Creating the Mediterranean: Maps and the Islamic Imagination 9004346198, 9789004346192

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Creating the Mediterranean

Handbook of Oriental Studies Handbuch der Orientalistik section one

The Near and Middle East Edited by Maribel Fierro (Madrid) M. Şükrü Hanioğlu (Princeton) Renata Holod (University of Pennsylvania) Florian Schwarz (Vienna)

VOLUME 119

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/ho1

Creating the Mediterranean Maps and the Islamic Imagination By

Tarek Kahlaoui

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: ʿAlī b. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Sharfī’s first sea atlas made in 1 Ramaẓān 958 H./2 September 1551 C.E. One sectional map representing the Western Mediterranean. The original orientation is north in the bottom (BNF Ms. Arabe. 2278; B-I-6). The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2017044210

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 0169–9423 isbn 978-90-04-34619-2 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-34738-0 (e-book) Copyright 2018 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

This Book is dedicated to Ines, To Fady and Elyas …

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Contents Preface xi List of Figures xiii Introduction 1 The Image of the Mediterranean and the Braudelean-Pirennean Narratives 1 The Significance of the Image of the Mediterranean in Art History 10 Cartography and Art: A Theoretical Frame 14

PART 1 The Formation of the Mediterranean in the Islamic Imagination 1 Imagination and Myths 23 The Mediterranean in Arabic 24 Defining Baḥr al-Rūm 33 The Myths of the Mediterranean 41 2 The Early Medieval Cartographic Representations of the Mediterranean 50 The Geography of Itineraries and the Pre-history of the Image of the Mediterranean 50 Delimiting the Mediterranean as Viewed by Muslims 59 3 Redefining the “Atlas of Islam” School: Two Diverse Traditions Depicting the Mediterranean 65 The “Regional” Textual Context of the “Atlas of Islam” Maps of the Mediterranean 65 The “Atlas of Islam” School: Texts vs. Maps 68 Comparative Cartography and the Transmission of the “Atlas of Islam” Maps of the Mediterranean 76 The Iṣṭakhrian vs. the Ḥawqalian Traditions in the “Atlas of Islam” School 80 On Interpreting the Stylistic Cartographic Approaches to the Mediterranean 95 The Cartographic Perceptions That Define the Mediterranean 98

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PART 2 The Mediterranean of the Maghribi Geographers and Cartographers from the Fifth/Eleventh to the Ninth/Fifteenth Century 4 The Increase in Maritime Sources in the Maghribi Islamic Geography of the Mediterranean (Fourth/Tenth to the Fifth/Eleventh Century) 107 The Rise of the North African Geographers and Their Approach to the Mediterranean 108 Byzantine Sources for the Mediterranean from the Perspective of a Late Fatimid Geographer 119 5 The Idrisian Mediterranean Mapping (Sixth/Twelfth to the Ninth/ Fifteenth Century) 142 The Idrisian “Mediterranean Islamic” Cartography: Redefining the Idrisian Corpus: Idrisian Mapping as a Mediterranean Project 142 The Mediterranean in the Idrisian Geographic and Cartographic Representations 158 The Idrisian Legacy: Mediterranean Mediators of the “Idrisian” Mediterranean 168 Ibn Khaldūn and the Transmission of “Idrisian” Mapping in the Ninth-/Fifteenth-Century Mediterranean 172

PART 3 The Image of the Mediterranean in Islamic Maritime Cartography (Eighth-/Fourteenth to Tenth/Sixteenth Century) 6 The Maghribi-Andalusian Maritime Cartography: The Mediterranean of the Andalusian Sea Captains 181 The Formation of a Maghribi School of Maritime Cartography (Eighth/Fourteenth to the Ninth/Fifteenth Century) 181 The Sharfī Family: Maghribi Mapping in the Tenth/Sixteenth Century 207

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7 The Imperial Ottoman Mediterranean and the Transmission of the Tenth-/Sixteenth-Century Mapping of the Mediterranean 240 Ottoman Maritime Cartography: The Mediterranean as an Imperial Ottoman Image 240 Maghribi-Ottoman Maritime Mapping: Originality and Cartographic Transmission 252 Conclusion 263 Appendix 267 Bibliography 336 Index 349

Preface My book entitled Creating the Mediterranean: Maps and the Islamic Imagination treats the subject of the Islamic visual representations of the Mediterranean. The book tracks the history of the Islamic visualization of the sea from the time geography was created by Islamic state bureaucrats located mainly in the central Islamic lands to the later men of the field, specifically the sea captains located in the western Islamic lands. I begin with examples of medieval maps, like those of Ibn Ḥawqal and al-Idrīsī in the fourth/tenth and sixth/twelfth centuries, and end with the early modern cartographers such as al-Sharfī and Piri Reis in the tenth/sixteenth century. The samples I have studied, which are located mostly in Turkish, European, and North American collections, include a series of Maghribi maritime maps and much of the Ottoman cartographic production of the ninth/fifteenth and early tenth/sixteenth centuries. A narrative has emerged from this investigation, one that reveals that the identities of the authors and mapmakers seemed to change, or metamorphose along with the rest of the elements that constitute the maps: their readers or viewers, their style and structure, and their textual content. By focusing on a corpus of sixty-three little- or never- studied cartographic works, I suggest that the dominant concept of the Mediterranean, the one espoused by the twentieth-century French historian Fernand Braudel, fails to account for the Muslims’ view of the sea, in spite of the fact that many, or most, inhabitants along its shores were Muslims. Rather than beginning with the European’s view of the Mediterranean, I use maps to reveal the Islamic perception of this important body of water. My research shows a Mediterranean that is essentially different from the pre-modern European perceptions emphasized by Braudel, which see it simply as a maritime space. In this work, I establish the existence, among pre-modern Muslims, of a Braudelean “historical Mediterranean,” an anthropogenic space extending beyond the shores. Whereas in Braudel’s narrative it was he who discovers such a broader space, in contrast, I show the precedence of a similarly perceived space in pre-modern Islamic representations. Thus, the Braudelean Mediterranean as we know it was first shaped in fourth-/tenth-century Islamic sources. While I focus on the depiction of a specific region, my book directly confronts the issue of defining mapmaking from the perspective of Islamic visual culture. The cartographic sign possesses a hybrid nature not only throughout time, but also in the same historical context. Its definition, thus, could not have been isolated from the intentions of its makers or its audiences. The

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intentions of pre-modern cartographers and their audiences, including their contemporary narrators, reflect a certain non-graphic understanding of the cartographic work. The absence of early works on the theory and history of Islamic art mandates micro-studies throughout and across the Islamic sources in order to locate any patterns of usage in relation to the perception and categorization of artworks. In my book, I pursue this approach by working through a large database not only of Islamic maps but also of texts that deal with maps or simply interact with maps, in a codicological context. This has proven to be a very rich source of new information by which we can understand vision and cognition in specific cultural and chronological contexts. This book would not be possible without the constant support of Renata Holod, who assisted through the process of research and proof reading. I would like also to thank Ahmet Karamustafa who provided continuous help and mentoring regarding the analysis of maps in specific. I must also emphasize the very positive interaction I have had with scholars who contributed in major ways to the field of Islamic cartography, such as Emilie Savage-Smith, Yossef Rappoport, and Karen Pinto. This work was also possible because of the help provided by the staff of major libraries such as the BNF in Paris, Oxford Bodeleian Library, Dresden University Library, and the Topkapi Sarayi Library in Istanbul.

List of Figures 3.1 The maps of the Mediterranean as a “region” (east at the bottom) in the extant manuscripts of the works of the geographers of the “atlas of Islam” school; ordered chronologically: Ibn Ḥawqal’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ (1 and 2: in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:264 and 266; A-I-2), al-Iṣṭakhrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik (3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 11: in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:173, 177, 182, 187, 193, 198, and 203; A-I-3, A-I-4, A-I-5, A-I-9, A-I-11, A-I-14, A-I-21), and al-Muqaddasī’s Kitāb Aḥsan al-taqāsīm (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:288; A-I-22) 82 3.2 The Mediterranean as depicted in its whole in the 479/1086 manuscript of Ibn Ḥawqal’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ (left) and as depicted in a 751/1350 manuscript of the same work as a detail in a world map (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:266 and 267; A-I-2 and A-I-12). Maps oriented with east at the bottom 85 3.3 The Mediterranean as depicted in the chapter on the Maghrib (east at the bottom) in Ibn Ḥawqal’s 479/1086 manuscript (left) and as transmitted in an abridged version of Ibn Ḥawqal’s work in manuscripts dated to c. 596/1200 (center) and 849/1445 (right) (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:64, 72, and 266; A-I-2, A-I-6, and A-I-18) 86 3.4 Al-Muqaddasī’s cartographic depictions of the Mediterranean (east at the bottom) in a 900/1494 manuscript (left), and a map of the Maghrib in the same manuscript (right, top, with north at the bottom) and in a 658/1260 manuscript (right, below, with north at the bottom) (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:288, 286, and 290; A-I-22 and A-I-8) 87 3.5 Al-Iṣṭakhrī’s 589/1193 manuscript (north at the bottom): The Mediterranean depicted as part of a world map (left) and as separate (right) (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:170 and 173; A-I-5) 87 3.6 Al-Iṣṭakhrī’s 684/1287 manuscript: The world map (left, north at the bottom), the Mediterranean depicted as part of a world map (right, above, north at the bottom) and as separate (right, below, north at the bottom) (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:178 and 182; A-I-9) 88 3.7 Al-Iṣṭakhrī’s 589/1193 manuscript: a detail of the Maghrib (east at the bottom) from a map of the Mediterranean (left) and the map of the Maghrib (right) (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:172 and 173; A-I-5) 89 3.8 The map of Egypt and the Nile (north at the bottom) in Ibn Ḥawqal’s 479/1086 manuscript (left), al-Iṣṭakhrī’s 684/1287 manuscript (center), al-Muqaddasī’s 900/1494 manuscript (right) (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:181, 205, and 289; A-I-2, A-I-9, and A-I-22) 89

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3.9 The world map of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s 589/1193 manuscript (east at the bottom) with the Indian Ocean looking “as a bird” (Kamal, Monumenta, 3:170; A-I-5) 94 3.10 The Ṭaylaṣān: a diagram of ready-made forms of coastal formations drawn in the earliest Islamic cartographic manuscript dated to 428/1037 (in Sezgin, The Contribution, plate 23; A-I-1) 97 3.11 Comparing the Iṣṭakhrian (right) and the Ḥawqalian (left) maps of the Mediterranean (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:182 and 264; A-I-2 and A-I-9) 100 4.1 Gharāʾib al-funūn wa-mulaḥ al-ʿuyūn, map of the Mediterranean made in the fifth/eleventh century (in Savage-Smith and Rapoport, An Eleventh-Century Egyptian Guide to the Universe, 30b–31a) 122 5.1 The map of the Mediterranean (originally north at the bottom, and here south at the bottom) from al-Idrīsī’s ‘world map’ as reconstructed by Konrad Miller after a 744/1344 manuscript of Nuzhat al-mushtāq (in al-Idrīsī, Weltkarte des Idrisi, ed. Konrad Miller, Band 1, Heft 2; A-II-3) 146 5.2 A model of a maritime map (qunbāṣ) in al-ʿUmarī b. Faḍlallāh’s Masālik al-abṣār fī mamālik al-amṣār in a manuscript dated to the first half of eighth/fourteenth century (in al-ʿUmarī, Masālik al-abṣār, ed. Sezgin, 1:174, fig. 19; A-II-9) 170 6.1 The Maghrib Chart, probably eighth/fourteenth century (in Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” fig. 14.1; B-I-1) 185 6.2 Comparing the rhumb line centers with regard to the cartographic outlines in the “Maghrib Chart” (left) and Dalorto’s 725–26/1325 sea map (right) 188 6.3 Al-Ṭanjī’s map made in 816/1413–14 in Tunis (in Mónica Herrera‐Casais, “The 1413–14 Sea Chart of Aḥmad al‐Ṭanjī,” 306; B-I-2) 190 6.4 A reconstruction of the rhumb line centers of al-Ṭanjī’s map, comparable to Pietro Vesonte’s 727–28/1327 maritime map 192 6.5 Ibrāhīm al-Mursī’s map made in 15 Ramaḍān 865/24 June 1461 in Tripoli, Syria (?) (in Herrera‐Casais, “Un mar para navegar,” fig. 1; B-I-3) 203 6.6 ʿAlī b. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Sharfī’s ‘world map’ (north at the bottom) made in the beginning of Jumādā I 987/end of June 1579 (in Harley and Woodward (eds.), History of Cartography, vol. 2, book 1, plate 24; B-II-9) 208 6.7 ʿAlī b. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Sharfī’s first sea atlas made in 1 Ramaḍān 2/958 September 1551. Two sectional maps representing the western Mediterranean. The original orientation is north at the bottom (in Chapoutot-Remadi, “Les Charfi,” 85–93; B-I-6) 209

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6.8 ʿAlī b. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Sharfī’s second sea atlas, made at the end of Jumādā II 979/mid-November 1571 in Qayrawān or Istanbul; two sectional maps representing the central Mediterranean (left) and a world map (right) (in Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” in History of Cartography, vol. 2, figs. 14.22 and 14.23; B-I-8) 209 6.9 A detail of Muḥammad b. ʿAlī b. Aḥmad al-Sharfī’s mappa mundo representing the Mediterranean (north at the bottom) made in the end of Dhū l-Qaʿda 1009/end of May 1601 (in Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” fig. 14.25; B-I-11) 211 6.10 A composite of ʿAlī b. al-Sharfī’s seven maps of his first atlas made in 1551/958 (B-I-6) 214 6.11 The discontinuity of the sectional maps of the 958/1551 sea atlas (B-I-6) 214 7.1 Maps of Algiers (left) and the Gulf of Tunis (right) from a 982/1574 copy of Piri Reis’ Kitabi Bahriye (in Ertugrul Zekai Ökte (ed.), Kitab-i Bahriye Pîrî Reis, 318A and 327A; B-II-6) 244 7.2 Maps of Algiers (left) and the Gulf of Tunis (right) from a late tenth-/ sixteenth-century copy of Piri Reis’ Kitabi Bahriye (in Bülent Ari (ed.), Kitabi Bahriye. Piri Reis, 479 and 493; B-II-8) 244 7.3 The Ḥājj Abū l-Ḥasan’s Chart, first half of the tenth/sixteenth century (?) (in Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” in History of Cartography, vol. 2, fig. 14.4; B-I-5) 250 7.4 Mehmed Reʾīs of Menemen’s regional maritime map depicting the Aegean Sea made in 999/1590–91 (in Portolani e Carte Nautiche, map. 34; B-I-10) 251 7.5 The map of the western Mediterranean from Ali Maçar Reis’ sea atlas (in Özdemir, Ottoman Nautical, 133–152; B-I-7) 255 7.6 A diagram showing the disorder of al-Sharfi’s sea atlases, compared to the Ottoman sea atlases 258 7.7 Different outlines of the Nile Delta in three Ottoman atlases made after the middle of the tenth/sixteenth century: Ali Maçar Reis’ sea atlas (left, B-I-7), “Atlas-i Humayun” sea atlas (center, B-I-12), and the ‘Walters Deniz Atlas-i’ (right, B-I-13) 261

Introduction When God created the Mediterranean, he uttered this inspiration to it: “I have created you and designed you as a carrier for some of my servants, who seek my bounty … so how will you act towards them?” The Mediterranean said: “My Lord, then I shall drown them.” So God replied: “Begone! for I curse you, and will diminish your worth and your fish.” Then the Lord inspired into the sea of al-ʿIraq [the Persian Gulf/Indian Ocean] the selfsame words, and it said: “My Lord, in that case I shall carry them on my back; when they praise you I praise you with them, and when they worship you I worship you with them, when they magnify you I magnify you with them.” Said the Lord: “Go, for I have blessed you, and will increase your bounty and your fish.”1 al-Muqaddasī, 380s/990s

∵ While working on the depiction of the Mediterranean in Islamic cartography, I was driven by two types of problems that relate to the Islamic imaginaire of the Mediterranean. These belong mainly to the fields of cultural history, notably representations of the Mediterranean, and art history, namely the implication of studying cartographic representations in order to address issues in art history, particularly in the Islamic context.

