Indian Painting under the Mughals, A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1750 c20: VII. Portraiture

Indian Painting under the Mughals, A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1750 c20

Language: English

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VII. Portraiture

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PORTRAITURE is a prominent feature in much of the art of Asia, but nowhere was it more highly developed than in the painting of the Mughals. The ruling dynasty specially encouraged it, and every collection of note contains frequent representations of the emperors and their courts. It was from their Mongol ancestors that they received this desire for pictures of themselves, as the Central Asian Khans early took a keen delight in portraiture. In their most primitive state these nomadic tribes of the Yenisei carved rude effigies in stone, numbers of which are to be seen in remote parts of Mongolia to the present day. When the same uncouth people, emerging from their desert environment, came into contact with more civilized races they soon seized on the local artists and ordered them to copy their features. It was the primitive mind of the Mongols (only recently attained to power) which caused them to show such pleasure in portraiture. They were the ‘new rich’ of their age, childishly delighted in everything that was uncommon, and, after the manner of all simple people, especially interested in representations of themselves as sovereign lords surrounded by evidences of their regal state. Plate I illustrates the manner in which they liked to be portrayed, but in other scenes, such as fighting and feasting, in drinking bouts, or killing and trampling on their enemies, they are often shown in the pictures of the Mongolian school. Previously they had only their own rough natural materials and indifferent talent to meet their needs, but as conquerors of cultured and artistic people like the Chinese it was not long before they brought into their service the famous painters of the Yuan dynasty. Of these, especially as portraitists, there are many wonderful accounts, but none is more graphic than that of Ibn Battuta, a Muhammadan traveller who found himself in the year 1347 at the Mongol court in China. In the course of a eulogy on the artistic nature of the Chinese people generally, he goes on to state that

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on one occasion that I visited the Emperor’s own city, in going to the imperial palace with my comrades I passed through the bazaar of the painters. . . . In the evening on leaving the palace I passed again through the same bazaar, and there I saw my own portrait and the portraits of my companions painted on sheets of paper and exposed on the walls. We all stopped to examine the likenesses, and every body found that of his neighbour to be excellent! I was told that the Emperor had ordered the painters to take our likenesses, and that they had come to the palace for the purpose whilst we were there. They studied us and painted us without our knowing anything of the matter. In fact it is an established custom among the Chinese to take the portrait of any stranger that visits their country.¹

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¹ Ibn Battuta, in *Cathay and the Way Thither*, by Col. Yule, vol. iv.

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This is the art that was carried westward when the Mongol hordes travelled in that direction, and Chinese portrait painters, brought in their train, became established in the cities of Persia. A few paintings by these experts, with later copies which show their style, have been handed down to us and help to explain what was taking place. But Persia had its own traditions for portraiture, as there is abundant testimony. Early in the tenth century Mas‘udi, the Persian historian, describes a manuscript wherein figured the portraits of all the Sasanian kings, following a tradition preserved long after that dynasty had passed away.² It was, however, in the ancient literature of Persia, and also of India, that the portrait played the most popular part. The useful gift of being able to produce at the right moment a lifelike picture of the hero or heroine, thus solving all difficulties, forms the climax of several of the classical stories of both countries. In Persian legend it may be seen in Nizami’s *Khusrau and Shirin*, which itself was founded on the old Sasanian story of Shah Khusrau Parwiz (Chosroes Parvez) and his love affairs with the princess Shirin of Armenia. The young prince had an artist friend, Shapur, who dazzles Khusrau with his description of the beauty of Shirin, so that he falls in love with her. Shapur then acts as an intermediary bringing her a portrait of Khusrau, and the Persian artists were never tired of painting pictures of the lady seated in a bower gazing at the precious miniature of her beloved. Other pictures sometimes include scenes wherein we see portraits painted on rocks or hanging on panels suspended from trees, which works of art have an important bearing on the subject of the story illustrated. But while the use of portraiture in their stories was not uncommon with Persian writers, in Indian literature it was even more frequently employed, generally with very telling effect. There is a world-old tradition, supposed to allude to the origin of painting in India, relating how Brahma instructed a king how to bring back from the grave the dead son of a Brahman, by painting a portrait of Night Scene; priests in council; painted *c.* A.D. 1640 Indian Museum, Calcutta, No. 13031; size 8½" × 6½".

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² *Miniatures persanes*, by Marteau and Vever, Paris, 1913.

