spacing of the leaf and floral ornament interwoven with the principal motive denotes the born decorative artist. Other subjects are arrangements from the graceful Persian conventional ornament in multiform combination, or perhaps this flowing pattern of arabesque will serve as the ground for a few Cufic characters. The inscriptions themselves are either Koranic or from amatory poems; possibly the former indicate mosque tiles, and the latter those used in palaces or other secular buildings. Thus one of the large startiles from the mosque or monastery at Veramin bears on the border: the first chapter of the Koran, the Fatihat: In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful. Praise be to God, the Lord of the Worlds, the Compassionate, the Merciful, King of the Day of Judgment. Thee we worship, and Thee we ask for help. Guide us in the straight way, the way of those to whom Thou art gracious. Not of those upon whom is Thy wrath, nor of the erring.' A smaller star-tile in the British Museum, displaying in the centre two seated figures, has for border the following love-verses: How can I endure the cruelty of the beloved? With untold anxieties what can I do? Life is gone, the desire of my heart ever unfulfilled; until it comes, what can I do with life?' But apart from the interest of story, sentiment, or illustration, and regarding the tiles as decorative objects, their special characteristic is the lustre glaze common to all. The effect of this lustre decoration is almost startling in its sudden and unexpected transformations. A tile looked at from one point of view is seen covered with an ornamentation in brown, either inclining to a pale fawn colour or a purplish red. Change the point of vision ever so slightly, and it flashes forth in a flood of dazzling radiance, in which the light of rubies and emeralds, sapphires and amethysts, appears blended in ever-varying combinations.

Lustre-decorated pottery has long been familiar to connoisseurs in the Hispano-Moresque and Italian wares. The former date from the fifteenth century onwards, a few well-known pieces, however, being assigned to the fourteenth century. The Italian lustre ware belongs to the sixteenth, or possibly it began in the closing years of the preceding century. Hence the Persian tiles (one being dated 614 of the Hejra, 1217 A.D.) carry the history of the art still further back and give its earliest known examples. Yet not its earliest record, since there is a text in the Sefer Nameh, the narration of the travels of the Persian Nassiri Khosrau in the eleventh century, stating that lustre ware was made in Egypt about the year 1040. The passage runs: 'Every kind of faïence is made at Misr (Fostat); it is so fine and diaphanous that the hand being applied to the exterior of a vase may be seen through its sides. The vessels made are bowls, cups, plates, and other utensils. They are ornamented in colours analogous to those in the stuff (textile fabric) called bouqalemoun; the tints change according to the position

from which the vase is regarded.' Bouqalemoun is a kind of shot silk it is therefore perfectly clear that the secret of lustre was known to the Egyptians in the eleventh century. The context shows that it was strange to Nassiri Khosrau, and hence not likely to have been practised in Persia. There is no proof in what country it was invented; but as there is a text in Athenæus which may refer to a lustre pottery made at Naucratis, and as other evidence, more or less conclusive, favours the Egyptian derivation, it may be accepted until disproved. The political and commercial relations of Egypt and Persia in the Middle Ages explain how an art, successfully cultivated in one country, might soon obtain a footing in the other.

When the tiles were examined by experts they were seen to have had a common origin, and then, since glazed tiles are always accompanied by similar vessels, it was known there had been a lustre ware to match. The first result of the discovery was to establish the paternity of some half-dozen anonymous bowls which had long held a forlorn and dubious position in various museums. Others began to drop in from the East when the profitable sale of the tiles became known to the Oriental dealers. High and low the search went on in Persia, until nearly thirty unquestionably genuine pieces were sent to Europe, the large majority coming to London. They comprise bowls of various shapes, jugs, vases, and albarelli—tall cylindrical jars made to hold conserves and drugs. The forms in every case, as in all primitive pottery, are clearly defined and well accentuated. They are often elegant in line, yet within due restraint. The potters evidently delighted in the manipulation of the plastic clay, and were beginning to realise its capabilities. The vessels are skilfully thrown,' but they are not mathematically exact in shape. The slight irregularity, suggesting a careless grace, is in pleasant contrast to the dreary mechanical uniformity too often characterising modern pottery. The dominant note of the decoration is, of course, the lustre, displayed on a white stanniferous glaze. The majority of the vessels are devoid of any additional colour. A few have limiting lines or bands in deep blue, the natural complementary colour to the lustre. There are good reasons for believing that in the display on their shelves and sideboards the Persian connoisseurs, when arranging their lustre vases, were careful to combine with them a certain proportion of others in blue, thus obtaining a potent and deep-toned harmony.

The decoration coincides with the scheme evolved on the tiles. There are motives based on figure design and on the flowing arabesque ornament; more rarely are inscriptions employed, and animals are conspicuous by their absence; but this may be accidental, owing to the small number of known pieces. The scarcity is particularly regrettable in the case of the figure subjects, which may have included historical compositions. As it is, there are the

odalisques of the tiles either in bands round a vase, in pairs, or singly in the centre of a bowl. Portrayed on the surface of the vessels, all the charming and unexpected qualities of the lustre are brought into play; so that the rounded forms of the languorous beauties appear now to shine forth in golden splendour, or again coyly retire into a rainbow-tinted mist. The male figures are horsemen, either cantering in procession or riding alone; the gallant knight being probably intended to represent the national warriorsaint, the Imam Ali.