The Image of the Mediterranean and the Braudelean-Pirennean Narratives

Displays and representations of the Mediterranean are clearly a major part of its history. They have not necessarily been investigated as much as other aspects, such as its economic and social history. There is no better example to show this unbalanced approach than the work of Fernand Braudel, whose 1  M. al-Muqaddasī, Aḥsan al-taqāsīm fi maʿrifat al-aqālīm (Leiden and Cairo: Madbūlī, 1991), 15–16. The translation is by Karen Pinto; see K. Pinto, “Surat Bahr al-Rum [Picture of the Sea of Byzantium]: Possible Meanings Underlying the Forms,” Eastern Mediterranean Cartographies, ed. George Tolias and Dimitris Loupis (Athens: Institute for Neohellenic Research, 2004), 234–241. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi ��.��63/9789004347380_002

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Introduction

“shadow,” as David Abulafia rightly noticed, is “looming over all historians of the Mediterranean.”2 Braudel’s Mediterranean is quite a discovery. It is not only a maritime unit, but also, and more importantly, a sea that expands beyond the coastlines. The reader is invited to enlarge the scope of what he or she might expect the Mediterranean’s boundaries to be. Here we are introduced to the concept of the “historical Mediterranean,” whose boundaries touch the Sahara, the Atlantic Ocean, and extend deep into Europe, to the Russian, Polish, and German isthmuses; a “global” and/or a “greater” tenth-/sixteenth-century Mediterranean.3 It is a space in which the climate not only allows a coastline area in which to grow olive trees and grape vines, but also permits a larger “homogeneous climate,” whose borders are the desert and the Atlantic Ocean.4 Finally, it is a “human unit,” because of a large network of land and sea routes that unveil a web of urban structures that stretch deep into the mainland.5 Braudel, who continually emphasized the value of cartographic representations in presenting historiographical themes, used maps—that is modern maps—extensively in his arguments. Even though neither his dissertation, The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philippe II, nor its earliest edition (1949) included maps, his later publications were full of numerous modern graphic demonstrations. The use of visual aids is set within the discourse of the modern historian. For Braudel, it is only the modern map that is useful when representing the pre-modern Mediterranean; pre-modern representations, by contrast, are usually disregarded. His “historical Mediterranean” is a recognizable contrast from the Mediterranean of a tenth-/sixteenth-century European geographer, whose more limited perception, coming from the north, only stretches from olive trees to palm trees.6 The late medieval and early modern observer’s representation is, most clearly, what it is not: a Braudelean “historical Mediterranean.” The latter, however, is self-represented as what we now should think of the Mediterranean. It is, in so many ways, a statement about the true Mediterranean. Unlike his voluminous scholarship on the formation of the Mediterranean’s economie-monde, he spent little effort investigating the history of the percep2  D.  Abulafia, The Great Sea: A Human History of the Mediterranean (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), xxv–xxvi. 3  F.  Braudel, The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II, trans. Siân Reynolds (New York: Harper & Row [1972–73]), 1:139–199. 4  Ibid., 1:200–245. 5  Ibid., 1:246–324. 6  Braudel, The Mediterranean, 1:239, and note 1.

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tions of the Mediterranean. The Braudelean Mediterranean is presented as a modern discovery: according to Braudel, it was an economic-social reality that was certainly not recognized by its pre-modern denizens. The issue of cultural history has been an ambiguous theme in the chronicle of the School of the Annales in general and notably during the sixty years since the first publication of The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philippe II. It is, however, from within this academic context that the Annales’ established views on cultural history were most challenged. In 1976, Roger Chartier, a French historian who was and still considers himself an adept of the Annales, began writing against a marginalizing cultural history that was supposed to be, since the basic methodological innovations of Marc Bloch, at the forefront of the Annales project. At the core of Chartier’s attempt to understand the conservative tendency of the Annalians is the establishment of the profession of the historian and the implications of institutionalizing human sciences. The primary concern given to data collection not only imposed an emphasis on the economic-social history, but also pushed even the few who are working on cultural history to implement the methodology of data collection.7 Except for the pre-modern sources’ economic data that needed to be filtered, the perspective of such a positivist trust in “true numbers” meant that their assumptions and representations would be necessarily valued as misleading information by the modern historian. 7  R.  Chartier, Cultural History: Between Practices and Representations, trans. Lydia G. Cochrane (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1988), 2–3: “Briefly it is fair to say that at the time history was institutionally powerful and threatened intellectually. It was assured a dominant position in the universities by the sheer weight of its numbers … By applying to fields hitherto outside the interests of the socio-economic history scientific standards and working models often imitated from the exact sciences (such as formalization and the use of models, the statement of explicit hypotheses and techniques of group research), the social sciences moved ahead to undermine the dominant position of history  … Historians responded in two ways. First, they attempted to tap into the source of the social sciences’ success by moving into areas that the latter had opened up … attitudes towards life or death, beliefs and religious behaviour patterns…. This also meant returning to one of the basic interests of the first Annales of the 1930s, the study of the outillages mentaux (intellectual tools), which history’s predominantly social orientation had relegated to a secondary level. A new field of study arose—l’histoire des mentalities, or psychologie historique—distinct from both the older intellectual and literary history and from the reigning economic and social history…. the histoire des mentalités was built by applying to new objects of study the principles of analysis prevalent in the disciplines of economic and social history. This explains its preference for the largest data sets, and hence for the investigation of ‘popular culture,’ its confidence in figures and in quantification, its taste for the longue durée, and its endeavor to distribute cultural differences in strict accordance with the scale of social hierarchies.”

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Introduction

Here we are interested, however, in precisely how the pre-modern Mediterranean was perceived in the minds of its inhabitants; specifically, its Muslim inhabitants and visitors. In that sense, a major question must be addressed, which is one of the key issues of this work: Were the inhabitants of the Islamic Mediterranean territories, or more precisely their literary representations, viewing such a large Braudelean “historical Mediterranean”? It is therefore appropriate, in this context, to present the large database of Islamic geographic writings and cartographic works. Not only is it necessary in order to emphasize pre-modern sources, but more precisely to highlight geographic and cartographic works where spatial approaches are more obvious, and thus where the perceptions of a geographic space like the Mediterranean are more explicit. Furthermore, the cultural historical issues with the dominant historiography of the Mediterranean includes another matter, involving another French historian. The assumptions of the standard scholarship about the Islamic attitude toward the sea is just as ambiguous as Braudel’s history of the idea of the Mediterranean. Henri Pirenne, a French medieval historian, started a debate in the 1930s that challenged the established view that puts the weight of the decline of the Roman Empire, along with economic interaction of its Mare Nostrum, on the shoulders of political and military events, notably the Germanic invasions.8 Yet Pirenne is essentially a pre-Annalian historian who never challenged the basic assumption of the role of abrupt political events in changing the structures of an empire. Thus, instead of the ninth-/fifteenthcentury northern invasions, he argued that the southern Muslim invaders who reached the Mediterranean in the first-/seventh and second-/eighth centuries were responsible for the decline of the Mare Nostrum. It is with the followers of the thesis of Pirenne’s posthumous work that the debate became much more inclined toward the characterization of a certain standardized Islamic behavior toward maritime spaces. One of the most prominent exegetes of the Pirennean text is W. H. C. Frend.9 His major paradigm is, simply, the premise that a villager might not be always a villager (he might “revert” even to transhumance), but more importantly the nomad, presumably “the Muslim,” is always a nomad. The Islamic conquest had such a powerful influence that it could be compared to another classical model of catastrophic events in the memory of the Latin and Byzantine sources, namely, the Vandal 8 Mainly his posthumous work: H. Pirenne, Mohammed and Charlemagne (Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 2001). 9 See notably, W. H. C. Frend, “North Africa and Europe in the Early Middle Ages,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 5 (1955): 61–80.

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invasion.10 In his emphasis on the case of the Islamic conquest of North Africa, he suggests that the decline in quality of olive oil was among the reasons for the decline caused by the Islamic conquest.11 But more importantly, Frend thinks that the disappearance of settled peasants opened the way for nomad (Arab and Berber) tribes to occupy fertile territories without exploiting them, which for him, confirms that these invaders were “Arab” nomads.12 Consequently, and as we might expect, Frend’s conclusion is decisive. Thus in two widely separated parts of the Mediterranean the Moslem invasions brought about similar results. It is fair to ask why the administrations of Kairouan and Damascus allowed the situation of the cultivators to deteriorate. Probably part of the answer must lie in the psychology of the new rulers. The Arab armies were, as Ibn Khaldoun points out, 10  Frend, “North Africa and Europe,” 68–69: “As Baynes points out: the Vandal invasion of 429 brought this situation [of North Africa being a major source of exportation of agricultural goods notably Olive Oil during the ‘Roman period’] to a halt. Contemporaries such as Salvian or his African source regarded the Vandals as ‘cutting off the vital channels of the Empire,’ and for thirty-five years, from 440 to 475, the Vandal fleet was in control of the Mediterranean. The sack of Rome in 455 and the pillage of the Greek coastal towns which Procopius records may be compared with similar activities by the Saracen fleet four centuries later.” 11  Frend, “North Africa and Europe,” 68: “We know, for instance, from the sources used by the ninth-century Arab historian Ibn Abd al-Hakam that even at the end of the Byzantine occupation Africa was still a vital source for the supply of olive oil to the Byzantine dominions. Two centuries later this was evidently no longer the case. In 879 we hear of a North African convoy carrying oil bound for Sicily being successfully raided by the Byzantines, but that the captured olive oil was not particularly welcome in Constantinople.” 12  Frend, “North Africa,” 63: “One must look, therefore, for other causes which contributed to the removal of North Africa from the European to the Middle Eastern orbit during the early Middle Ages. In the writer’s view, the main factor in this process, and one which has previously been underestimated, was the impetus which the Arab victories gave to nomadism. The nomad and the transhumant gradually replaced the settled farmer as the occupier of the soil in the territories which the Arabs overran. In this process the supply of agricultural products, such as olive oil and grain on which trade between countries bordering on the Mediterranean depended, was gradually cut off. In no other area were the consequences more marked than in North Africa … Ghassanids, Saracens and Arabs on the borders of Syria and Palestine, Blemmyes in the deserts on either side of the Nile valley, Louata in Cyrenaica and Austures in Tripolitania, all these were possible enemies who had either to be overawed or bribed into quiescence. They were an ever-present menace to the Byzantines, and the victory of the Arab armies all along this frontier was indirectly their victory.” The ‘Blemmyes’ refers to a nomadic tribal kingdom known as the Beja; they lived in Sudan and the Horn of Africa.

6

Introduction

plundering hordes. Their main object was booty, and they despised those who were not riders like themselves. On the other hand, the barrages and irrigation channels on which the native cultivator depended for his crops needed constant maintenance, and this was only worthwhile in relatively stable conditions. The Romans, Vandals and Byzantines had provided this stability, even though their officials taxed the natives harshly. The Arab administration seems to have left them to the mercy of nomadic tribes, and cultivator and nomad cannot occupy the same area continuously together. This is particularly the case where the cultivator’s main crop is olives, whose trees take between ten and twelve years to mature. Apart from this, the break-up of rural society in North Africa during the eighth and ninth centuries was hastened by the ferocious civil wars caused by the Kharedjite schism in Numidia.13 The Pirennean approach was challenged from the start and provokes criticism even now.14 During the first/seventh century, trade in the Mediterranean, including between the Islamic and non-Islamic coasts, did not stop.15 Decline is 13  Frend, “North Africa,” 79. 14  Mainly, A.  Verhulst, The Carolingian Economy (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2002). Also see R. Doehaerd, Le Haut Moyen Age Occidental. Economies et sociétés (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1971), 278, translated by W. G. Deakin as Early Middle Ages in the West. Economy and Society (New York: Elsevier Science Ltd., 1978); F.-L. Ganshof, “Note sur les ports de Provence,” Revue Historiques 183 (1938): 28–37; Medieval Trade in the Mediterranean World: Illustrative Documents, trans. R. Lopez and Irving Raymond (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001). And recently, C. Picard, La Mer des Califes (Paris: Éditions Seuil, 2015), 10 and 14. 15  R.  Doehaerd, Le Haut, 193–198. The year 599 is the last date given, before the Islamic conquest, in relation to the problems facing Mediterranean trade. This indicates the papal concerns that they may not be able to find a boat to send someone from Rome to Spain (p. 193). Doehaerd mentions the Merovingian kings (the Frankish dynasty that reigned from the fifth to eighth centuries) and their literature, but without giving specific dates of traffic going to them from the eastern Mediterranean. The last powerful king of this dynasty is traditionally believed to be Dagobert, who died in 639. Very little is known after that. Later Doehaerd mentions (p. 194) an interesting episode concerning continuity in Egypt: “the Burgundian bishop Arculf, who visited Alexandria in 670, admired that city where all sorts of foreign merchants met”; he points, in note 343, to a medieval (compiled) source: T. Tobler, and A. Molinier, Itinera hierosolymitana (Geneva, 1879), 188–190. Trade seems to have continued smoothly between Egypt and Constantinople; we know this from an episode during which trade, especially the exportation of papyrus and linen cloth, seems to have stopped briefly at the end of the seventh century (p. 194). He points to an Islamic source mentioned by R. Lopez: “Between 693 and 696, during the caliphate

Introduction

7

attributed, not to the Islamic conquests as Pirenne thought, but to the seventh century. And yet: “the decline was not uniform. Some of Marseilles connections in the Mediterranean persisted beyond the Arab conquest well in the eighth century.”16 In the second quarter and the middle of the third/ninth century the “Arab raids,” namely maritime traffic continued to “the Provençal ports, especially to Marseilles and Arles and around the isles of Corsica, Sardinia, and Majorca. A dramatic illustration of this situation was the sinking by the Arabs in 820, reported by the royal Frankish annals, of eight merchant ships on their way from Sardinia to Italy.” Yet “although the danger was great, commerce went on.” He quotes a written source from Marseilles (of the Abbey of St. Victor) on new tariffs: the gift of St. Victor in 226–28/841 of the toll on ships from Italy and the toll in 230–31/845 on goods transacted at the port. But Arles seems to have been a more important stop from the point of view of Pope John VIII, who stopped there in 264–65/878 during a trip from Naples and Genoa. Trade was active especially along the coasts of the Mediterranean, between Muslims and Europeans. From the second half of the eighth century we can see signs in Frankish Europe of a current of trade towards the country which was in the hands of the infidels, just as there was towards North Africa. This trade may have been initiated by Arab merchants: the poet Theodulf mentions at the end of the eighth century that the city of Arles was a crossroads where one could acquire silken cloths of various colors sent by the faithless Arab, Cordoba skins, linen, incense from Sheba, Indian ivory, figurines, Persian griffons and Syrian balm.17 of ‘Abd Al-Malik, trade between Egypt and Byzantium experienced some temporary difficulties” when the caliph decided to Arabize the administration by adding the word Allah on the merchandise shipped to Byzantium. A similar problem arose when he Arabized the coins—the Byzantine emperor rejected the new merchandise. Business seems to have continued, since papyrus was used by the papal chancery. But after the 717 blockade, the trade could have been rerouted from a maritime to an inland route that “followed the coast of Syria and crossed Asia Minor to the Bosphorus,” though he does not give a source for this route. Doehaerd later (p. 198) mentions the trade of cloth: “Leontios, the bishop of Neapolis in Cyprus, in the seventh century, reports that thirteen ships of the church of Alexandria, finding themselves in peril in the Adriatic, threw overboard cloaks, silver ingots and other precious things weighing 3,400 pounds.” 16  Verhulst, The Carolingian Economy, 103–105. 17  Doehaerd, Le Haut, 196. Theodulf, who was apparently originally Spanish, but more importantly the Bishop of Orleans, wrote a poem in Latin “The Bribery of Judges,” which includes a list of gifts meant to bribe judges in Arles. As indicated by Lopez and Raymond,

