5. The Byzantine Arts
Architecture was the masterpiece of the Byzantine artist, but about it or within it were a dozen other arts in which he achieved some memorable excellence. He did not care for sculpture in the round; the mood of the age preferred color to line; yet Procopius lauded the sculptors of his time—presumably the carvers of reliefs—as the equals of Pheidias and Praxiteles; and some stone sarcophagi of the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries have human figures chiseled with almost Hellenic grace, confused with an Asiatic plethora of ornament. The carving of ivory was a favorite art among the Byzantines; they used it for diptychs, triptychs, book covers, caskets, perfume boxes, statuettes, inlays, and in a hundred decorative ways; in this craft Hellenistic techniques survived unimpaired, and merely turned gods and heroes into Christ and the saints. The ivory chair of Bishop Maximian in the Basilica Ursiana at Ravenna (c. 550) is a major achievement in a minor art.
While the Far East, in the sixth century, was experimenting with oil colors,40 Byzantine painting adhered to traditional Greek methods: encaustic—colors burnt into panels of wood, canvas, or linen; fresco—colors mixed with lime and applied to wet plaster surfaces; and tempera—colors mixed with size or gum or glue and white of egg, and applied to panels or to plaster already dry. The Byzantine painter knew how to represent distance and depth, but usually shirked the difficulties of perspective by filling in the background with buildings and screens. Portraits were numerous, but few have survived. Church walls were decorated with murals; the fragments that remain show a rough realism, unshapely hands, stunted figures, sallow faces, and incredible coiffures.
The Byzantine artist excelled and reveled in the minute; his extant masterpieces of painting are not murals or panels, but the miniatures with which he literally “illuminated”—made bright with color—the publications of his age.* Books, being costly, were adorned like other precious objects. The miniaturist first sketched his design upon papyrus, parchment, or vellum with a fine brush or pen; laid down a background usually in gold or blue; filled in his colors, and decorated background and borders with graceful and delicate forms. At first he had merely elaborated the initial letter of a chapter or a page; sometimes he essayed a portrait of the author; then he illustrated the text with pictures; finally, as his art improved, he almost forgot the text, and spread himself out in luxurious ornament, taking a geometrical or floral motive, or a religious symbol, and repeating it in a maze of variations, until all the page was a glory of color and line, and the text seemed like an intrusion from a coarser world.
The illumination of manuscripts had been practiced in Pharaonic and Ptolemaic Egypt, and had passed thence to Hellenistic Greece and Rome. The Vatican treasures an Aeneid, the Ambrosian Library at Milan an Iliad, both ascribed to the fourth century, and completely classic in ornament. The transition from pagan to Christian miniatures appears in the Topographia Christiana of Cosmas Indicopleustes (c. 547), who earned his sobriquet by sailing to India, and his fame by trying to prove that the earth is flat. The oldest extant religious miniature is a fifth-century Genesis, now in the Library of Vienna; the text is written in gold and silver letters on twenty-four leaves of purple vellum; the forty-eight miniatures, in white, green, violet, red, and black, picture the story of man from Adam’s fall to Jacob’s death. Quite as beautiful are the Joshua Rotulus (Little Roll of the Book of Joshua) in the Vatican, and the Book of the Gospels illuminated by the monk Rabula in Mesopotamia in 586. From Mesopotamia and Syria came the figures and symbols that dominated the iconography, or picture-writing, of the Byzantine world; repeated in a thousand forms in the minor arts, they became stereotyped and conventional, and shared in producing the deadly immutability of Byzantine art.
Loving brilliance and permanence, the Byzantine painter made mosaic his favorite medium. For floors he chose tesserae of colored marble, as Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans had done; for other surfaces he used cubes of glass or enamel in every shade, cut in various sizes, but usually an eighth of an inch square. Precious stones were sometimes mingled with the cubes. Mosaic was often employed in making portable pictures or icons, to be set up in churches or homes, or carried on travels as aids to devotion and safety; preferably, however, the mosaicist sought the larger scope of church or palace walls. In his studio, upon a canvas bearing a colored design, he tentatively laid his cubes; and here his art was strained to produce immediately under his hand the precise gradation and melting of colors to be felt by other eyes from greater distances. Meanwhile a coat of heavy cement, and then a coat of fine cement, were laid upon the surface to be covered; into this matrix the mosaicist, following his canvas model, pressed his cubes, usually with cut edges to the front to catch the light. Curved surfaces like domes, and the conches or shell-like half domes of apses, were favored, since they would catch at different times and angles a variety of softened and shaded light. From this painstaking art Gothic would derive part of its inspiration for stained glass.
