and Kileci Mescidi window spandrels, Ak∞ehir 54

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4.1 Bowl, stonepaste, blue and black painted under transparent glaze, Iran, 779 (1377)   63 4.2 A Garden Feast at the Court of Sultan Husayn Mirza, double-page from the Bustan of Sadi, Herat, 893 (1488) 66 4.3 Porcelain ‘moon flask’ with birds and flowering branches, China, Ming dynasty (Yongle period, 1403–24) 67 4.4 The chinikhana, the Shrine Complex of Shaykh Safi al-Din, Ardabil 68 4.5 The mihrab at the Masjid al-Qasr, Manal, Samail province, Oman 70 4.6 The chinikhana, 1897 72 5.1 Fondation Martin Bodmer, Cologny, frontispiece 81 5.2 Fondation Martin Bodmer, Cologny, square (wafq) with 3 × 3 cells containing several of God’s Beautiful Names written diagonally in black and red ink 82 5.3 Fondation Martin Bodmer, Cologny, rectangular cartouche quoting the beginning of the Throne Verse (Sura 2: 255) 82 5.4 Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin – Preußischer Kulturbesitz – Orientabteilung, cartouche alluding to the concept of tawakkul (trust in God) 86 5.5 Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin – Preußischer Kulturbesitz – Orientabteilung, rectangular cartouche containing Sura 2: 137 (end) copied in golden letters on a bluish background 86 5.6 The Chester Beatty Library, Dublin, decorative frontispiece 91 5.7 The Chester Beatty Library, Dublin, fourfold mention of Ali in golden letters 91 6.1 Jan Baptist Weenix: The Dutch Ambassador on his Way to Isfahan 106 6.2 General view of the Friday Mosque of Bardistan, Bushehr province, Iran 107 6.3 Friday Mosque of Bardistan, elevation of façade 108 6.4 Minaret of the Malik b. Abbas Mosque, Bandar Linga, Hurmuzgan province, Iran 109 6.5 Malik b. Abbas Mosque, section 110 7.1 ‘Vine Scroll’ carpet, with unidentified coats of arms, Iran, early seventeenth century 118 7.2 Single quarter plan of ‘Vine Scroll with Central Void and Clouds’ carpet, Iran, seventeenth century 126 7.3 Scheme for single quarter design belonging to ‘Vine scroll with Central Void and Clouds’ carpet, Iran, seventeenth century 126 8.1 Mishkin Qalam: The Name of Baha-Allah in the Form of a Rooster, Palestine, 1887–8 134 8.2 Mishkin Qalam: Husayn ‘Ali waw, Palestine, nineteenth century 140 8.3 Mishkin Qalam: Bismi’llah al-bahiyyu al-abha, Palestine, nineteenth century 141 8.4 Mishkin Qalam: Ya baha al-abha, Palestine, nineteenth century 142

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8.5 Mishkin Qalam: Two Roosters with Tree of Life, Palestine, 1889–90 146 9.1 The lustre mihrab in situ in the Masjid-i Imad al-Din at Kashan in 1881 158 9.2 Lustre mihrab from Kashan, before restoration tiles assembled 161 9.3 Lustre mihrab from Kashan, after first restoration 162 9.4 Lustre mihrab from Kashan, after second restoration 163 9.5 Advertisement of the London exhibition in American Art News 163 9.6 Lustre mihrab from Kashan, present state, signed by al-Hasan ibn Arabshah and dated 663 (1226) 168 9.7 Front cover of Islamic Art and Architecture 650–1250 171 9.8 The Kashan lustre mihrab in the present exhibition of the Museum of Islamic Art, Berlin 172 9.9 Copy of the Kashan lustre mihrab by Abbas Akbari   173

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Abbreviations

EIr EI2 EI3 SPA

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Encyclopeadia Iranica Encyclopeadia of Islam, second edition Encyclopeadia of Islam, third edition Arthur Upham Pope and Phyllis Ackerman (eds), A Survey of Persian Art from Prehistoric Times to the Present, 6 vols, London and New York 1938–9; repr. 16 vols, Ashiya, 1981.

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Preface and Acknowledgements

This volume is a selection of the papers given to the International Conference held at the University of Edinburgh in October 2014, entitled ‘The Visual World of Persianate Culture’. As one of the organisers, I would like to express my foremost thanks to the Iran Heritage Foundation for its generous financial support for the organisation of the conference as well as for the publication of the current volume. My thanks also go to the contributors who not only delivered papers at the conference but also agreed to revise their papers into the volume chapters: Judith A. Lerner, Matteo Compareti, Richard Piran McClary, Tobias Nünlist, Iván Szántó and Francesco Stermotich-Cappellari. I also would like to thank Raquel Santos and Markus Ritter who generously contributed their essays to the volume. In addition to the aforementioned contributors, the following individuals provided valuable advice on various matters and answered numerous queries: Alireza Anisi, Nasrin Askari, Sandra Aube, Salma Samar Damluji, Joachim Gierlichs, In-Sung Kim Han, Thorsten Hanke, Roy Mottahedeh and Céline Ollagnier. Finally, I would like to thank the editorial staff members of the Edinburgh University Press for their patience and guidance throughout the publication process: Nicola Ramsey, Eddie Clark, Ellie Bush, Emma Rees and Ersev Ersoy. In this illustrated volume, nine contributors explore multifaceted aspects of art, architecture and material culture of the Persian cultural realm, encompassing West Asia, Anatolia, Central Asia and South Asia. Each article examines the historical, religious or scientific role of visual culture in the shaping, influencing and transforming of distinctive ‘Persian’ aesthetics across the various historical periods, ranging from pre-Islamic, medieval/early modern Islamic to modern times. An immensely rich visual culture has always existed in modern-day Iran and the surrounding regions from late antiquity, often shaped by encounters with different zones of contact and patronised by ruling elites and dynasties with a myriad of artistic and cultural traditions, needs and agendas. The volume consists of nine chronologically structured chapters: the first two chapters look at Sasanian visual culture from different perspectives: Lerner examines Sasanian material culture in Greater Iranian contexts, encompassing the territory of the Kushan kingdom and Bactria in Central Asia, while Compareti

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considers a distinctive feature of Sasanian architecture as a shared culture along the Mediterranean. The following two chapters explore medieval and postmedieval Persian visual culture across trans-regional contact zones: McClary discusses the building technological interaction between Anatolia and West Asia, while Kadoi looks at the culture of ceramics in the wider Persian cultural realm, encompassing Central Asia and East Asia. The chapters are followed by four additional contributions dealing with aspects of early modern visual culture of the Persian world: Nünlist analyses the scientific dimension of Safavid visual art; Szántó considers the architectural tradition of the Persian Gulf; Santos readdresses Indo-Persian carpets from the viewpoint of Perso-Portuguese cultural dialogues; and Stermotich-Cappellari reappraises the work of a Bahai calligrapher. The final chapter by Ritter discusses the history and historiography of Persian lustre. Although this volume does not intend to provide a comprehensive history of Persian art – spanning a thousand years across wide swathes of Eurasia, it is hoped that this publication will awake a fresh scholarly interest in the rich visual and material culture of the Persian world and stimulate a further investigating into the image-making process as to what is still widely known as ‘Persian Art’. Yuka Kadoi South Queensferry, 2017

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Note to the Reader

As in many edited volumes with diverse topics and multilingual sources, each contributor has been encouraged to observe stylistic consistency within his/her own chapter, while vigorous copy-editing endeavours could serve to minimise, if not completely erase, stylistic variations throughout the current volume. In general, the use of diacritical marks for Arabic, Persian and Turkish words or names are kept to a minimum for the sake of simplicity, with the exception of some technical terms that are indicated in italics. Vowels are transcribed according to the standard Romanisation of Persian, although there are minor variations among chapters regarding the transliteration of Persian or other non-English terms. Unless necessary, Hijri (Islamic lunar) dates are not given. Some biographical dates of individuals are not given, due to lack of information at the time of editing the current volume. In the bibliography and footnotes, some contributions prefer to follow the spellings of authors’ names as they were originally published; others prefer to spell such names correctly. The volume opts for the UK spellings, but some citations and bibliographical references follow the US spellings, as they were originally published. Throughout the volume, the term ‘Persia’ is extensively used, since the current volume is much concerned with the time before 1935, when the country name ‘Iran’ was not internationally recognised. However, both terms are interchangeably used, depending on the context.

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CHAPTER 1

The Visual Culture of Greater Iran: Some Examples of Kushano-Sasanian Art Judith A. Lerner

One of the complexities in the history of art produced in Persianate lands is that of the Kushano-Sasanian period – that is, the art created during the third and fourth centuries in the region east of the Sasanian Persian heartland in territory formerly ruled by the Kushans. This region encompasses present-day northern Afghanistan, and extends across the Amu Darya (Oxus river) into southern Uzbekistan and Tajikistan. In antiquity the territory south of the Oxus up to the northern slopes of the Hindu Kush was known as Bactria, while the region across the river is generally termed Tokharistan. ‘Kushano-Sasanian’ is a modern scholarly term for the period when Bactria was governed by a series of rulers who may have been viceroys of the Sasanian crown, a client dynasty of the Sasanians, or a cadet branch of the Sasanian royal house.1 Governing as Kushanshah (Kushan King or King of the Kushans) they succeeded Bactria’s previous rulers, the Kushans, who in the second century BCE had moved west into Central Asia, conquering Bactria/Tocharistan, eventually Gandhara (north-west Pakistan) and then further south into the Indian subcontinent (northern India). The Kushano-Sasanian period begins after the founding of the Sasanian dynasty in 224 ce with the establishment of some form of Sasanian rule or hegemony over the Kushans’ Bactrian lands and eventually the lands south of the Hindu Kush; it ends with the arrival into the area of nomadic (Hunnic) groups in the second half of the fourth century.2 Different elements of these tribal people seemed to have gained dominance and ruled different parts of the region at different times until the then-dominant group, the Hephthalites, was defeated in the mid-sixth century by a coalition of Sasanians and a new entity in the region, the Western Turks. The former Hephthalite lands in Bactria dissolved into local principalities, some under the rule of the Sasanians, some under that of the Turks, although the Turks increasingly gained power both north and south of the Hindu Kush. By the early seventh century the Sasanians had ceded their remaining lands to the Western Turks, their former allies. Like Sasanian Persia, Bactria was an Iranian land. Its language was an Eastern Middle Iranian one, written in a cursive Greek script derived from the Greek that served as the administrative language by Alexander the Great and his successors,

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the Greco-Bactrian kings. Bactrian became the official language of the Kushans, and, despite the change to some form of Sasanian control, Bactrian and its Greekderived script remained the common administrative and written language of the region until the Muslim conquest.3 The Iranian Art of the Kushano-Sasanian Realm Bactria/Tokharistan’s location accounts for much of this history and its visual culture: it is a crossroads for different peoples, and hence for different religious and artistic traditions. Shaping its art are, to varying degrees, the cultural currents that have coursed through the region: its Hellenistic and nomadic heritage, the art of Sasanian Iran, and its openness to Roman as well as Indian iconographies and forms. Thus, the date of the paintings from the Buddhist monastery at Fayaz Tepe, near Termez on the northern bank of the Amu Darya, in southern Uzbekistan, are now thought to extend into the Kushano-Sasanian period, some of its murals containing iconographic elements that suggest a date in the third and fourth centuries and even later.4 Similarly, the neighbouring Buddhist sites of Kara Tepe and Zar Tepe suggest some continuity, if not an artistic flourishing during this time.5 In northern Afghanistan, paintings in the temple excavated at Dilberjin Tepe, near Balkh, date from several centuries, most likely the third well into the sixth. With its images of the Dioscuroi and of Shiva and Parvati (Umåmaheªvara), the temple is a prime example of the religious and iconographic eclecticism that characterises the art of Bactria/Tokharistan across several centuries.6 Unexcavated but most likely from a temple in Afghanistan are a number of terracotta panels, each painted with the standing figure of a deity approached by a votary; most are in private collections in Japan and elsewhere, although four are in the Metropolitan Museum (New York).7 The deities depicted on these panels reflect the eclecticism of religious beliefs among the worshippers: a Greco-Ptolemaic–Zoroastrian Zeus/ Sarapis/Ahura Mazda (Ohrmazd); the Kushan Pharro, personification of the Royal Glory; and two different versions of the Indian Shiva or Kushan Oesho – both four-armed. These examples, drawing on Indian, Buddhist and Kushan imagery and style, represent one of the many threads in the rich visual tapestry that existed in the Kushano-Sasanian period. In this essay, I focus on the art of the period that can be more closely associated with iconography and style of the Iranian world, albeit tempered by Bactria’s Greek heritage and influences from the Roman/Late Antique world: sculpture, painting, metalwork and glyptics. This is a work-in-progress as I intend to explore and define more fully the visual culture of the KushanoSasanian period as well as that of the succeeding Hunnic one, encompassing Kidarite, Alkhan and Hephthalite rule. Indeed, some of the artistic hallmarks of the Kushano-Sasanian period reverberate across the centuries of these successive ruling groups, even into Islamic times. For brevity’s sake, I discuss here the two known examples of monumental art – one sculpted, the other painted – a group of

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painted tiles, and a few objects of metalwork; I have treated elsewhere the distinctive glyptic art of the period, although there is (and will be) more to say about it.8 The Rock Relief at Rag-i Bibi Whatever the actual nature of Sasanian control in Bactria, to mark Sasanian dominance in the region and its extension into the Indian subcontinent, the second king of the dynasty, Shapur I (r. 241–72), ordered the rock relief at Rag-i Bibi, near the village of Shamarq, in Baghlan province, northern Afghanistan (Figure 1.1).9 Brought to the attention of scholars in the West only in 2004, and published in 2005, it is the only Sasanian rock carving so far known in the eastern part of the Sasanian empire, that is, within the Indo-Iranian borderlands. The relief depicts a hunting expedition led by the king, accompanied by the court. Some are in Kushan dress, identified by their long tunics and the characteristic cascading folds of their long baggy trousers. Although the lead horseman is missing, the top of his crown remains, indicating his royal status. The hunt takes place amid mango trees, and the animal the king hunts is a rhinoceros, represented twice – once alive and then dead or dying – as are the prey shown on many of the silver hunting plates made in the Sasanian heartland and

Figure 1.1  Relief of the king’s horse at Rag-i Bibi, Afghanistan. Image courtesy of Frantz Grenet.

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in its provincial centres.10 Such flora and fauna indicate a region beyond Iran and even Afghanistan, namely the plain of Peshawar, so mentioned in Shapur I’s trilingual inscription, carved on the walls of the 700-year-old Achaemenid structure known as the Kaba-i Zardusht, at Naqsh-i Rustam in Fars province. Among his many conquests Shapur I claims the lands to the east of Persian territory, such as Herat and ‘the Kushanshahr as far as Peshawar’.11 Prudence O. Harper has observed that the distinctive elements of this relief, such as the landscape elements, the complex movement of men and horses, and their animal quarry, ‘share on a much grander scale features characteristic of the east Iranian silver vessels’,12 that is, the prestigious metalwork fashioned in this region that much of the remainder of this essay will discuss. Two Examples of Kushano-Sasanian Painting Closely associated with the iconography of the Iranian world is the mural near the village of Ghulbiyan (Faryab province), in a remote area of north-western Afghanistan (Figure 1.2). Painted on the rear wall of a cave high above the valley floor, the mural was discovered in 1978 and published several times by Jonathan Lee and Frantz Grenet,13 although its poor condition and difficult access prevented more detailed documentation. Nevertheless, photographs and drawings produced by Lee show several figures (numbers 8, 11 and 14) seated in the characteristic frontal open-legged posture of the enthroned Sasanian monarch.14 These individuals are approached by a row of male donors from the left who are led by a larger male figure, perhaps the ruler, and from the right by a row of female donors in smaller scale. The men wear the characteristic loose trousers of the Kushans, Sasanians and other Iranian peoples, topped by belted tunics that end at mid-thigh but dip slightly lower between the legs. As described by Lee, most of the tunics and trousers are ornamented ‘with white dots (beads? pearls? jewels?)’15 or a brocaded pattern; such decoration, of course, recalls the elaborate ornamentation on the clothing of deities, kings and noblemen in Parthian Hatra (over 2,200km to the west) as well as – albeit more restrainedly – some Kushan statues.16 The women appear in plain long gowns and long tunics. Both rows of donors converge on figure 8 in the drawing (Figure 1.2), who, as the largest of the seated deities, is clearly the main recipient of the offerings brought by these votaries. He rests his feet on a footstool, beneath which is a small body of water in which swim four fish. As noted by Grenet, Boris Marshak had identified this figure as the Avestan rain deity, Tishtrya, the Iranian god of the star Sirius; this deity can also be Tir, the god of the planet Mercury, as the two deities were closely associated in pre-Islamic Central Asia.17 By analogy with the siting and general composition of the painting in the later rock-cut complex of Dukhtar-i Nushirwan (also in a similarly remote mountainous location but farther to the east in northern Afghanistan), Grenet – correctly, I believe – identifies Ghulbayan as a ‘mountain sanctuary’.18 An example of otherwise lost secular painting may be the fragmentary remains

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Figure 1.2  Photograph and drawing of painting in cave at Ghulbiyan, Afghanistan. © J. L. Lee 1999.

from the large fortress of Chehel Burj on the Band-i Amir River, Bamiyan province.19 These once extensive and well-executed paintings seem to have depicted narrative and hunting scenes, and included a royal or divine figure wearing ‘a Sasanid-style turban/crown’ with a pair of ‘Sasanid-style fluttering ribbons’. There is no sure evidence, however, that this figure dates from Sasanian or KushanoSasanian times as it and the other scenes described could well be centuries later,

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Figure 1.3  Silver-gilt plate with investiture and banquet scenes, British Museum, London, 124093. Image © Trustees of the British Museum.

using artistic conventions – especially for royal and divine figures – that are Sasanian in origin. Metalwork A sizable corpus of gilt silver vessels exists that differs from that which Harper attributes to ‘Sasanian court centers in Iran and Mesopotamia’. Although this corpus shares some iconographic, if not stylistic, features with silver produced in workshops affiliated with the Sasanian court centres, much of it reveals in its subject matter, spatial organisation, and style the influence of the classical, that is, both Hellenistic and Roman, worlds. This is not surprising, of course, given the Greek settlements in Bactria that imported goods from the West and produced works with Western subject matter and in Western style, as well as the renewal of Western elements through Roman wares obtained through trade. The pairing of West and East is most obvious in the shallow silver plate with investiture scenes, acquired in Rawalpindi, Pakistan, and in the British Museum since 1897 (Figure 1.3).20 The central roundel contains two investitures in two registers and is surrounded by a band (half of which is now missing) decorated with banqueters and others wearing Sasanian garb. The figures, which must have been

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in high relief with elements such as faces and other body parts added separately and now missing, are now badly worn, thereby denying us any identifying detail of dress or insignia. The male figure in the upper register of the roundel sits in the spread-knee pose of the ruler on a broad platform or takht supported by griffin-shaped legs. Wearing what may be pantaloons tucked into boots, he appears bareheaded with his shoulder-length hair in bunches and a long horizontally striated double ribbon falling down his back; although the details of his face are missing, the length of his head suggests that he had a long rounded beard. With his left hand he holds a long sword between his legs, and with his right reaches across his body to present a ring to the figure standing to his left. This personage appears to have a pointed beard and be bareheaded. He is dressed in what may be high boots and a long tunic with a sword attached at his left hip. He extends his right hand, opened to grasp the ring. Above him, a small naked putto flies toward him bearing an open diadem. The ground line on which the figures stand also supports a small tree with triple-lobed leaves. The area below this line is occupied by another seated and beribboned figure, in this case shown in three-quarter view and holding a stave or spear in his (or her) left hand. This figure is turned to one on the right, dressed identically as the figure directly above, but with long fluttering ribbons in contrast to the completely straight ones of the two seated figures. In his left hand the standing figure grasps a bow, while in his right a ribboned ring, which he may be giving to or receiving from the seated personage – although unlike all known investiture scenes, the seated figure does not reach out to accept (or bestow) the ribboned ring. The tunics worn by the two standing figures provide a fourth-century date: their curved hems resemble those of Ardashir II (r. 379–83) and Shapur III (r. 383–8) with Shapur II in their reliefs at Taq-i Bustan.21 The coupling of the two central scenes is unusual. The lower one, apparently depicting somewhat less important figures,22 functions as an exergue, a convention well known from Roman coins and metalwork, but virtually absent from Sasanian and Central Asian metalwork.23 As already noted, the border depicts a row of banqueters, the main figure, shown at three o’clock, thereby spanning the two registers of the central medallion. He reclines on his left side, his left leg tucked beneath his right, and in his left hand holds what would have been a cup; in his raised right he holds a flower with three petals. To judge by their postures and what remains of their dress, the participants in this banquet are two men, seated to the left of the main banqueter, and three women, seated to his right; a caped figure stands to the left of the women (at nine o’clock), followed by a running child, while behind him stands a figure with a long horn to his lips. That other musicians followed this figure is speculation; indeed, he may be alone, serving as a herald, for the upcoming banquet, which we then see taking place. Thus, the plate may represent some narrative, its beginning or end marked by the tree at six o’clock. Other features such as the naturalistic trees, identified by Harper as a variation of the laurel, and more naturalistic than vegeta-

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Figure 1.4  Silver-gilt plate with Shapur II hunting boars, Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC, no. 34.23. After Harper 1981, pl. 15.

tion on Sasanian works, represent additional evidence for Roman and Late Antique influence in this particular plate,24 which may be dated to the fourth century. As demonstrated by the plate just discussed, recognisable distinctions exist between productions of workshops within the Sasanian state and those manufactured in borderland regions, such as Bactria.25 In noting the differences between Sasanian and Kushano-Sasanian metalwork, we have seen that treatment of the spatial field and of the figures are useful criteria. These differences are especially apparent in two other plates, each showing a royal or noble horseman engaged in hunting boar. One depicts the Sasanian Shapur II, identified by his crenelated crown with striated globe, as he pursues a fleeing boar while another lies beneath his horse (Figure 1.4).26 The other shows a Kushanshah striking a charging boar with his sword as a second one emerges from the reeds (Figure 1.5). This viceroy, princeling or ruler of the former Kushan lands, is to be identified as Warahran, who wears a ram’s horn crown on his coins.27 The Shapur plate presents an emblematic and timeless image: only the royal hunter and his prey appear within the circular frame; although the dead boar beneath Shapur’s horse might depict the outcome of this hunt, in the absence of any other elements in the field, Shapur’s actions more likely are meant to occur in an eternal time and place.

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Figure 1.5  Silver-gilt plate with Warahran hunting boars, State Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg, S24. After Harper 1981, pl. 23.

A wholly different sensibility characterises the Kushano-Sasanian plate: its composition and action are marked by their specificity. The hunt occurs amid the reeds and water of the boars’ habitat, with the horse and its noble rider caught in a moment of danger. The triangular composition of rearing horse–rider–boar is a marked departure from other hunting plates, and the action of the horseman and his horse are depicted with an immediacy that provides dynamism to the composition. As Warahran brings down his sword on one boar, another bursts into the scene. By showing only this second boar’s forepart, the artist makes us complete this boar’s form and extends the scene beyond the confines of the plate’s circular field. This is a Greek and Roman device that expands the implied landscape and creates a sense of space; as Harper observes, boars emerging from behind a thicket of reeds is ‘widespread and ancient’;28 the motif occurs in such disparate art forms as Achaemenid glyptics and Roman silverwork. Further enlivening the scene is the reaction of the rider and his mount to the boar’s intrusion. Startled, Warahran’s horse rears back, turning its head to its right so that it appears in almost three-quarter view; such movement adds greater corporeality and depth to the animal and to the entire scene. To remain in his saddle, Warahran grabs his horse’s neck and sharply bends his legs back against

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the animal’s body. This position for a rider’s leg is rare among the known hunting plates. The only other example is a plate in Berlin,29 which Harper considers late and manufactured somewhere beyond the centre of the Sasanian realm.30 We will, however, encounter on other plates a boar hunter with his leg bent back in this manner – except that the hunter is on foot. Almost of equal interest to the action on the front of the plate is the fifthcentury Sogdian inscription on its back. Engraved perhaps a century after the plate was made, it names its Sogdian owner and gives the object’s weight. To the right of the inscription is a tamga, similar to that on the fourth- and fifth-century coins of the rulers of Chach (present-day Tashkent). These elements further suggest that the plate was manufactured in Kushano-Sasanian territory. Probably not made later than the fourth century, it was subsequently transported as an item of trade or booty across the Oxus and into Sogdiana. A similar boar-spearing scene – but performed on foot and without identifying headgear – decorates a plate excavated in an elite’s tomb in northern China.31 Now three boars attack the hunter who turns his head from the pair on his right to stave off the charge from the third boar, using a strategically placed foot on the animal’s snout. This is the backward bent-leg position of the mounted Warahran in Figure 1.5. The tomb dates to the beginning of the sixth century, but the style of the plate suggests to Harper the late third, although she observes that the type continued to be made into the fourth century. Indeed, a plate acquired on the Kabul market in the 1980s, and now in the Shelby White and Leon Levy Collection, shows a similar scene.32 Spearing the boar as it leaps from the right into the circular field, the hunter, clothed in the tunic with apron-like hem (previously noted as a style of the fourth century), turns his head towards a second boar that emerges from the left edge of the plate, and lifts his right foot back to stave off the animal’s advance. The elegant backward kick performed by these hunters suggests to Harper a scene from ‘some particular epic or heroic feat rather than a standard royal hunt’.33 She notes the survival in Bactria of Greek literary works and tales from Greek settlers under Alexander and his Seleucid successors along with eastern Iranian heroic tales of great hunters, some of which are reflected in wall paintings at seventh- to eighth-century Sogdian Panjikent as well as recounted in the Persian national epic, the Shahnama. The reverse of the White–Levy plate is inscribed with its weight in Pahlavi writing and the name of the owner in Bactrian, suggesting that it was produced within Sasanian Iran where its weight was inscribed and then made its way to Bactria where it received its Bactrian owner’s name, Tudak; however, as Nicholas Sims-Williams suggests, ‘it is not impossible to understand the … lines as a single inscription consisting of the two parts commonly found in inscriptions on Sasanian vessels, a statement of ownership (in this case, written in Bactrian) and a statement of weight (in Pahlavi)’34 or that was produced in Bactria itself where weights of objects could have followed Sasanian metrological conventions.35 In contrast to the boar hunter on the Datong plate, the hunter on the Kabul plate wears a crown, but it cannot be identified with that of any known ruler.

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Although Grenet considered it Ardashir II’s, the cap below the typical Sasanian cloth-covered globe does not follow the shape of the skull but is fuller and decorated by gadroons. Three identical crowns are worn by the three mounted hunters, each chasing three different species of animals, on the exterior of a gilded silver bowl in the David Collection, Copenhagen.36 These horsemen likely represent a single royal hunter, as all three wear the low flat crown decorated with fluting and topped by a small globe that is unique to Shapur III. Within the corpus of Sasanian and Kushano-Sasanian silver, this bowl is unusual. As recognised by Harper, its sharply angled high walls set on a low foot ring is an Imperial Roman shape and, unlike much of the known corpus, seems to have been actually used rather than intended for display.37 Like the other silverwork discussed, the large plate with hunting scene illustrated in Figure 1.6 exhibits a very different sensibility from canonical Sasanian hunting plates. It is also distinct from the Kushano-Sasanian metalwork so far cited for it shows a row of galloping horsemen chasing prey around a central medallion that encloses a hunter on foot who spears a boar in the usual reedy terrain.38 Rare in Iranian art, but common in works to the west, is the use of a ground line. In contrast to the horizontal line upon which the investiture in Figure 1.3 is set, the slightly uneven line here does not serve to separate two events, but suggests the actual ground upon which the hunter spears his prey. The triangle formed by the line from the hunter’s right leg to his cap and the contrasting downward thrust of his spear into the crouching boar recalls the composition of the Hermitage hunting plate that featured the ram’s horn crowned rider. The loose leggings, belted tunics and capes, characteristic of Sasanian male dress of the third and fourth century, help date the object, as does the hat worn by the standing hunter and the rider directly above him (perhaps the same person). It is the so-called Parthian kulaf, a cap trimmed with pearls, the top of which flops forward; it is found on a number of the so-called Sasanian ‘portrait seals’ of the third and fourth centuries, after which time it disappears.39 Indeed, the plate is early in the increasingly large group of silverwork that can be termed ‘KushanoSasanian,’ or, if not produced in former Kushan territory, fashioned in some centre of the eastern part of Iran, such as Merv. As read and interpreted by P. Oktor Skjaervø, the Middle Persian inscription on the back of the plate names the owner, his father and grandfather, this last (if the same personage) mentioned in Shapur I’s ŠKZ of 260 ce.40 The ground line is not the only feature canonically non-Sasanian: the entire organisation of space is unlike that on any other Sasanian metalwork. Such spatial treatment and subject matter brings to mind a silver bowl, said to have been found by the Swat river, its exterior ringed by four mounted hunters at high gallop around a central medallion at its base, which is occupied by a profile male bust encircled by foliated scrolls.41 Two of the riders wear crowns, both similar to those found on coins issued in

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Figure 1.6  Silver-gilt plate with hunting scene, LNS 1623M. Image © The al-Sabah Collection, Dar al-Athar al-Islamiyyah, Kuwait.

the name of a Peroz when Bactria and then Gandhara fall under Kidarite rule in the second half of the fourth century.42 Another rider – seen to the left – is bareheaded, his skull flattened at the back and forehead. Such cranial modification is a hallmark of another Hunnic group, known from their coins as Alkhan, who moved into Bactria as well as Gandhara, replacing the Kidarites.43 The fourth horseman is bareheaded and may be the individual depicted in the medallion, his high status communicated by the vegetal base that supports his bust.44 It is most likely that the four horsemen on the bowl represent the different Hunnic groups that infiltrated Bactria in the second half of the fourth century, eventually ending KushanoSasanian rule.45 At this point, with the takeover of existing mints first by the Kidarites and then by other groups, the Kushano-Sasanian period ends. But many Sasanian and Kushano-Sasanian artistic and iconographic conventions continue – an example being the leafy base upon which rests the bust on base of the Swat bowl. Conclusion Further study and analysis are required to document and understand the visual culture of Kushano-Sasanian Bactria/Tokharistan, especially in light of the region’s poorly documented archaeological and historical remains.46 The salvage

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Figure 1.7  Copper-gilt plate with horseman hunting lions, Mes Aynak, Afghanistan. Image © Simon Norfolk.

excavations at the vast ancient copper mining and Buddhist site of Mes Aynak, 40km south-east of Kabul, in Logar province, hold promise if enough time and care can be allowed. In addition to the abundant Buddhist sculpture, painting and architecture so far discovered there, two fragmentary plates have been found, attributable to the Kushano-Sasanian period by style and iconography: a gilded silver plate with the bust of Shapur II,47 and, from Tepe Baba Wali at the site, a gilded copper plate with a hunting scene (Figure 1.7).48 Both merit in-depth study, which I intend to do in a monograph on such finds. For now, given my discussion of hunting plates, I focus on the copper hunting plate: a princely figure gallops to the left to escape an attacking lioness, but turns in his saddle to thrust his sword into her breast; as he rides away from her, he seems to hold aloft in his left hand what might be a lion cub. Below his fleeing horse lies the lioness’s mate, his mouth open in a snarl, although he could well be dead. At least two shapes resembling arrowheads are incised in the field between the horse and the lion, although the rider does not appear to have a bow. The image of the fleeing hunter turning in his saddle to shoot at an attacking lion while another (or the same) lies beneath his horse is known from two well-known plates, that found in Sari, in northern Iran,49 and one in the Cleveland Museum of Art;50 as a parallel to a lion cub being held aloft by the royal hunter, a plate in the British Museum

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shows the mounted king striking an attacking lion with his sword, as a lioness rears up to save the lion cub that the he holds in his raised hand.51 On the copper plate, the sharp downward arc of the horse’s neck and the rendering of its head from forehead to muzzle recall that of the horse of the boar hunter in Figure 1.5. Other details further relate this Mes Aynak plate to that with the boar hunter: the close rippling of both riders’ trousers; the bands decorated with a row of triangles that serve as the horses’ collars and cruppers. Additional photographs, taken at different angles and with different lighting, may yield further similarities as well as reveal other differences. The upper portion of the Mes Aynak rider’s headdress is a crescent or globe but it is not a Sasanian crown; it is not unlikely, then, that the figure represents a Kushanshah. In addition to his crown he wears a band (diadem?) around his head, although it may rather be the base of a cap or crown. The spiral curls that fall along his neck to his right shoulder are a third- and fourth-century hairstyle. This feature, along with his short, squared-off beard and frontally depicted eye find a close match on a plate excavated near Shemakha, Azerbaijan, on which a mounted hunter shoots at an ibex while riding away from the animal.52 As previously observed, Bactria’s political history and geographic location account in large part for its openness to artistic influences from Sasanian Iran as well as Rome. Additionally, the iconography and stylistic elements of Hellenism remained vibrant from Alexander’s conquest of the region. These characteristics particularly resonate in Bactrian metalwork well into the sixth and seventh centuries. Kushan artistic heritage along with Sasanian iconography and style also reverberate well past the period of Kushano-Sasanian rule. To illustrate the inherent multiple visual patrimonies of the region, I close with the much-published Bactrian silver ewer from the tomb in western China of the Northern Zhou general Li Xian (d. 569) and dated to the fifth or early sixth century, that is, at the very end of Kushano-Sasanian rule in Bactria and the early part of its Hunnic aftermath.53 In its overall shape it is characteristically Sasanian, although in place of the typical spherical thumb piece of the handle is a small male head, a detail known from Roman pitchers as early as the first century ce and from later Byzantine vessels.54 Other features further distinguish the ewer from its Sasanian relatives, which, as both Harper and Marlia Mundell Mango observe, mostly postdate the Bactrian ewer. Instead of the female figures that adorn most Sasanian ewers, three pairs of couples in Greek dress, executed in a distinctly non-Sasanian, classicising provincial style, represent episodes in the story of Paris and Helen of Troy. This appearance of the ancient Greek epic on an ewer manufactured in fifth- or sixth-century Bactria/Tokharistan brings to mind the three silver bowls embellished with scenes from Euripides’ dramas; none has a firm provenance but, judging from their respective styles, all three had been fashioned in Bactria-Tokharistan, at different times over a period of 700 years.55 Just as Li Xian’s ewer and these silver bowls present us with scenes from ancient

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Greek works, they and all the others discussed in this essay are episodes – some individual, others interrelated – in the art history of the Kushano-Sasanian period and its aftermath. It is a story that requires much additional study and more excavated objects to build a consistent history of art from its individual parts.

Notes 1. This chapter is a study-in-progress of the art produced in the Indo-Iranian borderlands following Kushan rule; I plan to treat this enigmatic and tumultuous period, known as KushanoSasanian period elsewhere and much more fully. The thorny question of who exactly were the Kushanshahs and their precise relation to the Sasanian dynasts at different times in this period I leave for now to historians, philologists and numismatists, among whom there are diverse views and disagreement. Thus, the recent works of historians Payne 2014, La Vaissière 2016, and Rezakhani 2016; the philologist Sims-Williams 2008; and the numismatists Schindel 2011; Vondrovec 2014; and Jongeward and Cribb 2015. I also note the earlier work of Carter 1985. I am grateful to Khodadad Rezakhani for letting me read his manuscript prior to publication and for subsequent discussion, and to Étienne de la Vaissière for inviting me to participate in the discussion group on Academia.edu of the draft of his Encyclopaedia Iranica article just cited, which masterfully takes into account varied interpretations. 2. For the mostly now-accepted reconstruction of the ‘Hunnic invasion’ into Bactria, see La Vaissière 2003 [2008]; also La Vaissière 2014. 3. Sims-Williams 2008, 88–9. 4. Lo Muzio 2008 [2012]. 5. Stavisky 1990 [1992]. 6. Lo Muzio 1999; and Lo Muzio 2002 [2003], which provide full bibliography for the Russian excavation of the site. 7. Carter 1997. The four panels she illustrates are now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (2000.42.1–4). 8. See Callieri 2008; Lerner and Sims-Williams 2011. In preparation is a volume on the sealings associated with the Bactrian Documents in the Khalili Collection and in other collections. 9. Some, however, suggest the fourth-century ruler, Shapur II. The relief measures 6m × 4m. For a full discussion, see Grenet 2005 [2006], 115–34; and Grenet, Lee, Martinez, and Ory 2007, esp. 257–67 for the attribution to Shapur I. 10. For Sasanian hunting plates, see Harper 1981. In the rock relief at Sar Mashhad (Fars), Bahram II (r. 276–93) appears on foot slaying an attacking lion, with a second or the same lion lying dead at his feet (Vanden Berghe 1966, pl. 74a). It is of interest that details of the beast and other elements of the Rag-i Bibi sculpture were supplemented by plaster, a technique that may have been used in one of Shapur I’s Roman victory reliefs at Bishapur (often designated as Bishapur II). This is one of Shapur’s last reliefs and was never finished. With parts of it ‘being only roughed out,’ Georgina Herrmann has observed that the ‘traces of plaster still adhering to some sections … suggest that these rough areas were given the appearance of having been completed by plastering’ (Herrmann 1998, 48). Like its more ambitious counterpart, Bishapur III, the relief represents peoples from Central Asia. Herrmann correctly posits that these people are indeed meant to be delegates from Shapur’s eastern territories; their inclusion in two reliefs that commemorate his victories over his western enemies shows ‘the increasing importance of eastern affairs towards the final years of Shapur’s reign.’ Thus, these Iranian-garbed figures, along with the elephants represented in Bishapur III, show the reliefs ‘as a visual version of the Kaba-i Zardusht inscription’ (Herrmann 1998, 46; see note 6 for reference to this inscription). 11. Known to scholars as the ŠKZ inscription, this translation is that of Huyse 1999, 24, §3. 12. Harper 2008, 84. 13. Grenet, Lee and Pinder-Wilson 1980; Lee and Grenet 1998; and Grenet 1999. 14. Thus, Vanden Berghe 1966, pl. 82a (Naqsh-i Bahram); Ghirshman 1962, figs 225 (Bishapur VI); 244 (Cup of Khosrow I); 245 (Strelka plate); and 246 (plate from Qazvin); Harper 1981, pl. 36 (bowl in the Walters Art Gallery).

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15. Lee and Grenet 1998, 79. 16. See Rosenfield 1967, figs 136–9 and 67–8, respectively. Especially noteworthy is the heart- or ivy-shapes that pattern the tunic and trousers of the figure numbered 4 in Lee and Grenet 1998, fig. 2. As a much-used motif in Hellenistic times, the heart-shape flourished on jewellery, metalwork and textiles well into the Late Antique period in the West as well as the East where it was especially popular among nomadic types; see Knauer 2008, 269, and her note 7 for discussion and additional references. It adorns the votary’s tunic on one of the Metropolitan Museum terracotta panels cited above (2000.42.3). 17. Lee and Grenet 1998, 82. 18. Dukhtar-i Nushirwan is located in the Khulm valley, east of Balkh and Mazar-i Sharif and dates to the eighth century ce. For further discussion and references, see Mode 2011. 19. Lee 2006, 236–41. 20. Dalton 1964, no. 208. 21. Vanden Berghe 1966, pl. 127a and b. 22. Frantz Grenet (in Marshak 2006, 958) considers the standing figure in the lower register to be royal, either the same personage as the seated figure in the upper register or his heir, and the seated figure in the lower register as ‘la déesse protectrice de la royauté’, the goddess Anahita or her ‘Bactrian counterpart’, Nana. Despite the missing and worn areas, it is possible that the figure is wearing a long gown, her feet appearing below its hem; however, the absence of a headdress (apparent even given the plate’s poor condition) militates against this identification. 23. A notable exception is the plate from Strelka (State Hermitage Museum S-250) showing an enthroned king and in the exergue a royal hunt (Harper 1981, pl. 19). Harper suggests that the plate was produced in a provincial workshop, not earlier than the late fifth century. On its back is engraved a Bactrian inscription giving its owner’s name and its weight and so we know that at one time the plate was in Bactria. It is tempting to date the plate to the second reign of Kavad I (r. 488–97 and 499–531), who, as the son of the Sasanian ruler, Peroz, had been held hostage at the Hephthalite court; and who, subsequently, after his father’s death, had sought Hephthalite protection during an usurpation of the Sasanian throne, and then, with Hephthalite aid secured the throne for himself. The non-canonical use on this plate of the superimposed scenes of enthronement and hunt is unsurprising if, indeed, the plate had been manufactured in nonSasanian territory. 24. Harper 1981, 108–9 and n. 44. 25. Harper 1981, especially 133–42; Harper 2008, 82–4. 26. It is likely that the boar beneath the horse was not intended as one killed by Shapur II prior to his chase of a second one, in this way capturing a single moment in time, but is the same boar represented twice – fleeing and dead – thereby suggesting a sequence of events: Shapur’s chase and its successful outcome. As Harper observes, ‘the pairing of the animal quarry, one alive and the other dead, is a standard compositional feature of the hunts depicted on central Sasanian silver plates’ (Harper 1989, 852; Harper 1981, pls 9, 10, 13, 14, 17, 27, 28, 30–2 and 37); it continues on post-Sasanian plates (Harper 1981, pl. 21) and even when there is a variety of animals, as the plate in the Bibliothèque nationale de Paris on which the same animals, paired and alone, flee the royal archer and are shown dead beneath his horse (Harper 1981, pl. 22). 27. Jongeward and Cribb 2015, 232, no. 2146: gold dinar minted in Balkh. Horns, animal heads and even complete animals appear as elements in the headdresses of other Kushano-Sasanian rulers and nobility; see Lerner 2009 and Lerner in Lerner and Sims-Williams 2011, 35–7. 28. Harper 1981, 73, n. 163. 29. Harper 1981, pl. 20. 30. Harper 1981, 131 and 135. 31. Harper 1990a. 32. First published by Grenet 1983, followed by Harper 1990c, no. 43. 33. Harper 2004, 152. 34. Sims-Williams 1993 [1994], 176. 35. See Sims-Williams, forthcoming. Inscriptions on metalwork often reveal these objects’ complex ‘life’ as they pass through territories from one owner to another. Two examples from Roman Syria are a plate with a complex hunting scenes of lion-hunters (now in a collection in Pakistan), which was acquired by a Persian who inscribed his name in Pahlavi on its back, and then by another individual who added his name in Bactrian along with the object’s weight (Barratte et

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al. 2012, 15–16 and 20–4); and the ‘Gansu Platter,’ featuring Dionysus and a leopard in its centre, and bearing a Bactrian inscription giving its weight (Sims-Williams 2009 [2013], 191; Barratte et al. 2012, 24), along with traces of a Sogdian one (Sims-Williams, personal communication). 36. Harper 1989. 37. Harper 1989, 847. Of a similar profile, but without a low foot ring, is the gilt silver bowl in the White–Levy collection. Its shape and decoration of paired animal combatants separated by plant forms suggest to Harper ‘a product of a workshop located in the region east of Iran rather than in the central Sasanian kingdom’ (Harper 1990b). 38. Harper 2015, no. 82. 39. Mostly, it appears on the earliest Sasanian works, that is, of the third century. For some Sasanian examples, see Livshits and Xurshudian 1989; Lerner and Skjaervø 2006, figs 1 and 2; and Barratte 2012 (2013), 16. Its appearance in Bactria during this early period of Sasanian rule is documented by the seal of the governor of Balkh – inscribed in Middle Persian and Bactrian – known from a number of fragmentary clay sealings from the site of Jiga Tepe, near Balkh (Lerner and Sims-Williams 2011, AB 1.1). 40. In Harper 2015, 299. 41. Dalton 1964, no. 201. Said to be known since the early nineteenth century, the bowl was given to the British Museum in 1912. 42. Vondrovec 2014; Jongeward and Cribb 2015, 227–8. 43. Vondrovec 2014. 44. This vegetal base is a common support for the so-called portrait busts on Sasanian seals of the fourth century and later. As a leafy support it derives from Roman art, but under the Sasanians it is often transformed into a pair of wings. 45. Errington 2010, 149–50. 46. The coming to light in the 1990s and later of the Bactrian documents and their reading and interpretation by Nicholas Sims-Williams and other scholars has greatly advanced our knowledge of the history and cultures of the region. See Sims-Williams 2008. 47. Alram 2014, 270, fig. 3a. 48. First published in the National Geographic 2015. 49. Harper 1981, pl. 10. 50. Harper 1981, pl. 14. 51. Harper 1981, pl. 25. 52. Loukonine and Ivanov 1996, no. 65. The authors identify the hunter as Shapur I’s son, Narseh (r. 293–303), who, in the period between the 270s and 290s, held the north-western provinces of the empire and bore the title ‘great king of Armenia’; see also Harper 1981, pl. 8. 53. Marshak 2001. 54. Strong 1966, fig. 28c. For a discussion of the Sasanian ewer, see Harper 1991; for Late Roman/ Byzantine ewers in contrast those produced in Bactria and Sasanian Iran, see Mundell Mango 2000. A differentiating element between the Bactrian ewer and Sasanian ones are the camel heads at the attachment points of the handle on the Bactrian ewer and the onager heads on the handle attachment of the Sasanian ewers. 55. The most recent of this trio, the Stroganoff bowl (Weitzmann 1943, figs 9–12), belongs to a seventh- or eighth-century Turkic milieu, its classicising figures misunderstood and borrowed to represent local myths and beliefs, and far removed from Greco-Bactrian culture.

References Alram, M. (2014), ‘From the Sasanians to the Huns: new numismatic evidence from the Hindu Kush’, The Numismatic Chronicle, 174, 261–91. Alram, M., D. Klimburg-Salter, I. Minoru and M. Pfisterer (eds) (2010), Coins, Art and Chronology, 2: The First Millennium C. E. in the Indo-Iranian Borderlands, Vienna. Barratte, F., O. Bopearachchi, R. Gyselen, and N. Sims-Williams (2012 [2013]), ‘Un plat romain inscrit en bactrien et pårsÈg’, in R. Gyselen (ed.), Objets et documents inscrits en PårsÈg, Res Orientales, XXI, Bures-sur-Yvette, 9–28. Callieri, P. (2008), ‘Seals and sealings in the Eastern Iranian lands’, EIr, (last accessed 8 December 2015).

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Carter, M. L. (1985), ‘A numismatic reconstruction of Kushano-Sasanian history’, American Numismatic Society Museum Notes, 30, 215–81. –––– (1997), ‘Preliminary notes on four painted terracotta panels’, in R. Allchin and B. Allchin (eds), South Asian Archaeology 1995: Proceedings of the 13th Conference of the European Association of South Asian Archaeologists, Cambridge, 5–9 July 1995, vol. 2, Cambridge, 573–88. –––– (2007), ‘Money as a marker of cultural continuity and change in Central Asia’, in Herrmann and Cribb (eds) 2007, Oxford, 333–75. –––– (2010), ‘The Kidarites: the numismatic evidence’, in Alram et al. (eds) 2010, 91–146. Curtis, V. S. and S. Stewart (eds) (2008), The Sasanian Era, The Idea of Iran, 3, London. Dalton, O. M. (1964), The Treasure of the Oxus with Other Examples of Early Oriental Metal-Work, 3rd edition, London. Errington, E. E. (2010), ‘Differences in the patterns of Kidarite and Alkhon coin distribution at Begram and Kashmir Smast,’ in Alram et al. (eds) 2010, 147–68. Ghirshman, R. (1962), Persian Art: The Parthian and Sassanian Dynasties 249 b.c.– a.d. 651, trans. S. Gilbert and J. Emmons, New York, 1962. Grenet, F. (1983), ‘Un plat sassanide d’Ardešir II au bazar de Kabul’, Studia Iranica, 12, 195–205. –––– (1999), ‘La peinture sassanide de Ghulbiyan (Afghanistan)’, Empires perses d’Alexandre aux Sassanides (‘Dossiers d’Archéologie’ 243, Mai 1999), 66–7. –––– (2005 [2006]), ‘Découverte d’un relief sassanide dans le Nord de l’Afghanistan (note d’information)’, Comptes Rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, 149/1, 115–34. Grenet, F., J. Lee and R. Pinder-Wilson (1980), ‘Les monuments ancients du Gorzivan (Afghanistan du nord-ouest)’, Studia Iranica, 9, 69-103. Grenet, F., J. Lee, P. Martinez, and F. Ory (2007), ‘The Sasanian relief at Rag-i Bibi (Northern Afghanistan)’, in Herrmann and Cribb (eds) 2007, 243–67. Harper, P. O. (1981), Silver Vessels of the Sasanian Period, Volume One: Royal Imagery, New York. –––– (1989), ‘A Kushano-Sasanian silver bowl’, in L. de Meyer and E. Haerinck (eds), Archaeologia Iranica et orientalis II. Miscellanea in honorem Louis Vanden Berghe, Ghent, 847–66. –––– (1990a), ‘An Iranian silver vessel from the tomb of Feng Hetu’, Bulletin of the Asia Institute, 4, 51–9. –––– (1990b), ‘No. 42. Silver-gilt bowl’, in von Bothmer (ed.) 1990, 57. –––– (1990c), ‘No. 43. Silver-gilt Plate’, in von Bothmer (ed.) 1990, 58–9. –––– (1991), ‘The Sasanian ewer questions of origin and influence’, Bulletin of the Eastern Cultural Center in Japan (Near Eastern Studies Dedicated to H.I.H. Prince Takahuto Mikasa), 5, 67–84. –––– (2004), ‘No. 62. Plate with hunting scene’, in J. C. Y. Watt, J. An, A. F. Howard, B. I. Marshak, B. Su and F. Zhou, with contributions from P. O. Harper et al., China: Dawn of a Golden Age, 200 – 750 AD, New York, New Haven and London, 152–3. –––– (2008), ‘Image and identity: art of the early Sasanian dynasty’, in Curtis and Stewart (eds) 2008, 71–87. –––– (2015), ‘The Sasanian era’, in M. L. Carter (ed.), Arts of the Hellenized East: Precious Metalwork and Gems of the Pre-Islamic Era, London, 265–376. Herrmann, G. (1998), ‘Shapur I in the East: reflections from his victory reliefs’, in V. Sarkhosh Curtis, R. Hillenbrand and J. M. Rogers (eds), The Art and Archaeology of Ancient Persia: New Light on the Parthian and Sasanian Periods, London and New York, 38–51. Herrmann, G. and J. Cribb (eds) (2007), After Alexander: Central Asia before Islam, Oxford. Huyse, P. (1999), Die dreisprachige Inschrift Šabuhrs I. an der Kaba-i Zardušt (ŠKZ), London. Jongeward, D. and J. Cribb, with P. Donovan (2015), A Catalogue of Coins From the American Numismatic Society, New York. Knauer, E. R. (2008), ‘A Kushan king in Parthian dress: a note on a statue in the Mathura Museum’, Ancient East and West, 7, 265–95. La Vaissière, É. de (2003 [2008]), ‘Is there a “nationality” of the Hephtalites?’ Bulletin of the Asia Institute, 17, 119–32. – (2014), ‘The steppe world and the rise of the Huns’, in Maas (ed.) 2014, 175–92. – (2016), ‘Kushan-Shahs (i) history’, EIr, (last accessed 20 September 2016). Lee, J. (2006), ‘Monuments of Bamiyan province, Afghanistan’, Iran, XLIV, 229–52.

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Lee, J. L. and F. Grenet (1998), ‘New light on the Sasanid painting at Ghulbiyan, Faryab province, Afghanistan’, South Asian Studies, 14, 75–85. Lerner, J. A. (2009), ‘Animal headdresses on the sealings of the Bactrian documents’, in W.  Sundermann, A. Hintze and F. de Blois (eds), Exegisti Monumenta: Festschrift for Nicholas Sims-Williams, Wiesbaden, 215–26. Lerner, J. A. and N. Sims-Williams (2011), Seals, Sealings and Tokens from Bactria to Gandhara (4th to 8th century ce), Vienna. Lerner J. A. and P. O. Skjaervø (2006), ‘The seal of a eunuch in the Sasanian court’, Journal of Inner Asian Art and Archaeology, 1, 113–18. Livshits, V. A. and E. Sh. Xurshudian (1989), ‘Le titre mrtpty sur un sceau parthe et l’arménien mardpet’, Studia Iranica, 18, 169–91. Lo Muzio, C. (1999), ‘The Dioscuri at Dilberjin (northern Afghanistan): reviewing their chronology and significance’, Studia Iranica, 28/1, 41–71. –––– (2002 [2003]), ‘The Umåmaheªvara in Central Asian art’, Rivista degli Studi Orientali, LXXXVI/1–4, 49–86. –––– 2008 [2012], ‘Remarks on the paintings from the Buddhist monastery of Fayaz Tepe (southern Uzbekistan)’, Bulletin of the Asia Institute, 22, 189–206. Loukonine, V. and A. Ivanov (1996), Lost Treasures of Persia: Persian Art in the Hermitage Museum, Washington, DC. Maas, M. (ed.) (2014), The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Attila, Cambridge. Marshak, B. I. (2001), ‘31. Ewer showing Greek mythological scenes’, in A. L. Juliano and J. A. Lerner (eds), Monks and Merchants: Silk Road Treasures from Northwest China, New York, 98–100. –––– (2006), ‘Une peinture kouchane sur toile suivi d’une note additionelle par M. Frantz Grenet’, Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 150/2, 947–63. Mode, M. (2011), ‘Doktar-e Nπšervån’, EIr (last accessed 12 December 2015). Mundell Mango, M. (2000), ‘Byzantine, Sasanian and Central Asia silver’, in C. Bálint (ed.), Kontakte zwischen Iran, Byzanz und der Steppe in 6.-7. Jh., Budapest, 267–84. Payne, R. (2014), ‘The reinvention of Iran: the Sasanian empire and the Huns’, in Maas (ed.) 2014, 282–99. Rezakhani, K. (2016), ReOrienting the Sasanians: East Iran in Late Antiquity, Edinburgh. Rosenfield, J. M. (1967), The Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, Berkeley and Los Angeles. Schindel, N. (2011), ‘The era of the Bactrian documents: a reassessment’, Gandhåran Studies, 5, 11–26. Sims-Williams, N. (1993 [1994]), ‘Bactrian ownership inscriptions’, Bulletin of the Asia Institute, 7, 173–9. –––– (2008), ‘The Sasanians in the East: a Bactrian archive from northern Afghanistan’, in Curtis and Stewart (eds) 2008, 88–102. –––– (2009 [2013]), ‘Some Bactrian inscriptions on silver vessels’, Bulletin of the Asia Institute, 23, 191–8. –––– (forthcoming), ‘“Stater” and “Drachm” in Sogdian and Bactrian weight inscriptions’, Fifth International Conference on Turpan Studies Held in Turpan, October 2014, 101–7. Stavisky, B. (1990 [1992]), ‘Buddhist monuments of Central Asia and the Sasanians’, Bulletin of the Asia Institute, 4, 167–70. Strong, D. E. (1966), Greek and Roman Gold and Silver Plate, Ithaca, NY. Vanden Berghe, L. (1966), Archéologie de l’Irån ancient, Leiden. Vondrovec, K. (2014), Coinage of the Iranian Huns and Their Successors from Bactria to Gandhara (4th to 8th Century CE), Vienna. von Bothmer, D. (ed.) (1990), Glories of the Past: Ancient Art from the Shelby White and Leon Levy Collection, New York and New Haven. Wan, X. (2012), ‘A study on the Kidarites: reexamination of documentary sources’, Archivum Eurasiae Medii Aevi, 19, 243–301. Weitzmann, K. (1943), ‘Three “Bactrian” silver vessels illustrating scenes from Euripides’, The Art Bulletin, 25/4, 289–324.