8

Introduction

Diplomatic exchanges, including visits of royal missionaries, remained active even during times of war. For instance, we should note the continuous diplomatic relationship between the earliest Abbasid rulers and the Frankish kings.18 These trips were lengthy and travelers used a combination of difficult mainland-maritime routes.19 Still, it is remarkable that since 1970, few Islamicists have contributed to this Pirennean debate, as noted by Ashtor.20 while the list might show some “exaggeration and had in mind classic models” they believe that it is essentially accurate, especially in terms of the use of Islamic gold coins. The text probably dates to 798. In one instance, they quote what seems to be a judge from Arles: “Another says, ‘I have palls dyed in various colors, which, I believe, the grim-faced Arab has sent…’ ” See Medieval Trade, 35–36. 18  P. Sénac, “Les Carolingiens et le califat abbasside (VIIIe–IXe siècles),” Studia Islamica 95 (2002): 37–56. “L’essentiel des travaux concernant ces rapports ont principalement insisté sur les relations entretenues par Charlemagne et le calife Hârûn al-Rashîd mais un examen détaillé des sources révèle que ces contacts débutèrent plus tôt, dès Pépin le Bref (751–768), et qu’ils ne s’achevèrent que sous Louis le Pieux (814–840) … Passé l’année 807, les annales franques ne signalent plus d’échanges diplomatiques avec les Abbassides et il faut attendre le règne de Louis le Pieux pour voir signaler de nouveaux contacts. En 831, selon la Vita Hludowici Imperatoris, le calife al-Ma’mûn envoya par voie de mer auprès de l’empereur une ambassade qui comprenait deux musulmans et un chrétien. Chargée de présents, parmi lesquels plusieurs espèces d’encens et des étoffes de laine, la délégation gagna à l’automne Thionville avec l’intention de renouer des liens amicaux. Un traité (pax) fut conclu et les ambassadeurs regagnèrent leur pays, mais l’accord demeura sans effet apparent.” 19  Sénac, “Les Carolingiens,” 43: “Tout autant que les présents, les voyages effectués par les ambassadeurs méritent une attention particulière étant donné la distance séparant les palais carolingiens de Bagdad. Le froid récit des annales franques ne saurait masquer l’extraordinaire périple mené par ces hommes qui, à titre de légats, vinrent avec leur escorte depuis l’Orient jusqu’à Aix-la-Chapelle, Metz, Chantoceaux ou en Italie. L’arrivée de Francs à Bagdad n’en est pas moins remarquable à une époque où les voyages étaient périlleux, comme en témoigne le décès de Lanfrid et de Sigismond au cours de leur voyage, ou encore celui de Radbert peu après son retour en 807. Outre les dangers de la mer, ces hommes durent encore affronter la menace de la fiotte grecque, comme en 806, et on imagine l’intérêt qu’ils devaient susciter tout comme les découvertes qui furent les leurs. Evoquant les ambassadeurs du calife, Notker les montre ainsi frappés d’émerveillement devant les armes et les vêtements des nobles francs et rapporte qu’ils s’enfuirent devant des bisons et des aurochs lors d’une partie de chasse organisée par Charlemagne.” 20  E. Ashtor, “Quelques observations d’un Orientaliste sur la thèse de Pirenne,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 13 (Apr. 1970): 166–194: “La thése de Pirenne qui a suscité des discussions si animées a été négligée pendant de longues années par les orientalistes de métier. Autant que nous sachions l’exposé brillant de notre collègue Cl. Cahen sur ‘Quelques problèmes concernant l’expansion économique musulmane au Haut Moyen Age’ est la première contribution qu’y aient faite les historiens de l’Orient

Introduction

9

The latter questioned the information given in the Islamic geographic works that are usually used by the opponents of the Pirennean thesis and proved that Mediterranean interactivity continued up to and including the fourth/tenth century.21 Ashtor’s view is still current among scholars. Whether they agree with Pirenne or with his opponents, most scholars, including Braudel, accept the assumption that throughout history, Muslims have tended to reside in inland areas rather than along the coasts. Christophe Picard was among the first to challenge Braudel’s Eurocentirc perception of the Mediterranean. With his recent La Mer des Califes, he established the basics of the Islamic contribution in shaping the images of the Mediterranean, and it is not by chance that he emphasizes geography to make this contribution visible.22 The Mediterranean is viewed as the “daughter of Baghdad’s caliphs,” not as a space dominated by Muslims, but rather as a space to be dominated, with a sense of urgency. The Muslim geographers’ emphasis on appropriating the sea was a step toward such a domination; according to Christophe Picard, it was “a privileged space of Caliphal jihad.”23 Still, his focus on a very limited number of cartographic examples and a short timeframe cannot be considered a full or complete exploration of the potential insight of Islamic representations of the Mediterranean.

musulman. Le but du présent article serait d’amplifier les arguments avances par Cahen, d’en apporter de nouveaux et, cela s’entend, de donner ça et d’autres interprétations des textes.” 21  Ashtor downplays Ibn Ḥawqal’s references on the ongoing Mediterranean exchange and maritime activity and even where he should notice that Ibn Ḥawqal’s data differs, he suggests that this in fact indicates that the Mediterranean was in danger. Ashtor, “Quelques observations,” 169–170: “Le géographe Ibn Haukal, de sa part, raconte que les Byzantins faisaient des attaques sur la côte de la Syrie, après le règne du calife al-Muktadir (908– 932)? L’auteur arabe décrit l’établissement d’échanges entre les ports byzantins et musulmans, au milieu du X e siècle, comme un changement des relations qui expose les pays musulmans à des grands dangers. Car les marchands byzantins, dit-il, pourraient connaître les vues musulmanes et fournir à leurs forces armées de renseignements pour des expéditions navales. Ce passage dans le livre d’Ibn Haukal indique avec clarté que les relations commerciales auxquelles fait allusion le Livre du préfet n’étaient pas régulières. La situation dans la Méditerranée orientale, au IXe siécle et dans la première moitié du Xe siéde, est justement caractérisée par le géographe al-Istakhri. Il dit que des bâtiments musulmans et byzantins sillonnent cette mer, les deux flottes passant sur le littoral de l’ennemi pour y faire butin. Souvent la véritable guerre navale se prépare, chaque parti rassemblant cent navires de guerre et même plus.” 22  Picard, La Mer des Califes, 9–25. 23  Ibid., 107.

10

Introduction

Accordingly, my work on pre-modern geographic and cartographic works, and notably those that have the Mediterranean as their main subject, but also and more specifically on Islamic sources, represents a critical departure from this perspective, because these are the sources that are most suitable to enable us to understand Muslim attitudes toward the Mediterranean. Such an approach becomes even more apparent when we realize that neither Braudel nor Pirenne (and also most of their interlocutors) used Islamic geographic and cartographic sources as they ought to be utilized, nor have they included discussions of the Islamic context of the Mediterranean. More importantly, this review must be undertaken systematically, and not by selecting only a few works regardless of their context.24 On the other hand, these sources provide us a unique insight to their cultural context, and this also gives us the opportunity to explore the pre-modern meaning of visual representations.

The Significance of the Image of the Mediterranean in Art History

It is clearly implausible to assume that Islamic maps were intended to be artworks in and of themselves. Yet we know very little about the pre-modern Muslim perspective of artwork. Grabar and Natif emphasize the role of terminology in investigating the pre-modern understanding of visual sources. On a philosophical or esthetic level, we would like to point out a terminological distinction. The first of the texts we mentioned differentiates between sifah (depiction of physical features) and surah (picture). And in less clear a fashion, the story of the portraits at the court of China includes a somewhat obscure distinction between a representation of the Prophet and the knowledge someone has of what he looked like. This distinction may well illustrate a significant contrast between two layers in the reality of images, a layer of physical, tangible presence and that of cerebral knowledge, what can perhaps best be described in French as a vue de l’esprit. This philosophical distinction relates our story and its various implications to the problems of art history in contrasting the visible

24  Palmira Brummet emphasizes, the representation of the Mediterranean in Islamic geographic works. But it was a preliminary investigation; she focuses on a few sources from very different historical contexts, and does not utilize the cartographic database. See P. Brummett, “Visions of the Mediterranean: A Classification,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 37 (2007/1): 9–56.

Introduction

11

forms of art to the mental images of those who create them and who contemplate works of art.25 Yet this terminological distinction is only tentative, as it is based not on a close and systematic reading of the Islamic sources, but on only a few examples.26 Still, it points to a very interesting idea. With the absence of early works, especially in the Arabic context, on the theory and history of Islamic art, there is a need to conduct micro-studies of Islamic sources in order to locate patterns that relate to the perceptions/categorization of artworks; this would enable us to contextualize visual objects. This is not only appropriate, but also possible; one way of doing this involves working through the large database of Islamic maps and texts that address or refer to maps or simply interact with maps in a codicological context. The process of mapmaking is not essentially different from the process of making art. Both are considered part of one process, that of making images. The word to describe maps in the Islamic sources, the word ṣūra, meaning “image,” is the same word used to describe art works, such as paintings and sculptures. By contrast, the modern Arabic word for “map,” that is kharīṭa (originally from carta) is of modern use. Although kharīṭa appeared in the early Islamic sources, it was not used to designate maps, but rather large pieces of paper, most probably for official use. The third-/ninth-century al-Iṣfahānī mentions that kharāʾiṭ were shown to those in the presence of the Abbasid caliph al-Ma‌ʾmūn.27 The historian al-Ṭabarī also mentions the use of kutub

25  O. Grabar and M. Natif, “The Story of Portraits of the Prophet Muhammad,” Studia Islamica 96 (2003): 36–37. 26  The only examples cited to point to the distinction between ṣūra and ṣifa are, “Al-Bayhaqi and Abī Nu’aym actually provide two other stories involving pictures of Muhammad.” The second story traces a long isnād to a Meccan merchant who was a contemporary of the Prophet. “One day, the merchant found himself in Busra in southern Syria. There, a group of Christians who had heard of something new being prophesied in Arabia took him by the hand to a monastery (dayr) in which there were sculptures (tamathil) and paintings (suwar). They asked him whether he recognized the Prophet among the personages represented. He answered negatively. So they took him to a second and larger monastery with many more sculptures and paintings. They asked again whether he saw the Prophet’s picture and he said he was ‘confronted with the depiction (sifah) of the Prophet of God and with his picture (sūratihi). And I was also confronted with the depiction and picture of Abu Bakr standing next to the Prophet of God.’ ” See Grabar and Natif, “The Story,” 22. 27  Al-Iṣfahānī, al-Aghānī (Beirut: Dār Ṣādir, 2008), 15:152.

‫‪Introduction‬‬

‫‪12‬‬

‫‪kharāʾiṭiyya (books of kharāʾiṭ) in the presence of the ruler.28 Qudāma b. Jaʿfar‬‬ ‫‪talks about the aṣḥāb al-kharāʾiṭ (people of kharāʾiṭ), pointing probably to a‬‬ ‫‪class of bureaucrats in the Abbasid administration.29‬‬ ‫‪On the other hand, the sources consistently used the word ṣūra to de‬‬‫‪scribe maps. This is the same term used to describe artworks. Ṣūra was used‬‬ ‫‪to describe generic artworks of non-Muslim populations, notably those of the‬‬ ‫‪Greeks and the Chinese. The Ikhwān al-Ṣafā used it when discussing the visual‬‬ ‫‪representations of Christ as paintings (taṣāwīr) or sculptures (tamāthīl) in the‬‬ ‫‪Christian tradition.30 The seventh-/thirteenth-century geographer Zakariyyā‬‬ ‫‪l-Qazwīnī used it to describe naturalist portrait paintings in the Chinese and‬‬ ‫� �أ �ذ �أ‬ ‫ؤ � ن ت‬ ‫�ذ ف‬ ‫كا ��ب�ه ���ه� ا �ي� خ�ر�ي����ط��ة ب�ن��د ا ر��ي��ة؛ و�ل�م ��ي ن� �����ظ�ر ��ب�ه ا ج���ت���م�ا ا �ل ك‬ ‫ي� ��‬ ‫و��ق�د ن�������ف� ���م��ير ا �ل���م��م���ن��‬ ‫������ت� ب�‬ ‫ع‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ٰ‬ ‫ا �ل�خرا ئ���ط����ي��ة‪� ،‬م�ع�� ���ج�لاً ��ب�ه‪ ،‬ت���ق�� �ًب�ا لى ا �ل�ّ�ل�ه ���ع��ز و ���ج� ب����م�ا �� �ص�د ر �م� ن ا �ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫ح ك�‬ ‫�م ور ���ج�ا ء ���م�ا ا �ع��ت���م�د‪،‬‬ ‫ر� �إ‬ ‫�أ�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫��ج� ��ا �ب��ة‬ ‫د ا ك ���م�ا �أ ���م� �م� ن �ج�ز �ي� ث� ا � ا �ل�ّ�لٰ�ه ع�ل���ي�ه؛ ف���أ ن�������ف��ذ �ل���م�ا �أ��ت�ا ك �م� ن ���م�� ا �ل���م ؤ �م ����ن�� ن ‪� ،‬‬ ‫ع‬ ‫و�إ ر‬ ‫� ير � ي� و�� ل �إ ج �‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل � �ل و ب‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ئ خ � ت ف �أ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ة‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫�‬ ‫خ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ؤ‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫���م��ير ا �ل���م��م���ن��ي� ب����م�ا ي� ك‬ ‫�و� ����م���ك ي� ر�ي����ط� ب���د ا ر��ي� �م�����ف�رد � ع�� ���س�ا �ر ا را ��ئ�ط‪� ،‬ل����ع�ر� ���م��ير‬ ‫ّٰ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ا �ل���م ؤ �م ����ن�� ن‬ ‫ي� ���م�ا �ي�ع�ل�مو��ن�ه �إ � �����ش�ا ء ا �ل��ل�ه‪.‬‬ ‫�‬

‫‪28  M. al-Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-rusul wa-l-mulūk (Cairo: Dār al-Maʿārif, 2005), 8:644:‬‬

‫‪29  Ibn Khurradādhbih and Qudāma. Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik wa-yalīh nubadh min‬‬ ‫‪Kitāb al-Kharāj, ed. M. J. de Goeje (Leiden: Brill, 1889), 184:‬‬

