The Art of Armenia: An Introduction 0190269006, 9780190269005

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The Art of Armenia

The Art of Armenia AN INTRODUCTION

Christina Maranci

1

1 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2018 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. CIP data is on file at the Library of Congress ISBN 978–​0–​19–​026900–​5 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America

{ CONTENTS } Preface Acknowledgments A Note on the Transliteration Maps Introduction 1. The Ancient Armenian Highlands

vii ix xi xiii 1 4

2. The Early Medieval Era

30

3. The Age of the Kingdoms

56

4. The Art of Armenian Cilicia

92

5. Greater Armenia in the Twelfth to Fifteenth Centuries

125

6. Empire and Diaspora in the Fifteenth to Eighteenth Centuries

167

Postscript: Memory and Heritage

198

Notes Select Bibliography Index

209 237 243

{ PREFACE } As the title suggests, this book is intended as an introduction to Armenian art. It is not a comprehensive survey: an older but excellent study, Jean-​Michel Thierry and Patrick Donabédian’s Armenian Art (1989), serves that function. That book, as well as Sirarpie Der Nersessian’s eponymous 1979 volume, discusses many of the works addressed here, and should be consulted when doing further research. The present book, intended as a brief, cohesive guide, considers a smaller group of works, chosen as representatives of a larger and diverse corpus, beginning with early artifacts of the Armenian Plateau and ending in the early eighteenth century. There are many excellent multi-​author studies of Armenian art: exhibition catalogues, for example, offer not only splendid corpora of the tradition, but also authoritative essays on Armenian art, religion, and history. While I draw upon these catalogues and the expertise that they contain, I still see the need for a single-​author narrative to escort the reader through the artistic and scholarly traditions. I offer this book as a collective presentation of the important efforts of the later twentieth and early twenty-​first centuries, hoping to provide a useful update to the surveys of Armenian art mentioned previously. A quick glance at the bibliography shows that this book omits a vast literature in the Armenian and Russian languages. References are mostly in English and French. This decision reflects my goals for the book: it is intended for those new to Armenian art and/​or who do not read Armenian. At the same time, following the footnotes to their ultimate sources will lead the reader to relevant Armenian and Russian literature. I have also sought to give the reader a sense of the textual traditions surrounding the works of art, whether in the form of donation inscriptions, treatises on images, or contemporary chronicles. I hope in this way to invite the interested student to further research, and that mastery of the language will accompany more advanced work. Whether because of limitations of space, or because of my own background, overt preferences, or inherent biases, I have surely ignored important works, excluded ideas from the narrative, and overlooked worthwhile scholarship. Yet I am pressed forward by a larger goal: to encourage new students to pursue work in the field. Having taught Armenian art at the university level since 1999, I have keenly felt the lack of an authoritative, up-​to-​date, English-​ language introduction. It is for my students, therefore, that I have written the following pages.

{ ACKNOWLEDGMENTS } On September 27, 2014, I  wrote a timid email to Sarah Pirovitz at Oxford University Press, wondering if there was any interest in a general book on Armenian art. Her positive response was a happy surprise, and I  thank her wholeheartedly for her and her team’s support throughout the writing and production process. I thank also the two anonymous reviewers of the prospectus, the reviewer of the manuscript, and Leslie Safford for her diligent copyediting. So much of this book rests on the shoulders of specialists in Armenology and related fields. I thank my teachers, Nina G. Garsoïan, Peter Brown, Thomas F. Mathews, James R. Russell, and Lucy Der Manuelian, and remain eternally grateful to the late Slobodan Ćurčić. In addition to those just named, I thank all my colleagues, both those I  know personally and those whose work I  admire, for their contributions to this book. So many assisted me, including but not limited to Heghnar Watenpaugh, Antony Eastmond, Steven Sim, Father Boghos Levon Zekiyan, Sylvie Merian, Nazénie Gharibian, Ioanna Rapti, Helen C.  Evans, Sergio La Porta, Ani Babaian, Father Garabed Kochakian, Sussan Babaie, Robert Ousterhout, Lori Khatchadourian, Adam T.  Smith, Gohar Grigoryan, Levon Avdoyan, Gregory Areshian, Rachel Goshgarian, Alison Vacca, Sona Baloyan at the Matenadaran, Anelka Grigoryan and Grigor Grigoryan at the History Museum of Armenia, Berj Chekijian and the Armenian Museum, His Beatitude Nourhan Manougian and the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem, Father Daniel Findikyan, Father Vahan Ohanyan and the Mekhitarist Monastery of San Lazzaro, Hrair Hawk Khatcherian, Yavuz Özkaya, Ron Marchese, Osman Kavala, Karen Aristakesyan at the Armenian Ethnographical Museum of Sardarapat, Olga Novoseltseva at the Hermitage, Patrick Donabédian, Dickran Kouymjian, Scott Redford, Theo Maarten van Lint, and Marc Mamigonian and the National Association of Armenian Studies and Research. I benefited greatly from discussions with all my colleagues on the Getty Foundation–​sponsored program Crossing Frontiers: Christians and Muslims and Their Art in Eastern Anatolia and the Caucasus. Peter Balakian, Heghnar Watenpaugh, Adam T.  Smith, Lori Khatchadourian, Whitney Kite, Erin Piñon, Sergio La Porta, and Gohar Grigoryan all read individual chapters and corrected various errors. Those that remain are my own. At Tufts, Patrick Florance and his team prepared the maps; the Arthur H.  Dadian and Ara T.  Oztemel Chair of Armenian Art provided funds for travel, photography, and permissions; and Christine Cavalier assisted with the photography. I want to thank all my Tufts colleagues, as well as my students,

x

Acknowledgments

both undergraduate and graduate, especially Erin Piñon, Caroline Gralton McCune, Whitney Kite, Julia Hintlian, Earnestine Qiu, Andrea Gumushian, and Ani Hopkins, who all had a direct impact on its contents. I  thank my own Armenian community in Boston for their wholehearted commitment to Armenian culture and to Armenian studies. Without the support and encouragement of my husband, Robert Dulgarian, this book would never have reached completion. He read and improved each sentence and contributed ideas, often turning from his own work to help me. This book is dedicated to my parents, Anahid and Harutiun Maranci, who sacrificed to provide me with an education, supported my ambitions to become an art historian, and never doubted that I was good enough to do so.

{ A NOTE ON THE TRANSLITERATION } The transliteration system for converting Classical Armenian to the Latin alphabet follows the Library of Congress system, with exceptions for cited works using other transliterations, and toponyms commonly spelled otherwise in English, including Yerevan (not Erevan) and Etchmiadzin (not Ēchmiatsin).1

Ա ա a Բ բ b Գ գ g Դ դ d Ե ե e Զ զ z Է է ē Ը ը ě Թ թ t‘ Ժ ժ zh Ի ի i Լ լ l Խ խ kh Ծ ծ ts Կ կ k Հ հ h Ձ ձ dz Ղ ղ gh Ճ ճ ch Մ մ m Յ յ y or h Ն ն n Շ շ sh Ո ո o Չ չ ch‘ Պ պ p Ջ ջ j Ռ ռ ṙ Ս ս s Վ վ v Տ տ t

xii



A Note on the Transliteration

Ր ր r Ց ց ts‘ Ւ ւ w Փ փ p‘ Ք ք k‘ Օ օ ō Ֆ ֆ f

MAPS

MAP 1  

The Ancient Armenian Highlands and Vicinity

MAP 2  

Medieval Armenia

MAP 3  

Inset of Map 2

MAP 4  

Early Modern Armenia

2

The Art of Armenia

the Republic of Armenia, its snow-​topped peaks easily visible across modern international borders. The Armenian highland and its river valleys form a high table between the Zagros Mountains to the south and the Caucasus Mountains to the north, facilitating transit between the Mediterranean and Central Asia. Rising above the Mesopotamian plain to the south, the highland offered crucial strategic advantages to those who occupied it. For these reasons, it has formed a borderland, a contact point, a buffer zone, and a battleground from antiquity to the present time, quite often subject to larger neighboring powers. As we will see, these conditions contributed to the diverse and multifaceted nature of Armenian visual and material culture, as well as to the development of distinctive traditions. The Armenian highland is today mostly arid steppe, already deforested in antiquity. Harsh winters and hot summers encourage seasonal migrations to this day. The region is rich in volcanic stone, particularly tuff and basalt, used now and in the past as building material. The black volcanic glass known as obsidian is also abundant:  sharp and brittle, it was coveted for use in the making of weapons, tools, and jewelry. Mineral reserves are plentiful: particularly silver, but also copper and other metals. The high plateau is highly seismic, with many earthquakes chronicled in the medieval and modern periods. The flora and fauna of historical Armenia are diverse and biologically interesting; native to the region are the apricot (prunus armeniacus), the now-​endangered Gergeranian pear tree, the wild boar, and the Armenian cochineal insect (Porphyrophora hamelii), famous for the crimson dye it produces, and also now at risk of extinction. This beautiful landscape forms the backdrop to the history of cultural traces that this book seeks to summarize. The book addresses what I  will refer to as the “ancient,” “medieval,” and “early modern” periods of Armenian art. It begins with the earliest material culture up to the fourth century CE, with the conversion of Armenia to Christianity. The second to fifth chapters explore the development of medieval art and architecture in Greater Armenia and Armenian Cilicia (in southwest Asia Minor) from the seventh to the fifteenth centuries CE. This long period saw the rise of Islam, the formation of Armenian kingdoms and their subsequent demise, and periods of vassalage, subjection, and invasion. Chapter 6 explores the art of the fifteenth to eighteenth centuries, focusing on the art of Armenian communities across the Ottoman and Safavid empires. This book reflects the field-​changing scholarship and discoveries of the late twentieth and early twenty-​first centuries. Excavations of Bronze Age and Achaemenid-​ era settlements have revised our understanding of Armenia’s deep past. New studies of seventh-​century Armenian architecture highlight relations between local patrons and Byzantine imperial agenda. Armenian medieval manuscript studies since the 1990s integrate fruitfully the fields of liturgy, theology, and codicology, while new publications demonstrate the dynamic

Introduction

3

relations between Islamic and Armenian architecture of the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries. Scholars have also advanced our understanding of the role of New Julfan merchants as artistic patrons during the seventeenth century. These and other studies inform the following pages, which also reflect relatively recent developments in the discipline of art history, drawing from social history, anthropology, and studies in sacred landscapes and materiality. New scholarship and digital initiatives concerning cultural heritage, finally, inform the postscript. A word on terminology and scope: the conceptual contours of the terms “Armenia,” “Armenian,” and of course “Armenian art” can and should be debated and evaluated; it is therefore unwise to enforce tidy categories. Nevertheless, my understanding of the art of Armenia does not depart significantly from that of previous surveys on the same subject. It includes not only the rich artistic and architectural traditions of historical Armenian territory, but also, for example, Armenian-​inscribed mosaics produced in Jerusalem, churches constructed in the New Julfa suburb of Isfahan, and textiles embroidered in Constantinople. I  also include visual traditions shared between Armenia and other cultures, including Georgia, Byzantium, and the Islamic world. More than previous studies do, however, my work gives space to pre-​Christian material culture, because of our growing knowl­ edge of settlements, monuments, and objects of the ancient Armenian highlands; because of the relative inaccessibility to the general public of this rich and important tradition; and, not least, because this pre-​Christian landscape formed a constituent part of medieval and modern cultural memory. Also more than previous studies, this survey pushes into the early modern period, concluding with Russian campaigns into the Caucasus. As I  discuss in the postscript, Armenian visual culture beginning in the latter eighteenth century reflects new artistic practices, institutions, and ideas, as well as sustained contact with European centers, topics that would be best served by a separate volume. This expansive scope reflects my inclination to broaden rather than constrain the boundaries of the art of Armenia, highlighting the complexity and multiplicity of its traditions, and my pedagogical commitment to exposing readers to as wide a range as possible of the tradition. Even though it is an introduction, this book, I hope, will pose as many questions as answers, and provide a starting point for future studies in the field.

{ 1 }

The Ancient Armenian Highlands

To proceed immediately to the Christian Armenian world is to ignore an unusually old and rich body of evidence that informed, in various ways, the medieval culture that followed. Prehistoric, Urartian, and Hellenistic-​era sites dot the landscape of Armenia, Urartian stelae reappear in Armenian Christian churches, and medieval burials intrude upon prehistoric settlements. Armenian literature contains rich imaginings of ancient culture:  the Assyrian Queen Semiramis herself, one medieval source tells us, carved cuneiform inscriptions on the citadel of Van.1 Another source recounts pagan temples destroyed during the conversion of the Armenian nation in the fourth century.2 This chapter addresses the extant material culture that predates the conversion of Armenia to Christianity and the invention of the Armenian script. It surveys the ancient objects and landscapes of what became historically Armenian territory, and what archaeologists of the ancient world often refer to as the Armenian highlands.3 It is concerned with the entire visual landscape, including not only internally produced but also imported objects, and those potentially made by migrant workers. Of all the chapters in this book, therefore, this is the broadest, both chronologically and geopolitically, also drawing heavily from the fields of anthropology and archaeology. The earliest material evidence also raises issues of cultural contact that persist throughout this volume. As in medieval Armenia, imperial traditions infused the art of the ancient era. From Assyrianizing griffins to classical temple architecture, the visual forms of the ancient Armenian highlands demonstrate awareness of and contact with diverse traditions, challenging tidy borders between the classical Mediterranean and the Ancient Near East, and providing a crucial complication to long-​held art-​historical narratives.4

The Prehistoric Era The regions of and adjacent to historical Armenia preserve evidence for occupation from the earliest period of human history (see Map 1). Beginning

The Ancient Armenian Highands

5

in 1991, archaeologists in southern Georgia uncovered evidence (including skulls and other skeletal remains) for Homo erectus at the site of Dmanisi—​ types attested from the Olduvai Gorge in Tanzania—​suggesting that hominids inhabited this region for over a million years.5 The cave complex of Azokh in the Nagorno-​Karabakh Republic is considered to be one of the oldest hominin habitations in Eurasia, dating as early as one and a half million years ago (the Paleolithic Era).6 The area of the Ararat plain, located between these two sites, has been excavated but preserved remains are limited. To the Paleolithic period some scholars date an object type found throughout the region, the hand axe, or biface—​a type of prehistoric stone tool, found throughout the old world, with flakes removed from both sides. Surface finds and exploratory trench excavations suggest a rich material culture, including open pits, carved stone and bone tools, and petroglyphs. But archaeologists stress that establishing a chronology of this era requires further excavation, and assessment of finds by using a full range of scientific methods of dating.7 Increasingly better known, however, are the Neolithic and Chalcolithic sites of the Armenian plateau (roughly the seventh to fifth millennia BCE). During this time, we find the first traces of built architecture known from the Armenian highlands. At the site of Aratashen, located near Vagharshapat, archaeologists uncovered three layers of occupation, with the lowest thought to date from c. 6500 BCE.8 Although obsidian and bone objects were also discovered at this level, no pottery was found (suggesting a pre-​ceramic phase of the Neolithic era). Foundations of buildings, however, were preserved, built with the technique of pisé (rammed earth) common to prehistoric sites in both the South Caucasus and Mesopotamia. The later levels of the Aratashen site preserved evidence for mud-​brick structures of circular and rectangular form (the top layer executed more finely). These upper two levels of occupation also yielded objects worked in stone (primarily obsidian), bone tools, and some unpainted ceramic. Twenty kilometers to the southwest of Aratashen, the site of Aknashen revealed similar circular architectural forms and objects; radiocarbon testing of this site, fortunately, confirms occupation from the Neolithic to the Chalcolithic eras.9 At its lower layers were obsidian and antler-​bone tools, as well as a nucleus (the mass from which blades are flaked). Unlike at Aratashen, pottery is abundant at all levels of Aknashen and gradually increases from the first level. The excavated ceramics, tools, and architecture of Aknashen and Aratashen, further, find parallels with sites elsewhere in the Caucasus and in northeast Mesopotamia. Excavations at Aknashen also revealed imported ceramics, a situation paralleled elsewhere in Armenia, where scholars have unearthed objects from the Ubaid and Halaf cultures of Mesopotamia.10 These imports may attest to early trade, perhaps obtained in exchange for local obsidian. Scholars generally date the transition from Chalcolithic to Early Bronze Age in the Armenian highlands to c. 3500–​3300, with the Early Bronze Age dating from 3500 to 2500 BCE. Farming, artificial irrigation, and stockbreeding

Introduction

This book is an introduction to the art of Armenia. It covers a long time span, from the second millennium BCE to the early eighteenth century, and a broad geographical expanse, including the territory referred to as “historical Armenia,” the kingdom of Cilicia in southwest Asia Minor, and Armenian communities in Europe, Iran, Constantinople, Jerusalem, and beyond. It considers architecture, stone sculpture, wall painting, manuscript illumination, and works in metal, wood, ceramic, and textile. Taken as a whole, this material culture comprises a distinctive and complex tradition, approached here from many directions. Close visual analysis, using the tools and terminology of art history, drives the discussion. Historical narratives inform each chapter, situating works within their political, social, religious, and intellectual context. The book pays particular attention to relations between the art of Armenia and a great range of cultures, including the classical Mediterranean; the ancient, Sasanian, and Islamic Near East; the Byzantine, Mongol, Ottoman, and Persian Safavid empires; East Asia; Europe; and neighboring Caucasian states.

Place, Time, and Method The present-​day Republic of Armenia (RA) is located in West Asia in the South Caucasus, bounded by the Republics of Turkey, Georgia, Iran, Azerbaijan, and Nagorno-​Karabakh, and the Azerbaijani exclave of Nakhchivan. This modern state occupies only a fraction of historical Armenia, which comprised a much wider region of fluctuating boundaries, including parts of central and southwestern Asia Minor, the lowlands to the west of the Caspian, northern Iran, and southern Georgia. The landscape is astonishingly dramatic and politically strategic. The Armenian Highlands, the highest of three plateaus that dominate Asia Minor, is lacerated by gorges, and ringed and studded with mountains. Mount Ararat, the highest point in Asia Minor, forms a constant focal point for the visitor to

6

The Art of Armenia

developed during this era, known as the “Kura-​Araxes” culture.11 This term refers to a material culture, and particularly ceramics, found in the region between and around the Kura and Arax rivers (thus through the North and South Caucasus, Iran, and Eastern Anatolia). Examples of Kura-​Araxes pottery occur as far south as Syria and Israel, suggesting active migration and trade. The term “Kura-​Araxes culture” suggests a homogeneous category, but it encompasses a range of material production and many types of ceramics. Best known from the Armenian highlands is the “Karnut-​Shengavit” type, of which a group of terracotta vessels from Karnut (in Shirak) offer representatives: hand modeled (the pottery wheel was not yet in use), they feature ovoid bases, wide mouths, and handles.12 They were highly burnished before firing, red on the interior, and painted black on the outside. Bases and shoulders bear raised knob-​like forms and incised geometric designs such as triangles, spirals, and lozenges, as well as figural imagery of dancers, animals, and mountains. A wide range of Kura-​Araxes materials has emerged from excavations at the site of Karnut.13 Unfortified, Karnut stood upon an artificially leveled terrace, suggesting to scholars its primary function as an agricultural settlement. Rising from a terrace were large and small rectangular buildings oriented to the cardinal points and constructed of large stones faced with clay. Within these structures, archaeologists have discovered many objects, including a group of portable hearths and hearth supports. One such object, made of beige terracotta, forms a kind of small table, its two ends forming identical rams (Figure 1.1).14 Their representation is minimalistic but expressive: smooth wedge shapes define heads, fluted spirals denote horns, curved tabs represent ears, and small depressions indicate eyes. The use of animal iconography suggests that the support served a ritual function, perhaps in connection with agricultural rites.

FIGURE 1.1  

Hearth, Kura-​Araxes Culture, 27th–​26th century BCE, Karnut.

Yerevan: History Museum of Armenia, inventory n. 2995/​2.

The Ancient Armenian Highands

7

The Middle Bronze Age in Armenia, traditionally dated between 2500 and 1500 BCE, is known for rich burial finds, thinly populated settlements, and the emergence of wheeled vehicles such as carts and wagons, evidence that leads scholars to characterize this society as one of mobile pastoralism.15 This period also saw an increase in copper and silver extraction, the production of bronze, the refinement of alloys and manufacturing techniques, and the creation of various metal objects, including tools, jewelry, figurines, and vessels. Burial finds attest to a wide range of metal weaponry, including bronze spearheads, swords, daggers, and arrowheads, suggesting activities or rituals of violence, and, perhaps, a society ruled by a martial elite.16 Demonstrating the metallurgical achievement of this era is a silver goblet unearthed in Karashamb (Figure 1.2).17 Its discovery in a tomb containing luxury objects suggests that it belonged to members of the ruling elite. The goblet, some 13 cm tall, bears repoussé silver decoration organized into six registers. Rows of lions and leopards decorate the foot of the vessel. Two middle registers show scenes of military combat, punishment, banqueting, and hunting. One row shows a large frontally-​posed creature with wings and lion paws, most likely a deity, as well as decapitated bodies (possibly representing slain enemies). The register second from the top

FIGURE 1.2  

Karashamb silver goblet, Middle Bronze Age.

Yerevan: History Museum of Armenia, inventory n. 2867/​1.

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The Art of Armenia

features more armed men and a large enthroned figure before a table of food offerings. This figure, perhaps a king, appears with servants and musicians. The goblet offers us one of the earliest examples of complex pictorial compositions from the Armenian highlands, not to mention a visual catalogue of costume, furniture, and weaponry. The Karashamb goblet  also belongs to a broader visual tradition of the Armenian highlands. Silver goblets and other vessels discovered in the Trialeti region of southern Georgia bear striking affinities with the Karashamb goblet, not only in size and shape but also in organization and pictorial themes. Scholars therefore discuss these objects as a group, considering their common features as evidence for the shared tastes and practices of elites across the region.18 Scholars also suggest that the practices shown on the goblet (warfare, punishment, banqueting, and hunting) serve to reproduce and thus promote political order and the goal of state formation.19 If this goblet itself was used in ritual feasting, as seems likely, then its elite users would themselves have formed part of the performance of political iconography, as actors in the demonstration of wealth and perhaps trade capital. The Late Bronze Age is generally dated from 1500 to 1250 BCE. Often erected on hilltops, Late Bronze Age fortresses, such as those of the Tsaghkahovit plain in Central Armenia, typically feature cyclopean (exceptionally large stone) masonry.20 Archaeologists view these fortresses as the earliest expressions of centralized political formations on the Armenian highlands.21 Ceramic and metalwork further developed during the Late Bronze Age. Ceramic production includes black, gray, and buff ware in a variety of shapes, decorated with incised and pressed forms. Terracotta statuettes, including both human and animal forms, are also known from this period.22 The use of the lost-​wax method of bronze casting emerges, as attested by such grave goods as harness ornaments found in tombs at Loṙi-​Berd. One striking example is a set of bronze harness bells representing three deer pursued by two foxes (Figure 1.3).23 The antlered stag stands between two smaller does; the hollow bodies of all three are pierced by narrow apertures, allowing the bells to peal with the movement of the chariot. This ornament thus had a multisensory effect on beholders, alerting them not only to the presence of the chariot, but to the material wealth and technology used in its manufacture. The composition of predator pursuing quarry, further, would have echoed the forward movement of the chariot itself, perhaps serving as an allegory of the agility of the driver.

Urartu At the end of the second millennium BCE, the confederation of territories or tribes of various ethnicities of the Armenian highlands, later known as the

The Ancient Armenian Highands

FIGURE 1.3  

9

Chariot ornament, bronze, Loṙi Berd, 15th–​14th century BCE.

Sardarapat: Memorial Complex and National Museum of Armenian Ethnography and History of the Liberation Struggle, inv. 290/​18.

“kings of Nairi,” merged into larger principalities, possibly in response to the growing threat of the Assyrian Empire to the south. By the end of the ninth century BCE, these principalities were consolidated into the empire of Urartu.24 The rulers of Urartu sought to unify and strengthen their states and territories through a series of reforms, including the establishment of royal lands and cities, administrative centralization, and changes to the calendar, weights and measures, and law. They also instituted religious reforms, focusing on Haldi, the Urartian god of the sky, land, herds, war, and the state. At its height in the eighth century BCE, Urartu was one of the most powerful states of the Ancient Near East. To what extent did the kingdom of Urartu penetrate the social and political fabric of ancient Armenia, and to what extent did it assimilate local populations? Scholars have called attention to the rapid formation of the empire and its sudden demise, casting doubt upon the characterization of Urartu as a homogenous and deeply rooted culture.25 Instead, relatively recent literature stresses continuities between the social and political systems of the Late Bronze Age and those of Urartu.26 Excavated material remains from Urartian

10

The Art of Armenia

Armenia attest to the impact of state patronage and to the communication of Urartian royal ideology. Vestiges of Urartian building projects can be found throughout historical Armenia, and include fortresses, palaces, temples, rock-​ cut shrines, and irrigation systems. The contours of such towns are illuminated by the comprehensive excavations at Rusahinili Eiduru-​kai (mod. Ayanis), overlooking northern Lake Van.27 Additionally, some evidence for burials exists:  at Altıntepe, near modern Erzincan, archaeologists excavated a rare elite Urartian tomb, in which they unearthed a large bronze cauldron of the late eighth century BCE, its rim decorated with four bull’s-​head handles, and its tripod stand fitted with hoof-​shaped feet.28 The primary architectural form of Urartu, however, was the fortress, typically set upon a hill, although at lower elevations than their Late Bronze Age counterparts. They tend to be large, suggesting to some scholars that they were only fully garrisoned during emergencies such as Assyrian attacks from the south, when a large population of the townspeople, including farmers, craftsmen, and others, could have found refuge within the walls.29 Another characteristic of Urartian fortresses is the careful preparation of substructure: the living bedrock was often carved, and pre-​Urartian structures (if present) were sometimes razed, gestures requiring considerable manpower and developed iron tool technology. On a symbolic level, this act also suggests a conscious effort to destroy and reconstruct conquered landscapes, and perhaps explains the widespread evidence for the burning, excavating, and dismantling of earlier sites by the Urartians.30 The insistence on ex novo construction, further, finds rhetorical expression in the Urartian King Argishti’s (r. 786–​764 BCE) foundation inscription at Erebuni, proclaiming that, before his constructions, “the earth was wilderness.”31 Urartian stonemasonry exhibits a high degree of skill, as the fortress of Van attests (Figure 1.4). Perimeter walls were constructed with ashlar masonry (non-​ mortared, carefully cut stone). Local basalt and tuff stone were commonly used. Rectilinear or, less frequently, curving buttresses punctuated the walls; by the eighth century BCE these elements appear in consistent sizes and intervals. Building walls within the fortresses were mud brick and often set upon 1 m high stone socles. The regularity and professionalism of this work across the Urartian realm is such that scholars have posited an imperially sponsored team moving from site to site.32 The sites of Erebuni (mod. Arinberd) and Argishtihinili (mod. Armavir) are both major Urartian centers and extensively excavated.33 Founded by Argishti I immediately after his conquest of the region, both are large and elevated on hills, surrounded by canals and a necropolis. Both feature thick citadel walls (c. 2–​5 m), constructed of ashlar masonry in fairly regular courses. Argishtihinili is the more thoroughly excavated.34 Founded in 778 BCE in the Arax river valley, it is actually composed of two adjacent walled citadels. The western citadel, located on one of the “Hills of David,” is the better understood.

The Ancient Armenian Highands

FIGURE 1.4  

11

Van Fortress, 9th–​7th century BCE and later.

Photo: author.

Each of its three parts contains both narrow longitudinal spaces and a densely built suite of small rectangular chambers. Archaeological excavations have determined the functions of each area. The central zone, with its courtyard, served the needs of imperial functionaries, while the southeastern zone held storehouses for goods. The northwest zone (indicated as Unit II on the plan), was most likely a temple space, as the discovery of ritual objects suggests. Although the temple does not survive, we can envision its appearance on the basis of preserved Urartian standard temples elsewhere, which were quadrangular with thick walls, reinforced corners, and a small interior chamber with an altar. Excavations at Rusahinili Eiduru-​Kai suggest lavish façade decoration and a courtyard.35 Communication among the three zones is limited to a single passageway, suggesting an interest in the oversight and control of movement, the restriction of access, and the isolation of various activities.36 Erebuni lay on the northern frontier of the Urartian kingdom, on a hill overlooking the Arax river valley, and served as the regional political center of Urartu in the eighth century BCE (Figure 1.5). Its fortifications, built of large dressed stone blocks, follow the natural triangular contours of the hill. Systematic excavations were first carried out between 1950 and 1968, when the interior layout of the fortress, along with wall paintings, objects, and inscriptions from both the Urartian and later Achaemenid periods, were unearthed. During the Achaemenid and modern periods, Erebuni was reconstructed, and so close architectural analysis of the Urartian site is difficult. Further,

12

FIGURE 1.5  

The Art of Armenia

Erebuni, 8th century BCE and later.

After Adam T. Smith, and the Commission for the Preservation of Historical Monuments, Republic of Armenia.

excavations may not have actually reached, in all cases, Urartian layers of occupation. Yet some basic observations may be made. Like Argishtihinili, its plan comprised suites of small chambers. Erebuni also suggests an interest in the control of traffic, with the central courtyard and northern corner of the fortress accessible only by a single route.37 Archaeologists at Erebuni unearthed a large storage zone, including some seventy chambers, many with ceramic vessels for grain, oil, and wine, some half-​buried to keep contents cool. These magazines were carefully organized: chamber entries bore inscriptions stating who built the storage area and the kind and quantity of the items placed in them, and marks on the vessels indicated their maximum capacities. The visibility of the Urartian fortress, the regularity and consistency of its forms, and the tight control of people and inventory within have been understood by scholars as the central material expression of Urartian political ideology. By the mid-​first millennium BCE the fortress served as a nexus for the reproduction of order and authority in many parts of the highlands, “[anchoring] a network of powerful institutions that articulated people with one another as subjects of an authoritative imperial regime.”38 Urartu was known not only for large-​scale building projects but also for the production of works in metal (particularly bronze), ceramic, stone, and ivory. Carved stelae were erected throughout the Urartian kingdom, such as one

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example now at the seventh-​century Armenian church of Zvart‘nots‘ (Figure 1.6). A rectangular stone slab measuring roughly 2.2 m tall and 62 cm wide, it has a rounded top and a lug at its bottom, indicating that it was intended for insertion into a base. The stele bears a text of forty-​seven lines in Urartian cuneiform identifying King Rusa II (r. c. 680–​639 BCE), son of Argishti II, and his building and irrigation works, including the construction of a canal from the Ildaruni (Hrazdan) River. From this era also dates a large corpus of objects, including weapons, shields, helmets, cauldrons, buckles, jewelry, furniture, figurines, and horse trappings. Sometimes accompanied by inscriptions and imagery, these objects provide rich evidence for Urartian political iconography, religious beliefs, and contact with other cultures. Stylistic, functional, and iconographic parallels with objects from Assyria are particularly strong. At the same time, evidence attests to the reception and admiration of Urartian work outside the empire, even as far as Etruria.39 Archaeologists discovered twenty bronze helmets at the seventh-​century BCE Urartian site of Teisheba URU (Karmir Blur), most likely made for display within a temple.40 The rim of one bears an inscription identifying it as

FIGURE 1.6   Photo: author.

Zvart‘nots‘, stele of Rusa II, c. 680–​639 BCE.

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FIGURE 1.7  

The Art of Armenia

Helmet of Argishti, 786–​764 BCE.

Yerevan: History Museum of Armenia, inventory no. 2010/​42.

originally a votive offering to the god Haldi by the king Argishti I (r. 786–​764) (Figure 1.7). The lower half of the helmet features an elaborate composition executed in repoussé with engraved details. Around the sides of the helmet are two registers of martial iconography, with single mounted riders holding spear and shield, and chariots with drivers and archers. This cavalry scene is made orderly by the consistency of representations, the regular alternation of mounted and driven horses, and the even spacing between the forms. Accompanying this imagery are trees framed by winged genii holding buckets and cones. Dividing this scene from the martial imagery are four lion-​headed snakes, executed in high repoussé. The iconography of this helmet bears numerous parallels with Assyrian sculpture. Wall reliefs from the palace of Ashurnasirpal at Nimrud (c. 865–​860 BCE), for example, include a pair of winged genii in the same attitude, and holding the same ritual buckets, standing before a stalky “Tree of Life.” Scenes of chariots and soldiers also appear, similar both in the specific vehicles (the lightweight, two-​wheeled biga) and in the weapons represented. Finally, the conical shape and curving snake design of the helmet recall the curved-​horn crowns depicted on Assyrian and Urartian rulers and deities (see Figure 1.8).

The Ancient Armenian Highands

FIGURE 1.8  

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Throne ornament from Rusahinili (Toprakkale), 8th–​7th century BCE.

London: British Museum. inv. WA 91 247.

Excavations at the Haldi temple of Rusahinili (mod. Toprakkale) revealed evidence for furniture, including tables, chairs, and beds, presumably for kings or gods. While the wooden frames for these objects have decayed, the metal and ivory fittings remain, and on the basis of these forms, scholars have reconstructed an Urartian throne and footrest.41 Supporting the chair were bronze and ivory lions, fantastic hybrid creatures, and deities. One of these figurines, which may have formed part of a corner leg (Figure 1.8), takes the form of a winged bull with a man’s torso. The face (presumably ivory inlay) is lost, but other details suggest an expressive figure, with clasped hands and left-​turning attitude. The head, framed by neat rows of curly hair, wears a curved-​horned crown, which in turn supports a hanging-​leaf capital—​probably the attachment for the wooden leg. This figurine finds a clear parallel in Assyrian sculpture, and particularly the lamassu figures found in monumental architecture at the palaces of Nimrud and Nineveh. These hybrid creatures, represented as winged bulls with male torsos, closely resemble our figurine except that they far exceed human scale, while the Urartian creature could be held in the hand. Yet one might argue that both function as guardian figures, the lamassu guarding the palace thresholds, and the Urartian throne ornaments protecting their occupier from those who approached. The impact of Assyrian ideas in Urartian art finds a rich context in the historical moment. Assyrian sources are crucial for understanding Urartu; the very name “Urartu’ ” is Assyrian in origin (local kings called their empire “Biainili,” from which was derived the later toponym Van). The earliest

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cuneiform inscriptions of King Sarduri I (r. 834–​828 BCE) are written in the Assyrian language; only subsequently, during the reign of Sarduri’s son Ishpuini (r. c. 830–​810) does Urartian come to dominate as the epigraphic language. The connection between Urartu and Assyria is not surprising: both were large, powerful, and competitive states. In the ninth century BCE, both sought to enlarge their territories into Northern Syria and to control access routes to the Mediterranean Sea and Western Anatolia. They were not immediately adjacent: between them were the buffer states of Kumme (to the west) and Musasir (to the south), which mediated trade between the two empires, although it was officially forbidden. These buffer states housed important temple sites where both Urartians and Assryians worshipped. At such sites, one can imagine, the goods of each state, including votive objects, and perhaps merchandise for trade, would have been visible to the subjects of the other state. Indeed, in 714 BCE, the Assyrian king Sargon II captured as booty goods from the Urartian temple of Haldi at Musasir, carrying off life-​sized bronze statues of the gods, a silver bed of Haldi, an ivory couch, and ivory and boxwood tables, as well as raw materials that included copper and elephant tusks. The travel of both people and objects across empires is attested in other ways, too: Assyrian ceramics have been unearthed at Urartian sites, and inscriptions attest to the presence of Assyrian migrant workers in the Urartian empire, as well as prisoners of war. This evidence, scholars suggest, may explain the cross-​fertilization of various kinds of technologies and material production.42 If there is rich opportunity for witnessing how Assyrian artistic ideas entered Urartian culture, what motivated such transfer? Any intimations of the inferiority of Urartian material culture are dispelled by the virtuosity of the craftsmanship, as attested in a variety of media from architecture to bronze. Rather, we might envision a deliberate appropriation of an elite vocabulary of power, harnessed to demonstrate both royal identity and piety to the gods of the Urartian state. These two goals are clearly expressed on the bronze helmet discussed previously, whose inscription reads, “To the god Haldi, his master, Argishti, son of Minoua, offers this helmet.”43 Given the needs of a rapidly rising state, perhaps it was particularly efficacious to appropriate an artistic language already associated with imperial power. Despite the robust material culture of Urartu, the empire lasted only two centuries before its collapse in c. 640 BCE. Scholars attribute Urartu’s downfall to the inherent weakness of the social organization of the kingdom, attacks of nomadic groups that included Cimmerians and Scythians, and the military and political crises of the end of the seventh century, which included the conquest of the Assyrian empire by the Babylonians and the Medes. Nevertheless, as scholars have shown, memories of Urartu lingered in the following periods.44

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The Achaemenid Era What happened after the demise of Urartu? Traditional scholarship described Armenian territory as being absorbed into an expanding Median empire, which established control over vast expanses of formerly Assyrian territory.45 More recent scholarship questions the nature and scope of a putative Median authority.46 Nevertheless, it is clear that by 550 BCE, Armenia had been absorbed within the Achaemenid Empire. Founded by Cyrus (the Great), this empire extended across a vast expanse of Asia Minor, Iran, Mesopotamia, Babylonia, and Central Asia. Cyrus’s son Cambyses II (530–​522 BCE) conquered Egypt, and his successor, Darius I  (521–​486 BCE), extended the empire to the west, east, and, north. Considered the largest of the early world empires, this massive territory was organized into satrapies (administrative provinces), each with its own satrap (provincial ruler). Armenia was integrated into this system during the campaigns of Cyrus in the middle of the sixth century BCE. It is during this period, moreover, that the terms “Armenian” (Arminiya) and “Armenia” (Armina) are first attested: the rock-​cut Behistun inscription of 518 BCE refers to those over whom Darius had regained control after a series of rebellions. Upon these points most scholars agree. However, regarding the precise role of Armenia within the empire, the moment of its absorption into (and subsequent independence from) the Achaemenid empire, the geographical and ethnic character of the satrapy, and the location of its capital(s), one must rely upon scattered, non-​ native, sometimes contradictory, and mostly later sources.47 Further, as scholars increasingly recognize, these sources themselves require careful critical analysis and contextualization. In light of the confusing source information, the material culture for Achaemenid Armenia becomes particularly interesting and important, and archaeologists have made discoveries that continue to revise our understanding of the local situation in Armenia, its society, politics, and practices, and its relation to the ruling empire.48 On the basis of this material, one can trace new building types and new kinds of objects and iconographies, and from these also infer new social and religious practices. Achaemenid Armenia did not host the kind of large-​scale construction works known from the Late Bronze and Urartian eras. Indeed, the Urartian buttressed fortress remained an important visible symbol of political authority during this time.49 Two Urartian sites, Erebuni and Altıntepe, demonstrate clear reoccupation during the Achaemenid period. The columned hall at Erebuni, dated either to the Urartian or Achaemenid period, was most certainly used during the latter era (see Figure 1.5).50 This imposing building stood in the southern zone of the citadel. Perimeter walls, made of mud brick set upon a stone socle, enclosed an interior space divided by five rows of six wooden columns set on basalt bases. Painted decoration adorned the walls, which also featured built-​in benches of packed earth. At the fortress of Altıntepe, an Achaemenid-​era structure was added to the

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south of the Urartian complex.51 Larger than its counterpart at Erebuni, this long hall was likewise constructed with mud brick upon stone socles, and organized by three rows of six columns set on limestone bases. Here, too, archaeologists discovered the remains of colorful frescoes, with motifs of vegetation and winged genii. How did these new spaces function? Some scholars view them as formal reception areas, even referring to them by the Persian term apadana, evoking the eponymous columned hall of Persepolis, the seat of the Achaemenid kings. Other scholars interpret them as residences of the Armenian satraps.52 The studies of Lori Khatchadourian question both these views, noting that there is no positive evidence to identify these spaces as either audience halls or residences.53 Formal disparities also separate the Armenian monuments from the Persepolitan columned halls: the latter are massive, with many points of access and rich stone sculpture viewable from the exterior. By contrast, Erebuni and Altıntepe appear more enclosed, with only few points of access from within the complex.54 Khatchadourian postulates instead that they functioned as council halls, allowing local leaders to assemble to make decisions.55 In this context, the use of Achaemenid-​style columnar spaces would have created a sense of participation within the empire, and served as appropriate settings for the making of local authority, and as proxies for the presence of imperial authority in the landscape. Sumptuous metalwork was also used and appreciated in the Armenian satrapy. Archaeologists discovered a group of silver vessels in a jug unearthed in 1968 during construction works at the foothill of Erebuni. Found flattened, they seem to have been hidden deliberately, possibly when the Achaemenid empire fell in 330 BCE.56 One of these vessels is a rhyton, or drinking vessel, thought to date between the sixth and fourth centuries BCE, featuring a mounted horse (Figure 1.9). The horse is stocky and thick necked, with its legs folded underneath its body. The forelock and mane are short, and the muzzle is shaved. The bridle, bit, chest strap, and saddlecloth all bear careful detail. The rider is also stocky, with large almond eyes and a long nose. Emphasizing his large head is a neatly arranged beard and a tall brimmed hat, round in profile and peaked from the front. A loop on the back of the hat suggests that it was threaded with a ribbon. The rider wears a tailored tunic, with close-​fitting trousers, boots, and a knife in a sheath at his side. Textiles are acutely observed: the hat features an eagle with outstretched wings, and the saddlecloth is fringed, with chased images of bulls and goats. The general impression is of exquisite detail and a harmonious pair, shown in the calm expression of the rider, his relaxed posture, and the attentive ears, submissive head carriage, and closed mouth of the horse. This rhyton has been the object of study since its initial discovery. We do not know where it was made, although some have suggested it was manufactured in Armenia. It is a unique example of a horse-​and-​rider-​shaped rhyton, although parallels for horse-​shaped rhyta, equestrian iconography, and similar details of both rider and horse occur across the Achaemenid world. Strikingly similar

The Ancient Armenian Highands

FIGURE 1.9  

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Horseman rhyton, Erebuni, 6th–​4th century BCE, silver.

Yerevan: Erebuni Museum, inv. 20.

figures appear on the staircase reliefs of the apadana at Persepolis, among the representations of the Median, Armenian, and Cappadocian tribute bearers. There we find the same types of hats, beards, and stocky horses with submissive attitudes. The rider’s detailed physiognomy has prompted some to identify him as an actual individual, perhaps even Orontes, who led the Armenian satrapy in rebellion.57 Whether or not this is the case, the equestrian theme of the rhyton surely resonated with the Armenian satraps, from whom locally bred and trained horses were required as tribute.58 The rhyton’s discovery in the hoard at Erebuni, further, invites us to imagine that it was enjoyed and admired by local elites of Achaemenid Armenia, perhaps coinciding with the construction

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The upper half of the rhyton bears a remarkable figural frieze executed in repoussé and chasing. A curly-​haired man appears just above the forelock of the calf. He reclines on an elaborate chair, positioned to the right but turning to the left, where a standing woman plays a double pipe. He holds an object in his left hand (perhaps a snake or staff) and drapery falls in folds in his lap; with his right hand he seems to gesture to another standing female figure to his right, who offers him a phiale (shallow bowl) on her raised fingertips. Behind her, a draped seated woman plays a type of lyre, perhaps a kithara. Each of these figures is fairly discernible, but what are they doing, and who is the male figure toward which the females turn? Some have suggested that the scene is a funeral feast and the seated male, perhaps an Achaemenid satrap, is the deceased. Another scholar argues that it is a representation of Asclepius, the god of medicine (who is associated with the snake) accompanied by his wife and daughters.61 Still others propose that the seated figure is Dionysos, the god of wine, attending a symposium, or drinking party. Whichever identification is correct, the iconography is certainly consonant with the object’s function as a drinking vessel. Moreover, many aspects of the representation find parallels within the broader visual culture of the Achaemenid state and its periphery. The phiale, the double pipe (probably an aulos), and the kithara are widely represented across classical Greek art. The clothing of the females has been interpreted as combining Persian and Greek costume; one scholar views the costume of the kitharist and aulete as Greek, while that of the phiale holder is Persian, with its richer sleeve and hem decoration.62 The manner of holding the phiale by the fingertips is a gesture associated with the Persian world, and even remarked upon by Xenophon.63 It is fascinating to speculate on how such gestures, costumes, and details were understood in the Armenian highlands. What would the calf’s-​ head rhyton have conveyed to its viewers in a feast, ritual, or display context? How was social refinement understood and projected? Certainly, this rhyton demonstrates a familiarity with the wider world of Achaemenid elites, which included cultural traditions both Hellenistic and Persian. We can imagine that, used at the northern edge of the Achaemenid empire, it formed part of a worldly and integrating experience—​and one that productively defies the binary conceptualizations of Classical/​Ancient Near East once common to art history textbooks.

Hellenistic Armenia Woven into the history of the Achaemenid Empire is the Armenian dynasty of the Yervandids (Orontids).64 Sources suggest that members of this dynasty emerged as a local power in Armenia, serving first as vassals to the

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Achaemenids, and then ruling autonomously, or semiautonomously, after the collapse of the Achaemenid Empire in the fourth century BCE. At that time, Armenia passed to the empire of Alexander the Great, and then, after 301 BCE, into the sphere of the Seleucid dynasty in Asia Minor. The Yervandids nevertheless attained a high degree of autonomy during the fourth to third centuries BCE. After the defeat of Seleucid king Antiochus III by the Romans in 190 BCE, Artaxias (190–​ 160 BCE) declared himself an independent king, and was recognized by Rome in 189 or 188 BCE. In this brief period of tumult, sovereign authority in Armenia shifted from the Yervandid to the Artaxiad dynasty.65 Artaxias established a new capital at Artaxata (Artashat); reformed military, administrative, and landholding policies; and expanded the realm through conquest and consolidation of state power. Armenia, however, became a vassal of the emergent Parthian empire, which by the first century BCE had established itself across the Iranian plateau and Central Asia, until the accession of Tigran II (“the Great,” 95–​55 BCE). Under Tigran, Armenian territory reached its greatest extent ever, stretching from the Caspian to the Mediterranean Seas. Taking advantage of conflicts between the Roman and Parthian empires, Tigran succeeded in playing the great powers against each other by a combination of diplomatic strategy and astute alliance, while a series of effective economic reforms allowed for urban building projects.66 The local material culture of the late fourth to first centuries BCE reveals the impact of traditions from the classical Mediterranean.67 Late Yervandid and Artaxiad rulers held close contacts, and even intermarried, with the Seleucids; on coins, they styled themselves “philhellenes” (lovers of Greek culture). Nevertheless, local inhabitants both drew upon and departed from classical culture: indeed, their artifacts demonstrate an awareness of multiple cultural traditions, including those of the contemporary Parthian, and past Achaemenid, Urartian, and prehistoric worlds. By this period, inhabitants worshipped a local pantheon of gods with parallels in the Zoroastrian religion of Iran: the chief and creator god Aramazd (Avestan Ahura Mazda); Vahagn (Verethragna), the storm god; Mihr (Mithra), god of light and heaven; and Anahit (Anahita), goddess of fertility.68 For this reason, the term “Hellenistic Armenia,” often used to describe this period, is potentially misleading.69 Artaxata and Armavir (Urartian Argishtihinili) are important excavated sites from this period. Armavir occupied part of the eastern citadel of the Urartian fortress. Excavations have revealed a range of materials as well as Greek inscriptions. The Yervandids rebuilt the walls and towers of the Urartian site, using Hellenistic-​style swallowtail clamps to join the stones. Artaxata (Ir.:  “Joy of Arta”) was founded around 180 BCE on the plain of Ararat, and remained the capital until the fourth century CE. Located on the Khor Virap hills, Artaxata was protected by both its elevation and the confluence of the Arax and Akhurean rivers. According to Strabo and Plutarch,

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Hannibal himself, the Carthaginian general, chose this site after the defeat of Antiochus by the Romans.70 Nevertheless, Artaxata, like Armavir, was constructed atop the remains of, and partially integrated within, an abandoned Urartian citadel. Artaxata was a large and beautiful city, made wealthy from international trade. Archaeologists have unearthed thousands of coins and seals attesting to contact with the Roman and Parthian empires, Pontus, Seleucia, and Egypt. A  plate made of lapis lazuli, an enamel spoon with an Aramaic inscription, and a stucco fragment with an Aramaic graffito have also been discovered.71 Artaxata was also known as a place of classical culture: coins minted there use the Greek language and visual traditions, a theater was built at the site, and, according to Plutarch, the plays of Euripides were performed in Greek at the royal palace. Artaxata, finally, was a cult center: according to the early medieval Armenian historian Movsēs Khorenats‘i, copper statues of Anahit were brought there from the city of Bagaran.72 A marble statuette generally identified with the goddess Aphrodite, excavated at Artaxata in 1971, offers a sense of how such objects may have looked (Figure 1.11).73 Surviving only as a fragment, the figure is nevertheless elegant and graceful, standing in classical contrapposto, with counterbalanced standing and resting legs and strongly sloping shoulders and hips. The rounded, sensuous body is accentuated by a thin chiton suspended from the right shoulder and gathered by a cord below the breasts; a himation hangs in heavy folds from the left arm, and wraps around the back of the body, with its surplus held between the thighs. The missing right arm appears to have been raised (perhaps once holding spear or scepter), conveying an impression both assertive and erotic. In its use of the “wet drapery” technique, and in the soft sinuosity of the body, this figurine is typical of Hellenistic sculpture of the second century BCE. Yet how this object functioned (as a cult object? a votive offering? palace decoration?) is a subject of scholarly conjecture.74 Its very presence in Artaxata, however, suggests a local interest in and appreciation of classical forms, and corroborates the city’s reputation as a Hellenistic center. The material culture of second-​century BCE Armenia also moved in other directions. Dating from the reign of Artaxias I, and distributed through the lands of historical Armenia, are stone stelae used to mark boundaries. They are rectangular, with a crenellated top and a lug at the bottom for insertion into a base. The king’s titles appear inscribed on the surface. Although Greek had become the common local epigraphic language by this point, the stelae use chancellery Aramaic, the written language of the Achaemenid court. This anachronism, Lori Khatchadourian argues, was a deliberate strategy on the part of Artaxias to align himself with the past Yervandid dynasty of Achaemenid Armenia.75 The use of the rectangular stele form, on the other hand, evokes the even deeper Urartian past. The Artaxiad stele thus appropriated the culture of

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of the columned hall at the site, thereby drawing its users into the visual culture and social practices of the wider Achaemenid world.59 The same hoard contained a silver rhyton in the shape of a calf’s head, generally dated to the fourth century BCE and probably made within the contact zone between the Greek and Achaemenid worlds (Figure 1.10).60 The large, dished face of the calf features expressive eyes, surmounted by chased grooves indicating wrinkles and by small triangular incisions perhaps indicating eyelashes. Nostrils, lips, and hornbuds are all carefully observed; a forelock of curls appears on the brow, and curved lines along the jaw may indicate whiskers or fur.

FIGURE 1.10  

Calf’s-​head rhyton, Erebuni, 4th century BCE, silver. Yerevan: Erebuni Museum, inv. 21.

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FIGURE 1.11  

The Art of Armenia

Marble statuette of goddess from Artashat, 2nd–​1st century BCE.

Yerevan: History Museum of Armenia, inv. 2706/​37.

two prior states to create a powerful legitimation of authority, perhaps in response to the geopolitical upheavals of the Hellenistic period. An attachment to local landscapes, as Khatchadourian has shown, is also evident from the Hellenistic period.76 In the course of excavations at Urartian site of Teisheba URU, archaeologists discovered the skeleton of a child; a silver drachma of Alexander the Great had been placed in its mouth. Featuring Heracles with his lion skin on the obverse and Zeus with scepter and eagle on the reverse, the coin served as “Charon’s obol,” the fee paid to the ferryman Charon for the soul’s travel across the river Styx into the land of the dead. Greek sources and excavations in Athens attest to this funerary practice, and its use in Armenia suggests knowledge of both the material culture and the rituals

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of the Greek world. Further, its discovery in an Urartian site suggests another dimension of social memory. Like the Artaxiad stelae discussed previously, the Hellenistic-​era burial at Teisheba URU suggests an awareness of and attachment to the landscapes of the remote past, and a simultaneous willingness to appropriate practices of contemporary Hellenistic culture. The visual legacy of Alexander is also evident in the coinage of Tigran II, the last Artaxiad king. A silver tetradrachm minted in Antioch features Tigran in profile, wearing a tiara decorated with a sun flanked by birds and fitted with lappets (Figure 1.12). On the reverse is the presiding deity, the tychē, of the city of Antioch, shown seated above a personification of the river Orontes, and accompanied by the legend “Tigran king” in Greek. Although this coin departs in some ways from its Hellenistic model (the lappets seem to be a local feature; the bird composition is probably Parthian), its basic format reflects the legacy of Alexandrine coins, showing the ruler in right profile, with a seated deity and Greek legend on the reverse. In so doing, it forms part of a much broader tradition of numismatic iconography across the Mediterranean and Near East, and may reflect both Tigran’s philhellenism and a desire to align his political image with that of the Macedonian conqueror. Scholars have also suggested that Alexandrine-​style coinage had acquired the status of authorized, “proper” money, important for paying the busy armies of Tigran.77 What the material culture of Hellenistic Armenia demonstrates, therefore, is not a slavish imitation of classical Mediterranean forms, but a tradition that selected strains of Hellenism for particular purposes, while also drawing from other visual worlds, including Iran and the deep past of Urartu.

FIGURE 1.12  

Tigran II tetradrachm, 95–​56 BCE.

Paris: Bibliothèque nationale, Département des Monnaies, médailles et antiques, FG 12 /​ 945.

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The Art of Arsacid Armenia Tigran’s vast empire dissolved in 66 BCE, when he was forced to submit to the Roman general Pompey. The remnants of the empire survived as a buffer state between the Romans and the Parthians, and it is within this context that the Armenian Arsacid dynasty emerged.78 The founder of the Arsacid dynasty was Trdat (Gr. Tiridates); Pliny the Elder records that in 66 CE, in the Roman Forum, Nero crowned Trdat as a client king. The Arsacids were also closely tied to Iran:  Trdat was known in ancient sources as a Zoroastrian, and his dynasty formed a cadet branch of the Parthian Arsacids. From this period there is more evidence for relations with Parthian Iran: scholars recognize the strongly Iranized character of Arsacid Armenian society, religion, and culture.79 Nevertheless, classical elements remain conspicuous in the elite art of Arsacid Armenia, as in the art of Parthia itself. One of the most celebrated monuments of the Arsacid period, and indeed of all ancient Armenia, is the Ionic structure located within the fortress of Gaṙni, in the Kotayk‘ province (RA) (Figure 1.13). Called “Castellum Gorneas” by the Roman historian Tacitus, the fortress was prized for its strength and defensive features.80 The date of the Ionic building is debated; scholars have argued for both the first and second centuries of our era.81 Its function is also unclear:  while often identified as a temple, it may have been a funerary monument, perhaps serving as a royal tomb. These uncertainties are multiplied by

FIGURE 1.13  Gaṙni, Photo: author.

1st–​2nd century BCE.

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the compromised state of the structure, which collapsed in an earthquake in 1679. In the 1970s, following extensive excavations, it was reconstructed upon its original foundations by using the anastylosis method.82 The classical structure at Gaṙni makes a dramatic visual impression. Perched high above the Azat River gorge, on a triangular promontory, it rises in elegant proportions from a tall podium. Constructed of unmortared blocks of local basalt bound together by iron and bronze clamps, Gaṙni is a hexastyle peripteral building:  freestanding colonnades define its exterior with six columns across the breadth, and eight along the length. The colonnades enclose an inner rectangular chamber. Crowning the structure are a pitched roof and triangular pediments topped with acroteria (roof sculptures). A porch of nine steep stairs announces the entrance at the south, leading to the front colonnade of unfluted Ionic columns. Flanking the porch are buttresses featuring bas-​reliefs of kneeling nude youths, raising their arms as if to support something above their heads. The monument is recognizably classical not only in plan and elevation, but also in the details of its architectural sculpture. The Ionic capitals, with their spiral volutes, support an architrave of three horizontal zones, or fasciae, divided by borders of bead-​and-​reel, twisted rope, and leaf-​and-​dart motifs. The frieze above bears deeply cut acanthus leaves, supporting a denticulated cornice, above which is a gutter carved with lion heads resembling (although not functioning as) waterspouts. Detailed comparative analysis of this monument demonstrates relations with Roman monuments elsewhere in Asia Minor. The proportions find parallels in Roman tombs, the entablature resembles that of the temple of Antoninus Pius at Sagalassos, and the columns evoke those at Atalia (Antalya) and elsewhere.83 These affinities suggest the employment of imperial workmen, perhaps along with local laborers. To the southwest of this structure, archaeologists uncovered a small bath complex with five compartments, four of them of the same size and fitted with apses. Underneath three of these chambers are the remains of a hypocaust system. Heat from a furnace would have circulated through brick pilings supporting the floor, supplying warm and hot baths (tepidaria and caldaria, respectively) of the typical Roman type. Parallels for the arrangement and size of the Gaṙni baths occur in second-​and third-​century sites in Syria and Asia Minor such as Dura-​Europos.84 Along with this Roman technology, the baths preserve a mosaic pavement in the late Roman style (Figure 1.14). Although partially destroyed, its basic iconography and several Greek inscriptions remain legible. The main figural zone, composed of small stones laid in fine opus vermiculatum, is surrounded by a border laid with larger rose-​colored tesserae. The iconography is marine: a central blue-​green rectangle, framed by a braided border, features male and female busts respectively labeled “Okeanos” (Ocean) and “Thalassos” (Sea). Above them is an enigmatic inscription: “we labored, taking nothing,” perhaps

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FIGURE 1.14  Gaṙni

The Art of Armenia

baths, mosaic, 2nd–​3rd century BCE.

Photo: Alamy.com.

referring to the loyalty (or resentment) of the workers.85 Surrounding this panel are sea nymphs (Nereids) riding ichthyocentaurs. Among them is Galene, goddess of calm seas, identified by inscription. Best preserved is the Nereid Thetis, the mother of Achilles. Below her appear the word “seashore,” a dolphin with a flower-​like tail, and a winged nude boy dragging a fishnet. This rich repertoire of marine iconography finds parallels across the Mediterranean at sites from Ostia to Antioch.86 The Gaṙni mosaicists used fifteen different stone colors for their tesserae, most likely drawn from a local source. The style is schematic: bodies, drapery, and landscape demonstrate an interest in coloristic juxtapositions rather than fine gradations or naturalistic detail. The nude torso of Thetis, for example, consists of two curves indicating breasts and a single vertical line marking the cavity between the ribs. Body proportions are squat, with large heads and large-​ eyed, expressive faces. This late Roman style of mosaic, as well as archaeological and paleographical evidence, leads scholars to date the baths to the late third or early fourth centuries.87 On the west side of the Ionic structure at Gaṙni, only a few centimeters from its west wall, is a round church. Scholars debate its date: some ascribe it to the seventh century, others to the ninth. Whoever is correct, the construction of a church so close to the Ionic structure is remarkable, and attests to

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29

the survival or revival of the site during the Christian era. Indeed, Christian tradition associates Gaṙni with the sister of King Trdat III, the pagan king of Armenia who converted the nation to Christianity in the early fourth century. Perhaps this association explains the construction of the church so close to the Ionic structure. The site of Gaṙni, then, escorts us from pagan to Christian Armenia, and from antiquity to the early Middle Ages.

{ 2 }

The Early Medieval Era

The fourth to seventh centuries CE were pivotal in the art and culture of Armenia. This era witnessed the conversion of Armenia to Christianity, the invention of the Armenian alphabet, the development of a literary tradition, the formulation of a specific understanding of the nature of Christ, and the emergence of a striking and robust visual tradition. Architecture, sculpture, painting, and mosaics produced during this era attest both to the integration of Armenians within neighboring Mediterranean and Iranian worlds, and to the development of distinctive artistic forms and practices. As in antiquity, Armenia formed in the early medieval era a frontier between superpowers to its east and west. In the third century, the Sasanian Empire under Shapur I (240–​ 270 CE) replaced Parthian rule in Persia, and Armenia became a buffer zone between Roman and Sasanian powers. Invasions of the Sasanian Persians led to the partition of Armenian territory around 387 CE, resulting in the formation of the large region of Persarmenia and the smaller Roman province of Western Armenia.1 This political geography shaped the development of early medieval Armenia, and correlates to the Iranian elements that scholars identify in early Armenian language, social structure, and material culture.2 Yet the Christian conversion of Armenia in c.  301/​314 set it apart from Zoroastrian Iran, and aligned it with the growing Christian communities of the Roman empire, particularly the regions of Cappadocia, Mesopotamia, and Syria. The fifth-​century History of the Armenians by Agat‘angeghos preserves the canonical story of the conversion.3 Gregory, whose father assassinated the Armenian Arsacid king Khosrov II, returned from Cappadocia to evangelize Armenia. Trdat III, the pagan king of Armenia, seized Gregory and cast him into a pit as punishment for his father’s crime. During this time, the beautiful nun Hṙip‘simē and her companions fled to Armenia from Rome to escape persecution from the emperor Diocletian. Upon seeing Hṙip‘simē, Trdat was consumed with lust and attempted to rape her, but the young Hṙip‘simē, strengthened by divine intervention, successfully resisted him. The humiliated king tortured and then murdered the nun and her companions. God, in turn,

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31

punished Trdat: while out hunting, he fell from his chariot and was transformed into a wild boar. Following the advice of his sister Khosrovidukht, Trdat freed Gregory and converted to Christianity, whereupon he regained his human form. Gregory and Trdat then launched a campaign of baptism, church building, and temple destruction across Armenia. This lively account established the protagonists of the Christian Armenian tradition, and gained Armenia the status of earliest Christian nation. Conversion, however, held political consequences: in 451, local princes fought a religious war against their Persian Zoroastrian overlords. The Armenians lost the decisive Battle of Avarayr, but thirty years later, after continued resistance, earned the freedom to practice Christianity. For this reason, Avarayr was thereafter celebrated as a moral victory, with Vardan Mamikonian, the defeated Armenian commander, venerated as a martyr.

Early Christian Architecture of Armenia The position of Armenia between Iran and the Mediterranean held consequences for material culture, as attested by the tomb complex of Aghds‘k‘, the earliest known monument of Christian Armenia. Aghds‘k‘, which is located at the foot of Mount Aragats in Aragatsotn, northwest of Yerevan, is mentioned in two early medieval sources.4 They report that during the Sasanian raids of the fourth century, Armenians interred the bones of their kings in a site next to Mount Aragats. Identifying this location with Aghds‘k‘, scholars generally date the foundation of the site to c. 364 CE.5 The tomb is a semi-​hypogeum, rising partially above ground level (Figure 2.1), which formed part of a larger complex, including a church (probably fifth or sixth century) and stele monument. A flight of stone steps leads down to the tomb’s entrance, where an arched portal, composed of heavy stone voussoirs, announces the single chamber of the interior. Lined with stone slabs, the space is small and rectangular; the north and south sides each contain an arch-​shaped cavity, or arcosolium, that once contained tombs. A horseshoe-​shaped apse at the east suggests the performance of liturgical services, although the cramped interior would not have accommodated more than five people. Archaeologists also discovered that the roof of the tomb was paved, suggesting that it formed the foundation for an upper-​story chapel.6 The complex at Aghds‘k‘ finds parallels with pagan and Christian architecture in Syria. The tomb of Sukhani, dating from the first century CE, is also cruciform, although fitted with a third arcosolium rather than an eastern apse.7 The combination of funerary hypogea and memorial stelae also occurred at Brad, in northern Syria.8 Such architectural links attest to wide-​ranging relations between Armenia and Syria in the fourth to seventh centuries, a link that scholars have also observed in studies of literature and religion.9

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FIGURE 2.1  

The Art of Armenia

Aghds‘k‘, 4th century and later, site plan.

After M. Hasrat‘yan.