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CHAPTER 2

The Late Sasanian Figurative Capitals at Taq-i Bustan: Proposals Regarding Identification and Origins Matteo Compareti The unfinished Sasanian rock reliefs at Taq-i Bustan have fascinated experts in the field of Iranian studies for a very long time. The king who built Taq-i Bustan cannot be identified for certain since the problematic crown that he wears in the reliefs of the larger grotto does not present any clear parallel in Sasanian coinage. Some figurative capitals (approximately ten) that once were on display in the park at Taq-i Bustan are embellished on one side with the figure of a sovereign wearing exactly the same problematic crown. Both the rock reliefs and the figurative capitals present the same identification problems. Two hypotheses have been proposed in the past being both based on the shape of the crown worn by the main character: the first one considered the king to be Peroz I (r. 459–84)1 but this no longer has many followers; according to the second one, the king should be someone who reigned at the end of the dynasty, in the early seventh century ce, more probably Khusro II (r. 590–628).2 Different attributions are still common among scholars but they point to a later chronology for the site of Taq-i Bustan. According to Tanabe, the king at Taq-i Bustan is wearing a specific necklace with three pendants that can be observed on Sasanian coins starting from the period of Ardashir III (r. 628–30). Therefore, in his opinion, the king should be Ardashir III.3 Despite the interesting arguments, the hypothesis is problematic because Ardashir III ascended the throne when he was a boy and reigned for only a year and seven months. In another study, Mode also produced enough evidence for a later chronology of the site.4 He too accepted the hypothesis about different construction phases for the reliefs in the larger grotto. The hunting scenes panels should have been executed first and then later the reliefs on two levels on the innermost wall facing the entrance of the grotto were added. According to this hypothesis, in the place of the equestrian statue there should have been originally another panel similar to the hunting ones and completing them as in a continuous programme. Only later, that panel was replaced with the equestrian relief but cut at a deeper level into the rock. Scarcia has proposed the most recent hypothesis about the king who built Taq-i Bustan.5 He realised that the information in the Mojmal al-tawarikh (twelfth

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century) could be very useful. As is well known, according to Persian legends and traditions Taq-i Bustan (arch of the garden) is called Taq-i Bastam (arch of Bastam) and, as it is reported in the Mojmal al-tawarikh ‘a general of Khusro II’ with the help of ‘Roman and Chinese’ artists would have built it. This general was a rival suitor of Khusro’s and was confused with Farhad in the story ‘Khusro and Shirin’. According to Scarcia, this Bastam could be identified with a historical character who was a maternal uncle of Khusro II and a military leader. He soon rebelled against Khusro and was able to reign as an independent ruler until approximately 600 ce with the support of the troops of another general of Parthian origin who rebelled against the Sasanians: Bahram Chobin. Bastam was also able to strike coins in his name in western Iran.6 His figure became legendary in Islamic times and he too was confused with Farhad in the story of ‘Khusro and Shirin’. Scarcia’s ideas are extremely interesting and could explain the presence of eastern Iranian elements at Taq-i Bustan since Bastam had Parthian blood (like Farhad), that is to say, he was coming from Central Asia.7 Let us now focus on the reliefs. Approximately ten years ago Russo published a paper in which he proposed that not only the larger grotto rock reliefs and the figurative capitals belong to a fifth century ce complex to be attributed to the Sasanian king Peroz, but that the similar so-called ‘basket-capital’ typology should be attributed to Sasanian Persia.8 The present paper presents some hypotheses based mainly on iconographic issues to refute such an early chronology and advances the idea that, if there was any borrowing of artistic forms and ideas, it came from Byzantium to Persia and not vice versa. Both the Byzantine and Sasanian empires were open to artistic forms and borrowings originally coming from eastern Iranian lands (Khurasan and Central Asia in the broader sense) and vice versa. Moreover, some deities represented on these capitals may be identified through comparison with reliefs in the larger Taq-i Bustan grotto, other less-known Sasanian capitals belonging to the same typology, and late Sasanian coinage. It is worth observing, moreover, that column capitals belonging to the basket typology appear inside the larger grotto at Taq-i Bustan. All the collected evidence seems to point to a later chronology for these figurative capitals and the rock reliefs of the larger grotto at Taq-i Bustan. The Figurative Capitals Despite the great interest in the site, no scientific excavations have been carried out at Taq-i Bustan. The site was investigated at the end of the 1960s and beginning of the 1970s by a Japanese team without any real archaeological study.9 In June 2015 I had the opportunity to revisit the Taq-i Bustan rock carvings in Kermanshah Province. Unfortunately, many things had changed since the last visit in 2006. In fact, two pools were dug right in front of the larger grotto (Figure 2.1). An entire pavement from the time of construction (that is to say, late Sasanian) has been destroyed and the debris is now probably lost. It is not

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Figure 2.1  The site of Taq-i Bustan after renovation. Image courtesy of Bruno Overlaet.

Figure 2.2  Stone relief fragment on the bank of the pool at Taq-i Bustan. Photograph © Matteo Compareti.

impossible that if some piece of the external decoration of the larger grotto had fallen off over the centuries, there might have been some remnant at that spot. For example, fragments of the ‘angel’ on the left side of the big arch, which is now very fragmentary, might have been there. A carved panel probably belonging to the clothes worn by that ‘angel’ was noticed on the bank of the newly excavated pool alongside the grotto and photographed by the present writer (Figure 2.2). It seems obvious to think that it appeared during the excavation of the pool, although it previously remained unnoticed. This was not the only problem at Taq-i Bustan. The group of column capitals collected from other sites around Kermanshah (such as Bisutun), and once on display in the park at Taq-i Bustan, has been removed and at present cannot be visited. According to some confusing and unofficial information, a museum will be built somewhere around the site itself in order to keep the capitals on permanent

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Figure 2.3  Figurative capital kept in the garden of Chehel Sotun Palace, Isfahan (left) / drawing of an inscribed gold coin of Khusro II (right). Photograph © Matteo Compareti / drawing after Gyselen 2000, fig. b.

Figure 2.4  Sketch of the rock reliefs Taq-i Bustan III (above) and Taq-i Bustan IV (below). Photograph © Matteo Compareti.

display, although, for the moment, those remains are stored in a room in some office in Kermanshah. Two more figurative column capitals could be included in this same group: one is at present kept in the Iran Bastan Museum in Tehran. The other one is kept in the garden of the Chehel Sotun Palace in Isfahan (Figure 2.3). Both capitals (like many others at Taq-i Bustan) are in very poor condition and the details of their discovery are not recorded.10 Some general remarks can be made about every figurative capital of this group. Two of the four sides of each capital display a person carved in high relief while on the remaining two sides there are elaborate vegetal or geometric decorations. Even at first glance, it appears very clear that a person wearing a crown is represented in the act of receiving something with his right hand while the left one is resting on the hilt of his sword. Every detail of his garment and crown points to a Sasanian king and, more specifically, to the same problematic king represented in the upper part of the larger grotto at Taq-i Bustan, called Taq-i Bustan III (Figure 2.4). On the opposite side of the capital another person is represented in the act of presenting a beribboned pearled disc with the right hand, the left being represented as holding

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something on the chest, probably the terminal part of the necklace. These figures could be identified with deities exactly as it can be observed in the upper part of the innermost wall in the larger grotto at Taq-i Bustan. However, in that case, the divinities are two, one on each side of the central king who is receiving from them the same element represented by a beribboned pearled disc (certainly, an important symbol of power). Another difference between the figurative capitals and Taq-i Bustan III is in the halo: on the capitals both kings and deities have it behind the head while in the grotto relief no one has one (just the equestrian figure –Taq-i Bustan IV – that will be described below). Some scholars thought it is the deity Anahita who is repeated on every capital.11 However, not only the garments and the halo can present some peculiarities but in one case – on the most recently found column capital of this group from the Friday Mosque in Kermanshah – the faces of both king and deity have been preserved. It is not surprising that a Sasanian king had a beard (Figure 2.5), although its presence on the face of the deity (Figure 2.6) obviously excludes Anahita and opens the question for his identification. This specific deity (and at least one other among the capitals at Taq-i Bustan12) is wearing armour and, for this reason, an identification with a male warrior god seems to be more appropriate. Warrior gods in Zoroastrian literature include Mithra, Bahram and some others. The iconography of Mithra is well known and, when represented as a bust, this deity has a rayed halo exactly as can be observed in another rock relief at Taq-i Bustan (specifically called Taq-i Bustan I), the only one at that site that is not inside a grotto.13 It seems more probable that the deity wearing armor could be identified with Bahram, the Zoroastrian god of war and victory (Avestan Verethraghna). This is just a hypothesis since some other divinities are described as wearing armour in Zoroastrian texts (such as Tishtrya, the Zoroastrian god of rain), and in Parthian art and early Sasanian rock reliefs (Naqsh-i Rajab III), Bahram iconography seems to be superimposed on the figure of Greco-Roman Heracles.14 The god wearing armour on the capital is not the one next to the king at Taq-i Bustan III (Figure 2.4). It is very probable that the king in that specific part of the grotto wanted to be represented between the two most prominent Zoroastrian deities. For this reason, the one on the right who has a beard and is incontestably a male divinity could be identified as Ahura Mazda. Some details of his garments and the crown seem to confirm such an identification. The cloak that he wears at Taq-i Bustan III can be observed also on one rock relief of Ardashir I at Naqsh-i Rustam I where the identity of every figure is secured by a trilingual inscription in Greek, Parthian and Pahlavi.15 Both the king and Ahura Mazda wear the same kind of cloak that seems to be closed at the chest with a buckle. So, the cloak could be considered a characteristic garment of Ahura Mazda as the king of the gods. Unfortunately, it is not possible to precisely identify Ahura Mazda on any figurative capital although, when this group of capitals was on display in the park at Taq-i Bustan, at least one label mentioned a possible attribution to this god, probably because of the presence of the same cloak mentioned above.16

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The deity represented to the left of the king at Taq-i Bustan III (Figure 2.4) is definitely wearing female clothes. She is also pouring water from a jar with her left hand and, for this reason, it was proposed that she be identified as Anahita, who was specifically associated with water and fertility in Zoroastrian literature. On her crown some vegetal elements under arches can be observed and she wears a particular kind of garment, the sleeves of which are left free to hang (this can be observed only on the right side since the left one is covered by her body). This garment of hers is embellished with floral or astrological motifs scattered everywhere, while on both shoulders a rayed star appears (Figure 2.4). Only one deity on a specific figurative capital at Taq-i Bustan wears this same garment and, in our opinion, for this reason alone an identification as Anahita could be proposed (Figure 2.7). Another detail to be associated with the figure of the female deity at Taq-i Bustan III is represented by the upper part of the capital under examination that is embellished with a series of arches resembling those on the crown of the supposed Anahita.17 Something should be mentioned about the statue representing a haloed knight armed with a spear and a shield, sitting on a horse just below the relief of the king between the two deities. It is also worth observing that two columns surmounted by vegetal capitals vaguely resembling the ‘basket’ typology constitute the frame of the equestrian statue. This relief is usually referred to as Taq-i Bustan IV (Figure 2.4). Initially some scholars proposed to identify him as the same deity wearing armour in at least two figurative capitals already mentioned above.18 However, some details seem to point to a particular aspect of the king represented as a victorious warrior. First of all, numismatists have proposed that the large symbol on the horse’s flank and covering part of the saddle’s girth should be called the ‘fravahr symbol’.19 Even if its meaning is not completely clear, it has appeared quite often on Sasanian coins as a countermark and on rock reliefs since the time of Ardashir I (at Firuzabad I and Naqsh-i Rustam I).20 One must also mention that Vanden Berghe already noticed the absence of weapons on Sasanian rock reliefs representing Zoroastrian divinities.21 Weapons such as the quiver and the box containing the bow appear on the equestrian figure at Taq-i Bustan IV and they seem to belong to the world of the steppes from where, most likely, they could have begun to be introduced into Persia from the mid sixth century ce. According to Mode, the knight must be a king because in the upper register there are other reliefs and it would have been inappropriate for a god to be represented under the feet of someone else.22 One last element is worth observing. On the garments covering the knight’s legs also appear some circular vegetal and geometric frames containing a fantastic flying creature usually called in Persian ‘simurgh’ (Pahlavi senmurv, Avestan saena maregha) in scientific literature (Figure 2.4). However, such an identification does not seem to be correct because the simurgh was a fabulous bird of Iranian mythology that began to be represented in book illustrations only in the Islamic period. Its identification as a composite flying creature with a dog’s head and a peacock’s tail is based on erroneous readings of written sources. As was recently

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demonstrated, not only Pahlavi literature but also Muslim authors preserved some precious information to correctly identify that composite creature specifically as a symbol of glory or charisma (Persian farr, Pahlavi xwarrah, Avestan khwarnah), an abstract concept in Iranian culture that could guarantee the king to be a good and legitimate ruler.23 On Kushan inscribed coins, a god called in Bactrian farro appears quite often as a personification of that concept.24 Despite what many experts of Iranian studies continue to repeat, the composite flying creature does not appear in Sasanian art, its only attested representation being just at Taq-i Bustan. On the contrary, it is during the Islamic period that it began to appear very often in Persian luxury arts (metalwork and textiles) and even on coins minted in Fars after the Arab conquest.25 Every hint seems to point to ‘Eastern Iran’ (Khurasan and Central Asia) as a possible place of origin for this symbolic composite creature that, during the seventh century, began to be represented more and more often in Persian art, too, and even in Byzantine and Islamic productions (after opportune adaptations). In mid eighth-century Sogdian paintings from Penjikent flying creatures like this appear quite often in front of important people to be exalted and on some countermarks that have been reproduced on seventh-century local coins together with the incontrovertible inscription farn (Sogdian ‘glory’).26 The representation of the farr as a composite flying creature at Taq-i Bustan points undoubtedly to a late Sasanian chronology for the entire larger grotto site and to the possibility that the equestrian statue should be identified with an important person (most likely the king himself) but not a deity. There is also another observation about this flying creature. If in fact it is a symbol of farr, as is strongly suggested in some texts studied by Cristoforetti, then it seems very difficult to think that Persian artists who were active in late Sasanian times elaborated a personification of this concept into a god in human form, as can be observed on Kushan coins. This point is very important when studying some special gold coins from the time of Khusro II, where also a frontal beardless divinity with a flaming halo appears together with the inscription ‘the xwarrah has increased.’27 That same flaming halo appears on the figurative capital kept in the garden of Chehel Sotun in Isfahan (Figure 2.3). Even if it is in very fragmentary condition, the flaming halo is very clearly represented. The only other parallel offered by Sasanian figurative arts is the divinity on Khusro II gold coins. It is not easy to think of any specific identification. This writer had already proposed Adhur, the Zoroastrian god of fire.28 However, it is not possible to exclude even an identification with farr that, in this way (but less convincingly in our opinion), could have been represented in late Sasanian art both as a god in human form and as a symbolic composite flying creature. It is difficult to get precise information about the origin or provenance of this group of figurative capitals. They could have been part of one or more Sasanian religious or secular buildings. At least two of them are allegedly reported to come from the Friday Mosque in Kermanshah during the restorations in the 1990s and two more have been found during some other much older restorations in the

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Figure 2.5  Figurative capital from Kermanshah: Sasanian king. Photograph © Matteo Compareti.

Figure 2.6  Figurative capital from Kermanshah: Zoroastrian deity. Photograph and drawing © Matteo Compareti.

Figure 2.7  Photo of a figurative capital from Bisutun taken in the park at Taq-i Bustan. Photograph © Matteo Compareti.

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Figure 2.8 Third-century ce Roman column capitals reused in the medieval church of Santi Felice and Regolo, Pisa. Photograph © Matteo Compareti.

Friday Mosque in Isfahan (the one that is now in the Chehel Sotun Palace and the one in the Iran Bastan Museum in Tehran). Furthermore, some of them have a hole excavated from the top so as to be used in a mosque for ablutions and all of them show clear attempts to remove the faces of the kings and the divinities of both figurative sides because, in all probability, they continued to be exposed in Islamic buildings. Possibly all these capitals come from Sasanian temples or palaces that have been destroyed. The capitals could have been spared for their aesthetic value and re-used in Islamic buildings. If it could be accepted that they have been reused in mosques then it could be considered highly probable that their original use was in a pre-Islamic religious building. Although nothing is known about the decision to produce objects like these, the capitals belong to a group of artefacts that the (late) Sasanians decided to embellish with personifications of Zoroastrian divinities. Possibly the Zoroastrians of Persia took this decision because they were threatened by other creeds particularly active in those days. Christians seem to be the best candidates and it is very well known that Ctesiphon was an important centre for the Syriac church.29 Moreover, other scholars called attention to the presence of borrowings from Byzantine art specifically at Taq-i Bustan such as the representation of the three figures in the upper part of the grotto (Taq-i Bustan III) resembling an apsidal mosaic.30 Also from a numismatic point of view, the frontal representation of the deity with a flaming halo (Figure 2.3) and the same use of gold instead of silver have been considered by experts as Byzantine borrowings.31 The ‘Basket-capital’ Typology Russo’s ideas about a Sasanian origin for the so-called ‘basket-capital’ typology are not only in contrast with the later chronology proposed for Taq-i Bustan but also with the observations of experts on pre-Islamic Persian architecture who consider elaborated capitals in general to appear late in Sasanian buildings and to be derived from Byzantium.32 All the column capitals belonging to the basket typology have been found in Iran between Kermanshah and the province of Fars, but never from archaeological excavations.33 It seems very likely that all these capitals have been transported from somewhere else exactly as happened at Taq-i Bustan.

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Architecture and rock reliefs are the more thoroughly investigated aspects of Sasanian art. However, nothing like the ‘basket capitals’ has been detected at those sites of Fars that could be considered royal palaces still existing in the fifth century, such as Firuzabad, Bishapur and Hajiabad, or at Kangavar in Kermanshah and Takht-i Suleyman in West Azerbaijan, just to mention some of the most famous ones also investigated by archaeological excavation. Not only was the iconography something new in the framework of Sasanian art but the shape of those column capitals could have been imported as well. The only place from where the ‘basket-capital’ typology could have been imported is the Roman–Byzantine Empire. Elaborated column capitals have continued to be used since ancient times and other typologies have been codified at Constantinople itself or other important centres of the empire. At least since the fifth century ce, the so-called ‘two-zone capital’ typology began to be largely used in Byzantine buildings and churches. It soon reached the Mediterranean region and ‘barbaric’ Europe. The two-zone capital is composed of a lower part that is completely vegetal and an upper part where animals such as rams, griffins and lions are combined with birds and other vegetal motifs. The origin of this specific capital typology has been traced to Egypt and more precisely to Coptic art.34 The ‘two-zone’ and the ‘basket’ typologies seem to share more than one point of contact although the subjects on the capitals are not the same.35 Every hint would suggest that it was among the very dynamic Byzantine laboratories (in Constantinople or other centres of diffusion for imperial art such as Antioch, Alexandria or Ravenna) where the ‘basket-capital’ typology could have been first developed. And there is also some evidence that could suggest antecedent models in Hellenistic–Roman plastic arts. Figurative capitals in late Roman and Byzantine art are quite numerous. Two capitals from Pisa could be mentioned here because, according to experts, they should be dated to the early third century ce, being among the most ancient ones to have survived (Figure 2.8). Exactly as has happened for many other elements that belonged to pagan monuments, these two capitals had been reused in Christian buildings and were eventually incorporated into the medieval church of Santi Felice and Regolo, just a few minutes’ walk from the famous leaning tower.36 Not only the shape of the capitals but the decorations themselves could be associated with the Sasanian capitals at Taq-i Bustan. Some differences, however, can be noticed. In fact, every side of those capitals presents the image of a deity. On the first capital Zeus, Athena, Hermes and Hera can be recognised; on the second one, Harpocrates, Isis, Serapis and Demeter. Every deity is easily identifiable because of his/her attributes, although a very interesting detail is represented by the small winged Victory (Nike) carved on each corner in the act of presenting with her right hand a round object that appears to be a garland. This very common symbol of homage found in Hellenistic art is not only given by a Nike but also by birds and sometimes putti as well. A Nike appears very often on Parthian coinage in the form of a bird with a beribboned ring in its beak. Usually on those coins a

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principal deity is sitting on a throne and with one open hand is holding the Nike in the act of giving the garland in a pure Hellenistic style.37 The Parthian Arsacids considered themselves ‘philhellenes’, as can be read in their coins. They definitely accepted many traits of Hellenistic art and culture. Although only coinage preserves some evidence, it could also be considered that the Parthians introduced this kind of iconography into Persia. In Sasanian art, too, the use of Hellenistic symbols was not completely unknown. A flying putto presenting a garland to Shapur I triumphant over the Roman emperors can be observed at least twice in early Sasanian rock reliefs: at Bishapur II and Bishapur III.38 The putto presenting a beribboned necklace or garland to Shapur I could be interpreted as a precise intention to use a motif belonging in origin to his defeated enemies. A hypothesis such as this one has been proposed for the presence of Mithra at Taq-i Bustan I, where Julian the Apostate also appears under the feet of the victorious Sasanian king (Shapur II?). In fact, as is well known, Julian was devoted to Mithra.39 Another Sasanian artefact embellished with very interesting reliefs is the socalled ‘Abnun capital’. It was found by chance not far from Shiraz and was initially identified as an inscribed column capital because of its round shape and decorations. However, this does not appear to be a column capital and more convincing investigations of the inscriptions have permitted it to be identified as a fire altar.40 Four individuals appear on it, each one under an arch supported by two columns. Thanks to the inscriptions in Pahlavi, the people under the arches can be identified as two ‘ministers’ (one of them called Abnun) and two kings (Ardashir I and Shapur I). Both ministers are represented as giving a ring to one king with their right hand. This point is very interesting since a deity or an important person usually presents the ring to a subordinate and not vice versa in Iranian arts. For this reason, the hypothesis that this ring should be considered a kind of agreement or contract between two important people, not necessarily a deity and a king, could be correct.41 It is not clear if there is any substantial difference between a simple ring like the one in the ‘Abnun capital’ and the beribboned one as in the Taq-i Bustan figurative capitals. Also extremely interesting are the winged creatures appearing above the columns that are supporting the arches in the ‘Abnun capital’. In fact, they seem to be substitutes for the architectonic elements such as column capitals one would expect to see there. It is not possible to identify them because they have been damaged, as have the faces of the four persons under the arches. They do not resemble winged victories but, most likely, winged human busts wearing a cylindrical hat similar to those of the so-called lamassu at Persepolis. Similar composite winged creatures with a human head wearing the same cylindrical headgear and the body of a bull appear also in Sasanian art, especially on seals and sealings where it is proposed to call them gobadshah, ‘the king of the cow lord’.42 According to Russo, the ‘Abnun capital’ would strengthen his hypotheses about origin and chronology of the ‘basket-capital’ typology43 but this does not seem to be the case since both the shape and the decorative subjects

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(together with some other details such as the ring) are rooted in Greco-Roman art. More recently, Callieri considered correct some of Russo’s hypotheses about the origin of the ‘basket-capital’ typology and even proposed to reopen the question of Taq-i Bustan chronology on the basis of Erdmann’s observations.44 However, neither did Callieri ever mention the two Roman column capitals from Pisa already observed above (Figure 2.8). In our opinion, not only the four figures but their attitudes too (the exchange of the ring) and some other ‘architectonic’ elements (the winged creatures instead of the Nike) point to a plausible parallel between the ‘Abnun capital’ and the Roman capitals from Pisa. They also have in common the same chronology, that is, early third century. The decorations of the ‘Abnun capital’ further support the idea that, already in early Sasanian art, Hellenistic formulas had been adopted (and adapted) possibly through the filter represented by the philhellene Arsacids. Unfortunately, not every link in this process is clear because the archaeology of Sasanian Iran is still too fragmentary. In any case, there seems to be no doubt that the figurative capitals at Taq-i Bustan present a decorative programme evidently rooted in much earlier Greco-Roman art. Conclusion There is no evidence to consider the figurative capitals at Taq-i Bustan as the prototype for the ‘basket-capital’ typology of Byzantine art. It seems in fact that the Persians accepted it from Byzantium in the late sixth–early seventh centuries. In Greco-Roman art something similar had already existed at least since the period between the end of the Arsacids and the beginning of the Sasanians. During that period Persian artists knew this kind of object but there is no trace of a large diffusion in the arts. It is not clear if the Sasanians accepted it directly or through the Arsacids. After a very long interval the Sasanians began to use the ‘basket-capital’ typology abruptly, at the end of the dynasty, and with a much-elaborated iconography during a period of intense exchange with Byzantium. On one face of every figurative capital there is a king who is always the same and whose characteristics are modelled on those of the sovereign at Taq-i Bustan III. On the opposite side of every capital there is a plethora of different deities belonging to the Zoroastrian pantheon. It is highly probable that among those deities there also could have been Ahura Mazda and Anahita. They both appear at Taq-i Bustan III alongside the central king. The god wearing armour could hypothetically be identified as Bahram. In the same manner, the one with a flaming halo could be Adhur. It does not appear that Mithra was represented on any Sasanian capital of that group since this god’s attribute is a rayed halo. Too many details on the rock reliefs at Taq-i Bustan and, consequently, on the figurative capitals preserved there point to a later chronology that is early seventh century. All the main recent studies about Taq-i Bustan support this same conclusion, with the only exception of Callieri’s publication.

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The ideas of Scarcia and Mode could be combined to suggest a better historical reconstruction that, in our opinion, could also explain many obscure points about that site. Let us start from the hypothesis of two phases in the construction of the larger grotto at Taq-i Bustan. During the first phase a local ruler with very tight relationships with Eastern Iran (Bastam?) began the construction. He ordered that he be depicted in the hunting relief panels where he appears larger in size than his attendants and wearing very elaborate decorations on his garments. He does not wear a crown but just a simple headgear in both panels because he was not a Sasanian king. In the wild boar hunting scene he is wearing a caftan embellished with a composite flying creature that in Eastern Iran represented the idea of farr. He appears also with a halo in only one instance, in the extreme right portion of the wild boar hunting panel.45 Later, a ruler who belonged to the Sasanian royal house (Khusro II? Yazdegard III?) took control of that site and decided to appropriate it for his personal pleasure. He is the king appearing twice in the innermost wall of the larger grotto. In the upper part he is receiving an important emblem possibly symbolising his divine right to rule, while in the lower portion he is depicted as a victorious warrior riding a horse. It is possible that he was planning to destroy the panels embellished with hunting scenes but he could not finalise this because of some dramatic event, possibly the Byzantine invasion in the case of Khusro II or the Arab invasion in the case of Yazdegard III. This is also the reason why some parts of the panels with hunting scenes were never finished. According to a very convincing hypothesis by Mode, the equestrian statue was executed in place of a third hunting scene that the Sasanian sovereign destroyed.46 This is the reason why that area of the innermost wall is more deeply carved than the two lateral hunting panels. On the piece of textile covering the legs of the king and part of his saddle in the equestrian statue, the same composite flying creature symbolising farr unexpectedly appears. In this case it is very difficult to believe that the composite creature is alluding to any association of that sovereign with Eastern Iran. It is not excluded that the Sasanian king who adopted it wanted to show the defeat of his Eastern Iranian enemy and the subsequent appropriation of a symbol originally unknown by Persian artists intended to be a kind of trophy. Its presence should probably be considered as a new decoration that had begun to be ‘in fashion’ at the Persian court just before the end of the Sasanians, to be reproduced soon also by Muslim and Byzantine artists. The reasons for its acceptance and adaptability in many cultural milieu and during a very long period of time are still a matter of debate. The fact that it is reproduced at Taq-i Bustan can only point to a later chronology for the entire site.

Notes 1. Erdmann 1937. 2. Herzfeld 1938.

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3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Tanabe 2006. Mode 2006. Cristoforetti and Scarcia 2013, 344–6. Göbl 1971, pls XI, XIV. This hypothesis is presented in Compareti 2016. All these Parthian connections could suggest a situation of ‘revival’ by the descendants of the Arsacid in the late Sasanian Empire that has been reconstructed recently in a very detailed study by Pourshariati (Pourshariati 2008). This Parthian revival and threat could justify the appropriation by the Sasanians of specific titles of the mythical Kayanids in the Avesta. In fact, the Sasanians started to represent themselves on their coins since the fifth century as the legitimate heirs of the Kayanids (Daryaee 2009, 24). 8. The name originates from the shape of the column capital itself resembling a trapezoid basket (Russo 2004, 802–8; see also Russo 2006). 9. Fukai et al. 1984. 10. For general remarks on these capitals, see Compareti 2006a; Compareti 2005–6. 11. Bier 1985, 1010. 12. Compareti 2006a, fig. 12. 13. Shenkar 2014, 102–5. 14. Shenkar 2014, 159–60. 15. Overlaet 2013; Shenkar 2014, 52. 16. Compareti 2006a, fig. 14. 17. Compareti 2006a, 170–1. 18. Compareti 2006a, 166–8. 19. Schindel 2002. 20. Overlaet 2013, 328–9. 21. Vanden Berghe 1993, 74. 22. Mode 2006, 402. 23. Gnoli 1999; Cristoforetti and Scarcia 2013, 339–43; Compareti 2016. 24. Carter, 1986; Gnoli 1996. 25. Gyselen 2009, 160–1. 26. The problem is discussed in Compareti 2006b; Compareti 2016. 27. In her study about this controversial figure on Khusro II coins, Gyselen considered in detail all the options: Anahita, Shirin, Mithra, Adhur and Xwarrah. Gyselen excluded Shirin and Mithra (who had a rayed halo). Anahita too seemed less probable to her since the only evidence for this identification is the absence of a beard. However, it is obvious that men too could have been represented without a beard. She pointed to Adhur and Xwarrah as the most probable deities to be identified on those coins (Gyselen 2000, 302–7). 28. Compareti 2006a, 167–8. 29. Panaino 2004. 30. Mackintosh 1978; Sheppard 1981. 31. Gyselen 2000, 295–6. 32. Huff 1993, 45–7. Russo is too confident in his attributions that rely on very problematic artefacts such as stucco decorations and metalwork. In fact, there is no common agreement among scholars for any clear attribution of specific stuccoes (especially those coming from German excavations in modern Iraq in the beginning of the last century) to be Sasanian or early Islamic. The same problem can be found in the study of metalwork because, as Harper and Marshak have demonstrated, many artefacts considered to be Sasanian could actually be early Islamic or not Persian at all (mainly Bactrian or Sogdian). The artefacts under study were not scientifically excavated except in very few cases, as is clearly explained in two of the most recent studies on Sasanian stucco and metalwork (Kröger 2006; Harper and Marshak 2006). Also in his approach to the study of the Constantinopolitan church of St Polyeuktos from where he got most of his ideas about the origin of the ‘basket-capital’ typology, Russo has been criticised for his arbitrary attributions (see Bardill 2011). 33. Russo 2004, 796–8. 34. Lohuizen-Mulder 1989. 35. For some strange reason, the griffins that appear quite often on the ‘two-zone capitals’ are described as eagles in scientific literature despite the presence of fur under the beak and two

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36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41.

42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

ears that are usually broken (Kitzinger 1946, 61–72; Lohuizen-Mulder 1989). The only specimen of this typology showing griffin protomes that are preserved unbroken is at present kept in the Cathedral of Modena where it is used upside down as a basin for holy water. Those griffins look very similar to the composite winged creatures that we proposed to identify with the Iranian concept of farr and that were going to become very common in Islamic and Byzantine arts during the seventh and eighth centuries. Tedeschi Grisanti 1992. It is very strange that Russo does not mention these two capitals that have also been published in a volume that the Italian scholar cited many times in his paper (Mercklin 1962, pls 802–7). Vardanyan 2001; Sinisi 2008; Kaim 2009, 405. The bird with a garland in the beak has been expressly considered ‘as a substitute for the goddess Nike’ (Bader et al. 1998, 30). In one of the most recent studies about these rock reliefs, the putto is called ‘winged victory’ although it is very clear that the winged garland-bearer is depicted naked and with short curly hair: Herrmann 1998, 42. Hollard 2010. Gignoux 1991; Weber 2016. As noted in Kaim 2009. See also Huff 2014, 179–87. Rings like the one on the ‘Abnun capital’ have a very ancient history being much represented in Mesopotamian art as well together with the rod as specific symbols for ‘righteous kingship sanctified by the gods’ (Slanski 2007). It is not clear which relationship existed between the Mesopotamian and the Hellenistic ring but it seems more likely that the one used in Iranian arts was related to contemporaneous Greco-Roman culture and not to very ancient Mesopotamian concepts. This kind of ring can be observed even in the art of the Timurid period. In a fifteenth-century illustrated copy of the Khavarannama (formerly in the Museum of Decorative Arts, Tehran, no. 7570), there is also one image called ‘Imam Ali engages Salsal’: the ‘engagement’ is symbolised by the exchange of a dark ring between Ali with flaming halo and Salsal who is also bowing (Anvari 2002, 39). Gyselen 2009, 161. But see also Potts 2002. Russo 2004, 804–6. Callieri 2014, 154–9. It is not clear why he has a halo only in that single representation. For some hypotheses about this problem, see Tanabe 1984. Mode thought that the destroyed scene included the king hunting lions. Lion-hunting scenes were very common in Mesopotamian art as it can be observed in Assyrian reliefs from Ninive kept in the British Museum (north palace, room C panels 8–9. WA 120861-2). That Assyrian relief even includes a building very similar to Taq-i Bustan larger grotto on a hill among hunting scenes. It is quite clear that ancient Mesopotamian elements were borrowed by Persian artists and survived until Sasanian times.

References Anvari, S. (2002), Khåvarån Nåmeh. Ibn Hisåm Khusifi Birjandi. Miniature Paintings and Illustrations by Farhåd Naghåsh 15th Century, Tehran. Bader, A., V. Gaibov and G. Koshelenko (1998), ‘Monarchic ideas in Parthian Margiana as shown on seals’, in V. Sarkhosh Curtis, R. Hillenbrand and J. M. Rogers (eds), The Art and Archaeology of Ancient Persia: New Light on the Parthian and Sasanian Empires, London and New York, 24–37. Bardill, J. (2011), ‘Église Saint-Polyeucte à Constantinople: nouvelle solution pour l’énigme de sa reconstitution’, in J.-M. Speiser (ed.), Architecture paléochrétienne, Dijon, 77–103. Bier, C. (1985), ‘Anihid. iv. Anihita in the arts’, EIr, I, 1009–11. Callieri, P. (2014), Architecture et representations dans l’Iran sassanide, Paris. Carter, M. L. (1986), ‘Trifunctional Pharro’, Studia Iranica, 15, 89–98. Compareti, M. (2005–6), ‘Remarks on late Sasanian art: the figural capitals at Tåq-e Bostån’, Nåme-ye Irån-e Båstån, 5/1–2, 83–98. –––– (2006a), ‘Iconographical notes on some recent studies on Sasanian religious art (with an additional note on an Ilkhanid monument by Rudy Favaro)’, Annali di Ca’ Foscari, XLV, 3, 163–200. –––– (2006b), ‘The so-called Senmurv in Iranian art: a reconsideration of an old theory’, in P. G.

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Borbone, A. Mengozzi and M. Tosco (eds), Loquentes linguis. Linguistic and Oriental Studies in Honour of Fabrizio A. Pennacchietti, Wiesbaden, 185–200. –––– (2016), ‘La raffigurazione della “gloria iranica” nell’arte persiana e la sua distinzione dall’uccello fenice/simurgh’, Archivi di Studi Indo-Mediterranei, VI, (last accessed 18 November 2016). Cristoforetti, S. and G. Scarcia (2013), ‘Talking about SÈmurg and Êåq-i Bustån with Boris I. Marshak’, in P. Lurje and A. Torgoev (eds), Sogdians, Their Precursors, Contemporaries and Heirs: Volume in Memory of Boris Il’icˇ Maršak (1933–2006), St Petersburg, 339–52. Daryaee, T. (2009), Sasanian Persia. Decline and Fall of an Empire, London and New York. Erdmann, K. (1937), ‘Das Datum der Tå˚-i Bustån’, Ars Islamica, IV, 79–97. Fukai, S., K. Horiuchi, K. Tanabe and M. Domyo (1984), Taq-i Bustan IV. Text, Tokyo. Gignoux, P. (1991), ‘D’ÅbnËm à Måhån: étude de deux inscriptions sassanides’, Studia Iranica, XX, 9–22. Gnoli, G. (1996), ‘Farn als Hermes in einer soghdischen Erzählung’, in R. E. Emmerick, W. Sundermann and P. Zieme, Turfan, Khotan und Dunhuang: Vorträge der Tagung “Annemarie v. Gabain und die Turfanforschung”, Berlin, 95–100. –––– (1999), ‘Farr(ah)/xvarənah’, EIr, IX, 312–19. Göbl, R. (1971), Sasanian Numismatics, Braunschweig. Gyselen, R. (2000), ‘Un dieu nimbé de flammes d’époque sassanide’, Iranica Antiqua, XXXV, 291–314. –––– (2009), ‘Two notes on post-Sasanian coins’, in R. Gyselen (ed.), Sources pour l’histoire et la géographie du monde iranien (224–710), Res Orientales, XVIII, Bur-sur-Yvette, 143–72. Herrmann, G. (1998), ‘Shapur I in the East: reflections from his victory reliefs’, in V. Sarkhosh Curtis, R. Hillenbrand and J. M. Rogers (eds), The Art and Archaeology of Ancient Persia. New Light on the Parthian and Sasanian Empires, London and New York, 38–51. Harper, P. O. and B. I. Marshak (2006), ‘La vaisselle en argent’, in F. Demange (ed.), Les Perses sassanides. Fastes d’un empire oublié (224–642), Paris, 69–80. Herzfeld, E. (1938), ‘Khusrau Parw≠z und der Êåq i Vastån’, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran, IX, 91–158. Hollard, D. (2010), ‘Julien et Mithra sur le relief de Tåq-e-Bostån’, in R. Gyselen (ed.), Sources for the History of Sasanian and Post-Sasanian Iran, Res Orientales, XIX, Bur-sur-Yvette, 147–63. Huff, D. (1993), ‘Architecture sassanide’, in B. Overlaet (ed.), Splendeur des Sassanides. L’empire perse entre Rome et la Chine [224–642], Brussels, 45–61. –––– (2014), ‘Das Plansystem von ArdašÈr-xwarrah: Agrarkolonisatorisches Großprojekt und gebautes Staatsmodell eines von Gott gegebenen Königtums’, in K. Rezania (ed.), Raumkonzeptionen in antiken Religionen, Wiesbaden, 153–210. Kaim, B. (2009), ‘Investiture or Mithra: towards a new interpretation of the so called investiture scene in Parthian and Sasanian art’, Iranica Antiqua, XLIV, 403–15. Kitzinger, E. (1946), ‘The horse and lion tapestry at Dumbarton Oaks’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 3, 2–72. Kröger, J. (2006), ‘Les stucs’, in F. Demange (ed.), Les Perses sassanides. Fastes d’un empire oublié (224–642), Paris, 51–2. Lohuizen-Mulder, M. van (1989), ‘The two-zone capitals’, Babesch, 64, 193–204. Mackintosh, M. C. (1978), ‘Taq-i Bustan and Byzantine art: a case of Early Byzantine influence on the reliefs of Taq-i Bustan’, Iranica Antiqua, XIII, 149–77. Mercklin, E. von (1962), Antike Figuralkapitelle, Berlin. Mode, M. (2006), ‘Art and ideology at Taq-i Bustan: the armoured equestrian’, in M. Mode and J. Tubach (eds), Arms and Armours as Indicators of Cultural Transfer. The Steppes and the Ancient World from Hellenistic Times to the Early Middle Ages, Wiesbaden, 393–413. Overlaet, B. (2013), ‘And Man created God? Kings, priests and gods on Sasanian investiture reliefs’, Iranica Antiqua, XLVIII, 313–54. Panaino, A. (2004), ‘La Chiesa di Persia e l’impero sasanide. Conflitto e integrazione’, in Cristianità d’Occidente e cristianità d’Oriente (secoli VI–XI), Spoleto, 765–863. Potts, D. T. (2002), ‘Gopatshah and the human-headed bulls of Persepolis’, in E. Dabrowa (ed.), Tradition and Innovation in the Ancient World. Electrum, 6, Kraków, 9–14. Pourshariati, P. (2008), Decline and Fall of the Sasanian Empire. The Sasanian–Parthian Confederacy and the Arab Conquest of Iran, London and New York.

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Russo, E. (2004), ‘La scultura di San Polieucto e la presenza della Persia nella cultura artistica di Costantinopoli nel VI secolo’, in La Persia e Bisanzio, Rome, 737–826. –––– (2006), ‘La vera origine del capitello a cesto polilobato’, Bizantinoslavica, VIII, 61–84. Schindel, N. (2002), ‘Ein sasanidische Kontermarke’, Mitteilungen der Österreichischen Numismatischen Gesellschaft, 42/3, 57–60. Shenkar, M. (2014), Intangible Spirits and Graven Images: the Iconography of Deities in the PreIslamic Iranian World, Leiden and Boston. Sheppard, C. D. (1981), ‘A note on the date of Taq-i Bustan and its relevance to Early Christian art in the Near East’, Gestae, XX/1, 9–13. Sinisi, F. (2008), ‘Tyche in Parthia: the image of the Goddess on Arsacid Tetradrachms’, Numismatische Zeitschrift, 116/117, 231–48. Slanski, K. E. (2007), ‘The Mesopotamian “Rod and Ring”: icon of righteous kingship and balance of power between palace and temple’, in H. Crawford (ed.), Regime Change in the Ancient Near East and Egypt, Oxford, 37–59. Tanabe, K. (1984), ‘A study of the Sasanian disk-nimbus: farewell to its Xvarnah-theory’, Bulletin of the Ancient Orient Museum, VI, 29–50. –––– (2006), ‘The identification of the King of Kings in the upper register of the larger grotte, Taq-i Bustan: Ardashir III restated’, in M. Compareti, P. Raffetta and G. Scarcia (eds), Eˉrån ud An≠rån: Studies Presented to Boris Il’ich Marshak on the Occasion of His 70th Birthday, Venice, 583–601. Tedeschi Grisanti, G. (1992), ‘Capitelli romani figurati a Pisa’, in S. Settis (ed.), ‘Capitelli di mitologia’: Da un tempio romano alla chiesa di San Felice in Pisa. Un reimpiego e un restauro, Pisa, 47–69. Vanden Berghe, L. (1993), ‘La sculpture’, in B. Overlaet (ed.), Splendeur des Sassanides. L’empire perse entre Rome et la Chine [224–642], Brussels, 71–88. Vardanyan, R. (2001), ‘Tendenze culturali e ideologiche nell’impero partico riflesse dalla monetazione’, Parthica, 3, 25–132. Weber, U. (2016), ‘The Inscription of AbnËn and its dating to the early days of Šåbuhr I’, in R. Gyselen (ed.), Words and Symbols: Sasanian Objects and the Tabarestån Archive, Res Orientales, XXIV, Bur-sur-Yvette, 107–44.

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CHAPTER 3

Architecture of the Wider Persian World: from Central Asia to Western Anatolia in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries Richard Piran McClary The aim of this chapter is to demonstrate the western extent of Persian architecture in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. The antecedent structures in Iran have been generally well published by earlier generations of scholars, with the benchmark publication being Arthur Upham Pope’s magisterial A Survey of Persian Art.1 In contrast, limited attempts have been made to integrate the study of the Persian architecture of Anatolia and northern Mesopotamia, located to the west of Iran, with that of Central Asia to the east. This chapter focuses on a number of lesser-known structures in Anatolia in order to demonstrate the western extent of the architectural aesthetic that had been developed in Greater Iran and Central Asia in the preceding two centuries. There will be some reference to contemporary buildings erected under Qarakhanid patronage in Central Asia, in Balasagun and the Farghana valley, to demonstrate the wide-ranging connections between the eastern and western extremities of the lands under Turko-Muslim rule during the pre-Mongol period. Through a series of case studies of tombs and minarets, along with a brief discussion of the decorative elements of the small mosques in the city of Ak∞ehir, near the border of the Greek Laskarid Empire of Nicaea in western Anatolia,2 the key forms and motifs become clear, along with the patterns of distribution and development. Few of the buildings under discussion feature the name of a craftsman, leaving stylistic analysis alone as the tool by which any understanding of the origins of the patterns, forms and techniques can be determined. Minarets Qarakhanid Minaret, Uzgend The advantage of casting a wide geographical net in order to understand the development of Persian architecture in the pre-Mongol period is that very similar structures can be seen on the eastern and western extremes of the lands ruled by Turko-Muslim dynasties. The Jar Kurgan minaret, built in 1108–9 at Minor, near Termez in southern Uzbekistan,3 features an octagonal base with blind pointed

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arches under rectangular panels.4 There are round flanges running the full height of the tapering shaft in a very similar manner to the Yivli (fluted) minaret in Antalya (Figure 3.5),5 built 3200km to the west and over a century later, during the reign of Sultan Ala al-Din Kay Qubadh I (1219–37).6 Such similarities over time and space indicate the longevity of the Persian style and the unity within diversity that can be seen in some of the surviving structures. Another Central Asian minaret that has a form subsequently employed in Anatolia is the Qarakhanid minaret in Uzgend (Figure 3.1).7 In the medieval period Uzgend was the last outpost of the Dar al-Islam,8 located at the eastern end of the Farghana valley, now in the south-west of the Kyrgyz Republic. The minaret is 18m high to the top of the shaft,9 is 8.85m wide at the base and has an extensive array of brick patterns on the eight facets of the base and in five wide bands around the shaft (Figure 3.2). There are also curvilinear and rectilinear patterns incised into the mortar between the brick bonds and the decorative strapwork patterns in the band at the bottom of the shaft. Given the similarity of the patterns on the minaret to the ones used on the nearby tomb of the Qarakhanid ruler Nasr ibn Ali who died in 1012–13, the minaret probably dates from the early years of the

Figure 3.1  Qarakhanid Minaret, Uzgend (left) and Burana Minaret, Balasagun (right). Photograph © R. McClary.

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Figure 3.2  Tepsi Minaret, Erzurum (left) and Harput Great Mosque Minaret (right). Photograph © R. McClary.

eleventh century as well.10 It is likely that the Uzgend minaret was the model for the Kalan minaret in Bukhara of 1127, as well as the slightly later minaret built at Vabkent, near Bukhara in 1196–8.11 The wide base and tapering form is also seen in the truncated remains of the Qarakhanid minaret at Balasagun12 (Figure 3.1), as well as the Tepsi minaret in Erzurum, examined below. The Uzgend minaret does not have any surviving epigraphy, but there is a recessed band around the lower section of the shaft that is likely to originally have had epigraphic terracotta panels in it. The lozenge-based patterns in the wide bands on the lower portion of the shaft are similar to the style of the much later Tepsi minaret in Erzurum, as is the wider, tapered form. It is a form that is so unlike the tall thin minarets that developed in the early twelfth century in Iran, which bear such close resemblance to later Anatolian minarets. Examples include the one added to the Great Mosque in Sivas in 121213 and the slightly later E©ri minaret in Aksaray, discussed below. The introduction of minarets to the Saljuq lands of Anatolia in the early thirteenth century represented a seismic shift in the overall architectural aesthetic of

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the region, from a primarily horizontal emphasis to a markedly vertical one. This visually projected the presence of both the physical mosque as well as the power of the ruler across the city and into the surrounding landscape. Vertical projection formed part of the wider shift from introversion to extroversion in the Islamic architecture of Anatolia which continued under the later Beylik and Ottoman rulers.14 Prior to the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries very few of the Great Mosques or other surviving Islamic structures in Anatolia had monumental portals or minarets. Any decoration was usually reserved for the interior of the building, with the wood minbar commonly being the most elaborate element to survive. The initial absence of minarets demonstrates that they were not required for their generally perceived role as a place for the muadhdhin to perform the adhan (call) to salat/namaz (prayer),15 and their subsequent addition indicates they were built to serve a more symbolic role. It is only with the increased Rum Saljuq hegemony in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries that a number of the mosques being built had a minaret included as part of their overall design concept. At the same time existing Great Mosques, such as those built of stone in Sivas and Kayseri, had brick minarets added in order to give them a more distinctively Saljuq appearance. There was a brief flowering of tall minarets under the Rum Saljuq sultan Izz al-Din Kay Kawus I (r. 1211–19), and their construction may be seen as part of a broader attempt to unify the architectural aesthetic of the expanding sultanate.16 Tepsi Minaret, Erzurum The Tepsi minaret17 (Figure 3.2) appears to be the earliest18 surviving brick-built minaret in Anatolia19 and shows strong connections with the form of minarets built in Central Asia by the Qarakhanids in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. It has a stone base and a brick shaft, with no transition zone between the two contiguous component parts. The minaret is integrated into the citadel wall and the grey stone base is irregular in shape. It is primarily square, with the northeast corner cut off to create a fifth side. The lower section of the cylindrical shaft features ablaq bands of red and white stone, and the minaret, currently measuring 21m in height, is entered through a door in the north side of the base. It has moulded jambs and a decorated blind arch tympanum carved to a depth of 8mm. The minaret is of a different typology to the later brick (and stone) minarets of Anatolia, the cylindrical shaft having a far greater taper than any of the other minarets in Anatolia, and is of a similar form to the Uzgend minaret discussed above. Built during the period of Saltuqid rule,20 it has a damaged inscription that does not allow for the attribution of a specific year, but indicates a mid twelfthcentury date of construction. Although the patron, and thus the date, of the Tepsi minaret are unclear, it has been attributed by Leiser to the Saltuqid sultan Diya al-Din Ghazi (r. c.1124–32).21 The use of minarets as landlocked lighthouses was common in Khurasan,22 and

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may have been the primary function of the Tepsi minaret, as it is situated on the south-west corner of the citadel and is not attached to a mosque.23 The cylindrical shaft has a far greater taper than any of the other minarets in Anatolia and is of a similar form to the Qarakhanid minaret in Uzgend. It appears to be an almost direct transfer from Central Asia, unfiltered by the minaret style that developed in Iran under the Great Saljuqs. The Qarakhanids were one of the first dynasties under which Persian was employed in monumental epigraphy on buildings, and represented the eastern edge of the wider Persian world, albeit with strongly Turkic influences.24 It was the Persian style of minarets, with tall attenuated cylindrical brick shafts developed under the Great Saljuqs, which proliferated across the major cities of Anatolia in the early decades of the thirteenth century.25 Mostly limited to Great Mosques under Izz al-Din Kay Kawus I, and the E©ri and Yivli minarets under Ala al-Din Kay Qubadh I, increasingly the minarets were shorter, and by the middle of the thirteenth century they were being attached to all but the smallest of masjids. Although the majority of the buildings are stone, almost all the minarets built in Anatolia during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries are primarily brick,26 with a cylindrical shaft on a square base, the lowest sections of which are often stone. There was an increased use of glazed decoration over time, and only the earliest examples have decorative brick bonds. The Tepsi minaret is the only one from the early period that has a portal-like stone entrance, with receding filets and geometrical decoration. There is a stepped transition from the stone base of the minaret to the brick upper section on the interior, with the transition spiralling in the opposite direction to the staircase. The base of the shaft consists of six layers of ashlars, alternating in colour from black to red, white, red, white and a final course of red stone, before the brick construction begins above. In the stone lower section arches spiral around the central core to the outer shaft, stepped and connected prior to the transition to the brick structure that support the sixty-three stone stair treads.27 The treads are each made of three grey volcanic stones sitting on a brick base, consisting of staggered bricks. The bricks used in the construction of the minaret are of a uniform red colour, indicating a consistent firing temperature across all the batches. Unlike a number of the later minarets, the bricks are rectangular, rather than radial in form. The mortar beds on the interior of the shaft are between 14mm and 17mm thick, while the rising joints are irregular in size, but are generally narrower than the beds. This is because of the use of rectangular bricks to generate a circular plan. This also helps to explain the concomitant prevalence of wider rising joints on the exterior of the minaret shafts. This pattern continues in later minarets, even after the introduction of radial bricks meant that is was no longer unavoidable. The brickwork is of horizontal bond with half-brick offset and there are wide rising and narrow bed mortar joints up to the guard band below the epigraphic band, located 2m below the top of the shaft.28 The lower section of the central column is circular and stone, the upper section

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is octagonal and of brick. Each facet of the octagonal central core is built up of a row of two full bricks, then a row consisting of one full brick in the middle, with two short bricks either side.29 The order of two full or one full and two small is switched at each corner, to avoid the need to cut large bricks in order to create the octagonal form. The rising mortar joints in the layer consisting of two full bricks are between 40mm and 60mm wide. Although a number of later Anatolian minarets have a central column, the octagonal form of the Tepsi column has a precedent in the Chihil Dukhtaran minaret (1107) in Isfahan. Two identical guard bands border the band of epigraphy. They each consist of two single courses of horizontal bricks, with no visible rising mortar joints, and a band of small square bricks set at forty-five degrees to create a band of lozenges. These echo the wide upper band of hazarbaf (thousand-weavings) lozenges above them, formed from horizontal and vertical bricks of two types, long-faced and short-faced. The only other examples of courses of bricks with no visible rising joints are the two courses at the top of the shaft above the band of hazarbaf lozenges. The epigraphic band itself is composed of red bricks, deeply set into large irregular-width white stone blocks. The stones are not discoloured and grey, in the way that the mortar between them and the red brick course above is. The stone used for the epigraphic band is the same kind as used for the two white bands at the base of the shaft, which are also of irregular width, and have retained a pure white appearance that the mortar has lost over time. Dating the Tepsi minaret is problematic but the band of epigraphy at the top of the shaft can be of some help. It gives the title ‘our master Îiya al-Din’,30 indicating that the patron was Abu’l-Muzaffar Ghazi, Diya al-Din (c.1124–32).31 However the text goes on to say ‘Inandj Yabghu, Alp Êoghrïl Bek ibn al-MuΩaffar Ghazi ibn Abu l Kasim’.32 If the genealogical statement regarding the patron being the son of al-MuΩaffar Ghazi is given greater weighting than the honorific Diya al-Din then it may mean that the tower was built during the reign of AbË’l-Muzaffar Ghazi, Diya al-Din’s successor Saltuq II ibn Ali, Izz al-Din. If that is the case, it would put the tower in the date range of 526–63 (1132–68).33 Ünal refrains from attributing any date in his discussion of the minaret,34 but Bakırer dates the minaret to the late twelfth century.35 This would put construction during the rule of either Muhammad or Mama Khatun, neither of which fit with the names, titles or genealogy given in the epigraphic band. The conflicting evidence makes a more specific date range tentative at best, but the style of the minaret, and the epigraphic content, suggest a date of construction in the middle of the twelfth century. The Decorative Interaction of Brick and Stone The union of brick and stone is seen at the point of transition from foundations to walls on all the brick buildings of Islamic Anatolia. Such combinations are quite simple to execute, but the combination of the two materials in the creation of the epigraphic band near the top of the shaft of the Tepsi minaret is of a far more

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complex nature (Figure 3.3). It is a unique means of creating a long-lasting and highly visible bi-chrome projection of the written word. The white stone background, the same as is used for the alternating bands at the base of the minaret, has been deeply and precisely excavated to allow for a large portion of the bricks to be inserted.36 Most of the body of the brick is set within the stone, with only a short section projecting in relief. As a result the surface delamination which the two materials have suffered, most likely due to the freeze thaw process, are not significant enough to affect the legibility of the epigraphy (Figure 3.3). Although the inscription has been referred to as an ‘inscription coufique en briques rouge sur un fond blanc de chaux’ (Kufic inscription in red brick on a white background of lime),37 it is Ünal who correctly describes the bricks in relief as being incrustées dans un rang d’assises de pierre (embedded in a row of stone seats).38 The white stones are irregular in width, and the vertical breaks correspond with either an alif, a lam, or cut through a ligature so that they do not divide any individual letters in two. The entire band would need to have been composed in advance in order to allow for each of the stones with brick inserts to have been constructed on the ground and then lifted into place. The skilful synthesis of multiple materials to achieve both structural and decorative effects is typical of the later developments in the Islamic architecture of Anatolia. As the unique example at the Tepsi minaret shows, this process was already under way in some of the earliest surviving structures of the period. Harput Great Mosque Minaret One of the few other minarets built in the twelfth century in Anatolia which has survived is the one attached to the Harput Great Mosque of 116639 (Figure 3.2). It has a leaning and truncated shaft40 featuring a wider array of brick bonds than later Anatolian minarets, and it is the only one to feature a dodecagonal zone of transition at the base of the shaft. Another unique aspect of the minaret is the location, on the roof of the mosque, over the west wall near the north-west corner.41 The minaret appears to be one of the earliest brick minarets attached to a mosque in

Figure 3.3  Tepsi Minaret, Erzurum; damaged area to right of clock face on upper shaft. Photograph © R. McClary.