‫ن � ً‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن � �ذ ة‬ ‫� ن ا �ل ك �‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ح����ت�ا ج �ي� ا �ل��بر��ي�د �إ لى د �يوا � ي� ك‬ ‫�و� �م�����ف�رد ا ��ب�ه و�ي كو�‬ ‫�����ت� ب� ا �ل���م�����ف� � �م� ن� ���ج��مي��ع ا ��ل�نوا �حي�‬ ‫ي �‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ً‬ ‫فو�ذ‬ ‫�م��ق�����صود ا ب�����ه�ا �ص�ا �‬ ‫�و ن� �هو ا �ل���م ن�� ����ف� �ل ك�‬ ‫��ل �ش��ي� ء �م ن������ه�ا �إ لى ا �ل���مو ������ض ا �ل���مر��سو�م ��ب�ا � ن�ل��� �إ �ل����ي�ه‬ ‫ح ����ب�ه �ي�ل� ك‬ ‫ع‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�خ � �ة �أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫خ‬ ‫�ل‬ ‫و��تولى ���ع� ض�� �ك � �ص‬ ‫ف�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ر‬ ‫�����ت� ب� ��ح�ا ب� ا �ل��بر�أ��ي�د �أوال� � ����ب�ا ر ي� ���ج��مي��ع ا ��ل�نوا حي� ���ع��لى ا � ي�ل����ف� و ��ع��ُم�ل‬ ‫�ي‬ ‫ّ‬ ‫�تّ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ّ‬ ‫�ق‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ن‬ ‫��ك ت��ن�ّ�ج��ز‬ ‫ْ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫��‬ ‫��‬ ‫��‬ ‫�‬ ‫�ه‬ ‫��‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫ك‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫��‬ ‫��‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫��‬ ‫��م‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل��س‬ ‫�‬ ‫���‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�ل�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫���‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫ظ‬ ‫ع‬ ‫�ي‬ ‫��‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ه‬ ‫�‬ ‫ب‬ ‫��م‬ ‫��‬ ‫�ل‬ ‫ك‬ ‫�‬ ‫و��‬ ‫ر ي� ر رو � ي� و و ي� و ر � ي� ي�‬ ‫جو ع � وي و �إ �‬ ‫ئ أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�لخ � ف‬ ‫�أ �ز ق‬ ‫تق‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ص‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ال‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫��‬ ‫ر ا ������ه��م و������ل����ي�د �ح�ا ب� ر ��ئ�ط ي� �س�ا ر � م���� �ص�ا ر و ل� ي� يح���ت�ا ج� �إ ل����ي�ه ي� �� �ص�ا ح� ب�‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫أ ف ق أن‬ ‫�أ ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫� ن ث�������ق��ة ���م�ا ف� ن���ف�����س�ه �أ �ع ����ن�د ا �ل�خ � �ة ق �‬ ‫�� ي�ل����ف� ا �ل�����ا �ئ��م ��ب�ا ل� �مر �ي� و�����ت�ه ل� �‬ ‫���ه� ا ا �ل�د �يوا � �هو � ي� كو�‬ ‫و‬ ‫�إ ي�‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫��‬ ‫��‬ ‫��ا ف�� ا �ل���م��ت���� ��صف���� و ن����م�ا ي�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ف�‬ ‫��‬ ‫ن �‬ ‫ح���ت�ا ج� �إ لى‬ ‫���ه� ا ا �ل�د �يوا � �ل�����ي��س ����ي�ه �م�� ا ل���ع��م�ل ���م�ا يح���ت�ا ج� �م���ع�ه �إ لى ا ل ك ي‬ ‫ح �إ‬ ‫ا � ث�ل�����ق��ة ا �ل���مت����� �ّ �ظ‬ ‫ح�����ف� ‪.‬‬

‫‪30  Ikhwān al-Ṣafā, Rasāʾil Ikhwān al-Ṣafā wa-khillān al-wafā (Beirut: Dār Ṣādir, 1957),‬‬ ‫‪3:482–483:‬‬

‫�أُ‬ ‫ن ّٰ � ّ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ّّ ن‬ ‫َ َف‬ ‫ف��ل���م�ا �م���� و� ئ�ل��ك ا �ل‬ ‫حك‬ ‫�‬ ‫����م�ا ء وا �لر���ب�ا �ن��يو� ا �ل���ع�ا ر�فو� ��ب�ا �ل��ل�ه‬ ‫ح ق� �م�عر�����ت�ه وا ن���ق��ر��ضوا‪ ،‬خ���ل������ه��م �قو�م‬ ‫ضى‬ ‫آ‬ ‫� �أ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�و�نوا �مث�����ل���ه��م �ي� ا �ل���م�عر�ف��ة وا �ل���ع��ل ‪ ،‬و�ل�م �ي�عر�فوا �م��غ�ز ا ���ه��م �ي� د ي�ا ن�ا ت�����ه��م‪� ،‬ف� را د وا‬ ‫� ���خ�رو� �م ي� ك‬ ‫ًم‬ ‫ت�� �ذ �أ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫الا ق�����ت�د ا ء ب�����ه��م ف�� ��س��يرت�����ه��م‪ ،‬وا �‬ ‫��خ� وا ��ص ن���ا ���م�ا ���ع��لى �م����ث�ل �صور�����ه��م‪ ،‬و�صوروا ����م�ا ث�ي��ل ���ع��ىل‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ُّ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫َ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ث‬ ‫�ت‬ ‫�‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ه‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫��‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�م����ث�ل ���م�ا ��ف����ع�ل� ت� �ل����� �ص�ا ر ى ي� بِي �ع��ه��م م�� ل� ���م�ا ي��ل و ل���صور م���ث�ل ��ش� ب���ا ���م����س��ي�� ‪ ،‬ع�ل����ي�ه‬ ‫ح‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ُ‬ ‫� ذ�� �ل�ك �‬ ‫حوا ل ا �ل���م����س��ي��‬ ‫ا �ل���س�لا �م‪ ،‬و�م����ث�ل ر وح ا �ل������ق�د ��س‪ ،‬و ���ج��برا ��ئي��ل‪ ،‬و�مر��ي��م‪ ،‬ع��لي�����ه�ا ا �ل���س�لا �م‪ ،‬وك‬ ‫ح‬ ‫ف� �ت ّ ف� � � ن �ذ ت�ذ‬ ‫كا ًا ��ل��ه��م �ب��أ � ا �ل�ه��ك� ف�����م�ا �� ّ��م���م ا ت��ل�ك ا � ت‬ ‫�� �ص�ا و�ر وا �ل��ت���م�ا ث�ي��ل‪.‬‬ ‫ي� �م� ���صر �ا �ت�ه‪ ،‬ي�ل� ك‬ ‫�ل�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�و� �ل�ك � � ر � � حو ي ي و‬ ‫ي‬

‫‪13‬‬

‫‪Introduction‬‬

‫‪Byzantine traditions.31 Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, who visited China more than once in the‬‬ ‫‪middle of the eighth/fourteenth century, was particularly impressed by the‬‬ ‫‪Chinese artistic tradition, notably the portrait painters, and used ṣūra to de‬‬‫‪scribe portraits, including one made for him by a Chinese artist.32 Others, such‬‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ق � �ة‬ ‫ح����س�� ن � �ش� �����ًئ�ا �م� ن ��ص ن���ا ���ع�ا ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�ة ف�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ول� ���ه�ل ا �ل��أ��� �ص��ي� ��ي�د ب�ا ��أ�س����ط��أ ي� ا �ل����ص���ا ���ع�ا � ا �ل�د �ي�����ق� ‪ ،‬ول�أا ي�����س����� نو� �ي �‬ ‫ً‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�غ‬ ‫��ير���ه��م‪ ،‬و �ي� �ش��ي� ء ر وا ���خ� وا ع�ل����ي�ه �ع��ي ب���ا‪ ،‬و�ي����قو�لو�‪��� :‬ه�ل ا �ل�د �ن�����ي�ا‪��� ،‬م�ا ع�د ا ��ن�ا‪�� ،‬ع��م� �إ لا‬ ‫ني‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ة ن ش‬ ‫كا � ‪ ،‬ف�� ن����ه��م �ع ! �ب�ا �ل� ا ف� ��ت�د �ق�� ق‬ ‫ي� ��ص ن�����ع� ا ��ل���قو��� ���ح�تى ا �����ه��م �ي���صورو� الإ� ����س�ا �‬ ‫���ه�ل � ب ل �إ � ور و� �غو ي�‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ا �ل�������ض�ا ح�ك ا �ل���ب�اك ‪��� ،‬ف������ �ص��ل ن� ��� ن‬ ‫�خ����ج�ا �ل��ة ا � ش‬ ‫ح�ك ا �ل���س� ور وا �ل‬ ‫ي� ��ض�‬ ‫ل������م�ا ��ت��ة‪ ،‬و�إ�ذ ا را د �م��ل �‬ ‫��ك���ه��م‬ ‫و‬ ‫��‬ ‫و � ي� وي و ب‬ ‫ر‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ً‬ ‫�� �ة ل ت � ف� �خ�ز �ئ � ل �إ�ذ ف‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫� �‬ ‫�‬ ‫� �ش� ��ي����ئ�ا �م� ن� ا �ل���م����ت�ا‬ ‫ع‪� ،‬ي�عر����ض�ه ت��ع��لى ر��ب�ا ب� ا �خ��بر وا ي���رك�ه ي� ا ����ن�ه �إ ا ا وا ����قوا ��ع��لى‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ً‬ ‫� �ذ ً‬ ‫�ق‬ ‫�‬ ‫ة‬ ‫�‬ ‫� ن� �ص�ا ن����ًع�ا ا �‬ ‫���خ� ث�و��ب�ا د ��يب��ا ���ج�ا ع�ل����ي�ه �صور� ا �ل ����ن�ا ب�ل و������ع� ت� ع��لي�����ه�ا ا �ل�ع���ص�ا ��ف��ير‪،‬‬ ‫�جود �ت�ه‪ .‬وح يك�‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫� �إ�ذ‬ ‫�‬ ‫ن‬ ‫���ف�عر ض������ه�ا ا �ل���م�ل�ك ���ع��ل ر��ب�ا ب� ا �ل‬ ‫���خ��بر�ة وا ����ست�����‬ ‫�‬ ‫ح����س��نو���ه�ا �إ لا �� �ص�ا � وا ��ح�د؛ �ق�ا ل‪ :‬ا �ل�ع���ص�ا �ف��ير ا‬ ‫ع‬ ‫ن ى �أ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫�ع ق ئ �ة ل � ف‬ ‫ف �‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ق ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�ل‬ ‫ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫�ض‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‪.‬‬ ‫�‬ ‫م‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‪،‬‬ ‫ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫م‬ ‫�ه‬ ‫�‬ ‫�د‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫��‬ ‫م‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫م‬ ‫�‬ ‫ص‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫���‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ح‬ ‫ه‬ ‫ه‬ ‫ه‬ ‫ه‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ي‬ ‫�‬ ‫���‬ ‫��‬ ‫��ل‬ ‫��م��‬ ‫��‬ ‫ا‬ ‫��‬ ‫�‬ ‫� ل ي� �‬ ‫رو�‬ ‫� و‬ ‫�صور �‬ ‫و������ع�� ���ع��لى ا �ل����س���ا ب�ل‬ ‫�ت�ع����� ا �م� ن د ��ق��ة ن� �����ظ� ه ف� ا �ل�� �ة‬ ‫��ص ن�����ع�‪…  ‬‬ ‫ر ي�‬ ‫و ج بو‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫� �أ‬ ‫�ت‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن ت�أ ن ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫��‬ ‫�‬ ‫� �ع� ن ���ه� ا �ل و�م �����ه��م ي���خ� و� �صور ا �ل���م��لوك وا ل‬ ‫حك‬ ‫�‬ ‫����م�ا ء وا �لر���ه�ا ب���ي� ي�����س��� ���سو� ب�����ه�ا‬ ‫وح يك� � ل ر‬ ‫ً‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ة‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ب����ع�د �موت�����ه��م‪ .‬و��ل���ه��م �� ا � ت�ل����صو�ي�ر ��ي�د ب�ا ��س����ط� ���ح�تى �ي���صورو� �صور� الإ� ����س�ا � �����ض�ا ح ك�‬ ‫��ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ً ً‬ ‫ً � ً‬ ‫ً‬ ‫ً‬ ‫�أ ن‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�����ي�ا‪ ،‬و�صور��ت�ه �م���س�رورا‬ ‫�� � �م���صورا د ���خ�ل ب��ل�د ا �ل����ي�لا و��ن��ز ل ب�����قو�م ����ض‬ ‫�� ي����فوه‪،‬‬ ‫وب�ا �ك‬ ‫ح�ز ��ي ����ن�ا‪ .‬وح يك‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�أ �� �ذ‬ ‫ً‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫�‬ ‫�ر �ق�ا ل‪� :‬إ �� �� �ص�ا �‬ ‫ف��ل���م�ا ��س ك�‬ ‫��� ا د ��ي ����ن�ا را‪��� ،‬س��قوه ���ح�تى ��ط��ل�� و �خ� وا ���م�ا‬ ‫��� ا وك‬ ‫ح� ب� ���م�ا ل و�م�عي� ك‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ح‬ ‫ف �أ‬ ‫ن غ ً‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫كا � �ر��ي ����ب�ا �ل�م �ي���ع�ر�� ا �ل����قو�م ولا‬ ‫�‬ ‫كا � �م���ع�ه و��ح��م�لوه �إ لى �مو ������ض ب��ع����ي�د �م ن������ه��م‪�� .‬ل���م�ا �� ��ص ب���� ‪ ،‬و �‬ ‫ح‬ ‫ع‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫��ا �‪���� ،‬ه� ب� �إ لى وا ل� ا �ل���م�د ��ي ����ن� و� �ش� ك�‬ ‫ا �ل���م ك�‬ ‫��ا �������ق�ا ل �ل�ه ا �لوا لي�‪��� :‬ه�ل ����ع�ر�� ا �ل����قو�م ؟ �ق�ا ل‪ :‬لا‪.‬‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫�‬ ‫ت �ف � � ن �‬ ‫�‬ ‫ف ف‬ ‫ف�‬ ‫��ا � ؟ ��ق�ا ل‪ :‬لا‪�� .‬ق�ا ل‪ � :‬ك‬ ‫��ق�ا ل‪��� :‬ه�ل ����ع�ر� ا ل���م ك‬ ‫������ي� ا �ل��س�ب�����ي�ل �إ لى �ل�ك ؟ ������ق�ا ل ا �لر ���ج�ل‪� :‬إ �ي�‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ً ف‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ة‬ ‫فف‬ ‫ف ض‬ ‫�صور �صور� ا �لر ���ج�ل و�صور� ���ه�ل�ه ��ا �عر������ه�ا ���ع��لى ا �ل ����ن�ا ��س �ل���ع�ل ��ح�د ا �ي�عر������ه��م ! ��������ع�ل �ل�ك‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫� �إ�ذ‬ ‫و���ع� ض�� ا �لوا ل� ���ع��ل ا �ل ����ن�ا ��س‪ ،‬ف�������ق�ا �لوا‪ :‬ا ن�����ه�ا �صور�ة ���ف�لا ن� ا �لح‬ ‫����م�ا م� و ���ه�ل�ه‪��� .‬ف� �مر ب� �‬ ‫ح�������ض�ا ره ��ف� ا‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي ى‬ ‫�إ‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�هو �ص�ا ح ����ب�ه �ا ���س��رد �م���ن�ه ا �ل���م�ا ل‪.‬‬

‫‪31  Al-Qazīwīnī, Athār al-bilād wa-akhbār al-ibād (Gottingen: Wiistenfeld, 1848), 36 and 357:‬‬

‫أ‬ ‫ت �أ‬ ‫� ً‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ً ف‬ ‫�أ ���ه� ا �ل��� �ص�� ن �أ � �‬ ‫ش‬ ‫��ا ���م�ا �ل��ل����ص ن���ا ���ع�ا‬ ‫�‪ ،‬و � �ش� �د ���ه��م �إ ت���ق���ا ��ن�ا ����‬ ‫ع����ظ��م ال� ���م��م �إح ك‬ ‫ي���ه�ا‪ ،‬و �ل�ك �م�����هور‬ ‫و ل � ي�‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�‬ ‫�ن‬ ‫�م� ن ح�ا ��ل���ه��م‪�� ،‬ق�د و�ص���ف�ه ا �ل ����ن�ا ��س �� ����ص�ا �ي�������ه��م �ف� ط��ن��بوا �����ي�ه‪ ،‬و ���م�ا ا � ت�ل����صو�ي� �ف�لا ي�ج�‬ ‫��ا ري�����ه��م ��ح�د‬ ‫�ر‬ ‫�‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ً‬ ‫ً‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ظ‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ع‬ ‫ف�� �إح ك�‬ ‫��ا ���م�ه‪� ،‬م�� ا �لرو�م ولا �م�� ��سوا ���ه��م‪�� .‬ف��إ � ��ل���ه��م �����ي�ه ا ����ت�د ا را �ع�� ��ي���م�ا‪ .‬و�م�� �ج������ي� ب� ���م�ا‬ ‫ي‬ ‫�أ ن‬ ‫ن �ذ‬ ‫�� ت �� � � �ة � ن � ن‬ ‫�‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫� �ش �ا ���ه�د � �ل��ه��م م�� ل�ك‪ ،‬ي� ���م�ا د �خ�ل�� �ق�ط م�د ��ي���ن� م�� م�د ����ه��م‪ ،‬ث��م ��ع�د � �إ ي�����ه�ا‪� ،‬إ ا‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ف أ ق‬ ‫ن � �‬ ‫ور �ي� ت� �صور �ت� و�صور �ص‬ ‫��ح�ا �� �م ن����قو�����ش��ة ف�� ا �ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫�وا ��غ�د‪� ،‬مو��ضو���ع��ة �ي� ال� ��سوا �‪.‬‬ ‫ح��ي����ط�ا � وا ل ك‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫بي‬ ‫�ل������ق�د د ���خ�ل� ت� ل �م�د � ����ن��ة ا �ل��س��ل����ط�ا ن ��ف��م ت‬ ‫� ���ع��ل ��س ق ا � ن�ل�ق���ا �����ش�� ن‬ ‫ي�‪ ،‬وو�� �ص�ل� ت� �إ لى �ق���� �ص�ره‬ ‫� رر‬ ‫ى و�‬ ‫و‬ ‫�إ ى �ي‬

‫‪32  Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, Riḥla (Paris: Imprimerie Imperiale, 1858), 4:261–264:‬‬

14

Introduction

as al-Masʿūdī, used it to describe known artworks, namely the sculptural reliefs of Taq-i Bustan, which he called ṣuwar ʿajība (wondrous images).33 One of the primary concerns of this book is to investigate the pre-modern perceptions of the relationship between these visual representations. A major question is obviously whether pre-modern viewers and authors perceived the pictorial or sculptural ṣūra as essentially different than the cartographic ṣūra. The core of this work, then, returns to two basic issues: how can we define the nature of maps and atlases with regard to (a) the accompanying texts/words, and to (b) the visual context, including both previous or contemporary cartographic samples and art works. Such problems impose a generic discussion that touches on our basic understanding of the cartographic sign, and, therefore, on the nature of its relationship to artistic and paleographic signs.

