A horseman raises his weapon. A woman bathes beside a spring. Elsewhere, a young man rests his head in his beloved's lap while animals gather around them. These scenes share the field of a Persian carpet in the Paris collections.
The carpet is part of the Sanguszko group, a small family of richly figured weavings associated with Safavid Iran. Their fascination lies in the way stories, flowers, people and fantastic creatures become a single design. Seen from a distance, the pattern holds together. Seen more closely, it breaks into encounters: tenderness beside violence, familiar animals beside impossible ones.
A Persian-language study in Negareh compares it with a much later Qajar carpet. Read together, the two works show how an old design could remain a source of invention without remaining unchanged.
A Polish name for Persian carpets
Sanguszko is not the name of an Iranian weaving town. It comes from the Polish family that once owned a celebrated carpet now in the MIHO Museum in Japan. The name was extended to other carpets with related characteristics. It describes a historical group, not a single pattern repeated without variation.
These carpets belong broadly to the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Their place of manufacture needs more care. The Louvre attributes the Paris example discussed here to Kerman and dates it to 1550-1615. Daniel Walker's survey in Encyclopaedia Iranica, however, records several proposed weaving centres for the group, including Kashan, Yazd, Kerman and Qazvin. An attribution attached to one object should not quietly become certainty about every related carpet.
For the broader weaving tradition, our Kerman rugs article provides the regional context. Here, the more interesting question is what these historic carpets do with pictures.
Two ways to hold a crowded world together
The MIHO carpet has a commanding central medallion. Around it, smaller shaped compartments, animals and flowering stems form a dense but balanced arrangement. Its broad border repeats enclosed scenes. The large central shape gives the eye somewhere to return after wandering through the smaller details.
This is one of the pleasures of a medallion composition: small details can be energetic while the overall arrangement remains settled. Its organization remains visible even before the individual subjects become clear.
The Paris carpet takes another approach. Its field has a clear top and bottom, but no dominant central medallion. Figures and animals occupy successive areas of the dark ground. In their study, Samad Najarpoor Jabbary, Akram Sadeghi and Meysam Barari distinguish five horizontal zones: Shirin bathing, a hunt, Layli and Majnun, another hunt, and imagery involving a tree, the Simurgh and dragons.
Those zones are a way of analysing the design, not five separate woven boxes. Stems and blossoms run between the figures. The repeated scenes create a rhythm, while the plants keep the whole field connected. Nor are the zones consecutive chapters of one story. The carpet brings several subjects together, more like a gathering of remembered images than a book read from beginning to end.
Shirin at the spring
Near the top of the Paris carpet, the researchers identify a scene from the story of Khosrow and Shirin, associated with Nizami's Khamsa, his collection of five long poems. Shirin bathes while the mounted Khosrow looks towards her. Her clothes hang from a tree, and her horse stands nearby. The scene appears on both sides of the field.
The small accompanying objects matter. A tree carries clothing as well as leaves; a horse belongs to an encounter rather than merely filling an empty space. The design invites us to notice relationships between things, not just name the motifs one by one.
Repetition also changes how the story works. In a manuscript painting, an encounter can occupy a page of its own. Here, a corresponding scene on the opposite side helps balance the carpet. A narrative image has become part of an ornamental structure, without losing all of its individual character.
Layli and Majnun, still among the hunters
Farther down, the study identifies Layli and Majnun. Majnun is shown thin and reclining, his head in Layli's lap. A camel with a passenger litter helps locate the meeting within a larger setting. As with the bathing scene, the encounter is repeated across the field.
The mood changes here. The reclining body offers a moment of stillness among riders, weapons and alert animals. The same flowering ground accommodates both the lovers and the hunt, so there is no hard visual boundary separating their worlds.
The contrast gives the carpet much of its character: a repeated encounter can become a quiet pause between scenes of pursuit. Even without knowing the literary names, a viewer can sense those changes of pace. Knowing the stories gives the small gestures greater weight.
When the garden becomes a battleground
Flowers do not make this a uniformly peaceful world. Riders pursue animals, animals attack one another, and fantastic creatures enter the same space as recognizable horses and deer. Near the lower part of the Paris carpet, the researchers identify the mythical bird Simurgh and dragons in relation to a tree.
The plant forms provide continuity through these clashes. Curving stems echo bent limbs and turning bodies; leaves fill the intervals between larger figures. Looking at the photograph, it is possible to follow the ornamental movement before identifying every creature involved.
The Negareh authors also consider mystical readings of this imagery, including the Simurgh and the conflict between opposing creatures. These interpretations add a layer to the discussion, but they are not a surviving explanation from the carpet's maker. Recognizing a bird or a combat scene does not, by itself, establish the precise spiritual meaning intended for it.
The border continues the mixture of human, animal and plant forms. It is not simply an empty frame around the important pictures. Small enclosed figures and fantastic details make it another place to linger, extending the carpet's imaginative world to its edges.
A Qajar artist retells the story
The study's later example is a carpet from the Carpet Museum of Iran, attributed by the authors to Kerman around 1290 in the Solar Hijri calendar, approximately 1911-1912. It is therefore a late-Qajar work from the early twentieth century, separated from the Safavid carpet by several hundred years.
Many subjects return, but their treatment changes. Layli and Majnun now sit facing one another rather than appearing in the earlier head-in-lap pose. The tree becomes more abundantly floral. Familiar hunting figures are redrawn, and the narrative scenes no longer follow the same five-band organization identified in the Safavid example.
There is a different treatment of the human body, too. The study draws attention to shading, the folds of clothing and a greater suggestion of volume in the later carpet. These are changes in pictorial language, not simply extra decoration added to an old pattern.
The comparison is especially useful because it resists a simple original-and-copy story. The authors argue that the Qajar designer did more than reproduce the older carpet: familiar subjects were reconsidered, rearranged and supplemented. The resemblance provides evidence of a relationship, while the differences show how much room remained for interpretation.
The older carpet is damaged and shortened at the bottom. Although the paper proposes using the later design to imagine what was lost, the Qajar work remains a reinterpretation, not an exact record of the missing section.
Why these carpets reward a second look
Sanguszko carpets offer more than a collection of unusual motifs. They show what happens when pictures must also become a continuous textile design. A lover's pose belongs to a story, but its placement also helps balance a field. A dragon participates in an encounter, while its curling body joins the movement of stems and leaves.
That balance helps explain the appeal of the later Qajar work. Layli and Majnun can change their pose, a tree can blossom differently, and the older subjects remain recognizable. These carpets preserve stories through the act of remaking them. The continuity is in the imagination as much as in the pattern.
Sources and image credits
- Samad Najarpoor Jabbary, Akram Sadeghi and Meysam Barari, A Comparative Analysis of Themes and Concepts and Composition of Safavid Sangeško Rug and the Qajar Rug, Negareh 15(56), 2020, pp. 53-69. Persian-language research; DOI: 10.22070/negareh.2020.3119. The Qajar photograph is extracted from their PDF frontispiece, also reproduced as their photograph on p. 64, and presented without alteration to the design. The journal publishes under CC BY 4.0.
- Daniel Walker, Carpets IX: Safavid Period, Encyclopaedia Iranica, Sanguszko subsection. General group context and attribution history.
- Louvre collection record, AD 10615, Tapis à décor figurés dit “Sanguszko”. Object date, attribution and collection history.
- MIHO Museum, Medallion and Animal Carpet. The featured image is a cropped detail of this carpet, using the same Wikimedia Commons reproduction credited above. The museum records do not imply endorsement of this article.
.jpg){kind=link}
Laissez un commentaire