The Hidden Life of Textiles in the Medieval and Early Modern Mediterranean: Contexts and Cross-Cultural Encounters in the Islamic, Latinate and ... Post-medieval Mediterranean Archaeology, 3) 9782503587738, 2503587739

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t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l es

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m e di eva l a n d post-m e di eva l

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ES MEDIE ERI VA

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m e di t e r r a n e a n a rch a eology se r i es

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EDITERR AN LM VA

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m. p.m a. s .iii.

Published with the support of t h e a .g. l ev e n t is fou n dat ion

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THE HIDDEN LIFE OF T E X T I LES I N T H E M E D I E VA L A N D E A R LY M O D E R N M EDIT ER R A NEA N

* con t e x ts a n d cross- cu lt u r a l e ncou n t e r s i n t h e isl a m ic , l at i nat e a n d e a st e r n ch r ist i a n wor l ds

* e di t e d by N I KOL AO S V RY Z I DI S

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m e di eva l a n d post-m e di eva l m e di t e r r a n e a n a rch a eology se r i es – i i i

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Series editor prof. dr . joa n i ta v room Leiden University (nl)

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e di tor i a l boa r d Prof. John Haldon, Princeton University (usa) Dr. Archibald Dunn, University of Birmingham (uk) Prof. Sauro Gelichi, University of Venice (it) Prof. Scott Redford, soas University of London (uk) Prof. Enrico Zanini, University of Siena (it)

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Editorial consultant se ba st i a a n bom m e lj é

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Typesetting & book design st ev e n bol a n d

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© 2020 br epol s pu bl ish e r s n.v. , t u r n hou t, be lgi u m 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, electronic, mechanic, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. pr i n t e d i n t h e eu on aci d -f r e e pa pe r d/2020/0095/169 isbn (print) 978-2-503-58773-8 e-isbn (online) 978-2-503-58774-5 doi 10.1484/m.mpm as-eb.5.119202 issn 2565-8719 e-issn 2565-9723

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Contents *

List of contributors

joa nita v room (ser ies editor) – Preface nikolaos v ryzidis – Foreword

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ge n e r a l i n t roduct ion laur a rodr íguez peina do & a na ca br er a-lafuente New approaches in Mediterranean textile studies: Andalusí textiles as case study

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* t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l es av inoa m sh a lem Metaphors we dress with: Medieval poetics about textiles

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scott r edfor d Flags of the Seljuk sultanate of Anatolia: Visual and textual evidence

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m ar ia sar di Foreign influences in Mamluk textiles: The formation of a new aesthetic

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ver a-simone schulz Entangled identities: Textiles and the art and architecture of the Apeninne Peninsula in a trans-Mediterranean perspective

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nikolaos v ryzidis 155 Animal motifs on Asian textiles used by the Greek Church: A case study of Christian acculturation w ith a n appendix by dimitr is loupis – A woven Islamic inscription 184

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m ar ielle m artinia ni-r eber Quelques aspects des relations entre productions textiles byzantine et arabe au xe-xie siècles

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elena papastav rou 205 Osmosis in Ottoman Constantinople: The iconography of Greek church embroidery jacopo gnisci 231 Ecclesiastic dress in medieval Ethiopia: Preliminary remarks on the visual evidence dick r a n kou ymji a n Armenian altar curtains: Repository of tradition and artistic innovation

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nikolaos v ryzidis Concluding remarks: Textiles as units of cultural transmission

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glossary of textile ter ms used in this book

list of figur es a bstr acts index of geogr aphica l na mes

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287 295 301

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List of contributors *

ana cabrera-lafuente is curator for 18th-century fashion at the Museo del Traje in Madrid, and Honorary Senior Research Fellow at the Victoria and Albert Museum of London (uk). She holds a PhD in Medieval Art History and a ba in Philosophy and Humanities, majoring in Prehistory and Archaeology. Her archaeological background has contributed to her familiarity with object- and particularly textile-centered research, participating in several research projects, including Marie S. Curie fellowship in 2016. She has published many articles, several monographs and an exhibition catalogue on textiles and museum history. jacopo gnisci is a Research Associate at the University of Oxford. His research focuses on Ethiopian art and Christian manuscript illumination. He has published numerous studies on these topics and collaborated with a number of institutions, including the Bodleian Library and the Vatican Apostolic Library. His work focuses on the links between art and liturgy, and on the appropriation, reception, and invention of artistic motifs in the context of early Solomonic Ethiopia. dickran kouymjian retired in 2008 as Haig and Isabel Berberian Professor of Armenian Studies at the California State University, Fresno. He had taught at many universities throughout the world, including Columbia University, the American University in Cairo, Haigazian University in Beirut, the Sorbonne in Paris, and he served as the William Saroyan Visiting Professor of Armenian Studies at the University of California at Berkeley. He has also served as a consultant to unesco. His prolific bibliography includes more than hundred articles and several books on various aspects of Armenian art and culture.

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marielle martiniani-reber has published extensively on Byzantine and Western medieval textiles and minor arts. She lectured on the same subjects in French and Swiss academic institutions and worked as scientific collaborator of various European Museums. In 1995 she became Head of the Department of Applied Arts of the Musée d’art et d’histoire (Geneva), a position she held for more than twenty years. Her current projects include the publication of the textile collection of the Cathedral of Sens and the co-editing of a volume on Byzantine embroidery. elena papastavrou worked as curator for textiles and minor arts at the Byzantine and Christian Museum (Athens) for nearly twenty years. Since the 1980s she has published various studies on Byzantine, Western medieval and modern Greek ecclesiastical art. In 2008 her monograph on the iconography of the Annunciation in Byzantine and Western medieval art received the Prize Maria Theochari. While she continues to work on Marian iconology her current research is centered on Greek artisanal production, especially embroidery, in Ottoman Constantinople. Since 2018 she serves as director of the Ephorate of Antiquities on the Island of Zakynthos. scott redford has served as Nasser D. Khalili Professor of Islamic Art and Archaeology at soas University of London since 2014. The same year, his Legends of Authority: The 1215 Seljuk Inscriptions of Sinop Citadel, Turkey was published by Koç University Press in Istanbul, Turkey. He is currently engaged with the preparation of the final publication of medieval levels from Bilkent University excavations at the site of Kinet Höyük in Hatay province, southern Turkey. laura rodríguez peinado is Professor of Medieval Art History at the Universidad Complutense de Madrid. She received her PhD at this university with a thesis on Coptic textiles and has published numerous studies on the history of textiles, the sumptuary arts and medieval iconography. She is currently the lead researcher and coordinator of four research projects on Mediterranean textile production during Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. maria sardi holds a ba in Archaeology and an ma in Islamic Art History and Archaeology, mainly focusing on the applied arts of the Mamluk sultanate. In 2017 she received her PhD from soas University of London, with a thesis on Mamluk textiles. Her doctoral research was based at the Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, where she also has worked as curatorial team member for the department of Islamic Art. She has taught Islamic Art at the Hellenic American Educational Foundation, the Benaki Museum, the soas Diploma in Asian Art, and at the School of Fine Arts, Athens.

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vera-simone schulz studied art history, philosophy and Russian literature in Berlin, Moscow and Damascus. Since 2011, she has been a research collaborator in the department of Prof. Dr. Gerhard Wolf at the Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florenz – Max-Planck-Institut. Since 2014, she has been coordinating the international research project ‘Networks: Textile Arts and Textility in a Transcultural Perspective (4th-17th Cent.)’, based at the Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, funded by the German Research Foundation and directed by Gerhard Wolf. Her research is focused on Mediterranean and transcultural art history, artistic dynamics between Italy and the Islamic world before 1500, intersections of visual and material culture, textiles and notions of textility as well as the materiality of art. avinoam shalem is the Riggio Professor of the Arts of Islam at Columbia University in the city of New York. Between 2002 and 2013 he held the professorship for the arts of Islam at the Ludwig-Maximilian University in Munich and, between 20072015, he was the Max-Planck Associate Fellow at the Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florence – Max Planck Institute. His main fields of interest are in medieval artistic interactions in the Mediterranean, medieval aesthetics, and the related historiography. nikolaos vryzidis received his PhD from soas University of London, in 2015 with a thesis on Greek clerical costume of the Ottoman period. His research interests are centered on artistic interactions in the Eastern Mediterranean, with a focus on late Byzantium and early modern Greek culture. His publications appeared in Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, Iran, Convivium and Orientalia Christiana Periodica.

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Epigonation, late 17th/18th-century Qing embroidery, © St. Stephen’s Nunnery, Meteora – unnumbered; photo: Manos Sinopoulos – (cf. infra p. 182).

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Preface Joanita Vroom

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Between May 2016 and May 2019 the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York organised four subsequent exhibitions focused on textile materials. The first three of the series, which was named ‘The Secret Life of Textiles’, featured plant fibres, animal fibres and synthetic fibres from the Met’s own extensive textile collection as well as from The Costume Institute collection, while the fourth was based on the research archive of the famous American textile scholar Milton Sonday. His research is mostly known for his focus on textile techniques and patterns, including the detailed analysis of complex weaves and European laces in order to understand the structures of historical textiles. From these exhibitions and Sonday’s groundbreaking research it is a small step to the title of this book, The Hidden Life of Textiles in the Medieval and Early Modern Mediterranean. This title refers not only to the significant progress made in historical textile studies in recent years, but also to the often still unknown significance of textiles from the Islamic, Latinate and Eastern Christian worlds as source of cultural, historical and archaeological information, as well as to the fact that these transient and fragile fibre products are among the most difficult to recover artefacts of material cultures from past societies. On the other hand, it seems undeniable that the study of historical textiles is nowadays not at all hidden, but emerging as an exciting sub-discipline on the crossroads of archaeology and historical studies. The research on textiles from the past has certainly attracted attention in the archaeological world, especially during the last two decades. This is not only the result of a flourishing of innovative studies on textiles, The Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 11-12

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but also of the simultaneous rise of novel research interests and orientations among archaeologists (such as cross-cultural exchange, palaeoeconomy, transfer of weaving technology and traditions) and of new scientific methodologies (such as chemical and isotope analyses). The archaeologist Irene Good of the Peabody Museum at Harvard University, rightly summarized that current topics in textile archaeology range ‘from the development of methods for analysing degraded fibres to the comparative study of specific histories of textile and clothing traditions’, including ‘the technological development to production and exchange economics’ (I. Good 2001, Archaeological textiles: A review of current research, Annual Review of Anthropology 30, 209-226: 209). The contributions in this volume, edited by the Greek textile specialist Nikolaos Vryzidis, reflect this flourish of textile studies: they offer a state-of-the-art comparative overview on current research, as well as original and meaningful interpretations on long-distance exchange and diachronic use of secular and ecclesiastical textiles. The focus in this varied collection of studies by key scholars in the field is on Mediterranean textiles. In this way The Hidden Life of Textiles in the Medieval and Early Modern Mediterranean fits very well in the ‘Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series’ (mpmas), which aims to include the results of innovative research in all aspects of medieval and post-medieval archaeology in the Mediterranean. In fact, the book is a visually stunning journey into the diversity of medieval and post-medieval textiles, in the company of wide-ranging discussions which are sustained by actual artefacts and written sources as well as pioneering theories. The authors open our eyes to the amazing processes at work in textile production, trade and consumption in the past. This is a field of study where archaeologists, art historians, anthropologists and textile historians find common ground to their mutual benefit! As a pottery specialist I am for instance fascinated by the important role played by textiles in the maritime trade of commodities in the medieval Mediterranean. Indeed, this light-weight, valuable merchandise was apparently frequently travelling on ships together with heavier cargo and space fillers, among which ceramic containers for the transport of bulk goods (such as oil, wine or grain). Large amounts of these amphorae have often been recovered in excavated shipwrecks, showing trade patterns of shipments for specific markets. Pottery was, however, not the main cargo on these maritime routes, and the distribution of amphorae can be used as marker for trade routes of other lighter and perishable goods, such as textiles. In this way, the containers on the bottom of the sea reveal indirectly the ‘hidden’ movement of fibre-related commodities in the Mediterranean. Leiden, October 2019

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Foreword Nikolaos Vryzidis

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Over the past couple of decades textile studies have emerged as a thriving branch of history, archaeology and anthropology. Textile research, both of the prehistorical and historical periods, now covers a broad spectrum which ranges from scientific fibre analysis to comparative study of clothing traditions, and from the technology of production and distribution of textiles to the study of aesthetics, style and gender. It may be that textiles are not as ubiquitous on archaeological sites as more durable materials, such as stone tools and pottery, or as articulate as written sources, but they certainly rank among the most used artefacts in human history, as well as the most mobile goods in any form of exchange throughout the ages. My interest in textiles began with my doctoral research and continued to unfold at the post-doctoral level, which led me to study textiles in a Greek ecclesiastical context as a form of cultural exchange. Eventually, the desire arose to cross the borders of my own research and to bring together scholars working in different areas of the Mediterranean to learn from each other. This evolved into the idea to organise a workshop on textiles from the medieval and early modern Mediterranean the aim of which was to stimulate discussion on interesting case studies. The workshop materialised on the 3rd of June 2016 in the Museum of Islamic Art (Benaki), in Athens. The choice of invited speakers was based on their interest in cross-cultural interaction and social practices in relation to textiles as an important form of material culture, and the projection of identity that arose from these contexts. Seen from my own studies at least, the connectivity of cultures and religions The Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 13-16

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that existed around and beyond the shores of the Mediterranean throughout the ages seemed unsurpassed. Despite the diversity of the Mediterranean, it is remarkable that for centuries networks of mobility operated in tandem with material culture and art. This was true even in times of political turmoil and relentless regional antagonisms. These networks probably fostered the creation of parallel styles. Starting from this perspective, focusing on the common ground was one of the purposes of the scholarly venture of bringing together scholars of textiles from all corners of the field. However, the importance of the dissimilar ways in which this common ground was understood by every culture was another aspect I hoped to see explored. The aim of the workshop was to document how these networks of mobility and processes of interaction operated in different areas of the Mediterranean and the different end-products they produced in every case. By highlighting both the commonalities and particular manifestations of these cultural exchanges, the specificity of various Mediterranean cultures could be illuminated, free from the nationalist notions and undistorted by a romanticized concept of the Global Middle Ages. The culmination of these ideas resulted in the presentations of interested scholars at the 2016 workshop in the Museum of Islamic Art (Benaki), with a handling session at the Museum’s depot and inspiring discussions following on the next day. First of all, I am indebted to John Bennet, director-elect of the British School at Athens when I initially presented this idea to him in the turbulent Greek summer of 2015. His kind disposition and openness made the workshop possible and highly successful. I owe him thanks for the organization of this event under the aegis of an institution whose research priorities normally lie far from my own academic interests. Secondly, I would like to offer my sincere thanks to Anna Ballian, Curator Emerita for Islamic and Byzantine Art, and Mina Moraitou, Head Curator for Islamic Art of the Benaki Museum. They accepted my proposition to host the event at their venue and made the Museum’s splendid textile collection available for the complimentary handling session. Beyond the pleasure of handling such precious works of art, this meaningful exercise gave us the chance to closely examine some of the objects discussed in the presentations (several of which were unpublished). From Fatimid to Byzantine, and from Spanish to Ottoman, the Benaki textile collection is one of the richest, a true ark of Mediterranean and Asian art hiding in Athens. Finally, my sincere gratitude goes to Anastasia Drandaki, Head of the Byzantine Department of the Benaki Museum at that time. She led the afternoon session, which was yet another chance for discussion in front of the objects: Coptic, Byzantine, Ottoman and Modern Greek. The presentations during the workshop were grouped into four panels, the first of which was dedicated to medieval Islamic textiles in the Eastern Mediterranean in

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cross-cultural perspective. Scott Redford proposed that the colours and patterns on Seljuk banners were closely related to a constellation of signs and symbols of sovereignty in the medieval eastern Mediterranean, and that they were shared between Islamic and Christian polities. Marielle Martiniani-Reber talked on the relationship between Middle Byzantine and Islamic textiles concentrating on cross-cultural interaction. Maria Sardi explained how the mix of Seljuk, Byzantine, and Mongol elements gave birth to a standardization of Mamluk aesthetics. The discussion, moderated by Alison Ohta, director of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, focused on the travelling of motifs and the meaning of ornament as a quantifiable aspect of interaction. The second panel, moderated by Mina Moraitou, focused on cross-cultural encounters in the western Mediterranean, namely Spain and Italy. Ana Cabrera-Lafuente and Laura Rodríguez Peinado proposed a terminology for medieval Spanish silks based on geography (Northern-Southern Kingdoms), and called for a heightened focus on the common aesthetic of material culture produced at that time in Spain, thus questioning the traditional Islamic-Christian dichotomy and revealing its limitations. Then, Vera-Simone Schulz examined textiles produced in late medieval Italy in a transMediterranean perspective, underlining that the peninsula’s privileged location, in the middle of the ‘Sea of Cultures’, was not limited to geography only. This paper vividly showed how textiles absorbed all sorts of elements reaching the heart of the Mediterranean, Italy, and the related entanglement of cultural identities. The third session was moderated by Helen Philon, the founder of the Islamic Art Department at the Benaki Museum, and focused on the different Ottoman textile productions in an attempt to illuminate the Empire’s multicultural atmosphere. Amanda Phillips, whose paper will probably appear as a subchapter in her forthcoming monograph on the subject, discussed the strategic move of the Ottoman silk industry to adopt compound weaves in relation to the identity this new aesthetic projected. Anna Ballian on the other hand, whose research on silks from Chios is ongoing, discussed how the multicultural setting of Chios (Genoese, Greek, and Ottoman) was reflected in the diversity of products that the Chian textile industry produced. Finally, Elena Papastavrou presented the cultural specificity of Greek ecclesiastical embroidery produced in Ottoman Constantinople, and how certain iconographic peculiarities portray the cultural osmosis after the 17th century. The fourth and final session, moderated by the expert of Byzantine embroidery par excellence, Warren Woodfin, focused on Eastern and Oriental Christian textiles. Dickran Kouymjian examined early modern Armenian altar hangings as a repository of tradition and objects of innovation. Examples of this came from the Balkans to Jerusalem, and up to the hangings produced in India for export westwards. My own presentation focused on the Greek Church’s use of Asian textiles (Ottoman, Persian,

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and Chinese) that featured animal motifs. It discussed their cultural translation into symbols referring to church dogma, as yet another path of early modern Greek acculturation. Finally, Jacopo Gnisci opened the discussion on the subject of Ethiopian clerical costume of the Solomonic period, using sources as manuscripts, icons and mural paintings. This presentation focussed attention on Ethiopia’s cultural relation to the Mediterranean, especially in the light of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church’s ties to the Copts, and the shared culture with Egypt. Overall, the originality of the papers and the amount of useful discussion more than satisfied the academic interests of myself and the audience. Nevertheless, we were quite surprised by the immediate demand for a publication. Eventually, this resulted in the current volume, which ventures beyond the format of conference proceedings. Not long after the end of the workshop, I started to pursue the publication of an edited state of the art, which focussed on the issue of cultural identity in relation to the use of textiles in specific social-historical contexts and cross-cultural encounters. I was greatly encouraged by Joanita Vroom’s positive reaction as I proposed this idea to her. She acknowledged that currently textiles have gained increasing archaeological attention, with new perspectives and methodologies. Joanita decided that the proposed volume could contribute to the existing academic debate and its voice had to be heard. For the general introduction, I asked Laura Rodríguez Peinado and Ana CabreraLafuente to analyse the methodological problems in the study of Anadalusí textiles, as a paradigm beneficial for similar subjects. Then, Avinoam Shalem, who did not participate in the workshop, contributed to the volume with an article interpreting the symbolisms that textiles could convey in medieval Islamic culture. This beautifully written essay, based on material from contemporary poetry, is exemplary in the way textual sources can be exploited to study textiles. The other essays largely follow the original presentations, with a few exceptions. For example, Scott Redford focused more on a comparison between specific elements of Byzantine and Seljuk ornament as reflected on flags and banners. Finally, Dickran Kouymjian’s short note on Armenian curtains serves as an explorative piece, encouraging the study of a field that deserves a monograph for its proper treatment. This publication by no means exhausts the vast subject and research area of textiles. It is a preliminary expression of the results that this type of investigations can bring. It focuses on a medium that was highly mobile, yet at the same time acted as a clear expression of cultural identity. I sincerely hope that this volume serves the study of portable arts and places yet another piece of the unfinished puzzle in the right place.

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New approaches in Mediterranean textile studies: Andalusí textiles as case study Laura Rodríguez Peinado & Ana Cabrera-Lafuente

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r e discov e ry a n d h istor iogr a ph y of a n da lusí t e x t i l es Medieval textiles from the Iberian Peninsula which date between the 10th and 15th centuries are generally known as ‘Hispano-Moresque’ or ‘Andalusí’ as they are thought to have originated mainly from workshops in al-Andalus (Islamic Iberia).1 The rediscovery of these fabrics began in Spain with the ecclesiastical disentailments in the 19th century, when objects and land owned by the Church were confiscated and sold by the state.2 As most of the Andalusí textiles are nowadays preserved in the north of the Iberian Peninsula and other parts of Europe, it is quite telling that the only specimens currently located in southern Spain are those from the tombs in the Royal Chapel in Seville Cathedral.3 After all, the production of these textiles has until now often been explained in the context of the territorial conflict between the Iberian kingdoms of the Christian north and the Islamic south, with the Christians mainly considered as the consumers. It has often been argued that these textiles changed hands mainly as purchased goods and diplomatic gifts, as well as spoils of war, products obtained through appropriation and sacking. Moreover, the Andalusí fabrics have regularly been presented as evidence of the gradual expansion of the northern Iberian territories towards the southern parts under Islamic rule.4 Only in recent years a somewhat less bellicose or conflict-ridden view on the distribution of these textiles has emerged, mainly as a result of contributions made by multidisciplinary studies which pay attention to the wider Mediterranean context. This conventional, quite narrow perspective on the Andalusí fabrics merits a fundamental re-examination, as it rests to a large extent on the traditional view of art The Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 17-44

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historians that a clear distinction should be made between textiles woven by Muslim and Christian weavers. However, closer scrutiny of the currently available data does not seem to offer enough information to distinguish between textiles woven in al-Andalus and those in the Christian kingdoms. Indeed, no scholar to date has adequately underlined how similar the features of the two productions were when compared closely. Similarly, researchers have until now also more or less routinely differentiated ‘true’ Islamic textiles from Mudéjar textiles, presuming that the latter were woven by Muslims in the service of Christians after the dissolution of the last Islamic state (Granada) in 1492. These Mudéjar fabrics were defined on the basis of their iconography and of the materials used to create the depictions, such as silver metal threads, as well as on the basis of the mixing of silk with linen ( filosedas/half silks). They were generally considered to be less elaborate and less delicate (thicker) imitations of the Andalusí productions.5 However, these features used to define the Mudéjar textiles (raw materials, textile weave, quality, decoration) could easily, and arguably more appropriately, be explained in quite different ways. A more fruitful approach seems to connect these features with their wider historical context, such as changing economic parameters and the rise of different workshops. After all, in the trade of textiles the producers had to satisfy customers with different, and ever-changing needs and purchasing power. Relevant to our discussion is that scholarly interest in Islamic fabrics, and Spain’s Islamic past in general, emerged during the 19th-century on the swelling wave of collectionism and antiquarianism. The general interest in the Islamic period, linked to the development of Orientalism, explains the sharp rise in importance and value of Andalusí objects during the last decades of that century. Stephen Vernoit aptly describes this trend: ‘Indeed, from the 1870s, high prices were paid in the salerooms, even exceeding those for objects from elsewhere in the Muslim world. Medieval Muslim Spain was associated with Alhambra vases, luster pottery, ivory caskets, and silk textiles’.6 During the last quarter of the 19th century several influential studies of the socalled minor arts appeared, such as those by Juan Facundo Riaño,7 and José Amador de los Ríos (Fig. 1),8 while many more on medieval textiles were published in the 20th, such as the prominent works by Antonio Floriano Cumbreño,9 Manuel Gómez Moreno,10 Carmen Bernis,11 and Florence Lewis May.12 The purchases by museums, exhibitions, publications, and the study of the contemporary written sources, made the Andalusí textiles not only well-known in Spain, but also in the rest of Europe.13 The interest in historical textiles was further encouraged by the development of International Exhibitions, and by the desire of European craftsmanship of the time for historical examples to draw inspiration (Fig. 2).14

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Throughout Europe this interest resulted already in the mid-19th century in the creation of museums of decorative arts, such as the South Kensington Museum, now the Victoria and Albert Museum, which was founded in 1852. Furthermore, interest grew during this era in the study of the Middle Ages as part of the search for a national identity in various European countries (some newly established nation-states), including Spain. In this perspective the active interest in historical Spanish textiles ranged from the destructive approach of Franz Bock,15 to exhibitions of Iberian Art at the South Kensington Museum,16 as well as the works by Otto von Falke and Isabelle Errera, among others.17 In Spain itself the rediscovery and attribution of the Andalusí fabrics as Iberian productions was directly related to the development of the disciplines of Art History and Archaeology, along with the country’s modern quest for an identity. Given the cultural and intellectual inclinations prevailing when the rediscovery of these textiles took place it is no wonder that the element of exoticism had been so much stressed whenever they were studied, which eventually resulted in the scholarly division we have referred to in the previous paragraphs. Above all, this background underlines the importance of exploring new ways to approach the Andalusí fabrics and to move away from the unfruitful deadlock of the traditional views. Any such a new approach should focus on the socio-economic aspects of the production of these textiles, such as fabrication techniques, social functions, as well as uses and reuses. The aim should be to address multi-faceted questions related to the historical role of these fabrics, ranging from commercialization to aspects of identity within the complex sphere of the multicultural medieval Iberia. t h e dev e lopm e n t of n ew a pproach es The first more or less systematic studies of Andalusí textile production were made in the final decades of the 20th century, building upon efforts to restore some of the most important surviving pieces. At first these attempts were concerned mainly with the textile’s historical context, and later also addressed questions concerning weaving techniques and raw materials.18 In recent years, several research projects have contributed a great deal to the study of these last two subjects. Moreover, these projects have shed new light on aspects related to the function, origin, and subsequent acquisition of these textiles by collectors and museums.19 In general, the development of new approaches to European textile traditions (such as the one in Islamic Iberia) and the development of interdisciplinary studies has been greatly stimulated by the research carried out on textiles from Egyptian (‘Coptic’) necropolises of Late Antiquity. This holds especially true for the study of silk textiles of that period which had so much influence on medieval fabrics, such as Byzantine textiles.20

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The blending of these new insights with the development of multidisciplinary textile studies,21 and the systematic study of inscriptions,22 has led to a recent reassessment of Andalusí fabrics. Of great importance for this reassessment is the fact that new studies of medieval textiles were undertaken from both the Christian and the Islamic perspective, which undercut some of the long-standing traditional assumptions regarding the origin of the Iberian textiles.23 These studies highlight the progress which can be made by research that analyses man-made objects (including fabrics) primarily as goods bought and sold in commercial circuits which function in a wider socio-cultural context in which these objects have both practical and symbolic functions.24 In addition, the new approach has revealed how understudied the textile production in the Christian North of the Iberian Peninsula actually still is. Despite the fact that an up-to-date catalogue which compiles and classifies the Andalusí textiles is still lacking, the aim of this contribution is to discuss some results and conclusions of the multidisciplinary studies on its production conducted in recent years.25 Much progress has been made especially regarding the material features of the fabrics. Studies carried out on fibres, dyes, and metal threads, along with analyses of the weave, have enabled a fundamental reassessment of the production. No matter how technical this type of study may seem, they are essential, as they provide evidence that can be compared, contrasted and combined with types of evidence traditionally employed by art historians. These various types of evidence can then be used to formulate new arguments, draw solid conclusions or question pre-existing theories. Finally, while the issue of aesthetic features remains important, it is now generally accepted that the study of weaving techniques and used materials can help to overcome the stagnation of myths and debates related to conventional views on the travelling of motifs around the Mediterranean. t h e r aw m at e r i a l s fou n d i n a n da lusí t e x t i l es Most of the textiles identified as Andalusí were made of silk. Only some embroideries use linen for the ground textile. This suggests that silk was probably cultivated in Iberia itself from the 8th century onwards.26 Cotton farming also began with the arrival of the Arabs, and its cultivation replaced linen in some areas. It is known that at least part of the cotton crop was meant for export,27 and until now this fibre has not been found in the textiles studied in our project.28 Furthermore, Iberian wool was praised in Islamic texts, as it had been by the Romans.29 It was during the Islamic period that the Merino sheep was bred, its wool being considered by historical sources as being of the finest quality.30 However, although it was one of the most commonly used textile materials during the period under discussion, no Andalusí textile using wool

20

rodr ígu e z pe i n a d o & c a br e r a-l a f u e n t e – n e w a pproac h e s

has been identified so far. Linen, on the other hand, was often used. Iberian linen was considered equal to that from Egypt, from which fine tabby or plain weaves such as sendal cloth were woven for veils and other garments.31 Linen warps were also mixed with silk wefts, forming what some authors call filoseda or ‘half silks’.32 This combination reduced costs and was also used in other production centres, such as those in Italy. Metal threads already appear in two of the earliest datable Andalusí textiles, the Veil of Hisham ii (r. 976-1009 & 1010-1013) and the Pyrenees Tapestry Band. The composition of the metal varies from almost pure gold to silver-gilt, which clearly suggests an advanced metallurgical technology.33 The most common type of threads are those formed of fine strips of metal (gold, silver, silver-gilt) that are spun around a core of silk. Another method involved applying gold leaf or silver-gilt to an animal intestine and cutting this into strips, which are twisted on silk threads (Fig. 3). These are now known as ‘organic metal threads’, to differentiate them from solely metal threads, and to replace less precise historical terms for the same method, such as ‘Cyprus gold’.34 The dyes used on the textiles studied in our project display a number of common features that may assist in identifying their workshops of origin.35 The various dyes, plant-based, animal, and mineral, that were used in this period have been compiled by Lombard.36 He lists them by colour: – reds. Plant-based: madder, henna, safflower, sesame, Brazil wood, and orchil lichen. Animal-based: kermes, Armenian and Polish cochineal, and lac dye. – yellows. Plant-based: saffron, weld, wars dye from Yemen, young fustic, and curcuma. – greens. Mineral-based: verdigris. – blues. Plant-based: indigo or woad.37 – browns & blacks. Plant-based: oak bark, sumac, and walnut root. – purples. Animal-based: murex. However, written sources seem to mention a wider variety of dyes than those obtained from the scientific analyses carried out on the fabrics (Table 1).38 If we compare the data from the analyses with the written sources, one notes the absence of henna and the fact that the green used is a blend of blue (indigotine) and yellow (weld, mostly) rather than verdigris, as Lombard reports.39 The insect-based kermes is key for obtaining red (from the Arabic quirmiz, Spanish carmesí, crimson in English), which is comparable to madder. While this does not seem so common among the textiles produced in Iberia, in places such as Italy or Byzantium madder or Armenian cochineal are the most commonly used dyes, as well as Brazil wood.40

21

6

t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

ns

nn i

Ta S

a ff ro n

19

Pe r

5

B

n

sia

2

es

er ri

d 2

W el

d

il w oo

2

Br az

n

i

Or ch

2

ue

l li q

h.

an

2

en i

co c

Ar m

c d ye 21

La

es

Ke

13

rm

r

23

e 0

5

10

15

20

in

go t

di

In

a

25

M

dd e

Number of samples

table 1 – Diagram showing the various dyes detected on the textiles from the Iberian Peninsula.

22

rodr ígu e z pe i n a d o & c a br e r a-l a f u e n t e – n e w a pproac h e s

Saffron has been identified as plant-based yellow by the analysis carried out at the ipce (Cultural Heritage Institute of Spain).41 Due to its volatility, it is a difficult dye to detect, although it is mentioned in the historical sources as one of the most appreciated and costly. It was apparently used in low concentrations and often adulterated with other dyes. We think that further study of materials used in the Andalusí textiles can provide crucial information, and perhaps even solid answers on questions such as what fabrics were produced at which location, even more so when the information is combined with closer study of the weaving techniques and with the analytical tools of art history. Exactly for that reason this multifaceted approach of Andalusí textiles as material objects is a central pillar of our research project. t ech n iqu es a n d w e av i ng It is known that in al-Andalus technically advanced looms were used to create particularly complex textiles. Along with vertical looms on which tapestries and carpets were woven, foot-treadle looms could manufacture textiles of a single warp, such as taffetas or tabby with tapestry strips. However, for textiles with repeating decorative motifs throughout the drawloom was used. This kind of loom enabled motifs to be repeated by allowing the weaver to select the specific shuttles carrying the threads of the warp that formed the design.42 The threads (warps and wefts) were mostly spun in a Z twist, with less of a twist applied to the weft threads than the warp.43 In the case of tapestry, the wefts did not cross the textile from side to side, but adapted to the compositional motif, and some features, such as the grouping of warps, clearly indicate an Egyptian tradition.44 The tapestry weave was used in combination with other weaves, such as tabby (the basic plain weave) or even samite (a weft-faced compound twill-type weave for luxurious and heavy silk fabric), taqueté (a compound weft-faced weave with two warps; Fig. 4), or lampas (a background ground weave with supplementary pattern wefts laid on top, forming the design, for luxury fabrics). The development of these textiles was due to two factors: the spread of silk, which allowed greater tension on the loom due to its resistance, and the transfer of weaving techniques between West and East. Samite and taqueté were Chinese inventions, but as rightly Otavsky underlines, weft-faced compound twills (or samites) and weft-compound tabbies (or taquetés) were Western innovations, possibly since the 7th century.45 Samite is formed of two warps (main and binding) with a twill base, from which the decoration arises from working the binding warps together with the patterning wefts. The main warp is hidden by the floats of wefts, ground and patterning. Nevertheless, there are also plainer samites, such as those used in the dalmatic and chasuble

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t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

of San Ramón (1067-1126), in the collection of the Roda de Isábena Cathedral.46 The dalmatic’s textile features a plain double-faced weft compound-twill, in which each set of weaves works exclusively on one side. The chasuble’s textile is a plain weft-faced compound twill.47 Taqueté has a similar structure to the samite, but its base weave is a tabby, so the picks are more obvious on the fabric surface. Lampas developed from the above mentioned weaves. In this technique to create luxury fabrics, the main warps and ground wefts form the ground weave on which the decoration is created, by using the binding warps and patterning wefts with a different weave. The origins of lampas (both Western and Eastern) have been studied by Sophie Desrosiers and Louise Mackie. While the former states that further research is needed on the weave but suggests a possible Iberian origin,48 the latter claims it was of Eastern provenance.49 In any case, an important aspect of this weave is that it requires almost always the simultaneous functioning of all the wefts, which gives weight (or ‘body’) to the textiles. This can be seen in several examples of the so-called ‘Alhambra Curtains’.50 The technique used for the type of silk cloth referred to in medieval documents as pannus de Areste or draps de Larest or draps of aresta is considered a local Spanish invention. Its weave is a twill in which one warp and at least two patterning wefts combine to form a herringbone pattern,51 such as the fabric of the Cope of San Fructuoso (d. 655) (Fig. 5). This is one of the few textile techniques that can be identified in the written sources. Concerning embroidery on Andalusí textiles, the preserved examples mostly display similar features. They are embroidered on linen tabby or plain weave, mainly in silk threads, such as the Nasrid embroideries,52 or the Mitre of San Victorián (d. after 551) at the Museo Diocesano Barbastro-Monzón, Huesca (Fig. 6). However, also metal threads could be used for embroidery, as is the case at Oña.53 Of special significance is the embroidery on the famous Casket of San Isidoro de León (ca. 560-636), which is currently under study.54 Embroideries on Andalusí textiles gained great importance from the 14th century onwards, but no comprehensive study of them has been carried out since the work done by Floriano Cumbreño in 1942. We have classified the different kinds of weaves according to a chronological scheme.55 The first in this sequence is tapestry, but this presents us immediately with a problem. It is now clear that due to the grouping of warps in some of the early tapestries, it must remain an open question whether they were made in Egypt or Iberia. This technique was in use until the 13th century, at least in some textiles such as the Cope of Don Sancho of Aragon (1250-1275), Archbishop of Toledo, or the Banner of Las Navas de

24

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Tolosa. The lack of additional contemporary tapestries does not make it possible to state whether the survival of this technique is related to its functionality. Nevertheless, the two aforementioned examples represent diverse public functions. Among the textiles found in Iberia those made with the samite weaving technique appear towards the beginning of the 11th century and last until the 13th century. On the other hand, taqueté appears in the 12th century but is used mainly in the 13th century when it was combined with lampas. The earliest examples of lampas date from the 11th century. This is the weave that endured, and is the most common in Nasrid silks.56 In any case, the weaving techniques of Andalusí textiles remain a underexplored subject, mainly due to the lack of systematic study, not to mention comparisons with other workshops and geographical areas. Such comparisons can shed light on transfer of technology and the relation of techniques to changes in decorations or other aspects. If for example, a new technology is introduced without an related change in style, this tells something about the prevailing aesthetics of a society and perhaps more general about its cultural identity. decor at ion Traditionally, the study of decoration and motifs on Andalusí textiles was mainly focused on the foreign origin of the early silk weavers, who came to the Iberian Peninsula from the Nile Valley and Syria. Local Hispano-Roman traditions were usually neglected, due to the apparent lack of surviving objects, although it is now clear that these certainly existed. The earliest textiles preserved and dated traditionally in the 10th century are the Veil of Hisham ii and the Pyrenees Tapestry Band. Both have similar technical features, such as the silk warps grouping in the decoration area, and the use of metal threads in the decoration´s ground. However, the decoration itself can be related to diverse traditions. While the Veil is related to Fatimid textiles, the Pyrenees Tapestry Band bears motifs from the Near East, which represented the tradition that would endure in the coming centuries.57 One aspect we consider important to underline in this context is that in many cases the decorations of Andalusí textiles are studied in terms of how the fabrics were described in written sources.58 In these texts much of the textile terminology derives from their original place of production, such as Attabi (in allusion to the Baghdad neighbourhood), or Isfahani and Damask. The same goes for textiles which are named in the sources after their decoration, like the pallia rotata (Fig. 7) and the diaspros (both decorated with medallions), or raqm (striped textiles). In other words, as far as the Andalusí textiles are concerned, it is not always possible to simply identify the type by using the denominations used in the written sources.

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As far as decoration on the Andalusí textiles is concerned, roundel patterns with animals or plants in their interior clearly are of Middle Eastern origin. This motif, already present in Sassanian art, became a constant feature of Byzantine and Islamic art. Roundels were copied in al-Andalus, but they also arrived via the trade routes, such as the textile from the Collegiate of San Isidoro de León bearing the inscription ‘Made in Baghdad for Abu Bakr’.59 The roundel patterns could be enriched with details in metal thread which highlighted certain parts of the animal heads, as can be seen on the textile of Santa Librada in the Sigüenza Cathedral (Fig. 8). As a matter of fact, roundel patterns continued to be used well into the 12th century, as can be seen in the textiles of the Pantheon of Las Huelgas in Burgos.60 However, in the next century, a new decoration began to dominate: bands of varying widths with plant or animal decorations as well as a strip containing an inscription. In these designs, animals and small vegetal motifs were placed within staggered squares or foliate medallions, such as on the Cloak of Fernando de la Cerda (1255-1275), son of Alfonso x (1221-1284) (Museo de Telas Medievales, Las Huelgas Monastery). In this vestment silk is combined with metal threads in compositions where the figurative patterns blend in with the geometric designs, interlaces, star patterns and Arabic inscriptions arranged in bands. In the written sources these bands are called telas listadas, viadas o bastonadas (‘striped cloths’). This new style with its dense ornamentation reveals similarities with contemporary Mongol textiles. The Mongol textiles were traded to the West during the pax mongolica and are called panni tartarici in the inventories.61 Iberian and Italian workshops imitated these styles as well.62 In Andalusí textiles, these styles can best be appreciated in the fabrics of the Royal Pantheon of Las Huelgas in Burgos, which form a magnificent showcase of textile production between 1170 and 1340.63 In the Andalusí production of the 14th century, the influence of Asian and Mamluk fabrics can be seen in the use of leaves and small asymmetrical patterns as decoration.64 In striped silks the foliate patterns frequently alternate with Arabic inscriptions. The texts repeat expressions of happiness, peace, and prosperity, and also the motto of the Nasrid dynasty of Granada (r. 1230-1492), ‘Glory to Our Lord the Sultan’ (Fig. 9). During the 15th century, the decorative compositions on the Andalusi textiles are dominated by geometric and interlacing patterns, which were spaced out in strips of different widths and various brilliant colours, similar to the tile pattern found in the Alhambra. After the conquest of the Kingdom of Granada by the Catholic Monarchs, these motifs continued on textiles and embroidery produced throughout the 16th century in the Maghreb workshops.65 The decorative repertoire on the textiles clearly originates from a common artistic language, which is also reflected in other artistic

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manifestations of the time, such as marble, ceramics, metalwork, and architectural ornamentation. Lastly, the heraldic textiles (or scutulados) among the Andalusí fabrics were undoubtedly commissioned to satisfy a clientele who required exclusive pieces bearing heraldic arms as a symbol of identity. This clientele could be Christian, as is witnessed by the clothes of Fernando de la Cerda (Museo de Telas Medievales, Las Huelgas Monastery), the Cloak of Fernando iii (1199/1201-1252) (Seville Cathedral) and the Cope of the Archbishop of Toledo Don Sancho of Aragon (1250-1275) (Museo de Telas y Tapices, Toledo Cathedral). Heraldic decoration could, however, also be commisioned by Islamic inhabitants of the Iberian pensinsula, as is witnessed by the textile bearing the crest of the Nasrid dynasty, at the Museo Lázaro Galdiano, Madrid.66 t h e probl e m of ch ronology Establishing a solid chronology is yet another aspect of the study of Andalusí textiles which has suffered to a certain extent by the approaches used in the past. Traditionally, the textiles were classified according to the different historical periods of al-Andalus and its various dynasties.67 However, it has now become clear that this provides insufficient grounds to explain their production history and that the development over time of Andalusí textiles should be related more to the wider currents that prevailed across the Mediterranean in each period rather than with individual Iberian dynasties. The success of a technique or decorative repertoire was apparently less based on regional political or religious interests, and more on larger transregional developments. In fact, it seems now more and more likely that prevailing cultural trends and tastes disseminated techniques, types, and repertoires; after which these were then copied and adapted in the various production centres. So, the development of a new chronological classification, exempt from political baggage, seems appropriate, now it has become clear that separating textiles based on reigning dynasties does not correspond with the observable differences in techniques and repertoires. This is by all means not a simple challenge. For one, there is the fact that there is no easy match between written sources and the actual preserved textiles of the period. According to the written sources, the institutionalisation of the tiraz (a tapestry cloth decorated with, among other motifs, inscriptions, usually blessings, verses from the Koran, the name of the ruler, the workshop, and sometimes the date of manufacturing; often used as gifts presented by Caliphs as ‘robes of honor’) during the reign of Abd al-Rahman ii (822-852), led to the prosperity of the Andalusí textile industry in the early 9th century.68 Yet, it is unknown whether any of the preserved examples date from before even the 10th century.

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In fact, most textiles dated to the 10th century are characterized by their decoration, which was based on tapestry technique. Other textile types produced in this century include compound twills, of which the most significant examples date to the 11th century, such as the Witches Pallium (Museu Episcopal de Vic, Barcelona). Also during the 11th century and the first half of the 12th century, diaspros (costly silken fabrics of one colour with a repeated pattern woven into it) were in vogue, using a lampas technique. In the mid-12th century, new fashions generated the demand for more complex textiles that could combine more than one technique in a single piece: lampas, compound tabbies, compound twills, tapestries, and cloths of aresta. Still, decoration alone is not a solid dating tool. Speaking of Mamluk silks, Bethany Walker has rightly warned againts this approach: ‘It is difficult to differentiate Mamluk figured silk from those manufactured in China, Italy, and Spain from the 13th to the 15th centuries. Moreover, European silks imitated Oriental silks, while weavers in China produced Islamic designs for the Mamluk market. The characterization, then, of figured silks as 11th- or 12th-century Egyptian of Syrian products on the basis of decoration alone is misleading.’69 The analysis of 14C will shed more light on these issues, providing a chronology based on the age of the fibers, instead of on their decorative features. The Buyid silks (ca. 934-1062) were the first ones to be radiocarbon dated,70 with subsequent dating applied to textiles from Late Antiquity.71 In the last few years, textiles from Central Asia and European treasuries (mostly now in museums) also have been radiocarbon dated.72 This will establish a chronological framework for these different textile productions, rather than chronologies based on decorative and stylistic aspects alone. f u nct iona l i t y Their multiple functionality as garments and as ornamentation, as well as their appreciation by both Muslims and Christians made Andalusí textiles desired objects, which were regularly reused and could easily change owners. There can be little doubt that they were part of the visual landscape and daily life on the Iberian Peninsula in both sacred and profane spaces, public and private life, as well as courtly and domestic spheres.73 Therefore, the traditional view that Christians considered such textiles as ‘Islamic’ must be questioned, because, as María Judith Feliciano says ‘beyond their ornamental purpose, […] the function of Andalusi textiles in Castilian courtly and ecclesiastical ritual, as well as their use in daily life, suggests that they were neither exotic nor incongruous elements of cultural display’.74 The crossing of cultural and religious borders by the fabrics was certainly related to their materiality as well as to their decoration.75

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From the perspective of function, of prime importance are the finds of Andalusí textiles in sepulchral contexts, such as the tombs of royalty, nobility and church dignitaries.76 Notable among these are: the Pantheon of Las Huelgas in Burgos,77 that of Prince Felipe (1231-1274) in the Church of Santa María in Villalcázar de Sirga (Palencia),78 the aljuba and embroidered yuba of the Monastery of San Salvador de Oña (Burgos),79 as well as those of the bishops of Roda de Isábena, San Ramón and San Valero (d. ca. 316),80 San Bernat Calbó (ca. 1180-1243), Bishop of Vic (Barcelona)81, and Rodrigo Ximénez de Rada (ca. 1170-1247), Archbishop of Toledo.82 These finds can help to understand the use of Andalusí textiles in different types of courtly and civil dress,83 as well as their use as linings and covers for tombs, cushions, and similar objects.84 As expected, Andalusí textiles are also often found as (parts of) ecclesiastical vestments.85 Their use as ornamentation is evident in liturgical pieces, such as the case of altar frontals or antependiums (e.g. the Witches Pallium), or altar cloths such as those in the illustrations of the Cantigas de Santa María of Alfonso x.86 They also served civil purposes, such as curtains, among which some of the best preserved are those from the Alhambra.87 Another use was for wrapping relics.88 Often, reliquaries were wrapped up in cloth, but the relics themselves were placed in textile bags or covered directly with textiles. Many of the Andalusí textiles preserved have this origin, such as the Veil of Hisham ii, the izar of Coll, and the San Zoilo Monastery textiles. Overall, issues of functionality further undermine the Islamic vs. Christian dichotomy, and reveal a society that had a more complex, mixed attitude to this type of artefacts. towa r ds a n ew u n de r sta n di ng The approach used for our project, proposed as a model for researching similar fabric productions, views Andalusí textiles as part of the visual landscape of daily life on the Iberian Peninsula (and beyond) in spaces that were sacred and profane, public and private, courtly and domestic. Valued for their quality, these luxury products crossed cultural barriers, thus facilitating the creation of a common aesthetic, probably unaffected by religious differences. Just like in the rest of the Mediterranean, these textiles acted as a primary mediator of cultural interchange: thanks to trade, styles and motifs crossed cultural borders; as did raw materials and technological innovations. Moreover, it is important to underline that Andalusí textiles did not only shape the taste of the society that produced them, but also of the society that desired them. This certainly makes the traditional dichotomy of the Iberian Peninsula during the Middle Ages, between Christian North and Islamic South, seem even more problematic. Within this framework, the precise documentation of the raw materials used, combined with the mapping of regional resources can help to establish differences

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between workshops and draw safer conclusions on the working and meaning of consumption habits. Finally, one should not forget the migration of weavers, responsible for the dissemination of technological and decorative innovations. The integration of the history of this migration into the history of the Andalusí textiles makes our research even more challenging and exciting. Essentially, what we propose is that a new approach to the study of fabrics such as the Andalusí textiles can only be fruitful if it succeeds in combining all the methodological elements discussed above, ranging from research into weaving techniques to the documentation of the raw materials used, and from 14C analysis to the assessment of function, and from the typology of decorations to the historical study of the migration of craftsmen and artisans. Such a wide ranged methodological approach seems the way forward to address the complex problems involved in studying a very mobile and fluid aspect of Mediterranean culture: luxury textiles and their circulation within various cultural, religious and ethnic contexts.

* ack now l e dge m e n ts This article has been made possible thanks to the interdisciplinary research project ‘Andalusí textile fabrics: characterization and interdisciplinary study’ of the Universidad Complutense de Madrid (har2014-54918-p). Furthermore, Ana CabreraLafuente has received funding from the European Union’s Horizon 2020 Research and Innovation Programme under the Marie Skłodowska-Curie grant agreement No. 703711.

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not es 1

On this subject see Bose 2016, no 4 in 213.

dr-franz-johann-joseph-bock/. See also

2

Many disentailments, or sales of the property

Borkopp Restle 2008. 16 John Charles Robinson, curator at the South

of the Catholic Church, took place in

3

19th-century Spain. The most important

Kensington Museum in the second half of

disentailments of ecclesiastical property

the 19th century, already commented on

were ordered by Gabriel Mendizabal (1835-

the limited attention given to textiles in

1837) and Pascual Madoz (1854-1856).

particular (Robinson 1881, 7).

Gómez Moreno 1948; Sanz 2000. An

17 Falke 1922; Errera 1927.

interactive map of Andalusian textiles can

18 Partearroyo 2007.

be found in the website ‘A la luz de la seda’:

19 Rodríguez Peinado and Cabrera-Lafuente 2014.

http://www.alaluzdelaseda.es/indexes.html. This map is useful but remains incomplete

20 Thomas 2008, 137-62.

as it lacks locations such as San Isidoro

21 This is the direction that research has taken

Pantheon in León, San Salvador Monastery

in the projects ‘Caracterización tecnológica

in Oña, San Zoilo Monastery in Carrión

y cronológica de las producciones textiles

de los Condes, San Millán de la Cogolla

coptas: antecedentes de las manufacturas

Monastery or Sigüenza Cathedral, etc.

textiles altomedievales españolas’

4 Rosser-Owen 2005; Feliciano 2014.

(hum2005-04610), and ‘Caracterización

5

de las producciones textiles de la

Partearroyo 2005, 63-4.

6 Vernoit 2010, 231.

tardoantigüedad y Edad Media temprana:

7 Riaño 1879.

tejidos coptos, sasánidas, bizantinos e

8

Amador de los Ríos 1879, 101-26.

hispanomusulmanes en las colecciones

9

Floriano Cumbreño 1942.

públicas españolas’ (har2008-04161),

10 Gómez Moreno 1946.

both directed by Prof. Laura Rodríguez

11 Bernis 1954; id. 1956.

Peinado (ucm). The same approach was

12 May 1957.

also applied in the project ‘Al-Andalus,

13 Michel 1854.

los reinos hispanos y Egipto: arte, poder y

14 Cabrera-Lafuente and Villalba 2004, 81-3.

conocimiento en el Mediterráneo medieval.

15 Franz Bock was a canon (priest) at Aachen

Las redes de intercambio y su impacto en la

Cathedral who collected and sold textiles to

cultura visual’ (har2013-45578-r), directed

museums and collectors throughout Europe.

by Dr Susana Calvo Capilla and Dr Juan

He was nicknamed ‘Scissors’ Bock from

Carlos Ruiz Souza (ucm). 22 The importance of inscriptions on textiles

his habit of cutting and removing textile fragments. An example of his work can be

was the subject of the Medieval Iberian

seen in the Victoria and Albert Museum:

Textile Epigraphic Workshop, which took

http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/d/

place at the Museo Arqueológico Nacional

31

t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

(Madrid), 29 June-3 July 2015. The workshop

35 Cabrera-Lafuente and Villalba 2005, 123-47.

was part of the project ‘Medieval Islamic

36 Lombard 1978, 118-45.

Textiles in Iberia and the Mediterranean’,

37 As it is not possible to differentiate

funded by the Max Van Berchem Foundation

chemically between both plants, the term

and directed by María Judith Feliciano.

‘indigotine’ is used to refer to both plants in the results from dye analysis.

23 Mariam Rosser-Owen comments: ‘The association of these objects with booty

38 Cabrera-Lafuente 2001, 399-400.

seized in heroic battlefield deeds by figures

39 Lombard 1978, 143.

who were later seen as foundational for

40 Cabrera-Lafuente 2001, 403-4.

different Iberian national identities occurred

41 Gayo and Arteaga 2005, 130-1.

very late.’ Rosser-Owen 2015, 41.

42 Saladrigas 1996, 87-8.

24 Feliciano 2014.

43 Borrego 2005, 81-118.

25 The study of the artefacts in Bishop

44 This characteristic was highlighted by Bernis 1954, 190-1.

Ximénez de Rada’s tomb is pioneering in

45 Karel Otavsky comments: ‘The most

its methodology and multidisciplinary approach (Mantilla de los Ríos 1995). The

important advantages of this western

studies and analysis conducted in the context

technique and the looms in which it was

of restoration of some Andalusí textiles is

applied were the relatively small number

summarized in the issue of Bienes Culturales

of warp threads and the ingenious, labour-

titled ‘Tejidos Hispanomusulmanes’ (No.

saving system of cords used to generate the pattern’ (Otavsky 2011, 239).

5/2005). Lastly, in 2012, the final research projects on textile collections in Spain and

46 Borrego 2005, 77.

their results were presented at a symposium

47 Cabrera-Lafuente et al., 2018, 50-53.

(Rodríguez Peinado and Cabrera-Lafuente,

48 Desrosiers 2004, 24-8.

2014).

49 Mackie 2016, 148-1. 50 Dodds 1992 338-9; Mackie 2015, 202-3.

26 Lombard 1978, 95-100; Rodríguez Peinado

51 For the technique, see Desrosiers et al. 1989.

2012, 270-71. Also see Jacoby, 2017, 142-51.

52 See López Redondo and Marinetto Sánchez

27 Constable 1996, 142-3.

2012, 104-12.

28 Rodríguez Peinado 2012, note 31 in 270.

53 Zozaya and Casamar 1991; Cabrera-Lafuente

29 Lombard 1978, 25-6.

2001; Ali de Unzaga 2012.

30 Cardon 1999, 49-50.

54 In collaboration with the project of Dr

31 Lombard 1978, 51-3.

Therese Martin (csic) ‘The Medieval

32 As Abbot Biure’s Cope that has linen warps (see López Redondo and Marinetto Sánchez

Treasury across Frontiers and Generations:

2012, 60-1. Regarding filosedas (half-silks)

The Kingdom of León-Castile in the

see Partearroyo 2005, 63-4).

Context of Muslim-Christian Interchange

33 Cabrera-Lafuente 2014, 34-5.

(ca. 1050-1200)’, (har2015-68614-p). See

34 Cabrera-Lafuente 2014, 35.

Cabrera-Lafuente, 2019, 71 and 74-75.

32

rodr ígu e z pe i n a d o & c a br e r a-l a f u e n t e – n e w a pproac h e s

66 López Redondo and Marinetto Sánchez

55 The first attempt of systematisation based

2012, 68-9.

on weave was made by Silvia Saladrigas in 1990. Ana Cabrera-Lafuente also drew

67 Partearroyo 2007, 371-419.

up an outline, considering other variables

68 García Gómez 1962.

such as fibres and decoration (Cabrera-

69 Walker 2000, 178.

Lafuente 1995). Lastly, Pilar Borrego

70 Blair, Bloom and Wardwell 1992.

established a technological development

71 Van Stryndock, De Moor and Bénazeth 2004.

up to date (Borrego 2005). 56 Borrego 2005, 119.

72 Van Raedonk 2013, 22-30.

57 On the evolution in the decoration see

73 Böse 2016, 223-6. 74 Feliciano 2005, 102.

Partearroyo 2007; Rodríguez Peinado, 2017. 58 Cabrera-Lafuente 2016, 9.

75 Feliciano 2014, 46-7.

59 This textile was initially thought to have

76 Böse 2016, 227-30. 77 Gómez Moreno 1946; Herrero Carretero

been produced in Baghdad, the Abbasid

1988; Español 2005; Herrero Carretero 2005.

capital (Partearroyo 2007, 383). However, its provenance has been reconsidered

78 Santos Rodríguez and Suárez Smith 1997.

by María Feliciano, within the frame of

79 Ali de Unzaga 2012.

her ‘Medieval Iberian Textile Epigraphic

80 Martin i Ros 1995.

Workshop’; while Ana Cabrera associates

81 https://www.museuepiscopalvic.com/es/

it with Andalusí workshops due to its

colleccions/tejido-e-indumentaria/orna-

weaving.

mentos-pontificales-de-san-bernat-calbo-

60 Herrero Carretero 1988; Yarza 2005.

obispo-de-vic-12331243-mev-10618-

61 Wardwell 1989.

2251-10620-10617-3890-1320-790-791. Also see Martin i Ros 1986.

62 Ritter 2016, 244 and figs. 5, 7, 10, 11 and 12; Fircks 2016, 267-87; Borkopp-Restle 2016,

82 Mantilla de los Ríos 1995.

288-99.

83 Descalzo 2005.

63 Herrero Carretero 1988; Yarza 2005.

84 Feliciano 2005, 102.

64 Rosser-Owen 2010, 62-3. Also see López

85 Ex. the Cope of the Constables of Castile, Burgos Cathedral (Dodds 1992, 336-37).

Redondo and Marinetto Sánchez 2012,

86 Rodríguez Peinado 2011, 339-59.

69-70.

87 Dodds 1992, 335.

65 López Redondo and Marinetto Sánchez

88 Martiniani-Reber 1992.

2012, 85-93.

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bi bl iogr a ph y Aguiló, M.P. 2012. Las artes decorativas en el catálogo monumental de España. Una aproximación, in: A. López-Yarto (ed.), El catálogo monumental de España (19001961), Investigación, restauración y difusión, Madrid, 251-71. Ali de Unzaga, M. 2012. Nuevos datos sobre el bordado de Oña: testigo ineludible de la historia, la política y la cultura entre al-Andalus y Castilla, in: R. Sánchez Domingo (coord.) Oña. Un milenio. Actas del Congreso Internacional sobre el Monasterio de Oña (1011-2011), Oña, 562-73. Amador de los Ríos, R., 1879. Restos del traje del Infante Don Felipe, Museo Español de Antigüedades 9, 101-26. Blair, S., J. Bloom and A. Wardwell 1992. Reevaluating the Date of the ‘Buyid’ Silks by Epigraphic and Radiocarbon Analysis, Ars Orientalis 22, 1-42. Bernis, C. 1954. Tapicería hispano-musulmana (siglos ix-xii), Archivo Español de Arte 27.107, 189-212. Bernis, C. 1956. Tapicería hispano-musulmana (siglos xiii-xiv), Archivo Español de Arte 29.114, 95-116. Borkopp-Restle, B. 2008. Die Textilsammlungen des Aachener Kanonikus Frank Bock. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Kunstgewerbemuseen in 19. Jarhhundert, Riggisberg. Borkopp-Restle, B. 2016. Striped Golden Brocades with Arabic Inscriptions in the Textile Treasure of St. Mary’s Church in Danzig/Gdansk, in: J. von Fircks and R. Schorta (eds.), Oriental Silks in Medieval Europe, Riggisberg, 288-99. Borrego, P. 2005. Estudio técnico del ligamento de los tejidos hispanoárabes, Bienes Culturales 5, 75-121. Borrego, P. 2014. Informe técnico de los tejidos procedentes de la abadía benedictina de Santo Domingo de Silos, in: Rodríguez, L. and A. Cabrera (eds.), La investigación textil y nuevos métodos de estudio, Madrid, 114-29. Böse, K. 2016. Beyond Foreign: Textiles from the Castilian Royal Tombs in Santa María de las Huelgas in Burgos, in: J. von Fircks and R. Schorta (eds.), Oriental Silks in Medieval Europe, Riggisberg, 213-30. Cabrera-Lafuente, A. 1995. Telas Hispanomusulmanas, siglos x-xiii, in: J.I. de la Iglesia Duarte (coord.), V Semana de estudios medievales de Nájera, Logroño, 199-207. Cabrera-Lafuente, A., 2001. Caracterización de las producciones textiles en Al-Andalus (siglos ix al xiv): estudios sobre tintes, in: M. Marín (ed.), Tejer y vestir: de la Antigüedad al Islam, Madrid, 395-415. Cabrera-Lafuente, A. 2014. Materias preciosas textiles: el caso del bordado con posible escena de Pentecostés del Museo Nacional de Artes Decorativas, Anales de Historia del Arte 24.1, 27-37.

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Cabrera-Lafuente, A. 2016. Técnicas textiles de la Edad Media: elementos de estudio y evolución histórica, Diseño de moda, teoría e historia de la indumentaria 2, 7-17. Cabrera-Lafuente, A. 2019. Textiles from the Museum of San Isidoro (León): New Evidence for Re-evaluating their Chronology and Provenance, in: T. Martin (ed.) The Medieval Iberian Treasury in the Context of Cultural Interchange, special issue, Medieval Encounters vol. 25, nos. 1-2 (2019), 59-95. https://brill.com/view/journals/ me/25/1-2/article-p59_3.xml. Cabrera-Lafuente, A. and M. Villalba Salvador 2004. Museo Nacional de Artes Decorativas (Madrid). De Museo Industrial a Museo Nacional de Artes Industriales (1850-1912), Revista de Museología 30-31, 81-8. Cabrera-Lafuente, A., et al., 2018. Medieval Iberian Relics and their Woven Vessels: The Case of San Ramón del Monte (†1126) Roda de Isábena Cathedral (Huesca, Aragón), in: M. Van Strydonck, J, Reyniers and F. Van Cleven (eds.), Relics @ the Lab: An Analytical approach to the Study of Relics (Louvain), 43-77. Cardon, D. 1999. La Draperie au Moyen Âge: Essor d’une grande industrie européenne, Paris. Casamar, M. and J. Zozaya 1991. Apuntes sobre la yuba funeraria de la Colegiata de Oña (Burgos), Boletín de Arqueología Medieval 5, 39-60. Constable, O.R. 1996. Trade and Traders in Muslim Spain: The Commercial Realignment of the Iberian Peninsula, 900-1500, Cambridge. Contadini, A. 2013. Sharing a Taste? Material Culture and Intellectual Curiosity around the Mediterranean, from the Eleventh to the Sixteenth Century, in: A. Contadini and C. Norton C. (eds.), The Renaissance and the Ottoman World, Abingdon, 23-61. Descalzo, A. 2005. El vestido entre 1170 y 1340 en el Panteón Real de las Huelgas, in: J. Yarza (coord.), Vestiduras ricas. El monasterio de Las Huelgas y su época, 11701340, Madrid, 107-18. Desrosiers, S. 2004. Eléments pour une histoire des soieries façonnes, in: S. Desrosiers (ed.), Musée du Moyen Àge-Thermes du Cluny: Soieries et autres textiles de l´Antiquité au xvie siècle, Paris, 14-28. Desrosiers, S., G. Vial and D. de Jonghe 1989. Cloth of Aresta: A Preliminary Study of its Definition, Classification and Method of Weaving, Textile History 20, 199-233. Dodds, J. 1992. Al-Andalus: The Art of Islamic Spain, New York. Español, F. 2005. ‘Los indumentos del cuerpo a la espera del Juicio Final’, in: J. Yarza (coord.), Vestiduras ricas. El monasterio de Las Huelgas y su época, Madrid, 73-88. Errera, I. 1927. Catalogue d’ étoffes anciennes et modernes. Musées Royaux du Cinquantenaire, Bruxelles. Falke, O. von 1922. Historia del tejido de seda, Barcelona.

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Feliciano, M.J. 2005. Muslim Shrouds from Christian Kings? A Reassessment of Andalusi Textiles in Thirteenth-Century Castilian Life and Ritual, in: C. Robinson and L. Rouhi (eds.), Under the Influence. Questioning the Comparative in Medieval Castile, Leiden & Boston, 101-31. Feliciano, M.J. 2014. Medieval Textiles in Iberia: Studies for a New Approach, in: D. J. Roxburgh (ed.), Envisioning Islamic Art and Architecture, Leiden & Boston, 46-65. Fircks, J. von 2016. Islamic Striped Brocades in Europe: ‘Heinrichsgewänder’ in Regensburg from a Transcultural Perspective, in: J. von Fircks and R. Schorta (eds.), Oriental Silks in Medieval Europe, Riggisberg, 266-87. Floriano Cumbreño, A. 1942. El bordado, Barcelona. Forrer, R. 1891. Römische und Byzantinische Seiden-Textilien aus den Gräberferlde von Achmim-Panopolis, Strasburg. Gayo, M.D. and A. Arteaga 2005. Análisis de colorantes de un grupo de tejidos hispanomusulamanes, Bienes Culturales 5, 123-47. García Gómez, E. 1962. Estudio del Dar al-tiraz, Al-Andalus 27, 20-104. Gómez Moreno, M. 1946. El Panteón Real de las Huelgas de Burgos, Madrid. Gómez Moreno, M. 1948. Preseas Reales sevillanas, Archivo Hispalense: Revista histórica, literaria y artística 9. 27-32, 191-204. Herrero Carretero, C. 1988. Museo de Telas Medievales. Monasterio de Santa María la Real de Huelgas, Madrid. Herrero Carretero, C. 2005. El museo de telas medievales de Santa María la Real de Huelgas. Colecciones textiles de Patrimonio Nacional, in: J. Yarza (coord.), Vestiduras ricas. El monasterio de Las Huelgas y su época, 1170-1340, Madrid, 119-38. Jacoby, D. 2017. The Production and Diffusion of Andalusi Silk and Silk Textiles, Mid-Eighth to Mid-Thirteenth Century, in: A Shalem (ed.), The Chasuble of Thomas Becket: a Biography, Munich, 142-51. Lombard, M. 1978. Les textiles dans le monde musulman, viie-xiie siècle, Paris & New York. López Redondo, A. and P. Marineto Sánchez (eds.) 2012. A la luz de la seda. Catálogo de la colección de tejidos nazaríes del Museo Lázaro Galdiano y el Museo de la Alhambra. Orígenes y pervivencias, Madrid. Mackie, L. 2015. Symbols of Power: Luxury Textiles from Islamic Lands 7th-21st Century, New Haven & London. Mantilla de los Ríos Rojas, M.S. 1995. Vestiduras pontificales del arzobispo Rodrigo Ximénez de Rada. S.xiii: su estudio y restauración, Madrid. Martín i Ros, R. 1986. Tomba de Sant Bernat Calbó: teixit dit de Gilgamés, in: Cataluya Romanica, vol. iii, (Osona ii), 728-31. Martín i Ros, R. 1995-96. Les vêtements liturgiques de Saint-Valére: étude historique, Bulletin du cieta 73, 63-78.

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Martiniani-Reber, M. 1992. Le rôle des étoffes dans le culte des reliques au Moyen Age, Bulletin du cieta 70, 53-8. May, F. 1957. Silk Textiles of Spain: Eighth to Fifteenth Century, (Hispanic Notes & Monographs, Peninsular Series), New York. Michel, F. 1854. Recherches sur le commerce, la fabrication et l’usage des étoffes de soie, d’or et d’argent et autres tissue précieux en Occident, principalement en France pendant le Moyen-Age ii, Paris. Otavsky, K. and A.E. Wardwell 2011. Mittelalterliche Textilien ii: Zwischen Europa und China, Riggisberg. Partearroyo, C. 2005. Estudio histórico artístico de los tejidos de Al-Andalus y afines, Bienes Culturales 5, 37-74. Partearroyo, C. 2007. Tejidos andalusíes, Artigrama 22, 371-419. Riaño, J. F. 1879. The Industrial Arts in Spain, London. Ritter, M. 2016. Cloth of Gold from West Asia in a Late Medieval European Context: the Abu Sa’id Textile in Vienna – Princely Funeral, and Cultural Transfer, in: J. von Fircks and R. Schorta (eds.), Oriental Silks in Medieval Europe, Riggisberg, 231-51. Robinson, J.C. (ed.) 1881. Catalogue of the Special Loan Exhibition of Spanish and Portuguese Ornamental Art, London. Rodríguez Peinado, L. 2011. El arte textil en el siglo xiii. Cubrir, adornar y representar: una expresión de lujo y color, in: Fernández Fernández, L. and J.C. Ruiz Souza (eds.), Alfonso x el Sabio, 1221-1284: Las Cantigas de Santa María, Códice Rico, Ms T-I-1, vol. ii, Madrid, 341-74. Rodríguez Peinado, L. 2012. La producción textil en al-Andalus: origen y desarrollo, Anales de Historia del Arte 22, 265-79. Rodríguez Peinado, L. 2017. La seda en la Antigüedad Tardía y al-Andalus, in: R. Franch Benavent and G. Navarro Espinach (eds.), Las rutas de la seda en la historia de España y Portugal, Valencia, 15-38. Rodríguez Peinado, L. and A. Cabrera-Lafuente (eds.) 2014. La investigación textil y nuevos métodos de estudio, Madrid (http://www.flg.es/images/publicaciones/investigacion-textil-). Rosser-Owen, M. 2010. Islamic Arts from Spain, London. Rosser-Owen, M. 2015. Islamic Objects in Christian Contexts: Relic Translation and Modes of Transfer in Medieval Iberia, Art in Translation 7.1, 39-44. Saladrigas, S. 1996.‘Los tejidos en Al-Andalus: siglos ix-xvi. Aproximación técnica, in: Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, Servei de Publicacions (ed.), España y Portugal en las Rutas de la Seda: Diez siglos de producción y comercio entre Oriente y Occidente, Barcelona, 74-98.

