Indian Painting under the Mughals, A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1750 c16: IV. Shah Jahan; Aurangzeb, and the Decline

Indian Painting under the Mughals, A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1750 c16

Language: English

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c16.38 — 4 parts

IV. Shah Jahan; Aurangzeb, and the Decline

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ALTHOUGH the intimate relations that existed between Jahangir and his court painters were not continued by his successor Shah Jahan, nevertheless the latter’s reign was one of remarkable artistic activity. As Prince Khurram he evinced an interest in the subject of painting, as may be gathered from an incident recorded by Roe. The ambassador had presented the heir-apparent with ‘a siluer watch very small, which he tooke kyndly ; but tould mee the Pictures I showed his father the night before, If I had giuen him, hee would have better accepted than any thing ; demanding if I had no more.’ The young emperor-elect was obviously as greedy as Jahangir to possess examples of the European miniature painters’ art. But Shah Jahan’s artistic patronage did not specially confine itself to painting, as did Jahangir’s ; it was more comprehensive, and diffused itself over the whole field of the fine and applied arts, with the result that not only one but all the crafts flourished. This monarch’s name is, however, chiefly associated with architecture, because it is by the many noble buildings erected in his reign that he is most widely known. The palace-fort at Delhi, which he caused to be built not long after he had ascended the throne, although shorn of much of its splendour by subsequent vicissitudes, is a monument to his imperial magnificence.

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Among several florid couplets painted on the central pavilion of this edifice by the Mughal artist in praise of the beauty of his own handiwork, is one which reads, ‘the face of its wall is so decorated, that it demands from the painters of China a fee for showing its face’. In spite of the somewhat vague hyperbole, such an inscription does not fail to indicate that the Indians continued to regard their fellow craftsmen in the Far East as serious competitors in the pictorial art. When this array of palaces was occupied by its founder, and in the height of its splendour, it was a suitable setting to the gorgeous pageants which took place within its walls. Plate XXIV¹ depicts a durbar being held in the *Diwan-i-* Am, or ‘ Hall of Public Audience ’, on the occasion of the reception by Shah Jahan of an embassy from Persia, which event probably took place soon after his accession in the year 1628. The emperor was then thirty-six years old, which is about the age at which the artist has portrayed him, and the picture is typical, not only of the painting, but also of the pomp, even pretentiousness, of the Mughals during the first half of the seventeenth century. The incident here recorded could not have taken place, however, at Shah Jahan’s palace at Delhi, as the construction of this was not begun until some years later, but the building shown in his picture bears considerable similarity to the one which was ultimately erected by this emperor on the banks of the Jumna.

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Heavily carpeted pavements, painted sandstone pillars, gilt marble walls, embroidered velvet ceiling cloths, and pearl-fringed canopies, were some of the extravagancies introduced by this luxurious potentate as a fit setting for his court. Among the group of officials on the left of the picture, some of the members of the Persian mission may be observed, being distinguished by their costume which differs from that of the Mughals. Saluting the king by putting his right hand up to his forehead, is the Persian ambassador, while beside him is a Mughal official reading from a small tablet the personnel of the mission, which is being introduced by name and rank. With him are several Mughal councillors, but farther back are a number of Persians bearing golden trays containing jewelled cups and precious ornaments, a present from their imperial master, Shah Sufi, who had just succeeded his more famous father Shah Abbas. Below will be seen the remaining and more substantial portion of the Safavid ruler’s princely offering, consisting of five richly caparisoned Arab horses, each in charge of a Persian groom. On the right of the picture are some of the lesser court officials, while standing on the low platform in the middle are two handsome youths waving yak-tail *chauris* (fly-whisks), the symbol of royalty, another attendant engaged in a similar duty being in the emperor’s rear.

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On the same level as Shah Jahan and facing him, with folded hands and respectful mien, are his two elder sons, Dara Shikoh and Shuja, accompanied by their tutor. In the rich colouring shown by the costumes of striped and flowered brocades, in the range of shades of the complexions, from the fair-skinned Persians down to the swarthy Indian menials, each face being a studied likeness, in its fullness of detail (even the features on the small portrait brooches worn on the turbans of some of the officials being recognizable), as an example of Mughal painting this miniature holds a high place. And in the centre of the composition, emphasized by a radiant nimbus, is the refined face of the emperor, to whose aesthetic mind not a little of the artistic and architectural wealth of India is due.

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¹ The original picture is erroneously inscribed ‘Jahangir Padshadi’ in the writing of a later hand.

