A glittering star

Mosque lamps serve practical and spiritual purposes, says Robert Hillenbrand. They light up an interior – and the word of God. And few are more magnificent than the Sarghitmish lamp

Mosque lamps bear witness to an ancient tradition in the Islamic world. A unique double frontispiece from a luxury imperial Qur'an, preserved in fragmentary form in San‘a’ in Yemen, and datable to the late seventh century, depicts rows of hanging lamps in a mosque. These are simple globes of transparent glass with a floating wick, each one suspended from the apex of an arch which forms part of one of many arcades.
 
Numerous early mosques featured extensive covered spaces. These were characteristic of the hypostyle form, with its low roofs and inadequate windows, and multiple lamps were required to provide adequate lighting. Gradually glass hanging lamps took other forms than simple glass globes. An upper flaring rim contrasting with a lower globular belly became especially popular and the balance between these two shapes was subjected to continuous experiment in the 13th and 14th centuries.

The Sarghitmish lamp – to be offered in November's Islamic and Indian Sale at Bonhams London – is of this general type. Ceramic lamps of similar form predominate right into modern times, with particularly fine examples in Iznik ware. But metal lamps were also widely produced from the 9th century onwards, often with a pierced openwork exterior enclosing the glass lamp within, so that the light they project was fractured, patterned, and consistently alive thanks to the flickering of the flame. And several medieval examples survive, above all in North Africa, of the polycandelon, a metal ring (or superposed tiers of such rings) suspended by chains and furnished with apertures holding conical lamps.

“The light they project was fractured, patterned, and consistently alive”

But there is no doubt that the classic form of hanging lamp was developed in Mamluk Syria in the later 13th century. The lamp of Sarghitmish (his name takes several forms), magnate, kingmaker and regent, is typical. A Persian traveller saw such lamps being made and reports enthusiastically: “One industry peculiar to Aleppo is glass-making. Once entered into the bazaar where they are sold, it is hardly possible for a man to make up his mind to go away, such is the fascination exercised by these vessels decorated in the most costly style and with the most exquisite taste. The glasswork of Aleppo is exported to the lands of all sovereigns and lords to serve as gifts”. 

Aleppo was in all probability the source of the lamps which, until 1881 when the Egyptian government prudently removed them, hung in their scores for centuries in the religious buildings of Cairo. Well over 200 have survived. Their characteristic  feature is the combination of enamelled and gilt decoration.

The process of manufacture was risky and exacting. Once the basic shape had been blown, the main design was executed in liquid gold, and gold was rubbed all over the surface except where the enamel was to be added. The precious metal was then burnt in. Next the enamel design was laid out in a paste of red lead-glass, with the other colours added, also in paste, within thick red lines so that the colours would not bleed beyond their boundaries in the second firing. Blue on gold was used for the upper Qur'anic inscription and, in a pleasing reciprocity, gold on blue for the lower historical inscription. The demand for medieval Mamluk lamps among 19th-century European collectors was so ferocious that it is no surprise that numerous versions of such enamelled and gilded lamps were produced in Cairo from about 1860 as part of a fashion that became known as the Mamluk revival and extended to other media including wood, bronze and brass.

How was a lamp such as this meant to be experienced? First of all, it was part of a set, in other words mass-produced, and the power of that set lay in repetition. Each lamp was hung by chains from the roof or tie-beams, in a place of worship, no matter what building type it adorned. Its function was practical, religious and political. These functions overlap and interpenetrate each other, and their ambiguity increases their impact. In the dim penumbra of such buildings, these lamps were a practical necessity; they enclosed wicks suspended in glass oil containers and created pools of mobile yellow light amid the darkness. This light was both emitted and reflected, and as the viewer moved, so the separate colours of the lamp – blue, gold, black – came into focus one after another as they caught that light. Modern neon lighting cannot capture this living presence. The inscriptions on lamps that were of solid metal or clay rather than glass would have been well-nigh impossible to decipher in the half-light. But glass lamps, being transparent, could broadcast their inscribed messages without difficulty.