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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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A group of scholars in discussion

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the deceased, which the god forthwith endowed with life, so making an efficient substitute for the youth whom Yama refused to give up. In the *Dwārkā Lilā*, one of the early Indian epics, there is another interesting account of the use of portraiture. The princess Usha dreamt that a beautiful youth appeared to her, and was her companion in her walks abroad. She confided this to one of her maids-of-honour, Chitralekhā (literally, ‘a picture’), who had the natural gift of being able to draw a likeness. The maid offered to relieve the anxiety of her mistress by sketching the portraits of all the great men of the time, so that the person in the dream might be identified. As soon as Usha saw the picture of Aniruddha, the grandson of Krishna, the youth of her vision was revealed to her, and the artistic incident of course subsequently led to their nuptials, so that the story ended happily. The ancient Sanskrit dramas contain several references to portraiture, as for instance the *Svapna Vāsavadattā*, presumed to be the work of Bhāsa, in which a likeness of the heroine was painted on a tablet and sent to the king Vatsarāja. Kalidasa the poet in his *Meghadūta* uses a somewhat similar *motif*, while in the *Raghuvamsa*, also by this writer, Dasaratha was revealed to his son Rama by the same pictorial means. The employment of the painter for such purposes in the literature of the orient seems to suggest that portraiture was much more in the minds of the people of the East than it ever has been in the West.

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The art of portrait painting therefore was no innovation in India when the Mughal rulers began to form their school of miniaturists. But although they had at their command artists with whom portraiture was an ancient but living tradition, it was their own personal predilection for this phase of painting that led to the representation of likenesses becoming a feature of the Mughal school. The Mughal emperors themselves had a gift for descriptive portraiture, as may be seen in some of their writings. Babur in his *Memoirs* includes several crisp character sketches of different people of his time, which are to all intents and purposes equal to Mughal miniatures. He thus draws a pen picture of his own father in the following words:

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Umar Shaikh Mirza was a man of low stature, had a short bushy beard, brownish hair, and was very corpulent. He used to wear his tunic extremely tight; insomuch, that as he was wont to contract his belly while he tied the strings, when he let himself out again the strings often burst. He was not curious in either his food or dress. He tied his turban in the fashion called *Destar-pech* (plaited). At that time all turbans were worn in the *char-pech* (four plait) style. He wore his without folds, and allowed the end to hang down. During the heats, when out of the Divan, he generally wore the Moghul cap. . . . He was a middling shot with the bow; he had uncommon force in his fists, and never hit a man whom he did not knock down.

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Of another famous Mughal, Sultan Husain, he writes as follows:

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he had straight narrow eyes, his body was robust and firm; from the waist downwards he was of slenderer make. Although he was advanced in years and had a white beard, he dressed in gay-coloured red and green woollen clothes. He usually wore a cap of black lambskin. Now and then, on festival days, he put on a small turban tied in three folds, broad and showy, and having placed a plume nodding over it, went in this style to prayers. He was a lively pleasant man. His temper was rather hasty, and his language took after his temper.

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Apart from the sureness of touch which characterizes these sketches, one is at once struck with the very detailed description of the folds of the turban. An artist will understand his reasons. The test of a finished portrait lies in the manner in which the head-dress is depicted, the actual binding on of the turban meaning so much to the Indian mind. Only those artists who have lived in the East can appreciate Babur’s care on such a point; it was as if he were writing the particulars for the use of a portrait painter. Babur, however, appears to have had a very fair opinion of his own skill as a delineator of facial character, for his one recorded remark regarding painting takes the form of a criticism of the portraiture of the famous artist Bihzad. While giving the Persian master credit for being the most eminent of all limners and ‘a very elegant painter’, he adds, in rather a superior manner, ‘but he did not draw young beardless faces well. He made the neck too large. Bearded faces he painted extremely well.’¹ The gift of graphic narration—impressions in a few short sentences—like the strokes of a brush—was hereditary with the Mughals, as may be seen in Jahangir’s pen-portrait of his father Akbar. ‘He was of the hue of wheat; and his complexion rather dark than fair; he was lion bodied, with a broad chest, and his hands and arms were long. On the left side of his nose he had a fleshy mole, very agreeable in appearance, of the size of half a pea.’ Compared with Tom Coryate’s ill-defined picture of Jahangir himself, the difference in the power of description between the two becomes at once apparent. ‘He is’, writes this eccentric traveller, ‘of seemly composition of body, of a stature little unequal (as I guess not without grounds of probability) to mine, but much more corpulent than myself.’ Such a vague attempt at delineation proclaims at once that the Mughal had cer- [Figure: LII. Faqirs resting under trees; painted c. A.D. 1650 Collection of Baron Maurice Rothschild, Paris.]

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¹ Babur, p. 197.

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A Turkey cock (Jahangir’s Memoirs, vol. i, pp. 215, 216); painted c. A.D. 1612 Indian Museum, Calcutta, No. 210; size 14½" × 10".

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tainly the advantage of the Englishman in his ability to note in a few well-chosen words the personal appearance of those whom he wished to portray.