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Besides its value as a work of art, however, this picture has a certain historical interest. It has been pointed out that the ambassador is shown not bowing low before the emperor as was the custom in India, but saluting him with head erect after the fashion of his own country, a fact which the artist has faithfully reproduced. Interpreted by the sensitive Mughal ruler as a sign of disrespect, the Persian’s action was the beginning of a sequence of misunderstandings which did not improve the strained relations already existing between the two powers. The breach had originated in Jahangir’s reign, and the bone of contention was the possession of Kandahar, which, situated on the borders of the two empires, was destined in less than a hundred years to be four times taken over by the Persians and three times handed back to the Mughals. When Shah Jahan came to the throne the mission depicted in the miniature had apparently been dispatched from Ispahan with the object of propitiating the new emperor, and smoothing over any difficulties which had arisen previously. Whether the Mughal’s resentment was too deep to be allayed by gifts, or the ambassador selected was deficient in tact—there appear to have been faults on both sides—in either case a series of discreditable scenes was the result. Several of these have been related by Bernier, and one of the most important had some connexion with the picture now being described. ‘When Shah-Jahan’, writes the French traveller, ‘had made several fruitless attempts to subdue the arrogance of the ambassador, whom no arguments or caresses could induce to salute the *Great Mogol* according to the *Indian* mode, he devised this artifice to gain his end. He commanded that the grand entrance of the court leading to the *Am-kas*, where he intended to receive the ambassador, should be closed, and the wicket only left open; a wicket so low that a man could not pass through without stooping, and holding down the head as is customary in doing reverence *à l’indienne*. Shah-Jahan hoped by this expedient to have it in his power to say that the ambassador, in approaching the royal presence, bowed the head even nearer to the ground than is usual in his court; but the proud and quick-sighted *Persian*, penetrating into the *Mogol’s* design, entered the wicket with his back turned toward the king. Shah-Jahan, vexed to see himself overcome by the ambassador’s stratagem, said indignantly, “*Eh-bed-bakt* (Ah, wretch!) didst thou imagine thou wast entering a stable of asses like thyself?” “I did imagine it”, was the answer; “who, on going through such a door, can believe he is visiting any but asses ? ” ’¹ Such is one of several stories regarding the passages of arms which took place between the two principal personages shown in this picture.

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¹ Bernier, p. 151.

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Magnificent though the Mughal palace was when Shah Jahan was in his prime, as the painting of the time definitely proves, the building itself served merely as the casket for a most precious jewel which was contained therein. The casket still remains, but the jewel, represented by one of the most valuable works of art ever constructed, namely, the famous Peacock Throne, has disappeared. This throne on which the emperor sat in state in his palace of splendour was emblematic of his majesty and pride, while, as a contrast to this picture, the vacant place at the present time in the empty marble pavilion where it used to stand guarded night and day by armed eunuchs shows how the glory of the dynasty has faded away like a dream. Careful descriptions of the Peacock Throne, by experts who saw it, have, however, been preserved, while, what is even more important, accurate copies of it appear in several pictures of the period. A miniature depicting this ornate article of state is reproduced on Plate XXV, and shows Shah Jahan occupying it as a comparatively young man, probably not long after he had been proclaimed emperor in 1628. Early in his reign the throne was not such an elaborate piece of furniture as that so minutely recorded by Tavernier, who made his inspection in 1655, for some time between these dates twelve golden pillars encrusted with precious stones were introduced to support the canopy, and several other expensive structural features added. But in many respects the picture here presented tallies with the French jeweller’s account. It depicts the canopy ‘ covered with diamonds and pearls, with a fringe of pearls all around ’; the artist has also included the ‘ quadrangular-shaped dome ’, on which ‘ is to be seen a peacock with elevated tail made of blue sapphires and other coloured stones, the body being of gold inlaid with precious stones, having a large ruby in front of the breast, from whence hangs a pear-shaped pearl of 50 carats or thereabouts, and of a somewhat yellow water ’. It must be admitted that the picture shows two peacocks, instead of one, but it is not unlikely that the artist’s drawing is the more correct. The peacocks stand with spreading tails, and are painted a deep blue, with a pearl hanging from the breast of each, as described by Tavernier,² who valued the whole at six million pounds sterling. Bernier, who saw the throne about the same time, adds an interesting note regarding its design. It was ‘ made by a workman of astonishing powers, a Frenchman by birth ’ (subsequently identified as an individual of the name of La Grange), ‘who, after defrauding several of the Princes of Europe, by means of false gems, which he fabricated with peculiar skill, sought refuge in the Great Mogol’s court, where he made his fortune’.

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² Tavernier, vol. i, pp. 381, 385.

