Indian Painting under the Mughals, A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1750 c21: VIII. European Influences
Indian Painting under the Mughals, A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1750 c21
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VIII. European Influences
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T HE occidental, when first confronted with a Mughal miniature, is apt to find himself presented with two conflicting thoughts. On the one hand he sees before him a picture the basis of which is plainly oriental, while on the other there is something strangely familiar in certain of its features, something which recalls the works of the mediaeval artists of his own sphere. He may exclaim, as some have done, ‘an Italian fresco in miniature’, while others, whose first acquaintance with the art has been by means of reproductions, have felt that these were reduced copies of pictures of considerable size, or even large wall-paintings. The latter illusion, as to size and mural character, is readily explained, as the immediate predecessors of the Indian miniaturists were wall painters, decorators of temples and palaces, who worked mainly in *tempera* on the prepared surfaces of buildings. At a still earlier date these again derived their artistic skill from their ancestors, the painters of the expansive frescoes of the Buddhist period. It is not difficult to realize, therefore, the source from which the Indian painters derived those qualities of size and breadth and space which are observable in some degree in all their pictorial art. These fundamental characteristics, dating from the Buddhist times, were handed down from generation to generation and underlie all forms of Indian painting even to the miniatures of the Mughals. But the apparent association with primitive Western art, a reminiscence of Siena and Assisi, or the miniatures of the early Florentine and Umbrian schools of Matteo de Giovanni, of Francesco da Rimini, of Paolo Ucelli, which some have suggested, is less easily explained. It may arise from the fact that both arts were linked, the Italian directly, the Indian indirectly, with the same historic school, that of the Byzantine, with its semi-barbaric but splendid decoration composed of contributions from both the East and the West. While this may be one reason, it also raises the question as to whether the early Italian painters, through the Venetians, whose connexion with the orient in the Middle Ages was a close and constant one, ever gave anything to the graphic art of Persia, and so to that of India. In the year 1479 the Turkish Sultan, Muhammad II, engaged the Venetian painter Gentile Bellini and two assistants to execute a series of pictures for him; evidences of the Italian artist’s sojourn in Constantinople have been noted in a few of the miniatures executed in the Nearer East shortly after that date. Such speculations have, however, little practical value; where we are on more stable ground is the similarity in growth of the Italian and Indian schools. Both, at least in their technical development, progressed broadly on the same lines—from fresco to *tempera*, and from *tempera* to ‘easel-picture’. India, it is true, took longer over the process; its course was delayed, and, on occasion, almost arrested, but it is most probably to this analogy in evolution that the two schools owe some remote resemblance.
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During the long course of its history no date has been more momentous to India than the dawn of the sixteenth century. At this particular time two entirely different forces were appearing on the horizon, in almost opposite directions, each in its turn to spread over the whole of the sub-continent, and profoundly to affect its future. On the north-west frontier were the Mughals under Babur, whose progress and whose influences on the art of the country have been already dealt with in the preceding chapters. On the south-west seaboard the Portuguese navigator, Vasco da Gama, had landed, and with his arrival India’s direct intercourse with Europe began. What this intercourse has led to may be seen in the constitution of the country at the present day, with which, however, we are not concerned. But the effect that such contact had on the arts of India, and specifically on the painting of the Mughals, is a necessary portion of the present study. Previous to the appearance of the Portuguese ships off Calicut in 1498, indirect communication between India and the West had been maintained for a very long time. By land it was conducted over caravan routes across Persia, and by sea the Venetians through Arab bottoms had established a thriving trade with the merchants of Gujarāt.
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But in the relations that took place in the Middle Ages between the two continents there appears to have been little interchange of art, neither Europe nor India having yet arrived at that stage when the decorative designs of the one appear to have had any appreciable effect on those of the other. When, however, the Portuguese during the sixteenth century opened up communication by establishing factories at Calicut, Cochin, and Goa, the ‘Europeanization’ of the country began, and it was not long before this revealed itself in Indian art. The first Indian potentate to display an interest in the handiwork of the European craftsman was the Mughal emperor Akbar. Comparatively early in his reign, in 1572, he had spent a year in the conquest of Gujarāt, in close proximity to some of the Western seaports, where he made the acquaintance of the Portuguese merchants and learned something about them and their affairs. The Mughal ruler appears to have been impressed by their knowledge, for in 1577 he is reported to have retained a Portuguese officer in his service. Europeans were not, however, unknown in the cities of the Mughals, for there was a fair sprinkling of wandering Poles and ‘ Muscovites ’, Greeks and Levantines, in the bazaars of Agra and Delhi even at this time. In the south of India, but outside the sphere of Mughal influence, many more were beginning to arrive, as not only trade but the Christian religion brought by the Jesuit priests was making steady progress.
