Indian Painting under the Mughals, A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1750 c15: III. Jahangir the Aesthete (A.D. 1605 to 1627)

Indian Painting under the Mughals, A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1750 c15

Language: English

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III. Jahangir the Aesthete (A.D. 1605 to 1627)

WITH the death of Akbar a critical period arrived in the development of the art of miniature painting under the Mughals. Although much had been accomplished, much still remained to be done before this method of painting could be said to have been firmly established in its new environment. His had been the mind to conceive the idea of the school, and his to put it into effect. He had brought together the personnel and material for its maintenance, placing it judiciously under the control of experts. Examples of the approved style of painting had been acquired for the guidance of the Indian craftsmen, books had been selected suitable for illustration with their pictures, portraiture had been encouraged by the institution of a national album, and the whole movement thoroughly organized, so that its foundations were well and truly laid. But when this point had been reached, before its various elements had properly crystallized, its royal patron passed away, and the fate of the school lay in the balance. Had Akbar’s successor been only moderately interested in the subject, it is more than probable that sooner or later it would have sunk back into its original condition, and left no record of its existence in the annals of the Mughals. For the art of miniature painting was of such a character, and at such a stage in its development that it could only thrive on the personal enthusiasm of the ruling prince—without this support it would of necessity languish and die. It is unusual to find that subjects of this nature, after occupying the thoughts of one monarch, receive the same serious attention from his successor; but fortunately for Mughal painting the exception may be recorded. In Akbar’s son, Jahangir, the Indian painters found a friend whose interest in their work was so ardent as to be almost unprecedented in the history of art patronage. Under his liberal and discerning encouragement the school received a fresh impetus, the initial difficulties in its evolution were speedily overcome, and the pictures, uneven and crude at first, gradually improved in quality until they assumed a definite style. Much of the character of this style was brought about by the practical foundations devised by the far-sighted Akbar, but its consummation was undoubtedly due to the cultivated supervision of his aesthetic son. To adapt a metaphor, old even in Mughal times, which expresses in a few words the share that each of these two monarchs took in bringing the school into being—Akbar laid the egg and Jahangir hatched it.

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Two factors aided not a little in the perfection of the art under Jahangir’s tuition. The principal one, as will have been gathered, was this monarch’s own artistic personality. The other was the settled state of the country during his rule. When he took up the reins of government, the emperor found himself able to contemplate, with a serenity which suited his ease-loving nature, a great empire in the building up of which all the hard work had been done for him by his predecessors. During the whole of his reign, therefore, he walked in the ways of pleasantness. In his life he was to reap where others had sown. And Jahangir’s disposition was admirably constituted to revel in all the good things which his forbears, by sword and by sweat of brow, had provided for him. But of the two factors referred to, the personal element was the one which had the greater influence on the progress of art during his time. Correctly, therefore, to appreciate the character of the painting executed under Jahangir, it is necessary to realize some aspects of this monarch’s individuality, to see him as king as well as art patron. This having been attained, his connexion with the school will become intelligible and lead to an understanding of the aims and ideals of the art itself.

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There are two authorities on Jahangir, his life and his times, from which it is possible to gain a clear idea of his character and its manifestations. Both have special merit because they are contemporary records, each is written from an entirely opposite point of view, and each with a very different object. One of these is Jahangir’s own *Memoirs*,¹ transcribed by himself, which is a full account of his doings during the most eventful years of his reign. In this entertaining diary of imperial events we see the king as he would like to be seen, carrying out, as faithfully as his volatile nature would permit, his obligations towards his subjects, taking his proper share in the duties of his high office, but at the same time enjoying his life to the utmost. As a whole it is a plain, straightforward story, without any very serious omissions or exaggerations, but full of incidents, interviews, and episodes, which throw considerable light on his personality and surroundings. The other authority is an Englishman, Sir Thomas Roe, who, as ambassador from the court of James I, spent four years at the court of the ‘Great Mogul’. His impressions are conveyed in his Letters,¹ which have been preserved, and are invaluable because of the effective picture they present to us, particularly frank in its treatment, of Jahangir and his mode of life. From these two entirely diverse sources it is not difficult to see, fairly clearly, what kind of man this monarch was. Incidentally these two authorities also contain many useful references to the subject of painting which help us not a little in following the course that the art took during this important period in its history.

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¹ The *Tūzuk-i-Jahangiri*, or *Memoirs of Jahangir*, translated by A. Rogers, edited by H. Beveridge, Royal Asiatic Society, London. Vol. i, 1909; vol. ii, 1914.

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¹ The Embassy of Sir Thomas Roe, 1615-1619, edited by William Foster (2 vols., Hakluyt Society, 1899).