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XXV. The Emperor Shah Jahan on the Peacock Throne; painted c. A.D. 1630 Collection of Baron Maurice Rothschild, Paris.

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Portrait of the Emperor Akbar; painted under the direction of Muhammad Faqīrullāh Khān Head Artist at the court of Shah Jahan c. A.D. 1650; collection of M. Cartier, Paris.

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Remarkable in its design, and extraordinarily rich in its construction though the throne of the ‘Great Moguls’ was, especially when seen *in situ*, with the gorgeously ornamented pillared hall as its background, it was excelled in every way by Shah Jahan’s greatest architectural triumph, the Taj Mahal at Agra. This magnificent conception, which enshrines the remains of his queen, Arjuman Begum, is one of the noblest memorials ever erected to any human being, and denotes the high-water mark of art under the Mughals. It is fitting that this emperor’s reign, sumptuous in its pageantry, and prodigal in its display of wealth, should be crowned by such a masterpiece of the builders’ art, so admirable in sentiment, so perfect in composition. While its architectural proportions, and the chaste material with which it is constructed, are its main charm, in the beauty of some of the decorative details, particularly the coloured lapidary, it has probably never been equalled. And in these delicate patterns of precious stones there is much that is reminiscent of the contemporary art of the painter, for the same *motifs* may be seen in the designs on the inlaid alabaster as on the flowered borders of the miniatures. The illuminated mount framing the picture on Plate LIII is very similar to much of the *pietra dura* in the Taj and other buildings of the period: in technique only do the two crafts differ, in the one the effects were obtained by coloured stones, in the other by pigments and burnished gold. During this reign no miniature was considered complete unless it was surrounded by one of these highly ornamented borders, in which bright-hued flowers, butterflies, and birds were freely introduced. Nor did such a desire for display, which was the key-note of the time, end thus, but it became customary for these spacious mounts to be still further enriched by the addition of a number of human figures, seated or standing, amid floral scrolls or arabesques. This form of embellishment, while appearing first in Jahangir’s reign, became a distinctive feature of the art under Shah Jahan, as the majority of the pictures belonging to his period plainly demonstrate. An appreciable number of these works of art with borders of a corresponding character, and bearing considerable similarity in general appearance, design, and treatment, seems to have formed part of a large and ambitious volume of miniatures prepared under the latter emperor’s orders. Although its pages are now scattered among various collections, it is possible to reconstruct a considerable portion of this album and so obtain a very fair idea of the painting and the school at the time when the Taj Mahal was being constructed, and the Mughal dynasty was at its zenith.

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The scheme of this notable work as a whole was both pictorial and descriptive, a volume being devoted to each, but it is with its former aspect that we are more closely concerned. The volume reserved for the miniatures consisted of a complete series of portraits of the Mughal royal family and its principal supporters, from the earliest times to the middle of the seventeenth century; it was no doubt inspired by Akbar’s conception of a national portrait album to which reference has been made, but Shah Jahan considerably amplified this, and also brought it up to date. The pictures presented these historic personages not only as single individuals but also in groups, and with their chief officials and retainers added in the borders around them. Plate XXVI, a portrait of Akbar, is one of the series—one only from a large selection—and well illustrates the style of the work, all the pictures being executed in the same manner, although some are more ornate than others. The conception was characteristic of the age, especially in the lavish form in which it was carried out, and in the expansive borders with their figures, flowers, animals, and arabesques. On its production a staff of painters and writers was employed during the greater part of Shah Jahan’s reign, under the supervision of the most distinguished artists of the state. Of these an expert of the name of Muhammad Faqīrullāh Khān took the chief part, but he was assisted by an excellent portrait painter named Mir Hāshim. One page, probably towards the completion of the work, was allotted to the former artist, no doubt as a compliment to his assiduity during its preparation, on which his own portrait was painted together with the members of his staff. This is reproduced on Plate XXVII, and is one of the few pictures which give us actual likenesses of the Mughal artists, for these as a rule are known only to us by name or through their works. But here we have, as the inscription boldly tells us, a representation of the chief government artist in the flesh, and also portraits of the painters and writers who were his collaborators. Faqīrullāh Khān is depicted as a refined and middle-aged Muhammadan official in court costume, without any special indications of his artistic calling. It is unfortunate that only a very few pictures, the work of this painter’s hand, have survived, but those that have been identified as his, while of some merit, are not to be numbered among the best. It seems most probable that his duty was mainly that of supervision, the actual production XXVII. Portrait of Muhammad Faqīrullāh Khān, Head Artist at the court of Shah Jahan ; painted c. A.D. 1650 ; collection of Baron Maurice Rothschild, Paris ; size 14½" × 11½".