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With the extension of these missions appear the first known examples of Western art in India. In 1570 one of the priests at Goa was Brother Aranha of Lisbon, a skilled artist and versatile craftsman, who designed and built many of the original Christian churches in the locality, decorating them with religious pictures painted by his own hands. Of the Jesuits’ activities in the southern part of the peninsula, and particularly of some of the occidental ‘ novelties ’ that they had brought with them, Akbar seems to have obtained certain vague information, which speedily grew into a desire for more definite knowledge. In 1578, therefore, he specially deputed an agent of his court, of the name of Haji Habibullah, to proceed to Goa for the express purpose of making investigations. The emissary’s instructions were quite definite: he was ordered to find out personally all he could about the arts and industries that were being practised there, and if possible to bring back examples; further, he was supplied with ample funds for the purchase of any articles of interest, and if for any reason these were unobtainable he was accompanied by a small staff of expert craftsmen who were to make copies of them, so as not to return empty-handed. When the company arrived back at the Mughal court after their long expedition, the emperor was much gratified with the manner in which the Haji had carried out his commission.
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Not only had he obtained many objects of great curiosity, but his craftsmen had studied and made themselves efficient in many newly acquired arts; and, most important of all, he had actually engaged a number of Europeans to come and carry on their trades at the court of the ‘ Great Mogul ’. Unfortunately the details that have survived of the results of Akbar’s enterprise are meagre, although it is recorded that one article which received the special admiration of the emperor was a church organ ‘ like a great box the size of a man, played by a European sitting inside ’. One of the court artists, Mādho Khanazād, subsequently introduced the instrument into a picture he painted of a musician (Plato) charming a large concourse of wild beasts who lie helpless around him. It forms one of the illustrations in Mr. Dyson Perrins’s copy of the *Khamsah* (fol. 298, Plate 40).¹
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¹ Martin, vol. ii, Plate 181.
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Such an experience only whetted the Mughal emperor’s desire for the productions of the West, and he soon began to cast about for other methods of securing what he coveted. Whether Akbar, in professing an interest in Christianity, was in earnest, or merely using religion as a means to an end, will never be known; but that he favoured it at one time in order to get into closer touch with the Europeans in India, and learn from them as much as possible about Western culture, is quite clear. As a preliminary step in this direction in 1579 he invited to his court at Fathpur Sikri a Jesuit mission from Goa, which arrived there in the following year. The experiences of the three priests who made up the party at the Mughal capital, where they remained for some three years, is a fascinating narrative, most of which lies outside the subject of painting. It was, however, through their presence that Akbar made his first acquaintance with European pictures. As soon as the mission was established at Fathpur Sikri,
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the Fathers fitted up a chapel in their new quarters, as handsomely as they could, and placed over the altar a copy of the Madonna of St. Luke at St. Mary Major’s, which had been brought from Europe by Father Martin de Sylva, and which St. Pius V had allowed St. Francis Borgia to have made. . . . Akbar, after three or four days, paid a visit to it. On entering, he was struck by the venerable picture [and according to report, made obeisances to it]. A week later, the emperor came again to visit the chapel, with his three sons, Salim, Murad, and Danyal . . . and set them the example of paying due reverence to the holy picture. All expressed their admiration of it. When the emperor turn to go, Blessed Rudolf offered him another Madonna, a work of art which Akbar had especially admired and evidently wished to possess. He received it as a very precious gift, and had it hung in a place of honour in his rooms.²
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² *Historia de las Misiones*, by Luis de Guzman, 1601; quoted by Francis Goldie, S.J., in his *First Christian Mission to the Great Mogul*, p. 68.
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In one of the apartments of the ‘house of Miriam’, in Akbar’s now deserted capital, there used to be the much-faded remains of a large wall-painting, the subject of which was said to be the Annunciation. It has been suggested that this building, for the time being, may have been made over to the members of the mission for their accommodation; and that the chamber which the picture adorns was possibly their chapel.
