Download PDF | (Edinburgh Studies in Islamic Art) Cailah Jackson - Islamic Manuscripts of Late Medieval Rum, 1270s-1370s_ Production, Patronage and the Arts of the Book-Edinburgh University Press (2020).
330 Pages
Series Editor’s Foreword
Edinburgh Studies in Islamic Art’ is a venture that offers readers easy access to the most up-to-date research across the whole range of Islamic art. Building on the long and distinguished tradition of Edinburgh University Press in publishing books on the Islamic world, it is a forum for studies that, while closely focused, also open wide horizons. Books in the series, for example, concentrate in an accessible way, and in accessible, clear, plain English, on the art of a single century, dynasty or geographical area; on the meaning of works of art; on a given medium in a restricted time frame; or on analyses of key works in their wider contexts. A balance is maintained as far as possible between successive titles, so that various parts of the Islamic world and various media and approaches are represented.
Books in the series are academic monographs of intellectual distinction that mark a significant advance in the field. While they are naturally aimed at an advanced and graduate academic audience, a complementary target readership is the worldwide community of specialists in Islamic art – professionals who work in universities, research institutes, auction houses and museums – as well as that elusive character, the interested general reader. Professor Robert Hillenbrand
Introduction
This book considers a complex artistic medium in a complex historical and geographical setting. It is about illuminated Islamic manuscripts produced in the Lands of RËm between the 1270s and 1370s – a time of profound political fragmentation and frequent outbreaks of violence. In addition to analysing the manuscripts’ visual and physical characteristics, this study considers their production and patronage circumstances and what these may reveal about the wider contemporary artistic, intellectual and cultural context. Most of the fifteen illuminated manuscripts discussed are religious in nature and include Qur’ans and Sufi texts. However, advice literature and historical chronicles also form part of the corpus. All of the manuscripts are dated or dateable, and all are written in either Arabic or Persian. Most were produced in Konya, the former capital of the Seljuk Sultanate of RËm, although some were copied in other towns, such as Sivas and Òstanos (today known as Korkuteli).
In 1243, the Mongol and Seljuk armies clashed at the Battle of Köseda©. The Mongols emerged triumphant, and the Seljuks, already weakened by the domestic BåbåʾÈ revolt (c. 1240), became vassals of their new overlords.1 Although Anatolia’s internal borders had been somewhat fluid since the initial Seljuk expansion into the region from the late eleventh century, the defeat of the presiding Seljuk regime instigated a period of intense territorial fracture. This state, which saw periodic eruptions of hostility and the rise and fall of many local power holders, lasted until the temporary unification of much of the Anatolian plateau under the Ottoman ruler BåyazÈd I (r. 1389–1402).2 The chronological scope of this book – spanning from the 1270s through to the 1370s – falls between two well-known and dominant Anatolian dynasties: the RËm Seljuks and the Ottomans.
The production of this material in this politically complicated milieu is one reason why these manuscripts have remained littleknown in the wider field of Islamic art, which, to a large extent, often continues to be oriented around dynastic periodisation.3 Accordingly, the late medieval era in RËm has often been divided by scholars into the ‘Seljuk’, ‘Beylik’ (‘principality’ in Turkish, used to refer to the medieval Turcoman polities) and ‘Ottoman’ periods. Sometimes the ‘Beylik’ period is referred to as the ‘pre-Ottoman’ period, reflecting the prioritisation of the Ottomans in the chronology of the region’s history.
With some recent exceptions, scholars have been remarkably persistent in employing this dynastic framework in both historical and art historical scholarship, even though it does not readily reflect the political nuances of the time.4 Indeed, where illuminated manuscripts are concerned, the Ottomans appear to have played no significant part in their production until the early fifteenth century, so the use of ‘pre-Ottoman’ here would be entirely irrelevant. Although a dynastic or imperial focus can, of course, be perfectly fitting in some instances, it is particularly inappropriate for understanding the arts of the book in this context. As we shall see, the production and patronage circumstances of this material reveal much about activities on the sub-dynastic level. This level of patronage can be overlooked, especially in surveys of Islamic art and architecture, where the focus often turns towards imperial and dynastic levels of artistic production. Both the reading and the writing of manuscripts were activities closely associated with scholarly and literary circles. Such circles could include a relatively diverse cross-section of society.
Indeed, research into reading practices and manuscript culture has uncovered much about medieval Islamic education and scholarly and scribal culture.5 Naturally, the arts of the book can only tell us a limited amount about such circles, since illuminated manuscripts were generally not used for pedagogical purposes (though the teaching of young royals may be a notable exception). However, as complex artistic objects, illuminated manuscripts have the potential to reveal details regarding patronage, craftsmanship and consumption in a way that unilluminated manuscripts might not. Focusing on aspects of production and patronage also helps us to partially reconstruct elements of the artistic context, such as the backgrounds and affiliations of artists and patrons, the nature of workspaces, collaborations between different types of artists and the process of assembling the manuscript itself. Examining artists and patrons also brings art objects and historical texts together by situating these individuals in their cultural environment, rather than leaving them as disembodied names on a page. By looking in depth at individual patrons, this book works to transcend the limitations that a focus on specific dynasties can create.
As precious possessions that were expensive to produce, it can be helpful to think about illuminated manuscripts as objects that would have been handled by only a few people. Their consumption and circulation would have been relatively private, unlike, say, the public- facing nature of the built environment or the often-commercial character of, for example, ceramic manufacture. Medieval treatises on calligraphy emphasise the intimate quality of manuscripts and, generally speaking, it can be difficult to convincingly argue that manuscripts’ visual elements directly reflect the contemporary political situation.6 Questions of consumption, circulation and function are particularly important for highly portable objects like manuscripts, which could be transported, gifted or appropriated with relative ease. Although the specifics are not always forthcoming, especially in earlier periods where evidence is often lacking, viewing manuscripts as whole, physical objects that exist across time and space remains of the utmost importance for a full and balanced understanding of the arts of the book.7 Thinking about manuscripts’ portability and circulation elicits broader questions about the role of networks in artistic production, both at the local and the transregional levels.