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Jahangir ascended the throne of the Mughals at the age of thirty-seven years, when his mind was fully formed, and his ideas ripened by much experience. By this time he had shown himself to be a true descendant of the Timurids in many of his characteristics, and in these he bore a remarkable resemblance to his ancestor Babur. In a previous chapter we have seen that this progenitor of the Mughal dynasty was prevented by the force of circumstances from utilizing to any practical extent his gifts of intellectual versatility during his own lifetime, but that they were inherited by his successors, and were responsible for that spirit of culture which was the mark of their origin. And in none of this long line of distinguished descendants were Babur’s sentiments so accurately reproduced as in the person of his great-grandson Jahangir. It is in the similarity of their tastes that this is most noticeable. Both loved flowers, gardens, scenery, travelling, sight-seeing, and sport. Both suffered from the vice of self-indulgence, especially with regard to wine, but this failing was redeemed to some extent by their sense of good-fellowship—they drank, but like gentlemen. Both were fond of poetry, music and the arts, both read and wrote much—both producing voluminous memoirs—and both were enthusiastic nature-lovers and keen observers of animal life. In all these things they curiously resembled one another, nevertheless in other ways they were widely different men. Babur, as becomes a pioneer, was of vigorous habit, an athlete and a born fighter, a man’s man. On the other hand, Jahangir, except in his earlier days, was inclined to be soft and effeminate, fond of ease and peace—in a word, a voluptuary. The reason for this dissimilarity is not far to seek. Environment had something to do with it, and the different times in which each lived, but the main cause of this particular divergence was one of birth. Babur, as we have seen, was a direct product of two virile races of the Central Asian uplands.

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These gave him that untiring physique which enabled him to undergo with ease the most desperate hardships, and that strong spirit, originally inclined to brutality, but refined by several generations of civilized life, which showed itself in his chivalrous attitude towards his enemies. Jahangir’s breeding was much the same. He was a descendant of the same stock, but with one all-important difference—his mother was an Indian, a Rājput princess. Blended with his Mongol and Timurid blood was this entirely new strain, bringing with it characteristics that reveal themselves plainly in his mode of thought—that imagination, that sensuousness, that dreaminess which influenced all that he did, and which reflect so clearly the abstractions of the Hindu mind. But above all it gave him a temperament more sensitive than that of his somewhat forceful forbears. This Rājput infusion accounts for many things that would be otherwise difficult to understand in Jahangir’s mental outlook, but it specially helps to explain, in pleasing contrast to Babur, his sympathy for his subjects, his keen interest in their pursuits, and his marked attachment to the country of his birth—truly his motherland.

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Jahangir has suffered much from being measured by extraneous standards, but, regarded broadly, he was a typical example of a good Oriental despot. He had many faults, although when weighed in the balance his virtues more than turn the scale. After his own manner he was a fair administrator, as the empire continued to flourish under his benign rule; and, owing to his peaceful disposition, war, in its aggressive aspect, did not form any part of his policy. In his earnest and determined desire to do justice he endeared himself to all classes, and this was the key-note of his popularity throughout his entire reign. His method in this connexion was one of almost unvarying clemency, but when he struck, as he did at times, his punishments were swift and terrible—so terrible that the mind recoils in horror, and they were carried out with a publicity which left no doubt as to their intention—it made his people realize that their destiny was in his keeping; that while his desire was to show mercy, he also held their lives and happiness in his hands. In his manners he was singularly attractive. He was courteous and considerate to those who sought him in audience, but he was a victim of inconstancy, for as one who suffered wrote, ‘there can be no dealing with this king upon sure terms, who will say and unsay, promise and deny’.¹ His religious views are not easily defined. In spite of his birth he professed to be an orthodox Sunni, but he did not always conform to the tenets of this sect. This is most noticeable in the the Roman world, and the most important events of the reign of Antoninus Pius, are related by his biographer, and the reader will not be sorry to find them here in a more concise form. The reign of Antoninus Pius is marked by the rare advantage of furnishing very few materials for history; which is only another mode of saying that its happiness was complete. During the twenty-three years of his administration, the Roman empire was governed by the same invariable maxims of justice and peace. The natives of a vast extent of country were protected by the same laws, and enjoyed the same privileges. The frontiers were defended by the same legions, and the same spirit of moderation and equity prevailed in the councils of the emperor. The death of Antoninus was lamented as a public calamity; and the memory of his virtues was preserved by the gratitude of his subjects, and the imitation of his successor.

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¹ *A Voyage to East India*, by the Rev. Edward Terry.

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The reign of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, which followed, was a period of great activity and of great events. The empire was attacked on all sides by the barbarians, and the emperor was obliged to spend the greater part of his life in the camp. He was a man of a mild and philosophical temper, and he would have preferred the quiet of the study to the tumult of the field. But he was a prince of a high sense of duty, and he did not shrink from the task which was imposed upon him. He defended the frontiers with vigour, and he defeated the enemies of Rome in many a hard-fought battle. His death was a loss to the empire, and it was felt by all classes of his subjects. He was the last of the good emperors, and with him the golden age of the Roman empire may be said to have terminated.