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The Jesuit Fathers had no doubt been previously told that an unfailing means of securing the support of the Mughal emperor was to bring with them many examples of European pictorial art. They came prepared, therefore, with a considerable number of paintings of saints and religious subjects, which seem to have been very well received; these also eventually led to much discussion between the members of the mission and Akbar and his priests. But the object by which the Fathers laid the greatest store, and one which they fondly hoped would be productive of the best results, was a magnificently bound copy of Plantyn’s Royal Polyglot Bible, printed in 1569–72 for Philip II of Spain. This they presented to the emperor with no little formality in March 1580. It consisted of eight large volumes, and was illustrated with a number of engravings by Flemish artists of the school of Quentin Matsys (1466–1531), including one who signs his drawings ‘P. Huys’. Akbar accepted the gift with evident signs of pleasure, and placed it in his imperial library, where it remained for fifteen years: it was then handed back to a later Jesuit mission which came to the court of the Mughal. There is little doubt that during the period that it was in the emperor’s keeping the artists studied the illustrations in this book just as carefully as they did those of the Persian schools, and the result of their study is plainly observable in some of their miniatures. Among its engravings were some pictorial maps displaying galleys and other mediaeval ships sailing through seas in which aquatic monsters disport themselves. Such subjects were entirely unknown to the Mughal painters, who had never seen the sea, and so when they had occasion to depict scenes of shipping they took the Flemish engravings as their guide. We are presented, therefore, in all the marine subjects of the period—and the Mughals seem to have taken a certain amount of pleasure in these on account of their unusual character—with high-prowed ships like the galleons of ancient days, moving over waters rippling with spiral waves among which swim many fearsome creatures, half crocodile and half fish. The relation of such painting to the plates in the Plantyn Bible, while not strongly marked, is, in this particular, sufficiently distinct to be more than a mere coincidence. But still further evidence of the use that Akbar’s artists made of the pictorial material from the West that was arriving in their midst is available. Shortly after the Jesuit priests had introduced the Mughals to their collections of religious art and examples of illustrated books, one of Akbar’s Kahar artists, Kasava-dasa, or Kesu the elder, began the preparation of a series of miniatures among which were included copies and imitations of Christian pictures. The whole, when finished, he had bound up in a *muraqqa‘* (album), which he presented with a dedication to the emperor in 1588.¹ Miniature copies of sacred pictures from Europe were not infrequently made by the Mughal painters during Akbar’s reign, and the practice became still more common under Jahangir. They are to be found in many collections of Indian painting, and a good specimen may be studied in the British Museum, Stowe Or. 16, folio 18. It depicts the ‘ Scoffing of Christ ’, and is a careful copy of a European original probably executed by a Hindu painter about 1625. Another picture of the same kind, a portrait of the Virgin, but with an Indian background, is in the Bodleian Library, O. A. 171 b, 16 v. Several miniatures, the subjects of which were similarly inspired, are in the Museum at Washington, U.S.A., having been collected by Colonel Hanna. Some of these, however, while appearing at first sight to be the Indian painters’ interpretations of Christian subjects are on closer investigation found to be purely Islamic in origin. Saints with halos, and angels with wings, are not unusual in Persian and Mughal art, being derived from another and older tradition.
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¹ V. Smith, *History of Fine Art in India* Ind. Ant., vi. 353. and Ceylon, p. 472. ‘Assess. 9278, 9360’
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Towards the end of the sixteenth century, therefore, pictures of religious subjects from Europe were not uncommon at Akbar’s court, and these before long were followed by paintings of a secular order. None of the latter has survived, but their existence is proved in an interesting manner. In a copy of the *Shāhnāma* illustrated by Akbar’s artists is a picture of Humayun watching a number of women dancing.² The pavilion in which the emperor is seated is clearly copied from one which the artist had seen, probably a portion of a palace at Fathpur Sikri. At the back of the throne is a wall, on which, among other decorative effects, is a painted frieze ; if the scale of the picture is correct the frieze is about two feet wide, and continues round the four sides of the building. It consists of a series of panels in each of which is a European picture demonstrably of Portuguese origin. One panel depicts an animated scene of two cavaliers, wearing soft brimmed hats and loose cloaks, charging across the landscape. The original pictures were no doubt acquired by Akbar from Portuguese traders, who were now penetrating into his dominions in increasing numbers, and fixed by his order in position on the wall of the royal palace. It was an easy matter, therefore, for the artist to copy the mural scheme thus presented into his miniature. There is little doubt that by this time European pictures, religious and secular, were the fashion at the Mughal court, being displayed in many of the halls and pavilions of Akbar’s capital. And it was not long before these European works of art were followed by European artists. The first of the latter to be heard of in India was Brother Aranha of the Goa mission, who has been already mentioned. Shortly after the return of the priests from Fathpur Sikri, he met with his death, and his place was filled by an English painter of the name of John Storey, who arrived, together with those intrepid travellers Eldred, Fitch, Newberie, and Leedes, about 1583. Neither the Portuguese nor the English painter, however, journeyed as far as the capital of the Mughals, as there was too much work to be done at Goa, in the decoration of new churches and the copying of religious pictures, for them to be spared for this purpose. As the scope of the mission expanded, and the work increased, more artists were sent for from Europe. In 1595 one of these, a Portuguese, accompanied the third Jesuit mission to Lahore, and was the first European painter to arrive at the Mughal court. It was not long before he was summoned by Akbar, and directed to copy in his presence a picture of the Virgin Mary, brought by the priests, which the emperor had much admired. Such an episode in itself affords an interesting picture. We can see the Mughal sovereign seated in state and accompanied by his sons, their gaily coloured attire contrasting with the sombre garments of the small group of Jesuits standing near, while in the background is gathered a brilliant and expectant staff; into the midst of the assemblage steps the young Portuguese painter who proceeds to give an exhibition of his artistic skill.