Cartography and Art: A Theoretical Frame

The main theoretical work to date on cartography is still Jacques Bertin’s La Semiologie Graphique.34 We must begin with the methodological problems that have been set from the beginning as the basis of a single methodology, ‫�أ‬ ‫ن‬ ً ‫ق‬ ‫ق ن ف‬ ‫�ز‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ � ‫ و‬،�� ‫��ح�ا‬ ‫����م �ص‬ � �‫ ���م�رر� ��ب�ا �ل��سو‬،‫ ��ل���م�ا ���ع�د � �م� ن� ا �ل�������� �ص�ر �ع����ش�ي���ا‬.�‫ح� ن� ���ع��لى �ي� ا �ل�عرا �����ي��ي‬ ‫ب‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ع‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ف‬ � .‫��ح�ا ئ���ط‬ ‫ ف�ر �ي� ت� �صور �ت� و�صور �ص‬،‫ا �ل���م��ذ�كور�ة‬ �‫��ح�ا �� �م ن����قو�����ش��ة ف‬ ‫كا ���غ�د ��ق�د �ل���ص��قوه ب�ا �ل‬ � � � ‫�ج‬ � � � ‫ع‬ � � ‫ل‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫بي‬ ً ‫�ذ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�أ ن‬ ‫�ة‬ �‫� ن‬ ‫ح���ب�ه لا ت�خ‬ � ‫ا‬ � ‫ و ك‬.‫���ط ئ� � �ش� ��ي����ئ�ا �م� ن� ����ش����ب���ه�ه‬ ‫ص‬ � � � ‫�ر لي� � ا �ل��س��ل����ط�ا‬ ‫ا �لوا ��ح�د �م���ن�ا ��ي�����ظ�ر �إ لى صور‬ � ‫�أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ � ،‫ح� ن ��ب�ه‬ � ‫ و ن�����ه��م �توا لى �ق���� �ص� ه و‬،‫�مر���ه��م ��ب��ذ �ل�ك‬ � ،‫��ج����ع��لوا ��ي ن� �����ظ�رو� �إ �ل��ي ن���ا و�ي���صورو� �صور ��ن�ا‬ ‫�إ‬ ‫ر‬ � ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ف ت‬ ‫ة‬ �‫و‬ � .‫كل �م� ن� ي����مر ب�����ه��م‬ � ‫ وت��ل�ك ���ع�ا د � ��ل���ه��م �ي� ����صو��ي�ر‬،‫ح� ن� �ل�م � ش������ع�ر ��ب� �ل�ك‬

33  A. al-Masʿūdī, Murūj al-dhahab wa-maʿādin al-jawhar (Beirut: Maktaba ʿAṣriyya, 2005), 1:206–207:

‫�ذ ف ت‬ ‫ن � ف ف‬ ‫ن‬ �� ‫كا �ن� ت� ب���ي ن���ه���م�ا ��ح�رو ب� ا‬ ‫ي���ه�ا‬ ���� �‫ك�����ش‬ � ‫ ��ث��م‬،‫كا � ��ل�ه���م�ا خ������ط� ب� طو��ي�ل �م� ن� ت�������ق�ا �� و� ش����ا ��ت��م‬ �‫و‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ � � �� � ‫ ������ق�ا �م‬،‫��ح�ا � �ع ����ن�ه و�مي�����ل���ه��م لى ب�����ه� ا �م‬ ‫�برو�ي��ز �لت������خ��ل� �ص‬ ‫ح���ت�ه �ر���س�ه ا �ل���م���ع�رو� ب�����ش� ب���د ا ر‬ ‫ب‬ ‫�إ‬ � ‫ر�أ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫� ���ف��ة � �أ � �ي��ز‬ � ‫ � ����ب�لا د �ق �م�ا ���س�� ن �م� ن‬، �‫����ب‬ ‫ن‬ � � ‫ل‬ ‫ع‬ � � � � � ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ء‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ك‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ا‬ � ‫م‬ � ‫�د‬ ‫ا‬ � ��� ��� � � ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ��‫��م‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ل‬ � � ‫و�هو ا صور ي� �ج � ل و هو ب‬ � ‫�ي نور‬ � �‫ر ي‬ �‫و هو و برو‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫غ‬ ‫� �ذ‬ ‫ف‬ � ‫�ئ‬ ‫ن � �ع �ئ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ � ��‫ و� را � ب� ���م�ا ����ي�ه �م‬،‫ و���ه� ا ا �ل���مو�����ضع �م�� �إ حور �����أج�ا � ب� ا �ل���ع�ا �ل�م‬،‫و ��غ��ير �ل�ك �م�� ا �ل���صور‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫� � ْ��ُ � �ذ ف‬ ‫ة ف‬ ‫�ر �ي� � �ش� �ع�ا ر ���ه�ا و�غ��ير���ه�ا �م� ن� ا �ل���ع�ر ب� ���ه� ا‬ ‫ وا ل�����ف�ر س �ت� ك‬،‫ا �ل���صور ا �ل�ع�� ج���ي ب����ة ا �ل���م ن����قور� �ي� ا �ل���ص�� ���خ�ر‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ََ � َُ ‫ف‬ � � ‫كا ن � �ي��ز ���ع�� ����ش����د ا ف� ��� ض‬ ،‫�ع��� ال� ��ي�ا �م �ف�ا ن���ق������ط ِ�ع ن���ا ���ن�ه‬ ‫ و�ق�د � � برو� لى ب ر ي� ب‬،‫ا �ل�����ف�ر��س ا �ل���م���ع�رو�� ب�����ش� ب���د ا ر‬ ‫ع‬ ‫�ل � �أ‬ َ‫َ ن‬ � � � ‫ف��د ���ع�ا ب����� �ص�ا‬ .� ‫ ��ف� را د ����ض�ر ب� �ع ن�����ق�ه �ل���م�ا �ل�م ��يت���ع���ه�د ا �ل ِ�ع ����ن�ا‬،‫����م�ه‬ ‫ح� ب� ��سرو ���ج�ه و�ج‬

34  J. Bertin, Semiology of Graphics: Diagrams, Networks, Maps, trans. William J. Berg (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1983).

Introduction

15

which is semiology. Still, the most serious problem with this philosophical basis lies elsewhere, namely, with Bertin’s method of applying semiology to cartography, or, simply put, his understanding of semiology. He advances, from the first page, three forms of representations, whatever the form of perception (that is, vocal or visual): first, “monosemic” signs, which include mathematics and graphics (including cartographic) signs; second, “polysemic” signs, which include language and “figurative images”; third, “panasemic” signs, which include music and “abstract images.” The major distinction, according to Bertin, lies between the first two categories: while monosemic signs stand as postulates that are obvious by themselves (that is, they do not need an external referent), polysemic signs depend on external references. Panasemic signs, however, are extremely dependent on external signs, though they attempt to negate that very relationship (abstract images). The history of the term “semiology” and notably its redefinition at the beginning of the 1970s (when it was renamed “semiotics”) could be the basis for what I would venture to call an ineffective use of a linguistic-dominated (“imperialistic” some say) understanding of semiology (or using “semiology” rather than “semiotics”). Thus, I do not reject Bertin’s approach in its entirety, but I suggest a modification of it. The recent applications of semiotics to the visual arts have proved fruitful. The first manifestations were works by French art historians, who were clearly affected by the rise of a local and a different Barthesian discourse in the 1970s, one that promoted (as compared to what he had written before) a less-linguistic oriented understanding of semiotics.35 The most consistent and longlasting impact came from the works of Meyer Schapiro on medieval art and modern abstract painting,36 as these profited from the Peircian categories.37 As 35  For example, Jean-Louis Schefer’s 1969 Scenographie d’un Tableau (focusing on a single painting Paris Bordone’s Game of Chess) and the writings of another French art historian, Hubert Damisch, Theorie des Nuages (1972) and his much later L’Origine de la Perspective (1987). See “Semiotics,” in The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism (Cambridge, UK and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 8:85–109. 36  Notably, Meyer Schapiro’s 1966 lecture, which was published as an article, “Field and Vehicle” (Semiotica in 1969 and the French Critique in 1973). Schapiro’s main focus was “the non-mimetic features which help to determine the constitution of the iconic sign— such features as framing, relations between high and low, left and right.” He later extended his approaches in a larger essay (book), Words and Pictures (1973), which was recently republished in an extended version, with the addition of an essay, “Script in Pictures,” in his 1996 Words, Script and Pictures. See “Semiotics,” 85–109. 37  Charles Sanders Peirce, an American philosopher, is a major theoretical scholar of semiology; he once said that almost “everything is a sign.” He proposed a generic approach,

16

Introduction

in the case of Barthes’ view in France, in the United States Peirce’s approach was clearly a major breakthrough for the visual arts; this is clear from the various studies conducted by the editors of October in the early 1980s in the field of contemporary art. In contrast, nothing has been written to challenge Bertin’s “semiological” approach to cartographic signs in the aftermath of the theoretical advances in semiotics made after his defining work. Bertin’s approach could be questioned from various angles. First, the definition of the graphic sign: If the very presence of a sign (by definition a signifier) needs a signified (an external object, reality) then there can be no obvious or self-sufficient sign, as Bertin’s definition of the graphic sign suggests. Here we need to further define the nature of the “conventional sign,” or what is called in the Peircian approach, a “symbol.” Second, language (polysemic signs) is a necessary part of cartography (following Bertin’s terminology, graphic signs). Either in the forms of legends or toponyms, language is necessitated by the very cartographic structure. In this case, the monosemic sign needs another type of sign to be viable, readable. Its essence (as a postulate) is negated by its dependence on another signifier. Third, but most importantly, there is a crucial difference between the “modern,” until we find a better term, mostly conventional/non-mimetic signs (arbitrary signs) of “modern” maps and the “pre-modern” mostly mimetic signs (natural signs) of “pre-modern” cartography. We can consider the following examples: (1) The “line” is, in most cases, a mimetic representation that mirrors the visual (aerial/or even bird’s-eye view) impression of the separation of land and water: cartographic lines are always a representation of this distinction, either in the form of coastal lines or rivers. Cartographic representations of political and administrative borders are part of the cartography of the “modern state” era. In some cases, lines can also represent roads, and not necessarily the separation of water and land, as in the case of the Peutinger Map; still, they are a mimetic representation of the actual “image” of the road.

mostly based on speculation (as opposed to the empiric linguistic approach of Saussure), that finally concluded that there are “59,049 different types of signs.” His legacy has provided the non-linguistic fields, including the visual arts, a way to “avoid the taint of linguistic imperialism that may infect the semiological (Saussaurian) analysis of art,” especially Peirce’s trichotomy: “which divides signs into icons (relating to their referent by resemblance), symbols (relating by convention), and indices (relating existentially, as ‘traces’).” Stephen Bann, “Semiotics,” in Cambridge History of Literary Criticism, vol. 8, From Formalism to Poststructuralism, ed. Raman Selden (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 8:93.

Introduction

17

(2) Colors were never arbitrary: water is always either green or blue, whereas land is rarely blue. (3) Cities take the form of plans (circles, squares, etc.), and recall, in all cases, the presence of a built environment, not necessarily an actual border/wall or actual representations of cities, or literal cityscape. (4) Topographical representations are indicated by actual (albeit simplistic) mimetic representation: most notably, mountains are represented by reduced, simplistic images of mountains (or a series of mountains). In this case, mappae mundi or maritime maps are the same. In other words, “pre-modern” cartography belongs to the category of “polysemic” signs, that is to the category of “figurative images” rather than “graphic” signs. Clearly, this line of argument might suggest a historicist point of view, that is, a historical narrative constructed on the basis of the idea that a cartographic tradition has progressed from a less complicated (thoughtful) medium of natural signs toward a more complicated (thoughtful) medium of conventional signs, since in their essence these reflect an act of standardization, and therefore, an act of building a common language. In fact, such a historicist view already exists in many studies,38 where cartographic signs are seen as something per se, with a definite and totally distinct essence, which was a conclusion in the manifestation of man’s intellectual abilities. For instance, in the case of prehistoric cartography, the difference between some earlier “pictorial maps” and later “graphic representations,” or “true” maps, one might say, is the reflection of “prehistoric man’s recognition that depiction in plan provided a more effective means of recording a spatial distribution than did a pictorial map.”39 But a historicist view can also remain historicist by re-implementing the same logic but in reverse. It can still argue, even on the basis of the same data, for a “progressivist” narrative of prehistoric cartography, going from a simplistic “symbolic” depiction related rather to superstitious beliefs more than the actual landscape to a superior representation when it “becomes more realistic.”40 In this book, however, I make a different argument. Rather than being simply a manifestation of the limits of man’s ability to control his landscape visually, which incidently always existed, the manifestation of the specific pictorial nature of “pre-modern” cartography is part of a larger visual language imposed 38  On such historicist or “progressivist” narratives, see E. Casey, Representing Place: Landscape Painting and Maps (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2002), 306, n. 9. 39  C. D. Smith, “Cartography in the Prehistoric Period in the Old World, Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa,” in History of Cartography, ed. J. B. Harley and David Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 1:45–49. 40  P. D. A. Harvey, The History of Topographical Maps: Symbols, Pictures, and Surveys (London: Thames and Hudson, c. 1980), 37–47.

18

Introduction

by its historical context, regardless of the level of understanding of scale or any other technical issues. At the same time, the pictorial essence remains, even in “modern” cartography. As Edward Casey argues in his philosophical essay, Representing Place: Landscape Painting and Maps, some very “modern” maps and atlases prove that pictorial representation is needed as part of the cartographic representation. Casey even suggests a certain role for pictorial representation in the formation of “modern” cartographic methods, such as Dufour’s use of hatching in his nineteenth-century maps and Raisz’s physiographic maps in the first half of the twentieth century.41 The main conclusion we can draw is that cartographic signs possess a hybrid nature, not only through time but also, sometimes, in the same historical context. This means that its definition could not be something isolated from the intentions of its makers or its audiences. It could not be, for instance, always a “graphic sign” (conventional sign) that has no referent and does not intend to suggest a mimetic representation of landscape or any other kind of territory. The intentions of “pre-modern” cartographers and their audiences, including their contemporary narrators, precisely reflect a certain non-graphic understanding of the cartographic work. This is how al-Ṣafadī’s biography of the sixth-/twelfth-century Muslim geographer al-Idrīsī describes the process of making the cartographic representations, which became part of the geographic treatise, Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq: “Their [Roger II and al-Idrīsī’s] choice came upon clever, smart, and alert people. Roger equipped and sent them to the climes of east and west, south and north. He sent with them painters (muṣawwirīn) to paint (yuṣawwiru) what they see with their eyes.”42 Regardless of the accuracy of this narrative, al-Ṣafadī did not perceive of cartography as a mathematical and geometrical process of translating some numbers and distances into a graphic form; rather it is a pictorial process very much dependent on the visual appearance of the real. If we agree that the cartographic signs could be part of what Bertin calls “polysemic signs” (language and “figurative images”), that is, the signs are dependent on referents and not part of the graphic signs (monosemic signs), then the nature of the relationship between cartography and art takes on another sense than what has been usually written. Many discussions focus mainly on a specific artistic characteristic, though this seems to suggest a questionable definition of art as the ornamental (or the term more widely used, “decorative”) and stands as a major feature of artistic signs. Casey talks about “the close collusion between art and cartography” for 41  Casey, Representing Place, 141–145. 42  Al-Ṣafadī, al-Wāfī wa-bi-l-wafiyyāt (Beirut: Dār Ṣādir, 1991), 14:105–106.