“In the dim penumbra of such buildings, these lamps were a practical necessity”

It was standard practice in medieval enamelled lamps that their upper inscription was Qur'anic and thus asserted their religious function. Various texts were popular, none more so than Qur'an 24:35, the awesome Light Verse. Many lamps contain only its opening section: “God is the Light of the heavens and the earth; the likeness of His Light is as a niche wherein is a lamp”, and the verse continues: “the lamp in a glass, the glass as if it were a glittering star.” That vivid visual image explains why depictions of hanging lamps in mihrabs and prayer rugs were so ubiquitous. They can be regarded as the outstanding example in the Islamic world of the religious pun. In the Sarghitmish lamp more of the verse is given, for the letters are closely packed together in three tiers. The association between lamps or light and the divine is also found in the other Abrahamic religions (Psalm 119:105; Matthew 5:16 and 25:1-12). Islamic lamps, then, work in multiple ways: they could be seen as emblematic of the divine presence, as signifying God’s revelation to believers and as sacralising a space used for worship. “Light upon light” indeed.

“The lamp in a glass, the glass as if it were a glittering star”

So much for the practical and religious function of lamps such as this. But this costly masterpiece and its long since vanished companions were anything but anonymous. Patrons like Sarghitmish did not do things by halves. They squeezed every last ounce of publicity out of the objects that they ordered. Set in rows, these lamps proclaimed over and over again the name and rank of the amir Sarghitmish, a message amplified by the emblem of his rank and by the sounding brass of his official titles ending with the name of the ruling Sultan: “His Honourable and High Excellency our Lord, the Royal, the Well-Served, the Swordsman, Shirghitmish, Chief of a Corps of Mamluks of al-Malik al-Nasir”. His titles are located nearer the viewer and larger in scale than the upper Qur'anic inscription. The lower inscription is interrupted by two lugs for suspension and by a thrice-repeated emblem in a shield – a red napkin (buqja) which stands out against a white field and identifies him as Master of the Robes (jamdar). Thus, his madrasa became a stage for self-display in a powerful blend of piety and politics.

Sarghitmish had risen to power as a member of a ruling junta of nine amirs (soon reduced to three: Sarghitmish, Shaykhun and Taz) in Cairo and in 1351 had forced the temporary abdication of Sultan al-Nasir Hasan. Conspicuous for his fanatical piety, Sarghitmish made alliances with the religious elite and in the following year he deposed the vizier Ibn Zunbur (formerly a Coptic Christian), accusing him of being an insincere convert and torturing him and his family until his fortune of over a million dinars was revealed. There followed an outbreak of anti-Christian rioting in Cairo. Sarghitmish then engineered a putsch against Taz and eventually became atabak, the chief officer of state under the sultan himself, but his tenure was brief.

“Sarghitmish's madrasa became a stage for self-display in a powerful blend of piety and politics”

Sarghitmish was noted for his expertise in Islamic law and as an Arabic scholar, and he sought out the company of the religious-clerical elite. He was a munificent patron of religious architecture, but he also made himself unpopular by his interference in religious affairs, for example by doing all he could to advance the Hanafi legal school. In 1358, like countless Mamluk amirs before and after him, he met a violent end. But his lamp still shines.

Robert Hillenbrand is an Honorary Fellow at The University of Edinburgh. He specialises in Persian and Islamic art.

Centre stage

The Sarghitmish lamp has arguably the finest provenance, as well as exhibition and publication history of any piece of Islamic glassware ever to come to market. In the late 1800s, the piece belonged to prominent French collector Charles Schefer. In 1904, it was then acquired by the Armenian aristocrat Boghos Nubar Pasha, the son of Egypt's first Prime Minister Nubar Pasha. The lamp has remained within the Nubar family ever since, and is offered at Bonhams from the estate of his descendant.

The Sarghitmish lamp also has a history of being exhibited as early as 1869, where it was shown at the Musée Guimet in Paris, followed by being on display at the Musée Art Decoratifs in the Louvre in 1903. It appears in nearly a dozen publications, mostly in the 19th century, and was deemed of such importance, it was illustrated as early as 1907. The world knew a treasure when they saw one.

 

Islamic and Indian Art | 12 November, London, New Bond Street

For enquiries, contact Oliver White on oliver.white@bonhams.com or +44 (0) 20 7468 8303.