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² Martin, vol. ii, Plate 183. in Royal Library, Berlin; cited by Weber,
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Ten years elapse after the incident here recorded before the long reign of Akbar comes to an end, and signs are not wanting that Western art never lost its attraction to this picture-loving monarch. But the brief outlines already presented of the growth of the relations between the painting of the Mughals and that of Europe are sufficient to show what was taking place. In his zeal for pictures of all kinds Akbar encouraged the introduction of European art into his dominions, and also extended his patronage to its painters. Moreover, he ordered the court artists to copy all those examples of occidental painting which came into his possession, and saw that they made use of them in their work. The pictures from the West that found their way into India seem to have impressed the Mughals, and even caused some of the more educated officials to make inquiries concerning the artists who produced them. Thus we find Abu’l Fazl displaying his newly acquired knowledge when he states that the pictures of the Indian artists ‘ may be placed at the side of the wonderful works of the European painters who have attained world-wide fame ’. It would be surprising if the result of this interest in occidental art were not reflected in the Mughal miniatures of the time, but the effect, however, although occasionally noticeable, is not strongly marked. It is observable in a certain class of painting, the handiwork of the more assimilative of the Hindu craftsmen, who seized on some of the features of European art and put them boldly into their pictures. But as a whole the painting of Akbar’s time depicts only in a modified degree the influence of the West.
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While Akbar showed a decided proclivity for European pictures, his son was even more interested, and when he became emperor soon appears to have developed into a whole-hearted admirer of all forms of occidental art. As a young man Jahangir was attracted by the pictures brought by the Jesuit missions, and seems to have made friends with its members on that account. In 1602 it is related that he wore around his neck a locket containing miniatures of Jesus and the Virgin, and to have displayed even a greater desire for objects of a similar nature than his father. Three years afterwards when he ascended the throne he was able to indulge his appetite for European art to an unlimited extent. At first he had to be content with religious pictures only, as these were brought in considerable numbers when the Portuguese priests found that their work of proselytism was facilitated by such means. But the arrival of the English embassy in 1615, which opened up an entirely new avenue, eventually led to a large quantity of secular painting making its appearance at the Mughal court. As we have seen, a few pictures of the kind had already been acquired by Akbar, and were more afterwards obtained. At Daulat Bagh or the ‘ Garden of Splendour ’, which Jahangir had built on the Ana Sagar lake, Roe, the English ambassador, saw ‘ roomes which were Paynted with Antique, and in some Panes Copyes of the French kings, and other Christian Princes ’.¹ The Mughal emperor’s liking for pictures was not lost on the astute English diplomat, who soon saw that a supply of works of art in the form of presents might expedite his schemes. Accordingly in 1615 we find him writing home for, among other things suitable as gifts to the emperor, ‘ pictures, lardge, on cloth, the frames in peeces ; but they must be good, and for varyetye some story, with many faces ’. Again in the same year he asks his directors for ‘ pictures, they comming out of Italy ouerland and from Ormus ’. Early in 1617 a consignment of miscellaneous articles for presentation to the emperor arrived, and the cases were opened at a durbar held for the occasion. When the pictures were taken out, and displayed, even the accomplished and ready-witted Roe found himself embarrassed upon being asked on the spur of the moment to explain to the oriental spectators the meaning of some of these, especially one entitled ‘Venus and a Satyre’. Accompanying it were several paintings of allegorical subjects, including one mysteriously described as ‘expressing our government’, which shows that ‘publicity’ was aimed at even in those days, although with little thought of the difficulties in which such a peculiar commission placed the unfortunate artist. In spite of the fact that the majority of the pictures were very little understood at the court, Roe continued to have large oil paintings sent out as ‘fitt presentes’ to the Mughal emperor. He writes again that ‘pictuers of all sortes, if good, (are) in constant request; some large storie; Diana this yere gave great content’. Portraiture was also included in some of the consignments, one of which consisted of a selection of English royalties and notabilities of the time, and included ‘the king my Soueraignes Picture, the Queenes, my Lady Elizabeths, Sir Thomas Smiths and some others’. A few of these travelled about with the emperor, being always given a prominent place in his council chamber, and two of them may be identified occupying panels on the wall behind Jahangir’s throne in the picture reproduced in the frontispiece. The court artists were also commissioned to make small copies of these, thus converting them into Indian miniatures, as may be seen in the portrait of Queen Elizabeth in the Bodleian Library O. A. 171 b, 17 v. To make his copy more presentable the Mughal artist has painted the queen as if standing at an Indian window, and the quilted screen (kanāt) had been rolled up so as to form part of the frame.