Uncovering and acknowledging networks, be they of the economic, political, social or artistic variety, is vital to appreciating the frequent mobility of artists and the visual interactions between local and neighbouring manuscript production centres. Artists, as well as scholars, dervishes, bureaucrats and merchants, may have moved for economic reasons, to escape natural or man-made disasters, or because they were taken prisoner and forcibly transported. Whatever the reason, artists took their ideas, motifs and techniques with them to new places. They may also have taken manuscripts, though there is no evidence for that in the present study. RËm was, of course, hardly an isolated entity, sitting at the crossroads between the Byzantine Empire, the Mongol realm and the Mamluk Sultanate. This situation is reflected to certain extents in the visual appearance of its illuminated manuscripts, which adopted elements from other manuscript production centres, such as Baghdad and Cairo. However, as will become apparent, there was also room for motifs and patterns that were distinctive to RËm, particularly Konya.
I tentatively term this the Konya ‘school’ of illumination (see Chapter 2). Crucially, ‘school’ is used here in the loosest sense, not to delineate a discrete and unchanging sphere of activity, but rather to highlight a noteworthy concentration of visual elements not seen elsewhere in the contemporary manuscript record. The term ‘school’ is used carefully here with these caveats. Manuscript production centres, in general, are perhaps better thought of as dynamic, overlapping hubs on a regional continuum, rather than as enclosed spheres of static tradition. The late medieval Lands of Ru¯ m: historical and scholarly contexts The porousness and interconnectedness of networks are evinced in the notion of RËm itself. In the premodern period, geographical scope is often a complex issue, but particularly so in the context of late medieval Anatolia, where political boundaries were relatively changeable. Even before the arrival of the Mongols in the mid-thirteenth century, Anatolia was already fragmented internally. Following the Battle of Manzikert in 1071, in which the Great Seljuks defeated the Byzantine Empire, Turkic settlers slowly trickled into the region. From the eleventh century onwards, power in the region was divided between various Byzantine polities (c. 330–1453), the Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia (1198–1375) and several Islamic principalities.
These Islamic polities included the Danishmandids (1071– 1178), three branches of the Artuqids (1102–1409), the Saltuqids (1071–1202) and the Mangujakids (1072–1277), who variously were hostile to, or allied with, the RËm Seljuks. By the turn of the twelfth century, the Seljuks had absorbed a large proportion of the Anatolian peninsula into their realm. Throughout the medieval period, the region experienced continued hostilities and shifting borders while also encountering occasional pockets of stability. Following their loss at Köseda©, the Seljuks’ power as rulers declined. In the former Seljuk capital of Konya, day-to-day political authority became divided between ambitious bureaucrats (who ostensibly served the puppet Seljuks), Mongol governors and local beys (prince or governor, Ar. amÈr) who were often members of Turcoman polities (see maps 1–2). By 1308, the Seljuks disappeared entirely from the historical record. Following the death of the Ilkhanid ruler AbË SaʿÈd (r. 1316–35) without an heir, the Mongol regime disintegrated into a handful of rival successor states, such as the Injuids (1325–53) and the Jalayirids (1335–1432). With the Ilkhanate gone, several groups vied for control in RËm creating a complex network of alliances and competition.
These groups included the Eretnids, the Qaramanids, the Mamluk Sultanate of Egypt and Syria and, latterly, forces headed by TÈmËr (r. 1370–1405) (see map 3). In addition to these were the Byzantine Empire’s Palaeologian dynasty (1261–1453) and their rivals, the House of Kantakouzenos (fl. 11th–15th c.), the Empire of Trebizond (1204–1461), the Lusignan Kingdom of Cyprus (1192–1489), the Knights Hospitaller (from c. 1099) and the Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia. The ‘Lands of RËm’ (bilåd al-RËm) appears to have been the preferred nomenclature of medieval Muslim writers. Unlike ‘Turkey’ (a modern political entity) or ‘Anatolia’ (a geographical descriptor for the whole plateau), ‘RËm’ is a term that more accurately reflects medieval usage for, and conceptions of, the region. For modern scholars, ‘RËm’ also has the advantage of evoking a region at the intersection of multiple languages, religions and cultures.8 According to Islamic geographers spanning the ninth to eleventh centuries, ‘bilåd al-RËm’ was the ‘Byzantine Empire’ and ‘Europe’, perhaps formed as a Christian ‘mirror image’ of ‘bilåd al-Islåm’.9 In the centuries following Muslim penetration into Anatolia, however, polities such as the Seljuks and Danishmandids adopted ‘RËm’ as part of their state identities.
This choice was perhaps intended to suggest their status as heirs to the Byzantines and also to remain familiar to the substantial local Christian Greek population.10 The coinage of the Danishmandid ruler, Malik Mu˙ammad GhåzÈ (r. 1134–42), for example, featured Greek text reading: ‘The king of all Rome and the East’.11 ‘RËm’ was not a territory with fixed borders. Writers in the later medieval period differed as to its precise extent, though broadly agreed that it was located in central and parts of eastern and western Anatolia. For example, the Ilkhanid historian and geographer Óamdallåh al-MustawfÈ al-QazwÈnÈ (d. after 1340) stated that RËm (in terms of the Ilkhanid province) stretched from Erzincan in the east to Afyonkarahisar in the west.12 Northern towns included Kastamonu and Samsun, while towns in the south included Elbistan and E©irdir.
The Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia, the Byzantine Kingdom of Trebizond and the region of Diyår Bakr were, al-QazwÈnÈ noted, geographically close but culturally and politically separate entities. Unlike al-QazwÈnÈ, Shihåb al-DÈn A˙mad al-ʿUmarÈ (d. 1349) and Ibn Ba††Ë†a (d. 1377) include, as part of RËm, more of western Anatolia – a region that, following the dissolution of the RËm Seljuk state, was primarily populated by Turcoman principalities.13 At the height of their power, the RËm Seljuks established a strong and enduring trade network that was furnished with caravanserais (khåns) and connected RËm to its many neighbours.14 Caravanserais were not only economically valuable, giving shelter to merchants and their goods, but also provided rooms, food and other supplies to travellers, thereby supporting their safe passage and the economic prosperity of nearby towns. These networks connected RËm’s towns to Egypt, the Levant, the Jazira, greater Persia, the Black Sea and Crimea, Cilician Armenia and Constantinople. As Anatolia was rich in natural resources, with copious grazing lands, cereal crops, fruits, pulses, vegetables, minerals, metals and other goods like cloth, brassware and wine, the region was familiar to Christian and Muslim traders from across the Mediterranean. Both before and after the Mongol conquest, the region was frequented by Persian, Greek, Armenian, Frankish, Genoese and Venetian merchants.15 With the political fragmentation of former Seljuk territories that ensued after the region became part of the Mongol empire, towns other than Konya emerged as centres of political and economic power. Commercial activity in Sivas, Sinop, Alanya and Antalya, in particular, were vital for the regional economy, while other towns such as Tokat, Kayseri, Bursa, Denizli and Amasya also grew in importance to become hubs of activity. According to surviving illuminated manuscript evidence, however, Konya was the dominant centre for the production of the arts of the book and maintained its position as a location of cultural and intellectual pursuits throughout the later medieval period.
Throughout the medieval era, RËm’s towns were populated by people of various religious backgrounds and ethnic origins, including Persian and Turkish-speaking Muslims, Mongols, Christian Greeks and Armenians, and European merchants. The Seljuk caravanserai network and the devastation resulting from the Mongol conquests in Persia further facilitated the movement of scholars, dervishes and artists into RËm. Before the arrival of the Mongols, notable individuals such as Mu˙ammad ibn ʿAlÈ RåwandÈ (d. after 1204) and Ibn al-ʿArabÈ (d. 1240) resided in RËm, while after the invasions, Najm al-DÈn RåzÈ Dåya (d. 1256) and Siråj al-DÈn al-UrmawÈ (d. 1283) also lived in the region. This mobility in turn encouraged the cultivation of cultural, intellectual and artistic exchange throughout the urban centres of the Muslim world. Throughout the thirteenth century, Konya increasingly became part of the scholarly itinerary, joining such places as Córdoba, Cairo, Aleppo, Damascus and Samarkand. Patricia Blessing has discussed how the Sunni Revival that took place in the Muslim East from the eleventh century did not occur in RËm because Islam was not securely established as the dominant religion there.16 The diverse religious nature of society in medieval RËm and its position as a ‘frontier’ between Christian and Islamic realms inhibited the formation of a mainstream religious faith, as was the case in older Islamic urban centres. Indeed, while RËm’s towns did not have the same venerable reputation as the more traditional centres of Islamic learning mentioned above, the region witnessed the arrival of intellectuals whose works and activities fell outside the ÓanafÈ school (madhhab), such as Ibn al-ʿArabÈ, Båbå Ilyås (d. 1240) and Shams al-DÈn TabrÈzÈ (d. c. 1247).17 In many cases, these individuals stayed for extensive periods, enjoying the religious tolerance and patronage they found there. It is not surprising, therefore, that the Sufi scholar Najm al-DÈn RåzÈ praised the RËm Seljuk rulers for their endowments of educational foundations and sponsorship of both scholars and dervishes.18 The relative intellectual and religious openness of society in this period was made possible by the total breakdown in Seljuk rule, which had faced a series of difficulties even before the Mongol invasion. In a time of relative political instability and socio-religious flexibility, Sufis became essential representatives of the Islamic faith and made crucial contributions to socio-religious, political and economic life.19 This group included the Mevlevi dervishes who, as we will see, played a significant part in the production and patronage of illuminated manuscripts. Dervishes held a degree of authority over the local population and could become legitimising intermediaries between political elites and the devoted public or, indeed, sources of rebellion, as in the case of the aforementioned BåbåʾÈ revolt.20 The Mevlevis’ patron saint was Jalål al-DÈn Mu˙ammad RËmÈ (d. 1273), who lived in Konya for most of his life. RËmÈ moved to the region around 1212 as a very young child with his father, Bahåʾ al-DÈn Walad (d. 1231), a ÓanafÈ scholar from Balkh (located in present-day Afghanistan). Bahåʾ al-DÈn and his son lived in several places in RËm before settling in Konya in the 1220s.21 RËmÈ first became a murÈd (disciple) of Sayyid Burhån al-DÈn, who was a former pupil of RËmÈ’s father. Upon the death of Burhån al-DÈn around 1239–40, RËmÈ continued his education in the scholarly centres of Aleppo and Damascus, presumably due to their prestige and because comparable facilities were not available locally. Although both RËmÈ and his father appear to have shared an interest in taßawwuf and asceticism, it was not until RËmÈ met the QalandarÈ shaykh Shams al-DÈn TabrÈzÈ in Konya in 1244 that his faith took on more ecstatic forms.22 By the time that he died in 1273, RËmÈ had amassed a sizeable group of devotees across all strata of society in Konya.23 According to surviving evidence, some of the wealthier of these disciples were active in the patronage of illuminated manuscripts. Moreover, the craftsmen who produced these manuscripts for Mevlevi patrons were, for the most part, also followers of RËmÈ and his son Sul†ån Walad (d. 1312), who became the Mevlevis’ leader following