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Figure 3.4 EÌri Minaret, Aksaray (left) and Yivli minaret, Antalya, Kesik Minare Mosque Minaret, Aksaray (right). Photograph © R. McClary.

Anatolia. Although presently rather diminutive in height and in a rather crude provincial style, the use of wide and narrow bands of brick decoration on the shaft shows a more conscientious attempt to recreate the lavish hazarbaf decoration, if not the scale, of the twelfth-century minarets of Iran and northern Iraq than any of the other surviving early minarets in Anatolia.42 A dodecagonal transition zone starts at the roofline of the mosque and although the minaret has suffered extensive losses, the facets with surviving decoration can be seen to have vertical and horizontal bond patterns. The shaft itself has three main decorative sections, each divided by narrower bands. There are two rows of plain half offset horizontal bond above the transition zone. The narrow pattern above and below the lowest of the three wide decorative patterns consists of addorsed pairs of L-shaped patterns formed from two bricks. These pairs are alternatively inverted, and the vertical elements connect with the plain band of brick at the top and bottom, with the pattern having the appearance of a simplified Greek-key pattern. The first wide band creates a dynamic pattern, through the use of varying lengths of vertical and horizontal bricks, and is a wide as the two remaining decorative bands above. These two bands are based on a hexagonal pattern, built up with pointed ellipse shaped bricks, and triangles with one side

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curved to match the ellipse on the lower of the two bands, with just the pointed ellipses on the upper band. They represent positive and negative versions of the same pattern, with the void areas of the lower band being delineated with bricks in the upper band. Lozenge and circle shapes alternate between two bands of horizontal bond regular bricks at the top of the upper, and bottom of the lower, of the top two large decorative bands. Although the source of the pattern remains unclear, the upper pattern can be seen to be replicated later in a band on the west façade of the late-Byzantine Hagia Theodora church at Arta in Greece.43 The minaret leans significantly to the east, and there are losses to the upper section of the shaft, with the basket and upper narrow shaft having been rebuilt to be closer to vertical. Two other brick bonds are visible at the top of the surviving section of the shaft, and above the narrow band of circle and lozenge bricks are two courses of horizontal bond, with no offset, narrow rising joints, and very wide bed joints. Above this is a fragmentary section of two courses of horizontal bricks interconnected by short vertical bricks. As with all but the large band of horizontal and vertical bond on the shaft, this type of decoration is unique in Anatolian minarets, and shows this is not likely to be the work of an indigenous craftsman, but of someone familiar with the minarets of Iran. Similar narrow band of lozenges and circles can be seen on the Chihil Dukhtaran minaret (1107) in Isfahan.44 There are also horizontal and rising bonds on the octagonal section of the Isfahan minaret, and they share the same method of decorating the lower section of the shaft. The Harput minaret is far less attenuated, but the builder had clearly been drinking from the well of Isfahani architectural methods and modes of decoration. Losses to the shaft clearly demonstrate the separation between the structural plain bond bricks that form the inner core of the shaft, and the outer skin of decorative bonds, visible on the exterior of the shaft. The inner core features a bond that varies between half and one third-offset bricks with wide mortar beds and an irregular surface, while the outer skin employs larger amounts of mortar between the bricks, in order to form the decorative bonds. E©ri Minaret, Aksaray The second, more monumental and mature phase of minaret construction in Anatolia is exemplified by the E©ri minaret (Figure 3.4), added to the (now lost) Great Mosque of Aksaray during the rule of Ala al-Din Kay Qubadh I (1219–37).45 The primarily brick-built minaret now leans quite severely to the north. It has a generally square base, which varies between three and four courses of ashlars, with brick courses above. It has an irregular plan, and the south and west sides appear to have been attached to the now lost mosque, as they are the only two unarticulated facets. One of these facets, facing east, has a door accessing the staircase, which comprises ninety-two steps.46 The base consists of rectangular bricks47 with mortar beds that range in thickness from 15mm to 20mm. The base bricks are of a lower quality, and more eroded, than the red bricks use for the shaft. The stone

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section of the base is intact; however, there has been a degree of collapse of the bricks in the north side of the base, resulting in the lean of the cylindrical shaft. There are also large cracks in the east side of the brick section of the base. As well as an articulated plan, the profile of the lower section of the minaret is enlivened by a number of projecting and receding brick courses.48 Poorer quality bricks are used in the base of the EÌri minaret than the ones used for the shaft as they are heavily eroded, and contain numerous aggregate inclusions which reveal that they were not levigated. There is a mix of yellow and red rectangular bricks, while the shaft consists of uniformly light red bricks which show hardly any sign of erosion, and are of a finer quality. The losses to the shaft are primarily limited to the glazed intarsia. Most of the yellow bricks are on the south and east facing flat surfaces of the minaret base. The main lower section of the shaft features a zigzag pattern formed by V-shaped voids, six courses above a band with circular voids in the rising joints, with a few of the cup-shaped turquoise intarsia remaining. A band of decoration above the zigzag section consists of a series of squares, formed from two vertical and two horizontal bricks in the form of an L next to an inverted L, with the central square void filled with a glazed tile. The upper band of decoration is based on an eightpointed star composition. An earlier example of a simpler, but related, pattern in brick is seen in the early eleventh-century Damghan minaret in Iran, on the fifth major band of decoration from the bottom of the shaft. Complexity is added by using only one element, rather than two, in the band, whilst doubling the knotted strapwork around the central star, thus creating the effect of pseudo-epigraphy. Between the band of decoration and the blind arches below the muqarnas there are twelve courses of bricks with narrow rising and narrow bed joints. Six courses down from the blind arches there is a corbeled step. At that point there is a band of square holes that provide light and ventilation, but their original purpose was most likely as scaffolding holes. They are similar in size, shape and location to the band of scaffold holes at the base of the muqarnas cell projections of the coeval brick-built minaret of Qumriyya Mosque in Baghdad, dated to 1228.49 There are six in the row on the Qumriyya Mosque minaret, all of which are 15cm2. The domed top of the narrower upper shaft is of a similar form, but lacking the decoration, as coeval minarets in Baghdad, such as the one attached to the al-Khafaffin Mosque. The mortar used to bond the bricks together in the EÌri minaret has small white inclusions, which are lumps of lime that did not mix with the aggregate.50 It contains organic material, most likely to be straw, with a fibrous stem that has been bleached white, a tell-tale sign of the presences of alkaline lime, and there is sand as well as a wide array of sizes of black stone aggregate sizes in the mortar mix. They are rounded riverbed aggregate, not the more efficient angular crushed aggregate,51 which indicates that the source of the sand and gravel for the mortar was the nearby river that runs approximately twenty metres from the minaret site. Of the limited samples analysed, this is the closest to the type of mortar used in the indigenous Byzantine building tradition.52

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Kesik Minaret, Aksaray The final structure to be examined in this section is the small Kesik minaret in Aksaray (Figure 3.4). The detailed examination of a minor minaret allows for an understanding of the elements which were adopted from the major sultanic structures, be they mosques, tombs, minarets, hospitals or palaces, and integrated into the wider corpus of architecture. This includes structures built at a lower level of patronage, and at a lower register of quality in regard to the level of craftsmanship involved. Unlike other contemporary minarets in Anatolia, which generally feature stone lower sections of the base, the base as well as the shaft and zone of transition of the Kesik (cut) minaret53 is brick, with the exception of one block in the northwest corner. The top of the base steps out three times to create the platform supporting the unique twelve-sided zone of transition that is thirteen courses high. The door to the minaret is west facing (246 degrees), and the nearly square base features sides of irregular length.54 The rather crudely formed twelve-sided section is not centred on the base and the projecting cornice of the south-west corner indicates that the minaret was originally free-standing. Meinecke disagrees55 and assumes it was connected to the north-east corner of a now lost mosque. Extensive repairs mean his observations may hold more weight, as he presumably observed the structure prior to what appears to be a quite recent restoration. The shaft is only slightly smaller than the twelve-sided section upon which it sits. Above, the balcony has a truncated appearance and the decoration of the shaft ends abruptly. The absence of any door in the upper section of the shaft above the balcony indicates that there was originally a further balcony that is now missing. There are numerous later Ottoman examples of multiple balconies in Anatolia,56 as well as several much earlier Saljuq examples in Iran but if, as appears likely, there was a further section of shaft with another balcony, it would have made the Kesik minaret the earliest example of a multiple balcony minaret in Anatolia. The lower section of the upper shaft features the common wide rising and narrow bed mortar and half offset brick bond, while the upper portion features a similar style of square Kufic epigraphy as seen on the lower portion of the shaft. The use of the diagonal square Kufic epigraphy, seen in the tympanum of the tomb of Sultan Izz al-Din Kay Kawus I in Sivas, as well as the unusual use of a twelve-sided zone of transition (a form used for the upper section of the same tomb), indicate that this minaret may well be a sort of homage to the royal tomb. There is also the use of green glazed cavetto bacini in a band below the muqarnas cells, as seen on the (presumably) sultanic minaret of the Great Mosque in Sivas as well. The Kesik minaret also features muqarnas cells and V-shaped projections in a similar manner to the Sivas Great Mosque minaret.57 Meinecke notes the similarities between the Aksaray minaret and the tomb of Izz al-Din Kay Kawus I in Sivas, in addition to which he also points out the similarity between the diagonal square Kufic epigraphy on the shaft, and that on the minarets of the Çifte Minareli

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Figure 3.5  Kesik Minare Mosque Minaret, Aksaray; balcony detail. Photograph © R. McClary.

madrasa (1271–2) in Sivas.58 It is the similarities to the Sivas tomb and Great Mosque minaret, but the smaller scale and more provincial quality of execution, which suggest a date sometime after 1220 for the Kesik minaret. The minaret features a number of glazed elements, with the rather angular muqarnas cell corbels for the balcony having polygonal turquoise tiles and inset circular deep cavetto green glazed sections (Figure 3.5). There is a band of green cavetto bowls at the base of the muqarnas cells, as seen in Sivas; however, most are missing and the remaining mortar voids have been painted green in the modern era. In addition, the shaft is decorated with square glazed tiles, recessed into the buff brickwork of the upper and lower shaft to create square Kufic lettering. In regard to the mortar, the minaret has been repointed, and the interior was inaccessible when surveyed, so close observation of the mortar bed was not possible. Alongside a few brief comments by Meinecke,59 the minaret has also been briefly addressed by Erdmann.60 The early phase of construction of minarets in Anatolia, to the middle of the thirteenth century, consists of three stages. The earliest, represented by the Tepsi and the Harput minarets, is marked by eclecticism, drawing on a wide range of sources from across the Persian world. The second stage, represented by the E©ri

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minaret in Aksaray consists of monumental attenuated minarets attached to Great Mosques, built in a style close to that which the Great Saljuqs developed in the twelfth century. The final stage is marked by diminution in height and proliferation as seen in the Kesik minaret in Aksaray. Subsequently, in the latter half of the thirteenth century twinned minarets, as seen earlier in the Ildegüzid architecture of Nackchivan, became common, with examples surviving in Sivas and Erzurum.61 Tombs The excavated foundations of an octagonal-plan tomb structure built in brick are located next to the surviving minaret in the city of Balasagun, in the Chu valley, 60km east of Bishkek, the capital of the Kyrgyz Republic.62 The city was one of the capitals of the eastern branch of the Qarakhanids, the first Turko-Muslim dynasty.63 The scale and plan are very similar to the type of tomb most commonly found far to the west in Anatolia, generally executed in stone, but with numerous brick-built examples also found within the surviving corpus.64 Somewhat surprisingly, the form was not employed as often in the region between the two extremes, as Iranian tombs tend to be much larger and have a wider variety of plans.65 Bekar Sultan Tomb, GülaÌaç A number of buildings with a very similar plan to the Balasagun tomb survive across Anatolia, with an early surviving example being the Bekar Sultan tomb, located in GülaÌaç, a small village near Aksaray.66 It is dateable, on stylistic grounds, to the period spanning the late twelfth to the early thirteenth centuries;67 however, there is no epigraphic evidence to indicate the patron, or the craftsman who oversaw the construction of the tomb.68 It consists of a free-standing octagonal shaft, topped with a band of muqarnas cells69 and an octahedral roof. There is no sign of a crypt, but it is likely that the ground level has risen over time, thus obscuring the location of any entrance. The tomb has stone foundations, a primarily stone-built body, with the upper portion of the walls, the band of muqarnas and the roof executed in brick (Figure 3.6). The eight exterior walls of the tomb have recessed blind arches.70 The base stones are of a lighter grey than the wider foundation, with the majority of the walls constructed from a more yellow-coloured stone, and then brick employed from the epigraphic band up. The ashlars used to face the exterior of the walls are c.54cm high, with widths that vary to suit,71 while the external blind facets of the tomb each measure 322cm. The door into the tomb faces south-west (243 degrees) and is slightly offset, rather than being in the centre of the facet as is normally the case, with a relatively simple portal facet, devoid of the cavetto or engaged columns seen on the entrance of most of the other surviving tombs of the region. The upper sections of the blind arch panels are decorated with stones set in

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Figure 3.6  Bekar Sultan Tomb, GülaÌaç (left) and Selime Sultan Tomb, Selime (right). Photograph © R. McClary.

the manner of the brick decoration seen at the square-plan Melik Gazi tomb in Pinarba∞ı, east of Kayseri, built in the mid to late twelfth century. The pattern on the Bekar Sultan tomb consists of a square of blocks, set narrow end to wide, with a small square in the centre and can be seen on all but the north, north-east and north-west facets. The pattern has the effect of successfully integrating the sometimes awkward transition from stone to brick. It is by examining the hybrid nature of the part-brick, part-stone construction methods, employed in this and other contemporary buildings, that understanding the point of transition from primarily brick to primarily stone construction in the Islamic architecture of Anatolia in the early thirteenth century may be possible. Above the blind arches is a wide band of Kufic epigraphy formed from bricks inserted into a white mortar base. This has a superficial similarity to the technique used for the upper band on the Tepsi minaret in Erzurum, but it is a less complex, as well as less durable, method. The style of the epigraphy is transitional between that of the Tepsi minaret and the more sophisticated band of epigraphy around the shaft of the minaret added to the Great Mosque in Sivas in 1212. There is a chequerboard pattern on the Bekar Sultan tomb epigraphy that hints at the more developed knotwork seen in brick at Sivas and in stone on the Kutalmi∞ tomb door lintel, built in Niksar in the late twelfth century.72 In addition, there

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are remains of turquoise and blue glazed tiles on the east and south-east facets. On the north face there is one example of overlapped alif and lam, not a true knot, but they do feature spear-like finials, in the style of the glazed Izz al-Din Kay Kawus I tomb epigraphy in Sivas and the unglazed brick epigraphic band on the minaret of the Sivas Great Mosque. It has simple circular elements similar to the Izz al-Din tomb in Sivas, as well as crude knotting and addorsed half-arrowhead tips of the hastae as seen in both the Great Mosque minaret and the Izz al-Din tomb in Sivas. It may be viewed as a rather crude version of the tripartite Kufic epigraphy developed by the Ghurids on the eastern and southern frontiers of the Dar al-Islam. Of the eight facets, two have lost all of the lettering, one has lost most and five retain most of the letter forms. As a result of the losses and restoration73 a clear translation of the epigraphy has yet to emerge. On either side of the band of epigraphy is a narrow guard band, formed of alternating brick lozenges and (mostly missing) turquoise glazed bacini set into stucco. This style of guard band is seen at the roughly contemporary Mengücek Gazi tomb in Kemah and originated in the Great Saljuq architecture of Iran.74 Above the upper guard band are two rows of finely executed muqarnas cells, each row of cells consisting of six courses of bricks. Above the muqarnas band is another identical narrow guard band to the one found below, and then a lip formed from a single course of bricks, before the octahedral roof in brick. The muqarnas cell cornice consists of two tiers, with the lower tier cells being like a lancet shape with the tip bent forward ninety degrees, in the Persian manner. The upper section is tripartite, with a narrow lancet projecting in the middle made with small bricks.75 There is a vent hole at the top of the east facet in the middle of the lower muqarnas band. The muqarnas cells in the lower tier alternate between blank panels. All the rising joints have deep voids that enliven the appearance of the composition. The upper band consists of tripartite cells united by a (recently repaired) continuous arched façade that intrudes into the guard band above. There are a few remaining small cavetto turquoise glazed tiles inserted in between baked brick lozenges in the three narrow guard bands. These are located at the top of the shaft of the tomb above and below the epigraphic band but most are now missing and the voids have recently been painted green. They alternate with brick horizontal lozenges. In addition, there are irregularly placed cobalt blue cavetto bowls set into the brickwork as well. As with a number of tombs of the period, the interior of the tomb features a brick dome above a band of blind arches. Each alternating arch spans a corner and form the zone of transition from the octagonal body to the circular dome base. The tomb has had extensive restoration in the latter years of the twentieth century. Selime Sultan Tomb, Selime Another hybrid brick and stone-built octagonal-plan tomb survives nearby, the Selime Sultan tomb (Figure 3.6), located outside the small village of Selime, near

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Aksaray,76 dates from the first quarter of the thirteenth century. The tomb in included in Önkal’s Anadolu Selçuklu Türbeleri (Anatolian Saljuq Tombs) of 1996, but a number of the features of the building are published here for the first time. The cardinally oriented tomb is octagonal in plan (with no square platform) and features a cruciform-plan crypt underneath. There has been extensive shifting and buckling of the structure over time, and the style and the primarily brick construction of the tomb suggests a date in the first two decades of the thirteenth century. It is, however, entirely possible that the tomb was constructed in the last two decades of the twelfth century as there is no epigraphic or dendrochronological evidence upon which to date the structure accurately or to know the patron or builder. The lower brick section of the portal (Figure 3.6) has been extensively repaired with modern grey cement. The decoration of the portal wraps around the corner onto the flanking facets in an innovative manner, with vertically set bricks placed over short horizontal ones. The extension of the portal decoration onto the rest of the structure is not seen in many stone-built structures until the second half of the thirteenth century. The inner decorative strap of the portal features the same form, vertical bricks over short horizontal ones, which integrate the façade into the broader decorative composition. There is a brick cavetto frame around the portal and geometrical strapwork in a panel set above the blind arch over the door. The lintel over the door features an unusual style of decoration, with five square bricks placed face-out featuring impressed patterns based on a swastika on each one (Figure 3.7). It is highly likely that the stones in the blind facets are a recent addition owing to their incongruous appearance and smoother surface than that of the base ashlars, as is the stone in the tympanum of the arch over the entrance. The bricks used for the main body of the tomb are extensively weathered and many of the mortar joints have been repointed with modern grey Portland cement. The engaged columns flanking the entrance are made with small curved bricks, set vertical next to horizontal and with a brick laid flat in place of a true capital. Some of the bricks on the east to north-east outside corner are as thin as 3.5cm. Although no glazed tiles survive, it is possible that there may have been some in the tympanum over the door (which appears to have modern stone restoration) but it is unclear. The entire roof of the tomb was replaced in the twentieth century.77

Figure 3.7  Selime Sultan Tomb portal moulded tile detail. Photograph © R. McClary.

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Figure 3.8  Selime Sultan Tomb portal cross-section @ 191cm above current grade. Photograph © R. McClary.

The surviving sections of original mortar show it to be very white and hard with quartz-like aggregate. The cruciform-plan crypt beneath the tomb consists of four small iwans with a central cross vault that is 177cm high at the centre. The interior surface is finished in rough stone with a low doorway to the east and a small window to the south.78 Although the tomb does not have any inscriptions, a stone was found nearby during excavations around the site. It has five lines of text that give the name Merhum Maghfur Sayid Shahid Derwish Bey [sic] ibn Awruj Bey [sic], which may be presumed to be the patron rather than the craftsmen, given the honorifics.79 Mosques Ak∞ehir Mosques: Hybrid Structures on the Western Frontier The surviving small mosques built in Ak∞ehir in the early thirteenth century are geographically close to the border of the Byzantine Laskarid Empire, and

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Figure 3.9  Ferruh S¸ah Mescidi (left) and Kileci Mescidi (right) window spandrels, Ak∞ehir. Photograph © R. McClary.

i­ncorporate large amounts of marble spolia. However, the brick sizes, the arch forms and use of turquoise glazed intarsia demonstrate the Persian origins of the craftsmen who built them. As with the two tombs in the vicinity of Aksaray discussed above, these small mosques represent further examples of the point of architectural synthesis, with the two primary media of construction, brick and stone, both being employed in the same building. Marble spolia, rubble, brick, timber and glazed tiles were combined to generate structural forms developed in earlier traditions of Islamic architecture. The result of this process was the creation of a distinctively Anatolian variant of Persian architecture by the early decades of the thirteenth century.80 Double-centred pointed arches, executed in brick, are the most identifiably Persian form, but details such as the use of glazed turquoise intarsia as well as bands consisting of alternating terracotta lozenges and circles (Figure 3.9) on the Ferruh S¸ah Mescidi (1224) demonstrate the close connection to earlier buildings to the east. The same patterns can be seen around the entrances to the Mengücek Gazi tomb in Kemah (c.1190) and the Yusuf ibn Kutheyyir tomb in Nakhchivan, built in 1162.81 A slightly more contemporary example, but with glazed turquoise circles instead of unglazed terracotta, can be seen around the top of the aforementioned Bekar Sultan tomb in GülaÌaç. The Kileci Mescidi features a brick-built pointed-arch window, the spandrels of which are decorated with glazed turquoise tiles, cut into T-shapes (Figure 3.9). These are combined to create a hexagonal pattern, centred on a six-pointed star. Such details give an entirely Islamic character to what are otherwise rather hybrid structures, featuring marble spolia and opus mixtum walls, with bricks, rubble and spolia combined, often in a seemingly haphazard manner. Another comparable example, also dating from the early decades of the thirteenth century, can be seen on the Küçük Aya Sofya mescidi (1235), which features a rather more crude example of the pattern seen in the spandrels of the two earlier niches, built

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in 1217 and located in the north iwan of the Izz al-Din Kay Kawus I hospital at Sivas.82 Conclusion This attempt to tie together the Islamic architecture of the far east and far west of the pre-Mongol Turko-Muslim world lays the foundations for a topic that requires a far greater degree of scholarly attention. Part of that process will require the deeper integration of the study of the corpus of buildings within Iran with the study of Anatolian and Central Asian structures on the geographic extremities of the Persian world. By providing a detailed analysis of a few of the lesser-known buildings the aim is that a more nuanced understanding of the diversity and scope of early Turko-Muslim architecture in Anatolia can emerge. Prior to the addition of minarets, from the later part of the twelfth century onwards, there was an almost exclusively horizontal architectural aesthetic to Anatolian mosque architecture, particularly outside of the Syrian south. Although the corpus of surviving tombs in Anatolia has been compiled,83 there is still no full catalogue with analysis of the minarets of the region, and the first section of this chapter is but one element upon which further research and publications may build.84 The limited survivals are the evidentiary base upon which the claim regarding the scale of the wider Persian world in the pre-Mongol period is based, and it is clear from the surviving corpus of buildings that the medieval Persian world in its widest sense stretched from the Mediterranean to the border of China. During the Samanid period (819–1005)85 and the subsequent establishment of the Qarakhanids as the first Turko-Muslim dynasty, the ancient divide between Iran and Turan was dissolved for a brief period of time.86 Meanwhile, in the west the Persian sphere of influence was being extended westward into Anatolia, with its long history of lithic Christian architecture. This chapter constitutes a preliminary attempt to understand the scope of Persian architecture through the close examination of a few of the surviving buildings on the extremities. At times, especially after the collapse of the Great Saljuqs in 1194, it was the peripheries which were more vibrant, in terms of architectural developments, than the central Iranian heartlands. Such patterns and processes pose questions as to the meaning of frontier, periphery and centre in the context of the medieval Persian world that require further scholarly attention. Notes 1. The key sections for the architecture of the Saljuq period are to be found in the section written by Eric Schroeder in vol. 2 of the Survey of Persian Art (Schroeder 1938–9), along with the plates in vol. 4, pls 258–510. 2. Founded by Theodore I Laskaris following the Latin Conquest of Constantinople in April 1204. For more details, see Norwich 1998, 304–7 and Kazhdan 1991, vol. 2, 1180, vol. 3, 2039–40.

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3. See Bloom 2013, 247, fig. 10.03 and Chmelnizkii 1996, 142–5. The minaret is located at: Lat: 37º 28’ 36” N Lon: 067º 26’ 46” E. 4. See Cohn-Wiener 1930, pl. B; Schroeder 1938–9, 1027. 5. See Sönmez 2009, 122, for a drawing of the lower section of the minaret. 6. The main differences between these ostensibly very similar structures are the use of a square base beneath the octagonal section in Antalya, and eight, rather than sixteen, flutes on the shaft, giving the Anatolian structure a somewhat less refined appearance. Being somewhat later, the Yivli minaret also features turquoise glazed highlights in the rising joints of the brickwork on the shaft. For a structural study of the minaret see Ormecioglu et al. 2011, 52–61. 7. The minaret is located at: Lat: 40º 46’ 08” N Lon: 073º 17’ 53” E, and was surveyed in October 2014. 8. Treadwell 1991, 40. 9. The lantern is a later addition and it is likely that the minaret was originally much taller. For an early image of the minaret, before the addition of the lantern, see Umniakov 1929, 28. 10. For a study of the tomb, see Cohn-Wiener 1930, 16–22. For a brief description of the minaret, see Cohn-Wiener 1930, 34–35, and pl. X (showing it prior to subsequent restorations). 11. Knobloch 1972, 200, also dates the Uzgend minaret to the early eleventh century, and makes the case that it is most probably the model for the Qarakhanid minarets in Bukhara and Vabkent. For a detailed study of the Vabkent minaret, see O’Kane 1994, 46–58. 12. For a ground plan and section elevation drawing of the Burana minaret in Balasagun see Chmelnizkii 1996, 133, figs 114 and 115. 13. For a detailed study of the Sivas Great Mosque minaret see McClary 2016, 39–62. 14. Redford 1991, 71 cites the marble portal added to the north wall of the citadel mosque in Konya by Muhammad ibn Khalwan for Sultan Izz al-Din Kay Kawus I. 15. Gabriel 1934, vol. 1, 35. The call to prayer was made from the mosque roof in the manner of the earliest days of Islam in Arabia. Schacht 1938, 51 shows a staircase minaret in Kayseri. 16. The numerous square-plan, stone-built minarets in the Artuqid, Zangid and Ayyubid ruled south of Anatolia, such as at Diyarbakır, Cizre, Urfa and Harran, as well as the cylindrical stone minaret in Mardin, are not included in this discussion as they belong to a different, and entirely lithic, tradition. 17. The Tepsi minaret is located at: Lat: 39º 54’ 27” N Lon: 041º 16’ 34” E, and was surveyed in January 2013. 18. What appears to be the earliest minaret in Anatolia, an octagonal structure attached to the Manuchihr Mosque in Ani, is stone and was probably built in the late eleventh century. There is a fallen structure nearby that was the minaret of the Abu’l-Muamran Mosque of 1198–9 but they are peripheral, both in location and style, to the main corpus. Bloom 2013, 252 states that the minaret fell in 1890. 19. The truncated remains of the brick-built minaret attached to the north-west corner of the Great Mosque of Van in south-east Anatolia appears to be of a similar vintage to the Tepsi minaret. 20. The Saltuqids, with Erzurum as their capital, ruled from the late eleventh century until 598/1202 according to Bosworth 1996, 218. 21. See Leiser 1995. 22. Hillenbrand 1994, 155. A light at the top of the minarets would guide caravans travelling at night. 23. The Saltuqid-era citadel mosque is nearby but there is no sense of any architectural or spatial relationship between the two structures. The minaret is integral with the defensive wall and the exterior of the minaret shows no evidence of having ever been attached to another structure. The wooden lantern is a nineteenth-century Ottoman accretion. 24. Blair 1992, 10, suggests that the Qarakhanids were probably not the first dynasty to use Persian inscriptions on their buildings, citing their predecessors in Khurasan and Transoxiana, such as the Samanids, who has revived Persian literature. She suggests that their (lost) buildings may well have had Persian inscriptions. Unfortunately, none survive to prove her argument. 25. An exception is the minaret attached to the Bayburt Great Mosque which dates to the later part of the thirteenth century. 26. An exception is the small stone minaret attached to the Ala al-Din Mosque in Ni©de. 27. There are an additional three partial-width steps at the top of the staircase. 28. The outer core of the minaret shaft at the uppermost south facing window is 945mm thick.

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29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36.

The short infill bricks are between 52mm and 58mm in width. Sauvaget and Wiet 1937, 1–2. Bosworth 1996, 218. Sauvaget and Wiet 1937, 1–2. Bosworth 1996, 218. Ünal 1968, 26. Bakırer 1980, Table 2. The damage either side of where a clock face was inserted in the nineteenth century reveals the construction method. 37. Sauvaget and Wiet 1937, 1–2. 38. Ünal 1968, 26. 39. Sauvaget and Wiet 1937, 48 has a transcription and translation of the eleven lines of text in rounded Kufic on the mosque that includes the date 561 (1166). 40. The lean of the shaft is presumably the result of seismic activity and weakness in the dodecagonal section. 41. The Harput minaret is located at Lat: 38º 42’ 22” N Lon: 039º 15’ 18” E, and was surveyed in February 2013. 42. For an overview of the pre-Mongol minarets of Iran, Iraq and Central Asia, see Bloom 2013, 241–72. 43. See Ousterhout 1999, 200, fig. 163. 44. See Pope 1938–9, pl. 361 A (SPA, vol. 5). 45. Gabriel 1962, 73. The minaret is located at Lat: 38º 22’ 36” N Lon: 034º 01’ 45” E, and was documented on two occasions, in January and September 2013. 46. Ibid. 67. 47. The bricks have a short face that measures c.115mm and a long face of c.235mm × c.45mm. They range from 40mm to 50mm in height. 48. Above the three courses of stone, the north face of the minaret has twenty-two courses of brick before two courses corbel out, fourteen courses slope back, three courses corbel out, then a step back to seventeen courses, before the zigzag section of the shaft begins. 49. Janabi 1982, 204. 50. Tunçoku and Caner-Saltık 2006, 1889. Testing of the same phenomena in the thirteenth-century mortar used to construct the Hoca Hasan Mescid minaret in Konya showed it to be micritic calcite (CaCO3) derived from previously slaked and recarbonated lime. 51. The angular aggregate is more efficient as it has a larger surface area and locks together better, forming a stronger bond. 52. Ousterhout 1999, 128. Lime mortar was standard in Byzantine architecture, as was the use of pebbles, which are seen in the EÌri minaret mortar. 53. The Kesik minaret is located at: Lat: 38º 22’ 29” N Lon: 034º 01’ 10” E, and was surveyed in September 2013. 54. The north side measures 219.5cm, the east 176cm, and the west 192cm. It was not possible to measure the south side because of the presence of the wall of the new mosque, attached in 1965. 55. Meinecke 1976, vol. 2, 9, fig. 2. 56. The earliest is the 67m tall minaret attached to the Uç S¸erefeli Mosque in Edirne, built in 1437–8. For more details see Goodwin 1971, 97–101. 57. See McClary 2014, 3–5 for a study of the upper portion of the minaret attached to the Sivas Great Mosque. 58. Meinecke 1976, vol 2, 10. 59. Ibid. 9–10. 60. Erdmann 1963, 164. 61. The Gök madrasa and the Çifte Minareli madrasa (both 1271–2), as well as the Çifte Minareli madrasa in Erzurum (c. second half of thirteenth century) all feature twin minarets rising from a projecting pishtaq portal. 62. The city was previously known as Frunze while part of the Soviet Union. 63. See Bosworth 2010, 15–23, for the most concise and up-to-date overview of the Qarakhanid period of rule. 64. Examples include the Yusuf ibn Kutheyyir tomb in Nakhchivan, the Mengücek Gazi tomb in Kemah and the Kırk Kızlar tomb in Niksar.

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65. For an overview of pre-Mongol Muslim funerary architecture in Iran, see Hillenbrand 1994, 280–94. 66. The tomb is located at Lat: 38º 23’ 40” N Lon: 034º 22’ 54” E, and was surveyed in September 2013. 67. Önkal 1996, 145 suggests a date closer to the middle of the thirteenth century. 68. Above the door is a rectangular void, which presumably held a now missing epigraphic panel. 69. For full details and a line drawing of the plan of the band of muqarnas cells, see McClary 2014, 3. 70. The facets measure between 242cm and 247cm in width internally. 71. The facing ashlars measure between 20cm and 98cm wide. 72. See Önkal 1996, pl. 9. 73. The tomb has been extensively restored in recent years, particularly the octahedral brick roof, the muqarnas cell bands and the stucco bed of the epigraphic band. The darker-coloured muqarnas cells are the original ones, with a much lighter colour used for the reconstructed elements. For pre-restoration images see Önkal 1996, pls 208–17. 74. Examples can be found inside the Friday mosque in Isfahan (1088), Gulpayagan (1104–17) and Ardistan (1160). See Wilber 1939, 19, fig. 1a. 75. For a detailed analysis and drawing of the muqarnas band, see McClary 2014, 3. 76. The tomb is located at Lat: 38º 18’ 9” N Lon: 034º 15’ 20” E, and was surveyed in September 2013. 77. For images of the restoration see Önkal 1996, pls 119–25. 78. See Önkal 1996, 90, fig. 29 for a ground plan of the crypt. 79. Ibid. 89. The stone measures 1m × 0.36m × 0.35m. Önkal gives an unexplained transliteration of Bey for (‫ )بك‬which perhaps is meant to be (‫)بي‬. 80. See McClary 2017 for a study of this process. 81. For a detailed study of the tomb in Nakhchivan, see McClary 2015, 121–28. Yazar 2007, 99–104 and 419–50, pls 247–81 also addresses the structure. 82. See McClary 2014, 6–8, and 8, fig. 12. 83. See Önkal 1996. 84. The best book to address the minarets in general is Sönmez 1995, but much work remains to be done. 85. See Bosworth 1996, 170–1 for details of the Samanid rulers. 86. Frye 1997, 192–3.

References Bakırer, Ö. (1980), ‘A study on the use of brickbonds in Anatolian Seljuk architecture’, M.E.T.U. Journal of the Faculty of Architecture, 6/2, 143–81. Blair, S. S. (1992), The Monumental Inscriptions from Early Islamic Iran and Transoxiana, Leiden. Bloom, J. M. (2013), The Minaret, Edinburgh. Bosworth, C. E. (1996), The New Islamic Dynasties, Edinburgh. –––– (2010), ‘Additions to The New Islamic Dynasties’, in Y. Suleiman (ed.), Living Islamic History: Studies in Honour of Professor Carole Hillenbrand, Edinburgh, 14–31. Chmelnizkii, S. (1996), Mejdu Samanidami I Mongolami, vol. 1, Berlin and Riga. Cohn-Wiener, E. (1930), Turan: Islamische Baukunst in Mittelasien, Berlin. Erdmann, K. (1963), ‘Neue Arbeiten zur türkischen Keramik’, Ars Orientalis, 5, 191–219. Frye, R. (1997), Bukhara: the Medieval Achievement, Costa Mesa, CA. Gabriel, A. (1962), Ni©de Türk anıtları. Ankara. Goodwin, G. (1971), A History of Ottoman Architecture, London. Hillenbrand, R. (1994), Islamic Architecture: Form, Function and Meaning, Edinburgh. Janabi, T. J. (1982), Studies in Medieval Iraqi Architecture, Baghdad. Kazhdan, A. P. (1991), The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, Oxford. Knobloch, E. (1972), Beyond the Oxus: Archaeology, Art and Architecture of Central Asia, London. Leiser, G. (1995), ‘Saltu˚ Oghulari’, in EI2, 8, 1001. McClary, R. P. (2014), ‘Brick muqarnas on RËm Saljuq buildings – the introduction of an Iranian

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decorative technique into the architecture of Anatolia’, FËnËn / kunsttexte.de, 3, 1–11. –––– (2015), ‘From Nakhchivan to Kemah: the Western extent of brick Persianate funerary architecture in the sixth/twelfth century ad’, Iran, LIII, 119–42. –––– (2017), Rum Saljuq Architecture 1170–1220: the Patronage of Sultans, Edinburgh. Meinecke, M. (1976), Fayencedekorationen seldschukischer Sakralbauten in Kleinasien, Tübingen. Norwich, J. J. (1998), A Short History of Byzantium, London. O’Kane, B. (1994), ‘The minaret of Våbkent’, in R. Hillenbrand (ed.), The Art of the Saljuqs in Iran and Anatolia, Costa Mesa, CA, 46–58. Önkal, H. (1996), Anadolu Selçuklu Türbeleri, Ankara. Ormecioglu, H. T., A. E. Akan, S. T. Beeson and C. Özmen (2011), ‘Structural analysis and seismic behaviour of Yivli Minaret’, SDU International Technology and Science, 3/3, 52–61. Ousterhout, R. (1999), Master Builders of Byzantium, Princeton, NJ. Redford, S. (1991), ‘The Alaeddin Mosque in Konya reconsidered’, Artibus Asiae, 51, 54–74. Schacht, J. (1938), ‘Ein archaischer Minaret-Typ in Ägypen und Anatolien’, Ars Islamica, 5/1, 46–54. Sauvaget, J. and G. Wiet (1937), Répertoire Chronologique d’Épigraphie Arabe, vol. 9, Cairo. Schroeder, E. (1938–9), ‘The architecture of the Islamic period, F. the SeljËq period’, in SPA, 2, 981–1045. Sönmez, C. C. (2009), Antalya Kaleiçi Selçuklu ve Beylikler Dönemi Eserleri, Mimarlar Odası, Antalya. Sönmez, Z. (1995), Ba∞langıcından 16. Yüzyıla Kadar Anadolu Türk-Òslam Mimarisinde Sanatçılar, Ankara. Treadwell, W. L. (1991), ‘The Political History of the Såmånid State’, unpublished DPhil dissertation, University of Oxford. Tunçoku, S. and E. N. Caner-Saltık (2006), ‘Opal-A rich additives used in ancient lime mortars’, Cement and Concrete Research, 36, 1886–93. Umniakov, I. I. (1929), Arkitekturnye pamiatniki Sredneı˘ Azii: Isseldovanie. Remont. Restavratsiia. 1920–1928gg, Tashkent. Ünal, R. H. (1968), Les monuments Islamiques anciens de la ville d’Erzurum et de sa region, Paris. Wilber, D. N. (1939), ‘The development of mosaic faiënce in Islamic architecture in Iran’, Ars Islamica, 6/1, 16–47. Yazar, T. (2007), Nahcivan’da Türk Mimarisi (Ba∞langıcından 19. Yüzyılın Sonura Kadar), Ankara.

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CHAPTER 4

From Acquisition to Display: the Reception of Chinese Ceramics in the Pre-modern Persian World Yuka Kadoi The beauty of Chinese ceramics had exerted an indelible impact on the development of the decorative arts in the Persian world since the early Islamic period, and this remained a lingering aspect of Persian visual and material culture until modern times. Much attention has therefore been paid to the Sino-Persian relationship in the styles and techniques of ceramics and other types of artefacts produced during the period when sociopolitical stability under powerful rule, such as the Ilkhanids (1256–1353), the Timurids (1370–1507) and the Safavids (1501– 1722), greatly facilitated the trans-Eurasian trade. Besides the question as to how Persian craftsmen adopted and adapted Chinese-origin styles, there remain further questions as to how Chinese ceramics were collected and appreciated in Persian cultural contexts and why such an antiquarian desire was locally developed. To consider the background of the formation of a ceramic gallery within the Shrine of Sheikh Safi in Ardabil, known as the chinikhana, offers an interesting insight to the collecting history of Chinese ceramics, a subject which became a key cultural phenomenon in both Asia and Europe.1 The understanding of the formation of the chinikhana in Persian architecture is not simply a matter of ceramic collecting and their storage but is more concerned with the traditions of furniture, architectural furnishings and culinary culture in West Asia. Little three-dimensional furniture was traditionally required in Persian living environments, as woven materials, such as carpets and flat-woven textiles, served as portable, multifunctional furniture.2 This custom, which may have originated in Persia’s nomadic past, must have been predominant at the domestic level before the introduction of Western-style furniture in modern times. But certain furnishing features were developed in religious buildings, such as the minbar (pulpits) and Quran stands, as well as in courtly settings, for example thrones, stools and small tables for enthronements and banquets. Equally, traditional Persian culinary custom does not require various types of ceramic dish or those with complicated shapes, for foods tend to be served in one large dish. It is thus clear that ceramics with elegant shapes from China were intrinsically received as products for appreciation rather than exclusively for utilitarian purposes.

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Persian Encounter with Chinese Ceramics The term chinikhana literally means a Chinese ceramic or porcelain (chini) house (khana) in Persian. But aside from a generic sense as Chinese ceramics, which had by degrees been developed along with the growth of ceramic trading with China, the term chini eventually acquired a cultural implication to denote fine Chinese products in the Middle East and became a topos, turning into an adjective to denote objects of rarity and beauty.3 Although the importance of the overland trade route, known as the Silk Road, cannot be overlooked, it would make sense to regard the maritime network as a major route for trading ceramics, owing to their weight and fragility. Archaeological evidence amply demonstrates the active ceramic trading between China and the Middle East via the Indian Ocean and the Persian Gulf, as well as the impact of imported Chinese ceramics on the stylistic and technical development of Middle Eastern pottery, particularly that occurred in early Islamic times.4 Chinese pottery makers, in turn, incorporated Islamic-inspired motifs into the design scheme of their export products so as to meet the local taste, as demonstrated in the Belitung shipwreck finds, particularly Changsha wares made for the Middle Eastern market.5 Finally, literary sources are also sufficient to prove a wide reception of Chinese ceramics in the Islamic lands.6 The reason for the admiration of Chinese ceramics, especially porcelain, in the Islamic Middle East is that, in addition to their aesthetic merits, such objects were viewed as affordable alternatives to metalwork, particularly among middle-class clients. Compared with gold and other precious materials, porcelain is less ostentatious but equally bears luxurious connotations, enhanced by its jade-like texture and translucence. In trying to imitate and even to surpass Chinese originals, an attempt which was never satisfactorily achievable due to their limited access to kaolin clay, Persian potters eventually established several unique styles under the spell of imported Chinese wares before 1300. This was pursued at several historical stages:7 1. Persian potters encountered Chinese ceramics not only through original examples from East Asia but seem to have also been inspired by Iraqi imitations of Chinese ceramics, a type of which is widely known as the Samarra ware of the early Abbasid period.8 Among the technical features of Chinese porcelain, the sense of hardness, whiteness and translucence made an immense psychological impact on the minds of Middle Eastern potters for the next hundreds of years. 2. Certain Chinese features began to be incorporated into the style of ceramics produced in the tenth-century Persian world, and this is particularly discernible in examples ascribed to Samanid (819–1005) workshops, for example Nishapur.9 Noticeable types of Persian ceramic during this time include splashed or leadglazed wares, which show a stylistic similarity with Tang sancai wares, and simple, creamy-white surfaced wares with innovative epigraphic schemes.10

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3. The potters of Saljuq Persia (twelfth and early thirteenth centuries) found the way to invent an artificial body made of a mix of powdered quartz with a little clay and potash, known as frit, so as to create a porcelain-like white body; this enabled them to imitate Chinese wares more satisfactorily.11 How to Appreciate, Store and Display Chinese Ceramics in the Persian World during the Late and Post-medieval Times It was under the Mongols that the Persian world opened up a new cultural horizon, extending into a deeper part of Europe in the west and East Asia in the east. The political unification of a vast geographical area of the Eurasian continent under the Pax Mongolica greatly facilitated the expansion of the trans-Eurasian trade network more than ever before. From the late thirteenth to the early fourteenth century onwards, it is possible to observe different phases of the Persian reception of Chinese ceramics. In addition to the continuous impact of Chinese monochrome wares, such as white ceramics and apple-green glazed wares called celadon, Chinese blue-andwhite wares exerted a long-lasting cultural impact on the art of ceramics throughout the Islamic Middle East. The ultimate origin of the technique of underglaze painting with cobalt-bearing minerals, whether Chinese or Middle Eastern, remains a matter of debate, although there seems to be general agreement as to the Middle Eastern origin of cobalt as a material.12 What is, however, undeniable is that Chinese potters, especially those who worked at the imperial kilns in Jingdezhen, elaborated the use of cobalt as a decorative medium, and the subtle colour contrast between deep, almost alchemical blue and pure, milky white, significantly affected the culture of ceramics worldwide.13 Large-sized ceramics with metal-inspired shapes and densely structured decoration were produced for the Persian and broadly Middle Eastern market in order to suit the recipient’s eating habits and taste for design, as reflected in the types of Chinese porcelains in the collections of the Topkapı Saray and the Ardabil Shrine.14 Such items found their way to the Middle East intended for actual use from the fourteenth century, but their showy appearance may have been by degree considered to be suitable for collecting as well as possibly for display. Yet little is known about the Ilkhanid collecting practice and display mode of Chinese porcelains, apart from one anecdote that 1,000 Chinese porcelain jars were included in a list of the holdings of the Ilkhanid vizier Rashid al-Din (d. 1318).15 Although the Mongols were settled down in West Asia, surviving architectural examples of Ilkhanid and post-Mongol Persian architecture show the tendency to ornate the interior surface with textile-like, two-dimensional decorative materials, as the reflection of the nomadic tent culture, rather than to create in-built furniture so as to showcase Chinese porcelains among other treasures. Despite several uncertainties as to the actual manner of collecting and storing Chinese export ceramics among the Ilkhanids, it is not surprising that one of

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Figure 4.1  Bowl, stonepaste, blue and black painted under transparent glaze, Iran, 779 (1377), purchase, anonymous gift, 1970 (1970.28), Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Image © The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

the earliest surviving examples of Persian blue-and-white ceramics comes from the fourteenth century. A dish with the date of 779 (1377) in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (1970.28; Figure 4.1) is an exceptionally fine example of early Persian-style blue and white, with a Chinese-inspired design and witty inscriptions.16 Its exact place of production remains uncertain, although this example is ascribed to Muzaffarid territory (Fars, Kirman and Kurdistan, 1314–93), in which a number of ceramics and other goods from China were available, thanks to its proximity to major ports in the Persian Gulf. The Persian fashion for blue-andwhite wares can be discernible, although to a limited extent, in the occurrence of ceramics with blue-and-white colour schemes in fourteenth-century Persian manuscript painting.17 Among the earliest depictions of blue-and-white vessels, a page from the Mathnavis of Khwaju Kirman in the collection of the British Library (Baghdad, 798 [1396]; Add. 18113, fol. 12) illustrates blue-and-white bottles.18 The ceramics depicted here are evocative of actual late Yuan blue-andwhite bottles or Persian copies of this kind.19 It can also be argued that this might be a mere pictorial device, yet this reflects, at least, the availability or familiarity

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of such ceramics in Iran or even the growth of local production of this type of ware. Among the major ports in the Persian Gulf, Hormuz is known to have been a major entrepôt between East and West. During the fourteenth century it received ceramics from China bypassing the Indian subcontinent,20 and its commercial activity continued through the early fifteenth century under Timurid control that revitalised the fruitful diplomatic and commercial relationship with the Ming court.21 Ruy González de Clavijo (d. 1412), a Spanish ambassador who visited Iran en route to the Timurid court in Samarqand, for instance, refers to Hormuz as an active trading hub of pearls and precious stones.22 This was also the time when the military commander and admiral from Yunnan, Zheng He (1371–1433) – the Chinese Columbus with the Muslim family background – conducted a series of voyages and visited South East Asia, South Asia, the Middle East and East Africa,23 and in exchange of receiving unusual commodities, rare treasures and exotic animals, China continued to offer ceramics not only along the Persian Gulf but also up to the Swahili Coast.24 As Golombek, Mason and Bailey demonstrate, the art of Persian blue-and-white ceramics underwent a major stylistic change during the Timurid period, from mere adoption into advanced adaptation.25 This development was indebted to the inputs of Syrian potters who were brought to Samarqand from Damascus as the booty of Timur (d. 1405)’s military campaign in 1402: they had been already accustomed to producing Chinese-type ceramics at home and seem to have brought their Chinoiserie repertories to Timurid workshops.26 The question arises as to how Chinese porcelains were collected and stored across the wide Persian cultural sphere during the fifteenth century. It is likely that quality export products from China stayed in the Gulf region or were kept safely in the courtly treasury in Tabriz, which served as the capital under Ilkhanid and Turkmen rules. During the early period of Timurid rule in Central Asia, Timur was often away from Samarqand, and although he was actively patronising building campaigns, Timur was a sovereign in transition between nomadic and sedentary living.27 None of the surviving Timurid buildings reveal any architectural features that could be interpreted as a storage or display cabinet, while attention seems to have been continuously given to the decoration of two-dimensional surface with tilework and fresco painting, following the previous Mongol tradition in West Asia.28 Among the Timurid princes, Ulugh Beg (d. 1449), the grandson of Timur and the oldest son of Shah Rukh (d. 1447), is often associated with a number of episodes and actual objects relating to his cultivated connoisseurship. The anecdotes include his collection of Chinese porcelain,29 although there is no known surviving Chinese porcelain that came from the possession of Ulugh Beg or any other of the Timurid princes. Another story is related to the ‘Chinese’ tile fragment which is said to have come from Ulugh Beg’s porcelain pavilion in Samarqand.30 This example is often associated with the following episode from the Baburnama:

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He [Ulugh Beg] made a smaller garden … In the same garden he also built a fourdoored hall, known as the ChÈnÈkhåna (Porcelain House), because its Èzåra are all of porcelain; he sent to China for the porcelain used in it.31 Although it is widely interpreted as a ‘Chinese’ product, the exact provenance of this tile fragment is somehow questionable. Although the different use of ceramics existed in Chinese architectural traditions, it is difficult to believe such tilework was produced in China specifically for the Persian market.32 The frequent depiction of blue-and-white wares in manuscript painting under the Timurids not only suggests their role as a pictorial convention but also indicates the actual prevalence of such pieces – made in either Persia or China – in Timurid territory. An interesting observation can be made in the painting of the fifteenth-century Shiraz school: for example, the double-page illustration, probably a title page of the Shahnama of Firdausi, now in the Cleveland Museum of Art (Shiraz, 848 [1444]; 45.169 and 56.10),33 depicts a garden festival scene, including several types of blue-and-white ware, ranging from bowls to bottles.34 This pictorial evidence gives some ideas how such ceramics were employed in ceremonial settings. Among the surviving pictorial examples datable to the fifteenth century, the double frontispiece from the Cairo Bustan of Sadi (Herat, 893 [1488]; Figure 4.2),35 which is attributed to the celebrated Persian painter Bihzad (d. 1535), stands out for its meticulous depictions of ceramics. Both pages contain several types of blue-and-white ware, including the so-called ‘moon flask’ in the right page (Figure 4.2a) which evokes an actual, extant example of this kind (Figure 4.3).36 The true art-historical value of this painting, however, lies in the display of ceramics in the niche of a palace-like building in the left page (Figure 4.2b), indicating the Persian image of displaying fashionable ceramics, such as blue-and-white wares, at that time. This could be one of the earliest depictions of the chinikhana in Persian painting, judging by surviving examples of illustrated manuscripts with the fifteenth-century date. How to Appreciate, Store and Display Chinese Ceramics in the Post-medieval Persian World The change of balance in the Eurasian commercial network after the downfall of the Timurids and the rise of European hegemony significantly affected the Persian ceramic industry. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the importance of overland trade routes in the trans-Eurasian trade network was thoroughly taken over by maritime routes, operated by the Portuguese and later by the Dutch and the English. Accordingly, West Asia acquired a new role in global maritime ceramic trading, not a mere recipient of Chinese ceramics but a participant in the international ceramic trade network between East Asia and Europe. This is clearly reflected in the continuous adoption and reinterpretation of Chinese styles in

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Figure 4.2  A Garden Feast at the Court of Sultan Husayn Mirza, double-page from the Bustan of Sadi, Herat, 893 (1488), National Library of Egypt, Cairo (Farsi 908, fols 1v–2).

Figure 4.2a  Detail of folio 1v.

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Figure 4.2b  Detail of folio 2.

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Figure 4.3  Porcelain ‘moon flask’ with birds and flowering branches. China, Ming dynasty (Yongle period, 1403–24), British Museum, London (PDF A612). Image © The Trustees of the British Museum.