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Santos Rodríguez, de los R.M. and C. Suárez Smith, 1997. Investigación museológica acerca de los fragmentos de tejidos pertenecientes a la capa del infante D. Felipe (siglo xiii), Boletín de la anabad 47.1, 161-4. Sanz, M.J. 2000. Ajuares funerarios de Fernando iii, Beatriz de Suabia y Alfonso x, in: M. González Jiménez (coord.), Sevilla 1248, Madrid, 419-47. Senra Gabriel y Galán, J.L. 2001. Dos telas islámicas encontradas en el Monasterio de San Zoilo de Carrión de los Condes, Goya. Revista de Arte 303, 332-40. Stillman, Y.S. 1979. New Data on Islamic Textile from the Geniza, Textile History 101, 184-95. Thomas, T.K. 2008. Coptic and Byzantine Textiles Found in Egypt: Corpora, Collections, and Scholarly Perspective, in: R.S. Bagnall (ed.), Egypt in the Byzantine World, 300-700, Cambridge, 137-62. Van Raedock, M. (dir.) 2015. En Harmonie. Art du monde islamique au Musée du Cinquantenaire, Brussels. Van Stryndock, M., A. De Moor and D. Bénazeth 2004. C-14 Dating Compared to Art Historical Dating of Roman and Coptic Textiles from Egypt, Radiocarbon 46.1, 231-44. Vernoit, S. 2010. Hispano-Moresque Art in European Collection, c. 1910, in: A. Lermer and A. Shalem (eds.), After One Hundred Years. The 1910 Exhibition ‘Meisterwerke muhammedanischer Kunst’ Reconsidered, Leiden & Boston, 231-67. Walker, B.J. 2000. Rethinking Mamluk Textiles, Mamluk Studies Review 4, 167-207. Wardwell, A.E. 1989. Panni Tartarici: Eastern Islamic Silks Woven with Gold and Silver, Islamic Art, 95-173. Yarza, J. (coord.) 2005. Vestiduras ricas. El monasterio de Las Huelgas y su época, 11701340, Madrid.

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fig. 1 – Illustration from the 1879 article by R. Amador de los Ríos about the textiles and garments from the burial of Prince D. Felipe, Villalcazar de Sirga, Palencia (after Amador de los Rios 1879, unnumbered plate).

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fig. 2 – Fragment of an Andalusí silk acquired by the South Kensington Museum to Bock in 1863, with the 19th-century mounting; © Victoria and Albert Museum, London (inv. no. t. 8566/1863).

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fig. 3 – Metal thread from the embroidery held in Oña Monastery (Burgos). In the core the silk thread, outline by the brown organic material and the thin gold leaf. (Composition: Au 91-96,55%; Ag 3,5-8,3% and Cu traces).

fig. 4 – Band of San Ramon, weft-faced compound twill with a decoration in tapestry, late 11th-early 12th century; Cathedral of Roda de Isábena (Huesca).

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fig. 5 – Fragment from the Cope of San Fructoso, silk cloth of aresta, 13th century; Cathedral of Roda de Isábena (Huesca).

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fig. 6 – Mitre of San Victorián, embroidered linen tabby or plain weave; Museo Diocesano Barbastro-Monzón (Huesca).

fig. 7 – Textile decorated with circles, late 11th-early 12th century; Cathedral of Roda de Isábena (Huesca).

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fig. 8 – Textile with roundel patterns from Santa Librada burial; (Cathedral of Sigüenza, Guadalajara).

fig. 9 – Fragment in lampas weave, from the same textile that was used for the Cope of the Condestable (Cathedral of Burgos); © Victoria and Albert Museum, London (inv. no. t.1105-1900).

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*

*

*

Metaphors we dress with: Medieval poetics about textiles Avinoam Shalem

*

i n t roduct ion «As for istiʿāra, it is a type of tasbīh (or a process of establishing similarity between objects) and a form of tamthīl (likening); tasbīh (the act of similizing) is an analogy (qiyās), and analogy ‘occurs in’ qualities comprehended by the heart, and realized by the intellect … and not by the sense of hearing.» – kamal abu deeb, Al-Jurjani’s Theory of Poetic Imagery, 19791

In his influential and highly poetic series of essays called Mythologies, written between 1954 and 1956, Roland Barthes devoted one of these essays to the mundane and ubiquitous substance that conquers our modern life: plastic.2 ‘The fashion for plastic’, Barthes says, ‘highlights an evolution in the myth of “imitation” materials’.3 It is a household material, he adds, of a prosaic character with which, ‘for the first time, artifice aims at something common, not rare’.4 For a moment one is reminded of the pervasive power of textiles in the medieval world of Islam. A material that seemed to encompass the whole human cosmos, from its use at home as forming part of soft architecture, soft furniture, and of course clothing, to its further uses, mainly as soft containers, either while transporting goods over land and sea or bearing ingredients related to the cultivation of the earth.5 And yet, and to some extent, unlike plastic, textile production in the Middle Ages (as today) aimed (and still aims) for both the ordinary and luxurious. The textile thus bears contradicting qualities: it is a prosaic and quotidian substance that, concomitantly, when time is invested in its production, can be a material of high artistic quality. Indeed, it can be extremely luxurious and expansive and, as The Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 45-66

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10.1484/m.mpmas-eb.5.120553

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such, is a substance, as Barthes clearly defines natural materials, that ‘is still of this earth, it still recalls, albeit in a precious mode, its mineral or animal origin, the natural theme of which it is but one actualization.’6 In this paper I will focus on the delicate and artistic qualities of fine textiles as reflected in medieval poetry of the Muslim world, especially that written in Arabic. Unlike numerous studies on the appearance of poetic verses or other script on the edges and along the borders of medieval textiles, a specific phenomenon that clearly contributed to the luxurious value of these artefacts and that intensified any poetic gaze, my study focuses on the poetic verses about rather than on textiles;7 it is their ekphrasis, the description of these materials as art products made by experienced humans. This study therefore widens our conception and scholarly discourse about ekphrasis by going beyond the usual descriptions of architecture, painting, or sculpture – themes most frequently taken up by art historians – and focusing instead on the descriptions of textiles as works of art and the common metaphors that accompanied and shaped textiles’ imageries and symbolic realms. t h e poet ic nat u r e of t e x t i l es a) The poetry of textiles as second skin When made by human hands with great care and attention to details, the woven textile is an object of desire. It is crucial therefore to disclose the specific features of the textile in its social context and, more importantly, as an object. What I mean by emphasizing the textile’s ‘object’ character is to define the unique qualities of this artefact and its features as a thing. Taking as an example an object such as a box, we can certainly say that the major characteristic of a box is its containing nature. Thus its chief aesthetic experience is mainly linked to the tension created between its inner containing body and its outer walls. A book, to use another example, suggests quite a different experience. Besides the tension between the book’s inner and outer appearances, namely the cover and the mass of pages bound into its spine, the ‘book experience’ involves the constant tension created by being confronted with the aesthetic effect of two open pages. This specific visual experience is based on the impulse to compare and juxtapose the double image of the open book. It is then the diptych character that creates the recurring aesthetic pleasure in the eyes of the book’s beholder. In addition, the constant action of turning a book’s pages contributes a sense of endurance to the experience because it prolongs the book’s aesthetic experience beyond the static visual pleasure of looking at its double-page image. This specific condition results in an accumulative aesthetic experience.

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sh a l e m – m eta phor s w e dr e ss w i t h

Textiles, to some extent, like carpets, are also unique objects. Their primary quality as flat-woven – or in the case of carpets, knotted pile – surfaces and the fact that they can be spread and flattened make these artefacts appear as low reliefs. Textiles and carpets are seemingly two-dimensional objects because their height or, when hung, depth is less evident. Moreover, they typically have defined borders that clearly isolate them from their surroundings.8 This tension between the seemingly two-dimensional quality and factual three-dimensional nature is, I think, what endows carpets and textiles with their aesthetic attraction. Textiles also typically have defined borders. Yet, in contrast to carpets, the constant use of which generally dispenses with the act of spreading these artefacts flat, the ‘poetic’ of textiles, on the contrary, is linked to the fabric’s texture and folds, especially as it covers one’s body. The surfaces of textiles, their gloss and shine, and of course their specific colours, are matters that are often addressed poetically. It is their raw or delicate texture, their velvety or silky-shiny surface, which is being described by poets. This aspect of a textile, its ‘haptic quality’, so to speak, is wholly linked to the ‘feel’ that it might have, and by using the word ‘feel’ I refer to the human desire to touch textiles and luxuriate in their textures via the sensation caused on the skin. This sensuous experience evokes the correlation between the surface of the textiles and that of our body, and they thus appear as an extra skin. b) The poetry of folds and creases The ‘contours’ of a fabric, that is to say its pleats, creases, and folds, be they hard and broken, gracefully flowing and fluid, or twisting and jumbled, suggest the specific quality of the textile. In fact, any drapery can be defined by its unique diversity of folds and creases. The specific shapes and forms created as a textile covers any object or body manifest the nature of its materiality. Moreover, one can say that the particular folds reflect the specific language that the fabric ‘speaks’. As Gilles Deleuze mentions in his book The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque, the fold is abstract and specific, and elusive in its capacity to join and divide at the same time.9 Commenting on Deleuze, Anthony Vidler adds to this discussion his incisive observations on folds, arguing that they, on the one hand, reflect the outside and, on the other, represent the forces of the inside, and that they separate and bring together at the same time.10 The fold, therefore, appears as a visible matter, which is the invisible go-between element, connecting the inside to the outside world.11 The beholder’s sensibility to the poetics of folds can be easily discerned in numerous medieval illustrations. For example, in one of the illustrations taken from the Maqāmāt al-Harīrī, in a copy held at present in the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek

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in Vienna (A.F. 9, fol. 87v) and dated 1334 (see Fig. 1), several male figures are dressed in long garments, the folds of which are accentuated by delicate schematic patterns. Al-Hārith, who is depicted in the right-hand side of the illustration, is dressed in a long blue garment with gold seams, and, to judge by the falling of the garment’s folds, it is likely that it is made out of a thick fabric; the folds appear like large fish scales, and the large, wide shadows of the folds suggest a relatively heavyweight fabric. Abū Zayd, who sits within the small tent on the left-hand side, is dressed in a lavish red overcoat with long sleeves. The folds of the overcoat are delicate. In fact they recall vegetal ornament, thus suggesting a rather flimsy fabric. It might very well be, however, that the poetics and allegoric appraisals of folds are rooted in their expressive quality. As Vidler formulated it: ‘The fold affects all materials, [it] becomes expressive matter, with different scales, speeds and different vectors (mountains and waters, papers, fabrics, living tissues, the brain).’12 It is probably the fabric’s ability to echo the form of the body enclosed within and at the same time respond to any change in movement from the outside domain that endows it with its expressive character. The fabric and its folds are therefore attentive to their surroundings. They capture any change and mirror through their changing forms the ‘form’ of the invisible, of wind and sound. Perhaps the best visualisation of this ability oftextiles is to be found in paintings of dancers. The common use of bands and of garments made of light and delicate materials accentuates the movement of the dancers and made it possible for the fabrics to capture the invisible movement of air while bodies are spinning. The 14th-century illustration of dancing men made by the famous Siyāh-Qalam (‘the Black Pen’) is the best example for this aesthetic notion (see Fig. 2).13 Bodies and fabrics move together. The folds of the dancers’ skins and of the fabrics in which they are robed emphasize the correlation between fabric and skin, but they also underscore the energy of the dance. The short bands held in the dancers’ hands are the expressive elements in this illustration, accentuating the dancers’ gestures. They appear to be drawing abstract lines in the air, tracing the movements of the dancers’ bodies. c) The poetry of border ornaments The last point that concerns the poetic nature of textiles relates to their ornamented edges. The border of a cloth was – and still is – a site of artistic interest. It is the specific part that usually received decoration. The textile’s ends are marked either by a woven band of a different colour or by specific ornaments, such as geometric or vegetal, and, as far as Islamic textiles are concerned, Arabic inscriptions frequently appear on the seams of numerous examples.

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Moreover, it was and is common praxis to emphasize the textile borders with extra decoration such as the addition of an embroidered band, the stitching of an extra band of a different material, primarily gold, or the adding of a fine twisted cord or tassels, which recall a carpet’s selvage. In short, the border is accentuated and the textile’s edges are marked by decorative bands. In fact, the decorative band is the space of the fabric’s completion and, as such, is given, and demands, attention. The decorative border suggests the end of production and celebrates, so to speak, the textile as a completed artefact. The ornamented border is a finishing feature. The particularly fine handkerchief (mandīl) held by the automaton attendant depicted in one of the illustrations of al-Jazarī’s Hiyal has a fine, probably woven, border which consists of gold and green threads (see Figure 3 detail). The artist sought to present to the beholder the refinement of the varied textures on the very finishing bands of this mandīl, drawing thin vertical lines that indicate the fine threads of the loom, and a relatively wide gold band (tirāz band) which is probably embroidered or woven. In sum, the major physical features of textiles – textures, folds, and edges – appear as having poetic virtues. It is likely that these essentials of textiles bolstered the poet’s mind and furthered the production of textile poetry.14 t e x t i l es i n poet ic v e r ses According to al-Mubarrad the Grammarian (826-898), the first ever descriptions of garments, predating the poetic texts on garments written by Abū Tammām (788-845), to whom I will come later, are those of Abū Hanash al-Numayrī (d. 803). He was most probably the famous Abbasid panegyrist (eulogist) of the Barmakids, also known as Abū Hanash Khudayribn Qays al-Hilālī al-Numayrī.15 It is a poem that tells the story of a weaver who became governor. The governor’s use of the sword, the symbol of his current power, is thus compared to the days he used to spin and weave.16 How Excellent is your sword! How blunt its stroke on battle-days when you could not use it to kill Threads, twirled and braided by fingertips into twisted loops. White, like fine vellum delicately spun on a spindle; its weft vies with the spider’s web. May you long strike spun fabric with its edge, Till your back bends and your wrist weakens, While your pot cooks porridge, sweet, soft without pepper’s bites.

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Besides the nostalgia expressed here as referring to the days before the ‘pepper’s bite’, this poetry clearly praises the fine woven textile made by the hand of this expert weaver. The textile, vellum (tubāhī), is compared to the finely woven spider’s web. It is undoubtedly the precise, fine, and perhaps even slightly transparent qualities of the textile that the poet wishes to accentuate. The use of the colour white (biyzā) might also refer to the gloss and shine of the textile’s surface. Moreover, by suggesting this comparison to the work of the spider, the poet compares the vellum to a work imitating wonders (ʿajāʾib) of nature. This merit of the artefact’s being ʿajīb (‘wondrous’) is a common trope, which usually refers to the luxurious work of art as having the qualities of both ʿajīb and gharīb (‘rare’ and ‘unique’).17 At any rate, nature and workmanship seem to conflate. The excellence of the spider’s web, the perfect geometrical pattern achieved, and the soft, delicate, almost fragile character of the web are compared to the fine textile. The art of weaving as practised by Abū Hanash al-Numayrī is compared to the wonders of nature, and thus the artist’s work is, to some extent, compared to Allah’s creation of the marvels of our cosmos. And yet the strength of this poem is embedded in the striking and antagonistic comparison made between textile and sword, namely the weaving of a material for securing and caressing the body and the mutilation of the body by a blade. Moreover, the hardness of the sword and its sharp blade are compared to the softness of the textile and its ornamented edge. At the same time, and as al-Jurjānī (d. 1078) tells us, similarities between things can be established upon the bases of recollections stored in our heart and mind and not necessarily upon the specific features acquired by our senses.18 Al-Jurjānī’s reflection is rather interesting, especially when we ponder whether the comparison to the spider’s web might allude to the famous spider’s web that was miraculously spun over the entrance to the cave on Mount Thawr in which the Prophet Muhammad and his companion Abū Bakr were hiding. The story of the hiding in the cave is mentioned in the Quran, in the Surat al-Tawbah (‘the Repentance’), verse 40. The anecdote about the spider on the other hand is related in the hadith of al-Bukhārī (d. 870). It tells us how Muhammad was saved from death because the Quraysh people of Mecca, who were seeking to harm Muhammad, were convinced that no one could have been hidden in the cave as a spider had spun its web at the entrance. This story is in fact the ideal one to embody the peculiar combination of sword and textile. The spider’s web appears in this hadith as a securing barrier, a flimsy material that saves Muhammad from the swords of the Quraysh clan. Similarly, the poem also juxtaposes these two elements, the spider-like woven textile and the sharp-bladed sword.

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Numerous literary descriptions (ekphrasis) of garments appear in the writings of Abū Tammām, the early Abbasid poet.19 This type of literature was called in Abbasid Baghdad wasf (literally meaning ‘description’, or ekphrasis).20 It had its apogee in the 9th century. At this time a new literary form emerged of ‘describing’ a single object as the main subject of a poem, which included a rich metaphoric use and even the comparison of objects to human beings.21 Abū Tammām’s poetry clearly belongs to this poetic notion and, moreover, he was regarded in several circles as the very first to describe garments in his poems. In one of the discussions concerning the first verses rhymed in the Abbasid era on garments, a poem is cited on a dabīqī cloth (a production of the tirāz Syrian workshop in the city of Dabīq).22 It most probably refers to Abū Tammām’s work and perhaps even to the above-mentioned early piece by Abū Hanash al-Numayrī. The poem is rich in metaphor and hints at the specific aesthetic parameters by which a fine textile was evaluated and praised, and the following verses are thus crucial to this discussion:23 Where is the Dabiqi cloth, stretched by women’s hands, obediently rolling off the spindle? Its thin weft makes its borders invisible without any ribbing or fraying. The dress’s thin weft mimics a spider web in an abandoned place. Kings were obsessed with it, artisans, unhurried, were allowed to take their time with it. Lightly woven it comes to you, kept hidden from a quick and easy purchase. As light as air, when clear and calm, made translucent by the weaving of the winds, autumn’s approach. Or like the weft of the sun’s rays which exhaust and weary the observer’s eye. Or like an accident existing in-and-of itself with no body to inhere in. The specific dabīqī cloth, a tirāz-made textile associated with the royal production of the city of Dabīq, was regarded as a fine woven textile. Thus dabīqī should here be understood as a synonym for fine and delicate textile. The thin and almost transparent appearance of this textile is highly praised. This clearly suggests that an aesthetic appreciation of and desire for extremely thin, light, almost invisible textiles were considered in the assessment of a cloth’s woven quality.

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The poet also stresses the slow weaving process. Artisans, it is said, were to take their time and the realization of these textiles was neither quick nor easy. Time-consuming production of artefacts was undoubtedly another parameter by which artefacts were appraised and most probably, as today, monetarily priced. In addition there are several interesting comparisons. The allusion to the image of a spider web in an abandoned site recalls the above-mentioned and miraculous spider’s web that covers the cave in which Muhammad and Abu Bakr were hidden. At any rate, the miraculous, marvellous, and phenomenal are therefore associated with the spider-like woven textile described in this poem, and the mimetic aspect that links the production of this textile with the natural web of a spider suggests that another aesthetic criterion might be disclosed, namely the imitation of nature’s marvels. This is rather interesting because, while alluding to mimesis and rendition of nature, this example elucidates that the execution of works of art that imitate nature concerns not only the making of figures and animated creatures but that the simulation of nature can involve the imitation of the production processes of natural substances. The comparisons of the dabīqī cloth to air and the sun’s rays presumably allude to the cloth’s lightness (as air) and its glossy surface (like sunlight). But at the same time these similes suggest again the cosmic beauty of the garment – a wonder of creation. Abū Tammām provides us with two other poems composed on garments on the very days of him receiving them as robes of honour (khilʿa). The first was versed on the occasion of receiving a garment in Mosul, namely a silken brocade garment, perhaps fine early muslin.24 The Messenger brought me the stately garb for both winter and summer … Had it been bestowed on Uways his piety would have been overcome by pride … Splendid, skilfully fashioned silk, its fabric ripples like water; the east wind bows before its wearer. Choicest brocade; now and then it seems as if my poetry were kin to its artful rosettes … Thanks to its beauty, you have allowed me to look down on infinite time, ever ancient yet new. Abū Tammām’s second poem was versed on the occasion of receiving another robe, most probably from Muhammad ibn al-Haytham in the province of Jabal. It reads:25

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We were dressed in the garb of summer by a generous man whose own garb is noble and heroic deeds. A Sabīrī gown and a tunic like eggshell or snakeskin, Like a shimmering mirage in its beauty but unlike its false promise, Finest linen, trembling in the wind by unknown Fate’s heeded command, Fluttering, as if it were ever the heart of a man in love or the innards of a man in fear. Hugging the body, it seems part of your ribs and elbows. Protection against the burning midday heat, though its heat burns like a day of parting. A robe from an illustrious, awe-inspiring man, a generous heart in a great chest, and a mighty arm. I will dress you in a tailor-made mantle of praise, so much finer than my tailor-made robe. The beauty of one is for the eyes, the beauty of the other for hearts and ears. Both poems accentuate the mirage-like beauty and gentle flow of the fabric, as if it is ‘trembling in the wind’ or ‘rippling’ like water – metaphors to which I will turn later. Yet at the same time the protective aspect of the garment is also emphasized. As Abū Tammām says, the fabric causes the east wind to bow before its wearer, or is a ‘protection against the burning midday heat’. The words ‘eggshell’ and ‘snakeskin’ are clear references to the thin and fine weave of the fabric and its status as a marvel of nature. There were also a great many poems rhymed about mandīls. These finely woven handkerchiefs were intimate items. Kept privately in pockets (mainly within one’s sleeve) and sometimes even carrying the embroidered names of their owners, mandīls were predestined to symbolize lovers’ emotions and to be associated with the memories of the body of the beloved. Their fragile textures and tender touch, let alone their smell, recall the tender skin, hand or soul of the dearly loved. Moreover, since it is known that in medieval times lovers used to write each other messages on mandīls, this type of textile appear as highly personal and secretive objects. Textiles’ surfaces were then used as medium for written communications, and, like pieces of paper that can be easily folded to conceal their written text, these soft

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and light mandīls could be quickly crumpled and tucked into the pockets. At any case, and as mentioned above, their specific smell that retain the memory of the beloved body and their soft textures, might suggest that these finely woven handkerchiefs could have been regarded as extension of their owners’ bodies. Franz Rosenthal, who dedicated a chapter to the mandīl in his book on art and literature in Islam, discusses varied aspects concerning their fabrication and use.26 He collected numerous medieval poems which put the mandīl at the very centre of their focus. Also, he presents to us several verses written on mandīls, which were documented by the Baghdadi philologist Ibn al-Washshaʾ (d. 936) in his Kitāb al-Muwashshaʾ (a handbook on proper etiquette for the aristocrats of Baghdad, also known as al-Zarfwa-al-zurafā).27 I cite two of Rosenthal’s examples. The first is:28 I am sent to you, My lady Uns, (to be) with you She had made me with her hands. Thus, wipe with me your lips. The second goes like this:29 I am the mandīl of a lover who never stopped Drying with me his eyes of their tears. Then he gave me as present to a girl he loves Who wipes with me the wine from his lips. Further poems which were written on mandīls were collected by Ibn al-Fuwatī (12441323). One of them praises the tender hands of the mandīl’s maker:30 I am the mandīl of a lover Deeply, passionately in love. I have been fashioned by a tender palm Of someone skilled in the crafts. If his tears run because of the Separation from far-away lover, I guard him from slanderous accusations And the eyes of humanity. The last two mandīls’ poems clearly accentuate the importance of the decorative borders of this type of textiles. The edge of a mandīl is therefore the pride and focus of

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display of its superb craftsmanship. The first poem cited by Rosenthal from the Arabian Nights reads:31 A mandīl is not good until it is provided with a striped border (turqam) And the iron (needle) hits it, and it is wounded. Thus, seek the virtues and endure harm for their sake, If you wish to be called ‘an embroidered tirāz’. The second poem uses the location of the embroidered band at the edge of a mandīl as an allegory to the preference of a great man taking a seat at the back.32 I was asked, Why are you sitting at the end of People, being the Badi‘, the master of rhyme? I replied: I have preferred it, because the embroidery [tarz] Of mandīls appears at the edges. t e x t i l es i n mot ion Between 7 September 1814 and 15 January 1815, the famous orientalist Johann Ludwig Burckhardt (1784-1817) visited the Holy City of Mecca. His poetic description of the fabric (kiswa) that covered the Kaʿba is clearly focused on the particular vibrations created by the wind captured between the covering and the walls of the Kaʿba: The black colour of the kiswa, covering a large cube in the midst of a vast square, gives to the Kaʿba, at first sight, a very singular and imposing appearance; as it is not fastened down tightly, the slightest breeze causes it to move in slow undulations, which are hailed with prayers by the congregation assembled around the building, as a sign of the presence of its guardian angles, whose wings, by their motion, are supposed to be the cause of the waving of the covering. Seventy thousand angles have the Kaʿba in their holy care, and are ordered to transport it to paradise, when the trumpet of the last judgement shall be sounded.33 Burckhardt referred to a common tradition about the shaking wings of the 70,000 angels who are said to have been captured between the black covering and the walls of the Kaʿba and who cause the hems of the kiswa to vibrate while hundreds of pilgrims encircle it.34 This particular appearance of the continuous movements of the cloth in slow undulations was mixed, Burckhardt tells us, with the murmur of prayers sung by the pious pilgrims, as if the perpetual movements of the cloth and its sound suggest

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faithfulness and never-ending devotion. The slow undulations of the hem probably recall sea waves which, like the fabric and the devoted pilgrims, constantly throw themselves to the solid seashore. And yet, rippling like waters and trembling in the wind, the kiswa, and in fact any fabric or garment, are particular substances that can ‘catch’, so to speak, the invisible, namely the beating waves of air or the gently blowing wind. Fabrics translate the invisible into visible.35 For a moment it seems that the Odem of God can be made visible, or at least perceptible. The movements of the fabric appear as an indicator, a litmus paper, which can make the non-material existence and the silence of the divine noticeable and to some extent sensed.36 Banners, of course, are made to flutter. The blowing wind causes banners to take their full representative shape and to be displayed stretched and broadened. Bound to their poles like sails, a tension is created between the force of the wind and the tethered fabric. Abū Tammām’s poem about a looted white banner illustrates this notion of the poetics of the blowing-in-the-wind effect of the textile:37 What a fine banner you came back with on Thursday, as high noon approached. In my mind’s eye I see it as a white eagle flying from royal chambers and lofty porticos. It beat the air, its home, and battled the wind, its support. Its forelocks swirl over its brown spine, blood-stained in battle … Its folds flutter above a king who hunts heroes for sport … A description of textile’s flutters forced by the strong wind is to be found in an early Arabic text of a poetic nature that describes the movement of the cloth of a richly decorated tent. It was written by one of the famous Abbasid poets, Ahmad b. al-Husayn al-Mutanabbī, who was born in 915 in Kūfa, in southern Iraq, and who died in 965, at the age of 50, in Dayr Al-ʿĀqūl, near Baghdad. It is likely that this poem was written in the year 337 Hegira (AD 946) in Aleppo, in the court of one of the powerful emirs, Sayf al-Dawla.38 On it [the tent] are depictions of gardens, on which not a drop of rain from a cloud has fallen, and branches of great trees, whose pigeons do not sing. And on the edges of every double-sided fabric (of the tent) is a string of pearls, which, however, did not need to be pierced by the one who drew them on the thread.

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You see there the animals of the mainland altogether: each one fights against its counterpart, but they keep peace with each other. As often as the wind blows, the tent sways back and forth, as if his full-grown horses were jumping around, and his lions were spoofing their prey. Al-Mutanabbī poetically describes each detail and motif on the walls of a richly decorated tent. His poem starts with the amazement of the beholder in front of the figurative decoration of this lavish tent, because everything seems to be so real, as if a precise and exact copy of the real world. And yet al-Mutanabbī is aware of the misleading resemblance and therefore ends each of his stanzas with a paradoxical axiom. He starts by praising the depiction of green gardens, which do not need rain, and the branches of large trees, on which pigeons take rest but cannot sing. The borders of this tent are decorated with chains of pearls, which, though appearing so real and tangible, are not bored (as in reality, when made into a chain). All sorts of animals are also depicted. And although in reality they might be each others natural enemies, here they are still and peaceful. The poem ends with the steadily blowing wind, which, all of a sudden, puts these motifs into motion. This results in animation, in bringing to semi-life the depicted plants, birds, and animals: lions seem to devour their prey and the roses happily cavort. It is the faculty of the soft fabric to be ‘attentive’ and responsive to wind that endows it with its poetic value. It is no wonder then that the biblical apocalyptic vision, as related in Matthew 27:51 (‘And behold, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And the earth shook, and the rocks were split’), focuses on the curtain of the temple. The appearance of God at the End of Time cannot be seen, but it can be sensed. The earth is shaken and rocks are split, and as God enters his House, namely the Temple, the curtain is torn in two, from top to bottom. The textile’s motion is indicative. Indeed, its movements are revealing. r epr ese n tat ions of ‘ w e av i ng of t h e w i n d’ It is quite understandable that metaphors related to wind, water, and even hair were associated with textiles, linguistically and visually speaking. The above-mentioned metaphors employed by Abū Tammām, who describes a dabīqī fabric as a ‘weaving of the wind’ or tells us of a silken garment that ripples like water, are illustrative. But so too are several medieval representations of garments. The miniature of volume 20 of the Kitāb al-Aghānī (Book of Songs) – a collected corpus of the famous Arabic songs of the early Muslim period – illustrates this notion (see Fig. 4).

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This anthology was gathered by Abu ’l-Faraj al-Isbahānī (897-967) and was later copied and illustrated. The miniature belongs to a copy made in Mosul in 1219, most probably by Abī Tālib al-Badrī, for the potent ruler Badr al-Dīn Luʾluʾ (d. 1259).39 It is quite remarkable that the blue overcoat of Badr al-Dīn Luʾluʾ and also the royal band floating above his head like a halo are decorated with the same patchy and fragmented pattern that recalls the trembling waters of the small pool depicted at the bottom of this illustration. Approximately hundred years later, in a Mamluk miniature discussed above (see Fig. 1), the allegory of air and cloth is accentuated. The protagonists of this image, al-Hārith (on the right-hand side) and Abū Zayd (on the left-hand side, under the tent), are shown to us while lively conversing with each other in the presence of their companions. The tent over the head of Abū Zayd appears like a garment. Supported by a central pole, it hangs above him like a chasuble.40 And in fact the form and shade of colour of both the tent and the sky are strikingly similar. The sky is depicted as if made out of a large hanging textile on which appear the images of a crescent moon and stars. Its colour is made of variegated tones of blue organized in horizontal curved sections, probably alluding to the different spheres of heaven. Similarly, the blue fabric of the tent and its shaded folds appear as a mirror image of the garment-like sky. Metaphorically speaking, night falls. The nocturne sky hovers like a garment over the whole scene, but especially over the head of Abū Zayd. It might be appropriate to end this short article with a poetic verse by one of the great Abbasid poets of the 9th century, al-Buhturī (820-897):41 Soft and tender now are the borders of Time’s garment, Fluttering gently, as the earth breaks into refracted gems.

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not es 1

Abu Deeb 1979, 67.

poetic mindset towards the production

2

Barthes 1972, 97-9.

process. This mainly involves the singing

3

Idem, 98.

and riming while weaving and the specific

4 Ibidem.

metaphors associated with the praxis. See

5

primarily Messick 1987.

On the conquering aspect of textiles in the world of Islam, see mainly the ground-

15 Ibn Yahyā al-Sūlī 2015, 221.

breaking article by Lisa Golombek (1998).

16 Ibidem.

On cloth and human experience, see Weiner

17 Rabbat 2006, 99-113; see also Berlekamp 2011; Saba 2012; Leisten 2004.

and Schneider 1989; see also Schneider 1987; Messick 1987; Maguire 1990; Constas 1995;

18 Abu Deeb 1979, mainly 132.

Nagel 2011; Eastmond 2015, 76-98.

19 See Beatrice Gruendler’s introduction to Ibn Yahyā al-Sūlī 2015.

6 Barthes 1972, 99.

20 See ‘Wasf ’ in Bearman et al. 2002, 153-9. See

7 The literature on the appearance of script on textiles is too large to be cited here, see

also ‘al-Maʾmūnī’ in Bosworth et al. 1991,

mainly the discussions of Sheila Blair in her

340; Bürgel 1965; Giese 1981. 21 On the animation of objects see Shalem

two books: Blair 1998, 2006. On pseudo-

2010; Taragan 2005; Flood 2012.

Arabic script in the West, see mainly Fikry

22 See discussion of the tirāz workshops and

1934; Erdmann 1953, 467-513; Klesse 1967; Aanavi 1968; Ettinghausen 1976; Fontana

the dabīqī production in Bearman et al.

1999; Nelson 2005; Walker 2008; Schulz

2000, 534-8.

2015. An exception is the article of Jerome

23 Ibn Yahyā al-Sūlī 2005, 221.

W. Clinton, ‘Image and Metaphor: Textile in 24 Idem, 217. 8

9

Persian Poetry’, see Clinton 1987, 7-11.

25 Idem, 217-8.

The carpet, for example, usually defines a

26 Rosenthal 1971.

special space within a space, and is thus a

27 Ibn al-Washsha’ 1886.

space marker. See Caraffa and Shalem 2013.

28 Rosenthal 1971, 93.

Deleuze 1993, mainly 3-13.

29 Ibidem. 30 Idem, 94.

10 Vidler 2000, 231.

11 See also Christopher Heuer’s (2011) excellent 31 Idem, 95. 32 Ibidem.

discussion of Dürer’s folds. 12 Vidler 2000, 231.

33 Burckhardt 1986 [1829], 141.

13 See s.v. ‘Siyah Qalam’, in Bloom and Blair

34 On the covering of the Kaʿba, see Vincent-

2009.

Barwood 1985, 18-23. See also Baker 2004,

14 There is another notion, which concerns the

143-5. On the history of the production

specific technique of textile’s production,

of veils (kiswa) for the Kaʿba, see mainly Gaudefroy-Demombynes 1954, 5-21; Mortel

mainly weaving, which initiates a whole

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1988, 38-43; Gouda 1989; id., 289-301;

rendition based on Horovitz’s German

Tezcan 1996; id., 2017, 43-97; Porter 2012,

translation of the poem on p. 386.

257-62.

39 The miniature is kept today at the David

35 Nova 2011.

Collection in Copenhagen (inv. no. d

36 The particular uses and meanings granted

1/1990), on permanent loan from the Royal

to textiles in sacred setting are highly

Library of Copenhagen. See https://www.

interesting. Unfortunately, it is beyond the

davidmus.dk/en/collections/ islamic/

scope of this short study. This aspect will be

materials/miniatures/art/1-1990 (accessed 15

discussed in the author’s forthcoming book

April 2017).

on textiles and politics.

40 For a discussion on this issue of the similarity

37 Ibn al-Washshaʾ 1886, 181.

between architecture and garments, see

38 See Horovitz 1910 (in German): The

Shalem 2014; idem 2017, 105, fig. 92.

translation into English is in fact a free

41 Cited in Meisami 2001, 78.

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bi bl iogr a ph y Aanavi D. 1968. Devotional writing: ‘Pseudo inscriptions’ in Islamic art, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 26, 353-58. Abu Deeb, K. 1979. Al-Jurjani’s Theory of Poetic Imagery, Warminster, Wilts. Baker, P. 2004. Islam and the Religious Arts, London. Barthes, R. 1972. Mythologies, translated by Annette Lavers, New York. Bearman, P.J., Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel and W.P. Heinrichs 2000 and 2002. Encyclopaedia of Islam. Second Edition, x-xi, Leiden. Berlekamp, P. 2011. Wonder, Image, and Cosmos in Medieval Islam, London & New Haven. Blair, S. 1998. Islamic Inscriptions, New York. Blair, S. 2006. Islamic Calligraphy, Edinburgh. Bloom, J. and S. Blair (eds.) 2009. Grove Encyclopaedia of Islamic Art and Architecture, Oxford (online). Bosworth, C.E. et al. 1991. Encyclopaedia of Islam. Second Edition vi, Leiden. Burckhardt, J.L. 1986 [1829]. Travels in Arabia: An Account of those Territories in Hedjaz which the Mohammedans Regard as Sacred i-ii, London [ed. by Sir W. Ouseley; repr. of the original edition, London 1829]. Bürgel, J.C. 1965. Die ekphrastischen Epigramme des Abū Tālib al Maʾ mūnī. Literaturkundliche Studie über einen arabischen Conceptisten, Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, Philologisch-historische Klasse 14, Göttingen. Caraffa, C. and A. Shalem 2013. Hitler’s carpet: A tale of one city, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 55:1, 119-43. Clinton, J.W. 1987. Image and metaphor: Textile in Persian poetry, in: C. Bier (ed.), Woven from the Soul, Spun from the Heart. Textile Arts from Safavid and Qajar Iran 16th-19th Centuries, The Textile Museum, Washington, dc, 7-11. Constas, N.P. 1995. Weaving the body of God, Journal of Early Christian Studies 3:2, 169-94. Deleuze, G. 1993. The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque, (foreword and translation by Tom Conley) Minneapolis. Eastmond, A. 2015. Textual icons: Viewing inscriptions in medieval Georgia, in: A. Eastmond (ed.), Viewing Inscriptions in the Late Antique and Medieval World, Cambridge & New York. Erdmann, K. 1953. Arabische Schriftzeichen als Ornamente in der abendländischen Kunst des Mittelalters, Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur. Abhandlungen der Geistes- und Sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse (Jahrg. 1953, Nr. 9), Mainz.

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Ettinghausen, R. 1976. Kufesque in Byzantine Greece, the Latin West and in the Muslim world, in: A Colloquium in Memory of George Carpenter Miles (1904-1975), New York, 28-47. Fikry, A. 1934. L’art roman du Puy et les influences islamiques, Paris. Flood, F.B. 2012. Presentation, (re)animation and the enchantments of technology, Res: Anthropology and Aesthetics 61-62, 228-36. Fontana, M.V. 1999. Byzantine mediation of epigraphic characters of Islamic derivation in the wall paintings of some churches in southern Italy, in: C. Burnett and A. Contadini (eds.), Islam and the Italian Renaissance, London, 61-75. Gaudefroy-Demombynes, M. 1954. Le Voile de la Ka’ba, Studia Islamica 2, 5-21. Giese, A. 1981. Wasf bei Kušāğim. Eine Studie zur beschreibenden Dichtkunst der Abbasidenzeit, Islamkundliche Untersuchungen 62, Berlin. Golombek, L. 1998. The draped universe of Islam, in: P.P. Soucek (ed.), Content and Context of Visual Arts in the Islamic World: Papers from a Colloquium in Memory of Richard Ettinghausen, University Park, pa, 25-49. Gouda, A. 1989. Die Kiswa der Ka’ba in Makka, unpublished doctoral dissertation, Freie Universität Berlin. Gouda, A. 1994. Die Tirāz-Werkstätten der Kiswafür die Ka’ba in Makka, Der Islam 71, 289-301. Heuer, Christopher P. 2011. Dürer’s folds, Res: Anthropology and Aesthetics 59-60, 249-65. Horovitz, J. 1910. Die Beschreibung eines Gemäldes bei Mutanabbī, Der Islam 1, 385-88. Ibn al-Washsha’ 1886. Kitāb al-Muwashsha’, ed. by R.E. Brünnow, Leiden. Ibn Yahyā al-Sūlī, A.B.M. 2015.The Life and Times of Abū Tammām, ed. and trans. by B. Gruendler, New York & London. Klesse, B. 1967. Seidenstoffe in der italienischen Malerei des 14.Jahrhunderts, Bern. Leisten, T. 2004. Mshatta, Samarra and al-Hira: Ernst Herzfeld’s theories concerning the development of the Hira-style revisited, in: A.C. Gunter and S.R. Hauser (eds.), Ernst Herzfeld and the Development of Near Eastern Studies, Leiden, 371-84. Maguire, H. 1990. Garments pleasing to God: The significance of domestic textile designs in the early Byzantine period, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 44, 215-24. Meisami, J.S. 2001. The palace-complex as emblem: Some Samarranqasidas, in: C.F. Robinson (ed.), A Medieval Islamic City Reconsidered: An Interdisciplinary Approach to Samarra, Oxford, 2001, 69-79. Messick, B. 1987. Subordinate discourse: Women, weaving, and gender relations in North Africa, American Ethnologist 14:2, 210-25. Mortel, R.T. 1988. The Kiswa: Its origins and development from pre-Islamic times until the end of the Mamluk period, A Semi-Annual Journal of Historical, Archaeological and Civilizational Studies (Riyadh) 3,2 (July 1988), 38-43

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Nagel, A. 2011. Twenty-five notes on pseudoscript in Italian art, Res: Anthropology and Aesthetics 59-60, 229-48. Nelson, R. 2005. Letters and language/ornament and identity in Byzantium and Islam, in: I.A. Bierman (ed.), The Experience of Islamic Art on the Margins of Islam, Reading, 61-88. Nova, A. 2011. The Book of the Wind: The Representation of the Invisible, Montreal. Porter, V. 2012. Textiles of Mecca and Medina, in: V. Porter (ed.), Hajj: Journey to the Heart of Islam, London, 257-62. Rabbat, N. 2006. ‘Ajib and Gharib: Artistic perception in medieval Arabic sources, The Medieval History Journal 9:1, 99-113. Rosenthal, F. 1971. A note on the mindīl, in: Four Essays on Art and Literature in Islam, Leiden, 63-99. Roxburgh, D.J. (ed.) 2005. Turks: A Journey of a Thousand Years, 600-1600, London. Saba, M. 2012.Abbasid lusterware and the aesthetics of ʿajab, Muqarnas 29, 187-212. Schneider, J. 1987. The anthropology of cloth, Annual Review of Anthropology 16, 40948. Schulz, V.-S. 2015. From letter to line: Artistic experiments with pseudo-script in late medieval Italian painting, preliminary remarks, in: M. Faietti and G. Wolf (eds.), The Power of Line: Linea iii, Munich, 142-57. Shalem, A. (ed.) 2017. The Chasuble of Thomas Becket in Fermo: A Biography, Munich. Shalem, A. 2010. If objects could speak, in: J.W. Frembgen (ed.), The Aura of the Alif, Munich, 127-47. Shalem, A. 2014.The architecture for the body: Some reflections on the mobility of textiles and the fate of the so-called chasuble of Saint Thomas Becket in the cathedral of Fermo in Italy, in: A. Payne (ed.), Dalamatia and the Mediterranean: Portable Archaeology and the Poetics of Influence, Leiden, 246-67. Taragan, H. 2005. The ‘speaking’ inkwell from Khurasan: Object as ‘world’ in Iranian medieval metalwork, Muqarnas 22, 29-44. Tezcan, H. 1996. Curtains of the Holy Kaʿ ba (Arabic), Istanbul. Tezcan, H. 2017. Sacred Covers of Islam’s Holy Shrines, Istanbul. Vidler, A. 2000. Warped Space: Art Architecture and Anxiety in Modern Culture, Cambridge, ma. Vincent-Barwood, A. 1985. A gift from the kingdom; Aramco World Magazine, September–October 1985, 18-23. Walker, A. 2008. Meaningful mingling: Classicizing imagery and Islamicizing script in a Byzantine bowl, The Art Bulletin 90, 32-48. Weiner, A.B. and J. Schneider (eds.) 1989. Cloth and Human Experience. Smithsonian Series in Ethnographic Inquiry, Washington, dc.

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fig. 1 – A nocturnal scene of al-Hārith and Abū Zayd conversing. Maqāmāt al-Harīrī, probably Syria, 1334; Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna (inv. no. a.f. 9, fol. 87v).

fig. 2 – Dancing Men, ink and watercolour on paper, Muhammad Siyāh-Qalam (Muhammad Siyāh of the Black Pen), 14th century (after Roxburgh 2005, fig. 110).

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fig. 3 – Automaton attendant serving wine (detail), al-Jazarī, Hiyal, Syria, 13th century; Berenson Collection, Villa I Tatti, Florence.

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fig. 4 – Badr al-Dīn Luʾluʾ riding a horse. Kitāb al-Aghānī (Book of Songs) of Abu ’l-Faraj al-Isbahānī. Copied and illustrated in Mosul, 1219; David Collection, Copenhagen, inv. no. d 1/1990 (on permanent loan from the Royal Library of Copenhagen).

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Flags of the Seljuk sultanate of Anatolia: Visual and textual evidence Scott Redford

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i n t roduct ion Those textiles that are currently attributed to the Rum Seljuk sultanate, which ruled in Anatolia, in today’s Turkey, in the 12th and 13th centuries, are few in number. Most of these likely formed parts of the figured silk robes of honor (khil’a) that the Rum Seljuk sultans, like the rulers of other medieval Islamic dynasties, gifted their vassals, allies, and rivals, and wore themselves. This article is not based on these textile fragments. Rather, its concerns lie elsewhere, in the realm not of robes, but of flags, and, to my knowledge, no remnants of medieval Islamic flags survive, or they await discovery in museum collections. In this article, I adopt the commonly used word ‘flag’ on purpose. In the 21st century, the word flag is evocative: it represents the nation-state, or even a supra-national organization like the European Union. A country’s flag can literally be embraced as a sign of love or loyalty for the state it represents, it can be placed on coffins of those who die serving their state, and when reviled it can be dragged in the mud, burned, or otherwise defiled. Was there an identification as fraught with meaning between the flag of medieval Islamic states like the Rum Seljuk sultanate and its rulers and subjects? Or is it anachronistic to identify flags with medieval polities, Christian or Muslim, at a time when armies were geographically and (especially in the Islamic world) tribally organized and rule was less institutionalized than personalized in the figure of the sultan? While this short essay cannot and will not answer these questions, they bear raising, as the subject is an important one, and germane to a volume such as the present one that addresses identity and textiles. The Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 67-82

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In the absence of actual surviving flags, in order to address the issue of what flags, or banners, the Rum Seljuk monarchs and armies carried, this essay has recourse to non-textile imagery. More specifically, this article examines the representation of two patterns and one color: the color red, and checkerboard and zigzag patterns, in fresco painting on buildings in Seljuk Anatolia. Two representations of flags in a manuscript produced in late 13th-century Seljuk Anatolia lead to a proposed link between the two patterns and flags used by the Rum Seljuk sultans and their armies.1 I begin with a brief examination of Byzantine banners and standards, raising the possibility of a relation between them and those of the Rum Seljuks. After looking at textual and visual evidence for Rum Seljuk banners, I conclude with some examples of the many representations of textiles bearing red zigzag decoration in Islamic book illustration from dynasties after the Rum Seljuks in the eastern Islamic world. The resemblances of color and pattern raise larger issues of generalized combinations of color and pattern representing power and royalty as opposed to specific dynastic ones. by z a n t i n e ba n n e r s a n d sta n da r ds In an article published in 2002, Lynn Jones and Henry Maguire identified an anonymous Byzantine ekphrasis with an actual event: jousting between Byzantines and Franks that took place at Antioch, then under Norman rule, in 1159 when the Byzantine army, with Emperor Manuel i (r. 1143-1180) at its head, was there. Although the colors and patterns of the Byzantine banners mentioned in this text are not described, Jones and Maguire translate one word used for them as ‘streamers’.2 The Byzantine jousters are described in the following manner: ‘All of them bear shields and hold spears out before them. Some of them had spears adorned with streamers, or they seemed to strive with the North wind as it blew in their faces.’ The emperor himself is described as bearing a standard. ‘The standard in his other hand is truly prodigious, its pole being as thick as an oak tree, with curling streamers throughout, as if around the sail of a ship of burden and over the canvas of a heavily-laden boat.’3 Visual evidence from the decoration on glazed ceramic bowls from about the same time seems to support this description. Banners with streamers are depicted, albeit in an abstracted, shorthand way, on late 12th-and 13th-century ceramics produced in the Aegean basin. Excavation of the Kavalliani shipwreck in the Gulf of Euboea especially has produced varied examples of glazed bowls with representations of streamers, or banners with streamers, including two that directly relate to this ekphrasis: the sgraffito decoration inside one bowl depicts a staff flying from the top of the cabin of a commercial ship, and others depict an arm and hand rendered in the shape of a ship and holding a pole topped by a streamer.4 Streamers or banners on these ceramics are

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depicted schematically by multiple undulating lines emanating from a single vertical line representing the flagpole or spear. My second visual example comes not from a nautical, but an inland setting, in Cappadocia and relates not to portable objects like ceramic bowls, but to architectural decoration. The site, known today as Açıksaray, with multiple halls and stables, has been identified as a 10th-11th-century residence for a local elite household or households ‘whose wealth and prestige depended on horse breeding’.5 Gül Öztürk also notes the proximity of this settlement to a main Byzantine military road in the area. The site of Açıksaray is relevant to the topic of Byzantine standards and flags, I think, because of the painted red ochre decoration on several of its hall facades. Here, spears are painted along with several geometric patterns, among them checkerboard (Figs. 1 and 2). The painting of what appear to be Byzantine military standards elsewhere in Cappadocia has long been recognized.6 However, these images, like those on the facades of Açıksaray, are depicted in a simple manner compared to the polychrome painted programs that occupy the attention of art historians. A recent book on Cappadocia by Robert Ousterhout has adopted the term ‘folkloric’ to describe these monochrome paintings of patterns, crosses, standards, and others.7 Here I would like simply to note the prominence of two patterns, zigzag (also called chevron) and checkerboard, the multiple representation of what look like military standards, and the exclusive use of a dark red color in these painted representations decorating structures (residences or churches) dated to the 10th and 11th centuries in Cappadocia. The evidence is circumstantial: no banners are represented per se, but especially two patterns are prominently and insistently reproduced, and at times associated with military standards and spears that, in Byzantium, as we have seen, were used to hoist them. At the site of Açıksaray, the prominent representation of spears, together with the identification of the site as one associated with both horse-breeding, for which Cappadocia was famous, and a military highway, add a non-ecclesiastical context, and weight to the association of medieval Byzantine Anatolian elites with both this kind of decoration and an elite and military context. It is possible to extend this discussion from Cappadocia to other parts of the Byzantine Empire. Andrea Babuin, in his survey of Byzantine standards, notes the preponderance of the use of the color red, and the use of the checkerboard pattern in 10th-century Constantinople.8 r e d, ch eck e r boa r d a n d z igz ag i n se lj u k use Although they are represented in a different manner from Byzantine Cappadocian examples, the color red (specifically dark red or crimson) and the two patterns discussed

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above – the checkerboard and the zigzag – can also be found represented prominently on painting on elite Seljuk buildings from the 13th century. Most of these buildings are on the south coast of Turkey. The south coast has a temperate climate, and it rarely freezes there, so the preservation of painted decoration is more widespread there. Still, these patterns must have been found on buildings not only here but throughout Seljuk Anatolia. The zigzag pattern, for instance, is repeatedly found on tiles from the central Anatolian Seljuk palace at Kubadabad which dates to the later 1220s and 1230s.9 These two patterns are found on the gates and walls of Alanya and Alanya citadel, which housed a Seljuk palace, on the walls of suburban garden pavilions and bathhouses around Alanya, and on the walls of the scene building at the Roman theater at Aspendos, which was converted into a Seljuk palace. When I researched and documented this material in the 1990s, I was struck by the ubiquity of these two designs, and their careful execution. Given the ability of craftsmen working in stone, stucco, wood, and other media to execute designs of great geometrical complexity, and the obvious taste of Seljuk patrons for these designs, why would the palaces, garden retreats, and city walls of Seljuk cities, all places of importance to the sultan and his court, have prominently featured painted decoration in these two patterns, and in one color? At the time, I posited that these patterns must have derived from textiles. Certainly, like much high status architecture in many states throughout history, the patterns on these buildings ‘represented’ the state for most of the year when the sultan and his court were not present. When they were, the designs and color must have duplicated those found on banners and other textiles like those used for caparisons.10 Figures 3 and 4 give a flavor of the Rum Seljuk use of these two patterns. In contradistinction to earlier Byzantine examples from Cappadocia, these patterns were painted on white plaster, with the pattern often carefully incised as well as painted. Figure 3 shows a detail from the base of the south façade of Pavilion H at the sultanic garden of Hasbahçe in Alanya. The carefully painted zigzags have incised edges. The surface of the fresco has been burnished or polished. And, as shown in this image, the pattern is carefully stepped up the slope where the pavilion is located, as if taking care not to make contact with the ground as it slopes away below the pavilion. Figure 4 shows the Orta Kapı, the main gate of the medieval fortifications of Alanya, which was flanked with two large panels of red and white painted checkerboard decoration, best visible to the right hand side. The association of these patterns with the architectural spaces important to the Seljuk elite, and my hunch that they were textile patterns then met with textual references to the importance of flags or banners to the Seljuks. Of these I give just two examples. The first is the inscription of ‘Ismat al-Dunya wa’l-Din, a dowager Seljuk queen, on a

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caravanserai she built sometime in the early 1240s lists the regalia of the Seljuk sultan: he is the possessor, this inscription tells us, of the crown, the banner, and the belt. The inscription is in Arabic, with the term for banner employed being liwa.11 The second example illustrates that the Seljuk flag or banner is equally important in military settings: according to 13th-century Rum Seljuk chronicler Ibn Bibi, the Seljuk army planted its flag on the walls of cities it is attacking. In this case, even though he was writing in Persian, Ibn Bibi used a word of Turkish origin, sanjaq. The example given here concerns the first Seljuk conquest of the town of Antalya in 1207. In this account, Ibn Bibi writes that the Sultan’s flag or banner (sanjaq-e Sultan) was erected on the highest part of the tower of the fortifications and the banners of the sultanate (rayat-e dawlat-e saltanat) waved in the breezes of success and happiness.12 Both of these texts demonstrate the importance of flags to the Rum Seljuks, the first as regalia, and the second as visual representations of the state in military conflict, with a seeming difference in terminology between banners representing the state, and a flag that represented the sultan himself. It is likely that the sanjaq was the same as the liwa. In later centuries, during the Ottoman Empire, both of these words, liwa and sanjaq were used as names of provincial administrative districts, continuing the identification of the flag with the state. I would now like to switch to another aspect of the topic of Rum Seljuk flags: their depiction in a contemporaneous manuscript. There are two flags represented in a Persian language compendium of esoteric texts, Persan 174, in the Bibliothèque nationale, Paris, also known after one of its texts as Daqa’ iq al-Haqa’ iq.13 This work is the only surviving illustrated manuscript made for any Rum Seljuk sultan, in this case Ghiyath al-Din Kaykhusraw iii (r. 1265-84). It was produced in the central Anatolian cities of Aksaray and Kayseri in 1272-73. The first representation is of an angel, although it is represented in the form of a warrior on horseback, grasping a sword, and sitting on a saddlecloth with a red zigzag pattern, likely an indication that this pattern was found on other textiles associated with important figures and their mounts (Fig. 5). However, it is the banner that concerns us here: in form it is a rectangle with three long streamers, at the top, middle and bottom. The banner is attached to a long spear, and has a tuğ or horsetail attached to it. The banner itself depicts a gold feline passant on a crimson ground. The second representation is of the tent (bargah) of Alexander the Great (Fig. 6). There are two banners flanking the tent: they are attached to tent poles. Both of them take the same form as described above: a long rectangle with three streamers. Both bear patterns in red: while the right hand one has diagonal stripes, the left hand one has by now familiar zigzags. Both banners are surmounted by gold standards. While

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the right hand one resembles in shape the Byzantine standards depicted in Cappadocia, the left hand banner is surmounted by a crescent moon, a favorite motif of medieval and post-medieval Islamic art in many media. The form of these two banners strongly resembles those depicted in Byzantine manuscripts beginning in the 11th century, which also have three streamers.14 Next to the left-hand flag, the one bearing zigzags, is another, furled flag with a red design on a white ground that also appears to be in zigzags. The painting of the tent of Alexander was among those categorized by Marianne Barrucand as having been painted significantly later than the date of the manuscript, but I do not subscribe to her dating and categorization of images in her compendium.15 Recent scholarship like that of Tolga Uyar shows that images in this manuscript that Barrucand dated to later centuries have strong parallels with 13th-century Byzantine wall paintings from Cappadocia, where, after all, this manuscript was copied and illustrated.16 The manner of depiction of the zigzags: alternating red and white, strongly resembles the use of painted zigzags on garden pavilions, the citadel palace at Alanya, and on the scene building of Aspendos theater, both dateable to the 1220s and 1230s. In addition, zigzags are the pattern more frequently painted than checkerboard, making them the likelier candidate for identification with the Seljuk elite. As mentioned above, the identification of this pattern and this color with elite settings can also be found in 13th-century wall paintings in Cappadocia, which was under Seljuk rule at that time. The church of Bezirana in the Ihlara valley prominently features zigzag painting ‘Seljuk style’ (alternating red and white) in niche surrounds.17 At the church in Mavrucan, the warrior saint Theodore, depicted slaying a dragon along with St. George, is holding a shield decorated with red zigzags.18 The presence of zigzag patterns on shields are also found on 13th-century ceramics from both Islamic and Christian contexts in Crusader-era northern Syria. With red glaze not widespread at the time, it is not possible to associate the color with the design in ceramic representations.19 Both the miniature painting of the Tent of Alexander and the ubiquity of painted crimson zigzags in elite Rum Seljuk ally the color crimson and the zigzag. Ibn Bibi mentions both the flag of the sultan, and the flags of the sultanate, using different terms for flag. Was the crimson zigzag a generalized sign of sultanic authority that extended to the sultanate itself, or was it confined to the person of the sultan and the spaces he inhabited or progressed through? Quite naturally these thoughts occur when we see this color and pattern in Christian settings in Seljuk Anatolia, and think of the possible link earlier Byzantine practice. And further to complicate matters, the ekphrasis of Byzantine Emperor Manuel i takes place in a Franco-Norman environment, with jousting a western European

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practice. The Crusader setting reminds us that this is the period in which the visual language of power that we now call heraldry became prominent in Western Europe. The 12th-13th-century eastern Mediterranean was an era and an arena of wide-ranging culture contact between Islamic and Christian societies. The neutral term ‘culture contact’ can be concretized by imagining the circulation of objects like textiles through acts like war (booty), marriage (dowry), vassalage and diplomacy (gifting), and trade (commercial transaction). All of these acts aided in the transmission of the visual language of power and privilege, of which banners were a part. In western Europe, the science of heraldry, which developed as the result of the Crusades, had not yet crystallized into a system of representation based on blood .In the Islamic world, a visual language of power and privilege had itself not yet been codified and developed into a system based on office (and not bloodlines). This happened under the Mamluk dynasty, great foe of the Crusaders, who ruled in Egypt and Greater Syria beginning in the second half of the 13th century.20 a com mon v isua l l a nguage Because this volume concerns textiles, my own paper concerns banners, and the topic is vast, I will conclude by showing two representations of textiles from the eastern Islamic world in the 14th and 15th centuries. Both demonstrate the continued association of textiles using the color red and the zigzag pattern with elite settings. The first example is attributed to 14th-century Iran, likely during the reign of the Ilkhanid Mongol dynasty (1256-1333/5) (Fig. 7). It shows a woman who has recently given birth being attended by servants and men who may be astrologers. Underneath the entire scene lies an enormous kilim or carpet with bold and bright red zigzag decoration. The second is from a copy of the Shahname made for Muhammad Juki (14021444), a Timurid prince, likely in Herat, in today’s Afghanistan, in the 1440s.21 Figure 8 reproduces a scene from this manuscript that depicts Rustam dragging the Khaqan from his elephant. One of the mounted fighters accompanying Rustam bears a mighty spear with a banner atop it. This banner consists of two main elements. The main one is a large rectangular panel attached to the spear. The second element is a pennant that is attached to the top of the first element, and floats behind it. The square panel has three separate sections. From top to bottom these are a device reading “al-sultan al-a’dil”, meaning ‘the most just sultan’, a section bearing a representation of a dragon, and finally a third that bears tomato-red and brownish gold zigzags. Because the pennant bears the same decoration, the red zigzag is the most visually prominent aspect of the banner. This scene seems to be based on a 14th-century manuscript, although one likely posterior to the scene in Figure 7.22

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These two examples associate the color red and the zigzag pattern with textiles in elite settings, military and royal, in later dynasties ruling in the eastern Islamic lands. However, it would be incorrect, in my opinion, to associate the red zigzag solely with Islamic lands: the examples from Syria and 13th-century Cappadocian church painting point to generalized elite military meanings in neighboring states and for Christians under Seljuk rule, as does the prominence of the checkerboard in heraldic-like imagery in the last Byzantine centuries, as discussed by Ousterhout.23 This essay, without insisting, has proposed a line of filiation from the Byzantine to the Seljuk and back for these two patterns as well as the shape of the banners.24 What good are generalized royal connotations of pattern and color in battle if friend and foe alike have flags with the same patterns and the same colors? Representations of flags like that in Figure 8 give us clues: flags seem to have combined figural and non-figural decoration and writing in distinctive ways. The Rum Seljuk sanjaq, then, may have, for instance, combined the feline depicted in Figure 5 with the zigzags found in Figure 6, and a device or set of titles distinctive to a particular sultan, or to the Rum Seljuk sultanate in general.

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not es 1

The latest attempt to expand the corpus of

14 Babuin 2001: the writer illustrates many examples at the end of his article.

silks attributed to the Rum Seljuk sultanate can be found in Canby, Beyazit, Rugiadi,

15 Barrucand 1991.

and Peacock 2015, 54-5 and 238-40. In this

16 Cf. Uyar 2015.

article, I use the words flag and banner

17 Lafontaine-Dosogne 1968, 293 and Figure 5.

interchangeably.

18 Uyar 2015, pls. 1 and 2. I am very grateful

2

Jones and Maguire 2002, 106

to Tolga Uyar for discussing this issue with

3

Idem, 109.

me. He reports that there exist several other representations of warrior saints

4 I am grateful to Georgios Koutsouflakis

5

for sharing images with me from a now-

bearing shields with red zigzag decoration

published article: Koutsouflakis and

from other 13th-century churches in

Tsompanidis 2018.

Cappadocia.

Öztürk 2014, 808. See also Öztürk 2017, 135-

19 For instance, there is the bowl, dated to the late 12th or early 13th century, in the Islamic

54. 6 Wood 1959, 39-46.

Museum in Berlin said to have been found at

7 Ousterhout 2017, 191-8.

Rusafa in northern Syria, inventory number

8

Both the zigzag and the checkerboard

I.4843 that depicts a hunting scene in which

are patterns reproduced decoratively in

a mounted hunter/warrior brandishes

brickwork of Byzantine buildings beginning

a sword and carries a shield with zigzag

in the 11th century. See Babuin 2001, 27

decoration. A sherd of a vessel of Port Saint

for checkerboard and 34 for the use of red.

Symeon ware with sgraffito decoration of a

He does not mention zigzag patterning on

shield with zigzags has been found in later

Byzantine flags.

13th-century context at the site of Kinet,

Arık 2000, 158-9.

unpublished, kt 16839.

9

10 Redford 2000, 88.

20 See Ousterhout 2009, 153-70. Under the Mamluks and later the Ottomans, the use

11 ‘The construction of this commissioned, endowed, secure ribat was ordered, for all

of red zigzags and other patterns found in

peoples residing in it, and travelers from it,

Rum Seljuk art continues. Interestingly, in

towards the east of the world and its west,

later centuries (our first surviving examples

in the days of the most great sultan, God’s

are Ottoman) the color red and the zig-zag

shadow on earth, sultan of the sultans of the

were used for the wall-hangings for the

horizons, possessor of the crown and the

interior of the Kaʿba in Mecca, and for

banner [and] the belt, Ghiyath al-Dunya

tomb covers (Atasoy et al. 2001, 296-7;

wa’l-Din…’ – Redford 2009, 353.

Tezcan 2017, 65-6, 128, 135 and 178-203; see also Idem, 2007, 231 and 233)

12 Ibn Bibi 1956, 98. 13 Barrucand 1991, 113-42.

21 Brend 2010.

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angel in Figure 5, and sultanic titles. I am

22 Barbara Brend, referencing Basil Gray’s Persian Painting, notes that there are many

grateful to Serpil Bağcı for this information. See Brend 2010, 82.

features of this miniature that are based on a painting from a 14th-century Shahname,

23 Ousterhout 2009 (cf. note 20).

possibly Jala’irid, now in album H. 2153,

24 Although this is not necessarily the case,

Folios 52b-53a in Topkapı Palace Library

as I am ignorant of the form of earlier or

in Istanbul. This double-page painting,

contemporaneous banners in the Islamic

as well as the miniature on Folio 102a,

world. A potential overlap of decoration (not

also originally from the same manuscript,

of form) between Byzantine and Islamic flags

represents many banners and pennants

is noted by Andrea Babuin, who mentions

with the same features: red zigzags, heraldic

the use of checkerboard flags in 10th-century

animals recalling the banner borne by the

Islamic Spain (Babuin 2001, 27, 41).

* bi bl iogr a ph y Arık, R. 2000. Kubad Abad: Selçuklu Saray ve Çinileri, Istanbul. Atasoy, N. et al. 2001. İpek. Imperial Ottoman Silks and Velvets, London. Babuin, A. 2001. Standards and Insignia of Byzantium, Byzantion 71, 5-59. Barrucand, M. 1991 The Miniatures of the Daqa’ iq Al-Haqa’ iq: Bibliothèque nationale pers. 174: A Testimony to the Cultural Diversity of Medieval Anatolia, Islamic Art 4, 113-42. Brend, B. 2010. Muhammad Juki’s Shahnamah of Firdausi, London. Canby, S., D. Beyazit, M. Rugiadi and A.C.S. Peacock 2015. Court and Cosmos: The Great Age of the Seljuks, New York. Jones, L. and H. Maguire. 2002. A Description of the Jousts of Manuel i Komnenos, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 26, 104-48. Koutsouflakis, G. and A. Tsompanidis 2018. The Kavalliani Shipwreck: A New Cargo of Byzantine Glazed Tableware from the South Euboean Gulf, in: Proceedings of the xith Congress of the aeicm 3 on Medieval and Modern Period Mediterranean Ceramics, Antalya 2015, Vol. i, Ankara, 39-48. Lafontaine-Dosogne, J. 1968. ‘Une église inédite de la fin du xııe siècle en Cappadoce: la Bezirana Kilisesi dans la vallée de Belisirma’, Byzantinische Zeitschrift 61, 291-301. Ousterhout, R. 2009. Byzantium between East and West and the Origins of Heraldry, in: Hourihane, C. (ed.), Byzantine Art: Recent Studies, Tempe, 153-70. Ousterhout, R. 2017. Visualizing Community. Art, Material Culture, and Settlement in Byzantine Cappadocia Washington, dc.

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Öztürk, F.G. 2014. Açıksaray: ‘Open Palace’: A Byzantine Rock-Cut Settlement in Cappadocia, Byzantinische Zeitschrift 107, 785-810. Öztürk, F.G. 2017, Transformation of the ‘Sacred’ Image of a Byzantine Cappadocian Settlement, in: P. Blessing and R. Goshgarian (eds.), Architecture and Landscape in Medieval Anatolia, 1100-1500, Edinburgh, 135-54. Redford, S. 2000. Landscape and the State in Medieval Anatolia: Seljuk Gardens and Pavilions of Alanya, Turkey, Oxford. Redford, S. 2009. The Inscription of the Kırkgöz Hanı and the Problem of Textual Transmission in Seljuk Anatolia, Adalya 12, 347-59. Tezcan, H. 2007. Ka‘ba Covers from the Topkapı Palace Collection and their Inscriptions, in: F. Suleman (ed.), Word of God, Art of Man. The Qur’an and its Creative Expressions, Oxford & London, 227-38. Tezcan, H. 2017. Sacred Covers of Islam’s Holy Shrines: with Samples from Topkapı Palace, Istanbul. Uyar, T. 2015. Thirteenth-Century ‘Byzantine’ Art in Cappadocia and the Question of Greek Painters at the Seljuq Court, in: A.C.S. Peacock, B. De Nicola, B. and S.N. Yıldız (eds.), Islam and Christianity in Medieval Anatolia, Farnham, 215-31. Wood, D. 1959. Byzantine Military Standards in a Cappadocian Church, Archaeology 12, 39-46.