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To their artists the Mughal emperors seem to have communicated some of this instinct for seizing a likeness, which, combined with the natural skill of both Persians and Indians in portraiture, led to the most gratifying results. A brief review of some of the famous people who look out at us from the folios of the Mughals will show the material that the portrait painter selected for his art. From the realms of ancient literature he evolved fancy likenesses of Rustam, the Hercules of the East, of Bahram Gur, the mighty hunter, of Eraj, the knight *sans peur et sans reproche* of ancient Iran (Plate XIII), and many others who have figured in the mythical history of Persia. Coming nearer to his own time, and, accordingly, with more probability of truth in his representations, he pictured many of the heroes of the Mongol régime, who held sway over most of Asia in the thirteenth century of the Christian era. Among them may be seen Sultan Ogatay to whose might the great Chinese Empire succumbed, and whose timely death saved Europe from the Mongol hordes. Here also is the open countenance of Mangu Khan, with whom the decay of the empire of Chinghiz Khan began, and of his co-regent in the west, Hulagu, who, when he sacked and destroyed Baghdad in 1258, struck oriental civilization to the heart. Of the same period are preserved the features of those pillars of Iranian culture, the renowned mystic Jalal ud-Din Rumi, and his contemporary Sa‘di, as famed in poetry as he was in prose. But it is when we come to the period of the Timurids, in which the portraits are presumed to be more strictly authentic, that we can feel that the art of portraiture is on firmer ground. Hitherto the painter was no doubt executing his likenesses very largely from traditional records, rather than from pictures painted from the original person, although some of them certainly bear evidence of having been drawn from life. Of the Timurid dynasty we have almost every important representative, from the dreaded Amir himself (Plate IV, Fig. 1) directly down the line to his distant descendants on the Mughal throne of Hindustan. Apart from this collateral branch, however, the portrait gallery displays the visages of all the other members of the house of Timur, including the illustrious Shah Rukh, who so beautified Herat that for a time it was considered the most sumptuous city in the East; also his nephew, Baisunghar, whose refined disposition, and the patronage he extended to all painters, poets, and men of letters, did not prevent him from dying unknown and forgotten in A.D. 1499.

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Nobles and men of daring, saints and dervishes, who lived at the courts of these Timurid princes are also freely represented, so that a very real picture of the people of their time, both great and small, is there for our study.

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But the collection of Persian celebrities, historically important though it may be, is completely overshadowed by the mass of portraiture that was produced by the artists of the Mughals. The emperors themselves, from Babur the founder of the dynasty in 1526, right down the line to Bahadur Shah the last king of Delhi who died in exile in 1862, are fully represented, all of them drawn from life, and many of the portraits charming examples of the miniaturists’ art. Added to these are pictorial records of many of the warriors and scholars, who, either by their heroic deeds or cultured achievements, brought lustre to the Mughal rule. Here is Abu’l Fazl the historian, Akbar’s Boswell, as he has been aptly styled, the writer of the *A’in-i-Akbari* and the *Akbarnāma* besides other weighty volumes which throw a valuable light on the early administration of the Mughals. His brother Faizi, ‘prince of poets’, and Tansen the famous musician, as prominent masters of their respective arts, are frequently depicted. Chief among the Mughal ministers stands Todar Mall, who combined the duties of a general in the field with those of revenue minister, two very different offices, but both of which he filled with equal success. With him may be seen other famous Hindus who gave Akbar of their best in his work of reconciling the conflicting interests of the many various people that constituted the Mughal empire. Here is the Raja Birbal, now known mainly on account of his princely palace, one of the most attractive buildings at Fathpur Sikri; likewise Raja Man Singh of Amber, who fought so bravely side by side with his emperor at the battle of Sarnal, and showed his Rājput chivalry in many another desperate encounter. These and many others, named and unnamed, crowd the folios, or look out at us from collections of Indian miniatures. In one picture may be seen a dark robed figure, with light complexion, identified as Father Francisco Corsi, a Jesuit priest from Florence, who lived and worked for several years at the court of the Mughals, and, incidentally, acted as interpreter for Sir Thomas Roe. Some of the copies from miniatures of the West, which gave Jahangir such delight, have been preserved, including one of Lady Roe, the wife of the Ambassador, from the original by the English artist Oliver, the full story of which is well told in Roe’s *Embassy*. Among the lesser characters, whose reputations have lived longer than their masters’, may be noted the famous buffoon, Mullā-dū-piyāza, whose [Figure: LIV. Pheasant; painted probably by Mansur c. A.D. 1625 Collection of Baron Maurice Rothschild, Paris.]

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mirth-provoking witticisms still move to laughter those to whom the name of his imperial employer, Akbar, is utterly unknown. But the list is unending—princes and priests, courtiers and grooms, musicians and dancing girls, soldiers and mendicants, all sorts and conditions of men and women, jostle one another in this remarkable portrait gallery. And the Mughal artists did not confine themselves solely to the human element, for there are many pictures of animals, portraits of favourite elephants and horses painted with no little truth and feeling. Among the former may be seen *Dilshankar*, or ‘Mind-Happiness’, and *Lāj Ratan*, the ‘Jewel of Modesty’, while of the latter there is the favourite steed of Prince Dara Shikoh, named *Dilpasand*, or ‘Heart’s Delight’; to these may be added domestic pets, such as the beautiful black-buck *Sarang Dil*, or ‘Song of the Soul’, whose graceful proportions only the brush of Manohar was considered good enough to portray. Of favourite hawks there are many pictures, while cranes, peacocks, fighting quails, and other animals and birds are frequently depicted, because they gave in life all the sport and pleasure within their power to their delighted owners.