Aghds‘k‘ also preserves figural sculpture. Stone panels set into the arcosolia feature bas-​reliefs of Daniel in the Lion’s Den on the south, while the northern panel bears, from left to right, a cross within a medallion, a grapevine with feeding birds, and a hunting scene (Figure 2.2). Evoking Old Testament salvation and heavenly paradise, this imagery is characteristic of Christian funerary art across the contemporary Mediterranean. The hunting scene, however, holds particular regional interest: a tall, thin figure, accompanied by dogs, raises a spear against a large, long-​snouted boar. That the boar was chosen for depiction, scholars suggest, reflects its particular resonance in Sasanian Iran. The wild boar was a potent symbol of royal power, as evident in the Sasanian rock reliefs of Tāq-​e Bostān.10 Its presence at Aghds‘k‘ may well be intended to proj­ ect the royal identity of the Arsacid kings interred there. At the same time, the boar might have recalled to the viewer the pre-​Christian form of Trdat, with its death by the hunter’s spear symbolizing the victory of Christianity over the Zoroastrian religion of Iran.11 As the northern structure at Aghds‘k‘ attests, the fifth and sixth centuries witnessed the development of church architecture in Armenia. Builders used rubble masonry: polished, squared tuff-​stone slabs laid to form the inner and outer wall surfaces, with a core of mortar and rubble set between them. This construction method resulted in a lightweight wall and facilitated the development of barrel vaulting. It also distinguishes Armenian buildings from the

The Early Medieval Era

FIGURE 2.2  

33

Aghds‘k‘, tomb interior, north sarcophagus.

Photo: author.

ashlar stonemasonry known from Urartian and Hellenistic-​era Armenia and from contemporary Syrian monuments. The resemblances between Armenian and contemporary Syrian churches are nevertheless quite strong in plan types, elevations, and sculptural decoration.12 In Armenia, as in Syria and elsewhere across the Mediterranean and Christian East, the earliest churches were basilicas:  longitudinal, aisled buildings terminating in a semicircular apse. Armenian basilicas are generally one-​or three-​aisled, modest in size (roughly 10 to 20 m in length) with semicircular or sometimes horseshoe-​shaped apses, and limited sculpted decoration. The church of Ereroyk‘ is a large and elaborate example of an Armenian basilica (Figure 2.3). Located in the Ani-​Pemza region (RA), and generally dated to the late fifth to early sixth centuries, it rises from a tall stylobate (stepped foundation) and measures some 34 m in length. Roofing, probably wooden, no longer survives.13 Tower-​like structures stood at each corner, while porticoes screen the northern and southern façades, terminating at the east in exterior niches. Sculptural decoration at Ereroyk‘ is largely architectonic, with denticulated cornices, channeled window moldings, sculpted crosses atop lintels, and stylized Corinthian capitals crowning engaged columns. A sundial, typical of medieval Armenian churches, appears on the south façade.14 As with Aghds‘k‘, Ereroyk‘ too finds parallels in the contemporary architecture of Syria.15 It resembles particularly closely the fifth-​century church of the monastery of Deir Turmanin in northern Syria, which likewise rises from a

34

FIGURE 2.3  

The Art of Armenia

Ereroyk‘, 5th–​6th century and later, view from southwest.

Photo: author.

tall foundation and bore a western portico with corner towers.16 Comparable, too, are the decorated exteriors. Doors and windows are adorned with arched, profiled bands, sometimes united in a continuous sculpted arcade. Unlike the early Christian basilicas of Rome, whose brick façades enclose splendid interior decoration, the basilicas of Armenia and Syria highlight the exterior wall surface as a site of sculpture and inscriptions. Although we do not know the patron of Ereroyk‘, archaeological work at the site offers a sense of its immediate physical context.17 Excavations in 2009–2011 revealed that the church lay within a large walled precinct also containing a necropolis to the south, whose stone sarcophagi and commemorative stelae suggest an early medieval date.18 The southerly location for this zone also offers an explanation for the emphasis placed on the south wall of church:  pierced by two portals rather than one, it bears the only inscription found on the church: the Greek text of Psalm 92/​93:5 (“Holiness befits your house, O Lord, for the length of days.”) The earliest-​known biblical inscription on an Armenian church, this text finds parallels in Greek from fifth-​and sixth-​century Syria, Cilicia, and the Holy Land, offering further testimony of the shared cultural traditions among the Christian communities of the Eastern Mediterranean.19

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The early medieval period in Armenia also witnessed the emergence of a theological interpretation of architecture. In the aforementioned conversion story of the History of the Armenians, Saint Gregory beheld a mystical vision of an architectural form during his confinement in the pit. In the account, Gregory saw a circular base, a column of fire, a capital of cloud, and a cross of light. Three more such columns then became visible to him, located where the virgins Hrip‘simē and her companions had been martyred. Finally, these columns joined at the top to form “marvelous vaults,” supporting a canopy of cloud. At the summit of this edifice, Gregory saw a radiant fiery throne topped with a cross. In a subsequent passage of the account, God explains to Gregory the symbolism of each element of this construction:  the column base is the rock of establishment (Matt. 7:25), the fiery column is the universal church, the capital of cloud receives the righteous on Judgment Day, the other three columns represent the sufferings and resurrection of the martyrs, and the canopy above is the celestial city. This is a remarkable text. It does not seek to describe a particular standing building, nor, indeed, would it be structurally feasible: the description, for example, specifies that columns of uneven height supported the vault. Yet this only contributes to the sense of an otherworldly building, unfettered by the laws of gravity or the composition of matter. Rather than a literal description, the text explores the symbolic properties of architecture, in which each part of the building, from base to vault, holds particular significance.20 It therefore gives a sense of how someone living in early medieval Armenia might have understood a church—​not just as physical form, or the product of elite patronage, but as a dense embodiment of theological meaning.

Architecture and Sculpture of the Seventh Century After the collapse of the Arsacid royal dynasty in the fifth century, and before the emergence of the Bagratid kingdom in 861, Armenia was controlled by a constellation of princely houses.21 These clans lived in fortified strongholds with hunting preserves, elected their own bishops, constructed churches, and maintained cavalry forces. Scholars argue that this fragmentation of political power is also reflected in the general scarcity of urban centers in early medieval Armenia.22 The sixth and seventh centuries saw an expansion of Byzantine control in Armenia. In 591, the emperor Maurice extended the frontier eastward into Persarmenia, and the territory became the theater of escalating confrontations between Byzantines and Persians, and, by 640, one of the earliest targets of Arab conquests. The decades between 610 and 680 saw the faltering of Byzantine power, the collapse of the Sasanian royal dynasty, and the establishment of the Arab Umayyad caliphate. Within this geopolitical context, the

36

The Art of Armenia

Byzantine Empire sought aggressively to gain and maintain the allegiance of Armenian and neighboring Georgian nobility. The Byzantine consolidation of the eastern frontier also held religious dimensions. Both Emperors Heraclius and Constans II sought to impose Byzantine, or Chalcedonian, Christianity in the region. Chalcedonianism, so called for the site of the ecumenical council of 451, professed that Christ embodied two natures, one human and the other divine. Armenians rejected this “dyophysite” formula in 506, and instead proposed a “miaphysite” formula, in which distinct humanity and divinity resided in Christ as a single nature. The difference of formulae produced a major schism between the Armenian and Byzantine churches, and seventh-​century Armenian accounts stress the importance of this debate in the political and military relations between Armenians and Byzantines. It is not clear how successful the Byzantines were in imposing doctrinal conformity in Armenia. Given the contemporary literary and architectural evidence (as we shall see), however, one can be certain of interaction between local Armenians and the empire, whether in the form of integration, alliance, resistance, or rebellion.23 The seventh century bore witness to a period of intense building activity in the South Caucasus. The sheer number, variety, and refinement of standing monuments speak to an extraordinary moment of cultural production. Linked by scholars to the building traditions of the inlands of Asia Minor, and particularly Syria and Cappadocia, the churches also attest to the development of local architectural, visual, and ritual practices.24 Well over one hundred monuments are thought to date from seventh-​century Armenia and Georgia, forming a corpus more robust than any other in the contemporary Mediterranean area. They also represent architectural change: domed churches with centralized plans emerged as early as the 590s and were developed and refined in the following decades. The plans show astonishing variety, including domed basilicas, hall churches, triconchs, hexaconchs, octoconchs, and cruciform churches. Tetraconch plans appear in great number and diversity, their apses either projecting from the perimeter wall, inscribed within rectangles, or enveloped in a second, circular aisle. Constructed using the traditional rubble masonry method, the seventh-​century monuments are distinctive for their geometrical massing and strong centralized forms. As at the basilica of Ereroyk‘, seventh-​century Armenian churches also preserve epigraphy and sculptural decoration, much of it on the exterior walls. Armenian-​language foundation inscriptions demonstrate the importance of the nobility as patrons and offer valuable historical information about relations among local elites and neighboring Byzantine, Persian, and Arab Umayyad powers.25 Bas-​reliefs carved on walls, doors, and windows show the development of a rich repertoire of architectonic and vegetal forms. Figural imagery is typically sacred in character but also includes princely portraiture. Traces

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37

of fresco painting, and more rarely mosaic, attest to the pictorial decoration of interior space, although in no case is a complete program preserved intact. Four churches demonstrate the great range of the tradition. The church of Hṙip‘simē was built in 618/​619 by Komitas, then patriarch of Armenia, over the tomb of the virgin martyr. Located in Etchmiadzin (ancient Vagharshapat), it is an example of the “inscribed tetraconch” type, distinctive to the South Caucasus. The churches of Mtskheta and Ateni, in the Republic of Georgia, also belong to this striking architectural type. Inscribed within a rectangular masonry block, four conches radiate from a central dome with large corner chambers accessed by circular passageways (Figure 2.4). The quadrangular structure rises into triangular gables, round corner towers, a faceted drum, and finally a conical roof (Figure 2.5). The exterior emphasizes planarity through its smooth polished surfaces, relieved by tall triangular niches on each façade and sculpted moldings on doors and windows. The blocky exterior gives way to an undulating interior, dominated by a dome resting on tall axial arches and squinches (arch-​shaped supports in the corners of the square bay) (Figure 2.6). Above, a molded cornice separates the elevation from the fenestrated drum, from which twelve bas-​relief lappets radiate before terminating in sculpted medallions. The resulting harmony and complexity of spatial relations, and the refinement of surface details, make the church of Hṙip‘simē one of the most admired monuments of early medieval Armenia. The church of Mren, located on a plateau next to the Akhurean (Turkish:  Arpaçay) River gorge in the northeast region of the Republic of Turkey, was finished between 637/​638 and 640.26 Measuring some 30 m in length, it is one of the largest domed basilicas of the medieval South Caucasus. Despite the partial collapse of the south façade, the monument makes a powerful visual impression (Figure 2.7). Strong cross arms rise from each axis of the rectangular mass, below the tall drum and hemispherical roof. Inside the church, four profiled piers connect and articulate axial barrel vaults, rising high into the domical space with its four corner squinches. Mren is well known for its exterior epigraphy and relief sculpture.27 Its foundation inscription, on the west façade, situates the date of construction of the church within a series of simultaneous reigns, including those of the “victorious” emperor Heraclius, a certain “Prince of Armenia and Syria,” the bishop Theophilus, and the local lord Nerseh Kamsarakan.28 This synchronistic text may articulate a set of relationships: it is notable that Heraclius, in his efforts to gain Armenian allegiance, named the local Dawit‘ Saharuni “Prince of Armenia and Syria” during the latter 630s; Theophilus, for his part, is most likely the clan bishop of the princely family of the Kamsarakan. Below the text is the sculpted western portal. The tympanum above bears images of the archangels Michael and Gabriel, holding orbs and scepters, while the lintel below features Christ flanked by Peter and Paul. To the right of Paul

38

FIGURE 2.4  

The Art of Armenia

Church of Hṙip‘simē, 618, plan.

After T‘oros T‘oramanyan, c. 1913.

(and second from the right) is an unnimbed figure holding a book, probably the bishop Theophilus mentioned in the inscription. At each end of the lintel are princely figures, likely the lord Nerseh and prince Dawit‘, who wear extravagant coats of tiered fur and gesture toward the center of the composition. Their garments, fitted with long, empty sleeves and slits for the arms, are known as “Persian riding coats” and denoted noble status in early medieval Armenia and Georgia.29

FIGURE 2.5  

Church of Hṙip‘simē, view.

Photo: author.

FIGURE 2.6   Photo: author.

Church of Hṙip‘simē, interior.

40

FIGURE 2.7  

The Art of Armenia

Mren, c. 637–​638, exterior from southwest.

Photo: author.

The north portal lintel also bears a series of sculpted forms, including a prancing horse, two crouching figures holding a long-​handled cross, a cleric swinging a censer, and a large tree (Figure 2.8). Scholars have proposed that the scene represents the triumphant return of the Cross to Jerusalem by Heraclius in 630, following its capture by the Persians in 614.30 The large figure to the left of the horse is presumed to be the emperor Heraclius, who offers the cross to the right-​hand cleric, identified as Modestus, the locum tenens bishop of Jerusalem. If this identification is correct, the emperor appears surprisingly humble, shown dismounted and in plain dress, a representation that is unattested in Byzantine art. Yet early medieval Latin texts of the Return of the Cross portray just such a modest entrance by Heraclius into Jerusalem; scholars thus presume that this tradition originated in a now-​lost source from the Christian East, of which, perhaps, Mren offers further testimony.31 The representation of the Return of the Cross at Mren may be understood in multiple ways. First, it illustrates the reach of Heraclian ideology in the Caucasus.32 Heraclius enjoyed favorable reception in Armenia, as seventh-​ century epigraphy and chronicles suggest. On the Mren inscription itself, he is named “victorious king,” and in Armenian textual tradition, following the Byzantine, he is given the Christ-​like epithet “Savior.”33 The Mren scene also holds meaning within a local ritual context. The Armenian liturgy of consecration, unlike its Byzantine counterpart, required a procession with a cross outside and possibly around the church.34 The north portal lintel, with its

The Early Medieval Era

FIGURE 2.8  

41

Mren, north portal lintel.

Photo: author.

prominently depicted liturgical implements, would have formed an appropriate station in the course of this rite. The position of the Return above the north portal is significant in topographical terms, too: while the south façade was typically the favored location for epigraphy and sculpture in contemporary Armenian churches, the Return of the Cross, as depicted on the north portal, invited the viewer to meditate on the act of entrance in metaphorical terms. Approaching and stepping across the threshold led the visitor into the Heavenly City as made material by the church interior, but also southward, toward the earthly Jerusalem with its holy sites and relics. Finally, Mren boasts an impressive program of frescoes in its sanctuary, which not only constitute the most extensive early medieval wall painting program in contemporary Armenia, but also testify to the continuity of Byzantine painting traditions known from the sixth century.35 The program includes a standing Christ, apostles named by inscription, and additional sacred figures that extend into the eastern piers and northern walls. On the inner face of the arch are twelve busts in medallions, most likely depicting prophets. The topmost is the best preserved (Figure 2.9). The face is long, with large, almond-​shaped eyes, a long nose, full lips, and a long moustache and pointed beard. The lined forehead and furrowed brow, together with the limpid gaze, convey the visionary abilities of the figure. Above this image, in the arch facing the nave interior, is a large fragmentary painted inscription. As at Ereroyk‘, it reads, “Holiness befits your house, O Lord, for the length

42

FIGURE 2.9  

The Art of Armenia

Mren, apsidal painting, prophet.

Photo: author.

of days” (Ps. 92/​93:5), but in Armenian rather than Greek, and located on the interior rather than exterior of the monument.36 Interestingly, the apse of the sixth-​century Byzantine church of the Dormition at Nicaea (mod. İznik) bore the same text inscription in Greek. This concurrence, as well as the elegant style of the apsidal program as a whole, suggests yet further affinities between Mren and the Byzantine imperial sphere.37 Shortly after the church of Mren was completed, work began on the complex of Zvart‘nots‘. While the city of Dvin was the seat of the catholicos (the ecclesiastical head) of Armenia for much of the early medieval era, Zvart‘nots‘, located just east and south of Etchmiadzin, served that function briefly in the seventh century. Contemporary sources attribute its construction to the Armenian catholicos Nersēs III (c. 641–​c. 661).38 Today the site is in ruins, its destruction caused by an earthquake of the late tenth or early eleventh century. Excavations revealed a large round church that accessed a residence at the south through a columnar portico (Figure 2.10). The church rose from a tall stone platform, while the perimeter wall, elevated on a round stylobate, formed a polygon of thirty-​two sides. Its five portals accessed a circular ambulatory, screened from the central domed space by exedrae (curved colonnades) at the

The Early Medieval Era

FIGURE 2.10  

43

Zvart‘nots‘, c. 640–​c. 660, aerial view.

Photo: Hrair Hawk Khatcherian.

west, north, and south. Between these curvatures stood four massive piers fronted by single columns. The interior of the ambulatory bore alternating gabled and round-​arched pediments, while the exterior wall was sheathed in continuous blind arcades. Above the arcades grew carved grapevines and pomegranate trees, and nestled in the spandrels were human figures holding tools of building and planting. A  sundial bearing an Armenian inscription was also excavated, and most likely appeared on the south façade. Mosaic fragments and polychrome masonry slabs, painted in imitation of opus sectile, were also found, as was an Urartian stele, whose original location is unknown (see Figure 1.6). Although no exact precedent survives for Zvart‘nots‘, the plan fuses together a set of recognizable prototypes known from neighboring regions. Fifth-​ and sixth-​century churches in Syria and Mesopotamia also feature double-​shell layouts with inner tetraconchs.39 The round form of Zvart‘nots‘, however, is surely associated with the Anastasis Rotunda in Jerusalem.40 Founded in the fourth century to shelter the place of the burial and resurrection of Christ, this structure consisted of a double-​shell layout connected at the west to a large basilica. At Zvart‘nots‘, on each of the four dome piers perched a sculpted eagle with massive outstretched wings, facing outward toward the ambulatory (Figure 2.11). Atop the exedrae columns were Ionic basket capitals bearing two Greek monograms of the patron. Two types of cross monograms occur: one of the word “Narsou” (“of Nersēs”) and the other of “Katholikou” (“of the

44

FIGURE 2.11  

The Art of Armenia

Zvart‘nots‘, eagle capital.

Photo: author.

catholicos”). That Greek is used at Zvart‘nots‘ is significant: by the middle of the seventh century, Armenian had become the standard epigraphic language in the region. The monogrammed capitals may well illustrate the adherence of Nersēs to Chalcedonian rather than Armenian miaphysite orthodoxy, a position that caused dissent among at least some of the local clergy.41 It may be that the combination of the eagle and cross monogram imagery also derives from a Byzantine milieu: lead seals from sixth-​and seventh-​century Constantinople offer a particularly compelling iconographic parallel to the Zvart‘nots‘ capitals. These circular lead seals, mostly belonging to consuls and made for the purpose of authenticating documents, feature cross monograms on their obverse and eagles with extended wings on the reverse.42 The concurrence of the eagle and cross monogram on such a large group of seals at the time of the construction of Zvart‘nots‘ raises the possibility that Nersēs consciously employed glyptic iconography. Contemporary chronicles record the receipt of insignia by Armenian noble clients from Byzantine emperors including Constans II.43 The “seals” on the capitals at Zvart‘nots‘ may therefore have been Nersēs’ own.44 Nersēs sought not only to announce his ties to Byzantium, but also intentionally to embed his new foundation within a longer local history and an ancient Christian topography. By its dedication and location, Zvart‘nots‘ was rooted in the sacred landscape of Armenia’s fourth-​century conversion to Christianity. According to a contemporary chronicle, the church was dedicated

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to “heavenly angels” seen by Saint Gregory during his imprisonment in the pit.45 The location of the church is significant, too. Having been consecrated as bishop in Caesarea, Gregory journeyed back to Armenia, where he met the newly converted Trdat; the church of Zvart‘nots‘, the same chronicle reports, was constructed upon the route where bishop and king encountered each other.46 The Gregorid associations of Zvart‘nots‘ are furthered by the topographical relationship between the church and Mount Ararat in the distance. According to the conversion legend, King Trdat, still in porcine form, but filled with the superhuman zeal of his new faith, climbed the mountain to quarry stones for the construction of Armenian churches.47 Ararat forms a particularly powerful backdrop to Zvart‘nots‘:  approaching directly from the north, one sees the church perfectly contained within the outlines of the mountain. Situated on a stepped podium, and constructed of multiple tiers, Zvart‘nots‘ would have also generated a mountainous effect. Building his church within an ancient local landscape, and fusing together traditions known from Syria, Mesopotamia, Byzantium, and Jerusalem, Nersēs may have intended to communicate his authority and piety to multiple and competing constituents, mounting his patriarchate on the world stage of the seventh-​century frontier. In this sense, the church of Zvart‘nots‘ finds a parallel in a celebrated monument of early Islam: the Dome of the Rock, built by the Umayyad caliph ‘Abd al–Malik in Jerusalem around 692.48 The church of Ptghni offers particular insight into the social history of seventh-​century Armenia.49 Located in the Kotayk‘ province (RA), Ptghni is a domed hall measuring some 28 m in length (Figure 2.12). Although no foundation inscription survives, architectural and sculptural analysis suggests a date in the second half of seventh century. The monument has partially collapsed; only the north and south walls and the eastern domical arch remain standing today. This ruin nevertheless makes a powerful impression. Portals invite the viewer into a unified interior space, where axial barrel vaults capped the western and eastern bays of the church. A single squinch remains of the dome construction, which was supported by attached piers topped with stylized Ionic capitals.50 On the south façade, above the central portal, a window arch features the bust of Christ in a medallion carried by two angels (Figure 2.13). Flanking this image are three further busts on each side, also contained in medallions, most likely representing apostles. Horizontal wings extend the semicircle of this arch to the left and right, and depict hunting scenes. At the right, a crouching or running figure extends a pole weapon toward a lion; on the left, an archer astride a galloping horse aims an arrow at his quarry. Above him a small text reads “Manoegh, lord [tēr] of the Amatuni,” thus indicating his membership within the Amatuni clan, a princely family known already from fifth-​century Armenian sources.51

FIGURE 2.12  

Ptghni, 7th century, from southwest.

Photo: author.

FIGURE 2.13   Photo: author.

Ptghni, south façade window.

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47

At the western end of the north façade, under the roofline, is carved a row of vessels. Appearing as evenly spaced vertical elements, they roughly resemble a denticulated cornice, but close inspection reveals that they are instead tall bottles and handled ewers. Scholars have noted morphological parallels between these representations and actual Sasanian silver objects of the sixth and seventh centuries. The carved vessels at Ptghni have been connected to the rite of the eucharist, but surely also reminded contemporary visitors of princely banquets.52 Ptghni thereby monumentalizes two key themes of early medieval Armenian nobility. In Armenian sources, as in the Iranian tradition, the hunt is the setting in which the protagonist displays his noble valor and physical strength.53 The banquet, like the hunt, affirmed the status of the participant; in Armenia, as scholars have observed, princely rank was defined by the location of one’s physical seat at the feast.54 The imagery at Ptghni thus communicates the elite status of the Amatuni family. While the churches of Mren and Zvart‘nots‘ demonstrate contacts between local Armenians and the Byzantine empire, Ptghni promoted the Amatuni by evoking the imagery of long-​practiced princely pastimes.

Sculpted Stelae and Memorial Structures In addition to church building, other types of monuments are known from the early medieval era. From the sixth and seventh centuries survives a corpus of quadrangular stone stelae carved with figural decoration. Sometimes reaching well above human height, these stelae were constructed from large stone blocks, and often mounted on podia outdoors, near church buildings. Several carved stelae stand in the village of T‘alin, between and around two seventh-​century churches. One example, carved in dark stone and remounted on a new stepped podium, consists of a base supporting a smaller, obelisk-​like pier (Figure 2.14). Its figural decoration remains visible despite some battering of faces. The base features a scene of the seated Virgin and Child, flanked by large standing angels. Special emphasis is given to the drapery and wing patterns, each defined by incising and channeling into the stone surface. The inner wings of the angelic pair cross over each other, forming a kind of arch sheltering the Virgin and Child. On the pier are two standing figures: the top figure is clearly a saint, most likely Gregory, shown haloed and wearing a draped garment. Below him is an unnimbed figure, wearing a tailored coat with long, empty sleeves (much like those worn by the Mren princes), trousers, and boots. The head of this figure is not human, but porcine, with pointy ears, a long snout shown in profile, and a ruff of fur at the neck: most likely a representation of King Trdat at the moment of his conversion to Christianity. Placed within a figural program including the Virgin and Child, the stele at T‘alin attests to the development of a distinctive Armenian Christian iconography, but also argues for the inclusion of Armenia’s conversion history within the context of sacred tradition.55

FIGURE 2.14   Photo: author.

T‘alin, 7th century, stele.

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The Early Medieval Era

The T‘alin stele is but one of a large group found in early medieval Armenia and in the neighboring territory of Georgia. These monuments do not find clear parallels elsewhere in the contemporary eastern Mediterranean. Perhaps they should be understood, as Armen Khatchatrian has argued, in relation to the commemorative memorials of Roman Syria, such as Qatura, and to Roman triumphal monuments more generally.56 What seems certain, however, is that they invite the visitor to an encounter with the sacred not within a church interior, but in the surrounding landscape. Such an outdoor experience would have been made particularly powerful by the relation between Armenia’s landscape and its conversion tradition. In the aforementioned vision of Gregory, the saint beholds the creation of the plain by the descent of the Lord: God flies down, striking the ground with a golden hammer, so that “the whole earth as far as the eye could see was struck level as a plain.”57 Like the legend of the newly converted Trdat, quarrying huge stones from Mount Ararat, this episode highlights the sacred geography of Armenia. Kneeling on the plain, in view of Ararat, and venerating the sacred figures on a stone stele, the outdoor worshipper would have been immersed in the holy.

The Etchmiadzin Gospels The Etchmiadzin Gospels offers a rare example of early medieval Armenian manuscript painting.58 Bound with sixth-​century Byzantine ivory covers, the main text dates from the tenth century (see Figure 3.22); however, two pictorial folios from an earlier manuscript were sewn into the back of the codex. Lacking any text, their date, patron, and place of production are unknown. Yet their style, iconography, and codicology have led scholars generally to place them in the sixth or seventh century, making them the earliest examples of manuscript painting in Armenia. Painted on both sides, the two folios bear the following four images:  the Annunciation to Zachariah, the Annunciation to the Virgin, the Adoration of the Magi, and the Baptism. Unifying these four scenes, as Thomas Mathews observed, is the feast of the Epiphany, which occurs at the opening of the Armenian Church year on January 6.59 This feast celebrates the Birth and Baptism of Christ and includes Gospel readings for all four of the Etchmiadzin miniatures. Mathews therefore suggested that the four images formed an iconographical unit reflecting the specific needs of the Armenian liturgy. Informed by models from Byzantium, Syria, and the Holy Land, the Etchmiadzin images also draw from local textual traditions and from the deeply Iranized character of contemporary Armenian society. The Adoration of the Magi is the third page of the set (Figure 2.15). The Virgin holding the Christ Child dominates the scene: seated on her jeweled throne, she still towers over the three kings, who offer her sumptuous gifts. To her left, and partially concealed

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FIGURE 2.15  

The Art of Armenia

Adoration of the Magi, before 640. Etchmiadzin Gospels.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 2374, fol. 229r.

behind the throne, is the archangel Gabriel, who looks out at the viewer. The figures are organized within a golden structure studded with chunky jewels. This architectural frame, and its zones of deep pigments of blue, purple, and red, resemble nothing so much as a precious vessel: an optical evocation of the scene’s themes of royalty and richness. In its basic scheme, the image reflects the already established iconography of the Adoration of the Magi as known from Early Christian and Byzantine art. Yet, as Mathews notes, certain distinctive aspects emerge in the Etchmiadzin version. The presence of Gabriel is not attested in the Gospel of Matthew, in which the kings are informed of the birth of Christ by a star in the sky.60 An apocryphal biblical source, known as the Armenian Infancy Gospel, offers a

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more likely and localized explanation.61 In that text, after Gabriel announces to the Virgin that she will bear the Christ Child, the archangel immediately goes to the Magi to convey news of the upcoming holy birth, launching the kings on a nine-​month-​long journey (coinciding with the pregnancy of the Virgin) to visit the newborn child. The decision to include Gabriel in the Adoration of the Magi scene in the Etchmiadzin Gospels may thus reflect knowledge of this tradition. It is further instructive that Gabriel appears between the Virgin and one of the kings, offering a visual metaphor for his role in the text as herald.62 The poses and costumes of the Magi may also reflect a specifically Armenian cultural context. In the early medieval art of the Mediterranean, the three kings are often shown wearing floppy Phrygian caps, short tunics, and loose trousers, recalling representations of barbarians found in Roman art. Yet the costumes of the Magi in the Etchmiadzin Gospels depart in significant ways from this model: they wear upright domical hats set with pearls and tied with fluttering bands, and dangling pearl earrings. These sartorial features, Mathews shows, find parallels in Iranian priests of the Zoroastrian cult (that is, actual magi), as represented on Sasanian seals.63 To an Armenian viewer, such clothing would have carried a special resonance: in depicting the kings as practitioners of the pre-​Christian religion of Armenia, the religion of the old world thus paid homage to that of the new. Another intriguing aspect of the Adoration of the Magi scene concerns the depiction of the Christ Child. Rather than holding the Child on her knees, the Virgin actually grasps a light-​filled oval panel, or mandorla, in which the infant Christ appears. This device serves to distance Christ from the figures around him, both in pictorial and metaphorical terms, emphasizing the divinity of his nature “so that even his all-​pure mother cannot hold him in her hands.”64 As Mathews notes, such a visual statement may have held particular significance in the early medieval era. In the sixth century, the Armenian church confronted and condemned as heresy the doctrine of Nestorianism, which professed that Christ was not born divine but gradually became so during his lifetime. By surrounding the Christ Child with an aureole of light, and showing him accompanied by those who recognized his divinity even in infancy, the image offers a potent visual argument against the Nestorian heresy.65

Image Worship and Iconoclasm Holy images, whether carved or painted, formed an important part of the world of early medieval Armenia. Yet how would a Christian viewer approach an image from the Etchmiadzin Gospels, a carved stele, or a painted church interior? What was the relationship among the material and visual properties of the image, the holy person represented upon it, and the worshipper who gazed at it? These questions are particularly important because of recurrent anxieties about idolatry that ebbed and flowed in the Eastern Mediterranean world, reaching a

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high tide in Byzantium in the period of Iconoclasm (c. 726–​843). During this period, the official condemnation of the manufacture and veneration of holy images evidently prompted the development of a rich Greek-​language tradition of icon defense, led by Leontius of Neapolis (c. 590–​668) and John of Damascus (676–​749). From early medieval Armenia, too, there is abundant literature addressing the function of holy images, often written in response to specific episodes of image destruction, and offering a vivid sense of contemporary attitudes toward images. Unlike in Byzantium, iconoclasm in Armenia took the form of grass-​roots campaigns, carried out sporadically by individual clerics, beginning in the seventh century and continuing well into the modern period.66 The central Armenian treatise on the subject is “Concerning the Iconoclasts,” a text attributed to Vrt‘anēs K‘ert‘ogh and dating to the first quarter of the seventh century.67 If we accept the authorship, “Concerning the Iconoclasts” is the earliest preserved Christian defense of images, predating Leontius of Neapolis and John of Damascus.68 It is an extraordinary text: Vrt‘anēs counters an unnamed opponent with a wealth of textual citation from biblical and historical sources. In the first section, he cites the figured cherubim of the Temple of Solomon as precedents for Christian imagery. These works, we are told, “first set the example of images for the altar.”69 The second section adduces the texts of the Church Fathers, and also includes a striking discussion of a miraculous image: the imprint of Christ’s face given to Abgar, King of Edessa.70 This image, “the very vision of the face of Christ,” is offered by Vrt‘anēs as a direct argument against the iconoclasts’ claim that images were simply “vile matter.” Vrt‘anēs also draws from the History of the Armenians a passage quoting Saint Gregory, who wrote that because pagans were accustomed to worshipping idols, God set Christ on the Cross as an inanimate (Arm. breathless) image, so that God “would make obedient to his divine image those who made images and loved images and worshipped images.”71 Finally, in defense of images, Vrt‘anēs also describes the painted scenes on Armenian church interiors. This catalogue of images is particularly precious given the deteriorated state of early medieval Armenian wall painting.72 Most striking of all is Vrt‘anēs’s insistence throughout his treatise on the material nature of images as part of God’s creation. To those who denounce the worship of images as “vile matter,” he contends, Yet regarding the dyes which they say are vile, they accuse their own mouth, because the ink of the letters is made of vitriol and gall, which it is not possible to eat; and the material of the images is milk and egg, arsenic, ultramarine, verdigris, plaster, and lime, and other similar things, some of which it is proper to taste for the necessity of nourishment and others for medical needs.73 This remarkable passage thus argues that images should not be insulted because they are made with materials both edible and medicinal, offering an original

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departure from the standard rhetoric of Byzantine icon defenses. Vrt‘anēs’s particular concern for the materiality of the images, finally, may reflect his own personal relations to holy objects: one tenth-​century history reports that he served not only as locum tenens catholicos of Armenia, but also as keeper of the catholical treasury, charged with caring for, and even “curating” objects for the church.74

The Bird Mosaic of Jerusalem A discussion of early medieval Armenian art should include not only the monuments, objects, images, and texts produced in historically Armenian territory, but also the important corpus of Armenian-​inscribed mosaics known from the Holy Land. Ten such mosaic pavements, dated to the sixth and seventh centuries, are preserved in Jerusalem and its vicinity. By their design and iconography, they form part of a rich tradition of mosaic floor production known from the ancient Mediterranean. At the same time, they present invaluable historical information regarding the specific locations, nature, and extent of the Armenian communities in Jerusalem and the vicinity.75 The best-​preserved representative of the group is a pavement located in the Morasha quarter of Jerusalem, close to the Damascus Gate (Figure 2.16). Now sheltered by a chamber of approximately 7 by 4 m, the “Bird Mosaic,” as it is often called, consists of a rectangular zone framed by a multi-​colored

FIGURE 2.16  

Mosaic near the Damascus Gate, 6th–​7th century.

© photo: François Walch, [1978] Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York/​ADAGP, Paris.

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braid motif. At the base of the rectangle, two peacocks with luxuriant tails face an ornate vessel, from which sprouts a magnificent grapevine. The long vine, whose branches are hung with grapes and tendrils, creates over forty separate frames for various species of birds, including doves, chickens, storks, flamingos, partridges, and ducks. These creatures appear in a variety of attitudes: some face the center of the mosaic, others turn away, still others lower their heads to eat. While lifelike in their proportions, the birds are framed by sharp black outlines, with schematic patterns of marks and lines conveying round bellies and plumage. A central column of motifs, directly above the vessel, includes a basket of bread or fruit, a feeding bird, a decorative vessel, an eagle with outstretched wings, a caged bird, a basket of grapes, and two seated, affronted doves. Above this rectangular zone is a framed inscription in Armenian reading, “For the memorial and salvation of the Armenians, whose name the Lord knows,” a formula widely used in late antique and early medieval inscriptions across the Mediterranean.76 The “inhabited scroll” format, and certain iconographic motifs (such as the bird in the cage), find parallels in the mosaic floors of the Gaza region. Scholars have noted, for instance, resemblances among the Bird Mosaic, with its Armenian inscription; the Shellal Mosaic, with its Greek inscription; and the mosaic of the synagogue of Nirim at Maon, with its texts in Hebrew.77 Consequently, the iconography of the Armenian-​inscribed floors is typical of a regional late-​antique tradition. The caged-​bird motif, for instance, common to all three mosaics, has been interpreted as a Neoplatonic allegory of the soul as prisoner of the body. The avian themes present in the Armenian-​inscribed mosaics may reflect a particular allegorical tradition within late-​antique literature. Biblical texts and commentaries may explain the presence of the peacock (as a symbol of eternal life), the vine scroll (as a reference to Christ, the true vine), and the grapes and chalice (signs of the Eucharist). With their capacity for flight, birds provided an apposite symbol for the soul’s journey to paradise, a theme that is developed already in the second century by Theophilus of Antioch (c. 120–​190 CE). Specific species of birds, particularly the dove, the eagle, and the peacock, received special attention, their behaviors and physical qualities forming emblems for Christian theology or models for moral instruction. Alternatively, the inhabited scroll type might be interpreted not as allegory but as a literal expression of God’s creation on earth.78 Ought we then to consider the Bird Mosaic, and the other Armenian-​ inscribed mosaics of the Holy Land, specifically as works of Armenian art? Many argue in the negative, noting their clear affinities with the pavements of ancient Palestine, and, at the same time, the relative dearth of preserved mosaics from early medieval Armenia. Yet even if the iconography and format of our mosaics is shared with a broad swathe of pavements produced in the Holy Land, their Armenian inscriptions make clear at least one

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55

intended audience for the mosaic: Armenians, probably locals and pilgrims, who held knowledge, traditions, associations, and memories specific to their community.79 With this observation in mind, we can mine the rich tradition of classical Armenian literature to suggest how local audiences might have understood the mosaic. As Helen Evans has discussed, the Teaching of Saint Gregory, which forms part of the History of the Armenians by Agat‘angeghos, preserves a detailed allegory of birds.80 A passage from the Teaching is devoted to the symbolism of “the swift flight of shining feathered white doves” to join “the divine band.”81 A later passage of the sermon considers the arrival of flying birds in the spring in light of Jeremiah 8:7: “truly the swallow and turtledove and crane, birds of the field, know the time of each one’s coming.”82 The text continues to consider individual species: the swallow is like the “kind man,” and the turtledove is exemplary with regard to family life, and cranes awaken laborers to “tasks profitable for men.”83 At the end of the section, the righteous await the “divine trumpet,” ready to join “that troop of birds,” so that “they too may be worthy to acquire their wings and rise to the heights. . . .”84 If we consider the funerary associations of birds in classical Armenian literature, the inscription of the Bird Mosaic, with its dedication to the “memorial” of the unnamed Armenians, takes on particular force. So, too, does the discovery underneath the mosaic of a tomb with human bones, lamps, and glass cups.85 The bird imagery may consequently have held meaning as evocations of departed human souls. Representing individuated birds assembled together in a flock, the “inhabited scroll” may well have evoked the deceased Armenians “whose name the Lord knows.” While the iconography and design of the Bird Mosaic find a context within the mosaic pavements of the Holy Land, the mosaic may be interpreted through the rich allegorical literature of the Armenian tradition, thereby acknowledging the Armenophone audiences who commissioned and viewed it. Thus the early medieval era forms a critical moment in the development of Armenian art and architecture, demonstrating awareness of neighboring traditions, but also the formation of a local culture, expressing specific political conditions, religious beliefs, and textual traditions. This period, moreover, established a visual and structural vocabulary from which art of the following centuries was to draw.

{ 3 }

The Age of the Kingdoms

Artistic patronage flourished during the ninth to the eleventh centuries, with the establishment of the Armenian Bagratid and Artsruni kingdoms. The Bagratid capital of Ani was a major architectural site, its buildings attesting to the revival of earlier church types, to new aesthetic attitudes, and to knowl­ edge of Byzantine building traditions. The Artsruni church of Aght‘amar in Vaspurakan also recalls earlier Armenian churches, but features an extravagant program of exterior bas-​reliefs. Works in wood and metal, and a new stele type, the khach‘k‘ar (lit. cross-​stone), also date from this period. The many illustrated manuscripts of the Age of the Kingdoms, finally, show familiarity with Byzantine and Abbasid visual traditions, as well as the cultivation of a bold abstraction.

The Arab Conquests and the Rise of the Kingdoms From 661 to the mid-​ninth century, Arab powers controlled Armenia.1 The end of the seventh century saw the formation of the Arab province of al-​Arminiya, which included neighboring Georgia and Caucasian Albania, all ruled by a resident governor (ostikan). The early decades of Arab rule, particularly under the Umayyad caliphate (650–​700), witnessed continued prosperity in Armenia. Sources suggest that with the turn of the eighth century, however, Armenian subjects experienced increasing taxation, religious repression, and physical violence at the hands of their overlords. Arabs stationed forces in Armenia, imposed Islamic law, and imprisoned dissenters. Armenian princely families, including the Bagratids and Mamikonians, launched a series of rebellions, and also migrated west to Byzantine territories. Conditions in Armenia did not improve with the passing of hegemony, in 750, to the Baghdad-​based Abbasid caliphate. From the eighth and early ninth century, there is relatively little surviving evidence for large-​scale artistic patronage.2

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The ninth century saw the rise to power of the Bagratid and Artsruni families. In 806, the caliph Harun al-​Rashid elevated Ashot (Msaker, “The Meat-​Eater”) Bagratuni to the position of Presiding Prince of Armenia; Ashot’s son Bagrat subsequently assumed the same position. With the resumption of large-​scale warfare between Byzantines and Arabs in the middle of the ninth century, Armenia’s strategic position as a buffer region precipitated the establishment of the Bagratid kingdom. Ashot (“The Great”) Bagratuni was recognized as King of Armenia by both Baghdad (in 884/​5) and Constantinople (in 886/​ 7). In 908, Gagik Artsruni, grandson of Ashot (“The Great”) Bagratuni, established the independent principality of Vaspurakan in southern Armenia; by his death in 943, he was also a claimant of the title “King of Armenia.” Further rivalries within the Bagratid family prompted the creation of smaller kingdoms of Tarōn, Siwnik‘, Kars, and Tashir-​ Dzoraget. In 888, another branch of the Bagratid family consolidated a kingdom in neighboring Georgia, in the Armeno-​Georgian frontier regions of Tayk‘ (Georgian:  Tao-​Klarjeti), where the impressive churches of Oshki, Ishkhan, Dortkilise, Haho, and many others rose.3 Finally, Arab states, or emirates, also survived during this period within the Bagratid realm, such as Dvin (Arab. Dabil) and Khlat (Arab. Khilat), or as independent entities, such as Bitlis. This period of political ambitions, ascendancies, and rivalries also saw a surge in the production of architecture, manuscripts, and sculpture.

Ani From the ninth to eleventh centuries, the city of Ani formed part of Bagratid domains; in 961 it became the capital of the kingdom (See Map 2). Situated on the modern closed border between the Turkish and Armenian Republics, in the Akhurean (Turk. Arpaçay) River valley, Ani is a place of astonishing natural and architectural beauty (Figure 3.1).4 While access to the site was officially prohibited during much of the twentieth century, Ani has long been known as a rare example of an intact uninhabited medieval city. Ani was settled before it became a royal capital.5 Archaeology suggests occupation as early as the Bronze Age, and in the fourth to seventh centuries of this era, it formed part of the princely domains of the Kamsarakan dynasty. After its purchase from the Kamsarakans by Ashot Msaker in the ninth century, Ani expanded, reaching its maximum size by the eleventh century, when the population numbered between one and two hundred thousand. Thereafter, until the end of the thirteenth century, Ani formed an important trade station, controlling routes across Byzantium, Persia, Syria, and Central Asia. Evidence points to the accumulation of enormous wealth in the city. The walls of Ani enclose a roughly triangular space, strengthened by a system of round bastions and gates. Natural defenses protect the site: on the

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FIGURE 3.1  

The Art of Armenia

Ani, view south from citadel.

Photo: author.

city’s eastern side is the Akhurean River gorge, while on the west is a dry valley where one finds the cave complexes of Ani’s “underground city.” Excavated from the softer (tuff stone) substratum that underlies the hard (basalt) upper layer of the cliffs, the caves were inhabited, and probably at peak density, in the latter tenth century as the population of the city swelled. The complexes included residences, storehouses, chapels, tombs, and dovecotes, and in some cases comprised several stories linked by internal staircases illuminated by lamps. At the southernmost point of Ani is the citadel, the oldest and highest part of the city. Excavations of the early twentieth century identified a large palace, including decorated ceremonial halls, a bathhouse, and a single-​aisled structure known as the “Palace Chapel,” which perhaps dates as early as the seventh century.6 Views from this church are staggering. To the south is the “Castle of the Maidens,” a tenth-​or thirteenth-​century domed basilica accessible only by a narrow promontory and perched high on a rocky outcrop above a bend in the Akhurean River (see Figure 3.1).7 Better understood are the buildings of the lower, northern zone of Ani. The surviving city walls belong to two periods, with significant subsequent renovations. In 952, King Ashot III ordered work on walls located close to the citadel’s base. Their remains suggest a wall approximately 120 m in length and strengthened by six or seven bastions. In 989, King Smbat virtually doubled the enclosed area of the city. The “Smbatian” walls stand at the vulnerable northern limits of the city, consisting of a double line of fortifications preceded by a trench.8 Early drawings show that these structures not only were defensive

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in function, but also presented pictorial zones: their exteriors featured crosses, swastikas, and animal forms, executed in relief sculpture and in patterns of different masonry colors (Figure 3.2).9 The main entrance to the city was the “Lion’s Gate,” a monumental entrance flanked by towers, and employing the bent entrance technique common to Armenian and Georgian fortification architecture of the Middle Ages: upon passing the first gate, entrants had to turn left to enter the second, exposing their unshielded right sides to arrow shots from archers stationed on the inner battlements.10 Decorating this inner wall is a bas-​relief that inspired the gate’s name, featuring a running feline, framed by a profiled molding, topped by a (now lost) cross. The Cathedral of Ani stands near the center of the city (Figure 3.3). According to its foundation inscription and historical texts, it was founded by Smbat II (r. 977–​989) in 989 and finished in 1001 by Katranidē, his sister-​in-​law. Medieval chronicles attribute its construction to the architect Trdat.11 It is the largest church of the city, and broad for its length (some 22 by 35 m) (Figure 3.4). The now-​collapsed dome rested on four profiled piers, which divide the space into two side aisles and a central nave. The latter terminates in an apse elevated on a high platform accessed by lateral stairs, decorated with ten shallow niches carved into the wall curvature, and flanked by side chambers. Stairways embedded in the apsidal and west walls allow access to upper-​story chambers. The basic form of Ani Cathedral derives from seventh-​century plans such as the church of Mren, also in the Akhurean River valley (see Figure 2.7). Both are cross-​domed basilicas, with strongly geometric massing and smooth masonry

FIGURE 3.2  

Augustin-​François Lemaître (1797–​1870), Ramparts of Ani.

Charles Texier, Description de l’Arménie, la Perse et la Mésopotamie, 2 vols. Paris: Typographie de Firmin Didot frères, 1842–​1852.

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FIGURE 3.3  

The Art of Armenia

Ani Cathedral, 989–​1001, from southeast.

Photo: author.

surfaces. The architect Trdat nevertheless introduced important changes at Ani Cathedral. Covering the exterior walls are blind arcades, whose slender colonnettes spring into semicircular arches at the height of the springing of the interior barrel vault. These arcades envelope and unify the building’s façades, providing an architectonic framework for the building. Window moldings with geometric, vegetal, and classicizing designs further enliven the exterior, as do a sculpted eagle (on the south) and the monument’s many inscriptions, including the foundation text. At the east end, a pair of triangular niches punctuates the wall surface and announces the position of the apse within. The interior of the Cathedral also exhibits new features (Figure 3.5). While Mren features aisles of fairly equal width, Trdat allocated more space to the nave, so that the side aisles seem particularly tall and narrow. The dome piers of Ani are also more profiled than those of Mren, resembling bundles of slender shafts. The domical arches, moreover, are slightly pointed, further highlighting the structure’s verticality. Finally, while Mren featured semicircular squinches, which hooded the corners of the domed bay, Ani Cathedral uses pendentives, achieving a more open and fluid spatial effect. What explains this new aesthetic? An eleventh-​century source, the Universal History of Step‘anos Tarōnets‘i, records that the architect Trdat worked not only on Armenian monuments, but also on the Hagia Sophia, the sixth-​century foundation of Justinian in Constantinople.12 In 989, the dome of the Hagia Sophia collapsed in an earthquake, and, the Universal History reports, “Trdat of the Armenians” was invited to repair it. Archaeologists believe that Trdat reconstructed the western part of the dome, blocked windows in the drum, and repaired the western arch.13

The Age of the Kingdoms

FIGURE 3.4  

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Ani Cathedral, plan.

After T‘oros T‘oramanyan, c. 1913.

If the Universal History is accurate, it offers precious insight into the careers and reputations of Armenian builders abroad. It also invites further questions about how the Hagia Sophia may have shaped Trdat’s subsequent methods, practices, and aesthetics. Could the larger space of Ani’s central domed bay reflect Trdat’s experience at the Hagia Sophia, which boasted the largest dome span of any monument then built? Could Trdat’s work high in the scaffolding of the Hagia Sophia have informed his choice to use pendentives (as in the Constantinopolitan monument), rather than squinches? We cannot answer these questions with certainty, nor do we have a precise enough chronology of the Cathedral’s construction to make a firm argument. Nevertheless, it seems difficult to imagine that Hagia Sophia’s astounding display of design and technology did not influence so ambitious an architect. At the same time,

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FIGURE 3.5  

The Art of Armenia

Ani Cathedral, interior.

Photo: author.

Ani Cathedral presents an innovative, extravagant new architectural aesthetic prizing linearity, attenuation, and extraordinary visual coherence. The church of Saint Gregory, or “Gagkashēn,” was constructed circa 1000–​ 1005, and stood in northwest Ani. Its Armenian name translates as “built by Gagik,” referring to its patron, King Gagik I  Bagratuni (r. 989–​1017/​1020). Also attributed to the architect Trdat, Gagkashēn collapsed sometime before the thirteenth century.14 Excavations of the early twentieth century revealed a rotunda of about 33 m with a projecting eastern chamber (Figure 3.6). The perimeter wall encloses a tetraconch of four columnar exedrae that, together with four piers and single diagonal columns, supported a domed superstructure. The tuff-​stone revetment was cut into very large rectangles, attesting to

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the “boulder-​like” masonry mentioned in Step‘anos Tarōnets‘i’s description of the church in his History.15 That Gagkashēn was a copy of the seventh-​century church of Zvart‘nots‘ (see Figure 2.10) is attested in the Universal History, which relates that Gagik wished to build his church as “a replica in both size and decoration,” as Zvart‘nots‘, adding that the latter “had fallen down and was ruined” at the time.16 Gagkashēn closely follows its prototype in plan, measurements, and decorative details, including its Ionic capitals and sundial. Yet the two churches are not identical: Trdat modified his prototype by narrowing and diminishing the eastern chamber, inserting a fourth columnar exedra at the east, and using revetment stones over twice the size of those of Zvart‘nots‘. The ambulatory of

FIGURE 3.6  

Ani, Gagkashēn, c. 1001–​1005, plan.

After T‘oros T‘oramanyan, c. 1913.

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Gagkashēn, measured from the outermost points of the exedrae, is half of the width of that of Zvart‘nots‘, effectively increasing the relative size of the domed area. This larger domed space, like the inclusion of a fourth columnar exedra, was perhaps inspired by Trdat’s repair of the dome of the astonishingly spacious Hagia Sophia. The careful observation of a building and assessment of its structural failure (which Trdat would have undertaken in Constantinople) would be crucial to attempting to build a successful “Zvart‘nots‘.” Indeed, it may be that certain features introduced at Gagkashēn, such as the larger revetment slabs, were designed in response to a study of the ruins of the seventh-​century church. Quite particular to Gagkashēn, too, was its donor portrait: an over-​life-​sized polychrome statue of King Gagik (Figure 3.7). Measuring 2.26 m high, and almost in-​the-​round, it was once affixed to the church exterior. While now lost, it is recorded in archival photographs and drawings, showing Gagik wearing a large turban and a red, long-​sleeved cloak, with a pendant cross on his chest. His extended arms once held a model of the church, although this object has also disappeared.17 Its loss is particularly vexing, as its appearance bears upon how scholars envision the superstructure of both Gagkashēn and its prototype

FIGURE 3.7  

The catholicos Matt‘ēos II Izmirlian at the Ani Museum with statue of King Gagik I, 1909. From The Ruins of Ani, Grigoris Balakian (Constantinople: H. Matt‘ēosean, 1910).

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Zvart‘nots‘. What is clear, however, is that this audaciously large donor portrait communicates Gagik’s pride in his monument, which must have required extraordinary technological mastery. Employing the celebrated architect Trdat, and rebuilding the marvelous, if ruined, church of Zvart‘nots‘ in his own royal city of Ani, Gagik demonstrated his control over the intellectual and technological resources of his kingdom. According to its foundation inscriptions, the church of Surb P‘rkich‘ (Holy Savior) was commissioned in 1053 by the Armenian general Ablgharib Pahlavuni to house a relic of the True Cross he had purchased in Constantinople (Figure 3.8).18 The structure, renovated in the thirteenth century, is at present in perilous, if remarkable, condition: one half collapsed in the mid-​twentieth

FIGURE 3.8   Photo: author.

Church of the Savior, Ani, c. 1053, view from south.

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century. Originally appearing as a tall cylindrical structure, it was crowned with a drum and dome resting on a perimeter wall with eight interior niches. The larger eastern niche served as the apse, and was flanked by tiny side chapels. Like Ani Cathedral and Gagkashēn, Surb P‘rkich‘ is clearly derived from seventh-​century Armenian monuments. In its interior form, it recalls Armenian octoconchs of the seventh century, such as the church of Irind.19 At Irind, too, the eastern conch is larger, and flanked with small side chambers. Yet the two structures differ in significant ways. The niches of Surb P‘rkich‘ are narrower and more consistent in shape and size. Slender blind arcading sheathes the exterior, as at Ani Cathedral and Gagkashēn. New, also, are the church’s classicizing details: heavily profiled and denticulated moldings crown the single, southern portal.20 Close inspection of the structure reveals additional innovations. Armenian churches typically rise from stepped platforms, or stylobates, creating a base for the construction. At Surb P‘rkich‘, the base is actually several centimeters narrower than the main elevation. Further, while the church appears to the naked eye as a rotunda, it is actually a polygon of nineteen sides. What could explain this unprecedented plan? Perhaps it was informed by the special calendrical significance of the number nineteen.21 What is certain however, is the structural challenges these choices present: designing a centralized structure with the prime number of nineteen, and diminishing the diameter of the structure’s base, seem to point to an architectural culture prizing audacity and virtuosity. Indeed, we might view Surb P‘rkich‘ as a deliberate attempt to rival the technological achievements, located just a few meters away, of the architect Trdat. Not only Ani, but the entire Kars region is dotted with medieval Armenian monuments. One of the most remarkable is the monastic complex of Khtskonk‘, situated on a dramatic promontory overlooking the Digor River valley.22 Founded in 1029, Surb Sargis (Saint Sergius) is the only surviving church of the monastery, taking the form of a small rotunda, elevated on a stylobate, and topped with an “umbrella-​style” cupola (Figure 3.9). Echoes of Ani appear in the classicizing Ionic capitals of the interior and in the slender arcades of the exterior, which frame a wealth of inscriptions. In its composition, then, Surb Sargis bears precious evidence for the formation and expansion of the architectural tradition of Ani. Quite distinctive, however, is the relation of the church to its landscape. Perched over a precipitous drop to the river, Surb Sargis affords extraordinary views for visitors both inside and out. The unusual treatment of the stonemasonry further roots the building in its landscape: the church seems to emerge from a series of layers, beginning with natural bedrock, followed by carved bedrock, upon which are laid the roughly processed stones of the foundation, and finally the polished stones of the elevation. This effect creates a continuum between the natural landscape and the architecture above it, recalling

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FIGURE 3.9  

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Surb Sargis Church, founded 1029, Monastery of Khtskonk‘, from northeast.

Photo: author.

one scholar’s comparison of Armenian architecture to “crystals pushing up out of the earth.”23 Despite such exquisite workmanship, however, the church of Surb Sargis is in perilous condition: large holes and cracks in the façades, perhaps the result of dynamite placed within the church, now compromise its structural integrity, a problem further exacerbated by the region’s active seismic character.24 The monastery of Hoṙomos, located 10 km north of Ani, concludes our discussion of the architecture of the Bagratid Kingdom. Given its size, royal associations, and strong presence in medieval chronicles, Hoṙomos was likely the most important monastery in the vicinity of Ani.25 Founded in the tenth century as the royal mausoleum of the Bagratids, it is a treasury of architecture, featuring ecclesiastical, memorial, and monastic spaces; several unique decorative and architectural elements; and a range of buildings dating from the tenth to the thirteenth centuries. Like the monastery of Khtskonk‘, Hoṙomos lies in a natural setting both isolated and gorgeous: the upper monastery rises from a ridge of the Akhurean River valley, while the lower monastery sits on a small island in the river. Even the entrance to the monastery is striking: visitors approaching Hoṙomos pass through a monumental gateway evoking a Roman triumphal arch.26 The large antechamber of the main church of Upper Hoṙomos dates to c. 1038. Constructed under the patronage of King Yovhannēs-​Smbat (r. 1020–​ 1040), it is the earliest preserved example of a zhamatun (lit. Arm: “house of hours,” also known as a gavit‘). These large vaulted spaces, often built against

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the western façade of the church, probably served a variety of functions, and certainly could have accommodated large gatherings.27 The Hoṙomos zhamatun features a plan of nine bays, created by four freestanding columns and ten additional columns attached to the perimeter wall (Figure 3.10). These thick supports are topped with cushion capitals and square abaci from which rise stone arches. Surmounting the outer bays of Hoṙomos are flat, stone-​paneled ceilings, each one divided into four quadrants and decorated with intricate geometrical and vegetal relief. Looking up at these stone panels, one is struck by the paradox between the delicate carving and their massive compressional force on the columns below. The central bay of the structure is surmounted by an octagonal vault, open at the top and crowned by an exterior canopy. The massive interior of the Hoṙomos zhamatun seems unrelated to the aesthetic values of nearby Ani, which prized soaring domed spaces. From where did its design originate? Scholars have offered a number of answers.28 Some derive its columned hall form from wooden beamed constructions common to residential architecture; others note parallels in palace architecture of the seventh century. The grid plan and cylindrical columns of the Hoṙomos zhamatun recall to Armen Kazaryan the layout of Greek and Roman temple architecture, while its central supports, open skylight, and pointed canopied roof evoke for him the Anastasis Rotunda in Jerusalem.29 The historical moment of the construction of the zhamatun in 1038 is suggestive:  the Rotunda was rebuilt just one year prior, in 1037, after its destruction by the Fatimid caliph al-​Hakim. One might further compare the zhamatun of Hoṙomos to Umayyad

FIGURE 3.10   Photo: author.

Monastery of Hoṙomos, zhamatun, c. 1038, interior.

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and Abbasid hypostyle mosques known from around the Mediterranean, in which large “forests” of columns precede the area of the mihrab niche. Much more investigation and fieldwork is necessary to arrive at conclusive answers. Yet the difficulty in identifying a precise source for Hoṙomos testifies to its original combination of archaizing elements and audacious engineering, dramatic effects of light and dark, and contrasts between massive architecture and delicate carved sculpture. In these features, the Hoṙomos zhamatun demonstrates an architectural virtuosity in keeping with the Bagratid-​era monuments of the Ani region.

Aght‘amar The church of Aght‘amar is among the best known of medieval Armenia, both for its picturesque setting on an island in Lake Van, and for its unique exterior, covered with over two hundred figural bas-​reliefs (Figure 3.11).30 Serving as the palatine chapel of King Gagik Artsruni, the church of Aght‘amar once formed part of a larger structural complex. The contemporary chronicler T‘ovma (Thomas) Artsruni names the architect as Manuēl, and the years of construction between 915 and 921.31 The structure housed a relic of the Holy Cross, to which the church is dedicated. Like the churches of Ani, Aght‘amar draws from architectural traditions developed in seventh-​century Armenia. The rose-​colored, tuff-​stone exterior is

FIGURE 3.11   Photo: author.

Aght‘amar, 915–​921, view from southwest.

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strongly geometrical: four projecting arms intersect at the central square bay, from which rise the faceted drum and conical roof. Aght‘amar also recalls the church of Hṙip‘simē (see Figure 2.5). In both cases, a large dome is surrounded by four axial conches and smaller diagonal niches. At Aght‘amar, however, the southern niche contains a gallery level from where King Gagik Artsruni would have observed the liturgy. Manuēl has also eliminated western corner chambers and narrowed those of the eastern end. Consequently, the exterior mass of Aght‘amar is not quadrangular, like Hṙip‘simē, but complex in profile, with pronounced diagonal as well as lateral axes. This design affects one’s experience of the sculptural program, enabling the viewing of multiple planes of imagery from a single point.32 The exterior reliefs form a cohesive visual program. The lowest zone is a stylized grapevine, forming the groundline for biblical scenes as well as busts of kings, prophets, and saints, many named by inscription. This narrative zone is crowned with a row of strongly projecting protomes, including birds, oxen, humans, and felines. Above is a grapevine rinceau, or vinescroll, inhabited by figures engaged in hunting, viticulture, and banqueting, and bears, birds, elephants, felines, and rams. Yet another sculpted band appears just below the roof, and features running animals, human-​animal confrontations, and mask-​like human faces. At the summit of each gable, finally, is the portrait of an evangelist. The main narrative register deserves special attention. The east façade features standing figures, including John the Baptist, Gregory the Illuminator, the prophet Elijah, and most likely Thaddeus, James of Nisibis, and the apostle Bartholomew.33 On the north façade appear Samson killing the Philistine; Adam and Eve; the Three Children in the Fiery Furnace; and Daniel in the Lion’s Den. The south façade bears a continuous narrative of Jonah and the Whale (Figure 3.12). At the southwest corner, Jonah is tossed overboard from a large ship, while below, a monstrous whale awaits with open jaws. To the right, Jonah appears resting after being vomited from the whale. In this second scene, the whale has wings and paws, resembling the hybrid creature known as the senmurv frequently found in Sasanian and Islamic art. On the projecting diagonal corner of the structure, the narrative is interrupted by a series of single figures, including the enthroned Christ and the Virgin. This holy pair appears at right angles, creating a kind of sacred corner. In the same position, but on the eastern side of the south façade, are portraits of Sahak and Hamazasp Artsruni, Gagik’s ancestors, who were martyred in the ninth century by the Abbasids.34 To their east, the narrative mode resumes with David slinging a missile at the Philistine giant Goliath, the latter garbed in chain mail. On the west façade, finally, is Gagik himself, presenting a model of Aght‘amar to Christ (Figure 3.13). Gagik appears, remarkably, several inches taller than Christ, and wears a large crown and elaborately patterned silk garment fastened with a Chi-​Rho pendant. His model, carved almost in the round, closely resembles the church itself.

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FIGURE 3.12  

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Jonah, Aght‘amar, south façade.

Photo: author.

The Aght‘amar program coheres visually and thematically, bringing together subjects from the Old and New Testaments, saintly figures, royal portraits, scenes of royal aristocratic pastimes, and saintly ancestors to demonstrate the piety and power of the donor.35 The incorporation of Saint Thaddeus, to whom is attributed the conversion of the Artsruni clan, and the inclusion of Sahak and Hamazasp, powerfully convey the ancestral orthodoxy of the family. Themes of penitence and salvation also link the walls, with the images of King Hezekiah, Jonah, Daniel, Moses, the Three Children, and Adamic scenes. The visual insistence on piety and penitence may have held particular importance, given the violence that accompanied Gagik’s ascent to the throne and the alleged apostasy of Artsruni captives imprisoned at Samarra.36 At the same time, the imagery also emphasizes themes of temporal and biblical kingship. Lynn Jones has shown how Adam’s presence conveys divine authority and penitence, inviting the viewer to draw a parallel between Adam as “king of Paradise” and the king of Vaspurakan.37 Gagik’s identity is made plain in his full-​length portrait; not only does it show him in royal regalia, but it also highlights arguably his most important royal deed: the foundation of a church. The church of Aght‘amar preserves copious interior wall painting, much of which dates to the era of the church’s construction. The program is quite damaged; nevertheless, one can still identify many scenes and individual figures.38 The lower zones of wall bear images from the life of Christ, while the drum features images from Genesis. Decorative effects of ribbon-​like bands, as well as a palette dominated by bright blue, further enliven the interior. Scholars

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FIGURE 3.13  

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King Gagik, Aght‘amar, west façade from northwest.

Photo: author.

have closely studied Aght‘amar’s wall paintings; most recently to date, Lynn Jones has drawn relations between the iconography of the paintings and their position in relation to the royal gallery of the southern apse (Figure 3.14).39 The Christological scenes of the gallery include the Visitation, Annunciation, and Arrival of the Magi, highlighting the establishment of God’s power in Christ. For the viewer looking upward and to the south, Gagik would thus form part of a visual statement of divine election. Images of Adam, which appear in the drum, would have further recalled parallels between “the king of Paradise” and the “king of Vaspurakan,” tying the interior frescoes to the exterior sculptural program. Such diverse and prominent imagery of kingship served not only as appropriate decoration for a royal palatine chapel, but also as useful visual rhetoric in light of the rival Bagratid kingdom in the north.