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fig. 1 – Açıksaray, Cappadocia, Turkey. Detail showing painted checkerboard decoration, Byzantine, 10th-11th century (Photo: Author).

fig. 2 – Açıksaray, Cappadocia, Turkey. Façade detail showing painted spear in niche to the far right, Byzantine, 10th-11th century (Photo: Author).

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fig. 3 – Pavilion H, Hasbahçe, Alanya, Turkey, Seljuk, 1220s. Detail showing the painted zigzag fresco decoration stepped at the base of the pavilion (Photo: Author, 1996).

fig. 4 – Orta Kapı, Alanya, Turkey, Seljuk, 1220s-1230s. General view showing the entrance gate flanked by panels of painted checkerboard decoration (Photo: Author).

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fig. 5 – The Angel ‘Alataqa’il. Ms. Persan 174, Bibliothèque nationale, Paris, Folio 18r. Used with permission.

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fig. 6 – The Tent of Alexander. Ms. Persan 174, Bibliothèque nationale, Paris, Folio 103v. Used with permission.

fig. 7 – Birth scene, Ilkhanid, 14th century. Diez Albums, Folio 70, page 8. Bkp / Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin / Ellwardt. Used with permission.

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fig. 8 – The Juki Shahname, The Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, Ms. no 239, Folio 155b. Rustam Drags the Khaqan from his Elephant. Used with permission.

82

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*

*

Foreign influences in Mamluk textiles: The formation of a new aesthetic Maria Sardi

*

loom-pat t e r n e d t e x t i l es: pat t e r ns of pa i r e d a n i m a l s w i t h i n m e da l l ions The few silks from the late Ayyubid (1174-1250/60) to the early Mamluk period (ca. 1260-1300) that survive are characterised by figural decorations of confronted or addorsed animals placed within roundels and octagons. The examples discussed here illustrate how this pattern evolved over the years through various artistic inputs. The earliest, probably mid-13th-century, example is a yellow on green silk lampas in the Benaki Museum of Islamic Art in Athens, which is decorated identically to three further silks of the same colour scheme in Paris and London (Fig. 1).1 All four fabrics are divided into roundels animated with confronting birds on either side of a palmette tree motif. On the roundels’ circumference there is a now difficult to read Arabic inscription written in mirror image.2 The roundels are linked to one another by medallions that enclose double-star octagons. In the interstices lozenges occupied with eight-petalled rosettes surrounded by medallions and floral patterns are formed. The pattern of repeating roundels that enclose pairs of animals was a topos in the decoration of textiles made in Byzantium, Norman Sicily (beg. 1130), Central Asia and the eastern Islamic lands from Late Antiquity onwards. The closest parallel to the Benaki silk may be found on a Byzantine silk that is similarly decorated with birds flanking a Tree of Life within medallions.3 Based on the relatively simple lampas structure and the awkwardness of design on the Paris piece, Sylvie Desrosiers attributes the items under discussion to an atelier without experience in weaving silk in early Mamluk Egypt, or to a provincial workshop in Syria.4 A combination of Byzantine elements and Seljuk-inspired decorative details, such as the double star octaThe Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 83-118

©

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gons that frame rosettes and the palmette trees, are encountered on these silks.5 Such a pairing of elements would favour their attribution to the artistic environment of mid-13th-century Syria, where both cultures coexisted. a) Three early Mamluk examples of patterns with paired animals Two well-known early Mamluk silks also echo a strong Seljuk influence; the first is a complete yellow and tan tunic of double-cloth weave from a Coptic burial in Egypt, dated to the third quarter of the 13th century, and the second is a silk damask of the same date.6 Both fabrics bear an overall decoration of star- and cross-like compartments set against a diamond lattice background. The centre of the crosses is occupied by a polylobed medallion, which frames a pair of addorsed regardant birds. In the polygons of both silks pairs of running felines, antelopes, goats and hares are all displayed in mirror image and surround an eight-petalled rosette. The overall pattern of stars and crosses is not typically Mamluk. It is instead more consistent with the Seljuk decorative repertoire, in which star-like octagons that enclose animals and alternate with crosses are often encountered both in costumes and ceramic tiles. Close comparanda for the addorsed birds on the silk tunic and for the quadrupeds on both silks comes from the star-shaped ceramic tiles that decorate the walls of the palace of Kayqubad i (r. 1220-1237) in Konya, built between 1226 and 1236.7 The features in common include the naturalistic execution of the quadrupeds with fleshy hind-quarters, the long protruding horns of the gazelles, the charming character, the twisting posture, the backward swing of the heads, and the galloping position of most animals.8 The Seljuk inspiration for the fabrics investigated here is further supported by a similar beige on tan double-weave silk owned by the French textile historian Rudolf Pfister (1867-1955), and now in the Rudolf Pfister Collection in the Vatican Library. It is decorated with polygons alternately filled with griffins and hares in mirror image around a star-like arabesque or inscriptions surrounding an eight-petalled rosette that is identical to the rosettes on the two aforementioned Mamluk silks. All three silks also feature horror vacui, as there is no space left undecorated. The Pfister silk has been attributed on stylistic grounds to a 13th-14th century Mamluk atelier.9 However, the double-headed eagle crowned with a trefoil and the griffins on this silk are typically Seljuk in style, and its poetic inscription has no parallels within Mamluk art. Therefore, I would argue for a mid-13th century date and its attribution to an Ayyubid or Seljuk atelier in Eastern Anatolia or Northern Jazira (Upper Mesopotamia).10 A third early Mamluk textile with patterns of paired animals is a beige on tan silk of double-cloth weave. It is believed to be a Mamluk gift to the Rasulid sultan al-

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Mu’ayyad Hizbar al-Din Da’ud ibn Yusuf of Yemen (r. 1297-1321) and also shares several common motifs with the silk in the Vatican Library (Fig. 2). They both bear double-headed eagles, mythical winged creatures in mirror image, and identical pollylobed medallions occupied with star-like arabesques. Compared with the silk from the Coptic burial and the one in Riggisberg, the so-called Rasulid silk shares common colour scheme, the diamond lattice ground and the horror vacui.11 In terms of decoration, the Rasulid silk features vertical bands of diamond lattice ground that is filled with stylized unfolding palmettes and polylobed medallions. These enclose addorsed winged felines and double-headed eagles with wingtips that end in birds. The animal-filled bands alternate with others filled with vocative inscriptions, which are set within oblong cartouches and medallions that frame star-like arabesques.12 Stylistic comparisons for this silk are remarkably few.13 However, the two closest parallels are of south-eastern Anatolian origin: a gilt silver belt from Diyarbakir, most likely made for an Artuqid ruler (dynasty r. 1101-1409),and two golden belt ornaments attributed to early 13th-century Seljuk Anatolia.14 Shared details include the double-headed eagle, the palmettes formed at the point where the animals’ wings meet, and the unfolding palmette set between the confronting animals. Within the Ayyubid-Mamluk realm double-headed eagles with wings ending in animal heads are found in Syrian artefacts. Examples come from a 13th-century ceramic bowl from Raqqa,15 and a marble roundel of the same date at the Museum of Islamic Art of Cairo.16 The features that the three silks earlier discussed share with the Rasulid piece point to a common place of manufacture; yet not necessarily to one and the same workshop. The double-cloth weave technique seen on most of these silks was already fashionable in Seljuk Iraq and Iran, from where it is considered to have been introduced into Mamluk ateliers.17 Given this known movement of the technique, it seems plausible to attribute the silks under discussion to Syria in the second half of the 13th century, where Seljuk and Ayyubid elements coexisted. b) Transformation and evolution of the paired animal motif Another Mamluk silk illustrates how the double-headed eagle of the aforementioned group of silks was transformed from a decorative motif into a royal device under the Mamluks.18 The silk at hand is a yellow on dark blue silk ogival fragment bearing a double-headed eagle that is framed by an inscription in mirror image that reads: ‘Glory to our Lord, the sultan, May his victory be glorified’ (Fig. 3).19 Based on the iconography of Mamluk sgraffito ware, Bethany Walker stressed that the double-headed eagle was one of the earliest heraldic devices adopted in Mamluk art that was borrowed from the artistic repertoire of the Seljuk and Seljuk-successor states.20 The silk under discussion may provide additional support for her argument.

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Yet another silk, once part of a child’s tunic,21 is an interesting example of how Mamluk artisans of the late 13th-early 14th century merged foreign elements with indigenous aesthetics. It is decorated with large polylobed medallions framing addorsed griffins with spotted fur surrounded by inscribed roundels and crescents. All of the medallions are set within a checkered ogival lattice that also bears animal inhabited and inscribed roundels. In other words, this silk garment combines a Seljuk-inspired motif of addorsed griffins with palmettes formed at the point where their wings meet with typical Ayyubid checkered ogivals,22 together with the characteristic Mamluk lobed medallions ending in trefoils. All of the elements are displayed in the usual Mamluk shades of yellow and blue. Every second circle which forms the central polylobed medallion includes the epithets al-ʿālim (the learned), al-ʿāmil (the diligent), al-ʿādil (the just). The four repeating roundels forming the ogivals are inscribed with the titles: al-sultān (the sultan), al-mālik (the king), al-muzaffar (the victorious).23 If the title al-muzaffar is actually used here as a sultanic title and not as a mere epithet, then it can be associated with four Mamluk and two Rasulid sultans who bore this title. However, the most likely patrons of the silk at hand are the sultans that reigned in the 13th and early 14th century.24 This interpretation is based on stylistic grounds as well as on the absence of the typical Mamluk formula ‘ʿ izz li-mawlānā al-sultān’ (‘Glory to our Lord, the Sultan’), which should customarily inscribed on a later example.25 A very similar pattern is also encountered on a silk-quilted cap formed by stitched pieces of a cut-up fabric.26 It bears a pair of similarly rendered addorsed griffins that are enclosed in polylobed medallions which end in large trefoils.27 All elements are set within ogivals of a checkered layout. c) Later developments in Mamluk silks with paired animals A later development of the same pattern may be seen on another Mamluk cap. The yellow silk fabric that forms the skullcap features a lobed medallion enclosing a pair of now headless addorsed animals.28 The large trefoil-ending medallions that have a flame-like outline were most probably set within ogivals; these ogivals were formed with floral stems bearing crescents, that were inscribed with the title al-sultān (Fig. 4). Inscribed crescents alongside flame-like medallions and floral elements also appear on another 14th-century Mamluk silk.29 The introduction of the latter two elements to Mamluk textile decoration in the 14th century not only indicates that the cap can be attributed to the first half of the same century, but also exemplifies how the once compact ogivals of checkered layout, which created a densely filled field, have now become loose and allow the primary motif to be seen clearly. Ilkhanid textiles (1256-1335) reached Mamluk lands through trade and diplomatic contacts in the first half of the 14th century. These exerted a significant impact on

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Mamluk textile production, and as a result, the pattern of paired-animals changed considerably. A Mamluk blue and yellow (now beige) silk in the Benaki Museum is key in illuminating this change. It exemplifies how Ilkhanid silks acted as intermediaries in the transmission of Chinese motifs to the Mamluk artistic vocabulary (Fig. 5).30 The Benaki silk bears addorsed regardant gazelles within tear-shaped medallions that are framed by ogees. This is comparable to a Yuan silk (1271-1368) similarly decorated with tear-shaped medallions enlivened with fantastic animals in a similar posture, all set within ogees formed with floral motifs.31 In the Mamluk example, the Yuan floral motifs forming the ogees have been transformed into cursive Arabic script which repeats ‘Glory to our Lord, the Sultan, al-Malik’. The text is now only partially visible, but is clearly written in mirror image. A similar inscription forms part of the ogee on a silk with addorsed qilins, which was most probably made in a 14th-century Ilkhanid Iranian atelier to be offered to a Mamluk ruler, or to be sold in a Mamluk market.32 Besides the quadrupeds, pairs of addorsed regardant peacocks are also present on a rare yellow and blue Mamluk silk, which exemplifies the 14th-century evolution of the ‘paired birds’ motif (Fig. 6).33 On 13th-century silks, the highly stylised birds are in static postures within rigid frames, but they have now become more lively and naturalistic, following Chinese models. The impact of these models is also clear in regards to the lotus blossoms which replaced the Tree of Life that was set between the birds. Moreover, the roundels framing the birds are replaced by polylobed medallions that end in trefoils and are set within ogivals formed by interlacing swimming fish. Both the lotus blossom and the swimming fish motifs are typical features of 14th-century Mamluk textile decoration.34 The combination of these elements makes this fragment a late version of the ‘pair-of-animals-within-ogivals’ pattern. Also, they demonstrate how Mamluk artisans diverged from their original models and created a new style characterised by bold designs. A last silk example of addorsed animals within bands presents one more variation of this pattern. This silk is a sand-yellow fringed turban or waist-band cloth decorated with three bands at its two ends. The upper and lower bands bear the typical inscription, ‘Glory to our Lord, the Sultan, al-Malik’. The intermediate band is decorated with small, polylobed medallions, all of which contain repeating pairs of addorsed and regardant birds (or other winged creatures); the creatures are in black and light blue and flank a cup.35 Unlike the ‘Rasulid’ piece discussed above, all three bands of this silk are read horizontally, following the same direction to the depicted animals, in a way that will become standard during the 14th century. This may be a precursor to the typical banded animal decoration that will be discussed in the following section.

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ru n n i ng a n i m a l s w i t h i n ba n ds Running animals within friezes are commonly seen on Mamluk loom-patterned fabrics. Although several variations of the ‘animal-frieze’ pattern are known, two main groups can be distinguished: textiles with running animals and inscriptions in the same band, and textiles with animals and inscriptions set in different bands. The fabrics of the first group date from the second half of the 13th century and are embedded in a local tradition of striped fabrics. Examples of this group are made either of silk or cotton, and are characterised by vertical bands filled with short repeating inscriptions that are punctuated by running animals and crescents.36 The stylised animals include running dogs, birds, and fish, all of which run in the opposite direction to the inscriptions. These inscriptions are written in short naskhi script and they either state generic wishes similar to inscriptions on Ayyubid textiles, (e.g. glory, victory, and long life to an anonymous owner),37 or they are self-speaking (Fig. 7).38 The highly stylised motifs and the angular naskhi script displayed on these 13th-century examples are the result of the warp-faced weaving technique used for their decoration. This technique did not favour the creation of curving lines and naturalistic formation of motifs, as those prevailed in 14th-century figured silks. The textiles of the second group all have decorations of inscribed bands alternating with animal friezes.They are all weft-faced compound weaves, mostly lampas, made on the sophisticated drawlooms of the era. They were used to manufacture garments, skull caps, turban clothes, and waist bands and remained in fashion at least until the 1370s.39 Being mostly gazelles and leopards, the animals depicted on these fabrics run or combat each other against a floral background. In a unique and comparatively large example, a bird of prey attacks a gazelle.40 Most extant silks of this type are inscribed with the typical formula, ‘Glory to our Lord, the Sultan (al-Malik) al-Nasir’, written in curving thuluth script. This led scholars to attribute their creation to the reign of sultan al-Nasir Muhammad (r. 12931294, 1299-1309, and 1310-1340). However, as this invocation was widely used throughout the 14th century, it cannot be directly attributed to a particular sultan unless the full titles and the name of a ruler are inscribed. In any case, tardwahsh silks,41 which could perfectly correspond to some of the discussed examples, were indeed worn by the Mamluk officers of sultan al-Nasir Muhammad. Close comparisons with running animals within bands encountered on Mamluk metalwork suggest that the style was current in the 14th century.42 An exceptional silk of sultan Sha‘ban’s reign (r. 1363-1377), decorated with friezes of running quadrupeds and birds, which alternate with wide bands filled with plaited Kufic, large lotus blossoms and naturalistically depicted floral scrolls exemplifies how

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this pattern was further enriched at a later stage with typical motifs from the second half of the 14th century.43 The transformation of stylized animals on 13th-century examples into the more naturalistically rendered 14th-century silks alongside the curving thuluth script which often replaced the more angular naskhi of the earlier examples, was not merely the result of different weaving techniques used in later examples. As Lousie Mackie has suggested, there were Chinese prototypes that inspired the naturalism of these motifs.44 f lor a l pat t e r ns Floral patterns dominate among the non-figural motifs, which prevail in Mamluk textile decoration from the 14th century onwards. This preference, also mirrored in other objects of Mamluk art, is attributed to the impact of Ilkhanid and Central Asian silks mainly during the reign of al-Nasir Muhammad.45 A small number of extant silks corroborate this interpretation. These bear the titles of al-Nasir Muhammad and are decorated with repeated free-flowing floral elements of Chinese inspiration which sway in opposite directions.46 Just like they did with figural patterns, Mamluk pattern-designers and weavers were quick to embed Chinese-inspired vegetal motifs within their own aesthetic. This was done by adding typical sultanic Arabic inscriptions in mirror image around tear-shaped medallions containing lotus blossoms. All these elements were arranged within clearly outlined ogivals and lozenges that were formed by Chinese-style floral scrolls.47 In a few, probably mid-14th-century, silks, the ogivals become less rigidly formed, with stylized rosettes,48 inscribed crescents and swimming fish. At the same time, the tear-shaped medallions become occupied by large Arabic inscriptions instead of lotus flowers.49 However, floral ogivals did not disappear abruptly. In later examples, probably from the second half of the 14th century, the ogivals are formed by scrolls of lively naturalistic lotus blossoms and rosettes with heart-shaped petals. The central medallions are filled with a star-like arabesque that also frames a rosette with heart-shaped petals.50 Both patterns -the lotus intertwined with rosettes and the starlike arabesques - are encountered in the decoration and furnishing of sultan al-Nasir Hasan’s (r. 1334/5-1361) mosque-madrasah complex in Cairo, completed in 1359.51 This contemporaneity justifies our suggestion of a similar date for the fabrics investigated in this contribution.52 Later, during the 15th century, one more shift in floral decoration on Mamluk silks can be identified. Yet, this change may originate in fact to 14th-century models. Several variations of the same pattern appear in a few examples of damask and lampas silks,53 which probably derive from the same source. The central pattern is again

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a tear-shaped medallion with a lotus at its core, which is framed by Arabic inscriptions in mirror image invoking glory to the sultan. Additionally, all of these elements are surrounded by ogivals. The ogivals, which are no longer easily recognizable, are formed with leaf sprays further enriched with large lotus blossoms and eight-lobbed medallions bearing the titles al-sultān al-mālik or al-Ashraf. The blossoms are almost equal in size to the central medallions, yet are displayed in opposite directions. The second quarter of the 15th century is suggested as a terminus ante quem for all these silks.54 However, the presence of a very similar pattern on a glass mosque-lamp of sultan Hasan may indicate instead an earlier date for some of them, or a now-lost 14th-century model (Fig. 8a-b).55 Probably also during the late 15th century a new trend developed from the vegetal decoration. Lotus and peonies disappear from the ogival compartments, which are now formed by rosettes with heart-shaped petals amid leaf-sprays. The sultanic inscriptions and lotuses of the central medallions are replaced by stylised quatrefoils (Fig. 9).56 The small size of the repeated patterns, the absence of inscriptions, and the quatrefoils are in keeping with the abstract, stylised vegetal decoration on late Mamluk metalwork, book-binding, and Quran decoration. These elements are often connected with Timurid Iranian (1370-1507) examples.57 However, local pattern-designers merged their taste for bold drawing with Iranian naturalism to create bold, stylised patterns removed from any possible Timurid originals. geom et r ic pat t e r ns Most probably during the 15th century the once fluid Chinese-inspired motifs were more and more adjusted to the Mamluk preference for perfect symmetry and clear geometric forms. A unique extant Mamluk example, now housed in the Cleveland Museum of Art, exemplifies this transitional phase. It is a silk fragment featuring squares and roundels alternately occupied by crescents and large lotus blossoms.58 In a more sumptuous silk lampas attributed to the second quarter of the 15th century, the floral motifs have become even more stylised; now they are accompanied by several abstract motifs, all set within austere zig-zag bands and lozenges.59 Although both of the aforementioned fabrics are rare survivals of this new trend, they are indicative of the geometric textile patterns that most likely prevailed during the late Mamluk era. Several blue and now beige patterned silks are decorated with small squares and lozenges filled with more than two repeated miniscule motifs: crescents, plain and whirling rosettes (like swastikas), elongated hexagons, small squares enclosing rosettes and polygons.60 A typical example of this kind of decoration is a blue and now beige silk fragment housed in the Benaki Museum (Fig. 10).

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Another example comes from an infant’s skull-cap, whose top bears a piece of silk fabric decorated with blue and beige checked squares that are filled with repeating rosettes.61 It is very similar to the Benaki item presented in Fig. 10, and also has fifteen small triangular silk pieces attached to its headband. These pieces, which are all different, are either plain or decorated with abstract geometric decoration.62 This small headgear exemplifies the diversity of comparatively simple patterns that were manufactured alongside the most elaborate ones. Equally, it demonstrates that the dozens of surviving Mamluk silks are but a small percentage of what was originally produced. As no royal titles or inscriptions are encountered on these silks, any attempt to date them remains speculative. However, the decoration of the late Mamluk metalwork, which is also characterised by equally dense and highly compartmentalised compositions, tiny repeated motifs and the absence of inscriptions, may indicate a similar late 15th-early 16th century attribution for these fabrics. t e x t i l es w i t h n e e dl ewor k decor at ion The most representative patterns of the Mamluk embroideries include stylised floral motifs, geometric patterns or stylised quadrupeds and birds flanking a Tree of Life. The vast majority of these embroideries were products of home industries, and their decoration followed the embroiderer’s personal taste and skill. New designs were created mainly by reworking motifs from the traditional repertoire, so it is difficult to identify broader trends and the influence of external ideas on decorative choices. Recent research has revealed that several popular Mamluk motifs (e.g. stylised birds, s-shapes, elongated hexagons, and chevrons) were already used in 12th-century Ayyubid embroideries.63 These motifs continued to be employed even into the 15th century. However, over time, Mamluk patterns became more sophisticated and several types of stitches were applied onto the same surface, in contrast to Ayyubid or early Mamluk examples, where only one type of stitch is regularly used.64 In terms of patterns, a few embroidered tunics carbon-14 dated to the 15th century clearly differ from their 14th-century counterparts because their otherwise geometric patterns were enlivened by the addition of colourful animals and little tassels in bright colours.65 The patterns that reflect outside inspiration are limited in Mamluk embroideries. Surprisingly, chinoiserie elements commonly seen on patterned silks are rarely encountered on embroidered Mamluk fabrics. A rare example is a tunic front in the Benaki Museum. It is part of a linen garment decorated with embroidery in brown silk. The decoration around the neck opening survives, and it slightly extends to the back and the shoulders (Fig. 11). The pattern consists of heart-shaped and floral motifs, which are not very common on Mamluk linen tunics. Mamluk embroidered robes are habit-

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ually decorated with repeating tiny stylised motifs that are arranged in bands across the shoulders and along the front and back of the garment.66 Other examples bear decoration arranged around the neck-opening and the chest that is strongly geometric in style and often recalls embroidered necklaces.67 In this context, the Benaki Museum piece stands apart. The overall impression given by the scalloped projections recalls the four-lobed cloud collars often seen in Ilkhanid and Timurid garments.68 As this kind of decoration lacks parallels in early Islamic garments, it must have been imported into Egypt through Mongol models. Schuyler Cammann rightly states: ‘The mediaeval Mongols seem to have carried the custom of wearing cloud collars with them in the course of their conquests, and apparently introduced them to Persia.[…] The Persians seldom wore them as separate capes, but generally have them woven or embroidered right into the robe.’69 Although to the best of my knowledge the Benaki piece has no parallel, a fragmentary linen from a tunic-front in Oxford is similarly decorated; it has dark-blue silk embroidery ending in heart-shaped trefoils that would form a four-lobed cloud collar.70 These two rare linens exemplify the ways in which a pattern inspired by Mongol motifs was incorporated in Mamluk fashion, although its use may have been only for a short period of time. What is still unclear is whether the cloud collar pattern was introduced in Mamluk garments around the mid-14th century, during the period of the ‘mongol-mania’ in Mamluk art,71 or if it was adopted later. A similar borrowing of motifs is recorded in the decoration of Mamluk book bindings, where the same pattern appears no earlier than the mid-15th century.72 Two more Mamluk linen embroideries, in the Ashmolean and the Benaki collections (Fig. 12), similarly echo post-Mongol Central Asian prototypes.73 They both demonstrate the embroiderer’s attempt to cover completely the undyed ground with naturalistic lotus flowers and eight-lobed rosettes executed in blue and yellow silk filling stitches. Mamluk embroideries do not commonly bear repeated naturalistic floral elements across their entire background, but rather contain repeated geometric motifs. In this aspect, the two linens discussed here may exemplify a probably short-lived attempt by Mamluk embroiderers to copy patterns from costly loom-patterned silks. Embroidery was also used for the decoration of royal fabrics that were certainly products of professional craftsmanship. A few early examples of this type feature animals of heraldic character, such as open-winged eagles and rampant lions alongside fleursde-lis, and inscriptions wishing ‘glory’, ‘glory and prosperity’, or ‘lasting glory’.74 The absence of a sultan’s name or title on these examples does not permit any solid attributions. Still, the ‘rather archaic’ content of the inscriptions alongside the heraldic

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motifs, that were also used on early Mamluk sgraffito as royal emblems, together with the quality of the embroideries, suggest 13th-century royal or amiral patronage.75 This hypothesis seems to be supported by an embroidered long tab, probably once part of a Mamluk amiral banner or awning, which bears medallions containing openwinged eagles and inscribed wishes for lasting glory (al-ʿizz al-daʾim) amid chalices.76 Moreover, all the aforementioned motifs are depicted in red and/or blue, which accords well, at least in terms of lions, with the colours used to depict heraldic emblems on other objects of Mamluk art.77 Next to these early examples, all of the woven typical Bahri (1250-1382) and Burji (1382-1517) Mamluk royal and amiral blazons that survive also bear insignia executed in surface embroidery or in overlaid and inlaid appliqué techniques.78 This kind of decoration also fits well with descriptions of Mamluk chroniclers.79 Long monumental inscriptions were also embroidered on Mamluk fabrics made for royalty. These embroideries included tirāz bands attached on royal and amiral garments, and several religious fabrics meant to be publicly displayed. As for the tirāz bands, the few Mamluk examples that survive are heavily indebted to similar Ayyubid bands whose embroidered inscriptions habitually wish glory, eternal prosperity, and happiness to an unspecified owner.80 The content of the long monumental inscriptions on the Mamluk tirāz bands is overall different to those on the Ayyubid bands, with the former bearing the typical phrase ‘Glory to our Lord, the Sultan al-Malik al-Nasir’ (Fig. 13). Yet the stylistic affinities between these bands are so strong that several Ayyubid examples were considered for years to be Mamluk.81 Nevertheless, the decoration of a rare Mamluk quilted tirāz band made for sultan al-Salih (r. 1351-1354), stands apart from the rest of the known tirāz of the era. It bears inscribed rectangles that alternate with squares filled with inscribed medallions.82 It is the only example that bears a Mamluk blazon and has its short monumental inscriptions and medallions framed on every side by narrow decorative bands. The horizontal narrow bands are filled with typical wishes for the sultan set within oblong cartouches, which alternate with floral motifs and pseudo-inscriptions. The vertical narrow bands are filled with a knotted motif framed with trefoils. In this respect, the Mamluk band can be compared to an Ilkhanid loom-patterned inscribed band with a similar decorative layout and identical knotted-motifs and trefoils; this layout is present on a silk robe now in Riggisberg.83 Based on this comparison, one may wonder whether there was an Ilkhanid impact on this mid-14th-century Mamluk tirāz, which would have differentiated it from the rest of the, probably earlier, extant Mamluk tirāz. On the other hand, there already may have been an established tradition of Mamluk tirāz bands that inspired their Ilkhanid counterparts

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instead.84 However, the unique Mamluk example of this type that survives alongside the remarkably limited Ilkhanid examples do not allow for unequivocal statements. In terms of religious textiles, royal titles and hajj related texts were embroidered onto the sultan’s ceremonial palanquin (mahmal), which was sent with the annual hajj caravan to Mecca.85 Likewise, Quranic surahs were also inscribed with embroidery on Mamluk kiswa, Kaʿba curtains, and other sacred coverings made for Islamic shrines within the Mamluk realm.86 The number of surviving examples of this kind is limited, and there is an absence of any similar contemporaneous (or earlier) fabrics. These issues prevent us from identifying any foreign influences or from following their stylistic evolution through time. t e x t i l es w i t h pr i n t e d a n d r esist-dy e d decor at ion Unlike silk examples, the decoration of Mamluk printed textiles does not exhibit strong outside influence.87 The inspiration for printed textile patterns lies within other types of textiles or within other media of Mamluk art. The evolution of their patterns closely followed that of figured silks and embroideries. Early Mamluk examples are decorated with cross-like compartments and polygons, which are filled with addorsed regardant pairs of birds and running quadrupeds,88 similar to the patterns on two of the silks earlier discussed.89 Typical Mamluk textile-motifs such as fish and crescents,90 or stylized birds are present in some probably 14th-century examples, and these again imitate Mamluk silks and embroideries.91 In other examples, the typical ‘Glory to our Lord, the Sultan’ phrase is also encountered.92 The 15th and early 16th-century examples often bear a three-register decoration of roundels and oblong cartouches, within which are inscriptions and repeated minute decorative motifs.93 Mamluk blazons are not customarily depicted on printed textiles. A rare example is a linen example, now in the Vatican, which bears the blason of the cup-bearer on its four corners.94 Similarities between the decoration of Mamluk printed fabrics and contemporary metalwork have already been noticed and these can only be further underlined by additional examples.95 However, previous comparisons have not explored parallels between printed textiles and relief-moulded glazed and unglazed pottery of the late Ayyubid and Mamluk eras.96 Shared elements include elaborate knots, stars, scattered dots, twelve-petalled rosettes, and inscriptions set in a background of rinceaux. Parallels can also be found in the content of the inscriptions, which consist of generic benedictions or blessings to unspecified owners.97 These similarities could be attributed to the common use of portable moulds and small stamps with interlaced knots, circles, and teardrops that create a variety of pat-

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terns when combined.98 Such moulds and stamps were apparently used for the transmission of designs across media and regions. Even so, the correlation between textile and pottery decoration is a complicated subject that deserves a dedicated study. One more point of interest concerns a group of resist-dyed fabrics with decoration in beige on red ground executed on reverse. These were either made in late Ayyubid and Mamluk ateliers employing Indian artisans, or in Indian ateliers working exclusively for a Mamluk clientele.99 In either case, they represent the late Ayyubid-early Mamluk taste of the era. The earliest of these examples, which can be dated to the 13th century, are decorated with medallions filled by double-headed eagles (of Seljuk inspiration) and combating animals that alternate with friezes of running quadrupeds.100 In other examples, they bear bands with inscriptions in naskhi that wish glory, victory, and prosperity and are punctuated by heraldic shields. These bands frame friezes of running quadrupeds and medallions with rampant lions (Fig. 14).101 Another interesting example bears large inscriptions against a scroll of animal heads (including lions, hares, griffins and birds), which also echo Mesopotamian prototypes.102 The decorative details of these linens, the content of the inscriptions, and their motifs fit well within a late Ayyubid-early Mamluk milieu, where strong Seljuk references abounded.103 Examples from the 14th century from the same group of fabrics differ from earlier models and feature typical Mamluk monumental inscriptions in thuluth script, which frame friezes of quadrupeds, probably leopards pursuing gazelles. The quadrupeds are set against naturalistically executed floral ground, similar to the contemporary banded silks discussed earlier.104 Being either of local manufacture or imported from afar, these resist-dyed textiles advocate for a strong relationship with contemporary metal and glass decoration. At the same time, they also provide evidence for the possible ways in which patters travelled across cultural environments and media. conclu di ng r e m a r k s The textiles discussed in this paper helped to investigate the sources of inspiration for weavers and textile pattern designers throughout the two and a half centuries of the Mamluk sultanate. The 13th-century figured silks, several embroideries, and printed fragments feature motifs drawn from the Seljuk artistic vocabulary of Eastern Anatolia and the Greater Jazira. These patterns may have been transferred into Mamluk textile decoration through Ayyubid Syrian workshops, where a weaving tradition of compound patterned silks had already been established influenced by Seljuk prototypes. In another interpretation, they were transmitted directly by the

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artisans who fled the Mongols from Iran and Upper Mesopotamia and settled in Mamluk Egypt. A definitive pathway for the transmission of these patterns cannot be identified at present. The limited number and uneven study of Ayyubid textiles does not allow for close comparisons or clear conclusions. Still, the displacement of craftsmen from places with long traditions of silk weaving must have contributed to the blending of techniques and patterns. This process probably resulted in the formation of a new, silk-oriented aesthetic that shaped the fabric sensibilities of the Mamluks for centuries.105 The introduction of the double-weave technique into Mamluk workshops for most early-Mamluk figured-silks can be attributed to weavers from Iran and Iraq.106 In terms of embroideries, Marianne Ellis has also drawn parallels between the decoration of several Mamluk circular embroideries and their counterparts made in Seljuk Anatolia or Syria.107 In a similar vein, Ruth Barnes underlines that at some time between the early and mid-13th century, a completely new aesthetic is present on embroideries found in Egypt, which ‘based on small-scale geometric units combined to form an over-all picture of infinite complexity, has its parallels in the Seljuk art and architecture of Iraq and Iran’.108 Moreover, heraldic motifs (e.g. eagles, rosettes and lions) prominent in 13th-century Mamluk textile decoration are also encountered on early-Mamluk pottery and are similarly attributed to Seljuk influences.109 However, Seljuk austerity was abandoned when the Mamluk artistic repertoire matured. Early 14th-century fabrics illustrate how Mamluk weavers merged foreign elements with their indigenous aesthetic to formulate a new decorative vocabulary. This new visual language helped them to define themselves in the multicultural environment of the Eastern Mediterranean. The great number of elaborate textiles required to meet the needs of the Mamluk court and foreign diplomacy certainly encouraged this tendency.110 It was further accelerated by the prominent role of Mamluk textiles in the Mediterranean trade.111 As the 14th century progressed, chinoiserie elements and floral patterns were introduced from Yuan China through Ilkhanid diplomatic and trade routes. The Mamluk aesthetic soon absorbed these imported elements, leading to the creation of more stylised plants with clear outlines and bold drawing. By the beginning of the 15th century a distinctive Mamluk style with multiple variations had been created, and only minute abstract decorative details were imported from afar, most likely from Timurid Iran. As for the patterns, the examples discussed here show that Mamluk weavers were highly selective in the motifs they chose to adopt, based both on their technical characteristics and their symbolic value. They were quick to use the motifs of addorsed fantastical animals or rampant lions and eagles, familiar already since the Ayyubid era,

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which also fitted quite well with Mamluk heraldry. However, they were apparently not equally eager to emulate the phoenixes or qilins commonly seen on Ilkhanid silks. Likewise, in 14th-century Italian silks, strongly influenced by imported panni tartarici, there were only certain patterns that Florentine weavers chose to include in their repertoire. Therefore, it seems that in the artistic environment of the Mediterranean countries, where textiles were the main agents for the dissemination of fashionable designs, each cultural group actively chose to adopt what was closer to its own artistic vocabulary. In this way, traditional themes were translated into novel forms. Although the patterns on textiles appear completely different at first sight from those on other Mamluk artistic media, their stylistic development shows an awareness of current trends within and beyond the Mamluk realm. Within Mamluk borders, the study of individual motifs and inscriptions on Mamluk textiles demonstrates concurrent tendencies in contemporary metal, glass, and ceramic artefacts. Elements representing this milieu are: heraldic animal decoration on 13th-century examples, banded decoration, typical Mamluk monumental inscriptions and floral chinoiserie elements in 14th-century fabrics, and minutely executed and abstract intricate patterns in late 15th- and 16th-century examples. Moreover, the comparison between Mamluk silks and sultan Hasan’s glass mosque lamps revealed a strong interrelation between the two media. The similarities highlighted here illustrate how textile patterns likely influenced glass decoration in the second half of the 14th century. The prominence of floral patterns, the arrangement of floral motifs around tear-shaped medallions, the yellow-gold motifs on a blue ground (the typical colour scheme of Mamluk textiles), the absence of inscriptions and royal blazons, were all uncommon in glass decoration, but were typical in textiles.112 An awareness of aesthetic trends well beyond the Mamluk realm is best mirrored in the banded decoration of monumental inscriptions, a common feature in contemporary Nasrid and Mongol loom-patterned silks as well.113 Although the Nasrid silks were most likely influenced by Mamluk models,114 the Mongol silks of this type were part of a general trend that combined the banded layout with more fluid Ilkhanid motifs placed alongside Arabic inscriptions.115 The internationally oriented decorative language that prevailed in post-Mongol Iranian or Central Asian silks is also exemplified on a silk fragment in the David Museum in Copenhagen (Fig. 15).116 It is a silk lampas, attributed to 14th-15th century China, Iran, or Central Asia on technical grounds, which bears seal-Kufic script alongside Iranian and monumental Arabic inscriptions wishing glory to the sultan as those customarily seen on Mamluk textiles of the era.117 Unlike their loom-patterned counterparts, the majority of the extant Mamluk embroideries did not customarily draw their inspiration from afar. This can be explained

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by the fact that figured silks were woven in organised workshops by professional weavers, who always had to adopt their patterns to consumers’ taste and trade needs. Yet, most of the extant embroideries were made by young women preparing their own dowries, who were being taught the craft of needlework based on patterns transferred from one generation to the other. In this latter context, there was little room for innovations or imported trends. Moreover, the multiple functions of embroideries, ranging from garments and accessories to house linens and soft furnishings, made their motifs dependent on the their function and not necessarily on fashion. As for the few embroideries with craftsmanship and decoration pointing to professional manufacturing, their patterns are either drawn from Seljuk-inspired and Ayyubid examples; less often they follow current post-Mongol trends of the 14th century. Nevertheless, the fabrics used as blazons and the religious fabrics bearing linear surface embroidery or appliqué decoration are clearly Mamluk in style, as they are mostly decorated with monumental Arabic inscriptions and royal insignia. Finally, the absence of outside inspiration on Mamluk printed fabrics, particularly those made from the 14th century onwards, should be attributed to the volume of printed cottons imported into Mamluk lands from India. These cottons were not only cheaply available but they were also decorated with typical Indian patterns, which most likely satisfied the Mamluk desire for the exotic.

* ack now l e dge m e n ts I am very thankful to The Textile Museum, Washington, The Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York), the National Museum of Sweden and The David Collection (Copenhagen) for granting me permission to publish the items housed at their collections. I would also like to thank Ms Eleni Zotou for her meticulous drawings; Dr Mohamed Abdelsalam of the Museum of Islamic Art, Cairo and Dr Sami Luigi de Giosa for their assistance with the Arabic inscriptions; Dr George Manginis for his valuable comments; and Ms Mina Moraitou and Dimitrios Savatis of the Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens for generously providing me access to the Museum’s substantial holdings of Mamluk textiles. A technical analysis of the fabrics discussed was not possible due to their extremely fragile nature and mounting. I would also like to thank Nikolaos Vryzidis for inviting me to talk at the workshop and participate in this volume. Finally, I dedicate this paper to the loving memory of Prof. Angelos Delivorrias (1937-2018), director of the Benaki Museum for more than four decades.

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not es 1

2

3

The other two silks are in the Musée

Stiftung, Riggisberg (Otavsky 1995, 221-23,

National du Moyen Âge, Musée de

cat. 127; Mackie 2015, fig. 7.9).

Cluny, Paris, and the Victoria and Albert

7 See Oney 1974.

Museum, London (Desrosiers 2004, 293-4

8

In terms of textiles, hares and running felines

and fig. 156; Kendrick 1924, 39, cat. 956

with curved tails are also encountered on

and pl. ix). The V&A silk supposedly

11th-12th-century Seljuk textiles (cf. Mackie

comes from a burial in el-Azzam in Upper

2015, fig. 4.29 and fig. 4.33). Animals in

Egypt. In the same Museum there is

mirror image that are placed on either

another unpublished fragmentary silk with

side of a central axis are not frequent in

identical decoration (Sardi 2016b, 276 and

Mamluk art. In the limited examples where

fig. 1.13).

they do occur, they are deprived of their

Based on the inscription on the V&A

hindquarters and only their chests and

fragment and a few letters visible in this

front legs protrude from floral arabesques.

silk, the Benaki piece is probably similarly

See e.g. a brass pyxis attributed to the late

inscribed with the phrase ‘al-ʿ izz wa’ l-iqbāl’

Ayyubid-early Mamluk period in Syria and

(Glory and Prosperity).

a brass ink box now in Cairo attributed to

For a Byzantine lampas chasuble from the St.

the 14th century (Enderlein et al. 2003, 77-8;

Nicholas church of Baruweiler abbey, dating

O’ Kane 2006, cat. 112). See Cornu et al. 1992, 370-1 and 582.

to the 10th-11th c., see Jenkins 2003, vol. 1,

9

pl. 9. Although confronted and addorsed

10 Comparable examples of the double-headed

birds within medallions are also seen on two

eagle among addorsed animals are found on

silks attributed to the Ayyubid era (Mackie

a 1279 wooden Quran stand and a bronze

2015, 249-50 and figs. 7.5-6), no comparable

lantern of the second half of the 13th century,

stylistic affinities exist with the Mamluk

both in Konya (Ölçer 2005, cats. 88 and 70).

examples under discussion here.

For an identically displayed griffin set within

4 See Desrosiers 2004, 293.

a ten-pointed star, see a 12th-century Seljuk

5

Similarly depicted framing rosettes are

tile (Canby et al. 2016, 241, cat. 152). For

commonly seen in silks attributed to Seljuk

griffins in Seljuk textiles, see a 12th-century

Iran (cf. Mackie 2015, 139 and fig. 4.8; Day

silk sold in an auction http://www.sothebys.

1950, 110 and 114). For palmette trees flanked

com/en/auctions/ecatalogue/2017/arts-

by regardant birds, see a late 12th-early 13th

of-the-islamic-world-l17223/lot.139.html

century silk from Iran or Iraq (Mackie 2015,

(Accessed 3/1/2018). For a Seljuk silk with

fig. 4.24).

double-headed eagles from Anatolia or Iran, see Canby et al. 2016, 238, cat. 149.

6 For a detail of this tunic see Baker 1995, 78 and Mackie 2015, 255, fig. 7.10. The damask

11 See Dimand 1931, 91; Porter 1987, 237; Mackie 2015, 257.

fragment is presently housed at the Abegg-

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t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

12 http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-

discussion in http://www.clevelandart.org/

of-art/31.14a,b/ (Accessed 9/22/2017).

art/1995.402?f[0]=field_collection:67272 (Accessed 2 April 2017). Ayyubid silks

13 The only documented Rum Seljuk silk (10811307), attributed to the reign of Kayqubad I

habitually feature ogival compartments

of Konya, also features medallions occupied

formed with chevrons, diamond or lozenge

with addorsed regardant animals (lions)

pattern diaper work (Mackie 2015, 251, fig.

whose tails terminate in dragon’s heads

7.8). Also see http://collections.vam.ac.uk/

(Mackie 2015, 156 and fig. 4.28).

item/O261612/woven-silk/ (Accessed 20 March 2017).

14 See http://www.britishmuseum. org/research/collection_online/

23 As read in Kühnel 1927, 81, cat. 3191a.

collection_object_details.

24 The two Mamluk sultans are al-Muzaffar

aspx?objectId=236947&partId=1 (Accessed

Sayf al-Din Qutuz (r. 1259-1260) and

27 April 2017); Enderlein et al., 2003, 69.

al-Muzaffar Rukn al-Din Baybars (r. 13091310). The Rasulid sultan is al-Muzaffar

15 http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/

Yusuf i (r. 1249-1295) for whom a Mamluk

search/451359 (Accessed 10 April 2017).

brass brazier similarly bearing the epithets

16 Museum of Islamic Art, inv. no. 12752. An unglazed relief-molded canteen are also

‘al-ʿālim, al-ʿāmil, al-ʿādil’ alongside the titles al-sultān, al-mālik, al-muzaffar

decorated with similar open-winged eagles,

was made. For the brazier, see http://

but their wings do not mutate into animal

www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/

heads or birds (Atıl 1981, cat.11; Milwright

search/444540 (Accessed 6 May 2017).

2003, 99 and fig. 7).

Louise Mackie attributes this silk to sultan

early Mamluk brass incense burner and an

17 See Mackie 2015, 253.

Qalawun (Mackie 2015, fig. 7.24). However,

18 The eagle was a symbol used by sultan al-

the fact remains that neither Qalawun’s

Nasir Muhammad and his sons (Walker

name nor his titles are inscribed on the silk

2004, 60).

at hand.

19 See Herz Bey 1906, 272-3 and fig. 52. The

25 This phrase becomes standard in Mamluk

eagle of this silk is identical to that seen

metalwork from the 1330s onwards (Ward,

in the Pfister silk already discussed (See

2004, 64-5).

endnote 9).

26 https://collections.lacma.org/node/205059

20 See Walker 2004, 59.

(Accessed 25 March 2017).

21 See Kühnel 1927, 81 and cat. 3191a; Enderlein

27 The griffins of both silks have spotted fur,

et al. 2003, cat. 153.

long tails wrapped around their hind legs,

22 See a 12th-early 13th-century Seljuk brass

detailed wings, and light blue collars. The

mirror on which addorsed sphinxes are

heads of the animals on the cap are not

depicted identically, both in terms of posture

visible but, based on the similarities to

and decorative details, to the griffins of the

the rest of the body, they must have been

Mamluk silk under

rendered identically.

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28 Piotrovsky and Pritula 2006, 55 and cat. 41.

whoever looks, I am the moon’ (Mackie

29 It is a silk robe at the Museum of Islamic

2015, 258). As both the Washington and

Art, Cairo attributed by Heinrich Schmidt

Cairo silks share common inscriptions and

to the 14th century (Schmidt 1934, pl.10).

decorations, we would be justified to suggest

Although a late 13th-century date has also

that the Washington fragment was probably

been suggested (Hamdy et al. 1969, 266), I

once part of a winding sheet as well and that

would agree with Schmidt’s attribution based

there was a standard formula appropriate for this type of textile.

not only on stylistic grounds but also on the

39 For part of a quilted jacket see Kühnel 1927,

title ‘al-kamil’ inscribed on it. This may well be attributed to the reign of al-Kamil Sha’ban

cat. 3215 and pl. 48. For two quilted hats, see

(r. 1345-46), the only Mamluk sultan who

Wardwell 1987, fig. 25 and Smalley 2014, fig.

bears this title (Ward 2016, 42).

8. For waist or turban bands see Kendrick 1924, cat. 959 and pl. x; Atıl 1981, cat. 113;

30 A similar silk fragment bearing a pair of

Sardi 2008, fig. 4.

addorsed felines within dodecagons was

40 See Mackie 2015, 260-1 and fig. 7.19.

published in Schmidt 1934, figs 3-4.

41 The term tardwahsh stands for a textile

31 See Wardwell 1987, figs. 5-6. 32 See Mackie 1984, pl. 24.

with hunting scenes (tard means ‘to hunt’,

33 See Sardi 2016a, 257 and fig. 4.

wahsh means ‘wild animals’). According

34 Fish motifs are habitually displayed on

to al-Qalqashandi, a silk of this type was

Mamluk textiles of various materials and

‘manufactured in Alexandria, Fustat

decorative techniques. See Sardi 2016a for a

and Damascus; decorated with bands

more thorough discussion.

(mujawwakh), inscribed bands (jākhāt) with

35 See Kühnel 1927, 80, cat. 3164 and fig. 47.

the sultan’s titles, [figural] bands with the

36 For two different silk examples, yet published

images of beasts or small birds, and coloured

under the same inventory number, see

bands that are undulated with golden

Mackie 2015, 258, fig. 7.14, and Hamdy 1969,

brocade’; El-Toudy and Abdelhamid 2017,

cat. 262 and fig. 45. For a cotton example, see

306. Tardwahsh garments were offered as

Sardi 2016b, 365 and fig. 5.139a-b.

robes of honour to Mamluk amirs (Mayer

37 This inscription is read on a winding sheet

1952, 59) and to the envoys of Ilkhanid rulers

excavated in Jebel Adda, Upper Egypt,

in the early 14th century; Little 2006, 45.

now at the Museum of Islamic Art, Cairo

A ʿ tardwahsh gauze bordered with castor

(Hamdy 1969, cat. 262 and fig. 45).

and decorated with fur and gold brocade to

38 The inscription read on this fabric is also

be worn over an Alexandrian garment’ was

encountered on another silk in Cairo,

included in the khilʿa offered by al-Nasir

used as a winding sheet in a Coptic burial

Muhammad to sultan Mansa Musa of Mali

in Upper Egypt (Mackie 2015, fig. 7.14).

(r. 1307-1332) (al-‘Omari 1927, 77).

According to Louise Mackie the inscriptions

42 For relevant examples, see a brass candlestick

on the Cairo silk repeat the phrase ‘To

depicting running gazelles on a floral

101

t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

52 Louise Mackie attributes the above

background attributed to 14th-century Syria, in Piotrovsky and Pritula 2006, cat.

mentioned Cleveland silk (inv. no. 1918.189)

45; and a Syrian brass pyxis depicting lions

to the 15th century based on its flimsy

that pursue gazelles against a dense floral

quality (Mackie 2015, 274 and fig. 7.56).

background, dated to 1371 in Rice 1953, 495

However, I would suggest an attribution to

and figs. 5-6.

the second half of the 14th century, based on the similarities with the decoration of sultan

43 Illustrated in Mackie 1984, plate 11 and

Hasan’s complex and with a 1370s Quran

O’ Kane 2006, 124-25, cat. 111. 44 See Mackie 1984, 138.

frontispiece, as already pointed out by Esin

45 See Walker 2000, 179.

Atıl (Atıl 1981, 234, cat. 118). Identically

46 See Schmidt 1934, fig. 6; Baker 1995, 78;

depicted scrolls of lotus blossoms and heart-

Mackie 2015, fig. 7.17-7.18. Of note, the name

shaped rosettes are also encountered on a

of the sultan inscribed on the two fabrics

silk lampas in the Royal Ontario Museum.

illustrated in Mackie 2015 is that of sultan

Although this lampas is attributed to sultan

al-Nasir Muhammad (ibn) Qalawun (the

al-Nasir Muhammad (Walker 2000, fig.

son of Qalawun) and not that of ‘Qalawun’

5), a date in the second half of the 14th

himself, as Louise Mackie erroneously stated

century would fit better based on the

in her captions.

aforementioned comparisons. 53 See Mackie 2015, figs 7.31 and 7.33-4; Sardi

47 http://metmuseum.org/art/collection/

2016b, figs. 5.110 and 5.179 - 84.

search/450735 (Accessed 25 April 2017). The inscriptions feature the title al-sultān in

54 See Mackie 2015, 270-1.

mirror image.

55 The mosque lamp is illustrated in Gallin

48 See Atıl 1981, cat. 115.

2017, fig. 2.34. A striking resemblance may

49 See the silk robe in Sardi 2016a, 255 and

be noticed in the juxtaposition of the lotuses

fig. 2. For its attribution to the mid-14th

and the tear-shaped medallions, which in

century, see note 30 above.

the case of the glass lamp are occupied by the suspension rings. The title al-Ashraf on

50 Cf. https://www.artic.edu/artworks/99500/ fragment (Accessed 1 June 2018); and

several of these silks alongside two 15th-

https://www.clevelandart.org/art/1918.189

century lampas of similar decoration found

(Accessed 1 June 2018).

in Polish churches led Louise Mackie to attribute all these silks to sultan Barsbay’s

51 Identical scrolls of naturalistic lotus and rosettes are seen on the stucco frame in

reign (r. 1422-1438) (Mackie 2015, 270).

sultan Hasan’s tomb chamber hall and on

However, the silks bearing only the common

glass mosque lamps made for his complex

sultanic formula ‘al-sultān al-mālik’ could

(Gallin 2017, fig. 2.36). A very similar star-

have been equally made for a 14th-century

like arabesque that frames a rosette is seen on

Mamluk sultan.

the stucco decoration on the eastern iwan of

56 See two more examples in Sardi 2016b, figs.

his complex (Gallin 2017, fig. 2.23).

5.174 - 5.

102

s a r di – for e ig n i n f lu e nc e s i n m a m lu k t e x t i l e s

57 See Ohta 2012.

collar motif on Mamluk book bindings, see

58 https://www.clevelandart.org/art/1983.121

Ohta 2012, 254-9. 73 http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/

(Accessed 2 June 2018). Also see Wardwell

EA1984.477 (Accessed 30 March 2017).

1987, fig. 20.

74 See the following pieces at the Ashmolean

59 See Biebrońska-Słotova 1994, fig. 6; Mackie

Museum (Oxford): inv. nos. EA1984.44,

2015, fig. 7.35.

EA1984.103a and EA1984.63.

60 See Louca and Valansot 1994, fig. 2; Smalley

75 The term ‘archaic’ is used for similar

2014, fig. 9. 61 See Smalley 2014, fig. 9, variation C.

inscriptions encountered on 13th-14th

62 https://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/

century Mamluk lead-glazed pottery from

O353224/cap-headgear-unknown (Accessed

Bilad al-Sham (Milwright 2003, 101). For

20 September 2017).

similar emblems on sgraffito ware, see Walker 2004, 60.

63 See Ellis 2001, 24-5. For 13th century

76 http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/

examples: http://jameelcentre.ashmolean. org/object/EA1984.491; http://

EA1984.48 (Accessed 25 April 2017). An

jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/

embroidered red eagle with blue details

EA1984.495 (Accessed 5 April 2017).

among red fleur-de-lis on a linen panel in the Benaki Museum was probably also part of a

64 Ellis 2001, 9. 65 Ibidem, cat. 63. For the evolution of

banner (Sardi 2016b, 251 and fig. 5.291). 77 See a heraldic lion with traces of red carved

embroidered decoration on Mamluk tunics,

in stone in Atıl 1981, cat. 108. Jean de

see Sardi 2016b, 183-4. 66 See Ellis 2001, cat. 17.

Joinville, while describing the coats of arms

67 Ibidem, cat. 63.

of the early Mamluks, mentions that their

68 See an extant Timurid cloud collar in

devices were of a crimson colour (Wedgood

Konstantinovich Levykin 2009, cat. 3.

1906, 141). Mamluk heraldic lions displayed on glass artefacts were either red or white

69 See Cammann 1951, 6-7. The earliest known representations of garments with cloud

(Carboni and Whitehouse 2001, 247).

collars in Persian painting appear in the

The white colour apparently was replaced

‘Great Mongol Shahnamah’ from the early

by blue in the embroidered emblems to

14th century (Kadoi 2014, 164). For more on

produce a stronger contrast against the

cloud collars in Mongol costume, see Kadoi

undyed ground.

2002, 32-4.

78 For examples of embroidered Mamluk blazons, see Sardi 2016b, 405-10 and figs

70 http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/

5.283 – 307.

EA1984.34 (Accessed 9 March 2017). 71 The term was coined by Rachel Ward, who

79 ‘It is the custom of each amir, whether high

kindly provided me with the typescript of

or low ranking, to have a blazon (rank) that

her unpublished paper (Ward 1995).

is particular to him, such as a goblet; a pen box; a lozenge; a fleur-de-lys,

72 See Ohta 2004, 267. For more on the cloud

103

t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

and the like; with one or two divisions,

placed around the upper arms, similar to

with different colours, according to each

Mamluk garments. By contrast, horizontal

amir’s choice and preference in this. This

inscribed bands were placed at the shoulder

[blazon] was painted on the doors of their

area in the garments used in the regions of the Yuan Dynasty (Mühlemann 2018, 60-1).

houses and the places attributed to them; […]; as well as on the cloths [covering]

85 See Al-Mojan 2010, 248; Sardi 2013, pls. 1-2.

their horses, [made] using cut, coloured

86 See Okumura 2012; Sardi 2013; al-Mojan

broadcloth, and on the cloth [covers]

2013; Mackie 2015, 274; Tezcan 2017, 146-52

of their camels, [made] using coloured

and 154-6. 87 Mamluk printed fabrics are block-printed

woollen threads that were woven on capes [of rides] (ʿ ibiy), capes [of rides that are made of hair] (balāsāt), and the like (al-

and decorated with grey-black or blue

Qalqashandī as translated in Ibn El-Toudy

The colourants and printing methods are

and Abdelhamid 2017, 321).

different to those used on Indian fabrics

patterns on undyed linen or cotton ground.

imported by the Mamluks; Barnes 1997, 61

80 For Mamluk examples, see ‘Izzi 1974, 238-

and Pfister 1938, 74-7.

41; Sardi 2016b, 41-8 and figs 2.4-2.8. For

88 See Mackie 2015, 255 and fig. 7.11; Cornu et

Ayyubid examples, see Selem and al-Khalek

al. 1992, 590; Endrei 1994, 44-5 and fig 8.

2010, 186-8. 81 See Baker 1986, 69; Cornu et al. 1993,

89 Cf. with the silk tunic at the Cairo Museum

284 and cat. 181. A 14C-dating of a similar

of Islamic Art (inv. no. 23903) and the

example in the Ashmolean Museum

silk damask in Riggisberg (inv. no. 1831)

indicated a 12th-13th century attribution,

discussed above. 90 See Sardi 2012, 12 and fig. 3; Idem 2016a, 257,

which has been narrowed down to the

note 23.

Ayyubid era on stylistic grounds; http://

91 Compare a printed linen with bird-like

jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/object/

motifs in Cornu et al. 1992, 590 with an

EA1984.119 (Accessed 25 March 2017).

embroidered linen in http://jameelcentre.

82 See ‘Izzi 1974, 240 and fig. 10; Sardi 2016b,

ashmolean.org/object/EA1984.221

fig. 2.7.

(Accessed 20 April 2017).

83 See Mühlemann 2017, fig. 5. This band was most likely woven in the north-eastern

92 See Sardi 2016b, fig. 5.74.

regions of the Ilkhanid Empire (Central

93 See Atıl 1981, cats. 121-2; Cornu et al. 1992, 589.

Asia) during the 14th century (Mühlemann

94 See Cornu et al. 1992, 592.

2017, 43).

95 See Atıl 1981, 239; Sardi 2016b, 255.

84 According to Corinne Mühlemann the

96 For example, an inscribed linen at the

Ilkhanid rulers combined the sartorial traditions from the Mamluk, Seljuk and

Cleveland Museum of Art can be compared

Mongol regions. Of note, the horizontal

with a ceramic vessel fragment with stamped

inscribed tirāz bands on Ilkhanid robes were

and applied decoration of stars, dots and

104

s a r di – for e ig n i n f lu e nc e s i n m a m lu k t e x t i l e s

rosettes. See http://www.clevelandart.

108 See Barnes and Ellis 2001, vol. 1.

org/art/1929.907 (Accessed 15 April 2017);

109 Bethany Walker suggests that these motifs

http://exhibitions.kelsey.lsa.umich.edu/

found their way into early Mamluk royal

pearls/objects/gem.html (Accessed 20 April

iconography through the display of banners

2017).

and other paraphernalia carried by Seljuk mercenaries, circulating coins, and imported

97 For the patterns and inscriptions on glazed

decorated artefacts such as metal and

pottery, see Milwright 2003; for those on

ceramic vessels (Walker 2004, 67).

unglazed pottery, see Mulder 2014.

110 On the role of silk fabrics in Mamluk court

98 See Mulder 2014, 149. 99 See Lamm 1937, 174.

protocol and diplomacy read Sardi 2016b,

100 See Cornu et al. 1992, 392-3 and 593.

38-74. Also read Behrens-Abouseif 2014,

101 http://www.metmuseum.org/art/

151-68.

collection/search/452401 (Accessed 15 April

111 See Sardi 2016b, 137-47.

2017).

112 For the innovations in the decoration of

102 See Atıl 1981, cat. 120.

sultan Hasan’s glass mosque lamps, see

103 For example, the scrolls terminating in

Carboni and Whitehouse 2001, 237-8; Ward 2012, 67-8.

human, animal, or bird heads on a 12751300 Syrian glass flask. See http://www.

113 For Nasrid examples, see Mackie 2015, figs.

discoverislamicart.org/database_item.

5.37 and 5.39. For Mongol examples, see Von

php?id=object;ISL;uk;Mus01;22;en

Fircks and Schorta 2016, 231-51 and 266-99.

(Accessed 15 April 2017). 104 See Pfister 1938, pl. xxxiia.

114 See Rosser-Owen 2010, 52-3. 115 See Von Fircks and Schorta 2016, 231-51 and 266-99.

105 12,000 silk weavers were operating in Alexandria alone in 1295 (Borsch 2014, n.

116 https://www.davidmus.dk/en/collections/

25 in 148). In 1394 there were 14,000 looms

islamic/materials/textiles/art/52-1998

operating in the same city (Ibn Tahgribirdi

(Accessed 2 April 2017).

(transl. W. Popper) 1958, vol. 18, 112).

117 Arabic was commonly used for official

106 See Mackie 2015, 253.

inscriptions across different cultures in

107 See Ellis 2001, 22-3.

medieval Islam (Ritter 2016, 236).

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bi bl iogr a ph y Allan, J. 2010. Diversity and Pluralism in Islam, in: Z. Hirji (ed.), Islamic Art and Doctrinal Pluralism; Historical and Contemporary Discourses amongst Muslims, London, 83-106. Atıl, E. 1981. Renaissance of Islam: Art of the Mamluks, Washington, dc. Baker, P.L. 1995. Islamic Textiles, London. Barnes, R. 1997. Indian Block Printed Textiles in Egypt: the Newberry Collection in the Ashmolean Museum i-ii, Oxford. Barnes, R. 2012. Islamic Embroideries from Egypt. Shifts in Taste, Change in Status, in: V. Porter and M. Rosser-Owen (eds.), Metalwork and Material Culture in the Islamic World: Art, Craft and Text, London, 253-63. Barnes, R. and M. Ellis (eds.) 2001. The Newberry Collection of Islamic Embroideries (Online Catalogue) Available at http://jameelcentre.ashmolean.org/collection/7/10222 (Accessed 20 April 2017). Behrens-Abouseif, D. 2014. Practicing Diplomacy in Mamluk Sultanate: Gifts and Material Culture in Medieval Islamic World, London. Biebrońska-Słotova, B. 1994. Early 16th Century Byzantine and Mamluk Textiles from Wawel Cathedral, Cracow, Bulletin de cieta 72: 13-20. Borsch, S.J. 2014. Plague Depopulation and Irrigation Decay in Medieval Egypt, in: M. Green (ed.), Pandemic Disease in the Medieval World: Rethinking the Black Death. The Medieval Globe 1, Michigan, 125-56. Cammann, S. 1951. The Symbolism of the Cloud Collar Motif, The Art Bulletin 33:1, 1-9. Canby, S.R., D. Beyazit, M. Rugiadi and A.C.S. Peacock 2016. Court and Cosmos: The Great Age of the Seljuqs, New Haven & London. Carboni, S. and D. Whitehouse 2001. The Glass of the Sultans, New York. Combe, E., J. Sauvaget and G. Wiet. 1956. Répertoire Chronologique d’Épigraphie Arabe xv, Cairo. Cornu, G., O. Valansot and H. Meyer 1992. Tissus Islamiques de la Collection Pfister, Vatican City. Cornu, G., M. Martiniani-Reber and C. Ritschard 1993. Tissus d’Égypte: Témoins du Monde Arabe, viii-xve siècles (Collection Bouvier), Geneva. Curatola, G. (ed.) 1993. Eredità dell’ Islam: Arte Islamica in Italia, Milan. Day, F.E. 1950. Silks of the Near East, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 9:4, 108-17. Desrosiers, S. 2004. Soieries et Autres Textiles de l’Antiquité au xvie siècle. Musée du MoyenÂge-Thermes de Cluny, Paris.

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Dimand, M.S. 1931. Coptic and Egypto-Arabic Textiles, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 26, 89-91. Ekhtiar, M., S. Canby, N.N. Haidar and P.P. Soucek (eds.) 2011. Masterpieces from the Department of Islamic Art in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Ellis, M. 2001. Embroideries and Samplers from Islamic Egypt, Oxford. Enderlein, V., A. von Gladiss, G. Helmecke and J. Kröger 2003. Museum of Islamic Art. State Museums of Berlin Prussian Cultural Property, Mainz. Endrei, W. 1994. Printed Textiles from the Abemayor Collection in the Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto, Bulletin du cieta 72, 34-47. Gallin, P. 2017. Mamluk Art Objects in their Architectural Context, unpublished master’s thesis, Boston College. Hamdy, A. (ed.) 1969. Exhibition of Islamic Art in Egypt: 969-1517, 30 April 1969, Semiramis Hotel, Cairo. Ibn Taghribirdi, A. Y. 1954-1963 (translated by W. Popper) History of Egypt, 1382-1469 A.D. Translated from the Arabic annals of Abu l-Mahasin ibn Taghrî Birdî i-vii, Berkeley. ‘Izzi, W. 1974. Objects Bearing the Name of al-Nasir Muhammad and his Successor, in: Ministry of Culture of the Arab Republic of Egypt (ed.), Colloque International sur l’ Histoire du Caire 27 Mars-5 Avril 1969, Cairo, 235-42. Jenkins, D.T. (ed.) 2003. The Cambridge History of Western Textiles i-ii, Cambridge. Kadoi, Y. 2002. Exchange of Ideas between China and Iran under the Mongols, Oriental Art 58:2, 25-36. Kadoi, Y. 2014. Textiles in the Great Mongol Shahnama: A New Approach to Ilkhanid Dress, in: K. Dimitrova and E. Goehring (eds.), Dressing the Part: Textiles as Propaganda in the Middle Ages, Turnhout, 153-213. Kendrick, A.F. 1924. Catalogue of Muhammadan Textiles of the Medieval Period, London. Konstantinovich Levykin, A. (ed.) 2009. The Tsars and the East. Gifts from Turkey and Iran in the Moscow Kremlin, Washington, dc. Korn, L. 2011. Art and Architecture of the Artuqid Courts, in: A. Fuess and J.P. Hartung (eds.), Court Cultures in the Muslim World: Seventh to Nineteenth Centuries, London & New York, 385-407. Kühnel, E. 1927. Islamische Stoffe aus Ägyptischen Gräbern, Berlin. Lamm, C.J. 1937. Cotton in Medieval Textiles of the Near East, Paris. Little, D.P. 2006. Diplomatic Missions and Gifts Exchanged between the Mamluks and Ilkhans, in: L. Komaroff (ed.), Beyond the Legacy of Genghis Khan, Leiden, 30-42. Louca, C. and O. Valansot 1994. Étoffes Mamlukes du Musée des Tissus de Lyon, Bulletin du cieta 72, 20-33.

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Mackie, L.W. 1984. Towards an Understanding of Mamluk Silks: National and International Considerations, Muqarnas 2, 127-46. Mackie, L.W. 2015. Symbols of Power. Luxury Textiles from Islamic Lands, 7th-21st Century, New Haven & London. Mayer, L.A. 1952. Mamluk Costume: a Survey, Geneva. Milwright, M. 2003. Modest Luxuries: Decorated Lead-Glazed Pottery in the South of Bilad al-Sham (Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries), Muqarnas 20, 85-111. Al-Mojan, M.H. 2010. The Honorable Kabaa. Architecture and Kiswa (In Arabic), Mecca. Al-Mojan, M.H. 2013. The Textiles Made for the Prophet’s Mosque at Medina. A Preliminary Study of their Origins, History and Style, in: Porter, V. and L. Saif, (eds.), The Hajj: Collected Essays, London, 184-94. Mühlemann, C. 2018. Inscribed Horizontal Bands on Two Cloth-of-gold Panels and their Function as Part of an Ilkhanid Dress, Ars Orientalis 47, 43-68. Mulder, S. 2014. A Survey and Typology of Islamic Molded Ware (9th-13th Centuries) Based on the Discovery of a Potter’s Workshop at Medieval Balis, Syria, Journal of Islamic Archaeology 1:2, 143-92. O’ Kane, B. (ed.) 2006. The Treasures of Islamic Art in the Museums of Cairo, Cairo & New York. Ohta, A. 2004. Filigree Bindings of the Mamluk Period, Muqarnas 21, 267-76. Ohta, A. 2012. Covering the Book: Bindings of the Mamluk Period, 1250‐1516 ce., unpublished doctoral dissertation, soas University of London. Okumura, S. 2012. The Mamluk Kaaba Curtain in the Bursa Grand Mosque (Online) Available at http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/tsaconf/721 (Accessed 30 April 2017), 1-12. Ölçer, N. 2005. The Seljuks and Artuqids of Medieval Anatolia, in: D.J. Roxburgh (ed.), Turks: A Journey of a Thousand Years, London, 102-46. al-‘Omari, Ibn Fadl Allah / transl. M. Gaudefroy-Demombynes. 1927. Masalik al-Absar fi Mamalik al-Amsar. I. L’ Afrique moins l’ Egypte, Paris. Oney, G. 1974. Kubadabad Ceramics, in: W. Watson (ed.), The Art of Iran and Anatolia from the 11th to the 13th Century A.D., London, 68-84. Otavsky, K. 1995. Gewebe aus Ägypten, Persien und Mesopotamien, Spanien und Nordafrika, in: K. Otavsky and M.A.M. Salim (eds.), Mittelalterliche Textilien i: Ägypten, Persien und Mesopotamien, Spanien und Nordafrika, Riggisberg (Bern), 109-250. Pfister, R. 1938. Les Toiles Imprimées de Fostat et l’ Hindouistan, Paris. Piotrovsky, M.B. and A.D. Pritula (eds.) 2006. Beyond the Palace Walls. Islamic Art from the State Hermitage Museum. Islamic Art in a World Context, Edinburgh.