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The character of the Roman government, under the Antonines, was that of a mild and paternal despotism. The emperor was the source of all power, and his will was the law of the land. But he was restrained by the influence of the senate, and by the force of public opinion. The senate was still a body of great dignity and importance, and its members were the principal officers of the state. The emperor was careful to consult them on all matters of importance, and he was always ready to listen to their advice. The public opinion was also a powerful check upon the actions of the emperor. The people of Rome were still a proud and independent race, and they were not afraid to express their dissatisfaction with the measures of the government. The emperor was aware of this, and he was always careful to avoid any act that would be likely to give offence to the people.

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The administration of justice was one of the most important duties of the emperor. He was the supreme judge of the empire, and he was always ready to hear the complaints of his subjects. He was assisted by a council of jurists, who were the most learned men of the age. The laws were administered with impartiality, and the rights of the citizens were protected. The taxes were moderate, and they were collected with fairness. The public works were carried on with vigour, and the cities of the empire were adorned with magnificent buildings. The trade and commerce of the empire were encouraged, and the people were prosperous and happy. The Roman empire, under the Antonines, was a model of good government, and it was the envy of the world.

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designs on his coinage, which not only exhibit portraits of himself—in the strict sense an offence in itself—but in the act of drinking wine, a flagrant breach of the law of the Prophet. On the whole his religion partook more of the nature of a philosophic fatalism, while freedom of thought and toleration were also included in his creed. But although he sympathized with the faith of his Hindu subjects, often conversing with pandits and ascetics, on occasion he could show the iconoclastic spirit of the zealous Musulman, as when he caused the image of Vishnu as the boar *avatar* (incarnation) to be broken and flung into the Pushkar lake. He was fond of shooting, but on account of a vow gave this up. He abstained from it for five years but eventually returned to his favourite sport. He was, however, invariably kind to animals, excessively so in one case, as when he pitied the royal elephants because they shivered in winter when they sprinkled themselves with cold water. ‘I observed this,’ he writes, ‘and so I ordered that the water should be heated to the temperature of lukewarm milk’, adding ‘this was entirely my own idea; nobody had ever thought of it before’. Yet, as he himself tells us, he could put a man to death, and have two others hamstrung, because in ignorance they exposed themselves inopportunely and frightened away his game.

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Out of this complex array of attributes and imperfections, one feature stands out with singular prominence, one which gathered in intensity as he grew older, which sustained him at all times by the pleasure it gave him, and which illuminated his surroundings with a roseate hue. This was his passionate love of nature, his joy in all the exquisite wonders that the world held for him. For in Jahangir was born the artistic temperament, that aesthetic intuition which, in the words of Walter Pater, enabled him to see and admire all things in their most perfect state of beauty. He knew well that to obtain the full measure of life it was necessary to use this gift freely, to get as many pulsations as possible into the given time, and accordingly his whole nature throbs with ecstasy as he revels in his gardens among flowers or under fruitful trees listening to the music of the birds. All these he loved, as becomes an artist and a poet, and yearned to reproduce them in colour or song. ‘What shall I write of? And how many shall I describe?’ he cries, as he tries in vain to number the flowers of Kashmir, and again, ‘What shall we say of these things or of the wide meadows and the fragrant trefoil?’ And then out of the very fullness of his heart, unable to contain his gladness, he bursts into song:

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The garden-nymphs were brilliant,
Their cheeks shone like lamps ;
There were fragrant buds on their stems,
Like dark amulets on the arms of the beloved.
The wakeful, ode-rehearsing nightingale
Whetted the desires of wine-drinkers ;
At each fountain the duck dipped his beak
Like golden scissors cutting silk ;
There were flower-carpets and fresh rosebuds,
The wind fanned the lamps of the roses,
The violet braided her locks, .
The buds tied a knot in the heart.

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Such was the nature of the monarch who, at this all-important stage, had the moulding of the art of painting in his hands, and the wonder is, not that it flourished, but that it did not rise to higher flights, soaring into the realms of the romantic or idyllic, with such a spirit to lead it on. In spite, however, of Jahangir’s poetical temperament, which would cause him to remark of a perfume that ‘it restores hearts that have gone and brings back withered souls’, Mughal painting, in the hands of its actual exponents, remained intrinsically an art of prose, its acknowledged intention being frank realism, an effort to represent the object ‘as in itself it really is’. Under Jahangir’s refined supervision, the artists, excellent craftsmen as they were, produced some of the best Indian miniatures, and no painters under any other king ever excelled them. But at the back of all their art, reflected in every aspect of it, and especially in the selection of the subject-matter, we see the workings of Jahangir’s artistic mind ; the painter supplied the hereditary skill, and all the training and experience necessary to translate in terms of tone and form and colour the object he desired to produce. But the mainspring of the movement lay in the unerring intuition of this royal aesthete for all things beautiful, and his faculty for inspiring this in those around him. In a word, Jahangir supplied the aesthetic fact—the artist’s vision—while his court painters provided the physical fact—the externalization of that vision—the two co-operating to produce the actual work of art. In studying the painting of this period we shall see how the ideals of the emperor and the skill of the craftsmen were combined in the highest attainment of the Mughal school.