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While the Mughals inherited the love of portraiture from their Mongol ancestors, it cannot be said that it was quite the same instinct which prompted both people to like the same thing. Several centuries of civilized life separated the latter from the former, and there was a vast difference between the mental outlook of the barbaric Central Asian tribes and their more refined descendants in India. It was not the almost childish desire displayed by his primitive predecessors for the curious in art which inspired the Mughal, for he had advanced a stage beyond that, but it was ordinary human vanity that led him to take an ardent interest in portraiture. This is shown not only in the numerous individual likenesses of the Mughal emperors, but in those frequent representations of court scenes and ceremonies, in which they are the central figures, elevated above all others. As it was the custom for the monarch to have himself so depicted, similar representations of the less important people about the Mughal court became the fashion. All conditions were favourable for the development of this art, as the atmosphere of the time was a supremely personal one, and every individual was eager for some form of immortality, historical or pictorial. It was an age of materialism, and portraiture seemed to be one of the means of satisfying an obvious craving for the realities of life, for there is nothing illusory in a likeness—it is a definite and concrete fact of the person’s existence. To meet the demand were many artists, Persian and Indian, with a traditional and instinctive gift for portraiture. These artists were fortunate in their patrons who had an insatiable desire for their work, while on their part the Mughals were fortunate in finding such talent ready and awaiting their orders. The portrait painter of the time was a master of his craft. His pictures are a model of fineness and finish, and in the amount of character that they exhibit have not often been excelled. Stored in his mind was much knowledge of human nature, so that he saw not only the face of his sitter, but, reflected in it, the man himself. Contemporary writers may have described such a person as they thought he would like to be known—in fulsome and flattering language, according to the custom of the historian of the time. But almost unintentionally the artist presents us not only with the truth and the whole truth, but something more. Either knowingly or sub-consciously he wrung out his secrets, and painted him as his deeds had marked him, noble or petty, cruel or kind, generous or mean, true or false, strong or weak, each according to his nature is revealed by means of the delicate outlining and subtle modelling of this gifted character-delineator.

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The Mughal emperor’s sense of vanity was not confined only to his own personal appearance, nor to his desire to be pictured seated in kingly state. It extended farther, and included a very natural pride in his distinguished ancestry. It pleased him to be portrayed not only alone, or surrounded by his officials, but shown in close communion with his forbears, in a group in which he could see himself sitting with all the great men of his family, for several generations. These pictures were really illustrated genealogical trees, so designed as to give the appearance of the whole of its members being alive and gathered together at the same time. Such an incongruity did not trouble the Mughal emperor so long as he knew that he was included in the company of those illustrious ones who had helped to make history. A remarkable example of the kind, and one of the most valuable portrait groups of the period, may be studied in a picture in the British Museum entitled the ‘Princes of the House of Timur’ (Plate LX). It was evidently executed at the order of Akbar by one of the Persian artists at his court, most probably Abdus Samad, as it is very much in his style of work. Moreover, it is painted on cotton cloth, similar to the illustrations of the Amir Hamzah, to the production of which this artist devoted several years of his life. The Mughal emperor occupies a central position in the composition, and seems to be verging on thirty-five years of age; as the picture bears every appearance of being contemporaneous it was therefore most likely painted about 1577. Portraits of Jahangir, Shah Jahan, and some of the later Mughal princes are also included in the group, but a close inspection shows that they are subsequent interpolations. Akbar was an enthusiastic admirer of portraiture, and his lessons in drawing took the form of copying the likenesses of various people, if we are to accept the rather vague story which has been handed down. But when he grew to man's estate his ideas on the subject became very practical, as the following extract from the *A'in* plainly testifies. ‘His Majesty himself sat for his likeness and also ordered to have the likenesses taken of all the grandees of the realm. An immense album was thus formed; those that have passed away have received a new life, and those who are still alive have immortality promised them.’ It is to be regretted that this album has perished, or at least that only fragments of it remain, scattered among various collections, but it is clear from Abu'l Fazl's statement that Akbar's scheme as a whole does not appear far removed from that of a national portrait gallery. Towards this the picture of the ‘House of Timur’ was no doubt a notable contribution. It shows the complete Timurid-Mughal dynasty from the Amir himself down to the Emperor Akbar, with the subsequent additions of Jahangir, Shah Jahan, and Prince Parviz. All are seated and feasting in a beautiful garden, with a throne and canopy in the centre arranged for the accommodation of the most important personages. Such family groups were popular with the Timurids and the Mughals, as Jahangir describes one in his memoirs, received from Persia, which might have been the fellow of the one under description. It was an historic production ‘of the fight of Sāhib Qirān (Timur) with Tuqtamish Khan, and the likenesses of him and his glorious children, and the great Amirs who had the good fortune to be with him in that fight, and near each figure was written whose portrait it was’. And near each person represented in the picture in the British Museum, the name also is written, so that there is no difficulty in identifying every member.