FIGURE 3.14   Photo: author.

Aght‘amar, interior showing royal gallery.

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The Khach‘k‘ar Khach‘k‘ars are stone slabs, sometimes rising several meters high, and carved with a cross.40 Tens of thousands survive from the medieval period, occurring throughout the regions of historical Armenia. Produced continuously since their emergence in the ninth century, khach‘k‘ars vary in shape, style, and iconography. Many bear inscriptions, offering precious historical and prosopographical evidence. Early khach‘k‘ars were often erected for the spiritual salvation of a person, whether living or dead. In rarer circumstances they commemorated military victories, special places, or the construction or repair of a church, or protected against evil. One early example was erected at Gaṙni, its inscription stating that in 879, Katranidē I  (825–​890), wife of Ashot I  “the Great” Bagratuni, “set up this cross for [her own] intercession.”41 Katranidē calls her khach‘k‘ar simply a “cross” (khach‘), and indeed the earliest examples feature a large Latin cross, as exemplified by a basalt khach‘k‘ar from Noratus, on the west bank of Lake Sevan (Figure 3.15).42 Dated to 991, it reaches human height (160 cm), broadening slightly at its (now restored) top. Its inscription relates that the patron, Kharib, “erected this Holy Christ-​Bearer,” beseeching those who read to remember him. A  semicircular frame, ornamented by a motif of interlocking rings, surrounds the cross, projecting in relief and decorated with rosettes. Tendril-​ like forms, terminating in further rosettes, sprout upward and downward from the cross, which surmounts a large single rosette. This elegant form, with its combination of straight, curving, and circular motifs; complex versus planar surfaces; and projections and shadows, guides the viewer’s eyes repeatedly back to the “Holy Christ-​Bearer”: the cross itself, a focus for prayers in memory of Kharib. The eleventh century witnessed an expansion in the production and compositional forms of khach‘k‘ars. During this era, they were frequently attached to church walls or mounted on stone podia. One example from the monastery of Ts‘akhats‘k‘ar (Vayots‘ Dzor, RA) forms part of a small funerary chapel of 1041 (Figure 3.16).43 Certain features tie this work to earlier khach‘k‘ars, including the large Latin cross, tendril forms, circular motif, and surrounding frame. The eleventh-​century sculptor has, however, abandoned the tapered proportions of the earlier stone in favor of a rectangular form. The slab is also now covered in intricate designs, including in the recessed planes around the cross arms. The Ts‘akhats‘k‘ar khach‘k‘ar also employs a new carving style, deploying a range of fabric-​like motifs, including narrow torsades (twisted channels) and various kinds of strapwork. Virtually every surface of the khach‘k‘ar evokes weaving, including the twenty-​five panels surrounding the central zone. The cross itself is carved to resemble torsades; each of its arms terminates in elaborate loops. Similar loops and foliate motifs appear to sprout from the head and foot of

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FIGURE 3.15  Noratus

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khach‘k‘ar, 991.

Yerevan: History Museum of Armenia, inv. n. 1317.

the cross. In the upper corners of the main zone are small semicircles with palmettes and beaded patterns. Finally, the recessed planes flanking the cross arms are sculpted as if to represent an underlying crocheted disk, open in its center. A miniature cross hangs from each of the arcs beneath the arms of the main cross. Overall, the Ts‘akhats‘k‘ar khach‘k‘ar exhibits astonishing surface density and visual refinement. What are the origins of khach‘k‘ars? While they seem morphologically related to early medieval stelae, their iconography distinguishes them as a clear and coherent departure from previous tradition. As the instrument of Christ’s Passion, the cross is a natural focus for Christian devotion. Cults of the Cross existed in early medieval Armenia, as in Byzantium, with accompanying liturgical celebrations.44 The religious freedom ensured by the new political climate of the Age of the Kingdoms may also have encouraged the new art form. Noting that the early khach‘k‘ars suppress the image of the suffering body of Christ, scholars have suggested that the form may respond to contemporary theological developments emphasizing the divinity of Christ over his human nature.45 Medieval Armenian texts often refer to the cross as the “life-​giving Sign,” thus

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FIGURE 3.16  Ts‘aghats‘k‘ar

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khach‘k‘ar, 11th century.

Photo: Patrick Donabédian.

emphasizing victory over death. Perhaps this theological interpretation helps to explain the multilayered abstraction of the Ts‘akhats‘k‘ar khach‘k‘ar. With details too intricate for immediate comprehension, with seemingly endless variation of design, and (yet) with an inherent structural order, the khach‘k‘ar can be viewed as a visual meditation on the nature of God.46

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Work in Metal and Wood The earliest Armenian sources mention the use of wood in building and crafts. The perishability of this material, however, has meant that little survives from the premodern era. It is only from the Age of the Kingdoms that we have even a small corpus of material to study, including a figural cross and some architectural elements.47 Belonging to the latter group is a late-​ninth-​century wooden capital surviving from the region of Lake Sevan and once supporting a square pier in the (now destroyed) antechamber of the church of Surb Astuatsatsin (Holy Mother of God) at the monastery of Sevan (Figure 3.17).48 From its narrow base, the capital extends in two semicircular curves on each side, rising into a reverse curve just under a flat abacus. Within a banded frame of chevrons and foliate forms, the surface design forms a symmetrical composition focused on a central pine cone framed by wing-​like motifs. Perched on six-​pointed stars, and feeding from curving pearlized bands, are two large birds shown in profile, from whose tail feathers extend two more bird heads. The entire plane bears deeply and intricately carved vegetal decoration, and the consequent effect balances strong compositional symmetry and delicate surface pattern. Classical orders are faintly echoed: the placement of the six-​pointed stars recalls Ionic volutes, just as the vegetal forms, and particularly the winged motifs might recall acanthus leaves. But these are distant prototypes, and scholars have found closer parallels for the general style and individual motifs in Byzantine stone capitals and ivories of the sixth century, in Sasanian metalwork, and in wooden panels from Abbasid-​era Egypt.49 In addition to carved wood, metalwork also survives from the Age of the Kingdoms, as attested by the reliquary of Surb Step‘anos (Saint Stephen).50 The cult of relics is known from Early Christian Armenia, and the earliest chronicles mention reliquaries.51 As vessels for the holy, reliquaries themselves were held in veneration, and their visual appearance, whether integrating precious

FIGURE 3.17  

Sevan, wooden capital, 874.

Yerevan: History Museum of Armenia, inv. n. 227.

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materials, explanatory inscriptions, and/​or pictorial imagery, often made reference to the contents within. The reliquary of Surb Step‘anos dates to the tenth or eleventh century, with thirteenth-​century restorations (Figure 3.18). It is thought to come from Khoy (mod. Iran), which once formed part of royal Artsruni domains. Made of gilded silver on a wooden support, it takes the form of a 30 cm high rectangle with a hinged door in the center. Figures created from repoussé and incising cover the surface. Stephen, identified by inscription, appears on the door. He holds a chalice and censer, and wears a stole, or orarion, incised with crosses, indicating his role as deacon. His lower body was cut away in order to accommodate a large modern crystal cabochon, through which one sees the bone relic within. To the right of Stephen is Paul, identified by inscription, and to the left, holding scroll and keys, is Saint Peter. The upper register features Christ enthroned, holding the Gospels and making the sign of benediction, flanked by a pair of archangels holding scepters. The lower register is quite damaged, but at lower left, a single small figure lifts up one stone to throw at Stephen while readying another one. The reliquary thus appears as a framed icon, in which the central figure, along with his mortal remains, forms the focus for veneration, while additional peripheral figures convey his sacred status and the story of his martyrdom. Precious metal objects such as the reliquary of Surb Step‘anos are rare in medieval Armenia, but works in bronze are more plentiful, thanks in part to the excavations undertaken at Ani in the early twentieth century. Indeed, enough remains for scholars to be confident of bronze workshops in the city. One of several cast bronze censers unearthed at Ani offers a sense of the tradition (Figure 3.19).52 It dates to the tenth or eleventh century, and takes the form of a large bowl suspended from chains (much like that held by Saint Stephen on the reliquary just discussed). The bowl, which rises from a narrow footing, is decorated at its rim with a scroll of foliate motifs. The main surface shows the Annunciation, the Adoration of the Magi, the Baptism, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection, and the Holy Women at the Tomb. The style is cursory, with figures described through large, strongly projecting shapes rather than fine details. Such details, in any event, might well have been lost on the medieval spectator: in contrast to its current immobility in a museum vitrine, the censer would have been swung back and forth by the celebrant, emitting a trail of smoke, so that perhaps only the rudiments of the scenes would have been perceived. Yet the object was not only seen but also heard: a small cast bronze bell is attached to the chain of the censer. Smelling of fragrance, jingling rhythmically with each swing, and covered in scenes of the life of Christ, the censer would have been capable of generating a powerful multisensory experience for the churchgoer in medieval Ani.

FIGURE 3.18  

Reliquary of Surb Step‘anos.

Museum of the Mother See of Holy Etchmiadzin, inv. N. 146. Photo: Poghos Poghosyan.

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FIGURE 3.19  

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Bronze censer from Ani, 10th–​11th century.

Yerevan: History Museum of Armenia, inv. n. 123-​1321

Manuscript Painting From the Age of the Kingdoms onward survive great numbers of written and illuminated Armenian manuscripts, many of them copiously illustrated; the study of Armenian miniatures thus occupies a central position in the field of Armenian art.53 Books of sacred scripture are by far the most prevalent genre; of these, the earliest known and most abundant type is the Gospel Book. Ninth-​century Armenian examples already demonstrate the development of a particular system of Gospel illustration. Those dated before the twelfth century typically begin with an indexical tool known as canon tables. Ascribed to Eusebius, bishop of Caesarea (c. 260–​c. 340 CE), these tables allowed the reader to collate passages across the four Gospel texts. The following section features full-​page images of Christ’s life, followed by the four Gospel texts themselves, each one beginning with a portrait of the Gospel writer, and the first words of each text, adorned with decorated letters and headpieces. Manuscripts often include a colophon: a memorial text indicating the donor of the work, the artists and scribes involved, and a record of where and when the work was produced. Finally, Armenian manuscripts sometimes include portraits of the donor, for whose salvation the project was undertaken. Gospel illustration of the Age of the Kingdoms demonstrates the development of a distinctive iconography, reflecting the specific geopolitical,

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theological, and intellectual context of contemporary Armenia. Moreover, already by the tenth century we witness a range of patronage types, including both sumptuous royal commissions and more modest works by or for clerical communities. This era also witnessed a remarkable diversity of painting styles, suggesting familiarity with, and appropriation of, late antique, Byzantine, and Abbasid painting, as well as the cultivation of an abstract mode favoring geometric patterns and unmodulated colors. One of the earliest complete illuminated manuscripts is known as the “Gospels of Queen Mlkē,” and dated by most scholars to 862, but by some to the tenth century.54 The colophon information tells us that Queen Mlkē (the consort of King Gagik Artsruni of Vaspurakan, the patron of Aght‘amar) donated the book to the Church of the Virgin in the Monastery of Varag (in Vaspurakan). The first, and partially erased, text records the adornment of the manuscript with gold and pearls by Gagik and his wife. Regardless of the circumstances of its original manufacture, therefore, this codex soon became an Artsruni pious gift, and constitutes the only surviving example of their manuscript patronage. Comprising 464 white parchment folios, the codex features a rounded uncial script (Arm. erkat‘agir, lit. iron letters) and elegant painting, as the Canon Tables exemplify (Figure 3.20). The initial pages of the Canons display the explanatory letter of Eusebius within an arched frame. Careful details abound:  columns rest on profiled bases and are crowned by composite capitals, while foliate patterns decorate the arch. Within the frame are two nude men, each in a low gaiassa-​like vessel with a high, curving stem, floating among fish, birds, and two crocodiles. Quick, assured brushstrokes describe a lively scene: one of the young men lunges forward, as if to spear a fish, while just to his right, a crocodile turns to notice him. The youths balance carefully, legs apart, their athletic bodies modeled with highlights and shadows. This Nilotic scene and others like it in the manuscript find distant ancestors in Roman wall paintings and mosaics.55 Such nautical imagery, moreover, might have held special appeal for the Artsruni, whose vast domain centered on Lake Van. Such speculation aside, this imagery constitutes a deliberate integration of ancient Mediterranean artistic traditions into an Armenian context.56 The only full-​page narrative image from the Queen Mlkē Gospels is the Ascension (Figure 3.21).57 It features Christ enthroned in a mandorla carried by two angels and flanked by archangels. Below is the Virgin, flanked by symmetrical groups of apostles, the nearest pair gesturing to her with veiled hands. This basic composition also derives from older models: an Ascension scene in the sixth-​century Syriac Rabbula Gospels offers a particularly convincing precedent.58 Nevertheless, the artist of the Armenian Gospels has introduced several new elements. Unlike in the Rabbula Gospels, Christ, the two archangels, and the Virgin are all clothed in dark purple, as if to emphasize their royal status. The archangels hold scepters and wear a version of Byzantine court

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FIGURE 3.20  

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Eusebian Letter, Queen Mlkē Gospels, 862.

Venice: San Lazzaro, MS 1144, fol. 2.

costume, including red shoes and crowns. Different, too, is the Virgin, whose upraised hands, held in an orant position, communicate her role as intermediary to Christ. She towers over the apostles, who turn to her, not to the holy figures above. One observes, finally, the deliberate chromatic alternation of the apostles’ faces. This too appears to be a local interpretation. With their supplicatory gestures, they might recall to the reader depictions of the Magi, who came from far-​flung lands to offer gifts to the Virgin. When considered together with the Nilotic scenes of the canon tables, the Mlkē Gospels suggest an abiding interest in remote people and places. Such an interest is also present in the political rhetoric surrounding Gagik Artsruni. A contemporary royal chronicler tells us that in constructing Aght‘amar, he sought out a team of craftsmen and artisans “chosen from all nations of the earth.”59 One of the earliest illustrated cycles of this period is found in a manuscript discussed in Chapter Two: the Etchmiadzin Gospels.60 The main text block of this manuscript was produced in 989 at the monastery of Noravank‘, in Bghen, in the eastern province of Siwnik‘. Its patron was a Lord Step‘anos, who, the colophon attests, was also a priest. Like the Gospels of Queen Mlkē, this

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FIGURE 3.21  

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Ascension, Queen Mlkē Gospels.

Venice: San Lazzaro, MS 1144, fol. 4.

manuscript begins with ten canon tables, architectonic in form and enlivened with flowering plants and birds. The following full-​page miniatures offer an expanded sense of Armenian Gospel illustration. The scenes include Christ between Peter and Paul, standing saints, and an image of the Virgin and Child (Figure 3.22). The last image is remarkable for the tall, attenuated figure of the Virgin, who, although seated on a cushioned throne, approaches in height the image’s top frame. On her lap is the Christ Child, wearing pale drapery and holding a small gold cross. The Virgin’s pose is noteworthy: she does not hold the child but raises her hands in orant position, upward with palms open. In Byzantine art, the Virgin is sometimes shown with her hands extended away from the Christ Child on her lap, emphasizing his divinity even in infancy. The

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FIGURE 3.22  

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Virgin and Child, Etchmiadzin Gospels, 989.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 2374, fol.7v.

inclusion of this gesture, the elongated, elegant figural style of both mother and child, and their classicizing drapery, suggests a familiarity with Byzantine artistic traditions. Further, the artist has carefully planned the composition as if to assert its function as an icon. The frontality of the figures, the position of the Christ child at the exact center of the image, the use of bold, darkly outlined zones of color contrasting with unpainted parchment, the drawn-​ back curtains, and the strong frame all serve to focus the eyes on the miraculous scene. The composition thus invites veneration, and reminds us that, as in Byzantium, images in medieval Armenia were a focus of religious devotion. A Gospel manuscript of 966, whose patron and scribe were most likely both priests, presents a different conception of sacred imagery. The first full-​page

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FIGURE 3.23  

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Virgin and Child, 966.

Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, MS W.537, fol. 2r.

illustration is a remarkable representation of the Virgin and Child (Figure 3.23). Gone is the classicizing frame of the Queen Mlkē representation; instead, the pair stand within a shrine of multi-​colored medallions, crowned with a scalloped, cross-​topped ogee arch. As in the Etchmiadzin Gospels, the Virgin does not hold the Christ Child but extends her hands outward. Yet unlike her imposing counterpart, she is just a head taller than her son. Instead of classicizing drapery, moreover, both Mother and Child wear brightly patterned garments. Christ’s tunic hangs in blue, red, and orange stripes from his belted waist.61 Finally, instead of a cushioned throne, the Virgin and Child sit (or stand?) on a striped rectangle with circles at each corner. A framed inscription in erkat‘agir announces the words of Gabriel, “Rejoice, the Lord is with you” (Luke 1:28).

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Perhaps this text provides a clue to an appreciation of this particular rendition of the Virgin and Child. While one could criticize its neglect of anatomy and the law of gravity, one might profitably view the image as a joyful testimony to Gabriel’s message. The gay palette, the bold and playful patterns made with compass and ruler, and the open visages of the Mother and Child surely fulfilled the wishes of the patron, in whose colophon the book is intended explicitly for the “enjoyment [berkrumn] of [his] congregation.”62 During the eleventh century, Armenians migrated west of the Euphrates, establishing communities in the regions of Sebastia, Cappadocia, and Caesarea, as well as in Cilicia to the southwest. Colophons attest to the continued production of manuscripts within these settlements, and the development of a distinctive tradition of Gospel illustration referred to as the “Melitene Group.”63 The Vehap‘aṙ Gospels (Gospels of the Catholicos) attests to this tradition.64 The manuscript begins with canon tables; in this case, however, the evangelist authors appear together on a single page prefacing the gospel text, rather than in individual portraits. The Vehap‘aṙ Gospels also exhibits a stylistic abstraction akin to that of the 966 Gospels, eschewing naturalism and gold paint in favor of geometric patterns, abstractly rendered bodies, and large zones of empty parchment. The manuscript contains sixty-​six such illustrations, focusing on the life and ministry of Christ and demonstrating an unusually rich pictorial narrative. Perhaps the most conspicuous feature of this manuscript, like others of the “Melitene Group,” concerns the position of the images in relation to that of the text (Figure 3.24). In a striking deviation from traditional Armenian manuscripts, pictorial scenes are not oriented to the direction of the gospel text, but are turned at a right angle, requiring the viewer to rotate the manuscript ninety degrees. Scholars have identified contemporary Syriac manuscripts as a possible source for this choice. Yet the decision to appropriate such a format surely reflected the immediate needs of the Armenian communities who commissioned and used the manuscripts. Indeed, as scholars have also shown, the Melitene manuscripts highlight Armenian liturgical practices and identities:  the colored silk costumes of the evangelist recall actual clerical vestments of Armenians known from the medieval period, for example, and the image of Christ teaching in the synagogue shows him before a traditional Armenian folding bookstand (Arm. grakal).65 Perhaps this last image offers a clue to the origins of the odd right-​angle position of the imagery: the images and texts were intended for consumption by distinct groups standing at right angles to each other. This speculation in turn raises further questions about the practice of reading and viewing, and levels of literacy, among contemporary Armenian communities. While the Vehap‘aṙ Gospels attests to the cultivation of an abstract mode, other manuscripts demonstrate the persistent power of Byzantine painting styles in Armenian manuscripts. This influence is apparent in a magnificent

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if mutilated manuscript known as the Gospels of King Gagik-​Abas (r. 1029–​ 1064).66 Scholars have debated the circumstances of its production, but generally agree on a date in the eleventh century. The manuscript was clearly a deluxe commission, both because of its giant size (52 by 40 cm) and its copious and refined illuminations. The sheer scope of the pictorial program is unparalleled: quite aside from the canons and evangelist portraits, it contains some 227 miniatures, thus comprising “the most ambitious program of gospel illumination ever undertaken in medieval art.”67 The scene of Christ and the Rich Young Man makes clear the quality of the painting (Figure 3.25). In this scene, the seated Christ informs the youth of the difficulty of entering Heaven. Focusing on this conversation, the artist has suppressed all other compositional elements:  the rock, ground, and sky form large, simple zones of color within a red and yellow geometric frame. Our view is thereby drawn to the elegant, illusionistic style of the figures. Christ is graceful and monumental, the volume of his body conveyed through gentle and assured modulations of tone. The same modeling defines faces and drapery, the latter conceived by slow gradations from dark line to white highlight. Small details attest to a careful painter familiar with Byzantine manuscripts of the tenth and eleventh centuries, including the drawn-​up hem of Christ’s drapery below his right thigh, and the subtle contrapposto attitude of the youth. It is

Christ in the Synagogue, Vehap‘aṙ Gospels, early 11th century. Yerevan: Matenadaran 10780, fol. 141v. FIGURE 3.24  

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FIGURE 3.25  

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Christ and the Rich Young Man, Gospels of King Gagik-​Abas, 11th century.

Jerusalem: Armenian Patriarchate MS 2556, fol. 330.

tempting to accept, as some believe, that Gagik-​Abas was indeed the patron of this manuscript, because the style of the painting corresponds nicely to his Hellenophilia: we know that he had planned an academy for studying classical Greek philosophy at Kars.68 Whether nor or we can confirm this connection, however, the strongly Byzantinizing style of the manuscript finds parallels in other manuscripts of the Age of the Kingdoms.69 Tipped into the same Gospels, but most likely belonging to another, later manuscript is a painted folio with a portrait of King Gagik-​Abas, together with his wife Gorandukht and their daughter, princess Marem, all identified by name on the reverse (Figure 3.26).70 Although unfortunately cropped, the image clearly shows the royal family seated on a richly upholstered, sofa-​like throne. They are seated cross-​legged, the king and queen flanking and gesturing to their daughter. Signs of luxury and royal status abound:  the lions at the base of the throne, the fruit bowls suggesting a banquet, and the extraordinary array of textiles that drape the royal family and their furniture. Dark-​blue, crimson, and gold colors dominate. A cloth patterned with elephants in pearlized roundels is spread before them, and Gorandukht wears a shawl of white silk with gold hearts. These and the other textiles are rendered in close detail, down to the tiny grid pattern, or perhaps the warp and weft, of the sofa upholstery. The painter has even adjusted fabric patterns to indicate surplus folds and turned-​back corners. Abbasid art informs the seated positions of the figures,

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FIGURE 3.26  

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Portrait of Gagik-​Abas of Kars with Wife and Daughter.

Jerusalem: Armenian Patriarchate MS 2556, fol. 135 bis.

the sofa-​like throne laid with textiles, and the broad faces and thin fingers of the family. The king and his daughter wear the tiraz, the Islamic badge of office, which scholars view as a political claim for the legitimate transfer of royal power from Gagik-​Abas to his daughter. Yet the image of the royal family taking their ease stands in sharp contrast to the decades-​long political chaos of Gagik-​Abas’s reign. By the 1040s, the Byzantines had annexed much of Bagratid and Artsruni domains; in 1045, the Bagratids surrendered the city of Ani, leaving only Gagik-​Abas’s small and vulnerable kingdom of Kars. By the 1060s, Seljuks invaded the region, capturing Ani in 1064. In the same year, Gagik-​Abas sold his small kingdom to the Byzantines. With the Battle of Manzikert in 1071, Alp Arslan’s Seljuk forces defeated the Byzantines and occupied Armenia, thereby extending their territory from its Central Asian heartland into Anatolia. The Gagik-​Abas portrait shows no reflection of this turmoil, projecting instead an image of authority and luxury through an intense visual engagement with Abbasid courtly art. The Sandghka Gospels, produced in 1053 in the monastery of Sandghka, perhaps near Ani, offers a final view of the art of the Age of the Kingdoms (Figure 3.27).71 The Gospels opens, as usual, with a set of ten canon tables. Two magenta columns, decorated with white spirals, dots, and diagonal lines, support light-​ blue capitals with foliate designs. The horizontal ruling setting off the top line of canon-​table text does double duty as a curtain rod extending from one capital to the other; hanging from rings are red curtains embroidered with black crosses, knotted or tied back to expose the text behind. The curtains depicted on each

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canon page were presumably meant to remind the viewer of the decoration of the Tabernacle according to Exodus, which was adorned with “ten curtains of fine twined linen” (Exod. 26:1): the theologian and patriarch Nersēs Shnorhali explicitly invokes this text in explaining the significance of the ten canon tables.72 The decoration of the Sandghka Gospels, then, articulates in visual terms the parallel between the Tabernacle of Exodus 26 and the canon tables. Comparing the architectonic and textual features of this page, one is struck by the inversion of expected dimensionality: the capitals and columns are flattened into a single plane, decorated with patterns recalling stucco and fabric, while the text occupies the middle ground of three fields. The page is also alive with

FIGURE 3.27  

Canon Table, Sandghka Gospels, 1053.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 3973, fol. 1v.

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animals, both real and imagined. Two small quadrupeds gambol at the column bases, while in the headpiece, a bare-​breasted sphinx confronts a spotted feline in a magenta field with blue leaves. Surrounding them is a light-​blue arch, enclosing foliate forms resembling Arabic script. More pseudo-​Arabic appears on the bowl resting atop the headpiece, which is flanked by long-​beaked birds and, at the corners, frontal peacocks displaying their plumage. How should we understand this scene, produced between the Byzantine annexation of Ani and its Seljuk capture? Like the donor page of Gagik-​Abas and his family, it seems to suggest a keen interest in Abbasid forms, but also the (probably Abbasid) appropriation of much older traditions, including Egyptian and classical art. The integration of pseudo-​script could suggest familiarity with actual Arabic-​inscribed Abbasid objects; pseudo-​script is also well attested in contemporary Byzantium. If, as scholars have suggested, the monastery of Sandghka was near Ani, then this integration of forms could be understood as evidence for the movement of objects and people through its major trade station. In this sense, the Sandghka Gospels participates in a much larger artistic adventure spanning the contemporary Mediterranean and Near East. Noteworthy, too, are the liturgical features of the page, such as the drawn curtains exposing the canons, and the veiled bowl, which scholars interpret as a reference to the eucharistic vessel. Was it sacrilegious to depict this sacred object covered with a cloth patterned with Arabic pseudo-​script? Perhaps the question is anachronistic, reflecting a modern tendency to create rigid, if not oppositional, cultural categories. By contrast, one will recall Gagik Artsruni’s desire to put workmen from “all nations of the earth” in service to God’s plan.73 It may be that the integration of diverse motifs in the Sandghka Gospels was likewise intended to mobilize a wide pictorial range in service to the sacred text and liturgy. One thing seems certain:  just as the tumultuous seventh century witnessed an unprecedented building boom, so in the devastating final years of the Age of the Kingdoms, the artistic landscape of Armenia did not contract, but broadened. With the emergence of the Armenian kingdom of Cilicia in the twelfth century, this landscape broadens yet further, from Europe to East Asia.

{ 4 }

The Art of Armenian Cilicia

Cilicia was the site of an Armenian kingdom between 1199 and 1375. Its location, on the southeastern coast of Asia Minor, meant contact with a broad and diverse range of cultures, and contributed to sophisticated visual traditions that both drew and departed from those of Greater Armenia. This chapter explores Cilician art, considering its celebrated manuscript illumination, metalwork, fortress architecture, and church building. The topography of the area includes the rugged mountainous coast, known as “Rough Cilicia” and the fertile inland plains, or “Flat Cilicia,” with its vineyards and agriculture (see Map 3). Prior to Armenian rule, the region was controlled successively by Roman, Byzantine, Umayyad, and Abbasid powers until its Byzantine reconquest in 962–​965. Armenian presence grew in the tenth and eleventh centuries with migrations from Greater Armenia, particularly after the Battle of Manzikert (1071). At this time, two Armenian families emerged as local powers:  the Ṙubenids, located in the Anti-​ Taurus range, and the Het‘umids, settled at the Cilician Gates. In 1080, the Ṙubenids rebelled against Byzantine sovereignty, established control over their own territory, and began to expand their political base.1 Navigating the conflicting interests and aggressions of Byzantines, Seljuks, nearby Crusader states, and emerging Ayyubid power in Egypt, as well as the internally divided Armenian nobility, the Ṙubenid prince Levon II was recognized as king in 1198, accepting crowns from the Byzantine emperor Alexius III Angelus and, in 1198 or 1199, from the Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV. Levon (thereafter Levon I, “the Magnificent”) established his capital at Sis, located in the foothills of the Anti-​Taurus mountains. By this time, too, the catholicate of Armenia had also been transferred to Cilicia.2 Cilicia’s position at a geopolitical nexus of the Eastern Mediterranean is reflected in the economy, religion, and culture of the region.3 Its port of Ayas attracted merchants from Genoa, Venice (including Marco Polo), France, and Crimea, and markets throughout Asia. The Cilician monarchy collected revenues from trade, domestic transactions, and transport. Diplomacy was carried out along both political and religious lines. Unions between the Armenian and the

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Latin Church were announced multiple times, as in 1198, after the patriarch, theologian, and poet Nersēs Shnorhali (“The Graceful,” 1166–​1173) initiated negotiations between the two churches. Subsequent Cilician kings, as well as Franciscan and Dominican missions in the region, also sought this union, despite the lack of consensus among Armenian princely houses and the clergy.4 European ideas also inflected Cilician court culture: at Sis, Latin and French became official languages. The theologian Nersēs of Lambron (or Lambronets‘i), moreover, records that the royal retinue wore fashions from Europe. Finally, Cilicia gave the Armenian alphabet its final letter: “F” (Ֆ), used to transcribe words such as “Frank,” “florins,” and “frer” (French frère, “brother”).

The Architecture of Armenian Cilicia Archaeology, chronicles, and manuscript colophons offer a sense of the built landscape of Cilicia, which included princely, patriarchal, and royal residences, monasteries, and church buildings. Few of these structures stand today, with the exception of fortification architecture. Over seventy-​five fortresses survive, enhancing the already protective features of the landscape:  surrounding the plain is a semicircular ring of mountains, the Taurus to the west and north, and the adjacent Anti-​Taurus, to the east. Fortresses studded this mountain chain, guarding the passes created by rivers and gorges. Fortresses also defended the Venetian and Genoese warehouses in the region of Misis (ancient Mopsuestia), the inland port where goods were brought by land, or by the Pyramus (mod. Ceyhan) River, to the port of Ayas. Protecting not only the inhabitants, but also the trade and agriculture of the region, the fortresses were imposing and mutually visible, facilitating quick intercommunication and giving defenders time to prevent or prepare for attack. They also served as residences for the great princely families. Thus, despite its role as a trade center, Armenian Cilicia was a landscape not of cities but of strongholds. The fortifications date from a range of periods, reflecting the successive cultures that settled in the region, from the classical era to the Mamluk and beyond. Based on inscriptions, historical chronicles, and his own archaeological investigations, Robert W.  Edwards has identified specific interventions from the period of Armenian control.5 He enumerates several features distinct to Armenian fortification architecture: for example, plans conform to and exploit the topography of their site, making defensive use of steep cliffs and outcrops, with the interior divided into multiple baileys (enclosures). Walls were constructed with rubble masonry, and wall towers are generally rounded rather than angular. Walls were equipped with interior chapels, battlements, wall walks, and slot machicolations (slit-​like openings at or near gates). Initial approach to the fortress typically proceeded along an outer wall, exposing entrants to fire from above. Bent entrances, like that of the Lion’s Gate of Ani, were also typical

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of Armenian Cilician fortresses. Edwards’s explorations and publications suggest, taken as a whole, a robust and sophisticated military architecture. The fortress of Anavarza is characteristic of this tradition (Figure 4.1).6 While it preserves traces of Arab, Byzantine, and later Mamluk construction, much of Anavarza is associated with the period of Armenian rule, and specifically with the reign of the Ṙubenid prince T‘oros I. Having captured the fortress in the year 1111 from the Crusaders (who in turn had captured it from the Byzantines), T‘oros undertook extensive renovation of the site. Located on a limestone outcrop some 200 m high, Anavarza formed part of a chain of fortresses protecting the roads of the eastern Cilician plain. The ancient city of Anazarbus, whence the medieval name derives, lies at its base. The fortress is large (some 4.5 km long) and follows the natural topography of the site. It bears many of the aforementioned typical features of the building tradition, including rounded bastions, a bent entrance, wall walks, slot machicolations, and chapels built within the walls. The southernmost of its three baileys is best preserved, and is thought to contain the most evidence from the Armenian period: there, for example, is the typical rubble masonry construction noted by Edwards. It was there, also, that T‘oros I constructed his church, which housed, according to historical texts, an icon of the Virgin brought from a nearby Byzantine site.7 The twelfth-​century chronicle of Samuel of Ani and an inscription on the church suggest a date between 1111 and the death of T‘oros in 1129.8

FIGURE 4.1  

Anavarza Fortress.

Photo: Scott Redford.

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The church, some 12 m in length (Figure 4.2), survived intact until at least 1905, when it was visited by the pioneering archaeologist Gertrude Bell; by the 1970s and 1980s, it lay in partial ruins. Constructed with limestone facing a rubble core, it consisted of a three-​aisled, barrel-​vaulted basilica.9 Doors at the west and south façades allowed access to the church interior, which was illuminated by eleven windows, highlighting a program of frescoes in the apse. Although now mostly destroyed, it featured, according to earlier reports, an enthroned Christ flanked by seraphim and the symbols of Matthew (the winged man), Mark (the lion), Luke (the ox), and John (the eagle).10 Sculptural reliefs adorned the exterior. On the east façade was a pair of tall, narrow niches (2.2 m high), articulated with channeled moldings. These niches flanked a central rectangular window surmounted with a scallop-​shell design. On the more elaborate south façade, the central door was crowned with a relieving arch of carved voussoirs, projecting strongly from the wall surface. They bear a Greek inscription and a highly classicizing sculptural style, including vinescrolls, dentils, and bead-​and-​reel and egg-​and-​dart motifs, suggesting to Edwards that they were appropriated from the Byzantine site of Anazarbus below.11 Judging from the large curvatures of the voussoirs, moreover, Edwards

FIGURE 4.2  

Anavarza, church of T‘oros, taken c. 1905.

Gertrude Bell Archive, Newcastle University.

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concluded that they originally spanned a much larger arch, not all of whose stones were carried uphill by the church builders.12 Edwards and others thus reconstruct the original Greek inscription of the classical monument as “Praise to God” (“Εὐλογητòς ὁ θεός”). At the church of T‘oros, the missing stones abbreviated the text to “Εὐλογεός.”13 That this word is still intelligible as “praise” suggests a deliberate rather than haphazard selection of spolia. In addition to this Greek text, an Armenian foundation inscription ran in a single course around the building, at cornice height, beginning at the west. The text is not engraved, as was typical of earlier inscriptions in Greater Armenia, but executed in relief. Carefully designed and carved, it is framed by channel moldings and features closely spaced, elegant letters, evoking the aesthetic of contemporary Kufic or Kufesque inscriptions (see Figure 3.27). Unfortunately, it is known only as a set of fragments, but even these short texts convey a potent message.14 They invoke the “All-​Holy Trinity”; plead for prayers for “T‘oros, son of Constantine, son of Ṙuben”; pray for the “salvation of [his] sons [and] for the memory of [his] parents”; and request remembrance of “Ōshin, son of T‘oros, son of Constantine.” Scholars have pointed out that this inscription thereby offers a precious contemporary genealogy of the Ṙubenid family.15 The church of T‘oros I both draws upon and departs from earlier Armenian traditions. While its barrel-​ vaulted nave is atypical of Armenian architectural traditions, its exterior niches and careful stone sheathing strongly evoke churches of earlier eras. Its foundation inscription also reveals important points of continuity with earlier Armenian epigraphic conventions. The wraparound format of the epigraphy was attested, for example, in the (now lost) seventh-​century church of Bagaran (mod. Kılıttaşı, TR), where a cornice-​level foundation inscription extended around all four façades, as at Anavarza.16 Foundation inscriptions in Greater Armenia also often refer to the ancestors and children of the patron. It may be that similar liturgical practices underlie these shared features: requiring the viewer to walk around the monument, recalling the family of the patron, the Cilician inscription suggests a ritual circumambulation of the church, perhaps on the anniversary of its consecration, just as scholars have argued for Armenian seventh-​ century foundations.17 The church of T‘oros forms a visual marker of Ṙubenid authority. By naming the patron’s ancestors and children, the monument stakes a claim on past, present, and future. In appropriating and displaying a Byzantine icon, and integrating inscribed and decorated spolia from Byzantine Anazarbus, T‘oros reconfigured local materials to announce the presence of a new power in the region. The fortress and church of Anavarza therefore show Armenian elites asserting control in their new landscape, drawing from previous practices in Greater Armenia and forging new relationships with the Byzantine culture in their midst.

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Early Cilician Painting Cilician fortresses housed monastic scriptoria, where Armenian texts were already copied and illustrated well before the formation of the kingdom. These scriptoria produced a rich literary tradition, including works of history, philosophy, law, medicine, and music, which scholars refer to as the “Silver Age” of Armenian culture (following the Golden Age of the fifth century).18 The illuminated manuscripts of Cilicia form an important component of this cultural production.19 The earliest illustrated manuscripts from Cilicia demonstrate continuities with painting traditions of the Age of the Kingdoms in Greater Armenia. First, they are the product of elites, and particularly high-​level ecclesiastics. Second, the images show the use of deep mineral pigments known from Greater Armenia. Third, with their sumptuous decoration, elegant figures, and Byzantinizing elements, they share visual features with the aristocratic commissions of the tenth and eleventh centuries. These common traits are demonstrated in a twelfth-​century Cilician Gospel book (Jerusalem 1796), whose narrative scenes reflect the feast cycle of the Armenian Church.20 Fol. 88, divided into upper and lower zones, depicts the events of Matthew 28:3 (Figure 4.3). In the upper image, the Holy Women visit the empty tomb of Christ, where they meet an angel seated on the “rolled stone” of the tomb. In the next episode, shown below, the Holy Women behold the Resurrected Christ. Strong symmetry dominates the lower image: the standing Christ makes parallel gestures to the women at his feet, framed by almost identical trees and mountains. The image above, too, privileges a three-​ part composition with central and flanking units:  the angel forms the visual anchor, his frontality and centrality only slightly compromised by his turned head and raised arm. Sirarpie Der Nersessian derives this interest in symmetry from Byzantine manuscripts, while the monumentality of the imagery and the sparing use of detail evoke the Byzantinizing images of the Gospel of Gagik-​ Abas of Kars (see Figure 3.26).21 Early Cilician manuscripts also demonstrate important innovations in design and iconography, which had a powerful impact on subsequent painting, both locally and in Greater Armenia. New ideas emerge in the canon tables and incipit (opening) pages. Some of these features reflect European artistic traditions, transmitted as a result of Cilicia’s diplomatic ties with nearby Crusader States or through ecclesiastical negotiations with the Church of Rome. By 1151, Hṙomkla (mod. Rumkale, TR), on the easternmost border of Cilicia, had become the seat of the Armenian patriarch, and it is from this site that an early illustrated Cilician manuscript is preserved (Matenadaran 7347). Dated to 1166, the Gospel book was produced during the first year of the reign

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FIGURE 4.3  

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Holy Women at the Tomb, 12th century.

Jerusalem: Armenian Patriarchate MS 1796, fol. 88.

of patriarch Nersēs Shnorhali, who was known for his elegant literary style and his keen interest in the arts of the book. We also know the name of the manuscript’s principal painter: Kozma.22 In many ways, this Gospel book follows the traditional Armenian format, as explored in the previous chapter. The Byzantinizing style of the Evangelist portraits, for example, recalls trends in tenth-​and eleventh-​century Armenian manuscript painting. Yet the Cilician manuscript debuts a significant innovation on the incipit to the Gospel of John (Figure 4.4). Although the upper edge of the page is cropped, one can still discern a lamb holding a cross-​shaped staff and framed by a roundel. This image, referred to as the Lamb of God, or Agnus Dei, was a symbol of Christ’s sacrifice for humanity. The Gospel of John uses

The Art of Armenian Cilicia

FIGURE 4.4  

99

Incipit of John, 1166.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 7347, fol. 265.

this metaphor twice, making the visual appearance of the Lamb particularly appropriate to the opening of that text.23 As Helen Evans has pointed out, the adoption of this image in the Cilician Gospels is a powerful statement.24 At the Quinisext Council of 692, the Byzantines rejected it as an inappropriate depiction of Christ, preferring instead the anthropomorphic form that stressed his incarnation. Nor is the Agnus Dei known from earlier Armenian manuscript painting. Yet it appears widely in European medieval illumination, wall painting, stone sculpture, and metalwork. Noting that the image appears on Crusader coins such as those of Raymond II, count of Tripoli, Der Nersessian suggested that it arrived in Cilicia via Crusader culture.25 Evans further notes that the monastery of Hṙomkla maintained particularly close contacts with the Crusaders: Hṙomkla was purchased by the Cilician Armenian patriarchate through, it is thought, the mediation of Beatrix, the Armenian widow of Joscelin II de Courtenay (1113–​1159), the last ruler of the nearby Crusader state of Edessa.26 The incipit page of the Gospel of John also bears three other innovations characteristic of early Cilician painting: new, larger initial letters; prominent evangelist symbols; and more elaborate marginal ornamentation. The first

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letter of the phrase “in the beginning was the Word” is ini (Ի), which extends almost the entire height of the page, its long vertical stroke composed of a foliate form inhabited by humans and animals. At the top of the letter is a majestic eagle, the symbol of John, below which is a bust of the gospel writer himself. Nestled in the pi-​shaped headpiece, another eagle holds in its talons a scroll containing the first words of John’s Gospel. Departing from earlier examples from Greater Armenia, this newly enlarged and animated incipit page invites the reader to meditate on the relation between the images and the Gospel text. The four beasts of the evangelists are known from earlier wall paintings in Greater Armenia, and, as mentioned above, accompanied Christ in the apse of the church of T‘oros at Anavarza. But their appearance individually, functioning as portraits of the four writers of the Gospels, is a noteworthy departure from previous Armenian iconographic tradition. Evans argues that their use in the 1166 Gospel, particularly in conjunction with the Lamb of God, suggests further ties to Western Europe, where the symbolic representations of the evangelists, as established by Jerome in the fifth century, belonged to iconographic tradition.27 After their appearance in early Cilician manuscripts, the individual symbols became standard both locally and in Greater Armenian manuscript painting. Alongside this innovation, finally, came the use of more prominent marginalia. At the right border of John’s incipit is a large, symmetrical column of stylized tendrils and leaves, rising into a staff crowned with a floral cross. Balancing the strong vertical ini on the left hand, this marginal form not only frames the text and focuses the reader’s eyes, but also offers visual pleasure. During the remainder of the twelfth century, the monastery of Skevra (or Skewra), located near the castle of Lambron in the central region of Cilicia, assumed primacy as a center for manuscript production. In 1173, its scriptorium produced a copy of the Lamentations by the famous poet and theologian Grigor Narekats‘i (951–​1003) (Erevan: Matenadaran MS 1568).28 Composed at the end of the tenth century in Vaspurakan, the Lamentations is a mystical and vivid composition that describes the author’s interior journey toward, and conversation with, God. The Skevra manuscript is the oldest known copy of this text. According to the colophon, the book was commissioned by Nersēs Lambronets‘i and his brother, Prince Het‘um.29 Nersēs was archbishop of Tarsus and a protégé of the theologian Nersēs Shnorhali. Lambronets‘i was learned in many languages, including Greek, Syriac, and Latin, translated the Rule of Saint Benedict into Armenian, and advocated zealously for the union of the Armenian and Roman churches. He was also a prolific writer of hymns, biblical commentaries, and liturgical exegeses. Most notably, he wrote a biography of Grigor Narekats‘i and a commentary on one of the Lamentations.

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To this end, as we are told in the Skevra manuscript’s colophon, Lambronets‘i desired a copy of the work, and invited the painter Grigor from the patriarchate at Hṙomkla to work at Skevra. Another colophon records that Grigor’s father, the priest Kostandin, had been educated by Nersēs Shnorhali, and received from him many favors.30 It is rare to have such information about the context and manufacture of an illuminated manuscript. Most striking of all is the inclusion of no fewer than four portraits of Narekats‘i. Each one marks a new section of the text, and each is different: the poet appears seated and writing (fol. 7v), standing in three-​quarters (fol. 55v), standing frontally, holding a cross and book (fol. 120), and prostrate before the enthroned Christ (fol. 178v).31 In the second (Figure 4.5), the full-​length Narekats‘i lifts his head and hands toward Christ, who appears in bust length in the upper right corner. The page is vividly colored: Narekats‘i, standing in a meadow of dark green, wears a vibrant red garment covered with a dark-​ brown mantle. Christ, backed in deep blue, is draped in bright gold and holds a red scroll. The rest of the page is a glowing field of gold. Both Narekats‘i and Christ are elongated and elegant, recalling the Byzantinizing figural mode familiar from the Age of the Kingdoms.

FIGURE 4.5  

Grigor Narekats‘i before Christ. Lamentations of Grigor Narekats‘i, 1173.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 1568, fol. 55v.

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The scene highlights a dramatic encounter: Christ leans toward Narekats‘i, breaking out of his frame, and extends a blessing hand to the poet, while Narekats‘i, in turn, seems to rise up on his toes in greeting. Next to him is a large inscription proclaiming him “Grigor Hskogh” (Grigor the Vigilant), a play on the name “Gregory,” which derives from Greek gregorios (wakeful, vigilant). Narekats‘i’s large eyes and alert posture strengthen the force of the epithet.32 The page thus creates an intimate picture of mystical union and evokes the themes and language of the text of the Lamentations.33 We should imagine that Nersēs Lambronets‘i, the patron of the manuscript, gazed at this image when composing his commentary on Narekats‘i’s poems; we might even surmise that Lambronets‘i’s commentary not only responded to the words of the poet within the manuscript, but also to the accompanying images of  him. Two further manuscripts of the latter twelfth century are preserved from the monastery of Skevra. Both are Gospel books: one of them, again the commission of Nersēs Lambronets‘i, features large incipit decorations and marginal ornaments, and the Lamb of God holding a cross staff.34 The other is known as the Lviv Gospels. According to the colophon, it was the work of Grigor (not the same painter as that of the Lamentations), who completed in 1197/​1198 a Gospel he had begun at a monastery in the “strong castle of Paperon.”35 The first page (fol. 2v) of the Lviv Gospels features the standard opening of the canon tables, the letter of bishop Eusebius to Carpianus (Figure 4.6). As with contemporary manuscripts in Greater Armenia, the text is sheltered by an architectonic structure enlivened with flora and fauna, both real and fantastic. The coloristic richness of the page is also familiar from Greater Armenia: it uses deep blue, rich gold, and vibrant red. New, however, are the bust figures of Eusebius and Carpianus in the lunettes of the headpiece. As Der Nersessian points out, this innovation does not appear to reflect standard Byzantine practice.36 In Byzantium, such portraits rarely occur in canon tables, and when they do, are in full-​length format. In the Lviv manuscript, Eusebius faces the viewer, raising his right hand and holding a scroll bearing his name. Yet if this specific iconography does not emerge from Byzantium, the rendering of the figures nonetheless demonstrates knowledge of imperial painting traditions: although the face and right fingers are badly worn, one can still detect careful modeling giving roundness to the body, and a broad range of colors, from white to dark blue and black, indicating the folds of his classicizing drapery. It is unclear, however, whether this stylistic mode was mediated through the manuscripts of Greater Armenia or, as Der Nersessian has argued regarding this manuscript’s evangelist portraits, reflects fresh impulses from twelfth-​ century Constantinopolitan manuscripts.37 More remarkable is the lively character of the canon tables, with their enlarged headpieces and diverse plant and animal forms. Eusebius is surrounded by semicircular arches composed of twisting leaves and tendrils and inhabited

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FIGURE 4.6  

103

Eusebian Letter. Lviv Gospels, 1197–​1198.

Warsaw: Archiwum Archidiecezjalne, fol. 2v.

by paired long-​necked birds and feline-​headed dragons. Atop the headpiece are two peacocks, their necks intertwined around the staff of a cross on a podium. Rising from each side of the headpiece are stylized trees with mounded tops, on which perch creatures with birds’ bodies and long pointed tails and ears. More birds balance on trees below, piercing their breasts with their beaks. The extremely fine linear details, the rich tones and wide gradations of color, the tremendous variety of patterns, and the great range of beasts and plants are all carefully balanced within an overall pattern. This more animated canon table format became standard in subsequent Cilician painting.38

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T‘oros Ṙoslin and the Thirteenth Century The early reign of Levon I (1198–​1219) was beset with crises. Both the Ayyubids of Egypt and the Crusaders sought to expand their power into Cilicia. Levon himself aspired to control Antioch, and indeed seemed to attain this goal with the marriage of his niece Alice to Raymond IV of Tripoli, elder son of Bohemond, prince of Antioch (1164–​1201). Yet their issue, Ṙuben-​Raymond, reigned for only three years, from 1216 to 1219, before he was ousted by the local Antiochene nobility. Meanwhile, Seljuks raided Cilicia, taking a number of Het‘umid princes hostage and forcing Levon to surrender fortresses. The marriage of Zapel, the daughter of the Ṙubenid king Levon, to Het‘um, son of Constantine of Paperon, unified the two rival families of Cilicia, and inaugurated Het‘umid rule. Het‘um I’s reign (1226–​1270) was long and tumultuous, with Seljuk invasions in 1245/​6. To protect his kingdom from both the Seljuks and the Mamluks, Het‘um formed an alliance with the Mongols. Traveling to Karakorum between 1253 and 1256, he met with the Great Khan (Möngke) and recognized Mongol suzerainty. Het‘um’s son, Levon II (r. 1269–​ 1289), continued this policy of alliance with the Mongols while also allying with the Crusaders to counter Mamluk power. Levon II’s diplomacy, which included intermarriages with Byzantine and Crusader nobles, resulted in the consolidation and protection of the Cilician kingdom. The early thirteenth century did not witness the artistic innovation and exuberance of prior decades. Activity at Skevra declined; colophons from this period chronicle painters moving elsewhere, to Tarsus, Sis, and Tagvor (in Adana, TR). Manuscripts of the royal kingdom were mostly undecorated, or simply and sparsely ornamented. The use of large incipits and evangelist symbols, developed in the last decades of twelfth century, are also absent from these works.39 Could this artistic contraction reflect the uncertain politics of the era? Tempting as this thesis appears, the attested destruction of manuscripts during contemporary raids and in later historical periods hinders a conclusive judgment. Furthermore, the production of sumptuous and sophisticated works of art does not necessarily correlate with political stability, as demonstrated by the many high-​quality Cilician manuscripts surviving from the middle and late years of the thirteenth century. Many of the works are connected to royal Het‘umid patronage, and with the scriptorium of Hṙomkla under the direction of the patriarch Kostandin (1221–​1268). Kostandin’s personal concern for producing, promoting, and disseminating high-​quality manuscripts is attested in conciliar canons of the period.40 In 1243, he convened the Second Council of Sis, which stipulated that copyists and their students should be well versed in scripture (Canon 10), and mandating that copyists be “skilled, righteous, and informed” (Canon 11).41

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Should we suspect an anxiety about scribal incompetence or ignorance? Chapter 43 of the History of Kirakos Gandzakets‘i, which preserves the encyclical, records Kostandin’s determination to correct the dissolute and depraved state of his people, who suffered from the “disease of greed and love of silver,” writing letters to the episcopal sees, churches, and princes across Armenia.42 The manuscript output of Kostandin’s reign should thus be understood in relation to his broader patriarchal reform intended to direct a wayward flock toward righteousness. A Gospel book produced at Hṙomkla in 1253 offers a sense of artistic production during Kostandin’s patriarchate. The manuscript resumes the use of several iconographic features developed at Skevra, including the canon tables, large incipit initials, and the figure of the Lamb of God. The manuscript is adorned with extraordinary gold-​backed dedication pages, ornate canon tables, and full-​page evangelist portraits. The image of Mark (Figure 4.7) follows tradition, portraying the author seated in an interior space as he writes his text. Behind and to the left of Mark are stylized buildings, atop which appears his evangelist symbol, the winged lion, holding a gospel book in its front paws. Before the evangelist, a scroll hangs from a bookstand, its base composed of conjoined lions, which rests on a table strewn with writing implements. Mark seems absorbed in his open codex, which he steadies with his left hand as he writes. His limbs are large and robust, their roundness conveyed through subtle modeling of flesh and through careful attention to drapery, the folds of which catch behind his knees before dropping into pleated hems. Much of the background is gold leaf, while Mark’s table appears studded with jewels. Richly colored and patterned textiles upholster his footstool and seat. Emphasis is placed on their various designs, which include vinescrolls, gold leaves on a white silk field, and lozenges of gold, blue, and red. These individual patterns and their lively juxtaposition find parallels in the cloth depicted in royal portraits of the Bagratids (see Figure 3.26) and the Het‘umids (see Figure 4.11). They also recall the gifts sent by the patriarch Kostandin, as recorded in the same chapter of Kirakos Gandzakets‘i’s History, of “silken cloth of variegated colors” and “expensive cowls” to the priests of Greater Armenia.43 This evidence suggests something surprising: Kostandin’s remedy for depravity was not the rejection of worldly beauty. Considering both the report of these gifts, and the painted image of the evangelist Mark, we find instead a celebration of sumptuous things as appropriate accompaniments to a focused intellectual and spiritual life. The colophon of this manuscript names its painter as Yovhannēs (his only surviving work), who, Helen Evans suggests, was also the mentor of T‘oros Ṙoslin, the most celebrated artist of Armenian Cilicia, and indeed perhaps of all of medieval Armenian art.44 During the third quarter of the thirteenth century, Ṙoslin was commissioned to copy and paint manuscripts for both Kostandin and members of the royal Het‘umid court. Nevertheless, we know very little

FIGURE 4.7  

The Evangelist Mark, 1253.

Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC: Purchase—​Charles Lang Freer Endowment, F1936.15, fol. 92v.

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about him: his colophons reveal little about his life or background. He seems to have spent most of his career at the monastery of Hṙomkla. In one colophon, moreover, he tells us that he is named “Ṙoslin after my forebears,” but we do not know who they might be.45 Nor is any information preserved about him in chronicles or in the colophons of his contemporaries or successors. Noting that the name “Ṙoslin” is not attested in Armenian, and the sequence “s-​l” is rare, some have suggested he was of full or partial Frankish origin, certainly a possibility in light of the proximity of Armenian Cilicia to the Crusader states, their official diplomatic relations, and the intermarriage of Armenians and Crusaders.46 The fact that T‘oros has a surname at all has further suggested to scholars that he was a member of nobility. What is certain, however, is that during the fifth and sixth decades of the thirteenth century, Ṙoslin was the favorite scribe and painter of elite patrons in Cilicia. Seven signed manuscripts, dating between 1256 and 1268, are known.47 Using various criteria such as formal analysis, scholars attribute three additional works to him. A survey of these manuscripts reveals the distinctiveness and power of Ṙoslin’s painting. Six interconnected features characterize his work:  (1) the close and sometimes original reading of biblical texts along with pictorial exegesis; (2) deviation from pictorial models; (3) the appropriation of Byzantine and Western European visual ideas; (4)  interplay between texts and images, between images and frames, and across multiple pages; (5)  the mobilization of compositions, figures, faces, and forms in order to intensify emotion and drama; and (6)  an elegant painting style, making use of both subtle tonal modulations and a wide palette range from dark deep colors to light pastels. Many of these traits become evident when we compare Ṙoslin’s scene of the Holy Women at the Tomb from his “Malat‘ia Gospel” of 1267/​8 (Figure 4.8) with that of the twelfth-​century Cilician Gospel (Figure 4.3) previously treated.48 Both images reflect the basic narrative as laid out in Matthew 28:1–​6, and both divide the scene into two registers, one picturing the conversation between the women and the angel, and the other between the women and Christ. Yet Ṙoslin’s scene departs in both dramatic and subtle ways from the twelfth-​ century work. First, as Der Nersessian has noted, he reverses the scenes and places the resurrected Christ above, thus highlighting the moment of Christ’s appearance to the women.49 Ṙoslin further heightens the drama of the moment by breaking the horizontal frame on the right, so that the arched tomb and its monumental structure rise high into the upper part of the composition. The strong diagonals created by the angel’s wing, Christ’s body, and the flying drapery further lead the viewer’s gaze around the composition, recalling both the “violent quake of earth” that accompanied the angel’s appearance before the women (Matt. 28:2), and the “suddenness” of their meeting with Christ (Matt. 28:9).50 While the twelfth-​century manuscript produces strongly frontal renderings of forms and architecture, Ṙoslin turns the stony seat of the angel

108

FIGURE 4.8  

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Holy Women at the Tomb by T‘oros Ṙoslin, 1267–​1268.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 10675, fol. 100.

and the sepulchre, with its arched tomb, slightly to the side, creating a new sense of depth. He has also heightened the activity of the figures:  the angel and Christ both face the women but turn their bodies in the other direction, thus inviting the viewer to look both to the left and to the right of the central figures.51 Faces are more concentrated in their emotion: the women’s eyebrows and mouths turn down as they listen to the angel’s words. Finally, Ṙoslin has diversified and energized the palette: the main field of gold contrasts with the women’s blue and purple draperies, while the clothing of the angel, “white as snow,” parallels Christ’s pastel garments above.

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Such combined originality and interest in pictorial exegesis is also apparent in Ṙoslin’s scene of Christ appearing to the Apostles, in the manuscript known as the “Prince Vasak Gospels” (Figure 4.9).52 The image illustrates an episode in the Gospel of Luke, in which the risen Christ appears to the apostles in Jerusalem, where, to allay their fear, he shows them the wounds on his hands and feet (Luke 24: 36–​40). Wearing a white garment with gold leaves, Christ reveals his palms to symmetrical groups of apostles, who respond variously:  some

FIGURE 4.9  

Christ and the Apostles by T‘oros Ṙoslin, 1268.

Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC: Purchase—​Charles Lang Freer Endowment, F19 32.18, fol. 535.

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avert their eyes, others stare in wonder and adoration. Peculiar, however, is the combination of the mountain setting with the pair of wooden doors on the right. As Der Nersessian has suggested, these incongruous elements evoke two other gospel texts recording the doubt of the apostles.53 The first is the “Incredulity of Thomas,” in which the resurrected Christ shows the doubting apostle his wounds, and reprimands him for not having faith (John 20: 24–​29). This scene takes place, as stipulated in John 20:19, behind “locked doors.” The mountains in Ṙoslin’s scene, on the other hand, seem to refer to Matthew 28:17, when, at the mountains in Galilee, all worshipped but “some doubted.” To these references, Ṙoslin adds yet a third visual citation: peering out from behind the summit of the mountain is the prophet Zachariah [Zechariah], who holds a scroll inscribed with the words “these wounds in my hands with which I was wounded in the house of my friends” (Zach. 13:6). While Ṙoslin is not the first to draw these biblical texts together, he creates an original and layered visualization, suggesting to Der Nersessian that he had been instructed by a learned monastic.54 It is also possible that Ṙoslin himself was trained to be “well-​versed” in the scriptures, as the Catholicos Kostandin directed. Ṙoslin also created monumental compositions, including the full-​page Last Judgment scene in a Gospel book dated to 1262 (Figure 4.10). The large format of this manuscript allowed Ṙoslin to include in this composition over sixty figures arranged in four registers. The image follows traditional Byzantine iconography: Christ is shown enthroned with the Virgin, John the Baptist, and the elect, accompanied by trumpeting angels, apostles, and scenes of the saved and damned. The top figural group, dominated by the towering image of Christ, is framed by two angels who unfurl scrolls bearing the text of Isaiah’s prophecy concerning the Day of Judgment (Isa. 34:4), when “all the heavens shall be rolled up like a scroll.” Below are the twelve apostles, divided by the Cross of Golgotha, which Adam and Eve, located in the third row, venerate. The inclusion of this cross, Der Nersessian notes, departs from the more usual custom of representing the empty throne, or hetoimasia, that awaits Christ on the Day of Judgment.55 By replacing the throne with the instrument of Christ’s passion, Ṙoslin highlights the promise of salvation for the elect, just as he may deliberately invoke the particular significance of the cross in Armenian theology and liturgy. The most dramatic modification to the Last Judgment iconography is the inclusion of the group of Foolish Virgins on the left side of the second register. This image alludes to the illustrating the parable of Matthew 25:1–​13. According to this text, five wise virgins prepare for the coming of the kingdom of heaven, but five foolish virgins do not trim their oil lamps in time, and are locked out of the kingdom while they seek oil for their lamps. Ṙoslin cleverly illustrates this parable: five women approach the apostles, their expressive faces conveying a questioning anxiety. But the two leftmost apostles hold up their hands, as if to slam shut the heavy wooden door separating them from the

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FIGURE 4.10  

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Last Judgment by T‘oros Ṙoslin, 1262.

Baltimore: Walters Art Museum MS W 539, fol. 109v.

women. However, Ṙoslin conveys the foolish virgins’ exclusion not only through the expressiveness of the figures, but also through the structure of the composition. The door that separates the women from the apostles stands just at the margin of the image’s rectangular frame, so that the women are excluded not only from the kingdom of heaven but also from the order of the composition itself.56

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Below and to the right is an image of Hell, painted in bright red and black, where demons torture a corrupt emperor and an ecclesiastic. The vividness of this scene, Levon Chookaszian has suggested, may reflect Ṙoslin’s own historical moment, which saw the rise of Mamluk power in the eastern Mediterranean and the destabilization of the Mongol Empire.57 Perhaps the upheaval of the contemporary historical moment contributed to the vividness of this vision of Judgment Day.

Royal Manuscripts of the Latter Thirteenth Century In the period of the 1270s and 1280s, the delicate balance among the various powers of the eastern Mediterranean was disturbed by the deterioration of the Mongol empire and the establishment of the Ilkhanid dynasty in Iran by the Mongol Khan Hülagü. After the Mamluks’ decisive defeat of Hülagü’s army in Syria in 1260, the Mongol ruler retreated to Iran to settle internal succession issues and conflicts with the Golden Horde (the khanate located in the region of the northern steppe and Russia). Meanwhile, the Mamluk Sultan Baybars launched a series of attacks on Syria and then Cilicia. Het‘um I abdicated in 1269 and died the following year. His successor, Levon II (r. 1269–​89), sought Crusader assistance against the Mamluks, but to no avail, and in 1285, Levon II accepted from the Mamluks a treaty imposing harsh conditions on the Cilician economy, including heavy tribute and trade restrictions. In 1292, the Mamluks raided Hṙomkla, forcing the Cilicians to surrender fortresses at the eastern borders of the kingdom. To this stormy period date some of the most sophisticated and luxurious works of art ever produced. As manuscript colophons attest, intellectual and artistic activity flourished in Cilicia in the latter thirteenth century. The energies of monastic and ecclesiastical organizations, particularly in the mountains of Gṙner, revolved around the figure of archbishop Yovhannēs, brother of King Het‘um I.58 With Het‘um’s accession, royal and princely patronage soon outpaced patriarchal commissions, such that the great majority of surviving manuscripts from the last three decades of the thirteenth century are produced within a courtly context. Not surprisingly, Cilician manuscripts of the thirteenth and fourteenth century preserve many royal portraits, a tradition begun already with T‘oros Ṙoslin.59 One of the most sumptuous is in the Queen Keran Gospels (Figure 4.11) of 1272, showing the royal couple Levon and Keran along with their children. This full-​page image, located at the end of the manuscript, features in its upper half a large enthroned Christ garbed in white and surrounded by a blue striped mandorla. Beside him are the Virgin and John the Baptist (in a hair shirt), both of whom gesture toward Christ and to the royal family below. Christ lowers both

The Art of Armenian Cilicia

FIGURE 4.11  

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Donor portrait, Queen Keran Gospels, 1272.