the death of RËmÈ’s immediate successor, Óusåm al-DÈn ChalabÈ, in 1284. As a predominantly urban Sufi group, the early Mevlevis had regular interactions with other socio-religious groups inhabiting Konya, such as the ʿulamåʾ and the akhÈs.24 This is not to say, however, that such groups occupied separate spheres. Indeed, the activities of the Mevlevi community took place in a variety of settings, including madrasas, zåwiyas and khånqåhs (respectively, Arabic and Persian terms for Sufi lodges). For example, an illuminated manuscript examined in Chapter 2 has parts that were copied in RËmÈ’s shrine (‘turba’) and madrasa (‘madrasa-yi khudåvandigår’).25 The worlds of Sufis and scholars frequently overlapped, but such relationships were not always without tension. According to the Mevlevi hagiographer Shams al-DÈn A˙mad AflåkÈ (d. 1360), soon after RËmÈ’s death in 1273, ‘partisan jurists and conservative ascetics’ complained to the parvåna (literally, ‘butterfly’; personal assistant to the sultan) MuʿÈn al-DÈn Sulaymån (d. 1277) that the Mevlevis’ performance of the samåʿ was ‘unlawful’.26 In other instances that were recorded by AflåkÈ, the chief qå∂È (judge) of Konya, Siråj al-DÈn al-UrmawÈ, is shown as questioning RËmÈ’s authority, which always results in his intellectual and spiritual submission to the Mevlevi leader.27 Whilst being mindful of AflåkÈ’s understandable bias towards RËmÈ and the Mevlevis, these examples of friction hint at the competition that existed among Sufis and scholars for audiences, resources and influence in this culturally and religiously heterogeneous context. Such tensions should not, however, give the impression that clear lines were drawn between ‘orthodox’ and ‘heterodox’ forms of Islam, or between how religion was practised in the madrasa or the khånqåh. The apparent opposition between Sufis and scholars is paralleled by the division of ‘popular’ Turkish folk culture and ‘high’ Persianate urban culture in some scholarship, particular from early twentieth-century Turkey. Mehmed Fuad Köprülü (1890–1966), for example, explored this division in his 1918 publication, Türk Edebiyatında Òlk Mutasavvıflar (Early Sufis in Turkish Literature). In this groundbreaking work, which focuses on the poetry of the Central Asian Sufi A˙mad YasavÈ (d. 1166) and the Anatolian Sufi YËnus Emre (d. c. 1320), Köprülü contends that the widespread Islamisation of Turkish people in Anatolia largely occurred through the activities of båbås, whose ‘heterodox’ version of Islam was adapted from a context of Central Asian shamanism.28 In Köprülü’s view, the båbås and their Sufi ‘veneer’ were in opposition to the sophisticated Arab and Persian Sufis of RËm’s urban centres, such as Jalål al-DÈn RËmÈ, for instance. This dichotomy of ‘orthodox’ (‘müte∞erriʿ’) urban Islam and ‘heterodox’ (‘aykırı’) rural Islam has had a profound impact on understandings of the Islamic histories of Central Asia, Persia and Anatolia in both Turkish and Western academia.29 However, textual evidence suggests that despite generally being composed in two languages for different audiences, the so-called ‘great and little traditions’ were not opposed and did not exist in isolation from each other.30 As Ahmet Karamustafa has discussed, ‘folk’ Sufis of the ‘little’ tradition such as Geyikli Båbå or YËnus Emre were not ‘shamans in disguise’, but were instead highly literate and integrated into the contemporary network of ‘mainstream’ Sufis.31 Indeed, Turkish-speaking ‘folk’ Sufis were – as Köprülü himself recognised – well-versed in the literary genres of poetry and hagiography. Like YËnus Emre, the poet ʿÅshiq Påshå (d. 1333) wrote poetry in Turkish, composing the GharÈbnåma in 1330. ʿÅshiq Påshå’s son Elvån ChalabÈ (fl. 14th c.) wrote a versified Turkish hagiography of his great-grandfather, Båbå Ilyås, who was one of the instigators of the BåbåʾÈ rebellion.32 While it is clear that RËmÈ’s devotees were not the only Sufis producing and reading literary works, they are the only group whose illuminated manuscripts remain. This state of affairs could, in part, be due to the mechanics of survival. The Mevlevi shrine’s holdings have remained relatively intact since the late medieval period, and it may be that illuminated manuscripts produced by other Sufi groups have not survived or remain unidentified. The Mevlevis’ connection to the arts has been noted in scholarship,33 as have their supposed ‘aristocratic’ associations.34 Literary activities appear to have been crucial to the group, as shown by several poetical and hagiographical texts written by RËmÈ and his followers. This intellectualism may have endeared them to the political classes, which, in turn, provided the financial support needed to produce expensive illuminated manuscripts. It would, however, be an over-simplification to limit Mevlevi operations to the upper classes, and it is an area of research that needs further investigation. The role of dervishes in the production and patronage of material culture (other than architecture) in Anatolia is, in fact, relatively underdeveloped, particularly in terms of proper historical and cultural contextualisation.35 This relative neglect of Sufi material culture may, in part, be due to ethnocentric conceptions of Sufi thought and practice. Omid Safi, for example, has criticised some European scholars’ applications of Christian principles concerning ‘mysticism’ to understandings of medieval Islamic taßawwuf (often translated as ‘Sufism’).36 In this body of scholarly literature, ‘Sufism’ is portrayed as an ineffable quest for personal contact with God that is diametrically opposed to Islamic orthodoxy. Hence, once a Sufi order became increasingly institutionalised, ‘spiritual insight atrophied’.37 Such views extracted Sufis from their social history by reducing their activities to vaguely ‘mystical’ pursuits. In reality, Sufi activities took on various forms that were often specific to time, place and group. Sufis certainly participated in worldly networks of power and patronage and wrote widely on ‘madrasa’ subjects such as tafsÈr (Qur’an interpretation, or exegesis), ˙adÈth (Prophetic sayings) and fiqh (jurisprudence, or understandings of sharÈʿa).38 The focus on mysticism has obscured deeper considerations of political and social activities and the other affiliations that dervishes could possess. In the context of late medieval RËm, Mevlevis spanned all