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¹ Roe, vol. i, pp. 159 and 240.
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The effect of the intercourse with the West, which by the seventeenth century was assuming considerable proportions, may be gathered by examining some of the details of the miniature in the frontispiece. Apart from the two English portraits shown in the background and already referred to, the throne on which the emperor is seated was largely the handiwork of a European. It was a present from I‘timad-ud-daula, the father of Jahangir’s famous consort Nur-Jahan, and he is shown in a prominent place in the picture. The throne was described by the emperor himself in 1619 as ‘of gold and silver, much ornamented and decorated, the supports of which were in the form of tigers. It had been completed with great assiduity in the space of three years, and was made at the cost of R. 450,000. This throne had been made by a skilful European of the name of Hunarmand (skilful), who had no rival in the arts of a goldsmith and a jeweller, and in all sorts of skill (*hunarmandī*). He had made it very well, and I gave him this name.’ As a reward he was ‘presented with 3,000 *darb*, a horse and an elephant’. The question has arisen as to whether the craftsman, to whom Jahangir gave such an appropriate title, was Austin of Bordeaux, the illusive and adventurous jeweller who has been the subject of so much discussion in connexion with the design and construction of the Taj Mahal at Agra. Originally bearing the name of Augustinus Hiriart, and afterwards calling himself Hiriand of Bordeaux, it seems not unlikely that Jahangir, seeing no meaning in the word Hiriand, as a pleasantry transformed it into Hunarmand, which is the Persian for ‘skilful’. A glance at the picture will show that the throne is of unusual construction, and one of its principal accessories, the overhead canopy decorated with gold embroidery on velvet, is by its design presumably of Italian manufacture. The pattern on the cushion against which the emperor is leaning is also not Indian in character.
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There is one other feature in the picture, taken from European art, which, although referred to in a previous chapter, is of sufficient importance to merit a more detailed description. This is the golden nimbus adorning the head of the Mughal sovereign. In itself it is a comparatively minor detail, but the manner in which it eventually found a place in the Indian miniature is of considerable interest. The story of the travels of this symbol, from Asia to Europe and again back to India, from the earliest times until it appears in the Mughal miniature, is a long and involved one. Here, however, the bare outlines will suffice. The origin of the nimbus is traced to the early Persians, with whom in its embryonic form of a celestial aureole of fire it appears as the *hvareno* of Mazdaism. In its usually accepted shape, however, as a circular disk, it is first seen in the Graeco-Buddhist sculpture of the north-western frontier of India, anciently known as Gandhara, about the beginning of the Christian era. Buddhism having thus appropriated the saintly circle, it was carried with the art of that creed to all the distant countries which accepted the doctrine of the Great Teacher. In India a later and Hinduized form of Buddhism, the *Mahāyāna*, then took over the symbol, from which it was only a step to the Brahmanical art of mediaeval times, so that it appears in the sculptures of that country from then onwards, as an attribute of many of the Indian divinities.
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Such is the account of its first appearance in the art of India. Previous to this, however, it had begun to travel towards the west of Asia, and from there it found its way into the Byzantine art of Europe in the fifth century of the Christian era. At first it was employed somewhat timidly in Christian art, probably on account of its known pagan origin, but in the course of time this objection was overcome, so that it eventually became the accepted emblem of the Byzantine Church, to be used profusely in all its figure art. In the meantime, however, the rise of Islam in the seventh century had swept it completely out of the Nearer East, as the creed recognized no symbols except those of its own making. But the first fanatical outburst having subsided, it begins to be seen again in the illuminated manuscripts of the Abbasid rulers on the Tigris. The reason for its reappearance in this centre of the Muhammadan faith is not far to seek. Greek artists were employed by the Caliphs of Baghdad, who copied it from the pictures of Christian saints in the Byzantine illustrated books which they used as their guide. From the banks of the Tigris it wandered into the mediaeval pictorial art of Persia, even finding a place in the miniatures of the Mongols until the fourteenth century. But after this date it appears no more in the painting of Iran. It ceased to be used by the artists of Persia when that country closed its door on the West and turned to the Far East for its art.