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LVI. Elephants; painted by Ghulam, A.D. 1621; Indian Museum, Calcutta; No. 8 b; size 8¾" x 6¾".

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Fig. 1. Two women dancing; Indian Museum, Calcutta No. 607; size 4" diameter.

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Fig. 2. Portrait of a woman; Indian Museum Calcutta; No. 294; size 3½" × 5½".

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Unfortunately the painting is much damaged, not only have portions of the composition been cut entirely away, but in the case of some of the faces the surface is so abraded that definition in the reproduction is almost impossible. Sufficient remains, however, to show that the picture was an exceptionally fine one, and the portraits carefully studied. In the centre, seated under the canopy, is the Amir Timur, and beside him is Akbar either receiving or handing him a book. The rest of the company include, on the left Mirza Kamran, the second son of Babur, with his elder brother Humayun. Babur himself comes next, conversing with his father ‘Umar Shaikh, whose appearance has already been described on page 143, in the extract from the former’s memoirs. The remaining three princes on the same side are Sultan Abu Sa‘id, Sultan Muhammad, and Miran Shah. On the opposite side of the pavilion, to the right, are three illustrious Timurid princes—Abu Bakr Mirza, a son of Shah Rukh; his brother, Baisunghar Mirza, a man of letters and a patron of art, after whom one of the sub-schools of Persian painting has been named, and, on the extreme right, their father, Shah Rukh himself, the fourth and most famous son of Timur. The whole picture is reproduced on Plate LX, with an enlarged portion on Plate XII, while the features of two of the most famous Mughals therein are also reproduced, the size of the originals, Babur on Plate IV, and Akbar on Plate LX, Fig. 2.

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Babur’s portrait appears to be an excellent one, and shows his complexion tanned by exposure, and a quizzical smile on his face as he listens to a remark being made by ‘Umar Shaikh. It is a great misfortune that Humayun’s figure just below is so abraded, as an early portrait of this emperor is much to be desired. There are many representations of him, most of them of late date, but no good ones, although it may be noted that in nearly all he is depicted in a peculiar attitude with inclined head and body leaning forward, suggesting that in some way the artist was trying to express as faithfully as he could his somewhat invertebrate character. But it is to the portrait of Akbar that we turn with the greatest interest. Compared with his predecessors in the picture the whole appearance of the Mughal emperor is different. Gone is the rakish high-peaked cap, the *kulāh* of the Turkoman, and in its place is the closely bound turban, or *chīrā* of the Indian Rājput. Gone is the free-grown beard of the orthodox Musalman, and in its place is the shaven chin with the side-whisker, or *galmuchh*, of the Muttra Hindu. In dress and in feature Akbar bears little resemblance to any of his ancestors, either Timurid or Mughal; for, as far as external effect goes, he has actually become ‘an Indian of the Indians’.

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The story of this outward conversion is fully told in the contemporary chronicles, as well as the change in his inward convictions which found expression in the new religion he devised of the *Dīn Ilāhī*. It is even recorded that Akbar and also Jahangir at one time went so far as to adopt the *tilak*, or caste mark, of the Hindus. Fashion, in appearance as well as in dress, is very noticeable in Mughal portraiture. The courtiers, as at all times and in all countries, followed the lead of the head of the state, and many imitated the emperor even to the minutest detail. Such fashions, it may be observed, were not always voluntary, as Akbar issued certain orders on the subject which, at any rate for a time, were sedulously followed. The result is that in some of the earlier pictures it is not easy at first sight to distinguish Hindus from Muhammadans. On the other hand, it assists the connoisseur not a little in being able to decide with a greater degree of accuracy the period to which a picture belongs. In head-dress, the facial hair, the shape of the tunic, and in footwear, the majority of the princes and nobles copied the king; and, as each sovereign had his own ideas on the subject of personal appearance, these were changed in each reign. It is interesting to note how Jahangir’s vanity led him always to wear pearls in his ears, and how the custom was ingenuously imitated by many of his officials, and by all those who wished to be considered in the height of fashion;

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and how in the succeeding reign the shaven chin became unfashionable, as Shah Jahan preferred a well-trimmed beard.

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Fig. 1. Masons building a wall; Indian Museum, Calcutta, No. 201; size 3" × 4½".

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LIX. Fig. 2. Portrait group; collection of Mr. J. C. French, I.C.S.