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Unlike his father, Jahangir does not seem to have taken lessons in painting, but from his boyhood he was brought into contact with the subject in a variety of ways. As a youth he saw the religious pictures which the first Jesuit mission brought to the court of the ‘Great Mogul’, for he accompanied the emperor to their chapel, and heard the discussions which took place concerning these examples of Western painting. This gave him an interest in European art which lasted all his life. He was present at Fathpur Sikri when the walls of the palaces were decorated with pictures in the Persian style, and he lived in some of the halls around which were friezes of elephant fights and sporting scenes painted by the Hindu artists under Akbar’s orders. While yet a prince, he took into his service a painter from Herat of the name of Aqa Riza, but, as he afterwards confesses, not a man of much fame, although his son Abu’l-Hasan became a distinguished exponent of the brush. In this connexion he seems to have exercised a certain amount of patronage towards the arts, even in his youthful days, inspired to do so no doubt by the example set by the emperor. Early in life, however, he drifted away from his parent, with whom he had small community of taste, and on the whole we know little of his relations with artists until he became king. Previous to arriving at this exalted state, any distinctive characteristics, especially his artistic proclivities, were completely overshadowed by the outstanding personality of his father. But, when this was removed, the real nature of Jahangir becomes apparent, and from this point the conduct of his whole life testifies to his passion for every form of art, especially pictures. During his early years this *flair*, for want of opportunity, was suppressed within him, smouldering but never allowed to burn. Then it blazed forth with additional ardour, and the work of his court painters reflected in full measure the spirit of this fire.

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The young emperor was not only interested in the painting of his own artists, but his aesthetic activities were manifested in another direction, one which reacted almost immediately, and with a beneficial effect, on the productions of the rising school. He was a connoisseur and a keen collector of historical paintings. On no occasion, therefore, was an opportunity lost of acquiring illuminated manuscripts and rare old miniatures from those regions where these classical articles had been originally executed. He dispatched agents to negotiate for them, and embassies were instructed to include them among the treasures they brought back from the courts of other kings. When these missions returned, and presented themselves at the hall of audience, before any other business was begun, the emperor in his eagerness would first examine all ‘the beautiful and costly things’ that they had brought, and specially dilate on the pictures or manuscripts, expressing his gratitude for that ‘destiny which gave such rare things into his hands’. Descriptions of a few of these objects of art have been preserved, and although meagre in their details, they are sufficient to give some idea of the royal connoisseur’s taste, and the artistic quality of these articles generally. There were four miniatures of the School of Bihzad, dated A. D. 1499, which Jahangir is recorded to have valued at fifteen hundred rupees.

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The works of this great artist were apparently difficult to obtain even in those days, and the Mughal emperor had to be content with paintings by his pupils, although none of these was so skilful as the old master himself. On another occasion a copy of *Yusuf and Zulaikha*, the oldest poetical treatment of the Biblical story of Joseph, came into his hands ‘in the handwriting of Mulla Mir Ali with illustrations and in a beautiful gilt binding, worth 1,000 muhrs’. The Mulla was a famous calligrapher, and, as it was the custom for the illustrations in these manuscripts to be of the same high standard as the writing, this would be a very valuable acquisition. But the gem of Jahangir’s collection was a signed picture by Khalil Mirza, a Timurid artist whose handiwork was at that time nearly two hundred years old. The manner in which this precious relic was obtained is told in the emperor’s own words, and shows that there was as much luck, romance, and also sordidness in these transactions in the past as there is in similar ‘deals’ of the present day. It appears to have been originally in the royal library of one of the Safavid kings of Persia, but ‘a person of the name of Sadiqi, a librarian of his, had stolen it, and sold it to some one.

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By chance it fell into the hands of Khan ‘Alam of Isfahan.’ This man was either a collector or a dealer, and it seems that Shah ‘Abbas, the reigning emperor of Persia, and himself an enthusiastic connoisseur, ‘heard that he had found such a rare prize, and asked it of him on the pretence of looking at it. Khan ‘Alam tried to evade this by artful stratagems, but when he repeatedly insisted on it, he sent it to him. The Shah recognized it immediately he saw it. He kept it by him for a day, but at last, as he knew how great was our (Jahangir’s) liking for such rarities, he—God be praised—... told the facts of the case (about its being stolen) to Khan ‘Alam’—which was all the dealer got for his pains—and made the picture over to the Mughal emperor’s representative, who was at the Persian capital and happened to be negotiating for its purchase at that particular time. When this ‘old master’, after its adventures, was finally presented to Jahangir, he soliloquizes over it with the intimate knowledge of an expert. ‘The work was very complete and grand, and resembled greatly the paint-brush of Ustad Bihzad. If the name of the painter had not been written, the work would have been believed to be his.

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As it was executed before Bihzad’s date it is probable that the latter was one of Khalil Mirza’s pupils, and had adopted his style.’ This statement indicates more than an ordinary interest in the painting of the past—on this occasion, and on others, the names of the great Persian artists roll off his tongue with a fluency begotten of experience, and he praises their skill, or compares their styles, with the assurance of a finished student of the art of painting.