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XXVIII. Portrait of a nobleman; painted by Mir Hashim c. A.D. 1650 Collection of M. Demotte, Paris.

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of the portraiture and calligraphy, with the illuminated borders, devolving on Mir Hashim and his other assistants. A likeness of Hashim is not forthcoming, but an example of his painting taken from the same volume may be studied on Plate XXVIII. The remaining members of Faqīrullāh’s staff form an interesting group around the portrait of their master, the painters being differentiated from the writers by the character of the implements and materials that are placed before them. Four of his assistants are Muhammadans, the three others being Hindus; of the latter the keen-looking young man in the bottom right-hand corner of the picture is a Rājput. It is evident, therefore, that the school of painters under Shah Jahan still retained a fair proportion of indigenous talent, Hindu craftsmen continuing to be indispensable as in the days of Akbar and Jahangir.

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It may be inferred from this and other circumstances that although Shah Jahan took no little pleasure in the productions of his official painters, he had not that passion for pictures which was such a notable characteristic of his predecessors. While he maintained on his staff a limited and select body of highly trained artists, in numbers these were nothing to be compared with the great concourse of painters who for over a generation had been dependent on the patronage of the Mughal rulers. In reducing the numbers of this class of retainer, for such a course was undoubtedly adopted, Shah Jahan unconsciously took the step of decentralizing this art and making it less of an imperial monopoly. The groups of painters who had flocked around Akbar’s and Jahangir’s courts, finding their services no longer required under the new régime, after a time began to cast around for other means of support. Premonitions of an approaching change in the status of the artists had already taken place. Towards the end of Jahangir’s reign this sovereign’s enthusiasm for pictures showed signs of being communicated to the noblemen and chiefs of his ministry, who, proud to follow in the footsteps of such a connoisseur, soon drew some of the state artists around themselves. In the reign of his successor Shah Jahan, the custom spread, especially as more artists were available owing to the changed conditions at the court. No longer were pictures produced for the sole edification of the emperor, or artists retained only for the purpose of decorating the royal summer-houses and pavilions; instead the leading families found it fashionable to keep in their service painters, whom they employed either in ornamenting the walls of their houses with pictures, or immortalizing the features of the chief members. Such a one was that of Asaf Khan, a high official of the Punjab, under Shah Jahan, whose palace in Lahore was so elegantly decorated with paintings as to be mentioned by several writers. The immense series of portraits of all kinds of people, executed at this time, which forms the bulk of most modern collections, shows that the art of miniature painting had ceased to be entirely aristocratic, and had begun to assume a more popular form. Moreover, the encouragement of painting was not entirely confined to the Mughals. The emperors of Bijapur, an important Muhammadan state in the Deccan which kept its independence until conquered by Aurangzeb in 1686, greatly favoured this art, and engaged many craftsmen to paint portraits on the walls of their palatial courts, remains of which may be seen at the present day. Several members of the dynasty were also ardent bibliophiles, and employed artists to illustrate books for them, some of which, bearing their royal seal, have survived.¹

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¹ B.M., MS. Add. 18579.

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Among those who took a keen pleasure in pictures was the heir-apparent, Shah Jahan’s eldest son Dara Shikoh (Plate XXIX). This gifted prince was a collector of these works of art, as is proved by a precious album of miniatures bearing his signature and now in the India Office Library, London.² Apart from its artistic value, his book has no little historical interest, as it is a record of a very pathetic incident in what was destined to be a most unfortunate career ending in a miserable death. Owing to his younger brother Aurangzeb’s clever intrigues, Dara Shikoh was defeated in battle, and pursued with relentless vigour. To avoid capture he took refuge in the trackless wastes of Sind, but even there treachery followed him, and he was betrayed by one whom he had thought a friend. Then, as if his cup of bitterness was not yet filled, he ‘received by a foot messenger the sad intelligence of the death of that one of his wives whom he loved most, and who had accompanied him always during his misfortunes. He learnt that she had died of heat and thirst, not being able to find a drop of water in the country to assuage her thirst. The prince was so affected by the news that he fell as though he were dead.’³ And written on the title-page of the beautiful little volume—squandered across a splash of gold—is the following inscription: ‘This album was presented to his dearest and nearest friend, the Lady Nadirah Begum, by Prince Muhammad Dara Shikoh, son of the Emperor Shah Jahan, in the year 1051 (=A. D. 1641-2).’ As a criterion of the artistic taste of a cultivated Mughal prince this *muraqqa* is of interest; it shows that its original owner, while attracted by weak prettiness in some of his selections, was on the whole a good XXIX. Portrait of Prince Dara Shikoh, eldest son of Shah Jahan Painted by Hunhar *c.* A.D. 1650; size 8" × 6½".