Such glass is mentioned in fifth-century texts, but no example remains, and apparently the stain was external, not fused.41 Glass-cutting and blowing were now a thousand years old, and Syria, their earliest known home, was still a center of the crafts. The art of engraving precious metals or stones had deteriorated since Aurelius; Byzantine gems, coins, and seals are of relatively poor design and workmanship. Jewelers nevertheless sold their products to nearly every class, for ornament was the soul of Byzantium. Goldsmith and silversmith studios were numerous in the capital; gold pyxes, chalices, and reliquaries adorned many altars; and silver plate oppressed the tables of moneyed homes.
Every house, almost every person, carried some textile finery. Egypt led the way here with its delicate, many-colored, figured fabrics—garments, curtains, hangings, and coverings; the Copts were the masters in these fields. Certain Egyptian tapestries of this period are almost identical in technique with the Gobelins.42 Byzantine weavers made silk brocades, embroideries, even embroidered shrouds—linens realistically painted with the features of the dead. In Constantinople a man was known by the garments he wore; each class prized and defended some distinctive refinement of dress; and a Byzantine assemblage doubtless shone like a peacock’s tail.
Among all classes music was popular. It played a rising role in the liturgy of the Church, and helped to fuse emotion into belief. In the fourth century Alypius wrote a Musical Introduction, whose extant portions are our chief guide to the musical notation of the Greeks. This representation of notes by letters was replaced, in that century, by abstract signs, neumes; Ambrose apparently introduced these to Milan, Hilary to Gaul, Jerome to Rome. About the end of the fifth century Romanus, a Greek monk, composed the words and music of hymns that still form part of the Greek liturgy, and have never been equaled in depth of feeling and power of expression. Boethius wrote an essay De Musica, summarizing the theories of Pythagoras, Aristoxenus, and Ptolemy; this little treatise was used as a text in music at Oxford and Cambridge until our times.43
One must be an Oriental to understand an Oriental art. To a Western mind the essence of Byzantinism means that the East had become supreme in the heart and head of Greece: in the autocratic government, the hierarchical stability of classes, the stagnation of science and philosophy, the state-dominated Church, the religion-dominated people, the gorgeous vestments and stately ceremonies, the sonorous and scenic ritual, the hypnotic chant of repetitious music, the overwhelming of the senses with brilliance and color, the conquest of naturalism by imagination, the submergence of representative under decorative art. The ancient Greek spirit would have found this alien and unbearable, but Greece herself was now part of the Orient. An Asiatic lassitude fell upon the Greek world precisely when it was to be challenged in its very life by the renewed vitality of Persia and the incredible energy of Islam.
CHAPTER VII
The Persians
224–641
I. SASANIAN SOCIETY
BEYOND the Euphrates or the Tigris, through all the history of Greece and Rome, lay th
at almost secret empire which for a thousand years had stood off expanding Europe and Asiatic hordes, never forgetting its Achaemenid glory, slowly recuperating from its Parthian wars, and so proudly maintaining its unique and aristocratic culture under its virile Sasanian monarchs, that it would transform the Islamic conquest of Iran into a Persian Renaissance.
Iran meant more, in our third century, than Iran or Persia today. It was by its very name the land of the “Aryans,” and included Afghanistan, Baluchistan, Sogdiana, and Balkh, as well as Iraq. “Persia,” anciently the name of the modern province of Fars, was but a southeastern fraction of this empire; but the Greeks and Romans, careless about “barbarians,” gave the name of a part to the whole. Through the center of Iran, from Himalayan southeast to Caucasian northwest, ran a mountainous dividing barrier; to the east was an arid lofty plateau; to the west lay the green valleys of the twin rivers, whose periodic overflow ran into a labyrinth of canals, and made Western Persia rich in wheat and dates, vines, and fruits. Between or along the rivers, or hiding in the hills, or hugging desert oases, were a myriad villages, a thousand towns, a hundred cities: Ecbatana, Rai, Mosul, Istakhr (once Persepolis), Susa, Seleucia, and magnificent Ctesiphon, seat of the Sasanian kings.