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That Jahangir himself had no small opinion of his own proficiency in this subject, especially of his knowledge of the individual mannerisms of the different artists, whether ancient or contemporary, is clear from the following somewhat startling pronouncement. ‘As regards myself,’ he boasts, ‘my liking for painting and my practice in judging it have arrived at such a point that when any work is brought to me, either of deceased artists or those of the present day, without the names being told me, I say on the spur of the moment that it is the work of such and such a man. And if there be a picture containing many portraits, and each face be the work of a different master, I can discover which face is the work of each of them. If any other person has put in the eye and eyebrow of a face; I can perceive whose work the original face is, and who has painted the eyes and eyebrow.’ It will at once occur to the reader that the emperor’s decisions were certainly never doubted, but apart from this the reference contains some useful information, especially regarding the custom of employing several artists on one miniature, a matter of technique which will be discussed in due course. Allowing also for oriental hyperbole it certainly describes Jahangir as something more than a close observer of each artist’s method of work. His statement was not, however, intended to be taken as a literal fact, but was introduced into his memoirs in this emphatic form to make it quite clear to his audience that his knowledge of painting was not that of a mere dilettante, but that of an experienced connoisseur. It seems probable that something between these two would be nearer the mark. In any case Jahangir’s acquaintance with the classical aspects of the art of miniature painting, and particularly his activities in acquiring examples of the best schools to place before his artists, were some of the principal means by which the work of his reign was raised to its high standard of excellence. We have seen that one source from which the painters drew their inspiration was the collection of illuminated manuscripts contained in the imperial library. These, like the pictures in a modern art gallery, were studied by the Indian artists and formed the basis of their style. But not all these illustrations were of equal merit. The decay of Persian art had already set in, and any contemporary paintings which found their way from that country into the hands of the Mughal craftsmen were not likely to influence them for good. Some copies of these by the hands of Indian artists have been preserved, and show how they were occasionally misled in this respect. What was needed at this particular juncture was an authority to provide that sense of artistic discrimination which would distinguish the good from the inferior. Akbar had lacked the requisite knowledge, his investigations had been limited by the deficiencies in his education, although intuition might have helped him much. He appears to have left the artists, when once started on their career, very much to their own devices, to rise or fall by their own individual selection of models. The pictures of his reign are proof of this, and show that the painters were groping about in the mists of uncertainty, with no one to guide them on their way. But when Jahangir became emperor and patron, with the school under his control, all this was changed. He was an antiquarian with an artist's eye, and out of the well-spring of his knowledge he supplied this missing quality, using it with rare judgement, as the art of his time bears eloquent testimony.

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The letters of Sir Thomas Roe afford an excellent insight into life at the Mughal capital, and the conditions of Hindustan generally during the years 1615 to 1618, and some of these epistles contain interesting accounts of his discussions with Jahangir on the subject of miniature painting. The ambassador's mission was an important one, relating to a commercial treaty between India and England, and it shows how prominently art figured in the affairs of state, when it finds a place in several business communications to his directors in London. Roe's position at the court was a difficult one, and he certainly did not see the ‘ Great Mogul ’ to advantage. Surrounding the throne was a screen of scheming officials, some of them unaware of the real objects of the embassy, others, for their own ends, antagonistic, and all supremely ignorant of the character of the country it represented. In these circumstances it is easy to see why Roe's impressions of Jahangir, and the methods of his ministers, were described with a certain amount of bitterness, as his outlook was clouded with much trouble and disappointment. The ambassador had many interviews with the emperor, most of them fruitless so far as the main purpose of his mission was concerned, but they discussed many subjects outside the matter of his business, and one of these led later to several interesting situations. This was the subject of painting. In his fondness for miniatures Jahangir seems to have occupied rather an isolated position among his own people. While he could talk technicalities with his court painters, few of his nobles or officials appear to have been sufficiently advanced in their appreciation of the art to afford him much pleasure in conversing with them on his favourite theme. In Roe he met for the first time a refined and well-educated Englishman, a man of breeding, and one who could express an intelligent opinion on any matter. Jahangir took to Roe at once, possibly on this account, for they had their differences, as the letters relate, chiefly, however, through the intrigues of outsiders ; but the emperor says of his visitor, ‘ I acknowledge you an Ambassador. I have found you a gentleman in your usage,’ a concise but handsome tribute to the diplomatist’s courtly bearing under varying circumstances. On his part, Roe himself was for the first time in the presence of a cultured oriental potentate, and, on the whole, the liking was reciprocated. Jahangir’s gracious manner and uniform courtesy towards him created a very favourable impression, so that he exultantly writes that he was treated ‘ with more favour and outward grace . . . than ever was showed to any Ambassador ’.