Persian ceramics, intending to function as substitutes of Chinese ceramics for the European market.37 As in the cases with the previous centuries, Chinese blue-and-white wares remained ultimate models for Safavid potters and continued to offer an artistic inspiration to them.38 The celadon was also copied by Safavid potters,39 while they developed a distinguished type of white ware, known as Gombroon (the European name for Bandar Abbas).40 A variety of ceramics, possibly coming from both Chinese and Persian workshops, are also depicted in Safavid painting. Judging by surviving illustrated pages from Safavid-dated manuscripts, the representations of ceramics follow the Timurid tradition, and these are almost conventionally found in ceremonial scenes. One of the illustrated pages from the Khamsa of Nizami in the collection of the British Library (Tabriz, 946–9 [1539–43], Or. 2265, fol. 77v),41 a manuscript which was commissioned by Shah Tahmasp (r. 1524–76) after his famous Shahnama was completed at the end of the 1530s, for instance, illustrates the small-scale chinikhanas which display ceramics and other small items, almost in the manner of the cabinet of curiosities. A pilgrim flask is present on a small tray, with a metal bottle, which is laid on the flat-woven textile in front of the king; these appear to be displayed for visual pleasure rather than for actual use. Initially functioning as stimuli for the development of the local ceramic indus-

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Figure 4.4 The chinikhana, the Shrine Complex of Shaykh Safi al-Din, Ardabil; below, detail of the chinikhana. Photographs © Yuka Kadoi.

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try and gradually bore fine, exotic connotations, Chinese ceramics were eventually viewed as items to be shared with the public during the Safavid period. This is closely associated with the notion of gift-giving in Muslim community, a charitable effort which is thought to raise one’s social, political and spiritual status.42 One of the earliest Safavid royal tributes of Chinese porcelain was conducted by the princess Sultanum (1519–62), the sister of Shah Tahmasp and the great aunt of Shah Abbas I (r. 1587–1629), who gave Chinese porcelain dishes, together with fine manuscripts, to the Shrine of Imam Reza at Mashhad in the sixteenth century. Little is known about the whereabouts of the Sultanum endowment of Chinese porcelain, apart from one survival of this endowment that made a crosscontinental journey.43 Inscribed with the name of the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan (r. 1628–58) and dated 1053 (1644), this large fifteenth-century Chinese porcelain dish, formerly on loan to the Brooklyn Museum of Art (L.1991.4), contains another inscription which can be deciphered as ‘endowed to the Razavi Shrine, by Mahin Banu, the Safavid [princess]’.44 The grape motif used in this dish represents one of the typical patterns that appear to have been favoured among the Middle Eastern customers. Similar examples are, for instance, found in the Ardabil collection of Chinese porcelains,45 while the grape motif was copied by Iznik potters in Ottoman Anatolia.46 Persian reception and appreciation of Chinese ceramics culminated in the incorporation of a large domed octagonal building, known as the chinikhana, into the shrine complex of Shaykh Safi al-Din Ardabili (Figure 4.4), the ancestral shrine of the Safavids.47 The porcelain gallery had not been part of the original structure, but after Shah Abbas’s dedication of Chinese porcelain and fine manuscripts to the shrine in 1611,48 the pre-existing complex was renovated to be suitable to store these precious royal gifts. The Ardabil collection of Chinese porcelain, which originally amounted to 1,162 pieces and most of which are distinguished by the presence of the dedicatory inscription of Shah Abbas in a rectangular cartouche,49 was so magnificent in terms of both quality and quantity that it caught the eyes of Western travellers, including Adam Olearius (1603–71) who visited the shrine in 1637 and left an interesting observation on the hall called the Tzenetsera (that is, chini-saray): In the Neeches of the Vault, there were above three or four hundred Vessels of Porcelane; some, so large, as that they contain’d about 40. quarts of Liquour. These only are used at the entertainments …50 The origin of this particular architectural feature remains enigmatic. While its multi-niche structure is somewhat reminiscent of several indigenous Persian architectural examples, ranging from the inside of the pigeon tower to the honeycomb-like muqarnas found in Islamic buildings, it is also evocative of the Buddhist cave complex in West China, European-style built-in cabinets, or it could have been developed from the wall display of ceramic pieces, turning into

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a structure of sculptural quality. What seems to be likely is that a bold idea for showcasing Chinese ceramics in the niches or walls had been already formed in the Persian world by the time of the construction of the porcelain gallery at the Ardabil Shrine, while in the Turkish cultural lands, for instance in the Topkapı Saray Palace, Chinese porcelains were stored rather than displayed, distributing across different treasuries, storages and kitchens.51 Besides the aforementioned pictorial evidence, the architectural idiom inspired by the chinikhana is visibly pronounced on the stucco niches in the so-called Music Room, the fifth floor of the Ali Qapu in Isfahan (completed around 1615).52 No ceramic pieces are likely to have been installed in the niches of this building, yet the compartments in the shape of ceramics found here are particularly unique in their own right. Although not the chinikhana per se, it is equally interesting to observe the incorporation of ceramic vessels in the religious architectural decoration of the other side of the Persian Gulf around the same time, as seen in a mid and late sixteenthcentury mosque in Oman, where blue-and-white wares are boldly embedded into the mihrab (Figure 4.5).53 Another comparison can be made with European palatial

Figure 4.5  The mihrab at the Masjid al-Qasr, Manal, Samail province, Oman. Photograph © Salma Samar Damluji.

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architecture, such as the pyramidal ceiling filled with more than 250 Chinese porcelain plates in the Porcelain Room at the De Santos Palace in Lisbon.54 Given the Portuguese presence along the Persian Gulf and their familiarity with export products from East Asia, the grand-scale exhibition of Chinese ceramics as part of interior design may have had something to do with the Portuguese or generally European fashion for the display of style or taste, later called ‘period rooms’ in museum contexts. A sixteenth-century Portuguese source, for instance, points to the fashion for displaying antique Chinese porcelain in the house walls of nobles in Hormuz.55 Finally, the genesis of the chinikhana structure can be reconsidered within a wide spectrum of early modern architecture in the Islamic world, for instance so-called the Damascus Room – the painted wooden reception chamber with in-built furniture typical of Ottoman architecture in Syria.56 Although structurally unique, there is a question as to the practicality of the Ardabil chinikhana as a ceramic showcase. Some pieces were apparently displayed in the niches of the vault, as Olearius remarks. But other, excessive-sized porcelain dishes may not have been well fitted in the compartments of the niches (Figure 4.4 detail) or were too heavy to be installed safely in the niches that occurred at a height of almost six feet (c.1.83cm) above the ground;57 most of them were probably, like in the modern-day museum, kept in the off-site storage or, if any, another chinikhana.58 As Ardabil lost its importance after the decline of the Safavids, the collection became a victim of political upheavals between Iran and Ottoman Turkey as well as Russia. While manuscripts were taken by the Russians who occupied the region in 1828,59 ceramics were partially destroyed and scattered in various locations, including those which found their way to Georgia.60 By the nineteenth century, remaining porcelain had been placed on the floor of the shrine, probably in order to avoid its destruction by earthquakes,61 and this was the case when Friedrich Sarre (1865–1945) visited Ardabil in 1897 (Figure 4.6).62 As the empty compartments of the niches visualise, the original context of the chinikhana had been lost by the end of the nineteenth century. Approximately 800 surviving pieces of the porcelain collection were moved to the National Museum in Tehran in 1935 and were catalogued in the 1950s by John Alexander Pope (1906–82).63 Some are still in Ardabil, and these are displayed not in the niches but in modern showcases that are set in the original chinikhana building, together with a copy of the large medallion ‘Ardabil’ carpet on the floor.64 The Ardabil collection of Chinese porcelain poses yet another question as to how such a variety of pieces, with a range of date from the Yuan period to the early seventeenth century, were gathered, stored and preserved before the establishment of the modern museum system in Iran.65 As observed earlier in the present chapter, it is reasonable to consider that Chinese ceramics were gradually accumulating at several historical stages rather than come to West Asia at once, and whether on purpose or by chance, they could have been able to survive, most probably as a royal collection with much care, and could have fortunately evaded

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Figure 4.6 The chinikhana, 1897. After Sarre 1901–10, Tafel LII.

destruction by earthquakes and robbery. The fact that the porcelain was included in the Ottoman booty in Tabriz as early as 920 (1514) indicates the establishment of a reasonable amount of Chinese porcelain collections in the Persian world by that time.66 Several references to the possession of Chinese ceramics among the members of the royal family and local ruling class during the sixteenth century also point to the fashion for Chinese porcelain as a collectable and displayable object.67 In this respect, the association of Qarachaghay, an Armenian Christian who became the governor of Azerbaijan and Khurasan under Shah Abbas, with ninety-four pieces of the Ardabil collection of Chinese porcelain is particularly intriguing: incised with his name, these pieces appear to have originally been owed by himself before passing them onto the shah for donation.68 Finally, it could also be argued that, as some art historians consider, the Ardabil collection of Chinese porcelain was partially composed of diplomatic gifts from the contemporary Ming Chinese court, for example as a personal present of the Ming emperor Wanli (r. 1572–1620).69 Concluding Remarks A similar cycle of reception and appreciation of Chinese ceramics can be seen in Europe and other parts of the world, yet Persia took a unique reaction towards this

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particular cultural export from the lands of chini. Spanning from early Islamic to post-medieval times, Chinese ceramics were always an indispensable sociocultural issue in the Persian world, first as models for the local ceramic industry and eventually as fine objects worthy of admiration and collection. An idea for the bold presentation and preservation of Chinese porcelain pieces in a gallery occurred in Iran in an equally developed manner as in the European Schatzkammer. The chinikhana – the visual manifestation of Persia’s reception and appreciation of Chinese ceramics – can thus be regarded one of the benchmarks for assessing the impact of Chinese ceramics on global history and culture. Notes 1. This chapter is based on the paper that was scheduled to be given to the international conference, ‘Cultures of Ceramics in Global History 1300–1800’, at the University of Warwick in April 2010. This conference was unfortunately cancelled due to the air closure caused by the eruption of the Eyjafjallajökull volcano. 2. See Rogers 1996. 3. For further discussion, see Carswell 1992. 4. See Rougeulle 1991. 5. See Washington, DC 2010. 6. Accounts of Chinese ceramics by Muslim writers of the ninth and tenth centuries are summarised in Kahle 1940–1, 32–3. It is said that twenty imperial Chinese wares (chini-i faghfuri) and 2,000 ordinary pieces were given to Caliph Harun al-Rashid (r. 786–809) by Ali ibn Isa, a governor of Khurasan (Lane 1947, 10). 7. It is not my intention to discuss all the aspects of these phenomena in this study, and therefore I limit myself to sum up the three stages of Iranian reaction to Chinese ceramics in pre-Mongol times. For further discussion, see Kadoi 2009, 39–49. 8. However, this type of ware is likely to have been produced in Basra during the ninth century (Mason and Keall 1991, 51–66). For example, see Watson 2004, 172–3, Cats D.1–D.2. For the Persian copy of the Samarra-style ware, see Watson 2004, 176, Cat. D.7. 9. See Wilkinson 1973; Rante and Collinet (eds) 2013. 10. For example, see Watson 2004, 200–3, 206–9 and 213–18, Cats F.1–F.5, Cats Ga.1–Ga.4 and Cats Ga.9–Ga.18. 11. See Watson 2004, 306 and 308–13, Cat. L.3 and Cats L.5–L.9. 12. See Fitzhugh and Floor 1992. 13. See Carswell 2000. 14. Krahl and Ayers 1986; Pope 1956. 15. Soudavar 1998, 126. 16. Golombek et al. 1996, pl. 14. The inscriptions read, ‘as long as the soup is good, if the bowl is not so well made, let it be … the year of 779.’ 17. A pioneering study of blue-and-white wares in Persian painting was conducted by Ashton (Ashton 1934–5, 21–5) and Gray (Gray 1948–9, 23–30), although much focus of these studies is given to fifteenth-century pictorial examples from the Persian world. 18. Titley 1983, pl. 1; the appearance of blue and white wares in this manuscript is also pointed out by Ashton 1934–5, 23. 19. For example, see Harrison-Hall 2001, I:27–9, for the Yuan prototype, and Golombek et al. 1996, pl. 31, for the Persian copy. 20. For Chinese ceramics discovered in Hormuz, see Wiesner 1979; Morgan 1991. For the arrival of Chinese ceramics in India since the fourteenth century, see Gray 1964–6; Smart, 1975–7. Despite their availability, however, Chinese ceramics did not provide a strong imitation impulse with South Asian potters who seem to be stuck to their traditions. Instead, the Indian subcontinent mainly acted as the maritime broker between East Asia and West Asia. 21. For literary sources on the Timurid–Ming relations, see Kauz 2005. For the art production and

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patronage during the early Ming period, see Watt and Leidy (2005); Clunas and Harrison-Hall (eds) 2014. 22. Clavijo 1928, 160–1. 23. For his life and time, see Dreyer 2007. 24. See Zhao 2012; Lin and Zhang 2015. 25. See Golombek et al. 1996. 26. Remarked in Golombek et al. 1996, 127, quoting Clavijo’s reference to the master craftsmen from Damacus, including weavers, bow makers, armourers, glass makers and potters, who were taken by Timur to his court in Samarqand (Clavijo 1928, 287–8). 27. Gronke 1992, 19. 28. In addition to Lentz and Lowry 1989, see recent publications on Timurid, Turkmen or fifteenth-century Persian tilework, such as Ollagnier 2010 for tilework at the Ak Saray Palace in Shahrisabz and Aube 2017 for Turkmen tilework. 29. Mentioned in Medley 1975, 35, although no source of this information is given. 30. Widely quoted, for example, in Rempel’ 1961, fig. 153; Lentz and Lowry 1989, 229; Golombek 1993, 249, fig. 12. 31. Beveridge 1970, 80. The izara probably means the dado. 32. See Eng 2014 for the study of Chinese architectural tiles. 33. Published widely, for example, in Sims 2002, no. 32. The main part of the manuscript is now in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris (suppl. persan 494). 34. The bottles depicted in the right page have animal motifs, identifiably deer and dragons (for Chinese prototypes of this kind, see Harrison-Hall 2001, I:29). 35. Lentz and Lowry 1989, Cat. 146. 36. Krahl and Harrison-Hall 2009, no. 27. The shape itself was derived from Middle Eastern prototypes (see Pope 1959, 357–75; for a recent study of the Islamic impact on Ming ceramic flasks, see Scott 2007, 34–42). The moon flask is also in the Ardabil and Topkapı collections of Chinese ceramics (Pope 1956, pl. 69; Krahl and Ayers 1986, vol. 2, no. 657). 37. See Crowe 1979-80. 38. See Crowe 2002. See also Golombek et al. 2013 that catalogues not only blue-and-white wares but also other types of Safavid ceramics. 39. For example, see Watson 2004, 464–5, Cats U.16–U.17. 40. For example, see Watson 2004, 478, Cat. U.34. 41. Canby 1999, pl. 36. 42. See Matthee 2001. For the art of gift-giving, see Komaroff (ed.) 2011. 43. See Soudavar 1998. 44. Soudavar 1998, 128. This dish was returned to an anonymous donor in 2006 (personal communication with Katie Apsey, 9 February 2011). The example identical to the ex-Brooklyn dish that entered the al-Thani Collection has been recently exhibited at the British Museum (personal inspection, 20 October 2016). See also a related example with the inscription that contains the title of the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb and dated 1071 (1660) in the al-Sabah Collection (LNS 769 C; Watson 2004, 486, Cat. W.1). 45. For example, see Pope 1956, pls 37–9. 46. For a Iznik copy of the grape-patterned dish, see Watson 2004, 434 and 443, Cats T.8 and T.20. On the other hand, this design is not typically copied by Safavid potters. 47. A detailed study of this complex was conducted by Morton (Morton 1974; Morton 1975, 39–58) and recently by Rizvi (Rizvi 2000; published as The Safavid Dynastic Shrine: Architecture, Religion and Power in Early Modern Iran, London, 2011). 48. According to the Tarikh-i Abbasi (Add. 27.241, British Museum, London; quoted in Pope 1956, 8–11, pl. 5). 49. See, for example, Canby (ed.) 2009, no. 67 (detail). The inscriptions read, ‘Abbas, slave of the King of Sovereignty [that is, Imam Ali], made endowment of this to the threshold of Shah Safi’ (for further discussion on the inscription, see Pope 1956, 51–8). 50. Olearius 1669, 179 (quoted in Carswell 1992, 592). For further discussion of European travel accounts on the Ardabil Shrine and its porcelain collection, see Pope 1956, 11–17. 51. See Krahl and Ayers 1986, vol. 1, 39–42. The porcelain collection is nowadays displayed in the kitchens. 52. See Canby (ed.) 2009, fig. 38.

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53. Damluji 1998, 231. See also the mihrab at the Mosque of al-Uwaynah, Wadi Bani Khalid province (datable to the mid to late sixteenth century; Damluji 1998, 375). I would like to thank Deborah Freeman for bringing these Omani mihrabs to my attention. My thanks also go to Salma Samar Damluji for the reproduction of the mihrab at the Masjid al-Qasr, Manal, Samail Province (Figure 4.5). For the scientific analysis of Chinese porcelain used in Omani mihrabs, see Goffriller et al. 2015. 54. Carswell 2000, fig. 142. A royal residence from the late fifteenth century, the De Santos Palace (now the French Embassy) was acquired in 1629 by the Lencastre family and underwent major structural works between 1664 and 1687. During that period, the Porcelain Room was constructed (for further information, see , last accessed 28 December 2016). 55. Moura Carvalho 2001–2, 50. 56. Among the well-known examples now in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (1970.170). 57. Pointed out in Rizvi 2000, 82–3. Rizvi also notes that the chinikhana was not a treasury, as a small room off the tomb tower called the khazana kept valuable and expensive objects (Rizvi 2000, 82). 58. Rizvi quotes the vaqf of 1016 (1608) mentioning a royal chinikhana where the chinaware was kept before it was moved to Ardabil (Rizvi 2000, 83). 59. 160 volumes from the shrine are now in the Russian National Library in St Petersburg; ninety are in Tehran and some are found in other locations worldwide (for example, the Mantiq al-Tayr of Attar in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art [63.210]; Canby 2007, 64). 60. See Rostiashvili 2008. 61. Pope 1956, 14–16, quoting several nineteenth-century travels in which Chinese porcelain pieces are described as being on the floor. 62. For his study of the Ardabil Shrine, see Sarre 1901–10, 33–50, Taf. XXXI-LII; Sarre 1924. 63. Pope 1956. 64. Much discussion has been made on this famous pair of carpets that are now divided between London and Los Angeles. For a survey of the carpets, see Beattie 1987. Although widely considered to have come from the Ardabil Shrine, their exact original location remains unclear. In terms of size, the Jannat Saray could possibly accommodate the carpets, if they were indeed used in the shrine (Canby 2007, 60). 65. It was during the second half of the nineteenth century that Iran’s first royal museum (Talar-i Muzeh) was founded in 1876 by Nasir al-Din Shah (r. 1848–96), after his European Grand Tour, including visits to world fairs in Vienna and Paris in 1873, 1878 and 1889 (see Ekhtiar 2007). 66. Pope 1956, 17. For an acquisition history of Chinese ceramics in the Topkapı Saray collection, see Krahl and Ayers 1986, vol. 1, 30–6. It is interesting to note that a number of Chinese porcelain pieces collected in Iran were bought for the Victoria & Albert Museum in London by Robert Murdoch Smith (1835–1900, who served as a royal engineer in Iran in the 1870s and 1880s) through Jules Richard (1816–91; Scarce 1973, 74–5). 67. Moura Carvalho 2001–2, 49. 68. Canby (ed.) 2009, 133. This Armenian connection is brought to the author’s attention by Iván Szántó. 69. Pope 1956, 17; however, no further reference to this information is given. I was unable to trace the exact historical sources of this information.

References Ashton, A. (1934–5), ‘Early blue and white in Persian manuscripts’, Transaction of the Oriental Ceramic Society, 12, 21–5. Aube, S. (2017), La céramique dans l’architecture en Iran au XVe siècle: Les arts qarâ quyûnlûs et âq quyûnlûs, Paris. Beattie, M. (1987), ‘ArdabÈl carpet’, EIr, 2, 365–8. Beveridge, A. S., trans. (1970), Båbur-nåma (Memoirs of Båbur), New Delhi. Canby, S. R. (1999), The Golden Age of Persian Art 1501–1722, London.

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–––– (ed.) (2002), Safavid Art and Architecture, London. –––– (2007), ‘Royal gifts for Safavid shrines’, in Rastegar and Vanzan (eds) 2007, 57–68. –––– (ed.) (2009), Shah Abbas: the Making of Iran, London. Carswell, J. (1985), Blue and White: Chinese Porcelain and Its Impact on the Western World, Chicago. –––– (1992), ‘ČÈnÈ’, EIr, 5, 590–3. –––– (2000), Blue and White: Chinese Porcelain around the World, London. Clavijo, R. G. de (1928), Clavijo: Embassy to Tamerlane 1403–1406, trans. G. Le Strange, London. Clunas, C. and J. Harrison-Hall (eds) (2014), Ming: 50 Years that Changed China, London. Crowe, Y. (1979–80), ‘Aspects of Persian blue and white and China in the seventeenth century’, Transaction of the Oriental Ceramic Society, 44, 15–30. –––– (2002), Persia and China: Safavid Blue and White Ceramics in the Victoria & Albert Museum 1501–1738, London. Damluji, S. S. (1998), The Architecture of Oman, Reading. Dreyer, E. L. (2007), Zheng He: China and the Oceans in the Early Ming Dynasty 1405–1433, New York. Ekhtiar, M. (2007), ‘The Shah’s royal museum: art, presentation and authority in late nineteenthcentury Iran’, in Rastegar and Vanzan (eds) 2007, 83–92. Eng, C. (2014), Colours and Contrast: Ceramic Traditions in Chinese Architecture, Leiden. Fitzhugh, E. W. and W. M. Floor (1992), ‘Cobalt’, EIr, 5, 873–5. Goffriller, M. S., H. Ma, S. Bandyopadhyay and J. Henderson (2015), ‘Chinese porcelains and the decorations of Omani mihrabs’, Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies, 45, 1–16. Golombek, L. (1993), ‘The paysage as funerary imagery in the Timurid period’, Muqarnas, 10, 241–52. Golombek, L., R. B. Mason and G. A. Bailey (1996), Tamerlane’s Tableware: a New Approach to the Chinoiserie Ceramics of Fifteenth- and Sixteenth-Century Iran, Toronto. Golombek, L., R. B. Mason, P. Proctor and E. Reilly (2013), Persian Pottery in the First Global Age: the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, Leiden. Gray, B. (1948–9), ‘Blue and white vessels in Persian miniatures of the 14th and 15th centuries reexamined’, Transaction of the Oriental Ceramic Society, 24, 23–30. –––– (1964–6), ‘The export of Chinese Porcelain to India’, Transaction of the Oriental Ceramic Society, 36, 21–37. Gronke, M. (1992), ‘The Persian court between palace and tent: from Timur to Abbas I’, in L. Golombek and M. Subtelny (eds), Timurid Art and Culture: Iran and Central Asia in the Fifteenth Century, Leiden, 18–22. Harrison-Hall, J. (2001), Catalogue of Late Yuan and Ming Ceramics in the British Museum, London. Kadoi, Y. (2009), Islamic Chinoiserie: the Art of Mongol Iran, Edinburgh. Kahle, P. (1940–1), ‘Chinese porcelain in the lands of Islam’, Transaction of the Oriental Ceramic Society, 18, 27–46. Kauz, R. (2005), Politik und Handel zwischen Ming und Timuriden: China, Iran und Zentralasien im Spätmittelalter, Wiesbaden. Komaroff, L. (ed.) (2011), Gifts of the Sultan: the Arts of Giving at the Islamic Courts, New Haven, CT. Krahl, R. and J. Ayers (1986), Chinese Ceramics in the Topkapi Saray Museum Istanbul: a Complete Catalogue, 3 vols, London. Krahl, R. and J. Harrison-Hall (2009), Chinese Ceramics: Highlights of the Sir Percival David Collection, London. Lane, A. (1947), Early Islamic Pottery: Mesopotamia, Egypt and Persia, London; revised edition, 1965. Lentz, T. W. and G. D. Lowry (1989), Timur and the Princely Vision: Persian Art and Culture in the Fifteenth Century, Washington, DC. Lin, M. and R. Zhang (2015), ‘Zheng He’s voyages to Hormuz: the archaeological evidence’, Antiquity, 89/344, 417–32. Mason, R. and E. J. Keall (1991), ‘The Abbåsid glazed wares of SÈråf and the Basra connection: petrographic analysis’, Iran: Journal of the British Institute of Persian Studies, 29, 51–66. Matthee, R. P. (2001), ‘Gift giving, iv: in the Safavid period’, EIr, 10, 609–14. Medley, M. (1975), ‘Islam, Chinese porcelain and ArdabÈl’, Iran: Journal of the British Institute of Persian Studies, 13, 31–38. –––– (1987), ‘ArdabÈl, iv: ArdabÈl collection of Chinese porcelain’, EIr, 2, 364–5.

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Morgan, P. (1991), ‘New thoughts on Old Hormuz: Chinese ceramics in the Hormuz region in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries’, Iran: Journal of the British Institute of Persian Studies, 29, 67–83. Morton, A. H. (1974), ‘The ArdabÈl Shrine in the reign of Shåh Tahmåsp I’, Iran: Journal of the British Institute of Persian Studies, 12, 31–64. –––– (1975), ‘The ArdabÈl Shrine in the reign of Shåh Tahmåsp I (concluded)’, Iran: Journal of the British Institute of Persian Studies, 13, 39–58. Moura Carvalho, P. (2001–2), ‘Porcelains for the shah: Ardabil and the Chinese ceramics trade in the Persian Gulf’, Transactions of the Oriental Ceramic Society, 66, 47–56. Olearius, A. (1669), The Voyages and Travells of the Ambassadors Sent by Frederick Duke of Holstein …, London. Ollagnier, C. (2010), ‘De Kairouan (Tunisie) à Shahrisabz (Ouzbékistan), contribution à la sauvegarde des sources documentaires de l’humanité, I. Conservation d’un savoir-faire, le décor de lustre métallique, II. Conservation d’un site, le palais de Timour’, unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Bordeaux 3. Pope, J. A. (1956), Chinese Porcelain from the Ardebil Shrine, Washington, DC. –––– (1959), ‘An early Ming porcelain in Muslim style’, in R. Ettinghausen (ed.), Aus der Welt der islamischen Kunst: Festschrift für Ernst Kühnel zum 75. Geburstag am 26. 10. 1957, Berlin, 357–75. Rante, R. and A. Collinet (eds) (2013), Nishapur Revisted: Stratigraphy and Ceramics of the Qohandez, Oxford. Rastegar S. and A. Vanzan (eds) (2007), Muraqqae Sharqi: Studies in Honor of Peter Chelkowski, San Marino. Rempel’, L. I. (1961), Arkhitekturnyi ornament Uzbekistana, Tashkent. Rizvi, K. (2000), ‘Transformations in Early Safavid Architecture: the Shrine of Shaykh Safi al-din Ishaq Ardabili in Iran (1501–1629)’, unpublished PhD dissertation, Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Rogers, J. M. (1996), ‘Furniture in Islam’, in G. Herrmann (ed.), The Furniture of Western Asia, Ancient and Traditional: Papers of the Conference Held at the Institute of Archaeology, University College London, June 28 to 30, 1993, Mainz, 245–51. Rostiashvili, N. (2008), ‘Two Chinese bowls from the chini-khåna of Ardabil’, Journal of Persianate Studies, 1, 249–53. Rougeulle, A. (1991), ‘Les Importations extrême-orientales trouvées sur les sites de la période addasside’, unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Paris. Sarre, F. (1901–10), Denkmäler persischer Baukunst, 2 vols, Berlin. –––– (1924), Ardabil: Grabmoschee des Schech Safi, Berlin. Scarce, J. M. (1973), ‘Travels with telegraph and tiles in Persia: from the private papers of MajorGeneral Sir Robert Murdoch Smith’, Art and Archaeology Research Papers, 3, 70–81. Scott, R. (2007), ‘A moonflask of distinction’, in Reflections: Chinese Art Inspired by the West, Christie’s sales catalogue, 27 November 2007, 34–42. Sims, E. (2002), Peerless Images: Persian Painting and its Sources, New Haven, CT. Smart, E. S. (1975–7), ‘Fourteenth century Chinese porcelain from a Tughlaq Palace in Delhi’, Transaction of the Oriental Ceramic Society, 41, 199–230. Soudavar, A. (1998), ‘A Chinese dish from the lost endowment of Princess Sultånum (925–69/1519– 62)’, in K. Eslami (ed.), Iran and Iranian Studies: Essays in Honor of Iraj Afshar, Princeton, NJ, 125–36. Titley, N. T. (1983), Persian Miniature Painting and Its Influence on the Art of Turkey and India, London. Washington, DC (2010), Shipwrecked: Tang Treasures and Monsoon Winds, Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution. Watson, O. (2004), Ceramics from Islamic Lands: Kuwait National Museum, the al-Sabah Collection, London. Watt, J. C. Y. and D. P. Leidy (2005), Defining Yongle: Imperial Art in Early Fifteenth-Century China, New York. Wiesner, U. (1979), Chinesische Keramik auf Hormoz, Cologne. Wilkinson, C. K. (1973), Nishapur: Pottery of the Early Islamic Period, New York. Zhao, B. (2012). ‘Global trade and Swahili cosmopolitan material culture: Chinese-style ceramic shards from Sanje ya Kati and Songo Mnara (Kilwa, Tanzania)’, Journal of World History, 23/1, 41–85.

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CHAPTER 5

Devotion and Protection: Four Amuletic Scrolls from Safavid Persia Tobias Nünlist

This chapter forms part of a larger research project dealing with amuletic scrolls from the Muslim cultural area dating approximately from the fourteenth to the nineteenth centuries. A corpus of about one hundred and twenty items – mostly held by Western scientific institutions – was identified.1 This limitation to documents in Western libraries or museums is mainly due to their easier access – not materially, but ideologically. Generally speaking, scrolls of the kind studied here were popular among Muslim believers. Very often, however, they originated from milieus with heterodox leanings. This ideological background obviously influenced their contents. As these potentially heterodox convictions are not generally accepted by traditional Muslim theologians, such documents are rather difficult to get hold of in Islamic countries. The items studied in this larger research project – as well as in the present chapter – are all handwritten. Block-printed objects (†arsh technique) are not included in the corpus under discussion although many of them come from comparable ideological contexts. They were analysed by Schaefer in an earlier study.2 Pilgrimage scrolls are not dealt with here either.3 These handwritten devotional scrolls measure several centimetres in width and up to 16m in length.4 Shorter documents, however, prevail. Items produced between 1350 and 1450 approximately, and originating from a region situated between Konya, Tabriz and Baghdad usually measure about 12cm in width and reach 9–11m in length.5 Objects with a Qajar date (late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries) reach about 6–7m in length.6 Compared with these items, scrolls from the western part of the Ottoman Empire and such datable to the seventeenth century are smaller. They measure about 4.5–5.0cm in width and 3.5–4.0m in length.7 Regardless of the respective period and region of their production, two dif­ferent types of scrolls can be discerned: on the one hand, some items that contain a copy of the entire or nearly entire text of the Quran. They can therefore be called Quranic scrolls. In these documents the Islamic revelation has been copied in ghubår script allowing to fit long passages into relatively limited space.8 On the other hand, there are scrolls that contain chosen verses from the Quran together with additional elements such as prayers, squares, represen­tations of different objects, and so on.

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Items of this second group can be labelled ‘prayer scrolls’. Both types seem to have been appreciated for their apo­tropaic qualities and were used as amulets. Until now, Western research has paid little attention to these scrolls. And if it did, it explained them more or less exclusively from the point of view of Islamic magic (si˙r, nayrang).9 Some of the scrolls do, in fact, contain elements usually met with in magical documents, such as Brillenbuchstaben, hexagrams or pentagrams, the Seven Seals of Solomon, (magical) squares, and longer se­quences of letters or numerals devoid of immediately intelligible meaning. For an Iranian context, such a magical reading may be corroborated by a scroll of rather inferior quality held by the Thüringer Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek in Jena.10 Another item, now in the Universitätsbibliothek Basel,11 at least contains certain elements well attested to in works by Buni (d. 622 [1225] or 630 [1232])12 or Tilimsani (d. 737 [1336])13, two towering figures of Islamic magical literature.14 However, the majority of the scrolls under discussion does not contain magical elements proper. Therefore, an exclusively magical interpretation underestimates the importance of other aspects and functions of these objects. Taking into account documents produced outside an Iranian context, too, the relatively frequent allusions to Ali b. Abi Talib catch our attention. Obviously, Muhammad’s cousin and son-in-law Ali played an important role in Shii Islam. But he enjoyed equal reverence beyond Shiism proper. Ali occupies an important place in Sufi circles (†arÈqa orders) and in the Futuwwa and AkhÈ corporations.15 Ghulåt groups (for example, Bektashiyya, Nusayriyya, Ahl-i Haqq) even consider him a manifestation of God.16 These groups are well known for their heterodox convictions. Sometimes they also had a certain affinity to milieus with a magical background. Before presenting the different items attributable to sixteenth-century Safavid Iran, it is useful to recall the fact that Shiism at that period had just very recently become the official religious credo in Persia. Three – or to be more correct four – different items of remarkably high quality are presented here. Most probably, these items once belonged to members of the inner circle of the Safavid ruling elites and are actually datable to the sixteenth century. The fourth item (a.2) has been partially preserved only. Its fragments closely resemble one of the three other scrolls (a.1): a.1 Fondation Martin Bodmer, Cologny (Genève), CB 542: probably first half of the sixteenth century, Tabriz or surrounding areas (12.3 × 969.6cm; composed of a total of nineteen sheets glued together; Figures 5.1–5.3). a.2 Forschungsbibliothek Gotha, Ms. orient. A. 1372: fragment closely resembling CB 542, but of lesser quality (10.4 × 127.8cm).17 b. Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin: Ms. or. oct. 146: Iran, sixteenth century (1570–80?) (9.5 × 596cm; Figures 5.4 and 5.5).18 c. Chester Beatty Library, Dublin, Is 1623; dated 986 (1578) (7.0 × 660cm; Figures 5.6 and 5.7).19

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Before starting the detailed presentation, the tiny ghubår script applied in all these scrolls is brought into focus. In the documents from Geneva, Gotha and Berlin, the outline of the text passages written in ghubår forms a second text to be read on a superior level. This superior text consists of black (or as it were ‘ghubår-coloured’) writing appearing against a white background usually ornamented by blossoms and tendrils. On the Chester Beatty item, however, the technique is inversed and the superior text is formed by the blank spaces while the ghubår text constitutes the background. In this last instance the tiny ghubår script passages contain – most probably – an integral copy of the Quranic revelation. This feature is also characteristic for later scrolls attributable to eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Iran.20 This technique has been attested to in an albeit less elaborate form on an item copied in Cairo in 1362 and 1367, according to two colophons in the scroll.21 Judging from the nisba, the copyist Muhammad b. Mansur b. Ali al-Hanafi alHusayni al-Kakhtawi, stems from Kakhta, an important fortress on the northern frontier of the Mamluk Empire at that period.22 The similarity of layout features over a stretch of time shows that such scrolls have to be seen in broader contexts and a long-term development. Very often, allusions or cross-references to elements already observed in older documents can be distinguished on younger items from a different cultural background. These scrolls were usually preserved in a case, in a box or in an etui (made of metal, wood, textile or other material). These cases, on the one hand, protected the document and, on the other, facilitated its transport or allowed for its being worn on the body. Among the four items presented here, only two (CB 542 and Ms. or. oct. 146) have been preserved along with their cases. While CB 542 is stored in a simple metal box devoid of decorations,23 Ms. or. oct. 146 (Berlin) is wrapped in a leather etui.24 It is, how­ever, not always possible to decide whether scroll and case belong together.25 In order to fit these long documents in their rather narrow boxes or cases, it was necessary to scroll them up very tightly. Very often the documents – having been stored in these small boxes for long periods of time – are under high tension and unscroll rapidly by themselves when taken out. It is likely that the high tension of the documents was created intentionally. For conservatory reasons, however, they are now often preserved outside their original boxes.26 a. CB 542, Fondation Martin Bodmer, Cologny (Genève) According to a date added later by a second hand, the Geneva scroll was produced before 957 (1550). While the scroll itself is of high quality, it is preserved in the simple and plain metal box already mentioned.27 The scroll is composed of nineteen pieces of paper glued together, each one measuring about 50cm in length; the paper has been fixed on a support of green silk. This document and its parallel from Gotha must have been produced in an Iranian context or, at least, under Iranian influence. The Geneva scroll can most probably be attributed to the late

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Turkmen or early Safavid period; it might have been produced in Tabriz during the first half of the sixteenth century. Arguments from art history, inter alia, seem to justify this attribution. Sixteen squares can be discerned on CB 542. Each square contains the inscription al-aΩama li-Allåh (The majesty belongs to God) in a geometric Kufi script, also known as bannåÈ kËfÈ.28 In the first square at the very beginning of the scroll, however, the text reads Allåh al-aΩama (Figure 5.1). On the fragmentary Gotha item this ele­ment has been preserved three times. Inscriptions in bannåÈ kËfÈ are fre­ quently attested to on architectural monuments dating from the Timurid period, for example on the Mir Chaqmaq Mosque in Yazd (built 1437)29 and the Qadi-zada Rumi Mausoleum (c.1425) in the Shah-i Zinda complex in Samarqand.30 On the other hand, on the two items under discussion rectangular cartouches can be observed; they number twenty-nine on the Geneva and four on the fragmentary Gotha document respectively (Figure 5.3). Their background is decorated with tiny spiral tendrils ending in leaves and blossoms. Such floral decorations

Figure 5.1  Fondation Martin Bodmer, Cologny (Genève), CB 542. Frontispiece with the inscription Allåh al-aΩama [sic] in geometric Kufi (bannåÈ kËfÈ). In the cartouche above the central field in red ink: Surat Yasin (Sura 36, title); first frame in blue ink: Sura 39: 63–5; second frame in golden ink: Sura 51: 44–7; third frame in red ink: Sura 78: 1–6 (starting with the basmala).

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Figure 5.2  Fondation Martin Bodmer, Cologny (Genève), CB 542. Square (wafq) with 3 × 3 cells containing several of God’s Beautiful Names written diagonally in black and red ink. The square is framed by citations of passages from the Quran.

Figure 5.3  Fondation Martin Bodmer, Cologny (Genève), CB 542. Rectangular cartouche quoting the beginning of the Throne Verse (Sura 2: 255) in large letters (Allåh, lå ilåha illå huwa al-˙ayy al-qayyËm, lå [continuation in the next cartouche]). The large letters are formed by text passages written in ghubår and citing Sura 12: 1–8 (SËrat YËsuf). The letter alif of Allah in the large text is composed of the basmala of Sura 12 in ghubår.

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are also attested to on religious buildings in Iran dating from the Timurid or Turkmen period. Com­parable decorative elements are found for example on the Masjid-i Shah in Mashhad built in 1451.31 Elements of the same elegance and subtlety decorate the northern entry of the Darb-i Imam Shrine in Isfahan.32 It was erected in 1453–4 by Abu al-Muzaffar Jahan-Shah, the Qara Qoyunlu patron from Tabriz. This same ruler, or rather – to be precise – his wife Khatun Jan Baygum, was responsible for the construction of the Blue Mosque (Masjid-i Muzaffariyya) in Tabriz in 1465.33 The art of the Turkmens was highly influenced by the Timurids. The elegant decorations with the tiny tendrils and blossoms might have found an echo on two squares containing the afore-mentioned inscription al-aΩama li-Allåh at the beginning of the Geneva item (Figure 5.1). Based on this comparison, it is possible to attribute CB 542 to the late fifteenth or the first half of the sixteenth century (the first half of the sixteenth century being more likely). This attribution is indirectly corroborated by the mention of the year of 957 (1550) in the document itself. The main aim of the present chapter, however, does not consist in a thorough analysis of this document from an art historical point of view. The following remarks turn to its use as a powerful means of protection against all kinds of difficulties. They do so by highlighting the two or three most striking elements in this scroll and its thus apotropaic nature. In a first step, the frequent use of the ghubår script on this kind of scrolls is worth mentioning. This technique is particularly well developed on items attri­ butable to the Iranian cultural area.34 It is a current feature on protective shirts as well.35 On CB 542, these ghubår passages are placed in the already mentioned twenty-nine rectangular cartouches with the floral background, each one mea­ suring 20–25cm and containing pious formulas and chosen passages from the Quran in a great script of approximately 4cm in height (Figure 5.3).36 The most striking feature of these twenty-nine fields is the fact that the words composing the sentences on this superior level are themselves formed by a second text in a tiny ghubår measuring barely 1mm in height. The use of this ghubår script, which can be deciphered with difficulty only, apparently contributes to the apotropaic character of the document. At the beginning of the scroll two rectangular fields on this ghubår level contain passages of a particular sura, further into the scroll this is the case with three or four fields. But only Suras 13 and 14 contained in the rectangles at the end of the scroll have been copied entirely. In the fields before, the Quranic text breaks off after two or three rectangles in the middle of a sura. This scroll therefore does not contain the complete text of the Quranic revelation. The citations taken from the Quran on this inferior level are not copied continuously. The text flow is interrupted repeatedly. Often, a particular verse starts in the diacritical dots above the let­ters forming the text on the superior level. It may then be continued in a vocalisation sign, which – in the case of the kasra – has been written under the line of the main text. The copyist then may jump to the rasm (body of the letters without any dots) itself to continue the text of the Islamic

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revelation. On CB 542 the scribe changes his procedure from field to field. By doing so, he hampers the deciphering of these passages. This confusing technique of course heightens the protective character of the document. The first rectangular field at the beginning of CB 542 differs from the other twenty-nine cartouches. This first oblong cartouche, too, contains text in ghu­bår quoting passages from Sura 3 (Ål Imrån). In this instance, however, the citations in ghubår do not form a text on a superior level. The scribe rather co­pied the Quranic text in fine tendrils forming a kind of intricate network. Three ellipses and other figures can be distinguished. These geometric elements are mirrored along a vertical axe. These two elements, that is the nets and the mirror-technique, are features generally met with in such scrolls. In this first rectangular field two cartouches have been added containing the two following invocations of God in green ink: a. yå dhË [sic] al-jalål and b. wa-al-ikmål. These two expressions allude to the Beautiful Names of God (al-asmå al-˙usnå) al-jalÈl and al-kåmil respectively.37 Additional names of God have been added in fourteen different squares composed of 4 × 4 (once) and 3 × 3 (thirteen times) cells respectively (Figure 5.2). These Beautiful Names heighten the protective character of the document as well as their inscription in red and blue ink in changing directions. Textual elements written in changing directions and very often copied diagonally are frequently met with in magical documents. The apotropaic character of CB 542 is not only due to the different elements discussed until now. On CB 542 and its simpler parallel from Gotha, a twofold text-band in naskh script of normal height runs along both edges and thus frames the whole scroll. On CB 542 the afore-mentioned thirty cartouches38 are additionally surrounded by two further text-bands (Figures 5.1–5.3). On this item, four suras start at the begin­ning of the first rectangular cartouche ornamented by the mirrored network composed of interwoven tendrils. These four suras thus form a kind of protective band around the different elements of the scroll. They begin one above the other: first frame, text in blue ink, Sura 36 (Yå-SÈn); second frame, text in golden ink, Sura 48 (al-Fat˙, the Victory); third frame, text in green ink, Sura 58 (al-Mujådala, the Dispute); fourth frame, red ink, Sura 67 (al-Mulk, the Kingdom). These four suras were probably intentionally chosen and here start together. With their protective powers combined, they ward off all adversity humans may be confronted with in their daily life. Citations of Suras 36 and 48 are frequently attested to in scrolls; they also form part of documents of a different kind from the western part of the Ottoman Empire having been produced in the se­venteenth century.39 It has already been mentioned that the Geneva scroll (CB 542) does not con­tain the complete text of the Quran. The different suras copied in ghubår in the oblong cartouches mostly break off at the end of the second or third rectangle. More astonishing, however, is the fact that several suras usually highly appreciated for their apotropaic nature seem not to have been copied on this item. At least, it has not been possible to identify Suras 1 (al-Fåti˙a) and 113–114 (al-Muawwidhatån)

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in this document so far.40 Several other minor lacunas could be identified, sometimes – but probably not always – due to scribal errors. The codicological and art historical description of CB 542 reveals the apotropaic nature of different elements contained in this document. In all likelihood, such scrolls served as a general means of devotion and as a means of protection against all kinds of dangers, during warfare in particular but also for long-distance journeys. Judged on its extraordinary quality, the Ge­neva scroll must have been produced for a member of the inner circle of the ru­ling elite. This assessment links up with the year of 957 (1550) added at the beginning of the document by a second hand where the following remark can be read: TårÈkh-i Sul†ån Sulaymån sana 957. The same text has been written in the first rectangular field together with two additional words, which could not be deciphered with certainty. This year ah 957 nearly exactly corresponds to 1550 ce. It is therefore highly probable that the Sultan Sulayman mentioned in the document is none other than the Ottoman Sultan Sulayman the Magnificent who ruled between 1520 and 1566.41 As there were minor rulers called Sulayman in the region at that period, this identification cannot be proven with absolute certainty. Nevertheless, it seems to be the most likely one. Sultan Sulayman the Magnificent’s rival on the Safavid side was Shah Tahmasp I (1524–76) who had three brothers, Sam Mirza, Alqas Mirza and Bahram Mirza. Alqas Mirza opposed his brother Shah Tahmasp and collaborated with the Ottomans. Sultan Sulayman met him personally during his stay in Istanbul,42 and they planned a joint campaign against their common enemy Shah Tahmasp. Alqas Mirza’s revolt was studied in detail by Walter Posch, so it is not necessary to enter into further details here.43 Let us just mention that Alqas’ revolt aborted; he was finally caught by the Safavids and imprisoned in the fortress of Qahqaha in northern Iran.44 On 21 Rabi I 957/9 April 1550 he was thrown down from the ramparts of the Qahqaha fortress, probably by tacit permission of his brother Shah Tahmasp. Even if it is impossible to prove with some certainty that the scroll under discussion came into the possession of Sultan Sulayman in this connection, it cannot be a priori excluded. It is worth adding that Alqas Mirza’s poe­tic inclinations and interest in art and manuscripts are well known. Fleischer concludes his explanations on him remarking that ‘Alqas’ major cultural le­gacy went to the Ottomans; his tributary gift of royal Safavid treasures remained in the Topkapı Palace and provided models for the palace artisans.’45 Taking into account the high quality of the Geneva scroll, it is absolutely possible to connect it with Alqas Mirza’s revolt and his personal contacts with Sulayman the Magnificent. After the discussion of CB 542, I now turn to the presentation of two further scrolls from Safavid Iran. These two items were most probably produced between 1570 and 1580. This period of turmoil coincides with the end of Shah Tahmasp’s reign (d. 1576), the short reign of his son Ismail II (1576–7) and of Sultan Muhammad Shah Khudabanda (1578–88). It was under their successor Abbas I

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Figure 5.4  Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin – Preußischer Kulturbesitz – Orientabteilung, Ms. or. oct. 146. Cartouche alluding to the concept of tawakkul (trust in God). The text reads in mostly golden letters: Tawakkaltu bi-maghfiri-hÈ al-muhaymani. Then it continues in mostly blue letters: Huwa al-ghafËr dhË ar-ra˙mati (‘I placed my confidence in His protecting forgiveness. Really He is the all-forgiving, the compassionate’). The immediately following medallion quotes six attributes of God.

Figure 5.5  Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin – Preußischer Kulturbesitz – Orientabteilung, Ms. or. oct. 146. Rectangular cartouche containing Sura 2: 137 (end) copied in golden letters on a bluish َ background. The text reads: ‫فسیکفیکه ُم اهلل وهو السمیع العلیم‬. (‘God will suffice you for them; He is the All-hearing, the All-knowing’ [Flügel: 2.131; translation: Arberry 1980]).

(1588–1629) only that the Sa­favid dynasty found its way back to a more stable development. b. Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin: Ms. or. oct. 14646 The document Ms. or. oct. 146 from the Staatsbibliothek Berlin differs from the two other items studied here mainly in the fact that it contains longer passages in Per­sian. Inter alia, several prayers and title bars in Persian form part of this docu­ ment. The Geneva, Gotha and Dublin scrolls contain Arabic text only. A note added by a second hand at the very end of the document allows to contextualise this item; the note contains the following information: Hådhihi hidyat al-˙aqÈr ad-dåÈ MÈrzå MakhdËm al-ÓusaynÈ ash-SharÈfÈ al-JurjånÈ.47 According

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to this remark, the document once belonged to a certain Mirza Makhdum some­ how related to the north-eastern Iranian province Jurjan. He apparently gave it as a present (hidyat) to a person not mentioned. This Mirza Makhdum is most probably iden­tical with Mirza Makhdum as-Sharifi who claimed descent from the notable scholar and prolific writer Sharif Jurjani (1339–1413). Through his mother, Mirza Makhdum allegedly descended from the Husayni branch. The following biographical details are based on two articles by Stanfield-Johnson and by Golsorkhi.48 Mirza Makhdum was an Iranian religious scholar who died in 995 (1587) in Mecca. He entered Safavid politics in c.975–6 (1568–9). At the in­sistence of his father who served as a vizier under Tahmasp I, he moved from the province of Fars to the then Safavid capital Qazwin. During the next seven years and until the death of Shah Tahmasp in 984 (1576), Mirza Makhdum taught and preached in Qazwin and other Iranian cities. He was probably also appointed Qå∂È al-qu∂åt of Fars. When Ismail II, who had been imprisoned in the afore-mentioned fortress of Qahqaha for eighteen years, came to power in 984 (1576), he appointed our Mirza as his ßadr, his minister of religious affairs. He was therefore the most important religious state official under Ismail II. It is well known that Tahmasp I and Ismail II defended widely divergent re­ligiopolitical standpoints. Tahmasp did a lot to strengthen the position of Twelver Shiism in Iran during his fifty-two-year reign. But his son Ismail II, who reigned for fourteen months only, apparently tried to return Iran to the Sunni creed. In any case, his policy favoured Sunnism and weakened the prerogatives of the Shiis. Different Persian chroniclers explained Ismail’s political actions mainly by Mirza Makhdum’s influence. This point of view is supported by Mirza’s own statements, who maintained in his writings that – as the ßadr – he controlled Sultan Ismail’s politics and that thence it was de facto he who was the sul†ån. After Ismail’s death in 985 (1577), Mirza Makhdum was twice imprisoned as a Sunni instigator at the insistence of the Qizilbash amÈrs. He was, however, relea­ sed through the intercession of high government officials, among them the well-known Pari-Khan Khanum herself.49 He could barely escape Iran alive and subsequently settled in the Ottoman territories where he composed several po­ lemic works. The best known of these treatises is his Arabic polemic anNawåqi∂ li-bunyån ar-rawåfi∂, completed in 987 (1580) and dedicated to the Ottoman sultan Murad III. As the present chapter does not particularly deal with Mirza Makhdum, I now return to the Berlin scroll. At its top is a leather flap protecting the document. The very beginning of the flap must have been repaired at a later date as can be concluded from slight irregularities in the ornamental pattern. The inside of the document, however, is far more in­teresting. The following description pays attention to the three or four most striking elements in this scroll. A frontispiece with parallels to the frontispieces of many manuscripts in codexform figures at the beginning of the Berlin document. It is followed by a rectangle measuring about 55cm in length. This rectangle is framed by two golden bands on

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the right- and left-hand side. This golden frame continues to the end of the document. The first rectangle itself is surrounded by a small band, on which several oblong black cartouches ornamented by fine interlaced tendrils can be discerned. Several medallions and other geometric shapes are placed within this rectangle. Three elements towards the end of the rectangle are merely decorative. At the beginning of the scroll there are three elements – two medallions and a cartouche in between – each containing an inscription in golden ink. The background of the two medallions is black; the golden texts read Mu˙ammad rasËl Allåh and Ri∂wån Allåh taålå respectively. The background of the cartouche in between is blue. The text here is intricate; it mentions Allåh, Mu˙ammad, AbË Bakr, Umar, Uthmån and AlÈ – the letter ayn of Umar, Uthman and Ali, being written once only. Besides referring to God and his Prophet Muhammad, this inscription clearly also refers to the four rightly guided caliphs. Documents with an apotropaic character from the Muslim world frequently appeal to them.50 In a Safavid context, however, the prominent mention of Abu Bakr, Umar and Uthman, usually cursed by the tabarråiyån,51 is remar­kable. But taking into account the Sunni sympathies of his former owner Mirza Makhdum, their mention in the present scroll is easily explainable: it confirms that, at that date, the conversion of Iran to Shiism was probably not as thorough and deep as it has been very often maintained.52 The technique just observed, namely the integration of text passages in an intricate script is prominently illustrated by another rectangle somewhat further down the Berlin scroll (Figure 5.4).53 It is provided with a title bar containing the inscription Yå Sub˙åna in white ink on a golden background. The text alludes to the concept of tawakkul, a principally Sufi idea.54 The phrase consists of blue and golden words or letters and diacritical dots. It reads in mostly golden letters: Tawakkaltu bi-maghfiri-hÈ al-muhaymani. Then it continues in mostly blue letters: Huwa al-ghafËr dhË ar-ra˙mati.55 This phrase has been executed, albeit in different colours, on a single folio now held by the Museum für Islamische Kunst in Berlin.56 The rectangle, just described, is preceded and followed by two squares, each containing a blue-grounded octagon mentio­ning different attributes of God. The first square is preceded by a title field reading Yå fattå˙, and thereby alluding to God’s quality as the provider of victory (fat˙) over enemies in battle. In the octagon itself, the Beautiful Name of God al-karÈm has been written six times. The ascender high ends of the two letters alif-låm of the article and the upward extended final part of the letter mÈm are interlaced.57 A golden hexagram appears at the intersection of the letters in the centre of the figure. The second square’s title bar reads Yå razzåq.58 It has been executed less attentively than the square just described and contains further epithets mentioned in lists of God’s Beautiful Names (Figure 5.4).59 From the Geneva scroll we are acquainted with the technique of composing a text to be read on two levels: a superior level by words which consist themselves of a next level of texts written in the small ghubår script. This technique has

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been applied in four rectangles in the Berlin scroll, too. A first rectangle has been executed differently and just con­tains a Quranic citation in a golden script on َ a bluish background (Figure 5.5). It reads ‫فسیکفیکه ُم اهلل وهو السمیع العلیم‬. This sentence, taken from the end of Sura 2: 137, is frequently met with on amuletic objects.60 Astonishingly, this citation starts at the bottom, not at the top, of the rectangle.61 By contrast, the four other rectangles containing text formed by words in ghubår have to be read in the sense of the scroll itself. They are placed somewhat closer to the end of the document, where Sura 68: 51–2 has been copied; the text reads: َ َ ُ َ ََ ٌ ‫ون إِنَّ ُه لَ َم‬ َ ُ‫الذکر َوی َُق ْول‬ ‫کر للعالَمین‬ \\ ‫بصار ِهم لمّا َس ِمعُوا‬ ٌ ‫جنون \\ وما هو أِال ِذ‬ َ ِ ‫وإن یَکا ُد الذین کفروا \\ لیُزلِقو َنك ِبا‬. This passage recalls Muhammad’s situation in Mecca when the Quraysh accused him of being majnËn, demoniac or be-jinned. It is repeatedly attested to in scroll documents and encourages people to confide in Muhammad’s revelation.62 The Berlin scroll contains six more rectangles with text in ghubår. In these instances, however, the ghubår passages do not form a superior text, but ha­ve purely ornamental character. A double-bladed sword, easily identifiable as Ali’s sword DhË al-faqår, occupies a prominent place in the document.63 This rectangle is preceded by a title bar reading Jihat-i mu˙åraba-i askar-i kuffår (for fighting against the army of the unbelievers). This prominent allusion to Ali calls for a commentary. As mentioned before, the Berlin scroll once belon­ged to Mirza Makhdum, a theologian well known for his Sunni preferences. The mention of the names of Abu Bakr, Umar and Uthman, the first three caliphs who – according to a Shii reading – usurped Ali’s rights to the succession of Muhammad, would confirm this rather Sunni background of the document. The mention of Abu Bakr, Umar and Uthman in this scroll, which was most probably produced between 1570 and 1580 in Safavid Iran where these usurpers of Ali’s rights were ritually cursed, excludes to situate it in a purely Shii context. But Ali played an important role not only among Shiis. From about the thirteenth century onwards, he was also highly revered outside narrower Shii contexts. Muhammad’s saying ‘Lå fatå illå AlÈ, wa-lå sayfa illå DhË al-faqår’ clearly underlines this point of view.64 Or, to put it differently, this evident allusion to Ali by the representation of his sword eventually places this scroll in the context of Futuwwa orders well attested to in Safavid Iran according to Ridgeon.65 In Futuwwa circles, Ali was highly revered for his laudable character, his bravery and courage, for his jawån-mardÈ to formulate it in Persian. Notwithstanding the high veneration for Ali in Futuwwa circles and comparable organisations,66 these associations were not necessarily Shii. Shii convictions, however, became increasingly important among them in the fifteenth century.67 If I situate the Berlin scroll in Futuwwa-related contexts, I do so also by taking into account earlier scrolls produced between 1350 and 1450 in nor­thern Mesopotamia, south-eastern Anatolia and north-western Iran, or by co­pyists originating from that region. Just in passing, I point to the close con­nexions between Futuwwa associations and Sufi orders (†arÈqa, pl. †uruq), a phe­nomenon well known.68 Due to his extraordinary bravery – Ali not only fought against human, but

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also against demon enemies69 – he was the model par excellence for the true fatå as well as for the ghåzÈ, the courageous warrior, who defended Islam against the infidels. The title bar in the Berlin scroll, reading Jihat-i mu˙åraba-i askar-i kuffår (for warfare against the army of the unbelievers, the kuffår) just above the representation of Ali’s sword, seems to confirm this point of view. It is therefore possible that scrolls of the kind presented here were used as means of protection by members of the elites when going to war – particularly when going to holy war (jihåd).70 But probably, they were appreciated as amulets in general as can be deduced from the titles contained in additional horizontal bars in the second part of the scroll. Read from the top to the bottom of the scroll, the following parts efficacious against particular dangers are found in these horizontal bars71: (1) Daf-i †åËn (averting the plague)72; (2) Duåy-i dawlat (prayer for fortune, followed by a commentary, shar˙-i duå)73; (3) Daf-i jånwarån (deterring the animals)74; (4) Jihat-i chashm-zakhm (warding off the Evil Eye)75; (5) Daf-i bad-gËyån (warding off the defamers)76; (6) Duå[-i] buzurgwår (prayer formulated before addressing an important person)77; (7) Daf-i ˙asËdån (repelling the enviers; together with a shar˙-i duå)78; (8) Jihat-i mu˙åraba-i askar-i kuffår (for warfare against the army of the unbelievers, the kuffår, followed by the representation of the sword DhË al-faqår and a part called Shar˙-i duå)79; (9)Daf-i balå-hå (warding off the calamities)80; (10) Jihat-i daf-i darrandigån (deterring the ferocious beasts)81; (11) Duåy-i chashmzakhm (prayer against the Evil Eye; idea therefore mentioned twice in the scroll)82. Before concluding the remarks on the Berlin scroll, it may be useful to draw the attention to the fact that not only the titles of several parts are written in Persian, but that it also contains four longer passages in Persian written in black ink on a bluish background interspersed with golden stripes (thrice fifteen lines, once eleven lines).83 The three other items discussed here in more detail do not contain Persian text; the relatively simple item from Jena, however, contains long passages in Persian as well. c. Chester Beatty Library, Dublin: Is 1623 The last item to be discussed, Is 1623, is held by the Chester Beatty Library in Dublin. A very thin paper has been used for this scroll measuring 7 × 660cm. The document is clearly datable to the year 986 (beginning 10 March 1578) according to a colophon reading ‫وصدق اهلل العظیم وصدق رسوله الکریم ونحن علی ذلك من الشاهدین سنه سته ثمانین‬ )‫وتسعمایه من الهجرة االنبویة علیه والثنا (کذا‬. The scribe of this document indicates his name MuΩaffar b. Abdallåh al-ÓasanÈ al-MåzandarånÈ very prominently in a text field at the end of the scroll.84 Although his name is clearly written in the document, it was not possible to identify the copyist.85 The nisba al-Mazandarani, however, suggests his Iranian origin. Such an attribution is confirmed by the frontispiece with its sym­metrically distributed decorative elements (Figure 5.6). This frontispiece recalls a mihrab. On

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Figure 5.6  The Chester Beatty Library, Dublin, Is 1623. Decorative frontispiece.