Jerusalem: Armenian Patriarchate, MS 2563, fol. 380.

hands, as if to bless simultaneously the king and queen, kneeling in the lower corners of the page. Levon and Keran are large in scale: both might well surpass Christ in height, recalling the royal portrait of Gagik at distant Aght‘amar (see Figure 3.13). Between them are their children: three sons to the left and two daughters to the right. As Der Nersessian notes, the composition is carefully constructed, generating a visual balance between the upper zone and the royal family below, thereby emphasizing both the divine authority and stature of the Cilician kings, and their piety and humility before God.60 The painter has employed Byzantine visual conventions of power: the image of Christ conveying authority to earthly rulers finds close parallels in portraits of Byzantine emperors.61 Both Levon and Keran, moreover, wear the divitision (a long-​sleeved tunic) adorned with the loros (a silk-​paneled scarf): a recognizably Byzantine imperializing costume. Levon’s heavily jeweled crown and Keran’s combination of jeweled helmet and its hanging prependoulia also evoke, if approximately, Byzantine regalia.62 Yet as both Helen Evans and Ioanna Rapti have pointed out, certain aspects of the image point to other cultural sources.63 The fur-​lined crimson robes are not Byzantine (nor is the practice of covering the loros with an over-​layer), but find

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parallels in European and Crusader royal dress. The children’s costumes also suggest European sources: the jeweled circlet crowns upon the boys’ heads, and their outer garments, fastened at the neck and with elbow-​length slit sleeves, evoke the costume of Crusader nobility. Of course, we do not whether this royal representation reflects actual garments, let alone, as Der Nersessian assumed, the family’s coronation costume.64 Regardless of its historical veracity, however, the portrait constructs a syncretic iconography of royal power. Rather than donning a precise imitation of Byzantine imperial costume, or imitating exclusively European or Crusader royalty, the royal family are shown, instead, wearing multiple types of elite clothing from across these cultures.65 Cloaking their Byzantine garments in the ermine furs of European royalty, king and queen project their position as rulers of a crucial power nexus in the Eastern Mediterranean. To the sacred figures above them, and to the readers before them, they are recognizably and consummately royal. During the 1270s and 1280s, a new pictorial style emerged. Developing further the narrative programs of T‘oros Ṙoslin, artists of the latter thirteenth century created an astonishing new visual language, using a wide range of colors, complex forms stacked high and crammed into corners, expressive and vivid figures, and a high-​pitched emotionalism. From this “baroque” period, as it has been called, date some of the most vivid and powerful examples of artistic contact with Byzantium, Western Europe, and East Asia. The Lectionary of Het‘um II (Matenadaran MS 979) exemplifies this new style.66 Completed in 1286, three years before Het‘um II took the throne, the text offers a selection of readings for the liturgical year, drawn from the Old and New Testaments and lavishly illustrated with narrative scenes and portraits of appropriate saints. Fol. 210v (Figure 4.12) presents the text of Matthew 28 (the Holy Women at the Tomb), on its lower half, with a half-​page illustration above. The artist generally follows the iconographic formats of previous decades (see Figures 4.6 and 4.11), yet the Lectionary’s image presents the story in unprecedented visual terms, with the outsized, long-​limbed angel now the unequivocal focus.67 Each part of his body seems to flex, turn, or tense: the right hip tilts forward, pushing out the belly, while his right shoulder rotates counterclockwise, following the pointing finger of the right hand, creating a dynamic torsion. The angel’s drapery further articulates this attitude: thin gold lines suggest tiny folds, which defy gravity in order to outline each bodily element from shoulder to ankle. This hyper-​expressiveness does not, however, extend to the angel’s face. Unlike Ṙoslin’s angel, who looks to the holy women with an open, communicative visage, the angel in the Lectionary appears in three-​quarters profile, evading the women’s glances and looking instead at the viewer. What is he thinking? It is difficult to read his mood, but the downturned mouth, the sidelong glance, and the drooping hand with its pointing finger suggests nothing so much as ennui. The holy women’s faces are more expressive: the innermost, communicating a mixture of fear and love, cradles her ewer as she tilts slightly

The Art of Armenian Cilicia

FIGURE 4.12  

115

Holy Women at the Tomb, Lectionary, 1286.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 979, fol. 210v.

away from, but steps toward, the angel. On the right, the apostle Peter, an unusual addition inspired by the text of Luke 24:12, looks into the empty tomb, his fingers resting on its edge.68 The composition of this scene matches its narrative drama. The strong diagonal wings of the angel break through the frame, as does the mountain behind the holy women and the roof of the tomb. Unlike the upright cavity of previous images, here the empty sarcophagus projects diagonally from its structure, almost ready to slide into the viewer’s space. Small details catch the eye, such as the glistening knee of the soldier in the lower right corner and the outstretched ewer of myrrh held by the concealed holy woman. Finally, the frame is conceived not as a solid, enamel-​like enclosure, as seen in earlier works, but rather as a penetrable zone sprouting palmettes, flowers, and vinescrolls. Altogether, the image represents not only a new style, but a new aesthetic of exuberance, flamboyance, and spectacle. Why and from where did this style emerge? It is impossible to arrive at a conclusive answer, but one stimulus may have been the exposure of contemporary Cilician artists and patrons to elite visual traditions of other cultures.69 Scholars have drawn convincing parallels between the elaborate frames of

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Het‘um’s Lectionary and those of contemporary Italian manuscript painting.70 Another manuscript from the period, known as the “Gospel of the Eight Painters,” was demonstrably copied from a Byzantine Gospels.71 We know this in part because of striking parallels in the relationship between text and image: both manuscripts are arranged with small, frieze-​like images that run in episodes across the page, and correspond to neighboring lines of text. Proof of this relationship is furnished, moreover, by the Byzantine manuscript itself, which preserves a note in Armenian to the copyist. By the last two decades of the thirteenth century, Cilician manuscript art also preserves striking evidence for visual ideas from East Asia. The Lectionary of Het‘um II features an extraordinary ornamental frame for the reading of April 7, the Feast of the Annunciation (Figure 4.13).72 Gold and lapis lazuli pigments highlight dizzyingly complex patterns: the right margin is an explosion of tendrils, fruits, and vines, inhabited by dragons, rabbits, birds, and felines, and topped with a three-​faced human, which itself serves as a perch for a majestic eagle. The central headpiece is even more spectacular: within an ornately framed medallion is the bust of the youthful Christ Emmanuel, framed by a pair of majestic silver-​gray lions. Their manes, and those of the blue felines

FIGURE 4.13  

Headpiece, Lectionary, 1286.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 979, fol. 295.

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below them, are distinctive for their spiral curls, which Dickran Kouymjian has linked to Mongolian and Yuan-​dynasty Chinese porcelain and silks.73 As Kouymjian and others have observed, the economic and political relations of Cilicia with the Mongols presented rich opportunity for the transmission of such artistic ideas. During the Ilkhanid period, Mongol suzerainty extended from China to Anatolia, enabling the circulation of goods for various purposes, including trade and diplomacy. The Cilician-​Mongol alliance would have established further possibility for exposure to wares from Mongol-​ controlled China. The visits of Het‘um I and his son Levon II to the Mongol court between the 1250s and 1280s, finally, provided an opportunity for the exchange of gifts.74 What did the unusual lions and dragons of Het‘um’s Lectionary signify in their new Armenian context?75 The creatures might have been chosen for their visual appeal: with their pliable bodies, they ideally suited the contortions required of animals in medieval manuscripts, and certainly suited the aesthetic flamboyance of contemporary Cilician deluxe commissions. Perhaps they also conveyed prestige, as deliberate evocations of luxury objects intended to demonstrate the status of the aspiring young Het‘um II as a rightful heir to the throne. The texts below the elaborate headpiece may have also inflected these creatures with special meaning. Particularly noteworthy is the prophecy of Zachariah, which formed one of the readings for the Feast of the Annunciation: Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Sion! For behold, I will come and dwell in your midst, says the Lord. Many nations shall take refuge in the Lord on that day, and shall be his people; and will dwell in your midst. And you shall know that the Lord almighty has sent me to you. (Zach. 2:10–​11) Zachariah’s words provide a theological dimension to the political and aesthetic readings of the lions offered above. Not only signs of prestige and trade capital, the curly-​haired creatures may also signify God’s dominion on earth. Positioned to frame and support the central medallion of Christ, they may have represented, for the reader, a vivid pictorial testimony of the “many nations” who “take refuge in the Lord.” The aesthetic direction of the latter thirteenth century also informed canon-​table design, as attested in a remarkable gospel book from the period (Matenadaran 9422).76 Lacking a colophon, cropped, and subsequently rebound and repaired, the codex nevertheless preserves a full set of ten canon tables. They are staggering in richness and complexity, each more splendid than the last, so that it is difficult to describe them adequately. The canon table on fol. 6 presents the traditional architectonic headpiece, but the form is packed with vegetal and geometric forms (Figure 4.14). Dark-​green and blue arches offer organization to what otherwise demands close scrutiny to identify forms nestled within. Above the headpiece is a cross-​shaped pedestal, flanked by birds and running felines, including a cheetah, while on each side of the headpiece,

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FIGURE 4.14  

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Canon table, late 13th century.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 9422, fol. 5v.

birds stand atop lush vinescrolls. Within this vegetation appear two nude figures:  a partially concealed crouching female on the left, and a male on the right, his back turned to the viewer. The columns supporting the headpiece are equally intricate in their decoration:  human figures inhabit capitals and bases, presumably evangelists above and prophets below. Arguably, however, the visual experience of the page is as important as identifying individual forms and figures. The richness of the mineral tones, and the complex webbing of ornament, surely provided an immersive experience for the reader beginning a journey through the Gospel book. In his Interpretation of the Canon Tables, Nersēs Shnorhali describes such an experience. Shnorhali’s text explains canon-​table imagery and its colors in symbolic terms, highlighting concepts of salvation, paradise, and the heavenly city.77 The tables are interpreted both in toto (e.g., as the walls of the Garden of Eden) and also individually and sequentially (e.g., Canon 5 is the Ark of Noah; Canon 6 is the Tabernacle of Abraham). Individual motifs receive intriguing explanation: the olive tree, for example, symbolizes the longevity of the Patriarchs, and the olive’s sour taste indicates their austere virtue. Most intriguingly, however, the commentary describes the decorated tables as “cleansing baths” for the eyes

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and ears of those about to embark upon the Gospel text: canon-​table decoration signifies not sensory overload but sensory purification.78 Although written over a century before the luxurious canon tables of Matenadaran 2799, the text of Nersēs Shnorhali offers a robust theological context in which to understand their elaborate and sumptuous decoration.

Sargis Pitsak and the Early Fourteenth Century Fewer extensively illustrated manuscripts survive from the fourteenth century. With the fall of the Crusader states, Cilicia became vulnerable to Mamluk invasion, and in 1292, the Mamluks captured the patriarchal seat of Hṙomkla. Oppressive taxation and invasions destabilized the kingdom, as did internal wars among the Het‘umids. Het‘um II, a Franciscan monk, abdicated in 1293; after retaking the throne for a short while, he abdicated a few more times, and his brothers sought it for themselves. He and his brothers continued to pursue union with the Church of Rome, a goal that aroused anger among the local clergy. The conversion of Mongols to Islam also weakened Cilicia’s position. In 1307, during the reign of Oljeitu (1280–​1316), ruler of the Ilkhanid dynasty, the Mongol emir Bilarghu murdered Het‘um and his nephew, the young king Levon III, during their visit to the emir at Anavarza. The following reign of Ōshin (1308–​1320) was also unstable. Ōshin sought alliances with both the Mongol Ilkhanate of Iran and with European powers, but his recognition of the Pope was seen as a betrayal of the Armenian Church, and he was murdered in 1320. The production of high-​quality manuscripts continued nevertheless. The best-​known and most prolific artist from this period is Sargis Pitsak.79 Based in the scriptorium of Sis, Sargis was the recipient of commissions from Levon IV and Queen Mariun, among others. Around fifty signed manuscripts by Sargis exist; from one, we learn that he earned 1300 dirhams to finish the illustrations of the Gospel of the Eight Painters.80 Sargis’s last name, “bee,” originates from a story that his painted flowers were so lifelike that they attracted a bee. This story, a familiar convention of artistic biography, does not accurately describe Sargis’s style, which prized organized patterns and rich colors over the observation of nature.81 Pitsak’s painting of the Dormition of the Virgin, appearing in a Gospels of 1336 (Matenadaran 5786), offers a sense of his work (Figure 4.15). As Der Nersessian observed, this subject is unknown in prior Cilician illumination, but appears in a twelfth-​century Gospel book from Greater Armenia and in the thirteenth-​century wall paintings of the church of Tigran Honents‘ at Ani. Its patron, the priest Andreas from the region of Ayrarat, is a further link between the manuscript and Greater Armenia. Sargis’s Dormition concludes a series of full-​page images associated with feast days prefacing the Gospel text. Conforming to Byzantine iconography,

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FIGURE 4.15  

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Dormition of the Virgin by Sargis Pitsak, 1336.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 5786 fol. 266.

this scene features the prostrate Virgin on her funeral couch, embraced by the apostle Peter. Behind him, the standing Christ elevates the soul of the Virgin, pictured as a swaddled baby, while two angels descend from the upper corners. Around the Virgin stand a group of eight apostles and three bishops, the latter identifiable by their vivid ecclesiastical garments. At the bottom of the page is the account of the Jew Jephonias, who, according to apocryphal tradition, tried to attack the funeral couch. An angel intervened and cut off his arms, which appear still attached to the couch. There is a strong liturgical dimension to the scene, as in the Byzantine tradition:  as if informed by an actual funerary rite, the clerics, holding crosses and gospel books, cense the body of the Virgin, while tall candles light the scene from below. The image is most striking, however, for its ornamental effect. The central form of the Virgin is engulfed in a sea of patterns: the black and white crosses of the bishops’ omophoria, the gold halos peppered with small dots, and the delicate blue tendrils and orange rosettes behind the Jephonias scene. The juxtaposition of these designs, together with strong chromatic contrasts, creates a lively staccato rhythm across the page.

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Metalwork Historical sources attest to the existence of works in precious metal from Armenian Cilicia, but only a limited corpus is preserved, including silver-​gilt book covers and an arm-​shaped reliquary of Saint Nicholas (c. 1325 and later).82 Best known is the Skevra reliquary (Figures 4.16 and 4.17).83 Constructed of a wooden frame covered with a thin layer (0.6 mm) of silver gilt, it takes the form of a rectangle of 65 by 35.5 cm, its doors forming a pointed arch. The back of the Skevra reliquary bears a forty-​three-​line inscription of 104 rhymed verses, offering precious information regarding the circumstances of its commission. It was made in 1293 at the request of the “Kostandin, Chief Bishop of Skevra.” The text relates that the destruction of the monastery of Hṙomkla, and the sack of its treasury and manuscripts, prompted Kostandin to deposit his relics within a reliquary worthy of them. It also states that Kostandin presented the reliquary as an offering to the saints in memory of himself and his family, consecrated it to the Savior, and placed it in the church of the same name at Skevra. Finally, the text beseeches those who view the reliquary to pray for the longevity of King Het‘um’s reign and for the remission of commissioner Kostandin’s sins.84 Another inscription, running around the frame of the closed doors, is an acrostic poem spelling out the names Het‘um and Kostandin, and invoking the Virgin Mary, Christ, John the Baptist, and Saints Stephen, Peter, Paul, Thaddeus, and Gregory. This text also pleads for the preservation of the monastery, the long reign of Het‘um, and the deliverance of Kostandin and the Armenian people from their sins. The pictorial program of the reliquary is as rich as the inscription. The closed doors form a three-​barred cross that organizes the figural decoration, executed in repoussé and chasing. On the doors are depicted the two principal saints connected to Armenia’s conversion to Christianity:  Gregory the Illuminator (on the left) and Saint Thaddeus (on the right). Below them are bust portraits of the military saints Eustathius (below Gregory) and Vardan (below Thaddeus), the latter known for his martyrdom in the Battle of Avarayr. Above Gregory is Peter, also in bust form, holding keys and book, while Paul appears above Thaddeus, holding a book and sword. Two further medallions of Paul and Peter, of later manufacture, fill the spandrels of the arches. The opened doors show the angel Gabriel between medallions of John the Baptist (above) and King David (below) on the right, and the Virgin between Stephen (above) and King Het‘um (below), on the left. Het‘um is shown full length, kneeling and turning toward the central panel of the reliquary. As Der Nersessian has observed, Het‘um’s relatively simple garment contrasts with those worn by the Cilician royal personages in manuscript portraits (see Figure 4.11).85 The inner surfaces of the reliquary wings bear text inscriptions relating to each figure: for

FIGURE 4.16  

Skevra Reliquary, 1293 (closed)

Saint Petersburg: State Hermitage Museum, AR-​1572.

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FIGURE 4.17  

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Skevra Reliquary, 1293 (open).

Saint Petersburg: State Hermitage Museum, AR-​1572.

example, adjacent to the angel and the Virgin are texts from the Annunciation (Luke 1:29–​35 and 1:38). Noteworthy are the words accompanying John the Baptist:  “Behold the Lamb of God who will deliver the sins of this world,” a reminder of the importance of the Agnus Dei in the manuscript illumination of Armenian Cilicia and its ties with the Roman Church. The busts of eighteen additional figures appear on the thin borders of the reliquary, and include saints, apostles, prophets, and church fathers. In its triptych format and basic composition, the Skevra reliquary is comparable to Byzantine cross reliquaries (staurotheke) of the twelfth century. At the same time, the Skevra reliquary presents a unique and remarkably sophisticated program of texts and images, integrating Armenian saints and martyrs, as well as the persons of Kostandin and Het‘um, into an overall Christian framework.

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Kostandin himself, Der Nersessian has suggested, was responsible for the composition of the poems and the selection of figures and biblical texts.86 The technique, design, and style of the work are highly accomplished. Surfaces are organized carefully to accommodate inscription bands and figural images. The open wings, bearing images of Gabriel and the Virgin, create a dramatic Annunciation narrative extending across the central panel of the triptych. The artist has slightly varied figural poses to create a more lively visual experience: Gregory, for example, is directly frontal, while Thaddeus turns in three-​quarters. Bodies are expressive and dynamic, and drapery is delicately wrought, naturalistic, and expressive. Even tiny details such as the beard of Gregory and the edging on Het‘um’s mantle are meticulously observed. In her analysis of this object, Der Nersessian points out parallels with manuscript painting of Cilicia, noting that the reliquary’s lively and elegant figural gestures, and juxtaposition of complex forms against a smooth gold background, recall the Donor page of the Gospels of Queen Keran (see Figure 4.11).87 The Skevra reliquary thus invites us to consider a visual culture shared across the media of manuscript painting and metalwork. The final decades of the Cilician Kingdom saw increased oppression and isolation. Levon IV (1320–​1341) was forced to sign a treaty with the Mamluks that promised a yearly tribute of 1.2 million silver dirhams, as well as fifty percent of the profits from the port of Ayas and from salt exports. Levon IV’s subsequent attempt to garner European support created more distrust, and in 1337, the Mamluks invaded Cilicia and looted its major cities. With the death of Levon IV, the crown passed to the Lusignan family of Cyprus. After only two years on the throne, Guy de Lusignan (Constantine II, 1342–​1344) was killed at Adana. His successors suffered more Mamluk invasions and the Black Death, as well as the indifference of European powers and the hostility of the Cilician nobility. In 1375, the Mamluks took decisive control of Cilicia, stormed the capital of Sis, appointed a regional governor, and forced the last king, Levon V, to Cairo. He died in Paris in 1393, and his funeral effigy, first located at the Convent of the Celestines in Paris, was moved after the French Revolution to the Royal Basilica of Saint Denis, where it lies today.

{ 5 }

Greater Armenia in the Twelfth to Fifteenth Centuries

Like the art of Armenian Cilicia, that of twelfth-​to fifteenth-​century Greater Armenia testifies to vigorous cultural contact, although produced within very different political conditions. New monuments built at the city of Ani and in monasteries across Greater Armenia reflect knowledge of and experimentation with Byzantine, Georgian, and Islamic traditions. Khach‘k‘ars demonstrate an aesthetic shared with Seljuk-​and Mongol-​era monuments, at the same time introducing new iconography of the Crucifixion. Works in wood, ceramic, and metal preserved from this era exhibit technological and visual refinement, in which the smallest details and figural gestures receive careful attention. Contemporary manuscript painting, executed in a range of styles, reveals on the one hand openness to other traditions, but on the other a determined defense of Armenian theological beliefs and liturgical practices. Analysis of the art of this period thus offers insight into how Armenian communities negotiated their shifting and complex political and cultural environments.

Historical Background Before exploring the art of the twelfth-​to fifteenth-​century Greater Armenia, it is necessary to offer a historical frame for this shifting and complex period, which departs in many ways from that of previous eras. Royal lands were divided among multiple principalities and subject to a succession of external powers. Armenians were integrated into ruling systems as princely subjects, military vassals, and administrative functionaries, and were also periodically victim to devastating invasion and economic ruin. The geopolitical fragmentation that occurred with the Seljuk occupation of Armenia, c. 1071–​1201, defies any quick summary, let  alone a single map.1 In the latter decades of

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the eleventh century, Seljuk conquerors divided Armenian territory among various vassal rulers, including Turkmen, Kurds, and Armenians.2 In the period 1100–​1207, the Turkic Shah-​Armens controlled a large part of former Artsruni territory, while former Bagratid territory in the north fell under the rule of the Kurdish Shaddadids of Ani and Gandza. In 1072, the Shaddadid emir Minuchir purchased the city of Ani. The kingdom of Siwnik‘ in the south fractured into a number of Armenian-​ruled principalities, including Khachēn (in Arts‘akh) and Baghk‘. Farther west, the region of Garin (Erzurum) became part of the emirate of the Saltukids. Central Anatolia was divided among various groups, including the Danishmendids in Sivas in the north, and in the south, the Sultanate of Rūm, which had broken with Baghdad in 1077. During this period, Georgian territory to the north gradually consolidated and gathered strength. David IV (1089–​1125, “the Builder”), a member of the Georgian Bagratids, unified his territories into a single state, drawing support from both the nobility and the church. During his and his successors’ reigns, Georgia annexed neighboring kingdoms to establish a pan-​Caucasian state stretching from the Black Sea to the Caspian, inaugurating the Golden Age of Georgian rule. During the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries, Georgian power extended into Armenia, absorbing the kingdoms of Ani, Kars, and Loṙi and the principalities of Bjni and Siwnik‘, as well as the city of Dvin. With these Georgian advances, formerly Seljuk-​controlled territories of Armenia fell under either direct Georgian suzerainty or the rule of Armenian or Armenized feudal lords. New noble families arose in Armenia during this time. Most prominent were the Zak‘arids (Georgian: Mkhargrdzeli), of Armenian, Georgian, and Kurdish ancestry. Two members of this family, Zak‘arē and Ivanē, had served as military commanders under Queen Tamar (1184–​1213), successfully recapturing Armenian territory, including Ani and Dvin, from Muslim control. For their deeds, they received a large territory in Armenia, including the Ayrarat plain and the region of Lake Sevan. Ani served as their capital, which they restored and maintained until the arrival of the Mongols in 1236. In the province of Siwnik‘, the Orbelians, a branch of the Mamikonian dynasty, served as the ruling family. Georgian suzerainty meant the re-​emergence of Christian rule in Armenian domains. Nobles endowed or rebuilt monastic complexes, supporting new intellectual enterprises and literary activities. The city of Ani prospered again, this time as a trade station on the route to Trebizond, which had become a Byzantine capital after the Latin conquest of Constantinople in 1204. Some merchants, such as Tigran Honents‘, became very rich, as demonstrated by his lavish church on the eastern flank of Ani. Yet problems arose with regard to confessional differences between the Armenians and the Georgians. Contemporary sources suggest that the adherence of Georgians and many

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Armenians to Chalcedonian Christianity was perceived as a threat to traditional Armenian miaphysitism. In the second decade of the thirteenth century, the Mongols challenged Georgian control of Armenia. After conquering Asia, they extended their campaigns into the Caucasus, defeating Armenian and Georgian forces in 1220 and, after three further invasions, completed their conquest of Armenia, absorbing Ani, Kars, and Garin. From the Caucasus, they advanced westward to defeat the Seljuk sultan in 1244, moved north into Russian principalities, and then into eastern and central Europe, reaching the shores of the Adriatic. After the death of Genghis Khan in 1227, the empire was divided among various regions, or ulus; by 1256, under Hülagü Khan, Armenia became a vassal of the Persian Ilkhanate, which at its largest extent spanned from central Asia to central Anatolia. Conditions under early Mongol rule, historical evidence suggests, were not particularly harsh. As was the case under the Georgians, Armenia was obliged to provide tribute and military service, but elites retained their hereditary privileges. Armenians also functioned in the administrative and diplomatic affairs of the state, a situation recalling the cordial relations between the Ilkhanate and the Cilician kingdom. But such harmonious relations were probably not widespread and certainly not lasting. In 1243, after the imposition of a special tax, Armenians rebelled and faced harsh punishment; the same pattern of taxation, rebellion, and punishment recurred in the 1250s and early 1260s. The shift of commercial routes to the south brought wealth to Garin and the Van region, but Ani lost its position as a trade station. By the latter years of the thirteenth century, moreover, Catholic missionaries from Europe, including Franciscans and Dominicans, arrived in Armenia; the latter developed an Armenian branch known as the Fratres Unitores. Under the protection of the Mongols, these groups established convents and sought to promote the union of the Latin and Armenian churches. While their activity drew at least some support from Cilician elites (such as Het‘um I), it was received less warmly in Greater Armenia. In any case, with the conversion to Islam of Ghazan Khan (1295–​1305), the missionaries lost their state support and local Armenians became subject to religious persecution. Conditions worsened in the following decades. The requirements of military service became particularly arduous by the fourteenth century, with the weakening of the Ikhanate. In 1347, the Black Death struck the populations of Asia Minor. During this period, two growing Turkmen powers—​ the Ak Koyunlu (White Sheep), based at Diyarbekir, and the Kara Koyunlu (Black Sheep) at Maragha—​vied for control over the Caucasus. Coinciding with this struggle were the invasions of Timur Leng (“Timur the Lame,” or “Tamerlaine”). Between the 1380s and 1405, Timur launched, from his capital at Samarkand, a series of violent campaigns, conquering Persia, the South

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Caucasus, Central Asia, and India. In 1386 he reached Siwnik‘, capturing Nakhchevan from the Kara Koyunlu. In 1400 he staged further invasions into Armenia and Georgia, Syria, Iraq, and Anatolia. By the time that Timur died in 1405, en route to China, Armenian urban centers were devastated, and struggles over the wreckage arose between the two Turkmen confederations. By 1410, after a series of decisive victories over the Timurids, the Kara Koyunlu prevailed as the leading power in Armenia and Georgia. After a struggle for succession, Kara Yusuf’s son Jahan Shah took power, and ruled from 1439 to 1456, further extending Kara Koyunlu domains into Iran, Iraq, and Kerman, and consolidating power in the Ani, Garin, Van, and Karabagh regions. Jahan Shah was concerned not only with conquest, but also with maintaining political and social stability within Armenia. His reign also witnessed important changes in the Armenian Church. Since the disintegration of the Armenian Cilician kingdom in 1385, the catholicate, centered at Sis, had fallen into decline. In 1441, Jahan Shah allowed its transfer from Sis to Etchmiadzin, which had served as one of the earliest centers of the Armenian Church (from c.  301/​314 to 452). Sis maintained an independent catholicate until the sixteenth century, when it was granted official status in return for formally recognizing the supremacy of Etchmiadzin. The transfer from Sis to Etchmiadzin was a crucial step in consolidating the institutional power of the Armenian Church. As in previous centuries, the Armenian nobility played an important role in financing the re-​establishment of the catholicate. By endowing and supporting local religious institutions, they not only earned assurance of salvation for themselves and their family but also protected their wealth from taxation. Monasteries were also centers of learning, both spiritual and secular:  from them emanated a rich textual, visual, and material culture, reinforcing and sustaining Armenian identity during a period of occupation. In 1467, Uzun Hassan (1453–​1478), leader of the Ak Koyunlu, defeated Jahan Shah in the Battle of Chapakchur (near Malat‘ia); the latter died while fleeing. With his victories against the Kara Koyunlu, Uzun Hassan established control of eastern Anatolia, Azerbajian, and parts of Syria and Persia. These struggles coincided with the rise to power of another Turkic group, the Ottomans. Gathering strength in northwestern Anatolia in the latter thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, the Ottomans achieved swift territorial expansion, capturing port cities in the Black Sea and Mediterranean, and in 1453 taking the Byzantine capital of Constantinople, threatening the empire of Trebizond. Concerned about this growing threat, European powers sought to assist Uzun Hassan against the Ottomans, but the latter emerged triumphant in 1473 in the Battle of Otlukbeli near Erzincan. The Ak Koyunlu were decisively defeated in 1502 by Shah Ismael, founder of the Persian Safavid Empire.

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Ani in the Thirteenth Century The city of Ani witnessed new construction and renovation under Seljuk, Shaddadid, and Georgian occupation. Inscriptions attest to the various communities that lived within or passed through Ani in the thirteenth century, including texts not only in Armenian but also in Greek, Arabic, Georgian, Turkish and Persian.3 Churches, mosques, caravanserais, baths, and luxurious residences arose or were renewed during this time. These buildings speak to the shifting but shared cultures of Ani, preserving traces of a dynamic and diverse urban center. The merchant Tigran Honents‘ constructed a large domed church, dedicated to Saint Gregory, at the eastern edge of the city, overlooking the Akhurean River (Figure 5.1).4 A  long inscription on the south façade of the structure records Tigran’s commission, providing a date of 1215 and listing his donations of gold and silver crosses, an icon covered in jewels, relics of the True Cross, and residences for monks and princes. It also relates that Tigran gave to the monastery properties, including villages, hostels, markets, farms, and vineyards, with their various revenues.5 The full text represents Tigran as a benefactor of enormous wealth, with landholdings and investments throughout the region of Ani, testifying to a new ultra-​rich merchant class. The design and decoration of the church further testifies to his wealth. About 14 m long and 10 m wide, it resembles Ani Cathedral in its quadrangular exterior.

FIGURE 5.1   Photo: author.

Ani, Tigran Honents‘ Church, c. 1215, view from southwest.

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The church of Tigran Honents‘, however, is more attenuated, rising some 18 m to the top of the (now-​modified) conical roof. This verticality, generated by steep gables and the tall, narrow drum and dome, typifies thirteenth-​century Georgian and Armenian architecture. Also accenting the building’s height are exterior blind arcades, surmounted by interlaced vinescrolls and rising from slender twin colonettes. Inhabiting the vinescrolls are real and fantastic animals, including eagles, peacocks, tusked animals, tigers, deer, griffins, dragons, and sirens. The drum, hexagonal on the exterior, cylindrical within, is likewise sheathed in blind arcading. Windows, both rectangular and round, are framed with heavily profiled moldings, and a sundial appears on the south façade. Preceded by a now-​ruined zhamatun, or antechamber, the church is entered by a single door, located at the west.6 The building is a “domed hall”: large attached piers support the dome and divide the longitudinal bays. The eastern apse is large, elevated on several steps, and flanked by two-​story apsed side chambers. As at the seventh-​century church of Ptghni (see Figure  2.12), the plan unifies interior space, but here it also facilitates an uninterrupted reading of wall paintings. The church of Tigran Honents‘ preserves the most coherent and complete painted interior of all monuments known from medieval Armenia (Figure 5.2). While many passages are damaged, what remains is remarkable for its complex organization, iconography, elegant and expressive style, and rich colors. In the eastern apse are three registers of images: the conch bears a large scene of the Deesis (Christ flanked by the Virgin and John the Baptist); below, Christ,

FIGURE 5.2   Photo: author.

Ani, Tigran Honents‘ Church, interior.

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shown twice, administers the sacraments to two groups of apostles. At ground level is a row of standing figures, including fathers of the church, two early Armenian catholicoi, and bishops, some identifiable by bilingual Greek and Georgian inscriptions. In the dome is a now-​damaged scene of the Ascension, showing the seated Christ carried by four flying angels. The drum features the twelve apostles, angels accompanied by the orant Virgin, and a row of prophets, including Aaron and Zachariah, with the Ark of the Covenant. In the nave are framed scenes of the major feasts of the church, including the Annunciation, Nativity, Raising of Lazarus, Entry into Jerusalem, Crucifixion, the Holy Women at the Tomb, Dormition of the Virgin, and Pentecost. Stylite saints, known for mortifying their flesh by standing on columns, appear, appropriately, on the attached piers supporting the dome. Painted across the north, south, and west walls, an extended cycle of the Life of Saint Gregory the Illuminator occupies the western bay. Comprising sixteen scenes, the program presents a selection of episodes: Gregory’s refusal of Trdat’s command to worship idols; four distinct scenes of the torture of Gregory (Figure 5.3); Gregory imprisoned in the pit; the martyrdom of the virgin Hṙip‘simē and her companions; Gregory acclaimed as bishop; the ordination of his son Aristakēs (also pictured in the apse); and Gregory’s death, in which angels swoop down to Mount Sepuh to retrieve his soul. On the south wall is the Vision of Saint Gregory: at left, Gregory stands frontally in orant position, while in the center of the image, he appears again, standing

FIGURE 5.3   Photo: author.

Ani, Tigran Honents‘ Church, interior, north wall.

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before an assembled crowd. Above, God appears in a crescent-​shaped frame, accompanied by two descending angels, while behind the crowd is an architectural structure of columns and domes, referring to the “marvelous vaults” beheld by Gregory. Appearing just to the right of this image, on the west face of the southwest attached pier, is Nino, the evangelist of Georgia. According to tradition, Nino, having already converted the pagan King Mirian, set about building a church.7 While six columns were set in place, the largest, intended for the center of the church, was impossible to move. Then, a young man, “clothed in light and fire,” appeared to Nino and lifted the column into place. Noteworthy are the parallels in the Armenian and Georgian conversion traditions: both stories highlight not just architecture, but also its specific components such as columns and capitals. In both cases, buildings embody the holy. The painting program of the Church of Tigran Honents‘ raises many questions regarding the ethnic origins and confessional position of the patron and his artists. The bilingual Greek and Georgian inscriptions and the inclusion of the narrative of Saint Nino have suggested to some that Tigran was an Armenian who accepted the Chalcedonian rite.8 Others reject this view, inferring a traditional Armenian Christology from the dedication to Gregory the Illuminator, the episodic representation of his life in the western bay, and the inclusion of his sons, Aristakēs and Vertanēs, in the apse.9 This position is supported by the foundation inscription, which anathematizes those who reject the first three ecumenical councils (Constantinople, Nicaea, and Ephesus), but omits the Council of Chalcedon, which the Georgians upheld but the Armenians officially rejected.10 Yet the donated liturgical objects mentioned in the inscription recall both Georgian tradition (the jewel-​covered icon, called by its Georgian name khati) and Armenian tradition (a “Cross of the Savior,” recalling a common Armenian locution for the khach‘k‘ar).11 Some scholars thus conclude that Tigran, while an Armenian miaphysite, demonstrated in public an adherence to the conventions of the ruling state.12 It is noteworthy in this regard that while Tigran’s church carries Georgian and Armenian inscriptions, his tomb, located in the caves of Ani south of the city, features inscriptions exclusively in Armenian.13 Finally, Antony Eastmond has suggested that the combined appearance of Saints Gregory and Nino reflects the intentions of Zak‘arid policy to create greater unity among the Armenians and Georgians of the realm.14 In the absence of written records, we must rely on the epigraphic texts, architecture, and sculptural and painting programs to evaluate Tigran and his religious views. Yet the same visual markers might signify identity, confession, visual or artistic conventions, or simply the savvy merchant’s determination to appeal to a diverse set of visitors. Certainly, the church exhibits Tigran’s vast wealth. The paintings themselves are testimony to this, reflecting the ample use of mineral pigments, the appointment of highly skilled artisans and workmen,

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and hours of work on scaffolding. Material wealth is also evoked in a remarkable passage of painting just to the right of the apse (Figure 5.4). It features four senmurvs similar to those found at Aght‘amar façade (see Figure 3.12), arranged in affronted pairs and enclosed within individual interlocking roundels against a rich purple field that resembles a silk hanging. Indeed, this pattern would have been familiar to a contemporary visitor from textiles as well as portable objects. Their painted representation at the church suggests both Tigran’s awareness of an elite “brand” of goods known across the eastern Mediterranean and the Near East, and his ability to supply it. Tigran himself may have bought and sold patterned fabric: indeed, the foundation inscription mentions repeatedly his ownership of storehouses (khanapar), caravanserais (p‘nduk), and inns (dank‘), the last serving not only as temporary residences but also as places of mercantile activity.15 As one scholar has remarked, the church, its donations recorded by inscription, and the extensive sculptural and pictorial programs, effectively “bundle” the patron as a rich and powerful member of Georgian-​ruled Armenia.16 On the other side of Ani, southwest of the city walls, stands another noteworthy building of the thirteenth century: the zhamatun of the church of Surb

FIGURE 5.4   Photo: author.

Ani, Tigran Honents‘ Church, interior to southeast.

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Aṙak‘elots‘ (the Holy Apostles) (Figure 5.5). Only partially preserved, this structure stands on the south side of the tetraconchal eleventh-​century church. Undated, the zhamatun nevertheless bears inscriptions from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the earliest dating to 1215. These texts attest to remissions and impositions of taxes (one, issued after an earthquake of 1276, forbids street trading on Sundays). As Eastmond has noted, the appearance of the texts, some laid out in long vertical format like an unfurled scroll, suggests that the zhamatun functioned not only as an antechamber to the church, but also as a gallery of “stone charters,” making public the taxation laws of the city.17 The zhamatun is a large, rectangular structure. Its simple ground plan belies a unique arrangement of massive diagonal ribs, rising from wall piers and supporting a central muqarnas vault (Figure 5.6). The muqarnas, typical of Islamic architectural tradition, consists of rows of superimposed niches, sometimes so complex as to create a “honeycomb” or “stalactite” effect. At the Holy Apostles zhamatun, this central vault is surrounded by flat ceilings similar to those of the Hoṙomos zhamatun (see Figure  3.10).18 Here, however, they bear intricate patterns of red, brown, and black stone in the form of swastikas, pentagons, stars, and other designs. Such polychrome appears elsewhere on thirteenth-​century monuments at Ani: at an annex to the Cathedral, the so-​called Mosque of Minuchir, and the “Paron’s Palace.”19 At the Holy

FIGURE 5.5   Photo: author.

Ani, Holy Apostles Church, zhamatun, south façade, before 1215.

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Apostles zhamatun, the decorative effect extends to such architectural details as additional muqarnas motifs on the attached piers and carved inset khach‘k‘ars. The east façade of the structure is particularly striking: the central portal is a muqarnas hood crowned by a twisted molding in the form of an ogee arch. Flanking the portal are four tall, vertical niches, each framed by thick bands of carved fretwork. Small oculi above the ogee arch and slit-​like windows must have allowed only minimal light into the interior. The façade design of the Holy Apostles zhamatun departs from previous Armenian buildings, resembling instead the façades of madrasas and mosques from Seljuk-​era Anatolia; this has even led to its erroneous identification on signage as a “caravanserai.” Yet this misidentification invites us further to consider the appropriation of motifs and designs from an Islamic architectural milieu to a Christian building, and to locate the Holy Apostles zhamatun within a broader building tradition. Thirteenth-​century Armenian architecture frequently employs muqarnas in vaults, portals, column capitals and bases, and many other surfaces. To name only two examples near Ani, muqarnas vaults graced the (now destroyed) residence of Sahmadin at the site of Mren, and the large southern hall of Hoṙomos.20 The use of muqarnas in Armenian architecture is further attested in a diagram engraved on a wall of the thirteenth-​ century Armenian monastery of Astuatsankal in the region of T‘alin.21 At the same time, Seljuk-​and Mongol-​era architecture of Anatolia also received ideas from local Armenian and Georgian building traditions. At the twelfth-​century site known as Üç Kümbetler (Three Mausolea) in Garin

FIGURE 5.6   Photo: author.

Ani, Holy Apostles Church, zhamatun, central vault.

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(Erzurum), the tomb structures feature blind-​arcaded drums, conical roofs, and continuous profiling much like the superstructures of South Caucasian churches. Scholars have identified potential Armenian sources for Seljuk stone-​ working techniques and animal imagery on bas-​reliefs, while khach‘k‘ar designs appear in Seljuk commemorative tomb stelae.22 Clearly, the artisanal and visual culture of thirteenth-​century Anatolia and Armenia involved a great deal more cross-​fertilization than long-​held art-​historical categories of medieval Islamic and Christian architecture allow.23 In Greater Armenia, as in Cilicia, the convergence of cultures in the thirteenth century fostered an extravagant new aesthetic that prized complexity, diversity, virtuosity, and experimentation with design and color.

The Monastic Complex One of the most vibrant centers for architectural creativity was the monastery.24 Monastic foundations had existed in Armenia since late antiquity: fifth-​ century sources record both solitaries, or anchorites, living alone in the desert, and loosely structured groups of monks living near one another, in the so-​called lavra system.25 The origins of true communal monastic living in Armenia, involving dwelling, eating, praying, and working together, are thought to have arisen in the early medieval period.26 Yet substantial, purpose-​built monastic structures are unattested until the ninth and tenth centuries. During the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, these complexes underwent significant additions and alterations. Haghpat, one of the best known and best preserved of medieval Armenian monasteries, is located in the mountains of Alaverdi in the province of Loṙi, high above the Debed River valley (Figure 5.7).27 Its earliest structure is the main church of Surb Nshan (“Holy Sign”), founded in 967 or 976 by the Bagratid Queen Khosrovanush, wife of Ashot III. Between the eleventh and thirteenth centuries, new families, including the Kiwrikeans and Zak‘arids, added to the site. Many buildings rose around the church, including two small churches (dedicated to Saint Gregory and the Virgin), a zhamatun, a library, a bell tower, a refectory, and a khach‘k‘ar monument. Outside the monastery walls are a fountain (dated to 1258, but much restored), and, on an adjacent hill, the fortress of Kayan, constructed to guard the monastery. Despite their great range in date, function, and scale, the buildings form a harmonious and unified complex. Unlike Byzantine monasteries, in which the church and sometimes the refectory stand in the center, set apart from surrounding monastic residences, Haghpat resembles a miniature city: a compact cluster of monuments intercommunicating through connecting halls and chambers. The main church, a domed hall, provides a strong visual focus for the monastery, its conical roof rising above adjacent buildings. In the thirteenth

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FIGURE 5.7  

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Haghpat Monastery, 10th–​13th centuries, general view.

Photo: author.

century, a large zhamatun was added to the church’s west façade, its low roofline and modest exterior sculptural decoration concealing the dramatic space within (Figure 5.8). The interior forms a radical departure from the fairly sedate geometry of the adjacent tenth-​century church:  the large rectangle, widened by a cross arm toward the west end, is crowned by an imposing canopy of intersecting rib arches, creating a masonry version of the “tic-​tac-​toe” (or noughts and crosses) grid. At the east, these massive stone ribs rise from piers attached to the wall; at the west, they spring from two massive freestanding columns appearing as bundled shafts. In the summit of the vault is a second, miniature grid:  its central compartment, open to the sky, is crowned on the exterior by a raised canopy.28 The arched ribs thus draw the eye of the viewer upward, forming increasingly complex and concentrated patterns as they reach their zenith. This new vaulting form appears on multiple buildings within the monastery, including the library and refectory, visually linking one building to the next. The exteriors, too, cohere as an ensemble. The conical cupola of the church echoes those of the smaller churches and chapels, the pointed canopy of the zhamatun, and the pyramidal roofs of the library and refectory. On many roof gables are small sculpted miniature churches, some rather generalized, but others, such as that on the east façade of the main church, offering close representations of the monuments on which they perch. Such models are also found on the monastic churches of contemporary Georgian monuments.29

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FIGURE 5.8  Haghpat,

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zhamatun, 13th century, interior to northeast.

Photo: author.

The bell tower offers a particularly impressive expression of verticality (Figure 5.9). Built in 1245, it is small in footprint (some 12 m sq), but rises three stories into the air, each floor taking a different exterior shape: the bottom story cruciform, the second octagonal, and the uppermost round and topped with an open canopy housing the bells. Enlivening the exterior surfaces are cruciform pipe moldings, rising almost to midway up the structure, and muqarnas motifs, which fill the corners of the lower elevation. The decoration of the Haghpat bell tower demonstrates the mobility of building ideas across Anatolia and the South Caucasus in the early thirteenth century. Aside from the integration of the muqarnas form drawn from Islamic architectural tradition, the pipe molding design demonstrates a familiarity with and appreciation of Georgian architectural traditions. At the eleventh-​century Cathedral of Samtavisi in eastern Georgia, for example, window moldings sprout a variety of independent designs, including crosses.30 Such mobility is also evident in the zhamatun of the monastery of Gandzasar, located in the southern region of Armenia, ruled by the princes of Khachēn. First mentioned in the tenth century, Gandzasar was developed further by the prince Hasan-​Jalal Dawla, who erected the church dedicated to Surb Karapet

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FIGURE 5.9  

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Haghpat, bell tower, 1245, from northwest.

Photo: author.

(John the Baptist) in 1238.31 During this era, Gandzasar served not only as the seat of the Khachēn princes, but also as an episcopal see. After the fall of the patriarchate in Sis in the fourteenth century, Gandzasar became the headquarters of the regional catholicate of Albania (Aghuank‘). The zhamatun was also founded by Hasan and his wife, Mamkan. Atabek, Hasan’s son, completed it around 1261 after his father’s death. As at Haghpat, the plan is large and rectangular, with intercrossed rib arches resting on freestanding piers at the west. Unlike the Haghpat zhamatun, however, the central vault does not repeat the design of the intersecting grid, but consists of a muqarnas with a skylight, as at the Holy Apostles zhamatun in Ani. On the west façade, the doorway and the window are framed by an elaborate carved molding, forming a rectangular zone rising almost to the roof level (Figure 5.10). Within this molding, two bas-​relief birds face each other, flanking a rectangular window, their long tail feathers raised upward. They perch on an inner molding that frames the window and the door below, joining at the floor level with the outer molding to form profiled doorposts (jambs). The portal comprises a pointed arch of twisted and tendril moldings; the tympanum features interlocking circles of maroon, gray, and beige stone. The façade

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FIGURE 5.10  Gandzasar,

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zhamatun, completed 1261, west façade.

Photo: Hrair Hawk Khatcherian.

thus combines geometric boldness and abstraction with delicate carving. The designs of the framing moldings are particularly noteworthy: the medallions, teardrop forms, stars, and rectangles are not, like the birds above the doorway, raised reliefs, but are deeply undercut, perhaps with the use of a drill, appearing almost as perforations in the masonry skin.

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Thirteenth-​century monuments across the Armenian and Anatolian world embrace this aesthetic. Polychrome portals using green and gray stone occur at the monastery of Makaravank‘.32 Contemporary Islamic monuments in Anatolia regularly feature portals framed by boldly decorated rectangular moldings. The façades of madrasas in Sebastia (Sivas), for example, alternate between smooth unworked and highly carved stone. Experimentation with different levels of carved surfaces is also a shared practice, as in the astonishingly elaborate façades of the Divriği hospital and mosque complex.33 This shared culture is also palpable in the monastery of Noravank‘, literally “New Monastery” (Figure 5.11).34 Sometimes called “Amaghu-​Noravank,” it stands 3 km northeast of Amaghu village, on the rocky southern slope of a wild valley overlooking the plain of Eghegnadzor. Noravank‘ was founded in 1105 by Yovhannēs, bishop of Kapan, and expanded further in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, becoming the episcopal see of Siwnik‘ and the princely seat of the Orbelian family. The monastery comprises a main complex with zhamatun, chapels, and a church-​mausoleum. South of the main church lie the ruins of what is believed to be the original church of Surb Karapet (Saint John the Baptist), perhaps the self-​same foundation of Bishop Yovhannēs. Its archaizing features included a barrel vault, thick walls, and horseshoe apse. North of the main church is a funerary chapel built in 1275, attributed to the architect Siranēs and commissioned by Tarsayich Orbelian, brother of Smbat. This chapel contains Orbelian family tombs, including a splendid leonine funeral effigy, covering the grave of Elikum Orbelian and dated 1300.

FIGURE 5.11  

Noravank‘, founded 1105, general view.

Photo: Shutterstock.com.

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The main church, dedicated either to John the Baptist or Stephen the Protomartyr, dates to 1216–​1223; its patrons were the prince Liparit Orbelian and the bishop Sargis. It follows the typical domed hall plan, with two-​story chapels at east and west. Preceding the church is a zhamatun commissioned by Smbat Orbelian and completed in 1261. An inspection of the building fabric, however, suggests a change in construction plans. On the exterior, for example, the upper tympanum of the zhamatun awkwardly breaks through the roofline; on the interior, moreover, attached columns rise only to a shelf-​like cornice halfway up the lower walls. A cloister vault with a central muqarnas, open at its zenith, crowns the structure, and windows with broad embrasures illuminate the inscriptions, khach‘k‘ars, and tomb sculptures of the interior. Outside, a carved tympanum crowns the portal of the zhamatun. It depicts the Virgin and Child seated on an elaborately patterned textile, hemmed with tassels of alternating pomegranates and floral motifs (Figure 5.12).35 Around the two figures is an intricate field of vegetation, in which two prophets can be identified: on the right, Isaiah holds a twisted scroll indicating his name and, remarkably, the word KOYS, or “Virgin,” spelled backward. On the left is the bust of another prophet (scholars suggest Micah or Saint John the Baptist). Like Isaiah, he has large almond eyes and curly hair, and he gestures actively toward the Virgin and Child. He holds no scroll, but careful inspection of the vegetal zone around him shows that some of the floriated forms are in fact large letters. No conclusive decipherment of this text has yet emerged, but scholars suggest the words “dzayn” (voice) and “baṙ” (word).

FIGURE 5.12   Photo: author.

Noravank‘, Main Church, 1216–​1223, tympanum over west portal.

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What could such an unusual arrangement of text mean? Why spell “Virgin” backward and what do the words “voice” and “word” have to do with the scene of the Virgin and Child? Ioanna Rapti has suggested that the difficulty of reading these texts may have been intended to call the viewer’s attention to the miracle of the incarnation: just as we cannot easily apprehend the backward word or the entangled letters, equally mysterious is the Virgin birth.36 Another interpretation reads “voice” as referring to the “voice in the wilderness” of John the Baptist (John 1:23), consonant with the dedication of the church, and suggesting that the unidentified prophet on the left is John the Baptist.37 While we cannot settle these questions here, clearly the viewer was meant to pay close attention to the subtle integration of texts and images in the tympanum, and, perhaps, to meditate on the meaning of visual representation. This last theme pervades the visual culture of contemporary Armenia, in which stones are carved so delicately as to resemble fabric, architectural forms appear in miniature, and words occasionally run backward. Like the monuments of Haghpat, Ani, and Gandzasar, Noravank‘ testifies to an intense period of creativity, experimentation, and innovation. To the south and east stands the church-​mausoleum of Surb Astuatsatsin (Holy Mother of God), also called Burteghashēn (Burtegh’s construction) for its sponsor Prince Burtegh Orbelian. Completed in 1339, this church also has a bi-​level façade, each level sporting its own carved tympanum: on the lower level the Virgin and Child are flanked by Gabriel and Michael, while above the bust of Christ appears with Peter and Paul. Unlike the sculptures of the zhamatun, these are so clearly composed, emphatically balanced, and readable as to suggest a deliberate response to the “refined disorder,” as one scholar put it, of the zhamatun sculptures.38 Noteworthy, too, is the remarkable architectonic composition of the church of Surb Astuatsatsin, which consists of a tall rectangular structure with three visible tiers on the outside: quadrangular, cruciform, and round. The church is in fact a two-​story structure, with a ground-​floor mausoleum containing tombs of Burtegh and his family, and an upper-​level church. Linking the two floors, both structurally and visually, are stone steps cantilevered from the west façade. The south church at Noravank‘ exhibits a catalogue of features typical of the period, found both locally and in neighboring regions. The pipe moldings surrounding the portals and windows, which rise into cross forms, find analogies in the façades of Gandzasar and the bell tower of Haghpat; the latter also provides a parallel in its stacked elevation of square, cruciform, and round shapes. At the same time, the church belongs to a much broader Anatolian and South Caucasian tradition of tall, narrow structures with geometric exteriors and symmetrical cantilevered steps, including the Seljuk-​and Mongol-​era türbes (tombs) in Kayseri, Van, Garin, and Khlat (Turk. Ahlat), and the mosque of Sultan Han of Kayseri, dated to 1232.39 Also noteworthy is the appearance of the inscriptions on Surb Astuatsatsin’s east façade. As on the tympanum

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of the zhamatun of the church of Surb Karapet, the Armenian letters are carved in raised relief, with branching, tendril-​like terminals, resembling the floriated script of Arabic inscriptions, or “Kufesque,” as witnessed earlier in the Sandghka Gospels (Chapter 3) and at the church of T‘oros at Anavarza in Cilicia (Chapter 4). The Orbelian family not only sponsored the churches of Noravank‘ but also commissioned, in 1332, a caravanserai which facilitated the travel of people and animals traveling along the mountainous route between Siwnik‘ and Lake Sevan. This monument, and the mobility and cross-​cultural encounters it implies, may help us to understand the extravagant new aesthetic we see in thirteenth-​and fourteenth-​century Armenian monasteries. Yet if the monastic complexes of Armenia belong to a broad cultural horizon, they are also inherently local sites, rooted in their surrounding physical landscapes. Noravank‘ is nestled on a rocky ledge, its peach-​colored masonry harmonizing with the natural walls created by the rocky cliffs of the valley. In the early evening, when the buildings turn golden pink, the cliffs around them also warm in color, the whole environment, both natural and man made, lit up by the setting sun. The monastery of Geghard, near Gaṙni, partially excavated out of the living rock, recalls Trdat’s ascent of Mount Ararat to quarry the first Christian churches:  the rock-​cut structures convey the sanctity both of the natural landscape and of the shrine housing the lance of the Crucifixion. The silvery gray complex of Haghpat, with its five conical peaks, seems to emerge from the hilltop upon which it rests. At the monastery of Yovhannavank‘ (or Hovhannavank‘), a sculpted tympanum shows the expulsion of the foolish virgins, whom Christ urges toward the viewer’s right, in the direction of a deep gorge situated next to the monastery.40 At each of these sites, the monument in its natural setting creates a powerful sense of place.

Khach‘k‘ars Chapter  3 addressed the emergence of the khach‘k‘ar, its commemorative function, and its compositional format. The twelfth to fifteenth centuries saw an increase in the production of khach‘k‘ars: they appear in various settings, including monasteries, funerary chapels, cemeteries, and small purpose-​built shrines. Khach‘k‘ars were also cut into the rock, inserted into the walls of churches, and raised on outdoor platforms. As in previous centuries, many are inscribed, providing dates of completion, the names and pleas of donors, and also, occasionally, the names of the carvers. The texts suggest that khach‘k‘ars could function as thaumaturgical, or miracle-​working, instruments, healing the sick and protecting against adversity.41 Beginning in the twelfth century, the khach‘k‘ar underwent important physical transformations. The rectangular form that emerged in the Age of the Kingdoms

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was retained, but increased in height (sometimes over 2 m), usually with a rectilinear rather than arched cornice. Many examples, moreover, curve toward the viewer at their summit, rather like the springing of a barrel vault. This feature probably arose to protect the finely worked surfaces typical of contemporary khach‘k‘ars, but surely also evoked for its medieval viewer messages of shelter and protection—​appropriate themes for those who sought answers to their prayers. Indeed, the intimate relation between the finely detailed stone and its viewer must have generated the sense of a private chapel. Compositions and decorative themes developed, too: figural images emerge and visual patterns become extravagant in their diversity and complexity. In many khach‘k‘ars of this period, surface designs become so intricate as seemingly to deny the materiality of the stone surface. Because of their delicacy, they are sometimes called “lace khach‘k‘ars.” A khach‘k‘ar at the monastery of Goshavank‘, located in Tavush (RA), offers a sense of this refined style (Figure 5.13).42 Inscriptions indicate its manufacture in 1291 by the sculptor Poghos. Its basic format resembles that of the Ts‘akhats‘k‘ar khach‘k‘ar of 1041 (see Figure  3.16):  a large Latin-​type cross occupies much of the central zone, while a variety of foliate forms fill the spaces between the cross arms. Below the cross is a large circular design, and geometric interlace patterns create the borders. Despite these shared features, however, the Goshavank‘ khach‘k‘ar presents to the eye a radically different impression. The later khach‘k‘ar shows greater refinement but also, paradoxically, a greater compositional clarity. The carver has achieved this, in part, by creating multiple surface planes: the deepest zone is filled with a network of pattern, each channel of stone so minutely carved as to resemble woven threads, but occasionally blossoming into leaves, with veins indicated by surface etching. A second layer, closer to the viewer but equally undercut, features four large leaves, each formed of a dense tangle of smaller leaves, pointing directly to the center of the cross. The cross itself projects strongly into the viewer’s space. It too is a tight fretwork of tendrils, leaves, and chain-​like forms, its cross arms terminating in foliated points. Below the cross, a massive wheel radiates from a central star, bulging slightly out at the viewer. On each side of the cross are columns of eight-​pointed stars containing a diversity of patterns both geometric and vegetal. On the cornice, finally, appear large tendrils within a scalloped frame, bordered by two stars. Close visual inspection thus reveals not simply three superimposed surface planes, but rather multiple small worlds in which forms collide, transform, straighten, and curve. In aesthetic terms, parallels occur across medieval Asia Minor: the layers of undercut interlace, and individual motifs such as scalloped forms and eight-​pointed stars, are reminiscent of the façades of Seljuk-​and Mongol-​era Islamic monuments. Shared, too, is an interest in juxtaposing large leafy forms with tight fretwork, and layering multiple carved surfaces. Creating this khach‘k‘ar must have required sustained effort and many different stages, from cutting the stone, to planning the design, to carving and inscribing

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FIGURE 5.13  

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Khach‘k‘ar, Goshavank‘, 1291.

Photo: author.

the surface. The extremely refined and delicate result of these efforts probably worked upon the contemporary viewer in various ways: pleasing the eye, communicating the power of the feudal princes (who had access to virtuoso talent), and, most importantly, expressing the mystery of Christ in visual form. A khach‘k‘ar at the monastery of Haghpat offers an important contrast to that of Goshavank‘ (Figure 5.14).43 Standing on a tall podium in a connecting chamber next to the church of Surb Nshan, it was carved in 1273 on the order of the bishop Yovhannēs. Like the Goshavank‘ khach‘k‘ar, it is monumental in size, sharing the same rectangular format with a strongly projecting cornice. This khach‘k‘ar, along with three others dating from 1270 to 1280 and produced in the northern regions of Armenia, represents a type known as Amenap‘rkich‘, or

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FIGURE 5.14  

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Khach‘k‘ar, Haghpat, 1273.

Photo: author.

“Savior of All,” for its depiction of Christ on the Cross. The Haghpat composition is rich in figures: below Christ’s sagging arms are the Virgin and John the Baptist, and below them are Joseph of Arimathea and the kneeling Nicodemus, who removes the nails in Christ’s foot with long pliers. To the right and left of Christ’s head are two four-​winged seraphim and a pair of bearded, haloed men, as well as the sun and the moon, these last referring to Luke 23:44. An Ascension scene appears in the cornice above, showing Christ in a mandorla surrounded by angels. Below the cross is the head of Adam, while the twelve apostles occupy lateral niches backed with interlace. Curvilinear tendrils fill the background of the entire central zone, but their design is freer and looser than the tight control and symmetry of the interlace on the Goshavank‘ khach‘k‘ar.

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Elegance and refinement were presumably not the goal of the Haghpat carver. Christ has a bulky torso, large head, short legs, and thin, sagging arms. Nicodemus has stocky legs and large feet, while the angels lack necks. At the wealthy and illustrious monastery of Haghpat, in an era that prized visual elegance, this figural treatment surely reflects artistic choice, not incompetence or amateurism. Did the awkward bodies hold particular theological or spiritual meaning for the patron and viewing community? Did they evoke sorrow in the contemporary viewer, or highlight the humanity of Christ? These questions bear further pondering; what is certain, however, is that thirteenth-​century Armenian sculpture included multiple pictorial modes, from controlled abstraction to affecting forms of figuration. Two further characteristics distinguish the Haghpat khach‘k‘ar from that of Goshavank‘. First, colored pigment is visible. Traces of beige color remain on the central image of Christ; red pigment appears throughout. This use of color recalls the painted icon panel, ubiquitous in Byzantine art but less common in Armenia, inviting us to consider contemporary controversies regarding image worship.44 The canons of the Second Council of Sis (1243), as recorded in Kirakos Gandzakets‘i’s History, implored Armenians to “accept the painted images of the Savior and of all the saints, and not to insult them as images of the pagans.”45 Thirteenth-​century Armenian writing connects image worship with confessional identity:  the theologian Mkhit‘ar Gosh, for example, stated that “Greeks and Georgians honored the images more; the Armenians, the cross.”46 These texts raise questions about how to construe the Haghpat khach‘k‘ar: is it a painted image or a cross? Is a figurative khach‘k‘ar a cross or the image of a cross, and what is the difference? It is tempting to imagine that these questions arose in the mind of the abbot of Haghpat, so near to Georgian territory.47 The inscriptions also distinguish the Haghpat khach‘k‘ar from that of Goshavank‘. Those atop the cornice and around the Ascension evoke the Last Judgment: “By the blessing of the ascended God and our Lord at the sound of the trumpet” (see Ps. 46:6/​47:5) and “Blessed be the glory of God in his place” (Ezek. 3:12). On the head of the cross is the relief inscription, “This is the King of the Jews” and Christ’s abbreviated name (ՅՍ ՔՍ). Almost hidden within the recesses of vegetation, to the left and right of Christ’s name, is another text reading, “Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord of Hosts.” The cross bar itself bears the text “the hands that created the world are now spread upon the cross,” evoking Isaiah 42:5. Finally, the foot of the cross bears the donation record:  “Holy God, holy and powerful, holy and immortal, who was crucified, have mercy on Lord Yovhannēs, who created this, Amen.” This last text, executed in both inscribed and raised letters, adapts the liturgical hymn of the Trisagion (“Holy, holy, holy”) to make a personal plea for the abbot Yovhannēs. The inscription specifically invokes an Armenian version of the hymn, which departs from Byzantine versions by making reference to the Crucifixion.48 Reflecting issues

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of identity, faith, and the status of images, the Haghpat khach‘k‘ar is a semantic tour de force, inviting the viewer to find in it, quite literally, multiple layers of meaning. A khach‘k‘ar from 1308 combines both the figuration of the Haghpat example with lace-​like patterns of that of Goshavank‘ (Figure 5.15).49 Four elegant lines of text at its foot name the donor as the noblewoman T‘amt‘a Khatun and beseech the salvation of the noble Tarsayich and the health of her sons Biwrt‘el and Bughta; the text closes with the plea to “remember the vardapet [master] Momik.”50 The carver of this work, Momik, was a celebrated artist of the late thirteenth and early fourteenth century. Sources first mention him in 1281, and a khach‘k‘ar of 1333 records his death. A  poly­ math, Momik was not only a sculptor, but also a painter and architect, we know him to be responsible for the church and sculptural program at Areni, dating to 1321.51 Areni also recalls in its tall, elegant forms and its intricately carved tympanum the church of the Virgin at Noravank‘; some scholars attribute the Noravank‘ church to Momik. Indeed, Noravank‘ was the original location of the 1308 khach‘k‘ar, and stylistic affinities link it to other khach‘k‘ars at the monastery. The career of Momik thus illustrates the cross-​ fertilization of stone carving and architecture in early-​fourteenth-​century Greater Armenia. Dominating the 1308 khach‘k‘ar’s central zone is a large Latin cross set atop a medallion, all enclosed by a scalloped frame. The lateral borders feature columns of seven eight-​pointed stars. Momik has reduced and flattened the sculptural planes and privileged geometric over vegetal motifs, subdividing designs so that each zone carries more discrete units. The effect is less stone surface than delicate mesh. Momik also includes figures in his work. A  Deesis scene appears in three scalloped niches on the cornice. Although the hammer of an iconoclast has damaged the faces, one can identify large round heads, short arms, and small hands. Drapery is carefully modeled, falling in pleats between the knees of Christ, and hanging from the outstretched arm of John the Baptist. The intricacy of each zone of the khach‘k‘ar, from the elegant inscribed text and the astonishingly intricate central zone to the graceful figures in the cornice, invites the viewer to meditate upon a spectrum of sacred representation, from the written word, to the sign of the cross, to Christ incarnate.