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In none of the pictures of the Timurid or Safavid schools is it seen, except in those rare portraits of the holy family of Islam, or of the saints, when, not in the shape of a halo, but as a golden flame, it distinguishes their sacred persons. It naturally follows, therefore, that in the early painting of the Mughals the nimbus is also unknown, as Akbar’s artists, not seeing it in any examples of Persian art, were unlikely spontaneously to introduce it into their own. But if the use of the emblem had died out in the painting of the East, the omission was fully compensated for by its universal employment in the West. Christian art in the Middle Ages took the nimbus for its own, and utilized it to such an extent that it has been regarded by many as of purely Christian meaning and origin. With the art of this religion to the extreme west of Europe it travelled, and then, in the sixteenth century, in the hands of the Portuguese Jesuit fathers it turned, and began the long journey back almost to the land of its birth, as it figured prominently in the Christian pictures which these priests brought with them to India in the pious hope that such works of art might be the means of converting the ‘ Great Mogul ’.
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Jahangir took the symbol but not the creed, seizing on the halo as an excellent method for distinguishing the Mughal emperor from all others. He fully believed in the divinity of kings ; and symbolized his semi-sanctified state by means of the nimbus in all portraits of himself. In Mughal painting it was reserved strictly for the ruling sovereign of the empire, and in the portraits of no other member of the royal house was it allowed. The idea of its use in this connexion was entirely Jahangir’s, so that it is found in no likenesses of his predecessors painted previous to his own reign; any such portraits which include this appendage have been executed subsequent to Jahangir’s orders on the subject. A rare exception, however, would be any early portrait of his ancestors to which a nimbus has been added by a later hand. There are of course pictures of Hindu and Muhammadan saints whose figures are dignified by a plain gold halo, and, later, some of the other ruling dynasties in India, as for instance the Adil Shahs of Bijapur, adopted the symbol in their portraiture, but its original intention was to provide a recognized sign of the Mughal emperor. In the painting of his time Jahangir made the application of the symbol retrospective. His respect for his father, not specially noticeable during the latter’s lifetime, was rekindled after his death, probably owing to some twinges of remorse, and shows itself in several miniatures in which the son is looking with admiration at a portrait of his parent. In these both monarchs are nimbed. There is an interesting picture of this kind in the Louvre (No. 3676), and the minute portrait of Akbar which Jahangir is holding in his hand depicts the former gazing intently into a large green crystal globe.
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Nothing, however, that he thought would be of use to his artists in their work escaped the eye of Jahangir; and his inquiries into the art of other countries, as we have seen in his conversations with Sir Thomas Roe, were most penetrating. In the service of the ambassador was a young English factor of the name of ‘Hewes’ (‘Robert Hughes’), who was fond of sketching. The emperor heard of this, although Roe assured him that he did work ‘but very meanly, far from the arte of painting’; yet nothing would satisfy the Mughal until he had seen his sketches, and had ‘some speech’ with him. As the ambassador had warned him, the young man’s drawings were very elementary, and Jahangir apparently thought so too, because he did not ask again to see him. There are indications that the emperor would have liked to have had an English painter in his service, especially after he had seen the wonderful examples of the English school of miniaturists brought by Roe. Such a rumour no doubt prompted an adventurer at the Mughal court, an engineer of the name of Richard Steel, to arrange for one to be brought out. Steel was a native of Bristol, obviously a very plausible person, who persuaded the East India Company to engage him in a general capacity, and take out with him to India a number of workmen on the chance of his being able to interest the Mughal in his very visionary proposals. But besides the company’s work, he had also private schemes of his own, not authorized by the directors, one of which was to smuggle out an artist with the idea that by selling his pictures he might make some money, and incidentally get into closer touch with the emperor. Roe, who was already in India and engaged in the delicate task of obtaining Jahangir’s signature to his treaty, was far from pleased at such unexpected and undesirable additions to his entourage. He felt, and with some justification, that they were likely to cause complications, and did not hesitate to say so in his letters home, also reporting that Steel had brought with him ‘a Paynter named Hatfield, stole him aboard at the downes, who is bound to him for 7 years (a very good woorkeman both in lymning and oyle) to deuide profitts ’.¹ Up to a point Steel’s plan succeeded, for we read that ‘the Mogol would haue him to take his picture . . . he was admitted . . . into the Mogol’s lodgings, where he did sit for the said Limner ’.² No results, however, appear to have followed this move, as nothing more is heard of the artist whom the engineer had associated with him in his venture.
