Scheherazade Goes West Read online

  I felt startled — she was right. I had been stupid not to notice that before.

  “Eroticism in Western painting,” Christiane went on, “was always a male observer looking at a nude woman he paralyzes in a frame.”

  Christiane then stated that, like I, she was absolutely convinced there was a logical connection between philosophy and art, between Kant and Ingres. “Even now,” she said, “I still hear the unavoidable ‘Soie belle et tais-toi’ — be beautiful and shut up — both in the workplace and in personal relations. . . . Fatema, you have to remember that the play Les Femmes Savantes, in which Molière makes fun of women who aspire to be educated, was still being taught while I was in public school, and we are talking about the 1960s. “To prove her point, Christiane recited by heart the passage from the play wherein Clitandre, one of Molière’s male characters, stresses how much he dislikes educated women:

  Intellectual women are not to my taste. I grant you, a woman should know all sorts of things. But I cannot abide a woman who feels the deplorable urge to learn simply to become learned. When such matters crop up in conversation, I’d rather she knew enough not to know what she knows.22

  The seventeenth century, Christiane went on — that century of enlightenment, when humanism and the cult of reason flourished — was also the century of Molière and other like-minded men, who achieved enormous success by belittling educated women. “Molière wrote his Femmes Savantes in 1672,” Christiane said, “but even before then, he had made the whole French court laugh at educated women in plays such as Les Précieuses ridicules (1659) and École des femmes (1663). In all of them, women who aspired to educate themselves about scientific discoveries were portrayed as ugly and repulsive.” No wonder, she concluded, that there were men like Jacques who dreamt of harems filled with passive odalisques and trembled with fear whenever they were attracted to a professional woman.

  I kept silent when Christiane started talking about Jacques — I certainly was not going to tell her that he was hoping to kidnap her to a deserted island. She then told me that she had bought a book for his birthday — Ways of Seeing by John Berger. Could you please summarize the main message of that book for me? I pleaded again — what is it exactly that you want Jacques to understand? Nodding, Christiane said that Berger condenses the whole Western history of visual images of women into one five-word sentence: “Men act and women appear.” Elaborating, she then quoted another key Berger phrase: “Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at.”23 So it’s no wonder, Christiane concluded, that “image” is a major weapon used by Western men to dominate women.

  But how does all this work in Paris, I asked her, where women have invaded the professions and compete with men in all kinds of jobs?

  “Yes, sure, women get the jobs,” Christiane said. “But everywhere you see powerful men surrounding themselves with younger women to destabilize the older and more mature women who have reached higher positions. A French company might be housed in a modern glass building on the Champs Elysées, but inside, the atmosphere is still that of a repressive harem. Men feel insecure or jealous when women in senior positions insist on earning as much as they do.”

  As we were about to leave the restaurant, Christiane had an interesting flash of insight regarding the Orient. “I wondered when I read your pages about women in Muslim miniatures,” she said, “if the fact that the artists were often attached to the caliph’s or king’s palace did not give the harem women a certain amount of power over what was painted.”

  Immediately, the name of Nur-Jahan came to my mind. The wife of the Mughal emperor Jahangir, Nur-Jahan managed, despite her harem seclusion, to influence not only politics but also art. In sixteenth-century India, she dictated to artists how to portray women, and commissioned some of the best ones, living in the imperial court’s ateliers, to paint her armed with a rifle.

  “If this Nur-Jahan is not a figment of your imagination, but a historical person who really existed,” Christiane said, “she might provide us with a clue as to why Western women did not influence painting.”

  I pricked up my ears. “Be more explicit,” I begged.

  “Unlike harem women like Nur-Jahan, who, as the wife of the emperor, was the buyer of the painting, in the West, it was typically men who bought paintings.”

  How interesting, I thought. It really does pay to provoke foreigners to solve your mysteries for you.

  1. Hisham Ibn al-Kalbi, Kitab al Açnam (Paris: Librairie Klincksieck, 1969), p. 16. This Arabic edition comes with an excellent French translation by Wahid Atallah.

  2. For more on the political background on the ban on images, see Chapter Six of my book Islam and Democracy (New York: Addison Wesley, 1992), p. 85 and following.