Ammianus describes the Persians of this period as “almost all slender, somewhat dark … with not uncomely beards, and long, shaggy hair.”1 The upper classes were not shaggy, nor always slender, often handsome, proud of bearing, and of an easy grace, with a flair for dangerous sports and splendid dress. Men covered their heads with turbans, their legs with baggy trousers, their feet with sandals or laced boots; the rich wore coats or tunics of wool and silk, and girt themselves with belt and sword; the poor resigned themselves to garments of cotton, hair, or skins. The women dressed in boots and breeches, loose shirts and cloaks and flowing robes; curled their black hair into a coil in front, let it hang behind, and brightened it with flowers. All classes loved color and ornament. Priests and zealous Zoroastrians affected white cotton clothing as a symbol of purity; generals preferred red; kings distinguished themselves with red shoes, blue trousers, and a headdress topped with an inflated ball or the head of a beast or a bird. In Persia, as in all civilized societies, clothes made half the man, and slightly more of the woman.
The typical educated Persian was Gallicanly impulsive, enthusiastic, and mercurial; often indolent, but quickly alert; given to “mad and extravagant talk … rather crafty than courageous, and to be feared only at long range”2—which was where they kept their enemies. The poor drank beer, but nearly all classes, including the gods, preferred wine; the pious and thrifty Persians poured it out in religious ritual, waited a reasonable time for the gods to come and drink, then drank the sacred beverage themselves.3 Persian manners, in this Sasanian period, are described as coarser than in the Achaemenid, more refined than in the Parthian;4 but the narratives of Procopius leave us with the impression that the Persians continued to be better gentlemen than the Greeks.5 The ceremonies and diplomatic forms of the Persian court were in large measure adopted by the Greek emperors; the rival sovereigns addressed each other as “brother,” provided immunity and safe-conducts for foreign diplomats, and exempted them from customs searches and dues.6 The conventions of European and American diplomacy may be traced to the courts of the Persian kings.
“Most Persians,” Ammianus reported, “are extravagantly given to venery,”7 but he confesses that pederasty and prostitution were less frequent among them than among the Greeks. Rabbi Gamaliel praised the Persians for three qualities: “They are temperate in eating, modest in the privy and in marital relations.”8 Every influence was used to stimulate marriage and the birth rate, in order that man power should suffice in war; in this aspect Mars, not Venus, is the god of love. Religion enjoined marriage, celebrated it with awesome rites, and taught that fertility strengthened Ormuzd, the god of light, in his cosmic conflict with Ahriman, the Satan of the Zoroastrian creed.9 The head of the household practiced ancestor worship at the family hearth, and sought offspring to ensure his own later cult and care; if no son was born to him he adopted one. Parents generally arranged the marriage of their children, often with the aid of a professional matrimonial agent; but a woman might marry against the wishes of her parents. Dowries and marriage settlements financed early marriage and parentage. Polygamy was allowed, and was recommended where the first wife proved barren. Adultery flourished.10 The husband might divorce his wife for infidelity, the wife might divorce her husband for desertion and cruelty. Concubines were permitted. Like the ancient Greek hetairai, these concubines were free to move about in public, and to attend the banquets of the men;11 but legal wives were usually kept in private apartments in the home;12 this old Persian custom was bequeathed to Islam. Persian women were exceptionally beautiful, and perhaps men had to be guarded from them. In the Shahnama of Firdausi it is the women who yearn and take the initiative in courtship and seduction. Feminine charms overcame masculine laws.
Children were reared with the help of religious belief, which seems indispensable to parental authority. They amused themselves with ball games, athletics, and chess,13 and at an early age joined in their elders’ pastimes-archery, horse racing, polo, and the hunt. Every Sasanian found music necessary to the operations of religion, love, and war; “music and the songs of beautiful women,” said Firdausi, “accompanied the scene” at royal banquets and receptions;14 lyre, guitar, flute, pipe, horn, drum, and other instruments abounded; tradition avers that Khosru Parvez’ favorite singer, Barbad, composed 360 songs, and sang them to his royal patron, one each night for a year.15 In education, too, religion played a major part; primary schools were situated on temple grounds, and were taught by priests. Higher education in literature, medicine, science, and philosophy was provided in the celebrated academy at Jund-i-Shapur in Susiana. The sons of feudal chiefs and provincial satraps often lived near the king, and were instructed with the princes of the royal family in a college attached to the court.16
Pahlavi, the Indo-European language of Parthian Persia, continued in use. Of its literature in this age only some 600,000 words survive, nearly all dealing with religion. We know that it was extensive;17 but as the priests were its guardians and transmitters, they allowed most of the secular material to perish. (A like process may have deluded us as to the overwhelmingly religious character of early medieval literature in Christendom.) The Sasanian kings were enlightened patrons of letters and philosophy—Khosru Anushirvan above all: he had Plato and Aristotle translated into Pahlavi, had them taught at Jund-i-Shapur, and even read them himself. During his reign many historical annals were compiled, of which the sole survivor is the Karnamaki-Artakhshatr, or Deeds of Ardashir, a mixture of history and romance that served Firdausi as the basis of his Shahnama. When Justinian closed the schools of Athens seven of their professors fled to Persia and found refuge at Khosru’s court. In time they grew homesick; and in his treaty of 533 with Justinian, the “barbarian” king stipulated that the Greek sages should be allowed to return, and be free from persecution.