Figure 5.7  The Chester Beatty Library, Dublin, Is 1623. Fourfold mention of Ali in golden letters. This figure is preceded and followed by the Nadi Ali prayer formed by blank spaces on a ghubår background. The fourfold Ali is directly followed by a long golden chain composed of sixteen links.

a golden background, different decorative elements, mostly tendrils and blossoms in the colours blue, green, red and white can be distinguished. In her study on sixteenth-century Shiraz manuscripts, Uluç repeatedly pointed out such kha†åÈ flowers and called them ‘one of the hallmarks of Shiraz ma­nuscripts [produced between 1570 and 1580]’.86 The four great blossoms in the frontispiece of the present scroll closely resemble those described by Uluç. The reproduction of such flowers in the Dublin document thus indicates that it might have been produced

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in Shiraz. Besides the nisba of the copyist, al-Mazandarani, it is – at any rate – a second element pointing to its Persian background. The scroll seems to contain a complete copy of the Quranic revelation. The text has been written in a tiny ghubår in black ink, barely reaching 1mm in height. The Quranic text has been copied on more or less horizontal lines in a single column. At least, this is true for the second part of the document. In the first part the text is partitioned into three columns. The column in the middle is the widest one and measures approximately 4cm. To its left and right, it is flanked by a much smaller column measuring about 5mm, the text lines in which slope at an angle of about 45 degrees. The most striking feature of this scroll, however, consists in the fact that the blanks in the background of the ghubår text form letters – or rather a text by themselves. This feature is an inversion of the technique of the earlier Geneva document. These two techniques can be observed frequently with documents originating from Iran and dating from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.87 They seem to have been used in documents produced in India during the same period as well.88 The exact provenance, however, has not been identified so far in all instances. Some scrolls with passages, in which ghubår forms a superior text, are attributed to India or the Ottoman Empire.89 The text appearing on the ghubår background in Is 1623 has been partitioned into a total of eighteen fields. It opens with the basmala and continues with an invocation addressed to the Prophet (an-nabÈ) and his waßÈ, that is, Ali. In the next field, this invocation continues with the mention of al-Batul (the virgin, that is, Fatima, Muhammad’s daughter and Ali’s wife), then as-Sibtan (Muhammad’s two grandsons Hasan and Husayn: second and third imams of the Shia), al-Abbad (Ali Zayn al-Abidin, the fourth imam) and al-Baqir (fifth imam). The next text field enumerates as-Sadiq, al-Kazim and ar-Rida, (sixth, seventh and eighth imams). The invocation thereafter conti­nues with the mention of at-Taqi, an-Naqi and al-Askari (ninth, tenth and eleventh imams). The enumeration – ­unsurprisingly – ends with the mention of al-Mahdi, the twelfth imam, who is referred to as aß-Íå˙ib az-zamån and, in the next field, wa-khalÈfat ar-Ra˙mån. It ends with the eulogy Íalawåt Allåh alay-hi wa-alay-him ajmaÈn. Con­trary to the names of the other imams, which have merely been enumerated and whose names are formed by blank spaces against a ghubår background, the name of the Mahdi is composed of words in ghubår script against a background of tendrils and blossoms, partially formed by textual elements in ghubår as well. This invocation therefore enumerates the twelve Shii Imams together with Muhammad and Fatima. This group is also known as the Chahårdah MaßËm, the Fourteen Innocents.90 Their mention allows to infer the general Twelver Shii background of this scroll. After the mention of the Chahårdah MaßËm, the scroll continues with the Nådi AlÈ prayer contained in four fields with a ghubår background; the text is formed by blank spaces and reads:91

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‫ــجــد ُه َعــونــاً لــک فـــی الــنــوائــب‬ ِ ‫ َت‬ َ ‫عـلـی‬ ‫عـلـی یــا‬ ‫عـلـی یـا‬ ‫ِ بـــ َوالیـــ ِتـــک یــا‬ ُّ ُّ ُّ

‫نــا ِد عـــلــیــاً مــظــهــر الــعــجــائــب‬ ّ ‫کـــل َغـــ ّم و هــــ ّم َســـــیَـــنـــجــــلـــی‬

According to Amir-Moëzzi this prayer is a famous dhikr generally known among Imami mystics; it is termed the dhikr of walåya by the Dhahabiyya.92 Very often only its first two words Nådi AlÈ are mentioned, thus evoking the whole prayer implicitly. Majlisi cites it in his Bi˙år al-anwår.93 It has allegedly been transmitted to Muhammad by an invisible voice (håtif)94 or by the Archangel Gabriel in the context of the battle of Uhud. The statement in the next two text fields after the Nådi AlÈ prayer can be attributed to Muhammad himself; it reads: ‫ من ال یرحم الناس ال یرحمه اهلل‬:‫ومن کالمه‬.95 The Nådi AlÈ prayer has been copied in four text fields, each half verse occupying one text field. These four text units are of more or less identical length and are separated in the middle by a longer decorative section composed of two different golden elements (length together c.62.6cm). The first part of this decorative section shows a golden ornament resembling a swastika cross. At a closer look, however, one recognises a fourfold mention of the name Ali (length of this section: c.6.4cm). The second part of this golden ornament is much longer (c.56.2cm). It has the shape of a golden chain composed of sixteen links. At the top, this chain is open and supports the afore-mentioned fourfold Ali (Figure 5.7). This golden chain is formed by two different elements: below the fourfold Ali it starts with a rather flat rectangular element presenting a convexity on each side (height of this rectangle: 2.2cm). The next link of the chain immediately below resembles an irregular octofoil (height: 4.6cm). These two elements are repeated eight times thus forming the afore-mentioned chain of sixteen links. A close look at the intersections of the golden lines running forward and backward in this part of the scroll shows that they have been very carefully executed. This twofold golden decorative element (fourfold Ali and chain composed of sixteen links) interrupting the Nådi AlÈ prayer must have been deliberately placed here. In a first step, its explanation takes us back to Amir-Moëzzi’s abovementioned remark according to which the Nådi AlÈ prayer was generally known among Imami mystics and is called the dhikr of walåya by the Dhahabiyya.96 The Dhahabiyya is an offshoot of the Kubrawiyya Sufi order and was particularly active in Safavid Iran.97 According to Anzali the Dhahabiyya and the Nimatullahiyya are actually the two major active Shii Sufi orders in Iran.98 Shiraz was the main centre of the Dhahabiyya since the Qajar period, but this order was active in Shiraz before as well. The term Dhahabiyya is not a normal designation for a Sufi community.99 Sufi orders are usually named after their charismatic founding figure. The name Dhahabiyya, however, is derived from dhahab, the Arabic expression for gold. Dhahabi sources underline the well-known symbolism of gold as a precious and pure substance.100 The artisans involved in the production of the scroll Is 1623 must have been aware of this symbolism and made extensive use of gold in this

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document. They did so particularly in the decorative section presently under discussion. Additionally, a golden band frames this scroll on the right- and left-hand side on its complete length and thereby heightens its value. Dhahabi sources underline the extraordinary value of their spiritual chain of transmission (silsila) and compare it to pure gold (dhahab) because it is completely free of infiltration by Sunnis.101 They therefore call this chain ‘the golden chain’ (as-silsila adh-dhahabiyya). Anzali additionally mentions earlier examples emphasising the praiseworthy nature of this golden chain of transmission.102 According to a Shii source dating from the thirteenth century, a Samanid governor heard of the exemplary nature of the chain of transmission of the first eight Shii Imams, from Ali b. Abi Talib (d. 661) to Ali b. Musa (d. 818), and had it written down with gold. In the fifteenth century the famous Shafii hadith scholar Ibn Hajar al-Asqalani (d. 1449) prepared a collection of traditions with an extremely short chain of transmission, which were therefore highly trustworthy. He called it Silsilat adh-dhahab (the chain of gold). Anzali, however, insists that the term was used as a reference to the chain of imams descending from Ali after the first decades of the fifteenth century only. In the introduction to his translation of Muadhdhin’s (d. 1667) Tu˙fa-i AbbåsÈ, an important source for the understanding of Shii Sufism, Faghfoory pays attention to the expression as-sisila adh-dhahabiyya as well.103 He cites the point of view of ‘some other historians [believing] that since in the genealogy of the order the names and titles of the Shiite Imams who were considered as the Poles of their time were written in gold, the order became known as Silsilat adh-dhahab (Chain of Gold) from which the titles Dhahabi and Dhahabiyya are derived.’104 Faghfoory adds a list mentioning other prominent poles of the Dhahabiyya after Ali b. Musa ar-Rida (eighth imam) who lived before the author of Tu˙fa-i AbbåsÈ.105 The above-mentioned observations imply that the scroll presently under discussion must have been produced in the context of the Dhahabiyya Sufi order, if we combine the points of view of Uluç (regards the Kha†åÈ flowers as a hallmark in Shiraz manuscripts), Amir-Moëzzi (underlines the importance of the Nådi AlÈ prayer among Imami mystics), Anzali (deals with the developments of the Dhahabiyya in the fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries) and Faghfoory (pays attention to the golden chain in the introduction to his translation of Muadhdhin’s Tu˙fa-i AbbåsÈ). Although it remains difficult to prove this for a certainty, there are excellent reasons to suppose that MuΩaffar b. Abdallåh alÓasanÈ al-MåzandarånÈ, the copyist of the present scroll, had close connections with the Dhahabi milieu in Shiraz and eventually prepared this scroll in that city. Concluding Remarks The four scrolls discussed in the present chapter form part of a larger devotional tradition and should be studied in this wider context. Generally speaking, such scrolls were highly appreciated by Muslim believers. Often they may have been

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produced in environments, which – if not outwardly heterodox – had heterodox leanings at least. Strictly traditionally oriented theologians would in all probability have criticised the production and use of such amuletic documents. This criticism can partially be explained by the fact that certain items contained elements also known in Islamic magic (si˙r). This chapter, however, demonstrates that these scrolls have to be interpreted mainly as objects of devotion. They may contain elements met with in Islamic magic, but mostly they do not. Scholarship should therefore refrain from placing them in a magical context. Documents of this type were popular among believing Muslims in general. Often, they were particularly appreciated in Futuwwa or AkhÈ associations, Dervish and Sufi orders, craft guilds or groups with a Ghulåt background. Notes This research project is financed by the Swiss National Science Foundation (SNSF). 1. As the textual elements in these scrolls have very often been copied horizontally and vertically, and even in circular form, a characterisation based on the distinction between volumen and rotulus is unrewarding. For this distinction, see Gacek 2009, 224–6 (entry: roll). 2. Schaefer 2006. 3. Pilgrimage scrolls were studied by Sourdel 2006. 4. The longest complete document identified measures 11.9 × 1572cm. Its owner intended to sell it at Christie’s, London, on 5 October 2010, as lot 127; however, he withdrew it; available at (last accessed 22 August 2015). The Universitätsbibliothek Leipzig holds an item measuring 12.7 × 2003.0cm, which, however, has not been finished by the copyist (B. or. 322); see Fleischer 1838, 552, CCCLVI; available at (last accessed 22 August 2015). 5. For example, Ms. or. oct. 218, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin: Ahlwardt 1887, vol. I, no. 369; available at (last accessed 22 August 2015). This document is dated (775 [1373]) and measures 11.0 × 846.0cm. 6. See Bayani 1999, no. 71 and no. 73; for additional examples, see note 87. 7. For example, Ms. or. 20, Zentralbibliothek Zürich; Nünlist 2008 (description); Nünlist 2017 (analysis). 8. The term ghubår (literally, ‘dust’) designates a tiny script measuring between 1 and 3mm in height, usually – but not always – of the naskh type; see Safwat 1996, 184–93; SourdelThomine et al. 1978, 1124. ‘Ghubår or ghubårÈ (“dust” or “dust-like”) is a term for every type of very small script difficult to read with the naked eye, but is often found in the naskh script; some very small-sized Qurans were written in ghubårÈ script.’ See also Vernay-Nouri 2002, 127f. 9. For example, Alsaleh 2014, entitled ‘“Licit Magic”: the Touch and Sight of Islamic Talismanic Scrolls’. The combination of ‘charm’ with ‘enigmatic’ in the title of Schaefer 2006 seems to imply such a point of view as well. 10. Ms. Prov. o. 225a: described by Sobieroj 2001, no. 26. 11. Description in Würsch 2001, no. 101. The beginning and end of the document are missing; it now measures 12.5 × 890cm. 12. See Hamès 2011. 13. On Tilimsani, the author of ShumËs al-anwår wa-kunËz al-asrår, see Ullmann 1972, 392; Brockelmann 1949, G II.101 and S II.95. 14. On Islamic magic, see Fahd 1997. 15. On Futuwwa, see Taeschner 1979; Ridgeon 2010; Vadet 1978; Mahjub 1993. On Akhism, see Taeschner 1960; Ocak 2013.

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16. Moosa 1988, IX: ‘Members of these [Ghulat] sects […] share common religious beliefs, the most fundamental being that the Imam Ali […] is God.’ 17. Description in Pertsch 1881, 33, no. 1372. 18. Description in Ahlwardt 1889, vol. III, no. 3687; Pertsch, 1888, 256, no. 209. Reproductions of the complete document are accessible online at (last accessed 22 August 2015). A document closely resembling the Berlin scroll and measuring 9 × 310cm was sold at Sotheby’s, London, on 5 October 2010 (lot 20). It was not possible to study this item in the original or to have access to photographs of the complete scroll; the only images of the document available to the present writer were (last accessed 20 May 2016). 19. See description in Arberry 1967, 52, no. 170. 20. See note 87. 21. Chester Beatty Library, Dublin, Is 1624; cf. Arberry 1967, 29, no. 97. 22. Le Strange 1890, 475: ‘Kakhta. – This place, writes Abu-l Fidâ, in the extreme north of Syria, is a very high-built castle, and quite impregnable. It has gardens and a river, and lies two days east of Malatyah. It is one of the fortresses of Islam, of the north frontier, and lies about a march north, and somewhat west of Hisn Mansur (Abu-l Fidâ, 263).’ 23. For a picture of a comparable metal box containing a protective shirt, see Tezcan 2011, 76, no. 11. Yet the box for the Geneva scroll is oblong. 24. This leather etui (colour: brown) is ornamented with white vegetal embroideries (flowers, small branches). A red cord is fixed to it allowing for it to be worn on the body. 25. Older scrolls can have been stored in a more recent case or vice versa. These boxes or bags in fact deserve a separate study. 26. This high tension frequently caused tears in the paper. 27. See note 23. 28. YËsofÈ 1990, 686 (with figures 43–5 and plate XXXVII): ‘The maqelÈ or bannåÈ style is an unadorned form of Kufic consisting entirely of straight lines set vertically or at acute or obtuse angles. The amounts of “blackness” (that is, written matter, not necessarily black) and “whiteness” (for example, background, not necessarily white) are as a rule carefully planned so as to mark off words or groups of words.’ 29. See (last accessed 22 August 2015); Golombek and Wilber 1988, vol. I, 421–3, and vol. II, pls 450–60 and figs 145–7. 30. See (last accessed 22 August 2015). A slightly earlier example is the entrance portal and the minaret of Timur’s Masjid-i Jami in Samarqand (Lentz and Lowry 1989, 34–40). 31. See (last accessed 22 August 2015). 32. See Golombek and Wilber 1988, vol. I, 384–6, and vol. II, pls 374–8 and fig. 126. 33. Aube 2008; Aube 2011. 34. See note 87. 35. See Tezcan 2006 and 2011; more easily accessible are the images of protective shirts in Mad­ dison and Savage-Smith 1997, 117–23, figs 49–50. 36. These rectangular text fields contain the following passages on the superior level (the numbers added refer to the scans of the scroll prepared by the Fondation M. Bodmer): field 1 (scan 55): ‫الرحیم‬ ‫الرحمن‬ ‫بسم اهلل‬‎; field 2 (scan 53): ‫هو اهلل سبحانه تعالی وتقدس‬‎; field 3 (scan 51): ‫‏ال اله اال اهلل الملك الحق المبین‬‎; field 4 (scan 49; citation taken from Sura 3: 126): ‫وما [ا]لنصر اال من عند اهلل العزیز الحکیم‬‎; field 5 (scan 47; from Sura 2: 137, end): ‫فسیکفیککم اهلل‬‎; field 6 (scan 45; from Sura 2: 137, end): ‫هو السمیع العلیم‬‎; field 7 (scan 43): ‫‏اهلل مفتح االبواب‬‎; field 8 (scan 41; from Sura 21: 87, where without sub˙åna): ‫‏سبحانك ال اله اال انت‬‎; field 9 (scan 39; from Sura 21: 87): ‫‏انی کنت من الظالمین‬‎; field 10 (scan 37; from Sura َ 3: 159, end): ‫عزمت فتوکل علی اهلل‬ ‫‏فاذا‬‎; field 11 (scan 35; from Sura 3: 159, end): ‫ان اهلل یحب المتوکلین‬‎; ‫‏‏‬field 12 (scan 33; Sura 39: 73, end): ‫‏سال ٌم علیکم طبتم فادخلوها خالدین‬‎; field 13 (scan 31): ‫;توکلت علی الحی الذی ال یموت‬ field 14 (scan 29): ‫‏وما توفیقی اال باهلل العلی العظیم‬‎; field 15 (scan 27; Sura 68: 51): ‫وان یکاد الذین کفروا لیزلقونك‬‎; َ ِّ ‫ْصار ِه ْم لَمَّا َس ِمعُوا‬ field 16 (scan 25; Sura 68: 51, continuation): ‫الذ ْک َر‬ ِ َ ‫بأب‬‎ِ ; field 17 (scan 23; Sura 68: 51f., ٌ ُ‫ون إِنَّ ُه لَ َم ْجن‬ َ ُ‫ َوی َُقول‬‎; field 18 (scan 21; Sura 68: 52):‫اال ذکر للعالمین‬‎; field 19 (scan 19; continuation): ‫ون وما هو‬ Sura 2: 255, Verse of the Throne): ‫‏اهلل ال اله اال هو الحی القیوم ال‬‎; field 20 (scan 17): ‫‏[ال] تأخذه سنة وال نوم له ما فی‬ ‫السموات‬‎; field 21 (scan 15): ‫وما فی االرض من ذی [کذا] الذی یشفع‬‎; field 22 (scan 13): ‫عنده اال بإذنه یعلم ما بین ایدیهم‬‎;

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field 23 (scan 11): ‫‏وما خلفهم وال یحیطون بشیء من علمه‬‎; field 24 (scan 9): ‫اال بما شاء وسع کرسیه السموات‬‎; field 25 (scan 7; end of Verse of the Throne, Sura 2: 255: ‫واالرض وال يؤوده (؟ ‌) حفظهما وهو العلی العظیم‬‎; field 26 (scan 5): ‫اهلل ولی التوفیق‬‎; field 27 (scan 3–4): ‫قال اهلل تبارك وتعالی‬‎; field 28 (scan 2): ‫سبحان الملك القدوس‬‎; field 29 (scan 1): ‫واهلل خیر حافظا وارحم‬‎.‫‏‏‬ 37. The Quran states in Sura 7: 180: ‘To God belong the Names Most Beautiful; so call Him by them!’ (Koran 1980, 193) ‫وهلل االسماء الحسنی فادعوه بها‬. For the concept of the Beautiful Names of God, see Canaan 2004, 135–6; Bain 1999, 59–61; Anawati 1967. 38. The first cartouche containing Sura 3 (Ål Imrån), the other twenty-nine cartouches with texts on the superior level. 39. In Ms. or. 20 (Zentralbibliothek Zürich, see Nünlist 2008), Suras 36 and 48 have been copied in a small band containing text on the left- and right-hand side respectively in the se­cond part of the scroll. 40. As the Quranic text has been copied in tiny ghubår, the deciphering of these documents is a time-consuming task. Perhaps the above-mentioned passages have been co­pied in this document after all, but have not been identified so far. 41. Veinstein 1997. 42. A miniature of their meeting is included in the Süleymån-nåme, 194f. (illustration 47 in Atıl 1986). 43. Posch 2013. 44. First information on this fortress can be found at دژ_قهقهه‬last accessed 22 August 2015). 45. Fleischer 1989. A miniature showing the arrival of gifts from Alqas Mirza in Istanbul is included in the Süleymån-nåme, 198f. (illustration 49 in Atıl 1986). 46. This document is accessible online at (last accessed 22 August 2015). 47. See picture no. 17 (link in note 46). 48. Stanfield-Johnson 1993; Stanfield-Johnson 1994; Golsorkhi 1994. 49. On her, see PårsådËst 2009. 50. See Canaan 2004, 143. 51. Calmard 2000; Musahib 1345, entry ‘Tabarråiyån’ (I.615). 52. Stanfield-Johnson 1994, 123. 53. See picture 6 of the scroll (cf. link in note 46). 54. See Reinert 1968; Lewisohn 2000. 55. ‘I placed my confidence in His protecting forgiveness. Really He is the all-forgiving, the compassionate.’ 56. See Kühnel 1986, 55, fig. 57. 57. See picture 5 of the scroll (cf. link in note 46). 58. ‘O provider [of livelihood] / o maintainer’. 59. The following six expressions are mentioned: al-Jåmi: ‘the Gatherer, Unifier’; al-Fåti˙: ‘the Opener, the Victory Giver’; al-Måni: ‘the Preventer [of harm], the Withholder’; ar-Råfi: ‘the Exalter, the Upgrader’; an-Nåfi: ‘the Creator of Good, the Benefactor’; al-Wåsi: ‘the AllComprehending.’ 60. ‘God will suffice you for them; He is the All-hearing, the All-knowing [Flügel: 2.131]’ (Koran 1980, 45). This same sentence also figures in CB 542 (see note 36, fields 5–6). 61. See picture 8 of the scroll (cf. link in note 46). 62. See pictures 12–14 of the scroll (cf. link in note 46); ‘The unbelievers wellnigh strike thee down with their glances, when they hear the Re­minder, and they say, “Surely he is a man possessed!” And it is nothing but a Reminder unto all beings’ (Koran 1980, 295f). This same sentence also figures in CB 542 (see note 36, fields 15–18). 63. See picture 15 (cf. link in note 46). 64. Calmard (Calmard 1996) identified this saying in Tabari, I.3, 1359, 1402; Balami, (edition Rowshan), III.169; Dihkhuda, s.v. DhË al-faqår; cf. Dozy, II, s.v. faqara. 65. Ridgeon 2010. 66. The Futuwwa ideology was later maintained by the craft guilds known as ßinf (pl. aßnåf); see Keyvani 1980; Raymond et al. 1997; Floor 1987. 67. Cf. Yildirim 2013. 68. See Taeschner 1937, especially 43f. See also Wolper 2003, 77.

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69. On Ali’s battle against the demons, see Nünlist 2015, 196, note 19. 70. Ms. Prov. o. 225a from Jena (see note 10) contains a prayer in Arabic which – according to its Persian commentary – is efficacious against the kuffår (Shar˙-i duå-i band-i kuffår: ‘commentary to the prayer allowing to defeat the unbelievers’). For a general orientation on the ghåzÈ concept, see Cook 2013; Mélikoff 1965; Johnstone 1965. 71. These parts are preceded by various other sections: a. The Beautiful Names of God (picture 7); b. Muhammad’s name written in bannåÈ kËfÈ on a square (picture 7); c. The forty blessed names (chihil ism-i mubårak; picture 8); d. Íad qul huwa Allåh (‘Say one hundred times: “He is Allah.”’, picture 10). 72. Picture 10 (link given in note 46). 73. Picture 11 (link given in note 46). 74. Picture 12 (link given in note 46). 75. Picture 12 (link given in note 46). 76. Picture 13 (link given in note 46). 77. Picture 13 (link given in note 46). 78. Picture 14 (link given in note 46). 79. Picture 15 (link given in note 46). 80. Picture 16 (link given in note 46). 81. Picture 16 (link given in note 46). 82. Picture 17 (link given in note 46). 83. These parts are interspersed in the sections just discussed above. 84. This information, so to say the first part of the colophon, figures in the last two units in this scroll containing a great text on a background in microscopic script (on this technique see below, paragraph with notes 87–9). The text in these two units reads: ‫کتبه العبد الفقیر الی اهلل الغنی مظفر‬ ‫بن عبد اهلل الحسنی المازندرانی‬. By adding his name so prominently, the copyist put himself, in a certain sense, on the same level with the Chahårdah MaßËm mentioned earlier in the scroll (see below, paragraph after note 89). 85. The name of this copyist is not mentioned in Fadaili 1391 (1972). 86. Uluç 2006, 353, figs 180–2 and 269–70. 87. For scrolls with text formed by blank spaces on a ghubår background, see the following examples: 1. Arabe 5102, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris, available at (last accessed 22 August 2015); 2. Khalili Collection, London, MSS 689 (Bayani 1999, no. 71) and MSS 310 (Bayani 1999, no. 73); 3. Aga Khan Museum, Toronto, AKM 492 (London 2007, no. 11), Iran, dated 1236 (1847), 575 × 12.5cm; 4. Sotheby’s London, 5 October 2011, lot 77, Iran, c.1800, 10.4 × 527cm, available at (last accessed 22 August 2015). 88. See, for example, Oxford, Bodleian Library, Ms. Arab. g. 7 (R): in this instance, the large text has been painted in gold. 89. See Bayani 1999, no. 72. 90. On this concept see Algar 1990. 91. See Amir-Moëzzi 2011, 352, who proposes the following translation: ‘Invoke Ali, locus of manifestation of wonders / In him you will find support in all trials / All your worries and hardships will vanish / By the grace of your walåya. O Ali, o Ali, o Ali.’ 92. It is also written in a scroll dating from eighteenth-century Iran, now in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France (Arabe 5102; available at last accessed 1 March 2017). It also figures on the background of an element known as Shakl-i ayn-i alÈ in a scroll from Ottoman contexts (Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Ms. or. oct. 403, microfilm, picture 15). 93. Majlisi 1403 (1983), XX.73. 94. On the håtif concept, see Nünlist 2015, 326–34. 95. ‘The person who does not show compassion towards the people, Allah does not show compassion towards him.’ For this hadith, see Muslim 2000, Ía˙È˙, 44 Kitåb al-Fa∂åil, 15 Båb Ra˙mati-hÈ, ÓadÈth 6172; cf. Wensinck 1936, s.v. ra˙ima (II.236). Sometimes with a slightly modified wording: ‫الناس‬ َ ‫( ال یرحم اهللُ من ال یرحم‬for example, in Buhari (Bukhari) 2001, Ía˙È˙, 98 Kitåb at-taw˙Èd, 2 Båb Qawl Allåh tabåraka wa-taålå, ÓadÈth 7465). 96. See paragraph with note 92.

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97. 98. 99. 100.

101. 02. 1 103. 104. 105.

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Anzali 2013, 149. Anzali 2013, 150. For the following remarks, see Anzali 2013, 153–6. According to Anzali 2013, 153, non-sympathetic sources derive the name Dhahabiyya from the Arabic verb dhahaba (to go, to leave). This explanation would allude to Sayyid Abdullah Barzishabadi (d. c.1467) who left (dhahaba) his master Ishaq Khuttalani (d. 1423) when the latter preferred Sayyid Muhammad Nurbakhsh (d. 1440) over him and installed him as his successor. Anzali 2013, 153, emphasises that it is not possible to prove this claim from the point of view of factual history. Anzali 2013, 154. Faghfoory 2008, X–XIII. Ibid. XI. Faghfoory does not identify these ‘other historians.’ Ibid. XII.

References Ahlwardt, W. (1887), Verzeichniss der arabischen Handschriften der Königlichen Bibliothek zu Berlin, vol. I, Berlin. –––– (1891), Verzeichniss der arabischen Handschriften der Königlichen Bibliothek zu Berlin, vol. III, Berlin. Algar, H. (1990), ‘Čahårdah MaßËm’, EIr, 4, 627-–9. Alsaleh, Y. F. (2014), ‘“Licit Magic”: the Touch and Sight of Islamic Talismanic Scrolls’, unpublished PhD dissertation, Harvard University. Available at (last accessed 22 August 2015). Amir-Moëzzi, M. A. (2011), The Spirituality of Shii Islam: Beliefs and Practices, London. Anawati, G. (1967), ‘Le nom suprême de Dieu’, Atti del terzo Congresso di Studi Arabi e Islamici, 7–58. Anzali, A. (2013), ‘The emergence of the Zahabiyya in Safavid Iran’, Journal of Sufi Studies, 2, 149–75. Arberry, A. J. (1967), The Koran Illuminated: a Handlist of the Korans in the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin. Atıl, E. (1986), Süleymanname: the Illustrated History of Süleyman the Magnificent, New York. Aube, S. (2008), ‘La Mosquée bleue de Tabriz (1465): remarques sur la céramique architecturale Qarå Qoyunlu’, Studia Iranica, 37.2, 241–77. –––– (2011), ‘Tabriz x. Monuments x(1). The Blue Mosque’, EIr, (last accessed 22 August 2015). Bain, A. (1999), ‘The Late Ottoman Enam-ı S¸erif. Sacred Text and Images in an Islamic Prayer Book’, unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Victoria. Bayani, M., A. Contadini and T. Stanley (1999), ‘The Decorated Word: Qurans of the 17th to 19th Centuries’, London. Brockelmann, C. (1949), Geschichte der arabischen Litteratur. 2., den Supplementbänden angepasste Auflage, Leipzig. Buhari (Bukhari) (2001), Ía˙È˙, Liechtenstein. Calmard, J. (1996), ‘∫Ë ’l-Faqår’, EIr, 7, 566–8. –––– (2000), ‘Tabarru’, EI2, 10, 20–2. Canaan, T. (2004), ‘The decipherment of Arabic talismans’, in E. Savage-Smith (ed.), Magic And Divination in Early Islam, Aldershot, 125–78. Cook, D. B. (2013), ‘Ghazw’, EI3, 4, 143–4. Fadaili, Habib Allah (1391[1972]), A†las-i kha††: ta˙qÈq dar khu†Ë†-i islåmÈ, Isfahan. Faghfoory, M. H. (2008), Introduction to Shaykh Muhammad Ali Muadhdhin SabzawårÈ KhuråsånÈ, Tu˙fah yi- AbbåsÈ: the Golden Chain of Sufism in ShÈite Islam, Lanham, MD. Fahd, T. (1997), ‘Si˙r’, EI2, 9, 567–71. Fleischer, C. (1989), ‘Alqås MÈrzå’, EIr, 1, 907–9. Fleischer, H. L. (1838), Catalogus librorum manuscriptorum. Codices orientalium linguarum, Grimae.

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Floor, W. (1987), ‘Aßnåf’, EIr, 2, 772–8. Gacek, A. (2009), Arabic Manuscripts: a Vademecum for Readers, Leiden. Golombek, L. and D. Wilber (1988), The Timurid Architecture of Iran and Turan, Princeton, NJ. Golsorkhi, S. (1994), ‘Ismail II and Mirza Makhdum Sharifi: an interlude in Safavid history’, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 26, 477–88. Hamès, C. (2011), ‘al-BËnÈ’, EI3, 1, 140–3. Johnstone, T. M. (1965), ‘Ghazw’, EI2, 2, 1055–6. Karamustafa, A. T. (1994), God’s Unruly Friends: Dervish Groups in the Islamic Later Middle Period 1200–1550, Salt Lake City, UT. Keyvani, M. (1980), ‘Artisans and Guild Life in the Later Safavid Period’, unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Durham. Available at (last accessed 22 August 2015). Koran (1980), The Koran Interpreted, a translation by A. J. Arberry, London. Kühnel, E. (1986), Islamische Schriftkunst, 3rd edition, Graz. Lentz, T. W. and G. D. Lowry (1989), Timur and the Princely Vision: Persian Art and Culture in the Fifteenth Century, Washington, DC. Lewisohn, L. (2000), ‘Tawakkul,’ EI2, 10, 376–8. London (2007), Spirit & Life: Masterpieces of Islamic Art from the Aga Khan Museum Collection, Aga Khan Trust for Culture (AKTC). Maddison, F. and E. Savage-Smith (1997), Science, Tools and Magic. Part I: Body and Spirit, Mapping the Universe, London. Mahjub, M. J. (1993), ‘Chivalry and early Persian Sufism’, in L. Lewisohn (ed.), Classical Persian Sufism: from its Origins to Rumi, London, 549–82. Majlisi (1403 [1983]), Bi˙år al-anwår, Beirut. Available at (last accessed 22 August 2015). Mélikoff, I. (1965), ‘GhåzÈ’, EI2, 2, 1043–5. –––– (1992), ‘Un ordre de derviches colonisateurs: les Bektå∞is’, in I. Mélikoff, Sur les traces du soufisme turc, Istanbul, 149–57. –––– (1998), Hadji Bektach: un mythe et ses avatars, Leiden. Moosa, M. (1988), Extremist Shiites: the Ghulat Sects, Syracuse, NY. Musahib, Gh. (1345), Dåirat ul-maårif-i fårsÈ, Tehran. Muslim (2000), Ía˙È˙, Liechtenstein. Nünlist, T. (2008), Arabische, türkische und persische Handschriften (Katalog der Handschriften der Zentralbibliothek Zürich; Band 4), Wiesbaden. –––– (2015), Dämonenglaube im Islam, Berlin. –––– (2017), ‘Rollen der Andacht aus dem Umfeld von Derwischorden: Sieben Belegstücke aus dem Westteil des Osmanischen Reichs (17. Jh.)’, Beiträge zur islamischen Kunst und Archäologie, 5, 116–48. Ocak, A. Y, (2013), ‘Ahi’, EI3, 2, 4–7. PårsådËst, M. (2009), ‘Parikån Kånom’, EIr, (last accessed 22 August 2015). Pertsch, W. (1881), Die Arabischen Handschriften der Herzoglichen Bibliothek zu Gotha (Theil 3, Bd. 3), Vienna. –––– (1888), Verzeichniss der persischen Handschriften, (Die Handschriften-Verzeichnisse der Königlichen Bibliothek zu Berlin, Bd. 4), Berlin. Posch, W. (2013), Osmanisch-safavidische Beziehungen (1545–1550): der Fall Al˚âs Mîrzâ, Vienna. Raymond, A., W. Floor and Ö. Nuktu (1997), ‘Íinf’, EI2, 9, 644–7. Reinert, B. (1968), Die Lehre vom tawakkul in der klassischen Sufik, Berlin. Ridgeon, L. (2010), Morals and Mysticism in Persian Sufism: a History of Sufi-Futuwwat in Iran, London. Safwat, N. F. (1996), The Art of the Pen: Calligraphy of the 14th to 20th Centuries, London. Schaefer, K. R. (2006), Enigmatic Charms: Medieval Arabic Block Printed Amulets in American and European Libraries and Museums, Leiden. Sobieroj, F. (2001), Islamische Handschriften: Teil 5: Thüringen (Verzeichnis der orientalischen Handschriften in Deutschland 37.5), Stuttgart. Sourdel, D. (2006), Certificats de pèlerinage d’époque ayyoubide: contribution à l’histoire de

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l’idéologie de l’islam au temps des Croisades (Documents relatifs à l’histoire des Croisades 19), Paris. Sourdel-Thomine, J., A. Alparslan and M. Abdullah Chaghatai (1978), ‘Kha††,’ EI2, 4, 1113–28. Stanfield-Johnson, R. (1993), ‘Mirza Makhdum Sharifi: a 16th Century Sunni Sadr at the Safavid Court’, unpublished PhD dissertation, New York University. –––– (1994), ‘Sunni survival in Safavid Iran: anti-Sunni activities during the reign of Tahmasp I’, Iranian Studies, 27.1/4, 123–33. Le Strange, G. (1890), Palestine under the Moslems: a description of Syria and the Holy Land from a.d. 650 t o 1500, London. Taeschner, F. (1937), ‘Der Anteil des Sufismus an der Formung des Futuwwa-ideals’, Der Islam, 24/1, 43–74. –––– (1960), ‘AkhÈ’, EI2, 1, 321–3. –––– (1979), Zünfte und Bruderschaften: Texte zur Geschichte der Futuwwa, Zürich. Tezcan, H. (2006), Topkapı Sarayı›ndaki ∞ifalı gömlekler, Istanbul. –––– (2011), Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi koleksiyonundan tılsımlı gömlekler, Istanbul. Ullmann, M. (1972), Die Natur- und Geheimwissenschaften im Islam, Leiden. Uluç, L. (2006), Turkman Governors, Shiraz Artisans and Ottoman Collectors: Sixteenth Century Shiraz Manuscripts, Istanbul. Vadet, J.-C. (1978), ‘La futuwwa, morale professionnelle ou morale mystique’, Revue des Etudes Islamiques, 46, 57–90. Veinstein, G. (1997), ‘Süleymån’, EI2, 9, 832–42. Vernay-Nouri, A. (2002), ‘Marges, gloses et décor dans une série de manuscrits arabes’, Revue des Mondes musulmans et de la Méditerranée, 99–100, 117–31. Wensinck, A. J. (1936), Concordance et Indices de la tradition musulmane, Leiden. Wolper, E. S. (2003), Cities and Saints: Sufism and the Transformation of Urban Space in Medieval Anatolia, University Park, PA. Würsch, R. and G. Schubert (2001), Die Handschriften der Universitätsbibliothek Basel. Arabische Handschriften, Basel. Yildirim, R. (2013), ‘ShÈitisation of the Futuwwa tradition in the fifteenth century’, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 40/1, 53–70. ˉ . (1990), ‘Calligraphy’, EIr, 4, 680–718. YËsofÈ, G

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CHAPTER 6

The Minarets of Hurmuzgan Iván Szántó

Although it is much easier to comment on the dearth of studies about the architectural monuments of the Persian Gulf than to analyse the actual monuments in a comprehensive way, it might still be useful to start challenging this deficiency by pointing out the reasons behind it.1 The region is difficult to outline, surviving material is scant and poorly documented, and the architectural features give the impression of being too generic to lend themselves to categorisation. Yet, much of what appears to be research obstacles may, in fact, turn out to be essential characteristics of the region in question and the variabilities may hide the very elements that have shaped its material culture, including its art and architecture. In the same way, what may seem untypical from the convenient vantage points of ‘Persian’, ‘Arab’ or ‘South Asian’ art studies, can gain coherence once these stereotypes are set aside and the area is observed, despite its elusive nature, on its own terms. This study aims to put local architecture into a new perspective by discussing selected examples from the north (that is, Iranian) coast. One perennial feature of regional urban centres has been the heightened geographical and social mobility of their residents whose intra-Gulf presence constituted a multicultural setting.2 Multiculturalism remains dominant until today, although in this regard the mid twentieth century marks a clear departure from earlier traditions: on the one hand, diversity has increased dramatically in parallel with the growth of the ports of the south coast into global cities, but, on the other hand, it was counterbalanced by the establishment of nation states along both coasts. Before the oil era local mobility and pluralism operated on a communal basis, out of direct imperial control, and this freedom from higher authorities added greatly to the region’s appeal, also attracting newcomers from further afield. At that time the demographic makeup of each city was composed largely of settlers from neighbouring towns and their hinterland which were in a constant flux. As a result, one could find Dashti, Khunji, Bastaki, Galadari, Garashi, Bahraini, and so on, districts, consisting of closed, mostly endogamous, communities in many coastal settlements which were offering trajectories for free movement within diasporic groups. Thus, a Khunji or Bastaki in Linga, for instance, may not neces-

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sarily have been from Khunj or Bastak, respectively; he could also have come from Bahrain or elsewhere, yet he still adhered to his ancestral identity. For instance, the most impressive mosque/madrasa of Linga, discussed below, was founded by a Muscati; the patron of a similarly elaborate edifice in Bandar Abbas was a Galadari, while the man behind Manama’s once largest Shii mosque was from Linga, of Khunji descent.3 In some cases – such as that of Bastak – this adherence, or at least nostalgia, was translated into artistic or architectural terms.4 It seems, however, that such practice was uncommon and no recognisable ‘Dashti’, ‘Galadari’, and so on, visual language did exist inside the respective sociocultural enclaves across the Persian Gulf, apart from the possible exception of clothing, although the loss of documentary evidence predating the twentieth century is too heavy to enable us to draw valid conclusions about local fashion trends. Intercommunal rivalries were also rarely manifested in architecture. Rich merchants, who dominated the societies of southern Iran and the Arabian coast, built ostentatious mansions: but again, these palaces, and local architecture in general, reflected the overall characteristics of the Persian Gulf, with few specifics that would distinguish between, say, Bushehri and Bahraini ‘styles’. Political identity in this region was formulated on the basis of sectarian, rather than tribal, or ethnic, identities. Styles apart, we do not find here equivalents of the neighbourhood minarets of Saljuq Isfahan or the Armenian churches of the same city from the Safavid period, let alone the madrasas of Mamluk Cairo, which displayed the prosperity of the founders and provoked a response from rivals.5 This is not because of the lack of funds but rather because local architecture had smaller pretensions. Building material in the region was scarce and buildings did not last long. There are very few monuments that can be dated before the nineteenth century and those which were built or still standing at that time were described disparagingly by European and Indian observers.6 The absence of monumental congregational mosques built prior to recent times and still in use is another sign of both the lack of a central politico-religious authority and sustainable constructions. Typically, the remains of such mosques from the early Muslim period are visible in entirely abandoned or recently repopulated sites such as at Siraf (in Iran)7 and Jumaira (in the United Arab Emirates).8 More recent examples of large-scale congregational mosques are offered by Qalhat (Oman)9 and a smaller – and even more recent – one by Zubara (Qatar).10 A common element that seems to differentiate these mosques around the Persian Gulf from those further inland is the terraced platform on which they are often built.11 It is noteworthy that the long stretch of coastline between Siraf and Banbhore would never see again mosques on such a grand scale and highly standardised nature as it did during the early centuries of Islam. Mosques of this kind presuppose not only the existence of a lively community which assembled in them but also the availability of substantial manpower, possibly forced labour, which could erect these buildings, as well as the presence of a central government which could organise the construction works. In Siraf this may have been carried

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out by the local Abbasid governors, while in Qalhat it was the king of Hurmuz who had the means to build the mosque for the diverse people under his rule. Later periods would rarely see such concentration of power. One further, often lacking, requirement for large-scale communal projects was a sense of stability and permanence. The general attitude was quite the opposite: most residents were almost constantly on the move and, compared to the settlements in the hinterland, the communities were well adapted to situations whereby not only an individual would have to leave but entire neighbourhoods be evacuated at short notice. The case of the Kingdom of Hurmuz, which under the threat of a Mongol attack decided to relocate from mainland Hurmuzgan to the island thereafter known as Hurmuz (and thence gravitating further south towards Oman), is far from extraordinary: the foundational myth of Bastak is likewise based on stories of escape and resettlement, and state formation in Zubara and Bahrain is also preceded by the arrival of new groups of settlers.12 These were hardly ideal conditions for locally developed monumental architecture, considering in particular the individualist nature of local society. Islands, such as Bahrain, Qish and Hurmuz, became the natural focal points of these liminal communities, while overland connections to landlocked urban centres were of far less importance, sometimes having kept impassable at will.13 Looking from the metropolitan centres of the great land empires, these maritime settlements were thus hard to reach, elusive, but sought after at the same time. In general, they were never fully integrated into any of these empires. When successful attempts were made, the merchant elite would simply move to somewhere else, undermining the rationale of the occupation. In one way or another the neighbouring land empire still needed the global outreach of the coastal merchants, and it strove to satisfy this need either by signing mutual agreements with members of the merchant dynasties, or by entrusting important government positions on them. In either way the business elite remained in a better bargaining position, and remained local, instead of becoming the direct representative of a sovereign. As a consequence, there is no ‘Ilkhanid’, ‘Timurid’ or ‘Safavid’ architecture in the region in the same way as there are no clearly identifiable local stylistic tendencies, as discussed above. Little is known about southern Iranian architecture from the Ilkhanid (1256–1335) and immediate post-Ilkhanid periods (Injus: c.1325–53, Muzaffarids: c.1335–93), and there is thus hardly any monument to bear the dynastic imprint. This is partly explained by the lack of direct Mongol control over the region throughout their reign. While elements of the Chinese-inspired decorative patterns were, for instance, freely intermingled with the local vocabulary in the Ilkhanid heartlands of north-west Iran, the creators of fourteenth-century monuments in Isfahan and Yazd gradually, if somewhat cautiously, incorporated some of such elements; Fars, Kirman and the coastal regions showed more resistance to such influences.14 It seems plausible that the Inju governors of Shiraz, despite themselves being of Mongol stock, had been committed to perpetuate the power-

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ful local heritage of Fars from the outset.15 Injuid painting and metalwork does reflect Mongol elements in clothing and in some other aspects, but local features continued to dominate in architecture.16 Kirman during the Qutlugh Khanids (1220–1300), although scarcely known, may have shared this conservativism.17 Interestingly, it is only with the non-Mongol Muzaffarid conquest of Kirman and Fars that ‘Mongol’ tastes appear to have become more visible; at least there seem to be signs that ‘metropolitan’ motifs which first entered the early Muzaffarid capital of Yazd, had spread thence to Fars as well.18 On the other hand, further to the south, the coastal areas of Iran had been exposed to East Asian material cultures since many centuries before the Mongol conquest, and remained subject to them throughout the Ilkhanid period and afterwards. In other words, while the Mongols had little impact on this part of Iran, it had a ready access to Chinese commodities, particularly ceramics.19 It remains a matter of conjecture whether we are dealing with two completely independent orientalising tendencies or the two currents of East Asian taste represent an artistic continuum. The mixed presence of northern Persian and Chinese ceramics, sometimes in a single architectural context, between southern Iran and Oman, is pointing to the latter. In the early modern era the Safavids made an attempt for the first time to integrate the Persian Gulf closely into their essentially inland empire. In the upcountry of Hurmuzgan this expansion is witnessed by the development of Lar, following the metropolitan model of Isfahan and such regional examples as Kirman and Shiraz; while in the coastland the founding of Bandar Abbas best represented the Safavid administrative enterprise. Unfortunately, neither Lar, nor Bandar Abbas have preserved extensive vestiges, for example mosques, from this period. Much of Lar was destroyed by earthquakes (the last major one hit the town in 1960) but the surviving covered bazaar intersection, directly modelled on the Qaysaria Bazaar of Isfahan, shows how successful the incorporation of Laristan was into the artistic landscape of Safavid Iran.20 The few fortunate remnants from the pre-Safavid period, such as a stone mihrab (now in Shiraz and obviously prefabricated in and imported from Gujarat), show that mediaeval Lar belonged to a different geography with loose ties to the north but close association to the maritime enterprises of Indian seafarers.21 Indian merchants and craftsmen in Lar reportedly maintained their important position until the early Safavid period.22 Apart from the completely rebuilt, but still standing, former Dutch factory (or Kulah-i Farangi) building,23 the architecture of Safavid Bandar Abbas can be examined on paintings, engravings and descriptions only. Although these are inadequate, they attest to a simple yet compact urban outlook which proved relatively sustainable in the wake of the rapid deterioration brought by the collapse of the Safavid dynasty.24 They also show that here – unlike in Lar – the Safavid breakthrough did not extend to the implementation of typically Safavid town planning. Government-appointed officials, such as the customs administrator (shah-bandar), did not launch urban projects comparable, for instance, to the ­redevelopment of

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Figure 6.1  Jan Baptist Weenix: The Dutch Ambassador on His Way to Isfahan. Detail. Oil on canvas, Netherlands, 1653–9, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Photograph © Rijksmuseum.

Kirman under the Safavid governor, Ganj-Ali Khan (r. 1596–1624/5). Architecture remained nativistic, and, in response to the extremely inhospitable climatic conditions, it remained utilitarian. According to seventeenth-century European depictions of Bandar Abbas, the most striking structure may have been a tower in the vicinity of the Dutch factory building: it bears closer similarities to Safavid kabutar khanas (pigeon towers) than to the minarets of Isfahan (Figure 6.1).25 The tower rose above a forest of smaller turrets which spread across the town; the latter were ventilation towers (badgirs) and some of them may have doubled as minarets. For over a century after the Safavids, the entire region was embroiled in conflicts and saw little construction. Neither local rulers nor Qawasim and Muscati overlords seem to have been interested in a large-scale urban development of the region, apart from the building of private residences. It was during the later Qajar period that such activities again became discernible, not unconnected with Tehran’s growing ambitions to gain control over the ports. Since even the few older religious buildings have been built over, their pre-Qajar outlook is conjectural, but some examples clearly show a vernacular tradition. These include a group in and around Bastak which is distinguished by a tradition of carved and painted plasterwork.26 Elsewhere in Hurmuzgan we find mosques of the utmost simplicity

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Figure 6.2  General view of the Friday Mosque of Bardistan, Bushehr province, Iran. Photograph © Iván Szántó.

and functionalism. For example, the mosque of Bardistan utilises the commonest elements and building techniques of southern Iranian residential architecture and, not counting a dome, only its scale suggests its heightened importance. Built of adobe, it is a modest structure consisting of a cross-shaped hypostyle hall set against a wide, square-shaped courtyard which does not form a spatial unity with the mosque. Stretching between the main entrance and a protruding mihrab extension, the longitudinal axis features a small dome and, immediately behind the latter, a massive badgir (wind tower) in the crossing (Figures 6.2 and 6.3). The badgir is an essential component of buildings across the garmsir (hot-climate) regions of Iran and the entire Persian Gulf but here its additional function as a minaret provides a rare surviving example of an almost forgotten practice. Judging by depictions, seventeenth-century Bandar Abbas seems not to have possessed a single mosque, were it not for the fact that the many dozens of badgirs are undistinguishable from minarets.27 Although the current building in Bardistan is a product of early modern vernacular architecture, the presence of much earlier epigraphy in the mosque, including an inscription dating back to 852 (1448) (on a wood carving, already commemorating a reconstruction), suggests that an edifice of unknown proportions stood here at one time.28

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Figure 6.3  Friday Mosque of Bardistan, elevation of façade. Image courtesy of the Iran Cultural Heritage, Handcrafts, and Tourism Organisation. Drawing © Izolda Font.