Works in Ceramic, Wood, and Metal Ceramics are plentifully preserved from tenth-​to thirteenth-​century Armenia.52 Excavations at Dvin and Ani have unearthed a great range of dishes, trays, pitchers, pots, and storage vessels, many ornamented with painted, incised, and relief decoration; kilns have also been discovered at Dvin. By the ninth century,

FIGURE 5.15  

Khach‘k‘ar by Momik, 1308.

Yerevan: History Museum of Armenia

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potters in Armenia had developed a distinct process of glazing:  coating vessels with a vitreous substance, thereby sealing and strengthening the porous terracotta. Clay mixed with siliceous substances, such as ground glass (frit) or quartz, produced a delicate but strong vessel suitable for elite tables. Various metal oxides were mixed to make colored glazes, imparting sheen to vessels, attested not only in the objects themselves but in the admiring words of twelfth-​century commentator Sargis Shnorhali, who describes how “the potter shapes and creates a vessel, renewing it once more and with a secret device that makes the soil appear as gold and silver, copper and glass. . . .”53 Twelfth-​to fifteenth-​century Armenia saw the manufacture and use of many ceramic types. One is an engraved cobalt-​blue type, known also from Seljuk examples, and represented by several bowls, trays, and pitchers:  it features engraved designs of pseudo-​kufic, sphinxes, and geometric designs.54 A  second type uses green glaze made from copper and chromium oxides; many examples feature relief decoration of knob and bead forms.55 Green and yellow “splashware,” so called for its drip-​like style, draws upon models from Nishapur in Persia.56 Yet another type is milky white, its thin walls pierced with tiny holes and then filled with a transparent glaze, creating an astonishingly delicate effect.57 Taken collectively, medieval Armenian ceramics attest both to the development of local styles and to familiarity with pottery from Iran, Syria, Seljuk Anatolia, and Byzantium. Indeed, archaeologists have unearthed in Armenia many imported vessels, mainly from Persian Nishapur, Kashan, Rey, and Saveh. The relations of these imports to local styles reveal a great deal about aesthetic preferences in Armenian urban centers. Many Armenian ceramics feature figural imagery, including birds, humans, and animals. Typical is a twelfth-​or thirteenth-​ century splashware tray excavated at Dvin (Figure 5.16).58 Made of red clay coated with a pale glaze, it features a large, long-​horned ibex amid vines and leaves, its hind legs tucked beneath its belly, its forelegs raised high. Patterns of incised lines mark the neck, shoulder, and haunch; its expressive face nuzzles the blooms of a tendril. Splashes of green around and within the incised border suggest a secluded glade. The lush scene might well have recalled to the vessel’s users the pleasures of rural life, the hunt, or the promise of Paradise. Fewer works in wood and metal survive—​the former on account of their perishability, the latter, their inherent value as raw material. From the twelfth and thirteenth centuries are preserved several bronze objects. At Ani were unearthed several bronze crosses, as well as an imported bronze ewer from Khorasan dated to the eleventh or twelfth century and excavated near the south door of the church of Gagik.59 A large Armenian-​inscribed bronze basin, dated 1232, discovered at the monastery of Haghartsin, features lion-​shaped handles and three hoof-​like feet.60 The reliquary of the Holy Sign, dated to 1300 and completed at the Monastery of Khotakerats‘ (lit. the “Herbivores”), offers a particularly precious example

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FIGURE 5.16  

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Dvin, ceramic tray, 12th–​13th century.

Yerevan: History Museum of Armenia, inventory no. 2197-​79.

of Armenian metalwork from the period.61 Like the Cilician reliquary of Skevra, it consists of a large rectangle with hinged doors that open to reveal a relic of the True Cross (Figure 5.17). Mounted on a wooden base, the reliquary is sheathed in gilded silver, its surfaces ornamented with both repoussé and incising. The closed doors show Saint Gregory on the left and John the Baptist on the right, their names inscribed in raised circular bosses above their heads; to the left and right of the doors stand respectively the Virgin and John the Evangelist, each indicated by an abbreviated inscription in repoussé. Above the doors, in a polylobed frame, Christ sits upon a throne decorated with the four beasts of Revelation. His right hand is raised in blessing, while his left holds a scroll with the text of John 8:12: “I am the light of the world.” On each side of Christ, a full-​length angel raises one of his wings behind his head and holds a quadrilobed scepter. Busts of Peter and Paul appear in the lower corners. Between them, the donor, Prince Ēach‘i Proshian, raises his hands in prayer; he is dressed in Mongol fashion, with peaked cap and close-​fitting robe. The surrounding donor inscription reads: “Holy Sign of the Lord, help Ēach‘i, in the year 749 [+551=1300].” The open reliquary reveals a large cross, conceived as a separate object and studded with precious stones. At its center is mounted a crystal cabochon, surrounded with seed pearls, sheltering a fragment of the Cross. The inner faces of the doors bear images of the archangels Michael and Gabriel (indicated by inscription), standing in full length. Like the angels flanking Christ, each raises high one wing and holds a scepter with a quadrilobed finial. The silver-​ sheathed back of the reliquary bears an inscription of sixteen double-​ruled

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FIGURE 5.17  

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Reliquary of the Holy Sign, from the Monastery of Khotakerats‘, 1300.

Mother See of Holy Etchmiadzin: Cathedral Treasury, inv. n. 731. Photo: Hrair Hawk Khatcherian.

lines. Carefully covering the entire surface, the text names Ēach‘i, “son of Hasan, son of Prosh, son of Vasak the Great,” and asks the viewer to remember “me, my parents, Amir Hasan and T‘acher, my paternal uncle Papak‘, and all our ancestors and family.”62 This enumeration of aristocratic lineage testifies to long-​standing values of the Armenian elite. The reliquary is remarkable for its elegance. The attenuated angels on the inner door, gracefully inclining their heads toward the central cross, evoke Byzantine models, perhaps via the intermediary of Cilician art, which had by that time reached an apogee of refinement. Scholars derive from East Asia the polylobed frames surrounding Christ and the donor, while the rinceau designs find parallels in Georgian metalwork.63 As in contemporary architecture and sculpture, this breadth of sources attests to the richness and variegation of cultural exchange in Mongol-​era Asia Minor, as well as to shared goals of visual refinement and sophistication. Such ideals are eloquently expressed in the delicately incised vegetal patterns surrounding the figures, the tiny decorations on the hinges, and the two deer below the cross, evoking Psalm 42:1 (“just as the hart pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O Lord”). As with

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contemporary khach‘k‘ars, the exquisite and minute detail of this reliquary repays close and sustained investigation. At least seven dated examples of works in wood survive from the twelfth to fifteenth centuries.64 The earliest example, from 1134, is a pair of walnut doors that, until 1915, adorned the church of Surb Aṙak‘elots‘ (Holy Apostles) at Mush, located in Vaspurakan, northwest of Lake Van.65 In addition to doors, carved wooden lecterns, known as grakals, survive from the eleventh onward, and are well known also from visual representation (see Figure 3.24).66 Often used as a liturgical lectern, the grakal is generally formed from two pieces of wood pivoting on a dowel at their intersecting centers; a leather “seat” connects the two upper edges and supports the book. One example, excavated at Ani and dated by its inscription to 1272, bears a particularly rich repertoire of imagery (Figure 5.18). The inscription, just above the axis of each plank, commemorates the donor Paron Grigor and his parents. The long edges bear elegant scalloped designs, while the surfaces of the boards feature imagery in high relief. On the lower panels are rectangular zones of geometric interlace enclosed in vinescroll frames. The upper zone features a floriated cross upon a circular medallion, recalling the imagery of khach‘k‘ars. A luxuriant vine sprouts from the top of

FIGURE 5.18  

Folding bookstand, from Ani, 1272.

Yerevan: History Museum of Armenia, inv. no. 171.

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a cross, its bending branches laden with flowers and pomegranates, while from the groundline of the panel rise two trees, their trunks framing a lion passant, which raises its right forepaw high in the air. While the significance of the lion remains obscure, scholars have located parallels for it in a range of traditions, including Seljuk silks, Cilician coinage, and European heraldic imagery.67 Whatever its precise meaning, the lion forms part of a luxuriant natural paradise of God’s creation, while the pictorial emphasis on tendrils, trees, fruits, and trunks offer a reminder of the material from which the grakal was created.

Illustrated Manuscripts The era spanning the twelfth to fifteenth centuries saw a proliferation of manuscript text genres, including law, history, religious commentary, grammar, and geography. Much of this production was monastic: one center was the monastery of Gladzor in Siwnik‘, known as the “second Athens.”68 There, students learned rhetoric, philosophy, calligraphy, and illumination. At another, the monastery of Tat‘ev, also in Siwnik‘, Grigor Tat‘evats‘i (1346–​1409/​10) taught philosophy, theology, and painting. During the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, Gladzor and Tat‘ev produced important defenses of Armenian theology and liturgy, responding, in particular, to the proselytizing efforts of the Fratres Unitores, the Armenian branch of the Dominican order. Responses to Armenian translations of authors such as Thomas Aquinas were mounted at both monasteries, leading, as scholars have observed, to an important flourishing of intellectual life in the southeastern regions of Armenia.69 In the Lake Van region, monastic scriptoria enjoyed continued activity, producing histories and manuscript illumination. Five manuscripts, produced in diverse regions of Armenia, offer a sense of painting of the period. The Haghpat Gospels, dated to 1211, was commissioned by Sahak of Ani and copied by Hakob at the monastery of Haghpat.70 According to the colophon, the manuscript then traveled to the monastery of Hoṙomos, where the artist Margarē added illustrations. One full-​page image of the Haghpat Gospels depicts Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem (Figure 5.19). Following medieval conventions, Christ approaches the city on a donkey. Margarē has interpreted this biblical episode in a particularly lively way. Above Christ, men with hatchets perch in trees, hewing off leafy boughs. In the towers to the left, a woman holds a branch, while two young girls reach out to receive theirs. Details of textiles and costumes are carefully observed:  the mature woman and the girls wear headscarves, while the male figure below, holding a branch in each hand, wears a turban. In front of him, a smaller, bareheaded man drapes a red garment on the ground for Christ’s donkey to tread upon. Just above Christ, a small boy straddles the central tree while peeking through a fork in its trunk, palm frond in each hand.

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FIGURE 5.19  

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Entry into Jerusalem, 1211.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 6288, fol. 16v.

These details imbue the biblical scene with a narrative richness and a sense of immediacy. The towers are particularly distinctive for their many horizontal levels. The right tower features dramatically contrasting layers of bright red, black, and blue, with details evoking contemporary pipe molding and carved vinescrolls. Atop the left tower is a conical roof and cylindrical drum with narrow windows and colorful colonnettes, resembling both contemporary images of Christ’s tomb-​ aedicula in Jerusalem and the conical superstructures of Armenian churches and bell towers.71 Matching the liveliness of the architecture and figures is the style of the image. Margarē favors bold color contrasts and surface patterns over the

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illusion of spatial recession. His figures and forms seem to lie right on the page surface: the leaves of the trees appear as flat, decorative elements, peppering the image with a uniform pattern not unlike contemporary khach‘k‘ar carving. The image as a whole is unreservedly joyous, conveying not simply the narrative elements, but also the commotion and excitement of Palm Sunday, the feast commemorating Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem. Very different in mood is the Gospel of the Translators, produced just twenty years later. Its place of origin is unknown. Scholars once attributed it to the region of Arts‘akh, in southern Armenia; indeed, the manuscript’s name derives from the monastery in Arts‘akh where it was kept for many years (Arm. T‘argmanch‘ats‘= “of the Translators”). 72 More recent scholarship favors origins in the northern city of Garin.73 The divergence of these attributions reflects the stylistic uniqueness of the manuscript, striking in its intense and deep colors, abstract treatment of landscape and architecture, and most of all, the dramatic rendering of faces. Its colophons name the artist as Grigor and the donor as Grigor Dopian, who commissioned the work in memory of his wife Arp‘a. The scene of the Dormition of the Virgin (Figure 5.20) conforms to conventional Byzantine and Armenian iconography (see Figure 4.15). Christ appears at the center of the image, holding the swaddled soul of the Virgin, whose body lies upon a funeral bier. Around them crowd apostles, bishops, and other mourners, while below, an angel strikes off the hands of the Jew Jephonias, who has sought to upset the bier. The main composition appears within a rectangular frame surmounted by an arch, whose spandrels are defined by a thick black rectangular border. Two veiled women look out from towers, while above them two angels descend. Gestures and attitudes convey bewilderment and grief:  sirens in the spandrels avert their eyes, angels in the apex of the arch walk upside down, and the angel to the right of Christ clasps his hands tightly as if to hold back emotion. Faces are even more expressive, with large, dark eyes, and single thick dark marks indicating eye sockets and brows. Mouths are small and slightly downturned. This severity and sorrow pervades all fourteen of the manuscript’s full-​page images:  even the Annunciation, with Gabriel’s salutation to the Virgin to “be joyful” is somber in mood. It is difficult not to view these scenes without recollecting the manuscript’s memorial commission, as though the painted figures, like the donor Grigor, were mourning the death of his wife. More copiously illustrated than either the Haghpat or T‘argmanch‘ats‘ Gospels, the Gladzor Gospels contains fifty-​four narrative paintings of the life of Christ.74 It is also remarkable for its emphasis on Armenian theology, liturgical practices, and cultural traditions. Begun either at Eghegis or Noravank‘, both in the Vayots‘ Dzor province (RA), it was finished at Gladzor between 1300 and 1307. A colophon names one illuminator, the celebrated T‘oros Tarōnets‘i, one of five painters responsible for the pictorial program. The colophon also

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FIGURE 5.20  

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Dormition of the Virgin by Grigor, 1232.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 2743, fol. 294.

names the abbot of Gladzor, Esayi Nch‘ets‘i, a celebrated theologian and ardent defender of Armenian orthodoxy against Roman Catholic missionaries. Esayi was particularly known for his textual exegeses of the Gospels, and the Gladzor Gospels may be understood as a visual exegesis, defending Armenian Christianity and culture with its innovative iconography.75 It includes, for example, one of the most complete pictorial enumerations of the ancestors of Christ to be found in medieval manuscripts. Christ’s priestly descent from the houses of David and Levi was a staple of medieval theology, but, as Mathews has argued, the depiction of Christ’s ancestors also reflects the importance of lineage in medieval Armenia, where even priesthoods passed from father to son.76 Another distinctively Armenian rendering, recalling the iconography of

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the Vehap‘aṙ Gospels, shows Christ lecturing to his attentive, seated apostles while standing before a grakal (see Figures 3.24 and 5.18), perhaps evoking the world of monastic education in which the book was produced.77 The image of the Crucifixion offers a particularly powerful defense of Armenian theology (Figure 5.21).78 Flanking the Cross are the Virgin and two holy women on the left, with John the Evangelist and the Centurion on the right. At Christ’s legs are the two executioners, holding the lance and sponge; these small figures have been defaced (presumably by a zealous reader). The mound of Golgotha, sheltering a large skull of Adam, supports the Cross, while two angels descend toward Christ. As in the Haghpat khach‘k‘ar, a sun and moon appear: the blood-​red moon echoes textual tradition (Joel 2:31; Acts 2:21). Atop the cross is the traditional text: “This is the King of the Jews” (Luke 23:38). Scholars attribute this work to the Second Painter.79 Set against gleaming gold leaf, figures wear garments of bright orange-​red, ruby-​red, blue, and green. Their heads are large and almost circular, with large, expressive eyes, long noses, and small mouths. They gesture dramatically with long hands and

FIGURE 5.21  

Crucifixion, Gladzor Gospels, finished 1300–​1307.

Los Angeles: UCLA Special Collections, MS Armenian 1, p. 561.

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fingers. Most striking is Christ himself, shown not drooping but upright, in perfect control of his body, head bending only slightly away from the axis of the Cross. This is a distinctive interpretation of the Crucifixion: in contemporary Byzantium and Europe, Christ often appears explicitly suffering, his body hanging painfully from nailed hands. Equally noteworthy are the reactions of onlookers. Instead of showing traditional gestures of grief, with bent head and downcast eyes, the Virgin and John look up to Christ. The angels, too, look directly to Christ, with open arms. The representation of a physically robust Christ, and the attention he commands even while on the Cross, projects a particular Armenian Christology. As Mathews has discussed, medieval Armenian commentaries and homilies stress the union of Christ’s natures, so that even during the most mortal of experiences, Christ remains divine.80 A comparison of the Byzantine and Armenian versions of the Trisagion Hymn, sung in both churches and mentioned previously in relation to the Haghpat khach‘k‘ar, clarifies the Armenian emphasis on Christ’s divinity. While both the Byzantine and Armenian traditions employ the formula, “Holy, holy, holy,” one Armenian version explicitly attaches this divinity to Christ by ending the hymn with the line “who was crucified for us.” The fifth-​century Armenian text known as the Teaching of Saint Gregory also calls attention to Christ’s divinity even in death, referring to Mark’s account of the Crucifixion, in which Christ died with a “loud shout” (Mark 15:37).81 Finally, the Armenian liturgy, as Mathews notes, also highlights the final cry of Christ, comparing it to the roar of a lion (Rev. 10:3), a beast shown, perhaps not incidentally, on the Centurion’s shield.82 Even in small details, then, the Crucifixion scene offers a meditation on the power of God in Christ. Such pictorial exegesis is further highlighted by bright palette and strong, readable figures. It is inviting to imagine the abbot Esayi teaching his students while turned to this page, perhaps standing at a grakal. Southwest of Gladzor, in the monasteries surrounding Lake Van, monastic scriptoria also flourished. In 1022, Senekerim Artsruni had ceded these lands to the Byzantines, and Armenian nobility moved westward. Activity returned to the region with the establishment in 1113 of a patriarchate at Aght‘amar, which lasted until the nineteenth century (from the sixteenth century under the authority of the Supreme Catholicate at Etchmiadzin). The turning point for cultural production, however, came in the second half of the thirteenth century, when the vast trade networks of the Mongols extended through the Lake Van region. Surely spurred by these economic conditions, Armenian manuscripts were produced in great numbers: specialists count approximately 1500 manuscripts copied in this region.83 Thirteenth-​and fourteenth-​century Vaspurakan manuscripts share many features. Mostly Gospel books, they are written on paper, rather than parchment. Artists of the region did not use gold, worked only with a small range of colors, and allowed for large zones of blank paper. Gospel manuscripts follow

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a consistent pattern: the initial biblical images often divide into two registers portraying consecutive episodes. Then come the canon tables, followed by the evangelist portraits (either grouped in four at the beginning of the gospel, or appearing individually before each gospel text). In some cases, artists also drew from eleventh-​century models, employing the horizontal format of the Melitene tradition, in which images appear perpendicular to the text (Figure 3.24).84 A Gospel Book painted by Tserun in 1390 offers a particularly refined example of the Vaspurakan tradition. In the scene of Christ Walking on Water, Christ stands to the left, pulling Peter from the turbulent Sea of Galilee (Figure 5.22).85 The other apostles, still aboard ship, look on, amazed, as Christ’s red shoes tread lightly on the surface of the waves. Tserun has organized the page into bright zones of saturated color, with bright red, yellow, green, and blue punctuating the page. Short strokes in black or red indicate drapery, and strong lines form the margins of the sail. Faces are large and round with rosy cheeks, large almond eyes, and raised eyebrows. With just a few confident gestures, Tserun captures the conversation between Christ and Peter, whose gazes lock upon each other. Christ’s bent head, his careful grasp of Peter’s hand, and his wide eyes express something more akin to kindly concern than the reproach of Matthew 14:31 (“you of little faith, why did you doubt?”). Christ’s superhuman size and the apostles’ amazement heighten the scene’s miraculous nature. Further characteristics of Tserun’s work deserve attention. First, the sailboat:  it is a small, square-​rigged vessel. Tserun includes interesting details, such as the Y-​shaped mast and the fore and aft stays securing the mast to the bow and stern. Hoops attach the head of the sail to the yard, from which four weights (or bells?) depend. We may assume that Tserun, from Vostan (mod. Gevaş) on southeast shore of Lake Van, was familiar with sailboats. What is certain is that Vaspurakan artists often included scenes of daily life in their interpretation of biblical scenes. One also wonders whether Tserun knew the similar square rig of the bas-​relief of Jonah and the Whale on the church of Aght‘amar, just north of Vostan (see Figure 3.12) Another typical feature of Vaspurakan miniatures is the inclusion of inscribed captions. Above Christ, a text tells us that he is walking on water, while above Peter’s head, we are told that he is sinking into the sea. Even the boat and its sail are individually labeled. Such identification might seem redundant, and surely most viewers could identify the subject matter without the assistance of labels. Yet the uses of identifying texts may have served other purposes. They may have served to legitimate the images themselves—​a serious task in light of the worries about image worship and Armenian identity that had arisen in the thirteenth century in the northern regions. Written in neat miniscule, and placed carefully on the page, the inscriptions are also aesthetically powerful: those on the sail create horizontal lines that balance the strong diagonals of the stays. In this sense there is no strong division between image and text, but rather, all are design forms demonstrating Tserun’s artistic abilities.

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Tserun typifies the Vaspurakan manuscript tradition in another way. Colophons show him to belong to a network of artists, painters, and scribes who passed down their knowledge from generation to generation, within families or workshops. Many of these artists worked “on spec,” preparing manuscripts for the market. Scribes wrote formulaic colophons, leaving the names of the buyers blank. This system is quite different from the conventional patronage of medieval Armenian manuscripts, in which individuals commissioned works. Scholars suggest that the modest materials used in the Vaspurakan manuscripts, and the high volume of production, reflect a buying

FIGURE 5.22  

Christ Walking on Water by Tserun, 1390.

Yerevan: Matenadaran MS 8772, fol. 7v.

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class of modest means.86 Whether or not this is the case, the absence of gold leaf and expensive parchment did not prevent Tserun and his contemporaries from exploring to the fullest the expressive potential of line and color. Tserun’s expressive linearity survived in the manuscripts of later centuries. From the fourteenth to seventeenth centuries, Khizan, in the southwest region of Vaspurakan, became an important center for artistic production and the home of a vibrant painterly style. Certain conventions survive from previous generations:  the prefatory cycle of images, for example, and the division of pages into upper and lower scenes. Yet the Khizan manuscripts often include an expanded gospel narrative, including even more miracles and parables, and many scenes relating to the sufferings of the Last Judgment. Local artists also employed a much wider palette, including lilac, orange, and pink. They also covered the entire page with paint, using either repeating patterns or large zones of a single, unmodulated color—​in either instance creating a powerful visual impact. The work of Khach‘atur of Khizan, one of the most celebrated artists of the region, demonstrates this new style. His Gospel Book of 1455 features a long initial cycle of imagery, including, on fol. 7v, a two-​register image showing the Marriage at Cana, in which Christ turned water into wine (Figure 5.23).87 The upper register shows Christ sitting on a green throne, accompanied by two apostles. He gestures to a kneeling figure, presumably the chief steward, and blesses the newly transformed liquid in his cup. Below this scene is a border featuring a dish of meat and a row of vessels representing the six stone water jars used in the Jewish rite of purification. Wedding festivities unfold below: the bridegroom sits to the right, facing the viewer with a decidedly ambivalent expression, while guests enjoy the feast to the accompaniment of music and candlelight. Khach‘atur retains some of the linear treatment of Tserun’s figures, but with more interest in showing volumes of the neck, eyes, and limbs. Faces are round and rosy cheeked, and the outer corners of the eye extend to the temple; the eyebrow is similarly rendered. Hands and fingers are long and expressive. Drapery is voluminous, and strong dark line indicates folds, creating sinuous curves. Most innovative, however, is the background. Khach‘atur has suppressed any sense of spatial recession, setting both scenes within carpets of flowers, leaves, and tendrils, filling all available space with color and pattern. This aesthetic finds a parallel in Timurid manuscripts of the fifteenth century, which employ similar vertical perspective, with figures set against a flat plane of patterned zones, and similarly bright, clear colors and floral motifs.88 Khach‘atur has also included contemporary details in the depiction of the banqueting scene and the elaborately costumed bridegroom. As Sirarpie Der Nersessian and others have pointed out, this composition reflects what we actually know of medieval Armenian wedding customs.89 According to a text preserved in a thirteenth-​century Armenian manuscript, wedding tradition prescribed the bride’s absence from the feast; the bridegroom sat alone, with

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Marriage at Cana by Khach‘atur, 1455.

Baltimore: Walters Art Museum MS W543, fol. 7v.

two broad belts across his chest, speaking to no one (perhaps the reason for the bridegroom’s ambivalent expression).90 Khach‘atur uses similar motifs and customs from everyday life elsewhere in the manuscript. The biblical figures, including angels, are not sandaled or barefoot, as is more usual, but wear yellow pointed boots, which, as Alice Taylor has noted, are used in certain scenes to deliver decisive kicks to the enemies of Christ.91 Such motifs may have offered more than amusement. We know that Catholic missionaries in the region denounced certain Armenian customs, including the very wedding practices just mentioned. Khach‘atur’s original representation of the Marriage at Cana can therefore be read as a particularly pointed defense of Armenian customs against such criticisms. Indeed, as Mathews and Taylor note, in some manuscripts of Vaspurakan, the multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes shows Christ offering guests wafers tinted with red, reflecting the Armenian liturgical practice of intinction (dipping the bread in the wine before its distribution)—​a practice also criticized by the Catholic missionaries.92 Thus in Vaspurakan, as in Siwnik‘, manuscript painting affirmed the beliefs and practices of the Armenian Church. Taylor has suggested that the emphatically Timurid style of Khach‘atur, too, expressed a conscious defiance of European

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and Byzantine traditions.93 Whether or not this is the case, later generations of Vaspurakan artists rejected Khach’atur’s exuberant style in favor of older Cilician models. During the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, a new tradition evolved on the northern and eastern coasts of Lake Van. In gospel iconography, miracles and parables cede primacy to illustrations related to the major feast days. New image types also emerge, such as the “Exaltation of the Cross,” featuring an elaborately jeweled cross, accompanied by angels and sometimes also by Christ, with donors kneeling below. New types of texts were also copied and illustrated, including lectionaries (chashots‘), hymnals (sharaknots‘), and synaxaries (yasmawurk‘). Not made for the market, but commissioned by wealthy patrons, these new types, as well as traditional gospel books, bore sumptuous illumination with gold leaf and rich, saturated colors. Minas was the most famous painter working in this new style, and also one of the most productive. Trained at the monastery of Metsop‘, northeast of Lake Van, Minas enjoyed a career spanning over years (c. 1432–​c. 1483), from which Edda Vardanyan counts thirty-​ eight surviving manuscripts.94 Minas seems to have produced his commissions on site, all along the north coast of Lake Van. His reputation spread:  scribal colophons praise him as wise and modest, and compare him to Bezaliel (Arm. Besēliēl), the maker of the Ark of the Covenant (Exod. 31: 2–​5), who was skillful in all manner of works, including gold, silver, and bronze.95 Minas’s surviving work bears out the comparison with Bezaliel. A lectionary of 1460, painted at Artskeh (Figure 5.24), is lavishly gilded, attesting to the wealth of the donor, Step‘anos Gharibshay, a member of the catholical court.96 One scene, showing Virgin and Child approached by the Three Magi and the shepherds, enacts the joint celebration of the Nativity and Epiphany. In the register below, Joseph sits in the left corner, separated from three horses carrying packs. In style and iconography, the scene recalls the work of the fourteenth-​ century Cilician painter Sargis Pitsak (see Figure 4.15), particularly in the use of rich reds and blues, the ample gold, and details such as the dotted haloes of the holy figures. Minas’s figures, however, are more attenuated; the kings are particularly elegant, with their long red boots and colorful clothing. Minas also emphasizes the maternal solicitude of the Virgin, who steadies the infant Christ as he leans back to bless the nearest king. Atmospheric details abound: striated colors suggest the rocky grotto, echoing the mountain landscapes of Timurid painting. Shepherds climb the mountainside, while their sheep rest below the feet of the Virgin. Gold stars dot the area around the Virgin and Child, and more patterns adorn her throne. Although Minas has indicated green foliage under the horses’ hooves, he also suggests an interior setting by including curving red arcatures above. The thick, knotted column separating the animals from Joseph, who seems to sit in a narrow vaulted space, hints at the architecture of medieval caravanserais.

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Nativity and Adoration by Minas, 1460.

Yerevan: Matenadaran 982, fol. 4v.

Minas also produced some of the earliest Armenian hymnals, a book type that gained particular popularity through the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in the Lake Van region. These were typically small enough to hold in the palm of one hand, and were probably intended for the private devotions of the patron. This book type also showcased a new image: the hymn for the Battle of Avarayr. The scene showed the famous military defeat, discussed in Chapter 2, in which Armenians fought to defend their Christian faith against the Persian Zoroastrians. Over a millennium later, the battle held renewed significance for its readers. One undated hymnal shows both armies holding not only medieval weaponry but also muskets, making utterly clear the resonance of the image for Armenian subjects of the early Ottoman Empire, the advance of which into the region heralded and new and turbulent period in the history of Armenian art and culture.97

{ 6 }

Empire and Diaspora in the Fifteenth to Eighteenth Centuries

The geopolitical shifts of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries created new economic and social conditions for Armenians, who increasingly participated in trade networks extending from the Indian Ocean to the Mediterranean. Fueled in part by merchant patronage, Armenian art of the fifteenth to eighteenth centuries reflects the mobility of visual ideas, along with a simultaneous interest in innovation and tradition. New Armenian artistic centers emerged across the European, Ottoman, and Safavid worlds. Painters drew inspiration from the “world-​girdling” medium of print but also from medieval Armenian manuscripts.1 Ceramics, metalwork, and textiles bear important witness to the fertilization of visual ideas across media and regions. Developments in church architecture included a revival of the early Christian basilican form and an opulent fusion of European, Persian, and traditional Armenian ideas.

Historical Background During the fifteenth to eighteenth centuries, Armenia was a frontier zone and battleground between the Ottomans, with their base in newly conquered Constantinople, and the Safavids (1502 to 1736)  in Persian territory (see Map 4).2 No longer self-​governing, Armenians became subjects and often victims of imperial policies. The town of Erivan (mod. Yerevan), for example, changed hands fourteen times between the Safavids and Ottomans.3 In 1603/​ 1604, the Safavid Shah Abbas I (r. 1587–​1629) deported several hundred thousand Armenians from their homes. Pursuing a scorched-​earth policy against the Ottomans, the Shah sought to destroy Armenian lands in anticipation of Ottoman advances. The survivors were resettled in a new suburb of Isfahan, New Julfa (Arm. Nor Jugha), named after Julfa, the Armenian town in Nakhchivan. Wars continued until 1639, when Sultan Murad IV and Shah Safi I

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agreed on a frontier, apportioning to the Ottomans much of the Armenian highland, and, to the Safavids, the eastern part of Armenia including Erivan and Etchmiadzin. Amidst these troubles, the Armenian Church assumed a powerful political, economic, and social role. Having returned to its ancient seat at Etchmiadzin in 1441, the catholicate sought to revive the concept of an Armenian nation, entreating intervention by European powers several times in the sixteenth century, but without result. To avoid the expropriation of properties and wealth by Muslim overlords, Armenian elites within the Ottoman sphere donated their lands to churches and monasteries, which, as religious foundations, were protected by a charter, or waqf. A  new class of feudal prelate, the paron-​ter (lord-​priest), administered such foundations: abbots of major monastic sites, including Haghpat and Gandzasar, assumed this role, collecting taxes from the populace and even controlling local militias. In the meantime, Armenian communities grew up in both Ottoman and Safavid urban centers. In 1461, Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II divided the empire into religious communities (millets):  a newly formed patriarchate in Constantinople represented and administered its Armenian subjects, with additional patriarchates serving communities in Sis (in the former kingdom of Cilicia), Aght‘amar, and Jerusalem. The foundation of the Constantinopolitan patriarchate prompted many Armenians to migrate from the war-​ravaged interior to the security of the capital, where Mehmed II also ordered the resettlement of Armenian merchants and craftsmen. By the end of the fifteenth century, Constantinople was home to a thousand Armenian families, while the Armenian presence in Ottoman cities such as Aleppo and Smyrna also increased. In Safavid Persia, the Shah granted the Armenians of New Julfa religious toleration and some measure of self-​rule under a kalantar, or local governor. New Julfan Armenians developed their own trading networks, focusing on the transport and sale of silk, precious stones, and spices. In 1619, the wealthy merchants of the city (khwajas) successfully won a bidding war against European companies for the majority of trading privileges with the Safavid empire. By the seventeenth century, their networks extended from Indonesia, China, India, and Russia to Europe and the British Isles, creating an Armenian merchant elite of significant autonomy and huge wealth.4 By 1620, New Julfa’s population was 30,000, and the city boasted mansions and impressive churches. The catholicate at Etchmiadzin, then in the Safavid province of Erivan, also witnessed an efflorescence, as the construction of the Cathedral’s bell tower attests. Armenian communities also flourished to the northwest of Isfahan, in Tabriz and Sultaniyyeh (mod. Soltanieh). In both the Ottoman and Safavid empires, Armenian merchant families reenergized intellectual and spiritual life, financing major building projects and the production of manuscripts. Ottoman Aleppo, Smyrna, Kayseri, and

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Kütahya became celebrated centers for Armenian artisanal activity, while by the eighteenth century groups of craftsmen were forming guilds (esnaf). As in New Julfa, some Ottoman Armenian merchants participated in trade networks links to Europe. By the mid-​eighteenth century, prominent Armenians attained the title amira and served as court architects and masters of the arsenal and mint, while the patriarchate in Constantinople oversaw an intellectual revival of Armenian literature, theology, poetry, and history. Meanwhile, European ideas entered Armenian culture through trade, travel, the presence of missionaries, and, most of all, through the new technology of the printing press. A certain Hakob (later known as “Meghapart” or “the sinner”) printed the first Armenian books between 1511 and 1513 in Venice. A press with movable Armenian type was used in 1567/​1569 in Constantinople, where Abgar Tohats‘i published five or six Armenian books.5 By 1638 or 1641 a press was established in New Julfa. In 1666, Amsterdam saw the printing of the earliest Armenian Bible, called the “Oskan Bible” after its printer, Oskan Erevants‘i. The new technology of print was crucial to the early modern Armenian cultural renaissance, ensuring the wide circulation of knowledge. Its impact was equally strong in the visual arts. The fifteenth to eighteenth centuries also saw the growth of Armenian communities farther afield. The Armenian-​inscribed mosaics of Jerusalem (see Figure 2.16) attest to a long history of pilgrimage and migration; early-​ modern political conditions in Armenian core areas greatly accelerated this tendency. Connected to ever-​ expanding mercantile networks, Armenian centers arose in China, Tibet, India, Mongolia, the Balkans, Romania, Transylvania, Amsterdam, Marseille, and Venice, while older settlements in Iran, Cyprus, Lviv, and Italy became renewed destinations for trade and migration. Armenians settled in the Genoese colony of Kaffa (the port city of Crimea): Genoese sources report between 20,000 and 40,000 Armenians in the city by the 1430s, and by the eighteenth century dozens of Armenian churches stood there.6 When the Ottomans took the city in 1475, however, many migrated to Constantinople. This extensive diaspora rejuvenated Armenian identity and culture, as the example of the Catholic monk Mkhit‘ar Sebastats‘i (1670–​1749) attests. Mkhit‘ar’s monastic brotherhood, founded in Constantinople and transferred to Modon (mod. Methoni) in the Peloponnese, established itself definitively in Venice in 1717 on the island of San Lazzaro. Mkhit‘ar’s order produced and printed a wide variety of Armenian texts and played an instrumental role in the revival of Armenian literature and culture; many manuscripts discussed in this book are housed today in the Mekhitarist library in Venice. By the early eighteenth century, Armenians in the Safavid Empire suffered increasing religious oppression and punitive taxation. The Afghan advances of 1722, with the accompanying siege and occupation of Isfahan and the ultimate collapse of the Empire in 1736, prompted further Armenian migrations, to Europe, the Philippines, Java, and India. These new migrants in turn

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funded another Armenian cultural revival, including not only such traditional endowments as the construction of new churches and monasteries, but more innovative projects as well:  for example, an Armenian merchant from India financed the establishment of an Armenian press at Etchmiadzin in 1771.

Manuscript Painting Armenian manuscripts of the period reflect this new historical landscape. While certain traditional centers such as Vaspurakan saw continued manuscript activity, Constantinople, New Julfa, and Armenian settlements in Europe and Iran became new centers for production. Kaffa was one such center: manuscripts, particularly Cilician works, were also sent there for repair. As a result, Cilician visual traditions inform the Armenian manuscript painting of Crimea, which also bears Italian, Byzantine, Balkan, and Russian artistic elements, reflecting the peninsula’s cosmopolitan history.7 An illustrated manuscript of the Lives of the Desert Fathers, of 1430, exemplifies this tradition.8 The colophon names the copyist and illuminator the monk T‘adeos Avramets‘, of the Monastery of Saint Anthony at Kaffa. The text, translated into Armenian from Greek sometime between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries, is a compilation of biographies, edifying stories, and apothegmata (maxims) of early Egyptian monks. Among the many examples of this text, including Greek, Latin, Syriac, and Coptic, the Kaffa manuscript is by far the most extensively illustrated, with thirty-​eight full-​and half-​page miniatures and around five hundred bust or head portraits. This iconographic cycle formed the prototype for at least ten subsequent Armenian copies. The illustrations include icon-​like portraits of the desert fathers as well as detailed narrative cycles of specific monks, including Anthony, Pambo, Serapion, and Abaura. A  striking illustration of the encounter of Bishop Paphnutius (b. 301 or 311) with the desert father Onophrius occupies almost all of p. 587 (Figure 6.1). The thin, bearded Onophrius, wearing only a girdle made of plants, stands before a cave, holding a cross. Above his nimbed head is an identifying inscription in Armenian. Addressing him, Paphnutius wears a blue mantle and leans on a cane, suggesting exhaustion from his long journey in seeking out various desert fathers. A tall date palm bulging with fruit and a stream of water offer refreshment to the two men. Simple, vertical forms and strong, saturated colors focus the eyes on the light-​colored figure of Onophrius and the chalky white exterior and dark interior of his cave. The carefully modeled and elongated figures, with Paphnutius’s classicizing drapery, recall contemporary Byzantine and Russian sources, such as the work of Theophanes the Greek (1340–​1410), who himself lived in Crimea for a time.9 Significant, also, is the production of the manuscript in a monastic community devoted to Saint Anthony, the most celebrated of desert

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FIGURE 6.1  

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Paphnutius and Onophrius. Kaffa Lives of the Fathers, 1430.

Jerusalem MS 285, p. 587.

fathers. Nira Stone suggests that the mystical theology of Hesychasm, which encouraged the practice of ascetism, informs not only the subject matter of the manuscript, but also the use of white—​perhaps a reference to Hesychastic concepts of divine radiance.10 Like Crimea, Constantinople rose to prominence as a center for the manufacture, repair, and rebinding of Armenian manuscripts. The over forty

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published examples, many copiously illustrated, include not only gospels and bibles, but also a mashtots‘ (or ritual book), a menologion, an illustrated Alexander Romance, psalters, and prayer scrolls (hmayil). Constantinopolitan manuscripts of the early seventeenth to the eighteenth centuries attest to the development of a distinctive style, as exemplified in a gospel book attributed to the painter Gabriēl (fl. 1690s). It opens with an Annunciation (Figure 6.2), showing the archangel Gabriel and the Virgin standing against a lavish architectural setting, rich with polychrome surfaces and ornamental details. Gabriel gestures to the Virgin, as is standard in medieval Armenian and Byzantine art, but also offers her a lily, a motif borrowed from European iconography. New, also, is the use of deep-​blue, green, orange, and magenta colors, contrasting with the pale architecture and creating strong chromatic rhythms across the page.11 Fine black lines delimit sharp contours, with faces conceived as maps of white surface and black line. Such details show Gabriēl’s confidence and skill as an artist; photographic reproductions cannot convey the mirror-​smooth surfaces of his pages, with no apparent raised surfaces or visible brushstrokes. Gabriēl’s Annunciation, like much contemporary Constantinopolitan manuscript illumination, reveals the impact of print culture, and it is noteworthy that the latter seventeenth century witnessed an efflorescence of Armenian printing in Constantinople. The work that arguably had the greatest impact on Gabriēl and his contemporaries was the Oskan Bible. Circulating widely after its initial printing in 1666, the Bible featured woodcuts after Christoffel van Sichem II and other artists, including Albrecht Dürer, Lucas van Leyden, Hans Holbein, Maarten van Heemskerck, Hendrick Goltzius, and Jérôme Nadal. These works informed Armenian manuscript illumination both in single motifs, such as the lily in the hands of Gabriēl’s archangel, and in the wholesale recreation of entire compositions. The latter case is illustrated by a particular iconography of the Resurrection, in which Christ rises from a sarcophagus: surrounded by clouds, he holds a flag of victory (see Figure 6.10).12 The extraordinarily linear style of Gabriēl’s Annunciation scene also may reflect print images, as a comparison with the Transfiguration page from the Oskan Bible suggests (Figure 6.3). While the European scene conforms to the standard medieval iconography, it features a dramatic hatchmarks of thin and thick lines, arranged in parallel or radially. As in Gabriēl’s paintings, faces are treated summarily, with large dots for eyes and short strokes defining the mouth and brows.13 Scholars note many such stylistic and iconographic parallels between Oskan Bible imagery and seventeenth-​and eighteenth-​ century Armenian Constantinopolitan art, attesting, one imagines, to the visual excitement that print must have aroused in Armenian painters. Yet one wonders whether concerns did not also accompany this new technology. To Gabriēl, whose father was also a painter, the proliferation of printed images must have unsettled his status as an artist, his livelihood, and the future of his craft.

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FIGURE 6.2  

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Annunciation by Gabriēl, late 17th century.

Philadelphia Free Library, Frederic Lewis Oriental, MS 116, fol. 1v.

In contrast to Gabriēl’s modernizing style, a Gospel Book produced in Sebastia (mod. Sivas) in Anatolia testifies to an ongoing fascination with earlier Armenian culture.14 A  home to Armenians since antiquity, Sebastia swelled with Armenian migrants after the collapse of the Bagratid dynasty in the eleventh century. It was to Sebastia that the Bagratid King Senekerim brought the relic of the True Cross of Varag from its home in Vaspurakan. Ottoman Sebastia housed the Armenian painters Barsegh and his son Mik‘ayēl (b. 1640). Mik‘ayēl was a prolific artist: at least fifteen signed manuscripts survive, several with colophons that include substantial biographical and historical information. He was also a binder and poet, composing, notably, two poems commemorating Armenians martyred for refusing to convert to Islam.15

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FIGURE 6.3  

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Transfiguration, Oskan Bible, 1666, p. 484, second pagination.

Collection of the Armenian Museum of America.

His gospel is a luxurious object, comprising 293 vellum pages, with ample gold leaf. Mik‘ayēl copied and illustrated it in Nor Avan (New City) near Sebastia, at the Church of the Holy Cross, for Markos, who is given the epithet mahtesi (one who has made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem). Sirarpie Der Nersessian reads the colophons to suggest that Mik‘ayēl began the project in 1668 and finished it in 1673.16 Illustrations include a set of canon tables, four evangelist portraits, decorated incipits, a pair of gold-​backed dedication pages, a full-​page Ascension scene, and a dedication page featuring Christ with a kneeling, diminutive Markos clad in Ottoman tunic and blue turban. The colophon requests intercessionary prayers for Markos, but also, surprisingly, a plea for the reader to remember “T‘oros, surnamed Ṙoslin, the painter of the model.” In other words, Mik‘ayēl has dedicated his manuscript in part to the celebrated Cilician painter of the thirteenth century. As Der Nersessian has shown, Mik‘ayēl clearly had access to Ṙoslin’s Gospel book of 1262. Historical evidence attests to its arrival in Sebastia by 1474/​1475, where, with one interruption, it remained until the Armenian Genocide. In the colophon, Mik‘ayēl also thanks Tōnik, the beadle, or porter (zhamkoch‘), in Sebastia who gave him access to Ṙoslin’s Gospel. This

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is precious information:  while Cilician elements clearly inform seventeenth-​ century Armenian manuscripts, Mik‘ayēl, as Der Nersessian observes, explicitly confirms it.17 Even without the colophon, scrutiny of the manuscript would lead us to the Cilician Gospel. Mik‘ayēl’s canon table demonstrates close adherence to his model (Figure 6.4), a manuscript completed by T‘oros Ṙoslin in 1262.18 Mik‘ayēl has followed the size, scale, proportions, and palette of the Cilician manuscript, and his rectangular headpieces bear the same designs and the same closely knotted forms. Some marginal iconography is precisely replicated, such as the birds drinking from a fountain with lion-​headed

FIGURE 6.4  

Canon Table by Mik‘ayēl, 1673.

Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC: Purchase—​Charles Lang Freer Endowment, F1944.17, fol. 17r.

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spouts, and the leaping bird-​headed figure at the right margin. Elsewhere, Mik‘ayēl departs from his model, substituting, for example, one of Ṙoslin’s symmetrical pink birds with an owl. Der Nersessian also contrasts Ṙoslin’s image, in which the prophet Jeremiah (in the lunette) holds a scroll with the text “a voice was heard in Ramah” (Jer. 31:15), with Mik‘ayēl’s work, in which she discerns the text “the days come that I will raise unto David a righteous branch” (23:5): the latter more appropriate, Der Nersessian notes, to the messianic prophecy of Isaiah on the opposite page.19 Moreover, the upright flowering branch in the hand of the leaping bird-​man to Jeremiah’s right charmingly echoes this text. Remarkably, Mik‘ayēl not only paid careful attention to the details of canon tables, but also composed texts about their particular spiritual importance. His manuscript begins with a long rhymed commentary on the significance of canon tables. Such commentaries are not uncommon in Armenian manuscripts of the sixteenth and seventeenth century; but where most reproduce the same text (by Step‘anos Dzik‘), Mik‘ayēl offers us his own composition.20 The first section explains the discrete elements of the canon tables (trees, flowers, birds, and animals) as signs of God, heaven, and the elect. The second part summarizes and versifies the commentary on the canon tables by the Cilician patriarch Nersēs Shnorhali. Inspired by Nersēs, Mik‘ayēl defends canon tables as both pleasurable and medicinal: “Filling the palate with sweet scent/​Administering remedy to ailing flesh.”21 This sentiment, which recalls Vrt‘anēs K‘ert‘ogh’s seventh-​ century defense of images (see Chapter  2), is also echoed in another of the manuscript’s colophons, in which Mik‘ayēl describes the canon tables as “soap baths for the heart.”22 Mik‘ayēl’s text and imagery thus offer extraordinary insight into his era: in recomposing Nersēs’s commentary, in copying Ṙoslin’s canons, and, finally, in dedicating his work to Ṙoslin, Mik‘ayēl consolidates and commemorates Armenian theology and aesthetics at a particularly turbulent historical moment. Among the most unusual and original Armenian painters of the seventeenth century is Hakob of Julfa (Jughayets‘i, c.1550–​c.1613).23 Belonging to a family of merchant traders, Hakob was extraordinarily peripatetic. He left Julfa for Lim, in Vaspurakan, where he studied with the bishop Zak‘aria Gnuneants‘. In 1585 he moved northwest to Garin, planning to sell one of his manuscripts before proceeding to Constantinople. In Garin, however, he met a priest from Keghi (southwest of Garin) and returned with him. After spending one and a half years in Keghi, Hakob returned to Julfa, and thence proceeded to Vaspurakan. Relocated to New Julfa in the forced migrations of Shah Abbas, Hakob became a successful and recognized manuscript illuminator and wall painter.24 Hakob’s works show training in the manuscript traditions of Vaspurakan, employing an expanded Last Judgment cycle, the Exaltation of the Cross scene,

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and compositions dense with forms, patterns, and liberal amounts of gold leaf. Yet Hakob’s innovations are striking, above all in his representations of God, shown as a pale-​eyed, jowled man with a down-​turned mouth. God appears frequently in Hakob’s paintings, sometimes as the main figure, as in scenes from Genesis, and at other times peering down from a page corner. Hakob also innovated in other ways, adding, for example, bifolio images of Christ and the Virgin before each book of the Gospel. Hakob’s Gospels of 1586 demonstrates his remarkable aesthetic.25 Full-​page images from Genesis preface the book, which opens with four successive two-​ page scenes of the Creation. On each successive page, the face of God is larger, until upon the Seventh Day, the face fills almost half of the page. The third bifolio, depicting the fifth and sixth days of Creation, epitomizes the progression. God appears, creating birds and fish, on the left page. The nimbed face of the Creator dominates the upper zone, while seven birds and two fish appear below. A blue strip with gold stars divides the page, while checkerboard panels flank God’s face. A red wavy border indicates the earth. On the opposite page, God, accompanied by angels, takes up almost half the upper zone of the page (Figure 6.5). Below the starry border, five animals, including a rabbit and a horned beast, inhabit a flat green landscape. In the lower right-​hand corner is a small nimbed figure of Adam. By repeating a basic visual format with successively larger divine images, Hakob creates a powerful theophany, as if to bring God ever nearer the reader of the manuscript. Contrasts of light and dark, straight and curved lines, and large basic forms against dense patterns heighten the visual excitement. As Der Nersessian observes, however, “nothing could be farther from traditional iconographical type than [God’s] chubby face.”26 Indeed, Hakob’s representations depart not only from Armenian, but also from other medieval traditions. What are his sources? Scholars have connected his flat, stylized landscapes and repeating foliate forms to contemporary Persian manuscript painting.27 Hakob clearly also knew Western traditions:  Christ in the synagogue teaches Jews dressed as Europeans, with feathered caps and laced-​up tunics.28 Additionally, Hakob’s flaming mandorlas and halos resemble those found in contemporary scenes of the Ascension of Muhammad and in Buddhist representations of deities. Der Nersessian suggests a source for Hakob’s unusual representation of God in images of the Buddha, perhaps transmitted by means of a portable banner or painting. Given the role of Armenian merchants in global commerce and Hakob’s own peripatetic life, not to mention his mercantile family background, such contact is certainly possible.29 Yet discovering a source for Hakob’s representation of God does not explain his choice, or his adherence to it, over several manuscripts. Questions of how or whether to represent the supreme being, and the relation of representation to understanding or worship, are particularly fraught for the period, in Christianity as in the Islamic world.

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Creation by Hakob, 1586.

Courtesy of Sam Fogg, London.

Undeniable, however, is the visual impact of Hakob’s pages: leafing through his Gospels, one is struck by the immediacy and omnipresence of his God. Perhaps such images provided consolation and comfort to the wandering Hakob. At the same time, perhaps the angry-​looking God reflects the personal experience of Hakob, who tells us in his colophons that he “found misfortune in every region.”30

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Works in Stone, Textiles, Silver, and Ceramic Julfa, Hakob’s ancestral city, was widely known for its vast cemetery of khach‘k‘ars before their deliberate destruction beginning in the 1990s. These stones, according to witnesses, numbered between 2000 and 10,000, most dating from the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries. Some stood a mere foot apart; a nineteenth-​century British visitor compared them to a military regiment “drawn up in close order.”31 Examples of such late khach‘k‘ar carving survive today at Noratus in the Republic of Armenia, and at churches and monasteries throughout historical Armenia and the diaspora. As in previous centuries, khach‘k‘ars of this period often bear inscriptions naming the donor, year, and carver, as well as pleas for salvation and intercession. They are almost invariably gravestones, commemorating the deceased in their inscriptions. The Julfan khach‘k‘ars are taller (c. 2–​4 m) and narrower than previous examples, and are normally more quadrangular in shape. While scholars have noted many variants, the typical Julfan khach‘k‘ar features a central cross within a deep ogee niche, surrounded by panels of geometric or interlace decoration.32 Most are non-​figural, but by the middle of the sixteenth century, representations of Christ, angels, evangelist symbols, and donors appear. A well-​preserved example, now at the Holy See of Etchmiadzin (Figure 6.6) is inscribed with the date 1602, three years before the deportation of the Julfan Armenians by Shah Abbas.33 The carver, Grigor, was a celebrated master responsible for many Julfan khach‘k‘ars. The donor inscription is now partially effaced, but the deceased may have been a khoja, like so many Julfan Armenians.

FIGURE 6.6  

Khach‘k‘ar, 1601, Julfa, now at Mother See of Holy Etchmiadzin.

Photo: Larastock.com.

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The khach‘k‘ar is divided into a series of stacked zones. In the uppermost, the enthroned Christ holds a book in his veiled left hand and blesses with his right. The four evangelist symbols surround him, forming his throne. Two angels approach him from either side, the inner pair bearing offerings in bowls. Grigor’s carving style emphasizes fine patterns, including ropey channels indicating drapery and wings. At the foot of the khach‘k‘ar, next to the effaced inscription, the deceased, clad in tunic and turban, rides a spotted horse, armed with a sheathed sword and bearing a cross in his right hand. A border of eight-​pointed stars, each undercut, rises from a lower plane of tendril-​like decoration. The design of this border, as well as of the interior arch, closely resembles the format of earlier khach‘k‘ars, while the narrow, highly pointed ogee arch enclosed within a rectangular frame finds parallels in contemporary Persian and Ottoman tombstones. Within the niche, set back by several decorative borders, is the cross, executed in fine tendrils and set against further vegetal carving filling blank spaces. Two smaller crosses flank the central one, while at its foot the skull of Adam appears atop a projecting circular boss, itself supported on a pedestal. A large carved medallion dominates the zone below, its interlace design emanating from a central, deeply-​cut flower or star. While thirteenth-​and fourteenth-​century khach‘k‘ars exhibit a more subtle planarity, with smaller and finer degrees of recession, Grigor’s surfaces are more deeply recessed, creating greater shadow and depth and emphasizing the organizing frames and monumentality of the stone. By the 1570s, tombstones included a type strikingly different from the traditional steliform khach‘k‘ar:  a plump ram with spiral horns. Not exclusive to Julfa, this ram-​shaped tomb is also associated with contemporary Islamic burials of the Caucasus and Anatolia. Those of the Julfan cemetery were only rarely decorated with crosses; most bear relief sculpture showing the deceased banqueting or working at his profession.34 The Julfan khach‘k‘ar form itself bore many iconographic variations. In some cases, multiple crosses, each in its own niche, occupy the uppermost sculptural band. In other cases, the Virgin and Child appear, and yet others feature a remarkable zoomorphic image:  a pair of winged quadrupeds sharing the same human head, their tails sometimes terminating in dragons’ heads.35 The sources of this image type, and its precise meaning, are unclear. Yet it was surely intended to depict God: the human head is nimbed and often shown adored by angels. This unusual representation, arising contemporaneously with Hakob Jughayets‘i’s innovative paintings, suggests that the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century constituted a privileged moment for new visualizations of the divine.

Textiles Physical evidence for medieval Armenian textiles is sparse. Aside from fragments of cloth excavated at Ani, no sizable examples of early textiles survive.36 Yet

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the earliest Armenian sources already make mention of luxurious fabrics: the fifth-​century Epic Histories notes frequently the robe-​of-​honor, or patmuchan, bestowed by the king upon officials and magnates.37 As we have seen, medieval Armenian churches and manuscripts also depict figures wearing fur and woven textiles. Tenth-​century sources are wonderfully explicit regarding the elaborate textiles worn by, or given to, Armenians in both elite secular and sacred spheres.38 Particularly noteworthy is the description of the fabrics kept in the Armenian patriarchal treasury at Etchmiadzin. The tenth-​century bishop Ukhtanes describes altar curtains, the collar (Arm.: vakas) of the Catholicos “made of silk and ornamented with precious stones and pearls,” and “bright garments [. . .], gold stuffs, fabrics, colorful purples in different shades and tints, all of which were adorned and brocaded beautifully with patterns of colorful flowers [. . .] [and additionally] there was the precious vestment of our pious King Trdat which was presented to the house of the Lord as a gift for sacred use [. . .].”39 Ukhtanes describes a veritable museum of textiles, not only luxurious in material and workmanship, but themselves sacred relics, including the very clothing worn by the first Christian king of Armenia. From the fifteenth to eighteenth centuries much more evidence exists. Among the earliest examples is a processional banner of embroidered silk, dated by inscription to 1448, and kept, like the objects mentioned by Ukhtanes, in the Treasury of Etchmiadzin (Figure 6.7).40 The bilateral banner bears figural imagery embroidered in silver and gold thread now mounted on modern fabric (blue on one side, red on the other). On one side, Christ, shown blessing and holding a book, sits on a throne featuring the four evangelist symbols. He is crowned by a pointed arch; sun and moon appear in the upper corners. Two lines flanking the shoulders of Christ record that the banner was intended for use at Etchmiadzin, in memory of the priest Simēon, his wife K‘amal-​Khatun, and their parents and children, in the year 1448. We also learn that its makers were two women: one Aziz-​Khatun and her mother Gohar Melik‘. Below, at Christ’s feet, a second text asks remembrance for the aforementioned persons by those who carry the banner at the Day of Judgment. This eschatological reference harmonizes with the image of Christ’s Second Coming on the banner, a message surely made only more impressive when it was borne aloft in procession, light playing upon its metallic threads. On the other side, now backed in blue, stand the protagonists of the conversion story: Saint Gregory is flanked by King Trdat on the left and Hṙip‘simē on the right. The figures are uniformly tall, with long, elegant bodies and small feet. Gregory is vested as catholicos, with pointed mitre, white chasuble with black crosses, omophorion, yellow stole, and, by his right knee, a diamond-​shaped textile (Arm. konker, Gr. epigonation).41 The crowned Trdat wears a simpler although still luxurious red-​paneled garment, much like that of Hrip‘simē, also crowned, who holds in her right hand a martyr’s cross. Large inscriptions identify each figure.

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Saint Gregory with King Trdat and Saint Hṙip‘simē, 1448. Embroidered silk.

Museum of the Mother See of Holy Etchmiadzin:, inv. n. 115. Photo by Hrair Hawk Khatcherian.

This banner thus offers precious evidence for the role of women artists in fifteenth-​century Armenia. Later inscribed textiles make clear that this was no rarity; women seem to have been the primary creators of ecclesiastical textiles, and evidence for their practice is already found in medieval sources.42 One would like to know more about Aziz-​Khatun and her mother, but in the absence of other evidence, the banner itself repays close attention. Clearly, the work is of high quality: it demonstrates refined embroidering skills, close knowledge of traditional Armenian iconography, and a confident and elegant pictorial style with affinities to manuscript painting, suggesting that this was not the first product of the mother-​and-​daughter team.

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The artists’ gender invite us to speculate further upon the iconography, and more particularly the depiction of the virgin Hrip‘simē in this scene. While a major figure in the story of the conversion of Armenia to Christianity, Hrip‘simē appears only rarely in surviving medieval Armenian art: the fresco cycle of the church of Tigran Honents‘ at Ani offers an unusual depiction of her martyrdom. Her appearance on a work made by women (and for a female as well as a male patron), might help us to understand her visual prominence. An Armenian viewer familiar with the story of Hrip‘simē’s martyrdom would perceive the banner as an image of her election to sainthood. But the same viewer might sense a dramatic tension in the grouping, since Trdat was the agent of her martyrdom (having executed Hrip‘simē for her refusal to submit to his advances: see Chapter 2), and thus the reason for her martyr’s status. The violence of this encounter, narrated at length in the conversion account, is completely absent in the banner, where the king and virgin stand peaceably with Gregory between them. Notably, while Trdat stands in three-​quarters position, gesturing toward the right, Hrip‘simē, like Gregory, looks out at the viewer. Her crown is also somewhat larger than that of Trdat, suggesting the preeminence of martyrdom over mere royalty, and emphasizing the special piety and forbearance of the saint. Such a rare representation of Hrip‘simē by Armenian female artists demands consideration, however speculative, of how the women who embroidered the banner understood and interpreted the scene. Many such embellished textiles survive from the early eighteenth to late nineteenth centuries, in the patriarchal treasuries of Etchmiadzin, Constantinople, Jerusalem, and Antelias (Lebanon), and also in museums and private collections. The abundance of Constantinopolitan textiles reflects the growth of the city’s Armenian community. The need to replace worn textiles and those destroyed in Constantinople’s frequent fires also prompted the creation of textile workshops, which produced items such as crowns, collars, mitres, table covers, altar frontals, large curtains, veils, carpets, and slippers.43 These were embroidered, block printed, and painted, revealing tremendous artisanal skill. Compositions drew upon traditional Armenian iconography as well as Byzantine, post-​Byzantine, European, and Islamic traditions.44 Thankfully, many of these objects preserve inscriptions, providing crucial information about artists, patrons, and church foundations. Needleworkers created forms and patterns by using a wide range of stitching techniques, employing gold and silver thread, sequins, and precious and semiprecious stones, using layers of stitching and subtle modifications of color to create depth of field.45 Artisans sometimes used actual hair in the rendering of hair and wings, arguably surpassing the naturalism of painters and sculptors and raising questions about the status of the work as representation.46 An embroidered mitre of 1681 offers a sense of this rich tradition (Figure 6.8).47 Pentagonal in shape, its inscribed base records its manufacture for the church of Saint Kirakos in memory of the khoja Sahak, his father, Vardavar,

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FIGURE 6.8  

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Bishop’s mitre, 1681.

Photo: Ron Marchese and the Armenian Patriarchate of Constantinople.

and his mother, Chōhar. Forms, decorations, and the inscription are sewn in silver, gold, and silk thread onto a base of dark red velvet. Using various stitching techniques, including couching (in which threads are laid down and fastened with short perpendicular stitches), the artist created herringbone, twisted, and beaded patterns, heightening the visual complexity and sheen of the mitre. One side features an Annunciation scene. Strong, simple forms depict Gabriel approaching the Virgin from the left and bearing a lily, as in the work of Constantinopolitan painter Gabriēl (see Figure 6.2). Rising to address Gabriel, the Virgin points downward, perhaps to the inscribed band of text at the mitre’s lower margin. The two figures stand in front of a cityscape; at

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their feet are small cypress and palm trees. From the top of the mitre, rays emanate toward the Virgin, along with the dove of the Holy Spirit. The Nativity scene on the opposite side features the praying Virgin at left and Joseph at the right flanking the Christ Child in a stylized manger or grotto. Above Christ is Gabriel, with arms and wings outstretched. At the mitre’s top is a sunburst medallion depicting God holding up an image of Christ. The inmost image is in fact a fringed cloth, recalling the many stories of miraculous images impressed upon cloth, and thus itself testifying to the sacred nature of textiles.48

Silver Book Covers The seventeenth and eighteenth centuries saw the proliferation of Armenian silver workshops in various Ottoman cities. The best known and most prolific were in Kayseri (Arm. Kesaria) in Cappadocia. Kayseri workshops produced a range of liturgical objects, including silver manuscripts covers. These are not technically bindings, but silver plaques attached with nails or turn-​ins to existing leather bindings or wooden boards.49 Kayseri silver covers are of special historical importance: many bear inscriptions naming the artisan, patron, and the place and year of production. Hence we can date the earliest known example to 1653 and the latest to 1729.50 The Kayseri silver covers also demonstrate the refinement of Armenian metalworking in the period. Smiths created each cover individually by hand by using the repoussé technique, then chased and engraved details on the surface, the most ornate additionally embellished with gilding, enamel, and precious or semiprecious stones.51 A set of silver covers in the Boston Public Library exemplifies this tradition (Figure 6.9). Made to adorn a mashtots‘, or ritual book, of 1698, it comprises front and back plaques hinged to a spine bearing a long dedicatory inscription naming Murat, son of the priest Abraham, as patron of the manuscript and its covers, and Kayseri as the location of production “by the hands of the silversmith M[ahtesi] Karapet Malkhas” in 1704.52 The back plaque features Christ standing before a temple and bordered by the twelve apostles. The front shows a more unusual image: an angel of God purifying the lips of the prophet Isaiah, as recounted in Isaiah 6:1–​6:7. God appears in the upper zone, depicted as King of Heaven, wearing cape and crown and holding a staff and globus cruciger. Seraphim flank his throne, while an angel holding tongs reaches down to touch Isaiah’s lips with a hot coal. Below God is the Temple, shown as a cylindrical structure with semi-​columns, windows, and open door. Billows of smoke rise from the structure, evoking Isaiah 6:4:  “and the threshold heaved from the voices [of the angels] who cried out, and the temple was filled with smoke.” This unusual choice of scenes, in which Isaiah’s “filthy lips” are purified by hot coals, may allude to the patron Murat’s wish for spiritual cleansing before reading the scripture.53 Considering the materiality of silver, the image is even more apt: the

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FIGURE 6.9  

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Isaiah and the Angel, silver book cover, 1704.