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Porter, V. 1987. The Art of the Rasulids, in: W. Daum (ed.), Yemen 3000 Years of Art and Civilisation in Arabia Felix, Innsbruck & Frankfurt, 232-53. Rice, D.S. 1953. Studies in Islamic Metalwork-iv, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 15:3, 489-503. Ritter, M. 2016. Cloth of Gold from West Asia in a Late Medieval European Context: the Abu Sa‘id Textile in Vienna, in: J. Von Fircks and R. Schorta (eds.), Oriental Silks in Medieval Europe, Riggisberg, 231-51. Rosser-Owen, M. 2010. Islamic Arts from Spain, London. Sardi, M. 2008. Mamluk Textiles, Halı 156, 72-3. Sardi, M. 2012. Mamluk Textiles, in: M.S. Graves (ed.), Islamic Art, Architecture and Material Culture: New Perspectives, Oxford, 7-14. Sardi, M. 2013. Weaving for the Hajj under the Mamluks, in: V. Porter and L. Saif (eds.), The Hajj: Collected Essays, London, 169-74. Sardi, M. 2016a. Swimming across the Weft: Fish Motifs on Mamluk Textiles, in: A. Ohta, M. J. Rogers and R. Wade Haddon (eds.), Art, Trade and Culture in the Islamic World and Beyond from the Fatimids to the Mughals, London, 254-63. Sardi, M. 2016b. Mamluk Textiles in Context, unpublished doctoral dissertation, soas University of London. Schmidt, H.J. 1934. Damaste der Mamlukenzeit, Ars Islamica 1, 99-109. Selem, M.A.M. and S. al-Khalek 2010. Egyptian Textiles Museum, Cairo. Smalley, R. 2014. Late Antique and Medieval Headwear from Egypt in the Victoria and Albert Museum, British Museum Studies in Ancient Egypt and Sudan 21, 81-101. Tezcan, H. 2017. Sacred Covers of Islam’s Holy Shrines with Samples from Topkapi Palace, Istanbul. El-Toudy, H. and T.G. Abdelhamid (eds.) 2017. Selections from Subh al-A’shā by alQalqashandī. Clerk of the Mamluk Court, London & New York. Walker, B.J. 2000. Rethinking Mamluk Textiles, Mamluk Studies Review 4, 167-217. Walker, B.J. 2004. Ceramic Evidence for Political Transformations in Early Mamluk Egypt, Mamluk Studies Review 8:1, 1-114. Ward, R. 1995. Mongol Mania at the Mamluk Court, Unpublished paper presented at the conference The Art of the Mongols, University of Edinburgh. Ward, R. 2004. Brass, Gold and Silver from Mamluk Egypt: Metal Vessels Made for Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad. A Memorial Lecture for Mark Zebrowski. Given at the Royal Asiatic Society on 9 May 2002, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland 14:1, 59-73. Ward, R. 2012. Mosque Lamps and Enamelled Glass. Getting the Dates Right, in: D. Behrens-Abouseif (ed.), The Arts of the Mamluks in Egypt and Syria; Evolution and Impact, Bonn, 55-76.

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Ward, R. 2016. Mean or Green? Mamluk Vessels Recycled for the Rasulid Sultans, in: A. Ohta, M. J. Rogers and R. Wade Haddon (eds.), Art, Trade and Culture in the Islamic World and Beyond from the Fatimids to the Mughals, London, 36-47. Wardwell, A.E. 1987. Flight of the Phoenix: Crosscurrents in Late Thirteenth to Fourteenth Century Silk Patterns and Motifs, Bulletin of the Cleveland Museum of Art 74, 1-36. Wedgood, E. 1906. The Memoirs of the Lord of Joinville. A New English Version, London.

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fig. 1 – Silk lampas with inscribed medallions filled with confronted birds flanking a Tree of Life [max. l: 18 x w: 11.5 cm]; Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, inv. no. 14975 (Photo: L. Kourgiantakis), © Benaki Museum (Unpublished).

fig. 2 – Fragment of the so-called Rasulid silk; The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, inv. no. 31.14a-c, Rogers Fund 1931, © The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

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t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

fig. 3 – Reconstruction of a silk ogival fragment bearing a double-headed eagle framed by inscriptions in mirror image; Museum of Islamic Art, Cairo. Drawing by E. Zotou (After Herz Bey 1906, fig. 52), © M. Sardi.

fig. 4 – Reconstruction of a silk damask forming the skull cap of a Mamluk headgear decorated with addorsed animals; The State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg, inv. no. eg 934. Drawing by E. Zotou, © M. Sardi.

fig. 5 – Blue and beige silk fragment bearing addorsed regardant animals within ogivals. The reverse side of parts of the fabric is also displayed here [max. l: 34 x max. w: 33 cm]; Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, inv. no. 15065 (Photo: L. Kourgiantakis), © Benaki Museum (Unpublished).

112

s a r di – for e ig n i n f lu e nc e s i n m a m lu k t e x t i l e s

fig. 6 – Reconstruction of a now beige on blue silk lampas bearing addorsed regardant birds within ogivals formed with fish and floral interlace; Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, inv. no. 15739. Drawing by E. Zotou, © M. Sardi.

fig. 7 – Blue and white cotton fragment with running animals and Arabic inscriptions that read: liman yanzuru lī ana al-Qamar (To whoever looks at me, I am the moon) [l: 40 x w: 20 cm] (Inscription read by Mohamed Abdelsalam); The Textile Museum, Washington, dc, inv. no. 1968.33, © The Textile Museum, Washington, dc, Museum Purchase (Unpublished).

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fig. 8a – Reconstruction of a Mamluk silk lampas with gold threads, known as the Mantle for the Statue of the Virgin. It bears tear-shaped inscribed medallions which alternate with large lotus blossoms displayed in opposite direction. Yellow, light blue and white pattern on blue ground. The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio, inv. no. 1939.40 (Illustrated in Mackie 2015, fig. 7.31). Drawing by E. Zotou, © M. Sardi.

fig. 8b. – Reconstruction of the pattern on a glass mosque lamp made for Sultan Hasan’s Complex in Cairo (completed in 1359). It is decorated with large lotus blossoms displayed in opposite direction to tear-shaped compartments occupied by the suspension rings. The motifs are displayed in blue on a golden ground. Museum of Islamic Art, Cairo, inv. no. 282 (Illustrated in Gallin 2017, fig. 2.34). Drawing by E. Zotou, © M. Sardi.

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fig. 9 – Silk fragment with quatrefoils within ogivals [l: 31 x w: 21 cm]; National Museum of Sweden, Stockholm, inv. no. nmk 145/1935, © Photo: Greta Lindström / Nationalmuseum (Unpublished).

fig. 10 – Silk fragment with squares filled with star-like patterns and rosettes. In the interstices elongated hexagons filled with pseudo inscriptions [l: 11.2 x w: 7.8 cm]; Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, inv. no. 15100 (Photo: L. Kourgiantakis), © Benaki Museum (Unpublished).

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fig. 11 – Fragment from the upper part of an undyed linen tunic with silk embroidery in the form of cloud-collar. It bears a blue and white hem at the neck opening [l: 45.5 x w: 27 cm]; Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, inv. no. 16121 (Photo: L. Kourgiantakis), © Benaki Museum (Unpublished).

fig. 12 – Linen panel covered with blue, brown and yellow silk embroidery of rosettes and lotus blossoms [l: 47 x w: 46 cm]; Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, inv. no. 16004 (Photo: L. Kourgiantakis), © Benaki Museum (Unpublished).

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fig. 13 – Linen tirāz band with blue and brown silk embroidery. Text: ʿ izz li-mawlānā al-sultān al-mālik al-nāsir / Nāsir al-Dunyā wa’ l-dīn Muhammad [?] Sultān al-islām wa’ l-muslimīn sayyid al-mulūk wa’ l-salātīn (Glory to our Lord, the Sultan al-Malik Nasir / the defender of the world and religion, Muhammad (?) […] Sultan of Islam and of the Muslims, Master of kings and sultans […]). (As read in Combe et al. 1931, 169, no 5867) [l: 24 x w: 6 cm]. Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, inv. no. 15094 (Photo: S. Samios), © Benaki Museum (Unpublished).

fig. 14 – Resist-dyed cotton fragment with a running hare and rampant lion within medallions flanked by vocative inscriptions punctuated with heraldic shields [l: 11.8 x w: 28.6 cm]. The inscription reads al-ʿ izz wa’ l-nasr wa’ l-iqbāl. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, inv. no. 1972.120.4, © met.

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fig. 15 – Silk lampas with lamella of gilded paper. It bears seal-Kuffic script, Arabic, pseudo-Arabic and Iranian inscriptions. In the large medallion on the right, the phrase: ʿ izz li-mawlānā (Glory to our Lord). In the oblong cartouches at the bottom the phrase ʿ izz li-mawlānā al-sultān (Glory to our Lord, the Sultan) in abbreviated form is read in mirror reverse. China, Iran or Central Asia, 14th-15th century [l: 36 x w: 28 cm]. The David Museum, Copenhagen, inv. no. 52/1998, © The David Collection, Copenhagen (Photo: Pernille Kleme).

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Entangled identities: Textiles and the art and architecture of the Apennine Peninsula in a trans-Mediterranean perspective Vera-Simone Schulz

* t e x t i l es a n d di plom ac y ‘Neste Reyno de Conguo se fazem huns panos de palma, de pello como veludo, e delles com lauores como çatim velutado […]’ – ‘In this kingdom of Congo they make some cloths of palm trees with a pile surface like velvet, and some worked like velvety satin […]’.1 When the Portuguese traveler Duarte Pacheco Pereira (1460-1533) praised West African raffia cloths with these words at the beginning of the 16th century, specimens of this type of luxury fabrics had already found their way to Europe. Around 1489, the Congolese king Kasuta (r. 1470-1509) had sent a high number of raffia weavings dyed ‘in vivid colours’ as diplomatic gifts to the king of Portugal João ii (1455-1495),2 while cushion covers made of raffia circulated in European countries as costly commercial and collector items (Fig. 1).3 As the following quotations indicate, early modern commentators continuously emphasized their smoothness and sophisticated technique. Textiles from the fibers of the raffia tree could be either flat-woven or they could be cut pile embroideries. Antonio Zucchelli (1663-1716), an Italian missionary to the Congo, explained that the latter were created ‘with a knife’ when local weavers ‘cut the cloth in the proper spots and rub it well with their hands, so that it looks like patterned velvet’.4 In Zucchelli’s words, raffia artefacts were manufactured ‘com lavores altos e baixos e maneira que ácerca de nós hé a tecedura de cetim a velutado’ – ‘in high and low relief like velveted satin among us’.5 Sub-Saharan raffia cloths were in fact frequently compared with silk velvets from Italy. The continuation of the earlier quoted laudation by Pereira even shows that Congolese raffia cloths were considered equal, if not superior to their objects of The Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 119-154

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comparison. According to him raffia weavings were ‘tam fermosos, que a obra d’elles se nam faz melhor feyta em Italia; e em toda ha Guinee nam há terra em que saybam fazer estes panos senam neste Reyno de Conguo’ – ‘so beautiful that those made in Italy do not surpass them in workmanship; and in the whole of Guinea there is no other land in which they know how to make these textiles other than in this kingdom of Congo’.6 If all this praise for raffia cloths makes anything clear, it is that textiles count among the artefacts most closely connected with issues of identity. Flags and banners signal claims of territorial dominion; fabrics with coats of arms symbolize individuals, families, communities, or states; clothing and furnishing elements can give insights regarding the gender, age, ethnicity, religious affiliation, socio-political status, and wealth of their wearers and owners; and raw materials, the techniques used in textile production, colours and patterns can provide additional identity information.7 In the premodern period, issues of identity and alterity, constructions, differentiations and comparisons between persons, social groups, and regions (textiles made in ‘their’ region of the world or in ‘ours’ – ácerca de nós, as Zucchelli put it) 8 could be at play at multiple levels. In the realm of cross-cultural encounters and diplomacy, however, they figured particularly prominently. Cross-cultural encounters frequently entailed the donation of luxury fabrics as lavish diplomatic gifts.9 These practices required a careful valuation of textiles in order to build up, maintain or infringe on balances between giving and receiving.10 King Kasuta’s consignment of raffia textiles to João ii, for example, was a counter gift to silk weavings he had received from the king of Portugal one year before.11 Textiles, which in the premodern period often served as currency, could be tributary payments, and they could communicate power and hierarchies.12 In fact, each personal encounter, even if it did not involve the actual exchange of textiles, came along with numerous social codes, protocols, and implications through fabrics: from the materiality, patterns, and designs of clothing to furnishing elements such as cloths of honour, sumptuous tapestries and wall hangings, and the privileged, restricted or ‘forbidden territory’ of carpets as floor coverings.13 The close attention to the role of textiles in cross-cultural diplomatic encounters became specifically evident in the case of ambassadors’ visits. Francesco Caporale’s portrait bust of Antonio Emmanuel Ne Vunda (d. 1608) in Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, for instance, shows the Congolese envoy to Pope Paul v (1550-1621) in a vestment of filigree, net-like raffia known in the Congo as kinzembe or zamba kya mfumu (Fig. 2).14 The detailed depiction of the foreign dress, which had been described and illustrated as ‘incutto’ in Duarte Lopez’ 1591 travel narrative Relatione del Reame di Congo,15 can be contextualized in a twofold manner: Firstly, it should be considered

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in relation to the significant role of clothing in portrayals of Europeans, not least in the medium of the early modern portrait bust, in which minute details were understood to be vital carriers of information regarding the sitters socio-political status (or pretensions to that effect).16 Secondly, it should be understood as part of a group of representations of ambassadors and visitors to the pope from distant lands in their respective attires. In this respect it was a visual manifestation of the far reaching networks of the papal court and the papacy’s claim to universalism, its ‘global project of conversion’,17 while it satisfied at the same time the interest in foreign luxury goods. Ne Vunda, who had arrived and died in Rome in 1608, was portrayed numerous times. He appears also in the fictive gallery in the Sala Regia of the Quirinal Palace in the Vatican (1615-1617) next to the balconies with ambassadors from Persia and Japan whom Paul v had hosted in 1609 and 1615.18 In all these works, particular emphasis is laid on the rendering of the figures’ garments, their materiality and design. An oil painting of the Japanese emissary Hasekura Rokuemon Tsunenaga (1571-1622), executed in Rome in 1615, gives further evidence of this, given the special attention to the latter’s polychrome patterned silk kimono.19 With regard to the two Persian envoys, their dual presence at the papal court led to comparisons regarding their clothing and comportment.20 Commentators not only described Ali Quli Beg’s (d. 1615) attire, but also noted that he kept his turban on while kissing the pope’s feet. This was a violation of protocol in the Vatican, where visitors had to approach the pope bareheaded. The second envoy from Shah Abbas i (1571-1629), Sir Robert Shirley (ca. 1581-1628), appeared in an idiosyncratically adapted form of Safavid dress. Seeking to stress his role as a Catholic convert in Persia and complying with the papacy’s global ambitions, Shirley crowned his turban with a crucifix and was represented in this manner in an engraving by Mattheus Greuter (15641638), produced and sold in Rome (Fig. 3).21 Tellingly, Greuter included the scene of Shirley’s audience during which – in contrast to his fellow emissary – he had taken off his turban in front of the Supreme Pontiff. In all these cases, sartorial rhetoric was intrinsically linked with issues of identity. Yet, the evidence also gives rise to the question: what were these ‘Italian’ textiles, that were the template and objects of comparison from which these ‘foreign’ artefacts were distinguished? Part of the answer lies in the origin of the material itself, since in spite of the local sericulture which was undertaken on the Apennine Peninsula since the Middle Ages, most raw silk used for the local Italian textile production was indeed imported from Persia, China, and from regions across the Mediterranean.22 An even more complicated picture, however, emerges when we take a closer look at the designs of ‘Italian’ textiles.

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t e x t i l e designs Although up to now, there has been much scholarly debate regarding the beginnings of silk weaving on the Apennine Peninsula, there is consensus on the models which Italian silk weavers emulated once the local textile production had started to flourish.23 These were patterned silks from other regions in the Mediterranean, from the Islamic world and from Asia.24 When Italian silk weavers adapted the design of roundels filled with one or, more frequently, with two confronted or addorsed animals, this motif had already been a wide-spread form of decoration for silk weavings across the Mediterranean and the Middle East for centuries.25 Textiles featuring animals in medallions which figure in medieval Italian inventories as specimens ‘cum rotis’, ‘ad rotas’, ‘ad compassos’, or ‘ad rotellas’,26 were woven in Iran, Asia Minor, Byzantium, Sicily, as well as on the Iberian Peninsula, among other regions, while in many cases, it is actually not possible to determine the provenance of a preserved textile with this sort of design.27 On the Apennine Peninsula, fabrics with animals in roundels inspired both local silk weavers and artists working in other materials and media. A section of the stone pavement in the baptistery in Florence with interconnected circles enclosing pairs of birds facing stylized trees, executed around the year 1207, for example, draws on silk weavings with this ornamental structure (Fig. 4).28 In Italian inventories, textiles featuring this kind of pattern were often described as ‘Byzantine’.29 In the case of the 12th-century panels from Santa Maria di Terreti in Calabria, where silk weavings were evoked by a transfer of ornamentation to stucco, their framing with a pseudo-Arabic inscription indicates that they could also have been linked with luxury fabrics from the Islamic world.30 Yet, by then textiles featuring animals in rotae were likewise woven in Italy. Silk weavings with birds and quadrupeds in medallions are attested for 12th- and 13th-century Lucca,31 and the fabric with pairs of parrots in yellow roundels on a red ground which was used to cover the coffin of Saint Anthony of Padua in the Santo is now assigned to 13th-century Venice.32 The close entanglement between imports, local production and their impact on artists working in other materials and media became even more pronounced in the 14th century when a major shift in the designs occurred. Now, more dynamic, diagonal ornamental motives from Chinese and Central Asian silk weavings, widespread during the time of the Mongol Empires, started to replace the paratactic roundels. Yet, the role of the foreign imports was not confined to being models for accurate reproduction. More often, elements in their designs were isolated, adapted, reassembled, and combined with newly invented ones.

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To give but one example, a 14th-century Italian silk weaving which includes representations of birds clearly draws its inspiration from the mythical Chinese fenghuang bird which frame ogivals enclosing pseudo-Arabic lettering (Fig. 5). As Brigitte Klesse and Lisa Monnas have pointed out, this textile was then reinterpreted by a local painter for the mantle of Saint Catherine in an altarpiece in the Cathedral of Florence, executed around 1370 (Fig. 6).33 Instead of the pseudo-Arabic script on the preserved silk weaving, Giovanni del Biondo (d. ca. 1399) placed the letter S for ‘Santa’ into each medallion, while, from a distance, the ogivals appear as golden wheels in accordance with the saint’s attribute.34 Whereas the actual wooden instrument of Catherine’s martyrdom remains hidden at the left border of the image and is partly covered by her mantle, it’s rather the cloth with its sparkling design which evokes turning wheels and refers to the saint’s hagiography. Giovanni del Biondo’s altarpiece of Saint Catherine exemplifies notions of identity on various levels by means of textiles. In the centre of the composition, the fabric of the saint’s mantle recalls actual silk weavings manufactured in Italy as much as the far reaching trans-Mediterranean networks Italian silk weavers and merchants were involved in. At the same time, the design of the mantle was subtly adjusted to the identity of the represented saint. When the painting was later changed, the textile dimensions and the complex web of their local and global entanglements were further elaborated. The altarpiece had been commissioned by Noferi di Giovanni di Bartolomeo Bischeri, a wealthy Florentine citizen and consul of the arte della lana, the guild of the wool makers.35 After he and his family had been granted the right to be buried in the cathedral in 1407, he ordered the altarpiece to be extended to represent also scenes from the life of Saint Catherine, himself and his sons, as well as his sons’ patron saints Bartholomew and John the Evangelist above the pediment. Their names are included in an inscription at the lower end of the altarpiece, framed by their coats of arms: ‘questi sono n[oferi] bischeri messer e b[artolomeo] e g[iovanni] suoi figliuoli’ (‘these are messer Noferi Bischeri and Bartolomeo and Giovanni, his sons’). In the central panel, Noferi di Giovanni and his sons appear in monochrome woollen clothes whose materiality and colours are emphasized in contrast to the patterned silk weavings and ermine lining of the saint’s mantle in the back. Their prominence in the foreground of the painting, where their saturated hues recall the dyestuffs necessary to produce such vivid textiles, makes reference to the clothing of Florentine citizens as well as to the high-quality products of the guild to which Noferi served as consul. It is well-known that after Florentine wool manufacturers had become famous for dyeing and finishing Flemish fabrics, they started to weave their own fine, lightweight woollen clothes, first from English raw wool, then from prime Mediterranean

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wools.36 By 1400, their products were appreciated at a global scale. As we know from Ruy González de Clavijo’s (d. 1412) travelogue, the Spanish emissary carried Florentine woollen clothes, panni fiorentini, as state gifts for Timur (1336-1405) and his court in Shahr-e Sabz and Samarkand during his visit of the Timurid Empire between 1403 and 1406, exactly at the time when Noferi di Giovanni proudly served as consul of the wool guild in Florence.37 t e x t i l es, t e x ts, topogr a ph i es The above-mentioned cases exemplify the social, cultural and economic tensions which were characteristic for the entire domain of premodern textiles. As unbreakable, easily transportable, and highly valued items, textiles counted among the most mobile artefacts, and as a consequence, they were particularly apt for the creation and dissemination of cross-cultural designs. Textiles thus oscillated between site- and nonsite specificity. On the one hand, loci of production could gain such fame that their names became brands. On the other hand, highly appreciated types of fabrics were eagerly copied in other locations. The inventory of the Vatican treasury from the year 1295 provides an intriguing insight into the dynamics of cross-cultural mobility and connectivity regarding the textile medium.38 What is more, it elucidates the impact of these dynamics on matters of language. As was common practice, a large number of the listed textiles were described and classified by provenance. In the inventory, there is a seemingly endless listing of textiles linked to foreign cities, regions, and words. The names of two ‘Tartar cloths’, one rose-coloured, one blue (‘unum pannum tartaricum de attabi, quasi rosaceum, foderatum de tela ialda’ (‘one Tartar Attabi fabric, almost rose-coloured, lined with yellow cloth’),39 ‘unum pannum tartaricum de attabi, coloris celestis’ (‘one Tartar Attabi cloth of light blue colour’) derive from the Attabi quarter in Bagdad which was so famous for textile production that cloth of this kind, even when woven in other locations, took over this name.40 A third ‘panno tartarico viridi atabi cum litteris et leonibus albis’ (‘green Tartar Attabi cloth with letters and white lions’) featuring lions was presumably decorated with Arabic inscriptions..41 The entries in the Vatican inventory map the papacy’s far reaching diplomatic, ecclesiastical and commercial networks, interweaving geopoetics and geopolitics of cloth. Many of these artefacts were from diverse regions in the Mediterranean. Descriptions of their designs indicate that various textiles had arrived from Spain, probably as state gifts. They featured lions and castles, thus referring to Léon and Castile, such as in the cases of ‘unum pannum de Hispania ad quarteria alba et rubea in quibus sunt leones nigri et castra ialla’ (‘one Spanish fabric with white and red quarters fea-

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turing depictions of black lions and yellow castles’),42 ‘duos pannos hispanicos cum rotis ad quarteria in quibus sunt duo leones violacei et duo castella et, in campo, aquile nigre’ (‘two Spanish fabrics with roundels and quarters in which are two violet lions and two castles and a black eagle’),43 and ‘iiij. pannos hispanicos cum leonibus in campo albo, et castellis in campo rubeo et aquilis nigris in campo ad aurum’ (‘four Spanish fabrics with lions on a white field, and castles on a red field, and black eagles on a golden field’).44 Other textiles, such as the old tunic made of white diasper silk from Antiochia (‘tunicellam de diaspro albo antiocheno antiquam’) or the numerous textiles described as Byzantine (‘de Romania’) reflect the papacy’s close connections with the Eastern Mediterranean.45 In addition, a significant number of textiles was just listed as ‘panni tartarici’, ‘Tartar fabrics’, an umbrella term for silk weavings from Mongol-ruled territories in Asia.46 Larger textile artefacts in the treasury were often of a composite nature, when diverse kinds of fabrics were sewn together to form garments or furnishing fabrics, thus creating patchworks and textile pastiches. Among them was, for example, ‘a small pallium made of a Byzantine fabric with golden birds and a broderie of Tartar cloth with gold medallions’: ‘unum paliotum cum fundo de panno de Romania cum avibus ad aurum et brodatura de panno tartarico ad medalias aureas’.47 Another piece is described as ‘a tunic of red Spanish cloth covered completely in gold with strips of golden Spanish fabric and a border trim of opus anglicanum [a specific type of textile with very fine needlework from England]’: ‘tunicam de panno hispanico rubeo ad aurum per totum cum listis hispanicis ad aurum et frixio anglicano’.48 In another ‘tunic of Spanish cloth featuring golden sticks with strips of red Tartar fabric’ (‘unam tunicam de panno hispanico ad bastones auri cum listis de panno tartarico rubeo’), Spanish fabrics were united and juxtaposed with red ‘Tartar cloths’,49 and then there was the above mentioned ‘old tunic of white, old Antiochian diasper with strips of a red Venetian fabric featuring golden birds in roundels and a border trim of opus anglicanum’ (‘unam tunicellam de diaspro albo antiocheno antiquam cum listis de panno rubeo de Venetiis ad aves aureas in rotis, et frixio anglicano’).50 The Vatican inventory thus underlines the cultural versatility of textile artefacts. They could easily combine and integrate quite diverse geographical and temporal layers, as well as differences in texture, colour, and design. In some cases, the details provided by the Vatican clerks make it even possible to link certain types of textiles mentioned in the inventory to specimens which are still extant elsewhere. Lions and castles, for example, were indeed a frequent decorative motif of silk weavings manufactured in the kingdoms of Léon and Castile, some of which have been preserved.51 The significant role of patchwork garments reflected in the inventory is also consistent with surviving specimens.52 The paraments connected

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with pope Benedict xi (1240-1304) in San Domenico in Perugia, for instance, consist to a large extent of precious 13th-century cloths-of-gold from Central Asia.53 The lampas silks show a minute pattern of gold leaves on a white silk ground referred to in Italian inventories of the time as ‘panno tartarico albo deaurato de opere curioso minuto per totum’: ‘a white Tartar cloth gilded with a curious, tiny all-over pattern’.54 In a set of ornamental ecclesiastical textiles, however, these Central Asian cloths-of-gold were combined with blue lampas silks from 14th-century Italy (Fig. 7).55 As much as the descriptions from the Vatican inventory give the impression that textiles were and could be categorized by their loci of production, the very same treasury also sheds light on the difficulties which inventory writers faced in the late medieval period – problems which, in many cases, continue to trouble textile researchers until the present day. As mentioned earlier, renowned textiles were frequently emulated in other locations. It is well-known that Central Asian cloths-of-gold, such as the one used for the paraments in Perugia, were copied in late medieval Lucca, and as a result to imitation practices of this kind, an inventory writer could be puzzled whether a textile he had to record was a ‘panno tartarico sive lucano’, that is to say a cloth of ‘Tartar’ or rather of Lucchese origin.56 In these cases the locus of production evaded definitive determination. The situation gets even more complex if we consider that these artistic interactions did not occur on a ‘one-way-street’, but were a cross-cultural phenomenon. Anne Wardwell has for instance convincingly argued that by the middle of the 14th century silk weavers in Central Asia were in their turn copying designs of Italian silk weavings, which had arrived there as diplomatic gifts or items of trade.57 Yet, if one focusses on the Apennine Peninsula only, even on a local level provenance issues could prove to be problematic. On the one hand, numerous textiles in the 1295 Vatican inventory were clearly identified as products of specific Italian cities. Several ones were described as Venetian, such as ‘unum dorsale de panno de Venetiis ad leones’ (‘a dorsal of Venetian cloth with lions’),58 or as ‘de panno de Venetiis ad rotas albas in quibus sunt aves duplices’ (‘a Venetian cloth with white roundels featuring pairs of birds’),59 or as ‘de panno de Venetiis ad arcus, leones, grifones et aqulias ad aurum’ (‘a Venetian cloth with arcs, lions, griffons, and eagles in gold’),60 or as ‘unum coxinum de panno de Venetiis albo cum rotis rubeis et leonibus’ (‘a cushion of white Venetian cloth with red roundels and lions’).61 And a significant number was identified as originating from Lucca, as in the case of ‘unum dorsale de panno lucano cum rotis ad grifones in quibus sunt scuta ad arma Sabellensium’ (‘a dorsal of Lucchese fabric with roundels featuring griffons and the coats of arms of the Savelli’),62 which featured the coats of arms of the influential Roman aristocratic Savelli family.63

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However, just as doubts pertained to the ‘Tartar’ or Lucchese provenance of the earlier mentioned silk weaving, the 1295 inventory also highlights the possible confusion regarding the origins of cloths which had clearly been produced in Italy. In the case of a bedcover, for example, the inventory writer was not able to determine whether the fabric featuring small golden lions was made in Venice or Lucca (‘unum supralectum de panno venetico sive lucano rubeo ad leoncellos ad aurum’ – ‘a bedcover of Venetian or Lucchese fabric which is red with golden lions’).64 Leonie von Wilckens pointed to this entry from the Vatican inventory when she stated that in general it was not possible to specify the exact provenance of extant 14th-century Italian silk weavings.65 It is true that late medieval Italian inventories often offer detailed information regarding the locus of production, the patterns, materiality, and colour of the listed cloths. And at times, these written accounts indeed correspond with extant textiles. An entry in an inventory of 1361 is such a case in which a diasper silk with parrots and gazelles whose heads, wing-rondels, feet and hoofs were highlighted in gold, is ascribed to Lucca (‘unum diasprum lucanum endicum ad aves rubeas in rotis, cum capitibus et pedibus ad aurum’ – ‘a Lucchese diasper with red birds in roundels, their heads and feet rendered in gold’; cf. Fig. 8).66 However, as long as textiles with birds and quadrupeds whose extremities are emphasized with gold threads have been preserved, they are almost routinely labelled ‘Lucchese’. Considering the frequent imitation practices, in most textile collections, the majority of 14th-century Italian textiles are (and, in von Wilckens’ words, ‘need to be’) rather left with a question mark whether they were made in Lucca, Venice or another city.67 mot i f a ppropr i at ions, i n novat ion, a n d j u r i dic a l pr act ices Textile manufacture played a key role in the premodern economy, hence the strict regulations regarding the transmission of knowledge in the textile sector. Most cities forbade their weavers to move. When they did move, they were much sought-after in other locations.68 On the Apennine Peninsula, a famous case is the mass emigration of Lucchese silk weavers after the political turmoil in their home-town reached its high point in 1314. Their skills were so appreciated that cities such as Venice issued laws and tax incentives to attract them.69 Likewise, knowledge about weaving practices in other places was desirable. Tizio Nerazzi from Carmignano near Florence, who lived in Udine in 1348, was described as being capable of weaving there woollen fabrics ‘in the way and according to the custom of France [that is of Flanders, as Franco Franceschi pointed out], Florence, Milan, Verona and Como’.70

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In the premodern textile business, imitation practices occurred on a macro-, meso-, and micro-level: between (not seldom very distant) geographical regions, between cities, as well as within single cities. Law suits concerning imitation of textiles were not uncommon. A legal case from June 18, 1356 documents for instance that the Lucchese silk weaver Nicolo, called Riccio, was found guilty of the theft of a silk pattern. He had sold a draft of a composition with parrots and other motifs (‘unam operam drapporum cum pappagallis et aliis laboreriis’) to two other Lucchese silk weavers, although the painter Pauluccio Lazzarii had given it to him for a specific piece of silk exclusively commissioned by the Pisan citizen Meuccio de Capannoli.71 In 1418 the Silk Guild of Florence issued a statute which prohibited entrepreneurs and weavers to use fabric patterns invented by other artisans or workshops without their explicit permission.72 This act sought to protect both the designs of craftsmen and the investments of those who commissioned them. Permission to copy designs could be granted through payment. Similar laws were issued in Genoa in 1432 and in Venice, where a legal case on this matter occurred around 1430.73 Castruccio di Poggio, a Lucchese merchant and Venetian resident, had made an arrangement with the brother of the celebrated Venetian designer Bartolomeo Rugerio, who had recently passed away, to acquire all his ‘designs for silk and gold fabrics’. Poggio was willing to pay 70 ducats for the rights of these designs, which is ‘approximately the equivalent of the yearly earnings of a high-ranking craftsman or the cost of buying two slaves’, as Luca Molà notes.74 However, after the transaction Poggio realized that he had only been given the textile drawings of lesser quality. Assuming that the more innovative designs had been sold to another entrepreneur behind his back, he pressed charges.75 These cases highlight the close collaboration between designers76 and silk weavers in the development of new patterns and the never ending quest for innovative and original designs. Furthermore, they elucidate the tensions and the dialectic that characterized the textile arts on the Apennine Peninsula in the premodern era. Motifs were disseminated over long distances and Italian weavers were free to get inspiration from imported silk weavings from regions as far as the Middle East and Asia, to copy, appropriate, adapt, and reinterpret their designs. On a local level, however, practices of transferring silk patterns from one weaver or patron to another in a single Italian city or in between cities were rigidly controlled. bet w e e n ch i na a n d i ta ly, bet w e e n w e av i ng a n d pa i n t i ng It is intriguing to consider these dynamics and fields of tension in a wider ‘transmedial’ context. Whereas textiles featuring animals in roundels had been frequently evoked in

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stucco and stone, in the 14th century, silk weavings became a dominant motif in Italian painting. We have already discussed the intriguing ways in which Giovanni del Biondo deployed the colours, texture, and design of textiles in his altarpiece of Saint Catherine for the Florence Cathedral. It is worth to return to this painting to take a second look at the depicted silk weavings, particularly the cloth of honour and its design. The panel with Saint Catherine is almost completely filled with textiles: apart from her dazzling robe, of special interest is the fabric attached to the back rest of the saint’s throne where it provides a backdrop to the scene. A closer look reveals its decoration with plummeting birds and rising tortoises, all of them sparkling with gold threads on a dark blue, almost black silk ground (Fig. 9). Textiles with this or very similar patterns appear in a high number of 14th-century Italian paintings, for example, in other works by Giovanni del Biondo, Jacopo di Cione (ca. 1325-after 1390), Allegretto Nuzi (1315-1373), and Lorenzo di Niccolò (ca. 1374-after 1412).77 In scholarship, representations of this type of fabric were generally considered to be an invention by Italian painters, following the assumption that no extant 14th-century silks featuring tortoises have been preserved.78 Yet, a surviving asymmetrically designed Chinese silk weaving with plummeting fenghuang birds and rising tortoises, dated to the 13th century, proves that silks with this pattern did exist (Figs. 10 and 11). This Chinese fabric was used as a relic covering for a skull reliquary in the Cathedral of Turku in Finland, and the resemblance of its design to those of silks represented in several 14th-century Italian paintings strongly suggests that textiles like it inspired painters and possibly also weavers on the Apennine Peninsula.79 China had been a supplier of raw silk for the Italian textile production, particularly during the 13th century. Robert Lopez already pointed out that after 1257 Chinese supplies reached Italy in ‘unlimited accounts’, while imports of raw silk from Iran were also substantial.80 Italian missionaries were very active in the Middle East and Asia, and in their trail numerous traveling merchants moved between China and Italy throughout the 13th and 14th centuries.81 In his 1340 merchant manual Pratica della mercatura (‘Handbook of Trade’), the Florentine Francesco Balducci Pegolotti ( fl. 1290-1347) provided insights into the possibilities to travel to and trade in China. He described in some detail, for example, how to exchange silver for the Chinese paper currency in order to acquire luxury goods such as silk.82 Frequently, missionaries and merchants undertook their journeys to Cathay together, such as in the case of the Franciscan friar John of Montecorvino (1247-1328) who travelled with the Genoese businessman Pietro de Lucalongo. The former founded several churches in China and was eventually appointed Bishop of Khanbaliq (Beijing), where the latter became a successful entrepreneur.83 While Lucalongo stayed

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in China, others returned to Italy, such as Giovanni Loredano to Venice in 1339, and Giovanni de Marignolli ( fl. 1338-53) to Florence in 1351.84 In the case of Marignolli, we know of artefacts which he brought back with him, among which were rare textiles, such as the weavings made of palm trees which he considered to be the garments of Adam and Eve. According to his travelogue, Marignolli wore a shirt made of this material on his way back to Florence, where he left it in the sacristy of Santa Croce, before he continued his journey to the papal court in Avignon.85 Furthermore, European traders could acquire Chinese silk weavings in slightly less faraway places such as Trebizond (in modern Turkey) or Tana (in modern Russia).86 It is very likely that Chinese textiles of the type preserved in Turku Cathedral in Finland reached Italy during this time of long-distance missionary and commercial contacts. It seems not overdrawn to state that in 14th-century Italy painting and weaving were entangled in a rivalry regarding the status of the arts. What is more, proclamations such as made by Giovanni Boccaccio (1313-1375) clearly suggest that late medieval observers were very aware of the transcultural dimensions of this competition. Commenting on a line in Dante’s La Divina Commedia (in the following in italics), Boccaccio noted that ‘never with more colours, underneath or set on top, in order to vary the decoration, was cloth ever made by Tartar or Turks, who are the best masters of the craft, as we may quite clearly see in Tartar cloth, which truly is so magnificently woven that there is no painter who could use a brush to make anything similar, not to mention more beautiful’.87 Boccaccio’s statement regarding the superiority of imported Middle Eastern and Central Asian fabrics contains two messages. On the one hand, he declared that these textiles had a higher quality in comparison to 14th-century Italian silk weavings. ‘Panni tartarici’ (a designation used for all Central Asian and Iranian lampas silks from the Mongol Empires) stood for a superlative with which local copies or even innovative creations, as they were manufactured in 14th-century Italy, could not compete. On the other hand, Boccaccio assessed the products of ‘Tartar’ and ‘Turkish’ weavers to be inimitable in the medium of painting. It is clear that 14th-century Italian painters eagerly strived to represent ‘Tartar cloths’, such as in the case of the angel’s garment in Simone Martini’s (ca. 1284-1344) Maestà in the Palazzo Pubblico in Siena (Fig. 12), where Simone sought to evoke Central Asian lampas silks like those of the paraments linked with Benedict xi in Perugia (Fig. 7).88 Boccaccio, however, considered all their efforts to be in vain. According to him, panni tartarici were ‘untranslatable textiles’.89 Giovanni del Biondo’s altarpiece of Saint Catherine needs to be understood in the context of these complex dynamics and entanglements of the local and the global in

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14th-century Italy. The prominence in his painting of the diverse kinds of fabrics, their textures, materiality, colours, and designs highlights the intersection of material and visual culture. The diverse patterns point to the migration of motifs (across materials and media) over long distances, as well as to their appropriation, their adaptation, and their alteration when they were integrated into a commissioned painting. In Italian cities such as Florence, where according to Giovanni Villani (after 12761348) more than 30,000 inhabitants were involved in the production of textiles,90 and a significant number was active in textile trade, the high quantity of represented luxury silk weavings met with a demanding and critical market. Clients and customers possessed a particularly high sensitivity, a considerable knowledge, as well as visual and tactile experience with regard to both imported and locally produced cloths. In 14th-century Italy, Michael Baxandall’s ‘period eye’ was a textile one, as was reflected and negotiated in paintings of the time.91 Del Biondo’s Saint Catherine altarpiece is in fact evidence that the painters of this period were unimpressed by statements such as Boccaccio’s comments at lines in Dante’s La Divina Commedia that the best textiles of the day were ‘unpaintable’. They did take up the challenge, which was proclaimed to be one of the greatest challenges ever, as it concerned an act which was even considered to be impossible: the pictorial representation of textiles. a n i n t e rwov e n globe The geographical location of the Apennine Peninsula, bordered as it is by three bodies of water – the Tyrrhenian Sea to the west, the Ionian Sea to the south, and the Adriatic Sea to the east – and positioned at the interface of the Eastern and Western Mediterranean, predestined it to be always involved in multiple processes of cultural transfer. In the realm of textiles, just as in those of other media, mobility and connectivity were never confined to the Mediterranean, but included also quite close relations with regions lying much further afield, such as the Middle East, Central Asia and China. The case studies presented in this short article outline the interwovenness of places on a global scale through the medium of textile already before the early modern period. In addition, they highlight the ways in which Italian artists and patrons took an active part in these entanglements which ranged from domestic to long-distance. Raw materials such as wool, silk, and dyestuffs were imported from various regions of the world, and the circulation of finished fabrics and the migration of craftsmen instigated new impulses regarding textile designs, techniques, and the transmission of knowledge. On the Apennine Peninsula, the textile arts were shaped by the impact of imported artefacts, while products of Italian manufacture were exported and appreciated in other regions, both in the Mediterranean and beyond.

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In the premodern period, textiles were closely linked and sometimes even identified with their loci of production, in cases where textile terms implied also topographies of cloth. Yet, the migration of raw materials and finished fabrics resulted also in the migration of the vocabulary to name and describe them, which resulted in the introduction of foreign terms, loanwords and neologisms. And just as local weavers sought to emulate certain imported types of textiles, the terms to describe them were frequently adopted, which led to a complex mosaic of textile geographies and to ‘geographical instabilities’ when identity relationships between names, products, and locations were adapted, changed, and renegotiated. An illustrative example is the case of ‘baldacchini’, a type of cloth connected with Baghdad (Baldacco in Italian), which were in the 14th century also woven in Lucca and exported from there to England.92 On the Apennine Peninsula, issues of identity in the realm of textiles should be understood in the context of these cross-cultural networks. In this perspective it becomes clear that the technique of silk velvets Italy was to become famous for, was invented and advanced in close contact with weavings from Persia.93 And it makes sense that the discovery of Mexican cochineal resulted in the conversion of the textile production in Italy.94 Luca Molà analysed the long and detailed discussions which preceded the introduction of the Mexican dyestuff in Venice, where, from the 16th century onwards, the majority of silk velvets were dyed with Mexican instead of Mediterranean (mostly Armenian) cochineal.95 Textiles counted among the most crucial goods in the premodern economy, hence the significance and competition in their production and trade.96 Continuous efforts were undertaken to learn about, acquire, keep, and control the access to new fibers, better wools, more intense dyestuffs and more effective mordants, to expand sericulture, and to explore and to transform the environment for ever more profitable in textile production. In the premodern period, the building of empires went hand in hand with the exploitation of and wielding of power over territories and craftsmen, both not infrequently related to the textile sector.97 The case of Mexican cochineal illustrates vividly that each discovery could increase commerce and could even led to the novel sought after textile product for mass market production: not long after its introduction the new dyestuff was used on the Apennine Peninsula, in the Ottoman Empire and in Safavid Iran. In this way the archaeology of textiles leads inevitably to the complex question of ‘identity’. Amidst the fierce discussions on this topic, the approach of Édouard Glissant seems helpful. Drawing on Gilles Deleuze’s and Félix Guattari’s notion of the ‘rhizome’ to describe theory and research that allows for multiple, non-hierarchical entry and exit points in data representation and interpretation (in contrast to an hier-

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archical ‘arboreal’ or tree-like vision), Glissant coined the concept of ‘relational identity’ (in contrast to what he called ‘root identity’).98 On the one hand, Glissant sought to emphasize with this term that identity is constituted in processes of encounter and in relation to multiple contexts. On the other hand, he objected to linear narratives, but opted instead for entangled (‘relational’) narrative networks, in which identities are created, shaped and continuously renegotiated with often highly creative and unpredictable results. Glissant did not reject the notion of identity as such; from his viewpoint, relation is ‘not inconsistent with the will to identity’.99 And he even considered identities to be a necessary part of any kind of interaction. Yet, he did not conceive identities as stable entities nor as closed units, but rather as phenomena of ‘unity-diversity’ which are in constant transformation through cross-cultural exchange.100 Glissant’s approach to ‘relational identity’ is grounded in postcolonial theory, and yet, it can be fruitful with regard to the study of premodern textiles. In a highly interconnected world of premodern (proto-)globalisation in which raw materials and finished fabrics were transported over great distances, and in which techniques, patterns and the vocabulary of imported textiles had a crucial impact on the textile production in locations which were far apart, the textile realm was characterized by manifold entanglements, stratifications and superimpositions, by processes of transfer and cross-cultural exchange. This does not, however, render the concept of ‘identity’ obsolete. In complex, multi-layered interconnected environments, identities were rather established and constantly renegotiated at micro-, meso- and macro-levels, in competition, admiration, rejection, and in other relational contexts. When Pereira, Zuchelli and other early modern observers compared Sub-Saharan raffia cloths with Venetian silk velvets, they assessed them with a relational gaze, long in use in the field of textiles. They classified the artefacts they came in contact with and arranged them in an order their European readers would immediately understand. Pereira and Zuchelli sought to describe what they saw with words, yet, similar objects arrived also as material specimens in early modern collections such as in the case of the cushion covers which had been acquired by the Milanese physician Ludovico Settala (1552-1633) and his son Manfredo (1600-1680) for their scientific museum.101 In the Museum Settalianum, the raffia cloths figured as curiosities and rarities, comparable to the Brazilian feather coat in the same collection.102 While being part of the textile trajectories in the age of premodern (proto-)globalization, they could – and should – also be considered within the universalistic endeavours of early modern collectionism. In a time in which foreign objects (plants, animals, antiquities, etc.) were appropriated by the lines of drawing artists, it comes as no surprise that the raffia cloths figured prominently in the illustrated notebook of Settala’s museum.103

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Two drawings by Cesare Fiore show raffia cushion covers featuring intricate geometrical designs (Fig. 13). Alisa LaGamma pointed out that the pompom edging in each corner might already hint to cross-cultural dynamics in their production. She makes the point that these edgings look very much like a design commonly used for European cushions, and the objects might hence have been made specifically for European patrons or for export to Europe.104 In the drawings of Fiore the cushion covers are folded thrice. Presented this way to the beholder, the sophisticated craftsmanship, the plain backside and the highly decorated front of the covers become apparent, and so does their materiality. An annotation next to one of the drawings informs the viewer that the artefact is ‘a small mat to make a cushion to sit on, made of straw of rare beauty […] made in Angola or Congo’.105 When Athanasius Kircher described raffia pieces in the Musaeum Kircherianum in Rome in 1709, he equally emphasized that ‘notwithstanding they are made of very thin palm threads […] four mats made with admirable skill in the Kingdom of Angola […] look like a silk cloth’.106 Cesare Fiore’s drawings do not simply represent raffia as raffia. By presenting the cushion covers in a folded state, the artefacts are represented as textiles, characterized by their pliability. Both drawings evince: Sub-Saharan raffia cloths ‘made of straw of rare beauty’ were fabrics as pliable as Italian velvet.

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not es 1

2

3

Pacheco Pereira 1905, 134. The English

Kunstgeschichte, Rome) and Gaben, Waren

translation is quoted from Vansina 1998, 263.

und Tribute: Stoffkreisläufe und antike

Cf. also Pereira 2010, 141, and Weindl 2007,

Textilökonomie // Gifts, Commodities and

14.

Tributes: The Circulation of Textiles and

Vansina 1998, 263. Pina 1989, 116. On the role

the Ancient Economy organized by Beate

of raffia in the Congo in ruler contexts, see

Wagner-Hasel and Marie Louise Nosch

Preston Blier 1993, 383.

(Leibniz Universität Hannover). 11 Vansina 1998, 263.

LaGamma 2015.

12 Mackie 2015.

4 Zucchelli da Gradisca 1712, 149. The English

13 On the role of access granted or denied to

translation is quoted from LaGamma 2015, 135. See also Bassani 1987, 45f. und Bassani

floor coverings in ruler contexts, cf. Shalem

1988. For the technique of raffia cloths, cf.

1998; Caraffa and Shalem 2013; Schulz 2014. 14 Lowe 2012, 104. Cf. also Fromont 2014.

Svenson 1986. 5

Brasio 1951, I, 82. The English translation is

15 Mansour 2013, 543.

quoted from Vansina 1998, 263.

16 Cf. Zitzlsperger 2002; Zitzlsperger 2008. For the representation and semantics of lace

6 Pacheco Pereira 1905, 134. The English

in marble portrait busts, see Damm 2015.

translation is quoted from Vansina 1998, 263. 7 Among the scholars emphasizing the

17 Mansour 2013.

relationship between textiles and identity are 18 Herrmann-Fiore 1990; Fujikawa 2012. Thomas 2016; Borkopp-Restle 2013; Luyster

19 Pierce 2015, 65 and fig. 38.

2008.

20 Piemontese 2005. On contacts between

8

See note 5.

Western Europe and Safavid Persia in the

9

Anderson 2016; Behrens-Abouseif 2014;

early modern period, cf. also Floor/Herzig

Brauner 2016; Gordon 2001; Keupp 2014;

2012; Brancaforte/Brentjes 2012; Rubiés 2016.

Muhanna 2010. On practices of gift giving in diplomatic encounters, cf. also Biedermann,

21 Mansour 2013, 550.

Gerritson & Riello 2018.

22 Molà 2000, 55f.

10 Mauss 1924. A renewed scholarly

23 On the debate see Molà, Mueller and Zanier 2000.

interest in practices of textile gift giving is reflected in the recent conferences

24 Cf., e.g., Falke 1913, ii, 69-111; Klesse 1967;

Textilschenkungen im Mittelalter: Objekte,

Wardwell 1987; Mack 2002, 27-49; Mackie

Akteure, Repräsentationen // Textile Gifts

2015, 270-3.

in the Middle Ages: Objects, Actors, and

25 Otavsky 1998.

Representations, organized by Christiane

26 Lunghi 1994, 33.

Elster and Tanja Michalsky (Bibliotheca

27 See, for instance, the highly debated provenance of a silk weaving featuring

Hertziana, Max-Planck-Institut für

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elephants, winged horses, and senmurvs in

41 Molinier 1886, 653, no. 1274.

pearl roundels discussed in Schulz 2016, 93f.

42 Ibidem, 649, no. 1211.

28 Giusti 1994.

43 Ibidem, 649, no. 1206.

29 Cf. Molinier 1886, 647, nos. 1182 and 1184-8:

44 Ibidem, 648, no. 1205.

‘alium pannum rubeum de Romania cum

45 See endnote 30.

rotis in quarum qualibet sunt duo leones’;

46 Molinier 1885, 20, no. 825. See Fircks and Schorta 2016.

‘unum pannum rubeum de Romania cum rotis in quarum qualibet sunt duo leones’;

47 Ibidem, 41, no. 1108.

‘unum pannum rubeum de Romania cum

48 Ibidem, 31, no. 962.

rotis in quarum qualibet sunt duo grifones’;

49 Ibidem, 29, no. 938

‘alium pannum violaceum de Romania

50 Ibidem, 29, no. 937.

cum rotis in quarum qualibet est unus leo

51 See, for instance, the chasuble of the infante

sive grifo’; ‘alium pannum violaceum de

Sancho of Aragón (1250-1275) (May 1957,

Romania cum rotis in quarum qualibet sunt

fig. 71-72), the mantle of Fernando de la

duo grifones’; ‘alium pannum violaceum de

Cerda (1255-1275) (ibidem, fig. 73-75), or

Romania cum rotis in quarum qualibet est

the representation of Alfonso x (1221-1284)

unus grifo’.

robed in such a heraldic textile in a miniature of El libro de ajadrez (ibidem, fig. 70).

30 Caskey 2011, 87f. For transmedial and transmaterial transfer processes regarding

52 Rosati (2016) emphases the need to study

textiles patterns in Western Europe in the

medieval garments in their pastiche-state,

middle ages, cf. Leclerq-Marx 2007.

consisting of textiles of various provenance,

31 Lunghi 1994, 33; Edler de Roover 1993, 61.

designs, materiality. On the significance of

32 Davanzo Poli 1995, 59f.

patchwork, cf. Nomoto 2017.

33 Klesse 1967, 81-83; Monnas 1990, 53-57;

53 Rosati 2016.

Monnas 2008, 91-93. On the painting, cf.

54 Müntz/Frothingham 1883, 36; Rosati 2016.

Offner and Steinweg 1967, 108-10.

55 Rosati 2016.

34 Monnas 1990, 56.

56 Jacoby 2010, 77.

35 Offner/Steinweg 1967, 108-110; Bent 2016,

57 Wardwell 1987, 16f.

192-194.

58 Molinier 1885, 20, no. 826.

36 Fennell Mazzaoui 2004, 1170f.

59 Molinier 1886, 662, no. 1440.

37 Clavijo (1403-1406) 2005, 98.

60 Molinier 1885, 32, no. 975.

38 On the role of textiles in this and other

61 Ibidem, 42, no. 1127.

inventories, cf. Miller 2017; Elster 2017; Ertl/ 62 Molinier 1885, 20, no. 823. Karl 2017.

63 Ibidem, 20, note 3.

39 Molinier 1885, 44, no. 1166.

64 Molinier 1886, 662, no. 1438.

40 Ibidem, 44, no. 1167; for attabi cloths

65 Wilckens 1991, 113.

woven, for example, in medieval Isfahan, cf.

66 Molinier 1886, 650, no. 1229. Venturi 1907, v, 1056, note 2; Goldsmith Philipps 1931, 198.

Mackie 2015, 107.

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67 See note 63.

82 Pegolotti ed. 1936, 23; Blanchard 2005, 1174.

68 Molà 2007.

83 Ciocîltan 2013, 120; Clark 2011, 35-7.

69 King/King 1988; Molà 1994.

84 Mack 2002, 19.

70 ‘Ad modum et consuetudinem pannorum

85 Malfatto 2013.

de Francia, de Florencia, de Mediolano,

86 Jacoby 2016, 105.

de Verona et de Cumis’, document cited in

87 Boccaccio (1373-1374) 1918, III, 232. The English translation is quoted from Boccaccio

Zanazzo 1914, 4. The English translation is

(1373-1374) 1967, 590.

quoted from Franceschi 2016, 188f.

88 Cf. Hoeniger 1991; Monnas 2008, 68-76;

71 Meek 2011, 161f.

Rosati 2010.

72 Molà 2009, lxxvii. The introduction of the

89 The term is inspired from Russo 2014.

book has only Latin page numbers.

90 Davidsohn 1928, 229f.

73 ‘Ut tollatur occasio scandalorum et frandium que committi possint, nemo

91 Baxandall 1972.

andeat vel presumat operibus seu figuris

92 Monnas 1993, 749.

pannorum sirici alienis et si aliquis de

93 Peter 2016; Sonday 1999/2000; Wardwell 1988/1989, 111.

dicta arte fecerit fieri sive designari aliquam operam vel figuram, non possit

94 Phipps 2010.

talem figuram seu opera facere laborari,

95 Molà 2000, 120-31. On dyestuffs in general, cf. Cardon 2007.

sub pena arbitrio Consulum imponenda contrafacienti. Item non audeat vel presumat

96 Peck 2015; Schäfer/Riello 2018.

aliquis pictor pingere aliquam operam sive

97 Allsen 1997; McCabe 1999; Peck 2015.

figuram pro altero quam semel pinxisset pro

98 Glissant [1990] 1997; Deleuze/Guattari 1980.

aliquo, sub pena floreni unius pro qualibet vice’, quoted from Morazzoni 1941, 23.

99 Glissant 1997 [1990], 20.

74 Molà 2009, lxxvii.

100 Ibidem, 7.

75 Ibidem.

101 Aimi, De Michele and Morandotti 1984,

76 Franceschi 1999, 183-5.

38f. For early modern collections, cf. Findlen

77 Klesse 1967, 335-38.

2013.

78 Cf., e.g., Rosati 2012, 256; Parenti 2013;

102 De Michele et al. 1983, 23; Aimi, De Michele and Morandotti 1984, table vi.

Fircks 2017, 108f. 79 Arponen 2015, 113; Geijer 1979, 114 and fig.

103 Bleichmar 2012; Faietti, Nova and Wolf 2015.

5. For the motif of the tortoise in Islamic

104 LaGamma 2015, 136.

miniature painting in exchange with

105 The English translation is quoted from ibidem, 150.

Chinese art, cf. Rührdanz 2006. 80 Lopez 1952; İnalcık 1997, 218.

106 The English translation is quoted from ibidem, 151.

81 Arnold 1999.

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bi bl iogr a ph y

* Aimi, A., V. De Michele and A. Morandotti, A. 1984. Septalianvm Mvsaevm: Una collezione scientifica nella Milano del Seicento, Florence. Allsen, T.T. 1997. Commodity and Exchange in the Mongol Empire: A Cultural History of Islamic Textiles, New Jersey. Anderson, C. 2016. Material mediators: Johan Maurits, textiles, and the art of diplomatic exchange, Journal of Early Modern History 20.1, 63-85. Arnold, L. 1999. Princely Gifts and Papal Treasures: The Franciscan Mission to China and its Influence on the Art of the West, 1250-1350, San Francisco. Arponen, A. 2015. The medieval skull relic of Turku Cathedral, Mirator 16.1, 104-16. Bassani, E. 1987. Un Cappuccino nell’Africa nera del Seicento, Milan. Bassani, E. 1988. Africa and the Renaissance: Art in Ivory, New York. Baxandall, M. 1972. Painting and Experience in Fifteenth Century Italy: A Primer in the Social History of Pictorial Style, Oxford. Behrens-Abouseif, D. 2014. Practising Diplomacy in the Mamluk Sultanate: Gifts and Material Culture in the Medieval Islamic World, London. Bent, G.R. 2016. Public Painting and Visual Culture in Early Republican Florence, New York. Biedermann, Z., Gerritson, A. and Riello, G. 2018. Global Gifts: The Material Culture of Diplomacy in Early Modern Eurasia, Cambridge. Blanchard, I. 2005. Mining, Metallurgy, and Minting in the Middle Ages: Continuing Afro-European Supremacy, 1250-1450, Stuttgart. Bleichmar, D. 2012. Visible Empire: Botanical Expeditions and Visual Culture in the Hispanic Enlightenment, Chicago. Boccaccio, G. 1918 [1373-1374]. Il Com[m]ento alla Divina Commedia (1373-1374), ed. by Domenico Guerri, Bari. Boccaccio, G. 1967 [1373-1374]. Boccaccio’s Expositions on Dante’s Comedy, translated into English by Michael Papin, Toronto. Borkopp-Restle, B. 2013. Persian and Polish sashes: Symbols of national identity and luxury textiles in an international market, in: A. Langer (ed.), The Fascination of Persia: The Persian-European Dialogue in Seventeenth-century Art and Contemporary Art from Tehran (Museum Rietberg, Zurich), Zurich, 136-51. Brancaforte, E. and Brentjes, S. (eds.). 2012. From rhubarb to rubies: European travels to Safavid Iran (1550-1700) and The lands of the Sophi: Iran in early modern European maps (1550-1700), Harvard Library Bulletin 23.1-2.

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Brauner, C. 2016. Connecting things: Trading companies and diplomatic gift-giving on the Gold and Slave Coasts in the seventeenth and eighteenth century, Journal of Early Modern History 20.4, 408-28. Brasio, A. 1951. Monumental Missionaria Africana: África Occidental, Lisbon. Caraffa, C. and A. Shalem 2013. Hitler’s carpet: A tale of one city, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 55.1, 119-43. Cardon, D. 2007. Natural Dyes: Sources, Tradition, Technology and Science, London. Caskey, J. 2011. Stuccoes from the early Norman period in Sicily: Figuration, fabrication and integration in: J. Caskey, A.S. Cohen and L. Safran (eds.), Confronting the Borders of Medieval Art, Leiden & Boston, 80-119. Ciocîltan, V. 2013. The Mongols and the Black Sea Trade in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries, Leiden. Clark, A.E. 2011. China’s Saints: Catholic Martyrdom during the Qing (1644-1911), Bethlehem. Clavijo, R.G. (1403-1406) 2005. Clavijos Reise nach Samarkand 1403-1406, translated and edited by Uta Lindgren, Augsburg. Damm, H. 2015. Agon und Spitzenkragen: Zur Rhetorik des Ornaments in Berninis Büste Ludwigs xiv, in: C. Lehmann and K.J. Lloyd (eds.), A Transitory Star: The Late Bernini and His Reception, Berlin, 33-69. Davanzo Poli, D. (ed.) 1995. Basilica del Santo: I tessuti, Padua & Rome. Davidsohn, R. 1928. Blüte und Niedergang der Florentiner Tuchindustrie, Zeitschrift für die gesamte Staatswissenschaft 85.2, 225-55. Deleuze, G. and Guattari, F. 1980. Mille plateaux, Paris. De Michele, V., L. Cagnolaro, A. Aimi and L. Laurencich 1983. Il Museo di Manfredo Settala nella Milano del xvii secolo, Milan. Edler de Roover, F. 1993. Le sete lucchesi, Lucca. Elster, C. 2017. Inventories and textiles of the papal treasury around the year 1300: Concepts of papal representation in written and material media, in: T. Ertl and B. Karl, Inventories of Textiles, Textiles in Inventories, Göttingen, 25-56. Ertl, T. and B. Karl (eds.). 2017. Inventories of Textiles – Textiles in Inventories: Studies on Late Medieval and Early Modern Material Culture, Göttingen. Faietti, M., A. Nova and G. Wolf (eds.) 2015. Jacopo Ligozzi 2015 (Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 57.2), Florence. Falke, O. von 1913. Kunstgeschichte der Seidenweberei, 2 vols., Berlin. Fennell Mazzaoui, M. 2004. Wool industry in Italy, in: C. Kleinhenz (ed.), Medieval Italy: An Encyclopedia ii, New York & London, 1170-1. Findlen, P. (ed.) 2013. Early Modern Things: Objects and their Histories, 1500-1800, Abingdon.

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Fircks, J. von 2017. Tortoises, phoenixes, and parrots: Decorated fabrics in Florentine painting of the 14th century, in: C. Hollberg (ed.), Textiles and Wealth in 14th Century Florence: Wool, Silk, Painting (exhibition catalogue, Galleria dell’Accademia, Florence), Florence, 98-109. Fircks, J. von and R. Schorta (eds.) 2016. Oriental Silks in Medieval Europe (Riggisberger Berichte 21), Riggisberg. Floor, W. and Herzig, E. (eds.). 2012. Iran and the World in the Safavid Age, London. Franceschi, F. 1999. Un’industria ‘nuova’ e prestigiosa: La seta, in: F. Franceschi and G. Fossi (eds.), Arti fiorentine: La grande storia dell’artigianato, ii: Il Quattrocento, Florence, 167-89. Franceschi, F. 2016. Woollen luxury cloth in late medieval Italy, in: B. Lambert and K.A. Wilson (eds.), Europe’s Rich Fabric: The Consumption, Commercialisation, and Production of Luxury Textiles in Italy, the Low Countries and Neighbouring Territories (Fourteenth-Sixteenth Centuries), Farnham, 181-204. Fromont, C. 2014. The Art of Conversion: Christian Visual Culture in the Kingdom of Kongo, Chapel Hill, nc. Fujikawa, M. 2012. The Borghese papacy’s reception of a Samurai delegation and its fresco-image at the Palazzo del Quirinale, Rome, in: C.H. Lee (ed.), Western Visions of the Far East in a Transpacific Age, 1522-1657, Aldershot, 181-201. Geijer, A. 1979. A History of Textile Art: A Selective Account, London. Giusti, A. 1994. Il pavimento del Battistero, in: A. Paolucci and C.R. Chiarlo (eds.), Il Battistero di San Giovanni a Firenze i, Modena, 373-93. Glissant, É. 1997 [1990]. Poetics of Relation, translated by Betsy Wing, Ann Arbor, mi. Goldsmith Philipps, J. 1931. A diasper silk from Lucca, Bulletin of the Metropolitan Museum of Art 26.8, 198. Gordon, S. (ed.) 2001. Robes and Honor: The Medieval World of Investiture, Palgrave. Herrmann-Fiore, K. 1990. Testimonianze storiche sull’evangelizatione dell’Oriente attraverso i ritratti storici del Quirinale, in: J. Pittua (ed.), Da Sendai a Roma: Un’ambasceria Giapponese a Paolo v, Rome, 89-103. Hoeniger, C.S. 1991. Cloth of gold and silver: Simone Martini’s techniques for representing luxury textiles, Gesta 30.2, 154-62. İnalcık, H. 1997. An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire i, Cambridge. Jacoby, D. 2010. Oriental silks go West: A declining trade in the later Middle Ages, in: C. Schmidt Arcangeli and G. Wolf (eds.), Islamic Artefacts in the Mediterranean World: Trade, Gift Exchange and Artistic Transfer, Venice, 71-88. Jacoby, D. 2016. Oriental silks at the time of the Mongols: Patterns of trade and distribution in the West, in: J. von Fircks and R. Schorta (eds.), Oriental Silks in Medieval Europe, Riggisberger Berichte 21, 93-123.

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Keupp, J. 2014. Des Kaisers alte Kleider: Zum Kontext herrscherlicher Textilgeschenke im Hochmittelalter, in: I. Siede and A. Stauffer (eds.), Textile Kostbarkeiten staufischer Herrscher, Petersberg, 67-76. King, D. and M. King 1988. Silk weavers of Lucca in 1376, in: I. Estham and M. Nockert (eds.), Opera Textilia Variorum Temporum: To Honour Agnes Geijer on her Ninetieth Birthday 26th October 1988, Stockholm, 67-76. Klesse, B. 1967. Seidenstoffe in der italienischen Malerei des 14. Jahrhunderts, Bern. LaGamma, A. 2015. Out of Kongo and into the Kunstkammer, in: A. LaGamma (ed.), Kongo: Power and Majesty (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York), New Haven, ct, 131-60. Leclerq-Marx, J. 2007. L’imitation des tissus ‘orientaux’ dans l’art du Haut Moyen Âge et de l’époque romane: Témoignages et problématiques, in: A.C. Quintavalle (ed.), Medioevo mediterraneo: L’Occidente, Bisanzio e l’Islam, Milan, 456-69. Lopez, R.S. 1952. China silk in Europe in the Yuan period, Journal of the American Oriental Society 72.2, 72-6. Lowe, K. 2012. Visual representations of an elite: African ambassadors and rulers in Renaissance Europe, in: J.A. Spicer (ed.), Revealing the African Presence in Renaissance Europe (Baltimore, The Walters Art Museum), Baltimore, md, 99-115. Lunghi, M.D. 1994. Il tessuto ‘a rote’ raffigurato nella Croce dipinta da Barnaba da Modena, in: I.M. Botto (ed.), Museo di Sant’Agostino: Sculture lignee e dipinti su tavola, Bologna, 30-5. Luyster, A. 2008. Cross-cultural style in the Alhambra: Textiles, identity and origins, Medieval Encounters 14.2/3, 341-67. Mack, R.E. 2002. Bazaar to Piazza: Islamic Trade and Italian Art, 1300-1600, Berkeley, Los Angeles & London. Mackie, L.W. 2015. Symbols of Power: Luxury Textiles from Islamic Lands, 7th-21st Century, Cleveland, oh. Malfatto, I. 2013. ‘Plus curiosus quam virtuosus’: Giovanni de’ Marignolli e il suo resoconto di viaggio (1338-1358), Itineraria 12, 55-81. Mansour, O. 2013. Picturing global conversion: Art and diplomacy at the court of Paul v (1605-1621), Journal of Early Modern History 17.5/6, 525-59. Mauss, M. 1924. Essai sur le don: Forme archaïque de l’échange, Année Sociologique 1, 30-186. May, F.L. 1957. Silk Textiles of Spain, New York. McCabe, I.B. 1999. The Shah’s Silk for Europe’s Silver: The Eurasian Trade of the Julfa Armenians in Safavid Iran and India, 1530-1750, Atlanta, ga. Meek, C. 2011. ‘Laboreria sete’: Design and production of Lucchese silks in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth century, Medieval Clothing and Textiles 7, 141-68.