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Jahangir was as fond of portraiture as his father, and he was certainly the most frequently painted member of the dynasty. There are innumerable likenesses of him from babyhood until he became a flabby and rather dissipated elderly man. One reason why so many pictures of Jahangir exist is because he instituted the custom of presentation portraits, which he gave to all those whom he wished to honour. On one occasion he writes:

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as Adil Khan was constantly asking for a likeness of myself, I sent him one, and wrote this quatrain on the portrait with my own hand:

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O thou to whom is always turned the eye of kindness
Repose at ease under the shadow of my fortune.
I have sent thee my own portrait,
That thou mayest see me spiritually from my picture.

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The English ambassador Roe was the recipient of one of these pictorial favours, which were given out to all high officials who came to the court. Jahangir was also the inventor of the ‘portrait jewel’, and used to make his courtiers wear miniatures of himself, mounted as a brooch and attached to the front of their turbans. Shah Jahan copied his father in both these fashions, as in the Rampur State Library there is a portrait of the former with an inscription on the reverse to the effect that he was presenting it to one of his generals in token of his devoted service. In the original of the picture reproduced on Plate XXIV, a magnifying glass reveals several of those present at the durbar wearing pendants and brooches containing minute portraits of the emperor. The most skilful portrait painter of Jahangir’s reign was a Hindu of the name of Bishandās, who is described in the memoirs as being ‘unequalled in his age for taking likenesses ’. A few examples of this artist’s work have survived, including an illustration in the South Kensington *Bāburnāma*, a picture in the Boston Museum, and a sketch in the Tagore collection, Calcutta. There is also a portrait of Shah Abbas in the Indian Museum, Calcutta, which may be by the same artist’s brush, or a very good contemporary copy. Bishandās was selected by Jahangir for the important duty of accompanying a mission to Persia ‘ to take the portraits of the Shah and the chief men of his State ’. Most of his pictures are therefore the results of his journey there, and no doubt many of the portraits of Persian princes and noblemen figuring in collections of Mughal pictures were originally painted by Bishandās. Jahangir was pleased with his work, for he remarks on his return that ‘ he had drawn the likenesses of most of them, and especially had taken that of my brother the Shah exceedingly well, so that when I showed it to any of his servants, they said it was exceedingly well drawn ’. As a reward ‘ the painter was honoured with the gift of an elephant ’.

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Jahangir added his own portrait to the family group of the ‘ Princes of the House of Timur ’, but as it was not originally intended to form part of the composition the appearance of the picture is not improved by the introduction, as the central portion thus becomes rather overcrowded and unbalanced. On obtaining possession of the sceptre, however, all the monarchs seem to have indulged in certain formalities, to show to the world that they had assumed power. One in which they always indulged was that of adding their own personal seal to much of the state property, as for instance the most valuable of the books and illustrated manuscripts in the imperial library. On the fly-leaf of those which they appreciated most they occasionally added in their own handwriting a florid inscription relating to themselves and the regard they felt for such a work of art. It was somewhat the same idea which inspired them to introduce their own portraits into the Timurid family group. Jahangir himself was very proud of his origin, which shows itself in several similar paintings, and specially in a peculiar portrait-picture in the Rothschild collection. The lower part of the miniature is occupied by a series of twelve circles, in each of which is a likeness of the emperor, from the time he was a small child until he was a man of forty years of age. Above is a genealogical tree tracing out his descent from the Amir Timur, in a well-designed calligraphic panel ;

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the whole is cleverly executed, but as a picture it is more interesting than artistic. Although Jahangir liked to see pictures of himself on all occasions, nevertheless he was also interested in the portraits of others. The numerous pictures of public functions which figure in collections of Mughal miniatures were often only the artist’s excuse for a series of portraits, as they were a suitable opportunity for recording the features of all those who were in attendance on the court, the actual subject of the painting being in itself of secondary importance. Such an idea was no doubt mainly responsible for the picture reproduced in the frontispiece, which is a representation of an ordinary court ceremony, but at the same time it gave the artist an excellent opportunity to immortalize every one present, from the highest official in the centre to the insignificant chorus girl in the corner. The names of some of the principal people in the picture are minutely written near them, and, facing the emperor, inscribed in this manner will be seen three prominent noblemen, who took a large share in the government of the country during Jahangir’s reign. At the top of the group in front of the throne, light of complexion, and wearing an orange-coloured turban, is I‘timad-ud-daula, whose name is now associated with one of the most charming examples of jewelled architecture ever devised by the master-builders of the Mughals.