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This propitious atmosphere having been created, it was not long before Roe was brought into communication with the emperor on the subject of painting. The latter was elated to find that Roe had a small collection of miniatures, by English and French artists, which he had brought with him on his voyage. Discussions on the merits of these and the skill of his own painters took place on several occasions, all of which have been most faithfully recorded by the ambassador. They were informally conducted, being interspersed ‘ with many passages of Iests, mirth and brages concerning the arts of his Countrye ’, for the emperor was always more than usually light-hearted whenever this topic was being discussed. It was customary for these audiences to take place in the late evening, for Roe relates that ‘ At night about 10 of the clock hee sent for me. I was abedd. The message was ; hee hard I had a picture which I had not showed him, desiering mee to Come to him and bring yt, and if I would not give it him, yet that hee might see yt and take Coppyes for his wives. I rose and carryed yt with mee.’ Then follows a very interesting description of Jahangir at his ease. ‘ When I came in I found him sitting crosse legged on a little throne, all cladd in diamondes, Pearles, and rubyes ; before him a table of gould, on yt about 50 Peeces of gould plate, sett all with stones, some very great and extreamly rich, some of lesse valew, but all of them almost covered with small stones ; his Nobilitye about him on their best equipage, whom he Commanded to drinck froliquely, severall wynes standing by in great flagons.’ Under these somewhat peculiar conditions the emperor and the ambassador exchanged views about miniature painting and the art in general. Jahangir was much impressed with the European ‘paintings in little’ produced by Roe, this being the first time that he had seen work of this kind. Nevertheless he was so sure of the skill of his own painters that he was convinced they could do work equally good. The result was that the ambassador was persuaded to lend some of these portraits to the emperor so that his artists might reproduce them in a similar manner. But the incident is best told in Roe’s own words, for in this way will be shown the attitude of Jahangir towards his artists and their art in the most natural light. The ambassador was sent for to attend a private conference of the kind previously described.

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The business was about a Picture I had lately giuen the king and was Confident that noe man in India could equall yt. So soone as I came hee asked mee what I would giue the Paynter that had made a Coppy soe like it that I should not knowe myne owne. I answered : a Painters reward—50 rupies. The king replied his Painter was a Cauallere,¹ and that too smalle a guift ; to which I answered I gaue my Picture with a good hart, esteeming it rare, and ment not to make comparisons or wagers : if his Seruant had done as well, and would not accept of my guifte, his Maiestie was most fitt to reward him. [Later] At night hee sent for mee, beeing hastie to triumph in his woorkman, and shewed me 6 Pictures, 5 made by his man, all pasted on one table, so like that I was by candle-light troubled to discerne which was which ; I confesse beyond all expectation, yet I shewed myne owne and the differences, which were in arte apparent, but not to be judged by a Common eye. But for that at first sight I knew it not, hee was very merry and Ioyful and craked like a Northern man. I gaue him way and Content, praying his mans arte. Now, saith hee, what say you? I replied I saw his Maiestie needed noe Picture from our Country. But, saieth hee, what will you giue the Painter? I answered : seeing hee had soe farr excelled my opinione of him, I would double my liberalitye, and that if hee came to my house, I would giue him 100 Rupies to buy a Nagg : which the king tooke kindly, but answered hee should accept no mony but some other guifte ; which I promised. The king asked : what? I said it was referrable to my discretion. So hee answered it was true ; yet desiered I would name yt. I replyed a good swoord, or Pistoll, or Picture ; wherat the king answered ; yow confesse hee is a good woorkman ; send for him home, and showe him such toyes as you haue and lett him choose one ; in requitall wherof you shall choose any of these Coppies to showe in England wee are not soe vnskillful as you esteeme vs. Soe hee pressed mee to choose one, which I did. The king, wrapping it vp in paper and putting it vp in a table book ² of myne, deliuered yt with much Joye and exultation of his mans supposed victory.

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¹ A gentleman—a term the king had doubtless learned from the Portuguese.

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² Note-book.

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the Roman world, and the most important events of the reign of Antoninus Pius, are related by his biographer, and the reader will not be sorry to find them here in a more concise form. The reign of Antoninus Pius is marked by the rare advantage of furnishing very few materials for history; which is only another mode of saying that its happiness was complete. During the twenty-three years of his administration, the Roman empire was governed by the same invariable maxims of justice and peace. The natives of a vast extent of country were protected by the same laws, and enjoyed the same privileges. The frontiers were defended by the same legions, and the same spirit of moderation and equity prevailed in the councils of the emperor. The death of Antoninus was lamented as a public calamity; and the memory of his virtues was preserved by the gratitude of his subjects, and the imitation of his successor.

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Portrait of Sher Muhammad Nawab, by Muhammad Nādir of Samarqand ; painted c. A.D. 1615 British Museum, Add. 18801, fol. 40.