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Miller, Maureen C. 2017. A descriptive language of dominion? Curial inventories, clothing, and papal monarchy c. 1300, Textile History 48.2, 176-191. Molà, L. 1994. La comunità dei Lucchesi a Venezia: Immigrazione e industria della seta nel tardo medioevo, Venice. Molà, L. 2000. The Silk Industry of Renaissance Venice, Baltimore & London. Molà, L., R.C. Mueller and C. Zanier (eds.) 2000. La seta in Italia dal medioevo al Seicento: Dal baco al drappo, Venice. Molà, L. 2007. States and crafts: Relocating technical skills in Renaissance Italy, in: M. O’Malley and E. Welch (eds.), The Material Renaissance, (Studies in Design and Material Culture Series), Manchester, 133-53. Molà, L. 2009. The Italian silk industry in the Renaissance, in: S. Rauch (ed.), Le mariegole delle arti dei tessitori di seta: I veluderi (1347-1474) e i samitari (1370-1475), Venice, lii-lxxxv. Molinier, É. 1885. Inventaire du trésor du Saint-Siège sous Boniface viii (1295) (suite), Bibliothèque de l’ école des chartes 46, 16-44. Molinier, É. 1886. Inventaire du trésor du Saint-Siège sous Boniface viii (1295) (suite), Bibliothèque de l’ école des chartes 47, 646–67. Monnas, L. 1990. Silk textiles in the paintings of Bernardo Daddi, Andrea di Cione and their followers, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 53.1, 39-58. Monnas, L. 1993. The price of camacas purchased for the English court during the fourteenth century, in: S. Cavaciocchi (ed.), La seta in Europa, sec. xiii-xx, Florence, 741-53. Monnas, L. 2008. Merchants, Princes, and Painters: Silk Fabrics in Italian and Northern Paintings, 1300-1500, New Haven, ct. Morazzoni, G. 1941. Le stoffe genovesi: Appunti, in: M.G. Dall’Orso (ed.), Mostra de le antiche stoffe genovesi dal secolo xv al secolo xix, Genoa, 7-75. Muhanna, E.I. 2010. The sultan’s new cloths: Ottoman-Mamluk gift exchange in the fifteenth century, Muqarnas 27, 189-207. Müntz, E. and A.L. Frothingham 1883. Il Tesoro della Basilica di S. Pietro in Vaticano dal xiii al xv secolo con una scelta d’inventarii inediti, Archivio della Società Romana di Storia Patria 6, 1-137. Nomoto, K. 2017. Patchwork, in: M. Kapustka, A. Reineke, A. Röhl and T. Weddigen (eds.), Textile Terms: A Glossary, Berlin, 183-6. Offner, R. and K. Steinweg 1967. A Critical and Historical Corpus of Florentine Painting: The Fourteenth Century, part iv, vol. iv: Giovanni del Biondo, Florence. Otavsky, K. 1998. Zur kunsthistorischen Einordnung der Stoffe, Entlang der Seidenstraße: Frühmittelalterliche Kunst zwischen Persien und China in der AbeggStiftung (Riggisberger Berichte, 6), Riggisberg, 119-214.

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Parenti, D. 2013. Jacopo di Cione: Madonna dell’Umiltà, in: K. Chrubasik, A. Giusti, B. Roeck and G. Wolf (eds.), Florenz!, Munich, 163. Pacheco Pereira, D. 1905. Esmeraldo de Situ Orbis, edited by Augusto Epiphanio da Silva Dias, Lisbon. Peck, A. (ed.) 2015. Interwoven Globe: The Worldwide Textile Trade, 1500-1800 (exhibition catalogue, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York), London. Pegolotti, F.B. 1936. La practica mercantura, edited by A. Evans, (Medieval Academy of America Publication vol. 24) Cambridge, ma. Pereira, M. 2010. African art at the Portuguese court, c. 1450-1521, unpublished doctoral dissertation, Brown University. Peter, M. 2016. A head start through technology: Early Oriental velvets and the West, in: J. von Fircks and R. Schorta (eds.), Oriental Silks in Medieval Europe, Riggisberger Berichte 21, 300-15. Phipps, E. 2010. Cochineal red: The art history of a color, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 67.3, 1-48. Piemontese, A.M. 2005. I due ambasciatori di Persia ricevuti da Papa Paolo v al Quirinale, Miscellanea Bibliothecae Apostolicae Vaticanae 12, 357-425. Pierce, D. 2015. By the boatload: Receiving and recreating the arts of Asia, in: D. Carr (ed.), Made in the Americas: The New World Discovers Asia (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston), Boston, ma, 53-73. Pina, R.d. 1989. Crónica de D. João ii, edited by Luís de Alburquerque, Lisbon. Preston Blier, S. 1993. Imaging otherness in ivory: African portrayals of the Portuguese ca. 1492, The Art Bulletin 75.3, 375-96. Rosati, M.L. 2010. ‘In qual modo si contraffà il velluto o panno di lana e così la seta in muro e in tavola’: Stoffe preziose e tessuti serici nell’opera di Simone Martini, Opera, Nomina, Historiae 2/3, 91-132. Rosati, M.L. 2012. Nalsicci, baldacchini e camocati: Il viaggio della seta da Oriente a Occidente, in: M.A. Norell and D.P. Leidy (eds.), Sulla via della seta: Antichi sentieri tra Oriente e Occidente (Palazzo delle esposizioni, Rome), Rome, 234-70. Rosati, M.L. 2016. ‘De opere curioso minuto’: The vestments of Benedict xi in Perugia and the fourteenth-century perceptions of ‘panni tartarici’, Oriental Silks in Medieval Europe (Riggisberger Berichte 21), 173-83. Rubiés, J.-P. 2016. Political rationality and cultural distance in the European embassies to Shah Abbas, Modern History 20, 351-389. Rührdanz, K. 2006. Exotic decoration and cosmological symbolism: Chinoiserie drawings from the Diez Albums in the context of early Timurid cosmographies, in: A. Hagedorn (ed.), The Phenomenon of ‘Foreign’ in Oriental Art, Wiesbaden, 89-102.

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Russo, A. 2014. The Untranslatable Image: A Mestizo History of the Arts in New Spain, 1500-1600, Austin, tx. Schäfer, D., Riello, G. (ed.). 2018. Threads of Global Desire: Silk in the Pre-Modern World, Woodbridge, Suffolk. Schulz, V.-S. 2014. Sultanspracht im Papstpalast oder: das Recht des Teppichs. Beobachtungen zu orientalischen Knüpfteppichen in der italienischen Malerei des 14. Jahrhunderts, Eothen: Münchner Beiträge zur Geschichte der islamischen Kunst und Kultur 6, 302-36. Schulz, V.-S. 2016. Crossroads of cloth: Textile arts and aesthetics in and beyond the medieval Islamic world, Perspective 1, 93-108. Shalem, A. 1998. Forbidden territory: Early Islamic audience-hall carpets, Hali 99, 70-7. Sonday, M. 1999/2000. A group of possibly thirteenth-century velvets with gold disks in offset rows, The Textile Museum Journal 38-39, 101-50. Svenson, A.E. 1986. Kuba textiles: An introduction, waac Newsletter 8.1, 2-5. Thomas, T.K. (ed.) 2016. Designing Identity: The Power of Textiles in Late Antiquity, Princeton & Oxford. Vansina, J. 1998. Raffia cloth in West Central Africa, 1500-1800, in: M. Fennell Mazzaoui (ed.), Textiles: Production, Trade and Demand, London, 263-81. Venturi, A. 1907. Storia dell’arte italiana, Milan. Wardwell, A.E. 1987. Flight of the phoenix: Crosscurrents in late thirteenth-to-fourteenth-century silk patterns and motifs, The Bulletin of the Cleveland Museum of Art 74, 2-35. Wardwell, A.E. 1988/1989. Panni tartarici: Eastern Islamic silks woven with gold and silver, Islamic Art 3, 95-173. Weindl, A. 2007. Wer kleidet die Welt? Globale Märkte und merkantile Kräfte in der europäischen Politik der Frühen Neuzeit, Mainz. Wilckens, L. v. 1991. Die textilen Künste: Von der Spätantike bis um 1500, Munich. Zanazzo, B. 1914. L’arte della lana in Vicenza (secoli xiii-xv), Venice. Zitzlsperger, Ph. 2002. Gianlorenzo Bernini: Die Papst- und Herrscherporträts. Zum Verhältnis von Bildnis und Macht, Munich. Zitzlsperger, Ph. 2008. Dürers Pelz und das Recht im Bild: Kleiderkunde als Methode der Kunstgeschichte, Berlin. Zucchelli da Gradisca, A. 1712. Relazione del viaggio et missione di Congo nell’Ethiopia inferiore Occidentale, Venice.

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fig. 1 – Cushion cover, raffia, Kongo Kingdom, 16th-17th century, 49 x 50.5 cm; Kungliga Samlingarna, Stockholm.

fig. 2 – Francesco Caporale, Portrait bust of Antonio Manuel, Marquis of Ne Vunda, 1629; Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome.

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fig. 3 – Matthias Greuter, Sir Robert Sherley, ambassador of the Shah of Persia, Rome, 1609; © The British Museum, London.

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fig. 4 – Pavement, after 1207; San Giovanni, Florence.

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fig. 5 – Silk weaving, 14th century, Italy; Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Kunstgewerbemuseum, Berlin.

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fig. 6 – Giovanni del Biondo, Saint Catherine, ca. 1370; Opera di Santa Maria del Fiore, Florence.

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fig. 7 – Dalmatic associated with Benedict xi, Central Asian lampas silk (white and gold) and Italian silk (blue), 1304; Museo del Tesoro, Perugia.

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fig. 8 – Silk weaving, 14th century, Italy, often ascribed to Lucca; © Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

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fig. 9 – Detail of Fig. 6.

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fig. 10 – Outermost cover of a skull relic, Chinese silk damask, 13th century; Turku Cathedral.

fig. 11 – Drawing of the pattern of the Chinese silk damask from Turku Cathedral by Agnes Geijer.

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fig. 12 – Simone Martini, detail of the Maestà, 1315-1321; Palazzo Pubblico, Siena.

fig. 13 – Cesare Fiore, Raffia cushion cover in the Catalogo del Museo Settala, mid-17th century, watercolour; Biblioteca Estense Universitaria, Modena.

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Animal motifs on Asian textiles used by the Greek Church: A case study of Christian acculturation Nikolaos Vryzidis

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i n t roduct ion It is well-known that animals, and especially birds, whether native, exotic or imaginary, can function as symbols whenever they appear in Byzantine literature and in artefacts such as textiles.1 In fact, animal motifs are almost omnipresent in Byzantine iconography: sometimes as aesthetic decoration, sometimes – together with vegetal ornament – to represent ‘Nature’ as a whole, and sometimes as carriers of very specific symbolic meanings.2 Byzantinists like Henry Maguire have also argued that the depiction of nature was used with more restraint in public art than in privately commissioned art, unlike in Western Europe.3 However, the evidence presented in this article will show that this does not hold true for the Ottoman period. In Greek church art of that era the use of animal motifs clearly presents a freer and more fluid attitude than the one detected during the Byzantine period. A clear example is presented by the animal motifs on vestments associated with the Greek Orthodox Church. These liturgical garments were an aspect of material culture that enjoyed increased visibility during the Ottoman period, as religious services belonged to the most well-attended official gatherings of the Christian inhabitants of the Empire. In order to gain understanding of the changing use of animal motifs between the Byzantine era and the Ottoman, the description of fabrics carrying animal patterns in Byzantine ecclesiastical inventories is a good starting point. It is clear that animal motifs are quite common. For instance, in the inventory from the monastery of Patmos a sizeable altar cloth (ἐνδυτὴ) is explicitly described as decorated with representations The Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 155-184

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of animals.4 According to the description, the cloth was either a Patriarchal gift or belonged to a Patriarch, and was already in the treasury for some time before it was documented in September 1200.5 In the 11th-century inventory of the Panoiktirmonos monastery in Byzantine Raidestos (now Tekirdağ in the European part of Turkey), there is also mention of an altar cloth (ἐνδυτὴ); this one is decorated with a griffin-lion motif (γρυψολέοντα δικέφαλον) in medallions (πόλους), most likely in a repeating pattern.6 It is also noteworthy that in a 14th-century fresco from the chapel of Saint Anargyroi (part of the Vatopedi monastery on Mount Athos) a similar altar cloth, patterned with animals in medallions, is represented in the Melismos, the iconographic type showing Christ as an unclothed child inside the disk on the altar.7 Then, in the inventory of the Xylourgou monastery from the Saint Panteleimon archive, dating to December 1142, there is mention of two silk cloths (ἐγχείρια), one of which was decorated with animal motifs.8 Perhaps one of the most interesting entries in Michael Attaliates (c. 1022-1080) Diataxis is that of a silk katapetasma (καταπέτασμα), the curtain which separates the sanctuary from the nave, which was decorated with a peacock.9 Among the most famous of the surviving Byzantine textiles are the inscribed imperial silks, patterned with elephants and lions.10 It is doubtful whether these silks had an exclusively secular use, since silks patterned with griffins and lions are so common in ecclesiastical inventories.11 There is in fact some evidence that animal motifs could convey symbolic meanings in both secular and religious contexts, especially when the two spheres intertwined in specific circumstances.12 Examples of non-inscribed surviving silks attributed to the state-controlled production centres in Byzantium also feature animals, such as paired birds, eagle, sheep and griffin motifs.13 A probably 11th-century silk, identified as Byzantine by Anna Muthesius, features facing birds in a flat and static pose (Fig. 1).14 These surviving fabrics as well as the references in the textual sources clearly show that animal motifs regularly appeared on ecclesiastical fabrics in Greek lands during the Byzantine period. This fact forms a solid stepping stone for the discussion of the iconography of the Orthodox Church in Ottoman times. It is, for instance, of interest when studying decorated Ottoman-period fabrics to note that in Byzantine times birds could convey religious meaning related to Orthodox saints and martyrs.15 At the same time, exotic animal motifs did travel from other cultures to Byzantine art, which presented an interesting way of adopting, adapting and even investing new meaning into them.16 So the mechanisms of reception so clearly identifiable in Ottoman-period fabrics had already existed during the Byzantine period, with the difference that the elements received had changed.17

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t h e vatope diou ph e lon ion a n d t h e ch r ist i a n de m a n d for a n i m a l mot i fs The argument that animal motifs were desirable in Greek ecclesiastical circles in Ottoman times, is clearly illustrated by surviving examples from the Ottoman figural textile production for the Christian market. These custom-made fabrics were used by various Ottoman Christian communities and as tools of diplomacy by the Ottoman government in their contacts with Eastern European courts, especially Russia. It seems even quite certain that these silks were ordered by the Church from Ottoman producers, asking for specific Christian designs, mainly dealing with Christ and Mary. These fabrics were the only consistent Ottoman figural production in woven silk during the entire period of the Empire.18 The phelonion (liturgical vestment worn by a Orthodox Christian priest) from the Vatopediou Monastery is an example of these Ottoman silks with figural decorations (Fig. 2), and I think it should be dated to the 17th century.19 It features a blend of floral decoration and animal motifs, namely paired fishes and birds (Figs. 4 & 5). The birds on the fabric, although different from their Byzantine counterparts (e.g., Fig. 1), are much more static than birds depicted in Ottoman imperial art, like those on the famous Iznik ceramic panel at Sünnet Odası of the Topkapı Palace.20 Contrary to later Ottoman embroideries, bird motifs are quite rare in the wider context of early Ottoman woven textiles. The only closely comparable example is found on a kemha fragment at the Topkapı Palace collection. Here, the pairs of birds, looking like stylized peacocks, seem well-integrated in a typically Ottoman composition (Fig. 3).21 However, other flying creatures are more common, like the simurgh found on silks of the same high quality; they are beings from medieval Persian mythology, and lean on Ottoman-Persian pictorial traditions (Fig. 6).22 An example which may perhaps be the most comparable is another kemha for ecclesiastical use, found in a Russian phelonion. Again there are the same statically paired birds, floriated ornament forming ogees, and rosettes in the middle. The main difference between this example and the phelonion from Vatopediou Monastery is the absence of fish motifs (Fig. 7).23 It is noteworthy that the same combination of Ottoman floral composition with bird motifs is found in contemporary Greek manuscript illuminations (Fig. 8). In my view, this represents an updated form of earlier Byzantine compositions, in which bird motifs blended with various types of vegetal ornament (Fig. 9). It is a clear example of continuity that unfolded and remained present within the wider transformative dynamics of Ottoman culture.24

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In contrast to the bird motifs, the fish motifs are a slightly more complex issue. From the 2nd century onwards the Ichthys (fish) symbol held a highly sacred significance for Christians, not in the least because the Greek word ‘Ichthys’ was an acronym for Iēsous Christos, Theou Yios, Sōtēr, and in a Byzantine context fish motifs were used as symbols to convey various Christological and baptismal meanings.25 It is thus no coincidence that in Byzantine miniature painting lecterns used by the Evangelists often appear to be supported by a fish carved in wood.26 The importance of fish as a Christian symbol is undoubtedly the reason why they were woven on the phelonion from the Vatopediou Monastery. But their form and style clearly recall the look of Iznik fish-shaped flasks and other Ottoman pottery forms, and do not seem to be related to any obvious Byzantine iconographic model.27 Although the emergence of animal motifs in Ottoman art, ceramics, and metalwork has been associated with Christian clientele, a specific feature with which the fish is paired on the Vatopediou silk seems quite revealing in terms of the weavers’ identity: an Islamic inscription.28 After discussing this small and difficult to read inscription with several Ottomanists, two readings seem to be the more probable. The first possibility is that this is an Ottoman Turkish inscription, repeated twice and with a mirroring effect (four times), referring to the fish, as ‘Sheikh’ or ‘King of the Fishes’ (‫)ﺷﻴﺦ ﻣﺎﻫﻲ‬.29 If this is the case, the meaning of the inscription seems completely irrelevant to the Christian religious meaning of the fishes; the script points simply to a Muslim weaver who had experience with inscribed silks for a religious Islamic use, the only consistently inscribed production of the Ottoman weaving industry.30 It seems therefore that the weaver was asked to execute a specific iconography that he did not understand, which explains the addition of the inscription. If this is the correct interpretation of the inscription, it concerns here an impressive case of what Jan Vansiva calls ‘iconatrophy’: attachment of etiological commentaries to existing objects based on personal reminiscences.31 In the eyes of the weaver, the fish meant something completely different than the Christian symbolism it was meant to convey. Equally, in the eyes of the Christian user the inscription was probably interpreted as purely ornamental; assuming the Greek cleric could not read the Ottoman calligraphy. For the second possible reading the starting point is a comparable pairing of fish and Islamic inscriptions on another Ottoman textile. On this interesting marine pennon, now at the Hermitage, the fish are accompanied by the words ‘Allah wished thus’ and ‘Hope for Allah’ (Fig. 10).32 These words give ground to the second reading of the text on the Vatopediou silk as a phrase again repeated twice, and with a mirroring effect, hence appearing four times within the rosette. According to this interpretation the calligraphy reads as ‫( ﻫﺎدي‬hādī), meaning ‘the guide’, which is the shortened version of the 94th ep158

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ithet of God in Islam.33 This is an even more intriguing possibility and stylistically the most convincing to me, allowing no doubts on the weaver’s Islamic religious identity.34 In contrast to the first reading, this interpretation suggests that the weaver had some understanding of the Christological symbolism of the fish, therefore referring to God. It may be that the ecclesiastical clientele led him to adding this detail on the silk, which was not particularly visible, but had a pertinent content, at least in his eyes. In this case, again assuming that the Greek clerics could not read the Islamic calligraphy, the text accompanying the fish may be an example of an aspect of acculturation not fully understood by the Christians themselves, in short a sort of unconscious acculturation. In my view it was the illegibility of the inscription as well as its modest size that probably facilitated the acceptance of the silk for ecclesiastical use.35 The possibility that the Christian patron consciously enjoyed a highly syncretic aesthetic, this mix of Islamic and Christian religious symbols on his phelonion, seems beyond proof or disproof.36 On a different level, that of elite diplomacy, it might be the case that symbolism of the fish in Christianity might have been understood by Ottoman officials, as Hedda Reindl-Kiel has recently noted in her interpretation of the plentitude of fish in the menu for Christian diplomats.37 If the Ottoman government had any involvement in the production of ecclesiastical textiles as a tool of Ottoman-Christian diplomacy, then its understanding of the meaning of fish could have led to the employment of the motif, apart from the Christological and Marian representations which were clearly desirable for the Orthoxox Church. In the end, it seems highly likely to me that the Vatopediou phelonion represents a moment of dialogue between an evolving Byzantine artistic tradition and the contemporary Ottoman aesthetic. The ornamentation on the silk seems to have operated as a juxtaposition of different elements that apparently satisfied two different purposes: the conveying of religious meaning with the animal motifs, and the presentation of a social message which was transmitted with its aesthetic. On the other hand, a somewhat less complicated interpretation might be that the decoration constituted an abstract and aesthetically pleasing representation of nature, one that did not convey a clear theological symbolism. In that case, the meaning conveyed by the representation of nature was apparently rather unspecific.38 The fact remains, however, that evidence for the demand for animal motifs by the Greek Church in Ottoman times is clear. This demand furthers the discussion concerning the interest in other Asian silks. As we will see, because of their animal motifs, they could fulfil the same function as the Ottoman fabrics, despite the fact they were not custom-made.

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sa fav i d pe acock s, ch i n ese egr ets: a si a n su bst i t u t es Apart from the Ottoman fabrics, there is another body of evidence which is relevant to the understanding of the demand for decorated textiles in Greek lands during this period. It concerns Persian and Chinese silks featuring animal motifs, used by the Greek Church but without evidence of being custom-made.39 Safavid silks clearly contrasted to the aniconic Ottoman artistic tradition, as they tolerated and even celebrated figural motifs.40 Often, Persian figurative textiles schematically represent narratives from poetry, mythology, history, or court culture.41 Bird motifs were quite popular, and their employment probably went back to notions about divine love and poetic narratives like Faridud-Din Attar’s (ca. 1145-ca. 1221) The Conference of Birds.42 The Safavid style of decoration was quite different from contemporary Ottoman fashions, which were preferred by the Greek Church.43 This suggests that the demand for the Persian silks was not so much based on the overall style, but on the compatibility of the animal motifs with the Christian aesthetic, despite their visibly foreign style. This raises the question of cultural translation contrasts, and perhaps even foreshadows to a certain extent the early modern European appreciation of Persian silks as exoticums.44 The fact that figural motifs on surviving Greek vestments and liturgical veils are usually animals capable of conveying a religious meaning, no matter how loose, seems an indication that the Church made specific choices in this respect.45 Three relevant textiles may illustrate this complicated matter. Two of those are silks from the Iveron monastery (Fig. 11).46 The first is a sticharion of which the main body is made of a 17th-century Safavid lampas silk.47 Its floral composition features paired peacocks around a cypress tree, all of which are symbols of eternity and resurrection in the Christian tradition (Fig. 12). For the border of this vestment use was made of another figurative Persian silk; it probably dates to the late 17th century and has similar bird motifs, with peacocks and paired birds.48 The second example from the collection of the Iveron monastery is a epitrachelion made of Safavid silk, which is patterned with a cypress tree, paired birds, and peacocks (Fig. 13).49 Already in Byzantine art cypress trees appear as a representation of the flowering cross (as the Tree of Life in paradise), or they are simply flanking the cross.50 The symbolism of the peacock fits in this context, as it was a symbol of immortality, its flesh reputedly being incorruptible.51 Both peacocks and peacock feathers appear in Byzantine imperial and religious art very often.52 It is therefore no coincidence these symbols appeared in 17th-centry textiles silks imported from Persia. In my view, the Iveron silks fulfilled the same functions as the Vatopediou phelonion, despite the fact the symbolic meanings which were relevant to the Orthodox

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v r y z i di s – a n i m a l mot i fs on a s i a n t e x t i l e s

Church were not intended by the weavers.53 The clergy probably chose the patterns for these silks because they loosely reflected a religious meaning, or simply because they were compatible with the Christian aesthetic traditions. This preference continued into later periods; Persian silks patterned with paired birds remained in use in the Greek Church well into the 18th and 19th centuries.54 The third example is an epigonation from Aghios Stefanos Meteoron, Saint Stephen’s Nunnery in Meteora (Fig. 14).55 An epigonation is a rhombus-shaped gold-embroided textile that hangs from the belt of Greek bishops, and also other clergy, and extends just past the knees. Byzantine epigonatia usually feature depictions of Christological and Marian narratives, such as the Anastasis (the Resurrection), Christ Anapeson (the Reclining Christ), and the Dormition of the Virgin. Although a variety of themes survive on textiles from the Ottoman period, these also had a strong emphasis on the same type of iconographies, such as the Adoration of the Magi, the Baptism, Christ as Angel of the Covenant, the Transfiguration, and the Washing of the Feet.56 However, the epigonation from Saint Stephen’s features a Chinese egret (‘silver heron’), although the large white bird may have been identified in Greece as a pelican. This well-known symbol of Christ was often used in Latin Christian as well as Byzantine decorations. The embroidery and style show that this vestment dates from the early Qing period, so the second half of the 17th century. It was originally an ‘Mandarin square’, although in Greece it was mounted and worn by the clerics as an epigonation.57 ‘Mandarin squares’ were large badges sewn onto the surcoat of officials in imperial China, and they were embroidered with detailed animal or bird insignia indicating the rank of those who wore them, namely the bureaucrats in the Chinese court and officers in the Chinese military.58 The egret was used as the insignia for a sixth rank civil official at the Chinese court, while in general birds were intended in China to symbolize literary elegance.59 In my view, the status of the Chinese badge as an exoticum is only one of its qualities that led to its ecclesiastical use. Visually, the egret strongly recalls the Christological symbol of the pelican.60 The role of the pelican in ecclesiastical texts makes it highly probable that the egret, interpreted as a pelican, could be an easily transferable symbol.61 Textiles patterned with the pelican as Christological motif, were regularly used for vestments in the Latin Church; the Stralsund dalmatic being a prime example (Fig. 15).62 Also, there are mentions in the texts of other epigonatia (or encheiria, as they were sometimes called during the Byzantine period) decorated not only with depictions of Christological and Marian narratives, but with animal motifs as well.63 In the case of epigonation from Saint Stephen’s Nunnery it seems highly probable that this was also a perfect case of cultural translation, resulting in a very clear and

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specific religious meaning. It should be noted that while birds appear very often in Chinese rank badges, so do other animals: lions, bats, leopards, tigers, cats, qilins, bears and dragons.64 It cannot be accidental that a badge with a specific bird was chosen by the Greek clerics, given the specific connotations that its appearance would convey. This underlines that some zoomorphic motifs in foreign silks could be adapted to the Orthodox dogma. Unlike their Ottoman counterparts, which were most probably custom-made on demand, the Persian and Chinese silks were substitutes, objects of translation used in the absence of textiles produced with a clear ecclesiastical purpose.65 conclusion In conclusion, the silks discussed here are yet another indication of the multifaceted processes of acculturation during the Ottoman period. This particular one involving ecclesiastical textiles decorated with animal motifs used by the Greek Orthodox Church developed by means of a dynamic process of interpretation and selective appropriation. The Greek Church used local and foreign decorated silks, both in Byzantine and in Ottoman times, and while these fabrics and their decorations presented different degrees of exoticism, they could be interpreted in meaningful ways because of their inherited symbolic baggage. In many ways the decorated silks used in the Ottoman period constituted an evolution of Byzantine artistic tradition, and not a rupture with it. If anything, the continuity of silks and motifs, whatever their origin, reveals a receptive cultural identity, one which successfully incorporates foreign elements by selecting what is useful and usable. From a long term perspective on Greek cultural history, it seems that the same animal symbols made a quite smooth transition from the Byzantine era into the Ottoman period. This testifies to a remarkable longevity, at least of their meaning and function in Greek ecclesiastical textiles, despite their originally distant origin.

* ack now l e dh e m e n ts I would like to cordially thank Father Joseph, sacristan of Vatopediou Monastery; Father Christophoros of Iveron Monastery; Saint Stephen’s Nunnery at Meteora; Sibel Alpaslan Arça, curator for textiles at the Topakapı Palace Museum; Ioannes Melianos, librarian at the Patmos Monastery; Michael Peter of the Abegg-Stiftung; Elena Papastavrou of the Hellenic Ministry of Culture; Warren Woodfin of the City University of New York; Henry Schilb of the Index of Medieval Art; and Hedda Reindl-Kiel.

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not es 1

2

3

On the symbolism of birds in Byzantine

8

ὥν τὸ ἕν ἀναρθηκοτὸν ἔνζούδον’ (Lemerle,

2011, 285-317.

Dagron & Ćirković 1982, 70 and 74). The

For various examples see the 2012

adjective ‘ἔνζούδον’ denotes adornment with

monograph by Henry Maguire, Nectar

animal motifs (cf. note 5). The encheirion

& Illusion: Nature in Byzantine Art and

(ἐγχείριο) was a decorative handkerchief-like

Literature. For an analysis on the role of

textile hanging from the right side of the

aniconic and animal motifs in Byzantine art

bishop’s girdle, from which the epigonation

see Martiniani-Reber 2014, 75-94.

evolved (Chrysostomos 1981, 52-8; Kazhdan

Maguire 2012, 78-105.

et al. 1991, 696; Walter 1982, 21-2; Woodfin

4 The endyti (ἐνδυτὴ) is a large cloth used for covering the Holy Altar. See Kazhdan et al. 5

In Greek: ‘ἔτερα ἐνχείρια δύο καταβλάτια

culture, literature included, see Leontsini

2012, 17). 9

Gautier 1981, 97. Katapetasma is the veil

1991, 697. Soteriou 1949, 605.

or curtain which separates the sanctuary

In Greek: ‘ἑτέρα ἐνδυτὴ παλαιὰ μεγάλη

from the nave (Kazhdan et al. 1991, 1113).

ἔνζωδος ἡ τοῦ Πατριάρχου’ (Astruc 1981, 22).

On remnants of ‘peacock’ silks in medieval

The adjective ‘ἔνζωδος’, used to describe the

Europe see Muthesius 1995, 89-93; id. 1997,

endyti, translates as ‘with animals’. 6 In Greek: ‘ἐνδυτὴ μία, βλαττίον κραμβίζον τῆς ἁγίας τραπέζης, ἔχουσα πόλους ια΄,

pls. 34a and 67a. 10 Muthesius 1997, 33-43. 11 In the inventory of Saint Panteleimon

γρυψολέοντα δικέφαλον’ (Gautier 1981, 97).

there is mention of two chalice covers

For a single-headed griffin silk, attributed

(ποτηροκαλλύματα), patterned with

by Anna Muthesius as Byzantine, see

the single-headed griffin (γρύψ) and

Muthesius 2008, pl.6. For a Spanish griffin-

lions (λεοντάρια) (Lemerle, Dagron &

lion motif within roundels in a 13th-century

Ćirković 1982, 70 and 74-5). According to

Spanish silk see Wilckens 1992, cat. 154.

Kazhdan the various veils used for covering

Finally, the famous chasuble of Thomas

Eucharistic objects were associated with the

Beckett, vestment made of reused Islamic

swaddling clothes and winding sheets of

embroidery, featured griffins within

Christ, and therefore their iconography was

roundels and winged lions (Shalem 2017,

relevant (Kazhdan et al. 1991, 1097).

46, 48-9 and 52-4). 7 The frescoes of the chapel are still being

12 Galliker 2015, 148-150; Muthesius 1995, 233. 13 Evans, Wixom et al. 1997, cat. 344; Ganz

conserved. The iconography of Melismos

2015, fig. 6; Martiniani-Reber et al. 2015,

symbolizes the transmutation of bread and

cat. 320; Muthesius 1997, 44-57 and 94-100;

wine by the priest into the body and blood

Wilckens 1992, cats. 39, 40.

of Christ. On the iconographic type read

14 Ganz 2015, fig. 6; Muthesius 1997, 129. At this point I would like to note that despite

Konstantinidi 2008.

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t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

the important scholarly efforts of Anna

between the poses of the birds in the

Muthesius, and Julia Galliker more recently,

ecclesiastical silks in discussion, see Atasoy,

the attribution of Byzantine silks can be a

Raby & Petsopoulos 1989, figs. 115-6, 118-9

rather elusive task at times.

and 225. At the Topkapı Palace collection

15 Galliker 2015, 150; Maguire 1987, 43.

there is also a kemha fragment featuring

16 Research on the subject remains insufficient.

deers with the exact same stylization we

On the Byzantine appropriation of the

see in the Iznik panel at Sünnet Odası. See

Chinese feng huang bird read Walker

Atasoy et al. 2001, fig. 206; Gürsu 1988, cat.

2010, 188-216; Ibid. 2012, 71-9. On the

32.

transfer of Middle Eastern animal motifs

21 Gürsu 1988, cat. 118. Animal and especially

to late Byzantine funerary sculpture read

bird motifs appear more often in later

Androudis 2000a, 266-81; Androudis

Ottoman secular embroidery (Bilgi and Zanbak 2012, cats. 78 and 143).

2000b, 522-35.

22 There is another roughly contemporary

17 At the same time similar processes of reuse, translation and artistic transfer took place

Ottoman fragment featuring a simurgh

in the Latin Church as well. This was a pan-

at the Boston Museum of Arts (Atasoy et

Mediterranean and Eurasian phenomenon.

al. 2001, figs. 205-6). This type of textiles

For examples of Asian and Islamic textiles

is considered to be experimental, as the

used in Latin vestments see von Fircks and

visual language the Ottoman dynasty

Schorta 2016; Shalem 2017.

generally favoured was that of aniconicity.

18 See Atasoy et al. 2001, figs. 51, 53, 55, cats.

Read Necipoğlu 1992, 195-216. On the

20-1 and 40-1; Woodfin 2014, 31-51; Vryzidis

symbolism of the simurgh read Schmidt

2015, 149-69 and 181-93; Vryzidis 2018a, 106-

1980, 1-85. 23 The piece is attributed to Ottoman Syria

9; Vryzidis 2018b, 133-66. 19 The importance of the phelonion, and

(Konstantinovich Levykin 2009, cat. 2).

especially its version patterned with crosses

When contextualizing these Ottoman

(polystavrion), as a marker of elevated clerical

remnants in Russia one should also consider

status is generally accepted for the Byzantine

the importance of Greek ecclesiastical

period. Then, Germanus links the phelonion

dignitaries among the Ottoman delegations

with the purple robe placed on Christ before

visiting the Russian court. Although no

his crucifixion (Chrysostomos 1981, 42-5;

relevant archival proof has surfaced so far, it

Walter 1982, 13-6; Woodfin 2012, 11-2 and

is possible that the specific piece was either a

20-5).

delegate’s gift to a Russian clergyman or sold to the Russian Church by Greek merchants

20 The birds in the Iznik ceramic panel are

(Vishnevskaya 2009, 7-8).

much more naturalistic, or better, their

24 On Ottoman motifs in Balkan manuscript

stylization presents a different type of movement. For the representation of birds in

production read Stankova 2013, 737-49;

Ottoman art, and the noticeable differences

Stankova and Nenkovska 2009, 13-24.

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the scholars I discussed the inscription with

25 Fishes and anglers had an honorific place

recognized characters that could be read as

in the Byzantine system of metaphors. First

Mâhî, but not Şeyh.

of all, fish was an Christological symbol

30 Atasoy et al. 2001, 296-7; Tezcan 2017, 161-

(ΙΧΘΥΣ=Ιησούς Χριστός Θεού Υιός Σωτήρ),

219.

while ‘fishers of men’ was a description that the dogma reserved for the apostles (Kazhdan

31 Vansina 1985, 7 and 10.

et al. 1991, 788). While the fish is one of

32 The pennon dates later than the phelonion’s

the oldest Christological symbols, making

textile but is probably indicative of the use of

the transition from pagan to Byzantine

fishes in similar standards produced earlier.

art, its symbolism is not always clear in art.

See Piotrovsky, Pritula et al. 2006, cat. 191. 33 The first who came up with this reading

However, it is generally admitted as a Holy or Baptismal symbol (Kirschbaum et al. 1970,

was Bora Philippe Keskiner. Then, Dimitris

vol. 2, 41-2). There is also the ‘Nature Goddess

Loupis made a strong case in favour of this

Silk’, recognized as Byzantine by Anna

reading (See Appendix). 34 It is known that Muslim weavers worked

Muthesius, which features fish motifs. But the representation’s meaning is completely

under Christian head-weavers in Bursa

different from the one we have in this silk. See

(Vryzidis 2018b, 139-41; Dalsar 1960, 321). 35 Calligraphic motifs in Ottoman textiles used

Muthesius 2004, pl. 67.

by the Greek Church do not appear that

26 Among the many examples available I choose to cite the representation of Matthew

often. My interpretation of their use relates

in a 14th-century manuscript at Iveron

more to the appreciation of calligraphy as

monastery. See Galavaris 2002, 79. Also see

ornament, and less to its legibility and the

Parani 2003; pl. 202.

inscription’s content. For an 18th-century

27 See Atasoy, Raby & Petsopoulos 1989, fig.

silk patterned with a grammatically incorrect Ottoman inscription, used as a liturgical veil,

124. 28 See Delivorrias, Georgoula et al. 2005, cat.

see Vryzidis 2017b, 89-90. 36 I leave this riddle to cultural historians.

77; Ballian 2011, cats. 46-7.

37 Reindl-Kiel 2019, passim.

29 Transliteration: Şeyh-i Mâhî, translation:

38 See relevant chapters in Maguire 2012, 78-

Sheikh/King of the Fish(es). This is the

134.

reading that Umut Soysal, archivist of the Ottoman archives of the Turkish Presidency,

39 There is evidence that Asian silks, Persian

has come up with. He has initially

and Chinese included, were used at the

recognized the characters that could have

Ottoman court. On Asian silks at the

been interpreted as the letters of these two

Topkapı Palace collection read Tezcan

words. But after discussing this with other

1999, 657-66. There is also a robe associated

experts on Ottoman calligraphy I started

with Fatma Sultan, daughter of Mustafa iii

having second thoughts on whether the

(1717-1773), made of a Chinese floral silk

inscription can be read like this. Most of

(Washington 2000, fig. B18). However, cases

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t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

52 Bakirtzis et al. 2014, 59, 64-5, 67-71 and

presented here are quite different exactly

75-7; Kirschbaum et al. 1971, vol. 3, 409-10;

because of the presence of animal motifs.

Kazhdan et al. 1991, 1611-2; Maguire 2012, pl.

40 Necipoğlu 1992, 195-216; Necipoğlu 2016,

vii; Parani 2003, pl. 203 ; Wessel 1971, cols.

132-55.

550-1.

41 See Curatola 1993, cats. 274 and 276; Mackie

53 In the Persian tradition the cypress tree

2015, 346-55; Bier 1987, cats. 1, 2, 4, 10 and

symbolizes masculine elegance, and paired

22-35

birds symbolize love. Read Mackie 2015, 347.

42 Attar 1984.

54 Vryzidis 2018c, fig. 6.

43 Vryzidis 2017a, 176-91; Vryzidis 2017b, 83-

55 Unpublished.

94; Vryzidis 2018a, 92-114.

56 Ballian 2011, cat. 43, Byzantine & Christian

44 Similar phenomena, of cultural translation, must have taken place in Europe as well but

Museum 2004, figs. 335, 353-5; Johnstone

the pattern we see in Greek sacristies seems

1968, figs. 53-4; Papanikola-Bakirtzis &

considerably more consistent. For some

Iacovou 1998, cat. 166; Woodfin 2012, 226-31.

relevant examples in Europe see Mackie

57 As already mentioned in endnote 32, Chinese

2015, 370-5; Baker 2010, figs. 1, 3 and 5; Peck

silks were used at the Byzantine court. The

et al. 2013, fig. 73; Piotrovsky, Pritula et al.

Greek Church seems to have followed

2006, cat. 182. Also read Scarce 2013, 58-77.

these fashions, but the specific vestment is

45 Vryzidis 2018c, 232-3.

a quite different matter, as explained in my

46 Sticharion is the tumic-shaped vestment,

analysis. An important remnant is a sakkos

which evolved from the tunica alba, and is

(dalmatic), associated with Patriarch of

worn by deacons. See Chrysostomos 1981;

Constantinople Neophytos vi (d. 1747),

36-7; Walter 1982, 16-7; Woodfin 2012, 5-6.

now at the monastery of Saint John the

47 Folsach & Keblow Bernsted 1993, cat. 37.

Theologian, in Patmos. Its floral embroidery

48 Neumann & Murza 1988, cats. 231-2

can be attributed to 18th-century China. For

49 On the epitrachelion, the stole worn by

traces of this consumption of Chinese silks

priests and episcopes, read Walter 1982, 19-

in Greek context, see Theochari 1988, 217;

20; Woodfin 2012, 9-11 and 15.

Papastavrou and Vryzidis 2018, fig. 9. The

50 See Evans, Wixom et al. 1997, cat. 226;

subject remains largely unexplored. 58 For representations of court robes bearing

Maguire 2012, fig. 3.4; Washington 1967,

rank badges, see the examples in the

pl. 70.

Metropolitan Museum of Art (59.49.2) and

51 For the symbolism of peacocks in Christian Art, see F. Chabrol, H. Leclercq et al. (1924),

the Victoria and Albert Museum (E.606-

1075-81. Apart from manuscripts peacocks

1954, E.417-1953, 7791:1), as well as Lian,

appear in many different mediums of

Tan et al. 2006, cats. 71-2. For coats see the

Byzantine art bearing these symbolisms. See

collection of Victoria and Albert Museum

Martiniani-Reber 2015, cat. 339, Maguire

(t.40-1956, t.104-1958, t.205-1948) and of

2012, pl. v., fig. 4.1.

The Chicago Institute of Art (rx2597).

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v r y z i di s – a n i m a l mot i fs on a s i a n t e x t i l e s

σοὺς θανόντας παῖδας ἐνζώωσας, ἐπιστάξας

59 See Rutherford 2004, 83; Schuyler 1944, 76.

ζωτικοὺς αὐτοῖς κρουνούς.’ (Tsironi 2001, 53).

For a very similar composition and egret in another badge dated to ca. 1700 see Lian,

62 The dalmatic is the product of patchwork

Tan et al. 2006, cat. 61. Another badge

but its main body consists of the pictured

featuring the egret in a variation, again dated

Italian textile. See Otavský and Wardwell

to the early 18th century, can be found at the

2011, 264-73; Von Fircks 2008, 100-25. 63 Read Lemerle, Dagron and Ćirković 1982,

Metropolitan Museum of Art (30.75.916); the chromatic palette is quite similar, the

70 and 74. Silks with animal motifs were

egret’s pose is different. For more relevant

very popular during the Middle Ages,

examples see Rutherford 2004, 116; Schuyler

many of which associated with Christian

1944, 105 and figs. 5a and 8b.

symbolism and heraldry. For some examples see Booms and Higgs 2016, fig. 173; Davanzo

60 The egret seems quite close in form to the Byzantine pelican, which conveyed a

Poli and Riccadona 2014, 38-41; Hollberg

religious meaning in Christian iconography

2017, cats. 15, 18, 25, 30-7, 40-1, 43-4, 47 and

as well: a symbol of divine love, Christ

51-9; Lintz, Déléry and Leonetti 2014, cats.

and resurrection; its representations in the

9-14 and 17; Miller 2014, 153-6; Wilckens

nest feeding his little ones with his blood

1992, cats. 172, 206, 213-4 and 217-38. Also,

clearly conveys Christological meaning

the Abegg-Stiftung (Riggisberg, Bern) held

related to Christ’s sacrifice and resurrection

a relevant exhibition in 2016, titled ‘Friend

(Kirschbaum et al. 1971, vol. 3, 390-1).

and Foe: Animals in Medieval Textile Art’.

61 There is the widely-known verse from the

64 For some examples see Lian, Tan et al. 2006, cats. 35-8, 45-54, 64-70 and 77-9.

Good Friday service, where Christ’s sacrifice is likened to the Pelican feeding his children

65 For a discussion on the issue of cultural

with flesh from his ribs: ‘Ὥσπερ πελεκάν,

translation see the monograph by Flood

τετρωμένος τὴν πλευράν σου Λόγε,

2009, esp. 5-14.

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bi bl iogr a ph y Androudis, P. 2000a. À propos des motifs d’allure orientale du sarcophage d’Anna Maliassenè, Byzantiaka 20, 266-81. Androudis, P. 2000b. Sur le fragment d’un relief byzantin d’Episkopi, Byzantina 21, 522-35. Astruc, C. 1981. L’inventaire dressé en septembre 1200 du trésor et de la bibliothèque de Patmos. Édition diplomatique, Travaux et Mémoires 8, 15-30. Atasoy, N. et al. 2001. İpek: the Crescent & the Rose: Imperial Ottoman Silks and Velvets, London. Atasoy, N., J. Raby and Y. Petsopoulos 1989. Iznik: The Pottery of Ottoman Turkey, London. Attar, F.u-D. 1984. The Conference of the Birds, London. Baker, P.L. 2010. Wrought of gold or silver: Honorific garments in seventeenth century Iran, in: J. Thompson, D. Sheffer and P. Mildh (eds.), Carpets and Textiles in the Iranian World, 1400-1700: Proceedings of the Conference held at the Ashmolean Museum on 30-31 August 2003, Oxford & Genoa, 159-67. Baker, P.L. and J. Wearden 2010. Iranian Textiles, London. Bakirtzis, C. et al. 2012. Mosaics of Thessaloniki: 4th-14th Century, Athens. Ballian, A. (ed.) 2011. Relics of the Past: Treasures of the Greek-Orthodox Church and the Population Exchange, The Benaki Musuem Collections, Athens & Milan. Bier, C. (ed.) 1987. Woven from the Soul, Spun from the Hearth, Washington, dc. Bilgi, H. and İ. Zanbak 2012. Skill of the Hand, Delight of the Eye: Ottoman Embroideries in the Sadberk Hanım Museum Collection, Istanbul. Booms, D. and P. Higgs (eds.) 2016. Sicily: Culture and Conquest, London. Byzantine & Christian Museum. 2004. The World of the Byzantine Museum, (translated into English by John Davis), Athens. Chabrol, F., H. Leclercq et al. 1924. Dictionnaire d’archéologie chrétienne et de liturgie, Paris. Chrysostomos, A. 1981. Orthodox Liturgical Dress, Brookline. Curatola, G. (ed.) 1993. Eredità dell’Islam: Arte islamica in Italia, Venice. Dalsar, F. 1960. Türk Sanayi ve Ticaret Tarihinde Bursa’ da İpekçilik, Istanbul. Davanzo Poli, D. and N.M. Riccadona 2014. Otto Secoli di Art Tessile ai Frari: Sciamiti, Velluti, Damaschi, Broccati, Ricami, Padua. Delivorrias, A. and E. Georgoula (eds.) 2005. From Byzantium to Modern Greece: Hellenic Art in adversity, 1453-1830, New York & Athens. Evans, H. C. and W.D. Wixom (eds.) 1997. The Glory of Byzantium: Art and Culture of the Middle Byzantine Era, A.D. 843-1261, New York, New Haven & London.

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Fircks, J. von. 2008. Liturgische Gewänder des Mittelalters aus St. Nikolai in Stralsund, Riggisberg. Fircks, J. von and R. Schorta (eds) 2016. Oriental Silks in Medieval Europe, Riggisberg. Flood, F.B. 2009. Objects of Translation: Material Culture and Medieval ‘Hindu-Muslim’ Encounter, New Delhi. Folsach, K.V. and A.-M. Keblow Bernsted 1993. Woven Treasures-Textiles from the World of Islam, Copenhagen. Galavaris, G. 2002. Holy Monastery of Iveron: Illustrated Manuscripts, Mount Athos. Galliker, J. L. 2015. Middle Byzantine silk in context: Integrating the textual and material evidence, unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Birmingham. Ganz, D. 2015. Das Kleid der Bücher: Vestimentäre Dimensionen mittelalterichen Prachteinbände, in: M. Kapustka and W.T. Woodfin (eds.), Clothing the Sacred: Medieval Textiles as Fabric, Form, and Metaphor, Emsdetten & Berlin, 121-46. Gautier, P. 1981. La Diataxis de Michel Attaliate, Revue des Études Byzantines 39, 5-143. Gürsu, N. 1988. The Art of Turkish Weaving, Designs Through the Ages, Istanbul. Kirschbaum, E. et al. (eds.) 1970-1971. Lexikon der Christlichen Ikonographie; Allgemeine Ikonographie, vols. 2 and 3, Freiburg im Breisgau & Rome. Hollberg, C. (ed.) 2017. Tessuto e Ricchezza a Firenze nel Trecento: Lana, seta, pittura, Florence and Milan. Johnstone, P. 1967. Byzantine Tradition in Church Embroidery, London. Kazhdan, A. P. (ed.) 1991. The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, Oxford & New York. Konstantinidi, C. 2008. Ο Μελισμός. Οι συλλειτουργούντες ιεράρχες και οι άγγελοιδιάκονοι μπροστά στην Αγία Τράπεζα με τα Τίμια Δώρα ή τον Ευχαριστιακό Χριστό, Byzantina-Annual Review of the Byzantine Research Centre, Byzantine Monuments 14 (Supplement), Athens. Konstantinovich Levykin, A. (ed.) 2009. The Tsars and the East: Gifts from Turkey and Iran in the Moscow Kremlin London. Lemerle, P., G.G. Dagron and S. Ćirković 1982. Actes de Saint-Pantéléèmôn: édition diplomatique, Archives de l’Athos xii, Paris. Leontsini, M. 2011. Οικόσιτα, ωδικά και εξωτικά πτηνά: Αισθητική πρόσληψη και χρηστικές όψεις (7ος-11ος αιώνας), in: I. Anagnostakis, T.G. Kolias and E. Papadopoulou (eds.), Animals and Environment in Byzantium 7th-12th c., Proceedings of the International Symposium, nhrf/ibr, International Symposium 21, Athens, 285-317. Lian, W.H. and S. Tan (eds.) 2006. Powerdressing: Textiles for Rulers and Priests from the Chris Hall collection, Singapore. Lintz, Y., C. Déléry and B.T. Leonetti (eds.) 2014. Le Maroc médiéval: Un empire de l’Afrique à l’Espagne, Paris.

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Mackie, L. 2015. Luxury Textiles from Islamic Lands, 7th-21st Century, Cleveland, New Haven & London. Maguire, H. 1987. Earth and Ocean: the Terrestrial World in Early Byzantine Art, University Park (pa). Maguire, H. 2012. Nectar & Illusion: Nature in Byzantine Art and Literature, New York & Oxford. Martiniani-Reber, M. 2014. Textiles et décors peints aniconiques, in : M. Campagnolo, P. Magdalino, M. Martiniani-Reber and A.-L. Rey (eds.), L’aniconisme dans l’art religieux byzantin. Actes du colloque de Genève (1-3 octobre 2009), Geneva, 75-94. Martiniani-Reber, M. (ed.) 2015. Byzance en Suisse, Milan & Geneva. Miller, M. 2014. Clothing the Clergy: Virtue and Power in Medieval Europe, c. 8001200, Ithaca & London. Muthesius, A. 1995. Studies in Byzantine and Islamic Silk Weaving, London. Muthesius, A. 1997. Byzantine Silk Weaving AD 400 to AD 1200, Vienna. Muthesius, A. 2004. Studies in Silk in Byzantium, London. Necipoğlu, G. 1992. A kânûn for the state, A canon for the arts: Conceptualizing the classical synthesis of Ottoman art and architecture, in: G. Veinstein (ed.), Soliman le magnifique et son temps: Actes du Colloque de Paris, Galléries Nationales du Grand Palais 7-10 Mars 1990, Paris, 195-216. Necipoğlu, G. 2016. Early modern floral: The agency of ornament in Ottoman and Safavid visual cultures, in: G. Necipoğlu and A. Payne (eds.), Histories of Ornament: From Global to Local, Princeton, 132-55. Neumann, R. and G. Murza 1988. Persische Seiden: Die Gewebekunst der Safawiden und ihrer Nachfolger, Leipzig. Otavský, K and A.E. Wardwell 2011. Mittelalterliche Textilien ii: Zwischen Europa und China (Die Textilsammlung der Abegg-Stiftung 5), Riggisberg. Papanikola-Bakirtzis, D. and M. Iacovou 1998. Byzantine Medieval Cyprus, Nicosia Papastavrou, E. and N. Vryzidis 2018. Sacred patchwork: Patterns of textile reuse in Greek vestments and liturgical veils during the Ottoman era, in: I. Jevtić and S. Yalman (eds.), Spolia Reincarnated: Afterlives of Objects, Materials, and Spaces in Anatolia from Antiquity to the Ottoman Era, Istanbul, 251-78. Parani, M. 2003. Reconstructing the Reality of Images: Byzantine Material Culture and Religious Iconography (11th-15th Centuries), Leiden & Boston. Peck, A. (ed.) 2013. Interwoven Globe: The Worldwide Textile Trade, 1500-1800, New Haven & London. Piotrovsky, M.B. and A.D. Pitula (eds.) 2006. Beyond the Palace Walls: Islamic Art from the State Hermitage Museum, Edinburgh.

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Riendl-Kiel, H. 2019. Audiences, banquets, garments and kisses: Encounters with the Ottoman Sultan in the 17th century, in: E. Orthmann and A. Kollatz (eds.), The Ceremonial of Audience: Transcultural approaches (Macht und Herrschaft, Vol. 2), Bonn, 169-207. Rutherford, J. 2004. Indicators of rank from Imperial China, in: J. Rutherford and J. Menzies (eds.), Celestial Silks: Chinese Religious and Court Textiles, Sydney, 83-9. Shalem, A. (ed.) 2017. The Chasuble of Thomas Becket: A Biography, Munich. Scarce, J. 2013. Safavid dress and Europe, in: A. Langer (ed.), The Fascination of Persia: The Persian-European Dialogue in Seventeenth-Century Art & Contemporary Art from Tehran, Zurich, 58-77. Schuyler, C. 1944. The development of the Mandarin Square, Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 8.2, 71-130. Schmidt, H.-P. 1980. The Sēmurw: Of birds and dogs and bats, Persica (Annual of the Dutch-Iranian Society), 9, 1-85. Soteriou, G. 1949. Τὰ λειτουργικὰ ἄμφια τῆς Ὀρθοδόξου Ἑλληνικῆς Ἐκκλησίας, Theologia 20.4, 603-14. Stankova, L. 2013. Ottoman motifs in Christian art in the Balkans (16th-17th centuries): Manuscripts and metalwork, in: F. Hitzel (ed.), 14th International Congress of Turkish Art-Proceedings, Paris, 737-45. Stankova, L. and L. Nenkovska 2009. The manuscript heritage of Ioan Kratovski, European Journal of Science and Theology 5.1, 13-24. Theochari, M. 1988. Χρυσοκέντητα Άμφια, in: A. Kominis (ed.), Οι Θησαυροί της Μονής Πάτμου, Athens, 185-217. Tezcan, H. 1999. Textiles of Asian origin arriving at the Ottoman palace from the 15th century onwards, in: F. Déroche et al. (eds.), Art Turc, Turkish Art, 10th International Congress of Turkish Art, 10e Congrès international d’art turc, Genève 17-23 septembre 1995, Actes-Proceedings, Geneva, 657-66. Tezcan, H. 2017. Sacred Covers of Islam’s Holy Shrines: with Samples from Topkapı Palace, Istanbul. Tsironi, N. (ed.) 2001. Ὦ γλυκύ μου ἔαρ: Ο Επιτάφιος Θρήνος, Athens. Vansina, J. 1985. Oral Tradition as History, Madison. Vishnevskaya, I.I. 2009. Eastern treasures of the Russian tsars, in: A. Konstantinovich Levykin (ed.), The Tsars and the East: Gifts from Turkey and Iran in the Moscow Kremlin, London, 1-13. Vryzidis, N. 2015. A study on Ottoman Christian aesthetic: Greek Orthodox vestments and ecclesiastical fabrics, 16th-18th centuries, unpublished doctoral dissertation, soas University of London.

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Vryzidis, N. 2017a. Towards a history of the Greek hil‘at: An interweaving of Byzantine and Ottoman traditions, Convivium: Exchanges and Interactions in the Arts of Medieval Europe, Byzantium, and the Mediterranean 4.2, 176-91. Vryzidis, N. 2017b. A preliminary note on the Greek Church’s use of Ottoman textiles, Transactions of the Oriental Ceramic Society 80, 83-94. Vryzidis, N. 2018a. Ottoman textiles and Greek clerical vestments: prolegomena on a neglected aspect of ecclesiastical material culture, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 42.1, 92-114. Vryzidis, N. 2018b. Threads of symbiosis: Ottoman silks for the Christian market, Orientalia Christiana Periodica 84.1, 133-66. Vryzidis, N. 2018c. Persian textiles in the Ottoman Empire: Evidence from Greek sacristies, Iran: Journal of the British Institute of Persian Studies 56.2, 228-36. Walker, A. 2010. Patterns of flight: Middle Byzantine adoptions of the Chinese feng huang bird, Ars Orientalis 38, 188-216. Walker, A. 2012. The Emperor and the World: Exotic Elements and the Imaging of Middle Byzantine Imperial Power, Ninth to Thirteenth Centuries CE, Cambridge & New York. Walter, C. 1982. Art and Ritual of the Byzantine Church, London. Washington, dc [Dumbarton Oaks] 1967. Handbook of the Byzantine Collection, Washington, dc. Washington, dc [Palace Arts Foundation] 2000. Palace of Gold & Light: Treasures from the Topkapı, İstanbul, Washington, dc. Wessel, K. 1971. Reallexikon zur byzantinischen Kunst, Stuttgart. Wilckens, L.von. 1992. Mittelalteriche Seidenstoffe: Seidenstoffe des 5.-14. Jahrnhunderts im Berliner Kunstfewerbemuseum, Berlin. Woodfin, W. 2014. Orthodox liturgical textiles and clerical self-referentiality, in: K. Dimitrova and M. Goehring (eds.), Dressing the Part: Textiles as Propaganda in the Middle Ages, Turnhout, 31-51. Woodfin, W. 2012. The Embodied Icon: Liturgical Vestments and Sacramental Power in Byzantium, Oxford & New York.

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fig. 1 – Textile bookbinding, 11th century, Byzantine; © Staatsbibliothek Bamberg, inv. no. Msc. Bilb.95 (Photo: Gerald Raab).

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fig. 2 – Phelonion, 17th-century (?) kehma (lampas silk); Vatopediou Monastery, Mount Athos, inv. no. 220, © Vatopediou Monastery, Mount Athos (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou).

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fig. 3 – Kemha (lampas) fragments, 17th-century, image used by permission; Topkapı Palace collection, inv. no. tsm 13-1747, © Directorate of the Topkapı Palace Museum.

fig. 4 – Detail of the ‘Vatopediou phelonion’ (Fig. 2); © Vatopediou Monastery, Mount Athos (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou).

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fig. 5 – Detail of the ‘Vatopediou phelonion’ (Fig. 2); © Vatopediou Monastery, Mount Athos (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou).

fig. 6 – Ottoman kemha (lampas silk), 16th-century; National Museum at Cracow, inv. no. xix-7169, © National Museum at Cracow.

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fig. 7 – Phelonion, 17th-century (?) kehma (lampas silk); Kremlin Museums, inv. no. oxr18360-01, © Kremlin Museums.

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fig. 8 – Introduction page for Luke, 1599 Greek Lectionary, from the Orthodox Patriarchate of Jerusalem; Chester Beatty Library, Dublin, inv. no. ga Lect 1031, © Chester Beatty Library, Dublin (image courtesy of The Center for the Study of New Testament Manuscripts).

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fig. 9 – Frontispiece of a Byzantine manuscript (eileton), 1429; Monastery of Saint John the Theologian, Patmos (inv. no. cod. 708), © Monastery of Saint John the Theologian, Patmos.

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fig. 10 – Marine pennon, 18th century, Ottoman; The State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg, inv. no. ezn-5994, © The State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg.

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fig. 11 – Sticharion, 17th-century Safavid lampas silk; Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos, inv. no. 198, © Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou).

fig. 12 – Detail of Fig. 11; © Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou).

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fig. 13 – Detail, epitrachelion, 17th-century Safavid lampas silk; Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos, inv. no. 141, © Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou).

fig. 14 – Epigonation, late 17th/18th-century Qing embroidery; © St. Stephen’s Nunnery, Meteora (unnumbered; photo: Manos Sinopoulos).

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fig. 15 – Detail from the Stralsund dalmatic, 13th-century Italian silk; © Abegg Stiftung, Riggisberg.

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appendix – a wov e n isl a m ic i nscr i p t ion by dimitr is loupis

text

guide

hādī

‫ﻫﺎدي‬

description The 94th attribute of God in Islam (Arabic al-asmāʾ al-husná, Ottoman el-esmāʾüʾ l-hüsná), Allāh alhādī (God, The Guide), here without article, is repeated four times in mirror effect (muthanná, Ott. müsenná) within a floral formation. The second syllable -dī takes place over the first syllable hā-, which is a common calligraphic practice (Ott. istif ), while there is, also, a calligraphic decorative sign called kalın cezim over the letter yāʾ . This is a graphic representation of the inscription without the mirror effect:

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Quelques aspects des relations entre productions textiles byzantine et arabe aux xe-xie siècles Marielle Martiniani-Reber

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con t e x t e h istor iqu e Trois ouvrages donnent un éclairage fondamental sur les relations entre les productions textiles byzantine et islamique, en particulier deux textes historiques qui constituent des sources essentielles à cette problématique. Le premier est le Livre du Préfet, manuscrit juridique dont le but est de réguler le commerce et l’artisanat dans la capitale (Fig. 1).1 Ce ne sont pas moins de six chapitres qui sont dédiés à différentes professions de la branche textile.2 L’unique manuscrit d’époque byzantine, dont le texte a été rédigé vers 911-912 par l’empereur Léon vi le sage (866-912), appartient à la Bibliothèque de Genève.3 Le second texte étudié est le Livre des dons et des raretés,4 qui dresse l’inventaire des présents diplomatiques échangés principalement entre Byzance et le monde arabe contemporain. Il n’est également connu que par un seul manuscrit conservé la bibliothèque Gedik Ahmet Paşa, à Afyon Karahisar. L’analyse de ces deux sources écrites sera complétée par des informations recueillies dans les représentations figurées, notamment par les splendides miniatures du Ménologe de Basile ii.5 De même, des rapprochements possibles avec les textiles conservés dans les trésors des églises occidentales seront examinés, certains d’entre eux ayant pu être l’objet d’échanges diplomatiques. À première vue, les sources ne sont pas exactement contemporaines ; on vient de lire que le Livre du Préfet date du début du xe siècle, alors que le Livre des dons et des raretés lui est postérieur de plus d’un siècle. Cependant ces ouvrages ont été produits tous deux dans un contexte politique et économique favorable : la renaissance macédonienne durant laquelle l’Empire byzantin connaît une relative stabilité après la fin The Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 185-204

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de l’époque iconoclaste et la perte d’une partie de ses territoires conquis par les Arabes pour le Livre du Préfet. Le second texte attribué au règne de al-Mustansir Billah (10291094), appartient donc à l’époque de la dynastie fatimide d’Égypte qui succède à la dislocation du pouvoir abbasside de Bagdad, et qui est caractérisée par une prospérité commerciale due à l’importance de sa production industrielle. Mais il est évident que ces deux sources reprennent des écrits plus anciens et couvrent ainsi une période bien plus large que celle de leur rédaction. Si le texte le plus ancien examiné, le manuscrit genevois du Livre du Préfet, est très bien connue depuis l’extrême fin du xixe siècle en raison de sa traduction et de son édition par le professeur genevois Jules Nicole,6 nous devons à la traduction intégrale de Ghādah al Hijjāwī al-Qaddumī et son édition commentée du Livre des dons et des raretés, en 1996, la large diffusion des informations fondamentales que nous apporte cet ouvrage. Ainsi, ces deux manuscrits uniques, complétés des miniatures d’un troisième, forment d’excellentes sources d’informations sur les échanges entre ces deux civilisations du textile ainsi que les définissait Maurice Lombard. Toutefois, ces textes doivent bien entendu perçus avec toute la prudence qui s’impose étant donné le contexte dans lequel ils ont été produits. Par exemple, la réglementation du Livre du Préfet a-t-elle été appliquée strictement au sein de l’Empire comme le préconise son auteur ou bien son strict usage relève-t-il du vœu pieux, comme d’autres sources semblent l’établir, tel le récit de Liutprand ?7  Le Livre des dons et des raretés, par sa large exagération des chiffres donnés qui, de toute évidence, ne doivent pas être pris à la lettre, montre l’attrait pour les objets d’art, et notamment pour les textiles dans la culture aulique arabo-islamique. Cette source reprise et réécrite comporte certainement des lacunes et des erreurs dans l’information qu’elle est censée apporter à ses lecteurs. Son rédacteur avoue qu’il n’a pas la connaissance directe des objets cités, mais cependant bon nombre des descriptions peuvent être rapprochées d’œuvres médiévales conservées. Notamment des images symboliques du pouvoir byzantin sur des textiles offerts aux souverains arabes se retrouvent aussi dans les reliquaires des églises occidentales, attestant ainsi d’une politique de dons diplomatiques analogue. Et si l’iconographie des textiles joue un rôle éminent dans la composition de ces dons précieux, ces échanges sont aussi une manière d’étaler la richesse de l’État donateur ainsi qu’une mise en valeur de sa production. Le troisième ouvrage pris en considération dans ce bref essai, le Ménologe de Basile ii, est sans doute le témoignage le plus fiable. Il s’agit, en effet, d’un livre-objet d’art qui, produit à Constantinople, nous offre des images réalistes de costumes et tissus byzantins mais montre aussi l’état des connaissances des textiles islamiques à Constantinople au

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tournant de l’an 1000. La précision des illustrations et la variété des textiles représentés permettent, en effet d’y retrouver des témoignages qui nous ont été conservés, soit dans les trésors de nos églises, soit dans le matériel retrouvé dans les fouilles d’Égypte.8 l e l i v r e du pr éf et Le Livre du Préfet commence sa série des six chapitres consacrés au textile par le règlement appliqué aux vestiopratai, vendeurs de vêtements de soie. L’information principale à en retenir est la stricte limitation du commerce des soieries teintes à la pourpre. La réglementation la plus sévère concerne les serikarioi, c’est-à-dire les soyeux. Il leur était interdit de tisser des soies pourpres, ou pourpres et vertes, ou également pourpres et jaunes. Il apparaît ainsi que cette sorte de textiles devait être l’apanage des ateliers impériaux. Nous connaissons plusieurs soieries offrant cette combinaison de couleurs conservées dans des trésors ecclésiastiques, qui sont sans doute des produits des ateliers impériaux parvenus jusqu’à nous par des échanges diplomatiques (Fig. 2). Étayant notre propos, le Livre du Préfet nous donne un renseignement important sur les tissus ou les vêtements islamiques vendus à Constantinople. La corporation des prandiopratai, à laquelle est dédié le chapitre v, a la fonction de commercialiser les tissus et les vêtements « syriens », en réalité produits dans le califat abbasside. Certains des articles cités offrent un intérêt particulier en raison de leur dénomination, puisqu’ils portent une appellation d’origine arabe comme τὰ χαρέρια (ta chareria) pour soie, harir en arabe, ou τὰ βαγδαδικὰ (ta bagdadika), sans doute à l’origine une spécialité textile de Bagdad, ou encore αὐδιὰ (audia), sans doute l’abaya. Cependant, d’autres sont plus malaisés à interpréter, comme par exemple τὰ φουφούλια ( foufoulia).9 Toutefois, nous sommes réduits ici à des hypothèses car certaines dénominations textiles d’origine arabe employées dans le Livre du Préfet restent encore peu claires à nos yeux. Il en est de même pour les θάλασσαι (thalassai), qui pourraient bien être le fameux tissu très apprécié des Byzantins et des Arabes, ainsi que des Arméniens selon le témoignage précis de Procope de Césarée.10 Cette étoffe qui s’apparente par son aspect à une soierie est fabriquée à partir d’une fibre composée de filaments produits par de grosses moules est parfois désignée de manière erronée sous le terme de byssus.11 Elle était appelée soie ou laine de mer, en arabe et en grec).12 Le passage du règlement du Préfet sur les prandiopratai, révèle aussi la présence de commerçants de tissus arabes à Constantinople, ce qui pourrait expliquer l’excellente connaissance de ces textiles chez les Constantinopolitains, comme l’attestent les huit peintres qui ont créé les miniatures du Ménologe de Basile ii,13 vers l’an 1000. Ce splendide manuscrit nous montre quantité de représentations de costumes byzantins et arabes et constitue sans doute la meilleure source pour les recherches dans ce

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domaine.14 On peut notamment y découvrir Byzantins et Arabes revêtus des mêmes soies incisées typiques de cette époque (Fig. 3). Dans ce ménologe, les musulmans, qui symbolisent de façon insistante les bourreaux auteurs d’actes de martyre souvent antérieurs à la naissance de l’Islam, portent souvent des tuniques (chitons) à taille haute, ceinturées, et parfois aux manches ornées d’une bande d’épaule figurant peut-être un tiraz. Cependant, la meilleure preuve de la connaissance directe du tissu islamique des miniaturistes du ménologe est l’illustration du massacre des moines du Sinaï par les Blemmyes, peuple tribal vivant au bord de la mer Rouge. L’un de ces assaillants, le premier sur la gauche de l’image, revêt une tunique taillée dans un ikat yéménite (Fig.4).15 Le miniaturiste a, comme à l’accoutumée, habillé les Blemmyes du vie siècle, de vêtements arabo-musulmans contemporains. Plusieurs passages du Livre du Préfet révèlent que les Byzantins craignaient que leurs secrets de fabrication soient divulgués et imités. Ainsi, il était strictement interdit de céder des esclaves et ouvriers libres et certaines catégories de tissus ne pouvaient être commercialisés au-delà de Constantinople ou en dehors de l’Empire. D’autres, en revanche, étaient fabriqués pour l’exportation, mais ils étaient taxés et frappés du sceau du Préfet. Le Livre du Préfet montre la part importante du textile dans l’économie de la ville et la nécessité de faire tous les efforts possibles pour protéger les procédés techniques de la concurrence arabe.16 Il est bien établi que l’Islam médiéval connaissait la même organisation que Byzance. Le muhtasib avait une fonction identique à celle du préfet. De même, la production textile était divisée entre ateliers publics et privés, mais malheureusement il n’existe aucun texte équivalent au Livre du Préfet. En revanche, une autre source arabe nous informe sur les types de textiles qui, échangés, jouent un rôle important dans la politique étrangère byzantine et arabe. l e l i v r e des dons et des r a r et és Cet ouvrage, qui a pour titre le Livre des dons et des raretés (Kitab al-Hadayawa el Tuhaf ), comprend 57 folios, et constitue une sélection d’un texte original plus complet. Son auteur était probablement un fonctionnaire fatimide, vivant sous le règne d’al-Mustansir (1036-1094), qui reprit des sources plus anciennes comme des écrits analogues rédigés sous al-Qadiar-Rashid. Ce texte est particulièrement intéressant pour les xe-xie siècles et représente un témoignage extraordinaire pour l’étude de la culture matérielle en usage auprès des souverains et des cours, en nous informant sur la composition des échanges diplomatiques entre Byzantins et Arabes, et également sur le décorum des cérémonies et le rituel des réceptions.