Introduction

19

the presence of “decorative parts” on the margin of maps.43 Others, particularly in Art and Cartography, talk about “art in maps” in terms of the similarities between “ornamental embellishments” used in manuscripts and the “color traditions” of miniaturists and contemporary cartographic works.44 Still, some views involve more sophisticated approaches to art. David Woodward’s brief introduction to Art and Cartography, which is a major reference,45 suggests that cartography is “part of the scientific illustration,” for it “deals with the representation of the physical and social environment.” On the other hand, “scientific illustration,” perceived with a possible “artistic nature,” is as influential as the subjective presence of the author. At the same time, Woodward still defines cartography in Bertinian terms, that is, as wholly part of the graphic realm. This clearly disguises the potential artistic presence in a cartographic representation. The two structures can be separated even when they are joined in one frame. Also, defining cartography in the realm of “scientific illustration” is very ambiguous; the moment cartography is perceived as graphic (as in “scientific illustration” and especially as discussed by Woodward), it becomes very much part of the realm of “polysemic signs.” Therefore, returning to the use of the word ṣūra in the Islamic sources is less arbitrary than one might think. The Need for a Narrative Clearly, problems that consider (1) the cultural history of the Mediterranean, notably from the Islamic perspective and (2) the contextualization of Islamic visual objects present two different issues. Yet, these problems are not totally separate, because they require the same methodological approach, one that emphasizes visual sources to regulate or rediscover the textual sources, or vice versa. In order to proceed, however, we need a narrative or, to use a very Braudelian concept, a longue durée history of Islamic geographic and cartographic depictions of the Mediterranean. Until now, the few scholars who have worked on Islamic geography, and particularly on Islamic cartography, have focused on specific historical periods and on specific authors and mapmakers. The core of this book is just such an attempt at a long-term history of Islamic maps. Working on collections from Istanbul and several European 43  Casey, Representing Place, 149–150. 44  J. Welu, “The Sources and Development of Cartographic Ornamentation in the Nether­ lands,” in Art and Cartography, ed. David Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 123–146; U. Ehrensuvard, “Color in Cartography,” in Art and Cartography, ed. David Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 147–173. 45  D. Woodward (ed.), Art and Cartography (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 1–9.

20

Introduction

libraries, I have assembled data from most of the surviving maps that have the Mediterranean as their main subject; these include the earliest surviving maps (dating to the fifth/eleventh century, though originally produced in the third/ ninth century) up to those made in the tenth/sixteenth century. The appendix is a cartographic database corpus that has been organized into two major parts with descriptive sheets of maps that appear in manuscripts and single maps or those that are part of small manuscript atlases, in the tradition of maritime cartography. A very interesting pattern emerges in this narrative: the information of the map changes along with the whole structure that the mapmaker is behind. The metamorphosis of the identity of the author (or mapmaker) seems to change with the rest of the elements that constitute the identity of a map: its reader or viewer, its style, its textual parts, etc. In fact, the background and the context of the Islamic depictions of the Mediterranean, the Muslim fictional or descriptive attitude toward the Mediterranean, and the meaning of the image when that map is made are all questions that surface for each mapmaker. Thus, the major part of this book reviews the long journey of mapmaking. The book is divided into three parts. Part 1 emphasizes the early age, the third/ ninth and fourth/tenth centuries, when mapmaking was dominated by bureaucrats, namely the various secretarial classes of the Islamic administration. Part 2 covers the emergence and propagation of the work of Maghribi (North African and Andalusian) geographers between the fifth/eleventh and ninth/ fifteenth centuries, as characterized by their emphasis on maritime sources. Finally, part 3 shows the men of the field: the travelers, the merchants, and most importantly, the sea captains and mariners in two competing schools, the Maghribi and Ottoman schools of mapmaking. In the conclusion and appendix, I include a catalogue of the maps I worked on. Throughout this narrative, I bear these questions in mind: Did the different mapmakers necessarily indicate that the audience of the maps changed? How and why was the image of the Mediterranean so essential for both of these actors, the mapmaker and the reader? And how was the cartographic image defined in this process?

Part 1 The Formation of the Mediterranean in the Islamic Imagination

∵

CHAPTER 1

Imagination and Myths The most basic literary representation of the Mediterranean appears in its appellations. It is striking to note that with all the scholarship about the history of the Mediterranean, little has been said about the etymology of the word ‘Mediterranean,’ and sometimes what has been said lacks the necessary precision.1 Peregrine and Purcell suggest that the first appellation in some Semitic languages, the “Great Sea,” might have meant only part of the Mediterranean.2 The same appellation can be traced to Greek, to the middle of the first millennium BC. There is agreement that the Greek “Great Sea” meant the “whole” sea.3 Other Greek appellations include “our sea,” the “sea in our part of the world,”4 and the “Sea over by Us.”5 Still, the ancient Greeks did not leave any evidence to suggest that they were conscious of the Mediterranean in the sense of a distinctive and single space, other than the sea in their oikoumene; just as their oikoumene meant the “Mediterranean World.”6 1  In his critique of the Corrupting Sea, Harris was right to include the etymological question among the “essential elements” that were “omitted” from the historiography of the Mediterranean. See W. V. Harris. “The Mediterranean and Ancient History,” in Rethinking the Mediterranean, ed. W. V. Harris (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 1–23, especially 11 and 15–16. Also, the few pages in Corrupting Sea (10–15) that are devoted to this matter are “scarcely to say enough.” See P. Horden and N. Purcell, The Corrupting Sea: A Study of Mediterranean History (Oxford and Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 2000). 2  According to Harris’ preferred reference on this question (Burr’s 1932 Mare Nostrum, or “Great Sea”), which he states is “still very useful,” the first appellation, presumably, seems to have been used by the Akkadians to describe only the parts of the Mediterranean that were near their territory in northern Mesopotamia; this would have corresponded to the eastern Mediterranean. See especially Harris, “The Mediterranean,” 15, n. 40. 3  On the question of the appellation being applied to the “whole sea,” Harris adds, “Hecataeus, as it happens, is the first Greek known to have called it ‘the great sea,’ and he meant something like the whole of it.” In addition to Hecataeus, Horden and Purcell mention a fourth century BC poetic source: “here the coast-dwellers of the Mediterranean help the monster Geryon to make use of the whole sea as a great cauldron for boiling a fish the size of the island of Crete.” See Horden and Purcell, Corrupting Sea, 11. 4  Harris says, “Whatever it was called, it was the sea around which ‘we’ (an undefined ‘we’) live.” 5  Horden and Purcell, Corrupting Sea, 11. 6  Harris, “The Mediterranean,” 16.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi ��.��63/9789004347380_003

24

CHAPTER 1

According to the available evidence, the earliest unique appellation of the Mediterranean came with the Romans, who distinctively referred to it as Mare Nostrum. Only centuries after the Roman Empire emerged, with the widest empire along the Mediterranean coasts, the Latin sources, finally, began to utilize the term Mediterraneum Mare.7

The Mediterranean in Arabic

Yet if the etymology was easier to trace in late antiquity, the same could not be said about Islamic sources. Regardless of whether Muslim geographers viewed the Mediterranean as a unified body, the very question of Islamic etymology must be clearly addressed.8 Thus far, even this basic problem seems to have been overlooked in the few studies on Islamic geographic literature.9 Fortunately, the search engine on “alwaraq,” a website with the largest digital database of Islamic sources (in Arabic), including sources on geography between the first/seventh and the eleventh/seventeen centuries, facilitates a 7  Horden and Purcell, Corrupting Sea, 12: “This ever larger claim [Mare Nostrum] in the end weakened the relativism of earlier attitudes, and it was during the Roman Empire that the term ‘Mediterranean Sea’ itself emerged—first explicitly used, in surviving texts, as late as the sixth century of our era in the encyclopedic writings of Isidore of Seville.” See also Harris, “The Mediterranean,” 15, n. 43. Although Solinus (3rd century CE) and not Isidore of Seville seems to be the first to describe it as “mediterraneum,” the latter was “the first to convert the term ‘mediterranean’ into a proper name.” See J. K. Wright, The Geographical Lore of the Time of the Crusades (New York: Dover Publications, 1965), 307, and n. 259. 8  Horden and Purcell confuse the Islamic sources, as their notes are based only on Andre Miquel’s essay on the early medieval sources, which discuss two different levels: the awareness, though not unanimous, of the distinctiveness of the geographic space, and the actual etymological variations. After they trace the Latin invention of mediterraneum, they say, “This clear notion of the Mediterranean, part of the ‘scientific’ world-view of the time, is the one that persists in the learned traditions of the medieval European Mappae Mundi and of the Arab geographical writings, from one of which we have taken an epigraph. The Arab tradition portrayed the sea as poor, alien and uninviting, but by and large as a unity—a single sea, full of islands, whose integrity was maintained by its geographers despite obvious pressures to divide it conceptually between Islam and the rest of the world.” Horden and Purcell, Corrupting Sea, 12. 9  Kratchkovski’s and Miquel’s essential studies make only scattered remarks on the question, reflecting a general disinterest. Likewise, Douglas Dunlop’s entry (al-Baḥr al-Rūmī) in the Encyclopadia of Islam has very little to say about the etymological question. Finally, Karen Pinto, whose scholarship is most directly related to the question of the early medieval representation of the Mediterranean, does not touch on the etymological question.

Imagination and Myths

25

systematic approach. This statistical approach allows relatively accurate information, and provides a generally reliable and representative picture of the Arabic etymology describing the Mediterranean and its variability over time (Table 1.1).10 Throughout the medieval period, four Arabic toponyms were used to describe the Mediterranean as a whole. The first toponym, and the one that occurs most often, is without doubt Baḥr al-Rūm (with its variation al-Baḥr al-Rūmī), which is usually translated, inaccurately, as the “Sea of the Greeks” even though the word Rūm, as we see below, has other meanings. The second most commonly occurring toponym is Baḥr al-Shām (with its variation al-Baḥr al-Shāmī), that is, the “Sea of Greater Syria.” The third most commonly occurring toponym is Baḥr al-Maghrib (with its variation al-Baḥr al-Maghribī), or the “Sea of Western [Islam]” or the “Sea of North Africa.” The last, and least frequently occurring toponym, is al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ (lit., the Middle Sea); this is the only toponym that could be translated to the “Mediterranean Sea.” There are, however, at least three other toponyms used in the sources and not listed in the database of “alwaraq”; they are not as familiar as the previous four toponyms. A very rarely used toponym is Baḥr Mānṭiṣ, which was used by al-Marrākushī to describe the whole Mediterranean, but more often it is used to describe the Aegean Sea.11 The author of Gharāʾib al-funūn used alBaḥr al-Gharbī, which is the toponym of the Atlantic Ocean in some sources, as mentioned below.12 Finally, there is the toponym al-Baḥr al-Dabbūrī, which is named after what is believed to be the wind that originated from the west called al-dabbūr. It was used very rarely, but does appear in an early source,

10  Alwaraq.com, accessed 20 August 2016. While Alwaraq does not have every Islamic source or work on Islamic geographic literature, it has sufficient sources to give us a representative picture of each genre, as there are geographic sources from all periods and schools. Although the works of some notable geographers are absent, other sources that represent them. This is, for example, the case of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, which represents the same school as that of Ibn Ḥawqal, who produced Ṣūrat al-arḍ, which is absent from Alwaraq. 11  ʿAbd al-Wāḥid al-Marrākushī, al-Muʿjib fī talkhis akhbār al-maghrib (Beirut: Maktaba Asriyya, 2006), 13–14. 12  Where the Mediterranean is called “al-Baḥr al-Gharbī, which is al-Shāmī.” Anonymous, Gharāʿib al-funūn wa mulaḥ al-ʿuyūn, Bodleian Library, Ms. Arab. c. 90, fol. 30b (for more details on this manuscript, see in part 2).

al-Masʿūdī (d. 345/956), al-Tanbīh wa-l-ishrāf al-Iṣṭakhrī, al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

al-Masʿūdī (d. 345/956), Murūj al-dhahab

Two versions (in 310/930 and 340/951). Born in central Iran; traveled throughout Transaxonia, Iran, Syria, and Egypt.

Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (4), Baḥr al-Shām (3)

Written between 276 and 272/846 and 885. Originally Persian, but as a member of the Abbasid postal bureaucracy he was very familiar with travel throughout the eastern Islamic world. Born in Baghdad; traveled to Armenia, Khurasan, India, Syria, Egypt, and North Africa. He lived in Iraq. Lived and wrote 237–317/852–929, mainly in Raqqa where he worked as an astronomer. Written in the 330s/940s. Born in Baghdad, spent his last years between Syria and Egypt, and traveled to the west up to Spain and to the east up to China. See above.

Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (13), Baḥr al-Shām (1), Baḥr al-Maghrib (1) Baḥr al-Rūm (18)

Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (41), Baḥr al-Shām (4), Baḥr al-Maghrib (1),

Baḥr al-Rūm (1), Baḥr al-Shām (1) Baḥr al-Rūm (1)c

al-Baḥr al-Maliḥ (9), al-Baḥr al-Aʿḍam (2)b

Baḥr al-Shām (1)

He lived in Iraq.

al-Yaʿqūbī (d. not before 292/905), Kitāb al-buldān al-Ṭabarī (d. 310/923), Tārīkh al-rusul al-Battānī, Zīj

Baḥr al-Rūm (1)a Baḥr al-Rūm (1)

He lived in Iraq. He lived in Iraq.

Ibn Qutayba (d. 276/889), al-Maʿārif al-Balādhurī (d. ca. 284/892), Futuḥ al-buldān al-Balādhurī (d. ca. 284/892), Ansāb al-ashrāf Ibn Khurradādhbih, al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

Toponyms

Date and geographic context

Etymology of the Mediterranean (through Islamic sources from the third/ninth to the eleventh/seventeenth century)

Source

Table 1.1

26 CHAPTER 1

Ibn al-Athīr (d. 630/1233), al-Kāmil Ibn al-ʿAdīm (d. 660/1262 in Cairo), Bughyat al-ṭalab

Yāqūt al-Ḥamawī (d. 626/1229), Muʿjam al-buldān

Abū l-Faraj b. al-Jawzī (d. 597/1201), al-Muntaḍam al-Marrākushī, al-Muʿjib Work completed in 621/1224. He lived between Morocco and Spain. Written between 621/1224 and 625/1228. A freed Greek slave who lived between Iraq and Syria, he traveled as a merchant’s slave throughout the Indian Ocean. When he was freed he traveled to Egypt and throughout Asia. He lived mostly in Syria. He lived mostly in Egypt.

Born and lived in Marw (Persia). Born in Ceuta, educated in Cordoba, and traveled throughout the western Mediterranean. He lived in Egypt.

Written probably in the fourth/tenth century. Believed to have lived in Iraq. He was originally Persian, but he made a long trip to Syria and Egypt. Born in Balkh (Persia), he made a long trip to Syria and Egypt.