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² R. and L. 944-1908.

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³ Tavernier, vol. i, p. 350.

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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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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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judge of a miniature, and had gathered his examples with care. That he was catholic in his views is also proved by the presence of several European engravings among its pages, one of which (fol. 43) depicts ‘ St. Catherine of Siena ’ and bears its own date of 1585. As an illustration of the state of this art under Shah Jahan, the forty miniatures of the Dara Shikoh album are of some value. It must be admitted, however, that very few of the pictures show any strength, although on the other hand they may have been chosen for the femininity of their character, as the volume formed a present to a lady. Representative specimens from this album are reproduced on Plate XXII, Fig. 2, and Plate LV, from which the quality of the work may be appraised. One picture (fol. 21 b) bearing a date equivalent to A. D. 1633-4 and inscribed with the name Muhammad Khan, may be from the brush of Shah Jahan’s head artist, to whom reference has been already made. The subject is a portrait of a youthful exquisite, dressed in Persian costume, and obviously a frank copy of a late Safavid original. Most of the remaining miniatures in the book are, however, purely Mughal in character, the subjects being figures, animals and birds, and flowers, all fairly good, but none of outstanding merit, being a selection of the ordinary style of painting which was in vogue at the time.

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Owing largely to intelligent travellers from over the seas now arriving in India and recording their impressions, we are enabled to get a clearer view of the economic conditions under which the artists lived and carried on their work. One close observer, Bernier, who journeyed extensively in Hindustan from A. D. 1656 to 1668, has described most graphically the state of the people at the latter end of Shah Jahan’s reign, and includes some interesting remarks on the artisans. The French physician held a good opinion of the latter, and specially ‘ admired the beauty, softness, and delicacy of their paintings and miniatures ’. But, as he points out, the excellence of their handiwork was mainly owing to the practical encouragement they received from the nobility, for ‘ the arts in the Indies would long ago have lost their beauty and delicacy, if the Monarch and principal Omrahs did not keep in their pay a number of artists who work in their houses, teach the children, and are stimulated to exertion by the hope of reward ’. Later he emphasizes this by stating that ‘ the artists, therefore, who arrive at any eminence in their art are those only who are in the service of the King or of some powerful Omrah, and who work exclusively for their patron ’. From the account thus presented it is not difficult to see the course that the craft of the painter was following. The artists by force of circumstances were gradually beginning to be resolved into two classes; in the one were a select few of outstanding ability who were servants of the court or the leading nobles, while the other comprised a larger number, not so skilled, who were endeavouring to carry on their art without such protection. This was being brought about by the fact that the conditions prevailing under Shah Jahan were very different from those under Jahangir. So enthusiastic had been the encouragement of the latter that the community of painters had increased out of all proportion. On the other hand patronage by the state and its leading officials had not expanded at the same rate, so that after Shah Jahan had ascended the throne many families of painters found themselves bereft of their accustomed means of support. These, realizing after a time that there was little prospect of the system in vogue under Akbar and Jahangir ever again being revived, fell back on the indigenous method of establishing themselves in shops in the bazaar, there to cater for a less reliable but more general demand for their handiwork. At first they formed only small isolated groups scattered among the cities and large towns of Upper India, but, as time progressed, and painting tended to become less of a princely monopoly, their pictures grew in popularity. Gradually the art began to take on a more democratic character, the number of painters increased, and so came into being a phase of painting which may most suitably be designated as ‘ commercial ’. Such a state of affairs, however, did not come all at once, only the beginning of the trade is noticeable in Shah Jahan’s time, but later it assumed considerable proportions. Of this aspect of the art as carried on in Delhi in the middle of the seventeenth century, Bernier draws a somewhat unattractive picture, and one which shows that in the process of the social and economic changes that were then taking place the painter had lost much of his prestige. He explains that the artisans were accommodated in large halls or workshops, ‘ in one hall embroiderers are busily employed, superintended by a master. In another you see the goldsmiths; in a third painters.’ But, as he goes on to explain,

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want of genius is not the reason why works of superior art are not exhibited in the capital. If the artists and manufacturers were encouraged, the useful and fine arts would flourish; but these unhappy men are contemned, treated with harshness, and inadequately remunerated for their labour. The rich will have every article at a cheap rate. When an Omrah or Mansubdar requires the services of an artisan, he sends to the bazaar for him, employing force, if necessary, to make the poor man work; and after the task is finished, the unfeeling lord pays, not according to the value of the labourer, but agreeably to his own standard of fair remuneration. . . . How then can it be expected that any spirit of emulation should animate the artist or manufacturer?