Boston Public Library MS 1.

smoke of the burning temple, and the iron tongs of the angel, evoke particularly the refining process needed to render silver from ore.54 Surrounding this central panel are the twenty-​ four elders, each named and in his own arched frame. Shown in bust format, the elders assume a variety of attitudes: David (left side, third row), for example, holds a harp, while others read or converse. Parallels for the compositions of both covers appear in European prints.55 In the Oskan Bible, a plausible vehicle of transmission, the frontispiece to the Book of Isaiah bears an almost identical composition to the Kayseri scene, showing God enthroned above a large round temple, with the angel descending to Isaiah at the left.56 The Kayseri metalworker has also emulated the style of the printed image, including fine lines radiating from

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the figure of God and articulating the panels and doors of the Temple (see Figure 6.3). Remarkably, Kayseri metalworkers carefully duplicated visual compositions multiple times, even though each plaque was handmade. Helen Evans and Sylvie Merian note at least three other copies of the Boston silver covers, all kept at the Monastery of San Lazzaro in Venice (one was made in 1691 by the same Karapet Malkhas).57 Perhaps the new technology of print culture not only informed new imagery and aesthetic ideals, but also cultivated an aspiration to replicate images exactly. At the same time, however, the Kayseri silversmiths looked to their own medieval past: on the silver covers, below the elders, is a row of interlocking foliate squares, a motif typical of Armenian manuscript decoration.

Ceramic Production During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, ceramic making flourished in the city of Kütahya, 200 km southeast of Constantinople.58 A substantial corpus of works with accompanying Armenian inscriptions offers insight into Kütahya workshops, projects, patrons, and artists. Production peaked in the early eighteenth century, when Suleyman III remitted the capitation tax and abrogated the law prohibiting the foundation and extension of Armenian churches.59 The resulting demand for construction and renovation materials, along with an increase in church donations and gifts, prompted a rise in ceramic production. Tiles were made for the decoration of churches, mosques, and tombs across the empire, as well as for the Ottoman court.60 Kütahya potters also produced ceramics for markets across the Mediterranean and in Europe, responding in part to the contemporary fashion for drinking tea, coffee, and chocolate.61 By the nineteenth century, increasing competition from European pottery centers, such as Meissen, and the invention of cheaper production techniques led to a decline in Kütahya production. Kütahya workshops made not only traditional pottery such as domestic pitchers, bowls, and cups, but also incense burners, lamps, pilgrims’ flasks, and hanging ornaments. Most remarkable are large ceramic “eggs,” pierced above and below for metal fittings, and meant to hang from the ceiling.62 The precise contemporary significance of the egg shape is unclear, but inscribed examples indicate that they could serve as votive objects. Hundreds of such eggs hang from the ceiling of the Armenian Cathedral of Saint James in Jerusalem, creating a striking visual impression. Scholars link Kütahya ceramic technique and decoration to contemporary Swafavid and Ottoman wares, particularly from the nearby celebrated center of İznik.63 However, a particular Kütahya innovation is the use of bright yellow, added to an already broad color range that includes cobalt blue, turquoise, red,

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green, black, and even purple. Specific motifs, such as floral sprays, medallions, and pine-​cone shapes, may also derive from Chinese wares, as did imitative blue-​and-​white wares. Italian and Dutch prints may have supplied such imagery as Rococo putti. Finally, as Yolande Crowe has noted, the bright polychrome flower patterns of many Kütahya ceramics may imitate Indian printed chintzes, perhaps reflecting connections with Armenian merchant colonies of early eighteenth-​century India.64 From a historical perspective, the most important corpus of Kütahya ceramics is the forty-​five inscribed pictorial tiles in the Armenian Cathedral of Saint James in Jerusalem, the majority in the “Etchmiadzin Chapel,” south of the main church.65 These tiles formed part of a set intended for an ambitious repair to the Holy Sepulchre in 1719, a joint effort among Armenians, Greeks, and the Latin Church that never came to fruition. Why the tiles were brought instead to Saint James is unknown. Inscriptions on their upper and lower margins, however, offer loquacious contemporary testimony, revealing not only plans to renovate the Holy Sepulchre, but also the troubled financial and spiritual state of the Armenian patriarchate of Jerusalem. The texts also include notices about Constantinople, including the fire of 1719 and the destruction of churches there. The tiles reveal the names of patrons, among them Abraham vardapet of Thekirdag (Eastern Thrace) and one of the artists, T‘oros. We also know that the tiles were plastered and laid by a certain Eghia vardapet, “so that not a span of space was left untouched.”66 The tiles display a range of biblical scenes, portraits of saints, martyrs, Armenian patriarchs, and the Armenian king Trdat. The combination of biblical scenes and inscribed chronicle creates a fascinating and unexpected parallel narrative, as demonstrated in a tile showing the Resurrection (Figure 6.10)67 This already mentioned image type draws from European sources, showing the risen Christ holding a banner and framed by clouds. Here, however, Christ rises not from an open sarcophagus, but from a detailed representation of the aedicula of the Holy Sepulchre, with arched portal, tiled roof, window grill, and open, four-​columned canopy.68 Christ blesses three halberdiers, who wear contemporary pointed Turkish hats. Groupings of red dots fill empty spaces. Above the image an inscription reads, “Holy Resurrection,” and below is a textual fragment reading, “in this month, there occurred in the city of Istanbol [sic]. . . .”69 On an adjacent tile, of the Holy Women at the Tomb, the inscription continues, recording a fire and earthquake in the imperial capital. The tiles of the Etchmiadzin chapel thus produce a historical conflation of simultaneous biblical and contemporary narratives. Preserved in the Armenian Cathedral of Jerusalem, in a chapel dedicated to the Holy See, intended for the Holy Sepulchre, made in the city of Kütahya, and recording recent events in Constantinople and Jerusalem, the tiles chart a dizzying superimposition of sacred and secular topographies. Their imagery derives from an equally broad spectrum, evoking medieval Armenian manuscript illumination, European

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The Resurrection, Kütahya tile, 18th century, Armenian Cathedral of Saint James, Jerusalem. FIGURE 6.10   Photo: author.

print, and Chinese, Safavid, Ottoman, and Indian visual traditions. This multilayered fusion of place, history, and culture powerfully conveys the mobile and connected character of the early-​eighteenth-​century Armenian world.

Armenian Architecture in the Ottoman and Safavid Empires Armenian architecture of the fifteenth to eighteenth centuries is difficult to evaluate as a single category. Only a small group of monuments survives from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and these are located primarily in the southern regions of historical Armenia, such as Vaspurakan and Mush.70 The seventeenth century, by contrast, witnessed a great surge in building activity, involving both new foundations and the renovation and augmentation of existing structures. New construction campaigns included monastic complexes, enclosure walls, churches, and industrial and engineering projects such as mills and bridges. This surge in building stemmed from the increasing stability of the frontier, the leniency of Ottoman and Safavid rulers in allowing construction,

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the rising power of the catholicate in Etchmiadzin, and the new wealth of Armenian merchants at this time. Building projects arose all over historical Armenia. Major works at Etchmiadzin began in the 1620s, during the reigns of the catholicoi Movsēs and P‘ilipos, and included the renovation of the Cathedral superstructure and the construction of a bell tower and utilitarian buildings. The seventh-​century church of Gayanē acquired a barrel-​vaulted narthex, and, in 1790, a bell tower arose at the west façade of Hṙip‘simē. Monastic foundations in Siwnik‘, Vaspurakan, Artsakh, and northern Armenia saw significant additions: enclosure walls and monastic buildings of Geghard, Noravank‘, Sanahin, and many other monasteries date from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Church architecture saw a revival of barrel-​vaulted basilican forms, including the (now-​demolished) seventeenth-​century church of Saints Peter and Paul in Yerevan. Why the basilican form, typical of the fifth and sixth centuries (see Figure  2.3), regained popularity requires further investigation. Varazdat Harut‘yunyan suggests that the economic and technological requirements of dome construction might have presented too great a challenge for builders of this era.71 Yet some domed structures were indeed produced ex novo, including the tall domed hall of Shoghakat‘ at Etchmiadzin and the domed basilica of Surb Gevorg at Mughni.72 It seems possible, therefore, that the basilican form held some theological, aesthetic, or political appeal, quite apart from the technical capacities of architects and the finances of patrons. The monastery of Surb Step‘anos (Saint Stephen the Protomartyr) offers an impressive sense of the architecture of the period (Figure 6.11).73 Located 15 km northwest of Julfa (East Azarbaijan Province, mod. Iran), it is sometimes known as Darashamb, after a now-​abandoned nearby village. The monastery, first mentioned in tenth-​century sources, became a center for manuscript illumination in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Surviving buildings date largely from the 1650s to 1680s, when the Safavids reoccupied the region; construction and decoration continued into the early nineteenth century, when the interior was plastered and painted.74 Numerous wall inscriptions identify the monastery’s main sponsor as Hakob Jughayets‘i (not the painter, but the future catholicos of Etchmiadzin, 1655–​1680); many others record donations from pilgrims and parishioners. Seventeenth-​century inscriptions also identify the site as the resting place of the “Holy Thousand,” martyred, along with Vardan Mamikonean, in the Battle of Avarayr (451). The complex of Surb Step‘anos is rectangular, with round corner towers and an entry gate at the west. The southeast complex is built into the mountain slope, its roofs forming paved terraces. The monastery comprises three distinct zones: the northern area with the main church and bell tower, the southern area with monastic buildings and courtyard, and the monumental entrance, which stands between the two and provided further living spaces in its upper story. While most of the construction is roughly-​processed masonry, the church and

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FIGURE 6.11  

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Surb Step‘anos, largely 17th century, exterior view.

Photo: Hrair Hawk Khatcherian.

bell tower employ the traditional rubble masonry technique. The ochre and brown sandstone, arranged in checkerboard and striped patterns, harmonizes with the mountain slope beyond. In many ways, Surb Step‘anos draws upon medieval tradition. In plan, the triconch church recalls domed centralized types from seventh-​century Armenia, while the umbrella roof evokes eleventh-​century architecture, such as Surb Sargis at Khtskonk‘. The abundant relief decoration, too, draws upon a long tradition in Armenian architecture. Even the striking main entrance, its deep vault crowned with a muqarnas hood and flanked by semi-​ columns, recalls thirteenth-​and fourteenth-​ century Armenian appropriations of Seljuk elements. The channel molding surrounding the windows also belongs to a decorative tradition known from medieval Armenia and Georgia. In other ways, Surb Step‘anos departs significantly from its precedents. Unlike typical seventh-​century triconchs, the lateral apses do not project from, but are inscribed within, the rectangular exterior walls. New, also, is the arrangement of the western end of church, where two piers support a gallery above the main entrance, accessed by staircases. Other features of the church point to fresh impulses from the Islamic world: the dome rests on squinch-​net vaulting, a device known from Timurid and later Safavid architecture, while the west entrance, with its vase-​shaped engaged columns, flanking blind ogee arches, and framed rectangular panels, also recalls the contemporary architecture of Iran, executed here in stone rather than tile.75

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The figural imagery of the church exterior deserves special note. Images of Christ, saints, and the twelve apostles, carefully set within identical rectangular frames, adorn the drum (Figure 6.12). Figures feature bulbous bodies and large heads with deeply chiseled eyes. On the west façade, just below the gable, is a Crucifixion; on the east side, in the same position, an angel and the Trinity observe the stoning of Saint Stephen. Print sources may explain the striking carving style of the reliefs. Executed in broad planes of stone with few surface details and set against large uncarved expanses, the figures are highly readable from below. Like the manuscript painting of Constantinople and the silver covers of Kayseri, the figural carving of Surb Step‘anos, set within upright rectangular frames, recalls the aesthetic of contemporary printed books in its strength and simplicity. Carved figures constitute only one element of the complex decorative program of the drum. Raised stars or palmettes, executed in interlace, crown each framed image. An interlaced ogival arcade, set on spiral colonnettes, defines each facet of the drum. The colonnettes are cleverly conceived:  each spiral is formed by the twisted tails of two dragons whose heads form capitals, thereby recalling the decorated handle of the episcopal crozier (gavazan) of the Armenian Church. Seraphim occupy the spandrels of the arcade. Each facet is crowned, just below the roof, with a small khach‘k‘ar flanked by rosettes. Even the umbrella roof is carved: crosses crown each gable, while decorative waterspouts in the form of human and animal heads nestle in the crevices between them. This diverse array of carving, which becomes increasingly

FIGURE 6.12  

Surb Step‘anos, detail of drum.

Photo: Hrair Hawk Khatcherian.

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dense toward the top of the monument, recalls the drum of the Cathedral of Etchmiadzin, which underwent one of several renovations around the same time, between 1632 and 1655. Scholars have not been particularly charitable to Surb Step‘anos. One of the few monographs devoted to the monument judged it an unsuccessful “synthesis of heterogeneous elements.”76 This assessment, whether or not one accepts it, addresses only architectural and decorative form. Yet given the eminence of the sponsor of Surb Step‘anos, its importance as a pilgrimage site, and its many donors, one doubts that contemporary beholders viewed it as a failure. Indeed, the abundance of inscriptions, dating from the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries, powerfully testifies to its importance and, presumably, positive impression on visitors. Around 150 votive texts appear on the masonry; sixty appear on the west façade alone. Set in a horizontal course of khach‘k‘ars, these inscriptions preserve a corpus of names, dates, and places of origin, providing historians a rich source for studying the social and economic history of the monument, as well as for prosopography and patterns of pilgrimage. As Gabriella Uluhogian has observed, the inscriptions record visitors from Van, Trebizond, Hamadan, New Julfa, Arabkir, Tiflis, and Yerevan.77 They also attest to the ample financial support that Surb Step‘anos received from Armenian merchant traders (who also donated marble for the sanctuary). These texts are not only historical documents but part of the aesthetic experience of the building. While the prayers form a single line of khach‘k‘ars binding together the façades of the monument, the texts draw together a great range of individuals, families, and places into a collective and organized act of commemoration.

New Julfa New Julfa, the suburb of Isfahan, preserves the most concentrated number of Armenian monuments from the seventeenth century.78 The suburb is organized along the east-​west Nazar Street, named after Khwaja Nazar, a rich Armenian merchant trader and New Julfa’s first mayor. Nine parallel streets, each named after an important merchant family, divide Nazar street into ten blocks (or tasnyak-​, lit. “tenths”). New Julfa is near Isfahan’s imperial center:  the imperial palace stands on the opposite (north) bank of the Zayanderun River, on land belonging to the queen mother. Contemporary sources convey the close relations between Armenian merchant traders and the Safavid court, describing many visits of shahs to New Julfan mansions and churches. One account records the visit of Shah Solayman (1666–​1694) to the Cathedral of Amenap‘rkich‘ (the All-​Savior) and his debate with the Armenian theologian and painter Yovhannēs Mrk‘uz Jughayets‘i on the appropriateness of pictures in a sacred interior.79

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Seventeenth-​century New Julfa was home not only to an Armenian Apostolic community, but also to other Christian groups. The population included Syrian Orthodox, Copts, and many orders of missionaries, including French Capuchins, Portuguese Augustinians, Italian Carmelites, and Dominicans. Seven Roman Catholic churches stood in New Julfa, including that of the Armenian Catholics, which was sponsored by the wealthy Sharimanian family. This complex and competitive socioeconomic, political, and confessional environment generated a range of different modes of architectural patronage: single families, groups of families, and families together with clergy sponsored the various Armenian churches of the suburb, thereby laying claim to identity, status, and social distinction.80 Over twenty Armenian churches once stood in New Julfa; thirteen survive today.81 All were complete by 1726, but most were built between 1606 and 1650. The intensity and speed of this building activity resulted in a highly unified and consistent architectural aesthetic. Like Surb Step‘anos, these churches both draw upon and depart from Armenian architectural tradition. The urban setting of New Julfa defines the relation of its Armenian churches to their surroundings. Concealed behind high walls, the churches stand in large, self-​ sufficient compounds, with adjoining courtyards, wells, storehouses, kitchens, bread ovens, cells, and churchyards. Following local Safavid conventions, they are constructed of rectangular mud brick. Elevations also recall Safavid architecture: exteriors bear patterns of recessed and pointed blind arcades and pilasters, while superstructures feature pointed barrel vaults and pointed or onion-​ shaped domes. Domes rest on pendentives with elaborate tracery, recalling Surb Step‘anos and probably also deriving from common Timurid or Safavid sources. At the same time, the New Julfan churches recall earlier medieval Armenian plans, employing both the domed basilica and domed hall types (see Figures 2.12 and 3.4). The churches also feature, like their predecessors, raised bemas with polygonal apses and side chapels. Some complexes boasted bell towers with faceted conical roofs, recalling the bell tower of Haghpat (see Figure 5.10). Most strikingly sumptuous are interiors of the New Julfan churches, particularly the monuments located in the Mets Meydan (Great Square): the Cathedral (Figure 6.13) and the Churches of Surb Astuatsatsin (Holy Mother of God) and Surb Bet‘ghehem (Holy Bethlehem).82 Interior walls are completely covered with patterned decoration and figural painting. Zones of ornamental foliate and geometric motifs, executed in ceramic and painted stucco, surround narrative paintings of Christological and hagiographic scenes, painted directly on the wall or using the technique of marouflage (canvas attached to the wall). The result simultaneously evokes Safavid mosque architecture, European printed books, and Armenian church interiors. The interior of the Church of the Surb Bet‘ghehem offers a particularly well-​ preserved example (Figure 6.14).83 The church was built by the merchant trader

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FIGURE 6.13  

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Vank‘ (Cathedral), New Julfa, completed 1660s.

Photo: Hrair Hawk Khatcherian.

Petros Velijanian near to the Cathedral complex in 1628/​1629. The largest of all the neighborhood churches, it features a double-​shell dome, with the inner, slightly pointed shell resting on attached piers and roofed with a second, onion-​ shaped cupola. The interior space is decorated from top to bottom: ceramic tiles with ornamental designs cover the lowest zone of wall, forming a dado above which appear painted scenes of the Old and New Testament, martyrdoms, and portraits of saints and prophets. Scholars detect in these scenes a range of visual styles. Some have proposed Vaspurakan manuscript painting as the model for the apse paintings, which include a large enthroned Christ flanked by archangels.84 In contrast, the west wall of the church features scenes from the martyrdom of Saint Gregory: there, chiaroscuro, heroic figures, and graceful contrapposto gestures point to European visual traditions.85 Inscriptions attribute this cycle, completed by 1646, to Yovhannēs Mrk‘uz Jughayets‘i (the same theologian who debated with Shah Soleyman), who had been sent to Italy by the bishop of New Julfa to learn the art of printing.86 The paintings of the church of Bet‘ghehem are particularly noteworthy for their early date. Produced between the late 1630s and 1650s, they are the earliest example of European painterly modes in the churches of New Julfa. Amy Landau has proposed that the appropriation reflects a deliberate strategy of the sponsor. Situated in the largest church of the neighborhood, and standing near the Cathedral, the church of Bet‘ghehem, with its novel decoration, asserts Petros Velijanian’s prominent status in New Julfa and at the Safavid court.87

FIGURE 6.14  

Surb Bet‘ghehem, 1628–​1629, interior.

Photo: Wikimedia Commons.

Empire and Diaspora

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Landau has further suggested this New Julfan engagement with European painterly modes, more than direct transmission from Europe, may have informed the Europeanizing Safavid style known as “farangi-​sazi.”88 New Julfan painters and decorative schemes also traveled farther afield. Renovations to the Cathedral of Etchmiadzin, which date to the eighteenth century, and church interiors in the region of Meghri in southern Armenia similarly juxtapose rich, densely patterned ornament and zones of figural painting. It seems likely that the visual culture of New Julfan Armenians moved, like their commercial goods, through the “veins of their network.”89 This network also reached Russia, where Armenians found a Christian polity, permission to do business (particularly in the silk trade), and a commercial port on the Volga River; they established churches in Moscow and Saint Petersburg and obtained high administrative positions within the state. In 1660, seeking tax-​ free trade between the Safavid and the Romanov Courts, the New Julfans sent to Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich (Alexis, r. 1645–​1676) gifts including a spectacular sandalwood throne. Covered in gold and silver, studded with 867 diamonds as well as turquoise and other gems, and bearing images of elephants and of the Tsar flanked by angels, this work so impressed the Tsar that he invited artists from New Julfa to his court.90 One such artist was Astuatsatur, who had previously worked on the church of Surb Bet‘ghehem. Painting under the name of Bogdan (the Russian translation of Astuatsatur, “God-​given”) Sultanov, and training artists, he remained in Moscow until 1703. New Julfan merchants thus brought to Moscow not only silks, wool textiles, and spices, but also new modes of painting. Such encounters formed part of a growing Russian interest in Armenia. The 1730s saw the first Russian military campaigns into the Caucasus. While initial efforts at conquest failed, clashes between Russians and Ottomans erupted in 1768 and 1774, ultimately leading to the division, by 1828, of Armenian lands into an eastern territory within the Russian empire and a western territory in the Ottoman sphere. From that point onward, Russians, Ottomans, and Persians vied for control over the Caucasus in the face of increasing involvement of European powers. As one historian characterizes these events, “the early phases of the ‘Great Game’. . . had begun.”91

Postscript MEMORY AND HERITAGE

Anyone booking a flight to the Republic of Armenia already confronts the medieval: Yerevan’s international airport is named “Zvartnots” after the seventh-​ century Armenian church. This brief postscript addresses how the rich artistic traditions surveyed in this book inform modern Armenian art and identity. It also considers the destruction and preservation of medieval Armenian monuments outside the Republic. This book ends, therefore, with the afterlife of ancient and medieval art in the modern age:  both as fertile memories for later generations of artists, and as cultural heritage, requiring attention and custodianship.

Memory The 1828 Russian annexation of Armenian territory, and increasing contact with European powers, coincided with the awakening of the modern Armenian nation. An intellectual revival, often called a “Renaissance,” blossomed in Constantinople, in Venice and Vienna under the Mekhitarist order, in Tiflis, and across the Armenian diaspora. During the nineteenth century, Armenians in the Ottoman Empire refined the vernacular language of Modern Western Armenian, while Modern Eastern Armenian attained literary status in Russian-​ controlled Armenia. Translations of European-​ language and Anglophone works, including Shakespeare and Enlightenment authors, introduced new political and intellectual ideas to the Armenian reading public and to Armenian educational institutions from Calcutta to Moscow.1 Armenian publications flourished:  in the nineteenth century, Constantinople was home to over 100 printing presses. The years between 1512 and 1800 saw the publication of around 1000 Armenian titles; an estimated 15,000 appeared during years between 1801 and 1920.2 Browsing an Armenian periodical from the late nineteenth century reveals an astonishingly dynamic and vibrant intellectual network, all the more poignant in light of the massacres of Armenians by Sultan Abdul Hamid (1842–​1918) in 1894–​1896 and the Armenian Genocide of 1915–​1922.

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Armenian artists and architects of the nineteenth century moved in new directions. Many sought training in Europe, particularly in Paris, such as T‘oros T‘oramanyan, practicing architect and archaeologist at Ani and Zvart‘nots‘.3 Also Paris-​trained were members of the celebrated Balian family, who served as architects (kalfas) to the sultans. Rising to prominence during the Tanzimat reforms (1839–​1876), which allowed greater freedoms for non-​Muslim subjects, the Constantinople-​based Balians enjoyed a close-​knit professional network and over a century of family connections.4 Nigoğayos (1826–​1858), Sarkis (1835–​1899), and Hagop all enrolled in the Collège Sainte-​Barbe in Paris. Among their many buildings is the Çirağan Palace in Constantinople, built for Sultan Abdülaziz. Constructed between 1863 and 1867, it fuses a myriad of styles, including Byzantine, early Ottoman, French Renaissance, Neoclassical, Greek Revival, Baroque, Rococo, and Art Nouveau. Many Armenian painters of this period also went to Europe, where they trained in easel painting. Working in the genres of portrait, landscape, and history painting, they drew from ancient and medieval Armenian traditions, as in the works of Vardges Sureniants‘ (1860–​1921). Trained in Moscow, Munich, and Italy, Sureniants‘ used a pointillist technique to depict both Armenia’s deep past and the recent violence of the Hamidian massacres. His Trampled Sanctuary shows the desecration of a church interior:  a prostrate monk, a chest pried open, a torn altar curtain, and manuscripts lying face down on the pavement.5 Whether mourned or celebrated, the art of ancient and medieval Armenia figures powerfully in Armenian art of the twentieth century and later.6 Scholars have long identified Armenian manuscript motifs in the works of abstract painter Arshile Gorky (1904–​1948), who writes admiringly in his correspondence of T‘oros Ṙoslin and Sargis Pitsak, and his devotion to the painting schools of Vaspurakan, from where his own family originated.7 Much more recently, the Armenian pavilion at the 2015 Venice Biennale, located at the Mekhitarist monastery on the Island of San Lazzaro, also drew upon ancient and medieval memories, and earned that year’s prestigious Golden Lion award.8 There, Yerevan-​ born sculptor Mikayel Ohanjanyan exhibited large basalt forms evoking the megalithic stones of prehistoric Armenia.9 Anna Boghiguian’s installation was inspired by her voyage to the city of Ani, while Silvina Der-​ Meguerditchian set her work within the monastic library’s displays of medieval Armenian manuscripts.10 These works engage in various ways with the deep past of objects, monuments, and images, often explicitly mediated through the trauma of genocide. The capital city of Yerevan also evokes powerfully the Armenian past. Forming part of the Safavid province of Erivan, the city was ceded officially in 1827 to the Russians during their campaigns in the Caucasus. The population swelled by the thousands beginning in 1915, when refugees from the Genocide entered the city. In 1918, Yerevan became the capital of the short-​lived First

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Republic of Armenia. Two years later, in the Treaty of Alexandropol, the nascent Soviet Union effectively ceded the Kars region, including Ani, to the Turkish Grand National Assembly; by December of 1920, Soviet forces took control of what remained of the Armenian Republic. Yerevan thereafter served as the capital of the Armenian Soviet Socialist Republic, and with the dissolution of the Soviet Union in December 1991, as the capital of the Republic of Armenia. In 1923, the Armenian architect Alexander Tamanian (1878–​1936) designed Yerevan’s city plan. Evoking the layouts of both Vienna and Baghdad, Tamanian planned three rings cut by staggered boulevards and relieved with ample public squares and green spaces. From the 1920s to the 1960s, increasing archaeological materials recovered from ancient and medieval sites of historical Armenia caught the imagination of modern citizens. This new information, together with trends in Soviet neoclassicism and orientalism, shaped the architecture of Yerevan.11 The Hotel Armenia, begun in 1950 and finished in 1958, offers a powerful sense of this archaeological recuperation (Figure 7.1). Overlooking Republic (previously Lenin) Square, it served during the Soviet era as the state Intourist hotel; Marriott is now owner and operator. Architects Mark Grigoryan and Eduard Sarapyan constructed the building following the curving lines of Tamanian’s initial plan, laying a foundation of local basalt and building the superstructure with local pink tuff stone, carefully squared and polished as in medieval Armenian monuments. As Adam Smith observes, the main zone of the structure recalls the visual rhythms of the façade of the Cathedral of Ani (see Figure 3.3), with its large and heavily profiled arcade framing a larger central arch that serves as the main entrance.12 Upon the inner surfaces of these arches, and between and around the small rectangular windows of the second story, is a raised bas-​relief of thick vegetation. The iconography and style of this bas-​ relief, and its position at mid-​height of the building, evoke the decoration of the seventh-​century church of Zvart‘nots‘, excavated by T‘oros T‘oramanyan between 1901 and 1905, as well as the church of Aght‘amar (see Figure 3.11). At Hotel Armenia, this medieval imagery of palmettes, pomegranates, grapevines, and birds mingles with modern Soviet emblems of wheat sheaves (found on the seal of the Soviet Republic of Armenia). The top level is a classicizing cornice of denticulations and egg-​and-​dart designs, which might be generic expressions of Soviet neoclassicism. Yet, as Smith notes, their use at the Hotel Armenia coincides with the reconstruction of the classical Ionic structure of Gaṙni.13 The combined effect of Hotel Armenia thus seems to compress the archaeological record of Armenia into a single architectural expression. The Erebuni Museum presents another dimension of Yerevan’s relationship with the material past (Figure 7.2). The museum was established in 1968, coinciding with the 2750th anniversary of the foundation of Erebuni. As Smith notes, the museum imitates an Urartian temple, laid out as a square structure

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FIGURE 7.1  

Hotel Armenia, 1950–​1958.

Photo: Marcin Konsek, Wikimedia Commons.

FIGURE 7.2  

Erebuni Museum, 1968.

Photo: Marcin Konsek, Wikimedia Commons.

enclosing an inner courtyard.14 The bas-​reliefs of the façade bear the face of Erebuni’s founder, King Argishti. His horn-​like headdress and stylized beard and hair are characteristically Urartian, but the strong geometry of the portrait and its huge scale evoke the aesthetic of Soviet socialist realism. The flanking full-​length figures share this effect:  on the left, armed soldiers hold shields,

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The Art of Armenia

while on the right are supplicants bearing gifts and walking on what appear to be crenellated battlements. These full-​length figures find their inspiration in a range of Urartian objects (see Figure 1.7). Anachronistic, however, is the organ­ ization of the reliefs in three distinct raised zones, as if they were fragments of larger friezes displayed on a museum wall. This careful organization of the panels into discrete parts recalls not so much Urartian artifacts themselves, but their careful rendering in line drawings. Urartu therefore appears on the Erebuni façade as filtered through the discipline of Soviet archaeology.15

Heritage The images, objects, and monuments studied in this book hold meaning as the cultural heritage of Armenians in the Republic and the Diaspora. Of this corpus, Armenian manuscripts are the most abundant, with some 30,000 surviving today in museums, libraries, and private collections across the world. The largest manuscript library is the Matenadaran in Yerevan, while that of the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem is the second largest; the Mekhitarist monasteries of Venice and Vienna are close behind. Substantial collections also exist in the United Kingdom and in the United States. Many exhibitions, timed in conjunction with the centenary of the Armenian Genocide in 2015, displayed these manuscripts and published them in catalogue form. Projects of digitization, such as those at http://​www.thedigitalwalters.org and the Hill Museum and Manuscript Library, are making medieval Armenian manuscripts more accessible than ever and forging links among scholars working across the world.16 At the same time, new controversies have arisen with regard to the legal ownership of Armenian manuscripts. In 2010, the Western prelacy of the Armenian Apostolic Church of America sued the J.  Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles, contesting their possession of seven detached folios from T‘oros Ṙoslin’s Zeyt‘un Gospels. The dismemberment is thought to have occurred during the Genocide, and the rest of the codex resides at the Matenadaran (MS 10450). The case was settled out of court, but it raised broader questions about the heritage, patrimony, looting, and unethical sale of Armenian manuscripts, to which scholars are now paying close attention.17 The khach‘k‘ar has assumed particular importance in the modern age. A twelfth-​century example is on exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, on long-​term loan from the Republic. This monument, accompanied by a small display of Armenian manuscripts, coins, and ceramics, dominates a corner of the medieval galleries. In 2010, moreover, khach‘k‘ar carving was added to UNESCO’s List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. This decision prompted the creation, in 2011/​2012, of eighty new khach‘k‘ars erected throughout the Republic. Newly carved khach‘k‘ars are frequent sights in Armenian church courtyards all over the world, from La Plata, Buenos Aires

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to Watertown, Massachusetts, where they are installed with great ceremony and form the focal point for annual Genocide commemorations.18 Not only the design and the format of the khach‘k‘ar endures, therefore, but also the medieval practice of outdoor worship (see Chapter 3). The welfare and preservation of Armenian churches outside the Republic has also become a central concern. Churches in the Turkish Republic are understood as material traces of a homeland lost with the Armenian Genocide, with both the Armenian community and the academy carefully scrutinizing their condition and any preservation efforts. The restoration of the church of Aght‘amar in 2007, for example, was criticized as governmental rhetoric designed to communicate Turkish tolerance and good will toward Christian minorities even in the face of official denial of the Genocide.19 Many Armenian churches in the Turkish Republic face the problem of neglect, as several examples serve to illustrate. The seventh-​century church of Mren (see Figures  2.7–​2.9) has been in perilous condition since 2008, when its south façade collapsed. The monastery of Hoṙomos (see Figure 3.10), and particularly its magnificent zhamatun, is also in emergency condition, as is the last remaining church of the monastery of Khtskonk‘ (see Figure  3.9). The Yusufeli dam project, begun in 2013 and slated to open in 2018, will endanger the precious Georgian and Armenian monuments and archaeological sites of Tao-​Klarjeti (Arm. Tayk‘), not to mention that region’s astonishing natural beauty and biodiversity. Of all Armenian cultural heritage sites in the Turkish Republic, however, the best known is the city of Ani, and its modern welfare has earned significant scholarly attention. A royal Bagratid capital and then a thirteenth-​century trading hub, Ani experienced progressive decline in subsequent eras. In the fourteenth century, trade routes shifted south from the region, which felt the additional blow of Timurid invasions in the 1380s. Ani formed part of the Safavid empire until it was taken by the Ottomans in 1579, but by this point only a small population remained. Nomadic Kurdish tribes invaded the city periodically in the early eighteenth century; thereafter Ani dwindled to a pilgrimage site and the home of a monastic population.20 By the early nineteenth century, Ani was rediscovered by intellectuals and travelers as a romantic ghost city. Russian campaigns into the South Caucasus resulted in the annexation, in 1878, of the Kars/​Ani region. While under Russian control, Ani attracted the attention of the Imperial Academy of Sciences in Saint Petersburg, which sponsored archaeological excavations under the direction of Nikolai Marr (1864–​1934). The first campaigns took place in 1892 and 1893. With just a small team, Marr produced a preliminary plan of the site, unearthed the walls built by King Ashot, excavated around the Church of Surb P‘rkich‘ (see Figure 3.8), and discovered additional churches and residential buildings. A  second campaign, from 1904 to 1917, produced more substantial results. A large team, including T‘oros T‘oramanyan, surveyed the city and excavated

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The Art of Armenia

expansive areas, uncovering the church of Gagkashēn (see Figure 3.6), the citadel, and the underground city. To house and display important objects and fragments unearthed from these excavations, site workers built a new structure and repurposed the so-​called Mosque of Minuchir. The publication of the excavations brought world recognition and admiration to Ani, and more broadly to Armenian architecture. For Armenians in the Ottoman and Russian empires and beyond, the newly excavated Ani became a symbol of a lost state.21 In 1909, the Armenian patriarch in Etchmiadzin, Matt‘ēos II Izmirlian, organized a pilgrimage to Ani. In this group was Grigoris (or Krikor) Balakian, an Armenian priest from Constantinople and great-​uncle of the poet Peter Balakian.22 Grigoris’ 1910 volume, The Ruins of Ani, chronicles his journey.23 Russian dominion thus resurrected Ani from the dead: religious processions wound through the monuments of the city, visitors and pilgrims admired the objects in the museums, and feasts were prepared in open-​ air cauldrons.24 This brief revival ended with the outbreak of the First World War, the Armenian Genocide of 1915–​1922, and the 1917 October Revolution. The site was abandoned and the museums were looted. Still a touchstone of past Armenian glory, Ani in the second decade of the twentieth century was, as Heghnar Watenpaugh observes, “layered with an additional narrative of loss.”25 After the First World War, and with the Treaty of Kars (1921), Ani formed part of the new Turkish Republic, and a visible reminder of the region’s historical Armenian population and their annihilation in the Genocide. The ruined city presented an uncomfortable contradiction to burgeoning nationalist narratives, which imagined an ancient Turkish origin for the state. In 1921, Riza Nur, a member of the Turkish Assembly, ordered the commander of the Eastern front, Kâzim Karabekir, to wipe the monuments of Ani “off the face of earth,” in order to do “a great service to Turkey.”26 Karabekir did not execute this order, apparently for reasons both pragmatic (the site was too large) and political (such destruction risked arousing Armenian nationalist sentiments). But the 1920s inaugurated a long period in which deliberate harm was aimed at Ani, accomplished through vandalism, officially sanctioned violence, negligence, and destructive restoration and excavation. Wall paintings in the Cathedral and Tigran Honents‘ were damaged with whitewash and chisels (see Figures 5.2 and 5.3). Equally telling is the public signage at Ani, which, conspicuously, omits to mention Armenians or Armenian architecture.27 Even the name of the city has been changed in the official Turkish documentation: instead of Ani (Arm. Անի), it has become Anı, which translates in Turkish as “memory”—​the irony of which has not gone unnoticed by scholars and commentators.28 Peter Balakian notes that the harm done to Ani’s monuments, and many other Armenian churches throughout Turkey, conforms to Raphael Lemkin’s concept of cultural genocide: that in addition to the annihilation of a people,

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genocide also includes the destruction of their cultural property and the silencing of their past.29 In this sense, the widespread destruction of Armenian churches, schools, and monasteries, or their transformation into barns or munitions warehouses, presents a facet of the project of genocide. Even churches and Christian objects could be used as instruments for genocide, such as the famous Armenian Cathedral of Urfa, in which the residents of the city were burnt alive in 1896.30 In this sense, Ani, like the remaining Armenian monuments in the Turkish Republic, is a physical trace of an ongoing trauma, not only of the Genocide, but of its denial. In what Balakian calls the “lock-​out syndrome,” Armenians cannot claim Ani as their own, but can only look upon it from the other side of the closed border. Particularly painful, in this regard, was the use of Ani as the location for a fashion shoot in Turkish Elle (2011), in which models posed among the ruins.31 The late twentieth century saw the beginning of official, sustained excavations and restorations at Ani. The 1990s excavations of the walls, the citadel, and civic buildings within the city went forward under the direction of Beyhan Karamağaralı (1934–​2008). Karamağaralı’s work has been criticized for its use of heavy machinery, including bulldozers, the lack (or disappearance) of recovered evidence, and the thin and poor quality of the published results.32 Even more tragic, however, were the so-​called restorations undertaken at that time. Most egregious was the work on the so-​called Paron’s Palace, a once magnificent, probably thirteenth-​century structure situated to the northwest of the city. The 1990s restoration included the use of damaging cement and aggressive reconstruction that has all but effaced any archaeological evidence of the building. Such examples, as Watenpaugh notes, injure not only individual buildings, but, more generally, public trust in the Turkish custodianship of Ani.33 At the same time, scholars call attention to deleterious effects of blasting from the quarry excavated in the Republic of Armenia, opposite Ani, ostensibly to supply construction materials for the new Cathedral of Yerevan. Although the Cathedral is complete, blasting continues, damaging Ani’s fragile monuments and marring views from the city. Since around 2006, new collaborations between the Turkish Ministry of Culture and Tourism and the World Monuments Fund, together with an international group of experts, have brought greater awareness to Ani, as well as higher preservation standards, including careful documentation and more transparent methods.34 There is hope, further, that the designation of Ani in 2016 as a UNESCO World Heritage Site will help to safeguard the city and further efforts to stabilize the monuments. Ani is thus entangled in a complex web of political, bureaucratic, diplomatic, economic, legal, and humanitarian concerns. Stakeholders include not only the Turkish Republic and nongovernmental organizations, but also the Republic of Armenia, the worldwide Armenian diaspora, and inhabitants of the Kars region, for whom Ani is an important source of tourism revenue.35 As

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The Art of Armenia

Watenpaugh observes, however, the ultimate power lies with the state, and more particularly the Turkish Ministry of Culture and Tourism, which are the juridical owners of Ani.36 Despite the prestige of organizations such as UNESCO and the World Monuments Fund, they must abide by and operate within guidelines set by the Ministry. Negotiations regarding site projects, at least as of this writing, remain necessarily delicate and often protracted, a frustrating situation in light of the precarious condition of many of Ani’s monuments, and their location within an active seismic zone. One positive outcome of recent years, however, is the increasing discussion of Ani’s welfare in public and scholarly forums. The pioneering digital project known as https://​www.virtualani.org, launched in 1991, was instrumental in bringing attention to Ani. Navigable through an interactive map of the city, the site presents descriptions, histories, and analyses of individual monuments, as well as condition reports. The Yerevan-​ based Research on Armenian Architecture (RAA), under the direction of Samvel Karapetian, has also played an important role in raising awareness of Armenian cultural heritage. RAA’s periodical Vardzk‘:  Duty of Soul includes several issues on cultural heritage, including an article devoted to erroneous signage on Armenian monuments in the Van and Ani/​Kars regions.37 Finally, the work of Heghnar Watenpaugh, Peter Balakian, and others has significantly increased the visibility of the site, constituting a new wave of critical heritage scholarship.38 Unlike Ani, the Julfa Cemetery has suffered total erasure.39 That spectacular landscape of khach‘k‘ars became the victim of deliberate violence by the Republic of Azerbaijan, beginning in 1992 and ending in complete destruction by 2008. Scholars view these acts as symbolic and intentional violence against Armenians for the Nagorno-​Karabagh War. The cemetery now forms part of the autonomous Republic of Nakhchivan, which, along with Nagorno-​ Karabagh, was given by the Soviet Union in 1921 to Azerbaijan, part of the Soviet strategy to “divide and conquer” the Caucasus by creating a patchwork of geopolities. While the Armenian population of Nakhchivan decreased dramatically during the twentieth century, the majority Armenian population in neighboring Nagorno-​Karabagh voted to unite with the Republic of Armenia, initiating the Nagorno-​Karabagh war of the late 1980s to 1994. While the war ended with a cease-​fire, clashes have since erupted, and the ethnically Armenian Nagorno-​Karabagh Republic remains without internationally recognized legal status.40 Officially authorized destruction of the Julfa cemetery began in 1998, and involved large groups of soldiers and heavy machinery. In 2002/​2003, witnesses saw and videotaped more damage to the cemetery. In response to international outcry and an appeal by UNESCO and the International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) to cease, the Azerbaijan government offered an ironically incriminating statement:  “Armenians have never lived in Nakhchevan and that’s why there are no Armenian cemeteries

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and monuments and have never been any.”41 Destruction continued in December 2005, documented by a video taken from the Iranian border showing soldiers using sledgehammers to shatter the remaining stones, and trucks dumping the fragments into the Arax River. During the following two years, both the European Parliament and the Council of Europe (of which Azerbaijan is a member) sought to verify this information, but the government of Azerbaijan prohibited formal investigation. Other groups confirmed the destruction, however, including the American Association for the Advancement of Science. Comparing satellite photographs from 2003 and 2009, they concluded that the cemetery was completely destroyed and the ground had been leveled by earthmoving equipment.42 Scholars of Armenian art and international cultural heritage have since explored the fate of the Julfa cemetery. Sarah Pickman notes that such symbolic violence against the dead finds parallels in other contexts, including the 2003 vandalism of the Étaples military cemetery in France and the colonial-​era Italian cemetery in Mogadishu in Somalia.43 RAA studied and published the archival material on the Julfa Cemetery.44 The video footage of the destruction, moreover, now forms part of documentary films viewable online. Most significant is the initiative entitled the Julfa Cemetery Digital Repatriation Project, which seeks to recreate the cemetery using archival photos and virtual reality technologies, with the aim of returning, in virtual form, the khach‘k‘ars of Julfa to the Armenian people and the world at large.45 The case of the Julfa cemetery provides a powerful example of the important work awaiting the student of Armenian art. The archaeology of the ancient Armenian Highland, the formation of Christian church architecture and manuscript illumination, the royal patronage from the Age of the Kingdoms, the monastic ensembles of the tenth to thirteenth centuries, works in metal, wood, ceramic, and cloth, and the Armenian communities of the diaspora present only some of the areas in need of further study. As this postscript suggests, there also exist the technical and technological tasks of heritage preservation, and attendant legal, political, economic, and ethical questions. The field thus requires many kinds of participants and many areas of expertise. Ultimately, all efforts to study and research the art of Armenia, whether at home, in the manuscript library, the museum, or in the field, are not just works of scholarship but also of preservation and advocacy, bringing greater attention to an imperiled and understudied yet astonishingly rich and vibrant culture.

{ NOTES }

A Note on the Transliteration 1. For further notes and discussion of the Library of Congress system, see https://​www. loc.gov/​catdir/​cpso/​romanization/​armenian.pdf.

Chapter 1 1. Moses Khorenats‘i, History of the Armenians, trans. and comm. Robert W. Thomson (Ann Arbor, MI: Caravan, 2006), 95–​97. 2.  Robert W.  Thomson, trans., intro., and comm., The Lives of Saint Gregory:  The Armenian, Greek, Arabic, and Syriac Versions of the History attributed to Agathangelos (Ann Arbor, MI: Caravan Books, 2010), 417–​442. 3.  I  use here an expansive definition of the “Armenian Highlands,” following Robert H. Hewsen, Armenia: A Historical Atlas (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 15, and illustrated in map 1. 4. For a sample of essays, see The Archaeology of Armenia in Regional Context: Proceedings of the International Conference Dedicated to the 50th Anniversary of the Institute of Archaeology and Ethnography, ed. Pavel Avetisyan and Arsen Bobokhyan (Yerevan: Gitut‘yun, 2012). 5.  David Lordkipanidze, Marcia S.  Ponce de Léon, Ann Margvelashvili, Yoel Rak, et al., “A Complete Skull from Dmanisi, Georgia, and the Evolutionary Biology of Early Homo,” Science 342 (6156):  326–​331. See also Phillip Kohl, “Avant le christianisme,” in Arménie:  Trésors de l’arménie ancienne, ed. Jacques Santrot (Paris:  Somogy, 1996), 18–​25. For maps and further discussion, see Hewsen, Armenia,  22–​25. 6. For a discussion of the Azokh caves, see Azokh Cave and the Transcaucasian Corridor, ed. Yolanda Fernandez-​ Jalvo, Tania King, Levon Yepisokoposyan, and Peter Andrews (Dordrecht: Springer, 2016). 7. See Benik Eritsian and Boris Gasparian, “La règne de l’obsidienne au paléolithique et au néolithique (50000–​5000 ans avant J.C.),” in Arménie,  27–​32. 8. Ruben Badalyan, Pierre Lombard, Christine Chataigner, and Pavel Avetisyan, “The Neolithic and Chalcolithic Phases in the Ararat Plain (Armenia): The View from Aratashen,” in A View from the Highlands: Archaeological Studies in Honor of Charles Burney=Ancient Near Eastern Studies, suppl. 12, ed. Antonio Sagona (Louvain: Peeters, 2004), 400–​420. 9.  Ruben S.  Badalyan, Armine A.  Harutyunyan, Christine Chataigner, Françoise Le Mort, et  al., “The Settlement of Aknashen-​Khatunarkh, a Neolithic Site in the Ararat Plain (Armenia):  Excavation Results 2004–​ 2009,” Türkiye Milimler Akademisi-​ AR 13 (2010): 185–​218. 10. Santrot, Arménie, 38; Adam T. Smith, “Prometheus Unbound: Southern Caucasia in Prehistory,” Journal of World Prehistory 29 (2005): 229–​279 at 254.

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11.  Giulio Palumbi, The Red and Black:  Social and Cultural Interaction between the Upper Euphrates and Southern Caucasus Communities in the Fourth and Third Millennium B.C. (Rome:  Sapienza Università, 2008); for summary, see Adam Smith, “Caucasus and Near East,” in A Companion to the Archaeology of the Near East, ed. D. T. Potts (Malden, MA: Wiley, 2012), I: 668–​686. 12. For examples, see Santrot, Arménie, 48–​49, cat. nos. 19–​21. 13. Ibid.,  40–​41. 14. Ibid., 47 cat. no. 18. 15. Smith, “Prometheus Unbound,” 261–​262. 16. Ibid. 17.  V.  E. Oganesian, “A Silver Goblet from Karashamb,” Soviet Anthropology and Archeology 30/​4 (1992): 84–​102. 18.  See, for example, Joan Aruz, Kim Benzel, and Jean M.  Evans, eds., Beyond Babylon:  Art, Trade, and Diplomacy in the Second Millennium B.C. (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2008), 12–​25, 91–​92; Phillip Kohl, The Making of Bronze Age Eurasia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 115–​117. 19.  Adam T.  Smith, The Political Machine:  Assembling Sovereignty in the Bronze Age Caucasus (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2015), 148–​153. 20. For the Tsaghkahovit plain, see the ongoing excavations and publications of Adam T.  Smith and Project Aragats:  http://​aragats.arts.cornell.edu/​?page_​id=69, accessed May 6, 2017. 21. See, for example, Ian Lindsay, “Holding Down the Fort: Landscape Production and the Sociopolitical Dynamics of Late Bronze Age Fortress Regimes in the Southern Caucasus,” in The Archaeology of Politics: The Materiality of Political Practice and Action in the Past, ed. Peter G. Johansen and Andrew M. Bauer (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2011), 151–​185. For fortresses in general, and in the periods discussed in this volume, see Scott Redford and Nina Ergin, eds., Cities and Citadels in Turkey: From the Iron Age to the Seljuks (Louvain: Peeters, 2013.) 22. See Santrot, Arménie, 93, cat. no. 56. 23. For further discussion and bibliography, see Santrot, Arménie, 90–​91, cat. no. 51; and Gregory E.  Areshian, “The Zoomorphic Code of the Proto-​Indo-​European Mythological Cycle of Birth-​ Death-​ Resurrection:  A Linguistic-​ Archaeological Reconstruction,” in Proceedings of the 14th Annual UCLA Indo-​European Conference=Journal of Indo-​European Studies Monograph Series 47, ed. Karlene Jones-​Bley, Martin E. Huld, Angela della Volpe, Miriam Dexter et al. (Washington, DC: Institute for the Study of Man, 2003), 228–​249. 24. See Hewsen, Armenia,  26–​28. 25.  Paul Zimansky, “Urartian Material Culture As State Assemblage:  An Anomaly in the Archaeology of Empire,” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 299–​300 (1995): 103–​115. 26. Smith, Political Landscape, 156–​183; 232–​270. 27.  For a summary with bibliography, see Mehmet Işıklı, “Reflections on Twenty-​Five Years of Excavations at Ayanis Castle:  Past, Present, and Future,” Aramazd:  Armenian Journal of Near Eastern Studies 8/​1–​2 (2013–​2014): 110–​119. 28.  See Oscar White Muscarella, Archaeology, Artifacts, and Antiquities of the Ancient Near East: Sites, Cultures, Proveniences (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 725–​766. 29. Stephan Kroll, Keramik urartäischer Festungen in Iran (Berlin: Reimer, 1976), 174.

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30. Smith, Political Landscape, 166–​167. 31. Ibid., 163. 32. Zimansky, “Urartian Material Culture,” 106–​107. 33. Smith, Political Landscape, 238–​254. 34. See Santrot, Arménie, 124–​125. 35. See Ayanis I: Ten Years Years’ Excavations at Rusahinili Eiduru-​kai, 1989–​1998, ed. Altan Çilingiroğlu and M.  Salvini (Rome:  Istituto per gli studi micenei ed egeo-​anatolici, 2001),  37–​65. 36. Smith, Political Landscape, 238–​254. 37. Ibid., 245–​249. 38. Lori Khatchadourian, Social Logics under Empire: The Armenian “Highland Satrapy” and Achaemenid Rule, ca. 600–​300 B.C., Ph.D. diss., University of Michigan, 2008, 280. 39.  See F.  Sciacca, “Importazione assire et urartee,” in Gli Etrusci e il Mediterraneo: Commerci e politica (Atti del XIII Convegno Internazionale di studi sulla storia e l’archeologia dell’Etruria)=Annali della fondazione per il Museo “Claudi Faina” 13 (2006), 285–​384. 40. Santrot, Arménie, 132–​133, cat. no. 108; Alina Ayvazian, “The Urartian Empire,” in Companion to the Archaeology of the Near East, I: 877–​895 at 889. 41. See Santrot, Arménie, 135–​136, cat. 111. 42.  Karen Radner, “Assyrians and Urartians,” in The Oxford Handbook of Ancient Anatolia, ed. Sharon R. Steadman and Gregory McMahon (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 734–​751. 43. Santrot, Arménie, 132. 44.  Lori Khatchadourian, “Unforgettable Landscapes:  Attachments to the Past in Hellenistic Armenia,” in Negotiating the Past in the Past: Identity, Memory, and Landscape in Archaeological Research, ed. Norman Yoffee (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2008), 43–​75; Christina Maranci, Vigilant Powers:  Three Churches of Early Medieval Armenia (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015), 177–​182. 45. See Hewsen, Armenia, 29–​41. For historical syntheses, see Nina G. Garsoïan, “The Emergence of Armenia,” in The Armenian People from Ancient to Modern Times, ed. Richard G.  Hovannisian (New  York:  St. Martin’s, 1997), 37–​63; Simon Payaslian, The History of Armenia:  From the Origins to the Present (New  York:  Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 3–​27; Elizabeth E. Redgate, The Armenians (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2000), 25–​112. 46.  See Lori Khatchadourian, Imperial Matter:  Ancient Persia and the Archaeology of Empires (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016), 81–​117. 47. See Khatchadourian, Social Logics, 52–​117. 48. Khatchadourian, Social Logics, and Lori Khatchadourian, Imperial Matter: Ancient Persia and the Archaeology of Empires (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016). See also Elspeth R.  M. Dusinberre, Empire, Authority, and Autonomy in Achaemenid Anatolia (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015). 49. Khatchadourian, Social Logics, 464–​471; and Khatchadourian, Imperial Matter. 50. Khatchadourian, Social Logics,  96–​99. 51. Ibid., 416–​441; Geoffrey D. Summers, “Archaeological Evidence for the Achaemenid Period in Eastern Turkey,” Anatolian Studies 43 (1993): 85–​105. 52. Khatchadourian, Imperial Matter 143–​145. 53. Khatchadourian, Social Logics, 427. 54. Ibid., 432.

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55. Ibid., 431; Khatchadourian, Imperial Matter, 141–​145. 56. Khatchadourian, Imperial Matter, 127–​141; Mikhail Yu. Treister, “A Hoard of Silver Rhyta of the Achaemenid Circle from Erebuni,” Ancient Civilizations from Scythia to Siberia 21 (2015): 23–​119; and David Stronach, “The Silver Rhyta from Erebuni Revisited,” in The Archaeology of Armenia in Regional Context: Proceedings of the International Conference dedicated to the 50th Anniversary of the Institute of Archaeology and Ethnography, eds. Pavel Avetisyan and Arsen Bobokhyan (Yerevan: Gitut‘yun, 2012), 170–​184. 57. See Triester, “Hoard of Silver Rhyta,” 61, n. 137. 58. Khatchadourian, Imperial Matter, 129. 59. Ibid., 127–​141. 60. Treister, “Hoard of Silver Rhyta,” 89. 61. Ibid., 81. 62. Ibid., 82. 63.  Margaret C.  Miller, “Manners Makyth Man:  Diacritical Drinking in Achaemenid Anatolia,” in Cultural Identity in the Ancient Mediterranean, ed. Erich S.  Gruen (Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 2011), 97–​134 at 107. 64. Hewsen, Armenia,  32–​33. 65. Ibid.,  34–​35. 66.  On Tigran II and city-​ building, see Matthew Canepa, The Iranian Expanse: Transforming Royal Identity through Architecture, Landscape, and the Built Environment, 550 BCE–​642 CE (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2018), 95–​104. 67. On classical trends in ancient Armenia, see Armen Kazaryan and Gohar Muradyan, “Armenian Culture and Classical Antiquity,” in A Handbook to the Classical Reception in Eastern and Central Europe, ed. Zara Martirosova Torlone, Dana LaCourse Munteanu, and Dorota Dutsch (Malden, MA: Wiley, 2017), 509–​515. 68. See in general on this subject James R. Russell, Zoroastrianism in Armenia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations, 1987); and Russell, Armenian and Iranian Studies (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations, 2004). 69.  Khatchadourian, “Unforgettable Landscapes, 43–​75, at 43–​44. On the architecture and topography of the Armenian Arsacids, and on the role of architecture and landscape in shaping social memory in ancient Armenia, see Canepa, The Iranian Expanse. 70. Strabo 11.14.6, Plutarch, Lucullus 31. 71. M. L. Chaumont, “Armenia and Iran ii: The pre-​Islamic period,” Encyclopedia Iranica, II/​ 4 (1986):  418–​ 438; available online at http://​www.iranicaonline.org/​articles/​armenia-​ii (accessed on March 4, 2018). 72. Thomson, Moses Khorenats‘i, 187. 73. See Matteo Compareti, “Armenian Pre-​Christian Divinities: Some Evidence from the History of Art and Archaeological Investigation,” in Studies on Iran and the Caucasus: In Honour of Garnik Asatrian, ed. Uwe Bläsing, Victoria Arakelova, and Matthias Weinreich (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 193–​204. 74. See Arménie, 248; Maria Lazareva,”The Hellenistic Features of Armenian Art in VI B.C.–​III A.D.,” Athens: ATINER’S Conference Paper Series, No: HUM 2015-​1415: 9. 75. Khatchadourian, “Unforgettable Landscapes,” 48–​55. 76. Ibid.,  66–​69.

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77.  Peter Thonemann, The Hellenistic World:  Using Coins as Sources (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 18. 78. See Hewsen, Armenia,  43–​69. 79. See Russell, Zoroastrianism in Armenia, for example. 80. Tacitus, Annals 12 (45). 81. See R. Wilkinson, “A Fresh Look at the Ionic Building at Garni,” Revue des études arméniennes 16 (1982): 221–​244. See also Kazaryan and Muradyan, “Armenian Culture and Classical Antiquity,” in Handbook to the Classical Reception in Eastern and Central Europe, ed. Torlone et  al., 509–​515; Canepa, The Iranian Expanse, 115–​118; and Elizabeth Fagan, Narratives in the Landscape: Political Discourses of Authority and Identity in the Armenian Highland, ca. 200 B.C.E.–​200 C.E., Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 2015, 41–​60. 82.  See B.  Arakelyan, “Excavations at Garni, 1949–​1950,” and “Excavations at Garni, 1951–​55,” in Contributions to the Archaeology of Armenia=Russian Translation Series of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Harvard University, III/​3 (Cambridge, MA: Peabody Museum, 1968), 13–​198. 83. R. Wilkinson, “A Fresh Look at the Ionic Building at Garni,” 237. 84. Arakelyan, “Excavations at Garni,” 124–​135. 85. ΜΗΔΕΝ ΛΑΒΟΝΤΕΣ ΗΡΓΑCΑΜΕΘΑ: Arakelyan, “Excavations at Garni,” 128. 86. For parallels, see Arakelyan, “Excavations at Garni,” 130, n. 131; Sheila D. Campbell, The Mosaics of Aphrodisias in Caria (Rome:  Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1991), 11; and Katherine M.  D. Dunbabin, Mosaics of the Greek and Roman World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 87. See Arakelyan, “Excavations at Garni,”124–​134, for discussions of date.

Chapter 2 1. See Hewsen, Armenia, 84–​103. 2. See Nina G. Garsoïan, “Prolegomena to a Study of the Iranian Elements in Arsacid Armenia,” Armenia between Byzantium and the Sasanians (London: Variorum, 1985), X, 1–​ 46; Russell, Zoroastrianism in Armenia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations, 1987); and Anahid Perikhanian, “Notes sur le lexique iranien en arménien,” Revue des études arméniennes 5 (1968): 9–​30. 3. Thomson, Lives of Saint Gregory. 4.  See Armen Khatchatrian, L’architecture arménienne (Paris:  Éditions Klincksieck, 1971); and Khatchatrian, “Les monuments funéraires arméniens des IVe–​VIIe siècles,” Byzantinische Forschungen 1 (1966):  79–​192. For the archaeological excavations, see Suren Mnats‘akanyan, Haykakan vagh michnadaryan hushardzanner (Yerevan:  Academy of Sciences, 1982), 66–​71. See also Jean-​Michel Thierry and Patrick Donabédian, Les arts arméniens (Paris: Mazenod, 1987), 473–​474; Patrick Donabédian, L’âge d’or de l’architecture arménienne (Marseille: Parenthèses, 2008), 22. 5.  Nina G.  Garsoïan, trans. and ed.,The Epic Histories (Cambridge, MA:  Harvard University, Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations, 1989), 158; and Thomson, Moses Khorenats‘i 279. 6. See Suren Mnats‘akanyan, 66–​71. 7. Khatchatrian, L’architecture arménienne,/​IBT> 29–​36 and 93–​100. 8. Ibid., 96.

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9.  See Nina G.  Garsoïan, Thomas F.  Mathews, and Robert W.  Thomson, eds., East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period, A Dumbarton Oaks Symposium (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1982). 10.  Matthew Canepa, The Two Eyes of the Earth:  Art and Ritual of Kingship between Rome and Sasanian Iran (Berkeley: University of California, 2009), 177–​179. 11. Garsoïan, “Armenia,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East, ed. Eric M. Meyers (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1997) I: 202–​207 at 206. 12. Khatchatrian, L’architecture arménienne. 13. On Ereroyk‘, and with an updated bibliography, see Paul Bailet, Patrick Donabédian, Andreas Hartmann-​Virnich, Christophe Jorda et al., “Nouvelles recherches sur l’ensemble paléochrétien et médiévale d‘Ereruyk en Arménie,” Antiquité Tardive 20 (2012): 315–​341. 14. Christina Maranci, “Sundials and Medieval Armenian Architecture,” in The Armenian Apocalyptic Tradition: A Comparative Perspective, ed. Kevork B. Bardakjian and Sergio La Porta (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 553–​570. 15. Khatchatrian, L’architecture arménienne. 16.  For this monument, now destroyed, see Georges Tchalenko, Villages antiques de la Syrie du Nord (Paris: P. Geuthner, 1953), I: 173–​178. 17. Bailet et al., “Nouvelles recherches.” 18. Ibid.,  13–​14. 19.  See Christina Maranci, “  ‘Holiness Befits Your House’ (Ps. 92/​ 93:  5):  A Preliminary Report on the Apse Inscription at Mren,” Revue des études arméniennes 36 (2014–​2015): 237–​259. 20. See Robert W. Thomson, “Architectural Symbolism in Classical Armenian Literature,” Journal of Theological Studies 30/​1 (1979): 102–​114. 21.  For a discussion of this period, see Nina G.  Garsoïan, Interregnum:  Introduction to a Study on the Formation of Armenian Identity (ca 600–​ 750)=Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalia 640 (Louvain: Peeters, 2012). 22.  Nina G.  Garsoïan, “The Early-​Mediaeval Armenian City:  An Alien Element?” in Church and Culture in Early Medieval Armenia (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate Variorum, 1999), VII: 67–​83. 23.  See Robert W.  Thomson, trans., The Armenian History attributed to Sebeos, with historical commentary by James Howard-​Johnston (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1999), 2 vols. 24. See Annegret Plontke-​Lüning, Frühchristliche Architektur in Kaukasien (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2007); and Donabédian, L’âge d’or de l’architecture arménienne (Marseille: Parenthèses, 2008). 25.  Timothy Greenwood, “A Corpus of Early Medieval Armenian Inscriptions,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 58 (2004): 27–​91. 26. Jean-​Michel Thierry and Nicole Thierry, “La cathédrale de Mren et sa décoration,” Cahiers archéologiques 21 (1971): 43–​77. As of this writing, Mren stands within a first-​degree military zone on the border of the Turkish and Armenian Republics. 27. Maranci, Vigilant Powers, 23–​112. 28. Greenwood, “Corpus.” 29. Maranci, Vigilant Powers,  61–​67. 30. For this scene, see Nicole Thierry, “Héraclius et la vraie croix en Arménie,” in From Byzantium to Iran. Armenian Studies in Honour of Nina G. Garsoïan, ed. Jean-​Pierre Mahé

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and Robert W.  Thomson (Atlanta:  Scholars Press, 1997), 165–​186; for an earlier interpretation of the lintel, Minas S.  Sargsyan, “Mreni tachari himnadirneri patkerak‘andaknerě” [“The Bas-​Reliefs of the Founders of the Church of Mren”], Patma-​Banasirakan Handes 4 (1966): 241–​250. 31. Christina Maranci, “The Humble Heraclius: Revisiting the North Portal at Mren,” Revue des études arméniennes 31 (2009): 359–​372; and Zaruhi Hakobyan, “The Restitution of the True Cross in the 10th-​Century Armenian Sources and its Depiction in the Early Medieval Sculpture,” Revue des études arméniennes 35 (2013): 227–​240. 32. See John F. Haldon, Byzantium in the Seventh Century: Transformation of a Culture (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 1990); Walter E.  Kaegi, Heraclius:  Emperor of Byzantium (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2003); and Kaegi, The Reign of Heraclius (610–​641): Crisis and Confrontation, ed. Gerrit J. Reinink and Bernard H. Stolte (Louvain: Peeters, 2002). 33. Greenwood, “Corpus,” 46. 34.  Michael Daniel Findikyan, “The Armenian Liturgy of Dedicating a Church:  A Textual and Comparative Analysis of Three Early Sources,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 64 (1998/​1): 75–​121. 35. Christina Maranci, “New Observations on the Frescoes at Mren,” Revue des études arméniennes 35 (2013): 203–​225 36. Bible passages (other than that of Ereroyk‘) are my own English translations from the classical Armenian Zohrab Bible, available online at http://​titus.uni-​frankfurt.de/​texte/​etcs/​ arm/​zohrab/​armat/​armat.htm (accessed on July 8, 2018). 37. Maranci, “ ‘Holiness Befits Your House,’ ” 243–​263. 38. See Donabédian, L’âge d’or, 190–​198. 39.  See W.  Eugene Kleinbauer, “The Origins and Function of the Aisled Tetraconch Churches in Syria and Northern Mesopotamia,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 27 (1973): 89–​114; and Kleinbauer, “Zvart’nots and the Origins of Christian Architecture in Armenia,” Art Bulletin 54 (1972): 245–​262. 40.  Dora Piguet-​ Panayotova, “Recherches sur les tetraconques à déambulatoire et leur décor en Transcaucasie au VIIe siècle,” Oriens Christianus 73 (1989): 166–​212; Armen Kazaryan, “The Chancel and Liturgical Space in the Church of Zvart‘nots‘,” in Ikonostas. Origins, Development, Symbolism, ed. Alexei Lidov (Moscow:  Progress-​Traditsiia, 2000), 85–​104 (in Russian). Nazénie de Vartavan Gharibian, La Jérusalem Nouvelle et les premiers sanctuaires chrétiens de l’arménie (Yerevan: Isis Pharia, 2009). 41. Greenwood, “Corpus,” 61; Armenian History attributed to Sebeos, I, 139–​143. 42. See G. Zacos and P. Veglery, Byzantine Lead Seals II (Basel: J. J. Augustin, 1972), nos. 490–​546. 43.  See James Howard-​ Johnston, “Historical Commentary,” in Armenian History attributed to Sebeos, II: 183, 257, and 283. 44. Christina Maranci, “Byzantium through Armenian Eyes: Cultural Appropriation and the Case of Zuart‘noc‘,” Gesta 40 (2001): 105–​124. 45. Armenian History History attributed to Sebeos, I: 112. 46. Ibid., 112. 47. See Thomson, Lives of Saint Gregory, 361. 48. Maranci, Vigilant Powers, 184–​189.