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Roe records several interviews of a like nature, in which the emperor expressed his opinions on painting in the most naïve manner. He was clearly attracted by the European miniatures shown to him, some of which were very good examples, as one or two were from the brush of Isaac Oliver, the leading English miniaturist of the time. Jahangir was, however, quite satisfied with the artistic ability of his own painters, but—be it marked—only as expert copyists, their originality not being called into question. On his part Roe was much struck with the excellence of the Indian painting, although previous to being introduced to it by the emperor he had expressed himself in disappointed, and even patronizing terms, of the indigenous crafts. In one of his letters to a friend in England he writes, ‘here there are almost no Civill arts, but such as struggling Christians have lately taught’. When, however, he saw the productions of the court artists he completely changed his views, going so far as to say that ‘indeed in the arte of limnings his Paynters woorke miracles’, a spontaneous manifestation of unqualified praise, coming as it did from one who knew what a good miniature was.

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From these interesting sidelights on the art we may turn to the school itself, as it was conducted under these favourable conditions. Many of Jahangir’s court artists were those who had worked under his father at Fathpur Sikri, nevertheless there were some important changes, especially in the Persian element. The two pioneers of the movement, Abdus Samad and Mir Sayyid Ali, had died, and the Kalmack artist, Farrukh Beg, was now the leader of the school. Jahangir had a great opinion of him, and, on the occasion of the marriage celebrations of the heir-apparent, records that ‘two thousand rupees were given to Farrukh Beg, the painter, who is unrivalled in the age’. He was not, however, the only Central Asian artist at the court, for the rising school had been reinforced by two painters from Samarqand—Muhammad Nadir and Muhammad Murad—both excellent portrait painters, especially in the process of black outline termed the *siyāhī qalam*. An example of the former’s handiwork may be studied on Plate XVI; the strong drawing that both these artists showed bore fruit in the improved outline that is apparent in the pictures of Jahangir’s reign. Although Persians continued to arrive in Hindustan to fill various official appointments under the Government for many years to come, the two artists from Samarqand are, with one unimportant exception in the reign of Shah Jahan, the last foreign artists of whom we have any record at the court of the Mughals. They appear to be the final link with the parent art of Persia; from now onward the Mughal school cast off its leading strings, and progressed unaided to the end. But with these foreign artists may be grouped several Muhammadan painters, who were probably not entirely of Indian parentage. Prominent among them was Abu’l-Hasan, who was of Persian extraction, the son of Aqa Riza from Herat, both of whom have been already mentioned in connexion with this art under Akbar. Jahangir had a great opinion of the younger painter, as he writes that he ‘was honoured with the title of Nadir uz-Zaman, because he drew the picture of my accession as the frontispiece to the Jahangir-nama, and brought it to me. As it was worthy of all praise, he received endless favours. His work was perfect, and his picture is one of the *chefs-d’œuvre* of the age. At the present time he has no equal or rival. If at this day the masters ‘Abdu’l-Hayy and Bihzad were alive, they would have done him justice.’ Few pictures by Abu’l-Hasan appear to have survived, but that on Plate XVII, Fig. 1, bears a minute inscription which may refer to this artist. It is a delicate piece of work, the background is a very dark green, almost black, and the figure of the old pilgrim telling his beads, as he laboriously makes his way with the aid of his staff, fully bears out Jahangir’s eulogy on his favourite painter’s skill. The miniature is completed by a floral border, not included in the reproduction, which makes the whole a very attractive work of art.

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The royal connoisseur also highly praises the leading animal painter Ustad Mansur, of whom he writes that he ‘has become Nadiru’l-‘Asr (wonder of the age), and in the art of drawing is unique in his generation’. In explanation of these grandiloquent titles it may be noticed that Jahangir had a playful way of devising these and conferring them on those who pleased him with their handiwork. Besides those here referred to, ‘Umdat al-Musavvirin, ‘the pillar of the painters’, and Naqwat al-Muharririn, ‘choicest of writers’, were given at one time to the leading artist and writer respectively at his court. From these and other indications, it is fairly clear that in this monarch’s eyes the Muhammadan artists found the greatest favour, although he gives credit to the Hindu where this is due. He makes special reference to a portrait painter of the name of Bishandās, ‘who was unequalled in his age for taking likenesses’. Of Daulat, too, one of Akbar’s ablest illustrators, he also entertained a high opinion, and ordered that his portrait should be painted, together with that of the writer, on the fly-leaf of an illuminated manuscript, in the production of which both these experts took a prominent part. This interesting picture is reproduced on Plate XVIII.

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It was Jahangir’s custom to have two or three of these artists always in attendance, attached continually to his suite. To some of these he showed almost a parental care for their welfare, for concerning Abu’l-Hasan, already mentioned, he writes, ‘ my connection was based on my having reared him. From his earliest years up to the present time I have always looked after him, till his art has arrived at this rank. Truly he has become Nadir uz-Zamān (the wonder of the age).’ These artists not only spent their lives at the court, but travelled about with the emperor whenever he went on his very frequent tours in order to transfer to paper any subject in which he showed a special interest. The Mughals seem to have employed their court painters principally in the capacity of ‘ special artists ’, to make pictorial records of any passing events. In the time of Jahangir, this occupation, although it had its responsibilities, was an easy one in comparison with the strenuous existence of those on the staff of Akbar. On one occasion the latter took with him three of his leading painters, Sanwal Das (Sanwlah), Jagannath, and Tara Chand, on a forced march of nearly six hundred miles in eleven days across the Rājputāna deserts at the hottest time of the year, ending in the battle of Sarnal, of which Sanwlah made a stirring picture.