While the badgir–minaret could be ubiquitous before the twentieth century, modern mosques replace it with more obviously ‘Islamic’ landmarks and the type has all but disappeared. Nineteenth-century population growth and sectarianism necessitated larger mosques, with ‘proper’ minarets and other distinctive features. Minarets often highlight the religious specifics and carry most of the ideological surplus of a sanctuary, even when the spaces below, including the prayer halls, are in a standard style. In the closing part of this article, a particularly remarkable example of this tendency will be dealt with. A Bastaki dependency between the late eighteenth and late nineteenth century, Bandar Linga had Bastaki, Galadari, Ivazi and Bahraini neighbourhoods. Its most impressive building, the Malik b. Abbas Mosque (founded in 1280 [1863]), is also known as the Masjid-i Ali, on account of having been the first major Shii place of prayer in the city.29 Its minaret, which according to some accounts may be earlier than the current mosque,30 has been mentioned, although briefly, by a number of late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century travellers: given that it is almost the only monument along the coast they considered worthy of note, the builders clearly achieved their goal of creating a landmark (Figures 6.4 and 6.5).31 With a height of 22m, this minaret was perhaps the single most striking structure of the entire Persian Gulf before the start of the modern construction boom – the first timid attempt at building a high-rise.

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Figu re 6.4  Minaret of the Malik b. Abbas Mosque, Bandar Linga, Hurmuzgan province, Iran. Photograph © Iván Szántó.

The mosque may have been built on the site of a previous edifice of some significance about which nothing is known. The founder of the current mosque, Haji Muhammad b. Abbas of the Bani Qab tribe of Muhammara (Khurramshahr), was born in Muscat and emerged to prominence during the Muscati rulership (c.1805– 78) of the northern coast around Bandar Abbas, as a typical representative of the transnational Shii mercantile elite.32 His cosmopolitanism did not prevent him from maintaining good relations with the Tehran government which saw him as a mediator in achieving its goals. His good offices earned his son, Nasr b. Abbas, the newly-coined title of Malik al-Tujjar (chief merchant) of Linga.33 According to local tradition, he summoned Ustad Haj Muhammad, a restorer of the Shrine of Imam Ali in Najaf, to build the complex.34 Surviving sections of the prayer area, with richly articulated curtain arches resting on stone column bases and covered by stucco, are the culmination of Hurmuzgan mosque architecture, alongside the prayer hall of the Galadari Mosque in Bandar Abbas (restored by Haj Shaykh Ahmad Galadari in 1332 [1913]).35 Iqtidari considers the bulbous curtain arches to be purely Indian in inspiration.36 The motif, however, is hardly unprecedented

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Figure 6.5  Malik b. Abbas Mosque, section. Image courtesy of the Iran Cultural Heritage, Handcrafts, and Tourism Organisation. Drawing © Izolda Font.

even in mainland Iranian architecture (for example in Bistam).37 Even if one would be inclined to accept such Indian connections based on the fact that certain south Iranian sites, like Lar, show the receptivity of the region to Indian elements, one must add that in the nineteenth century these elements could have entered Iran from Iraq as well, since by this time the shrine cities of Najaf and Karbala had become host of a large Indian Shii population.38 South Iranian mosques which have been linked to Indian prototypes, for instance in Darab, can also be compared with the large pilgrimage centre of Kazimayn, near Baghdad.39 Returning to the complex in Linga, Haji Muhammad b. Abbas or his son also founded a madrasa there (in 1880), to counterweigh local Sunni centres of learning.40 The school was led by the Shii cleric Sayyid Muhammad Alim Bahraini41 and was not only the premier centre of Shii learning in coastal Iran but its location outside the Ottoman Empire made it attractive also for Shii students from the Arabian coast, that is, Qatif, Muscat and Dubai as well. Haji Muhammad’s son, Nasr b. Abbas Malik al-Tujjar, renovated the mosque in 1314 (1896), as recorded on the minaret.42 Although the heterogeneous nature of this complex – with a founder from Muscat, builder from Najaf, and staff from Bahrain – is undeniable, its most conspicuous feature, the minaret, clearly and exclusively represents the

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Shii world of Iran and Iraq. Richly decorated with glazed blue tiles,43 the obliquely placed bannai-style inscriptional panels evoke the fragmentary Manar-i Daniyal at Khunj (783–9 [1381–7]), built by the kings of Hurmuz five centuries earlier but in a relatively close location.44 The architectural layout is different: at Khunj, the cylindrical shaft rises from an octagonal platform, while the Linga minaret has a fully circular plan. It culminates in a multi-tiered muqarnas ring which supports a wooden parapet around the cornice, with a simplified version of the curtain arches downstairs, a sunburst-shaped canopy, and an ovoid finial; this upper storey is not available for comparison in Khunj where the ambulatory level does not survive. Notwithstanding Iqtidari’s opinion that certain motifs recall Indian art, the silhouette of the Linga minaret conforms to classical Persian standards which developed in the Timurid period and adopted by the Safavids and their Iraqi Shii protégés as well.45 The alleged Najaf connection shows that, despite his services on behalf of the Persian court, Haji Muhammad b. Abbas circumvented direct Iranian participation in the project in favour of Shii internationalism and that the enterprise can also be understood as an achievement of the powerful and versatile Omani Shii community.46 Indeed, Muscat and Matrah were ideal havens and stopovers towards India for members of the religious opposition of the Qajar government during the late nineteenth century that counted amongst its ranks such illustrious personalities as Sayyid Jalal al-Din Muayyad al-Islam Kashani (1863–1930; in Muscat between 1887 and 1890), the future editor of the newspaper Habl alMatin.47 But even if the edifice may have been an Omani, or transnational, Shii, initiative, it conceptualised an essentially Iranian idiom. In the late nineteenth century the appearance of Shii architectural propaganda on the coast could hardly represent anything but Persian expansionism. Coincidentally, Tehran assumed full authority over Linga in the 1880s. The minaret can be regarded as the only large-scale surviving example of Central Persian-inspired religious architecture on the coast that precedes the Pahlavi period and it can be understood as a signpost for overseas visitors guiding them to the gateway of the foremost Shii realm. By deviating from the local style of the praying hall below, the minaret commands attention and subtly asserts this pronounced Iranian orientation in a multi-ethnic and multi-confessional city where Shiism, though progressively gained more significance, could never form a majority.48 In the complicated Lingawi struggle for power where even alleged Safavid descendants were still among the players as late as the 1900s,49 this domineering landmark can be assigned to the credit of the Qajar state, although the latter relied on local supporters for the achievement. In many respects the victory which the monument foretold was pyrrhic: the state gained direct access to the ocean and levied tax on the traders, but it put an end to their prosperity. A massive emigration started to the south coast which forever altered the once closely knitted fabric of the Persian Gulf. As the ports of the north became languid outposts of a land empire during the twentieth century, their southern counterparts turned into flourishing havens for traders and investors. On

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a different note, however, both types of development took their toll on vernacular architecture, be it the north or the south coast. While the Malik b. Abbas minaret can justly be considered as a precedent of the Persian revivalism which characterised the Pahlavi and post-revolutionary periods and obliterated the traditional south Persian building types, a similar transformation took place on the Arabian coast, triggered by global capitalism and Arab nationalism.

Notes 1. Pohanka 1986; Iqtidari, 1348 (1970). In this chapter, Iranian dates are provided according to the Persian solar calendar, while Arabic dates are provided in the Islamic lunar calendar, both followed by their Gregorian equivalent. 2. Fuccaro 2009; Floor 2006; Onley 2005; Fattah 1997; Wells McIntire 1982. 3. For Linga, see below; for Bandar Abbas, see Iqtidari 1348 (1970), 535–70; for Manama, see Fuccaro 2009, 90. 4. Szántó 2012. 5. Landau and Maarten van Lint 2015; Behrens-Abouseif 1998. 6. Impressions of Bandar Abbas are summarised in Floor 2011, 2–12; for Linga, see Floor 2010, 2–8; for Manama, see Fuccaro 2009, 104. 7. Three main construction periods between the ninth and twelfth centuries, with the first one broadly conforming to Abbasid characteristics, see Whitehouse 1980, 24–9. 8. Qandil 2003. 9. Rougeulle et al. 2012; al-Salimi et al. 2008, 83. 10. Walmsley et al. 2010. 11. al-Salimi et al. 2008, 69. 12. Morgan 1991; Bani Abbasi Bastaki 1339/1961, 14–29; Fuccaro 2009, 51–72. 13. Aubin 1969. 14. For Isfahan, see Paone 1981, 1–30; Hunarfar 1350 (1977), 115–20; for Yazd, see Kadoi 2005; for Fars, see Galdieri 1982, 297–309. For the dominance of Chinese themes in Ilkhanid art and architecture in north-west Iran, see Kadoi 2009. 15. Melikian-Chirvani 1971, 1–41. 16. For Injuid painting, see Wright 2013; for metalwork, see Szántó 2010. 17. Wilber 1955, 182–3. 18. As shown, for instance by the decoration of the mosque of Suryan: see Mirza-Abu’l-Qasimi 1387 (2009), 150–2; Sarikhani 1384 (2006), 60–3. 19. Morgan 1991, 67-84. 20. Gaube 1979, 33–47. 21. Lambourn 2010; Howard 1976, 24; Aubin 1955. 22. Membré 1999, 47–8. 23. Floor 2011, 9–12. 24. de Groot 2009. 25. For kabutar khanas, see Beazley 1966. 26. Szántó 2012. 27. For one type of local rooftop minarets, which did not require much height, see Whitehouse 1972; for similar examples in Oman, see al-Salimi et al. 2008, 71, 74 and 77; this was a costeffective compromise, but it was applied mostly for smaller neighbourhood mosques. 28. Iqtidari 1348 (1970), 276–89. 29. Floor 2010, 4; al-Qasimi 1414 (1993), I, 177–80, II, 597–9 (from an Arab point of view); Nurbakhsh 1358 (1980), 172–80 (from a Persian point of view); Iqtidari 1348 (1970), 488–500. 30. Nurbakhsh 1358 (1979), 177–8. 31. For a summary of early eyewitness reports of the blue-tiled minaret and a discussion of the antiquity of Linga’s mosques and buildings, see Floor 2010, 5, n. 20; Iqtidari 1348 (1970), 485–90. 32. For some biographic notes, see Nurbakhsh 1358 (1979), 73.

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33. On the title, see Floor 2009, 28–31. 34. For the sociocultural connections of Najaf, see Litvak 1991, 36–51. 35. Sadid al-Saltana Kubabi 1342 (1963), 603. 36. Iqtidari 1348 (1970), 488. 37. Wilber 1955, fig. 38. 38. Litvak 1991, 40–2. 39. For Darab, see Mostafawi 1978, 332–4; Pohanka 1984, for Indian elements in south Iranian architecture, see Szántó 2013. 40. Floor 2010, 24; al-Qasimi 1414 (1993), II, 597–9. 41. His domed burial chamber is part of the complex. 42. Iqtidari 1348 (1970), 491; the caption in al-Khunji al-Abbasi 1405 (1985), 145 gives the date as 1304 (1886). 43. The glazed tilework is reportedly locally made at Bandar Kung: Nurbakhsh 1358 (1979), 176. 44. Mirza-Abu’l-Qasimi 1387 (2009), 153-9. 45. See Kleiss 2002. 46. Litvak 1991, 131–4. Persian involvement in Shii affairs outside its political boundaries often took the outward form of architectural patronage. In Najaf itself, which in the 1820s was almost independent from Ottoman Baghdad, this practice goes back at least until Fath Ali Shah (r. 1797–1834) who endowed lavish donations to the shrines to strengthen the relations between them and Iran. The man behind this project was Haji Muhammad Husayni Isfahani (Nizam alDawla), the ambitious restorer of Isfahan and Najaf and later sadr azam (1819–23) of Fath Ali Shah. For his biography and building activity in Isfahan, see Walcher 2001. For the activities of Omani Shiites, see Louër 2008, 146–9, referring to an unpublished research article by Marc Valéri. 47. Sadr-Hashimi 1363 (1985), I, 206. 48. Iqtidari mentions without further elaboration another, perhaps related, minaret near the old cemetery which had vanished by the mid twentieth century (Iqtidari 1348 [1970], 488). 49. Floor 2010, 53–8.

References Aubin, J. (1955), ‘References pour Lar medieval’, Journal Asiatique, 243/4, 491–505. –––– (1969), ‘La survie de Shîlâu et la route du Khunj-ô-Fâl’, Iran, 7, 21–37. Bani Abbasi Bastaki, M. (1339 [1961]), Tarikh-i Jahangiriya wa Bani Abbasiyan-i Bastak, Bastak. Beazley, E. (1966), ‘The pigeon towers of Ißfahån’, Iran, 4, 105–9. Behrens-Abouseif, D. (1998), ‘Patterns of urban patronage in Cairo: a comparison between the Mamluk and the Ottoman periods’, in T. Philipp and U. Haarmann (eds), The Mamluks in Egyptian Politics and Society, Cambridge, 224–34. de Groot, E. (2009), ‘The Dutch Embassy to Isfahan (Persia) in 1651–52 led by Johannes Cunaeus: a new interpretation of Weenix’s Monumental History Painting’, The Rijksmuseum Bulletin, 57/4, 313–26. Fattah, H. (1997), The Politics of Regional Trade in Iraq, Arabia, and the Gulf, 1745–1900, New York. Floor, W. (2006), The Persian Gulf: a Political and Economic History of Five Port Cities 1500–1730, Washington, DC. –––– (2009), Guilds, Merchants, and Ulama in Nineteenth-century Iran, Washington, DC. –––– (2010), The Persian Gulf: the Rise and Fall of Bandar-e Lengeh, the Distribution Center for the Arabian Coast, 1750–1930, Washington, DC. –––– (2011), The Persian Gulf: Bandar Abbas, the Natural Trade Gateway of Southeast Iran, Washington, DC. Fuccaro, N. (2009), Histories of City and State in the Persian Gulf: Manama since 1800, Cambridge. Galdieri, E. (1982), ‘Un exemple curieux de restauration ancienne: la Xodå-Xåne de Chiraz’, in Ch. Adle (ed.), Art et société dans le monde iranien, Paris and Tehran, 297–309. Gaube, H. (1979), ‘Ein Abschnitt der ßafavidischen Bandar-e Abbås-ŠÈråz-Strasse. Die Strecke von  emål ad-DÈn nach Lår’, Iran, 17, 33–47. Seyyed G

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Howard, R. (1976), ‘The Lar Mihrab’, Art and Archaeology Research Papers, 9, 24–5. Hunarfar, L. (1350 [1977]), Ganjina-yi athar-i tarikhi-yi Isfahan, Isfahan. Iqtidari, A. (1348 [1970]), Athar-i shahrha-yi bastani-yi sawahil wa jazayir-i Khalij-i Fars wa Darya-yi Uman, Tehran. Kadoi, Y. (2005), ‘Aspects of frescoes in fourteenth-century Iranian architecture: the case of Yazd’, Iran, 43, 217–40. –––– (2009), Islamic Chinoiserie: the Art of Mongol Iran, Edinburgh. al-Khunji al-Abbasi, H. (1405 [1985]), Tarikh Linja, Dubai. Kleiss, W. (2002), ‘Minaret’, EIr (last accessed 12 March 2016). Lambourn, E. A. (2010), ‘A self-conscious art? Seeing micro-architecture in Sultanate South Asia’, Muqarnas, 27, 121–56. Landau, A. and T. Maarten van Lint (2015), ‘Armenian merchant patronage of New Julfa’s sacred spaces’, in M. Gharipour (ed.), Sacred Precincts: the Religious Architecture of Non-Muslim Communities across the Islamic World, Leiden and Boston, 308–33. Litvak, M. (1991), ‘The Shii Ulama of Najaf and Karbala, 1791–1904: a Sociopolitical Analysis’, unpublished PhD dissertation, Harvard University. Louër, L. (2008), Transnational Shia Politics: Religious and Political Networks in the Gulf, London. Melikian-Chirvani, A. S. (1971), ‘Le royaume de Salomon. Les Inscriptions persanes des sites achéménides’, Le Monde Iranien et l’Islam, 1, 1–41. Membré, M. (1999), Mission to the Lord Sophy of Persia (1539–1542), trans. and ed. A. H. Morton, Warminster. Mirza-Abu’l-Qasimi, M. (1387 [2009]), Katibaha-yi yadmani-yi Fars, Tehran. Morgan, P. (1991) ‘New thoughts on old Hormuz: Chinese ceramics in the Hormuz region in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries’, Iran, 29, 67–84. Mostafawi, S. (1978), The Land of Pars, Chippenham. Nurbakhsh, H. (1358 [1980]), Bandar Linga dar sahil-i Khalij-i Fars, Tehran. Onley, J. (2005), ‘Transnational merchants in the nineteenth century, the case of the Safar family’, in M. al-Rasheed (ed.), Transnational Connections and the Arab Gulf, New York and London, 59–90. Paone, R. (1981), ‘The Mongol colonization of the Isfahån region’, in G. Scarcia (ed.), Isfahan: Quaderni del Seminario di Iranistica, Uralo-Altaistica e Caucasologia dell’Università degli Studi di Venezia, 10, Venice, 1–30. Pohanka, R. (1984), Die Masdjed-e Djoume in Darab, Südiran, Vienna. –––– (1986), Burgen und Heiligtümer in Laristan, Südiran. Ein Surveybericht, Vienna. Qandil, H. (2003), ‘Recent Discoveries at Jumeirah’, in D. T. Potts, H. Naboodah and P. Hellyer (eds), Archaeology of the United Arab Emirates, London, 318–319. al-Qasimi, K. (1414 [1993]), Tarikh Linja, 2 vols, Dubai. Rougeulle, A., T. Creissen and V. Bernard (2012), ‘The Great Mosque of Qalhåt rediscovered: main results of the 2008–2010 excavation at Qalhåt, Oman’, Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies, 42, 341–56. Sadid al-Saltana Kubabi, M. (1342 [1963]), Bandar Abbas wa Khalij-i Fars, ed. Ahmad Iqtidari, Tehran. Sadr-Hashimi, M. (1363 [1985]), Tarikh-i jaraid va matbuat-i Iran, 4 vols, Isfahan. al-Salimi, A., H. Gaube and L. Korn (eds) (2008), Islamic Art in Oman, Muscat. Sarikhani, M. (1384 [2006]), ‘Ashina-yi ba fann-i sakht-i minbar-i masjid-i jama-i Suryan’, Vaqf-i Miras-i Javidan, 49/1, 60–3. Szántó, I. (2010), ‘A note on Ïn©Ëid metalwork’, Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 63/2, 211–18. –––– (2012), ‘On a type of painted plasterwork in Southern Iran’, Beiträge zur Islamischen Kunst und Archäologie, 3, 321–33. –––– (2013), ‘Some monuments of southern Iranian religious architecture and their Indian inspiration’, in H. Badamchi and C. Fayzee (eds), Proceedings of the Third Biennial Conference of the Persian Gulf: Majmua-yi maqalat-i sivvumin hamayish-i du-salana-yi bayn al-milali-yi Khalij-i Fars, Tehran, 469–81. Walcher, H. (2001), ‘Face of the seven spheres: the urban morphology and architecture of nineteenthcentury Isfahan (part two)’, Iranian Studies, 34/1, 117–39.

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Walmsley, A. G., R. H. Barnes and P. Macumber (2010), ‘Al-Zubarah and its hinterland, North Qatar: excavations and survey, spring 2009’, Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies, 40, 55–68. Wells McIntire, E. (1982), ‘Commuters to Kuwait: international migration, education and economies in an Iranian town’, Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern Studies, 5/4, 19–39. Whitehouse, D. (1972), ‘Staircase minarets on the Persian Gulf’, Iran, 10, 155–8. –––– (1980), Siraf III – the Congregational Mosque and Other Mosques from the Ninth to the Twelfth Centuries, London. Wilber, D. N. (1955), The Architecture of Islamic Iran. The Il Khånid Period, Princeton, NJ. Wright, E. (2013), The Look of the Book: Manuscript Production in Shiraz, 1303–1452, Seattle, WA.

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CHAPTER 7

Persian, Indian or Indo-Persian? The Study of Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-century Knotted Pile Carpets Raquel Santos European appreciation for carpets from the Islamic world is well documented by Renaissance paintings and by inventories from the major Italian, Spanish and Portuguese royal and aristocratic households. These visual and written sources demonstrate European awareness of the arts of the loom, especially carpet production, from the eastern side of the Mediterranean since the pre-modern times. During the sixteenth century, decades after the establishment of a new sea route to India by Vasco da Gama in 1498, carpets from West Asia became available in Europe in larger numbers. This included carpets of outstanding quality made of silk and precious metal thread with design compositions displaying medallions, cartouches, human and animal figures against a red background.1 The sophistication of their designs, technical achievement and luxurious materials is associated with the Safavid classical period (1501–1602), renowned as the golden age of textile weaving in Iran. The newly established sea route not only strengthened maritime trade, but also confirmed that European textile dyeing technologies were not as developed as those of other regions such as the Middle East, India, China and Japan.2 The diplomatic encounters between Portugal and Iran in the early years of the sixteenth century report luxurious textiles being brought by pairs of parading men: ‘first, the taffetas, followed by satins and damasks with golden shaped roses and then the rich “brocadelles” and brocades which numbered in total some four hundred pieces.’3 Not surprisingly, cotton fabrics, woollens and silks were the most profitable goods in world trade.4 Indeed, the importance of the trade of high quality textiles in the Iranian economy was already well established centuries before. During the sixteenth century the direct commerce between Asia and Europe represented just part of the vast and complex economic trading system ongoing in these regions.5 The new textile products were highly sought after by European markets. Their production followed closely European consumption patterns which would change significantly over the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.6 Likewise, the political and religious unsteadiness from constant territorial disputes to sizeable territory areas – the Safavid and Mughal empires – imparted significant risks to textile production.

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During the Timurid period (1389–1508), weaving in gold thread was carried out in major textile centres in Iran and Central Asia, such as Tabriz, Kashan and Herat. Many beautiful pieces were produced with the patronage of the Safavid rulers, especially Shah Abbas I (r. 1587–1629). Luxurious velvets, lampas (two complete weave structures integrated in one single fabric)7 and silk and gold weaving became one of the distinctive arts of the Safavid period (1501–1722).8 Court artists set up new styles and fashion while developing designs for a variety of media, including textiles and carpets. Carpets together with ceramics, calligraphy and the like, were part of the corpus of art produced under royal patronage. Carpet production in India, however, was not a long-lived tradition. The first Persian craftsmen were brought to the Mughal court during the second half of the sixteenth century to produce court carpets. Following Shah Tahmasp’s (r. 1524–76) disregard for the arts in around 1549, Humayun (1508–56) returned to the Mughal court with two of his finest artists, Mir Sayyid Ali and Abd al-Samad. They worked closely with Hindu and Muslim painters to establish the Mughal school of painting. As a result, a distinctive Mughal-style, high technical and artistic quality emerged during the seventeenth century, and flowers in lattice patterns using colouring and decorative schemes similar to Iranian carpets were incorporated into the Indian carpet design. Evidence for the introduction of carpet-making by Persian weavers to India comes from the Chief Minister of Akbar (r. 1542–1605), Abul-Fazl. In his chronicle of the emperor’s reign, Ain i Akbari, he describes how the Mughal emperor: has caused carpets to be made of wonderful varieties and charming textures; he has appointed experienced workmen, who have produced many masterpieces … All kinds of carpet weavers have settled here and drive a flourishing trade. They are found in every town, but especially in Agra, Fathepur and Lahore.9 During the first encounters between the Portuguese and the Safavids empires,10 and despite the recognised excellence of Iranian knotted-pile carpets, the Portuguese market often requested carpets from Indian artists.11 Thus, it is possible that new demands played a role in generating an increase in the competitiveness between different carpet industries. Though, owing to aesthetic features and precious materials, sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Iranian carpets were only within reach of elites from court, great mosques, churches and some European nobility. In the early seventeenth century a new carpet type began to appear in Portugal in significant numbers, in parallel with a major shift in Iranian production.12 On the basis of their design these new carpet types can be found under several designations such as ‘vine-scrolls’, ‘palmettes and blossoms’, ‘in-and-out palmette’ or ‘Indo-Persian’. The so-called ‘Indo-Persian’ carpet type was a symbol of great prestige in Portugal that well matched the requirements of local markets interested in quality

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Figure 7.1  ‘Vine Scroll’ carpet, with unidentified coats of arms, Iran, early seventeenth century, Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga, Lisbon, inv. no. 84Tp. Photograph © Jose Pessoa.

carpets that could reach large dimensions. A carpet with coat of arms belonging to the Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga in Lisbon (Figure 7.1) offers an example of the type and confirms their prestige. While its association with a particular Portuguese family has not been possible, it certainly sheds a light on the existence of commissions. This increase in export production has been recognised in the literature since the nineteenth century, although the precise mechanisms behind this transformation and carpet type remain to be well understood. In Portugal, public collections comprise approximately eighty ‘Indo-Persian’ carpets, which provenance can be traced back to convents or churches where they were used in the past.13 This essay seeks to draw attention to the most recent approach in carpet studies for tackling complex questions surrounding ‘Indo-Persian’ carpets (for example, origin and date) by means of the large corpus in Portugal and other equivalent examples from collections in the United States. Furthermore, the leading events in the evolution of carpet production and consumption in the wide framework of international textile trade during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are examined.

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Carpets, Textiles and International Trade On 25 August 1499 King Manuel (r. 1495–1521) wrote a letter to Pope Alexander VI (1492–1503) entitling himself ‘Lord of the conquest, navigation, and commerce of Ethiopia, Arabia, Persia and India’.14 The king’s ambitious agenda is well summarised in this title and his interest was a very pragmatic one: the discovery of a direct sea route to India to secure and consolidate the profitable spice trade in Malabar on the south-east coast of India.15 After receiving the first reports on trade in the Indian Ocean from his envoys, King Manuel’s interest grew, particularly in regards to Hormuz in the Persian Gulf. The important position held by Hormuz over maritime and commercial activities between Iran, Oman and the Arabian Sea had been recognised as early as 1489 by Pêro da Covilha16 and later by Castanheda (c.1500–59): From India, come all the spices, drugs and stones and many cotton clothes, mats and red burnished stones. From Malacca, clove, apple, walnut, sandalwood, camphor, porcelain, beijoim and tin. From Bengal, several fine cotton cloths … From Alexandria and Cairo, mercury, vermilion, saffron, copper, rose-water, brocades, taffeta … and carpets. From China, musk, rhubarb and silk. In return seed-pearls, pearls, Arab and Persian horses, raw silk, twisted sewing silk, dates, raisins, salt, sulphur and many other goods.17 To participate in this new trading system, the Portuguese like other Europeans had to adapt their commercial methods to the patterns of trade between different harbours in the Indian Ocean. From September to January dealers from the Red Sea would acquire cotton fabrics from manufacturing cities and villages in Gujarat. Merchant cargoes would leave ports like Cambay, Diu and Surrat to be sold in Hormuz, Mascat, Aden, Mocha and Jeddah markets.18 Likewise, the Portuguese greatly appreciated Indian textiles made of cotton, thus taking an active part in developing this trade in the Indian Ocean. Subsequently, in the first decades of the sixteenth century, cotton textiles from India were imported via the Cape of Good Hope by Portuguese ships. Their cargoes aimed to match the necessities of new European consumers to whom these new textile commodities were highly appealing. The Portuguese commercial activities in the Indian Ocean were mainly distributed between four geographical areas: the Red Sea, the western coast of Africa, the eastern coast of India and the Persian Gulf. On the Iranian mainland, political and economic instability during the sixteenth century did not represent any significant threat to the Portuguese. Instead, together with the Malabar Coast and Goa the volume of trade increased with the consolidation of the main sea routes of the Estado da India, and the Portuguese became a major player in Indian Ocean trade during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. During this time a variety of silk textiles, velvets, metal thread textiles, tirma

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(plain cloth), qalamkår (printed, painted and dyed cottons) and a variety of tapestry-woven textiles were produced in different workshops in the cities of Isfahan, Yazd, Kashan, Herat, Mashhad, Rasht, Qum and Sava, among others. Each of these centres was famous for producing specific types of textiles, including knotted-pile carpets, long valued for their texture, warmth and appealing colours and patterns. Carpet manufacture requires an enormous chain of trades and skills, each having a significant impact in the final result: from the sourcing and preparations of fibres, yarns, dyes to the required skills to manufacture both the foundation and weaving. Overall, all of these aspects were reflected in the price of the assorted carpet types available in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century markets across Iranian and Indian regions. The Origin of the Safavid Style During the fifteenth century two predominant artistic styles existed in the Persian world – the Aqquyunlus (Turkmen), versus the Timurids. The Timurid style was based on designs with strong relations between symmetrical framing devices, with overlapping leaves and floral motifs. This style was defined by very fine brush strokes and complex design compositions developed at the Herat court library, the main centre of artistic production. By the end of the fifteenth century the Timurid style was distinguished by small-scale and dense floral forms developed in the arts of the book. In Turkmen territory, a more commercial and regional style with bright colours and geometrical shapes was taking place at Tabriz. The conquest of the cities of Tabriz and Herat, in particular, had a very important impact on the arts of the Safavid Empire. The defeat of the two ruling groups led artists from both cities to work for common patronage. The fusion of the Timurid and Turkmen styles shaped a significant change in the arts, initiating the growth of the new Safavid style during the seventeenth century. The Safavid style drew from both artistic traditions and was characterised by very detailed work with decoration based on human and animal figures surrounded by filler elements, along with Chinese clouds and several vine scroll layers. In addition, these vegetal and floral motifs were incorporated into geometrical framing devices such as elliptical and star medallions, and poly-lobed cartouches, displayed in various art forms such as architecture, bookbinding and carpets. The cities of Tabriz, Qazvin and Isfahan developed into centres of government and power. During the Safavid period cities reflected the new rulers’ style of administration with the arts of the book having a significant impact on the arts of the loom. The first ruler whose legacy left a mark on the arts for future Safavid generations was Shah Ismail I (r. 1501–24). His great interest in the arts and especially poetry led him to invite poets to write in his honour, turning him into a significant sponsor of the arts in many forms, including carpets.19

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Likewise, Shah Tahmasp (r. 1524–76) devoted half of his life to sponsoring and encouraging the exchange of ideas between artists from Tabriz and Herat. The finest artists worked for the court, enabling Tahmasp to be in close proximity with his painters, certifying that their production would reflect his taste before extending their reproduction to court artisans working in other media.20 The reproduction of designs developed in court ateliers is especially apparent in the arts of the book and in commissions he made of large and beautiful carpets. The unmistakable quality of the carpets produced at this time is seen not only in their technical features but also in the materials used, as these had a profound impact on the final result. Instead of cotton or wool for the foundation, silk fibre, which was finer and more resistant, was used to increase the knot density and level of detail in rendering the decorative motifs. The visual unity created by Tahmasp in the arts represented more than simply an aesthetic choice and sent a clear and intimidating message of Safavid power against constant rival warfare. By 1555 the conflict with the Ottoman Empire steered Shah Tahmasp to shift the capital of the empire from Tabriz to Qazvin. Tabriz continued to be the commercial capital and where, as stated by Thompson, ‘carpets with the medallion design probably continued to be woven’,21 while miniature painters were brought to Qazvin to work under the court sponsorship of Tahmasp. However, later in his life, Tahmasp’s interest in the arts faded as he became a devout Shiite, renouncing most pleasures of life, spending his last years secluded in the palace built in the same city. This lack of interest in the arts resulted in the loss of an important sponsor and a subsequent decline in Iranian arts. The Mughal Production The loss of sponsorship led several Iranian artists and craftsmen to follow Humayun to the Mughal court after his regaining of the territory in the Indian subcontinent with the support of the Safavid ruler. Such occurrences disclose the strong influence of Iranian-style designs to the Mughal court style and their arts during the seventeenth century, including carpets. The naturalistic style in painting persisted during the reign of his son Akbar (r. 1556–1605), and the ‘policy of engaging with all the populations of India and welcoming Europeans at his court resulted in an emphasis on realism and the adoption of illusionistic techniques in painting’.22 Akbar secured the northern and central territories of India, including the prosperous Gujarat sultanate in the west, establishing a strong governmental system. Akbar was the first great Mughal patron of the arts of the book, establishing a royal atelier, initially in Fathepur Sikri near Agra, then at Lahore. ‘Akbar’s court painters were provided with every facility for a study of the historic and contemporary examples of their art …’23 and thus his commissions included illustrated manuscripts with a mixture of Iranian and Indian elements. However, as

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Prajnanananda clarifies, after Akbar left the city in 1585, ‘paintings continued to progress on parallel lines, the Persian and Indian styles being employed separately as two distinct methods of expression …’ and until Akbar died in 1605.24 The situation reformed in the seventeenth century during the reign of his son Jahangir (r. 1605–27), and Indian painters gradually found an ardent patron for the arts. He ascended the throne at the age of thirty-seven years and though he was a descendent of Babur, a Mongol from Central Asia, there was an all-important­ ­difference – his mother was Indian, a Rajpur princess. Given his mixed Mongol and Timurid heritage, he created a new dynastic lineage, which revealed itself plenty in his commissions. Jahangir’s patronage was predominantly focused on painting but his support extended to other art forms and Iranian weavers were brought to the Mughal court by Akbar to continue developing their work, as Walker clarifies: Akbar was apparently as impressed with Persian carpets as with Persian paintings, for his court historians noted that merchants still imported carpets from Joshaqan, Khuzistan, Kirman and Sabzewar, four cities or provinces in Iran. He noted also the appointment of experienced workmen and that carpet weavers had settled in Agra, Lahore and Fathepur. These latter references must be to Persian weavers and must refer to a period before the abandonment of Fathepur …’25 As a result, the knotted-pile carpet tradition in India reached its peak in terms of technical perfection with the realisation of a unique Indian style displaying the most profound subjects of interest to him, the flora and fauna of India. Like his father, Shah Jahan (r. 1628–58) commissioned many protraits of members of the Mughal dynasty.26 However, Shah Jahan’s artistic patronage became more comprehensive and diffused over the whole field of the fine and applied arts. The result was the advancement of crafts that maintained the previous style by incorporating Iranian and Indian elements simultaneously. The Safavid Production In Iran it was only with succession of Shah Abbas I, in 1587, that artists were encouraged to rebuild former court libraries. A new courtly style was developed in accordance to Abbas’s taste, which was intended to display the grandiosity and prosperity of the Safavid empire: For Shah Abbas … the arts were a handmaiden in his ambitious quest to establish dominance in every aspect of Iranian life … From Isfahan to Mashhad and Ardabil the architectural decoration, not to mention new buildings and their furnishings, commissioned by Shah Abbas announce a new visual landscape identified with the person of Shah Abbas as well as his religious, economic and social policies.27

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This new style was proclaimed with the establishment, in 1598, of the city of Isfahan as the new capital, which became the stage for a period of unparalleled political and religious development in Iran. In 1666, John Chardin, a French jeweller, praised Abbas’s governance during a visit to Isfahan, while stating the existence of thirty-two court ateliers of all types, from tailors to jewellers, around the palace. He also reports the high salaries and special benefits provided to these craftsmen.28 In order to reinforce local talents, Abbas brought various artists from other parts of the world, from India to China, particularly to work in architecture, which was often poorly executed due to Abbas’s impatient character.29 The city was developed around a multipurpose square, often used as the city emporium where the commercial activities occurred. Products of all kinds were sold there, a space dedicated exclusively to products brought from Europe.30 However, Abbas’s interest in European customs and religious beliefs was part of his distinctive agenda: to strengthen political or military alliances against the Ottomans Turks. Numerous festivities that aimed to please and entertain foreigners or diplomatic envoys were promoted, while the homogeneous new aesthetics of a royal style served as a statement of power and Safavid propaganda.31 In the new royal style, the artistic vocabulary reflects a new emphasis, and human and animal figures are replaced by floral motifs on a more majestic and expanded scale. This new programme of aesthetics is exhibited in the luxurious textiles made for export, in which floral motifs are displayed using a new colour palette and increased in scale.32 Shah Abbas was interested in increasing the competitiveness of Safavid textile production, particularly in relation to the Ottoman industries. Aware of the habits and increasing demand of international markets for textiles, Abbas sought to generate economic growth through the Iranian carpet production by creating a workshop for carpets made of silk and gold.33 Moreover, these luxurious carpets were used as diplomatic instruments, sent as royal gifts to local and foreign rulers. With the establishment of the sea route connecting the Atlantic and Indian Oceans during the previous century, commercial interactions in the Indian Ocean flourished. Thus, during the seventeenth century, in addition to the privileged direct access to new European and Asian consumers, Abbas’s strategy aimed to profit from fulfilling the demand of new consumers. The lucrative trade through Hormuz, which had been under Portuguese control since 1515, represented an important point of interchange for the Iranian market, where exports of luxurious textiles, including carpets, caught Abbas’s attention. The growth of trade profits by fitting the patterns of consumption of ‘exotic’ quality products from markets in Europe, the Middle East and India had been targeted by Albuquerque in the past. With regard to the nature of traded goods, according to Chaudhuri, despite the incomplete information on the ships’ cargoes: ‘on their return the cargo was comprised of black pepper, ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, resins, gum arabic, cotton cloth, indigo and raw silk.’34 The existence of prestigious knotted-pile silk carpets in Portugal can be testified to since the first half of the sixteenth century by the

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royal and aristocratic inventories of Queen Catarina of Austria (1507–78) and the Fifth Duke of Bragança, D. Teodósio I (1520–63).35 Innovation for Export In the seventeenth century, by reducing production costs Shah Abbas promoted the competitiveness of the Iranian carpet industry, through changing the materials and designs; a new type of carpet began to be produced by using wool in the pile and cotton (instead of silk) in the foundation. This served to decrease the material costs, while simultaneously creating conditions for the production of large carpets at reasonable prices. This solution maintained the recognised quality of Iranian carpet production (especially its highly appreciated floral designs), and offered a product suited in size to the demands of royal and ecclesiastic elites in Europe for decoration of their palaces, monasteries and convents. The success of this initiative was borne out by the large numbers of these carpets to survive in Portugal, as well as from numerous depictions and descriptions in paintings and inventories, which attest to a significant level of production in the seventeenth century. The production of knotted-pile carpets combines on the loom two distinct processes: weaving and knotting in a structure involving warps, wefts and pile knots. The loom can be comprehended as a frame used for weaving. Usually, the frame supports two beams to which warp ends are fastened. A system for raising alternate warps, a harness in effect, is termed the ‘heddle’. A shed stick, a narrow board or lath, is used to open a passage through which the shuttle, carrying weft, is passed. A reed, a form of comb the width of the loom, may be used to compress the wefts.36 The foundation (interwoven structure) establishes the length and width of a carpet, with the warps being the parallel yarns running the length of the loom where pile knots are tied, while wefts are yarns woven horizontally over and under the warps, thus locking the knots in place. Additional warps or wefts can be introduced to add new patterns or textures.37 There are different types of carpet knots; for some the term ‘knot’ can sometimes be contradictory since the ends are not twisted about each other and drawn tight as in a true knot.38 This is the case of the asymmetrical knot open to left (Persian knot) frequently found in Iranian and Indian carpets from the Classical period. The knots are applied in sequence one after the other, each corresponding to a point in the carpet design knot-plan, ‘a “blue print”, so to speak, for a carpet design. Arranged as colored squares on graph paper, a knot plan can serve as a reference for many individual weavers, allowing the replications of a single design’, as clarified by Denny.39 The quality of their design is also dependent on the choice of materials used to manufacture a carpet, namely fibres in their pile and foundation, and dyes to colour the fibres. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the Iranian and Indian carpet industries used plant and animal fibres in their pile and foundation in different combinations. Silk is predominantly associated with high quality carpet produc-

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tion as a result of its inherent cost and high knot density. Moreover, the choice of knot and type of fibre produces significant variances in the pile density that in turn affect the capacity to execute more sophisticated designs. When wrapped around thinner fibres, such as silk rather than wool, asymmetrical knots can be packed easily, increasing the knot density. The outcome allows the accomplishment of superior results when performing the curvilinear elements of more sophisticated designs. Likewise, carpet production required the involvement of highly skilled dyers capable of using natural dyestuffs, plants or insects, to achieve appealing palettes of fast colours. The Rise of the ‘Indo-Persian’ Carpet Type Carpets belonging to the so-called ‘Indo-Persian’ type share technical and aesthetic features and reached large dimensions. Asymmetrical knots open to left with 2Z wool pile were used to create the designs on a Z4S cotton warps and Z2S cotton wefts foundation.40 Human and animal figures disappeared from the artistic vocabulary, being replaced by floral motifs displayed in distinctive design schemes. Large scaled palmettes, plain tree (Persian chenar), lotus flower and undulating cloud bands, derived from Chinese art, intertwined with a layer of vine-scrolls in red field and surrounded by blue or green borders exhibiting palmettes facing inwards and outwards. Moreover, their design composition is another significant distinctive feature of the ‘Indo-Persian’ carpet type. The vast majority display field designs based on the repetitions of a quarter plan as known for some court production from historical sources (Figures 7.2 and 7.3). This type of composition suggests they were likely produced in a well-organised and well-equipped workshop, probably in an urban environment, such as a town or city.41 However, considering their popularity during the seventeenth century, it is likely that carpets of similar style were made in several places.42 Thus, the precise circumstances under which the ‘Indo-Persian’ carpet type was produced remain uncertain. Until now attempts to classify carpets have frequently been built on the region of origin or, alternatively, on systems based on visual design or artistic style, mode of production, or structure.43 May Beattie and Steven Cohen’s work offer important evidence for how technical differences can contribute to distinguish Iranian and Indian production, and hence assist with determining the origin of ‘Indo-Persian’ carpets.44 The distinction between Iranian and Indian carpets of the Safavid period raises complex challenges due to their shared materials, weaving techniques and artistic vocabulary.45 There is no agreement in the literature about their origin, and carpets belonging to ‘Indo-Persian’ type are frequently attributed to the cities of Herat and Isfahan, without any historical information to directly support such an attribution. Likewise, for questions of dating the situation is hindered due to the absence of any inscription or related information to confirm their production date.

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Figure 7.2 Single quarter plan of ‘Vine Scroll with Central Void and Clouds’ carpet, Iran, seventeenth century, Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga, Lisbon, inv. no. 10Tp. Photograph © Jose Pessoa.

Figure 7.3 Scheme for single quarter design belonging to ‘Vine Scroll with Central Void and Clouds’ carpet, Iran, seventeenth century, Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga, Lisbon, inv. no. 10Tp.

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In addition to a coherent technique, the range of colours in the ‘IndoPersians’ studied by dye analysis performed using High Performance Liquid Chromatography (HPLC), exposed the use of Kerria sp., an expensive red insect dye (as opposed to cochineal found in only reds from ‘small silk Kashan’), madder together with a yellow dye source for the oranges, which is also found in yellows and identified as probably weld.46 However, less than 10 per cent of the Portuguese collection was submitted to dye analysis and was thus insufficient to establish a firm conclusion.47 The most recent study surrounding the ‘Indo-Persian’ type includes a corpus of fifty-nine carpets – including eleven fragments – from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.48 In an effort to establish potential relationships between the selected examples in Portugal – forty-nine carpets from Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga (MNAA) in Lisbon and Museu Nacional Machado de Castro (MNMC) in Coimbra – ten objects were selected from collections in the United States – the Textile Museum (TM), National Gallery of Art (NGA) and the former Corcoran Gallery of Art (CGA) in Washington, DC. Functioning as historical evidence, objects are used with the aim of understanding the production and consumption, by conducting a close examination of materials, techniques and design, supported by science, as a complementary tool for assessing the spatial and temporal dimensions surrounding of the ‘Indo-Persian’ type.49 Data from stylistic, technical and material analysis (fibres and dyes), together with collected art historical information is used to establish different groups of carpets. The results are used to relate the various groups with a geographical origin. Likewise, on the basis of their field and border stylistic features, the results allow us to trace the chronological transformations of their design, offering a date for production of different objects under the ‘Early Safavid’ and ‘Indo-Persian’ types.50 New Approaches to Carpet Studies In the last decade dye analysis has significantly improved our understanding of these carpet industries by discerning different traditions in carpet production and their possible origins, as well as conservation challenges presented by the objects themselves. This study focused on red, pink and yellow colours found in sixteenthand seventeenth-century carpets attributed to Iran and India (Mughal and Deccan), together with orange colours from carpets attributed to Iran. These colours have proven to be extremely useful for determining regional use of dyes and the possible area of production of these objects. Additionally, as the number of published dye results for carpets are even smaller and the few samples analysed until now belong to the most recent study of three ‘Salting’ carpets, browns were also included.51 In this project, dye analyses were conducted using High Performance Liquid Chromatography coupled with Mass Spectrometry (HPLC–MS) and interpreted on the basis of statistical methods. HPLC–MS is a high ­sensitivity analytical

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c­hemistry technique that combines the separation capabilities of liquid chromatography with the molecular identification of mass spectrometry. Moreover, sixteen historical samples from the pile – red, yellow, pink, orange, red and brown colours – were analysed with optical microscopy to understand if one or more types of fibre were being used in different colour batches. The field and border designs were recognised on the basis of extensive stylistic analysis from extant carpets. Aiming to improve the understanding of a chronological evolution, context of production (court, city, and so on), the field and major border designs types were combined to sort different stylistic groups of carpets.52 However, determining the origin of the resulting stylistic groups requires the use of complementary technical and material analysis. For establishing dates historical carpets are compared with their depictions in Portuguese and Dutch paintings from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The results from dye-analysis provided a window into ‘Early Safavid’, ‘IndoPersian’ and ‘Indian’ dyeing traditions during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and allow the discernment of the level of sophistication of carpet manufacture based on the assortment of dye sources selected. In this study the different combinations of red and yellow dye-sources, support the existence of multiple dyeing practices. This expansion of dyeing practices and designs used in carpet manufactures from the mid seventeenth century is consistent with experimentation and proliferation in production, and seems to indicate the rise of multiple workshops. Nevertheless, these attributions to a particular city or region requires more understanding about local dyeing practices in major textile centres in Iran, such as Isfahan, Kerman or Yazd. In addition to permit differentiation of carpet production geographically, namely to Iran or India, the approach taken based on the analysis of their dyes shows that data from materials identified and their sources, together with stylistic data, offer a way to characterise production, while distinguishing carpet groups, thus showing that analysis of materials and design can be used to further understand the context surrounding production. The rise of a new type of carpet in the late sixteenth century under Shah Abbas is observed, followed by a rapid expansion in production in the middle of the seventeenth century that involves considerable experimentation. In the first phase the introduction of cotton represented a significant step for decreasing manufacturing costs to create more affordable carpets. This innovation had repercussions on the knot count and design, which moved gradually from dense and sophisticated patterns of small-scale motifs into new simplified compositions of large-scale motifs using fewer knots. This decreased the time necessary for their production while, in parallel, increasing the numbers of carpets that could be produced in the same time and making large carpets easier and faster to manufacture. This innovation appears most likely to have been something that was initiated inside Iran to attempt to capture a new market as part of Shah ‘Abbas’s programme to promote the Iranian export trade.

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The different combinations of red and yellow dye-sources used together in the carpets in this study support the existence of multiple dyeing practices. Moreover, the experimentation seen in the combinations of dyes and designs that occurs in the middle of the century suggests an expansion in manufacturing, which can now be linked to an increase in demand for carpets with appealing design and colours from outside Iran. The painting evidence indicates that it may have come from Europeans consumers. Overall, carpets are products of a complex chain of operations, some of which can remain fixed for long periods, while others can change suddenly or evolve with great speed. Thus, attempting to solve problems of origin it is not complete without considering the broader context of their production; this requires looking at technique, fibres and dyes. Together, the results of this research highlight the importance of multidisciplinary methods for providing answers to the study of historical carpets, while opening broader horizons to the study and knowledge of historical textiles. Notes 1. For further details, see Hallett 2010, 115–16. 2. Chaudhuri 1998c, 493. 3. Lisbon 1972, 207: ‘e logo vinham homens de dous em dous, com peças nos braços, as primeiras tafetas, entao cetis e damascos com rosas d’ouro e entao brocadilhos e entao brocados ricos, que todos seriam quatrocentas pecas’; quoting Gaspar Correia, Tomo II, 405–38: ‘Albuquerque receives Shah Ismail ambassador bringing gifts.’ 4. Chaudhuri 1998b, 267. 5. Chaudhuri 1998a, 323; Floor 2012, 207. 6. Moreira and Curvelo 1998, 546. 7. For further information on this matter, see Emery 1995, 159–60. 8. Ruhfar 2002, 83; Bier 1987, 57. 9. MacAllan 1993, 107. 10. Chaudhuri 1998a, 493. 11. ‘alcatifas de estrado, tapetes – contam-se entre os objectos encomendados em maior numero a artistas indianos’ (Moreira and Curvelo 1998, 546). 12. Hallett 2007a, 89–113. 13. Pereira 2007, 19–20. 14. Cunha 1995, 14. 15. Ibid. 16. 16. Albuquerque 1994, vol. 2, 893; quoting Joao de Barros, decada II, liv. II, cap. 2: ‘a cidade e tam vicosa e abastada, que dizem os moradores della que o mundo e hum anel e Ormuz hua pedra preciosa engastada nelle (the city is so rich and full of life, that the inhabitants say that the world is a ring and Hormuz his precious stone).’ 17. Castanheda 1979, liv. II, cap. LIX, 340; quoted in Magalhães 1998, 326. 18. Chaudhuri 1998c, 265. 19. Canby 2003, 6. 20. Ibid. 13. 21. Thompson 1993, 152. 22. Lisbon 2008, 171. 23. Prajnanananda 1985, 7. 24. Ibid. 6–10. 25. Walker, 1997a, 253. 26. Lisbon 2008, 171.

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27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52.

Canby 2009, 21. Blunt 1966, 93. Ibid. 61. Ibid. 60. Roemer 1986, 271 Wearden 2003, 20 Canby 2009, 79. Chaudhuri 1998d, II, 196. Hallett 2007b, 79. Stone 1997, 136. Bier 1987, 325. Beattie 1972, 29. Denny 2014, 142. Hallett 2007a, 90. Thompson 1993, 135–6. Canby 2009, 210. Beattie 1972; Eiland 1976; Cohen 2004; Cohen 2007b; Thompson 1993; Erdmann 1970; Ford 1981. Beattie 1972; Cohen 2001; Cohen 2006; Cohen 2007a; Cohen 2007b. Cohen 2004, 91–3. Heitor et al. 2007; Armindo et al. 2008. Heitor et al. 2007. Santos 2017. Walker 1997b, 24; Hallett and Santos 2014; Santos 2017. With the exception of Indian carpets. Hallett and Santos 2014. See Santos 2017 for further discussion.

References Albuquerque, Francisco de (ed.) (1994), Dicionário da História dos Descobrimentos Portugueses, vol. 2, Alfragide. Armindo, E., M. Sousa, J. Hallett and M. J. Melo (2008), ‘A Persian carpet’s paradise garden: discovering historical and technical aspects through carpet conservation and restoration’, ICOM-CC 15th Triennal Conference, 22–6 September, New Delhi, 960–6. Beattie, M. H. (1972), Carpets of Central Persia, Westerham. Bettencourt, F. and K. Chaudhuri (eds) (1998), História da Expansão Portuguesa, Lisbon, vols I–V. Bier, C. (ed.) (1987), Woven from the Soul, Spun from the Heart, Washington, DC. Blunt, W. (1966), Isfahan: Pearl of Persia, London. Canby, S. (2003), ‘The world of the early Safavids, the Safavid dynasty and Shah Ismåil, 1501–24’, in J. Thompson and S. Canby (eds), Hunt For Paradise: Court Arts of Safavid Iran 1501–1576, London, 3–25. –––– (2009), Shah Abbas: the Remaking of Iran, London. Castanheda, F. L. de (1979), História do Descobrimento e Conquista da índia pelos Portugueses, ed. M. Lopes de Almeira, Porto. Carswell, J. (1968), New Julfa the Armenian Churches and Other Buildings, Oxford. Chaudhuri, K. (1998a), ‘O comércio asiático’, in Bettencourt and Chaudhuri (eds), vol. I, 323–4. –––– (1998b), ‘O império na economia mundial’, in Bettencourt and Chaudhuri (eds), vol. II, 248–70. –––– (1998c), ‘O impacto da expansão portuguesa no oriente’, in Bettencourt and Chaudhuri (eds) 1998, vol. I, 487–506. –––– (1998d), ‘O comércio asiático’, in Bettencourt and Chaudhuri (eds), vol. II, 194–212. Cohen, S. (1997), ‘An ideal reality: carpet images in the Windsor Padshahnama’, Hali, 95, 93–5. –––– (2001), ‘Safavid and Mughal carpets in the Gulbenkian Museum’, Hali, 114, 74–85. –––– (2004), ‘Indian or Persian?’, Hali, 134, 91–3. –––– (2006), ‘Um tapete mogul raro com combate de animais em Arouca’, Oriente, 15, 26–43.