levels and classes of society, engaged in a variety of professions, were familiar with multiple languages and, in some cases, were not Muslim but Christian (or, at the very least, recent converts from Christianity).39 One should, therefore, view their contribution to material culture within this framework of diverse, worldly associations.40 The issue of ‘great and little traditions’ in understandings of Sufi culture speaks to wider concerns over the preoccupation with the ‘Turkification’ of RËm and the contributions of the Turkish language to medieval culture. There was, of course, a substantial Turkishspeaking population in the late medieval period. Both al-ʿUmarÈ and Ibn Ba††Ë†a highlight the Turkish (or possibly Muslim) aspect of the region: al-ʿUmarÈ refers to ‘the Kingdom of the Turks in RËm’ (‘mamlakat al-Atråk bi-l-RËm’), while Ibn Ba††Ë†a uses the phrase, ‘the land of the Turks known as the lands of RËm’ (‘barr al-Turkiyya al-maʿrËf bi-bilåd al-RËm’).41 However, this is not to suggest that RËm was a wholly Turkish land, despite the critical developments taking place in Turkish culture (as discussed above), such as the poetry of YËnus Emre and Qayghusuz Abdål (d. 1415). For this study, it is important to note that the consumption of Turkish literature was not reflected in the body of illuminated manuscripts, which are written in either Arabic or Persian. The question of ethnic identity is complicated and notoriously difficult to define. It is not the direct focus of this study, but it is useful to consider, since this book deals with ethnically and linguistically heterogenous artistic and intellectual communities at several points. Some of the illuminated manuscripts examined in the following chapters were produced for Turcoman princes, and their ‘Turkish’ identity has been examined by modern Turkish scholars. In particular, conceptions of the ‘frontier’ in medieval RËm and the historiography of the Turcoman principalities have shaped these discussions. With the partial incorporation of central and eastern Anatolia into the Ilkhanid realm from the mid-thirteenth century, the region became the western fringe of Mongol territories. Even before that, the western part of Seljuk lands bordered the Byzantine Empire of Nicaea (1204–61). These borderlands, variously called the ‘frontier’, the ‘marches’ or the ‘Ëj’, were characterised by rich pastures, valleys and mountains that enabled the pursuit of a nomadic lifestyle. The proximity to unguarded Byzantine territories also provided easy targets for Turcoman raiders. Paul Wittek’s concept of the ‘frontier’, or ‘Ëj’ as he termed it, has strongly shaped later conceptions of the region as a lawless borderland where Turcoman folk and warrior culture flourished.42 This opposition between the unruly, nomadic marches of the western frontier and the cosmopolitan cities of the Seljuk heartland has permeated throughout scholarly understandings of the political and cultural landscape of medieval Anatolia. The division between rural and urban settings is, of course, not a complete invention of scholarship. Upon seeing building work that needed completing in a disciple’s garden, RËmÈ remarked that the ‘cultivation of the world belongs to RËmÈs, and the devastation of the universe is confined to Turks’.43 Although this statement perhaps reflects contemporary tensions, it needs further explanation, particularly where the meaning of the nisba (affiliation or kinship relationship) ‘al-RËmÈ’ is concerned. The nisba was used in primary sources from at least the early thirteenth century44 to describe Greek Christians, such as the painter ʿAyn al-Dawla al-RËmÈ, 45 as well as other non-Christian and non-Greek inhabitants of RËm, such as Jalål al-DÈn RËmÈ and the astronomer and mathematician MËså Qå∂Èzåda al-RËmÈ (d. 1432).46 In addition to its Byzantine overtones (from the ‘Lands of RËm’), Cemal Kafadar has suggested that ‘al-RËmÈ’ seems to have absorbed positive, perhaps urbane, social connotations.47 Although the Mevlevi leader’s statement suggests that urban ‘RËmÈs’ and frontier ‘Turks’ were opposed (at least, in his opinion), other contemporary evidence indicates that this rather black-andwhite assessment was more complicated in reality. Kafadar has suggested that the frontier region was, in fact, subject to mobility, fluidity and multiple layers of authority (for example, those of the Mongols, Seljuks and Turcomans). Building on this premise, A. C. S. Peacock has stated that the so-called ‘frontier’ was in some cases culturally, economically and politically integrated with Konya – a centre of urban, Persianate culture.48 Although it is undeniable that a geographical ‘buffer zone’ existed, the meaning of ‘Ëj’ in medieval sources was not always clear or consistent, and it, therefore, should not be equated with the ‘frontier’.49 In light of this, the perceived differences between rural Turks and urban RËmÈs perhaps reflected attitudes over class and learning, rather than ethnicity or religion. It is important to bear this distinction in mind when considering manuscript material, which was often linked to literary and scholarly circles and evidently not confined to specific ethnic groups. Indeed, several of the illuminated manuscripts discussed in this book were produced for Turcoman princes, and a fuller discussion of their production contexts thus entails a more nuanced understanding of Turcoman culture and the notion of ‘Turkification’, as well as the ‘frontier’ and its connection to the ‘centre’. Until recently, there has been relatively limited engagement with the history of the Turcoman principalities (aside from the Ottomans) in Western scholarship.50 They have, however, been the subject of numerous twentieth-century Turkish studies.51 Osman Turan praises the Turcoman principalities as a dynamic force for the ‘Turkification’ that emerged as the Seljuk state deteriorated under the increasing tyranny of their ‘pagan’ Mongol overlords.52 In this scheme, the principalities, supposedly untainted by Persian culture, are presented as a Turkish force of resistance to the Mongol interlopers.53 The study of both the Turcoman polities and the Mongols in Anatolia have not necessarily been served well by this framework of ‘Turkification’. The Mongols were a crucial part of the history of late medieval Anatolia and not merely a temporary inconvenience to the development of Turkish culture in the region. Some