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The story of this ride—much of it accomplished on swift she-camels—is most graphically told in the *Akbarnāma*,¹ and shows that all those who aspired to serve this monarch, even his artists, had to be men of mettle, and able to endure the utmost hardship. But Jahangir’s progress through life was of a more leisurely order, and the subjects that he commissioned his artists to paint were not battles and sieges, beloved of his father, but incidents of peace. Many of these he described fully in his memoirs, and at the end of each account he almost invariably added the words, ‘ I ordered my painters to make its picture ’. And so we have every object that excited his attention, and every incident in which he figured, realistically set down by his court artists who were always at hand to carry out his behests. The most important of these pictures are generally those in which the emperor occupied the central position, and in all collections of Indian miniatures some of these are to be found. With these before us we may follow his movements and even share in the innocent pleasures with which he varied his indulgent life. Here we may see him travelling in state to Kandahar accompanied by appropriately attired officials and discussing with them everything that attracted his notice (Plate XIX). Again, at the end of the day’s march, he is depicted resting in a garden, one of those formally designed retreats in which the Mughals loved to spend their leisure hours.

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The painter has depicted the shrubs and trees in full bloom, with birds shyly lingering amidst the blossoms. In the midst, seated on a richly embroidered carpet, the emperor converses with those about him on the delights of his surroundings (Plate XLIX). As a contrast to this idyll, in another picture we see him in the forefront of the chase, his dreaminess cast to the winds, as with the lust of the hunter expressed in every movement he brings down the black buck with his arrow, or with his musket slays the lion (Plate XLII). Now he appears, accompanied by his young son, reverently approaching the mausoleum of a saint, an act of devotion for which he has made days of preparation (Plate XX). Then we see him in the most resplendent scene of all, seated on a gold and jewelled throne, with a shining halo around his head, lavishly attired in silk and brocades, and hung with pearls and precious stones. Around him are groups of courtiers, almost as richly dressed as himself, assisting him in maintaining with due ceremony the dignity of his imperial state (Frontispiece). With this brilliant function we may compare another very different picture, where, plainly robed and with deferential air, seated on the ground he pays homage to a religious mendicant, whose only habitation is the shadow of a gnarled peepul tree, and whose companions are the wild beasts.

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Anon he is supervising the construction of a summer-house, discussing with his builder the plan of the pavilion, there he is laying out a garden, fixing the positions of the fountains, cascades, and flower beds; now he is out hawking, or watching the fighting rams or ponderous elephants engaged in combat, here admiring a firework display—but the number of these pictures is unending, and the scenes and effects ever varied.

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¹ Vol. iii, p. 69.

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XVIII. Portraits of Daulat the painter, and Abd ur-Rahim the writer, of Mr. Dyson Perrins's copy of the Khamsah ; painted c. A.D. 1605 ; size 5½" × 8".

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Apart from being accurate reproductions of the scenes they were intended to represent, each of these miniatures includes a characteristic portrait of Jahangir himself, always of course showing the monarch to the best advantage. In every one of these he is shown with a golden halo, but even without this artificial accessory, which from this time invariably distinguishes the ruling monarch of the dynasty, Jahangir stands out by the intellectuality of his features as a man of mark. There are pictures of him at every age, from a babe to an elderly man, and in almost all these the same striking personality is discernible. The Mughal emperors owed their position as rulers of their vast territory mainly to the fact that they were mentally the superiors of those around them. We see this reflected in the portraits of all the leading members of the line, just as we notice its absence when the dynasty became effete. In spite of the signs of his failings, and they are written plainly in the weak modelling of his jaw and chin, Jahangir, except towards the end of his life, possessed an attractive appearance. Plate XVII, Fig. 2, shows him as a young prince, whose frank and open countenance was yet unblemished by dissipation, and untouched by anxiety. When in his prime, as in several pictures here presented, his chiselled features must have been a pleasure to the artist to reproduce. As he grew older these ever-truthful delineators did not omit those flabby folds that told only too well the tale of his self-indulgences. And at the last we see him, as in Plate XXI, an unfinished sketch, when illness and disappointment had hardened his expression, shadowed it with resentment, and made an old man of him before his time. It is, however, in some of the court pictures that one likes best to visualize this monarch, when, filled with the joy of life and happy in all things, he sits with kingly bearing on his golden throne, communicating some of his buoyant nature, which rarely failed, to those around him.

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Fatehpur Sikri

Indian Painting under the Mughals, A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1750 c15: III. Jahangir the Aesthete (A.D. 1605 to 1627)

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III. Jahangir the Aesthete (A.D. 1605 to 1627)

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