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This is his tomb at Agra, a white marble pavilion profusely inlaid with precious stones. His chief claim to fame, however, is that he was the father of Jahangir’s queen, Nur-Jahan, who herself was one of the most attractive and at the same time remarkable women of her time. I‘timad-ud-daula had a most distinguished career, and retained all his life the friendship of his royal son-in-law, so much so that on his death the emperor wrote, ‘ he was a wise and perfect Vizier, and a learned and affectionate companion ’. Immediately below him is his son Asaf Khan, who was one of the pillars of state during Jahangir’s reign. His tomb near Lahore was, in its time, a beautiful building profusely covered with exquisitely coloured tiles, but, alas, much of its decoration is now decayed. It seems not unlikely that both father and son were of an artistic disposition, as apart from the beauty of their tombs both were recipients of copies of the Jahangir-nama, most probably fully illustrated, from the hands of its royal author. Jahangir gave such works of art only to those who he knew would appreciate them and enjoy their contents. Behind Asaf Khan, and leaning on a staff, is the portly figure of the Khwaja Abu’l Hasan, most of whose service was spent in the Deccan, of which part of the Mughal empire he had an intimate knowledge; Jahangir made great use of the Khwaja’s shrewd advice in the administration of this distant and difficult portion of his dominions.

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I.X. Fig. 2. Portrait of the Emperor Akbar, from Fig. 1.

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Fig. 1. Portrait of Shaikh Sa'di, Persian writer and poet of the 13th century; painted c. A.D. 1600; enlarged; Indian Museum, Calcutta; No. 33; size 5¾" × 3¾".

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Fig. 2. Portrait of Faizi (?), Akbar's poet laureate; painted c. A.D. 1600; enlarged; Indian Museum, Calcutta; No. 520; size 7" × 3¾".

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From a review of the official celebrities, let us turn to a few of the great savants of the East whose lineaments have been preserved by the skill of the Mughal painters. Of these none can be more interesting than that of the illustrious Persian writer, Sa‘di, whose weather-stained features stand out with singular force in this long series of portraits of eminent people from Persia and Hindustan. It is good to look on the philosopher in the flesh, so to speak, and to call to mind some of the wise sayings of the ‘nightingale of the groves of Shiraz’, as his contemporary, Jami, generously called him. With no little truth it has been said that what Shakespeare is to the West, so Sa‘di is to the East, as his writings are known, read, and quoted all over the orient and many other countries besides. One’s gratitude therefore goes out to the nameless Mughal painter who has presented us with the likeness of such a remarkable man in such an artistic form. It may be noted that Sa‘di died some three hundred years at least before the picture reproduced on Plate LXI, Fig. 1, was painted, but its very excellence is not the least convincing proof of its authenticity, as it is no doubt a copy of a drawing from life made when the great writer was at the height of his fame. For Sa‘di matured late, after numerous adventures in many different countries, and the marks of his vicissitudes are most truthfully recorded in the outlines of his face and the spareness of his figure. Born in Shiraz towards the end of the twelfth century, and educated at Baghdad, he left home and began his wanderings at an early age. On an expedition to Palestine he was taken prisoner by the Crusaders, and forced to labour, with the dregs of the Levant, in the fosse at Tripoli. After a series of romantic experiences he was eventually released and began a pilgrimage, sometimes as a soldier and on occasion as an ordinary traveller, to many of the countries of the East, including a visit to India. When past middle age he settled down in the city of his birth, to devote himself to those compositions which soon placed him among the great ones. Of his many works, the Gulistan, or ‘Garden of Roses’, is the most widely read, mainly because of the many wise observations on life in general that it includes in its four bābs, or ‘gateways’. ‘They asked me’, he writes, ‘of whom didst thou learn manners?’ I replied: ‘From the unmannerly. Whatever I saw them do which I disapproved of, that I abstained from doing.’ The picture shows him as one who would live up to that ideal, an old man—he lived to a great age, a hundred and eight years, it is said—but he stands erect and alert, looking the world squarely in the face, lean in body as would become a philosopher and a hardy traveller. Through the deep marks left by years of privation and peril, furrowed by the winds of the desert and of the sea, gleams a kindly sympathetic expression, while the long, tapering, sensitive hands add just that note of refinement which is required to complete the whole. It is doubtful whether in all the long series of Mughal portraits there is another equal to this.

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LXII. Enlarged portion of Plate XXXI, showing Miyan Tansen, the famous singer.

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LXIII. Portrait of Prince Dara Shikoh on horseback; painted c. A.D. 1635 Indian Museum, Calcutta, No. 355; size 11½" × 7½".

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Of a different type, but containing much that is of the same quality as the last, is what purports to be a portrait of Akbar’s poet laureate, Faizi, reproduced on Plate LXI, Fig. 2. Faizi died in his fiftieth year, and the person here depicted appears to be considerably older, but he was always a delicate man, a sufferer from asthma, which may have aged him before his time. The poet and his brother Abu’l Fazl, whose chapter on painting has been so freely quoted in these pages, were close friends and advisers of Akbar, and exercised considerable influence over their imperial master in many ways. Both were free-thinkers, a condition which suited Akbar very well at the time when he was evolving his ‘Divine Faith’, and were strong supporters of his unorthodox views. Faizi himself was a profound scholar, very broad-minded, and one of the first Muham-madans to apply himself to a diligent study of Hindu literature. He translated and adapted several Sanskrit works in poetry and philosophy, besides being the author of a great deal of original poetry and of other writings in Persian. Whether the picture here presented substantiates its claim to be his likeness or not, it is a remarkable drawing, and shows the Mughal delineator at his best.