early scholars, such as Zeki Velidi Togan (1890–1970) and Òsmail Hakkı Uzunçar∞ılı (1888–1977), demonstrated that the Ottomans were in fact economically and culturally connected to the Mongols, but this discourse was not advanced by scholars until more recently.54 There has been an increasing acknowledgement of the Mongol impact on Anatolia in scholarship, which has helped to move discussions away from the restrictive considerations of modern geographical borders and dynastic boundaries. Similarly, studies from the last decade or so that discuss the Turcoman principalities have reconsidered their place in late medieval Anatolian history.55 Many twentieth-century works view the Turcomans as direct successors to the Seljuk legacy and forerunners of the most successful principality, the Ottomans. The numerous Turcoman principalities have, therefore, often been evaluated as ‘small interchangeable dynasties’ isolated from broader developments in the region and oriented around eventual Ottoman ascendancy.56 In the realm of art history scholarship, Oktay Aslanapa, for example, employed the architecture of various Turcoman principalities to demonstrate an unbroken line from Seljuk to Ottoman buildings, when, in fact, ‘Turcoman’ architecture is quite diverse when considering its materials, techniques and plan types.57 The grouping of visual material under one ‘Turcoman’ or ‘Beylik’ category is thus relatively meaningless for properly understanding material culture and highlights the inappropriateness of retaining a dynastic framework in this case. Approaching the Islamic arts of the book: codicology and historiography The importance of thinking about manuscripts as ‘whole’, threedimensional objects in multiple contexts of production, ownership and circulation has been mentioned above. Partly informing this perspective is a need to redress previous approaches to the Islamic arts of the book that often examined manuscripts divorced from their codicological contexts (particularly in the case of paintings). It is also guided by the increasing centrality of codicological methods in recent scholarship on Islamic manuscripts and the arts of the book. Put simply, codicology is the study of the material aspects of books.58 At the heart of codicological analysis is the detailed physical examination of the manuscript, which can include its writing support, text block, scripts and ink, decoration, binding and inscriptions, such as ownership records, colophons and marginalia.59 What a detailed physical examination of a group of manuscripts uncovers should ideally shape the rest of the study. This physical analysis then enables a discussion of the manuscripts’ production and reception contexts (and the wider artistic setting), the cultural significance of the text and the comparative style of decorative elements. Consequently, this book goes beyond an exercise in codicological investigation by attempting to integrate traditional art historical inquiries that focus on motifs and techniques, a cultural-historical focus on artists, patrons and production contexts, together with an appreciation of inscriptions and the physical properties of book production. In order to provide a solid foundation for the arguments put forward in this book, its core material is, where possible, dated with securely identified production centres. When this has not been possible, other elements, such as ownership records, particular motifs or names of craftsmen, provide credible grounds by which to identify and discuss their production contexts with reasonable certainty. I have excluded many illuminated manuscripts from this study due to their lack of colophons or unclear origins.60 Some of these have been discussed in detail elsewhere and attributed to Konya or RËm.61 An undated copy of AnÈs al-QulËb, for example, was almost certainly produced in late medieval Konya based on its illumination.62 The analysis of its decorative features is therefore an important supplement to this book, but is not included here for reasons of scope and space. There are several recent publications concerning the Islamic arts of the book that have demonstrated the benefits of adopting codicological methods.63 Works such as these highlight the complexity and multi-layered nature of manuscripts and help to redress issues con- cerning how early scholars approached Islamic manuscripts. Western hierarchies of visual culture placed the ‘fine’ arts of painting, sculpture and architecture above the ‘minor’ or ‘decorative’ arts, such as pottery, metalwork or wood carving. Although the Islamic tradition had no art form comparable to European painting, figural illustration bore the closest resemblance to it, and thus became one of the primary targets of European collectors and dealers.64 Indeed, the early study of the Islamic arts of the book owes more to amateur collectors and morally questionable dealers than it does to scholars.65 Although some European inquiries into Islamic history and epigraphy were based on close examinations of coins and inscriptions,66 this empiricist vein soon gave way to activities that were motivated by market trends and the interests of connoisseurs. The enthusiastic collecting of Persian figural painting resulted in a demotion of Islamic calligraphy, towards which collectors were relatively indifferent (due in part to the language barrier).67 Although there are several important publications on calligraphy, as regards scholarship, the emphasis on painting remains prominent.68 Furthermore, as market forces shaped the trajectory of early scholarship, dealers responded (or created new trajectories) by carving up albums and manuscripts – sometimes while they were still in museum or library collections – and split folios in order to produce two leaves out of one and thus maximise profits.69 The removal of illustrations from their physical contexts helped to normalise the analysis of such material in isolation. This separation of the constituent arts of the book (painting, calligraphy, bookbinding and illumination) persists in scholarship and has, in some cases, hindered a better understanding of Islamic manuscript production. Early inquiries into the Islamic arts of the book were often shaped by Eurocentric value judgements and characterised by a lack of scholarly method.70 The British historian Thomas Walker Arnold (1864–1930), for example, compared the chronology of Persian