The inscription worked in Arabic characters into the carpet at one end is given in translation thus: "I have no refuge in the world other than thy threshold. My head has no protection other than this porchway, the work of the slave of this holy place, Maksond of Kashan in the year 946" (corresponding to our a.d. 1540). We thus see that it is a carpet destined for an entrance, or porchway, of a mosque, and the woven images of the lamps probably indicated the real lamps suspended overhead to light the entrance to the mosque. So that, though they seem strange objects in the pattern of a carpet, they have a certain appropriateness and significance in this particular one. Fire, too, was a sacred emblem of the ancient Persians.
Persia might be said to be a country of gardens, of deserts, and of abundant sunshine. It is for the most part a high table-land, and is described as a climate of extremes. "Nowhere in the habitable world is there so sharp a contrast between the heat of noon and the cold of night, between the brown bare rock and the verdant meadow, between the gorgeous hues of natural plains and the absolute bareness of arid wastes." (Perrot and Chipiez.)
Such a description is very suggestive. We seem to see natural reasons for the interest and beauty of Persian art in the varied physical conditions of their country and climate.
The love of the sheltered, walled-in, and natural garden is very evident in their literature; and the influence of their flora upon their design of all kinds is evident enough.
The idea of the eastern paradise is a garden. We have it in the Bible in the Garden of Eden—an inclosed pleasance or park full of choice trees and rare flowers, animals of the chase, and birds. This idea recurs constantly in Persian design. The very scheme of the typical carpet seems derived from it—a rich vari-coloured field hedged about with its borders. The field is frequently obviously intended for a field of flowers, and sometimes suggests a wood or an orchard of fruit trees. The idea of the green oasis to the traveller in the desert; the grateful relief of the colour and shade of green trees and fresh flowers; the sound of waters; the delight of the horseman and the hunter; the dark forest full of dangerous animals—are not these things irresistibly suggested in Persian design?
HOLY CARPET OF THE MOSQUE AT ARDEBIL (SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM).
The same sensitiveness to natural beauty and the influence of climate is shown in their poets. The astronomer-poet of Persia, Omar Khayyám, sings of the awakening spring. It is a period, too, associated with the termination of a religious fast, Ramazan, which is analogous to our Lent, perhaps.
Omar invites his reader to come forth, like a true poet, seeking inspiration in the wilderness.
"With me along the strip of herbage strown,
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of slave and sultan is forgot,
And peace to Mahmud on his golden throne."