Ikhwān al-Ṣafā, Rasāʾil

al-Muqaddasī (d. ca. 390/1000), Aḥsan al-taqāsīm Nāṣir Khusraw (d. 481/1088), Safarnāma (originally in Persian but translated into Arabic) al-Samʿānī (d. 561/1166), Kitāb al-ansāb al-Idrīsī (d. 560/1165 in Sicily), Nuzhat al-mushtāq

Date and geographic context

Source

Baḥr al-Rūm (3), Baḥr al-Shām (2) Baḥr al-Rūm (10), Baḥr al-Shām and al-Baḥr al-Shāmī (16), Baḥr al-Maghrib (1)d

Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (25), Baḥr al-Shām and al-Baḥr al-Shāmī (46), Baḥr al-Maghrib and al-Baḥr al-Maghribī (16), al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ (2)

Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (5), Baḥr al-Shām and al-Baḥr a-Shāmī (8), Baḥr al-Maghrib (5) Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (14), Baḥr Mānṭiṣ (2)

Baḥr al-Rūm (10), Baḥr al-Shām (8), Baḥr al-Maghrib (2) Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (5), Baḥr al-Shām and al-Baḥr al-Shāmī (30)

Baḥr al-Rūm (3)

Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (13), Baḥr al-Shām (1)

Baḥr al-Rūm (5), Baḥr al-Maghrib (7)

Toponyms

Imagination and Myths

27

Ibn Khaldūn (d. 808/1406), Muqaddima and Tārikh al-Qalqashandī (d. 821/1418), Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā al-Maqrīzī (d. 845/1442), al-Mawāʿiḍ wa-l-iʿtibār al-Maqrīzī (d. 845/1442), al-Bayān wa-l-iʿrāb

al-Nuwayrī (d. 732/1333), Nihāyat al-arab al-ʿUmarī (d. 749/1349), Masālik al-abṣār

Abū l-Fidā (d. 732/1331), al-Mukhtaṣar fī akhbār al-bashar

He lived in Egypt.

He lived in Egypt.

He lived in Egypt.

He made the pilgrimage to Mecca more than once from his native Andalusia, passing by Egypt and Syria. He was born in Qazwin (Persia), traveled to Syria, and lived and died in Iraq. He lived in North Africa. He was still writing in 713/1313, and lived in North Africa. Written before 729/1329. He lived in Syria and traveled to Egypt frequently. He participated in a military campaign to Asia Minor. He lived most of his life in Egypt; traveled briefly to Syria. He lived between Syria and Egypt.

Ibn Saʿīd (d. 672/1274), Kitāb al-jughrāfiya

Zakariyyā al-Qazwīnī (d. 682/1283), Āthār al-bilād Ibn Manẓūr (d. 711/1311), Lisān al-ʿarab Ibn ʿIdhārī, al-Bayān al-mughrib

Date and geographic context

Etymology of the Mediterranean (cont.)

Source

Table 1.1

al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (2), al-Baḥr al-Shāmī (9), Baḥr al-Maghrib (1) Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (62), al-Baḥr al-Shāmī (4) Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (73), al-Baḥr al-Shāmī (10) Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (21), Baḥr al-Shām and al-Baḥr al-Shāmī (8), Baḥr al-Maghrib (2) al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ (1)

Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (16), Baḥr al-Shām (1)

Bāhr al-Rūm (4), Baḥr al-Shām and al-Baḥr al-Shāmī (7), Baḥr al-Maghrib (5), al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ (1) Baḥr al-Rūm (1), Baḥr al-Shām (1), Baḥr al-Maghrib (1) al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (2), al-Baḥr al-Shāmī (2), al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ (2) Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (7)

Baḥr al-Rūm (1), Baḥr al-Shām (1)

Toponyms

28 CHAPTER 1

Born and lived in North Africa.

Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (12), Baḥr al-Shām and al-Baḥr al-Shamī (9), Baḥr al-Maghrib (3) Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (5), Baḥr al-Maghrib (1), Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (13), Baḥr al-Shām and al-Baḥr al-Shāmī (27), Baḥr al-Maghrib and al-Baḥr al-Maghribī (2), al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ (1) Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī (8), al-Baḥr al-Shāmī (4), al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ (3)

Toponyms

a Number within parentheses equals occurrences within the source b Al-Yaʿqūbī’s knowledge of the seas is minimal to say the least; not only does he avoid naming actual seas by using generic terms such as “al-sawāḥil,” “sāḥil al-baḥr,” or simply “al-baḥr al-Māliḥ,” but also, he commits mistakes in the very few times he tries to name them. For instance, when he begins the section on Egypt he names the Mediterranean al-Baḥr al-Akhḍar, which was used by his contemporary Ibn Khurradādhbih and most Islamic geographers (following Greek legacy) to name the Atlantic Ocean. On the other hand, his use of al-Baḥr al-Aʾẓam, along with Ibn Khurradādhbih, shows the persistence of the Greek etymological tradition of the “Great Sea.” This is a toponym that seems to have been used for the Mediterranean in the early period (al-Yaʾqūbī and Ibn Khurradādhbih) but sometimes it was used for the Atlantic Ocean (Ikhwān al-Ṣafā). Increasingly it becomes a generic term, as used by Ibn Battūta when he called the Indian Ocean the “Great Sea,” since for the Mediterranean, that would look like a “Great Sea,” or Yāqūt, who used it interchangeably to describe the Mediterranean (when describing Tinnis lake) and to describe the Indian Ocean (when describing the Sea of Oman). In such cases, the “Great Sea” does not mean the greatest sea among seas but it means the space of the greater sea compared to adjacent water space, be it a lake or a small sea. Finally, there is the literal use of the “Great Sea,” meaning the greatest sea, which is the case with the western Muslim geographers like al-Idrīsī, al-Marrākushī, and al-Ḥimyarī, who consistently used it to describe the Atlantic Ocean. c  Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:107: Baḥr al-Rūm wa-Miṣr. d  One of the terms used by Ibn al-ʿAdīm is Baḥr Ifrīqiyya wa-l-Shām. e  It is very important to put Ibn al-Wardī in his context, not as a literary man, as Kratchkovski and others have downplayed his contribution, but as a Syrian from a territorial city like Aleppo during the late medieval Mamluk period. For Kratchkovski’s view on Ibn al-Wardī, see Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 2:500–504.

al-Muqrī (d. 1041/1632), Nafḥ al-ṭīb

He lived in Syria.e

Sirāj al-Dīn b. al-Wardī (d. ca. 749/1349), Kharīdat al-ʿajāʾib Ibn Taghrībirdī (d. 874/1470), al-Nujūm al-zāhira al-Ḥimyarī (d. 899/1494?), al-Rawḍ al-miʾṭār Completed in 871/1467. He lived mostly in Egypt. He lived between Spain and Morocco.

Date and geographic context

Source

Imagination and Myths

29

30

CHAPTER 1

namely Ibn al-Faqīh’s Kitāb al-Buldān (written around 288/901), which is not listed in the database of “alwaraq.”13 According to the above-mentioned sources, the earliest Arabic toponym describing the Mediterranean was Baḥr al-Rūm (and al-Baḥr al-Rūmī), where the earliest mention seems to have occurred during the third/ninth century. The second toponym, Baḥr al-Shām (and al-Baḥr al-Shāmī), seems to have appeared at almost the same time or after a short period. According to the sources listed in “alwaraq,” it seems that Baḥr al-Maghrib was first used by al-Masʿūdī in the middle of the fourth/tenth century. But its use appears to have begun earlier, in Ibn al-Faqīh’s Kitāb al-Buldān, where it appears in the same general sense as Baḥr al-Rūm.14 About the same period, Ibn Ḥawqal (d. 358–59/969), whose main work Ṣūrat al-arḍ (also not listed in the database of “alwaraq”) was among the first to use al-Baḥr al-Maghribī. Al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ, however, does not seem to have been used before Yāqūt al-Ḥamawī wrote his major work, Muʿjam al-buldān in the first quarter of the seventh/thirteenth century. With the exception of Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ, which were, from the start, used to describe the Mediterranean as a whole, the two other toponyms were used in the early, and in many cases throughout the medieval period, to describe only regional seas of the Mediterranean. In the first references to Baḥr al-Shām it is unclear whether a regional sea is meant, as is the case in the works of al-Balādhurī and al-Ṭabarī, who mention military campaigns on the Syrian coasts of the Mediterranean. Ibn Khurradādhbih, however, clearly describes the Byzantine Mediterranean coasts as Baḥr al-Shām, which indicates that he was applying this toponym to a space wider than the Syrian coast. Al-Masʿūdī uses it interchangeably with Baḥr al-Rūm, but he is not consistent; in other instances, he suggests a certain regionality (“Baḥr al-Rūm, which is Baḥr al-Shām and Egypt”). With al-Muqaddasī, we have the clearest indication that the “classical” geographers had begun to use Baḥr al-Shām as a toponym for the whole Mediterranean (“When God created Baḥr al-Shām …”). We must wait even longer to witness the metamorphosis of Baḥr al-Maghrib from a toponym of a regional sea in the western Islamic world to a description of the entire Mediterranean in mainstream geographic writings. During the early medieval period, in the majority of the Islamic sources Baḥr al-Maghrib meant the “Sea of Western [Islam]”; such is the case in the works of authors 13  Ibn al-Faqīh, Kitāb al-Buldān (Beirut: ʿĀlam al-Kutub, 1996), 63. In another location (p. 190), he explains the meaning of al-dabbūrī in a description of the land of the Rūm as “western dabbūriyya.” For the meaning of the wind of al-dabbūr in other sources, see, for example: al-Masʿūdī, Murūj al-dhahab, 2:169. 14  Ibn al-Faqīh, Kitāb al-Buldān, 63.

Imagination and Myths

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like al-Masʿūdī, al-Samʿānī, the Ikhwān al-Ṣafā, and Ibn al-Jawzī. In other instances, Ibn al-Jawzī used Baḥr al-Rūm to describe the whole Mediterranean. Ibn al-Faqīh and Ibn Ḥawqal seem to be rare examples among the early medieval sources who used it to describe the whole Mediterranean.15 Baḥr alMaghrib, however, probably became a mainstream toponym for the whole Mediterranean during the late medieval period, when authors like the seventh-/ thirteenth-century Yāqūt al-Ḥamawī titled chapters of their works “Baḥr alMaghrib, which is Baḥr [Sea of] al-Shām and Constantinople” instead of the usual encompassing toponym of Baḥr al-Rūm. It must be noted, however, that Baḥr al-Maghrib seems to have been used sporadically in early medieval sources that are not listed in the database of “alwaraq,” such as Ibn Rusta’s alAʿlāq al-nafīsa, completed around 300–01/913, and al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, completed in 449–50/1058; these authors used it in an entirely different sense, that is, as a toponym of the Atlantic Ocean.16 From this, we can note another pattern. In addition to the single toponyms describing the whole Mediterranean, there is another etymological formula in which the singularity of the sea is described by a composite noun that reflects, in effect, the small regional seas upon which the notion of the Mediterranean is constructed. Baḥr al-Rūm, in that case, was not used continuously and, at the same time, it was sometimes the toponym of only a small regional sea, that is, the Byzantines’ sea. Actually, Andre Miquel’s only remark on the etymology of the Mediterranean relates to this pattern.17 For instance, al-Masʾūdi talks about “Baḥr al-Rūm, which is Baḥr al-Shām and Egypt”; or longer “al-Baḥr alRūmī, which is the sea of the Rūm [Byzantines], al-Shām, Egypt, North Africa, Muslim Spain, Ifranja [Franks], Ṣaqāliba [Slavs], Rūmiyya [Romans], and other nations”; or specifying the eastern Mediterranean, he says “Baḥr al-Rūm, Ṭarsus, Adana, Maṣīṣa, Antioch, and Latakia.” In the beginning of the fourth/tenth century, Ibn Rusta talks about “Baḥr al-Rūm, Ifrīqiyya, and al-Shām.” Later in the medieval period, Ibn al-ʿAdīm calls the Mediterranean “Baḥr al-Rūm, Ifrīqiyya 15  Here Ibn Ḥawqal differs from al-Iṣṭakhrī. It is possible, however, that this was the result of errors during the copying process, especially given that we do not have autographed copies of Ṣūrat al-arḍ and in one copy, we do find Baḥr al-Rūm not Baḥr al-Maghrib. Abū l-Qāsim Muḥammad Ibn Ḥawqal, Ṣūrat al-arḍ, ed. J. H. Kramers and G. Wiet (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1938–), 60 and n. 2. 16  Aḥmad b. ʿUmar Ibn Rusta, al-Aʿlāq al-nafīsa (Leiden: Brill, 1960), 83 and 96–98; Abū ʿUbayd al-Bakrī, Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik (Beirut: Dār al-Gharb al-Islāmī, 1992), 1:186–187. Al-Bakrī seems to be quoting almost exactly the same paragraphs found in Ibn Rusta. 17  A.  Miquel, La Géographie Humaine du Monde Musulman jusqu’au Milieu de 11e siècle (Paris: La Haye, Mouton & Co., 1967), 2:532.

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[roughly modern Tunisia], al-Shām, and Egypt.” For Ibn al-Wardī, it is “Baḥr al-Maghrib, which is Baḥr al-Shām and Constantinople,” or a sea composed of two seas “Baḥr al-Rūm and al-Maghrib.”18 Another similar pattern includes more than one toponym, each one defining the other. Ibn al-Faqīh gives one of the earliest examples: “al-Baḥr al-Maghribī al-Dabbūrī al-Rūmī.”19 With Yāqūt, al-Qazwīnī, and Ibn ʿIdhārī the Mediterranean is named “al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ al-Shāmī,” which is emphasized by Yāqūt’s use of “al-Baḥr al-Rūmī, which is al-Shāmī, which is alMutawassiṭ.” For Ibn Khaldūn, “this sea is called al-Baḥr al-Rūmī and al-Shāmī.” For Ibn al-ʿAdīm, it is “al-Baḥr al-Shāmī known also as Baḥr al-Rūm.” Finally, for al-Ḥimyarī, it is “al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ, which is called al-Baḥr al-Rūmī.” The chronological frequency of the four toponyms varies. Baḥr al-Rūm is dominant overall and used by many medieval authors from the early medieval Ibn Khurrdādhbih to the early modern al-Muqrī, and including the late medieval al-Maqrīzī. But it seems to have been used more frequently in the early medieval period. On the other hand, Baḥr al-Shām was used increasingly toward the late medieval period, and is in some cases the main toponym of the Mediterranean, especially with the sixth-/twelfth-century authors from the western Islamic lands such as al-Idrīsī, and later with al-Ḥimyarī. In fact, the rise of the use of Baḥr al-Shām coincides with the rise of the geographers from the western Islamic lands beginning in the sixth/twelfth century. This is mirrored by a more frequent use of the toponym of Baḥr al-Maghrib by late medieval geographers from the eastern Islamic lands, such as Yāqūt al-Ḥamawī and al-Qazwīnī. This does not mean that late medieval geographers from the eastern Islamic lands used Baḥr al-Shām frequently. On the other hand, some geographers from the western Islamic lands did not use Baḥr al-Shām at all, or very little, compared to their use of the oldest toponym, Baḥr al-Rūm; this is the case with alMarrākushī and Ibn Khaldūn. The least frequently occurring toponym, al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ, is more common toward the early modern period with authors like al-Muqrī. Unlike the appellations of other seas (for example, Okeanos, which is rendered with an Arabic transliteration Uqiyānūs and/or an Arabic translation, 18  Ibn al-Wardī is the only author who confuses the Mediterranean’s frequent toponyms with that of other seas: Baḥr al-Rūm, which in this case is a designation of a regional sea, takes one of the attributions of the Atlantic Ocean (al-Bahr al-Akhḍar, lit., “the Green Sea”). Meanwhile Baḥr al-Maghrib is given another sea’s attribution, that is, al-Baḥr alAswad (“the Black Sea”). 19  Ibn al-Faqīh, Kitāb al-Buldān, 63.