  3. Translated by Mohammed Marmaduke Pickthall as Sura 5:90 in The Meaning of the Glorious Koran (New York: Mentor Books, n.d.), p. 104.

  4. From: “L’exigence d’Aimer,” interview of Jamal Bencheikh by Fethi Benslama and Thierry Fabre in Qantara magazine, No 18, Jan., Feb., Mar. 1996. (Qantara is the magazine of the Paris-based Institut du Monde Arabe.)

  5. Commentary on the painting by B. W. Robinson, “Persian Paintings in the Indian Office Library: A descriptive catalogue” (London: Sotheby Parke Bernet, 1976), p. 25. A color reproduction showing Shirin armed with arrows exists in the same book in the color plate section: Colour plate No III. No 138: “Khusraw and Shirin in the hunting-field — Tabriz style, 1530.”

  6. Stuart Cary Welch, Wonders of the Age: Masterpieces of Early Safavid Painting, 1501-1576 (Boston: Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University, 1979), p. 150.

  7. Ibid.

  8. Ibid.

  9. The most ravishing rendering of this scene is the one in the British Library, from the “Khusray and Shirin” executed during Shah Tahmasp’s Quinted of Nizami portfolio, ascribed to the painter Sultan Muhammad. See reproduction in Welch’s Wonders of the Age: Masterpieces of Early Safavid Painting, ibid., p. 150.

  10. Ibid.

  11. Richard F. Burton, Supplemental Nights to “The Book of the 1001 Nights and a Night” (London: Burton Club for Private Subscribers, 1886), op. cit., vol. II, p. 328.

  12. See the word ’arafa in Lissan al ’Arab (“The Tongue of the Arabs”), a thirteenth-century dictionary by Ibn Manzhur (Cairo: Dar al Maarif, 1979).

  13. Marshall Hodgson , The Venture of Islam, vol. II, “The Expansion of Islam in the Middle Period” (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1974).

  14. See the special issue on “Digital Islam” by SIM newsletter No 2 of March 1999. SIM is published by the International Institute of Study of Islam in the Modern World, Leiden, the Netherlands (http:isim.leidenuvin.nl).

  15. See Mohammed Zainabi, “La démocratisation de l’Internet: coup d’oeil sur les cybers au Maroc,” in the Moroccan daily L’opinion, August 12, 1999. It is very likely that the Internet will encourage illiterate citizens to teach themselves to read instead of waiting for their bureaucratic governments’ ridiculously inefficient “literacy programs.” The accessibility of training on the Internet makes this possible, as Youssef Moumile so rightly explains in his article, “Quelle stratége gouvernementale pour internet,” p. 32 of Le Journal, one of Morocco’s avant-garde weeklies (e.mail: [email protected]).

  16. Haddawy, Arabian Nights, op. cit., p. 386.

  17. One example is the “Sea-Voyage of Shirin,” Qazwin style, 1580, in “Persian Paintings” by Robinson,, op. cit., p. 61.

  18. “C’est un trait de l’amant que la mobilité” Ibn ’Arabi “Traité de L’amour,” translated by Maurice Gloton, Albin Michel, 1986. Page 205. This short essay on love selected by the French translator is part of Ibn ’Arabi’s multi-volume masterwork “Al Futuhat al Makkiya” (The Book of spritual Mekka Conquests).

  19. It was in Mecca in 1203 that Ibn ’Arabi started writing his multi-volume masterwork Al Futuhat al Makkiya (The Book of Spiritual Mekka Conquests).

  20. My translation from the Arabic original of Turjuman al Ashwaq (Beirut: Dar
Çader, 1966), p. 11.

  21. Margaret Miles, Carnal Knowing: Female Nakedness and Religious Meaning in the Christian West (New York: Vintage Books, 1991), p. 14.

  22. Translated to English by John Wood and David Coward in Molière’s The Misanthrope And Other Plays (London: Penguin Books, 1959), p. 264.