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¹ Roe, vol. ii, p. 477.
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² Roe, vol. ii, p. 500, note.
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On the whole, therefore, it seems that while Jahangir was interested in all those Europeans who had any knowledge of painting, and while he also unreservedly encouraged the importation of Western pictures into his dominions, even ordering his artists to make copies of them, as did his father Akbar, yet as a matter of principle he regarded the painting of his own people as a thing apart. His attitude in this connexion may be judged by the general character of the miniatures of his reign, especially those that concerned himself, in all of which occidental feeling is conspicuous by its absence. He does not appear to have approved of any deliberate combination of the two forms of expression, and, if any painter did introduce anything of the West into his picture, it was so transformed—so Indianized in the process—that any sense of incongruity which might be expected from the loan is not ordinarily felt. This does not mean that the Mughal painters did not subconsciously absorb certain occidental qualities into their work. They could not have been in close contact with the art of the West, as many of them were, without such being the case, but anything that they did accept was a matter of careful selection, and so treated that it blended naturally with their own style. It will be realized that there is no discredit in such a system provided that what the artist borrows he does not neglect to make really his own. There are many instances of great creative movements not only in art but in other spheres of culture, which have been dependent at some period of their evolution on foreign suggestion. It is true that most of them incurred the debt at the initial stage of their development, as the painting of Italy in its primitive period borrowed from Byzantine art, and Elizabethan literature drew upon the writers of Italy and France; but an interchange of knowledge and experience may be made valuable at all times and seasons. On the other hand apparent similarities, especially in the graphic arts, between the productions of two different races should not be pushed too far. There have been times when it seems as if thought-waves were permeating the art world, independent of any actual material communication. For example, there is a strange affinity between the ‘mental texture’, so to speak, of Japanese art in the fourteenth century and the art of the same period in Italy, although there could have been no real intercourse of any kind at such an early date. A further instance is that of the early Muhammadan architecture of India, which has the same rugged qualities and stern appearance as the Norman Gothic of England, while another is the resemblance between some of the ninth-century designs of Khotan and those of the Saxons. The explanation is that all these were the result of independent though similar processes of thought-evolution, and it is not improbable that much of the supposed European feeling in the painting of the Mughals is due to the same cause.
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When the guiding hand of Jahangir was removed, a distinct increase in the influence of the West is observable in the painting under his successor, Shah Jahan. It does not appear that more European pictures came into the country in his reign—the Mughal emperor’s tastes did not express themselves specially in this direction—but a favourable opening having been made by his predecessor, the interest in Western art was bound to progress. That he soon began to surround himself with examples of occidental painting is shown by the picture reproduced on Plate XXIV. In the frieze above his throne several winged figures and nimbed cherubim are to be seen, floating on clouds, a *motif* that became very common from now onwards, as we see it employed in a variety of ways in Mughal art. Other features of a like nature may be studied in the same picture, as for instance the naïve scene painted on the marble dado below the emperor, of the scales of justice, and the lion and the ox. But one of the most interesting details in this miniature, unfortunately not visible in the reduced plate, are the lower edges of two painted panels [Figure: LXVI. Prince conversing with a priest; painted c. A.D. 1660 Collection of M. Demotte, Paris.]
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LXVII. Priests discussing the Qur'an; painted c. A.D. 1660 Collection of M. Demotte, Paris.
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projecting below the pearl-fringed canopy of the throne. Enough of these has been brought into view by the artist to enable us to identify these as pictures of Jesus and the Virgin. Nevertheless, Shah Jahan’s patronage of painting being of a more moderate order than that of his predecessors, it did not encourage any European artist to travel out to India to practise his profession at the Mughal court. In fact the tide seems to have set against the employment of Western talent except in isolated instances, so that nearly two centuries elapse before another European painter arrives on the shores of India. But occidental elements in Mughal painting were propagated by other means. Towards the middle of the seventeenth century Shah Abbas II of Persia (1642–67), whose leanings towards Western culture were most marked, had dispatched from his capital a group of young Persians to study various subjects in some of the centres of learning in Europe. Among these was a painter, who proceeded to work for a considerable period at a studio in Rome. While there he became converted to Christianity, so that on his return he was compelled to leave Persia, and eventually to seek the protection of the Mughal. This painter was most probably Muhammad Zaman, whose work may be examined in three pictures in the British Museum copy of the *Khamsah*, Or. 2265, folios 203 b, 213 a, and 221 b. Manifestly occidental in character, they leave no doubt as to the course of study that the young Persian adopted; and if, as he appears to have done, he became a protégé of the Mughal emperor, the growth of the European element in the painting of Shah Jahan’s reign is readily explained. The result of Muhammad Zaman’s presence in Delhi and the influence of his occidental training on those around him may be observed in many of the pictures of the time of Shah Jahan, as for example in the borders of the portrait album produced under the supervision of Faqīrullāh Khān. On the upper part of the mount of most of these there is a design of flying angels on billowy clouds, with a background of rainbows and radiant suns, which, while fantastic in some respects, is not unconnected with the art of Raphael or his school.