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On a écrit que ce document était très important pour les historiens de l’art islamique, mais son intérêt couvre un espace qui dépasse les frontières du califat, car les descriptions des objets d’art échangés entre les différents États sont parfois très précises. Toutefois, il semble que l’auteur ne soit pas toujours à même de comprendre la signification de l’iconographie des artefacts qu’il cite. Visiblement, une chasse impériale byzantine offerte par Romain i Lécapène (ca. 870-948) au calife ar-Radi bi-llah (909940), en 938, devient une représentation de rois cavaliers accompagnés d’animaux divers (Fig. 5).17 Dans le Livre des dons et des raretés, il apparaît que des tissus précieux produits par les Byzantins soient échangés entre Arabes, tel le millier de soieries de fabrication rûmi offert par Amr ben al-Layth al-Saffar (r. 879-901) en 895 à al-Mu’tadid bi-Allah (r. 892-902).18 En revanche, ce sont bien de fins textiles de lin (daqq), contenus dans deux boîtes qui parviennent au même calife, donnés par Ibn Tulun (ca. 835-884) qui devait tenir à valoriser la production de l’Égypte qu’il gouvernait. Le même calife, al-Mu’tadid,19 reçoit encore des soies pourpres ornées de fils d’or de la part d’Abu al-Musaffir (gouverneur de Qinnisrin en Syrie du Nord), celles-ci, accompagnées d’une ceinture rûmi.20 Auparavant, ces dons avaient été reçus de l’empereur byzantin, complétés d’autres textiles en dibaj, tissu orné de fils d’argent,21 buzyun, peut-être dérivé d’une appellation grecque,22 et siqlatun. Ce dernier terme est diversement interprété : peut-être une spécialité de soyeux siciliens, ou une soie ornée de médaillons évoquant des sceaux, ou encore, plus vraisemblablement, une translittération arabe du grec σιγγιλάτον (siggilaton) indiquant un produit des ateliers impériaux ou contrôlés portant le sceau préfectoral.23 Les tissus byzantins les plus précieux arrivaient dans le monde arabe en donations impériales.24 Romain I Lécapène et ses coempereurs Constantin vii (905-959) et Etienne (r. 924-944) offrent une série d’étoffes au calife ar-Radi bi-Allah:25 trois écharpes en lin,26 dont une ornée d’or et de petites rosaces, et une autre de rosaces plus importantes, deux turbans en laine et soie comportant des rayures dorées, sept dessus de table en soie, l’un bicolore montrant des aigles, un autre rouge orné de motifs floraux, un offrant des arbres sur un fond blanc,27 deux autres dessus de table montrent un chasseur inscrit dans un médaillon circulaire sur un fond blanc, deux lions tapis, ou plus vraisemblablement rampants sur un fond jaune;28 s’ajoutent à cet ensemble dix pièces de siqlatun rouge. Le don de Romain comprend encore dix pièces de tissu teint à la pourpre. Il s’agit d’un des dons textiles les plus significatifs transmis par le Livre des dons. Le texte continue son énumération en mentionnant des velours (mukhammalah), dont deux pièces ornées d’un aigle et de deux chevaux sur un fond violet. Ce terme de mukhammalah désigne certainement un bouclé par la trame, car le véritable velours

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ne parvient au Proche-Orient qu’à la période ottomane à l’extrême fin du xve siècle.29 Deux autres tissus portent le même décor, mais sans l’effet de velours ; un autre tissu est décoré d’un palmier sur un fond vert que nous pouvons peut-être rapprocher des exemplaires de la chasse de Bahram Gour (400-438);30 le passage cite encore dix pièces de sundus, probablement du taffetas. Toutefois nous pouvons avoir un doute sur cette identification technique car les tissus sont figurés; un sundus porte la représentation d’un souverain cavalier tenant un drapeau. Un autre montre un oiseau combattant un lion, deux autres un animal ailé, un autre exemple montre un aigle saisissant un onagre, d’autres des capridés sauvages, sans doute s’agit-il plutôt des bouquetins ou des béliers à l’intérieur de six médaillons circulaires (Fig. 6), un autre sundus comporte quinze médaillons circulaires se détachant sur un fond blanc. Il est possible qu’on ait affaire là à des motifs brodés ou encore à des taffetas liserés ou des taquetés façonnés, et non à de simples taffetas.31 La mention de motifs multiples laisse davantage penser à un tissage façonné plutôt qu’à une broderie effectuée sur une toile ou sur un taffetas. On doit également se poser la question de la nature des dix manteaux de velours, complétant ce don, dont certains peuvent être de deux sortes d’après les témoignages textiles parvenus jusqu’à nous : des toiles de lin bouclées par la trame comme les témoignages de l’Égypte copte, ou des toiles de laine grattée connues en Perse sassanide,32 ou en Arménie.33 Parmi ces manteaux, l’un est en siqlatun vert et orné d’éléphants,34 tandis qu’une autre porte des rosaces à l’intérieur desquelles s’inscrivent des canards, motifs qui proviennent de l’art textile sassanide et post-sassanide.35 Bien que certaines descriptions soient suffisamment précises pour que l’on puisse effectuer des rapprochements cohérents avec des tissus que nous avons conservés, on doit remarquer qu’à la fin de ce long passage qui énumère encore d’autres notices textiles, l’auteur s’excuse d’avoir dû l’écrire sans avoir vu les artefacts mentionnés. Parmi les donations figurent des textiles aux fonctions bien définies, bien éloignées du vêtement d’honneur ou de la simple laize de tissu. Le texte du Livre des dons et des raretés atteste, en effet, que des dons impériaux étaient transportés par des animaux harnachés de tissus précieux,36 l’empereur Constantin ix Monomaque (r. 1042-1055) offre au calife al-Mustansir bi-llah, cent cinquante mules et chevaux, chacun recouvert d’une selle de brocart et cinquante mules portant des boîtes enveloppées de taffetas de soie (sundusiyya hibrisam). Ces boîtes contenaient divers objets précieux dont des émaux en champlevé, et mille turbans de taffetas de soie. Ainsi des selles pouvaient être recouvertes de soierie ; un passage précise que de tels harnachements avaient été offerts à diverses reprises au calife Al-Mu’izz (932-975). Nous pouvons avoir une idée de ce type d’équipement précieux grâce à un exemple post-sassanide conservé à la Fondation Abegg, réalisé en samit façonné (Fig. 7).37 Le

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texte mentionne aussi que des tentes pouvaient être fabriquées en étoffes précieuses comme le khusruwani, originaire de Perse d’après son nom. Sayf ad-Dawlah (916-967) en possédait une en brocart qui pouvait accueillir cinq cents hommes. Ce type de tentes est également connu par d’autres témoignages,38 ainsi que par des miniatures comme par exemple celles de la Chronique de Skylitzès.39 On peut s’interroger sur l’usage que l’on pouvait faire de certains tissus bien caractéristiques comme cette pièce de brocart ornée d’une broderie si compacte et épaisse que la mule qui la transportait ne pouvait rien charrier d’autre en raison de son poids. Cette étoffe si particulière faisait partie d’un lot offert par Al-Amir Nasir ad-Dawlah, en 1071, à Romain Diogène (ca. 1030-1072),40 qui comportait aussi parmi des objets précieux, plusieurs pièces de brocart, dont une ornée d’aigles couleur de vin sur fond blanc dont il est spécifié qu’elle était très lourde et précieuse, un vêtement de broderie d’or épaisse et serrée, ainsi que plusieurs habits polychromes (wašy), de la soie (khazz), des rideaux rouges ornés de fils d’or. Le chapitre consacré aux festivités et aux réceptions, s’il ne traite plus uniquement des échanges textiles, s’avère extrêmement évocateur quant aux tissus utilisés pour l’ameublement lors des grandes occasions. L’événement le plus extraordinaire qui est évoqué dans ce chapitre est sans conteste la réception de 917, dans laquelle deux envoyés de l’empereur byzantin Constantin vii (905-959) viennent s’acquitter de la rançon de prisonniers.41 Ils voyagèrent de Constantinople à Bagdad chargés de cadeaux. La salle d’audience était décorée de belles draperies (sutur),42 et de tapis (busut). Le vizir Ibn al-Furat (855-924) exigea encore davantage de tapis et de broderies. La description devient alors totalement irréaliste : 38.000 tentures, parmi lesquelles 12.500 en brocart d’or, certaines avec des médaillons contenant des représentations de chevaux, chameaux, éléphants et lions ; certains comportant des inscriptions brodées d’or. Vingt mille cinq cents grandes tentures viennent de Chine, d’Arménie et d’Iraq (Wasit). À ce gigantesque ensemble s’ajoutent encore des tentures de dabiqi, fine toile de lin produite en Égypte. Huit mille tentures portaient des inscriptions de tiraz au nom des califes alMa’mun (786-833), al-Mu’tasim (796-842), al-Mutawwakkil (822-861), al-Mu’tazz (847-869), al-Muktafi (d. 908) tandis que le reste mentionnait d’autres califes. On suppose que ces tiraz étaient brodés, mais ils pouvaient également être réalisés lors du tissage ou même être peints une fois le tissu sorti du métier (Fig. 8).43 Toujours lors de cette réception, les plus beaux tapis avaient été sortis ; d’après le témoignage du Livre des dons et des raretés, ils provenaient de Juhrum, dans la péninsule arabique, d’Arménie,44 ou de Dawraq dans le Huzistan. Dans le reste du palais, les tapis déployés montraient les images de rivières déversant leurs flots. Le chapitre se termine sur l’heureuse

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issue de la négociation durant laquelle les envoyés de Byzance reçoivent la khila’ (robe d’honneur), accompagnée de bon nombre de vêtements dont des manteaux à capuche, des châles de soie ornés d’or et des turbans de soie ; l’interprète, Ibn Abd al-Baqi, n’est pas oublié puisqu’il reçoit aussi une khila’, en remerciement de ses bons services. Le cinquième chapitre du Livre des dons et des raretés est consacré aux objets exotiques et aux trésors sauvegardés. On y trouve des informations que les observateurs ont pu donner après un séjour dans l’Empire byzantin. Abu al-Fadl (d. 1077) décrit une cérémonie conduite par l’empereur Romain Diogène, en 1071, à Constantinople:45 ‘Il était revêtu d’un habit tel que ceux que leurs empereurs portent avec grande difficulté, comme ils ne sont pas capables, ni de le soulever correctement, ni de s’asseoir avec, à cause de son poids trop important, mais aussi parce que ces empereurs sont trop faibles pour le supporter.’46 Le vêtement de Romain, à en croire Abu al-Fadl, comportait 30.000 perles. Durant les réceptions, le même auteur indique que l’empereur byzantin est chaussé de hautes bottes rouges, ce qui est conforme à ce que l’on en sait par l’iconographie. En revanche lorsqu’il précise que ceux qui sont au-dessous de lui portent une botte rouge et une noire, le témoignage semble étrange car il n’est pas corroboré par les documents figurés ou les sources écrites. Abu al-Fadl rapporte aussi que, durant ses voyages, l’empereur Romain revêt ses costumes habituels, ornés de pierres précieuses et de grosses perles,47 y compris lors de ses expéditions militaires, ce que relève également l’iconographie byzantine. conclusion Les deux textes sont d’essence différente, le manuscrit byzantin énumérant les contrôles et les mesures destinées à protéger les productions et le commerce, le manuscrit arabe évoquant principalement les étoffes de luxe déployés lors des échanges diplomatiques, mais accompagnés des miniatures du manuscrit impérial de Basile ii, tous deux offrent une vue saisissante des productions textiles de luxe de cette région du monde. Leur examen attentif permet des rapprochements avec des témoignages encore bien présents dans certains trésors d’églises occidentales ou exhumés du sol égyptien. Le Livre des dons et des raretés montre une image certainement bien exagérée du déploiement de rideaux, tentures et autres tissus d’ameublement durant les réceptions, mais l’amplification des chiffres de ses énumérations est en soi-même un marqueur évident de l’importance accordée à l’époque au mobilier textile. Les indications de ces textes et les illustrations du Ménologe établissent que les deux « civilisations du textile » connaissaient la production de l’une et de l’autre, et partageaient des goûts

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communs pour la richesse des matériaux, la nature de certains décors, ce qui a élaboré un vocabulaire artistique présentant de nombreux points communs. Le thème des relations artistiques et techniques textiles s’inscrit bien sûr dans un contexte beaucoup plus large. En effet, nous connaissons l’adoption des caractères pseudo-coufiques dans le décor architectural, sur la céramique, le verre, sujet dont l’étude a été abordée par George Miles, il y a quelques décennies. À ce mouvement artistique répond l’importance de l’influence byzantine sur l’enluminure et les arts décoratifs islamiques48. Toutefois, les tissus et surtout les soieries, en raison de la facilité avec laquelle on les transportait, et l’attrait auprès des souverains et des cours du Proche-Orient, sont sans aucun doute des supports privilégiés pour étudier les courants d’influence entre ces deux civilisations.

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not es 1 2 3

Pour un article récent sur le Livre du Préfet,

rapprochée du mot arabe désignant le poivre

avec bibliographie, voir Rey 2015, 95-6.

(Nicole 1894). 10 Voir Dewing 1947, B 247, 20 et 182-3.

Sur la question des textiles, dans le même volume voir Martiniani-Reber 2015a, 239.

L’identification des thalassai à la soie marine

Bibliothèque de Genève, MS Gr. 23, Ormont

a déjà été proposée dans Jaroszynski et Kotolowska 2013, 39-46.

133.

11 Voir Maeder et al. 2004.

4 Voir Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996. Sur les textiles

12 Ce type d’étoffes est d’ailleurs mentionné

voir aussi Landry 2010. 5

Bibliothèque apostolique vaticane, ms graec.

dans le Livre des dons et des raretés (Hijjāwī

1613 ; pour la question des tissus représentés

Qaddūmī 1996, 92 (paragraphe 69)).

dans cet ouvrage, voir Cornu et Martiniani-

13 Pour les huit peintres des miniatures du ménologe, voir Ševčenko 1962, 244–70.

Reber 1997, 45-64.

14 Ces miniatures donnent des représentations

6 Jules Nicole, professeur fut professeur de langue et de littérature grecque à l’Université

uniques du costume islamique des environs

de Genève de 1874 à 1917. En plus de ses

de l’an 1000, en l’absence de source figurée

traductions et éditions du manuscrit du

arabe offrant une telle précision à cette

Livre du Préfet, en 1893 et 1894, dont il fut

époque. 15 Technique de tissage où les fils de la chaîne

le premier à reconnaître l’intérêt, on lui doit aussi des traductions commentées de textes

ou/et de la trame sont mesurés et teints avant

inédits de Ménandre et d’Homère. Voir

le tissage, ce qui donne au décor un effet

Nicole 1894.

de flouté qui semble avoir été très apprécié

7 Muthesius 1993, 99-107.

au Yémen dont cette technique était la

8

On peut s’interroger sur la manière dont les

spécialité aux xe-xie siècles. Au Yémen,

huit illustrateurs du Ménologe de Basile ii

les ikats étaient en coton et seuls les fils de chaîne étaient teints avant le tissage.

s’étaient documenté sur les différents textiles

9

qu’ils ont représentés. Croisaient-ils dans les

16 La concurrence entre ces deux civilisations

rues de la capitale byzantine des personnages

du textile que sont Byzance et le monde

vêtus de ces tissus ? Les voyaient-ils en vente

arabo-islamique contemporain devait

auprès des prandioprates évoqués dans le

être féroce ; on en a un exemple avec

Livre du Préfet?

l’invention du lampas qui apparaît quasi

Pour Johannes Koder il s’agirait de

simultanément, autour de l’an 1000, dans

larges pantalons, sortes de sarouels (cette

ces deux régions.

interprétation n’est pas commentée) (Koder

17 Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996, 99-100 (paragraphe 73).

1991), tandis que pour Jules Nicole ce serait des tissus tachetés, ce qui semble plus

18 Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996, 87 (paragraphe. 57).

conforme à l’étymologie, car l’appellation est 19 Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996, 89 (paragraphe 62).

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être provenant de cadeaux diplomatiques. À la différence des bouclés par la trame coptes, le velours nécessite une chaîne supplémentaire et les boucles sont effectuées par cette chaîne. La technique est donc radicalement différente même si l’effet de boucles peut à première vue paraître assez proche de la toile bouclée. Pour une analyse précise des techniques employées dans le tissage des velours italiens, voir Buss 2009.

20 Peut-être émaillé ou niellé selon Ghada al-Qaddumi, voir Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996, 89 (paragraphe 62). 21 Voir Gibb, Kramers, Lévi-Provençal, Schacht et al. 1960, 993, pour les nombreuses variétés de ce tissu. 22 Voir Lombard 1978, 244-5. 23 Voir Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996, 288 (note 29) qui indique toutefois que certaines sources arabes y voient là un tissu imprimé à la planche. Voir aussi Koutava-Delivoria 1990, 49-53.

30 Pour une étude récente concernant les

24 La fonction des échanges diplomatiques a été

soieries de Bahram Gour, voir Martiniani-

largement analysée par Anthony Cutler. Voir Cutler 2002, 247-78.

Reber 2015b, 11-4. 31 Les termes techniques utilisés dans cet article sont tous empruntés au Vocabulaire

25 Voir Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996, 99-101

technique des tissus anciens du Centre

(paragraphe 73)

international d’ étude des tissus anciens

26 Il est possible que ces tissus aient été destinés à des turbans ; pour ce type de tissus, voir

(cieta), Lyon. Voir à ce sujet Guicherd et

Cornu et al. 1993, no 105, 182 et nos 113 à 131,

Vial 1957.

192 à 221.

32 Martiniani-Reber 1997, 41-74

27 Nous connaissons des tapisseries coptes de ce 33 Voir le tympan de la porte ouest de l’église de Mren qui offre une représentation précise

type : voir Stauffer 1991, 35-53. 28 Voir Muthesius 1997, 34-43.

de ce type de tissu (Martiniani-Reber 2008,

29 A partir de cette époque, se développe

141-54).

la fabrication des velours aussi bien en

34 Voir Muthesius 1997.

Italie (Venise, Ligurie et Toscane) que

35 Voir Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996, 103-6 (paragraphes 77 à 80).

dans l’Empire ottoman (Brousse et Constantinople). Cette concurrence

36 Voir Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996, 108-9

crée une émulation et améliore la qualité

(paragraphe 82), il s’agit probablement

technique et décorative. À la différence des

davantage d’un tribut de grande valeur que d’un don diplomatique.

velours Renaissance, ceux produits dans l’Empire ottoman sont toujours coupés. Les

37 Voir Schorta 1998, 70-3, pour une selle

Italiens copient fréquemment les modèles

à décor d’oiseaux affrontés dans des

ottomans, voir catalogue de l’exposition

médaillons, d’inspiration sassanide, datée

Topkapi à Versailles (Saule, Desroches,

de la fin du viiie siècle ou du début du ixe

Yerasimos et al. 1999, 83-96), pour des caftans en velours italien, peut-

siècle. 38 Lombard 1978, 188-90.

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39 Ce manuscrit est conservé à la Bibliothèque

46 Cette dernière remarque renforce la description d’un souverain rival

nationale de Madrid, voir Tsamakda 2002.

extrêmement faible, manière pour l’auteur

40 Voir Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996, 116-77

de discréditer l’empereur de Byzance.

(paragraphe 105).

Celui-ci ploie littéralement sous le poids des

41 Voir Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996, 148-55

matériaux les plus précieux, mais demeure

(paragraphes 161-163).

quasi incapable de se mouvoir, toutefois, il

42 Voir sur la question des tentures dans le monde arabe à l’époque classique (Cornu

apparaît que chez les auteurs arabes comme

1999, 307-22).

chez les byzantins, le poids est un indicateur de la valeur d’une soierie ou d’une broderie.

43 Voir Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996, 151.Les différentes sortes de tiraz ont été étudiées

47 Peut-être la précision de la taille indique que

par Georgette Cornu, notamment dans

ce ne sont pas de petites perles d’eau douce,

Tissus d’Égypte, témoins du monde arabe,

mais des perles de mer, bien plus rares et plus

viiie-xve siècles (Cornu 1993, 166-221).

précieuses.

44 L’Arménie était renommée dans le monde

48 Sur cette question, voir notamment Grabar

arabe pour la qualité de ses tapis. Voir

1951, 32-60 ; Miles 1971, 373-7; puis plus

Martiniani-Reber, 2008, 143-4.

généralement Grabar 1997, 115-29; également Walker 2012a, 385-413, Idem 2012b, 80-107.

45 Hijjāwī Qaddūmī 1996, 196-7 (par. 263).

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bi bl iogr a ph i e Bibliothèque de Genève, MS Gr. 23, Ormont 133. Buss, C. (éd.) 2009. Seta Oro Cremisi, Segreti e tecnologia alla corte dei Visconti e degli Sforza, Milan. Cornu, G. et M. Martiniani-Reber 1997. Étoffes et vêtements dans le ménologe de Basile ii : reflets des courants d’échanges entre Byzance et le monde islamique, Quaderni di Studi Arabi, 15, 45-64. Cornu, G. 1999. Tentures et textiles dans le monde arabo-islamique oriental jusqu’à l’époque mamlûke, dans: F. Piponnier (éd.), Tentures médiévales dans le monde occidental et arabo-islamique,Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, Rome, 307-22. Cornu, G. et al. 1993. Tissus d’Egypte, témoins du monde arabe, viiie-xve siècles, Thonon-les-Bains, Genève & Paris. Cutler, A. 2001. Exchanges of Clothing in Byzantium and Islam; Assymetrical Sources, Symmetrical Practices, dans: Comité d’organisation du xxe Congrès international des études byzantines (éd.), Pré-actes, I Séances plénières, 3, xxe congrès international des études byzantines, Paris, 91-5. Cutler, A. 2002. Gifts and gift Exchange as Aspects of the Byzantine, Arab and Related Economics, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 55, 247-78. Dewing, H.B. (éd.) 1947. Procopius: Buildings, Cambridge, ma & Londres. Hijjāwī Qaddūmī, G. (éd.) 1996. The Book of Gifts and Rarities: Selections Compiled in the Fifteenth Century from an Eleventh-century Manuscript on Gifts and Treasures, Cambridge, ma. Gibb, Η.Α.R., J.H. Kramers, E. Lévi-Provençal, J. Schacht et al. (éds.) 1960. Encyclopédie de l’Islam ι, Leyde & Boston. Grabar, A. 1951. Le succès des arts orientaux à la cour byzantine sous les Macédoniens, Münchner Jahrbuch der bildenden Kunst 32 : 2, 32-60. Grabar, O. 1997. The Shared Culture of Objects, in: H. Maguire (éd.), Byzantine Court Culture from 829 to 1204, Washington, dc, 115-29. Guicherd F. et G. Vial 1957. Vocabulaire technique des tissus anciens du Centre international d’ étude des tissus anciens (cieta), Lyon. Jaroszynski, A. et A. Kotlowska 2013. Eparchikon biblion v,2. Is Thalassai the same as Byssos?, Studia Ceranea, 3, 39-46. Koder, J. 1991. Das Eparchenbuch Leons des Weisen, Vienne. Kondakov, N. 1924. Les costumes orientaux à la cour byzantine, Byzantion, 1, 7-49. Koutava- Delivoria, B. 1990. Siklat, siglaton, sigillatum, Studies in Byzantine Sigillography, 2, 49-53.

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Landry, W. 2010. Kitab al-Hadayawa al-Tuhaf : A Unique Window on Islamic Textiles (Online) dans: Textiles and Settlement: From Plains Space to Cyber Space, Textile Society of America 12th Biennial Symposium, Lincoln, Nebraska, October 6-9, 2010, à consulter à l’adresse suivante: http//digitalcommons.unl.edu/tsaconf32. Lombard, M. 1978. Les textiles dans le monde musulman, viie-xiie siècle, Paris. Maeder, F., A. Hänggi et D. Wunderlin (éds.) 2004. Bisso marino. Fili d’oro dal fondo del mare-Muschelseide. Goldene Fäden vom Meeresgrund. Catalogo della mostra, Bâle & Milan. Martiniani-Reber, M. 1997.Textiles et mode sassanides, Département des Antiquités égyptiennes, Paris, 41-74. Martiniani-Reber, M. 2008. Les tissus médiévaux arméniens: essai d’identification, dans: B. Mugrdechian (éd.) Between Paris and Fresno, Armenian Studies in Honor of Dickran Kouymjian, Costa Mesa, 141-54. Martiniani-Reber M. (éd.) 2015a. Byzance en Suisse, Genève & Milan. Martiniani-Reber, M. 2015b. Les enveloppes des reliques de saint Philibert au trésor de la cathédrale de Sens, Lettre aux amis de l’ île de Noirmoutier 177, 11-4. Miles, C. G. 1971. Painted Pseudo-Kufic Ornamentation in Byzantine Churches in Greece, dans: M. Berza, E. Stănescu et al. (éds). Actes du xive congrès international des études byzantines iii, Bucarest, 373-7. Muthesius, A. M. 1993. Silk, Power and Diplomacy in Byzantium, dans: coll., Textiles in Daily Life: Proceedings of the Third Biennial Symposium of the Textile Society of America, September 24–26, 1992, Earleville, 99-107. Muthesius, A. 1997. Byzantine Silk Weaving, ad 400 to ad 1200, Vienne. Nicole, J. (éd.) 1894. Le Livre de Préfet, Genève & Bâle. Pilz, E. 1997. Middle Byzantine Court Costume, in: H. Maguire (éd.), Byzantine Court Culture from 829 to 1204, Washington, dc, 39-51. Rey, A.-I. 2015. Introduction au Livre du Préfet: Le Livre du Préfet, édicté entre septembre 911 et mai 912 par Léon vi le Sage, in: M. Martiniani-Reber (éd.) Byzantine en Suisse, Genève et Milan, 95-6. Saule, B., J.-P. Desroches, S. Yerasimos et al. 1999. Topkapi à Versailles: Trésors de la Cour ottomane, Paris. Schorta, R. 1998. Die Sattelstoff, Inv. Nr. 4866/4870/4906/4922, Entlang der Seidenstrasse, Riggisberger Berichte 6, Riggisberg, 70-3. Ševčenko, I. 1962. The Illuminators of the Menologium of Basil ii, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 16, 244–70. Stauffer, A. 1991. Textiles d’Egypte de la collection Bouvier, Antiquité tardive, période copte, premiers temps de l’Islam, Berne. Tsamakda, V. 2002, Illustrated Chronicle of Ioannes Skylitzes in Madrid, Leyde.

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Walker, A. 2012a. Islamicising Motifs in Byzantine Lead Seals, Exoticising Style and the Expression of Identity, The Medieval History Journal 15: 2, 385-413. Walker, A. 2012b.The Emperor and the World: Exotic Elements and the Imaging of Middle Byzantine Imperial Power, Ninth to Thirteenth Centuries CE, Cambridge, ma.

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fig. 1 – Sceau de Serge, protospathaire et préfet, Constantinople, 2e quart du xie siècle, Collection du Cabinet de numismatique; Musée d’art et d’histoire, Genève, inv. no. cdn 2004-487.

fig. 2 – Fragment de soierie à médaillons, Constantinople, xie-xiie siècle; Musées cantonaux du Valais, inv. no. mv 12882a.

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fig. 3 – Ménologe de Basile ii, Martyre de saint Philippe apôtre, Constantinople, vers l’an 1000; Bibliothèque apostolique vaticane, ms graec. 1613, fol. 182.

fig. 4 – Ménologe de Basile ii, Massacre des Pères du Sinaï par les Blemmyes, Constantinople, vers l’an 1000; Bibliothèque apostolique vaticane, ms graec. 1613, fol. 316.

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fig. 5 – Suaire de saint Calais, Empire byzantin ou Perse post-sassanide, ixe siècle; Église paroissiale Saint-Calais, Saint-Calais (Sarthe).

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fig. 6 – Suaire de sainte Vérène, Empire byzantin, seconde moitié du xe siècle, Église paroissiale Sainte-Vérène, Bad Zurzach.

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fig. 7 – Couverture de selle, Asie centrale, fin viiie ou début ixe siècle; Fondation Abegg, Riggisberg (Berne), inv. no 4866, 4870, 4906, 4922.

fig. 8 – Fragment de turban, Égypte fatimide, califat d’Az-Zahir (1021-1035); Musée d’art et d’histoire, Genève, inv. no. aa 2004-90.

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Osmosis in Ottoman Constantinople: The iconography of Greek church embroidery Elena Papastavrou

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a by z a n t i n e t r a di t ion f e rt i l i z e d by ot tom a n a n d i ta l i a n e l e m e n ts This article sets out to discuss the cultural osmosis reflected in embroideries of the Greek Church made in Constantinople in Ottoman times. As a starting point, I shall focus on compositions in which the Byzantine tradition of Greek church embroideries mingles with Ottoman and Italian elements, the origin of which is detectable in the earlier production. This is, however, not a straightforward matter, for although the imperial capital was captured by the Ottomans in 1453, the first examples of Greek church embroidery which can be ascribed to Ottoman Constantinople are only known from the 16th century. One of these pieces is an epitaphios veil at the Iveron Monastery (Fig.1), which can be attributed to a Constantinopolitan workshop which was active during the patriarchate of Jeremiah ii Tranos (1536-1595).1 This accomplished embroidery represents the style of this period, in which the Byzantine figural tradition is fertilized by Ottoman aniconic aesthetics.2 The Lamentation, a classic Byzantine iconographic type, is complemented by inscriptions which support its liturgical character. Placed under a ciborium is a decorated shroud on which Christ’s body lies, with the shroud itself set upon an altar and supported by a stem. The Virgin appears in smaller scale, mourning over Christ. The central narrative is framed by angelic orders and stars, as well as by the four symbols of the evangelists. The Ottoman motifs primarily appear on Christ’s shroud, as an asymmetrical reinterpretation of contemporary striped silks, with the stripes being filled with a mix of widely-used floral motifs.3 In addition, next to Christ’s head is a depiction of a knot The Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 205-230

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motif which was quite popular in Byzantine art.4 This motif sometimes also appears on Ottoman silks, but is more common in Greek embroideries of this period.5 Finally, the red border framing the main subject is filled with 16th-century Ottoman floral ornaments, which are perhaps somewhat less reconfigured than those on the shroud,6 and bears the names of the three female embroiderers: Agne, Theonymphe, and Maria.7 Another intriguing piece of evidence on the mingling of different artistic traditions comes from a pair of epimanikia (liturgical cuffs) dated to 1672 (Fig. 2). They belonged to Patriarch Dionysios iv (in office 1671-73, 1676-79, 1682-84, 1686-87 and 1693-94),8 and feature a mix of Byzantine, Ottoman and Italian elements.9 Their central decoration consists of two Christological scenes (the Baptism and the Transfiguration), again in Byzantine style.10 The Ottoman contribution appears in the form of stems, leaves, and flowers decorating the borders, and emerging from the two vases which frame the central representation. The latter is a decorative device sparingly used in Ottoman art.11 Finally, the vase itself, with its semi-anthemia handles and masks in profile, strongly recollects Italian Renaissance maiolica vessels.12 It should be noted that despite the general infiltration of Ottoman ornamentation in 16th- and 17th-century embroideries made in Constantinople, it is quite clear that the Byzantine tradition continued with some vigour. The persistence of the Byzantine style can be seen for example in a well-known 1608 epitaphios from the Secu Monastery (Romania). According to its Slavonic and Greek inscriptions this veil was created in Constantinople by a nun named Philothei.13 It is probably even safe to state that Ottoman aesthetics usually infiltrated in Christian embroidery as secondary aniconic ornamentation, accompanying the main figural theme, or cropping up on the representation of clothing. Examples of this can be observed in the 1609 veil of the Boyar Simion Movilă (d. 1607),14 or in an epitaphios at the Museum of Romanian Art (1638).15 Sometimes the Greek reinterpretation of Ottoman motifs is so radical that the original source becomes barely recognizable. This transformative dynamic of artistic transfer is for instance clearly apparent in a 17th-century epigonation of Saint Matrona (Fig. 3). The saint is rendered in Byzantine style, frontally and in a static pose, framed by floral motifs of obvious Ottoman aesthetic origin in the background. However, the floral ornamentation corresponds only in a remote way to what Ottoman weavers produced during that time.16 On the other hand, there are also 17th-century and 18th-century examples of Greek Church embroideries in which the mingling of Byzantine and Western elements goes without any obvious Ottoman contribution. This is the case with a 1689 epigonation (a liturgical vestment worn by all bishops) by the renowned artist Despinetta of Argyris

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( fl. last quarter of the 17th century-first quarter of the 18th century). In it, the triumphant Christ Pantokrator stands in a medallion that is surrounded by angelic orders and the symbols of the evangelists, with the corners being decorated by prophets and God-the-Father with a dove (Fig. 4). One notes a predominance of Byzantine tradition, which is accompanied with elements from contemporary artistic trends in 17th-century Greece and Balkans.17 At the same time, albeit to a lesser degree, the epigonation features elements which are clearly borrowed from Western traditions, such as the form of God-the-Father with the dove, as well as the form of the seraphim. This particular element recalls contemporary Cretan icons. 18 The borders of the epigonation carry decorations (the daisy and a sort of semi-anthemion, radiating floral or leaf forms) reminiscent of 16th-century Italian art.19 Indeed, this textile offers an example of a broader phenomenon. Despite the Ottoman context in which 17th-century Constantinopolitan embroidery blossomed, it seems quite clear that the Italian element played an equally important role in its development. This conclusion is supported by a late 17th-century epigonation from the Benaki Museum which is decorated with the Adoration of the Magi. This vestment, also made by Despinetta, clearly owes many prominent elements (such as the black Wise Man, and the floral ornamentation of its borders) to Italian art.20 t h e e m e rge nce of t h e 18t h- ce n t u ry st y l e During the 18th century, Constantinopolitan embroidery became more strongly influenced by Western art, in both figural and aniconic themes, the result of which was the emergence of a new, considerably more homogenous and amalgamatized style. A clear example of this new style is the epitaphios (cloth icon used during Good Friday) by a famous ‘mistress’ of the art of embroidery Mariora ( fl. 18th century) (Fig. 5). The composition of its central scene of the Lamentation features various style elements which connect it to the tradition of Byzantine,21 and post-Byzantine painting.22 However, it also includes an abundance of Western elements, such as the type of garments worn by the protagonists, and especially the flying angels, their blond hair and beards, the light colour of the eyes, and the general sweetness of the figures’ expression, which is in sharp contrast to the traditional austere facial expression and darker features known from the Byzantine tradition.23 A similar phenomenon can be observed in an 18th-century epigonation by another prolific Constantinopolitan artisan, the famous embroidress Eusebia ( fl. 18th century) (Fig. 6). In its depiction of the Baptism of Christ in the Jordan River it clearly leans on Byzantine iconography: we see Jesus standing in the river, John the Baptist

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in a characteristic pose on the river bank, an assisting angel on the opposite side, and the dove in the sky. Like in the previous example, the Western influence appears quite noticeable in the fair colours of the angel’s hair and eyes, and in the somewhat sweet facial expressions, which again stand in sharp contrast to the Byzantine tradition. By now the Ottoman elements in the embroidery are perhaps less obvious and mainly apparent in details. A clear example is provided by the breeches in the garments worn by John and the angel, which are typical of the secular dress of the time.24 Moreover, the new style of the 18th century features less variation in the ornamentation of the borders of church textiles. Many embroideries of borders in this period show the exact same interlacing floral and floriated spirals, very often adorned with pearls.25 This went along with the European baroque style, which proved to fit quite well to Eastern aesthetic sensibilities. During the 19th century the orientation to Western art further increased. Some artefacts of this period, such as the epimanikio (liturgical cuff) in the Byzantine and Christian Museum (Athens) decorated with the angel of the Annunciation, even show an almost total dependence on Western art (Fig. 7).26 Nevertheless, other Constantinopolitan embroideries continued to lean on Byzantine iconography, while incorporating Western elements. The sanctuary door hanging of ca. 1812 by Kokona of Rologa, for instance, shows how the Byzantine iconographical form of the Presentation in the Temple was combined with Western features, such as the more realistic rendering of the size of buildings, of the pose of Mary, and of the birds in the cage (Fig. 8).27 In this example the mingling of elements is completed by the floral ornament in the Ottoman baroque style.28 Ottoman baroque floral ornamentation appears even more pronounced in a pair of liturgical cuffs in the collection of the same museum. The cross is framed by exuberant stems, leaves and flowers, in a very dense composition. In addition the cuffs carry a Greek inscription mentioning the patron, a certain Pavlos Molinski, and the date 1805 (Fig. 9).29 u n iqu e t h e m es a n d a r e i n t e r pr etat ion of t h e cr eta n school In spite of the fact that Greek church embroideries drew heavily on stylistic traditions, some Constantinopolitan compositions stand out by their iconographical originality. A good example is the theme of the so-called Virgin-Unwithering Rose, which appeared towards the end of the 17th century or the early 18th century.30 This Marian theme derives from an originally Western theme, known as the ‘Madonna del Rosario’ (‘Our Lady of the Rosery’). In its original form, Mother and Son appear as sovereigns,

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with Mary holding a rose in her hand.31 This stylistic type spread across the Orthodox world thanks to engravings.32 Probably interpreted with verses of the Akathist hymn, these features became standard in the specific post-Byzantine Marian iconographic type. It became particularly popular in Constantinople, where Mary-the Unwithering Rose was the icon venerated during the service of the Akathist.33 An 18th-century Constantinopolitan embroidered icon features this theme in an original way: a large rose grows out of the ground and carries the Mother of God with the Child Jesus as queen and king to be worshiped by angels in heaven (Fig. 10). In the background, the candlesticks and the incensory represent the Incarnation.34 Notwithstanding the original iconography, the overall composition (garments, symbols employed, poses, etcetera) clearly reminds of Western art. This is particularly evident in Mary’s pose, holding a rose in her right hand. Another example of 18th-century originality is an element in the Baptism scene on the epigonation signed by Eusebia mentioned earlier. The composition shows Jesus standing in the Jordan River while stepping upon a dragon (Fig. 6). This very rare detail perhaps corresponds to the desire of the patron to emphasize a concrete dogmatic viewpoint. In general the convoluted dragon occurs in early Christian iconography, as well as in Carolingian art, and is connected to the imagery of Psalm 90.35 Also in the Armenian version of the Baptism the feature of Jesus standing on a dragon is quite common.36 Nevertheless, this detail is virtually unknown both in Byzantine and post-Byzantine versions of the Baptism, whereas the traditional Greek depiction of the scene would have Jesus standing on a rock in the Jordan River, while four small snakes poke their heads out from under this rock.37 Although this exceptional detail may be taken as an independent stylistic choice of the artist who designed the embroidery, I would argue that the dragon is possibly to be understood in connection with the 18th-century theological controversy of the Anabaptism (to which I shall refer in the last part of this article).38 Connected with this strife, the convoluted dragon might also refer to another spiritual trend of the time, which idealized the doctrine of early Church Fathers and, thus, was in favour of earlier Christian iconographic types. Further evidence of 18th-century iconographical originality is provided by two roundels in the Byzantine and Christian Museum, both of which show ‘Christ as the Good Shepherd’ (Fig. 11).39 This composition must have been common on roundels ordered in Constantinopolitan workshops, since a third identical roundel is also found in the monastery of Saint John the Theologian in Patmos.40 The latter bears an inscription mentioning the name of the Ecumenical Patriarch, Seraphim i of Constantinople (in office 1733-4).

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The iconography of these embroideries seems to be inspired by a dual origin. The first probable source is the early Christian type of Christ-the-Good-Shepherd found in the mosaic decoration of the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia in Ravenna.41 The second source could very well be Leonardo da Vinci’s painting of St Anne with the Mother of God (ca. 1503), now in the Louvre, in which boy Jesus sits with a sheep. Some details on the embroideries seem to indicate the local Constantinopolitan form: Christ hugging the sheep, the cross behind Him, as well as the type of his garments. At the same time, this composition may symbolically point to the empire-wide position of the Ecumenical Patriarch as the preeminent religious leader of Orthodoxy: he is the sole and undisputable Good Shepherd for the Ottoman Empire’s Orthodox flock.42 The association with Patriarchal patronage of the Patmos roundel certainly implies this. Finally, in the depiction of the Creation of Adam on numerous pairs of liturgical cuffs produced in 18th-century Constantinople, the Protoplast (‘First-formed’) lies on the ground in a reclining posture which clearly suggests he is lifeless (Fig. 12).43 Again, this iconography is more common in early Christian art, but also sporadically occurs in the West in later periods.44 While in Baroque art and in The Painter’s Manual by Dionysios of Fourna (ca. 1670-after 1744), Adam appears sitting or standing,45 the Constantinopolitan embroiderers opted for the recumbent position. This choice most probably constitutes a local preference summoning early Christian prototypes. Another original feature of Constantinopolitan embroideries is the assimilation of Cretan iconography and the subsequent creation of new versions, evident in several church textiles. A perfect example is an 18th-century epigonation in the Byzantine and Christian Museum, on which the Resurrection is in general depicted according to the Western iconographical type, with the background filled with Baroque floral decoration (Fig. 13).46 However, the captivating detail of this composition is the standing soldier seen from behind, placed in the centre of the scene. This recalls Western compositions, such as the Slaughter of the Innocents by the Italian engraver Marcantonio Raimondi (ca. 1470/82-ca. 1534) after a design by Raphael.47 However, the soldiers are positioned in the same way as in another 18th-century ‘Slaughter of the Innocents’, namely the one on the turret of the small church of St. Menas in Hera klion (Crete).48 Despite the Western aesthetic and provenance of the iconography the Roman soldier is rendered as a moustached Ottoman officer, wearing a turban and breeches. This cocktail of styles and cultural influences is a quite typical of Christian iconography in Greece during the Ottoman period, and there are similar examples in Armenian pictorial arts as well. For example, an Armenian Kütahya dish, now in the collection of the Mekhitarist monastery of San Lazzaro degli Armeni in Venice,

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features a very idiosyncratic ‘Beheading of the Baptist’: Salome is represented as an Ottoman princess, the Roman soldier as an Ottoman officer, and Saint John as an upper-middle class gentleman, looking rather Armenian.49 Furthermore, in a 19th-century depiction of the Nativity, a very Western-style scenography of the ‘Adoration of the Infant’ includes the detail of the basket looking like a crest (Fig. 14). This recalls an element in two 15th-century Italo-Cretan icons, as well as in a 17th-century icon painted by Michael Avramis in Corfu.50 Another stylistic trait of local Constantinopolitan character which appears from the 17th to the 19th centuries can be identified in various depictions of the Lamentation of Christ. Typical for Constantinopolitan embroideries of this Biblical scene is the circular arrangement of all the elements of the composition to focus attention on the body of Christ (Fig. 5).51 The discussed examples of Greek church embroideries clearly suggest that the Greek artists of Constantinople and their patrons had a vast iconographic repertoire of various periods, provenances, and styles at their disposal. Western currents influenced Greek Orthodox art either through post-Byzantine compositions, or directly by the introduction of artworks, such as engravings, from the West. The various artistic components were chosen consciously and cautiously, so that the theological meaning was not infringed by artistic experimentation. However, throughout the entire period under discussion here, the most sacred figures could be framed by Ottoman aniconic ornamentation, be it of the early style or the Baroque style. In addition, contemporary Ottoman aesthetic styles regularly influenced Christian iconography, for instance in the representation of dress. All in all, it has become clear that the above analysed themes in Greek Church embroideries from Constantinople owe their originality to a varied and variable eclecticism. Isolated details were selected from different contexts to merge into new syntheses. As a result, the exact same scenes cannot be detected in any other Byzantine, post-Byzantine or Western prototype. The ‘Constantinopolitan style’ constitutes a local iconographical approach and expression, which might be comprehensible elsewhere, but was still unique. t r e n ds i n ch u rch t hough t a n d iconogr a ph y On a more general level, the above analysis and argumentation suggest that Greek artistic eclecticism was a form of permanent adaptation to specific social and cultural conditions, changing with every twist and turn of the historical context. To take matters further, I think it could very well be argued that certain religious iconographies

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were also influenced by the theological debates occupying the wider circle of the Ecumenical Patriarchate. In my view, it is not far-fetched to conclude that the dogmatic controversies between the three main Christian denominations (Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant) that took place during 17th- and 18th-century Constantinople did play an important role in artistic production. This view certainly implies that religious iconography was one of the ways the Orthodox perspective was crystallized. In a previous study, I discussed the possible impact of a 1638 ecclesiastical synod in Constantinople on the composition of a Nativity icon by the painter Eustathios of Ioannina. This icon was produced in the very same year as the synod (1638) and presents a distinctive feature: two angels fly from heaven towards the Holy Child in the cave, each of them holding a loaf of bread.52 This odd detail of the loaves could be explained by various theological interpretations of the transubstantiation during the Eucharistic sacrament. As it happened, the question of transubstantiation was one of items which were heatedly discussed during the synod in which the Ecumenical Patriarch Cyril i Lucaris tried in vain to introduce reforms to the Orthodox Church and its dogmas (one of these reforms was the denial of the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist).53 I am inclined to think that the icon’s patron, a high ranking clergyman from the aristocracy of the Ionian Islands, intended to emphasize the results of the Council on this matter from the point of view of the orthodox forces in the Greek Church (Cyril Lucaris and his viewpoints were flatly anathematised by the Council of 1638, and shortly afterwards he was killed by the Ottomans).54 If this interpretation is true, the loaves of bread held by the two angels point to the orthodox interpretation of the Eucharist ceremony, during which the bread becomes transubstantiated into the real Body of Christ, as the body He had at His Nativity. Likewise, the iconography of some 18th-century ecclesiastical embroideries can be related to contemporary developments in church thought. A good example is the Baptism scene signed by Eusebia on the epigonation mentioned earlier (Fig. 6). In a theological perspective the scene can be understood as closely related to the 18th-century controversy concerning Anabaptism and the reception of heterodox, particularly Roman Catholics and Protestants, into the Orthodox Church. The heart of the dispute revolved around the question whether (re-)baptism was required for ‘heretics’, in particular Catholics or Armenians, who wished to convert to Orthodoxy.55 Prominent clergymen, such as Patriarch Cyril v (in office 1748-1751, 1752-1757), who supported Anabaptism (re-baptism for believers), and his rival Patriarch Callinicus iv (in office 1757), who opposed it (considering re-baptisms an innovation not envisaged by the canons of the Church and contrary to liturgical praxis, and stuck to

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the belief that one could only be baptised as an infant), participated in this discussion. Apart from their opposing convictions on baptism, these two church leaders represented the interests of two different groups in Constantinopolitan society, which added to the theological argument a very real social significance.56 The controversy also revealed the widespread anti-Catholic feelings among the Orthodox laity after the division in 1724 of the Byzantine Christian Melkite Church between on the one site the Greek Orthodox Melkites, who continued to be under the authority of the Patriarch of Constantinople, and on the other side the Greek Catholics Melkites, who recognized the authority of the Pope of Rome. Feelings which were heated further by the ever increasing orientation towards Rome (and the West in general) of the Syriac Maronite Church, which formalised many of its Latin practices during the Synod of Mount Lebanon in 1736. In the Holy Synod of 1755 voted against the view of Patriarch Cyril, but after he exiled his opponents, he was able to push through the decisive synodic act that required re-baptism for all converts. By referring to the inviolable ritual norms of the Church Fathers, the act supporting Anabaptism was signed by three patriarchs: Cyril v of Constantinople, Mathew of Alexandria (in office 1746-1766), and Parthenius of Jerusalem (d. ca. 1770). In this act, it was decided that any christening not realized according the Orthodox ritual should be considered invalid.57 This reorientation towards the doctrine of the early Church Fathers makes the otherwise apparently eccentric re-emergence of early Christian iconographies, as witnessed in Eusebia’s Baptism scene, suddenly quite comprehensible.58 By connecting her depiction of Baptism with early Christian iconography, Eusebia seems to underline the importance of performing the sacrament of baptism according to early Church doctrine, as it was this doctrine which was used to give the answer to the theological controversy about Anabaptism in the 18th century. Moreover, the earlier discussed 18th-century depictions of the Creation of Adam may also fall under this tendency in favour of early Christian iconography and the return to the Church’s roots (Fig. 13). Related to this may be the distinctive iconography of the Christ-as-Good Shepherd, which also proliferated during the 18th century (Fig. 11). As mentioned earlier the quite original depiction of the scene seems to underline the role of the Constantinopolitan Patriarch as the religious and political head of the Orthodox Christians in the Ottoman Empire. The Patmos roundel’s association with Patriarchal patronage, the unpopularity of the iconography in Byzantine and earlier post-Byzantine art, and the Patriarchate’s zenith of power during the 18th century provide ample arguments in favour of this hypothesis. In addition, the depiction of Christ as a young man on the Patmos roundel, which looks more like early Christian art and nothing like Leonardo

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da Vinci’s boy in Virgin and Child with Saint Anne, also seems to relate the iconography to early Christian traditions. In short, it seems that these themes in 18th-century embroideries made in Constantinople were supported by a spiritual, ideological and social context in which the defence of Orthodoxy had priority. No wonder perhaps, as the clientele mostly consisted of clergymen who were deeply involved in a continuous theological test of strength, if not with the Ottoman political powers or the cultural influences from the West, then among themselves. After all, intercultural contexts do not always favour the crossover of cultures; they can foster cultural individuality and even isolationism as well. Or perhaps, one should say that under certain circumstances these dynamics could coexist without nullifying each other. In conclusion it may be underlined that embroidery as an art form occupied a special place in Constantinople, this vast depository of the most diverse artistic productions at the crossroads of a wide range of pictorial traditions and influences. Embroidery was a visual art which developed in the heart of the Greek community in Ottoman Constantinople, whose artistic production remains still relatively obscure even today. On closer inspection, though, the craft of embroidery, certainly if it was produced for the Greek Orthodox Church, offers a view of the cosmopolitan environment of cultural osmosis and religious dialogue within which Greek artists created. Also, it seems clear that the eclecticism shown in the use of aesthetic influences drew from Ottoman as well as from Western traditions. In addition, the development of new themes was more often than not a result of changing theological viewpoints, fluctuating spiritual trends and varying local customs. All this accounts for the fact that these iconographic idiosyncrasies primarily manifested themselves on an ad hoc basis. On the whole, the above discussed evidence also suggests that the Constantinopolitan artistic production, including the production of embroidery, must have had a wide and varied impact on the Christian arts in the Ottoman Empire, constantly sending waves of change to the periphery of this complex cultural entity.

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not es 1

Vlachopoulou-Karabina 1998, 20-5.

11 Atasoy et al. 2001, 251;Bilgi and Zanbak,

2

On the use by the Greek Church of

2012, cats. 42 and 44-6; Tezcan and

Ottoman luxurious textiles see Vryzidis 2015,

Okumura 2007, cats. 15, 17, 59; Vryzidis and

206-71; idem 2017, 176-91; idem 2018a, 92-

Papastavrou 2018, fig. 6.

114; idem 2019, 61-80. 3

12 See for Renaissance-period Italian vases

For Ottoman striped silks see Atasoy et al.

for instance Poole 1995, 54 and 59. Also see

2001, fig. 111; Ekhtiar et al. 2011, 317-8.

Vryzidis and Papastavrou 2018, 680 and 686. 13 Nasturel 1967-1968, 130-1 and pls.63-7;

4 The knot motif appears in many different

Papastavrou and Filiou 2015a, 162-3.

mediums, including late Byzantine

14 Musicescu and Dobjanschi 1985, cat. 68 and

sgraffito: https://www.benaki.gr/index.

figs. 81-2.

php?option=com_collectionitems&view=

5

collectionitem&id=107832&lang=

15 Ibid., cat. 83 and fig. 89.

en&Itemid=162&lang=el [Accessed 4

16 For the single flowers within the rhombus

October 2019].

frame see Tezcan and Okumura 2007, cat.

Cf. Gürsu 1988, figs. 49 and 50. Also see

16. On the variations of ‘framing’ ornament

Vryzidis 2018b, 147.

in Greek embroidery see Vryzidis and Papastavrou 2018, 680-1.

6 The use of central floral motifs, framed by adjoining or adjusted sprays of flowers or

17 Papastavrou and Filiou 2015a, 172-4.

other vegetal motifs is very common in

18 Cf. Chatzidakis 1993, fig. 191.

Ottoman art; cf. Atasoy et al. 2001, figs. 230-

19 Pool 1995, 198-9 and cat.272; cf. 38, 55 and 59.

33, 235.

20 Ballian 2011, cat. 43. 21 The Mother of God holding Jesus’ head, the

7 Vlachopoulou-Karabina 1998, fig. 20. 8

Their owner is attested the inscription:

disciple John kissing His hand, and Joseph

διονυσιου του παναγιωτατου κ(ai)

of Arimathea on His feet are features found

οικουμενικου πατριαρχου του

probably for the first time in the fresco

βυζαντιου αχοβ (Translation: [Of ]

painting of St. Demetrios at Peć, made in 1345 (Spatharakis 1995, 435-46 and fig. 10).

Dionysius, His All-Holiness and Ecumenical Patriarch of Byzantium, 1672). Patriarch

9

22 For example, in the early works of

Dionysios i Mouselimes Komnenos, was

Theophanes the Cretan at Megistes Lavras

known for his taste for luxurious vestments.

and Stavroniketa (Millet 1927, pl. 119.2;

He bequeathed expensive garments to the

Chatzidakis 1986, 67 and fig.100).

Ecumenical Patriarchate as well as Iveron

23 Cf. Ballian 2011, cat. 45.

Monastery (Theochari 1963, pl. 1).

24 The breeches in the Baptist’s garment seem to have become a convention during that

Vryzidis and Papastavrou 2018, 680.

time. See Papastavrou and Vryzidis 2018, fig

10 For an iconographical and technical analysis

11. It should also be noted that Ottoman

see Papastavrou and Filiou 2015a, 168-70.

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imperial art had been absorbing so many

1966-1991, fig. 427 in vol. 1, fig. 64, in

Western elements that with the emergence

vol. 3, and fig. 365 in vol. 2. The reference

of the local version of Baroque the frontier

to reptiles appears in verse 13 of Psalm

separating Ottoman and Western art was

90: ‘[…] ἐπὶ ἀσπίδα καὶ βασιλίσκον

somehow less distinct than before. On the

ἐπι βήσῃ καὶ καταπατήσεις λέοντα καὶ

Ottoman baroque style, primarily prolific in

δράκοντα […]’ (See psalm 90 “Αἶνος ᾠδῆς

architecture but affecting material culture as

τῷ Δαυΐδ” [Online] Availabe at http://

well, see Rüstem 2019, 334-69.

www.apostoliki-diakonia.gr/bible/bible. asp?contents=old_testament/contents_

25 Fotopoulos and Delivorrias 1997, 314;

Psalmoi.asp&main=psalmoi&file=24.90.

Theochari 1988, 215; Paliouras 1997, fig. 218;

htm [Accessed 1 March 2018]).

Papanikola-Bakirtzis and Iacovou 1998, 250-

36 Kefala 2004, 426 and fig. 6.

1. Also cf. Marchese and Breu 2010, 124-5.

37 In the Baptism, a convoluted, winged

26 For another Annunciation on a pair of epimanikia, attributable to Constantinople,

dragon appears for the first time in the

see Ballian 2011, cat. 66.

Chludov psalter (9th century) and has been connected with the ps. 74 (73), 13 sq., which

27 Papastavrou and Filiou 2012, 301-14; idem

sometimes is illustrated by the scene of the

2015b, 543-55.

Baptism (Schiller 1966-1991, 146-7 and fig.

28 However, this ‘bindweed’-style floriated

359 in vol. 1).

ornament is limited to framing the religious scene only, far cry from the similar and

38 Podskaslsky 2005, 412-76, esp. 413-7.

extravagantly decorated embroideries used

39 Cf. with a similar piece added on an

at the Ottoman court during that time (Cf.

epitaphios of the Byzantine and Christian

Rogers, Tezcan and Delibaş 1986, 110-1).

Museum (βχμ 21381). 40 Theochari 1988, 211.

29 The inscription reads: αφιερωμα του χρησιμωτατου παυλου μολiνσκι

41 Stokstad 2004, 13-14.

1805 (Translation: Oblation of the most

42 During the 18th century the intermediary role of the Patriarch between the Christians

‘servile’ Pavlos Molinski, 1805). 30 Pallas 1971, 226; idem 1975-1976, 152 and 182.

and the Porte expanded, perhaps nurturing

For the opposite opinion see Chatzidakis

this iconography (Bayraktar-Tellan 2011, 123-

1972, 129 and 131.

218 and 255).

31 Karakatsani 1980, 115-6.

43 Theochari 1966-7, pls. 7, 13 and 14.

32 For the spread of the worship of the Virgin-

44 See for this: Kirschbaum et al. 1968, cols. 45-9 in vol. 1.

the Unwithering Rose see Panopoulou 2012, 42-3.

45 Papadopoulos-Kerameus 1900, 47.

33 Pallas 1971, 226.

46 Schiller 1966-1991, figs. 237 and 248 in vol. 3.

34 Mouriki 1970, 241.

47 Clay, Fairbanks and Pon 1999, cat. 21.

35 Cf. the scene of Christ stepping upon the

48 Rigopoulos 1998, figs. 120-1. The small St. Menas should not be confused with the

basilisk and the lion (ps. 90) (Schiller

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e l e n a pa pa s tav rou – osmos i s i n ot tom a n cons ta n t i nopl e

19th-century Cathedral dedicated to the

Tinos by Kokona tou Rologa and Gregoria

same Saint.

(Papastavrou and Filiou 2015b, fig. 12).

49 Kürkman 2006, 242; Vryzidis 2015, 101.

52 Papastavrou 1997, 93-104; AcheimastouPotamianou 1998, cat. 70.

50 Vocotopoulos 1990, 89-92 and cat. 59. 51 This feature appears regularly from the 17th

53 Podskalsky 2005, 487-92.

to the 19th century, for instance in a now

54 The origin of the patron may be a reflected

destroyed epitaphios from Saint Theodore

in the escutcheon depicted on the icon, Papastavrou 1997, 96.

of Vlanga, made by the embroiderer Despinetta in 1673 (Mellas 2006, 338); the

55 Podskalsky 2005, 412-76, esp. 413-8.

18th-century epitaphios by Kokona tou

56 Bayraktar-Tellan 2011, 170-221.

Ioannou (Pazaras and Doulgheri 2008, 89-

57 Podskalsky 2005, 414-6.

104); and the 1833 epitaphios in

58 Ibid., 412-76.

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bi bl iogr a ph y Acheimastou-Potamianou, M. 1998. Εικόνες του Βυζαντινού Μουσείου Αθηνών (Icons of the Byzantine Museum of Athens), Athens. Atasoy, N. et al. 2001. İpek: Imperial Ottoman Silks and Velvets, London. Ballian, A. (ed.) 2011. Relics of the Past: Treasures of the Greek Orthodox Church and the Population Exchange. The Benaki Museum Collections / Reliques du passé; Trésors de l’Église orthodoxe greque et l’Échange de population; Les collections du Musée Benaki, Milan & Athens. Bayraktar-Tellan, E. 2011. The Patriarch and the Sultan: The Struggle for Authority and the Quest for Order in the Eighteenth-Century Ottoman Empire, unpublished doctoral dissertation, Bilkent University, Ankara. Bilgi, H. and İ. Zanbak 2012. Skill of the Hand, Delight of the eye: Ottoman Embroideries in the Sadberk Hanım Museum Collection, Istanbul. Chatzidakis, Μ. 1972. Περὶ σχολῆς Κωνσταντινουπόλεως ὀλίγα, Ἀρχαιολογικὸν Δελτίον (Μελέται) 27, 121-37. Chatzidakis, M. 1986. The Cretan Painter Theophanis: The Fresco Paintings of the Stavronikita Monastery, Mount Athos. Chatzidakis, M. 1993. Εικόνες Κρητικής Τέχνης. Από τον Χάνδακα ως την Μόσχα και την Άγια Πετρούπολη, Heraklion. Clay, D., T. Fairbanks and L. Pon 1999. Changing Impressions: Marcantonio Raimondi & Sixteenth-Century Print Connoisseurship, New Haven & London. Ekhtiar, M. et al. (eds.) 2011. Masterpieces from the Department of Islamic Art in The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Fotopoulos, D. and A. Delivorrias (eds.) 1997. Greece at the Benaki Museum, Athens. Gürsu, N. 1988. The Art of Turkish Weaving: Designs through the Ages, Istanbul. Karakatsani, A. 1980. Εικόνες, Athens. Kefala, Κ. 2004. Οι δράκοντες των υδάτων. Συμβολή στη μελέτη της εικονογραφίας της Βάπτισης με αφορμή τα παραδείγματα της Δωδεκανήσου, Χάρις Χαίρε, Μελέτες στη Μνήμη της Χάρης Κάντζια, vol. 2, Athens, 421-33. Kirschbaum, E. et al. (eds.) 1968. Lexicon der christlichen Ikonographie: Band i-iv: Allgemeine Ikonographie, vol. 1, Freiburg im Breisgau & Rome. Kürkman, G. 2006. Magic of Clay and Fire: A History of Kütahya Pottery and Potters, Istanbul. Marchese, R. T. and M. R. Breu 2010. Splendor and Pageantry: Textile Treasures from the Armenian Orthodox Churches of Istanbul, Istanbul. Mellas, A. 2006. Μνημοσύνη. Κωνσταντίνου Πόλις. Ἡ Ἐντὸς τῶν Τειχῶν Ὀρθοδοξία, vol. 2, Athens.

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Millet, G. 1927. Monuments de L’Athos, i: Les peintures, Paris. Mouriki, D. 1970. Αἱ βιβλικαὶ προεικονίσεις τῆς Παναγίας εἰς τὸν τροῦλλον τῆς Περιβλέπτου τοῦ Μυστρὰ, Ἀρχαιολογικὸν Δελτίον (Μελέται) 25, 217-51. Musicescu, M.A. and A. Dobjanschi 1985. Broderia veche românească, Bucharest. Nasturel, P. 1967-1968. L’épitaphios constantinopolitain du monastère roumain de Secoul (1608),  Χαριστήριον εἰς Ἀναστάσιον Ὀρλάνδον 4, Athens, 129-40. Paliouras, A. 1997. Το Μοναστήρι της Παναγίας στον Προυσό, Athens. Pallas, D. 1966. Εικόνα του Αγίου Ευσταθίου στη Σαλαμίνα,  Χαριστήριον εἰς Ἀναστάσιον Ὀρλάνδον 3, Athens, 328-69. Pallas, D. 1971. Ἡ Θεοτόκος Ῥόδον τὸ Ἀμάραντον, εἰκονογραφικὴ ἀνάλυση καὶ καταγωγὴ τοῦ τύπου, Ἀρχαιολογικὸν Δελτίον (Μελέται) 26, 225-38. Pallas, D. 1975-1976.  Περὶ τῆς ζωγραφικῆς εἰς τὴν Κωνσταντινούπολιν καὶ τὴν Θεσσαλονίκην μετὰ τὴν Άλωσιν (Μεθοδολογικά), Ἐπετηρὶς Ἑταιρείας Βυζαντινῶν Σπουδῶν 42, 101-211. Panopoulou, A. 2012. Συντεχνίες και θρησκευτικές αδελφότητες στη Βενετοκρατούμενη Κρήτη, Athens-Venice. Papadopoulos-Kerameus, A. 1900. Διονυσίου τοῦ ἐκ Φουρνὰ Ἑρμηνεία τῆς ζωγραφικῆς τέχνης, St. Petersbourg. Papanikola-Bakirtzis, D. and M. Iacovou (eds.) 1998. Byzantine Medieval Cyprus, Nicosia. Papastavrou, Ε. 1997. L’icône de la Nativité No T396 des Collections du Musée Byzantin d’Athènes, Cahiers Balkaniques 27, 93-104. Papastavrou, E. and D. Filiou 2012. Χρυσοκέντητο πέτασμα Ωραίας Πύλης της Κοκόνας του Ρολογά από τη συλλογή του Βυζαντινού και Χριστιανικού Μουσείου (αρ. 21055), in: I. Stoufi-Poulimenou and S. Mamaloukos (eds.), Β’ Επιστημονικό Συμπόσιο Νεοελληνικής Εκκλησιαστικής Τέχνης, Πρακτικά, Athens, 301-14. Papastavrou, E, and D. Filiou 2015a. On the Beginnings of the Constantinopolitan School of Embroidery, Zograf 39, 161-76. Papastavrou, E, and D. Filiou 2015b. Church Embroidery in Constantinople during the 19th Century: Putting a Veil by Kokona of Rologa in Context, in: I. Stoufi-Poulimenou, S. Mamaloukos, D. Paulopoulos and A. Chaldaiakes (eds.), Γ΄ Επιστημονικό Συμπόσιο Νεοελληνικής Εκκλησιαστικής Τέχνης, Πρακτικά, Athens, 543-55. Papastavrou, E. and N. Vryzidis 2018. Sacred Patchwork: Patterns of Textile Reuse in Greek Vestments and Liturgical Veils During the Ottoman Era, in: I. Jevtić and S. Yalman (eds.), Spolia Reincarnated: Afterlives of Objects, Materials, and Spaces in Anatolia from Antiquity to the Ottoman Era, Istanbul, 259-86. Pazaras, N. and E. Doulgheri, 2008. Κεντητός επιτάφιος της Κοκκώνας του Ιωάννου στη Θεσσαλονίκη, Μακεδονικά 37, 89-104.