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49.  Garegin Hovsēp‘yan, “The Monastery Church of Budghoons (Budghavank) and the Doming of Ancient Armenian Churches,” in Materials for the Study of Armenian Art and Culture 3 (1944):  7–​ 29; and Francesco Gandolfo and Armen Zarian, Ptghni/​ Arudch=Documenti di architettura armena 16 (Milan and Yerevan: Oemme Edizioni, 1986). 50. Donabédian, L’âge d’or, 123. 51. For the Amatuni, see Garsoïan, Epic Histories, 346–​347; Nicholas Adontz, Armenia in the Period of Justinian, trans. and rev. Nina G. Garsoïan (Lisbon: Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, 1970), 210–​ 212; Cyril Toumanoff, Studies in Christian Caucasian History (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1963). 52. Maranci, Vigilant Powers, 228–​235. 53. Nina G. Garsoïan; “The Locus of the Death of Kings: Iranian Armenia—​the Inverted Image,” in The Armenian Image in History and Literature, ed. Richard G.  Hovanissian (Malibu, CA: Undena, 1981), 27–​64. 54. Garsoïan, “Prolegomena to a Study of the Iranian Elements, 177–​234. 55. See Donabédian, L’âge d’or, 208, fig. 409. Some scholars, beginning with Felix Ter-​ Martirossian and more substantially argued by Zaruhi Hakobyan, view this figure as Saint Christopher, who is portrayed with the head of a dog. For these and further sources, see Ani T. Baladian and Anna Leyloyan-​Yekmalyan “Les colonnes de la foi d’Ojun: Essai pour une nouvelle lecture,” Revue des études arméniennes 36 (2014–​2015): 149–​212. 56. See Khatchatrian, L’architecture arménienne, 1971. 57. Thomson, Lives of Saint Gregory, 339, §735. 58. Yerevan: Matenadaran MS 2374. 59.  Thomas F.  Mathews, “The Early Iconographic Program of the Ejmiacin Gospel (Erevan, Matenadaran MS 2374, olim 229),” East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period, A Dumbarton Oaks Symposium, ed. N. T. F. Mathews, and R. W. Thomson (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1982), 119–​215. 60. Mathews, “Early Iconographic Program,” 205. 61. See Abraham Terian, The Armenian Gospel of the Infancy: With Three Early Versions of the Protoevangelium of James (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). 62. Mathews, “ Early Iconographic Program,” 206. 63. Ibid., 205–​206. 64. Ibid., 209. 65. Ibid., 208–​209. 66. Sirarpie Der Nersessian, “Image Worship in Armenia and Its Opponents,” Armenian Quarterly 1 (1946) 67–​81; reprinted in vol. I of Études byzantines et arméniennes/​Byzantine and Armenian Studies (Louvain: Imprimerie Orientaliste, 1973), 405–​415; and Ioanna Rapti, “Le statut des images dans l’art et le culte arméniens,” in Actes du colloque sur l’aniconisme à Byzance, ed. Matteo Campagnolo, Paul Magdalino, Marielle Martiniani-​Reber, and André-​ Louis Rey (Geneva: La Pomme d’Or, 2009), 59–​74. 67.  For a French translation, see Sirarpie Der Nersessian, “Une apologie des images du septième siècle,” Byzantion 17 (1944–​1945):  58–​87, reprinted in Études byzantines et arméniennes (Louvain: Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, 1973), 379–​403. 68.  Thomas F.  Mathews, “Vrt‘anēs Kert‘oł and the Early Theology of Images,” Revue des études arméniennes 31 (2008–​2009):  101–​126. See also Andrea B.  Schmidt, “Gab es ein armenischen Ikonoklasmus? Rekonstruktion eines Dokuments der

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kaukasisch-​ albanischen Theologiegeschichte,” in Das Frankfurter Konzil von 794. Kristallisationspunkt karolingischer Kultur, ed. Rainer Berndt (Mainz: Gesellschaft für mittelreinische Kirchengeschichte, 1997), II: 947–​964. Schmidt dates the text to the third quarter of the seventh century. 69. Text based on my forthcoming translation (with Theo Maarten van Lint) and new critical edition of the Armenian. The most recent published edition of this text is Y. K‘ēōsēean, Matenagirk‘ Hayots‘ (Classical Armenian Authors), III:  Sixth Century (Antelias, Lebanon: Catholicosate of the Great House of Sis and Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, 2004), 493–​500. 70. Mathews, “Vrt‘anēs Kert‘oł,” 113–​115. 71. Ibid., 115–​116. 72. Der Nersessian, “Apologie,” 384. 73. Der Nersessian, “Apologie,” 387, n. 38; and Mathews, “Vrt‘anēs K‘ert‘oł,” 119. See also Mary V. Orna and Thomas F. Mathews, “Pigment Analysis of the Glajor Gospel Book of UCLA,” Studies in Conservation 26 (1981):  57–​72; Diane E.  Cabelli, Mary V.  Orna, and Thomas F.  Mathews, “Analysis of Medieval Pigments from Cilician Armenia,” in Archaeological Chemistry, ed. J. B. Lambert (Washington, DC: American Chemical Society, 1984); and Sylvie L. Merian, Thomas F. Mathews, and Mary V. Orna, “The Making of an Armenian Manuscript,” in Treasures in Heaven: Armenian Illuminated Manuscripts, ed. T. F. Mathews and R. S. Wieck (New York: Pierpont Morgan Library; Princeton University Press, 1994), 124–​142. 74. Zaven Arzoumanian, trans., History of Armenia by Ukhtanes of Sebastia (Burbank: Armenian General Benevolent Union, 2008), 85–​86. 75.  This data has recently been supplemented by the 1992 discovery of an Armenian-​ inscribed floor close to the Damascus gate, and, in 2001, an onomastic inscription near the Mount of Olives. 76. See Clive Foss, “Two Inscriptions Attributed to the Seventh Century AD,” Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 25 (1977): 282–​288 at 283, n. 4. I thank Sergio La Porta for this reference. 77.  Irene Bierman, Writing Signs:  The Fatimid Public Text (Berkeley:  University of California, 1998). 78. For Byzantine representations of nature, see Henry Maguire, Earth and Ocean: The Terrestrial World in Early Byzantine Art (University Park:  Pennsylvania State University Press for the College Art Association, 1987). 79. Bierman, Writing Signs. 80. Helen Evans, “Non-​Classical Sources for the Armenian Mosaic near the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem,” in East of Byzantium:  Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period, 217–​222. 81. Robert W. Thomson, trans. and comm., The Teaching of Saint Gregory (New Rochelle, NY: St. Nersess, 2001), 193. 82. Ibid., 210. 83. Ibid., 211. 84. Ibid., 212. 85. Frederick J. Bliss, “A Mosaic Recently Discovered at Jerusalem,” The Biblical World 18/​1 (1901): 46–​48 at 47.

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Chapter 3 1.  For maps and historical geography of the Arab occupation and the Age of the Kingdoms, see Hewsen, Armenia, 104–​127. For historical discussion see Seta B. Dadoyan, The Armenians in the Medieval Islamic World, vol. I: The Arab Period in Armīnyah. Seventh to Eleventh Centuries (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 2011); and Alison Vacca, Non-​Muslim Provinces under Early Islam: Islamic Rule and Legitimacy in Armenia and Caucasian Albania (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017). 2. In light of the uneven excavation of sites across historical Armenia, ongoing discoveries, and new historical scholarship, one can imagine that this long-​held generalization will be profitably revised in the future. 3. These extraordinary churches are woefully underrepresented in the Anglophone literature. Three important exceptions are Antony Eastmond, Royal Imagery in Medieval Georgia (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1997); Markus Bogisch, The Appropriation of Imperial Splendour: Ecclesiastical Architecture and Monumental Sculpture in Medieval Tao-​Klarjeti around 1000 AD (Ph.D., University of Copenhagen, 2009), and, for an excellent survey of this material, in Georgian with English summary and captions, see Irene Giviashvili and Irakli Koplatadze, Tao-​Klarjeti (Tbilisi: Tbilisi University Press, 2004). 4.  See Lucy Der Manuelian, “Ani:  The Fabled Capital of Armenia,” in Ani:  World Architectural Heritage of a Medieval Armenian Capital=University of Pennsylvania Armenian Text and Sources 16, ed. Peter S. Cowe (Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 1–​11. 5.  Overviews of Ani in English and European languages include Anelka Grigoryan, ed., The Millennial Capital of Armenia (Yerevan:  History Museum of Armenia, 2015); Peter S. Cowe, ed., Ani: World Architectural Heritage; Paolo Cuneo et al., Ani=Documenti di Architettura Armena 12 (Milan:  Ares, 1984). See also Armenian Kars and Ani=UCLA Armenian History and Culture Series: Historic Armenian Cities and Provinces 10, ed. Richard G.  Hovannisian (Costa Mesa, CA:  Mazda, 2011); and Gabriella Uluhogian, “Les églises d’Ani d’après le témoignage des inscriptions,” Revue des études arméniennes 23 (1992): 393–​ 417. A synthesis of the history of the site appears on the website http://​www.virtualani.org. Additionally, one awaits the monograph of Rachel Goshgarian, which considers the history of the city. 6. http://​www.virtualani.org/​citadel/​palace.htm (accessed May 15, 2017). 7. http://​www.virtualani.org/​kizkale/​index.htm (accessed May 19, 2017). 8. For the excavations, see Jean-​Pierre Mahé, Nicolas Faucherre, Beyhan Karamagarali, and Philippe Dangles, “L’enceinte urbaine d’Ani (Turquie orientale):  problèmes chronologiques,” Comptes Rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-​ Lettres 143/​2 (1999):  731–​756. See also Phillipe Dangles and Nicolas Prouteau, “La Porte au Damier à Ani: Sondages archéologiques sur l’enceinte nord d’Ani,” Revue des études arméniennes 29 (2003–​2004): 503–​505. 9. See, for example, Charles Texier, Description de l’Arménie, la Perse et la Mésopotamie (Paris: Firmin Didot, 1842–​1852). 10. See the work of Robert W. Edwards for discussions of Armenian fortification architecture. Particularly relevant to Ani are “Medieval Architecture in the Oltu-​Penek Valley: A Preliminary Report on the Marchlands of Northeast Turkey,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 39 (1985) 15–​38; “The Fortifications of Artvin: A Second Preliminary Report on the Marchlands of Northeast Turkey,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 40 (1986): 165–​182; “The Vale of Kola: A Final Preliminary Report on the Marchlands of Northeast Turkey,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 42 (1988): 119–​142.

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11. See note 13 for sources. 12. Tim Greenwood, intr., trans., and comm., The Universal History of Step‘anos Tarōnec‘i (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017) 289. 13. William Emerson and Robert Van Nice, “Hagia Sophia, Istanbul: Preliminary Report of a Recent Examination of the Structure,” American Journal of Archaeology 47/​4 (1943): 403–​ 465; and Emerson and Van Nice, “Hagia Sophia: The Construction of the Second Dome and Its Later Repairs,” Archaeology 4/​13 (1951):  163–​171. For discussion of Trdat, see Patrick Donabédian, “The Architect Trdat,” in Cowe, Ani:  World Architectural Heritage, 39–​67; Christina Maranci, “The Architect Trdat: Building Practices and Cross-​Cultural Exchange in Byzantium and Armenia,” Journal for the Society of Architectural Historians 62/​3 (2003): 294–​305; Maranci, “Royal Capital: Gagik I Bagratuni and the Church of Gagkašēn,” in Bridging Times and Spaces: Festschrift in Honour of Gregory E. Areshian on Occasion of His 65th Birthday, ed. Pavel S. Avetisyan and Yervand H. Grekyan (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2017), 283–​289. 14. N. Marr, O raskopkakh i rabotakh v Ani [On Excavations and Works at Ani] (Saint Petersburg: Tip. Imp. akademii nauk, 1907), 2; for a collection of writings on this campaign, see also T‘oros T‘oramanyan, Zvart‘nots‘-​Gagkashen (Yerevan: 1984, o.p.). 15. My translation differs here from Greenwood, Universal History, 312–​313. 16. Greenwood, Universal History, 312–​313. 17.  However, the fragment of an elbow most likely belonging to this statue has been identified: see Giorgi L. Kavtaradze, “The Problem of the Identification of the Mysterious Statue from the Erzurum Museum,” Caucasica 3 (1999): 59–​66. 18. Armen Kazaryan, İsmail Yavuz Özkaya, and Alin Pontioğlu, “The Church of Surb Prkich in Ani (1035). Part 1: History and Historiography –​Architectural Plan –​Excavations of 2012 and Starting of Conservation,” RIHA Journal 0143 (November 15, 2016), at http://​ www.riha-​journal.org/​articles/​2016/​0143-​kazaryan-​özkaya-​pontioğlu (accessed on July 9, 2018). 19. For Irind, see Donabédian, L’âge d’or, 188–​189. 20. On the classicizing elements in the architecture of Ani, see Armen Kazaryan, “The Classical Trend of the Architectural School of Ani,” in A Handbook to the Classical Reception in Eastern and Central Europe, ed. Torlone et al., 528–​540. 21. Diane Favro, “Encircled by Time: The Church of the Savior,” in Armenian Kars and Ani, 136–​144. 22. See Kazaryan, “Classical Trend.” 23.  Helen C.  Evans, “The Armenians,” in The Glory of Byzantium:  Art and Culture of the Middle Byzantine Era, A.D. 843–​ 1261, ed. Evans and William D.  Wixom (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1997), 251–​252. 24. For a survey of the Armenian monuments in the region, see Thomas Sinclair, Eastern Turkey: An Architectural and Archaeological Survey (London: Pindar Press, 1987). 25.  Hoṙomos Monastery:  Art and History, ed. Edda Vardanyan (Paris:  Centre d’histoire et civilization, 2015); and Jean-​Michel Thierry, Le couvent arménien d’Hoṙomos (Louvain: Peeters, 1980). 26.  Armen Kazaryan, “The Architecture of the Hoṙomos Monastery,” in Hoṙomos Monastery: Art and History, ed. Vardanyan, 158–​167. 27. For an argument regarding the penitential function of the zhamatun/​gavit‘ in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, see Michael Daniel Findikyan, “ ‘When the Householder Rises Up and Shuts the Door’ [Յորմէ հետէ մտցէ տանուտէրն եւ փակեսցէ զդուռնն Lk

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13:25]: The Function of the Gawit‘ in Medieval Armenian Monasteries,” Proceedings of the Society of Oriental Liturgy, Etchmiadzin, Armenia, forthcoming. 28. For the most recent discussion with bibliography, see Edda Vardanyan, “The Žamatun of Hoṙomos and the Žamatun/​Gawit‘ Structures in Armenian Architecture,” in Hoṙomos Monastery: Art and History, ed. Vardanyan, 207–​236. 29. See Kazaryan, “The Architecture of the Hoṙomos Monastery,” 56–​205. 30.  Aght‘amar is the best represented Armenian church in the Anglophone literature, and the only church to be included in a major American art history textbook:  Marilyn Stokstad, Marion Spears Grayson, Stephen Addis, Bradford R. Collins et al., Art History (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1995), 323–​324 (this was the first edition of the volume; subsequent editions lack mention of Armenian art). Monographs on Aght‘amar include Sirarpie Der Nersessian, Aght‘amar:  The Church of the Holy Cross (Cambridge, MA:  Harvard University Press, 1965); Step‘an Mnats‘akanyan, Aght‘amar, trans. Krikor Maksoudian (Los Angeles: Éditions Erebouni, 1986); and Lynn Jones, Between Byzantium and Islam: Aght‘amar and the Visual Construction of Medieval Armenian Rulership (London: Ashgate, 2006). 31.  Robert W.  Thomson, trans. and comm., History of the House of the Artsrunik‘ (Detroit: Wayne State University Press), 354–​361. 32. I thank Robert Dulgarian for this observation. 33. Jones, Between Byzantium and Islam,  83–​87. 34. Ibid.,  93–​95. 35. Ibid.,  53–​96. 36. Ibid., 5, 126–​127. 37. Ibid.,  72–​83 38. The paintings underwent restoration in 2005. 39. Jones, Between Byzantium and Islam, 68. See also Thomas Mathews, “The Genesis Frescoes at Aght‘amar,” Revue des études arméniennes 16 (1982):  245–​ 257; reprinted in Mathews, Art and Architecture in Byzantium and Armenia:  Liturgical and Exegetical Approaches (Aldershot:  Ashgate, 1995); and Nicole Thierry, “Passion et Résurrection à Aght‘amar,” Revue des études arméniennes 26 (1996–​1997): 273–​313. 40. General studies in English and European languages include Levon Azarian and Armen Manoukian, Khatchkar=Documenti di architettura armena, vol. 2 (Milan: Polytechnic, 1969); Armen Manoukian and Giulio Ieni, Khatchkar:  Croix en pierre arméniennes:  Catalogue de l’exposition (Marseille:  Mekhitarists, 1982); Levon Azaryan, Armenian Khatchkars (Etchmiadzin:  Holy See, 1973); Hamlet Petrosyan, “The Khachkar or Cross-​Stone,” in Armenian Folk Arts, Culture, and Identity, ed. Levon Abrahamian, Nancy Sweezy, and Sam Sweezy (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 2001), 60–​70; Patrick Donabédian, “Le khatchkar,” in Armenia Sacra:  Mémoire chrétienne des Arméniens (IVe–​XVIIIe siècle), ed. Jannic Durand, Ioanna Rapti, and Dorota Giovannoni (Paris:  Louvre, 2007), 153–​161; Donabédian, “Le khatchkar, un art emblématique de la spécificité arménienne,” in L’Église arménienne entre Grecs et Latins fin XIe—​milieu XVe siècle, ed. Isabelle Augé and Gérard Dédéyan (Paris:  Geuthner, 2009), 151–​ 168; Haroutune Merzian, “Some Comments on Armenian Xač‘k‘ars and Their Iconography, with Examples from the 9th–​13th Centuries,” in Saint Nersess Theological Review 11 (2006):1–​43; see also http://​www.khachkar.am/​en/​ (accessed May 20, 2017). 41. For the Armenian text, see http://​hushardzan.am/​3921/​ (accessed May 20, 207). 42. Armenia Sacra, 162–​163, cat. no. 46.

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43. Donabédian, “Le khatchkar,” in Armenia Sacra, 157–​159. 44. See Nicole Thierry, “Le culte de la croix dans l’empire byzantin du VIIe siècle au Xe,” Rivista di studi bizantini e slavi 1 (1981): 205–​228. 45. See Donabédian, “Le khatchkar,” in Armenia Sacra, 155–​156. 46.  I  borrow the argument of Rico Franses, “Visual Theology in Early Byzantine and Islamic Art,” paper presented at the Byzantine Studies Conference in Vancouver, November 6–​9, 2014. Abstract available at http://​www.bsana.net. 47. For the “Havuts‘ Tar” cross, named after the monastery where it was deposited, see Der Nersessian, Armenian Art, 111; figs. 81 and 112. 48. Armenia Sacra, 148, cat. 41. 49. Ibid. 50. See Armenia Sacra, 202, cat. 71, for discussion and bibliography. 51.  See for example, History of the Caucasian Albanians by Movses Dasxuranc‘i, trans. Charles J. F. Dowsett (London and New York: Oxford University Press, 1961), chap. 19. 52. See Armenia Sacra, 209, cat. 78. 53. For an overview, see Ioanna Rapti, “La peinture dans les livres (IXe–​XIIIe siècle)” in Armenia Sacra, 176–​183; Thomas F. Mathews, “The Classic Phase of Bagratid and Artsruni Illumination,” in Treasures in Heaven: Armenian Illuminated Manuscripts, ed. Mathews and Wieck,  54–​65. 54.  Venice:  San Lazzaro, MS 1144/​86. Jones, Between Byzantium and Islam, 107–​109. For an overview of the complicated questions surrounding this manuscript, see Dickran Kouymjian, “An Interpretation of Bagratid and Artsruni Art and Ceremony:  A Review Essay,” Journal of the Society of Armenian Studies 18/​2 (2009): 111–​131. See also Armenia Sacra, 184–​185. 55. Mathews, “Classic Phase,” in Treasures in Heaven: Armenian Illuminated Manuscripts, 57–​58, ed. Mathews and Wieck; Jones, Between Byzantium and Islam, 109. 56.  On this issue see Dickran Kouymjian, “The Classical Tradition in Armenian Art,” Revue des études arméniennes 15 (1981): 263–​288. 57. For discussion and bibliography, see Armenia Sacra, 184–​185, cat. 63. 58. Florence: Laurentian Library, Plut. I, 56, fol. 13v. See Armenia Sacra, 185. 59.  Thomson, History of the House of the Artsrunik‘, 357. See also Mathews, “Classic Phase,” 58. 60. See Armenia Sacra, 186–​187, cat. 64. 61. Mathews, “Classic Phase,” 58–​59. 62.  Sirarpie Der Nersessian, Armenian Manuscripts in the Walters Art Gallery (Baltimore: Trustees of the Walters Art Gallery, 1973), 1–​5. 63. Dickran Kouymjian, “The Melitene Group of Armenian Miniature Painting in the Eleventh Century,” in Armenian Kesaria/​Kayseri and Cappadocia, Historic Armenian Cities and Provinces, ed. Richard Hovannisian (Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda, 2013), 79–​115. 64. Yerevan: Matenadaran MS 10780. See Armenia Sacra, 189–​190, cat. 66. 65. See Armenia Sacra, 179, fig. 5. 66. Jerusalem: Armenian Patriarchate MS 2556. See Helen C. Evans, “Ani and the Gagik of Kars Gospel,” in Cowe, Ani: World Architectural Heritage, 93–​94; Jones, Between Byzantium and Islam, 109–​111; Dickran Kouymjian, “An Interpretation,” 117–​120; Thomas F. Mathews with Theo Maarten van Lint, “The Kars-​Tsamandos Group of Armenian Illuminated Manuscripts of the 11th Century,” in Der Doppeladler:  Byzanz und die Seldschuken in

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Anatolien vom späten 11. bis zum 13. Jahrhundert, ed. Neslihan Asutay-​Effenberger and Falko Daim (Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-​Germanischen Zentralmuseum, 2014), 85–​95. 67. Mathews, “Classic Phase,” 60. 68. Ibid.,  61–​62. 69. Venice: San Lazzaro MS 887. See Evans, “Armenians,” in The Glory of Byzantium. Art and Culture of the Middle Byzantine Era A.D. 843–​1261 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1997), 350–​363 at 358. 70.  Thomas F.  Mathews and Anna-​Christine Daskalakis, “The Portrait of Princess Marem of Kars, Jerusalem 2556, fol. 135b,” in From Byzantium to Iran, ed. Mahé and Thomson, 475–​484. 71. Armenia Sacra, 190–​191, cat. 67. 72. See translation by James R. Russell in Thomas F. Mathews and Avedis K. Sanjian, Armenian Gospel Iconography:  The Tradition of the Glajor Gospel (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1990), 207–​11. 73. See Mathews, “Classic Phase,” 57–​58.

Chapter 4 1.  For a discussion and maps of Cilicia during the period of Armenian control, see Robert Hewsen, Armenia, 136–​141. 2. Three excellent historical studies of Armenian Cilicia are Claude Mutafian, L’Arménie du Levant (XIe-​XIVe siècle) (Paris:  Les Belles Lettres, 2012); Christopher MacEvitt, The Crusades and the Christian World of the East: Rough Tolerance (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008); and Gérard Dédéyan, Les Arméniens entre Grecs, Musulmans et Croisés: Étude sur les pouvoirs arméniens dans le Proche-​Orient méditerranéen (1068–​1150) (Lisbon:  Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, 2003). See also Armenian Cilicia, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian and Simon Payaslian (Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda, 2008). For Armenian-​Muslim relations during this period, see Seta B.  Dadoyan, The Armenians in the Medieval Islamic World, Paradigms of Interaction: Seventh to Fourteenth Centuries, vol. II: Armenian Realpolitik in the Islamic World and Diverging Paradigms (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 2013). 3. For brief but authoritative discussion of politics and culture in the Cilician kingdom, see Claude Mutafian, “La genèse du royaume d’Arménie en Cilicie (XIIe siècle)” and “La dernier royaume d’Arménie (1198–​1375),” in Armenia Sacra, 229–​233 and 234–​241 resp. 4. See Azat A. Bozoyan, “Les relations de l’Église arménienne avec les Églises jacobite, romaine, et byzantine (XIe–​XIVe siècle),” in Armenia Sacra, 248–​254. 5.  Robert W.  Edwards, The Fortifications of Armenian Cilicia (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1987). 6.  Edwards, Fortifications of Armenian Cilicia, 65–​ 72; Edwards, “Ecclesiastical Architecture in the Fortifications of Armenian Cilicia,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 36 (1982): 155–​176 at 156–​161; Edwards, “Second Report,” 123–​146 at 131–​132. See also Claudia Matoda, “Some Considerations of the Armenian Lapidary Lexicon at Anavarza,” Lraber Hasarakakan Gitut‘yuneri (2012/​1): 261–​266; and Matoda, “Le pietre di Anavarza: Alcune note sulla scultura ciliciana,” Rassegna armenisti italiani 13 (2012): 23–​28. 7. Edwards, “First Report,” 156. 8. Ibid.

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9. A small barrel-​vaulted chapel of uncertain date stood to the north of this structure. See Edwards, “Second Report,” 132–​134. 10. Edwards, “First Report,” 159; and Michael Gough, “Anazarbus,” Anatolian Studies 2 (1952): 85–​150. 11. Edwards, “First Report,” 157. 12. Ibid., 157. 13.  Ibid., 157; R.  Heberdey and A.  Wilhelm, “Reisen in Kilikien,” Denkschriften der Kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften in Wien (Philosophisch-​Historische Klasse) 44 (1896): 35–​37. 14. See Edwards, “First Report,” fig. 7, nos. a–​h. 15. Edwards, “Second Report,” 158. 16. Greenwood, “Corpus,” 27–​91 at 80–​81. 17. Ibid., 33–​34; Christina Maranci, “Performance and Church Exterior in Early Medieval Armenia,” in Visualizing Medieval Performance: Perspectives, Histories, Contexts, ed. Elina Gertsman (London: Ashgate, 2008), 17–​32. 18.  See, for example, Krikor Chahinian, “La littérature,” in Le Royaume arménien de Cilicie, 140–​146. 19.  The central reference for Cilician manuscript painting is Sirarpie Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting in the Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia from the Twelfth to Fourteenth Century (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1993), 2 vols. 20. See Sirarpie Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 23–​35. 21. Ibid.: 26. 22. Ibid.: 10–​11. 23. Ibid.: 5–​6. 24.  Helen Evans, “Armenian Art Looks West:  T‘oros Ṛoslin’s Zēyt‘un Gospels,” in Treasures in Heaven: Armenian Art, Religion, and Society, ed. Thomas F. Mathews and Roger S. Wieck (New York: Pierpont Morgan Library, 1998), 103–​114 at 104–​106. 25. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 6. 26. Evans, “Armenian Art Looks West,” 104. 27.  Helen C.  Evans, “Cilician Manuscript Illumination:  The Twelfth, Thirteenth, and Fourteenth Centuries,” in Treasures in Heaven: Armenian Illuminated Manuscripts, Thomson and Wieck, 66–​83 at 70. 28. Armenia Sacra, 264, cat. 113; Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 10–​13. 29. In older European sources, Het‘um is called “Haitho.” 30. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 13. 31. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, II: figs. 21–​24. 32. Armenia Sacra, 264; Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 12–​13. 33. See Ioanna Rapti, “Les images intérieures dans le Livre de Lamentation de Grégoire de Narek,” Revue théologique de Kaslik (USEK) 3–​4 (2009–​2010): 453–​471. 34.  Venice, Mekhitarist Library MS 1635. See Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 16–​21. 35. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 16. Before the Second World War, this manuscript was kept at the Armenian archbishopric in Lviv, now in the Ukraine, where there was a large Armenian settlement. The manuscript’s whereabouts were for a time unknown, but it was rediscovered in 1993 and since 2006 has been housed in the National Library of Warsaw.

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36. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 16. 37. Ibid.: 20 38. Ibid.: 21. 39. Ibid.: 36–​45. 40. Ibid.: 45–​46. 41. Ibid.: 45. For Robert Bedrosian’s English translation of the canons as preserved in the thirteenth-​century History of the Armenians by Kirakos Gandzakets‘i, see http://​rbedrosian. com/​kg10.htm#43 (accessed July 3, 2017). 42.  Bedrosian, History of the Armenians, chap.  41:  http://​rbedrosian.com/​kg10.htm#43 (accessed July 3, 2017). 43. Ibid., chap. 43: http://​rbedrosian.com/​kg10.htm#43 (accessed July 3, 2017). 44. Helen C. Evans, “Cilician Manuscript Illumination: The Twelfth, Thirteenth, and Fourteenth Centuries,” 73. See also Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 48–​50. The bibliography on this artist far exceeds what can be placed in a footnote. See in general the works of Levon Chookazsian, including “Remarks on the Portrait of Prince Lewon (Ms. Erevan 8321),” Revue des études arméniennes (1994–​1995): 299–​336; Chookazsian, “L’art occidental, l’art francais et la miniature arménienne du XIIIe siècle,” in L’Église arménienne entre Grecs et Latins, fin du XIe-​milieu du XVe siècle, ed. Isabel Augé and Gérard Dédéyan (Paris:  Geuthner, 2009); and Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 51–​76. 45. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 51. 46.  Ibid. See also Charles Dowsett, “Quelques ouvrages récents sur l’art médiéval arménien,” Cahiers de civilisation médiéval 16 (1973): 218. 47. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 51–​53. 48.  For this manuscript see ibid.:  53–​64; 74–​76; Armenia Sacra, 269, cat. 116; Ioanna Rapti, “Gloses prophétiques sur l‘évangile:  À propos de quelques manuscrits arméniens enluminés en Cilicie dans les années 1260,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 58 (2004): 119–​154; and Rapti, “Les voix de donateurs: Pages de dédicaces dans les manuscrits arméniens de Cilicie,” in Donation et donateurs dans le monde byzantine=Réalités byzantines 14, ed. Jean-​Michel Speiser and Élisabeth Yota (2012), 309–​326. 49. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 57. 50. Ibid. 51.  On this composition see also Levon Č‘ugaszyan (Chookaszian), “Cilician Book Painting: Miniatures of T‘oros Ṙoslin and Italian Art,” in The Fifth international Symposium on Armenian Art, Venice 1988 (Venice: San Lazzaro, 1991), 321–​332 at 325. 52. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 64. 53. Ibid.: 64. 54. Ibid.: 64. 55. Ibid.: 62–​63. 56.  Der Nersessian, Armenian Manuscripts in the Walters Art Gallery, 20–​22; see also Ioanna Rapti, “Le Jugement dernier arménien:  Réception et évolution d’une imagerie eschatologique médiévale,” Cahiers archéologiques 56 (2016): 95–​118 at 99–​102. 57. Levon Chookazsian, “On the full page illustrations of the ‘Last Judgement’ in the art of Armenian miniaturist of 13th century Toros Roslin,” in Logos im Dialogo: Auf der Suche nach der Orthodoxie; Gedenkschrift für Hermann Goltz (1946–​2010), ed. Anna Briskina-​ Müller, Armenuhi Drost-​Abgarjan, Axel Meißner (Berlin: LIT, 2011), 283–​302.

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58. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 77–​78. 59.  On Cilician royal portraiture, see ibid.:  154–​162; Levon Chookaszian, “The Five Portraits of King Levon II (1270–​1289) and Their Connections to the Art of Mediterranean Era,” in Medioevo: Immagini e ideologie=Atti di convegno internazionale di studi di Parma, 23–​27 settembre, 2002 (Milan:  Electa, 2005)  129–​137; and Ioanna Rapti, “Featuring the King:  Rituals of Coronation and Burial in the Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia,” in Court Ceremonies and Rituals of Power:  Comparative Perspectives, ed. Alexander Beihammer, Stavroula Constantinou, and Maria Parani (Leiden:  Brill, 2013), 291–​ 335, and Gohar Grigoryan, Royal Images of the Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia (1198–​1375) in the Context of Mediterranean Intercultural Exchange (Ph.D. diss., University of Freiburg, 2017). 60. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I:156. 61. Ibid. 62. See Rapti, “Featuring the King,” 326–​327. 63. See Rapti, “Featuring the King,” and Helen C. Evans, “Kings and Power Bases: Sources for Royal Portraits in Armenian Cilicia,” in From Byzantium to Iran, ed. Mahé and Thomson, 485–​507 at 492–​493. 64. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 156. 65.  The combination is found also in the imagery of other Levantine kingdoms at an earlier time. See Grigoryan, Royal Images, 131. 66. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 93–​125, esp. 97–​99. 67. Ibid.: 99. 68. Ibid.: 99. 69.  Dickran Kouymjian, “Chinese Elements in Armenian Miniature Painting in the Mongol Period,” in Armenian Studies/​Études arméniennes: In Memoriam Haig Berbérian, ed. Dickran Kouymjian (Lisbon: Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, 1986), 415–​468 at 461–​468. 70. Evans, “Cilician Manuscript Illumination,” 80. 71.  Florence:  Laurentian Library, Plut. VI.23. Der Nersessian, Armenian Miniatures, I: 169–​175; Armenia Sacra, 274–​275, cat. 119. 72. Armenia Sacra, 270–​272, cat. 117. 73.  See Dickran Kouymjian, “Chinese Elements,” and Dickran Kouymjian, “Chinese Motifs in Thirteenth-​Century Armenian Art:  The Mongol Connection,” in Beyond the Legacy of Genghis Khan, ed. Linda Komaroff (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 303–​324. 74.  Kouymjian, “Chinese Elements,” 453–​ 454, and Kouymjian, “Chinese Motifs,” 305–​306. 75.  Matthew Canepa, “Preface:  Theorizing Cross-​Cultural Interaction among Ancient and Early Medieval Cultures,” in Theorizing Cross-​Cultural Interaction among the Ancient and Early Medieval Mediterranean, Near East and Asia=Ars Orientalis 38 (2010): 7–​30, at 16–​17. 76. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 97–​98; 77.  Although the text has also been attributed to Yovhannēs Erznkats‘i, most scholars now consider Nersēs Shnorhali its author. See Thomas F.  Mathews and Avedis K. Sanjian, Armenian Gospel Iconography: The Tradition of the Glajor Gospel (Washington, DC:  Dumbarton Oaks, 1991), 169–​172; for the English translation, see James R.  Russell, “Two Interpretations of the Ten Canon Tables,” in Armenian Gospel Iconography, 207–​211. 78. Mathews and Sanjian, Armenian Gospel Iconography, 172–​173. 79. Der Nersessian, Miniature Painting, I: 142–​153. 80. Ibid.: 142.

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81. As noted by many, including Evans, “Cilician Manuscript Illumination,” 80–​81. 82. See Thomas F. Mathews, “L’art de la Cilicie: L’Arménie des croisades,” in Armenia Sacra, 261–​263; and 276–​277, cat. 120; 279–​280, cat. 122. 83.  See Helen C.  Evans, ed., Byzantium:  Faith and Power (1261–​ 1557) (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art and Yale University Press, 2004), 134–​135, cat. 71; Der Nersessian, “Le réliquaire de Skevra et l’orfèvrerie cilicienne aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles,” Revue des études arméniennes 1 (1964): 121–​147; reprinted (without the text inscriptions) in Études byzantines et arméniennes/​Byzantine and Armenian Studies, 705–​721. 84.  I  thank Gohar Grigoryan for this translation. On the identity of this Kostandin, now thought not to be the eponymous Catholicos but another person, see Grigoryan, Royal Images, 190–​192. 85. Der Nersessian, “Le réliquaire de Skevra,” 708. 86. Ibid., 712. 87. Ibid., 712.

Chapter 5 1. For the complex historical geography of this period see Hewsen, Armenia: A Historical Atlas, 127–​136; 142–​151. 2.  For a historical summary of this era, see Robert Bedrosian, “Armenia during the Seljuk and Mongol Periods,” in Armenian People from Ancient to Modern Times, I: 241–​272. 3. See Antony Eastmond, “Inscriptions and Authority at Ani,” in Der Doppeladler, ed. Neslihan Asutay-​Effenberger and Falko Daim (Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-​Germanischen Zentralmuseum, 2014), 71–​84. 4. Jean-​Michel Thierry and Nicole Thierry, L’Église de Saint-​Grégoire de Tigran Honenc‘ à Ani (1215) (Louvain: Peeters, 1993). 5. Ibid.,  71–​72. 6. For the zhamatun, see ibid., 74–​75. 7. Ibid.,  60–​62. 8. Viada A. Arutiunova-​Fidanian, “Les Arméniens chalcédoniens en tant que phénomène culturel de l’Orient chrétien,” in Atti del quinto simposio internazionale di arte armena, 463–​ 477 and Alexei Lidov, “L’art des arméniens chalcédoniens,” 479–​495; and Antony Eastmond, “ ‘Local’ Saints, Art, and Regional Identity in the Orthodox World after the Fourth Crusade,” Speculum 78/​3 (2003): 707–​749 at 738, n. 85. 9.  Thierry and Thierry, L’Église de Saint-​Grégoire, 104–​105; Jean-​Pierre Mahé, “Le testament de Tigran Honenc‘:  La fortune d’un marchand arménien d’Ani aux XIIe–​XIIIe siècles,” Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-​Lettres 145/​3 (2001): 1319–​1342. 10. Mahé, “Le testament de Tigran Honenc‘,” 1329. I thank Father Garabed Kochakian for discussing this issue with me. 11. Ibid., 1328. 12. Ibid. 13. See Thierry and Thierry, L’Église de Saint-​Grégoire,  93–​97. 14. See Antony Eastmond, “ ‘Local’ Saints,” at 741; Eastmond, “Art and Identity in the Thirteenth-​Century Caucasus,” in Art and Identity (Los Angeles: Grunebaum Center for Near Eastern Studies, University of California Los Angeles, 2000), 3–​40; and Veronica Kalas, “The

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Georgian Aspects of Medieval Architecture at Ani in the Thirteenth Century: The Church of Tigran Honents and the Mosque of Minuchir,” Georgian Arts in the Context of European and Asian Cultures, ed. Peter Skinner, Dimitri Tumanishvili, and Anna Shanshiashvili (Tbilisi: Georgia Arts and Cultural Center, 2009), 211–​216. 15. Mahé, “Le testament de Tigran Honenc‘,” 1337; Mattia Guidetti, “The ‘Islamicness’ of Some Decorative Patterns in the Church of Tigran Honents in Ani,” in Architecture and Landscape in Medieval Anatolia, 1100–​1500, ed. Patricia Blessing and Rachel Goshgarian (Edinburgh:  Edinburgh University Press, 2017). On caravanserais see Scott Redford, “Caravanserais and Commerce,” in Trade in Byzantium: Papers from the Third International Sevgi Gönül Byzantine Studies Symposium, ed. Paul Magdalino and Nevra Necipoğlu (Istanbul: ANAMED, 2016), 297–​312. 16. Kathryn Jane Frankl, “This World Is an Inn:” Cosmopolitanism and Caravan Trade in Late Medieval Armenia, Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 2014. 17. See Eastmond, “Inscriptions and Authority at Ani,” 77. 18. See Chapter 3 of this volume. 19.  See Ani Totoyan-​Baladian, “L’édifice à étoiles de la cathédrale d’Ani,” Revue des études arméniennes 31 (2008–​2009):  233–​243; Veronica Kalas, “The Georgian Aspects of Medieval Architecture at Ani in the Thirteenth Century:  The Church of Tigran Honents and the Mosque of Minuchir;” and Kalas and Yavuz Özkaya, “Art and Architecture at Ani in the Thirteenth Century: The Church of Tigran Honents and the Mosque of Minuchir,” in Georgian Arts in the Context of European and Asian Cultures, 211–​216. 20. For Mren, see Maranci, Vigilant Powers, 36–​39; for Hoṙomos, see Kazaryan, “The Architecture of Hoṙomos Monastery,” in Hoṙomos: Art and History, ed. Edda Vardanyan, 184–​205. 21. Armen Ghazarian [Kazaryan] and Robert Ousterhout, “A Muqarnas Drawing from Thirteenth-​Century Armenia and the Use of Architectural Drawings during the Middle Ages,” Muqarnas 18 (2001): 141–​154. 22. Patricia Blessing, Rebuilding Anatolia after the Mongol Conquest: Islamic Architecture in the Lands of Rūm, 1240–​1330 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014), 123–​163; and Oya Pancaroğlu, “The Mosque-​ Hospital Complex in Divriği:  A History of Relations and Transitions,” Anadolu ve Çevresinde Ortaçağ 3 (2009): 169–​198. 23. See also Antony Eastmond, Tamta’s World: The Life and Encounters of a Medieval Noblewoman from the Middle East to Mongolia (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2018). 24.  For monastic intellectual traditions, see Sergio La Porta, “Monasticism and the Construction of the Armenian Intellectual Tradition,” in Monasticism in Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Republics, ed. I. A. Murzaku (London and New York: Routledge, 2016), 332–​352. 25. See the extensive work of Nina G. Garsoïan, in particular Studies on the Formation of Christian Armenia=Variorum Collected Studies Series, 959 (Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2010). 26.  Nina Garsoïan, “Introduction to the Problem of Early Armenian Monasticism,” Revue des études arméniennes 30 (2005–​2007): 177–​236. 27. English-​language scholarship on this site is sparse, but includes Hakhpat=Documenti di architettura armena 1 (Milan:  Ares, 1968); the reader should consult also Jean-​Michel Thierry and Patrick Donabédian, Armenian Art (New York: Abrams, 1989), 534–​535; and Sirarpie Der Nersessian, Armenian Art (New York: Thames and Hudson, 1978), 169–​174.

228

Notes

28. See on the function of the zhamatun/​gavit‘, Michael Daniel Findikyan, “ ‘When the Householder Rises Up and Shuts the Door’ Յորմէ հետէ մտցէ տանուտէրն եւ փակեսցէ զդուռնն [Luke 13:25]: The Function of the Gawit‘ in Medieval Armenian Monasteries,” Proceedings of the Society of Oriental Liturgy, Etchmiadzin, Armenia, forthcoming. 29. See Christina Maranci, “Architectural Models in the Caucasus: Problems of Form, Function, and Meaning,” Architectural Models in Medieval Architecture, ed. Yannis D. Varalis (Thessaloniki: University Studio Press, 2008), 46–​52. 30. See G. Sokhashvili, Samtavisi: Masalebi tadzris istoriisatvis [Samtavisi: Materials on the History of the Monument] (Tbilisi: Tbilisi University Press, 1973). 31. Thierry and Donabédian, Armenian Art, 526. 32.  See Varazdat Harut‘yunyan, Makaravank‘=Documenti di architettura armena 22 (Milan: Oemme Edizioni, 1994). 33.  See Blessing, Rebuilding Anatolia after the Mongol Conquest; and Pancaroğlu, “Mosque-​Hospital Complex in Divriği.” 34.  See Amaghu-​Noravank‘=Documenti di architettura armena 14 (Milan:  Ares 1985); Thierry and Donabédian, Armenian Art, 478; and Der Nersessian, Armenian Art, 179–​187. 35.  See Donabédian, “Les particularités stylistiques d’un monument sculpté de Noravank‘ et sa datation,” Revue des études arméniennes 17 (1983):  395–​405; Sirarpie Der Nersessian, “Deux tympans sculptés arméniens datant de 1321,” Cahiers archéologiques 25 (1976):  109–​122; and Ioanna Rapti, “Displaying the Word:  Words as Visual Signs in the Armenian Architectural Decoration of the Monastery of Noravank‘ (Fourteenth Century),” in Viewing Inscriptions in the Late Antique and Medieval World, ed. Antony Eastmond (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 187–​204. 36. Rapti, “Displaying the Word.” 37. Personal communication from Nazénie Gharibian, September 2016. 38. Thierry and Donabédian, Armenian Art, 479. 39. See Blessing, Rebuilding Anatolia after the Mongol Conquest. 40. Ioanna Rapti, “Le Jugement dernier arménien: Réception et évolution d’une imagerie eschatologique médiévale,” Cahiers archéologiques 56 (2016): 95–​118 at 108. 41.  See Patrick Donabédian, “Le khatchkar (du XIIIe siècle aux temps modernes),” in Armenia Sacra, 310–​314. 42.  See Donabédian, “Le khatchkar,” 313; Armen Zarian and Herman Vahramian, Goshavank‘=Documenti 7 (Milan: Ares, 1982), 39. 43. Donabédian, “Le khatchkar,” 310–​311; Der Nersessian, Armenian Art, 197–​200. 44.  Mathews, “Vrt‘anēs K‘ert‘oł and the Early Theology of Images,” Revue des études arméniennes 31 (2008–​2009): 101–​126. 45. Der Nersessian, “Image Worship,” 405–​415 at 415. 46. Ibid. 47. See Eastmond, Tamta’s World, 77–​122; see also Rapti, “Le statut des images, 59–​74, at  72–​74. 48. Mathews and Sanjian, Armenian Gospel Iconography, 161. 49. See Der Nersessian, Armenian Art, 195–​197. 50. See Amaghu-​Noravank‘, 60, for the Armenian inscription. 51. For Areni, see Lilith Zakarian, “Les arts en Grande Arménie (XIIIe–​XVe siècle)” in Armenia Sacra, 323–​329 at 328.

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52.  On Armenian ceramics see Thierry and Donabédian, Armenian Art, 212–​213; Vrej Nersessian, Treasures from the Ark: 1700 Years of Armenian Christian Art (London: British Library, 2001), 144–​152; Armenian Ceramics, 9–​13th cc., Dvin and Ani, ed. Anelka Grigoryan and Iveta Mkrtchyan (Yerevan: Armenian History Museum, 2014.) 53. Grigoryan and Mkrtchyan, Armenian Ceramics, 17. 54. See, for example, ibid., 86. 55. See ibid., 71–​81. 56. See ibid., 110 57. Ibid., 86. 58. Ibid., 150. 59. Armenia Sacra, 211–​222, cats. 82–​96. 60. Ibid., 221, cat. 96. 61. Ibid., 331–​333, cat. 143. 62. Ibid., 331–​333. 63. Ibid., 332–​333. 64.  See Dickran Kouymjian’s summary:  https://​www.fresnostate.edu/​artshum/​armenian­ studies/​resources/​sculpture.html (accessed June 1, 2017); Manya Ghazarian, “Decorative Carved Doors of Medieval Armenia and Their Maintenance in Soviet Armenia,” in Atti del terzo simposio internazionale di arte armena, ed. Giulio Ieni and Gabriella Uluhogian (Venice: San Lazzaro, 1984), 187–​197. 65. See Armenia Sacra, 151, cat. 44. 66. See ibid., 224–​225, cats. 101–​102. 67. See ibid., 225. 68.  Avedis K.  Sanjian, “The Historical Setting,” in Thomas F.  Mathews and Avedis K. Sanjian, Armenian Gospel Iconography,  4–​32. 69.  Sergio La Porta, “Armeno-​ Latin Intellectual Exchange in the Fourteenth Century: Scholarly Traditions in Conversation and Competition,” Medieval Encounters 21/​ 2–​3 (2015): 269–​294. 70. See Armenia Sacra, 194–​195, cat. 69. 71. Slobodan Ćurčić, “Alexander’s Tomb: A Column or Tower?” in TO ELLHNIKON: Studies in Honor of Speros Vryonis, Jr., ed. J. Allen et al. (New Rochelle, NY: Caratzas, 1993), II:  25–​48. Armen Kazaryan, “The Architecture of the Hoṙomos Monastery,” in Hoṙomos Monastery: Art and History, 165. 72. Armenia Sacra, 196–​197, cat. 70. 73. Ibid., 196. 74.  Mathews and Sanjian, Armenian Gospel Iconography:  The Tradition of the Glajor Gospels. 75. Ibid.,  76–​85. 76. Ibid.,  86–​89. 77. Ibid., 138–​139. 78. Ibid., 158–​162. 79. Ibid., 158. 80. Ibid., 158–​162. 81. Ibid., 162. 82. Ibid., 159.

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83.  Edda Vardanyan, “Les manuscrits du Vaspourakan,” in Armenia Sacra, 340–​355 at 340. 84.  See Alice Taylor, “Armenian Illumination under Georgian, Turkish, and Mongol Rule,” in Treasures in Heaven: Armenian Illuminated Manuscripts, 84–​103, at 94–​103. 85. Vardanyan, “Les manuscrits du Vaspourakan,” 342. 86. Taylor, “Armenian Illumination,” 96. 87. Der Nersessian, Armenian Manuscripts in the Walters Art Gallery,  31–​44. 88. Taylor, “Armenian Illumination,” 100. 89. Der Nersessian, Armenian Manuscripts in the Walters Art Gallery, 38. 90. Taylor, “Armenian Illumination,” 100–​101. 91. Ibid., 100. 92.  Ibid., 100; and Taylor, “Armenian Art and Armenian Identity,” in Treasures in Heaven: Armenian Art, Religion, and Society, 133–​146 at 140. 93. Taylor, “Armenian Illumination,” 100. 94.  Edda Vardanyan, “Catalogue des manuscrits du peintre Minas,” Revue des études arméniennes 27 (1998–​2000): 359–​378. 95. Vardanyan, “Catalogue,” 359–​360. 96. Matenadaran MS 982. See Vardanyan, “Catalogue,” 367–​368. 97.  I  thank Robert Dulgarian for noticing the muskets in this image. For the hymnal, see Caroline Gralton McCune, “Guns and Roses:  The Battle of Avarayr Depicted in an Armenian Hymnal at the Boston Public Library,” paper presented at the UCLA Graduate Colloquia in Armenian Studies, February 24, 2017.

Chapter 6 1.  I  borrow this term from Amy S.  Landau, “Reconfiguring the Northern European Print to Depict Sacred History at the Persian Court,” in Mediating Netherlandish Art and Material Culture in Asia, ed. Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann and Michael North (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2014), 65–​82 at 65. 2. For maps and historical geography, see Hewsen, Armenia, 152–​171. 3. Smith, “Yerevan, My Ancient Erebuni,” 60. 4.  Sebouh Aslanian, From the Indian Ocean to the Mediterranean:  The Global Trade Networks of Armenian Merchants from New Julfa (Berkeley:  University of California Press, 2011). 5. For a general overview of the period, see Kevork Bardakjian, A Reference Guide to Modern Armenian Literature, 1500–​1920 (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2000), 23–​ 73; and Dickran Kouymjian, “Between Amsterdam and Constantinople:  The Impact of Printing on Armenian Culture,” Die Kunst der Armenier im östlichen Europa, ed. Marina Dmitrieva and Bálint Kovács (Cologne: Böhlau Verlag, 2014), 19–​26. 6. Ioanna Rapti, “Les arméniens hors d’Arménie (XIIIe–​XIVe siècle),” in Armenia Sacra, 281–​285. 7. Ibid. 8. Nira Stone, The Kaffa Lives of the Desert Fathers: A Study in Armenian Manuscript Illumination=Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium 566, Subsidia 94 (Louvain: Peeters, 1997). 9. Ibid., 98–​173.

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10. Ibid., 179–​184. 11. Helen Evans and Sylvie Merian, “The Final Centuries: Armenian Manuscripts of the Diaspora,” in Treasures in Heaven: Armenian Illuminated Manuscripts, 108–​112. 12. Ibid., 112. 13.  Christina Maranci, “Armenian Manuscript Illumination in Seventeenth-​ Century Constantinople,” Modern Greek Studies Yearbook 32–​33 (2016–​2017): 255–​270. 14.  See Sirarpie Der Nersessian, Armenian Manuscripts in the Freer Gallery of Art (Washington, DC: Smithsonian, 1963), 89–​102. 15. Ibid., 93–​94, n. 234. 16. Ibid.,  90–​91. 17. Ibid.,  94–​95. 18. Walters MS. 539, and particularly folio 6r. See http://​www.thedigitalwalters.org/​Data/​ WaltersManuscripts/​W539/​data/​W.539/​sap/​W539_​000017_​sap.jpg (accessed July 1, 2017). 19. Der Nersessian, Armenian Manuscripts in the Freer Gallery,  95–​96. 20. Ibid., 100–​101 and n. 150; Nersessian, Treasures from the Ark,  79–​82. 21. Der Nersessian, Armenian Manuscripts in the Freer Gallery, 127 (my translation). 22. Ibid., 114 (my translation). 23.  Tim Greenwood and Edda Vardanyan, Hakob’s Gospels:  The Life and Work of an Armenian Artist of the Sixteenth Century (London: Sam Fogg, 2006). 24. Ibid.,  13–​21. 25. Ibid.,  23–​74. 26. Der Nersessian, Armenian Art, 237. 27. Greenwood and Vardanyan, Hakob’s Gospels, 24, 29. 28. Ibid., 81. 29.  Der Nersessian, Armenian Art, 240; Greenwood and Vardanyan, Hakob’s Gospels, 25–​29. 30. Greenwood and Vardanyan, Hakob’s Gospels, 7. I thank Robert Dulgarian for this insight. 31.  William Ouseley (1767–​ 1842), in Sarah Pickman, “Tragedy on the Araxes,” Archaeology, online feature, June 30, 2006, http://​archive.archaeology.org/​online/​features/​ djulfa/​(accessed June 3, 2017). 32.  See Dickran Kouymjian, “Architecture et sculpture, les derniers feux,” in Armenia Sacra, 366–​371; Jurgis Baltrušaitis and Dickran Kouymjian, “Julfa on the Arax and Its Funerary Monuments,” in Armenian Studies/​ Études arméniennes:  In Memoriam Haïg Berbérian (Lisbon:  Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, 1986), 9–​ 53. Mourad Hasratian, “L’art des Khatchkars de l’école de Djougha,” Oriente Moderno 81/​2–​3 (2001): 351–​355. For further bibliography, photographs, and discussion, see https://​julfaproject.wordpress.com (accessed June 3, 2017); Haroutioun Khatchadourian and Michel Basmadjian, “Corpus des xač‘k‘ar:  Essai d’analyse formelle des sites d’Isphahan et de Jérusalem,” Revue des études arméniennes 30 (2005–​2007): 439–​478. 33. See Khatchkar= Documenti di architettura armena 2 (Milan: Ares, 1977) 60–​61, figs. 58–​59; Armen Manoukian and Giulio Ieni, Miniatures arméniennes et Khatchkars (Croix en Pierre) (Marseille: Chamber of Commerce, 1982), fig. 51; and Ēchmiatsni Gandzer/​Treasures of Etchmiadzin (Etchmiadzin: Holy See, 1984), unpaginated. 34. Why and when such tombstones were chosen rather than typical khach‘k‘ars remains uncertain.

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35. Baltrušaitis and Kouymjian, “Julfa on the Arax,” 37–​44. 36. See Grigoryan, Ani: The Millennial Capital of Armenia, 166–​167. 37. See Epic Histories, 552–​553. 38. See Doswett, History of the Caucasian Albanians by Movses Dasxuranc‘i. 39. Arzoumanian, History of Armenia by Ukhtanes of Sebastia,  85–​86. 40. Armenia Sacra, 364–​365, cat. 157. 41. Ibid., 365. 42. See, for example, c­ hapter 14 of Kirakos Gandzakets‘i’s History of the Armenians, trans. Robert Bedrosian at http://​rbedrosian.com/​kg10.htm#43 (accessed July 3, 2017). 43. Ronald T. Marchese and Marlene R. Breu, Splendor and Pageantry: Textile Treasures from the Armenian Churches of Istanbul (Istanbul: Çitlembik/​Nettleberry Publications, 2010), 284–​301. 44. Ibid., 194–​263. 45. Ibid., 264–​283. 46. Ibid., 229–​234. 47. Ibid., 122–​123, figs. 73–​74. 48. Ibid.,  26–​27. 49. On Armenian bindings in general, see Sylvie L. Merian, The Structure of Armenian Bookbinding and Its Relation to Near Eastern Bookmaking Traditions, Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1993; Merian et  al., “Making of an Armenian Manuscript,” 124–​134; Sylvie L. Merian, “The Characteristics of Armenian Medieval Bindings,” in Care and Conservation of Manuscripts, 10: Proceedings of the Tenth International Seminar held at the University of Copenhagen 19–​20 October 2006 (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2008), 89–​107; Evans and Merian, “The Final Centuries,” 115–​123. For Kayseri silver bindings, see Merian, “The Armenian Silversmiths of Kesaria/​Kayseri in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,” in Armenian Kesaria/​Kayseri and Cappadocia=UCLA Armenian History and Culture Series 12, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian (Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Press, 2013), 117–​185. 50. Evans and Merian, “Final Centuries,” 115–​116. 51. Ibid., 115. 52.  See Thomson and Wieck, Treasures in Heaven:  Armenian Illuminated Manuscripts, 156, cat. 15. 53. Ibid. 54. I thank Whitney Kite for this observation. 55. Evans and Merian, “Final Centuries,” 121. 56. Oskan Bible, 198 (second pagination). See Treasures in Heaven: Armenian Illuminated Manuscripts, 156, cat. 15. 57. Evans and Merian, “Final Centuries,” 121. 58.  See Dickran Kouymjian, “The Role of Armenian Potters of Kutahia in the Ottoman Ceramic Industry,” in Armenian Communities in Asia Minor, UCLA Armenian History and Culture Series 13, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian (Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Press, 2014), 107–​130; John Carswell and Charles J. F. Dowsett, Kütahya Tiles and Pottery from the Armenian Cathedral of St. James, Jerusalem (Oxford:  Clarendon, 1972, repr. Antelias: Catholicosate of the Great House of Sis and Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, 2005); Yolande Crowe, “Kütahya Ceramics and International Armenian Trade Networks,” V&A Online Journal 3 (2011) at http://​www.vam.ac.uk/​content/​journals/​research-​journal/​ issue-​03/​kutahya-​ceramics-​and-​international-​armenian-​trade-​networks/​ (accessed June

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3, 2017); Amy S. Landau, “Ceramics,” in A Legacy of Armenian Treasures: Testimony to a People, ed. Edmond Y.  Azadian and Sylvie L.  Merian (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 2013), 69–​93. 59. Carswell and Dowsett, Kütahya Tiles and Pottery, II: 14–​15. 60. Ibid.: 4–​12. 61. Crowe, “Kütahya Ceramics and International Armenian Trade Networks.” 62. Carswell and Dowsett, Kütahya Tiles and Pottery, II: 63–​69. 63. Crowe, “Kütahya Ceramics and International Armenian Trade Networks.” 64. Ibid. 65. Carswell and Dowsett, Kütahya Tiles and Pottery, I: 12–​26. 66. Carswell and Dowsett, Kütahya Tiles and Pottery, II: 107. 67. Carswell and Dowsett Kütahya Tiles and Pottery, I, : plate 7, fig. B19; I: 45. 68. Ibid.: 23. 69. Ibid.: 45. For “Istanbol” the tile reads “Իստանպոլ.” 70. Dickran Kouymjian, “Architecture et sculpture, les derniers feux,” in Armenia Sacra, 366–​371. 71.  Varazdat Harut‘yunyan, Haykakan Chartarapetut‘yan Patmut‘yun (Erevan:  Luys, 1992), 374–​376. 72. Dickran Kouymjian, “Architecture et sculpture, les derniers feux,” 368–​369. 73.  See Surb Stephanos=Documenti di architettura armena 10 (Milan:  Ares, 1980); Sirarpie Der Nersessian, Armenian Art, 244; Thierry and Donabédian, Armenian Art, 513. 74. See Surb Stephanos, 18–​19; 54 for a chronology. 75. See ibid., 8–​9. 76. See ibid., 9. 77. See ibid., 10–​14. 78. On the history of the Armenians of New Julfa, see Aslanian, From the Indian Ocean to the Mediterranean; Ina Baghdiantz McCabe, The Shah’s Silk for Europe’s Silver: The Eurasian Trade of the Julfa Armenians in Safavid Iran and India (1530–​1750) (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999); Sussan Babaie, “Armenian Merchants and Slaves,” in Slaves of the Shah: New Elites of Safavid Iran, ed. Kathryn Babayan, Sussan Babaie, Ina Baghdiantz-​McCabe, Massumeh Farhad (London: I. B. Tauris, 2004), 49–​79. 79. See Amy S. Landau, “European Religious Iconography in Safavid Iran: Decoration and Patronage of Meydani Bet‘ghehem (Bethlehem of the Maydan),” in Iran and the World in the Safavid Age, ed. Willem Floor and Edmund Herzig (London: I. B. Tauris, 2009), 425–​446. 80. See Amy Landau and Theo Maarten van Lint, “Armenian Merchant Patronage of New Julfa’s Sacred Spaces,” in Sacred Precincts: The Religious Architecture of Non-​Muslim Communities, ed. Gharipour Mohammad (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 308–​333. 81. For a survey of these churches, see John Carswell, New Julfa: The Armenian Churches and Other Buildings (Oxford:  Clarendon, 1968); Nor Djulfa=Documenti di architettura armena 21 (Venice: Oemme Edizioni, 1991). 82.  See Landau, “European Religious Iconography,” 425–​446; Landau and van Lint, “Armenian Merchant Patronage,” 324–​328; Carswell, New Julfa. 83. Carswell, New Julfa, 50–​51; Landau, “European Religious Iconography;” Landau and van Lint, “Armenian Merchant Patronage,” 324–​328. 84. Landau, “European Religious Iconography,” 428–​429.