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So far we have dealt only with those features which have been extracted almost bodily from the art of the occident and given a place in the Mughal miniature. As distinct from these, however, there are the less obvious signs of European influence, such as the increase in the use of shadows, the employment of scientific linear and aerial perspective, and a different treatment of the landscape, all of which may be discerned in the later painting of the Mughals. Plates LXVI and LXVII, of pictures executed some time early in the second half of the seventeenth century, will explain what was taking place. The former depicts a young prince with his attendants conversing with a priest, who from his appearance may be a Jain; the background to the group is clearly inspired by a painting of a European landscape. While this portion of the picture may have been copied from a scene in the vicinity of an Indian city, for Christian churches were being built in several parts of the country at this time, the manner in which the artist has obtained his effect is occidental. Two painters have been employed on it, one of whom has been responsible for the figures, and another has added the background. At one time the class of work produced by the latter was sufficiently popular to give rise to a special name for this form of backgrounding, which became known as *dūr-numā* or ‘distant scene’. Similar remarks apply to Plate LXVII, which shows a young priest expounding the Qur’an to another, while in front are two disciples. The landscape might have been copied from a picture of the school of Georgione. A miniature of considerable interest but of a still later date, having been painted at Patna in Bihar towards the middle of the nineteenth century, is illustrated on Plate LXVIII. The subject is somewhat of an enigma; and the inscriptions written by a Muhammadan, while the painting is the work of a Hindu, throw little additional light. It depicts three figures, one of whom may be a European priest, while the others are Indian devotees or saints. They are seen conversing under a tree in a locality which has been identified as near Patna, because the hill called Mathni is in the background. In front of the hill the artist has introduced the few crude appliances for distilling spirits, and a bottle and a cup are shown in the foreground. Its artistic charm lies in its rich liquid colouring, reminiscent of a French enamel of the sixteenth century.
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During the reign of Aurangzeb it is doubtful whether the importation of European pictures into the Mughal’s dominions was maintained in view of the antipathy that this ruler is credited with having displayed towards art generally. Nevertheless the influence of a foreign style is seen in the miniatures painted while he was on the throne, as may be observed in Plate XXX. In other parts of the country evidences of Portuguese artists being employed in decorating palaces with mural paintings are not wanting, as is proved by those on the walls at the Athār Mahal in Bijapur, much of the character of which is apparently European, although of a distinctly inferior quality. On the break-up of the Mughal court at Delhi, and the transfer of power to Lucknow and Hyderabad, the Mughal school, as we have seen, went to pieces, with the results that many examples LXVIII. Picture in the Patna *qalam*; subject unknown; painted *c.* A.D. 1800 Indian Museum, Calcutta, No. 218.
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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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of a degraded art were produced. Among these were feeble imitations of Western pictures, as well as many other still more incongruous compositions so degenerate as not to merit the name of art, a state of affairs which continued with few exceptions throughout the eighteenth century. In 1772 there arrived in India probably the first English painter after Hatfield, the adventurous ‘limner’ whose experience at the court of Jahangir has already been recounted. His name was Tilly Kettle and he remained four years in Calcutta, but does not appear to have penetrated any farther into the country. He was followed by Hodges, Zoffany, Longcroft, and Home, all of whom came to India towards the end of the eighteenth century and practised their art in several of the larger cities. With their arrival the Western form of painting, which has been gradually gaining ground in India all these years, received a decided impetus, so much so that a considerable number of Indian artists began to copy the methods of the Europeans. They began to produce large oil paintings on canvas, generally uninspiring portraits of Indian noblemen, many of which may be seen in Oude, Southern India, and Bengal, to this day. None of these is of any merit, but they plainly show that the country was deserting its own artistic traditions, and that Indian painting had become merely a stagnant reflection of that of the West.