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On another occasion he writes even more strongly:

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No artist can be expected to give his mind to his calling in the midst of a people who are either wretchedly poor, or who, if rich, assume an appearance of poverty, and who regard not the beauty and excellence, but the cheapness of an article: a people whose grandees pay for a work of art considerably under its value, and according to their own caprice, and who do not hesitate to punish an importunate artist, or tradesman, with the *korrah*, that long and terrible whip hanging at every Omrah’s gate. Is it not enough also to damp the ardour of any artist, when he feels that he can never hope to attain to any distinction; that he shall not be permitted to purchase either office or land for the benefit of himself and family; that he must at no time make it appear he is the owner of the most trifling sum; and that he may never venture to indulge in good fare, or to dress in fine apparel, lest he should create a suspicion of his possessing money?

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Hard times indeed had descended on art when those who followed it were dealt with in so inconsiderate a fashion, and the contrast between the state thus described and the halcyon days under Jahangir needs no comment. It should be noted, however, that Bernier’s remarks apply entirely to ‘bazaar’ artisans, who seem to have been employed on something equivalent to a factory system, with all its attendant evils when badly administered. On the other hand fair treatment seems to have been afforded to the superior craftsmen, who continued to work in comfort and safety as long as they were in the service of any nobleman or high official, many of whom retained a small staff of artisans versed in a variety of trades as a necessary part of their retinue. The bazaar artists, of whom the French traveller writes with such feeling, were not men of great talent, as the large amount of ‘commercial’ painting produced at the time amply demonstrates, but, having been well trained in the manipulation of their materials, were craftsmen of fair technical ability. Their aptitude in this direction they applied mainly in making duplicates of the original pictures painted by their more skilful brethren, so that several copies of the same miniature were often produced. To enable them to carry on their art they were wont to provide themselves with collections of tracings of well-known pictures by contemporary, and also deceased, artists of repute, especially those containing portraits of eminent personages. Such tracings formed a very necessary part of their stock-in-trade, so that they were always in a position to paint a reproduction of any popular picture, or the likeness of any historical individual, whenever called upon to do so. At the same time they were also prepared to execute original work, as for instance a series of family portraits or the illustrations of a book, but their handiwork was not of the highest order, and payment was made in proportion to their proficiency. Many pictures of this order have survived, and, as they not infrequently consist of copies of pictures belonging to an earlier period and style, some confusion in classifying these has naturally arisen. The two genuine Akbari pictures illustrated on Plates IX and X have been copied by an artist at a later date, whose facsimiles may be studied in the *muraqqa‘* numbered Or. 18807 in the British Museum collection. In each case there are deviations from the originals, while the drawing and execution show the touch of a less experienced hand. Regarded as a whole, the painting executed during Shah Jahan’s reign presents us with an interesting example of an art which, while outwardly maintaining the semblance of its original vitality, nevertheless manifests in its forced superiority the first premonitions of decay. Instead of the carefully composed harmonies of colour of the early Jahangiri period, the pictures tend to display a superfluity of rich pigments and an extravagant use of gold. Moreover, in the selection of subject-matter there appears a growing desire for the strange and fantastic rather than the beautiful, as shown by those bizarre drawings of animals built up of other animals, and similar freaks of design. In the matter of technique and in the quality of the drawing generally, the traditional manual dexterity is still retained, but on the other hand an inclination to an over-elaboration of colour and an increase in the amount of detail is observable. The first fine vigour and spontaneity has become less pronounced, and much of the work creates the impression that the artists held very little in reserve. In a word one detects behind all the lavish display which is the main characteristic of the painting under Shah Jahan, that sense of over-ripeness which is the sure sign of decline.