painting (which, according to him, emerged in the fifteenth century) to that of Renaissance art, and likened the patronage of Timurids to that of the Medicis.71 Similarly, the Swedish diplomat Fredrik Robert Martin (1868–1933) compared the illustrations of one of his recently acquired manuscripts to the work of Dürer, Hellenistic painting and Japanese temple art, amongst other things.72 Nonetheless, these early investigations produced a significant body of literature that opened up the field for further enquiry.73 While very few illustrated manuscripts attributed to medieval RËm exist, survey texts of Islamic art prioritise them over non-illustrated, illuminated manuscripts.74 This literature can give the impression that the arts of the book in this period were lacklustre in comparison to what neighbouring regions were producing. In contrast to numerous illuminated manuscripts, there are only three securely identified illustrated manuscripts from the period.75 The manuscripts are an unilluminated anthology of seven or eight texts (partially consisting of Daqåʾiq al-Óaqåʾiq by NåßirÈ, completed in Aksaray and Kayseri between Rama∂ån 670–Shawwål 671/1272–3) and two recently discovered almanacs (taqwÈm) completed in 771 (1369–70), probably in Konya, and at the end of Mu˙arram 773 (August 1371) in Sivas.76 The Sivas almanac was authored and copied by Zayn al-Munajjim ibn Sulaymån al-QËnawÈ, who may also have authored (but not copied, as is clear from the handwriting) the Konya almanac. The unilluminated anthology is discussed only briefly in Chapter 1, in part because its illustrations are numerous and iconographically diverse, its folios are out of order and some sections of the manuscript are seemingly of a later date. It, therefore, requires a significant amount of further study that is not currently possible. The two almanacs are examined in a recent publication by A. C. S. Peacock, but, similarly, their material and visual qualities require further investigation (though the Konya almanac is briefly mentioned in Chapter 4).77 Due to the paucity of securely identified illustrations from this period, it is currently difficult to visually contextualise these three manuscripts to the same level as the rest of the material explored in this book. In this study, analyses of illumination provide the strongest basis for validating arguments concerning visual relationships within and between manuscript centres. These are, nevertheless, very important manuscripts that will ideally be examined in more detail in future studies. Primary sources The most important primary sources for this study are the manuscripts themselves. The rich historical and visual details of the manuscripts enable the reconstruction of aspects of contemporary artistic practice where deficiencies in the textual sources remain. In this period, there are no surviving treatises or records concerning recipes, techniques or workshops. Beyond the manuscripts, numerous contemporary textual sources have survived, including endowment deeds (waqfiyyas), inscriptions, historical chronicles, hagiographies, almanacs, geographical and travel accounts, encyclopaedic studies and writings on trade and fiscal matters. There are several chronicles that were written in thirteenth- and fourteenth-century RËm. The most well-known is the Persian work, al-Avåmir al-ʿAlåʾiyya fÈ-l-UmËr al-ʿAlåʾiyya, written around 1282 by Óusayn ibn Mu˙ammad al-JaʿfarÈ al-RughadÈ al-MunshÈ, better known as Ibn al-BÈbÈ al-Munajjima (d. after 1285, hereafter Ibn BÈbÈ). The work – the full version of which exists as part of a single remaining manuscript – was commissioned by the Ilkhanid governor of Baghdad, ʿA†å-Malik JuwaynÈ (d. 1283), and dedicated to the Seljuk sultan Ghiyåth al-DÈn Kaykhusraw III (r. 1265–84).78 Al-Awåmir concerns the history of the RËm Seljuks from 1188 to around 1281, with a particular focus on the rule of ʿAlåʾ al-DÈn Kayqubåd I (r. 1219–37).
Another important Persian chronicle is Musåmarat al-Akhbår va Musåyarat al-Akhyår by KarÈm al-DÈn Ma˙mËd ibn Mu˙ammad al-AqsaråyÈ (d. before 1333), written in RËm in 1323.79 Al-AqsaråyÈ was an official in the service of the Ilkhanid ruler Ghåzån Khån (r. 1295–1304), who held several positions in the fiscal administration of RËm.80 Musåmarat al-Akhbår, written for TÈmËrtåsh ibn ChËbån (d. 1328), the Mongol governor of RËm, covers the period between the middle of the thirteenth century until 1323, and as such is a vital source on Ilkhanid rule in the region. The work exists in two fourteenth-century manuscripts.81 A further major local chronicle is the anonymous, Persian-language TårÈkh-i Ål-i SaljËq dar Ånå†ËlÈ, completed some time after 1363. Possibly written by more than one person, the TårÈkh covers Seljuk rule and events in Konya between 1277 and 1299 and includes some supplements concerning events until 1341.82 One of the authors may have been a guildsman of Konya.83 The work exists in a unique manuscript and is published in a facsimile edition.84 Finally, a crucial source pertaining to the later part of the period under discussion is Bazm u Razm by ʿAzÈz ibn ArdashÈr al-AstaråbådÈ (d. after 1397).85 The Persian text focuses on the life of the usurper of the Eretnid throne, Burhån al-DÈn A˙mad (d. 1398), who ruled Sivas from 1381 until his death. It spans approximately 1380 to 1398 and discusses many key political figures of eastern RËm. In addition to these chronicles, there are several important works concerning the early history of the Mevlevi dervishes, who feature prominently throughout this book. The earliest sources are letters written in Persian by Jalål al-DÈn RËmÈ from the mid-thirteenth century onwards.86 They are mostly addressed to well-known political figures, including the Seljuk sultans and the parvåna MuʿÈn al-DÈn Sulaymån (d. 1277), as well as scholars such as Siråj al-DÈn alUrmawÈ (d. 1283).87 Their contents mainly comprise requests made by RËmÈ and provide insight into his and his followers’ concerns. The earliest biographical source on the Mevlevis is Sul†ån Walad’s Ibtidånåma, written in 1291.88 This work of Persian verse contains details concerning RËmÈ, the author’s father. Two other essential sources were written in Persian by members of the Mevlevi inner circle, FarÈdËn ibn A˙mad Sipahsålår (d. late 13th c.