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There are several pictures of Miyan Tansen Kalawant, the most gifted musician at the court of the Mughals, but for the best portrait of this genius it is necessary to refer to the illustration on Plate XXXI. Among the instrumentalists seen in the picture there is one of whom the artist has taken special pains to make a very careful likeness. An enlargement of the whole group of musicians has been made on Plate LXII, as the clean-shaven elderly man playing the sitār in the centre has been identified as Tansen, of whom Abu’l Fazl declared that ‘a singer like him has not been in India for the last thousand years’. Competition to retain him as one of the stars of the court was keen among the Indian princes, but Akbar’s might prevailed, and the Raja of Rewa was compelled to surrender him to his overlord. He was a Hindu, and began his career at Gwalior, where a famous school of music had been founded by the Raja Man Singh Tomar (1486–1518). Afterwards he became a Muhammadan, and, as the portrait proves, lived to see service under Jahangir as well as Akbar. Besides being a musician, Tansen was also a versifier, but it was as a singer that he attained the greatest fame. To the present day his tomb in Muslim holy ground at Gwalior is visited by Indian musicians, who, by eating a few leaves of the *nīm* tree under whose shadow he lies, hope to attain for themselves something of the sweetness of that voice which for three centuries has been stilled. In his portrait the artist has risen to great heights in the effort to depict the singer in his most attractive mood. Tansen had his failings, they are recorded as those of his temperament, but the painter has presented us with the refined thoughtful features and earnest pose of a true artist, one who loved his art and lived for it alone.

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One kind of picture that was popular with the Mughals was the equestrian portrait. Richly dressed nobles, with lance and buckler, beautifully balanced on prancing and gaily caparisoned chargers, are a feature in all folios of this art. The idea is entirely an Indian one. Horses in Persian pictures are common, and cavaliers charging across the country on fleet Arab steeds are frequently represented. But in Persian painting the equestrian portrait is practically unknown. The Mughals were no better horsemen than the Persians, neither are their drawings of the animal so good as those of the Safavid school. But they realized the dignity and importance of a fine seat on a fine horse, and how well such a combination lent itself to pictorial effect. Plate LXIII, which depicts a cavalier who has been identified as Prince Dara Shikoh, is a typical example of this form of portraiture. It is a graceful and spirited composition, in spite of its conventional intention, and displays a sense of rhythm, which gives it no little charm. The straight line of the lance emphasizes the springing curves in the horse, while the rich colouring of the costume and the horse-equipment, the whole on a delicate terra-verte ground, make the picture a very attractive one. Dara Shikoh’s misfortunes have already been referred to, but his brother Shuja’s end, also due to the Machiavellism of Aurangzeb, may be mentioned here, as an excellent portrait of the prince has survived, and is reproduced on Plate LXIV, Fig. 1. In a very simple specimen of outline drawing in the *siyāhī qalam*, we see the features of Shah Jahan’s second son, who has not inaptly been designated Prince ‘Valiant’. Here he is shown as a mere youth of about sixteen years of age, but he lived until over forty, when, hunted from cover to cover like a wounded animal by his more successful rival to the Mughal throne, he disappeared for ever into the jungles of Arakan.¹ Another tragical circumstance, reflecting in this case on the character of the Emperor Jahangir, is recalled by the portrait of the rider on Plate LXIV, Fig. 2. An inscription on the picture states that it represents Sher Afghan, the first husband of Nur-Jahan. After many dramatic escapes, which form the subject of more than one Mughal picture, from the nets spread by the covetous Jahangir, this nobleman, whose only fault was that he possessed a beautiful wife, finally succumbed to the hired assassin's knife in 1607. Sher Afghan had a reputation for bravery which he had often to display under very trying conditions, and his features and pose in the picture seem to suggest something of the chivalry with which he was accredited. The miniature is much mutilated—in the course of its vicissitudes it has been ruthlessly cut down—but even in its present state it is not difficult to see that the artist has been successful in his decorative treatment of the horse. In all these pictures of equestrian subjects it is instructive to follow the development of this animal through its various stages, from the pure Arab in the Persian illustrations to the coarse country-bred of the later Indian miniatures.

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Linked texts (4)

Svapnavāsavadatta — Bhāsa, Sanskrit
Meghadūta — Kālidāsa, Sanskrit
Raghuvaṃśa — Kālidāsa, Sanskrit
Fatehpur Sikri

Indian Painting under the Mughals, A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1750 c20: VII. Portraiture

Contents

VII. Portraiture

Linked texts (4)