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Shah Jahan was deposed by his third son Aurangzeb in the year 1658, a little more than a century after Akbar had ascended the throne. These hundred years, extending from the middle of the sixteenth century to the middle of the seventeenth century, cover the whole period during which the Mughal school of painting was a living art. From now begins the story of its decay. To Aurangzeb’s unsympathetic policy the decline of the Mughal empire has been ascribed, and to his puritanical personality the death of the painter’s art is attributed. It is, however, probably more accurate to say that his mistaken ideals and want of statesmanlike insight brought the empire to its ruin, which in its fall brought with it all the organizations, social, intellectual, and political, built up with so much care and knowledge by his predecessors. And among those institutions which collapsed with the dynasty was the Mughal school of painting. We have seen that this art had already begun to show the effects of the period of excessive luxury which marked the reign of Shah Jahan. It is possible that at this stage the degeneration might have been stayed, or the life of the school at least prolonged for another span, by the action of a vigorous ruler to whom the painters’ art appealed. Unfortunately the reverse has to be recorded. Its vitality was still further sapped by the antipathy with which it was regarded by his successor Aurangzeb, an attitude which was brought about by the new ruler’s strict observance of the letter of the Muhammadan creed. Unlike his father and grandfather whose mothers were Rājputs, Aurangzeb was the son of a Muhammadan queen, Arjuman Begum, the lady of the Taj. Probably on this account he maintained with unswerving rigidity the tenets of his faith, and also showed less toleration towards the beliefs of others. Tavernier, who knew him personally, remarks that he ‘ especially shows great zeal for the *Sunni* sect, of which he is so faithful a follower that he surpasses all his predecessors in external observation of the law, . . . when he took possession of the throne he proclaimed that it was with the design of insisting upon the law of Muhammad being observed in all its strictness, as it had been relaxed during the reigns of Shah Jahan his father and Jahangir his grandfather ’.¹ While Aurangzeb’s motives may have been the very high ones here indicated, the methods by which he attained his end were sinister in the extreme. To what extent this monarch, by deposing his father and disposing of his three brothers, changed the course of Indian history, will never be known. But in causing the death of the rightful heir, Dara Shikoh, Aurangzeb removed from the scene a prospective ruler, whose nobility, as distinct from his own scheming nature, might possibly have preserved the empire from the landslide with which it was threatened. Moreover, in further contrast to Aurangzeb, the elder prince, as we have seen from the illustrated album already referred to, showed an appreciation of the painter’s art which might have been the means of staving off its immediate decay. Fate, however, decreed that in the hands of this ambitious emperor and stern puritan the dynasty, together with an art which it had made its own, should decline. But before saddling Aurangzeb with the onus of dealing the Mughal miniaturists their death-blow, some of the facts that give credence to such a view may be examined. Of his religious oppression there are many accounts, but one of these has a special bearing on the subject of painting. A most loyal Hindu general, the Maharaja Jaswant Singh of Jodhpur, who served Aurangzeb faithfully, finally dying in his service, once wrote boldly objecting to his continued bigotry. In his letter he pointed out the freedom that was allowed to every sect in the reign of his predecessors, Akbar, Jahangir, and Shah Jahan, and then proceeded to admonish his sovereign in the following words :

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¹ Tavernier, vol. ii, p. 177.

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If your Majesty places any faith in those books of distinction called divine, you may there learn that God is the God of all mankind, not of Musalmans only. The Pagan and the Moslem stand alike before Him. . . . In your mosques it is in His name that the call to prayer is uttered. In a house of idols, where the bell is rung, it is still He that is the object of adoration. To vilify the religious customs of other men is to set at nought the will of the Almighty.

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Then he ends with a sentence of no little significance: ‘When we deface a picture we necessarily incur the resentment of the painter.’¹

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¹ Fall of the Mughal Empire, by Keene, p. 34.

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The stories of Aurangzeb’s destruction of works of art are as numerous as those commonly related of Cromwell in England, but here the Rājput general’s picturesque simile seems to point to the fact that in India these were not legends but historical truths. Among many there is the account of the two statues of elephants with their riders which guarded the main gateway to the Delhi Fort. These were in position in the early part of Aurangzeb’s reign, as testified by Bernier, but were subsequently broken to pieces by an order from the throne. Further, many of the pictures in the Asar Mahal at Bijapur have obviously been purposely destroyed, and the local account, which is a very persistent one, is ‘that the emperor Aurangzeb defaced many of these with his own hands, all portraits and pictorial representations being offensive to bigoted Muhammadans like himself.’² Manucci, in his description of Akbar’s tomb at Sikandra, written at the end of the seventeenth century, notes that here ‘there were drawings of human figures. Over these the king Aurangzeb ordered a coat of whitewash to be applied so that the drawings might not be seen. He said such things were prohibited by the Muhammadan religion.’ The same writer’s humorous account of the emperor’s attitude towards the sister art of music may help also to explain his presumed aversion to painting. Aurangzeb, if the Italian’s gossip is to be believed, exercised at one period his right as king to prohibit certain social abuses which were prevalent in his dominions; accordingly he organized a department under an official to cope with these, and prevent them being continued. Among them was music, which the Mughal ruler considered was a much overcrowded profession; in the words of Manucci he objected to

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² The Architecture of Beejapur, by Fergusson and Meadows Taylor.