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–––– (2007a), ‘Blossoms and beasts’, in Hallett and Pereira (eds) 2007, 115–21. –––– (2007b), ‘Iran or India? the relationship between their carpet-weaving traditions’, in Hallett and Pereira (eds) 2007, 123–30. Cunha, J. M. de A. T. (1995), Economia de um Imperio: Economia Política do Estado da Índia em torno do Mar Arábico e Golfo Pérsico, Elementos Conjunturais: 1595–1635, Masters Thesis, New University of Lisbon. Denny, W. B. (2014), How to Read Islamic Carpets, New York. Eiland, M. L. (1976), Oriental Rugs: a New Comprehensive Guide, 2nd ed., New York. Emery, I. (1995), The Primary Structures of Fabrics, Washington, DC. Erdmann, K. (1970), Seven Hundred Years of Oriental Carpets, Berkeley, CA. Floor, W. (1987), ‘Economy and society: fibers, fabrics and societies’, in Bier (ed.) 1987, 20–32. –––– (2012), ‘Arduous travelling: the Qandahar–Isfahan highway in the seventeenth century’, in W. Floor and E. Herzig (eds), Iran and the World in the Safavid Age, London, 207–36. Ford, P. R. J. (1981), The Oriental Carpet: a History and Guide to Traditional Motifs, Patterns and Symbols, New York. Hallett, J. (2007a), ‘Palmettes and cloud bands’, in Hallett and Pereira (eds) 2007, 89–113. –––– (2007b), ‘Enchanting gardens’, in Hallett and Pereira (eds) 2007, 79–88. –––– (2010), ‘From the looms of Yazd and Isfahan: Persian carpets and textiles in Portugal’, in J. Thompson, D. Shaffer and P. Mildh (eds), Carpets and Textiles in the Iranian World 1400–1700, Oxford, 90–122. Hallett, J. and R. Santos (2014), ‘Interwoven knowledge: the understanding and conservation of three Islamic carpets’, in A. Gerritsen and G. Riello (eds), Writing Material Culture History, London, 257–64. Hallett, J. and T. P. Pereira (eds) (2007), The Oriental Carpet in Portugal: Carpets and Paintings, 15th–18th Centuries, Lisbon. Heitor, M., M. Sousa, M. J. Melo and J. Hallett (2007), ‘The colours of the carpets’, in Hallett and Pereira (eds) 2007, 161–8. Karl, B. (2016), Embroidered Histories: Indian Textiles for the Portuguese Market during the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, Vienna. Lisbon (1972), Das Relacções entre Portugal e a Pérsia 1500–-1758, Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, Lisbon. Lisbon (2008), The Path of Princes Masterpieces from the Aga Khan Museum Collection, Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, Lisbon. Luz, F. P. M. da (1960), Livro das Cidades, e Fortalezas que a Coroa de Portugal tem nas Partes da Índia, e das Capitanas, e mais Cargos que Nelas Ha, e da Importância Deles, Lisbon. MacAllan, R. (1993), ‘The English East India Company and its role in the trade of 17th century India and Persia’, in M. L. Eiland, R. Pinner and W. B. Denny (eds), Oriental Carpet and Textile Studies, IV, 105–15. Magalhães, J. R. (1998), ‘Articulações inter-regionais e economias-mundo’, in Bettencourt and Chaudhuri (eds) 1998, vol. II, 308–33. Moreira, R. and A. Curvelo (1998), ‘A circulação das formas – Artes portáteis, arquitectura e urbanismo’, in Bettencourt and Chaudhuri (eds) 1998, vol. II, 532–69. Pereira, T. P. (2007), ‘The collection and its display’, in Hallett and Pereira (eds) 2007, 19–20. Prajnanananda, S. (1985), ‘Art and culture of India’, Cultural Heritage of Indian Fine Arts (A Comparative Study of Music, Sculpture, Painting and Architecture) – A New Approach, Calcutta, 6–10. Roemer H. R. (1986), ‘The Safavid period’, in P. Jackson (ed.), The Cambridge History of Iran: the Timurid and Safavid Periods, vol. 6, Cambridge, 189–350. Ruhfar, Z. (2002), ‘Textiles of the Safavid period woven with gold and their connection with figural painting’, in S. Canby (ed.), Safavid Art and Architecture, London, 83–5. Santos, R. (2017), ‘New Carpets for New Markets: the Production and Consumption of “IndoPersian” Carpets’, 16th and 17th Centuries, unpublished PhD dissertation, New University of Lisbon. Smith, R. B. (1970), ‘The Portuguese embassies, navigation and visits’, in R. B Smith, The First Age of The Portuguese Embassies, Navigations and Peregrinations in Persia (1507–1524), Bethesda, MD, 8–12. Stone, P. F. (1997), The Oriental Rug Lexicon, Seattle, WA.

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Thompson J. (1993), Oriental Carpets from the Tents, Cottages, and Workshops of Asia, New York. Walker, D. S. (1997a), ‘Classical Indian rugs’, Hali, 4/3, 252–7. –––– (1997b), Flowers Underfoot: Indian Carpets of the Mughal Era, New York. Wearden, J. (2003), Oriental Carpets and Their Structure: Highlights from the V&A Collection, London. Ydema O. (1991), Carpets and their Datings in Netherlandish Paintings 1540–1700, Zutphen.

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CHAPTER 8

The Calligraphic Art of Mishkin Qalam Francesco Stermotich-Cappellari

Aqa Husayn-i Isfahani (1826–1912), better known under his title Mishkin Qalam (musk-scented pen), was a prominent Bahai calligrapher of the nineteenth century. According to Schimmel he can be considered ‘one of the finest calligraphers’ of his time.1 Despite his prominence, little scholarly research has been carried out on his art and on the exploration of symbolism behind it. One of his famous and innovative artistic creations was the golden rooster (Figure 8.1), of which he fashioned copious versions and sent as birds of love to the Bahai believers in various lands. The shape of the rooster is created through the letters of the name of the prophet Baha-Allah. As Blair pointed out ‘the finely drawn cock served as something of an emblem (tughra) or letterhead, as the text in shikasta could be changed to suit the occasion. It thus represents the finest of calligraphy in service to religious promulgation.’2 The art of calligraphy is considered with the utmost respect in the Babi-Bahai religions. In the Bayan, the most important religious text of the Babi canon, in every human endeavour, everything must be brought to its utmost limit of perfection, which is envisioned as the paradise of that particular being or the state of disclosure of its full potentiality and fulfilment; in this sense the paradise of paper is beautiful calligraphy and illumination, and the believers are invited to write the verses of the Bayan in the most beautiful manners, since those verses are compared to precious vessels of the Spirit.3 Mishkin Qalam’s art has been definitely inspired by these injunctions and strove to reach the apex of beautification and synthesis between technical ability and spiritual understanding. In this chapter the life of Mishkin Qalam will be briefly introduced, followed by some general and pioneering remarks on his art, conceivable as a synthesis of elements drawing from Persian and Turkish art, and combined with his original artistic contributions. A more specific analysis will illustrate the types of his artistic production, which I divided into invocations, religious texts and pictorial writings. A thorough examination of a work displaying two mirrored roosters and a central tree, will lead to the exploration of the symbolism laying behind those images and pictorial calligraphic representations.

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Figure 8.1  Mishkin Qalam: The Name of Baha-Allah in the Form of a Rooster, Palestine, 1887–8, Harvard Art Museums/Arthur M. Sackler Museum, Cambridge, MA, Gift of John Goelet (1958.197). Image © President and Fellows of Harvard College.

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The Life of Mishkin Qalam Aqa Husayn was born in 1826 into a merchant family of Isfahan, which was originally from Khurasan and which had some business interests in Mashhad too.4 Aqa Husayn was also a calligrapher and a member of the sufi tariqah Nimatullahi, and he continued to wear the garment of a dervish and had very long flowing hair until the end of his life.5 In the existing photographs which portray him, he often holds writing materials, calligraphic works, sometimes a prayer bead, and a long stick in his old age.6 When Aqa Husayn was in Tehran for business purposes, he drew a sketch of Amir Kabir, prime minister of Nasir al-Din Shah (1831–96) entering the bazaar, using a technique called khatt-i nakhun ‘in which the script is engraved with the fingernail into the backside of the paper’,7 something which attracted the attention of the minister, and ultimately led Aqa Husayn to become tutor at the court of the prince. Apparently, Nasir al-Din Shah himself conferred to the calligrapher the title Mishkin Qalam. A casual, but extremely meaningful, event in the life of Mishkin Qalam happened while he was visiting his family in Isfahan when he was twenty-five and consisted in a brief encounter with a Bahai believer. That encounter, which enkindled in him the willingness to investigate more the Bahai religion, dramatically changed the course of his life and subsequently of his artistic expressions. His creative outpourings reflect elements of a theological concept central in the Bahai religion, the notion of a twin zuhur (appearance/manifestation). This notion, which theologically and philosophically possesses multiple nuances, from the historical point of view is a reference to the figures of the Bab and Baha-Allah, considered divine manifestations (mazhar-i ilahi) in the Bahai religion.8 Babism had been a chiliastic Iranian religious movement started in 1844 by the merchant– saint of Shiraz, Sayyid Ali Muhammad (1818–50), who took the title of the Bab (Gate) and who claimed to be the Saviour, the awaited Mahdi, the Hidden Imam, a theophanic receptacle; and who prophesised the appearance of a second eschatological divine manifestation referred to as man yuzhirullah (he whom God shall make manifest). Mirza Husayn Ali Nuri (1817–92), who took the title of BahaAllah (Glory, Splendour, Light of God), proclaimed to be the man yuzhirullah of the Babi religion and the universal fulfilment of other numerous religions as well,9 and he inaugurated a new phase in the history of the Babi movement which led ultimately to the Bahai Faith, centred on the principles of universal love and peace, social justice and equality, tolerance and inclusivism, and the essential unity of all religions. Baha-Allah had been banished to different cities of the Ottoman Empire because of his religious teachings and claims. After his brutal imprisonment in Tehran in 1852, he was exiled to Baghdad (1853–63), Istanbul (for four months in 1863), Edirne (1863–8) and finally to Palestine (1868–92).10 The quest for knowledge started by Mishkin Qalam led him to the encounter with the prominent Bahai believer Nabil-i Zarandi (1831–92) in Aleppo, and subsequently with Baha-Allah in Edirne, in a period of time probably between 1864

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and 1867. The son of Baha-Allah, Abd al-Baha (1844–1921), in his eulogy penned in memory of Mishkin Qalam and in reference to the religious quest of the calligrapher, stated that [he] crossed the great distances, measured out the miles, climbing mountains, passing over deserts and over the sea, until at last he came to Adrianople. Here he reached the heights of faith and assurance; here he drank the wine of certitude. He responded to the summons of God, he attained the presence of Bahau’llah, he ascended to that apogee where he was received and accepted. By now he was reeling to and fro like a drunkard in his love for God, and because of his violent desire and yearning, his mind seemed to wander. He would be raised up, and then cast down again; he was as one distracted. He spent some time under the sheltering grace of Bahau’llah, and every day new blessings were showered upon him. Meanwhile he produced his splendid calligraphs; he would write out the Most Great Name, Ya Bahau’l-Abha, O Thou Glory of the AllGlorious, with marvelous skill, in many different forms, and would send them everywhere.11 After that period of time spent in Edirne, Mishkin Qalam was directed to spread the message of the novel religion through the medium of his art in Istanbul. Clear is the influence of Turkish calligraphy, illumination and paper marbling in some of his works produced in the Ottoman lands. His religious teaching activities led him to his imprisonment in 1867, followed in 1868 by an exile to Famagusta, in Cyprus, from which he was released in 1878 at the age of fifty-three. His reunion with Baha-Allah in 1886 in the citadel of Akka in Palestine was marked by the production of several pictorial art works characterised by solar imagery, as exemplified by the golden celestial rooster (created through the interwoven words bismi’llah al-bahiyyu al-abha – in the Name of God, the Resplendent of the Most Glorious) on a radiant blue background presently kept at the Harvard Art Museums (Figure 8.1), which will be analysed in the following sections.12 After the death of Baha-Allah in 1892, Mishkin Qalam travelled to Egypt and Syria, and in 1905 he moved to India with all of his family, where he produced calligraphic renditions and lithographs of Bahai religious texts printed by the first Bahai publishing house, the Nasiri press in Mumbai.13 One of the sons of Baha-Allah, the calligrapher Muhammad Ali, had already moved there in 1885 in order to render assistance to the Nasiri press. The American Bahai believer Sydney Sprague, in his account of his journey to India by boat from Port Said to Mumbai, together with Mishkin Qalam and another sixteen believers, reported the bright sense of humour of the Bahai calligrapher, who at that time was ninety years old – the oldest of the group of travellers, and the brightest.14 After one year spent in India, he returned permanently to Akka. Mishkin Qalam’s sense of humour accompanied him until the end of his adventurous life in 1912.

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General Remarks on the Art of Mishkin Qalam The art of Mishkin Qalam presents quite a high level of complexity, since it could be described as a synthesis of different cultural and artistic streams, giving birth to new artistic expressions. It is possible to highlight three major elements within his art: (1) the Persian calligraphic and religious tradition in which he artistically and culturally grew up; (2) the influence of some specific features of the Turkish calligraphic tradition with which he came into contact for a very considerable period of his life; and (3) his resourceful genius through which he elaborated a synthesis of the aforementioned elements and through which he creatively rendered on a visual plane the symbols of the novel Bahai religion he embraced. This section will highlight the first two aforementioned dimensions, while the subsequent analysis of some of his specific works will introduce us to his creative artistic interpretations. The Persian elements of the art of Mishkin Qalam are evident in his ample and frequent use of the Persian calligraphic styles, such as nastaliq and shikastih and in the tendency in the Persian sufi–shii milieu, consequently reflected in Mishkin Qalam’s art, to design visual anthropomorphic and zoomorphic calligraphic renditions,15 which will be discussed in the following sections. The analysis of the only book16 devoted to Mishkin Qalam’s works makes it clear that the Bahai calligrapher was trained within the tradition started by the Persian renowned calligrapher Mir Imad (1554–1615)17, the most important calligrapher at the Safavid court of Shah Abbas (1571–1629). Mishkin Qalam’s works undoubtedly follow the aesthetic rules and styles of the Persian classic calligraphic tradition. For instance, the great majority of his calligraphic panels, showcasing Divine Names or mystical invocations, is written in an extremely elegant, readable, flowing and flawless nastaliq. Even the most creative and original zoomorphic calligraphic panels usually display some brief or long parts of text or quotations from the Bahai holy writings in shikastih. The choice behind such an extensive use of the shikastih could be ascribed not only to the repercussion of the Persian calligraphic tradition on his art, but probably also to his adherence to the spiritual command enunciated by the Bab to write the holy writings in the most beautiful manners using the shikastih, considered to be the most acceptable calligraphic style in the eyes of God.18 The Qajar Persian milieu where Mishkin Qalam attended his profession as a tutor of the crown prince possibly contributed to reinforcing the Persian elements of his art and the understanding of his art as well. In the poems and letters on display in the exhibition ‘Line and Spirituality’ at the British Museum, it is possible to evince the same understanding of the practice of the art showed by other calligraphy artists at the Qajar court. The calligraphic practice (siyah mashq) had been considered in the letters penned by Mishkin Qalam and Baha-Allah as a spiritual practice, which requires a plethora of spiritual qualities, such as patience, determination, constancy and spirit of sacrifice in deciding to practice the art at some specific times of the night. Similarly, the siyah mashq had been

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considered in Persia as a way of aiming to the contemplation of Divine Beauty and to the ‘mystical concentration of the heart’19 by other Persian calligraphers, and by contemporaries of Mishkin Qalam as well, such as Mirza Ghulam Rida Isfahani (1829–86).20 Striking are the similarities between the fluidity and calibration of the width of the trait in Mirza Ghulam Rida’s nastaliq and the one by Mishkin Qalam; furthermore, some siyah mashq works by Ghulam Rida resemble those produced by Muhammad Ali. Unfortunately, I was not able to locate any extant siyah mashq penned by Mishkin Qalam himself in order to make a comparison between him and Mirza Ghulam Rida. It is interesting to observe that the two calligraphers shared the same natal city, the same royal court and the same spiritual understanding of their artistic production. More future historical researches on this subject could determine whether or not they actually met and whether or not they probably share the same master or school. It is possible that Mirza Ghulam Rida had some Babi inclinations for some time, since he was temporarily imprisoned for alleged Babi activities.21 Furthermore, the following poem has been attributed to both of them: ‫فـیض ِ مسیحا ز دمم میچکـد‬ .‫آب ِ حیات از قلمم میچکـد‬

22

The poem could be translated as ‘the Grace of Jesus flows from my breath / the water of life flows from my pen.’ The poem alludes to the life-giving breath of Jesus, which, according to Muslim traditions, could provide life into the dead. Thus, the poet is suggesting that his beautiful writings revive the dead just as the breath of Jesus. The poem also mystically and philosophically alludes to a spiritual state (maqam) of openness and surrender to the Spirit of Life (faid), emanated from the superabundant efflux of God’s spirit on everything. In the Babi-Bahai religions, the name given to this first radiant and infinite emanation from God is the Primal Will (mashiyyat-i awwaliyya), originated by the command of God (amr) and here alluded to using the figure of the Saviour, the Messiah, a title applicable to the trans-historical reality which abides in the heart of every major prophet. The receptacle where the Primal Will manifests its infinite Attributes, as infinite solar rays, is called Manifestation of God (mazhar-i ilahi), the place where the zuhur (the process of manifestation) takes place. This is identified with the prophet of God, a perfect mirror locus of the theophany (tajalli) of God’s light. The Primal Will is the same eternal, shining reality reflected in all the prophets. All the Attributes and Names of God are enshrined in the Primal Will. All existence is a further emanation from the Primal Will. For this reason the grace which gives life and is manifested in the breath of the calligrapher opening himself in surrender to the spirit, is equated to the waters of life which provide existence to everything, through the active agency of the cosmic Pen.23 Furthermore, the combination of the images of the breath of life, the reed pen and the reed flute, had been a topos in Persian literature as a symbol of love, longing and openness to

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Divine sweetness.24 It is not possible at this time to demonstrate if it is Ghulam Rida or Mishkin Qalam who is the author of the poem, but it may be possible that they entered into contact with similar mystical ideas, poems and teachings, and that they shared a similar calligraphic and spiritual training. The influence of the Turkish calligraphic tradition on the calligraphy of Mishkin Qalam is an aspect of his multifaceted art that has not been scholarly considered before. It can be argued that the numerous years spent in the Ottoman lands affected his artistic sensibility and triggered in him the desire to experiment with new artistic expressions that are not present in the Persian tradition. It could not be stressed enough the possible impression left on Mishkin Qalam by his visit to the Eski Cami in Edirne, which together with the pillars of the Ulu Cami in Bursa, is one of the richest examples of the musenna (meaning two or double) style, the mirror-like style into which letters and words are written on a central imagery symmetrical axis that reflects them in a specular way, and which was particularly popular in nineteenth-century Turkey.25 The style was very common in the dervish lodges of the Mevlevis.26 From the historical accounts of the Bahais of that time, we can understand that they used to visit several mosques in Edirne quite frequently, as well as the Muradiye Mevlevi tekke, so we can be reasonably sure that Mishkin Qalam visited those places and was imbued with their art.27 In 1877 Mishkin Qalam penned in the musenna style, showcasing an elongated version of thuluth, the name of Baha-Allah ‘Husayn Ali waw’ (Figure 8.2). The composition is geometrically plaited on the top and it reflects itself in a foursided diamond shape. The two waws at the end of the composition and the name Ali noticeably resemble two mirrored waws and a mirrored form of the name of Ali which can be still seen nowadays on the pillars of the Eski Cami in Edirne. Interestingly, some intersecting letters appear to be sewed one into the other, instead of being simply superimposed. One letter enters into the intersecting one as if they were both three-dimensional objects. This feature, which is apparent in other calligraphic creations of Mishkin Qalam, such as in the famous bird shape tughra of the golden rooster (Figure 8.1), is a specific Ottoman calligraphic detail which can be appreciated in other Ottoman nineteenth-century calligraphic panels.28 As far as the content of the composition is concerned, and in reference to doctrines familiar to the Babis of that time,29 it represents the mirroring of the Divine in the human form, or the human form manifesting the effulgence of the Divine. In particular, the name of Husayn refers to the human station of BahaAllah, while the name of Ali refers to one of the infinite Names of God, alluding to God’s Sublimity and Loftiness, manifested in Baha-Allah. The closing waw represents a symbol of unity (wahdat), synthesis, completion, a new religious cycle opened in the history of humanity, after the closure of the cycle of prophethood completed by the Prophet Muhammad.30 Other Turkish elements can be mentioned. First of all, the usage of the specifically Turkish diwani style in some of his compositions,31 and the relevance of that style in Mishkin Qalam’s creative elaboration of the bird shape tughra,

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Figure 8.2  Mishkin Qalam: Husayn Ali waw, Palestine, nineteenth century, Mazriah, Akka. After Schimmel and Rafati 1992, fig. 19.

which could be described as a sort of pictorial diwani–shikastih. The idea of using a tughra representing several forms of the name of Baha represents in itself an Ottoman element, yet completely transformed in its significance: instead of representing the name of a sovereign of a dusty, shadowy, infinitely insignificant worldly realm, it represents the effulgent name of the Sovereign (al-sultan) of the infinite worlds and universes subsisting in an unfathomable infinite Divine Creation. Finally, the last Ottoman element detectable in Mishkin Qalam’s pieces, is a series of calligraphic panels portraying Divine Names written in thuluth in the shape of curtains and decorated with floral elements evocative of the Ottoman taste.32 The Persian and Turkish dimensions of Mishkin Qalam’s art have been preliminary and generally explored. Now the analysis will focus on some specific features of his creative outpouring.

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Invocations Numerous are the mystical invocations penned by Mishkin Qalam, usually written in nastaliq accompanied by dynamic clouds of written text in shikastih with some more lengthy quotations from the Bahai writings. All these calligraphic panels epitomise interwoven invocations of Divine Names, usually centred on the names al-baha (the Glorious, Resplendent, Luminous, Beautiful) and al-ali (the Exalted, Sublime), which possess numerous metaphysical and prophetological interpretations,33 and which historically point out to the figures of Baha-Allah and of the Bab respectively. In particular, the name al-baha is considered to be the greatest name (al-ism al-azam) of God, quintessence of the infinite divine attributes, radiant splendour of the source and multitudinous manifestations of the divine names, synthesis and aufhebung of His feminine beauty (jamal) and masculine sovereignty (jalal); source of joy, mystical rapture and intoxication for the believer who performs its dhikr (remembrance/repetition).34 Examples of some of these calligraphic invocations are bismi’llah al-bahiyyu al-abha (in the name of God, the Luminous of the Most Glorious) (Figure 8.3), bismi’llah al-wahid al-abha (in the name of God, the One, the Most Glorious), ya baha al-abha (O Glory of the Most Glorious) (Figure 8.4), ya aliyyu al-ala (O Sublime of the Most Sublime).

Figure 8.3  Mishkin Qalam: Bismi’llah al-bahiyyu al-abha, Palestine, nineteenth century, International Archives building, Haifa. After Schimmel and Rafati 1992, fig. 9.

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Figure 8.4  Mishkin Qalam: Ya baha al-abha, Palestine, nineteenth century, British Museum, London (2010,6015.1). Image © The Trustees of the British Museum.

Sometimes those invocations can be richly and lengthily interconnected, presenting one divine name written in its normal and superlative forms, creating in that way an inebriating feeling to the reader, as in the case of the panel showcasing the invocation ‘in the Name of God, the Sublime of the Most Sublime of the Sublime of Glory’ in the visual shape of Ottoman curtains written in thuluth.35 The stunning calligraphic work portrayed at Figure 8.4 consists of one of the most common calligraphic forms of the greatest name (ya baha al-abha), which can be seen at the top of the inner dome of several Bahai temples all around the world. It has been written in a very elegant and lavish nastaliq on a radiant golden background with fine intricate floral decorations, and surrounded by a brilliant blue framework, not visible in the picture. The luminosity of the work is derived also from the appliance on it of the ahar substance, used in the Persian and Ottoman traditions in order to protect and confer light to the calligraphic works. At the top corner on the right it is possible to read the number 152 (۱۵۲), a numerical code present in most of the panels showcasing Divine Names and used some-

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times by Baha-Allah to seal his tablets. It refers to the abjad numerical value of the letters ‘b’ (‫ )ب‬equal to two, ‘h’ (‫ )ه‬equal to five, and ‘a’ (‫ )ا‬equal to one; letters of the word baha, where the final hamza (whose numerical value is equal to one) is not usually written in Persian. The abjad value of the word baha is nine (2+5+1+1), one the most sacred numbers in the Bahai Faith, a symbol of unity, completion, synthesis of the infinite manifesting possibilities of Existence (wujud), since it represents the highest cipher encapsulating all the others. The fact that the hamza is not calculated may refer to the dynamic between hidden (batin) and manifest (zahir) in the process of coming into being of reality. Furthermore, in both the Arabic and Persian Bayan, the Bab is designated as the reality around whom eight unities revolve. Since in the Bayan a unity (vahid) is equivalent to 19, the Bab … would be denoted numerically by 152. Consequently, by the designation 152 Baha-Allah is simultaneously affirming His identity as Baha and as the return of the Primal Point, the Bab.36 It is interesting to note, in reference to the eight unities revolving around the Primal Point and to the dynamic between hidden and manifest, that nineteen multiplied by eight is equal to 152. Even in this case the central Point is hidden and not counted, as it is considered to be beyond the manifesting possibilities of Existence, since in the Babi doctrine it represents the source of Existence itself. The other calligraphic work (2010,6015.13) is another form of the greatest name. It is my conviction that this panel is not an original work penned by Mishkin Qalam for the following reasons: (1) the paper had not been decorated and it had not been marbled; no ahar had been applied; only a shallow uniform colour in the background (light beige) had been brushed; (2) the calligraphic trait is not uniform and flawless as in all other Mishkin Qalam’s works; and (3) even if we could imagine that at that specific time Mishkin Qalam did not possess all his needed calligraphic tools – something which actually did happen during his long captivity – the signature is evidently, and with no doubts, a bad trembling and incomplete reproduction of Mishkin Qalam’s real signature. Religious Texts Potentially every calligraphic work may carry small or large portions of religious writings, often written in shikastih in the case of our artist. I prefer to differentiate between calligraphic panels and works to be lithographed and subsequently printed, as those that Mishkin Qalam was producing in India. The majority of these works have been written in a plain naskh, sometimes in nastaliq or shikastih in the case of works of mystical or poetic nature. The British Museum does not possess examples of this specific category. It can be noticed that in this case the originality and the artistic creativity leave space to readability, simplicity and clarity. Some exceptions can be mentioned. The work Station of this Day

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(32 × 43cm) illustrates his calligraphic mastery, featuring thirteen lines of plain text, with no artistic composition involved, outstandingly written though in the following styles: thuluth, nastaliq, diwani, naskh, shikastih.37 Another interesting work to be mentioned is his copy of Baha-Allah’s Hidden Words (Kalimat-i Maknunih), a text containing brief mystical utterances of guidance and spiritual disclosure in Arabic (seventy-one utterances) and in Persian (eighty-two utterances), written in thuluth, shikastih and nastaliq and beautifully illuminated with floral and geometric decorations.38 Pictorial Writings One of the most original features of Mishkin Qalam are his pictorial writings, drawing from the zoomorphic and anthropomorphic pictorial tradition present in Shiism and Sufism, present in different ways both in Persia and Turkey. Mishkin Qalam married those calligraphic tendencies with new concepts and symbolic references originated in the novel Bahai religion. Examples of zoomorphic and pictorial calligraphy were known in Persia at least from the seventeenth century, as Qadi Ahmad attests,39 and became more popular in Persia, and in Turkey as well, in the following two centuries. For instance, the Islamic basmala has been depicted as a parrot,40 blessings for an Ottoman ruler in the form of a peacock,41 the Quranic throne verse (2: 255) as a horse,42 the Islamic profession of faith as a boat.43 Extremely copious are the calligraphic renditions in the shape of a lion of prayers and invocations directed to Ali ibn Abi Talib.44 In the Bektashi–Alevi milieu it is quite common to find anthropomorphic calligraphic renderings too, such as the names of the members of the family of the Prophet creating a human face.45 Mishkin Qalam continued this tradition and focused his art on some specific symbols. Reminiscent of the Bektashi–Alevi anthropomorphism is a calligraphic rendition of the invocations ya ibn al-haqq (O son of Truth) and ya aliyyu al-ala in the shape of a human face, representing the face of God on earth, which is considered to be the sublime face of the manifestation of God.46 Interestingly, in the pupils of the eyes of the human face, it is possible to visualise the number nine, representing the word baha and the significance of which has already been discussed before. In his art the most depicted symbol is definitely the one of the bird, in different forms, like parrots, nightingales, peacocks, roosters (numerous are the double mirrored roosters),47 all representing the Holy Spirit (ruh al-quds) or the Primal Will, and all portraying variants of the name baha in different ways and styles. He used to send the messages and tablets of Baha-Allah to the believers scattered in the Ottoman lands and in Persia, as birds of love carrying soothing exhortations. For instance, the golden rooster (Figure 8.1) is created with the interwoven words bismi’llah al-bahiyyu al-abha, as a divine tughra of Baha-Allah, carrying a tablet with the following counsels:

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He is the Eternal! Allah bears witness that I have believed in the One at the mention of Whose name those brought near drink the wine of life; and those who are sincere have drunk that which all in heaven and earth are powerless to comprehend, unless your Lord, the All-knowing and All-wise, has wished them to do so. O Zia, be patient in adversity, content in worldly matters, and firm in your conviction of the truth. Be quick to strive for the good, be humble toward Allah, and be one who overlooks the shortcomings of other men. Be one who turns from foolish passions and hastens to the truth. Be one who is compassionate in the presence of errors and forgiving in the presence of sins. Be one who upholds Allah’s covenant and is firm in Allah’s cause. This wronged one counsels you to these things and to the fear of Allah. He counsels you to fidelity and truthfulness: both are incumbent on you; truly, both are incumbent on you. Blessed are you and blessed is the one who loves you for the sake of Allah. Woe to the one who annoys you and turns from what Allah has commanded.48 Two pictorial works in the collection of the British Museum (2010,6015.3 and 2010,6015.2) display two facing mirrored Divine Roosters carrying two tablets and looking at each other and towards the centre of the composition, where a tree is located, the Tree of Life. The following discussion will be centred on 2010,6015.3 (Figure 8.5), which possesses a more readable text in shikastih, written within the tree and within the tablets. The physical conditions of paper of 2010,6015.2 are slightly worse than 2010,6015.3; its interesting decorative elements consist in the use of applied painted roses all around the composition. The calligraphic piece portrayed at Figure 8.5 is entirely composed by Bahai writings. The two facing roosters are represented at the same time realistically and conceptually. Some details, such as the roosters’ claws, crests and wattles, are pictorially very realistic, while the bodies of the roosters are abstractly only made of letters. The pupils of the eyes of the roosters are represented by the number nine, the numerical value of the word baha. The roosters, their tales, the central tree, the words of the text within the tree and within the tablets carried by the roosters, are all emanating clouds of golden light, or flames of radiant gold. The golden flames could be also be interpreted as ornamental floral decoration, but the final effect is the one of a glowing light. In the lower and central section of the work it is possible to read the signature of our artist: bandiyi bab-i baha mishkin qalam which could be translated as ‘the servant at the threshold of Glory, musk scented pen’. Of course the term bab does not only refer to a gate, but also to the human prophet, the Bab. The element of duplicity, related to the concept of the Twin Manifestation, is present in different ways: in the signature, where by playing with words the two prophets are alluded to; the two roosters; the two tablets; the two carpets on which the roosters stand; the dynamic between abstract and concrete. In other pictorial works two facing mirrored stars are also visible in the sky, representing the bodies of the two prophets and symbolising the Manifestation of God as the perfect archetypical Man.49 All these features reinforce the importance

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Figure 8.5  Mishkin Qalam: Two Roosters with Tree of Life, Palestine, 1889–90, British Museum, London (2010,6015.3). Image © The Trustees of the British Museum.

and awareness of the Twin zuhur and reaffirm the dynamic and essential identity between hidden and manifest, first and last.50 As far as the text featured in this work is concerned, in the main body inscribed in the Tree of Life in golden radiant clouds, it is possible to read a full passage in Persian starting with the words ‫ کلمه الهی است‬،‫( آفتاب حقيقی‬the Sun of Truth is the Word of God).51 Summing up the contents of the passage that I have translated, the Word of God is described as the universal source of everything. All attributes and beautiful names circulate around the Word, which is considered to be the source of the splendours of the hearts of mystics, the source of enlightenment, the source of the love of lovers. The physical worldly sun is just a reflection of the Sun of Truth, which is the Word of God. It is the Divine Celestial Fire; every kind of love comes from that Fire, which burns everything save God. According to the mystical conception of the coincidentia oppositorum, in the text the Fire is envisioned in its inner essence as the reality of Water, manifested in the form of Fire. Its outer form is Fire, its inner reality is Light. From that creative Water and in that Water all things has subsisted, subsist and will subsist. Through that Water all things are

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living.52 Interestingly, the content of the text centred on fire and light imagery and written within the tree depicted as emanating golden light, reminds the Sinaitic manifestation of God to Moses. It will be shown in the analysis of the symbols of the rooster and the tree, that different religious dimensions are all interwoven in this calligraphic work, carrying a Zoroastrian, Jewish and Islamic significance. The text within the lower part of the Tree of Life, and inscribed in the two tablets, is all drawn from the already cited book the Hidden Words. For instance, it is possible to mention the inscription of the following mystical utterances: O Son of Spirit! The bird seeketh its nest; the nightingale the charm of the rose; whilst those birds, the hearts of men, content with transient dust, have strayed far from their eternal nest, and with eyes turned towards the slough of heedlessness are bereft of the glory of the divine presence. Alas! How strange and pitiful; for a mere cupful, they have turned away from the billowing seas of the Most High, and remained far from the most effulgent horizon.53 O Friend! In the garden of thy heart plant naught but the rose of love, and from the nightingale of affection and desire loosen not thy hold …54 O Ye That Are Lying as Dead on the Couch of Heedlessness! Ages have passed and your precious lives are well-nigh ended, yet not a single breath of purity hath reached Our court of holiness from you. Though immersed in the ocean of misbelief, yet with your lips ye profess the one true faith of God. Him whom I abhor ye have loved, and of My foe ye have made a friend …55 O Son of Earth! Wouldst thou have Me, seek none other than Me; and wouldst thou gaze upon My beauty, close thine eyes to the world and all that is therein; for My will and the will of another than Me, even as fire and water, cannot dwell together in one heart.56 The analysis will now turn to the symbolism behind the rooster, the tree, and the meaning and significance of the rooster and the tree appearing together in the same artistic piece. The Symbolism of the Rooster The roots of the symbolism of the rooster have to be traced back to the auroral Persian religion. In Zoroastrianism the rooster is considered to be a sacred animal, connected to dawn, light and fire imagery. It is considered to be the dispeller of obscurity, the caller of dawn through which light prevails over darkness; furthermore, it rouses the faithful to prayer and possesses an apotropaic power in folk Persian culture.57 In a painting of an early Ilkhanid copy of the Mirajnama (Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, Aya Sofya 3441), it is possible to admire the white snow celestial angel Rooster, encountered by the Prophet Muhammad during his journey of ascension in the first heaven made of emerald.58 The cosmic Rooster is there

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depicted as leading prayers and chanting glorifications in heaven, and it is followed by praying angels. Its prayers fill the earth and its function is to remind people to remember God. It is interesting to note that in the account of Muhammad’s ascension he met the Rooster in the first heaven, and he reached the Tree of Life, the tree beyond which there is no passing, or the sidrat al-muntaha, at the furthest limit of the celestial cosmos. In the Bahai writings the rooster is described using different divine epithets. In general terms it refers to the Manifestation of God as the one who is the Remembrance (dhikr) of God and call people to remember Him, the one who is the Riser of the lights of mystical knowledge. Baha-Allah, reminiscent of the Persian accounts of the Miraj, refers to the rooster in the Surat al-kifaya (the Sura of the Sufficiency), interpreting metaphorically and in spiritual terms the ascension to heaven. The believer who wants to attain the Presence or Countenance of God should ascend to the heaven of spiritual recognition and should listen to the call of the Almighty Rooster (dik al-jabbar) saying ‘There is none other God save Him, the One, the Subduer.’59 In the Lawh-i ayah-yi nur (the Tablet of the Light Verse) the rooster is explicitly referred to the Cause (amr) of God, that is, His religion, and to the soothing teachings of the Prophet: Know therefore in what manner the Bird of the Throne (dik al-arsh) extendeth its tongue and warbleth in the lofty heights of Eternal Subsistence (rafaraf al-baqa) informing thee of that through which thou shouldst find thy minds calmed, thy souls refreshed and thine hearts delighted.60 In the same Tablet the rooster is mentioned as the Rooster of the Divine Oneness (dik al-ahadiyya) at the end of a very complex alchemical passage alluding to the spiritual transformation and inner ascension of the believer to the heaven of mystical recognition (irfan) of the Manifestation of God.61 Other references abound,62 but the offered examples are adequate to exemplify the Rooster as the Manifestation of God, the one who rises the remembrance of the Creator in the consciences of the peoples of the world, the one who triggers a process of inner transformation or ascension to the celestial lights of understanding and spiritual insight. The Symbolism of the Tree In Bahai literature, in harmony with the Islamic Persian and Arabic sacred literature, the term ‘tree’ is denoted as al-sidrat, al-shajara or al-zaytuna. The expression most frequently used in relation to these terms is definitely sidrat almuntaha, the Lote Tree or Tree of Life beyond which there is no passing, which in the Bahai world view denotes the universal, trans-historical station of every Manifestation of God in every cycle of human history. The expression sidrat al-muntaha is mentioned in the Quran, particularly in the fifty-third sura (53: 14–15). In the Islamic interpretation of the meaning of the tree,

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Muslim commentators unanimously agree that it is something otherworldly, divine and of immeasurable proportions, placed in the most exalted Paradise, demarcating the impassable limit between the Creator and his creation.63 Not even the angels or most exalted holy souls can ever pass beyond the Lote Tree. The tree filters every grace which emanates from God Himself, and every prayer, before its ascension, flows through the foliage, branches and leaves of the Divine Tree. Furthermore, according to Islamic tradition, the tree takes on notable importance in the mystic realm, given that it was seen by the Prophet Muhammad, alongside archangel Gabriel, during his experience of enraptured ecstasy interpreted as the already mentioned night journey of heavenly ascension (miraj), even though the text of the Quran does not explicitly make reference to the sight of the Lote Tree during the miraj (Quran 17). The mystical vision of the celestial Lote Tree seen by the Prophet Muhammad is, however, recorded in the aforementioned fifty-third sura and it can be compared to the Sinaitic vision of the Burning Bush in the Jewish religious tradition.64 Both trees are symbolic of the Divine Presence that manifests Itself through a mediating channel (the Lote Tree or the Burning Bush), given that nobody could possibly survive after beholding the Face of God. Such an experience would be so powerful as to annihilate anything before the numinous Source of being. In Bahai texts the Lote Tree is associated with the Manifestation of God (mazhar-i ilahi), identified as the Tree of Life, the Celestial Temple or the Tabernacle of God: By the ‘Tree of Anisa’ is meant the Tabernacle of the Lord of Grace, the divine Lote Tree, the Tree of Life, ‘the Olive that belongeth neither to the East nor to the West, whose oil would well nigh shine out even though fire touched it not (Quran 24: 35)’.65 Furthermore, Baha-Allah refers to this reality through the following expressions, among others: Lote Tree of Eternity (sidrat al-baqa’), Sinaitic Lote Tree (sidrat al-sina’), Blessed Lote Tree (sidra-yi tuba), Lote Tree of the Merciful (sidrat al-rahman), Divine Lote Tree (sidra-yi ilahi) and Human Lote Tree (sidrat al-insan).66 Such expressions and the contexts in which they appear make evident the reference to a divine reality which possesses the attributes ascribed to the one supreme Divinity. A kind of polarity seems to emerge from the passages in which Baha-Allah fully identifies himself with the Lote Tree, and those in which he speaks of a divine bird that sings upon the branches or atop the sacred tree. It is possible to point out that passages in which the association with the celestial tree is clear, refer to the station of divinity and essential unity of the Divine Manifestation,67 according to which all prophetic personalities reveal the same celestial reality: the Logos or Primal Will. However, in scriptural passages that bring to mind the image of the divine bird that sings upon the branches of the Lote Tree, it seems that reference is made to the specific personality of the

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Manifestation of God, to the individual and historical personality in possession of a specific message and mission:68 in other words, to the station of prophetic distinction. Thus, it can be said that the Lote Tree represents the station of the universal and eternal theophany, whereas the bird sitting upon its branches represents, in particular, the person of the Prophet in whom the Logos is manifested and through which he speaks. An example of this station of distinction can be found in the following passage in which the person of Baha-Allah speaks words of admonition to Nasir al-Din Shah, inviting him to turn to the Prophet and, in a state of spiritual detachment, to forget all that is in the heavens and on earth, enraptured by the effulgent vision of the divine Omnipresence: O King! Wert thou to incline thine ear unto the shrill of the Pen of Glory and the cooing of the Dove of Eternity which, on the branches of the Lote Tree beyond which there is no passing, uttereth praises to God, the Maker of all names and Creator of earth and heaven, thou wouldst attain unto a station from which thou wouldst behold in the world of being naught save the effulgence of the Adored One, and wouldst regard thy sovereignty as the most contemptible of thy possessions, abandoning it to whosoever might desire it, and setting thy face toward the Horizon aglow with the light of His countenance.69 In the passage below, however, it is no longer the prophetic personality of BahaAllah that is in contact with the eternal Logos and pays homage to God that is referred to, but the very same Lote Tree that affirms its divine unity: ‘O Queen in London! Incline thine ear unto the voice of thy Lord, the Lord of all mankind, calling from the Divine Lote Tree: Verily, no God is there but Me, the Almighty, the All-wise!’70 Lastly, it is important to remember one final, symbolic aspect of the Lote Tree, that which refers to the human lotus or lotus of humanity (sidrat al-insan). On one hand this again refers to the Manifestation of God as the perfect archetypal man (insan-i kamil), and on the other it is a reference to the soul of the believer that, in a state of union with God, is like unto a raging and incorruptible fire that burns in the reality of the Logos present in all things and testifies to the transcendence of God: As to the soul … verily, it is sent forth by the Word of God, and it is that which, when kindled by the force of the love of its Lord, will not be quenched, neither by the waters of rain, nor by the seas of the world. It is indeed that kindled fire which is burning in the human Lote Tree, uttering, ‘Verily, there is no God but He,’ and he who heareth its voice is of those who are successful.71 The faithful soul that rests beneath the shade of the Lote Tree or the Tree of Life is believed to enjoy true peace and serenity in all of the infinite divine worlds and realms.

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The Tree and Rooster as Symbols of the Covenant The images of the Tree and the Rooster depicted together allude also to the Primordial Covenant between God and His creation (Quran 7: 172–4), when God asked to all things in the form of pre-existent particles of light ‘Am I not your Lord?’ and all things replied with gladness ‘Yay!’.72 According to Bahai interpretations, the pre-existential Covenant metaphorically took place under the Tree of Life, that is, under the shadow of the Manifestation of God.73 The connection between the image of the tree and the theme of the covenant has also a historical dimension in Islam, in reference to the oath sworn to the Prophet Muhammad at al-Hudaybiya (Quran 48: 18) under a tree. In Bahai writings the Tree of Life, as a symbol of the covenant, is often connected to the image of a bird, such as a parrot, a nightingale, a peacock, a dove or a rooster often singing melodies of divine knowledge and wisdom. Given the polysemic and polyvalency of Bahai symbols,74 all the aforementioned birds are all referring to the same reality. As an example of the association between a bird and a tree, in the Tablet of Ahmad, well known among the Bahais, we find the expression warqatu’l-firdaws tughanna ala afnan sidrat al-baqa,75 which could be translated as ‘the Dove of Paradise sings upon the branches of the Tree of Eternity,’ where the Tree of Eternity is just a different expression alluding to the sidrat al-muntaha. As Lawson intelligently pointed out, baqa which means eternity and permanence, connotes the same spiritual truth as muntaha: there is a limit to our understanding and perception of God. God is always beyond, hidden, unseen, absent, remote (while at the same time remaining closer to us than our jugular vein), sublime and transcendent, permanent unlike all else which is precisely the opposite: visible, present, mundane, ephemeral, evanescent.76 Crossing the terms, in the Kitab-i Iqan the immortal Bird of Heaven (hamamat al-baqa) warbles upon the Tree of Baha (sidrat al-baha).77 In all these references the covenant is symbolised as a continuous outpouring of songs of love and guidance, from the bird and through the spiritual medium of divine grace represented by the tree, to those who seek the shadow of the recognition of, and submission to, the Manifestation of God. A very interesting dream interpretation by Abd al-Baha directly connects the three images: the blessed holy Tree signifies the Covenant upon which a Divine Rooster proclaims the truths of the Cause of God.78 Conclusion The art of Mishkin Qalam is a perfect example of a visualised form of symbols and meanings, enriched by Mishkin Qalam’s trans-cultural and inter-religious

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e­ xperiences and wanderings. His adventurous life led him to travel extensively to Persia, Ottoman Turkey, Egypt, Syria and India, possibly increasing his art understanding in every country he visited. He abandoned a life of ease and comfort at the court of the Shah because of his desire to fulfil his religious quest, a spiritual journey that led him to embrace the Bahai Faith. His conversion dramatically enriched his art towards unique forms of expression, but also led him to face imprisonment and exile. It has been demonstrated that in every work of Mishkin Qalam several layers of denotation may exist. Numbers, images, letters and symbols acquire specific meanings, sometimes drawn from the Persian and Islamic religious background and subsequently reinterpreted by the novel Bahai religion. We have explored the symbols of the rooster, the tree and the meaning of the representation of the two of them together. The rooster, symbol of dawn, light and fire, has been shown as a Caller, a Riser, a Reminder, a Proclaimer in this worldly realm, an Agent of the alchemical transformation and ascension of the human spirit towards the heaven and the lights of understanding and recognition of the Manifestation of God. We have seen the tree signifying the source of every grace and blessings, the limits of human perfection and the stage of utterly transcendence. A tree into which the Divine Celestial Fire burns as a source of love, enlightenment and sustenance for all things. We have seen that the presence of the tree and of the two mirrored roosters indicates the Covenant between God and His creation, a Covenant that according to the Bahai believers has been honoured again by God through the appearance of the Twin Manifestations in the persons of the Bab and Baha-Allah. This belief finds in the artistic visualisation a powerful channel of expression through a complex network of symbolic references. Considerable research has been carried out in the gigantic corpus of the Bahai writings to unlock those possible meanings and to offer a fresh interpretation of some fascinating, but rather neglected, artworks.

Notes 1. Schimmel and Rafati 1992, 11. The present research has been inspired by the temporary exhibition at the British Museum, ‘Line and Spirituality: Modern Calligraphy by Mishkin Qalam and Muhammad-Ali’ (12 March – 19 June 2013); available at (last accessed 16 November 2016). Despite its modest scale, the exhibition successfully showcased his calligraphic works, mystical poems, spiritual invocations and calligraphic exercises. 2. Blair 2006, 451. 3. Momen 2011, 221–43; Saiedi 2008, 255, 317–18. 4. Badiee and Badiee 1991, 3. 5. For a photographic portrait of Mishkin Qalam, see Balyuzi 1985, 271. 6. See figs 1, 4, 9, 10 and 15 in Badiee and Badiee 1991. 7. Schimmel 1990, 32. 8. For a philosophical, prophetological and theophanological exploration of the term mazhar-i ilahi, see Cole 1982. 9. For an analysis of the universal claims of Baha-Allah’s global peace initiative see Buck 2004, 143–78.

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10. For a detailed historical analysis of the dawning phase of Babism and of the Bahai Faith see Smith 1987, 5–85. 11. Abd al-Baha1971, 98. 12. See Schimmel 1970, fig. XLVI; Welch 1979, 168–9. 13. Momen 1999, 47–80. 14. Sprague 1986, 13. 15. See Khosronejad 2012. 16. Schimmel and Rafati 1992. 17. Blair 2006, 437-9. 18. ‘In this Manifestation no writing is more acceptable than the Shikasta.’ Persian Bayan 9: 2, in Browne and Momen 1987. 19. Ekhtiar 2006, 110. 20. See Bayani 2015, 601-9. 21. Ekhtiar 2006, 117. 22. Bayani 2015, 606. The same poem was on display at the British Museum, penned by Mishkin Qalam and attributed to him. 23. On the cosmological and metaphysical interpretations of the Pen in the Bahai sacred literature see Milani and Fananapazir 1999, 27–49. 24. Schimmel 1990, 120–1. 25. Schimmel 1970, 11. 26. See Frembgen 2013, fig. 1. 27. See Taherzadeh 1977, 62–3. 28. Tanındı et al. 2012, figs 134 and 144. 29. Saiedi 2008, 55–6 and 107–9. 30. See Lambden 2014A; Baha-Allah, 1992, n. 172. 31. Schimmel and Rafati 1992, figs 23 and 44. 32. Ibid. figs 15 and 57–9. 33. Saiedi 2008, 99–109; Lambden 1993, 19–42. 34. Baha-Allah 1992, para. 31. 35. Schimmel and Rafati 1992, fig. 15. 36. Saiedi 2000, 123. 37. Schimmel and Rafati 1992, fig. 23; Ishikawa 2008. 38. See Schimmel and Rafati 1992, figs 3–5. 39. Ahmad 1959, 132–3. 40. Welch 1979, fig. 69. 41. Schimmel and Rivolta 1992, 54. 42. Welch 1979, fig. 77. 43. Schimmel 1992, fig. 12.4. 44. Khosronejad 2012, 104–48. 45. Schimmel 1992, fig. 12.2. 46. Schimmel and Rafati 1992, fig. 82. 47. Ibid. figs. 6, 10, 17, 18, 24, 25, 26, 45, 76 and 80. 48. Welch 1979, 168. 49. Schimmel and Rafati 1992, fig. 45. 50. On the concept of the Twin see Kazemi 2013, 57–8. 51. For the full text in Persian see Baha-Allah, 1985a, 107. 52. I thank Farshid Kazemi for having helped me in locating and translating the text. 53. Baha-Allah 1985b, n. 2 from Persian. 54. Ibid. n. 3 from Persian. 55. Ibid. n. 20 from Persian. 56. Ibid. n. 31 from Persian. 57. Russell and Omidsalar 1992. 58. Gruber and Colby 2010, 32–3. 59. Lambden 2014b, sec. I. 60. Lambden, 2015, sec. LXVI. 61. Ibid. sec. LXI. 62. See also the references and the interconnections between Bird of Eternity (tayr al-baqa), Bird of

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Fidelity (tayr al-wafa) and Rooster of Perpetuity (dik al-samadiyya) in Lawh-i naqus, available at (last accessed 16 November 2016) and the reference to the Rooster of the Heavenly Throne (dik al-arsh) in Lawh-i Zuhur, available at (last accessed 16 November 2016). 63. Bausani 2003, 667–8. 64. Lambden 2007. 65. Abd al-Baha and Effendi 1999, 258–9. 66. Lambden 2014c. 67. Baha-Allah 1989, paras 162–3. 68. Ibid. paras 192–3. 69. Baha-Allah 2002, para. 195. 70. Ibid. para. 171. 71. Baha-Allah and Abd al-Baha 1923, 225. 72. See Amir-Moezzi 1994, 33–4; Kazemi 2009, 39–66. 73. Kazemi 2009, 62–3. 74. See Buck 1995, 92–101. 75. Lawson 2005, 48. 76. Ibid. 49. 77. Buck 1995, 266–7. 78. Baha-Allah and Abd al-Baha 1998, 421.

References Abd al-Baha (1971), Memorials of the Faithful, Wilmette, IL. Abd al-Baha and Shoqhi Effendi (1999), ‘References of Abdu’l-Bahá and Shoghi Effendi to the Hidden Words’, Bahai Studies Review, 9/1, 255–62. Ahmad ibn Mir-Munshi al-Óusayni (1959), Calligraphers and Painters: a Treatise by QådÈ A˙mad, Son of MÈr-MunshÈ, circa a.m. 1015/a.d. 1606, trans. Vladimir Minorsky, vol. 3, no. 2, Washington, DC. Amir-Moezzi, M. A. (1994), The Divine Guide in Early Shiism: the Sources of Esotericism in Islam, Albany, NY. Badiee, J. O. and H. Badiee (1991), ‘The calligraphy of Mishkín-Qalam’, The Journal of Baháí Studies, 3/4, 1–22. Baha-Allah (1985a), Darya-yi-Danish, New Delhi. –––– (1985b), The Hidden Words, Wilmette, IL. –––– (1989), The Kitáb-i-Íqán, Wilmette, IL. –––– (1992), The Kitáb-i-Aqdas, Haifa. –––– (2002), The Summons of the Lord of Hosts, Haifa. Baha-Allah and Abd al-Baha (1923), Bahai Scriptures: Selections from the Utterances of Bahau’llah and Abdul Baha, ed. Horace Holley, New York. –––– (1998), Yårån-i PårsÈ: majmËah-i alvå˙-i mubårakah-i Jamål-i Aqdas-i Abhå va ÓaΩrat-i Abd-al-Bahå bi-iftikhår-i BahåÈyån-i PårsÈ, Hofheim. Balyuzi, H. M. (1985), Eminent Baháís in the Time of Baháulláh, Oxford. Bausani, A. (2003), Il Corano, Milan. Bayani, B. (2015), ‘The aesthetics of the calligraphic works of Mirza Gholamreza Isfahani’, Iranian Studies, 48/4, 601–9. Blair, S. S. (2006), Islamic Calligraphy, Edinburgh. Browne, E. G. and M. Momen (1987), Selections from the Writings of E. G. Browne on the Bábí and Baháí Religions, Oxford. Buck, C. (1995), Symbol and Secret: Quran Commentary in Baháulláh’s Kitáb-i íqán, Los Angeles. –––– (2004), ‘The eschatology of globalization: the multiple messiahship of Baháu’lláh revisited’ in M. Sharon (ed.), Studies in Modern Religions and Religious Movements and the BåbÈ-BahåÈ Faiths, Leiden, 143–78. Cole, J. (1982), ‘The concept of manifestation in the Baháí writings’, Baháí Studies, 9, 38.