Under this enlightened monarch the college of Jund-i-Shapur, which had been founded in the fourth or fifth century, became “the greatest intellectual center of the time.”18 Students and teachers came to it from every quarter of the world. Nestorian Christians were received there, and brought Syriac translations of Greek works in medicine and philosophy. Neoplatonists there planted the seeds of Sufi mysticism; there the medical lore of India, Persia, Syria, and Greece mingled to produce a flourishing school of therapy.19 In Persian theory disease resulted from contamination and impurity of one or more of the four elements—fire, water, earth, and air; public health, said Persian physicians and priests, required the burning of all putrefying matter, and individual health demanded strict obedience to the Zoroastrian code of cleanliness.20
Of Persian astronomy in this period we only know that it maintained an orderly calendar, divided the year into twelve months of thirty days, each month into two seven-day and two eigh
t-day weeks, and added five intercalary days at the end of the year.21 Astrology and magic were universal; no important step was taken without reference to the status of the constellations; and every earthly career, men believed, was determined by the good and evil stars that fought in the sky—as angels and demons fought in the human soul—the ancient war of Ormuzd and Ahriman.
The Zoroastrian religion was restored to authority and affluence by the Sasanian dynasty; lands and tithes were assigned to the priests; government was founded on religion, as in Europe. An archimagus, second only to the king in power, headed an omnipresent hereditary priestly caste of Magi, who controlled nearly all the intellectual life of Persia, frightened sinners and rebels with threats of hell, and kept the Persian mind and masses in bondage for four centuries.22 Now and then they protected the citizen against the taxgatherer, and the poor against oppression.23 The Magian organization was so rich that kings sometimes borrowed great sums from the temple treasuries. Every important town had a fire temple, in which a sacred flame, supposedly inextinguishable, symbolized the god of light. Only a life of virtue and ritual cleanliness could save the soul from Ahriman; in the battle against that devil it was vital to have the aid of the Magi and their magic—thai divinations, incantations, sorceries, and prayers. So helped, the soul would attain holiness and purity, pass the awful assize of the Last Judgment, and enjoy everlasting happiness in paradise.
Around this official faith other religions found modest room. Mithras, the sun god so popular with the Parthians, received a minor worship as chief helper of Ormuzd. But the Zoroastrian priests, like the Christians, Moslems, and Jews, made persistent apostasy from the national creed a capital crime. When Mani (c. 216–76), claiming to be a fourth divine messenger in the line of Buddha, Zoroaster, and Jesus, announced a religion of celibacy, pacifism, and quietism, the militant and nationalistic Magi had him crucified; and Manicheism had to seek its main success abroad. To Judaism and Christianity, however, the Sasanian priests and kings were generally tolerant, much as the popes were more lenient with Jews than with heretics. A large number of Jews found asylum in the western provinces of the Persian Empire. Christianity was already established there when the Sasanians came to power; it was tolerated until it became the official faith of Persia’s immemorial enemies, Greece and Rome; it was persecuted after its clergy, as at Nisibis in 338, took an active part in the defense of Byzantine territory against Shapur II,24 and the Christians in Persia revealed their natural hopes for a Byzantine victory.25 In 341 Shapur ordered the massacre of all Christians in his Empire; entire villages of Christians were being slaughtered when he restricted the proscription to priests, monks, and nuns; even so 16,000 Christians died in a persecution that lasted till Shapur’s death (379). Yezdegird I (399–420) restored religious freedom to the Christians, and helped them rebuild their churches. In 422 a council of Persian bishops made the Persian Christian Church independent of both Greek and Roman Christianity.