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the excessive number of musicians. In Hindustān both Moguls and Hindūs are very fond of listening to songs and instrumental music. He therefore ordered the same official to stop music. If in any house or elsewhere he heard the sound of singing and instruments, he should forthwith hasten there and arrest as many as he could, breaking the instruments. Thus was caused a great destruction of musical instruments. Finding themselves in this difficulty, their large earnings likely to cease, without there being any other mode of seeking a livelihood, the musicians took counsel together and tried to appease the king in the following way: About one thousand of them assembled on a Friday when Aurangzebe was going to the mosque. They came out with over twenty highly-ornamented biers, as is the custom of the country, crying aloud with great grief and many signs of feeling, as if they were escorting to the grave some distinguished defunct. From afar Aurangzebe saw this multitude and heard their great weeping and lamentation, and, wondering, sent to know the cause of so much sorrow. The musicians redoubled their outcry and their tears, fancying the king would take compassion upon them. Lamenting, they replied with sobs that the king's orders had killed Music, therefore they were bearing her to the grave. Report was made to the king, who quite calmly remarked that they should pray for the soul of Music, and see that she was thoroughly well buried. In spite of this, the nobles did not cease to listen to songs in secret.

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These, and many similar records, certainly favour the supposition that Aurangzeb gave little encouragement to his people in the sphere of art, but whether he persisted throughout the whole of his reign in prohibiting any form of expression of which he did not personally approve is far from proved. On the contrary there is much material forthcoming which conclusively demonstrates that the arts generally flourished very much as they did under his less bigoted predecessors. And miniature painting is a case in point. The number of pictures that were produced during the latter half of the seventeenth century, although undoubtedly inferior in quality, is as great, if not greater, than in the previous period. Moreover, that many of these paintings were executed with the emperor's concurrence, if not at his express command, is shown by the fact that they often include a portrait of Aurangzeb himself. We see him hunting, travelling, reading, governing, and commanding his army, exactly as Jahangir and Shah Jahan were depicted in the miniatures of their time. But one fact may be noticed. In almost all these pictures he is shown as an old man, often bent almost double with age; rarely is he represented even in his prime, always in his declining years. And the question may be asked, did he, after riper judgement, and late in life, relent and give his royal assent to the continuance of the painters' art?

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Such may be one explanation, while another is that he was a man of moods, and did, in some of his more puritanical moments, lay the heavy hand of imperial restraint on the artistic aspirations of his subjects. Where, however, the skill of the painter served a useful purpose, Aurangzeb was ready to turn it to advantage, as one story at least plainly shows. His eldest son, Muhammad Sultan, after giving the emperor much anxiety, finally revolted against the parental rule, only to surrender a few months afterwards. Aurangzeb, who, like the Bourbon, never forgot and never forgave, in spite of his fondness for the erring prince, had him confined in the state prison at Gwalior to the end of his days. Continuing to retain some of his fatherly affection, but feeling that he could not trust himself in the actual presence of his favourite son, he arranged for portraits of the prisoner to be painted from time to time, and these were submitted to the emperor so that he should be kept regularly informed as to the state of his health.¹ This may seem a somewhat unusual rôle for the portrait painter, but in the East the artist often found himself utilized for such purposes, and, as will be shown in a later chapter, his skill in seizing a likeness was employed in a variety of ways.

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Like all the other members of his dynasty, Aurangzeb was possessed of the human weakness of vanity, and was fond of seeing himself occupying a prominent position in pictures of some of the stirring episodes of his career, especially his arduous campaigns in the Deccan, on which he was engaged for many years of his life. Plate XXX is a typical example of one of these, as well as representative of the art of the time. Many such paintings have come down to us, of sieges and the storming of fortresses, with Aurangzeb's figure in the foreground, clearly popular subjects with him and his people. The miniature here reproduced shows the emperor at the siege of Bijapur, which was captured after a desperate resistance in 1686. Before his golden-nimbed and almost crusader-like appearance stand two cowed individuals with silken bindings around their extended wrists, betokening an unconditional surrender to his majesty. It is significant of the art at this period of its decline. Gone is that attractive feeling of sincerity so characteristic of the earlier works, and in its place is an attempt at something which the artist could not really accomplish, an artificial rendering which is neither a portrait nor a picture. Much dramatic effect is discernible but on the whole it 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.

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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.

Indian Painting under the Mughals, A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1750 c16: IV. Shah Jahan; Aurangzeb, and the Decline

Contents

IV. Shah Jahan; Aurangzeb, and the Decline

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