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Ekhtiar, M. (2006), ‘Practice makes perfect: the art of calligraphy exercises (Siyåh Mashq) in Iran’, Muqarnas, 23, 107–30. Frembgen, J. W. (2013), ‘Calligraphy from Ottoman dervish lodges’, Islamic Arts and Architecture, (last accessed 16 Nov­ ember 2016). Gruber, C. and F. Colby (2010), The Prophet’s Ascension: Cross-Cultural Encounters with the Islamic Miråj Tales, Bloomington, IN. Ishikawa, S. (2008), ‘Conserving the legacy of a 19th century Persian Bahai calligrapher: the restoration of Station of This Day, a foremost masterpiece of Arabic calligraphy’, in R. Sloggett (ed.), Contributions to the Symposium on the Care and Conservation of Middle Eastern Manuscripts, Melbourne, 30–5. Kazemi, F. (2009), ‘Mysteries of Alast: the Realm of Subtle Entities (Ålam-i Dharr) and the primordial covenant in the Babi–Bahai writings’, Bahai Studies Review, 15/1, 39–66. –––– (2013), ‘Celestial Fire: Baháu’lláh as the messianic theophany of the Divine Fire (átar, á∂ar, átash) in Zoroastrianism’, Lights of Irfan, 14, 45–123. Khosronejad, P. (ed.) (2012), The Art and Material Culture of Iranian Shiism: Iconography and Religious Devotion in Shii Islam, London and New York. Lambden, S. (1993), ‘The Word Bahá: Quintessence of the Greatest Name’, Baháí Studies Review, 3/1, 19–42. –––– (2007), ‘The Sinaitic mysteries: notes on Moses/Sinai motifs in BåbÈ and BahåÈ scripture’, Hurqalya Publications: Center for ShaykhÈ and BåbÈ-BahåÈ Studies, (last accessed 16 November 2016). –––– (2014a), ‘Law˙-i Qinå’, Hurqalya Publications: Center for ShaykhÈ and BåbÈ-BahåÈ Studies, (last accessed 16 November 2016). –––– (2014b), ‘SËrat al-Kifåya’, Hurqalya Publications: Center for ShaykhÈ and BåbÈ-BahåÈ Studies, (last accessed 16 November 2016). –––– (2014c), ‘The Sidrah (Lote-Tree) and the Sidrat al-Muntaha (Lote-Tree of the Extremity): some aspects of their Islamic and BåbÈ-BahåÈ intepretations’, Hurqalya Publications: Center for ShaykhÈ and BåbÈ-BahåÈ Studies, (last accessed 16 November 2016). –––– (2015), ‘Law˙-i åyah-yi NËr’, Hurqalya Publications: Center for ShaykhÈ and BåbÈ-BahåÈ Studies, (last accessed 16 November 2016). Lawson, T. (2005), ‘Seeing double: the covenant and the tablet of Ahmad’, in M. Momen (ed.), The Bahai Faith and the World Religions, Oxford, 39–87. Milani, K. and N. Fananapazir (1999), ‘A study of the pen motif in the Baháí writings’, Journal of Baháí Studies, 9/1, 27–49. Momen, M. (1999), ‘Jamál Effendi and the early history of the Baháí faith in South Asia’, Baháí Studies Review, 9/1, 47–80. –––– (2011), ‘Perfection and refinement: towards an aesthetics of the Bab’, Lights or Irfan, 12, 221–43. Russell, J. R. and M. Omidsalar (1992), ‘Cock’, EIr, 5 878–82. Saiedi, N. (2000), Logos and Civilization: Spirit, History, and Order in the Writings of Baháulláh, Bethesda, MD. –––– (2008), Gate of the Heart: Understanding the Writings of the Báb, Waterloo, ON. Schimmel, A. (1970), Islamic Calligraphy, Iconography of Religions, Section XXII, Islam: fasc.1, Leiden. –––– (1990), Calligraphy and Islamic Culture, London. –––– (1992), ‘Calligraphy and Sufism in Ottoman Turkey’, in R. Lifchez (ed.), The Dervish Lodge: Architecture, Art, and Sufism in Ottoman Turkey, Berkeley, CA, 242–52. Schimmel, A. and V. Rafati (1992), Mishkin Qalam: Hunarmand-i Khatt Nigar-i Qarn-i Nuzdahum, 1241–1330, Landegg. Schimmel, A. and B. Rivolta (1992), Islamic Calligraphy, Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, 50/1, New York. Smith, P. (1987), The Babi and Baha’i Religions: From Messianic Shiism to a World Religion, Cambridge. Sprague, S. (1986), A Year with the Baháís in India and Burma, Los Angeles.

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Taherzadeh, A. (1977), The Revelation of Baháu’lláh: Adrianople 1863–68, Oxford. Tanındı, Z., A. A. Kilercik and N. Ölçer (2012), Sakıp Sabancı Museum Collection of the Arts of the Book and Calligraphy, Istanbul. Welch, A. (1979), Calligraphy in the Arts of the Muslim World, Folkestone.

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CHAPTER 9

The Kashan Mihrab in Berlin: a Historiography of Persian Lustreware Markus Ritter

The celebrated lustre mihrab signed by al-Hasan ibn Arabshah and dated 623 (1226), from the Masjid-i Imad al-Din at Maydan-i Sang, or Masjid-i Maydan, in Kashan (Figures 9.1 and 9.6) has had an amazing career. Taken in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as a much appreciated object of Persian art from Qajar Iran to England and later to Germany, it is now a highlight in the Museum of Islamic Art in Berlin (Figure 9.8), and became the cover image of the internationally most widely known textbook on medieval Islamic art and architecture (Figure 9.7).1 Recently it returned to Iran as a reinterpretation and copy made by the artisan potter Abbas Akbari (Figure 9.9). The production of lustreware was flowering in Persia particularly in the Saljuq to Atabeg and Ilkhanid periods. This overglaze technique demands much skill and needs an additional firing in a special kiln that reduces the metallic oxides in lustre pigments and produces a thin metallic film on the surface.2 Its material and aesthetic qualities with shimmering and reflecting surfaces in golden tones have fascinated past contemporaneous and modern observers alike. This contribution is not the place for a discussion of the medieval context and art history of the lustre mihrab from the Masjid-i Maydan.3 Suffice it to say that it is one of nine surviving monumental panels in a mihrab scheme made of lustre relief tiles from the thirteenth to fourteenth centuries. Six of them are entirely or largely preserved while three remain only partly so. Several fragments indicate the former existence of more such large panels.4 This contribution deals with the modern history of the Kashan lustre mihrab as a migrating artefact and demonstrates its catalyst role in the art historiography of Persian lustreware during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In this period European interest in Persian lustre moved from accounts in applied arts, to art history studies on typology and taxonomy, and created an image of lustre as characteristic and ‘spirit of Persian art’ (see quotation below). Three phenomena of the transfer of art and culture objects seem to be peculiar to the period: the large-scale movement of non-European historical artefacts to Europe and North America in a growing market for private and public collections driven by aesthetic and scholarly interests and by a desire to acquire and measure the world

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Figure 9.1  The lustre mihrab in situ in the Masjid-i Imad al-Din at Kashan in 1881. Engraving based on a camera obscura photograph. After Dieulafoy 1887, 206.

within the, often colonial, ­perspectives of the period; the movement of not only individual small artefacts but also of large architectural elements (which a mihrab of that size is) detached from the original building context; and the acquisition and selection of objects from Iran that served to construct an image of Persian art which became accepted in Iran itself, such as manifested in the Survey of Persian Art published in 1938–9. The Nineteenth-century Interest in the Lustre Mihrab and How it was Taken from Kashan Modern European interest in lustreware and its technique goes back to the midnineteenth century.5 At the time, travel reports on Iran started mentioning lustre tiles in medieval monuments, one of the first by the French minister Julien de Rochechouart (1830–79) from a trip in 1862–3.6 For the Kashan lustre mihrab, scholarly literature usually cites the book by the French traveller Jane Dieulafoy as the first modern report. This ignores earlier Persian and also European sources.

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Already the local history of Kashan finished in 1288 (1871–2) by Abd al-Rahim Kalantar Zarrabi noted ‘tilework of very good quality’ in the mosque.7 The chronicler Muhammad Hasan Khan Itimad al-Saltana, in his account of the lands of Persia finished in 1297 (1879–80) mentioned the tile mihrab.8 In 1298 (1880–1) the Iranian traveller Abd al-Ghaffar noted ‘relief tiles ... in a mihrab ... which is very much considered to be worth seeing’.9 The Briton B. W. Stainton observed in 1879 (writing forty years later): ‘At that time the magnificent mihrab was intact in every particular, although Mme. Dieulafoy when visiting it in situ several years later found that already a few of the side tiles had been abstracted.’10 Dieulafoy’s book La Perse (1887) was widely circulated. Her enthusiastic reference to the mihrab, comparing it to the lustre mihrab in the Imamzada-i Yahya at Varamin and displaying a full-page image, provided the basis for the subsequent fame of the Kashan mihrab.11 In the engraving a figure smaller than life-size enhanced the monumentality of the mihrab (Figure 9.1). Later much-read travel reports followed the appraisal, such as by the British statesman George N. Curzon in 1889 (‘a superb mihrab, or prayer niche in embossed and enameled faïence’), and Albert Houtum-Schindler who resided a long time in Persia (‘a mihrab [altar] with beautiful old tiles’).12 However, when the German art historian Friedrich Sarre visited Kashan early in 1900, he noted that the ‘splendid mihrab’ had been taken away and ‘only a few tiles from it were shown to me at an Armenian telegraph employee.’13 It was the Englishman Preece who had acquired the mihrab and sent it to England, with help from his colleague Stainton. John Richard Preece (1843–1917) came to Persia in 1868 in the service of the British-run Indo-European Telegraph Department. He became British Consul at Isfahan in 1891, and was General Consul from 1900 to 1906 when he retired to London.14 Benjamin W. Stainton (1856–1927) served with the department from 1881 to 1912 and resided for some time in Kashan.15 Although no published source mentions a precise date, it is clear from the travel accounts above that the mihrab must have been taken from Kashan between 1889 and 1900. According to a note on the old inventory card in the Museum for Islamic Art in Berlin, this was in 1897.16 The idea of selling the mihrab seems to have been in the air by 1881–2 when the Iranian Abd al-Ghaffar Najm al-Mulk reported with regret that it might be given for two thousand tumån to Europeans.17 The exactness of the figure suggests that sale talks were already going on. Later British statements on the occasion of the exhibition and sale of the Preece collection in 1913 justify the acquisition and the removal of the mihrab from the mosque to England as safeguarding it against continuing theft of tiles. According to the catalogue, talks went on for almost two decades, and the author lauded Preece for searching also for those tiles that had already been missing: A large number of the tiles comprising this mihrab were carried off surrepetitiously and were secured later on, tile by tile, by Mr. Preece until at length the

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guardian of the mosque was induced to dispose of the remaining, and most important portion of the panel. The negotiations to this end extended over a period of nearly twenty years. 18 Stainton, in 1923, wrote in the same vein and also claimed to have been involved in rescuing missing tiles.19 It can be doubted that Iranians such as Abd al-Ghaffar would have agreed with these justifications. The removal, sale, and sometimes theft, of Persian tiles for a growing European market interested in Oriental art and lustre tiles became a widespread phenomenon in the later nineteenth century. Although in 1876 the Qajar government had issued an edict that prohibited the removal of artefacts from religious buildings, the acquisition of tiles from monuments still continued in a less open way.20 Yet the removal of an entire mihrab from a working mosque seems to be unique at the time. The dismembering of such a large panel of tilework could not have gone unnoticed in Kashan and must have been undertaken with some consent of those responsible for the mosque and its vaqf, the ulama and the mutavalli, or of authorities in the city. A Private Treasury in the Preece Collection of Persian Art in England During his long residence in Persia, Preece collected a large number of objects of Persian art in various media and, like many foreigners in Persia, was particularly attracted to lustreware. The collection went piece by piece to the residence of his brother, Sir William Preece, in Wimbledon and was said to have counted a thousand objects.21 Some of them, including the lustre mihrab from Kashan, were shown to the British public in 1905 in the South Kensington Museum in London (Figure 9.3).22 An undated photo, apparently the earliest known after the removal from Kashan, shows the mihrab before it was assembled for display (Figure 9.2). Ceramic objects from the Preece collection, but not the Kashan mihrab, were also on display in the exhibition of Persian ceramics at the Burlington Fine Arts Club in 1907.23 A large event, the great Exhibition of Persian Art presented the Preece collection at The Galleries of Vincent Robinson & Co. in London, opening from April 1913. A lavish catalogue documented objects from the collection in 492 entries, many of them lustreware, tiles and pottery. The foreword justified the show as ‘a public exhibition of this extraordinary collection, valuable alike from the historical, the archaeological, and the aesthetic point of view’,24 but it was a sales show. Twenty objects were from the possession of Stainton. A brilliant Safavid garden carpet (now in the al-Sabah Collection / Dar al-Athar al-Islamiyyah in Kuwait, Inv. LNS 10R), an Andalusian so-called Alhambra lustre vase, and eleven pieces of ‘Naxos tapestry embroidery’ were added to the Persian objects in the catalogue and the exhibition.25 Robinson & Co. was known as a seller of Oriental art and particularly carpets, including the famous Persian carpet from the Safavid dynastic shrine at

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Figure 9.2  Lustre mihrab from Kashan, before restoration tiles assembled on floor, photograph taken after 1897 and before 1905. After Lane 1947, pl. 66.

Ardabil.26 Possibly Preece wanted to sell the collection due to his advanced age. In 1913 he was seventy years old, and he lived for only four more years. The Kashan mihrab was presented as the major highlight in the catalogue and in publications orchestrating the show. In the catalogue it was listed proudly as entry no. 1 and illustrated by a costly colour reproduction from a photograph (Figure 9.4). The American Art News, published in New York, announced that ‘The Preece Collection of Persian Art … comprises about 1,000 items’ and, in bold print, ‘The Largest and Most Beautiful Mihrab Extant’ (Figure 9.5).27 It is amazing that despite these efforts and its quality and rarity, the mihrab was not sold for a full fourteen years. The time simply may have been unfavourable. World War I broke out just the year after the exhibition, raging from 1914 to 1918, and the years that followed were characterised by political and economic turmoil. The history and dispersal of the Preece collection would merit a study of its own. The combined enterprise of a major and widely announced exhibition and of a wellillustrated catalogue of the collection must have contributed to the image of Persian art at the time, although both have rarely been cited in recent scholarly literature.

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Figure 9.3  Lustre mihrab from Kashan, after first restoration, photograph taken probably in the 1905 exhibition at the South Kensington Museum and before 1913, Museum of Islamic Art Berlin, archive, after a print in the Sarre bequest papers. Image © Museum für Islamische Kunst (SMB).

From another vantage point, Preece’s collecting of Persian art, his biographical path between Britain and Persia, and the sale and acquisition of objects from the collection provide an example of the modern migration of Persian art objects.28 The collection is one of those that were formed within Qajar Iran and taken as a whole to Europe. They often provided the early main basis for the large museum collections of Persian art outside modern Iran that exist today. Preece belonged to a group of European experts in Iran, who were called in by the Qajar-ruled government or sent by their own government and companies in cooperation with the Qajar administration in order to facilitate the modernisation of the country. Many foreign experts resided for a long time in Persia and developed an interest in Persian history, culture and arts, which they reflected and communicated into their home countries and societies. They themselves became channels of transmission and transfer between Persia and Europe, and when returning they were considered ‘experts’ again, now on matters of Persia.29 Preece was part of a network of foreigners in Persia, several working for the telegraph companies, who collected objects of Persian art and channelled them

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Figure 9.4  Lustre mihrab from Kashan, after second restoration, colour reproduction in the catalogue of the London Exhibition of Persian Art & Curios, no. 1.

Figure 9.5  Advertisement of the London exhibition in American Art News, 11/32 (24 May 1913).

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to the new European institutions interested in Persian art, or, at the end, to the market. While objects from the Preece collection and from Stainton’s apparently much more modest accumulation, of which some entered the 1913 catalogue, were sold piece by piece, another British colleague brought entire collections to England. The Scotsman Sir Robert Murdoch Smith (1835–1900) was director of the Indo-European Telegraph Department from 1865 to 1886. He acquired the large Persian art collections, including much lustreware, of the Frenchmen Jules Richard (1816–91), who taught photography at the polytechnic Dar al-Funun in Tehran, and Jean-Baptiste Nicolas (1814–75) who had come to Persia in 1854, and gave them to the South Kensington Museum in London. There they formed the basis of its extensive Persian art holdings and were exhibited for the first time in 1876.30 On Public Display: a Key Example of Persian Art in the Museum of Islamic Art in Berlin The Kashan lustre mihrab moved again, now from England to Berlin, when it was acquired by Friedrich Sarre for the Islamic Art Department in the State Museums.31 When founded in 1904, the department was one of the first museum institutions specifically devoted to housing and studying works of Islamic art. The founding concept considered Islamic art an entity of equal standing with ancient West Asian and Classical Roman and Greek art, which were displayed in other departments. The early collection reflected the Persian art interests and object loans of Sarre, and today the Museum of Islamic Art (Museum für Islamische Kunst), houses one of the world’s richest collections of pre-modern art from Muslim countries.32 The art historian Friedrich Sarre (1865–1945) was one of the central scholarly personalities in German-speaking countries who were involved in shaping the scholarly field of Islamic art history at the beginning of the twentieth century. His main interests included Persian art and ceramics.33 Sarre initially knew the lustre mihrab only from Dieulafoy’s book. When he visited Kashan in 1900 it already had been taken away.34 The Preece collection was known to him at least since 1907 when he had written a review on the ceramic exhibition at the Burlington Fine Arts Club, but he saw the mihrab for the first time in the residence of Preece’s brother in Wimbledon in 1910.35 Probably at this time the idea to acquire the mihrab formed in his mind. When it remained unsold after the war, Sarre pursued the plan to acquire it. He and Preece exchanged a dozen letters from 1912 onwards.36 The price, on which Sarre and Vincent Robinson & Co. finally agreed in 1927, was considerable: £6,900, equivalent to 138,000 Reichsmark, but now including a second, much smaller, lustre panel, also from the Preece collection.37 Sarre had to go a long way to raise the purchase price, arguing about the singularity of a large lustre mihrab in a public museum, apart from the Varamin mihrab, in the official letter of request to the Ministry of Science:

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The acquisition of the prayer niche, to which only one single example outside of Persia is comparable, in the University Museum in Philadelphia, would be of utmost importance for the Islamic collection. In the end, a carpet from Isfahan, which the Islamic Art Department had on loan from the Museum of Applied Arts was sold, further funds came from the budget of the department and as a long-term loan without interest from the bank director Jacob Goldschmidt (1882–1955).38 Now the lustre mihrab from Kashan acquired a unique position as the only monumental Persian lustre mihrab shown in a public museum in Europe. A temporary rival in North America was the mihrab which had been taken in 1900 from the Imamzada-i Yahya at Varamin to the world fair at Paris, and later until 1940 was shown on loan in the Museum of the University of Pennsylvania, but then was sold and disappeared from public view in the private collection of Doris Duke at Honolulu in Hawaii.39 The Kashan mihrab became an important object in the permanent display in the Islamic Art Department of the State Museums in Berlin (Inv. I. 5366).40 There it entered a visual and comparative dialogue with other objects and mihrabs from other Islamic countries, whereas in the Preece collection, it had been surrounded exclusively by objects of Persian art. The pre-World War II display of objects in the museum, which continued in the exhibition re-opened in 1959, was a combination of regional subdivisions and media and, to a lesser extent, chronology. The Kashan mihrab was shown in a room of Persian art from Iran in the thirteenth–fourteenth centuries which continued with the Safavid period in the next room.41 In the room before, with art from Anatolia in the twelfth to fourteenth centuries, the visitor had seen another monumental mihrab taken from a building, the prayer niche of the Beyhekim mosque in Konya, made of tile mosaic and dated to c.1370–5. The overhaul of the exhibition from 2000 onwards emphasised larger entities and a chronological order. Now the visitor saw first the Kashan lustre mihrab in a room devoted to Persian art ranging from the Samanid to the Saljuq and Atabeg periods and from Khurasan to Iran (Figure 9.8). Then followed the Konya mihrab in a room devoted to the Rum–Saljuq period in Anatolia and to the Ayyubid and Mamluk periods in Syria and Egypt.42 Another change of display within the next years will highlight the Kashan mihrab as an individual work in a separate cabinet, reached after rooms with medieval art from Anatolia, Central Asia, Iran and Iraq.43 The Mihrab and its Modern Restorations in Images Visual documentation has become an essential tool in the disciplines of art history and archaeology since the invention of photography in the nineteenth century. Photos taken at different times allow us to trace the changing context and presentation of the Kashan lustre mihrab and, along with some scattered textual information, to distinguish six phases of its state and presentation.

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The mihrab was, and is today, in very good condition and almost complete. The oldest image is the engraving in Dieulafoy’s book (Figure 9.1). Her engravings were based on camera obscura photos taken in 1881.44 The mihrab is shown in the mosque with some tiles missing at the upper left corner of the innermost arcade and to its right, including the small colonnette. Less clear is whether tiles are missing close to the bottom. The oldest known photo and the second oldest image seems to be one published by Arthur Lane (1909–63), without a date or source, in his book on early Islamic pottery (Figure 9.2).45 The mihrab is laying on a wooden floor in single tiles; some bear paper labels; broken pieces are not fixed together. More tiles than in Dieulafoy’s image are missing at the right of the inner arcade and in the outer right inscription. Some tiles that look intact in her image are broken in the photo. It must date after 1897, when the mihrab was taken from Kashan, and before 1905, when it was displayed in the exhibition of Persian ceramics in the South Kensington Museum. A first restoration is evident from a photo surviving as a small black-and-white print in Sarre’s bequest papers in the archive of the Museum for Islamic Art (Figure 9.3).46 The mihrab is assembled, missing tiles are substituted by a plain dark filling strongly differing from the coloured relief of the original tiles. The number of extant tiles equals the earlier photo but some are put in different places. Again, date and source of the photo are not stated, but the edge of a ceramic dish on the wall just right to the mihrab, visible in the original print, hints at the 1905 exhibition in the South Kensington Museum or Preece’s residence, in any case before the next photo. The colour photo in the 1913 catalogue of the Preece collection records a much more elaborate second restoration (Figure 9.4).47 It was reproduced in many subsequent publications, notably the Survey in 1938–9 and its later editions.48 Now all missing tiles have been substituted by restored tiles with coloured relief décor similar to the original tiles. This must have been the restoration mentioned by Stainton49 as work by a Persian calligrapher and a British ceramic craftsman trained by William de Morgan (1839–1917),50 an artisan of the arts and crafts movement interested in the revival of the techniques and the design of Oriental ceramics: For the few tiles which could not be recovered, there have been substitutes, under my supervision, reproductions made with the aid of a skilful calligrapher of Tehran and that of an equally skilled worker in glazed pottery in London, a pupil of the late William de Morgan. They have been so fashioned as to avoid all suggestion of ‘fake’, frankly proclaiming themselves as inserted for the purpose of demonstrating the character of the mihrab in its original form. When the mihrab was acquired by the Islamic Department of the Berlin State Museums it was shipped in ‘six boxes (with) Persian bricks, 2,568.5kg’ that arrived

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in November 1927.51 The large weight suggests that the tiles came with mounting. In the Berlin museum they are mounted in groups on seven gypsum panels which are held by iron hooks on a supporting wall.52 Kühnel noted that some tiles in the right outer inscription band with Quranic text and the capitals of the large colonnettes were in wrong order, and that this could not be changed.53 Thus no restoration seems to have been carried out at this point. The order of inscriptions was finally corrected in a third restoration in 1960–1, as shown in colour photographs published since then (Figure 9.6).54 Documentation is lacking, but according to oral information in the museum the previously restored missing tiles were substituted by new copies.55 An enquiring eye can detect them by a more reddish hue. As they look very similar to those in the 1913 colour photograph, the precise nature and date of work on them remains a question.56 The Kashan Mihrab as a Catalyst in the Study of Persian Lustreware The appraisal, acquisition and study of the Kashan lustre mihrab responded and contributed to the emerging discourse and scholarship on Persian art as defined in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. An early driving force was the arts and crafts movement that was looking for inspiration from non-European arts and led to the foundation of museums of applied arts, such as the South Kensington Museum in London in 1851 (later the Victoria & Albert Museum), or the Austrian Museum for Art and Industry in Vienna in 1863 (Österreichisches Museum für Kunst und Industrie, today Museum für Angewandte Kunst). Lustre ceramics became a highly valued item in European collections formed in the later nineteenth century.57 The attention on Persian lustre focused particularly on tiles, because they were what travellers could see in buildings accessible to them, and maybe acquire, while rarely did they come across lustre pottery. The first description of ‘briques ... enduites d’un émail couleur feuille morte dont les reflets sont métalliques’ by Rochechouart (1867), based on a trip in 1862–3, included a comparison with Spanish and Sicilian ceramics and appears to be part of an already ongoing discussion on lustreware.58 Rochechouart also acquired some tiles from the Ilkhanid mausoleum of Abd as-Samad at Natanz. Persian lustre tiles are mentioned as early as 1868 in a catalogue of the South Kensington Museum.59 Henry Wallis (1830–1916) wrote on Lustred Wall-Tiles and other lustreware in the Oriental ceramics collection of the Englishman Fredrick DuCane Godman (1834–1919).60 The German art historian Otto von Falke (1862–1942) included sections on Arabic, Persian and Spanish lustreware in his history of European glazed ceramics based on the holdings of the Museum for Applied Arts in Berlin founded in 1867 (as Deutsches Gewerbemuseum, later Kunstgewerbemuseum).61 The Kashan mihrab became widely known from 1887 through Dieulafoy’s image, and von Falke included a reference to it in his chapter on Oriental lustreware (1896).62 In the Preece collection, the mihrab was more secluded and a private

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Figure 9.6  Lustre mihrab from Kashan, present state, signed by al-Hasan ibn Arabshah and dated 663 (1226), 2.80 × 1.80m, Museum of Islamic Art Berlin, Inv. I. 5366. Image © Museum für Islamische Kunst (SMB) / photographer: Johannes Kramer

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treasury. It rose again to prominence when it was studied and published with a colour photograph, rare at the time, in the 1913 catalogue of the sales exhibition. In the same year a lavishly illustrated two-volume history of ceramics in Islamic art by the French artist Henri Rivière (1864–1951) presented the Kashan mihrab to a general audience, using that colour plate.63 Moved to the Department of Islamic Art in Berlin in 1927, it became the only Persian lustre mihrab visible to the public in a European museum and a subject of scholarly inquiries. Looking at the publications, the new presence of the Kashan mihrab seems to have been a veritable catalyst triggering a broad output on Persian lustreware by scholars who all were working at or related to the Berlin museum and referring to the mihrab. The year after the acquisition, Sarre and Ernst Kühnel (1882–1964) published a first article on the mihrab. The 1930–1940s, then, saw an art historical systematisation of Persian lustreware, concerned with dating, types and style, and undertaken by them, Richard Ettinghausen (1906–79) and the Iranian scholar Mehdi Bahrami (1905–51).64 Kühnel and Ettinghausen provided in several articles a grid of dated Persian ceramic and lustrewares and evidence for attributing pottery to Kashan. Ettinghausen later pursued figural iconography in Persian lustre.65 Sarre had published, after travels in Persia from 1897 to 1900, on the use of lustre tiles in architecture in his two-volume book Denkmäler Persischer Baukunst, and had written a systematic study of Abbasid lustre from the ninth and tenth centuries in a book on the ceramics found in the excavations of Samarra in Iraq, carried out under his direction by Ernst Herzfeld (1879–1948). He now contributed to the first study of textual sources on medieval lustre technology in Persia.66 Bahrami had studied art history and archaeology in Paris and worked in 1934–5 at the Berlin museum. His publications on the subject (from 1936 to 1949) include a major study of the lustre ceramics from his excavations in the northern Iranian town of Gurgan.67 While all authors studying lustreware were fascinated with the aesthetic and material qualities, different interpretations were put forward as to the ideas surrounding the use of lustre. One, such as voiced by Sarre and spread in the early general account of Islamic Art (1915) by Ernst Diez (1878–1961), related it to religion, arguing that lustre decorated vessels were a less offensive substitute for gold and silver vessels, which were thought to be prohibited by Islamic belief and law.68 Another one fashioned the aesthetics of the medium into a characteristic of a ‘spirit of Persian art’. Early evidence is provided by the glowing words on pottery in the introduction to the Preece collection, when the Kashan mihrab was part of it: There seems to be something in the temperament of the Persian craftsman which corresponds to this medium of expression, and especially is this true when one is considering that branch of pottery which may be broadly treated under the heading of ‘lustre ware’. The ever-changing lights that play upon its surface, the variety of its colour, its richness and depth of tone, its almost

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sentient variations, and its adaptation to the fantastic and the fanciful in decoration, all these qualities lend themselves to the spirit of Persian art and the skill of the Persian artist.69 Yet the most influential styling of lustre as a characteristic of Persian art was by the American Arthur Upham Pope (1881–1969) in the Survey of Persian Art (1938–9), edited by him and Phyllis Ackerman (1893–1977). Pope reflected thinking which sought to define a specifically ‘Persian’ culture of a nation of Iran.70 He devoted a large four-part chapter with an enormous number of plates to the ceramic arts with an emphasis on lustreware. The medium also figured prominently in the film The Art of Persia, shown to an interested audience since 1947 by Pope’s Asia Institute in New York.71 In the Survey, he stated ‘pottery furnishes perhaps the most comprehensive record of the artistic life of Islamic Persia.’ His reason was that it survived in greater quantity than other media, that it was ‘intimately associated with the life of the people’ and that its figural imagery allowed insights into the scarcely surviving medium of medieval painting. The other reason was that it characterised aesthetic preferences: ‘It gave direct and sensitive expression to artistic feeling. In its graceful shapes Persian ideas of form found their most immediate and perfect embodiment.’72 In the Survey, he dealt with different ceramic techniques but focused on lustreware, because he considered it as the most inventive and aesthetically most indicative for Persian art:73 Lustre decoration was in some respect the most important as it was also the most novel, for painting in lustre expands the ceramic art into a new dimension and adds what the Persians especially love, a hidden resource unexpectedly revealed. The sudden flashing of golden fire from the sober pattern savoured of the miraculous and was one form of the intensity with which the Persians infused their highest art. Since excavations in Samarra had started in 1911, it became accepted that lustre overglaze painting on ceramics had been invented in ninth-century Abbasid Iraq.74 Yet Pope held on to an older theory and insisted that the origin of the technique had to be sought in Persia, arguing, inter alia, that there existed a ‘rich culture’ while the Abbasid capitals Bagdad and Samarra were ‘artificial creations’ and ‘subsidiary’. The idea of specific Persian qualities in the use of lustre was so important to him that he would clinge to it even if it were proven that the technique originated elsewhere:75 But wherever the technique was invented, it is an important phase of the history of ceramic art in Persia, and even if the Persians did not originate it, they employed, they admired it, and by means of it, expressed some of their most characteristic insights.

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Conclusion The modern history of the Kashan lustre mihrab demonstrates how transfer, accessibility and publications of artefacts contributed to the discourse on Persian art at the time. The Survey became the most influential publication on Persian Art and established a lasting canon of works deemed significant. The Kashan lustre mihrab held a unique position in it. It was the only of its kind shown and given a full page image in colour,76 thus exemplifying medieval Persian lustre mihrabs. Later it came to represent medieval Islamic art in general when it was put on the book cover of Islamic Art and Architecture: 650–1250 (Figure 9.7).77 The Kashan lustre mihrab is likely to remain being seen as a key example of whatever category because of its continuing museum presentation and thus inclusion in a canon of works accessible, visible and studied. This situation is also reflected in the most recent twist in its history. In 2015 the Kashan mihrab returned to Iran as a copy and an object of contemporary art. The artisan potter Abbas Akbari reproduced it in original size following the medieval

Figure 9.7  Front cover of Islamic Art and Architecture 650–1250, showing a detail from the Kashan lustre mihrab. Image © Yale University Press.

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Figure 9.8  The Kashan lustre mihrab in the present exhibition of the Museum of Islamic Art, Berlin. Photograph © Stefan Weber, 2009.

lustre technique but substituted single tiles by polished iron tiles with a dominating metallic sheen and a mirror effect (Figure 9.9). The single removed lustre tiles were assembled with golden monochrome tiles in smaller objects.78 The reinterpreted mihrab will be put on display in a new centre for the study of pottery in Kashan. Presently the idea is being discussed of installing a second copy in the very place whence the original mihrab had been removed more than a century ago, the dome chamber of the Masjid-i Maydan. It is an odd situation that artefacts taken away from their place of origin rise to more prominence and dominate scholarly discussions and the general mind just because they were more accessible than those artefacts that remained in place. Today four of the six completely surviving lustre mihrabs are in Iran and accessible to the public in museums in Tehran and Mashhad, and there are many more lustre revetments in this and other places and in situ in Iran. Despite this they continue to be much less discussed and illustrated outside of Iran. Until a very recent scholarly article none of these lustre mihrabs had been illustrated in colour,79 and it remains to be seen whether and when such illustrations reach more general publications. This imbalance is likely to change only by including and presenting all artefacts in the same way and to the same audiences. It is unlikely to change as long as discussions on Persian lustre, on Persian art, or on the history of Islamic

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Figure 9.9  Copy of the Kashan lustre mihrab by Abbas Akbari relating the themes of lustre and mirror, individual lustre tiles substituted by polished iron tiles. Installation in the exhibition of the AUN Gallery Tehran, 15 November – 15 December 2015. Photograph © Abbas Akbari, 2015.

art, are dominated by objects, participants and their perspectives in Europe and North America. Even the recent collective volumes examining the historiography of Persian art and Islamic art (including this one), had no contributors with academic positions inside Iran.80

Notes 1. Ettinghausen et al. 2003. I would like to thank the following colleagues who facilitated my research into the Kashan mihrab: Stefan Weber, Jens Kröger, Julia Gonnella, Gisela Helmecke and Jutta Schwed (all at the Museum für Islamische Kunst in Berlin, Stiftung Preußischer Kulturbesitz, SPK); staff at the Zentralarchiv of the State Museums in Berlin (SPK); Moya Carey and Nataly Kusel at the Victoria & Albert Museum; and Oliver Watson. 2. On Persian lustreware, see Watson 1985. Cf. Watson 1975; Watson 2006; Graves 2014. On medieval lustre pottery in the Near and Middle East, Mason 2004; on the medium and its techniques in general, Caiger-Smith 1985. 3. On the medieval Kashan mihrab, see Ritter 2015, 7–9; Watson 1985, 131, 181, 185 and 190. Cf. Sarre 1928; Kühnel 1928; Kühnel 1931, 231 and 233; Ettinghausen 1935, 63–4; Ettinghausen

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1936, 44; Ettinghausen 1938–9, 1676, no. 38 (K2), pl. 704; Pope 1938–9, 1570, pl. 702B; Wilber 1955, 105 no. 3; Golombek and Wilber 1988, 390; Allan 2012, 83; Blair 2014, 411. 4. Watson 1985, 123; cf. Bahrami 1949, 76. Six as listed and discussed by Blair 2014, 409–12. Cf. Allan 2012, 80–1. 5. Watson 1985, 169. 6. Masuya 2000, 41. 7. Zarrabi 1957, 424. 8. Muhammad Hasan Khan 1897, IV, 116. 9. Abd al-Ghaffar 1962, 7. 10. Stainton 1923. 11. Dieulafoy 1887, 204–6, plate in 206. 12. Curzon 1892, II, 14; Houtum-Schindler 1896, 111. The text supplies no date for the visit of the mosque. As the book is based on travels over many years, it could be any of these before the publication date of 1896. 13. Sarre 1901–10, I, 72, stating he visited Kashan in 1900 while id. 1928, 130 notes 1898. It must have been Sarre’s journey in late 1899 to early 1900. I am grateful to Jens Kröger for clarifying this. 14. Anonymous 1913b. Cf. Glover 1913, 1, and Preece’s obituary, Anonymous 1917 (cited after Blair 2014, n. 15). He contributed marginally to geographical research on south-west Iran, see Preece 1886. 15. Stainton 1923. Some biographical material on Stainton is kept at the Middle East Centre, St Antony’s College, Oxford, reference code GB 165-0270. See also the note in Anonymous 1913a, before no. 600. 16. Museum für Islamische Kunst Berlin, inventory cards I. 5366. The year 1929 stated by Golombek and Wilber 1988, 390, is definitely incorrect. 17. Abd al-Ghaffar 1962, 7. 18. Glover 1913, 1. 19. Stainton 1923. 20. Helfgott 1994, 130; Masuya 2000, 50. 21. Anonymous 1913b. 22. Sarre 1928, 130. 23. The catalogue bears the imprint date of the following year: Burlington Fine Arts Club 1908, frame no. 10, ‘lent by Sir William Preece’. 24. Anonymous 1913a. 25. Ibid. nos 600–20, and after no. 620. 26. Glover 1913, 1. 27. Anonymous 1913a; cf. Anonymous 1913b; Anonymous 1913c; American Art News 1913. 28. Rogers 2002 and Blair 2014 mention Preece, but not the massive catalogue for the 1913 exhibition. 29. For example, the German Houtum-Schindler (mentioned above and n. 12), an engineer and employee of the Qajar government; see Gurney 2004. On the reciprocal relation, see drawing on the Austrian physician Jacob. E. Polak, Gächter 2013. 30. Scarce 1973; Scarce 1986; Masuya 2000, 42–4. 31. Sarre 1928, 126 and 130. 32. Kröger 2009, 10, 12 and 33. Cf. Kröger 2004. 33. See in particular, Sarre 1901–10. On his biography, see Kröger 2004, 33–43; Kröger 2015. 34. Sarre 1901–10, I, 72. Cf. above, n. 13. 35. Sarre 1908; Sarre 1928, 130. 36. Sarre bequest papers, archive Museum für Islamische Kunst Berlin: ten letters from Preece in 1913 and 1927, one draft letter and one telegram by Sarre in 1912. 37. Anonymous 1913a, no. 2; Museum für Islamische Kunst Berlin, Inv. I 5367; see Ritter 2015, 14, fig. 13. Cf. Sarre 1928, 130; Kühnel 1928, 131; Wilber 1955, 111 no. 12; Watson 1985, 185; Masuya 2000, 46. 38. Letter by the Director General of the State Museums to the Minister of Science, 8 August 1927 and handwritten draft by Sarre, 3 August 1927; both Zentralarchiv der Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin, file F804/27. Goldschmidt was a patron of the Department on other occasions, see Kröger 2015, 34; Limberg 2015, 72–3.

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39. Blair 2014, 416. 40. The usual year given for the acquisition is 1928, but the deal was cut the year before and the mihrab was delivered to the museum on 22 November 1927; Zentralarchiv der Staaatlichen Museen zu Berlin: file F804/27. Recent research on objects of the museum that were lost and displaced in World War II indicates that the mihrab had not been taken as booty to the Soviet Union and then returned, as was previously thought (Ritter 2015, 15; Blair 2014, 411). I am grateful to Jens Kröger for this information (email correspondence, 23 December 2016). 41. Enderlein 1988, 59–74 and 65 (with a photograph of the Kashan mihrab). 42. See Enderlein et al. 2001, 48–9, for the Kashan mihrab, with a colour photograph. 43. I am grateful to Stefan Weber for providing this information (email correspondence, 30 August 2016). 44. Calmard 1995. 45. Lane 1947, pl. 66. Oliver Watson suggested that the photo could have been taken in the South Kensington Museum which shows in some rooms a similar floor (email correspondence, 27 September 2016). 46. Published in Ritter 2015, fig. 4. 47. Anonymous 1913a, no. 1. 48. Rivière 1913, II, pl. 77; SPA, pl. 704. 49. Stainton 1923; quoted in full by Ritter 2015, 12; cf. Anonymous 1913b. 50. On him see Caiger-Smith 1985, 168–70. 51. Zentralarchiv der Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin, file F804/26, delivery slip dated 22 November 1927, by Lehmann Spedition Bremen, and waybill by Schlesische Dampfer Compagnie–Berliner Lloyd. 52. Museum für Islamische Kunst Berlin, inventory card I. 5366; it is not stated when this mounting was done. 53. Kühnel 1928, 130–1. 54. Berlin 1963, fig. 133; Enderlein 1988, fig. 65; Ettinghausen et al., front cover. 55. Carried out by E. Schmidt and Ch. Oellerling; Museum für Islamische Kunst Berlin, inventory card I. 5366. According to Volkmar Enderlein and Jens Kröger, the conservationist U. Tyroller was involved. 56. Recently, the mihrab was extensively documented and re-examined by conservationists. The study determined that the restored tiles were made from gypsum and painted in nitrocellulose lacquer. Mollenhauer et al. 2004–5. 57. Watson 1985, 169; Masuya 2000, 50–1. 58. Rochechouart 1867, 315. 59. Masuya 2000, 41–2. 60. Wallis 1894, cf. id. 1891 on Spanish lustre vases and Wallis 1893 on Persian ceramics. At the time, also Ottoman Iznik ceramics called ‘Rhodian’ were considered as being Persian in origin. 61. Falke 1896, 16–29, 61–5. 62. Ibid. 17. 63. Rivière 1913, II, pl. 77. 64. For their studies mentioning the mihrab, see above in n. 3 and 4. 65. Kühnel 1924; Kühnel 1931; Ettinghausen 1935; Ettinghausen 1936; Ettinghausen 1938–9; Guest and Ettinghausen 1961. 66. Sarre 1901–10, see in particular the discussion of lustre tiles in Iran, 64–71; Sarre 1935; Sarre 1925. 67. Bahrami 1949. For a list of his publications on lustre ware, see Watson 1985, 202. His biography is found in Blair and Bloom 2009, I, 254–5; cf. Kröger 2009, 43. 68. For example, Sarre 1901–10, I, 64; Diez 1915, 198. 69. Glover 1913, 1. 70. Rizvi 2007. 71. It had been shot in Iran by Stephen Nyman (1909–89) in the years 1937–42. See Overton 2016, 329, 361. 72. Pope 1938–9, 1446–7. 73. Ibid. 1487–8. 74. See for example, in the general account by Diez 1915, 198. 75. Pope 1938–9, 1493–5; quotations in 1493–4.

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76. SPA, X, pl. 704. 77. Ettinghausen et al. 2003, front cover. 78. Abbas Akbari, solo exhibition at AUN Gallery, 15 November – 15 December 2015; for the catalogue, see Akbari (ed.) 2015, 30–6 (production), 38 (entire mihrab), 48 (mihrab interpreted as a modern object) and 50–8 (tile objects). 79. Blair 2014, pls 4–7, 10–11 was the first to show all these mihrabs with colour illustrations which were provided by Iranian colleagues or Iranian publications. 80. Kadoi 2016; Kadoi and Szántó 2013; Carey and Graves 2012; Bozdo©an and Necipo©lu 2007.

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Rogers, M. (2002), ‘Great Britain xi. Persian art collections in Britain’, EIr, XI, 267–73. Sarre, F. (1901–10), Denkmäler persischer Baukunst, 2 vols, Berlin. –––– (1908), ‘Die Ausstellung orientalischer Keramik im Burlington Fine Arts Club zu London 1907’, Repertorium für Kunstwissenschaft, 31, 94–7. –––– (1925), Die Keramik von Samarra, Berlin (Forschungen zur islamischen Kunst, II). –––– (1928), ‘Zwei persische Gebetsnischen aus lüstrierten Fliesen [I]’, Berliner Museen, 49, 126–30. –––– (1935), ‘Eine keramische Werkstatt von Kaschan im 13.–14. Jahrhundert’, in H. Ritter, J. Ruska, F. Sarre and R. Winderlich (eds), Orientalische Steinbücher und persische Fayencetechnik, special issue of Istanbuler Mitteilungen, 3, 57–69, pls 1–4. Scarce, J. (1973), ‘Travels with telegraph and tiles in Persia: from the private papers of Major-General Sir Robert Murdoch Smith’, Art and Archaeology Research Papers, June, 3, 70–80. –––– (1986), ‘Persian art through the eyes of Major-General Robert Murdoch Smith KCMG’, in J. Calder (ed.), The Enterprising Scot: Scottish Adventure and Achievement, Edinburgh, 131–8. Stainton, B. W. (1923), ‘A masterpiece from Old Persia’, The International Studio, May, 77, no. 312, n.p. Vernoit, S. (ed.) (2000), Discovering Islamic Art: Scholars, Collectors and Collections, 1850–1950, London. Wallis, H. (1891), The Godman Collection: the Thirteenth Century Lustred Vases, London. –––– (1893), Typical Examples of Persian and Oriental Art, I, London. –––– (1894), The Godman Collection: the Thirteenth Century Lustred Wall-Tiles, London. Watson, O. (1975), ‘Persian lustre ware, from the 14th to the 19th centuries’, Le Monde Iranien et l’Islam, 3, 63–80. –––– (1985), Persian Lustre Ware, London. –––– (2006), ‘Lustre wasters: attribution, provenance and art-historical politics’, in P. Baker and B. Brend (eds), Sifting Sands, Reading Signs: Studies in Honour of Professor Géza Fehérvári, London, 231–49. Wilber, D. N. (1955), The Architecture of Islamic Iran: the Il Khanid Period, Princeton, NJ. Zarrabi (Suhail-i Kashani), Abd al-Rahim Kalantar (1957), Miråt al-Qåshån, ed. I. Afshar, TårÈkh-i Kåshån, third ed., Tehran, 1978.

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The Contributors

Matteo Compareti specialises in the art of pre-Islamic Persia and Central Asia (with special reference to the Sasanian period and Sogdian paintings) and researches in more general terms the iconography of Zoroastrian divinities. His major publications include Samarkand the Center of the World. Proposals for the Indentification of the Afråsyåb Paintings (2016). Yuka Kadoi specialises in the art of pre-modern Eurasia (with special reference to the Mongol and Timurid empires) and researches the historiography of Persian art in the early twentieth century. Her major publications include Islamic Chinoiserie: the Art of Mongol Iran (Edinburgh University Press, 2009) and Arthur Upham Pope and A New Survey of Persian Art (2016). Judith A. Lerner specialises in the history and visual cultures of Iran and Central Asia from the Achaemenid into the early Islamic periods. She has also written extensively on the material remains of Central Asians in China during the Six Dynasties period. Her major publications include Seals, Sealings and Tokens from Bactria to Gandhara (4th to 8th Century CE) (2011) and ‘Arthur Upham Pope and Sasanian Art’ in Arthur Upham Pope and A New Survey of Persian Art (2016). Richard Piran McClary researches the Islamic architecture of the wider Iranian world, from Anatolia to Central Asia, in the pre-Mongol period. He is also a specialist in the minai ware ceramics of Kashan. His major publications include Rum Seljuq Architecture 1170–1220: the Patronage of Sultans (Edinburgh University Press, 2017). Tobias Nünlist specialises in the study of religious phenomena in pre-modern Islamic societies and codicology in Arabic script. He is also interested in Persian literature. His major publications include Himmelfahrt und Heiligkeit im Islam (2002) and Dämonenglaube im Islam (2015). Markus Ritter researches Islamic art and architecture in the medieval Arab Near East and in late medieval to early modern Iran. His major publications

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include Moscheen und Madrasabauten in Iran 1785–1848 (2006), The Golden Quran (2015; with Nourane Ben Azzouna) and Der umayyadische Palast des 8. Jahrhunderts in Hirbat al-Minya am See von Tiberias (2017). ˘ Raquel Santos specialises in the history of discoveries and the Portuguese expansion, with special reference to historical textiles and their conservation, through the implementation of interdisciplinary methodologies. Her major publications include Analysis of Kerria and Paratachardina Genera Using HPLC-DAD, MS and Multivariate Data Analysis for Identifying Lac-dye Sources in Historical Textiles (2015). Francesco Stermotich-Cappellari specialises in the history of religions, mysticism and spirituality, and Islamic calligraphy. His major publications include The Bahai Faith in India: Origins and Developments of a New Religion (2016). Iván Szántó specialises in Iranian art history, especially its connections with Eastern and Southern Europe, as well as historiography. His major publications include Safavid Art and Hungary: the Esterházy Appliqué in Context (2010) and Artisans at the Crossroads: Persian Arts of the Qajar Period, 1796–1925 (2010).

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Index

Abbasid(s), 61, 104, 169–70 Achaemenid(s), 4, 9 Afghan(istan), 1–4 Africa(n), 64, 119 Akbar, 117, 121–2 Alexander the Great, 1, 10, 14 Ali ibn Abi Talib, 79, 88–94, 109, 144 Ali Qapu, 70 Anatolia, 37–59, 68, 89, 165 Ardabil, 60, 62, 69–72, 122, 161 Ardashir I, 24–5, 30 Ardashir II, 7, 11 Ardashir III, 20 Armenia(ns), 72, 103, 159 Atlantic Ocean, 123 Azerbaijan, 14, 29, 72 Baburnama, 64 Bactria(ns), 1–3, 6, 8, 10, 12, 14, 26 Baghdad, 46, 63, 78, 110, 135 Bahai, 133–56 Bahrain(i), 102–4, 108, 110 Bahrami, Mehdi, 169 Bandar Abbas, 67, 103, 105–7, 109 Bandar Linga, 108 Belitung, 61 Berlin, 10, 79–80, 86–90, 157–78 Museum für Islamische Kunst (Museum of Islamic Art), 157–73 Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin (State Library of Berlin), 79, 86–90 Bihzad, 65 blue and white, 63–5, 67, 70 brick, 38, 40–52, 54, 166 Buddhist, Buddhism, 2, 13, 69 Bukhara, 39 Bursa, 139 Bustan, 65; see also Sadi

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Byzantine, Byzantium, 14, 21, 26, 28–9, 31–2, 45–6, 53 Cairo, 65, 80, 103, 119 carpet, 60, 71, 116–32, 145, 160, 165 celadon, 62, 67 cement, 52 Chehel Sotun, 23, 26, 28 China, 10, 14, 55, 60–77, 116, 119, 123 chinihana, 60–77 Christian(nity), 28–9, 55, 72 Clavijo, Ruy González de, 64, 74n cobalt blue, 51 coin(age), 7–8, 10–12, 20–1, 25–6, 29–30 copper, 13–14, 119 Coptic, 29 Damascus, 64, 71 Diez, Ernst, 169 Dubai, 110 Dublin, 80, 86 Chester Beatty Library, 80, 90–4 Edirne, 135–6, 139 Egypt, 29, 136, 152, 165 epigraphic, epigraphy, 39, 41–3, 46–7, 49–52, 61, 107 Ettinghausen, Richard, 169 Firdausi, 65; see also Shahnama Firuzabad, 25, 29 Gandhara, 1, 12 Geneva, 80–1, 83–6, 88, 92 Fondation Martin Bodmer, 80–6 Georgia, 71 gold(en), 26, 28, 61, 84, 87–91, 93–4, 116–17, 123, 133, 136, 139, 142, 144–7, 157, 169–70, 172

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182 INDEX Greece, Greek, 1–2, 5, 6, 9–10, 14–15, 24, 37, 44–5, 164 hadith, 94 Herat, 4, 65, 117, 120–1, 125 Herzfeld, Ernst, 169 Honolulu, 165 Hormuz, 64, 71, 119, 123 iconographic, iconography, 2, 4, 6, 12–14, 21, 24, 29–31, 169 Ilkhanid(s), 60, 62, 64, 104–5, 147, 157, 167 illumination, 133, 136 India(n), 2, 92, 103, 105, 109–11, 116–32, 136, 143, 152 Indian subcontinent, 1, 3, 64, 121 Indian Ocean, 61, 119, 123 Inju(s), 104–5 Isfahan, 23, 26, 28, 42, 45, 70, 83, 103–6, 120, 122–3, 125, 128, 135, 159, 165 Istanbul, 85, 135–6 Topkapı Saray, 62, 70, 85 Iznik, 69 Japan(ese), 2, 21, 116 Jewish, 147, 149 Jingdezhen, 62

minaret, 37–59, 102–15 Ming dynasty, 64, 72 Mishkin Qalam, 133–56 Mongol, 62, 64, 104–5, 122 mosque (masjid), 24, 26, 28, 37, 39–41, 43–51, 53–5, 70, 81, 83, 103–10, 117, 139, 157, 159–60, 165–6, 172 Mughal(s), 69, 116–17, 121–2, 127 Mumbai, 136 muqarnas, 46–9, 51, 69, 111 Muscat(i), 103, 106, 109–11 Muzaffarid(s), 63, 104–5 Najaf, 109–11 Naqsh-i Rustam, 4, 24–5 Nasir al-Din Shah, 135, 150 New York, 2, 161, 170 Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2, 63 Nishapur, 61 Olearius, Adam, 69, 71 Oman(i), 70, 103–5, 111, 119 Ottoman(s), 40, 47, 69, 71–2, 78, 84–5, 87, 92, 110, 121, 123, 135–6, 139–40, 142, 144, 152

Kabul, 10, 13 Karbala, 110 Kashan, 117, 120, 127, 157–78 Khurasan, 21, 26, 40, 72, 135, 165 Kirman, 63, 104–6, 122 Konya, 78, 165 Kühnel, Ernst, 167, 169 Kushan(s), 1–19, 26

Palestine, 135–6 paper, 80, 90, 124, 133, 135–6, 143, 145, 166 Paris, 14, 165, 169 Parthian(s), 4, 11, 21, 24, 29–30 pearl, 4, 11, 64, 119 Persepolis, 30 Pope, Alexander, 71 Pope, Arthur Upham, 37, 170 porcelain, 60–77, 119 Portugal, Portuguese, 65, 71, 116–19, 123–4, 127–8

Lisbon, 71, 118, 127 London, 150, 159–60, 164, 166–7 British Library, 63, 67 British Museum, 6, 13, 137, 143, 145, Victoria & Albert Museum (South Kensington Museum), 160, 164, 166–7 lustre, 157–78

Qajar(s), 78, 93, 106, 111, 137, 157, 160, 162 Qara Qoyunlu, 83 Qarakhanid(s), 37–41, 49, 55 Qatar, 103 Qazwin, 87 Quran(ic), 60, 78, 80, 83–4, 89, 92, 144, 148–9, 151, 167

madrasa, 48, 103, 110 Mamluk(s), 80, 103, 165 marble, 54, 143 Mashhad, 69, 83, 120, 122, 135, 172 metalwork, 1–19, 26, 61, 105; see also gold, silver Merv, 11 mihrab, 70, 90, 105, 107, 157–78 minbar, 40, 60

Rashid al-Din, 62 Rome, Roman, 2, 6–9, 11, 14, 21, 29–31, 164

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Sadi, 65; see also Bustan Safavid(s), 60, 67, 69, 71, 78–101, 103–6, 111, 116–17, 120–3, 125, 127–8, 137, 160, 165 St Petersburg State Hermitage Museum, 11

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INDEX

Saljuq(s), 39–41, 47, 49, 51–2, 55, 62, 103, 157, 165 Samanid(s), 55, 61, 94, 165 Samarqand, 64, 81 Samarra, 61, 169–70 Sasanian(s), 1–36 Sarre, Friedrich, 71, 159, 164, 166, 169 seal, 11, 30, 143 Seleucid, 10 Shahnama, 10, 65, 67; see also Firdausi Shah Abbas I, 69, 72, 85, 117, 122–4, 128, 137 Shah Ismail I, 120 Shah Ismail II, 85, 87 Shah Jahan, 69, 122 Shah Rukh, 64 Shah Tahmasp, 67, 69, 85, 87, 117, 121 Shah-i Zinda, 81 Shapur I, 3–4, 11, 30 Shapur II, 7, 13, 30 Shapur III, 7, 10, Shii, Shiism, 79, 87–9, 92–4, 103, 108–11, 121, 137, 144 Shiraz, 30, 65, 91–4, 104–5, 135 Silk Road, 61 silver, 1–19, 28, 169 Siraf, 103 Smith, Robert Murdoch, 164 Sogdian(a), 10, 26 stucco, 51, 70, 109 Sufi(sm), 79, 88–9, 93–5, 135, 137, 144 Syriac, 28 Syria(n), 55, 64, 71, 136, 152, 165

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Tabriz, 64, 67, 72, 78–9, 81, 83, 117, 120–1 Tajikistan, 1 Takht-i Sulayman, 29 Tang dynasty, 61 Taq-i Bustan, 7, 20–36 Tehran, 106, 109, 111, 135, 164, 166, 172 Iran Bastan (National) Museum, 23, 28, 71 tent, 62 textile, 26, 32, 60, 67, 80, 116–32 Timur, 64 Timurid(s), 60, 64–5, 67, 81, 83, 104, 111, 117, 120, 122 tomb, 10, 14, 37–8, 47–55 Turkey, 71, 139, 144, 152; see also Anatolia Ulugh Beg, 64–5 Uzbekistan, 1–2, 37 vaqf, 160 Varamin, 159, 164–5 Vienna, 167 Washington, DC, 127 wood(en), 40, 71, 80, 107, 111, 119, 166 Yazd, 81, 104–5, 120, 128 Yuan dynasty, 63, 71 Zheng He, 64 Zoroastrian(ism), 2, 24–8, 31, 147

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