–early 14th c.) and Shams al-DÈn A˙mad AflåkÈ. Sipahsålår’s account, Risåla-yi Sipahsålår, concerns first-hand observations of RËmÈ, his family and his followers.89 Its contents suggest that the text was probably completed in the first half of the fourteenth century, perhaps in 1338, possibly by another individual.90 Manåqib al-ʿÅrifÈn, AflåkÈ’s account of RËmÈ and several early Mevlevi leaders is the betterknown of the two chronicles, in part, no doubt, because it has been translated into English, unlike Sipahsålår’s source.91 The work was written in Konya between 1318 and 1353–4. Although AflåkÈ’s text is far broader in its historical detail, it is sometimes less reliable than Sipahsålår’s treatise as it mostly consists of second-hand oral accounts and is hagiographical in its focus, attributing numerous miracles to RËmÈ. It thus needs to be read with a critical eye. Two Arabic sources that are particularly useful for the period are the Ri˙la of Ibn Ba††Ë†a – the Moroccan traveller who visited RËm (amongst many other places) in the early 1330s – and Masålik alAbßår fÈ Mamålik al-Amßår by Shihåb al-DÈn A˙mad ibn Fa∂lallåh al-ʿUmarÈ, a Mamluk bureaucrat. The Ri˙la – one of the most wellknown sources on the medieval Islamic world – provides a great deal of information on various political and cultural figures of RËm such as beys, dervishes and akhÈs, in addition to descriptions of cities, landscapes and customs.92 Completed in 1357 by Ibn Juzayy from Ibn Ba††Ë†a’s dictation, the work copies sections of Ibn Jubayr’s late twelfth-century Ri˙la in order to compensate for the loss of notes or memory. The account suffers from some inconsistencies and errors, having been written over twenty years after the author’s travels. Masålik al-Abßår was probably written after the author’s dismissal as head of the Mamluk chancery in Damascus in 1342. The encyclopaedic work covers many subjects, including history, geography, literature, religion, politics and law. It also contains a description of the political situation in RËm in the first half of the fourteenth century, based on the testimony of a Genoese slave who converted to Islam and an itinerant RËmÈ shaykh.93 This section is a valuable source on the relative military strength of the Turcoman principalities and the extent of their territories. Finally, there are many other sources relevant to the period, including the Qaråmånnåma, written by A˙mad ShikårÈ (fl. 16th c.),94 Mirßåd al-ʿIbåd min al-Mabdåʾ ilå-l-Maʿåd by Najm al-DÈn RåzÈ (d. 1256),95 Risåla-yi Falakiyya by ʿAbdallåh ibn Mu˙ammad ibn Kiyå al-MåzandarånÈ (d. after 1363),96 Nuzhat al-QulËb by Óamdallåh al-MustawfÈ al-QazwÈnÈ (d. after 1340),97 Armenian manuscript colophons,98 Italian trade manuals99 and European travelogues.100 Outline of chapters Chapter 1 focuses on the earliest illuminated manuscripts produced in RËm after the region became the de facto western frontier of the Ilkhanid empire in the second half of the thirteenth century. In terms of themes and structure, this chapter sets the scene for subsequent discussions. To begin with, I focus on two manuscripts, neither of which have been published in depth or discussed in relation to their socio-cultural contexts. These are a monumental MasnavÈ-i MaʿnavÈ (hereafter MasnavÈ) of Jalål al-DÈn RËmÈ and a very small Qur’an, both produced in Konya in 1278. After a thorough examination of the visual properties of these manuscripts and their relationship to contemporary manuscripts from other milieux, the chapter considers the illuminated copy of al-Avåmir al-ʿAlåʾiyya by Ibn BÈbÈ and the part that Ilkhanid officials played in manuscript patronage. Finally, it explores the wider artistic and intellectual scene in late medieval Konya and considers the role of converts, Christians and dervishes in manuscript production. The second chapter concerns manuscripts produced in Konya and Sivas between 1311 and 1332. This period roughly coincides with the rise of the Turcoman principalities on RËm’s political scene and the final decades of Ilkhanid rule, which ended in 1335 with the death of AbË SaʿÈd without a male successor. The seven core manuscripts that comprise the focus of this chapter were produced for Turcoman patrons and Mevlevi dervishes and include a small 1311 copy of al-FußËl al-Ashrafiyya fÈ-l-Qawåʿid al-Burhåniyya wal-Kashfiyya, a large two-volume Qur’an produced in 714/1314–15, a 1314 copy of Sul†ån Walad’s Intihånåma, a 1323 MasnavÈ of Jalål al-DÈn RËmÈ and a MasnavÈ of Sul†ån Walad produced before 1332. An illuminated MasnavÈ (containing Book Three) of Jalål al-DÈn RËmÈ that was copied in Sivas in 1318 and was largely unknown to scholarship is also examined. This chapter expands the analysis concerning Mevlevi involvement in illuminated manuscript production that was introduced in the previous chapter and further explores Konya’s artistic landscapes and the possibility of a local ‘school’ of illumination. It also discusses scholarly approaches to the Turcoman principalities – a thread that will be taken up in Chapters 3 and 4. Chapter 3 discusses two modest manuscripts that were produced for Hamidid beys in the mid-fourteenth century. These manuscripts, both copies of Najm al-DÈn RåzÈ’s Mirßåd al-ʿIbåd, were produced in Òstanos (Korkuteli) in 1349 and 1351. This chapter, which shifts focus from Konya to western, coastal RËm, explores the ‘mirrors for princes’ genre in more depth, the cosmopolitan and mercantile nature of the immediate area and the possible impact of bubonic plague on artistic production. The fourth and final chapter focuses on the patronage of one individual, who emerges from surviving material as the most prolific manuscript patron of late medieval RËm. The three manuscripts discussed in this chapter are connected to one Sharaf al-DÈn SåtÈ ibn Óasan, an amÈr and a Mevlevi devotee. They include a copy of the MasnavÈ of Sul†ån Walad from 1366, a two-volume DÈvån-i KabÈr from 1368 and a 1372 copy of the MasnavÈ, both by Jalål al-DÈn RËmÈ. The focus on an individual patron, who was otherwise not well-known from historical sources, highlights the importance and benefits of considering the sub-dynastic level of artistic production. Even though there is no production centre identified in the manuscripts, the patron had a strong connection to Erzincan, and the quality and extensiveness of the manuscripts’ illumination suggests that there may have been a community of artists present there by the late fourteenth century.
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