  23. John Berger, Ways of Seeing (New York: Penguin, 1977), p. 47.

  12

  Princess Nur-Jahan

  Chases Tigers

  Nur-Jahan (Light of the World) was born Nur-Mahal (Light of the Palace), but the first thing she did after marrying Emperor Jahangir in 1611 was to change her name. She also wanted everyone to know that her favorite pastime was hunting tigers, of which she killed many, competing with the best in the field: “During her time on the throne, Nur-Jahan gained a reputation as a superb markswoman, surpassing even Mirza Rustam, Jahangir’s best shot, in the killing of tigers.”1 In this context, it is interesting to recall that Ingres’s favorite pastime was playing the violin. An early portrait of him at age thirty-eight, painted in Rome in 1818 by J. Alaux, depicts the artist playing the violin in his studio, while his new wife Madeleine, standing outside, looks on with admiration. It would be difficult to find the equivalent of J. Alaux’s portrait in Muslim miniatures. A Muslim artist would probably depict the woman playing the musical instrument (or hunting wild animals) while the man looked on. But Nur-Jahan’s most spectacular coup was not the shooting of tigers but the influencing of artists.

  A stunning — and revolutionary — Mughal miniature, Jahangir and Prince Khurram Feasted by Nur-Jahan, dated 1617, hangs in the Freer Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. (Smithsonian Institution). The painting is a turning point in the history of Islamic painting in general and the depiction of harem women in particular for at least three reasons. The first is that the artist painted an accurate likeness of Emperor Jahangir and Queen Nur-Jahan. Up until then, most Islamic miniatures, painted predominantly by Persian artists, reproduced legendary figures, such as mythical kings from the Shah-nameh, Persia’s national epic; Princess Shirin of the Khamsaeh, the romance poem written by Nizami; or biblical figures such as King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. The Mughal, in contrast, were the first to introduce to miniatures the portrait in the Western sense of the word — that is, to precisely reproduce the features of the sovereign in order to boost the “present ruler’s legitimacy.”2 In a word, the Mughal were the first Muslims to introduce the painted image as an instrument of political propaganda — just like the Renaissance French or British kings something previously unheard of in any Islamic court.3

  The miniature of Jahangir, Prince Khurram, and Nur-Jahan is also revolutionary in that the artist did not paint the Emperor alone, but rather, sitting with his wife. This meant that this Muslim queen, who was supposed to be secluded and hidden in a harem, was unveiled. When you remember that even today, many Muslim heads of state, such as the King of Saudi Arabia, still seclude their wives, who are rarely seen during official receptions, you realize just how subversive Nur-Jahan was.

  The third reason this miniature painting marks a turning point in Islamic art is that the queen is portrayed as the host: “Although Jahangir is still the dominant figure . . . he now shares the viewer’s attention with Nur-Jahan, who is not only clearly in charge but supported as well by an army of women.”4 So, not only had the queen taken the lead, she had also commissioned the court’s artists to celebrate her event: the ceremony she organized in Mandu in October 1617 to honor Prince Khurram, Jahangir’s son by another woman, after his conquest of the Indian province of the Deccan. This ceremony was eminently political, attracting numerous ambassadors of foreign powers, including Sir Thomas Roe of England.5 Also, last but not least, the miniature’s tiny details, such as “the cups of wine, the luxurious textures of cloth and stone, and the open necklines and midriffs,” indicate that something new was happening in the lives of harem women — thanks to one woman’s initiative, they were no longer quite so invisible as they had been.

  The basis of misogyny in Islam is actually quite weak, resting only on the distribution of space. If women invade public space, male supremacy is seriously jeopardized. And in actuality, modern Muslim men have already lost their power base, as their monopoly over public space has been eroded with the massive entrance of women into scientific fields and the professions.6 My esteemed Islamist colleague at Mohamed V University, Professor Benkiki, produced these UNESCO statistics one day when I stepped into the staff room: “If Islamic politicians are still allergic to women in parliaments,” he cried, exhibiting the UNESCO document, “women have organized their silent revenge by invading the worlds of sciences and technical professions in huge numbers. Today, 28.7% of the scientific and technical positions in Egypt are filled by women, 29.3% in Turkey, 27.6% in Algeria, and 31.3% in Morocco.”7 Trust a conservative man, I thought as he spoke, to correctly analyze women’s situation. In oil-fueled fundamentalist regimes, women’s appetite for scientific fields is even stronger: One third of all the scientists and technicians in the Islamic Republic of Iran are veiled ladies (32.6%). Kuwait’s oildrenched sheiks still deny women the right to vote, but 36% of the country’s scientific “manpower” is female. Indonesian and Malaysian women also seem insatiable, holding down 40% and 44.5% of their respective countries scientific positions.