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Podskalsky, G. 2005. Η Ελληνική Θεολογία επί Τουρκοκρατίας 1453-1821 (translation: Fr.G.D. Metallinos), Athens. Poole, J.E. 1995. Italian Majolica and Incised Slipware in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge. Rigopoulos, G. 1998. Φλαμανδικές Επιδράσεις στη Μεταβυζαντινή Ζωγραφική. Προβλήματα Πολιτιστικού Συγκρητισμού, Athens. Rogers, J.M., H. Tezcan and S. Delibaş 1986. The Topkapı Saray Museum: Costumes, Embroideries and other Textiles, Boston. Rüstem, U. 2019. Ottoman Baroque, in: J.D. Lyons (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of The Baroque, Oxford and New York, 334-369. Schiller, G. 1966-1991, Ikonographie der christlichen Kunst, vols. 1-5, Gütersloh (Iconography of Christian Art i-ii, London). Spatharakis, I. 1995. The Influence of the Lithos in the Development of the Iconography of the Threnos, in: D. Mouriki, C. Moss, K. Kiefer et al. (eds.), Byzantine East, Latin West: Art-Historical Studies in Honor of Kurt Weitzmann, Princeton, 435-46. Stokstad, M. 2004. Medieval Art (2nd Edition), Boulder. Tezcan, H. and S. Okumura (eds.) 2007. Textile Furnishings from the Topkapı Palace Museum, Istanbul. Theochari, M. 1963. Ὑπογραφαὶ κεντητῶν ἐπὶ ἀμφίων τοῦ Ἄθω, Ἐπετηρὶς Ἑταιρείας Βυζαντινῶν Σπουδῶν 32, 496-503. Theochari, M. 1966-7. Ἐκ τῶν μεταβυζαντινῶν ἐργαστηρίων τῆς Κωνσταντινουπόλεως. Ἡ κεντήτρια Εὐσεβία, Ἐπετηρὶς Ἑταιρείας Βυζαντινῶν Σπουδῶν 35, 227-41. Theochari, M. 1988. Χρυσοκέντητα Άμφια, in: A. Kominis (ed.), Οι Θησαυροί της Μονής Πάτμου, Athens, 185-217. Vlachopoulou-Karabina, E. 1998. Holy Monastery of Iveron. Gold Embroideries, Mount Athos. Vocotopoulos, P. 1990. Εικόνες της Κέρκυρας, Athens. Vryzidis, N. 2015. A Study on Ottoman Christian Aesthetic: Greek Orthodox Vestments & Ecclesiastical Fabrics, 16th to 18th Centuries, unpublished doctoral Dissertation, soas University, London. Vryzidis, N. 2017. Towards a History of the Greek hil‘at: An Interweaving of Byzantine and Ottoman Traditions, Convivium-Exchanges and Interactions in the Arts of Medieval Europe, Byzantium, and the Mediterranean – Seminarium Kondakovianum Series Nova 4.2, 176-91 Vryzidis, N. 2018a. Ottoman Textiles and Greek Clerical Vestments: Prolegomena on a Neglected Aspect of Ecclesiastical Material Culture, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 42.1, 92-114

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Vryzidis, N. 2018b. Threads of Symbiosis: Ottoman Silks for the Christian Market, Orientalia Christiana Periodica 84.1, 133-66. Vryzidis, N. 2019. Textiles and Ceremonial of the Greek Orthodox Church under the Ottomans: New Evidence on Hil’ats, Kaftans, Covers, and Hangings, Journal of the Ottoman and Turkish Studies Association 6.1, 61-80. Vryzidis, N. and E. Papastavrou 2018. Italian and Ottoman Textiles in Greek Sacristies: Parallels and Fusions, in: M. Bernardini, A. Taddei and M.D. Sheridan (eds.), 15th International Congress of Turkish Art, Naples, Università di Napoli ‘L’Orientale’ 16-18 September 2015, Proceedings, Ankara, Naples & Rome, 677-87.

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fig. 1 – Epitaphios, 16th century, by Agne, Theonymphe and Maria; Iveron monastery, Mount Athos (image courtesy of Iveron monastery).

fig. 2 – Epigonation depicting Saint Matrona, 17th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 2126, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

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fig. 3 – Epimanikion depicting the Baptism, 1672, belonged to Patriarch Dionysios iv; private coll.

fig. 4 – Epigonation depicting the triumphant Pantocrator, 1689, signed by Despinetta of Argyris; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 1702, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

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fig. 5 – Epitaphios, 18th century, signed by Mariora; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 21278, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

fig. 6 – Epigonation depicting the Baptism, 18th century, signed by Eusebia; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 1711, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

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fig. 7 – Epimanikion depicting the Angel of the Annunciation, 19th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 20726, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

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fig. 8 – Sanctuary door hanging depicting the Presentation to the Temple, ca. 1812, signed by Kokona of Rologa; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 21055, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

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fig. 9 – Epimanikion with the Cross, 1805, made for Molinski; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 20715, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

fig. 10 – Embroidered icon, Mary, the Unwithering Rose, 18th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 21067, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

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fig. 11 – Roundel depicting Christ as Good Shepherd, 18th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 21078, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

fig. 12 – Epimanikion depicting the Creation of Adam, 18th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 20717, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

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fig. 13 – Epigonation depicting the Resurrection, 18th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 20825, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

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fig. 14 – Epigonation depicting the Nativity, 19th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 20827, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

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Ecclesiastic dress in medieval Ethiopia: Preliminary remarks on the visual evidence Jacopo Gnisci

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i n t roduct ion Travellers to Ethiopia are invariably struck by the variety of religious, practical, and aesthetic purposes for which textiles are used by the Ethiopian Orthodox Church – the largest of the Oriental Orthodox Churches. Carpets spread out to cover the floors remind those who enter that they are treading on sacred ground and must remove their footwear. The sanctuary is veiled by two large curtains which shield it from the gaze of curious visitors and congregation members alike. Textiles line the inside of manuscript covers and are used as a surface for painting and for wrapping sacred objects. Fabrics are draped around the shafts of processional crosses to enhance their symbolic value or wrapped around the tabot – the altar tablet kept in the sanctuary of Ethiopian churches which ought not to be seen by laymen – when this is taken out of the church in procession. Textiles are also used to make the tents that house the tabot during Temqät, the Ethiopian celebration of the Epiphany, as well as the liturgical umbrellas that are placed above it, to symbolize the dome of heaven, during processions. But, above all, visitors will probably be struck by the colourfulness and rich variety of vestments worn by the Ethiopian clergy during processions, religious celebrations, and everyday life. A considerable amount of literature is available on the production of textiles in modern-day Ethiopia, and there exists a more limited amount of material on the history of weaving and imported textiles; there are also a couple of case studies that present some early modern curtains discovered in a small group of Ethiopian churches.1 Readers will however struggle to find information about the history of the textiles and vestments used by the Ethiopian Church. Moreover, the few studies dealing with the The Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 231-256

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topic focus on terminology rather than on morphology, and on the contemporary or near contemporary rather than on the historical.2 As a result, there exists almost no information on the textiles of the Ethiopian Church with regard to their technological, cultural, liturgical, or aesthetic developments over the centuries. The limited number of historical studies focusing on the use, function, and appearance of vestments in the Ethiopian Church is hardly a surprise, for writing such a history is a most daunting task for any historian. The problem is twofold. On the one hand, the vestments of the Eastern Churches have received extremely limited attention in scholarly literature, so one has to start virtually from scratch, as has been emphasized elsewhere.3 On the other hand, textiles, when not preserved under the right conditions, are a very perishable material. When visiting ecclesiastical institutions in Ethiopia, one will soon notice that the priests are far more concerned about preserving manuscripts and paraphernalia than textiles. To my knowledge, the earliest examples of ecclesiastical vestments preserved in Ethiopian churches cannot be much older than the 18th century. But given the vast amount of work that needs to be carried out to document the rich artistic heritage of Ethiopia, it is more than possible that this assumption will be proven wrong in the future. Although it goes without saying that the further back we try to look, the harder it becomes to find solid evidence on which to base a history of Ethiopian ecclesiastical vestments, it is likely that the use of garments to distinguish the clergy from the laity must date back to the spread of Christianity in this region during the Aksumite period (ca. 4th-8th centuries AD). However, to make any credible statement about Ethiopian church textiles, is it essential to first turn our attention to the unexplored realm of the textual and visual sources in order to get an initial grip and perspective on the subject. The aim of this paper is to take a modest step in this direction. By means of several case studies, it sets out to shed some light on the function and morphology of ecclesiastical dress in Ethiopia during the early Solomonic period (1270-1527) by a survey of relevant documents and images – miniatures in particular – produced in this period.4 t e x t ua l sou rces It needs no explanation that textual documents, unexplored as they are, form an essential source of information for reconstructing the history of Ethiopian ecclesiastical vestments. In fact, at closer inspection the rich corpus of documents produced by the Ethiopian Church over the centuries offers a treasure trove of information about its use of textiles. Among these documents, which have yet to be systematically investigated, Church inventories are especially helpful. They usually appear in the form of a

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note added to a manuscript enumerating the possessions of a church. Their value as a historical source is that they provide lists of terms and give an idea of the number and types of textiles owned by a church at a given period, though they tell us little about their function and symbolism.5 Much more useful to understand these latter aspects are hagiographies (gädl), especially when they were originally written in, rather than translated into, Ge‘ez – a member of the Ethio-Semitic language family now used only for the liturgy of the Ethiopian and Eritrean Orthodox Churches.6 This is not to say that it is an easy matter to decode the liturgical function and the symbolic meaning of church textiles from these sources. To illustrate the complexities involved in this line of research, we may examine several hagiographies where the initiation into monkhood coincides with the bestowal of a vestment, known as the askäma.7 This term, as Lanfranco Ricci has shown, can easily cause confusion because it is used to indicate both a generic monastic garment (or tunic) given to a novice who enters the monastic life, as well as the scapular which is given to a monk who reaches the final stage of his ordination.8 For example, the term is used in the former sense in the Life of Libanos ( fl. 5th-6th centuries AD), in which an angel instructs the holy man to become a monk by receiving the askäma, while Libanos himself bestows the askäma to many monks.9 On the other hand, the meaning of the term as scapular is, according to Ricci, implied in a passage from the Life of ‘Enbaqom (ca. 1470-ca. 1560), in which the holy man is seen as the spiritual father of Yohannəs because of his askäma.10 There are also texts in which the askäma is related to other pieces of outfit. In a passage of the Life of Samuʾel of Däbrä Halleluya (d. 1347 or 1375) when the novice-saint becomes a monk he acquires not only an askäma, but also a qob, which is a skull-cap.11 Different vestments are mentioned in the Life of Gäbrä Mänfäs Qəddus (ca. 1300ca. 1382): at the end of his novitiate, the saint receives the askäma together with a cilice made of horsehair which, we are told, was similar to a qənat.12 The qənat was a girdle that could be (but did not have to be) tied around the waist as part of the monastic habit.13 This girdle can also be referred to in the sources as zennar, or fiqar / fəqar.14 It was used to keep the qämis (or qämis) in place.15 The qämis was the Ethiopian equivalent of the Greek sticharion (deacon’s tunic) or the western alb, a tunic with long sleeves which reached down to the feet, used also in the Coptic and Syrian Churches.16 It was the principal under-vestment used by the Ethiopian clergy.17 Setting aside some of the complex questions related to the order in which vestments were bestowed to clergyman in Ethiopia, two relevant points emerge from these textual sources.18 The first is that the four items named above – the tunic, the scapular, the skull-cap, and the girdle – were the four basic garments used by Ethiopian monks. The second is that these textiles were apparently not worn according to any rigorous liturgical regulations or dress codes.19

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t h e v isua l sou rces While textual documents offer some insight into the terms used for ecclesiastical vestments and their function, they seldom provide much, if any, information about their form and appearance. It is, for instance, impossible to determine from the texts what the askäma looked like, whether its appearance changed over time, or whether different types were in use in different monastic communities.20 As the written sources are silent on these matters, we have to turn to the visual sources, including miniatures in manuscripts, for information about the forms of Ethiopian ecclesiastical vestments. Again, this is not a straightforward matter, as it is not certain to what degree the visual sources are a reflection of the ‘reality’ of their time. Still, they can offer a wealth of information. Let us take as an example the late 13th-century portrait of the Ethiopian Saint Iyäsus Moʾa (ca. 1214-ca. 1293), depicted at the beginning of a Gospel manuscript he commissioned (Fig. 1). This portrait appears to give us a sense of the appearance of some of the monastic vestments discussed above.21 The saint is shown standing under an arch, wearing a long red tunic that reaches down to his ankles and a black pointed skull-cap which we can identify as a qob. His right arm, which he uses to hold up a staff-cross, is bare, which suggests that the tunic has short sleeves, or that these are not tightly bound around the wrists.22 A girdle outlined with a black pattern of circles (perhaps representing links of a chain), runs around his waist and keeps the tunic in place.23 In short, it seems that the qob, and the qənat, and the qämis, known from the textual sources like the ones discussed above, are all depicted here. Ethiopian miniatures of the early Solomonic period often have captions to help the viewer identify the subject and strengthen the link between text and image. Occasionally, these captions provide information about some of the objects depicted in the miniature, which offers the opportunity to associate a term with a visualisation of a particular item.24 This is the case, for instance, in a miniature of David from the Psalter of Bəlen Sägädä.25 In this illustration an attendant holds an item identified in the cation as a dəbab (umbrella) over the king’s head.26 A more relevant example is offered by a late-14th/early-15th century miniature of Gäbrä Krəstos (Saint Alexius) from a manuscript in the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin.27 In this picture of the Saint a girdle, unusually shown dangling from his side, is identified in the caption as ‘his fiqar’ (Fig. 2).28 However, because captions such as the one in the miniature of Gäbrä Krəstos are rare, and because the style of Ethiopian painting of the early Solomonic Period is flat and abstract, the identification of the vestments depicted in miniatures from this period is often quite challenging. Even in the portrait of Iyäsus Moʾa, mentioned above, it is difficult to determine exactly what type of vestment is wrapped around his shoul-

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ders (Fig. 1). The garment in question is light red and seems to be made from a large rectangular piece of fabric that totally covers his shoulders and falls to his ankles like his tunic. The two ends of the fabric seem to be fastened together over the breast of the saint, leaving an opening for the neck which also made the qämis (tunic) visible to the viewer. This must be a representation of a priestly mantle, such as the ones also known to have been worn by Coptic monks, which could be used to cover the shoulders.29 However, because of the limited research carried out on this topic, there is uncertainty about the term that should be used to identify it: could this be the gəlbab / gelbabe, or the mändil?30 In any case, the visual evidence indicates that this type of vestment varied in length and width and could be worn in different ways, such as wrapped over one shoulder, passed across the back under the armpit, and passed over the opposite arm; or wrapped around both shoulders with one end left longer and passed over both arms.31 In the 16th-century Francisco Álvares (ca. 1465-after 1536) observed that Ethiopian monks ‘wear silk cloaks, not well made, because they are not wider than the width of a piece of damask or other silk, from top to bottom’.32 Another intriguing detail in the portrait of Iyäsus Moʾa is the short black strip of fabric placed around his neck and crossed over his chest. One could assume this detail to be a coloured hem, were it not for the fact that in another illustration from the same manuscript the same detail is clearly distinguished from the cope or mantle (Fig. 3).33 This second miniature features a portrait of Estifanos (Saint Stephen the Protomartyr), who is portrayed in front of an altar holding a Eucharistic chalice in his left hand and a piece of textile in his right hand, to which we shall return below. The saint wears a tunic, a girdle, but no skull-cap. He has a sleeveless over-vestment, like the one worn by Iyäsus Moʾa, but in this instance the vestment is not clasped at the front and there is a thin strip of white cloth decorated with a cross wrapped around his neck and crossed over his chest. This latter item resembles the short black strip of fabric which appears in the depiction of Iyäsus Moʾa, though in the portrait of Estifanos it is clearly detached from the over-garment. It is difficult to identify this vestment. It may be an orarion-type garment (stole), though it is not long as it is in other depictions of it discussed below,34 or the Ethiopian equivalent of a rationale (təble), a humeral collar with appendages at the front and back which symbolises the breast ornament worn by the Jewish highpriest and which is known as logyon / logiyon / logyo in Ethiopic. 35 The above-mentioned item in the right hand of Estifanos can be more confidently identified as a liturgical handkerchief, which can be tentatively referred to as a säbän, although I have not found this specific term used in inventories or in the sources I consulted.36 In any case, this type of handkerchief appears in numerous miniatures from

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the early Solomonic period.37 One example appears in a miniature from the 16th-century Gospels of Säwnä Maryam (Fig. 4).38 In the right folio of this two-page spread, three Major Prophets – Ezekiel and Daniel in the lower left corner and Jeremiah in the upper right corner – are shown holding a short strip of cloth decorated with fringes and horizontal stripes. Their handkerchiefs have the same width of the stole (motaht or hablä kəsad) placed around the neck of Elijah (in the upper left corner).39 The Ethiopian handkerchiefs depicted in the Säwnä Maryam Gospel are reminiscent of the early form of the Latin maniple rather than of the Greek epigonation.40 In late-antique Rome, handkerchiefs were carried by consuls as a mark of distinction, as shown by consular diptychs such as that of Anicius Faustus Albinus Basilius ( fl. 6th century).41 This consular ornament seems to have been adopted as a mark of distinction by the Latin Church.42 Although later worn on the wrist, as its name reveals, the maniple was originally held in the hand, as shown by the portrait of the Deacon Peter on the early 10th-century Maniple of Saint Cuthbert (d. 687), the portrait of the Archbishop Stigand (d. 1072) on the famous11th-century Bayeux Tapestry, or the portraits of ecclesiastical figures in the presentation miniature in the 9th-century Vivian Bible.43 To mention a context closer to Ethiopia, one can also see a maniple in an 11th-century representation of bishop Joannes iii ( fl. 9th century) from Faras (Lower Nubia).44 Handkerchiefs were also used as a mark of episcopal distinction in the Coptic Church.45 Since close ties existed between Ethiopia and Alexandria, by exploring this connection in further depth we may learn more about the origin of this ecclesiastical attribute in the Ethiopian tradition. However, in modern Ethiopia the handkerchiefs seem to have fallen into disuse, as they are not mentioned in any of the lists of ecclesiastical vestments mentioned above. Yet, the visual evidence clearly suggests that handkerchiefs in Ethiopia were used as a mark of distinction and as a liturgical attribute.46 The latter use is confirmed by the account of Francisco Alvares, from which it can be concluded that handkerchiefs where still being used in a liturgical context in 16th-century Ethiopia.47 Liturgical cuffs (akmam / kəmam) were also used in Ethiopia.48 These were, in the words of Hammerschmidt, ‘nothing else than the Arabic akmām […] the “sleeves”, τὰ ἐπιμανίκια (epimanikia), […], some sort of embroidered cuffs or armlets which are meant to hold the sleeves of the qämis together’.49 Similar cuffs or sleeves also became part of the Coptic and Syrian liturgical costumes after the 15th century, but little is known about their early origin and morphology.50 Their appearance in the Ethiopian tradition also requires further investigation, but, according to Hammerschmidt, their use, just like that of the handkerchief, has declined during the 20th century.51

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It is difficult to find indisputable evidence that the akmam were part of the ecclesiastical costume in Ethiopia during the early Solomonic period, although there are some miniatures in which the figures appear to have some sort of armlets which could be the akmam. This is the case, for instance, in the representation of the Washing of the Feet in the 14th/15th-century Gospels of Boru Śellase, in which Christ’s red tunic seems to have white cuffs (Fig. 5).52 Another possible example is the portrait of St. John found in a lavishly illustrated 15th-century manuscript from Gešän Maryam, in which the evangelist’s red tunic has yellow embroidered cuffs (Fig. 6).53 Most of the figures depicted in the 16th-century Säwnä Maryam folios, with the exception of those in the lower left register, wear a similar type of over-vestment, which is left open in front and has openings for the head and arms (Fig. 4). This garment, which resembles a Greek phelonion rather than a western chasuble, is probably a kappa.54 Hammerschmidt describes the kappa as ‘the over-vestment of priests, which may go back to a vestment worn by the nobles’, and he adds that ‘in former times it was similar to the western cope with a hood, descending from the neck to just somewhat under the knee and fastened at the collar’.55 In the Säwnä Maryam miniature the ends of the copes appear to be sewn together, but in other miniatures the two ends of the kappa appear to be fastened at the front by a cross-shaped clasp, as illustrated by a miniature of Estifanos in a 15th/16th-century manuscript containing his gädl (Fig. 7).56 The visual evidence suggests that in most cases the kappa had an opening for the arms and head, whereas in some cases it only had a hole for the head, like a chasuble.57 It is likely that both shapes existed at the same time, though the former shape is attested more often than the latter. Other representations show that the kappa may also have had a hood, as shown by the portrait of Saint Mark in the Gospels of Iyäsus Moʾa (Fig. 8).58 In Ethiopian miniatures of the early Solomonic period, the Evangelist Mark is often depicted with a hooded kappa, as already noted by Marilyn Heldman, who interprets this iconographic detail as a ‘reference to the fact that successors of Mark at the patriarchal See of Alexandria were chosen from the Egyptian monastic community’.59 Indeed, in Ethiopian illumination hoods are often, but not always,60 depicted as part of the vestment of figures related to Egyptian monasticism.61 Hoods also appear in miniatures as attributes of bishops, which suggests that Ethiopian artists were aware of the dress tradition of the Coptic Church.62 Together with the mändil and the kappa, Hammerschmidt mentions a third type of over-vestment, the lanqa / länqa,63 He describes this garment as ‘typical of the Ethiopian church’, adding that ‘it could be compared to a mozzetta, with five long strips hanging down from the shoulders’.64 A portrait of Saint Luke in a late 13th-century copy of the apocryphal Lives of the Apostles kept at the Monastery of Hayq Estifanos may offer an early depiction of this type of over-vestment (Fig. 9).65 The saint wears an

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elbow-length garment that covers his shoulders and breast, but it is unclear whether the sections of the same fabric which fall to the back of his calf represent two strips of a länqa or are part of a cope-type mantle, like the ‘capes of the fashion of the Dominican friars’ described by Alvares.66 The three prophets in the upper register of the right folio of the aforementioned Säwnä Maryam Gospel (Elijah, Isaiah, and Jeremiah) appear to have another vestment below their kappa (Fig. 4). The two-dimensional style of Ethiopian painting complicates the identification of this detail. It is possible that this is a representation of a scapular-type garment such as the askäma, but it is equally possible that it is a type of stole.67 The presence of a stole type of garment on the neck of Elijah (the figure to the left on the right page) adds weight to the former argument, whereas the fact that the band of cloth around the neck of Isaiah (the central figures on the right page) is divided by a line across the middle, like a Greek epitrachelion, supports the latter hypothesis.68 Perhaps the garment depicted in the Säwnä Maryam miniature corresponds to the one described by Alvares as a ‘long stole with an opening in the middle to allow the head to pass through [which] before and behind […] reaches to the ground’.69 conclusion This preliminary survey suggests that our knowledge of Ethiopian ecclesiastical vestments can be greatly improved by examining the visual evidence in the light of textual sources, and vice versa. Evidently this is only a first step and several questions remain to be solved. It is now clear though, that they may be fruitfully addressed by a more systematic integrated survey of both the visual and the textual sources. In doing so, it will be important to bear in mind that images can only be taken as a terminus ante quem for the use of a particular vestment, and that they cannot always be taken as a reliable source of information, let alone as solid evidence: the miniatures may be affected by foreign models, or may be distorted by stylistic preferences or artistic freedom. It is precisely for that reason that they should not be studied in isolation from the written sources. On the other hand, the study of textual sources alone remains a barren undertaking without visual context. Both types of information come of course directly together in manuscripts with inscriptions that refer to one or more of the vestments depicted in a miniature. The cataloguing of these manuscripts will undoubtedly be a great help in associating the various terms used to refer to ecclesiastical over-vestments to specific types of garment. Hopefully, this survey has also shown that it will be important for future research to compare Ethiopian ecclesiastical vestments with those of neighbouring regions and

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of other churches across the Mediterranean. In particular, given the close ties between the Coptic Church and the Ethiopian Church, it will be necessary to explore this relation in greater depth. A more systematic study of the visual evidence will also be of importance in attempting to determine whether it is possible to distinguish different ecclesiastic ranks or monastic branches by variations in their dress.70 ack now l e dge m e n ts This study was made possible through the financial support of the Edith O’Donnell Institute of Art History, University of Texas at Dallas; the Beta masāheft project, Hiob Ludolf Centre for Ethiopian Studies, Universität Hamburg; and a Getty/acls Fellowship in the History of Art. I would like to thank: Dr Nikolaos Vryzidis, for organizing and inviting me to the conference; Dr Mat Immerzeel, for reading and commenting on the article and for sending me a copy of his forthcoming publication; Dr Denis Nosnitsin, Dr Michael Gervers, and the Orientabteilung of The Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz, for allowing me to access and use their photographic data; Dr Alessandro Bausi, and Dr Antonella Brita for answering my queries; and the New York Public Library and The Morgan Library & Museum, for allowing me to consult relevant material.

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not es 1

2

The most thorough works on the history of

[…]’ – [‘A sort of scapular made of two parts

weaving in Ethiopia are Gervers 1988 and

which fall respectively over the chest and

idem. 1990. For the history of imported

back, and which end with a large leather

textiles see for instance Pankhurst 1980

cross, with 10 other crosses, for a total of

and Henze 2007. For case studies on

12 crosses (which correspond to the 12

church textiles see for instance, see Balicka-

stones of the rationale of the High Priest).

Witakowska and Gervers 1996.

It is worn by monks who make their third

The two principal studies on the subject of

declaration’]. Cf. also Leslau 1987, 43. 8

Ethiopian ecclesiastical vestments are those

3

the inconsistent use of the term askäma, see

Hammerschmidt 1970. To these one may

also Bausi 2003, ii, n. 35; and Nosnitsin 2005,

add a list of non-scholarly works, such as that

esp. 205, n. 22. On the existence of a system

of Hyatt 1928, 131-46; and Chaillot 2002, 96,

of grades within Ethiopian monasticism, see

103-4.

Tamrat 1972, 165; Ricci 1966, 94; Guidi 1901,

Innemée 1992.

90. For a list of other terms used to refer to an unspecified monastic garb, see Nosnitsin

4 Scholars have long recognized the value

2005, 205.

of studying images to improve our 9

understanding of the history of textiles, see

5

Ricci 1966, 93-4; Ricci 1969-70, 148-50; on

of Tecle Mariam Semharay Selam 1930; and

For the receiving of the askäma, see Bausi

Macalister 1896 for an early example, and

2003 (vol. 1), 13 [text], and Idem (vol. 2),

now Innemée 1992. See Woodfin 2012 for

9 [translation]; for the bestowing of the

two excellent examples of this approach.

askäma, see Bausi 2003 (vol. 1), 57 [text],

Some work has already been carried out on

and Idem (vol. 2), 36 [translation]; for some

Ethiopian lay costumes, see Chojnacki 1983.

additional examples, see Brita 2010, 86-8, n.

See Bausi 1994, for several examples of such

116. 10 Ricci 1969-70, 191.

inventories.

11 For the passage, see Colin 1990 (vol. 1), 8

6 On hagiographies in Ethiopic, see Kaplan

[text], and Idem (vol. 2), 7 [translation];

2005 with further references. 7 On the term askäma (አስከማ), see Dillmann

see also Brita 2010, 89-91. On the term qob

1865, 752; Guidi 1901, 445 describes the

(ቆብ), see Guidi 1901, 274; and Leslau 1987,

askäma as a ‘specie di scapolare formato di

418. 12 Marrassini 2003, 12-3 in vol. 1 [text], and 4 in

due parti che cadono una sul petto e l’altra

vol. 2 [translation].

sul dorso, e terminate ciascuna da una grossa

13 On the term qənat (ቅናት), see Guidi 1901,

croce di cuoio, con altre 10 croci, in tutto 12 croci (corrispondenti alle 12 pietre del

283, who also describes it as a rope placed

rationale del sommo sacerdote). È portato da

around the neck; and Leslau 1987, 435; see

i monaci dopo che fanno la 3a professione

also Marrassini 2003, xli in vol. 1.

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14 On the girdle in general, see Hyatt 1928, 146; 23 In the first half of the 16th century, Francisco and Hammerschmidt 1970, 153. On the term

Alvares witnessed that one of the ascetic

zennar (ዝናር), see Dillmann 1865, 1360; and

practices of Ethiopian monks involved

Leslau 1987, 641. On the term fiqar / fəqar

wearing an iron girdle, see Beckingham and

(ፊቃር / ፍቃር), see Dillmann 1865, 1360;

Huntingford 1961, 392 in vol.2. On the use of

and Leslau 1987, 165.

chains for ascetic purposes, see also Merdassa

15 On the term qämis / qämis (ቀሚስ / ቀሚጽ),

Kassaye 2003, 763. 24 However, as I discuss in a forthcoming

see Dillmann 1865, 420; Guidi 1901, 248; and Leslau 1987, 432-3. On the vestment, see

article on Psalter illustration (Gnisci

Hyatt 1928, 139-40.

forthcoming), objects in Ethiopian

16 Innemée 1992, 44-5 and 77.

miniatures are not always associated to the

17 Hammerschmidt 1970, 152-3.

correct caption. 25 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Ms.

18 See Nosnitsin 2005 for a detailed study of the available sources; though it is quite

Éthiopien d’Abbadie 105, ca. 1476/1477, f. 13v.

evident that further research on the matter is

For a reproduction, discussion, and further bibliography, see Balicka-Witakowska 1983.

required.

26 On the term dəbab (ድባብ), see Leslau

19 Tamrat 1972, 164-6.

1987, 119-20. On depictions of the dəbab in

20 In Egypt, Coptic monks wore the ‘skhēma, a garment like a scapular marked with a cross,

Ethiopian art, see Balicka-Witakowska 2005;

which recalled the cross of Christ’ (Morfin-

Gnisci and Zarzeczny 2017; for further

Gourdier 1991, ii, 650-2). In the Syrian

examples of items identified by captions, see

Church the term ʾeskēmā is used to refer

Bausi 1994, 59-61.

to a hood or to a scapular with a hood, see

27 For a translation of the Ethiopic version of his Life in English, see Budge 1898, 98-144.

Innemée 1992, 81.

See also Cerulli 1969; and Bausi 2005, for

21 Hayq Estifanos, Gospels of Iyäsus Moʾa,

further discussion with further bibliography.

1280/1281, f. 5v. On this manuscript, see Balicka-Witakowska 1997, 123-4; and Gnisci

28 The caption identifying the fiqar reads:

2015a with further bibliography; on the

ምስለ፡ ፊቃሩ; Berlin, Staatsbibliothek zu

portrait, see Bosc-Tiessé 2011.

Berlin – Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Ms.or. oct.1270, 15th (?), f. 1v. For a more detailed

22 In which case, the vestment might be better described as a colobium, a short-sleeved

discussion, see Hammerschmidt and

tunic used by Egyptian monks: On the

Jäger 1968, 45-8, fig. 1. This could also be

term läbiton / läbitos / läbitonar. (ለቢጦን

an orarion-type of garment, worn on the

/ ለቢጦስ / ለቢጦናር), see Dillmann 1865,

shoulder, such a use is attested also in the

45; and Leslau 1987, 306. For a miniature in

Coptic Church, see Innemée 1992, 66 and pl.

which the tunic clearly has short sleeves, see

55, 1.

the figure of John the Baptist in a manuscript 29 Morfin-Gourdier 1991, ii, 651-3; and Innemée 1992, 75 and 78.

reproduced in Heldman 1989, fig. 8.

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30 On the term gəlbab / gelbabe (ግልባብ /

but in some cases, they appear to be attached

ግልባቤ), see Dillman 1865, 1139; and Leslau

to the wrist, see for instance the portraits of

1987, 189. On the vestment, see Tecle

Bartholomew in Heldman 1989, fig. 27; of

Mariam Semharay Selam. 1930, 5; and

Nathaniel in the Gospels of Asir Mätira, 15th

Hammerschmidt 1970, 155, who notes that

or early 16th century (?), f. 3v; see Mercier

the identification of this vestment remains

2004, 108, for some remarks on this latter

problematic and open to question. On the

manuscript; see also fig. 5 in this article.

term mändil (መንዲል), see Dillman 1865,

38 SDSM-004 (digitized by the Ethio-SPaRe

194-5; Guidi 1991, 91; Leslau 1987, 348-9. On

project, EU 7th Framework Programme,

the vestment, see Hammerschmidt 1970, 155,

ERC Starting Grant 240720, PI Denis

with further references.

Nosnitsin, 2009-2015), Four Gospels, first half of the 16th century (?), ff. 7v-8r.

31 For some examples, see Hammerschmidt and Jäger 1968, figs. 19-20; Balicka-

Catalogued by Magdalena Krzyzanowska,

Witakowska 1984-1986, figs. 15, 22, 31;

description accessed 27 February 2017; see

Heldman 1993, cat. nos. 68, 70; and Mercier

Nosnitsin 2013, 311, for further references. 39 On the stole stole – motaht (ሞጣሕት) or

2004, 82-3. 32 Beckingham and Huntingford 1961 (1), 77.

hablä kəsad (ሐብለ፡ክሳድ) –, see Hyatt 1928,

33 Gospels of Iyäsus Moʾa, f. 15v.

142; and Hammerschmidt 1970, 154. In

34 See Innemée 1992, 45-8 for the Coptic

Ethiopian depictions of the Arrest of Jesus,

equivalent.

his captors often bind him with a stole rather

35 On the term təble (ትብሌ / ትብላይ /

than with a rope, see Gnisci 2015c, 480.

ትብሊያ) see Dillman 1865, 560-1, who

40 For a description of this item with further

describes it as ‘vestis scapularis, super

bibliography, see Woodfin 2012, 17-8.

humerale, vestimentum summi sacerdotis

It is worth noting that in a portrait of

Isreaelitarum’; and Leslau 1987, 570, who

Shenouda in the Psalter Bəlen Sägädä, Ms.

instead translates the term as ‘mantle, mantle

Éthiopiend’Abbadie 105, f. 101v, there is a

of priests, shoulder piece’. On the term

lozenge-shaped cloth at the end of his cross

logyon / logiyon / logyo (ሎግዮን / ሎጊዮን/

that recalls, also because of its position over

ሎግዮ), see Dillman 1865, 62; Leslau 1987,

the holy man’s right thigh, an epigonation;

308. See also The Prester John of the Indies, i,

for a reproduction, see Conti Rossini 1927,

77, for a possible description of this item.

fig. 10.

36 On the term säbän (ሰበን), see Dillman

41 On this diptych, see Cameron 2012, with

1865, 359, who translates it as sabanum or

further references.

sudarium; and Leslau 1987, 484.

42 Legg 1917, 63-6; and Strittmatter 1923, 202.

37 For other examples, see Balicka-Witakowska

43 For the holding of the maniple, see

1984-1986, fig. 28; and Heldman1989, figs.

Macalister 1896, 75-7. For the 10th-century

5, 15, 21, and 23; id. 1993, cat. no. 71. The

Maniple of Saint Cuthbert, see Plenderleith

handkerchiefs are generally kept in the hand,

et al. 1956. On the Bayeux Tapestry, see

242

g n i sc i – ecc l e s i a s t ic dr e s s i n m e di e va l et h iopi a

53 Gešän Maryam, Octateuch and Gospels,

Dodwell 1966; and English 2004. The Vivian Bible: Paris, Bibliothèque nationale

turn of the 15th century, unknown folio

de France, Ms. Latin 1, ca. 1476/1477, f. 13v.

(manuscript has not been foliated). On this

For a discussion and reproduction, see

manuscript, see Heldman 1993, 177-8. 54 On the term kappa (ካፓ’), see Guidi 1901,

Dutton and Kessler 1997, 71-88 and fig. 17.

552; and Leslau 1987, 288. On the garment,

44 For a reproduction and discussion, see

see Tecle Mariam Semharay Selam 1930,

Innemée 1992, 190 and pl. 4. 45 Innemée 1992, 76

6; Hyatt 1928, 134; and Hammerschmidt

46 Gnisci 2015b, 581.

1970, 154. On the resemblance to a Greek

47 See Beckingham and Huntingford 196,

phelonion, see Innemée 1992, 50.

328 in vol.2. Lepage and Mercier 2012, 111,

55 Hammerschmidt 1970, 154.

interpret the depiction of handkerchiefs as

56 Asir Mätira, Life of Estifanos, late 15th or

an indication of the antiquity of the models

early 16th century, f. 5v. A related miniature

which influenced early Solomonic Ethiopian

is in New York, The New York Public

manuscript illumination. This may be

Library, Life of Estifanos and Abäkäräzun,

the case, however, as noted elsewhere, the

Spencer Coll. Ethiopian Ms.7, late 15th or

frequent appearance of handkerchiefs in

early 16th century, f. 4v, for a reproduction,

Ethiopian manuscript illumination of this

see Heldman 1989, fig. 18. For an additional

period should be first of all taken as an

example in which the two ends of the kappa

indication that such items were still being

are bound together, see Mercier 2004, 60.

used at the time,see Gnisci 2015b, 581.

57 Compare, for instance, figs. 3-4 and 9-10

48 On the term akmam / kəmam (አክማም /

with fig. 5 in Heldman 1989. See also Balicka-

ክማም), see Hammerschmidt 1970, 153; and

Witakowska 1984-1986, figs. 8, 12, 21 and 29.

Leslau 1987, 285. On the garment, see Hyatt

58 Gospels of Iyäsus Moʾa, f. 132v.

1928, 131.

59 Quotation from Heldman 2005, 461; see

49 Hammerschmidt 1970, 153. On the

also id. 1983. It is worth pointing out, as

appearance and use of the epimanikia in the

Immerzeel 2014-2016 notes, that from the

Byzantine Church, see Woodfin 2012, 6, 8-9,

Fatimid Period, the Patriarchs were also

13 and 15. 50 Innemée 1992, 58 and 81.

chosen from the metropolitan clergy. 60 Cf. the portrait of Basil the Great reprodu-

51 Hammerschmidt 1970, 153. 52 Boru Śellase, Gospels of Boru Śellase, late

ced in Balicka-Witakowska 1984-1986, fig. 3. 61 Conti Rossini 1927, 96, considered the

14th or early 15th century, f. 11r. On this

headgear of two Egyptian monks, St.

manuscript, see also Balicka-Witakowska,

Anthony and St. Macarius, in the Psalter

1997: esp. 14-15, with further bibliography.

of Bəlen Sägädä, Ms. Éthiopien d’Abbadie

For a more detailed discussion and a

105, f. 79v, as a possible sign of western

reproduction of this miniature, see Gnisci

influences, but these are, in fact, nothing else

2015a, 257.

than depictions of hooded copes.

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t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

system of thin straps of cord or leather with

62 See for instance, the miniature of St. Simeon of Jerusalem in the manuscript

crosses worn around the body and crossed

at the monastery of Hayq Estifanos, Life

over the chest; for a reproduction and

of the Apostles, ca. 1292-1297, f. 218r; on

discussion, see Mercier 2009, 115-8. The item

this manuscript, see Getatchew Haile

in this icon resembles the Coptic schèma,

and Macomber 1981, 237-9, emml pr. no.

see Innemée 1992, 107-29. Later examples

1767; that of Peter Bishop of Alexandria

of this type of askäma are found in an 18th-

reproduced in Balicka-Witakowska 1984-

century manuscript in Paris, Bibliothèque

1986, fig. 2; see also Appleyard 1993, 17. On

nationale de France, Ms. Éthiopien

the dress tradition of the Coptic Church,

d’Abbadie 102, f. 81v, and in a detached

zee Innemée 1992, 49; and Immerzeel 2014-

painting from the church of Saint Anthony,

2016.

now in Paris, Μusée du quai Branly, inv.

63 On the term lanqa / länqa (ላንቃ/ ለንቃ), see

no.71.1931.74.3590, as noted by Staude1959, 205-6.

Guidi 1901, 33; and Leslau 1987, 316.

68 Though in fact it is also possible that the

64 Hammerschmidt 1970, 154. 65 Hayq Estifanos, Life of the Apostles, f. 59v.

image shows a stole-type garment worn over

The lanqa and kappa could also be sewn

an epitrachelion. I am grateful to Nikolaos

together, see Balicka-Witakowska 1984-1986,

Vryzidis for drawing my attention to this possibility.

figs. 7, 10-11, 13-14, 16, 23, 25-28, for some possible examples.

69 Beckingham,and Huntingford 1961, 84 in vol. 1. Alvares goes on to say that this is

66 Beckingham and Huntingford 1961, 126 in

the only vestment which distinguishes the

vol. 1.

deacon from the sub-deacon.

67 In a 15th-century Ethiopian icon from the monastery of Hayq Estifanos several saints,

70 Let it suffice in this context to draw the

including Iyäsus Moʾa, appear to be wearing

attention to the numerous titles listed by

a different type of askäma, consisting of a

Bairu Tafla 1986, 293-306.

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bi bl iogr a ph y Appleyard, D. 1993. Ethiopian Manuscripts, London. Archbishop Basilios. 1991. Liturgical Vestments, in: A.S. Atiya (ed.), The Coptic Encyclopedia, 8 vols., New York, 1475-9. Balicka-Witakowska, E. 1983. Le psautier éthiopien illustré de Belēn Sägäd, Ars Suetica 7, 1-46. Balicka-Witakowska, E. 1984-1986. Un psautier éthiopien illustré inconnu, Orientalia Suecana 33-35, 17-48. Balicka-Witakowska, E. and M. Gervers 1996. Monumental Ethiopian Tablet-Woven Silk Curtains: A Case for Royal Patronage, The Burlington Magazine 138, 375-85. Bausi, A. 1994. Su alcuni manoscritti presso comunità monastiche dell’Eritrea, Rassegna di Studi Etiopici 38, 13-69. Bausi, A. (ed., tr.) 2003. La ‘vita’ e i ‘miracoli’ di Libānos, Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium: Scriptores Aethiopici 105-106, 2 vols., Louvain. Bausi, A. 2005. Gäbrä Krəstos, in: S. Uhlig et al. (eds.), Encyclopaedia Aethiopica, vol. 2: D-Ha, Wiesbaden, 615-6. Beckingham, C.F. and and G.W.B. Huntingford (eds.) 1961. Francisco Alvares, The Prester John of the Indies: A true relation of the lands of the Prester John being the narrative of the Portuguese Embassy to Ethiopia in 1520 written by Francisco Alvares, vols. i-ii, Cambridge. Bosc-Tiessé, C. 2011. Sainteté et intervention royale au monastère Saint-Etienne de Hayq au tournant du xiiie et du xive siècle. L’image de Iyasus Mo’a dans son Evangile, Oriens Christianus 94, 199–227. Brita, A. 2010. I Racconti tradizionali sulla ‘Seconda Cristianizzazione’ dell’Etiopia. Il ciclo agiografico dei Nove Santi (Studi Africanistici: Serie Etiopica 7), Naples. Budge, E.A.W. 1898. Lady Meux Manuscript No. 1: The Lives of Mabâ’ Sĕyôn and Gabra Krĕstôs, London. Cameron, A. 2012. Basilius and his Diptych again: Career Titles, Seats in the Colosseum, and Issues of Stylistic Dating, Journal of Roman Archaeology 25, 513-30. Cerulli, E. (ed., tr.) 1969. Les vies éthiopiennes de Saint Alexis l’ homme de Dieu, Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium: Scriptores Aethiopici 59-60, Louvain. Chaillot, C. 2002. The Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church Tradition: A Brief Introduction to its Life and Spirituality, Paris. Chojnacki, S. 1983. A Note on the Costumes in 15th and Early 16th-Century Paintings: Portraits of the Nobles and their Relation to the Images of Saints on Horseback, in: S. Segert and A.J.E. Bodrogligeti (eds.), Ethiopian Studies: Dedicated to Wolf

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Leslau on the Occasion of his seventy-fifth birthday, November 14, 1981 by friends and colleagues, Wiesbaden, 521-53. Colin, G. (ed., tr.) 1990. Vie de Sāmu’ēl de Dabra Hāllēluyā, Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium: Scriptores Aethiopici 93-94, vols. i-ii, Louvain. Conti Rossini, C. 1927. Un codice illustrato eritreo del secolo xv, Africa Italiana 1/1, 83-97. Dillmann, A. 1865. Lexicon linguae Aethiopicaecum indice Latino. Adiectum est Vocabularium Tigre dialecti septentrionalis compilatum a Werner Munzinger, Leipzig. Dodwell,C.R. 1966.The Bayeux Tapestry and the French Secular Epic, The Burlington Magazine 108, 549-60. Dutton, P.E.and H.L. Kessler 1997. The Poetry and Paintings of the First Bible of Charles the Bald, Michigan. English,B. 2004. The Coronation of Harold in the Bayeux Tapestry, in: P. Bouet et al. (eds.), The Bayeux Tapestry Embroidering the Facts of History, Caen, 347-82. Gervers, M. 1988. Cotton and Cotton Weaving in Medieval Ethiopia, in: A. Gromyko (ed.), Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress of Ethiopia Studies, Moscow 26-29 August 1986, Moscow, vol. 5, 212-24. Gervers, M. 1990. Cotton and Cotton Weaving in Meroitic Nubia and Medieval Ethiopia, Textile History 21/1, 13-30. Getatchew Haile and W.F. Macomber 1981. A Catalogue of Ethiopian Manuscripts Microfilmed for the Ethiopian Manuscript Microfilm Library, Addis Ababa, and for the Hill Monastic Manuscript Library, Collegeville, vol. v: Project Numbers 15012000, Collegeville. Gnisci, J. 2015a. The Liturgical Character of Ethiopian Gospel Illumination of the Early Solomonic Period: A Brief Note on the Iconography of the Washing of the Feet in Late Thirteenth- to Early Fifteenth-Century Ethiopian Art, in: R. Zarzeczny (ed.), Aethiopia fortitudo ejus. Studi in onore di Monsignor Osvaldo Raineri in occasione del suo 80° compleanno, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 298, Rome, 253-75. Gnisci, J. 2015b. Picturing the Liturgy: Notes on the Iconography of the Holy Women at the Tomb in Fourteenth- and Early Fifteenth-Century Ethiopian Manuscript Illumination, Bulletin of the School of Oriental & African Studies 78/3, 557–95. Gnisci, J. 2015c. Shrouding the Divine: Observations on the Iconography of the Entombment of Christ in Ethiopian Illumination of the Fourteenth and Early Fifteenth Centuries, Orientalia Christiana Periodica 81/2, 473–92. Gnisci, J. and R. Zarzeczny 2017. ‘They Came with their Troops Following a Star from the East’: A Codicological and Iconographic Study of an Illuminated Ethiopic Gospel, Orientalia Christiana Periodica 83/1, 127-89.

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Gnisci, J. Forthcoming. Constructing Kingship in Early Solomonic Ethiopia: The David and Solomon Miniatures in the Juel-Jensen Psalter, The Art Bulletin. Guidi, I. 1901. Vocabolario amarico-italiano, Rome. Hammerschmidt, E., and O. Jäger 1968. Illuminierte Äthiopische Handschriften, Verzeichnis der Orientalischen Handschriften in Deutschland 15, Wiesbaden. Hammerschmidt, E. 1970. The Liturgical Vestments of the Ethiopian Church: A Tentative Survey, in: R. Pankhurst and S. Chojnacki (eds.), Proceedings of the Third International Conference of Ethiopian Studies: Addis Ababa 1966, vol. 2, Addis Ababa, 151-7. Heldman, M.E. 1989. An Ēwostāthian Style and the Gundā Gundē Style in Fifteenth-Century Ethiopian Manuscript Illumination, in: Proceedings of the First International Conference on the History of Ethiopian Art, London, 1-29. Heldman, M.E. 1993. The Early Solomonic Period, in: R. Grierson (ed.), African Zion: The Sacred Art of Ethiopia, New Haven and London, 140-91. Henze, M. 2007. Studies of Imported Textiles in Ethiopia, Journal of Ethiopian Studies 40/1, 65-82. Hyatt, H.M. 1928. The Church of Abyssinia, London. Immerzeel, M. 2014-2016. Dressed with Dignity: Two Comments on Dress in the History of the Churches and Monasteries of Egypt, Eastern Christian Art in its Late Antique and Islamic Contexts 10, 1-20. Innemée, K.C. 1992. Ecclesiastical Dress in the Medieval Near East, Studies in Textile and Costume History 1, Leiden. Kaplan, S. 2005. Gädl, in: S. Uhlig et al. (eds.), Encyclopaedia Aethiopica, vol. 2: D-Ha, Wiesbaden, 642-4. Legg, J.W. 1917. Church Ornaments and their Civil Antecedents, Oxford. Lepage, C. and J. Mercier 2012. Un tétraévangile illustré éthiopien à cycle long du xve siècle – Codicologie et iconographie, Cahiers Archéologiques 54, 99–174 Leslau, W. 1987. Comparative Dictionary of Gecez (Classical Ethiopic). Gecez - English / English - Gecez with an index of the Semitic roots, Wiesbaden. Macalister, R.A.S. 1896. Ecclesiastical Vestments: Their Development and History, London. Marrassini, P. (ed., tr.) 2003. ‘Vita,’ ‘omelia,’ ‘miracoli’ del santo Gabra Manfas Qeddus (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium: Scriptores Aethiopici 107-108), 2 vols., Louvain. Mercier, J. 2004. Vierges d’Éthiopie. Montpellier. Mercier, J. 2009. Restoration of Holy Treasures & Installation of a New Museum, in: Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahido Church (ed.), Ethiopian Church: Treasures & Faith, Montpellier, 107-25.

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Merdassa Kassaye. 2003. Ecclesiastical Vestments, in: S. Uhlig et al. (eds.), Encyclopaedia Aethiopica, vol. 1: a-c, Wiesbaden, 761-3. Morfin-Gourdier, N. 1991. Costume of the Religious, in: A.S. Atiya (ed.), The Coptic Encyclopedia, 8 vols., New York, vol. 1, 650-5. Nosnitsin, D. 2005. Wäwähaboqobcawä‫د‬askema…: Reflections on an Episode from the History of the Ethiopian Monastic Movement, in: D. Nosnitsin (ed.), Varia Aethiopica in Memory of Sevir B. Chernetsov (1943-2005), Scrinium 1, Saint-Petersburg, 197-247. Nosnitsin, D. 2013. Churches and Monasteries of Təgray: A Survey of Manuscript Collections, Supplement to Aethiopica 1, Wiesbaden. Pankhurst, R. 1980. Imported Textiles in Ethiopian Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Manuscript Bindings in Britain, Azania: Archaeological Research in Africa 15, 43-55. Plenderleith, E., C. Hohler and R. Freyhan1956. The Stole and Maniples, in: C.F. Battiscombe (ed.), Relics of Saint Cuthbert, Oxford, 375-432. Ricci, L. 1966. Le vite di ‘Ĕnbāqom e di Yohannĕs abbati di dabra Libānos di Scioa, Rassegna di Studi Etiopici 22, 75-102. Ricci, L. 1969-70. Le vite di ‘Ĕnbāqom e di Yohannĕs abbati di dabra Libānos di Scioa. Parte ii: La vita di Yohannĕs, Rassegna di Studi Etiopici 24, 134-232. Staude, W. 1959. Étude sur la décoration picturale des églises Abbā Antonios de Gondar et Dabra Sinā de Gorgora, Annales d’Éthiopie 3, 185–250. Strittmatter, E.J. 1923. Classical Elements in the Roman Liturgy, The Classical Journal 18/4, 195-207. Tamrat, T. 1972. Church and state in Ethiopia, 1270-1527, Oxford. Tafla, B. 1986. Titles, Ranks and Offices of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tawāhdo Church: A Preliminary Survey, Internationale kirchliche Zeitschrift 76, 293-306. Tecle Mariam Semharay Selam 1930. De indumentis sacris ritus Aethiopici: De verbis consecrationis apud Aethiopes, Rome. Woodfin, W.T. 2012.The Embodied Icon: Liturgical Vestments and Sacramental Power in Byzantium, Oxford & New York.

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fig. 1 – Hayq Estifanos, St. Iyäsus Mo‫د‬a, Four Gospels, 1280/1281, f. 5v; © Michael Gervers, courtesy of the deeds project.

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fig. 2 – Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz, St. Gäbrä Krestos, Life of Gäbrä Krestos, f. 1v; © Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin.

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fig. 3 – Hayq Estifanos, St. Estifanos (left) and St. Qirqos and his Mother (right), Four Gospels, 1280/1281, ff. 15v-16r; © Michael Gervers, courtesy of the deeds project.

fig. 4 –Säwnä Maryam, Prophets and Old Testament Kings, first half of the 16th century (?), ff. 7v-8r; © Denis Nosnitsin, courtesy of the Ethio-SPaRe project.

251

t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

fig. 5 – Boru Śellase, The Washing of the Feet, Four Gospels, late 14th or early 15th century, f. 11r; © Michael Gervers, courtesy of the deeds project.

252

g n i sc i – ecc l e s i a s t ic dr e s s i n m e di e va l et h iopi a

fig. 6 – Gešän Maryam, St. Luke and St. John, Octateuch and Four Gospels, turn of the 15th century (?), f. (?); © Diana Spencer, courtesy of the deeds project.

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t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

fig. 7– Asir Mätira, St. Estifanos, Life of Estifanos, late 15th or early 16th century, f. 5v; © Michael Gervers, courtesy of the deeds project.

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g n i sc i – ecc l e s i a s t ic dr e s s i n m e di e va l et h iopi a

fig. 8 – Hayq Estifanos, St. Mark, Four Gospels, 1280/1281, f. 132v; © Michael Gervers, courtesy of the deeds project.

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t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

fig. 9 – Hayq Estifanos, St. Luke, Life of the Apostles, ca. 1292-1297, ff. 59v-60r; © Stanislaw Chojnacki, courtesy of the deeds project.

256

*

*

*

Armenian altar curtains: Repository of tradition and artistic innovation Dickran Kouymjian

*

i n t roduct ion During the 17th and 18th centuries, printed and painted cotton chintzes were a major staple in the exchange of goods between East and West among traders in the Indian Ocean. Notable among these traders was the Armenian merchant network dominated entirely by families from New Julfa, the protected settlement authorized by the Safavid Shah Abbas i (1571-1629) across the river from his new capital, Isfahan.1 In the first decade of the 17th century, this new town was settled by over 150.000 Armenian refugees, who were casualties from the Shah’s willful destruction in 1605 of the old Armenian commercial centre of Julfa on the Arax River as part of his scorched earth policy during the long Ottoman-Safavid wars of the 16th and 17th centuries.2 Among the major products in the Armenian trade network, which reputedly stretched from Amsterdam to Manilla in the Philippines, were various sorts of textiles, traditionally silk, but in the 17th and 18th century the very high quality Indian cotton fabrics became also very popular everywhere. These textiles were praised for their durability, were relatively cheap, and had extremely attractive oriental designs and colouring. They were variously called ‘chintz’ (from the Hindu chint, ‘variegated,’ or chitta, ‘spotted cloth’), ‘calico’ (from the Indian port of Kozhikode known as Calicut), and ‘indiennes’ (from the French word for Indian, or muslin). The cotton fabrics were used for clothing, wall and table coverings, curtains, and decorative trim.3 Among the most famous of these dyed and painted chintzes were those from the Coromandel Coast along the south-eastern shore of India with Madras as its most prominent urban centre.4 The Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 257-278

©

FHG 257

10.1484/m.mpmas-eb.5.120561

t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s

These cotton fabrics traded by the Armenian network include a little known and barely studied group of altar curtains commissioned for use in Armenian churches, which only recently emerged as a research subject.5 These generally large size textiles, often measuring up to 600 x 800 cm, are characterized by their resplendent Christian iconography and long dated inscriptions indicating the patron’s name and the church it was made for (Fig. 1). t h e h istory of a r m e n i a n ch u rch cu rta i ns Curtains have a long religious and secular history. In biblical times curtains were used in the Jewish Temple for a variety of purposes, but were also important in the classical world. For example, a curtain was used in the central arch, the Porta Regia, of the scaenae frons, the proscenium stage of Greek and Roman theatres.6 Curtains were in general use in all early Christian Churches to conceal or reveal various phases of the liturgical service. They were (and still are in some Christian Churches) used to close the view of the inner altar at the start of the mass, during the elevation, and at specific moments later in the service. In the Armenian Church the curtains were (and are) drawn during Lent, only to be opened after the service of the Washing of the Feet on Holy Thursday. Special curtains were prepared for the successive weeks of Lent, often displaying the events in the life of Christ during this period, and of course during the final week of Christ’s Passion (Fig. 2). Whereas the Byzantine and Orthodox Churches replaced the curtain with an iconostasis, and the Latin churches kept the altar open, both the Armenian and the Syriac Churches continue to use the traditional curtain (varagoyr in Armenian).7 In Armenia, curtains were changed according to the liturgical calendar; this was particularly true at the four patriarchal seats of authority: the Catholicosates of Holy Etchmiadzin and the Great House of Cilicia, today at Antelias, Lebanon, the Patriarchates of Jerusalem and Constantinople. Today, Etchmiadzin and Jerusalem, both out of harm’s way during the Genocide of 1915, preserve the major collections of Armenian altar curtains, which contain the overwhelming majority of some 200 specimens dated prior to 1900. Since all Armenian churches need to have altar curtains, there are hundreds dating from the 20th century, although traditional diaspora centres in Jerusalem, New Julfa-Isfahan, Eastern Europe, Istanbul, and the Crimea have preserved older examples in their museums (Fig. 3). Until now, no monograph has been devoted to these pre-1900 curtains. However, an exhibition in Lyon in 2007 displayed seventeen fine examples from the History Museum of Armenia and Holy Etchmiadzin, and an article devoted to their art was recently published in the textile quarterly Hali Magazine.8

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The curtain used in the Armenian Church is made of a single piece of cloth, and it covers the front of the altar apse from side to side and from the floor to the top of the wall from which the semi-dome springs (Fig. 4, St. T‘oros). On normal Sundays the curtain is open at the beginning of the Divine Liturgy. When the priest and the deacons go up onto the altar, the curtain is closed during the Preparation of the Gifts. The curtain opens again for the Procession, and it remains open until the singing of Lord Have Mercy (the Miserere, Armenian Der Voghormia), after which it is closed again. It sometimes remains partially open for communion. During the Doxology (Gloria Patri) the priest turns to the people with the chalice; when all have received communion the curtain closes while the celebrant offers his own prayers, receives communion, and cleans the chalice and the vessels, after which the curtain remains open for the rest of the service. As said, during Lent, the curtain is closed; it is opened after the Palm Sunday service. Smaller curtains are also used as altar frontals or sometimes to conceal the main altar while the celebrant changes vestments.9 t e x t ua l a n d m at e r i a l sou rces The earliest reference to Armenian altar curtains is a passage in the treatise on the Defence of Images by the poet Vrtanes Kertogh ( fl. 6th-7th centuries), written around the year 600: ‘Since Moses was the first to make images for the altar: two winged cherubim of human form of hammered gold as well as the curtain that God said to make of images with multi-coloured silk and decorated in various ways […]: Are not the colours of the thread of the curtain pigments? And the cherubim of the curtains are they not images?’10 A more specific reference to altar curtains in Armenian churches is to be found in the 13th-century Armenian history of Kirakos of Gandzak (1200/2-1271), who describes the consecration of a church and praises the curtain woven for it by its royal patroness and her sisters: ‘[…] a beautiful curtain which she (Princess Arzu-Khat‘un) wove […] a covering for the holy apse, wondrous to behold, (woven) of very delicate goat’s hair, dyed with various colours […] like sculptural-work and with ‘painted’ representations […] of our Saviour and other saints, which amazed viewers. And whosoever saw it gave praise to God that he gave to women the knowledge of weaving and the talent for making likenesses […].’11 However, the oldest surviving Armenian curtains are from the early 17th century. They are two richly embroidered altar frontals fashioned in Constantinople in 1619 and 1620, and preserved in the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem. One of the two is decorated with depictions of the Virgin, Saints Peter and Paul, as well as with scenes from the life of Christ in the border, while the other is decorated with depictions of

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the Last Supper, the Ascension, and other scenes (Fig. 5).12 Next in the chronological line of the earliest surviving curtains are five specimens dating from the second half of the 17th century. Among the largest Armenian curtains is one fashioned in Constantinople between 1705-1714 for the main altar of Etchmiadzin; it measures 6 x 6 meters and shows the founding of the Armenian Church (Fig. 6).13 Altar curtains are known from Armenian churches in Romania to India. Cotton, linen, silk as well as felt were used as material, while several specimens are known to have been made of Chinese fabric.14 For these curtains all manners of textile techniques were employed: weaving, embroidery, block printing, painting, and appliqué. A large number of the surviving Armenian altar curtains were made on the Coromandel Coast of India, particularly in the city of Madras.15 More than thirty examples are recorded: the earliest is of 1654 (Fig. 7) and the latest 1818 (Fig. 10).16 Almost all of these exceptionally well executed stamped and painted cotton curtains bare long inscriptions. Many of the texts specify that the curtains were commissioned for Holy Etchmiadzin, Jerusalem, or other important religious centres, and that they were offerings of Armenian magnates of commerce.17 Finally, they are usually dated with numbers of the Gregorian rather than the letter-numbers of the Armenian calendar. iconogr a ph y a n d a rt ist ic i n f lu e nces The motifs used on Armenian altar curtains can be broadly divided into five major categories: 1. Saints and patriarchs of the Armenian Church.18 Probably the most popular motif is that of Saint Gregory the Illuminator (ca. 257-ca. 331) converting Trdat (r. 287-330), the king of Arsacid Armenia, representing the foundation of Armenian Christianity (Fig. 8).19 2. Scenes from the Life of Christ, individually or together in a cycle (Fig. 2).20 3. Marian iconography, especially the motif of the Virgin and Child (Fig. 7).21 4. Individual saints, notably Saint George, Saint Theodore, and John the Baptist. The latter is, for instance, depicted on a very small curtain of 1763 (Fig. 9). 5. Miscellaneous subjects, such as ships and naval scenes (Fig. 10). Among the scenes from the life of Christ (or Gospel scenes), the Crucifixion is by far the most frequently depicted (Fig. 11). Still, the Last Judgment was also quite popular (Fig. 12). Curtains with scenes of the Crucifixion as well as the Last Supper were used in particular during Lent, and especially on Holy Thursday, when the Washing of the Feet, performed by the presiding priest or bishop, is an important symbol of the Last Meeting with the Apostles.

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The precise source of the iconography for these very specific Christian scenes still awaits more in-depth study. Still, it is quite clear that at least one of the major themes found on several curtains – the conversion to Christianity of King Trdat (thus the Armenian nation) by Saint Gregory in the 4th century (Fig. 4) – was heavily influenced in its iconography by a European engraving of 1628 (Fig. 13).22 As in the Armenian curtains inspired by it, the central field is dominated in the foreground by Gregory and the king, while at the top the depiction of the Trinity was obviously closely followed by the Armenian artists, as were the renderings of the churches and chapels surrounding Holy Etchmiadzin with Mount Ararat surmounted by Noah’s ark to the right of Saint Gregory. So even a superficial glance at the published curtains makes it clear that there were major external influences involved in the iconography, both from the West and from the East. A clear instance of western influence is to be found in the scene of the Last Supper on an 18th-century curtain (Fig. 14). It is quite unlike other Armenian versions, with an atypical square halo around Christ’s head and the western styled, probably Dutch or Spanish, shoes, buckles, and under-trousers of the Apostles.23 In this respect, these objects are certainly a testimony of the multi-layered cultural interactions of the 16th and 17th centuries (and beyond) in this region. On the other hand, notwithstanding the fact that there is little doubt that many Madras curtains were manufactured by Indians, the Armenian iconography and style of these curtains can put to rest the idea that Indian artists were responsible for their central motifs.24 Long before they were crafted in India for Armenian patrons, elaborate painted, printed, and embroidered altar curtains were made in various Armenian centres in Constantinople, Smyrna, Tokat, New Julfa, Erzerum and Tiflis.25 The Madras production was yet another expression of the very receptive Armenian cultural identity. conclusion Of the surviving pre-20th century Armenian altar curtains, by far the largest single group is from India, although they are to be considered Armenian is style and essence. The strongest element of their aesthetic is the Indian cotton used as support for the remarkable gamut of colours, displaying a characteristic vivacity (Fig. 15). Hence, the rich tones of their palette and the floral scrollwork of the backgrounds easily identify them as typical Armenian. Unfortunately, the remarkable art of decorating altar curtains did not survive the genocide.26 Like so many other traditional crafts, at least in Western Armenia, curtain painting or printing became a very rare art, and the multi-coloured and richly decorated curtains were replaced by drapery of uniform colour, decorated with a simple cross or even no motif at all.

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Recently, scholarly interest in this Armenian textile art form has increased significantly. The question is whether this new interest in the study and preservation of older curtains will revive the centuries-old tradition by encouraging artists and artisans to once again create visually pleasing and iconographical relevant veils for the holy altars of Armenian churches. Perhaps.

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not es 1

Among the many publications on the

2012, 95-6 and 105-10; Nersessian 2001, 129-

subject, the recent monograph by Sebouh

38; Idem 2011, 204-41; Sassouni 1984, 493-

Aslanian, From the Indian Ocean to the

2

503.

Mediterranean recapitulates and expands

6 Kouymjian 1981, 155-71.

all previous scholarship (Aslanian 2014). Cf.

7 On the replacement of the curtain with an

also Idem 2008, 379-428; Idem 2011, 207-11;

iconostasis, see Kazhdan et al. 1991, 2023-4.

Bekius 2010, 206-35; Herzig 1991.

On the Latin abandonment of curtains, see

For the edict issued by Shah Abbas i on the

Herbermann et al. 1907, 346-7. 8

permanent settlement of the Armenian 3

also Cornu, Grigorian, Kouymjian and

On the aesthetic of this production, see the

Martiniani-Reber 2007, 63-75; Guelton

catalogue by Guy and Thakar 2015.

2007, 48-61; Kouymjian 2007, 32-5; Idem 2015, 62-73; Idem 2017, 10-4; Martiniani-

4 The global success of Indian cotton during

Reber 2007, 37-46.

this period has been recently highlighted in 9

the London exhibition ‘The Fabric of India’

Details can be found in Nersoyan 1985, passim.

(Crill 2015, 78-179, esp. 98-101, 121-8, 136-7,

5

See Privat-Savigny and Berthod 2007. Cf.

community in New Julfa, see Canby 2009, 71.

156-7, 164-6 and 170-8). See also Guy 2013,

10 Der Nersessian 1973, 380.

12-27; Mackie 2015, 432-6; Peck 2013, 181-91.

11 Der Manuelian 1984, 20.

The long-standing interest in Armenian tex-

12 See Narkiss, Stone, and Sanjian 1979, pls.

tiles and carpets has been further cultivated

179 and 180; Kévorkian and Achdjian

by several exhibitions in the last two decades.

1991, 120-1. Elena Papastavrou has recently

The following publications (articles, book

linked the depictions to the style of the

chapters and exhibition catalogues) are

Constantinopolitan School of ecclesiastical

only a sample of the existing bibliography

embroidery (Papastavrou and Filiou 2016,

on various aspects of Armenian textile and

163-4). It should be noted that a curtain,

clothing culture throughout the ages: Ballian

depicting Saint Gregory alone blessing, was

2002, 116-9; Biedrónska-Słota 2011, 231-5;

incorrectly dated to 1613 (Khazaryan 1984,

Chondrogiannis 2010, 56-67; Cybulska and

unnumbered pages).

Orlinska-Mianowska 2011, 203-11; Eastmond 13 Kévorkian and Achdjian 1991, 116 and cat. 105.

and Jones 2001, 147-63; Evans 2014, 93-6; History Museum of Armenia 2016, 82-93;

14 See on this matter for example MartinianiReber 2015, 301-2.

Kévorkian and Achdjian 1991; Kouymjian 1991, 67-72; Idem 1996, 442-3; Idem 2007,

15 See Guelton 2007, 48-61.

29-35; Idem 2014, 12-3 and 16-31; Idem 2016,

16 Privat-Savigny and Berthod 2007, cats. 12 and 71.

6-7; Kouymjian and Achdjian 2005, 68-73; Martiniani-Reber 2008, 141-54; Maranci

17 Nersessian 2001, 131-3.

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Museum, New York 2018 Armenian

18 See Durand, Rapti and Giovannoni 2006,

exhibition (inv. no.1084) (Evans 2018, 290-1).

449-51. 19 The importance of this specific theme is

22 There is an original in the church of San

also attested by one of the earliest known

Gregorio degli Armeni (Saint George of

datable Armenian religious embroideries:

the Armenians) in Naples, reproduced in

a processional banner (gonfalon) dating to

Ashjian 2003, plates unnumbered; see also

probably 1448 depicting Saint Gregory,

Ayvazyan et al. 2002, pl. 4.3 and fig. 1.

framed by King Trdat and his queen (Evans

23 Cf. Nersessian 2001, 132.

2018, 180-1; Nersessian 2001, 129). This is

24 India was producing many different objects

not the earliest known Armenian piece of

for the ecclesiastical market at that time,

embroidery though (Evans 2018, 154-5 and

among them ivories for the Catholic Church

189).

(Gusella 2017, 115-23). There is an ‘Indian touch’ in many of these devotional objects,

20 Christological themes, like the Descent from the Cross, appear in chintz p’orurar

although the Christian patrons were mostly

(priest’s stole) as well (Crill 2015, 100-1).

responsible for the iconographical themes reproduced.

There are also examples of more complex compositions, featuring both Old and New

25 For a 1689 liturgical curtain printed in

Testament scenes (see for example V&A

Tokat, see Evans 2018, 219-20, and for a 1741

Museum inv. no.1749-1892).

altar frontal made in New Julfa, see Idem, 248-9.