One of the first questions suggesting itself by the sight of a series of unfamiliar vases naturally refers to the place where they were made. Unfortunately, the information to be derived from Oriental writers on this point is but casual and of tantalising brevity. In the present instance some of the vessels are believed to have been found on the ruins of Rhe, the Biblical Rhages, the mother of cities.' A number of fragments of similar style have been dug up at this site, some of them being 'wasters,' which is clinching evidence of the locality of the pottery. Yacout, the Persian geographer, in his description of Rhe, written in the twelfth century, remarks: 'Its houses are covered with brilliantly glazed and coloured bricks like the pottery of other places.' Thus it may fairly be concluded that some at least of the pieces were made at Rhe. Again, all over the East glazed wall-tiles are termed Kashany.' They are so called today at Cairo; and Ibn-Batoutah, writing in the fourteenth century, states that the walls of the tomb of Ali at Meshed were covered with "the kind of faïence called Kashany.' When describing Kashan, Yacout notes that the beautiful faïence generally known as Kashi is made here.' All this points to the fact that Kashan was a centre of artistic pottery production in the Middle Ages, as Faenza was in Italy during the time of the Italian Renaissance; both thus supplying distinctive appellations for the national wares. Hence some of our

tiles may have come from Kashan. In countries celebrated for their ceramic art, as Egypt and Italy, the remains of potteries have been found all over the land, so doubtless it will some day be proved that such was the case in Persia.

In that perhaps not far distant day some fortunate discovery may have cleared up what is now obscure to the inquirer. Yet should research prove fruitless, there will still remain a group of singularly attractive examples of the art of a highly gifted race. They are a steadfast landmark at the service of the historian of art-a vantage ground which, once gained, must enlarge his observation in many directions. To the intelligent practitioner of to-day they have much to tell-the mystery of their production is an open secret to him. He may discern the composition of their material and be cognisant of the chemical action that took place in the furnace when they were fired, precisely as if he had been one of the turbaned

artists who had 'thrown' the clay or painted the decoration. And, discreetly questioned, the wares may have something to reveal respecting the life of the palace and the hareem, the mosque and the bazaar, in those stirring mediæval days in Persia. It may be said of them as the painter Fortuny wrote of the swords in the arsenal at Venice: 'Pour moi, ces vieilles lames racontent le passé mieux qu'un livre.' Their experiences might sound strange to modern ears; not perhaps altogether so to those of our forefathers. At least in one article of belief the two peoples were certainly in accord-they had firm faith in the second coming of the respective national heroes, Arthur and Ali. Whether the flame burnt as brightly at Stoke-on-Trent as at Kashan might be difficult to determine. At the latter city some of the first families were descendants of Ali. Yacout relates that they were so firmly convinced of the approaching advent of the Imam that they rose up every morning in the hopes of seeing him appear. Not content with patiently waiting the event, the wealthiest among them were accustomed to set forth on their horses fully armed, and, thus equipped, they went to meet their Imam. After waiting a long while they would return, with dashed hopes, yet still fast holding their belief.

HENRY WALLIS.

VOL. XLVI-No. 272

PP

TOWN AND COUNTRY LABOURERS

I

IN the June number of this Review Dr. Jessopp has given us in 'The Cry of the Villages' a most suggestive and sympathetic plea for the rearrangement of certain long-cherished ideas concerning the villager. He begins with a vivid description of the dweller in towns, and of the various provisions by which his station has been improved, and pleads for a like amelioration of the lot of the villager, with something more than a hint at the means that must be brought to his assistance if any security of material benefit is to be provided with honesty and determination.

To every word that Dr. Jessopp has said in this article I give an unqualified adherence, and if I venture to supplement his arguments for the great change which should be worked, it is because I think that one of the strongest has hardly been touched upon by him. That a remedy exists for the present state of things no person with knowledge of the subject and an unbiassed mind can honestly doubt. It is a big remedy, and many a sacrifice may be involved by its application, but the disease to which it has to be applied is a desperate one. The rural exodus is not to be stayed by small endeavours. If it is desirable and even necessary to stay it, which few will deny, a great upheaval of existing conditions must be faced with courage and a spirit of self-abnegation, even by those who cannot be convinced as yet that the remedy will in reality be better than the present state of disease. Agricultural capital and agricultural labour, which have been so long divorced, must come together again. 'The land for the labourer' has long been a political cry among a certain party, and to the rest of the community the very phrase has come to threaten vaguely a state of things as impossible as disastrous for the country. But in all probability the words are merely a bugbear with which we wilfully alarm ourselves. It is not to be denied that there have been periods in our later history when the experiment might have had elements of danger in it-not of permanent danger, but merely of temporary discomfort-but those periods are past. The great regenerating agent of our day has had his opportunity and is