  Only when we keep in mind Islam’s long tradition of strong-minded women such as Nur-Jahan does the widespread emergence of professional women in modern Islamic societies make any sense — a precedent for them was set long ago. This precedent also helps to explain why, in Iran, Imam Khomeini’s decision to force women to veil only politicized Iranian women and made them bolder. “Young women,” explains writer Haleh Esfandiari, “found ways to conform and yet challenge Islamic dress — showing a puff of hair, called Kakol, under their scarves, using lipstick and nail polish despite the ‘morals police.’ In myriad ways, they have reclaimed the public space.”8 Esfandiari’s book, based on interviews with dozens of women reflecting on the changes the Islamic Revolution brought to their lives, shows that forcing women to veil can be a drastic incentive for an ambitious woman to rebel. Which brings us back to Nur-Jahan. How did she conduct her revolution from the harem?

  How did Nur-Jahan present herself to the crowds? Did she have a strategy for visibility? It seems that she did: One of the images she often projected of herself was that of a bejeweled silk-clad warrior. In 1612, one year after her marriage, the best artist of India, Abu al-Hasan, painted Portrait of a Lady with a Rifle, and many scholars believe that this may best tell us what she looked like. The untouched naturalism of her face, the strength of character so loved by portrait painters, the outdoor venue away from ordinary seclusion, and the signature of Abu al-Hasan the King’s foremost painter of the time who is more likely than any other to have been allowed into her presence, all argue for this as the most authentic image we now have”9 of the Mughal queen.” But this also begs the question: Was Nur-Jahan the exception, the only woman who enjoyed hunting in Mughal India, or was hunting a common female pastime?

  Originally, the Mughal were rugged nomads, Turkified Mongols from Central Asia who traced their ancestry back to Genghis Khan, worshiped nature, and tried to re-create the wild outdoors in the gardens that they planted at their palaces. They also had a tradition of outdoor sports, played by both men and women; “Women had been using bows and arrows and playing polo for decades and, from accounts of early Mughal harems, women bearing arms guarded the protective Zanana enclosures.”10 Zanana is the Hindu equivalent of “odalisque.”11

  The spectacular visibility of women in outdoor ceremonies among the Muslim Turks and Mongols from Central Asia has always baffled Arab travelers, who reveal themselves, in their descriptions of this phenomenon, to be the most conservative of all Muslims on the seclusion and veiling of women. In 1334, the Moroccan traveler Ibn Batouta — the Muslim equivalent of Marco Polo — crossed Central Asia on his way to China, and was amazed by the high level of respect to women pai
d by the Turks. “I witnessed in these lands something remarkable,” he writes. “The high consideration accorded by the Turks to their women. Women enjoy among the Turks a higher position than men.12 As a good Moroccan, Ibn Batouta was especially astonished when he saw a prince salute a woman. “The first time I saw the princess, she was riding in a chariot adorned with a sumptuous blue drape . . . many chariots filled with women at her service followed hers. . . . When she arrived in front of the Prince’s house, she stepped out of her chariot and so did thirty women of her company. . . . She walked with majesty towards the Prince. . . . The prince stood up and walked towards her, saluted her, and invited her to take a seat besides his own. . . .13 Ibn Batouta also repeats many times, in his 750-page Rihla (Voyage), dictated in 1355, that “the women of the Turks do not veil . . . and you would often mistake the husband for the servant.”14 All of these comments help us to negate the stereotype, so common today, that Islam is 100% misogynous. Ibn Batouta’s remarks show that there was and is no such thing as a unified Muslim culture. If Arabs veiled women and kept them in marginal positions, Turks and Mongols did not. This also helps us to better understand both sixteenth-century Mughal miniatures of women and how Nur-Jahan could have carved out such a prominent position for herself.