234

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85. Landau, “European Religious Iconography”; Sarah (Sayeh) Laporte-​Eftekharian, “Diffusion et exploitation des gravures religieuses dans la Perse safavide,” Annales d’Histoire de l’art et d’archéologie 25 (2003): 51–​67. 86. Landau, “European Religious Iconography,” 429. 87. Ibid., 439. 88.  Amy Landau, Farangi-​Sazi at Isfahan:  The Court Painter Muhammad Zaman, The Armenians of New Julfa and Shah Sulayman, Ph.D. diss., Oxford, 2007; Ani Babaian, Mutual Influences:  New Julfa and Isfahan Mural Paintings in the 17th Century (Erevan:  National Academy of Science of Armenia, 2006) (in Armenian). 89. Landau and van Lint, “Armenian Merchant Patronage,” 339. 90. See Amy Landau, “From the Workshops of New Julfa to the Court of Tsar Aleksei Mikhailovich: An Initial Look at Armenian Networks and the Mobility of Visual Culture,” in Metalwork and Material Culture in the Islamic World:  Art, Craft, and Text, ed. Venetia Porter and Mariam Rosser-​Owen (London: I. B. Tauris, 2012), 413–​426. 91. Simon Payaslian, The History of Armenia (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2007), 109.

Chapter 7 1.  Kevork Bardakjian, A  Reference Guide to Modern Armenian Literature, 1500–​1920 (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2000). 2. Ibid., 28. 3. For an English-​language biography of T‘oramanyan, see Christina Maranci, Medieval Armenian Architecture: Constructions of Race and Nation (Louvain: Peeters, 2001), 40–​71. 4. See Hasan Kuruyazıcı, ed., Armenian Architects of Istanbul in the Era of Westernization (Istanbul: Hrant Dink Foundation, 2010). 5. See Shahen Khachaturian, The Color of Pain: The Reflection of the Armenian Genocide in Armenian Painting (Yerevan: Printinfo Publishing House, 2010). 6.  For the ways in which Armenian artists in the late Soviet and post-​ Soviet era negotiated, and responded to, their immediate political conditions, see Angela Harutyunyan, The Political Aesthetics of the Armenian Avant-​Garde: The Journey of the “Painterly Real,” 1987–​2004 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2017). 7.  For this correspondence, see Karlen Mooradian, Arshile Gorky Adoian (Chicago: Gilgamesh Press, 1978), 285–​294; on Gorky see Kim S. Theriault, Rethinking Arshile Gorky (University Park:  Pennsylvania State University Press, 2009); Peter Balakian, “Arshile Gorky: From the Armenian Genocide to the Avant-​Garde,” in Vise and Shadow: Essays on the Lyric Imagination, Poetry, Art, and Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015). 8. See Armenity, ed. Adelina Cüberyan von Fürstenberg (Milan: Skira, 2015); see also http://​www.armenity.net (accessed June 4, 2017). 9. Armenity,  80–​83. 10. Ibid., 40–​43;  48–​51. 11. Adam T. Smith, “Yerevan, My Ancient Erebuni,” in The Archaeology of Power and Politics in Eurasia: Regimes and Revolutions, ed. Charles W. Hartley, G. Bike Yazıcıoğlu, and Adam T. Smith (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 57–​77 at 63. 12. Ibid., 63. 13. Ibid., 65. 14. Ibid., 68.

Notes

235

15. Ibid., 63. 16.  For the Hill Museum and Manuscript Library, see http://​www.hmml.org and also https://​hmmlorientalia.wordpress.com (accessed March 5, 2018). 17.  See Heghnar Watenpaugh, The Missing Pages:  The Modern Life of a Medieval Manuscript, from Genocide to Justice (Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press, 2019). 18. Erin Piñon, “Quarried, Carved, and Commemorated: The Armenian Khatchk‘ar as Deposit of Genocidal Trauma,” paper delivered at the International Armenian Genocide Symposium, Yerevan, July 11, 2015. 19. See Heghnar Watenpaugh, “Preserving the Medieval City of Ani:  Cultural Heritage between Contest and Reconciliation,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 73/​4 (2014): 528–​555 at 544; and Gregory Areshian, “Identities and Conflicts in and around a ‘Silk Road’ City,” in The Essence of Anthropology, ed. William A. Haviland, Harald Prins, Dana Walrath, and Bunny McBride (Boston: Cengage, 2016, 4th ed.), 136–​138. 20. Watenpaugh, “Preserving the Medieval City,” 532. 21. Ibid., 534. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid., 536. 26. Ibid., 535. 27. Ibid., 535–​536. 28. Ibid., 545. 29. Peter Balakian, “Raphael Lemkin, Cultural Destruction, and the Armenian Genocide,” Holocaust and Genocide Studies 27/​1 (2013): 57–​89. 30. Ibid.,  68–​69. 31. Ibid., 83. 32. Watenpaugh, “Preserving the Medieval City,” 536–​537. 33. Ibid., 538. 34.  Ibid., 539–​542; Veronica Kalas, “The Georgian Aspects of Medieval Architecture at Ani in the Thirteenth Century:  The Church of Tigran Honents and the Mosque of Minuchir,” Georgian Arts in the Context of European and Asian Cultures, ed. D. Tumanishvili, et. al. (Tbilisi: Georgia Arts and Cultural Center, 2009), 211–​216; Ani in Context: Workshop, September 28–​October 5, 2013, Kars, Turkey, ed. Carsten Paludan-​Müller (New York: World Monuments Fund, 2015). 35. Watenpaugh, “Preserving the Medieval City,” 530 36. Ibid., 546. 37. Raffi K‘ort‘oshyan, “What is Concealed in the Turkish Signs on Western Armenian Historical Monuments?” Vardzk‘: Duty of Soul 4 (2011): 1–​12 (in Armenian). 38. See previous discussions and the bibliography for citations of these scholars’ work. 39. Armen Hakhnazarian, Julfa: The Annihilation of Armenian Cemetery by Nakhichevan’s Azerbaijani Authorities=Report by Research on Armenian Architecture (Beirut: “Photogravure Zaven & Fils,” 2006); Rouben Galichian, The Invention of History: Azerbaijan, Armenia and the Showcasing of Imagination (Yerevan: Printinfo Books, 2009, reprinted London: Gomidas Institute, 2010); Argam Ayvazyan, The Symphony of the Destroyed Jugha Khatchkars (Yerevan: A. Ayvazian, 2007).

236

Notes

40. For a history of this region and its conflicts, see Thomas de Waal, Black Garden: Armenia and Azerbaijan through Peace and War (New York: New York University Press, rev. ed, 2013). 41. Pickman, “Tragedy on the Araxes. 42. https://​www.aaas.org/​page/​high-​resolution-​satellite-​imagery-​and-​destruction-​cultural-​ artifacts-​nakhchivan-​azerbaijan (accessed June 4, 2017); see also Pickman, “Tragedy on the Araxes.” 43. Pickman, “Tragedy on the Araxes.” 44. Hakhnazarian, Julfa:  The Annihilation of Armenian Cemetery by Nakhichevan’s Azerbaijani Authorities. 45. https://​julfaproject.wordpress.com (accessed June 4, 2017).

{ SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY } This bibliography presents only a very limited selection of the citations in the footnotes; for a complete version, see the companion website to this book, and also by this author, “Armenian Art” in Oxford Bibliographies Online.

General Armenia Sacra: Mémoire chrétienne des Arméniens (IVe–​XVIIIe siècle). Edited by Jannic Durand, Ioanna Rapti, and Dorota Giovannoni. Paris: Louvre, 2007. Armenian Ceramics, 9—​ 13th cc, Dvin, Ani. Edited by Anelka Grigoryan and Iveta Mkrtchyan. Yerevan: Armenian History Museum, 2014. Armenian Communities in Asia Minor=UCLA Armenian History and Culture Series 13. Edited by Richard G. Hovannisian. Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda, 2014. Armenian Folk Arts, Culture, and Identity. Edited by Levon Abrahamian, Nancy Sweezy, and Sam Sweezy. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001. Armenian Kesaria/​Kayseri and Cappadocia=UCLA Armenian History and Culture Series 12. Edited by Richard Hovannisian. Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda, 2013. Der Nersessian, Sirarpie. Armenian Manuscripts in the Freer Gallery of Art. Washington, DC: Smithsonian, 1963. Der Nersessian, Sirarpie. Armenian Manuscripts in the Walters Art Gallery. Baltimore: Trustees of the Walters Art Gallery, 1973. Der Nersessian, Sirarpie. Études byzantines et arméniennes/​Byzantine and Armenian Studies. Louvain: Imprimerie Orientaliste, 1973. Der Nersessian, Sirarpie. Armenian Art. New York: Thames and Hudson, 1978. Documenti di architettura armena. 23 vols. Milan: Ares, 1968–​1998. Ēchmiatsni Gandzer/​Treasures of Ēchmiatsin. Etchmiatsin: Holy See, 1984. From Byzantium to Iran: Armenian Studies in Honour of Nina G. Garsoïan. Edited by Jean-​ Pierre Mahé and Robert W. Thomson. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997. Hewsen, Robert H.  Armenia:  A Historical Atlas. Chicago:  University of Chicago Press, 2001. A Legacy of Armenian Treasures: Testimony to a People. Edited by Edmond Y. Azadian and Sylvie Merian. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2013. Maranci, Christina. Medieval Armenian Architecture:  Constructions of Race and Nation, Louvain: Peeters, 2001. Mathews, Thomas F.  Art and Architecture in Byzantium and Armenia:  Liturgical and Exegetical Approaches. Aldershot: Variorum, 1995. Merian, Sylvie L.  “The Structure of Armenian Bookbinding and Its Relation to Near Eastern Bookmaking Traditions.” Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1993. Sinclair, Thomas. Eastern Turkey:  An Architectural and Archaeological Survey. London: Pindar Press, 1987.

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Thierry, Jean-​Michel and Patrick Donabédian. Armenian Art. New York: Abrams, 1989. Thomson, Robert W. “Architectural Symbolism in Classical Armenian Literature.” Journal of Theological Studies 30/​1 (1979): 102–​114. Treasures in Heaven: Armenian Art, Religion, and Society. Edited by Thomas F. Mathews and Roger S. Wieck. New York: Pierpont Morgan Library, 1998. Treasures in Heaven:  Armenian Illuminated Manuscripts. Edited by Thomas F.  Mathews and Roger S.  Wieck. New  York and Princeton:  The Pierpont Morgan Library and Princeton University Press, 1994.

Chapter 1 Archaeology of Armenia in Regional Context: Proceedings of the International Conference Dedicated to the 50th Anniversary of the Institute of Archaeology and Ethnography. Edited by Pavel Avetisyan and Arsen Bobokhyan. Yerevan: Gitut‘yun, 2012. Arménie: Trésors de l’arménie ancienne. Edited by Jacques Santrot. Paris: Somogy, 1996. Canepa, Matthew. The Iranian Expanse: Transforming Royal Identity through Architecture, Landscape, and the Built Environment, 550 BCE–​ 642 CE. Berkeley:  University of California Press, 2018. Khatchadourian, Lori. Imperial Matter:  Ancient Persia and the Archaeology of Empires. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016. Khatchadourian, Lori. “Unforgettable Landscapes: Attachments to the Past in Hellenistic Armenia.” In Negotiating the Past in the Past:  Identity, Memory, and Landscape in Archaeological Research. Edited by Norman Yoffee, 43–​ 75. Tucson:  University of Arizona Press, 2008. Kohl, Phillip. The Making of Bronze Age Eurasia. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2007. Russell, James R.  Zoroastrianism in Armenia. Cambridge, MA:  Harvard University, Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations, 1987. Smith, Adam T. The Political Machine: Assembling Sovereignty in the Bronze Age Caucasus. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2015. Wilkinson, R. “A Fresh Look at the Ionic building at Garni.” Revue des études arméniennes 16 (1982): 221–​244. Zimansky, Paul. “Urartian Material Culture as State Assemblage:  An Anomaly in the Archaeology of Empire.” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 299–​ 300 (1995): 103–​115.

Chapter 2 Donabédian, Patrick. L’âge d’or de l’architecture arménienne. Marseille: Parenthèses, 2008. Evans, Helen. “Non-​ Classical Sources for the Armenian Mosaic near the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem.” In East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period, 217–​222. Edited by N.  Garsoïan, T.  F. Mathews, and R.  W. Thomson. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1982. Garsoïan, Nina G. Armenia between Byzantium and the Sasanians. London: Variorum, 1985. Garsoïan, Nina G. Studies on the Formation of Christian Armenia. Farnham and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2010.

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Gharibian, Nazénie de Vartavan. La Jérusalem Nouvelle et les premiers sanctuaires chrétiens de l’arménie. Yerevan: Isis Pharia, 2009. Greenwood, Timothy. “A Corpus of Early Medieval Armenian Inscriptions.” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 58 (2004): 27–​91. Maranci, Christina. Vigilant Powers:  Three Churches of Early Medieval Armenia. Turnhout: Brepols, 2015. Mathews, Thomas F. “The Early Iconographic Program of the Ejmiacin Gospel (Erevan, Matenadaran MS 2374, olim 229).” In East of Byzantium:  Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period. Edited by N. Garsoïan, T. F. Mathews, and R. W. Thomson, 119–​215. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1982. Mathews, Thomas F.  “Vrt‘anēs K‘ert‘oł and the Early Theology of Images.” Revue des études arméniennes 31 (2008): 101–​126.

Chapter 3 Ani:  The Millennial Capital of Armenia. Edited by Anelka Grigoryan. Yerevan:  History Museum of Armenia, 2015. Ani: World Architectural Heritage of a Medieval Armenian Capital. Edited by Peter S. Cowe. Leuven: Peeters, 2001. Armenian Kars and Ani. UCLA Armenian History and Culture Series 10. Edited by Richard G. Hovhannisian. Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda, 2011. Der Nersessian, Sirarpie. Aght‘amar:  The Church of the Holy Cross. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1965. Hoṙomos Monastery: Art and History. Edited by Edda Vardanyan. Paris: Centre d’histoire et civilization, 2015. Jones, Lynn. Between Byzantium and Islam:  Aght‘amar and the Visual Construction of Medieval Armenian Rulership. London: Ashgate, 2006. Kazaryan, Armen. “The Classical Trend of the Architectural School of Ani.” In A Handbook to the Classical Reception in Eastern and Central Europe. Edited by Zara Martirosova Torlone, Dana LaCourse Munteanu, and Dorota Dutsch, 528–​ 540. Malden, MA: Wiley, 2017. Maranci, Christina. “The Architect Trdat: Building Practices and Cross-​Cultural Exchange in Byzantium and Armenia.” Journal for the Society of Architectural Historians 62/​3 (2003): 294–​305. Mnats‘akanyan, Step‘an. Aght‘amar. Trans. Krikor Maksoudian. Los Angeles:  Éditions Erebouni, 1986.

Chapter 4 Armenian Cilicia. UCLA Armenian History and Culture Series 7.  Edited by Richard G. Hovannisian and Simon Payaslian. Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda, 2008. Chookazsian, Levon. “On the full page illustrations of the ‘Last Judgement’ in the art of Armenian miniaturist of 13th century Toros Roslin.” In Logos im Dialogo: Auf der Suche nach der Orthodoxie; Gedenkschrift für Hermann Goltz (1946–​2010). Edited by Anna Briskina-​Müller, Armenuhi Drost-​Abgarjan, and Axel Meißner, 283–​302. Berlin: LIT, 2011.

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Dédéyan, Gérard. Les Arméniens entre Grecs, Musulmans et Croisés: Étude sur les pouvoirs arméniens dans le Proche-​ Orient méditerranéen (1068–​ 1150). Lisbon:  Gulbenkian Foundation, 2003. Der Nersessian, Sirarpie. Miniature Painting in the Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia from the Twelfth to Fourteenth Century. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1993. Edwards, Robert W. The Fortifications of Armenian Cilicia. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1987. L’Église arménienne entre Grecs et Latins fin du XIe—​milieu du XVe siècle. Edited by Isabelle Augé and Gérard Dédéyan. Paris: Geuthner, 2009. Kouymjian, Dickran. “Chinese Motifs in Thirteenth-​Century Armenian Art: The Mongol Connection.” In Beyond the Legacy of Genghis Khan. Edited by Linda Komaroff, 303–​ 324. Leiden: Brill, 2013. MacEvitt, Christopher. The Crusades and the Christian World of the East: Rough Tolerance. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008. Mutafian, Claude. L’Arménie du Levant (XIe–​XIVe–​siècle). Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2012. Rapti, Ioanna. “Featuring the King: Rituals of Coronation and Burial in the Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia.” In Court Ceremonies and Rituals of Power:  Comparative Perspectives. Edited by Alexander Beihammer, Stavroula Constantinou, and Maria Parani, 291–​335. Leiden: Brill, 2013.

Chapter 5 Blessing, Patricia. Rebuilding Anatolia after the Mongol Conquest: Islamic Architecture in the Lands of Rūm, 1240–​1330. Farnham: Ashgate, 2014. Eastmond, Antony. “Inscriptions and Authority at Ani.” In Der Doppeladler: Byzanz und die Seldschuken in Anatolien vom späten 11. bis zum 13. Jahrhundert. Edited by Neslihan Asutay-​Effenberger and Falko Daim, 71–​84. Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-​Germanischen Zentralmuseum, 2014. Eastmond, Antony. Tamta’s World:  The Life and Encounters of a Medieval Noblewoman from the Middle East to Mongolia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018. Ghazarian (Kazaryan), Armen, and Robert Ousterhout. “A Muqarnas Drawing from Thirteenth-​Century Armenia and the Use of Architectural Drawings during the Middle Ages.” Muqarnas 18 (2001): 141–​154. La Porta, Sergio. “Monasticism and the Construction of the Armenian Intellectual Tradition.” In Monasticism in Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Republics. Edited by I. A. Murzaku, 332–​352. London and New York: Routledge, 2016. Mahé, Jean-​Pierre. “Le testament de Tigran Honenc‘: La fortune d’un marchand arménien d’Ani aux XIIe–​XIIIe siècles.” Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-​Lettres 145/​3 (2001): 1319–​1342. Mathews, Thomas F., and Avedis K. Sanjian. Armenian Gospel Iconography: The Tradition of the Glajor Gospel. Washington, DC:  Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1991. Rapti, Ioanna. “Displaying the Word: Words as Visual Signs in the Armenian Architectural Decoration of the Monastery of Noravank‘ (Fourteenth Century).” In Viewing Inscriptions in the Late Antique and Medieval World. Edited by Antony Eastmond, 187–​ 204. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015.

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Thierry, Jean-​Michel, and Nicole Thierry. L‘Église de Saint-​Grégoire de Tigran Honenc‘ à Ani (1215). Louvain: Peeters, 1993. Vardanyan, Edda. “Catalogue des manuscrits du peintre Minas.” Revue des études arméniennes 27 (1998–​2000): 359–​378.

Chapter 6 Aslanian, Sebouh. From the Indian Ocean to the Mediterranean: The Global Trade Networks of Armenian Merchants from New Julfa. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011. Baltrušaitis, Jurgis, and Dickran Kouymjian. “Julfa on the Arax and Its Funerary Monuments.” In Armenian Studies/​Études arméniennes: In Memoriam Haïg Berbérian. Edited by Dickran Kouymjian, 9–​53. Lisbon: Gulbenkian Foundation, 1986 Carswell, John. New Julfa:  The Armenian Churches and Other Buildings. Oxford: Clarendon, 1968. Carswell, John, and Charles J. F. Dowsett. Kütahya Tiles and Pottery from the Armenian Cathedral of St. James, Jerusalem. Antelias, Lebanon:  Catholicosate of the Great House of Sis and Gulbenkian Foundation, 2005. Originally published in Oxford: Clarendon, 1972. Greenwood, Tim, and Edda Vardanyan. Hakob’s Gospels:  The Life and Work of an Armenian Artist of the Sixteenth Century. London: Sam Fogg, 2006. Kalas, Veronica, and Yavuz Özkaya. “Art and Architecture at Ani in the Thirteenth Century: The Church of Tigran Honents and the Mosque of Minuchir.” In Georgian Arts in the Context of European and Asian Cultures. Edited by Peter Skinner, Dimitri Tumanishvili, and Anna Shanshiashvili, 211–​216. Tbilisi:  Georgia Arts and Cultural Center, 2009. Landau, Amy S.  “European Religious Iconography in Safavid Iran:  Decoration and Patronage of Meydani Bet‘ghehem (Bethlehem of the Maydan).” In Iran and the World in the Safavid Age. Edited by Willem Floor and Edmund Herzig, 425–​446. London: I. B. Tauris, 2009. Landau, Amy, and Theo Maarten Van Lint. “Armenian Merchant Patronage of New Julfa’s Sacred Spaces.” In Sacred Precincts: The Religious Architecture of Non-​Muslim Communities. Edited by Gharipour Mohammad, 308–​333. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Marchese, Ronald T., and Marlene R. Breu, Splendor and Pageantry: Textile Treasures from the Armenian Churches of Istanbul. Istanbul: Çitlembik/​Nettleberry Publications, 2010. McCabe, Ina Baghdiantz. The Shah’s Silk for Europe’s Silver: The Eurasian Trade of the Julfa Armenians in Safavid Iran and India (1530–​1750). Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999. Stone, Nira. The Kaffa Lives of the Desert Fathers:  A Study in Armenian Manuscript Illumination=Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium 566, Subsidia 94. Louvain: Peeters, 1997.

Chapter 7 Armenian Architects of Istanbul in the Era of Westernization. Edited by Hasan Kuruyazıcı. Istanbul: Hrant Dink Foundation, 2010. Armenity/​Hayut‘yun. Edited by Adelina Cüberyan von Fürstenberg. Milan: Skira, 2015.

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Balakian, Peter. “Raphael Lemkin, Cultural Destruction, and the Armenian Genocide.” Holocaust and Genocide Studies 27/​1 (2013): 57–​89. Smith, Adam T. “Yerevan, My Ancient Erebuni.” In The Archaeology of Power and Politics in Eurasia: Regimes and Revolutions. Edited by Charles W. Hartley, G. Bike Yazıcıoğlu, and Adam T. Smith, 57–​77. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Theriault, Kim S. Rethinking Arshile Gorky. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2009. Watenpaugh, Heghnar. “Preserving the Medieval City of Ani: Cultural Heritage between Contest and Reconciliation.” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 73/​4 (2014): 528–​555.

{ INDEX } Figures are indicated by an italic f following the page/​paragraph number. Abbas, Shah (Safavid), 167–​68, 179 Abbasids, 56, 70, 92 art of the, 56, 68–​69, 77, 80–​81, 88–​89, 91 ‘Abd al–​Malik, 45 Abdul Hamid, Sultan, 198 Abdülaziz, Sultan, 199 Abgar Tohats‘i, ​169 Abgar, King, 52 Ablgharib Pahlavuni, 65–​66 Abraham, vardapet of Thekirdag, 188 Achaemenids,  17–​21 Achaemenid era, art of the, 2, 11–​12, 17–​21, 22 Achilles, 28 acroteria, 27, 137 Adam, images of, 70–​71, 110, 1​47, 159, 177, 180 Adana, 104, 124 Adoration of the Magi, imagery of, 49–​51, 78, 166 Agat‘angeghos, 30–​31, 55 Aghds‘k‘, tomb complex of, 31–​32, 33–​34 Aght‘amar church of, 220 n30, 56, 69–​73, 82, 200 Patriarchate of, 160, 168 restoration of, 203 sculptural program, 70–​71, 72, 112–​13, 132–​33,  161 wall painting 71–​72 Aghuank‘. See Caucasian Albania Ak Koyunlu, 127–​28 Akhurean River, 22–​23, 37, 57–​58, 59–​60, 67, 129 Aknashen, 5 Alaverdi Mountains, 136 Aleppo,  168–​69 Alexander the Great, 21–​22, 24–​25, 171–​72 coinage of 24–​25 Alexandropol, Treaty of, 199–​200 Alexius III Angelus, 92 Alice, wife of Raymond IV of Tripoli, 104 Alp Arslan, 89 Altıntepe, ​10,  17–​18 Amatuni, 45, 47 Manoegh 45 Amsterdam,  168–​69 Anahit, 22, 23

Anatolia, 5–​6, 16, 89, 117, 1​ 26, 127–​28, 135–​36, 138, 141, 143–​44, 151, 173, 180 Anavarza, Fortress and church of, 94–​96, 143–​44 angels, representation of, 37–​38, 45, 47, 49–​50, 78, 81–​82, 97, 107–​8, 110, 114–​15, 119–​20, 121–​23, 130–​31, 146–​48, 151–​53, 157, 159, 163–​64, 165, 171–​72, 177, 179, 180, 185–​86, 192, 195, 197 Ani, 56, 57–​68, 69–​70, 78, 89–​90, 91, 93–​94, 119, 125–​27, 128, 129–​35, 143, 155, 199–​200 Ashotian walls, 58–​59 “Castle of the Maidens,” 58 Cathedral, 59–​61, 62, 200 caves, 57–​58, 132 excavation and rediscovery of, 78, 149–​51, 154–​55, 180–​81,  199 Gagkashēn,  62–​64 Holy Apostles Church, 133–​35, 139–​40 Lion’s Gate, 58–​59 modern fate of, 203–​6 “Mosque of Minuchir,” 141 palace chapel, 58 “Paron’s Palace,” 134–​35 Smbatian Walls, 58–​59 Surb P‘rkich‘ (Holy Savior), 65–​66 Tigran Honents‘, church of, 129–​33, 183 Ani–​Pemza region, 33 Annunciation to Zachariah, 49 Annunciation to the Virgin images of, 49, 50–​51, 71–​72, 78, 121–​23, 130–​31, 157, 171–​72, 173, 184–​85 Feast of, 116–​17 Antalya. See Atalia Antelias, Patriarchate of, 183. See also Sis Anthony, Saint, 170 Anti–​Taurus Mountains, 92, 93 Antioch, 25, 2​ 8, 54, 104 Antiochus III, Seleucid king, 21–​23 Antoninus Pius, tomb of, 27 Aphrodite, statuette of, 23, 24 apostles, representation of, 41–​42, 45, 70, 81–​82, 109–​10, 114–​15, 119–​20, 121–​23, 130–​31, 148, 157, 158–​59, 161, 163, 185–​86, 192 Arabkir, 193

244 Aragats, Mount, 31 Aragatsotn, 31 Aramaic inscriptions, 23–​24 Aramazd, 22 Ararat, plain of, 5, 22–​23, 49 Mount, 1–​2, 45, 49, 144 Aratashen, 5 Arax River, 5–​6, 10–​11, 22–​23, 206–​7 Areni, church of, 149 Argishti I, King, 10, 13–​14, 16, 200–​2 Argishti II, King, ​13 Argishtihinili, 10–​11, 22 Arinberd. See Erebuni Aristakēs (son of Gregory the Illuminator),  131–​32 Armavir, 10, 22–​23. See also Argishtihinili Armenian Apostolic Church of America, 202 Armenian Genocide, 174–​75, 198, 199 commemoration of, 202 cultural destruction in relation to, 202, 203–​6 Armenian Infancy Gospel, 50–​51 Arsacids,  26–​28 Art Nouveau, 199 Artaxata (Artashat), 22–​23 Artaxiads,  22–​25 Artaxias, 21–​22, 23 stele of, 23–​24 Artskeh, 165 Artsrunis, 56, 57, 69–​71, 78, 81–​82, 89, 91, ​126, 160 Ascension of Christ, images of, 81–​82, 83, 130–​31, 146–​47, 148, 174 Ascension of Muhammad, 177–​78 Asclepius, 21 ashlar masonry, 10, 32–​33 Ashot (Msaker) (Bagratuni), 57 Ashot (the Great) (Bagratuni), 57, 74 Ashot III (Bagratuni) 58, 136, 203–​4 Ashurnasirpal, palace reliefs of, ​14 Asia Minor, 1–2, 17, 22, 27, 36, 92, 127, 145–​46,  153 Assyrian Empire, 4, 8–​9, 10, 16, 17 artistic traditions of, 4, 13–​16 Astuatsankal, Monastery of, 135 Astuatsatsin. See Virgin Astuatsatur, painter. See Sultanov, Bogdan Atalia, 27 Ateni, 37 Augustinians, 194 Avarayr, Battle of, 31, 121–​23, 166, 190 Ayanis. See Rusahinili Eiduru–​kai Ayas, 92–​93, 124 Ayyubids, 92, 104 Azat River, 27 Azerbaijan, Republic of, 1, 206

Index Aziz Khatun, textile maker, 181–​83 Azokh cave, ​5 Babylonians, 16 Bagaran, 23, 96 Baghdad, 56–​57, 126, 200 Baghesh. See Bitlis Baghk‘, 126 Bagrat (Bagratuni), 57 Bagratids, 35, 56–​68, ​72, 89, 105, 125–​26, 136, 173, 203 Balakian, Grigoris (Krikor), 204 Balakian, Peter, 204–​5, 206 Balian family, 199 Balkans, 169 banqueting imagery, 7–​8, 47, 88, 163–​64, 180 Baptism of Christ, 49, 78 Baroque, 114, 199 Barsegh, painter, 173 Bartholomew, Saint, representations of, 70 Basilican churches, 32–​33, 36–​37, 43, 95, 167, 190 Beatrix (wife of Joscelin II de Courtenay), ​99 Behistun, inscription of, 17 Bell, Gertrude, 95 Bezaliel, 165 Biainili,  15–​16 Bilarghu, 119 bird imagery, 18, 2​ 5, 43–​44, 53–​55, 59–​60, 77, 95–​96, 99–​100, 116, 176 Bitlis, 57 Bjni, 126 Black Death, 124, 127–​28 Black Sea, 126, 128 Boghiguian, Anna, 199 Bohemond, prince of Antioch, 104 Brad (northern Syria), 31 British Isles, 168 Bronze Age, 2–​3, 5–​8, 9–​10, 17, 57 Buddhist imagery, 177 Byzantine Empire, 1, 2–​3, 35–​36, 40–​41, 47, 89, 91, 92, 104, 126, 128, 160 artistic traditions of, 1, 3, 40, 44–​45, 47, 49–​52, 56–​57, 75, 77, 81–​82, 84, 86–​87, 91, 94, 95–​96, 97, 98–​99, 101, 102, 107, 110, 113–​14, 116, 119–​20, 125, 136, 148–​49, 151, 153, 157, 160, 165, 170–​72, 183, 199 Caesarea, ​45, 80, 86. See also Eusebius of Cairo, 124. See also Egypt Calcutta, 198 Cambyses II, 17 canon tables, 80, 81, 82–​84, 86, 89, 91, 97, 102–​3, 105, 117–​19, 160–​61, 174, 175–​76 Cappadocia, 18–​19, 30, 36, 86, 185

Index Capuchins, 194 Caravanserais, 129, 133, 135, 165 Orbelian, 144 Carmelites, 194 Carpianus, 102 Caspian Sea, 1, 22, 126 Catholic missionaries, 127, 158, 164–​65, 168–​69, 194. See also Dominicans; Fratres Unitores; Franciscans; papacy Caucasian Albania, ​139 Central Asia, 1–​2, 17, 22, 57, 89, 127–​28 ceramics, 1, 5–​6, 8, 11–​13, 16, 125, 149–​51, 167, 179, 187–​88, 194, 202, 207 Chalcedonianism, 36, ​44, 126–​27, 132 Chalcolithic era, 5 Chapakchur, Battle of, 128 Charon’s obol, 24 China, 117, 128, 168, 169. See also East Asia; Yuan dynasty artistic traditions of, 116–​17 Chookaszian, Levon, 112 Christ on the Sea of Galilee, 110, 161, 162 Cilicia, 1, 2, 34, 86, 92–​124, 125, 127, 128, ​ 136, 144, 151–​52, 153–​54, 164–​65, 168, 170,  174–​76 Cimmerians, 16 classical and classicizing artistic traditions, 1, 4, 21, 22, 23, 26, 27–​28, 60, 66, 77, 84–​85, 88, 91, 95–​96, 102, 170–​71, 200 coins, 22, 23, 24–​25, ​99, 155, 202 Communion of the Apostles, 131 Constans II, 36, 44 Constantine (of Paperon), 104 Constantine (Ṙupenid), 96 Constantinople, 1, 3, 44, 56, 57, 65, 102, 126, 128, 167–​68, 169, 170, 171–​72, 176, 184, 187, 188, 192, 198, 199, 204 Armenian Patriarchate of, 168, 183 Church of Saint Kirakos, 183 Çirağan Palace, 199 Council of, 132 Hagia Sophia, 60–​61, ​64 Coptic, Copts, 170, 194 Creation, imagery of, 54, 155, 177–​79 Crimea, 92–​93, 169, 170–​71. See also Kaffa Cross , 32, 35, 40, 43–​44, 52, 58–​59, 64–​65, 69, 74, 75–​76, 77, 84–​85, 98, 100, 101, 102–​3, 110, 132, 146–​47, 148–​49, 154–​55, 159–​60, 170, 180, 181. See also khach‘k‘ars Cult of, 75, 110 Exaltation of, 165, 176–​77 relics of, 65, 69, 123–​24, 129, 151–​53 Return of, 40 of Varag, 173

245 Crowe, Yolande, 188 Crucifixion, 78, 125, 131, 144, 148–​49, 159–​60 Crusaders, 92, 94, 97, 9​ 9, 104, 105–​7, 112, 113–​14, 115, 119 cyclopean masonry, 8 Cyprus, 124, 169 Cyrus, King, 17 Dabil. See Dvin Daniel in the Lion’s Den, 32, 70 Danishmendids, ​126 Darashamb, Surb Step‘anos, Monastery of, 190–​93, 194. See also StephenSaint Darius I, 17 David and Goliath, 70 David IV “the Builder,” 126 David, King, 70, 121–​23, 158, 1​ 76, 186 Dawit‘ Saharuni, 37 Debed River, 136 Deesis, imagery of, 130–​31, 149 Deir Turmanin (northern Syria), 33–​34 Der Nersessian, Sirarpie, 97, 9​ 9, 102, 107–​8,  109–​10 Der–​Meguerditchian, Silvina, 199 Dionysos, 21 Divriği, Hospital and Mosque complex, 141 Diyarbekir,  127–​28 Dmanisi,  4–​5 Dormition of the Virgin, imagery of, 119–​20, ​ 131, 157, 158 Dura–​Europos,  27 Dürer, Albrecht, 172 Dvin, city of, 42, 57, 126, 149–​51, 152 dyophysitism, 36. See also Chalcedonianism Ēach‘i Proshian, 152 East Asia, 91, 114, 116, 153–​54. See also China; Yuan dynasty Eastmond, Antony, 132–​33 Edessa, 52 Crusader State of, 9​ 9 (see also Urfa) Edwards, Robert W., 93–​94, 95–​96 Eghegis, Monastery of, 157–​58 Eghegnadzor, 141 Eghia vardapet, 188 Egypt, 17, 23, 77, 91, 92, 104, 170 Entry into Jerusalem, images of, 131, 155–​56 Erebuni, 10, 11, 17–​18, 19–​20, 200–​2 Ereroyk‘, 33–​34, 36–​37,  41–​42 Erivan, 167–​68, 199–​200. See also Yerevan Erzurum. See Garin Esayi Nch‘ets‘i, 157–​58, 160 Étaples, military cemetery, 207 Etchmiadzin Gospels, 49–​51, 82–​85

246 Etchmiadzin, Holy See, 37, 42, 128, 160, 167–​68, 169–​70, 179, 180–​81, 183, 189–​90, 192–​93, 197, 204 Church of Gayanē, 190 Church of Hṙip‘simē, 37, 38–​39, 69–​70, 190 Church of Shoghakat‘, 190 Etruria, 13 Euphrates River, 86 Eurasia,  4–​5 Euripides, 23 Europe, 1, 3, 91, ​93, 97, 99, 100, 107, 113–​14, 119, 124, 127, 128, 154–​55, ​160, 164–​65, 167, 168–​70, ​172, 177, 183, 186–​87, 188–​89, 194, 195–​97, 198–​99,  206–​7 Eusebius, bishop of Caesarea, 80, 81, 102–​3 Eustathius, Saint, images of, 121–​22 evangelists, representations of, 70, 86–​87, 95, 98–​100, 102, 104, 105, 106, 118–​19, 152, 159, 160–​61, 174, 179, 180, 181 Evans, Helen, 55, 99, 105–​7, 113–​14 Ezekiel, 148 farangi–​sazi,  195–​97 fortifications, 8, 11–​12, 17–​18, 22, 26, 35, 57–​58, 92, 93–​96, 97, 104, 112, 136 Fratres Unitores, 127, 155 French language, 92 French Revolution, 124 Gabriel, representations of archangel, 37–​38, 49–​50, 84–​86, 121–​23, 124, 143, 152, 157, 171–​72,  184–​85 Gabriēl, painter, 171–​73, 184–​85 Gagik Artsruni, 57, 69–​71, 72, 81, 82, 91, 113 Gagik I (Bagratuni), 62–​64, 151 statue of, 64–​65 Gagik–​Abas (Bagratuni), 86–​89, 91, 97 Gospels of, 86–​89, 91 Galene, goddess, 27–​28 Gandza, 126 Gandzasar, Monastery of, 138–​41, 143, 168 Garin, 126, 127, 128, 135–​36, 143, 157, 176 Gaṙni, 26–​28, 74, 144 baths,  27–​28 Ionic structure of, 26–​27, 28–​29, 200 Gaza, 54 Genghis Khan, 127 Georgia, Republic of, Georgians, 1, 3, 4–​5, 35–​36, 56–​57, 126–​27, 129, 130–​31, 132, 148. See also Caucasus artistic and architectural traditions of, 8, 36, 37–​38, 49, 57, 58–​59, 129–​31, 132, 135–​36, 137, 138, 153–​54, 191, 203 Getty, J. Paul, Museum, 202 Gevaş. See Vostan

Index Ghazan Khan, 127 gifts, 49–​50, 81, 82, 105, 117, 181, 187, 197 Gladzor, Monastery of, 155, 157–​60 Gospels of, 157–​60 Gohar Melik‘, textile maker, 181 Golden Horde, 112 Goltzius, Hendrick, 172 Gorandukht, 88 Gorky, Arshile, 199 Goshavank, Monastery of, 145 khach‘kar‘, 145–​46,  148–​49 grapevine and vinescroll imagery, 32, 53–​54, 70, 95–​96, 105, 115, 117–​18, 130, 154–​55, 156, 200 Greek language and inscriptions, 22–​23, 25, 27, 34, 41–​42, 43–​44, 51–​52, 54, 95–​96, 100–​1, 102, 129, 130–​31, 132, 170 Gregory, Saint, 30–​31, 35, 44–​45, 49, 52, 55, 62–​63, 121, 129, 131–​32, 136, 160 representations of, 47, 70, 121–​23, 124, 131–​32, 152, 181–​83, 195 Grigor Dopian, 157 Grigor Narekats‘i, 100–​2 Grigor Tat‘evats‘i, 155 Grigor, Julfan khach‘k‘ar carver, 179–​80 Grigoryan, Mark, 200 Gṙner, 112 Haghartsin, Monastery of, 143, 151 Haghpat Monastery, 136–​38, 144, 155, 168 Amenap‘rkich‘ (“Savior of All”) khach‘k‘ar, 146–​48,  149 bell tower, 136, 138, 139, 143, 194 Surb Nshan church, 136, 137 zhamatun, 136–​37, 138, 139–​40 al–​Hakim, Fatimid caliph, 68–​69 Hakob “Meghapart,” ​169 Hakob Jughayets‘i, Catholicos, 190 Hakob Jughayets‘i, painter, 176–​77, 180 Halaf culture, 5 Haldi, 9​ , 13–​14, 16 temple of, 15, 16 Hamadan, 193 Hamazasp Artsruni, 70, 71 Hannibal,  22–​23 Harun al–​Rashid, 57 Hasan–​Jalal Dawla (patron of Gandzasar), 138–​39 Heemskerck, Maarten van, 172 Henry IV (Holy Roman Emperor), 92 Heraclius, Byzantine emperor, 36, 37, 40 Hesychasm,  170–​71 hetoimasia (empty throne), imagery of, 110 Het‘um I, 104, 112, 117, 127 Het‘um II, 114–​17, 121–​24 Lectionary of, 114–​17

Index Het‘umids, 92, 100, 104, 105–​7, 119 Hezekiah, King, 71 Holbein, Hans, 172 Holy Women at the Tomb, imagery of, 78, 97, 98, 107–​15, 131, 188 Hoṙomos Monastery, 67–​68, 134–​35, 155, 203 perilous condition of, 203 zhamatun (antechamber), 68, 77–​68, 134–​35 Hovhannavank‘, Monastery of. See Yovhannavank‘ Hrazdan River, 13 Hṙip‘simē; virgin martyr , 30–​31, 35, 37, 69–​70, 131–​32, 181–​83, 190. See also Etchmiadzin Hṙomkla, fortress of, 97–​99, 100–​1, 104, 105–​7, 112, 119, 121 Hülagü Khan, 112, 127 hunting imagery, 7–​8, 30–​31, 32, 45–​47, 70 hypocaust system, 27 iconoclasm and image defense, 51–​52, 149, 159 icons, 51–​52, 78, 83–​84, 94, 96, 129, 132, 148, 170 Ildaruni River. See Hrazdan River Ilkhanid dynasty, 112, 117, 119, 127. See also Mongols Incredulity of Thomas, 110 India, 127–​28, 168, 169–​70 textile traditions of, 187–​88, 189 Indian Ocean, 167 Indonesia, 168 Iran, 1, 5–​6, 17, 22, 25, 26, 30–​31, 32, 78, 112, 119, 128, 151, 169, 170, 190, 191. See also Persia/​Persians Iraq,  127–​28 Irind, church of, 66 Isaiah, prophet, 148–​49, 175–​76 images of, 142, 185–​86 Isfahan, 3, 167–​68, 169–​70, 193–​97. See also New Julfa Ishpuini, King, 15–​16 Islamic world, 2, 56, 57, 88–​89, 119, 127, 173,  177–​78 artistic traditions of, 2–​3, 45, 70, 125, 134–​36, 138, 141, 145–​46, 180, 183, 191 Ismael, Shah, 128 Israel,  5–​6 Italy, 169, 195, 199 ivory, works in, 12–​13, 15, 16, 49 İzmir. See Smyrna Izmirlian, Matt‘ēos II, Patriarch, 64, 204 İznik, 41–​42, 187–​88. See also ceramics Jahan Shah, 128. See also Kara Koyunlu James of Nisibis, representation of, 70 Java,  169–​70

247 Jephonias, representation of, 119–​20, 157 Jerusalem, 1, 40, 109–​10, 131, 155–​56, 169, 174 Anastasis Rotunda, 43, 68–​69 Armenian Patriarchate and Cathedral of Saint James, 168, 183, 187, 188, 202 “Bird Mosaic,” 3, 53–​55, 169 Dome of the Rock, 45 Solomon’s Temple, 52, 186–​87 John of Damascus, 51–​52. See also iconoclasm John the Baptist, 49, 70, 78, 110, 112–​13, 121–​23, 130–​31, 138–​39, 141, 142, 143, 146–​47, 149, 152 Jonah and the Whale, representations of, 70–​71,  161 Jones, Lynn, 71–​72 Joscelin II de Courtenay, 99 Joseph of Arimathea, 146–​47 Julfa, 167–​68, 176, 179, 190 destruction of cemetery of, 206–​7 khach‘k‘ars,  179–​80 Kaffa, 169, 170 Monastery of Saint Anthony, 170–​71 Kamsarakans, 37, 57 Kara Koyunlu, 127–​28 Kara Yusuf, 128. See also Jahan Shah; Kara Koyunlu Karabekir, Kâzim, 204 Karakorum, 104 Karamağaralı, Beyhan, 205 Karapet Malkhas, silversmith, 185, 187 Karapetian, Samvel, 206 Karashamb goblet, 7–​8 Karnut, 6. See also ceramics Kars, 57, 66, 87–​88, 89, 97, 126, 127, 199–​200, 203–​4,  205–​6 Kashan, 151 Katranidē I, 74 Katranidē II, 59 Kayseri,  143–​44 Sultan Han, 143–​44 Kazaryan, Armen, 68 Keghi, 176 Keran, Queen, Gospels of, 112–​13, 124 Kerman, 128 Khach‘atur of Khizan, painter, 163–​65 khach‘k‘ars, 56, 74–​75, 76, 125, 132, 134–​36, 142, 144–​49, 153–​55, 156–​57, 159, 160, 179–​80, 192–​93, 202–​3,  206–​7 Khachēn, ​126,  138–​39 Kharib, patron of Noratus khach‘k‘ar, 138 Khatchadourian, Lori, 18, 23–​24 Khatchatrian, Armen, 49 Khilat. See Khlat Khizan, 163

248 Khlat, 57, 143–​44 Khor Virap, 22–​23 Khorasan, 151 Khosrov II, Arsacid king, 30 Khosrovanush, wife of Ashot III, 136 Khosrovidukht, sister of Trdat III, 30–​31 Khotakerats‘, Monastery of, 151–​52 Reliquary of the Holy Sign, 151–​53 Khoy, 78 Khtskonk‘, monastery complex of, 66, 67 Church of Surb Sargis, 66, 67, 191 perilous condition of, 203 Kirakos Gandzakets‘i, 105, 148 Kiwrikeans, 136 Komitas, Catholicos, 37 Kostandin, Bishop of Skevra, 121–​23 Kostandin, Patriarch, 104–​5, 110 Kotayk‘, 26, 45 Kouymjian, Dickran, 116–​17 Kozma, painter, 97–​98 Kumme, 16 Kura–​Araxes culture, 5–​6. See also ceramics Kura River, 5–​6 Kurds, 125–​26, 203. See also Shaddadids Kütahya, 168–​69, 187–​88. See also ceramics La Plata, Buenos Aires, 202–​3 lamassu, 15 Lamb of God (Agnus Dei) imagery, 98–​99, 100, 102, 105, 123 Landau, Amy, 195–​97 lapis lazuli, 23, 116 Last Judgment, representations of, 110–​12, 148, 163,  176–​77 Leontius of Neapolis, 51–​52 Levon II (Het‘umid), 104, 112–​13, 117 Levon II/​Levon I “The Magnificent,” 92, 104 Levon III (Het‘umid), 119 Levon IV (Het‘umid), 119, 124 Levon V (Het‘umid), 124 Leyden, Lucas van, 172 Lim, 176 Lives of the Desert Fathers, 170 Loṙi Berd, 8 Lusignans, 124 Guy de Lusignan, 124 Lviv, 102, 169 Gospels of, 102, 103 Malat‘ia, 128 Malat‘ia Gospels, 107, 114–​15 Makaravank‘, Monastery of, 141 Mamikonians, 31, 56, 126 Vardan, 31 Mamluks, 104, 112, 119, 124

Index Manuēl, architect, 69 manuscripts, 1, 2–​3, 49–​51, 56, 57, 80–​91, 92, 93, 97–​120, 121–​23, 124, 125, 155–​66, 167, 168–​69, 170​–​77, 180–​81, 182, 185–​87, 188–​89, 190, 192, 195, 199, 202–​3, 207 Manzikert, Battle of, 89, 92 Maon, synagogue of Nirim, 54. See also Gaza Maragha,  127–​28 Marco Polo, 92–​93 Marem, Princess, 88–​89 Margarē, painter, 155–​56 Mariun, Queen, 119 Markos, patron, 174 Marr, Nikolai, 203 Marriage at Cana, images of, 163–​64 Marseille, 169 Mathews, Thomas, 49–​51, 158–​59, 160, 164 Maurice, Byzantine emperor, 35–​36 Medes, 16–​17,  18–​19 Mediterranean Sea, region of, 1–​2, 4, 16, 22, 25, 28, 30, 31, 32–​33, 34, 36, 49, 51–​52, 53, 68–​69, 81, 91, 92–​93, 112, ​114, 128, 133, 167, 187 Meghri, 197 Mehmed II, Sultan, 168 Melitene, manuscript tradition associated with, 86, 161 Merian, Sylvie, 187 Mesopotamia, 5, 17, 30, 43 Mesopotamian plain, 1 metal, works in, 1, 2, 7–​8, 9, 12–​13, 14–​21, 56, 77–​78, 79–​80, 92, 9​ 9, 121–​24, 125, 151–​53, 167, 181, 185–​87, 207. See also coins; seals Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 202 Metsop‘, Monastery of, 165 Miaphysitism, 36, 44, 126–​27, 132 Micah, Prophet, 142 Michael, Archangel, 37–​38, 143, 152–​53 Mihr, 22 Mik‘ayēl, painter, 173–​76 Mikhailovich, Tsar Alexei, diamond throne of, 197 millet system, 168 Minas, painter, 165–​66 Minoua, King, 16 Minuchir, 126, 134–​35, 203–​4. See also Ani Mirian, King of Georgia, 132 Misis (Mopsuestia), 93 Mkhit‘ar Gosh, 148 Mkhit‘ar Sebastats‘i, 169 Mkhitarist Monasteries, 169, 198, 199, 202 Mlkē, Queen, 81–​84 Gospels of, 81–​84 Modestus, locum tenens bishop, 40 Modon (mod. Methoni), 169 Mogadishu, Italian cemetery of, 207

249

Index Momik, architect, 149 monasticism, monasteries, 33–​34, 66–​68, 74, 77, 81, 82–​83, 89–​91, 93, 97, 99, 100, 102, 106–​7, ​110, 112, 121, 125, 126, 128, 129, 135, 136–​44, 145–​48, 149, 151–​52, 155, 157, 158–​59, 160, 165, 168, 169, 170–​71, 179, 187, 189–​93, 199, 202, 203, 204–​5, 207 Möngke Khan (Great Khan), 104 Mongolia, 169 Mongols, Mongol Empire, 1, 104, 112, 116–​17, 119, 125, 126, 127, 135–​36, 143–​44, 145–​46, 152–​53,  160 Moscow, 197, 198, 199 Moses, prophet, 71 Movsēs Khorenats‘i, 23 Movsēs, Catholicos, 190 Mren, church of, 37–​42, 47, 59–​60 Palace of Sahmadin, 135 perilous condition of, 203 Mtskheta, church of, 37 Mughni, Surb Gevorg, 190 Munich, 199 muqarnas vaulting, 134–​35, 138, 139, 142, 191 Murad IV, Sultan, 167–​68 Musasir, 16 Mush, region of, 189 church of the Holy Apostles (Surb Aṙakelots‘), 154 Nadal, Jérôme, 172 Nagorno–​Karabagh, War of, 206 Nairi, kings of, 8–​9 Nakhchivan, Autonomous Republic of, 1, 206 Nativity, imagery of, ​131, 165, 166, 184–​85 Nazar, Khwaja, 193 Neoclassical art, 199 Neolithic, 5 Nero, 26 Nersēs III, Catholicos, 42–45 Nersēs Lambronets‘i, 92–​93, 100–​2 Nersēs Shnorhali, 92–​93, 97–​98, 100–​1, 118–​19,  176 Interpretation of the Canon Tables,  90–​91 Nestorianism, 51 New Julfa, 2–​3, 167–​69, 170, 176, 193–​97 Amenap‘rkich‘ Cathedral (the All–​Savior), 193, 195 Mets Meydan, 194 Nazar Street, 193 Surb Astuatsatsin, 194 Surb Bet‘ghehem, 194–​95, 196 Nicaea, council of, 132 Nicaea, church of the Dormition, 41–​42 Nicholas, Saint, 121 Nicodemus,  146–​48

Nilotic scenes, 81 Nino, Saint; vision of, 132 Nishapur, 151 Nor Avan (near Sebastia), 174 Noratus, 74, 75, 179 Noravank‘ (Amaghu–​Noravank‘), 141–​44, 149, 157–​58,  190 main church, 142–​52 Surb Astuatsatsin, church of, 141, 143–​44,  149 Surb Karapet, church of, 141 zhamatun, 141 Noravank‘ (in Bghen, Siwnik‘), 82–​84 Nur, Riza, 204 obsidian, 2, 5 Ohanjanyan, Mikayel, 199 Olduvai Gorge, 4–​5 Oljeitu (Ilkhanid ruler), 119 Onophrius, 170, 171 opus sectile, ​43 opus vermiculatum,  27–​28 Orbelians, 126, 141–​44 Burtegh, 143 Elikum, 141 Liparit, 142 Smbat, 142 Tarsayich, 141 Orontes,  19–​20 Orontes River, 25 Orontids. See Yervandids Ōshin (Het‘umid), 119 Ōshin (Ṙupenid), 96 Oskan Bible, 169, 172, 174, 186 Oskan Erevants‘i, ​169 Ostia, ​28 Otlukbeli, Battle of, 128 Ottoman Empire, 2, 128, 166, 167–​69, 173, 185, 187, 189–​90, 197, 198, 199, 203, 204 artistic traditions of, 1, 174, 180, 187–​89 Paleolithic,  4–​5 Palestine,  54–​55 papacy, 119 Paperon, 102, 104 Paphnutius, 170, 171 Paris, 199 Collège de Saint–​Barbe, 199 Convent of the Celestines, 124 Parthians, 22, 23, 25, 26, 30 Paul, Saint, 37–​38, 78, 82–​83, 121–​22, 143, 152, 190 Pentecost, images of, 131 Persarmenia, territory of, 30, 35–​36 Persepolis,  18–​19

250 Persia, Persians, 30–​31, 35–​37, 40, 57, 127–​28, 129, 166, 167–​68, 197. See also Iran; Safavid; Sasanian artistic traditions of, 1, 18, 21, 37–​38, 151, 167, 177–​78,  180 Peter, Saint, 121, 190 images of, 114–​15, 119–​20, 121–​23, 143, 152, 161 philhellenes, philhellenism, 22, 25 Philippines,  169–​70 Pickman, Sarah, 207 P‘ilipos, Catholicos, 190 Pliny the Elder, 26 Plutarch,  22–​23 Poghos, sculptor, 145 Pompey, 26 Pontus, 23 print culture, 167, ​169, 172, 186–​89, 192, 194, 195, 199 pseudo–​script, 90–​91,  151 Ptghni, church of, 45–​47, 130 Pyramus (mod. Çeyhan) River, 93 Qatura, 49 Quinisext Council, 98–​99 Rabbula Gospels, 81–​82 Raising of Lazarus, imagery of, 131 Raymond II of Tripoli, 99 Raymond IV of Tripoli, 104 reliquaries, 77–​78, 121–​24,  151–​53 Renaissance, French, 199 Research on Armenian Architecture (RAA), 206, 207 Resurrection, images of, 78, 97, 107, 172, 188, 189 Rey, 151 rhytons,  18–​21 Roman Forum, 26 Romania, 169 Romanovs, 197 Rome, Romans, 21–​23, 26, 30–​31, 92 artistic traditions of, 27–​28, 33–​34, 49, 51, 67, 68–​69,  81 rubble masonry technique, 32–​33, 36, 93–​95,  190–​91 Ṙuben–​Raymond, prince of Antioch, 104 Ṙubenids, 92, 94, 96, 104 Rusa II, King, ​13 Rusahinili, 15 Rusahinili Eiduru–​kai (Ayanis), 10–​11 Russian campaigns into Caucasus, 197, 198 Safavid Empire, 1, 2, 128, 167, 168, 169–​70, 193–​97, 199–​200,  203 architectural traditions of, 187–​90, 191, 193–​97

Index Safi I, Shah, 167–​68 Sahak Artsruni, 70, 71 Saint Petersburg, 197 Armenian churches in, 197 Imperial Academy of Sciences, 203–​4 Saint–​Denis, Royal Basilica (Abbey Church) of, 124 Saltukids, 126 Samarra, 71 Samson, representations of, 70 Samuel of Ani, 94 Sandghka, Gospels of, 89–​91, 143–​44 Sarapyan, Eduard, 200 Sarduri, King, 15–​16 Sargis Pitsak, 119–​20, 165, 199 Sargis Shnorhali, 150–​51 Sargis, Bishop (at Noravank‘), 142 Sargon II, King, 16 Sasanian Empire, 30, 31, 32, 35–​36 visual traditions of, 1, 32, 47, 51, 70, 77 Saveh, 151 Scythians, 16 Seals, 23, 44, 51, 200 Sebastia, 77–​78, 86, 173–​74 madrasas of, 141 Seleucids,  21–​22 Seljuks, 89, 91, 92, 104, 125–​26, 127, 129, 135. See also Sultanate of Rūm artistic traditions of, 125, 135–​36, 143–​44, 145–​46, 151, 191 Semiramis, 4 senmurvs, representations of, 70, 132–​33 Sepuh, Mount, 131–​32 Sevan Monastery, 77 wooden capital of, 77 Sevan, Lake, 74, 77, 126, 144 Shaddadids, 126, 129 Shah–​Armens,  125–​26 Shakespeare, William, 198 Shapur I, King, 30 Sharimanians, 194 Shellal Mosaic, 54. See also Gaza Sichem II, Christoffel van, 172 Siranēs, architect, 141 Sis, 92–​93, 104, 119, 124, 128, 138–​39, 148, 168 Sivas. See Sebastia Siwnik‘, 57, 82–​83, 126, 127–​28, 141, 144, 155, 164–​65,  190 Skevra, 100, 102, 104, 105, 121 reliquary of, 121–​24, 151–​52 Smbat II (Bagratuni), 59 Smith, Adam, 200 Solayman, Shah, 193 Soviet Union, 199–​200, 206 Armenian Soviet Socialist Republic, 199–​200 Soviet imagery, 200–​2

251

Index stelae Artaxiad,  23–​24 Christian, 31, 47–​49, 51–​52, 56 (see also khach‘k‘ars) Urartian, 12–​13, 43 Step‘anos Dzik‘, 176 Step‘anos Gharibshay, 165 Step‘anos Tarōnets‘i, 62–​63,  66–​67 Step‘anos, Lord (patron of Etchmiadzin Gospels),  82–​83 Stephen, Saint, 77–​78, 121–​22, 142. See also DarashambSurb Step‘anos Reliquary of Surb Step‘anos, 77–​78, 79 Stone, Nira, 170–​71 Strabo,  22–​23 stylite saints, ​131 Sukhani, 31 Suleyman III, Sultan, 187 Sultan Baybars, 112 Sultaniyyeh (mod. Soltanieh), 168 Sultanov, Bogdan, 197 sundials, 33, 43, 63–​64, 130 Sureniants‘, Vardges, 199 Trampled Sanctuary, 199 Syria, Syriac, 5–​6, 16, 30–​31, 34, 37, 57, 100–​1, 112, 127–​28, 170, 194 artistic traditions of, 27, 31, 32–​34, 36, 43, 45, 49–​50, 81–​82, 86, 151 Tabriz, 168 Tacitus, 26 Tagvor, 104 T‘alin, 47–​49, 135 Tamanian, Alexander, 200 T‘amt‘a Khatun, 149 Tanzimat reforms, 199 Tao–​Klarjeti. See Tayk‘/​Tao–​Klarjeti Tāq–​e Bostān, 32 Tarōn, 57 Tarsus, 100​, 104 Tashir–​Dzoraget,  56 Tat‘ev, Monastery of, 155 Taurus Mountains, 93 Tayk‘/​Tao–​Klarjeti, churches of, 57, 203 Taylor, Alice, 164–​65 Tbilisi. See Tiflis Teaching of Saint Gregory, 55, 160 Teisheba URU (Karmir Blur), 13–​14, 24–​25 textiles, 1, 3, 167, 180–​84, 197 representations of, 18, 88–​89, 105, ​133, 142, 155–​56.  182–​85 T‘adeos Avramets‘, scribe and painter, 170 Thaddeus, Saint, 70, 71, 121, 124 Theophanes the Greek, 170–​71 Theophilus of Antioch, 54 Theophilus, bishop of Mren, 37

Thetis,  27–​28 Tibet, 169 Tiflis, 193 Tigran Honents‘, 119, 126–​27, 129–​32, 183, 204. See also Ani Tigran II (“the Great”), 22, 25 Timur Leng, 127–​28 Timurids, 127–​28, 203 artistic traditions of, 163, 164–​65, 191, 194 Toprakkale. See Rusahinili T‘oramanyan, T‘oros, 199, 200, 203–​4 T‘oros I (Ṙubenid), 94–​96, 100, 143–​44 T‘oros Ṙoslin, 104–​13, 114, 174, 175–​76, 199, 202 background of, 105–​7 works of, 107–​12 T‘oros Tarōnets‘i, painter, 157–​58 T‘ovma (Thomas) Artsruni, 69 Transfiguration, images of, 172, 174 Transylvania, 169 Trdat I, 26 Trdat III, 28–​29, 30–​31, 44–​45, 131–​32, 144, 180–​81 representations of, 32, 47–​49, 181–​83, 188 Trdat, architect, 59–​64, 66 Trebizond, 126–​27, 128, 193 Trialeti region, 8 Trinity, imagery of, 192 Trisagion hymn, 148–​49, 160 Tsaghkahovit plain, 8 Ts‘akhats‘k‘ar Monastery, 74–​75, 145 Tserun, painter, 161–​63 tuff–​stone, 2, 10, 32–​33, 57–​58, 62–​63, 69–​70,  200 Turkey, Republic of, 1, 37, 57, 203, 204 Ministry of Culture and Tourism, 205 Turkish Grand National Assembly, 199–​200 Ubaid culture, 5 Üç Kümbetler (Three Mausolea, Erzurum),  135–​36 Ukhtanes, bishop, 180–​81 Uluhogian, Gabriella, 193 Umayyad caliphate, 35–​37, 45, 56, 68–​69 Urartian Kingdom, 4, 8–​16, 17 architecture,  9–​12 metalwork,  13–​16 Urfa, Armenian cathedral of, 2​ 05. See also Edessa Uzun Hassan, 128. See also Ak Koyunlu Vahagn, 22 Van, Fortress of, 4, 10, 11 Van, Lake, 9–​10, 69, 81, 154–​55, 160, 161, 165–​66. Varag, Monastery of, 81 Cross of, 173 (see also Cross) Vardanyan, Edda, 165

252 Vaspurakan, 56, 57, 71, 81, 100, 154, 160–​63, 164–​65, 170, 173, 176, 189–​90, 195, 199 Vayots‘ Dzor region, 74, 157–​58 Vehap‘aṙ Gospels, 86, 88, 158–​59 Velijanian, Petros, 194–​95 Venice, 92–​93, 169 2015 Biennale, 199 Monastery of San Lazzaro, 169, 187, 199 Vertanēs (son of Gregory the Illuminator), 132 Vienna, 200 Mekhitarist Monastery, 198, 202 Virgin (Surb Astuatsatsin), representation of, 35, 47, 49–​51, 70, 81–​86, 94, 110, 112–​13, 119–​20, 121–​23, 124, 130–​31, 142–​43, 146–​47, 152, 157, 158, 159, 165, 166, 172, 177, 180, 184–​85 virtualani.org, 206 Volga River, 197 Vostan, 161 Vrt‘anēs K‘ert‘ogh, 52, 176 Watenpaugh, Heghnar, 204, 205–​6 Watertown, Massachusetts, 202–​3 Wise and Foolish Virgins, images of, 110, 144 wood, works in, 1, 15, 16, 17–​18, 33, 56, 68, 77–​57, 78, 121, 125, 151–​52, 154–​55, 185, 197, 207 Yerevan, 31, 167, 190, 193, 198, 199–​202, 206. See also Erivan cathedral of, 205

Index Church of Saints Peter and Paul, 190 Erebuni Museum, 200–​2 Hotel Armenia, 200, 201 Matenadaran (Mesrop Mashtots‘ Institute of Ancient Manuscripts), 97–​98, 100, 114–​15, 117–​18, 119, 202 Republic Square, 200 Yervandids,  21–​23 Yovhannēs Mrk‘uz Jughayets‘i, theologian and painter, 193, 195–​97 Yovhannēs–​Smbat (Bagratid),  67–​68 Yovhannēs, Archbishop, brother of Het‘um I, 112 Yovhannēs, Bishop of Kapan, 141 Yovhannēs, Lord, patron, 148–​49 Yuan Dynasty, art of, 116–​17. See also China; East Asia Yusufeli Dam, 203 Zachariah, father of John the Baptist, 49 Zachariah (Zechariah), prophet, 1​ 10, 117, 131 Zagros Mountains, ​2 Zak‘aria Gnuneants‘, 176 Zak‘arids, 126, 132, 136 Zapel (Isabella) I, 104 Zayanderun River, 193 Zoroastrianism, 22, 26, 30–​31, 32, 51, 166 Zvart‘nots‘, church of, 12–​13, 42–​45, 47, 63–​64, 198, 199, 200 Zvartnots airport, 198