21 See for instance a 1695 altar frontal from the collection of the Holy See of Cilicia,

26 When Patriarch Malachia Ormanian (1841-

Antelias (Lebanon) featuring a scene of the

1918) compiled his Dictionary of Church

Annunciation in the centre and symbols of

Ritual at the beginning of the last century,

the four evangelists within roundels. The

he remarked that altar curtains were still

object, originally made in New Julfa, was

being actively used. See Ormanian, 1957,

recently exhibited at The Metropolitan

188-89.

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bi bl iogr a ph y Ashjian, M. 2003. The Etchmiadzin Chronicles, Erevan. Aslanian, S. 2008. Some Notes on a Letter Sent from an Armenian Priest in Bengal to the All Savior’s Monastery at New Julfa in 1727, in: B. Der Mugrdechian (ed.), Between Paris and Fresno: Armenian Studies in Honor of Dickran Kouymjian, Costa Mesa (ca), 379-428. Aslanian, S. 2011. La floraison culturelle des communautés arméniennes en Inde et dans l’Océan Indien et le développement de leur pensée sociale et politique au xviiie siècle, in: G. Uluhogian, B.L. Zekiyan and V. Karapetian (eds.), Arménie, Impressions d’une civilisation, Milan, 207-11. Aslanian, S. 2014. From the Indian Ocean to the Mediterranean: The Global Trade Networks of Armenian Merchants from New Julfa, Oakland. Ayvazyan, H. et al. (eds.) 2001. Christian Armenia Encyclopedia, Erevan. Ballian, A. (ed.) 2002. Relics of the Armenians of Cilicia, Athens. Bekius, R. 2010. A Global Enterprise. Armenian Merchants in the Textile Trade in the 17th and 18th Centuries, in: J. Thompson, D. Shaffer and P. Mildh (eds.), Carpets and Textiles in the Iranian World 1400-1700. Proceedings of the Conference held at the Ashmolean Museum on 30-31 August 2003, Oxford & Genoa, 206-35. Biedrónska-Słota, B. 2011. Armenian Silk Sashes, in: W. Deluga (ed.), Series Byzantina, Studies on Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Art, Vol. ix: Art of the Armenian Diaspora, Proceedings of the conference, Zamość, April 28-30, 2010, Warsaw, 231-5. Canby, S. (ed.) 2009. Shah ‘Abbas. The Remaking of Iran, London. Chondrogiannis, S. (ed.) 2010. Aspects of Armenian Art: The Kalfayan Collection. Temporary Exhibition: June 11-October 10, 2010, Museum of Byzantine Culture, Thessaloniki, Athens. Cybulska, M. and E. Orlinska-Mianowska 2011. Armenian Fabric from the Collections of the National Museum in Warsaw – Analysis, Reconstruction and Identification, in: W. Deluga (ed.), Series Byzantina, Studies on Byzantine and Post-Byzantine Art, Vol. ix: Art of the Armenian Diaspora, Proceedings of the conference, Zamość, April 28-30, 2010, Warsaw, 203-11 Cornu, G., A. Grigorian, D. Kouymjian and M. Martiniani-Reber 2007. Catalogue des rideaux de chœur, in: A.-M. Privat-Savigny and B. Berthod (eds.), Ors et trésors d’Armenie, Lyon, 63-75. Crill, R. 2015. Local and Global: Patronage and Use, in: R. Crill (ed.) The Fabric of India, London, 78-179. Der Manuelian, L. 1984. Weavers, Merchants and Kings: The Inscribed Rugs of Armenia, Fort Worth, tx.

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Der Nersessian, S. 1944-1945. Une apologie des images du septième siècle, Byzantion 17, 58-87. Durand, J., I. Rapti and D. Giovannoni (eds.) 2006. Armenia sacra: Mémoire chrétienne des Arméniens (ive-xviiie siècle), Paris. Eastmond, A. and L. Jones 2001. Robing, Power, and Legitimacy in Armenia and Georgia, in: S. Gorbon (ed.), Robes and Honor: The Medieval World of Investiture, New York, 147-91. Evans, B. 2014. The Armenian Knot, Hali 179, 93-6. Evans, H. (ed.) 2018. Armenia: Art, Religion, and Trade in the Middle Ages, New York, New Haven & London. Guelton, M.-H. 2007. De l’Inde à l’Arménie, la fabrication des rideaux de chœur, in: A.-M. Privat-Savigny and B. Berthod (eds.), Ors et tresors d’Armenie, Lyon, 48-62. Gusella, F. 2017. Behind the Practice of Partnership: Seventeenth-Century Portuguese Devotional Ivories of West India, in: M. Gibson and S. Babaie (eds.), The Mercantile Effect: On Art and Exchange in the 17th and 18th Centuries, London, 115-23. Guy, J. 2013. ‘One Thing Leads to Another’: Indian Textiles in the Early Globalization of Style, in: A. Peck (ed.), Interwoven Globe: The Worldwide Textile Trade, 15001800, London, 12-27. Guy, J. and K. Thakar 2015. Indian Cotton Textiles: Seven Centuries of Chintz from the Karun Thakar Collection, Woodbridge. Herbermann, C.G. et al. (eds.) 1907. The Catholic Encyclopedia, vol. 1, New York. Herzig, E.M. 1991. The Armenian Merchants of New Julfa, Isfahan: A Study in Pre-Modern Asian Trade, unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Oxford. History Museum of Armenia (ed.) 2016. Armenia. The Spirit of Ararat: Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, March 14-May 31, 2016, Athens. Kazhdan, A.P. et al. 1991. The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, vol. 3, New York & Oxford. Kévorkian, R.H. and B. Achdjian (eds.) 1991. Tapis et Textiles Arméniens, Marseille. Khazaryan, M. (ed.) 1984. Treasures of Etchmiadzin. Etchmiadzin. Kouymjian, D. 1981. The Eastern Case: The Classical Tradition in Armenian Art and the Scaenae Frons , in: M. Mullet and R. Scott (eds.), Byzantium and the Classical Tradition, Birmingham, 155-71. Kouymjian, D. 1991. Les tapis à inscriptions arméniennes, in: R. H. Kévorkian and B. Achdjian (eds.), Tapis et textiles arméniens, Marseille, 67-72 Kouymjian, D. 1996. Armenia. vi: Other arts. 1. Ceramics. 2. Jewellery. 3. Metalwork. 4. Textiles, Embroidery, and Lace, in: J. Turner (ed.), The Dictionary of Art, New York & London, 439-43. Kouymjian, D. and B. Achdjian 2005. The Legacy of the Indjoudjians, Hali 142, 68-73.

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Kouymjian, D. 2007a. L’art des rideaux de chœur arméniens, in: A.-M. Privat-Savigny and B. Berthod (eds.), Ors et trésors d’Armenie, Lyon, 30-5. Kouymjian, D. 2007b. Textiles arméniens: une riche palette, in: D. Serena (ed.) Trames d’Arménie : tapis et broderies sur les chemins de l’exil (1900-1940), Arles, 29-35. Kouymjian, D. 2014a. An Armenian Liturgical Curtain, The Cleveland Museum of Art Members Magazine, September/October 2014, 12-3. Kouymjian, D. 2014b. The Berlin Dragon-Phoenix Carpet and Its Probable Armenian Origin, in: Armenian Rugs Society (ed.), Armenian Rugs and Textiles: An Overview of Examples from Four Centuries, Vienna, 16-31. Kouymjian, D. 2015. Armenian Altar Hangings: New Julfa to Jerusalem, Hali 186, 62-73. Kouymjian, D. 2016. Les Arméniens et l’art du tapis: 3.000 ans de passion, Nor Haratch Hebdo 11, 6-7. Kouymjian, D. 2017. Les rideaux d’autel arméniens de Madras, Qantara Magazine des cultures arabe et méditerranéenne 106, 10-4. Mackie, L. 2015. Symbols of Power: Luxury Textiles from Islamic Lands, 7th-21st Century, New Haven, London & Cleveland, oh. Maranci, C. 2012. Inside and Outside the Armenian Community of Smyrna: A Description of Monuments and Textile Arts, in: R.G. Hovannisian (ed.), Armenian Smyrna/Izmir: the Aegean Communities, ucla Armenian History and Culture Series, Costa Mesa, ca, 91-110. Martiniani-Reber, M. 2007a. Fonction et symboles dans la liturgie arménienne, in: A.-M. Privat-Savigny and B. Berthod (eds.), Ors et trésors d’Armenie, Lyon, 42-6. Martiniani-Reber, M. 2007b. Les rideaux de chœur: Introduction à leur origine et à leur usage dans les églises orientales, A.-M. Privat-Savigny and B. Berthod (eds.), Ors et trésors d’Armenie, Lyon, 36-41. Martiniani-Reber, M. 2008. Les tissus médiévaux arméniens: essai d’identification, in: B. Der Mugrdechian (ed.), Between Paris and Fresno: Armenian Studies in Honor of Dickran Kouymjian, Costa Mesa (ca), 141-54. Martiniani-Reber, M. 2015. Paramentique et autres textiles, in: S.B. Dadoyan (ed.), The Armenian Catholicosate of Cilicia: History, Treasures, Mission, Antelias, 298-331 Narkiss, B., M. Stone, and A. Sanjian 1979. Armenian Art Treasures of Jerusalem, New Rochelle (ny). Nersessian, V. (ed.) 2001. Treasures from the Art: 1700 Years of Armenian Christian Art, London. Nersessian, V. 2011. The Marcy-Indjoudjian Cope, Ars Orientalis 40, 204-41. Nersoyan, T. 1985. Divine Liturgy of the Armenian Apostolic Orthodox Church, London (6th ed.; 1st ed. New York 1950).

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Ormanian, M. 1957. Dzisakan pararan (Dictionary of [Church] Ritual), Antelias. Papastavrou, E. and D. Filiou 2016. On the Beginnings of the Constantinopolitan School of Embroidery, Zograf 39, 161-76. Peck, A. (ed.) 2013. Interwoven Globe: The Worldwide Textile Trade, 1500-1800, London. Privat-Savigny, A. and B. Berthod (eds.) 2007. Ors et Trésor d’Arménie, Lyon. Sassouni, V. 1984. Rugs with Armenian Inscriptions and Associated Designs, in: G. Ieni and G. Uluhogian (eds.), Terzo Simposio Internazionale di Arte Armena, Atti, 493-503.

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fig. 1 – Altar Curtain, 1808, Madras, Resurrection and scenes from the Life of Christ, commissioned for the Holy Mother of God Church in Tiflis [600 x 800 cm]; Alex and Marie Manoogian Museum, Holy Etchmiadzin (Photo: Author).

fig. 2 – Altar Curtain, 1756, Tokat; Alex and Marie Manoogian Museum, Holy Etchmiadzin (Photo: Boghos Boghossian).

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fig. 3 – Altar Curtain, 1697, Madras, Scenes from the Passion of Christ; All Savior Church, New Julfa-Isfahan (Photo: Hrair Hawk Khacherian).

fig. 4 – Altar Curtain, 1789, Madras, St. T‘oros (Theodorus) for Church of St. T‘oros, Armenian Convent, Jerusalem (Photo: Author).

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fig. 5 – Altar Frontal, 1620, Constantinople; St. James Cathedral, Jerusalem (Photo: Boghos Boghossian).

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fig. 6 – Altar Curtain, 1705-1714, Constantinople; Alex and Marie Manoogian Museum, Holy Etchmiadzin (Photo: Boghos Boghossian).

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fig. 7 – Altar Curtain, 1789, Madras; Alex and Marie Manoogian Museum, Holy Etchmiadzin (Photo: Satenig Batwagan).

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fig. 8 – Altar Curtain, 1654, Madras; New Delhi National Museum (Photo: Courtesy New Delhi National Museum).

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figs. 9a-b – Altar Curtain, 1763, fashioned in the village of Hasan Pasha Khan for the Monastery of St. John the Baptist, Mush; the saint is shown holding his own severed head (Photo: Courtesy The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio).

fig. 10 – Altar Curtain, 1818, Madras, the curtain depicting an armed sailing ship was commissioned by an Armenian shipping merchant; Cathedral of St. James, Jerusalem (Photo: John Carswell).

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fig. 11 – Altar Curtain, 1781, Tokat, for the Armenian Church of Sucheva, Romania; Alex and Marie Manoogian Museum, Holy Etchmiadzin (Photo: Author).

fig. 12 – Altar Curtain, 1733, Bursa, Last Judgment; Cilician Museum (Photo: Cilician Catholicosate, Antelias).

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fig. 13 – Engraving, St. Gregory baptizing King Trdat, Conversion of Armenia, modern copy of a 17th-century engraving; private collection, Paris (Photo: Author).

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fig. 14 – Altar Curtain, 18th century, Last Supper, from the Monastery of Sanahin; Historical Museum, Erevan (Photo: Author).

fig. 15 – Altar Curtain, 1791, Madras, two panels, Descent from the Cross and the Betrayal of Judas, from a series of twelve of the Life of Christ; Alex and Marie Manoogian Museum, Holy Etchmiadzin (Photo: Author).

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Concluding remarks: Textiles as units of cultural transmission Nikolaos Vryzidis

*

These concluding remarks will mainly touch upon the cultural functions of textiles, more specifically on their function within specific ‘monocultural’ contexts as well as on their function in cross-cultural encounters. The wide-ranging contributions presented in this volume have certainly demonstrated these aspects. For the historical, anthropological and sociological understanding of textiles it is certainly relevant that discussions in the field of evolutionary archaeology on the reproduction of cultural settings have long focused on artefacts as units of transmission. Since prehistory, objects and other forms of material culture have acted as agents transmitting technology, aesthetic, social customs and collective traditions governing societies and cultures.1 This holds also true for fabrics. As anthropologists examining the role of mimesis have noted in relation to social learning, textiles are of fundamental importance in an individual’s initiation to their own cultural setting.2 The diversity of their use, in everyday life as well as in domestic, religious and civic ceremonies, leaves no doubt on their function as agents and their crucial role in the mimetic process of cultural transmission.3 If the inspiring variety of contributions to this volume makes anything clear, it is that throughout human history, textiles have been, and still are, a vital element of acquired culture, which can best be understood with an approach based on the conjunction between recurrent representations and their variability.4 Avinoam Shalem’s article, for instance, identifies a correlation between specific uses and qualities of textiles and poetry written in Arabic. The focus of his study shows The Hidden Life of Textiles, ed. by Nikolaos Vryzidis, Medieval and Post-Medieval Mediterranean Archaeology Series iii (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 279-284

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the two-fold dynamics of cultural traits: the text provides the object with symbolic value, while it seems probable that the text itself was inspired by the object’s use in real life. As Shalem highlights the relationship between literary metaphors and textiles, it becomes clear that it is not only a matter of the textiles reproducing the context, but also vice versa. On a different stage, that of cross-cultural encounters, Scott Redford’s contribution on Rum Seljuk flags concentrates on the ornamental elements shared by contemporaneous or successive polities in the Eastern Mediterranean. Using examples from Islamic and Christian societies, he provides a basic grammar of the ornamentation on flags and banners, shared by both ally and foe throughout a long period of the Late Middle Ages. This suggests a continuous process of transmission of ornamentation between cultures and over time. Although textiles were not the central medium of this transmission, the highlighted cross-current goes well beyond the model of specific cultural usages ‘inherited’ from the ‘parent’ to the ‘offspring’ culture. At the same time, it remains unclear whether this metaphor is applicable at all to Muslim dynasties. Marielle Martiniani-Reber follows a similar line of research, exploring the role that textiles played as units of transmission between Middle Byzantine and medieval Islamic cultures. Her article draws upon texts, representations, as well as objects, and clearly presents the function fulfilled by textiles in this intercultural transmission. Her conclusions are supported by an abundance of examples showing that the mimetic process assists cultures in learning from each other, thus becoming culturally intertwined ‘relatives’. Laura Rodríguez Peinado and Ana Cabrera-Lafuente discuss similar questions in relation to the art of Andalusí textiles. To a certain extent, they imply that what has until now been understood as a typical product of Islamic Andalusí aesthetic could have simply been part of the material culture of medieval Iberia in a much more general way. Although more research is required on the subject, it may be that this contribution ultimately leads to the suggestion, as already hinted at in this volume’s introduction, that the concept of Andalusí textiles must be understood in the perspective of the invented geography of cloth. This would mean that they are as relevant for 19th-century European culture as for the culture of medieval Iberia. With an almost opposite approach in her article, Maria Sardi breaks down the diverse elements that led to the formation of a standardized Mamluk aesthetic. In this way, she shows that textiles were a main ingredient and end-product of an historical process of artistic merging. The different imports reaching Egypt functioned as a complex pattern of influences that set in motion the formation of a new Mamluk aesthetic. At the very least, the imports highlighted the inherent need for a new and culturally distinctive language.

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Vera-Simone Schulz’s multi-faceted article is perhaps even more revealing on the issue of imports of textiles, as it discusses the trans-Mediterranean connections that late medieval Italy enjoyed. Fabrics from as far as the Congo and China became recognizable cultural capital through what one could describe as a mimetic acquiring of imported culture. It is quite remarkable that this acquired culture also produced ‘topographies of cloth’: textiles were granted specific labels that supposedly signalled their origin, but which were in fact more a reflection of their marketable qualities. Elena Papastavrou returns in her contribution to the monocultural arena, both challenging and reinforcing this concept at the same time. Her work on the ‘osmotic synthesis’ of Greek textile art in Ottoman Constantinople reveals how a craft can abundantly absorb elements from both East and West while retaining a sense of individuality in its iconography. This approach places textile arts at the heart of cultural transformations, and reflects ‘the big picture’ onto a specific artistic product. My own article presents a similar argument, as it demonstrates that the use by the Greek Church of textiles produced by local Muslim and foreign weavers served a very specific purpose. In this case study the focus is on animal motifs as religious symbols, although their origin is from quite different aesthetics. Apart from Ottoman silks, textiles from Iran and China also catered to the Orthodox Christian need for these symbols, no matter how exotic they might seem now. An alternative reading of this process may suggest that the pre-existing repertoire of symbols actually facilitated a flexible acculturation. In this way textiles served a dual function: they perpetuated the message ascribed to the animal motifs within the specific religious context, while at the same time they transmitted foreign cultural elements to an Orthodox Christian cultural tradition. Perhaps these last two studies exemplify the ways in which textiles can help to understand that there is no sharp division between a cross-cultural or multicultural context and a monocultural context. Cultural distinctiveness can be constructed through a process of selecting foreign elements, a sort of ‘active selection’, to paraphrase the term ‘active reception’, which seems so popular among art historians these days. Finally, the articles by Jacopo Gnisci and Dickran Kouymjian are exciting testimonies of the increased interest in the connections of the Mediterranean cultural area with other cultural regions, be it adjacent or quite distant. It is refreshing to remember this connectivity, which is so easy to neglect if one sticks to the myopic eyesight of today’s political geography. Gnisci’s article shows how ecclesiastic dress in medieval and post-medieval Ethiopia continued to relate to the Mediterranean, mostly as a result of the strong cultural ties to Coptic Egypt. Although the mimetic process of cultural transfer took place between one Christian group and another, it again illustrates how far Mediterranean culture could reach.

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With a completely different perspective, Kouymjian’s article celebrates the cultural receptivity of the Armenian nation and culture in diaspora, which effectively connected Asia (Iran and India in this case) to the Mediterranean and Europe, primarily by means of trade, not in the last place trade in textiles. The diversity in the textiles used as altar curtains in Armenian churches is a unique testimony of their dual function as transmitters of imported culture and perpetuators of deeply rooted traditions. Closing, it is hard to escape the conclusion that the various articles in this volume are connected by a shared theme: throughout history and cultures textiles flexibly acquire different identities when changing context, and they can themselves easily shape context and identity. No doubt, textiles have a manageable materiality, allowing their use or reuse according to new contexts. However, regardless of their origin, it is their capacity to carry ideas and symbolisms that gave them such a central role in medieval and early modern Mediterranean cultures. In this way textiles contributed to the interwovenness of cultures on a trans-Mediterranean level, effectively weaving a web of novel aesthetics and technologies in this extraordinary basin of civilizations.

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not es 1

For a discussion of the theoretical debates

Thebes), which may suggest the possibility

on evolutionary archaeology, see Cochrane

of a ‘Mediterranean-wide sensibility’. In view

2011, 31-61.

of the role textiles played in processions,

2

Marriott, Parker and Denzinger 2010, 21-37.

one should perhaps not underestimate their

3

Leslie Brubaker recently noted the common

function as unifying element in relation to

features in public processions in different

the mimetic process of acquiring culture

medieval Mediterranean contexts (Cairo,

(Brubaker 2018, 219-35). 4 Boyer 1999, 876-89.

Constantinople, Rome and as well as

* bi bl iogr a ph y Boyer, P. 1999. Cognitive tracks of cultural inheritance: How evolved intuitive ontology governs cultural transmission, American Anthropologist 100.4, 876-89. Brubaker, L. 2018. Space, place and culture: Processions across the Mediterranean, in: A. Lymberopoulou (ed.), Cross-Cultural Interaction Between Byzantium and the West, 1204-1669: Whose Mediterrranean Is It Anyway, London & New York, 219-35. Cochrane, E. 2011. Units of transmission in evolutionary archaeology and the role of memetics, in: E. Cochrane and A. Gardner (eds.), Evolutionary and Interpretive Archaeologies: A Dialogue, Walnut Creek, 31-61. Marriott, C., J. Parker and J. Denzinger 2010. Imitation as a mechanism of cultural transmission, Artificial Life 16, 21-37.

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*

*

Glossary of textile terms used in this book Compiled by

Ana Cabrera-Lafuente and Nikolaos Vryzidis

* basic weaving techniques – Since the Byzantine era and the flourishing of the Middle Eastern weaving centres of the early Middle Ages six ways of weaving are considered ‘basic weaving techniques’: tabby (s.v.; also: plain weave or taffeta when woven with silk), twill (s.v.), satin (s.v.) – these are the three ‘fundamental techniques’ –, as well as damask (s.v.), lampas (s.v.), and tapestry (s.v.). compound weave – A fabric with two sets of lengthwise warps (s.v.): one for the ground, which is usually hidden beneath the textile surface, and a second for binding the patterning wefts (s.v.). Compound textiles have at least two sets of wefts, one for the ground and one or more for the decoration (patterning wefts). They can be described as weft or warp-faced, depending on which of them (wefts or warps) are more visible. The early medieval compound weaves are considered a Chinese invention. damask – A self-patterned fabric, either monochrome or two-coloured, with one warp and one weft. The design takes form by contrasting two different weave structures. The classical damask (damasco classico) is woven by reversing the two faces of a satin weave. During the Middle Ages damasks were silk woven, while later also other fibers were used, including linen, cotton, wool, and nowadays synthetic fibers, like rayon. Damask originated in China around 300 b.c., but developed into a major weaving technique during the Early Middle Ages, when the production centred around the Byzantine heartland and the Middle East. The fabric takes its name from the city of Damascus. hil‘at / khil’at – The Islamic robe of honour, presented to diplomats and bureaucrats on various ceremonial occasions by the Muslim sovereign. Similar, but apparently less ritualised, traditions existed in Byzantium and other European courts. ikat – A resist dyeing technique in which the resist is wound around the yarns (either for warp or weft threads), contributing to the creation of a specific decorative effect. While the word ikat is Indonesian the origin of the technique remains unknown.

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kemha – Ottoman lampas silk enriched with metallic threads, usually featuring a satin ground and a twill pattern. When woven particularly rich in metallic threads, it is called zerbaft. Without metallic threads it is called serenk. lamella – The metal strip used for metallic threads. If used alone, the thread usually consisted of silver-gilt or silver alloys mixed with copper. lampas – A compound weave which uses two warps (main and binding) and two or more wefts (one for the ground and the other(s) for the decoration). Lampas has a warp-faced ground and is patterned with motifs in one or more colours which are rendered in a weft-faced structure. Pattern wefts can work across the full width of the cloth, or be limited to the area where required by the pattern (brocading wefts). Lampas is a versatile structure, with many possible variations. Lampas weave is thought to originate from Persia, spreading from there throughout the Mediterranean. Early examples of lampas are found in Iberia, though it became particularly popular in late medieval Italy, developing into one of the main weaves in the centuries thereafter. pattern weft – A supplementary weft added to a fabric in order to create the decoration or pattern. samite – A silk fabric of a compound twill, plain or patterned, but often including metallic thread. Samite, which is thought to be of Chinese origin, was perhaps the most important silk weave of the Byzantine Empire, while it was also produced in Persia and Iberia. From the 9th century samite and other Byzantine silks entered Europe via the Italian trading ports and as diplomatic gifts. Samite was a luxurious fabric for royals and the elite, and has been found in different sepulchral and religious contexts in the Near East, North Africa and Europe. In the 12th and 13th centuries, the statutes of the silk-weaving guilds in Venice specifically distinguished ‘sammet weavers’ from other silk weavers. satin – A highly flexible fabric with a glossy surface. The satin weave (one of three ‘fundamental’ textile weaves) is characterized by ‘floats’, warps completely covering the wefts, and vice versa. This results in a high luster and even sheen, due to the way the light reflects from the fabric. During the Middle Ages, satin was made of silk and very expensive. It could be used in compound weaves, such as damask and lampas, but also as a ground fabric in embroideries, which survive in garments, curtains and robes of honour. Although satin was mostly used in the Islamic world, it became a desirable fabric in Europe during the 12th century.

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silk – A natural protein fiber, some forms of which can be woven into textiles. Generally, only the silk of moth caterpillars has been used for textile manufacturing. The earliest surviving example of silk fabric dates from about 3630 BC, and was used as the wrapping for the body of a child in China. Silk also has a long history in India. The cultivation of silk spread throughout the medieval Mediterranean and Europe thanks to the Arabs. Until the 11th century, Byzantium, Tunisia and Iberia were the main production centers. During the same century silk cultivation arrived in Italy via Sicily, with important centers emerging in Lucca, Florence, Venice and Genoa. tabby – The plain weave in which the warp and the weft form a criss-cross pattern. taffeta – A silk tabby or plain weave. In Persian the word means ‘twisted woven’. tapestry – A tabby with more wefts than warps, the latter being mostly hidden by wefts forming the pattern. It is a plain weft-faced weave having weft threads of different colours worked over portions of the warp to form the design. taqueté – A compound tabby, with both ground and pattern woven in tabby or taffeta. It can have supplementary (brocading) wefts. tiraz – Both a workshop, and a type of textile decorated with, among other motifs, inscriptions, usually blessings, verses from the Koran, the name of the ruler, the location, and sometimes the date of manufacturing. Tiraz textiles were used in Islamic robes of honour. twill – A weave based on a unit of three or more picks (individual wefts) which pass through two or more adjacent ends (individual warps) and under them, forming a pattern of diagonal lines. twist (z or s) – The spinning direction (twist) of the warps and wefts is defined as ‘z’ or ‘s’, that is, either clockwise or counterclockwise during the spinning process. velvet – A fabric with pile (or ‘hair’), which is created with additional warps looped during the weaving, cut or uncut depending on the pattern. During the Middle Ages, it was made of silk and associated with the nobility. warp & weft – In weaving the longitudinal threads are called the warp, and the horizontal threads are the weft.

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List of figures *

pag. 10 – Epigonation, late 17th/18th-century Qing embroidery, © St. Stephen’s Nunnery, Meteora – unnumbered; photo: Manos Sinopoulos – (cf. infra p. 182).

l au r a rodr ígu ez pe i na do & a na c a br e r a-l a f u e n t e table 1 – Diagram showing the various dyes detected on the textiles from the Iberian Peninsula. fig. 1 – Illustration from the 1879 article by R. Amador de los Ríos about the textiles and garments from the burial of Prince D. Felipe, Villalcazar de Sirga, Palencia (after Amador de los Rios 1879, unnumbered plate). fig. 2 – Fragment of an Andalusí silk acquired by the South Kensington Museum to Bock in 1863, with the 19th-century mounting; © Victoria and Albert Museum, London (inv. no. t. 8566/1863). fig. 3 – Metal thread from the embroidery held in Oña Monastery (Burgos). In the core the silk thread, outline by the brown organic material and the thin gold leaf. (Composition: Au 9196,55%; Ag 3,5-8,3% and Cu traces). fig. 4 – Band of San Ramon, weft-faced compound twill with a decoration in tapestry, late 11thearly 12th century; Cathedral of Roda de Isábena (Huesca). fig. 5 – Fragment from the Cope of San Fructoso, silk cloth of aresta, 13th century; Cathedral of Roda de Isábena (Huesca). fig. 6 – Mitre of San Victorián, embroidered linen tabby or plain weave; Museo Diocesano Barbastro-Monzón (Huesca). fig. 7 – Textile decorated with circles, late 11th-early 12th century; Cathedral of Roda de Isábena (Huesca). fig. 8 – Textile with roundel patterns from Santa Librada burial; (Cathedral of Sigüenza, Guadalajara). fig. 9 – Fragment in lampas weave, from the same textile that was used for the Cope of the Condestable (Cathedral of Burgos); © Victoria and Albert Museum, London (inv. no. t.1105-1900).

av i noa m sh a l e m fig. 1 – A nocturnal scene of al-Hārith and Abū Zayd conversing. Maqāmāt al-Harīrī, probably Syria, 1334; Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna (inv. no. a.f. 9, fol. 87v).

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fig. 2 – Dancing Men, ink and watercolour on paper, Muhammad Siyāh-Qalam (Muhammad Siyāh of the Black Pen), 14th century (after Roxburgh 2005, fig. 110). fig. 3 – Automaton attendant serving wine (detail), al-Jazarī, Hiyal, Syria, 13th century; Berenson Collection, Villa I Tatti, Florence. fig. 4 – Badr al-Dīn Luʾluʾ riding a horse. Kitāb al-Aghānī (Book of Songs) of Abu ’l-Faraj alIsbahānī. Copied and illustrated in Mosul, 1219; David Collection, Copenhagen, inv. no. d 1/1990 (on permanent loan from the Royal Library of Copenhagen).

scot t r e dfor d fig. 1 – Açıksaray, Cappadocia, Turkey. Detail showing painted checkerboard decoration, Byzantine, 10th-11th century (Photo: Author). fig. 2 – Açıksaray, Cappadocia, Turkey. Façade detail showing painted spear in niche to the far right, Byzantine, 10th-11th century (Photo: Author). fig. 3 – Pavilion H, Hasbahçe, Alanya, Turkey, Seljuk, 1220s. Detail showing the painted zigzag fresco decoration stepped at the base of the pavilion (Photo: Author, 1996). fig. 4 – Orta Kapı, Alanya, Turkey, Seljuk, 1220s-1230s. General view showing the entrance gate flanked by panels of painted checkerboard decoration (Photo: Author). fig. 5 – The Angel ‘Alataqa’il. Ms. Persan 174, Bibliothèque nationale, Paris, Folio 18r. Used with permission. fig. 6 – The Tent of Alexander. Ms. Persan 174, Bibliothèque nationale, Paris, Folio 103v. Used with permission. fig. 7 – Birth scene, Ilkhanid, 14th century. Diez Albums, Folio 70, page 8. Bkp / Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin / Ellwardt. Used with permission. fig. 8 – The Juki Shahname, The Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, Ms. no 239, Folio 155b. Rustam Drags the Khaqan from his Elephant. Used with permission.

m a r i a sa r di fig. 1 – Silk lampas with inscribed medallions filled with confronted birds flanking a Tree of Life [max. l: 18 x w: 11.5 cm]; Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, inv. no. 14975 (Photo: L. Kourgiantakis), © Benaki Museum (Unpublished). fig. 2 – Fragment of the so-called Rasulid silk; The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, inv. no. 31.14a-c, Rogers Fund 1931, © The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. fig. 3 – Reconstruction of a silk ogival fragment bearing a double-headed eagle framed by inscriptions in mirror image; Museum of Islamic Art, Cairo. Drawing by E. Zotou (After Herz Bey 1906, fig. 52), © M. Sardi. fig. 4 – Reconstruction of a silk damask forming the skull cap of a Mamluk headgear decorated with addorsed animals; The State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg, inv. no. eg 934. Drawing by E. Zotou, © M. Sardi.

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fig. 5 – Blue and beige silk fragment bearing addorsed regardant animals within ogivals. The reverse side of parts of the fabric is also displayed here [max. l: 34 x max. w: 33 cm]; Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, inv. no. 15065 (Photo: L. Kourgiantakis), © Benaki Museum (Unpublished). fig. 6 – Reconstruction of a now beige on blue silk lampas bearing addorsed regardant birds within ogivals formed with fish and floral interlace; Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, inv. no. 15739. Drawing by E. Zotou, © M. Sardi. fig. 7 – Blue and white cotton fragment with running animals and Arabic inscriptions that read: liman yanzuru lī ana al-Qamar (To whoever looks at me, I am the moon) [l: 40 x w: 20 cm] (Inscription read by Mohamed Abdelsalam); The Textile Museum, Washington, dc, inv. no. 1968.33, © The Textile Museum, Washington, dc, Museum Purchase (Unpublished). fig. 8a – Reconstruction of a Mamluk silk lampas with gold threads, known as the Mantle for the Statue of the Virgin. It bears tear-shaped inscribed medallions which alternate with large lotus blossoms displayed in opposite direction. Yellow, light blue and white pattern on blue ground. The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio, inv. no. 1939.40 (Illustrated in Mackie 2015, fig. 7.31). Drawing by E. Zotou, © M. Sardi. fig. 8b. – Reconstruction of the pattern on a glass mosque lamp made for Sultan Hasan’s Complex in Cairo (completed in 1359). It is decorated with large lotus blossoms displayed in opposite direction to tear-shaped compartments occupied by the suspension rings. The motifs are displayed in blue on a golden ground. Museum of Islamic Art, Cairo, inv. no. 282 (Illustrated in Gallin 2017, fig. 2.34). Drawing by E. Zotou, © M. Sardi. fig. 9 – Silk fragment with quatrefoils within ogivals [l: 31 x w: 21 cm]; National Museum of Sweden, Stockholm, inv. no. nmk 145/1935, © Photo: Greta Lindström / Nationalmuseum (Unpublished). fig. 10 – Silk fragment with squares filled with star-like patterns and rosettes. In the interstices elongated hexagons filled with pseudo inscriptions [l: 11.2 x w: 7.8 cm]; Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, inv. no. 15100 (Photo: L. Kourgiantakis), © Benaki Museum (Unpublished). fig. 11 – Fragment from the upper part of an undyed linen tunic with silk embroidery in the form of cloud-collar. It bears a blue and white hem at the neck opening [l: 45.5 x w: 27 cm]; Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, inv. no. 16121 (Photo: L. Kourgiantakis), © Benaki Museum (Unpublished). fig. 12 – Linen panel covered with blue, brown and yellow silk embroidery of rosettes and lotus blossoms [l: 47 x w: 46 cm]; Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, inv. no. 16004 (Photo: L. Kourgiantakis), © Benaki Museum (Unpublished). fig. 13 – Linen tirāz band with blue and brown silk embroidery. Text: ʿ izz li-mawlānā al-sultān al-mālik al-nāsir / Nāsir al-Dunyā wa’ l-dīn Muhammad [?] Sultān al-islām wa’ l-muslimīn sayyid al-mulūk wa’ l-salātīn (Glory to our Lord, the Sultan al-Malik Nasir / the defender of the world and religion, Muhammad (?) […] Sultan of Islam and of the Muslims, Master

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of kings and sultans […]). (As read in Combe et al. 1931, 169, no 5867) [l: 24 x w: 6 cm]. Benaki Museum of Islamic Art, Athens, inv. no. 15094 (Photo: S. Samios), © Benaki Museum (Unpublished). fig. 14 – Resist-dyed cotton fragment with a running hare and rampant lion within medallions flanked by vocative inscriptions punctuated with heraldic shields [l: 11.8 x w: 28.6 cm]. The inscription reads al-ʿ izz wa’ l-nasr wa’ l-iqbāl. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, inv. no. 1972.120.4, © met. fig. 15 – Silk lampas with lamella of gilded paper. It bears seal-Kuffic script, Arabic, pseudo-Arabic and Iranian inscriptions. In the large medallion on the right, the phrase: ʿ izz li-mawlānā (Glory to our Lord). In the oblong cartouches at the bottom the phrase ʿ izz li-mawlānā al-sultān (Glory to our Lord, the Sultan) in abbreviated form is read in mirror reverse. China, Iran or Central Asia, 14th-15th century [l: 36 x w: 28 cm]. The David Museum, Copenhagen, inv. no. 52/1998, © The David Collection, Copenhagen (Photo: Pernille Kleme).

v e r a-si mon e sch u lz fig. 1 – Cushion cover, raffia, Kongo Kingdom, 16th-17th century, 49 x 50.5 cm; Kungliga Samlingarna, Stockholm. fig. 2 – Francesco Caporale, Portrait bust of Antonio Manuel, Marquis of Ne Vunda, 1629; Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome. fig. 3 – Matthias Greuter, Sir Robert Sherley, ambassador of the Shah of Persia, Rome, 1609; © The British Museum, London. fig. 4 – Pavement, after 1207; San Giovanni, Florence. fig. 5 – Silk weaving, 14th century, Italy; Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Kunstgewerbemuseum, Berlin. fig. 6 – Giovanni del Biondo, Saint Catherine, ca. 1370; Opera di Santa Maria del Fiore, Florence. fig. 7 – Dalmatic associated with Benedict xi, Central Asian lampas silk (white and gold) and Italian silk (blue), 1304; Museo del Tesoro, Perugia. fig. 8 – Silk weaving, 14th century, Italy, often ascribed to Lucca; © Victoria and Albert Museum, London. fig. 9 – Detail of Fig. 6. fig. 10 – Outermost cover of a skull relic, Chinese silk damask, 13th century; Turku Cathedral. fig. 11 – Drawing of the pattern of the Chinese silk damask from Turku Cathedral by Agnes Geijer. fig. 12 – Simone Martini, detail of the Maestà, 1315-1321; Palazzo Pubblico, Siena. fig. 13 – Cesare Fiore, Raffia cushion cover in the Catalogo del Museo Settala, mid-17th century, watercolour; Biblioteca Estense Universitaria, Modena.

n i kol aos v ry z i dis fig. 1 – Textile bookbinding, 11th century, Byzantine; © Staatsbibliothek Bamberg, inv. no. Msc. Bilb.95 (Photo: Gerald Raab).

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fig. 2 – Phelonion, 17th-century (?) kehma (lampas silk); Vatopediou Monastery, Mount Athos, inv. no. 220, © Vatopediou Monastery, Mount Athos (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou). fig. 3 – Kemha (lampas) fragments, 17th-century, image used by permission; Topkapı Palace collection, inv. no. tsm 13-1747, © Directorate of the Topkapı Palace Museum. fig. 4 – Detail of the ‘Vatopediou phelonion’ (Fig. 2); © Vatopediou Monastery, Mount Athos (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou). fig. 5 – Detail of the ‘Vatopediou phelonion’ (Fig. 2); © Vatopediou Monastery, Mount Athos (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou). fig. 6 – Ottoman kemha (lampas silk), 16th-century; National Museum at Cracow, inv. no. xix7169, © National Museum at Cracow. fig. 7 – Phelonion, 17th-century (?) kehma (lampas silk); Kremlin Museums, inv. no. oxr18360-01, © Kremlin Museums. fig. 8 – Introduction page for Luke, 1599 Greek Lectionary, from the Orthodox Patriarchate of Jerusalem; Chester Beatty Library, Dublin, inv. no. ga Lect 1031, © Chester Beatty Library, Dublin (image courtesy of The Center for the Study of New Testament Manuscripts). fig. 9 – Frontispiece of a Byzantine manuscript (eileton), 1429; Monastery of Saint John the Theologian, Patmos (inv. no. cod. 708), © Monastery of Saint John the Theologian, Patmos. fig. 10 – Marine pennon, 18th century, Ottoman; The State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg, inv. no. ezn-5994, © The State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg. fig. 11 – Sticharion, 17th-century Safavid lampas silk; Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos, inv. no. 198, © Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou). fig. 12 – Detail of Fig. 11; © Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou). fig. 13 – Detail, epitrachelion, 17th-century Safavid lampas silk; Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos, inv. no. 141, © Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou). fig. 14 – Epigonation, late 17th/18th-century Qing embroidery; © St. Stephen’s Nunnery, Meteora (unnumbered; photo: Manos Sinopoulos). fig. 15 – Detail from the Stralsund dalmatic, 13th-century Italian silk; © Abegg Stiftung, Riggisberg (Bern).

m a r i e l l e m a rt i n i a n i-r e be r fig. 1 – Sceau de Serge, protospathaire et préfet, Constantinople, 2e quart du xie siècle, Collection du Cabinet de numismatique; Musée d’art et d’histoire, Genève, inv. no. cdn 2004-487. fig. 2 – Fragment de soierie à médaillons, Constantinople, xie-xiie siècle; Musées cantonaux du Valais, inv. no. mv 12882a. fig. 3 – Ménologe de Basile ii, Martyre de saint Philippe apôtre, Constantinople, vers l’an 1000; Bibliothèque apostolique vaticane, ms graec. 1613, fol. 182. fig. 4 – Ménologe de Basile ii, Massacre des Pères du Sinaï par les Blemmyes, Constantinople, vers l’an 1000; Bibliothèque apostolique vaticane, ms graec. 1613, fol. 316.

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fig. 5 – Suaire de saint Calais, Empire byzantin ou Perse post-sassanide, ixe siècle; Église paroissiale Saint-Calais, Saint-Calais (Sarthe). fig. 6 – Suaire de sainte Vérène, Empire byzantin, seconde moitié du xe siècle, Église paroissiale Sainte-Vérène, Bad Zurzach. fig. 7 – Couverture de selle, Asie centrale, fin viiie ou début ixe siècle; Fondation Abegg, Riggisberg (Berne), inv. no 4866, 4870, 4906, 4922. fig. 8 – Fragment de turban, Égypte fatimide, califat d’Az-Zahir (1021-1035); Musée d’art et d’histoire, Genève, inv. no. aa 2004-90.

e l e na pa pa stav rou fig. 1 – Epitaphios, 16th century, by Agne, Theonymphe and Maria; Iveron monastery, Mount Athos (image courtesy of Iveron monastery). fig. 2 – Epigonation depicting Saint Matrona, 17th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 2126, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens. fig. 3 – Epimanikion depicting the Baptism, 1672, belonged to Patriarch Dionysios iv; private coll. fig. 4 – Epigonation depicting the triumphant Pantocrator, 1689, signed by Despinetta of Argyris; Byzantine & Christian Museum, inv. no. bxm 1702, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens. fig. 5 – Epitaphios, 18th century, signed by Mariora; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 21278, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens. fig. 6 – Epigonation depicting the Baptism, 18th century, signed by Eusebia; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 1711, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens. fig. 7 – Epimanikion depicting the Angel of the Annunciation, 19th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 20726, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens. fig. 8 – Sanctuary door hanging depicting the Presentation to the Temple, ca. 1812, signed by Kokona of Rologa; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 21055, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens. fig. 9 – Epimanikion with the Cross, 1805, made for Molinski; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 20715, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens. fig. 10 – Embroidered icon, Mary, the Unwithering Rose, 18th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 21067, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens. fig. 11 – Roundel depicting Christ as Good Shepherd, 18th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 21078, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens. fig. 12 – Epimanikion depicting the Creation of Adam, 18th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 20717, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens. fig. 13 – Epigonation depicting the Resurrection, 18th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 20825, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens. fig. 14 – Epigonation depicting the Nativity, 19th century; Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens, inv. no. bxm 20827, © Byzantine & Christian Museum, Athens.

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jacopo gn isci fig. 1 – Hayq Estifanos, St. Iyäsus Mo‫د‬a, Four Gospels, 1280/1281, f. 5v; © Michael Gervers, courtesy of the deeds project.

fig. 2 – Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin – Preussischer Kulturbesitz, St. Gäbrä Krestos, Life of Gäbrä Krestos, f. 1v; © Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin. fig. 3 – Hayq Estifanos, St. Estifanos (left) and St. Qirqos and his Mother (right), Four Gospels, 1280/1281, ff. 15v-16r; © Michael Gervers, courtesy of the deeds project. fig. 4 –Säwnä Maryam, Prophets and Old Testament Kings, first half of the 16th century (?), ff. 7v8r; © Denis Nosnitsin, courtesy of the Ethio-SPaRe project. fig. 5 – Boru Śellase, The Washing of the Feet, Four Gospels, late 14th or early 15th century, f. 11r; © Michael Gervers, courtesy of the deeds project. fig. 6 – Gešän Maryam, St. Luke and St. John, Octateuch and Four Gospels, turn of the 15th century (?), f. (?); © Diana Spencer, courtesy of the deeds project. fig. 7– Asir Mätira, St. Estifanos, Life of Estifanos, late 15th or early 16th century, f. 5v; © Michael Gervers, courtesy of the deeds project. fig. 8 – Hayq Estifanos, St. Mark, Four Gospels, 1280/1281, f. 132v; © Michael Gervers, courtesy of the deeds project. fig. 9 – Hayq Estifanos, St. Luke, Life of the Apostles, ca. 1292-1297, ff. 59v-60r; © Stanislaw Chojnacki, courtesy of the deeds project.

dick r a n kou y m j i a n fig. 1 – Altar Curtain, 1808, Madras, Resurrection and scenes from the Life of Christ, commissioned for the Holy Mother of God Church in Tiflis [600 x 800 cm]; Alex and Marie Manoogian Museum, Holy Etchmiadzin (Photo: Author). fig. 2 – Altar Curtain, 1756, Tokat; Alex and Marie Manoogian Museum, Holy Etchmiadzin (Photo: Boghos Boghossian). fig. 3 – Altar Curtain, 1697, Madras, Scenes from the Passion of Christ; All Savior Church, New Julfa-Isfahan (Photo: Hrair Hawk Khacherian). fig. 4 – Altar Curtain, 1789, Madras, St. T‘oros (Theodorus) for Church of St. T‘oros, Armenian Convent, Jerusalem (Photo: Author). fig. 5 – Altar Frontal, 1620, Constantinople; St. James Cathedral, Jerusalem (Photo: Boghos Boghossian). fig. 6 – Altar Curtain, 1705-1714, Constantinople; Alex and Marie Manoogian Museum, Holy Etchmiadzin (Photo: Boghos Boghossian). fig. 7 – Altar Curtain, 1789, Madras; Alex and Marie Manoogian Museum, Holy Etchmiadzin (Photo: Satenig Batwagan). fig. 8 – Altar Curtain, 1654, Madras; New Delhi National Museum (Photo: Courtesy New Delhi National Museum).

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figs. 9a-b – Altar Curtain, 1763, fashioned in the village of Hasan Pasha Khan for the Monastery of St. John the Baptist, Mush; the saint is shown holding his own severed head (Photo: Courtesy The Cleveland Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio). fig. 10 – Altar Curtain, 1818, Madras, the curtain depicting an armed sailing ship was commissioned by an Armenian shipping merchant; Cathedral of St. James, Jerusalem (Photo: John Carswell). fig. 11 – Altar Curtain, 1781, Tokat, for the Armenian Church of Sucheva, Romania; Alex and Marie Manoogian Museum, Holy Etchmiadzin (Photo: Author). fig. 12 – Altar Curtain, 1733, Bursa, Last Judgment; Cilician Museum (Photo: Cilician Catholicosate, Antelias). fig. 13 – Engraving, St. Gregory baptizing King Trdat, Conversion of Armenia, modern copy of a 17th-century engraving; private collection, Paris (Photo: Author). fig. 14 – Altar Curtain, 18th century, Last Supper, from the Monastery of Sanahin; Historical Museum, Erevan (Photo: Author). fig. 15 – Altar Curtain, 1791, Madras, two panels, Descent from the Cross and the Betrayal of Judas, from a series of twelve of the Life of Christ; Alex and Marie Manoogian Museum, Holy Etchmiadzin (Photo: Author).

* pag. 300 – 17th-century Ottoman velvet (silk and silver thread); Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos, Greece, inv. no. 264 (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou).

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State of the art of Andalusí textiles: New approaches in Mediterranean textile studies laura rodríguez peinado & ana cabrera-lafuente This contribution sets out to present state of the art in research on medieval Andalusí weaving production, and at the same time to serve as an introduction to some of the research problems faced by the study of Mediterranean textiles today. Above all, this field of research, particularly the study of Andalusí textiles, has suffered from a division between scholars working either on Christian or Islamic weavings. The purpose of our project is addressing issues that have long been neglected as a result of this myopic division and require new methodological approaches. First, our research has established that the attribution of a clear Christian or Islamic religious identity to specific weavings may not be as pertinent as previously assumed. The Andalusí textiles found consumers throughout medieval Iberia and Europe, and the claim that silks produced in the Islamic south were considered ‘exotic’ in the northern Christian Kingdoms, presenting a foreign aesthetic, requires reconsideration, if not revision. To illustrate how a more nuanced perspective can replace the traditional binary categories, we examine weaving techniques, decoration, and functionality with a comparative and interdisciplinary approach based on a range of research strategies. To this end, we aim a new contextualization of this cross-cultural medieval textile production, discussing Andalusí textiles both as products of cultural exchange and of the commercial activity in the medieval Mediterranean, without the constraints of constructed notions about ‘Islamic’ and ‘Christian’ art.

* Metaphors we dress with: Medieval poetics about textiles avinoam shalem This short study focuses on the delicate and artistic qualities of fine textiles as reflected in medieval poetry of the Muslim world, especially those verses written in Arabic. Unlike numerous studies which discuss the phenomena of the appearance of poetic verses on the edges and along the borders of medieval textiles, a specific phenomenon that clearly contributed to their appreciation and intensified our poetic gaze on them, this study has its focus on poetic verses about rather than on textiles.

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In other words, the subject of this contribution is the ekphrasis, the description, of these fabrics as artefacts made by expert artisans. Traditionally, this type of description of artisanal products is used by scholars, in particular art historians, as a source for reconstructing or restoring buildings, paintings or sculptures, thus re-establishing their ‘original’ appearance, but this essay has a different perspective. It sets out to widen the scholarly discourse on ekphrasis by focusing not only on the descriptions of textiles, but also, more importantly, on the sources of inspiration, cultural influences, social metaphors and artistic similes that shaped textiles’ imageries and thus contributed to their symbolic force.

* Flags of the Seljuk sultanate of Anatolia: Visual and textual evidence scott redford We know more about flags, banners, and pennants of most pre-modern societies from their representation than from actual surviving textiles. This paper proposes ideas about what the flags of the Rum Seljuk dynasty, which ruled in today’s Turkey in the 12th and 13th centuries, might have looked like. It draws on representations of flags in contemporaneous and later manuscripts, textual and inscriptional references, as well as the representation of pattern and colour on some Rum Seljuk buildings. It also proposes a shared vocabulary of form, colour, and pattern with the medieval Byzantine Empire, part of whose former territories the Rum Seljuks inhabited, as well as later, 14th-century dynasties ruling in the eastern Islamic world.

* Foreign influences in Mamluk textiles: The formation of a new aesthetic maria sardi This article seeks to identify the source of inspiration for the decorative motifs encountered on Mamluk textiles, which often exemplify a fusion of designs from different regions. It investigates the ways in which Mamluk artisans adopted and incorporated foreign elements into their decorative repertoire, creating a distinct Mamluk style. The designation ‘Mamluk textiles’ is used here for fabrics of various materials manufactured in the period between 1250 and 1517 in the realm of the Mamluk sultanate (modern Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, Israel and Palestine). Loom-patterned fabrics, mostly silks, are discussed first. Produced by weavers in workshops that were either state- or privately-owned, these fabrics best illustrate the interrelationship between textile patterns from different cultures. Next, the focus is on embroideries and printed examples, although they are less indicative of foreign influences. Finally, an attempt will be made to attribute specific fabrics to Syrian or to Egyptian ateliers, based on the comparative study of textile patterns and motifs encountered in other forms of art.

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Entangled identities: Textiles and the art and architecture of the Apennine Peninsula in a trans-Mediterranean perspective vera-simone schulz When the Portuguese sea captain and explorer of the Kingdom of Congo Duarte Pacheco Pareira (ca. 1460-1533) aimed at praising the high quality of local raffia fabrics, he chose to compare them with luxury textiles from Venice. He even claimed that the finesse of the Congolese material made from the fibres of palm trees rivalled that of Venetian velvets. His comparison was no coincidence. By the 16th century, the textile production on the Italian Peninsula had indeed become one of the most renowned in the Mediterranean and beyond. Production centres such as Venice, Genoa, and Florence flourished, and their names had become synonymous with the high quality textiles manufactured there. This paper seeks to examine the pre-history of this moment in time. It will trace the rise of the local silk production on the Italian Peninsula, particularly in the 13th and 14th centuries, when Italian weavers took inspiration from fabrics imported from regions as far as Central Asia and China. They responded creatively to the materiality, techniques, and ornamentation of these foreign textiles, both ‘copying’ and adapting as well as transforming them. During these formative years the textile production on the Italian Peninsula became increasingly part of a wider Mediterranean network, transgressing both media and geographical spaces. This study seeks to question and to investigate how during this development identities were shaped and defined through the textile medium in a context of cross-cultural dynamics and multi-layered processes of artistic transfer.

* Animal motifs on Asian textiles used by the Greek Church: A case study of Christian ecclesiastical acculturation nikolaos vryzidis This article presents a case study of Christian acculturation, by investigating how Asian silks patterned with animal motifs were used by the Greek Church during late medieval and early modern times. The material evidence for this acculturation comes from vestments and ecclesiastical veils dating mainly to the 17th and 18th centuries, although the use of Ottoman and Persian silks in the Greek Church was certainly not a novelty at this time. However, the large number of Asian silks featuring bird and fish motifs used by the Greek Church raises the question of their integration in the Orthodox visual repertoire, and highlights their apparent aesthetic compatibility to Christian iconography. The wide range of textiles that survive in Greek sacristies, varying from standard Ottoman and Persian figural silks to scarcer Chinese silks, seem evidence for an adaptive attitude in this respect, and the representative examples discussed suggest a consistent consumption pattern of these ‘foreign’ textiles in the Greek Church. This article also explores how the animal motifs on these

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fabrics may have been actively (re-)interpreted in a theological perspective as part of their integration into ecclesiastical material culture.

* Quelques aspects des relations entre productions textiles byzantine et arabe aux xe-xie siècles marielle martiniani-reber Deux textes, d’essence différente, le Livre du Préfet, ouvrage byzantin, et le Livre des dons et des raretés, manuscrit arabe, accompagnés des miniatures du Ménologe de Basile ii, offrent une vue saisissante des productions textiles de luxe de cette région du monde. Leur examen attentif permet des rapprochements avec des témoignages encore bien présents dans certains trésors d’églises occidentales ou exhumés du sol égyptien. Le Livre des dons et des raretés montre une image certainement bien exagérée du déploiement de rideaux, tentures et autres tissus d’ameublement durant les réceptions, mais l’amplification des chiffres de ses énumérations est en soi-même un marqueur évident de l’importance accordée au mobilier textile. Les indications de ces textes et les illustrations du Ménologe établissent que les deux « civilisations du textile » connaissaient la production de l’une et de l’autre, et partageaient des goûts communs pour la richesse des matériaux, la nature de certains décors, ce qui a élaboré un vocabulaire artistique présentant de nombreuses analogies. Le thème des relations artistiques et techniques textiles s’inscrit bien sûr dans un contexte beaucoup plus large. En effet, nous connaissons l’adoption des caractères pseudo-coufiques dans le décor architectural, sur la céramique, le verre, sujet dont l’étude a été abordée par George Miles, il y a quelques décennies. À ce mouvement artistique répond l’importance de l’influence byzantine sur l’enluminure et les arts décoratifs islamiques. Toutefois, les tissus et surtout les soieries, en raison de la facilité avec laquelle on les transportait, et l’attrait auprès des souverains et des cours du Proche-Orient, sont sans aucun doute des supports privilégiés pour étudier les courants d’influence entre ces deux civilisations.

* Osmosis in Ottoman Constantinople: The iconography of Greek Church embroidery elena papastavrou This paper proposes that Greek Orthodox ecclesiastical embroidery was characteristic of the cultural osmosis that took place in Ottoman Constantinople. These embroidered objects combined Christian iconography with Ottoman and European motifs in an eclectic formula. As Byzantine tradition blended with these new elements, their mixing resulted in a new and standardized style altogether, particularly visible during the 18th century, a particularly prolific period for embroideries. One of

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the notable aspects in this production is the emergence of original Christian iconographies, unique in post-Byzantine art. On the basis of various examples,the hypothesis is developed that this phenomenon depended on an in-depth knowledge of both local theological debates and wider artistic developments of the period.

* Ecclesiastic dress in medieval Ethiopia: Preliminary remarks on the visual evidence jacopo gnisci Notwithstanding its evidently rich and colourful history, there is hardly any study available of the ecclesiastical dress in Ethiopia, and the very few existing reference-works on the subject focus only on the 20th century. So far, no attempts have been made to sketch the morphological, symbolic and liturgical development of liturgical costumes used in the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church, the largest of the Oriental Orthodox Christian Churches. Research on this topic has been hampered by a lack of material and written evidence: early examples of Ethiopian ecclesiastical clothing have yet to be identified and relevant local textual sources have yet to be edited and translated. This paper highlights the value of Ethiopian manuscript illumination of the early Solomonic period (1270-1527) as source-material for studying the morphological development of the Ethiopian ecclesiastical dress and, in doing so, it offers a preliminary survey of this particular strand of evidence. In addition, it is argued that any identification survey will benefit from references to vestments from the Coptic, Byzantine and other clerical wardrobes of the Mediterranean, thus opening the way to this neglected line of discussion as well.

* Armenian altar curtains: Repository of tradition and artistic innovation dickran kouymjian This contribution discusses Armenin altar curtains, primarily produced in Madras during the early modern period, in the context of the increasing interest in this type of patrimony. Despite the various publications on this vast subject and the many Armenian art exhibitions of the last two decades, the field of Armenian secular and ecclesiastical textiles has certainly not been exhausted. This survey underlines the two-fold character of Armenian altar curtains, as repositories of tradition and vehicles of artistic innovation. While the origin of altar veils goes back many centuries, their artistic originality reveals the global receptivity of Armenian culture to innovation, an aspect particularly important for this nation of Diasporas.

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17th-century Ottoman velvet (silk and silver thread); Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos, Greece, inv. no. 264 (Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou).

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Aachen 31 Açıksaray 69, 78 Adriatic Sea 131 Aegean 68 Afghanistan 73 Afyon Karahisar (Afyonkarahisar) 185 Aksaray 71 Al-Andalus 17-18, 23, 26-7, 31 Alanya 70, 72, 79 Aleppo 56 Alexandria 101, 105, 213, 236-7, 244 Amsterdam 257 Anatolia (Anatolian) 67-72, 84-5, 95-6, 299 Andalusí (Andalusian) 17-30, 32-3, 40, 280 Angola 134 Antalya 71 Antelias 258, 264, 276 Antioch, Antiochia, Antiochian, antiocheno 68, 125 Apennine Peninsula 119, 121-2, 126-9, 131 Aragon (Aragón) 25, 27, 136 Arax river 257 Armenia (Armenian; Arménie, Arméniens; Arsacid Armenia) 21, 132, 187, 190-1, 209-11, 25764, 270, 275-7, 282 Artuqid 85 Asia (Asian, Asiatic) 26, 28, 82-3, 89, 92, 97, 104, 118, 122, 125-6, 128-31, 150, 155, 159-60, 164-5, 282 Asia Minor 122 Asir Mätira 242-3, 254 Aspendos 70, 72 Athens 13-4, 83, 98, 111-2, 115-7, 208, 222-30 Attabi quarter (Baghdad) 25, 124 Avignon 130

Bad Zurzach 203 Baghdad (Bagdad, Baldacco; baldacchini; ‘Baghdadi’) 25-6, 33, 51, 54, 56, 132, 186-7, 191 Balkans 207 Bamberg 173 Barcelona 28-9 Beijing 129 Berlin 75, 81, 148, 234, 239, 241, 250 Berne (Bern) 204 Bezirana 72 Blemmyes 188, 201 Boru Śellase 237, 243, 252 Boston 164 Brazil 21, 133 Burgos 26, 29, 33, 41, 44 Bursa (Brousse) 165, 195, 276 Byzantium, Byzance (‘Romania’) 21, 69, 83, 122, 125, 136, 156, 185, 188, 192, 194, 196, 215, 284-5

Constantinople 69, 166, 186-8, 191-2, 195, 200-02, 205-6, 209-14, 216, 258-61, 271-2, 281, 283, 285 Copenhagen 60, 66, 97-8, 118 Corfu 211 Coromandel Coast 257, 260 Cracow 176 Crete 207-8, 210-11, 215 Crimea 258 Cyprus 21

Cairo 85, 89, 101, 104, 112, 114, 283 Calabria 122 Calicut (Kozhikode) 257 Cappadocia (Cappadocian) 69-70, 72, 74-5, 78 Carmignano 127 Carolingian 209 Carrión de los Condes 31 Castile 32, 33, 124-5 Central Asia, Asie centrale 28, 83, 89, 92, 97, 104, 118, 122, 126, 130-1, 150, 204 Chicago 166 China (Chinese, Chine) 23, 28, 87, 89-90, 96-7, 118, 121-3, 128-31, 137, 153, 160-2, 164-6, 191, 260, 281, 284-5 Cilicia 258, 264, 276 Cleveland 90, 102, 104, 114, 275 Como (Cumis) 127; 137 Congo (Conguo) 119-20, 134-5, 281

Egypt, Egipto, Égypte 19, 21, 23-4, 28, 31, 73, 83-4, 92, 96, 99, 101, 186-7, 189-92, 196, 204, 237, 241, 243, 280-1 El-Azzam 99 England 125, 132 Erevan 278 Erzerum 261 Etchmiadzin 258, 260-1, 269, 272-3, 276, 278 Ethiopia 231-44, 281 Euboea (Gulf of ) 68 Europe (Eastern Europe; Western Europe) 17-9, 28, 30-1, 67, 72-3, 119, 121, 130, 133-6, 155-7, 160, 163, 166, 258, 261, 280, 282, 284-7

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Dabīq (dabiqi) 51, 52, 57, 59, 191 Däbrä Halleluya 233 Dallas 239 Damascus 102, 284 Dawraq 191 Dayr Al-’Āqūl 56 Diyarbakir 85 Dublin 178

Faras 236 Finland 129, 130 Flanders (Flemish) 123, 127

t h e h i dde n l i f e of t e x t i l e s Florence (Florentine; Florencia) 65, 97, 122-4, 127-31, 137, 147, 149, 286 France (Francia) French 84, 127, 137, 241, 243, 257 Gandzak 259 Ge‘ez 233 Genève 185-6, 194, 200, 204 Genoa 128-9, 286 Gešän Maryam 237, 243, 253 Granada 18, 26, 27 Great Britain 85 Greece (Greek) 155-66, 178, 205-15, 233, 236-8, 243, 258, 281 Guadalajara 44 Guinea, Guinee 120 Hasbahçe (Alanya) 70, 79 Hayq Estifanos 237, 241, 244, 249, 251, 255-6 Heraklion 210 Herat 73 Huesca 24, 41-3 Huzistan 191 Iberia 17, 19-22, 24-9, 31-3, 122, 280, 285-6 Ihlara valley 72 Ilkhanid 73, 81, 86-7, 89, 92-4, 96-7, 101, 104 India 95, 98, 104, 257, 260-1, 263-4, 282, 286; Indian Ocean 257 Ioannina 212 Ionian Islands, Sea 131, 212 Iran 73, 85, 87, 90, 96-7, 99, 118, 122, 129-30, 132, 281-2 Iraq 56, 85, 96, 191 Ireland 82 Isfahan, Isfahani 25, 136, 257-8, 270 Istanbul 76, 258 Italy, Italia 21, 26, 28, 97, 119-23, 126-32, 134, 148, 150-1, 167, 184, 205-7, 210, 215, 281, 285-6 Iveron 160, 162, 165, 181-2, 205, 215, 222 Iznik 157-8, 164 Jabal 52 Japan 121 Jazira 84, 95 Jebel Adda 101

Jerusalem 178, 213, 244, 258-60, 270-1, 275 Jordan River 207, 209 Juhrum 191 Kaʿba 55, 59, 94  Kayseri 71 Khanbaliq 129 Kinet 75 Konya 84, 99-100 Kozhikode 257 Kubadabad 70 Kūfa 56 Kütahya 210 Las Huelgas 26-7, 29 Lebanon 258, 264 León 24, 26, 31 León and Castile (kingdoms of ) 124-5 León-Castile (Kingdom of ) 32 London 83, 146, 151, 263 Lucca (Lucchese, lucano, lucanum) 122, 126-8, 132, 151, 286 Lyon 195, 258 Madras 257, 260-1, 269-70, 273-5, 278 Madrid 27, 30, 32, 196 Maghreb 27 Manilla 257 Mavrucan 72 Mecca 50, 55, 75, 94 Mediterranean 20, 27, 29-30, 32, 73, 96-7, 119, 121-5, 131-2, 164, 239, 263, 280-3, 285-6, 293 Mer Rouge (Red Sea) 188 Meteora 161-2, 183 Mexico (Mexican) 132 Middle East 122, 128-31, 164, 284 Milan (Mediolano) 127, 133, 137 Modena 154 Mongol (mongolico, mongolica) 26, 73, 92, 96-8, 103-5, 122, 125, 130 Mosul 52, 58, 66 Mount Ararat 261 Mount Athos 156, 174-6, 181-2, 222 Mount Lebanon 213 Mount Thawr 50 Mren 195 Nasrid 24-7, 97, 105 Near East 25; Proche Orient 190, 193

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New Delhi 274 New Julfa 257-8, 261, 263-4, 270 New York 98, 111, 117, 162, 239, 243, 264 Nile Valley 25 Nubia 236 Oña 24, 29, 31, 41 Ontario 102 Orta Kapı (Alanya) 70, 79 Oxford 92, 103 Palencia 29, 39 Paris 71, 80-1, 83, 99, 241, 243-4, 277 Patmos 155, 162, 166, 179, 209-10, 213 Persia (Persian, Perse) 59, 71, 76, 92, 103, 121, 132, 135, 146, 157, 1602, 165-6, 190-1, 202, 285-6 Perugia 126, 130, 150 Philippines 257 Pisa (Pisan) 128 Poland (Polish) 21, 102 Portugal (Portuguese) 119-20 Pyrenees 21, 25 Qinnisrin 189 Quanzhou 285 Raidestos 156 Raqqa 85 Rasulid 84-7, 100, 111 Ravenna 210 Riggisberg (Bern) 85, 93, 99, 104, 167, 183, 204 Roda de Isábena 24, 29, 41-3 Romania (Romanian) 206, 260, 276 Rome (Roman) 70, 120-1, 126, 1345, 145-6, 210-13, 236, 258, 283; Hispano-Roman 25 Rusafa 75 Russia (Russian) 130, 157, 164 Saint-Calais (Sarthe) 202 Saint Petersburg 112, 180 Samarkand 124 Sanahin 278 Säwnä Maryam 236-7, 251 Scandinavian 24 Seville 17, 27 Shahr-e Sabz 124 Sicily 83, 122, 286

i n de x of g eo g r a ph ic a l n a m e s Siena 130, 154 Sigüenza 26, 31, 44 Sinaï (Sinai) 188, 201 Smyrna 261 South Kensington 19, 31, 40 Spain (Español, españolas, Hispania, hispanos, hispanico, hispanicos) 17-9, 21, 23-4, 28, 31-2, 39, 76 124-5, 163, 261 Stralsund 161, 183 Syria (Syrian, Syrie, syrien) 25, 28, 51, 64-5, 72-5, 83-5, 95-6, 99, 102, 105, 164, 187, 189, 233, 236, 241 Sweden 98, 115, 145

Tiflis 261, 269 Tinos 217 Tokat 261, 264, 269, 276 Toledo 25, 27, 29 Trebizond 130 Tunisia 286 Turkey (Turkish) 67, 70-1, 78-9, 130, 156, 158, 165 Turku 129-30, 153 Tyrrhenian Sea 131 Udine 127 Upper Egypt 99, 101 Upper Mesopotamia 84, 96

Xylourgou (Mt. Athos) 156

Tana 130 Tekirdağ 156 Thebes 283

Valais 200 Vatican, vaticane 84-5, 94, 121, 1247, 194, 201

Yemen (Yémen, yéménite) 21, 85, 188, 194 Yuan 87, 96, 104

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Vatopediou (Mt. Athos) 157-60, 162, 174-6 Venice (Venetian, venetico, de Venetiis) 122, 125-8, 130, 132-3, 210, 285-6 Verona 127, 137 Vienna 48, 64 Villalcázar de Sirga 29, 39 Wasit 191 West African 119 Washington, dc 98, 101, 113, 165-6

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Cover illustration detail of the ‘vatopediou phelonion’ 17th century (?), silk and silver thread (lampas) Vatopediou Monastery, Mount Athos, Greece, inv. no. 220 Photo: Thanos Kartsoglou Courtesy of Vatopediou Monastery, Mount Athos