Imagination and Myths

33

al-Muḥīṭ to describe the Atlantic Ocean) the Islamic sources never transcribed the ancient toponym of Mediterraneum and rarely adopted its Arabic translation (al-Baḥr al-Mutwassiṭ); this did not occur until the late medieval period. There are only a few cases in which generic terms are used to describe it; this is, notably, the case of al-Yaʿqūbī’s Kitāb al-Buldān, in which he distinguishes all seas and especially the Mediterranean from the “sweet waters” by calling them merely al-Baḥr al-Māliḥ (“the salty sea”). In conclusion, the Islamic sources developed early generic perceptions of the Mediterranean that were somewhat distinctive from the antique tradition, and point to a distinctive consciousness of the Mediterranean. The major toponym, Baḥr al-Rūm, has some precedents in the late antique literature, notably in a sixth century CE Greek source by the Alexandrian monk Cosmas Indicopleustes, The Christian Topography and its mappae mundi; in it he clearly uses a “Roman Gulf” to describe the whole Mediterranean. The Baḥr al-Shām and Baḥr al-Maghrib, however, have no precedents. In contemporary early European medieval texts, such consistency and consciousness of the Mediterranean seems to be absent. Notably, one of the most detailed descriptions of the Mediterranean in medieval European geographic works, Plato of Tivoli’s twelfth-century translation of al-Battānī’s Zīj, uses the Latin translation of the Arabic word for Mediterranean (Baḥr al-Rūm), that is, the “Roman Sea.” In fact, the medieval Europeans’ toponyms for the Mediterranean did not preserve the spirit of some late antique sources that used specific toponyms, and pursued instead generic toponyms, such as mare nostrum or mare magnum. Isidore of Seville’s Mediterraneum Mare was used in only a few sources, such as the seventh-/thirteenth-century Otia Imperialia by Gervase of Tillbury and the ninth-/fifteenth-century De imagine Mundi. Sometimes, however, mediterraneum mare was used to describe the Atlantic Ocean.20

Defining Baḥr al-Rūm

The most obvious Islamic definition of the Mediterranean is embedded in the etymology that we have just surveyed. If we were to take as an example the nature of the major attribution, that is, Baḥr al-Rūm, it is easy to see that its generic meaning is not clear: Is it an attribution signaling some kind of appropriation? Could this have meant the Sea of the Rūm? Here it is necessary to try to establish the most appropriate definition of the word Rūm from the perspective of early geographic literature. As noted, conventionally it is equated 20  Wright, Geographical Lore, 307 and nn. 260 and 261.

34

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with the “Greeks” or the “Byzantines.”21 Yet many indications, especially those related to the descriptions of Baḥr al-Rūm, point to a much larger space. But the meaning of Rūm when it is combined with “sea” is not necessarily the same as it is when it relates to “land.” Recently, some scholars have argued that the meaning of “land of Rūm” evolved over time, but it always referred, exclusively, to the non-Muslim inhabitants of the Mediterranean.22 Although arḍ al-Rūm (the land of the Rūm) is described in relation to Baḥr al-Rūm, their meanings frequently differ from each other. In al-Iṣṭakhrī’s al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, we read that “north of North Africa (al-Maghrib) is in the Mediterranean (Baḥr al-Rūm) after which there is the Land of the Rūm (arḍ al-Rūm).”23 In Ibn Ḥawqal’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ, we find the clearest statement from an early Muslim geographer about a large sense of arḍ al-Rūm. As for the frontier (ḥadd) of the country (balad) of Rūm: its eastern countries [are] conjoined and what is added to them and [by] their rulers over time is what confronts the frontier line of al-Shām and al-Jazīra (northern Iraq) to the end of the frontiers of Armenia; its northern [frontier] is the areas of al-Bijnākiyya (Patchinaks/Pechnegs?),24 Bashjart, and some of the country of the Slavs; in its western [frontier] some of the Atlantic Ocean and what is bordering [the territories of] the Gaulles (Jalīqiya), the 21  See D. M. Dunlop, “al-Baḥr al-Rūm,” EI2, 1:934–936 (Leiden: Brill, 1960); Nadia El-Cheikh and C. E. Bosworth, “Rūm,” EI2, 8:601–606 (Leiden: Brill, 1995). 22  See K. Durak, “Who are the Romans? The Definition of Bilād al-Rūm (Land of the Romans) in Medieval Islamic Geographies,” Journal of Intercultural Studies 31, no. 3 (2010): 285–298. The author concludes, “My research has shown that the terms ‘Roman’ and ‘the Land of Romans’ correspond to the Byzantine Empire in the earlier geographies, while the writers of later geographies began to use the terms to define the Christian north in general, including Byzantium” (p. 287). Here the author does not seem to see that the word Rūm changed in meaning over time, even when it is related to “sea.” In this case, the word “Rūm” is used by most Muslim geographers to refer to the whole Mediterranean, not only its non-Islamic coasts. 23  Abū Isḥāq al-Iṣṭakhrī, al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, ed. de Goeje (Leiden: Brill, 1870), 12. My translation. 24  The definition of al-Bijnākiyya is not given by Ibn Ḥawqal, but al-Iṣṭakhrī defines them as a group of Turks who live between the Caspian Sea and the land of the Rūm; this would point to the Pechenegs, a group of Turkic tribes inhabiting the Pontic Steppe prior to the coming of the Qipchaqs.

� �‫ ف����� �ص�ا ا ف�� ���م�ا ��� ن ا �ل‬،‫���ق�د ا ن����ق����ط����ع� ت� ط�ا ئ�������ف��ة �م� ن ال�أ ��ت� ا ك �ع� ن �لا د ���ه��م‬ ‫��خ� ز� ر وا �لر و�م ي������ق�ا ل ��ل���ه��م‬ ‫و‬ �‫أر و �ي بي‬ ‫�ب‬ ‫� ر‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ق‬ ‫غ‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ض‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن‬ � � � � � � � � ‫ال‬ .‫ و ����م�ا ا ���ا ب�و���ه�ا �����ل�بوا ع��ل��ي ���ه�ا‬،‫ و ل�����ي��س مو����ع���ه��م ��ب�د ا ر �ل���ه��م ��ع��لى �د ��ي��م � ��ي�ا �م‬، ��‫ا �ل ب���� ج ���ا �ك����ي‬ ‫�إ‬

Al-Iṣṭakhrī, al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 10.

Imagination and Myths

35

Land of the Franks (Ifranja), the Iberian Peninsula (Jazīrat al-Andalus), and some of the Sea of Maghrib; its southern [frontier] is the rest of the Sea of Maghrib, and some of the coasts of Egypt and al-Shām.25 Clearly the latter attribution is not meant to refer specifically to Byzantine territory, and it is even less likely that it refers to the Greeks, but rather it denotes the whole of the European lands along the northern coasts of the Mediterranean. Such generic concepts persisted throughout the medieval period. We find it in the ninth/fifteenth century in Ibn al-Wardī’s Kharīdat alʿajāʾib, where we have one of its clearest definitions: “As for the Land of the Rūm (arḍ al-Rūm): its frontier is from the Atlantic Ocean to the countries of al-Jalāliqa (Gaul), Ifranja (Land of the Franks), Rūmiyya (Rome), and Ashīnās (Athens) to Constantinople.”26 The word Rūm had more than one meaning, and this meaning varied, especially in relation to the variations of the meaning of Baḥr al-Rūm. Thus, it would seem that whenever Baḥr al-Rūm is thought of as a regional sea, that is the “Byzantine/Greek Sea,” the word Rūm meant, specifically, the Land of the Byzantines/Greeks; but whenever it was thought of as the Mediterranean, then the word Rūm meant, roughly, Europe. In only a few sources, however, do we find variations of the word “Europe” used to describe the area of Europe. In the early sources, Ibn Khurradādhbih and Ibn al-Faqīh used the word Rūm to describe Greece and the word Arūfā to describe the territories of “al-Andalus, [of] the Slavs, the Rūm, and the Franks.” In the late medieval sources, we find Ūrfā in Yāqūt al-Ḥamawī.27 Europe, in the minds of the early geographers and cartographers, seems to have been perceived mainly as a political entity rather than a geographic sphere. As Ducène points out, the main contributions to emphasize this political

‫أ‬ ‫�� ن � � ق‬ � ‫� ض‬ ‫�ن‬ �‫��م�����ا �ف��ة ���ع��لى ���مر‬ ‫م����ش�ا ر � ب��ل�د ا � ���ه��م ا �ل���م���ض‬ �‫�� ���مو���م��ة ا ��ل��ي ���ه��م و ا ل‬ � ‫و � ���م�ا ��ح�د ب��ل�د ا �لر و�م ف��إ‬ ‫آ‬ ‫ال�أ ��ق�ا ت‬ ‫ن ن‬ ‫ح���ي��ة ا � ث�ل� غ�� ا � ش‬ � ‫� ا لى �م��ت���م��ل‬ ‫ل����ا �م����ي��ة و ا ج�ل� ز� ر ��ي��ة ا لى � ���خ�ر ��ح�د ود‬ ‫ور‬ ‫و‬ � � ‫�ك��ي ���ه��م ���م�ا وا ���ج�ه �م�� �ا‬ ‫آ‬ ‫�ن‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ة‬ ‫�ع�� � ا د ا �ل�� قص���ا �ل���ب��ة �م�� � ��ه�ا ����ع��ض‬ ‫����ي��ة � ش�������ج� ت ��� ض‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ش‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ � ‫� ر �مي�������ي�� و ������م�ا ��ل���ه�ا �م�� �ا‬ � ‫ح����ي�� ا �ل ب���� ج����ا �ك� و بن � ر� و ب �أ بل � � و غر �ب � ب‬ � ‫ن ز ة‬ ‫ض‬ ‫ق‬ � �‫�ع�� ��ح� ا �ل‬ ���‫ا �ل ب������ح�ر ا �ل���م‬ �‫��م���غ�ر ب‬ ‫ح����ي�ط و ���م�ا ��ح�ا د ج���يل�������ي�ه و ا �فر ���ج�ه �م�� ج����ي�ر� ال� �ن�د �ل��س و ب��� � ب ر‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ض‬ ‫ق‬ � ‫ن‬ � � ‫��ح� ا �ل���م���غ� � ����ع�� ���س�ا ح� ا‬ � .‫�� �ص�ر‬ ��‫ل����ش�ا �م و �م‬ � ‫رب وب‬ ‫و ج���وب���ي ���ه��م ب���������ي�� ب ر‬ ‫ل‬

25  Ibn Ḥawqal, Ṣūrat al-arḍ, 199–200:

26  Ibn al-Wardī, Kharīdat al-ʿajāʾib, online: http://www.alwaraq.net/Core/AlwaraqSrv/book page?book=337&session=ABBBVFAGFGFHAAWER&fkey=2&page=1&option=1, 3. 27  Yāqūt al-Ḥamawī, Muʿjam al-buldan (Beirut: Dār Ṣādir, 1977), 1:54.

36

CHAPTER 1

view include geographers who traveled, such as Ibn Ḥawqal, and others like alIdrīsī, who effectively used a variety of especially European sources.28 The etymological form, according to which Baḥr al-Rūm is presented as a regional sea of the Byzantines/Greeks, usually appears when Muslim authors use a composite toponym of a series of seas to emphasize the eastern Mediterranean, as we have seen above: Baḥr al-Rūm, Tarsus, Adana, Maṣīṣa, Antioch, and Latakia. In cases where it is used as a toponym of the Mediterranean as a whole, it becomes much more difficult to ascribe it to a specific space, even that of Europe. On one hand, for many late medieval authors the meaning of Baḥr al-Rūm seems obvious; when Ibn Khaldūn thought retrospectively about it, he suggested that Baḥr al-Rūm was so called because it was dominated by the Rūm’s (the Europeans) crafty marine knowledge, as opposed to the Arabs, who are described here as simply too frightened of the sea to engage with it, with the exception of Maghribi Muslims, and then only out of necessity.29 He also emphasized the Europeans’ conquest of the Mediterranean islands during his time as a major indication of their appropriation of the sea.30 On the other hand, among those who first used the toponym of Baḥr al-Rūm are the Muslim geographers who established the main structures of early geographic literature, namely the “classical school,” also known as “al-Balkhī School.” With the exception of al-Muqaddasī’s conflicting view,31 28  Jean-Charles Ducène, “L’Europe dans la cartographie arabe médiévale,” Belgeo: Revue belge de géographie nos. 3–4 (2008), 251–267. 29  Ibn Khaldūn, Tārīkh: Dīwān al-Mubtada‌ʾ wa-l-khabar fī tarikh al-ʿArab wa-l-Barbar wa-fī man ʿasarahom min dhawi al-shaʿn al-akbar (Beirut: Dār al-Fikr, 2000), 1:313. 30  Ibid., 2:278:

‫���ة ا �ل �م ���ق�د ا ن���ت �����ش� ت‬ ‫ � ن ت‬،�‫�ل���م�ا ��ج�ا ء ا �ل�ل�ه �ب�ا ل� ��س�لا �م ���غ�ل�� د �����ن�ه ���ع��ل ال�أ د �ي�ا ن‬ � ‫كا �� ���م��م��ل �ك ر و‬ ‫� و‬ � ‫و‬ ‫و ب ي‬ ‫� إ‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ى‬ ‫أ أ‬ � ‫ة‬ � ‫ز‬ ‫ن‬ ‫��ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن‬ � � ‫ل‬ � � � � � � � ‫م‬ � ‫ل‬ � ‫ك��ل���ه�ا‬ � ��‫ ف�ا ���ت�عوا م� ���ه��م � و ل � �مر���ه��م ع�د و �ت�ه ا ج ��وب�����ي‬،‫ح������ف�ا ف�ي ا ل ب���� �ح�ر ا لر و �ي �م�� ع�د و �����ي�ه‬ ‫ف�ي‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ � � �‫ل����ش�ا �م �م���� �ص� � � ���ق�����ي��ة ا �ل‬ � � ‫�م� ن ا‬ ‫ك��ل���ه�ا‬ ‫ و� ���ج�ا ز� وا �م� ن� ���خ�ل��ي��ج ط ن���� ���ج��ة �ف��م��ل ك‬،�‫��م���غ�ر ب‬ � ‫�وا ال� �ن�د �ل��س‬ ‫و‬ ‫و‬ ‫و‬ � � ‫ر �فري ة� ض ف أ‬ ‫�إل �غ � �� أ ن‬ ‫�م� ن �ي�د ا �ل��ق‬ ‫��ك��ه��م ����ع�د الا ن� �ت‬ � ‫ل‬ ‫ا‬ � � � � ‫ا‬ � ‫ا‬ ‫ء‬ � � � ‫�ل‬ � ‫م‬ � � � � ‫ل‬ � � ‫�ه‬ �� � ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫�ع‬ ، �� � �� � � ‫ل‬ �� � ��� � �� � � � � � ‫ط‬ ‫م‬ ‫ش‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ه‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ك‬ � ‫م‬ ‫ل‬ � � � ‫و و ج‬ ‫و‬ ‫� ى ي‬ �� ‫ر رو و � ب‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ن� ا �ت�خ �ن‬ � ‫ ��ث� � �ش� ����غ� الا � ن��ج��ة ����م�ا د �ه��م��ه� �م� ن ا � �ل���غ� � ال�أ ��ن�د �ل�� ا �ل� ز ا‬.‫�أ ���م��ة‬ � � � � � � � ‫��م‬ � ‫ا‬ � ‫م‬ � ، � � ‫ه‬ ‫ئ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ك‬ � �� ‫و ي �ي و � �م‬ ‫�م ل فر � ب‬ ‫� �مأ � ر ب� ف�ي‬ ‫س � و ج � �نر ب أ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ � ‫ن‬ � � � � � � ‫ل‬ � ‫ وع ����ب�د‬،‫و ��ي�ر د د و � ا �ل���صوا ���ئ� �إلى ب���س�ا �ئ���ط���ه��م � ��ي�ا �م ع ����ب�د ا لر �ح��م�� ا ل�د ا �خ�ل و ب������ي�ه ب�ا � �ن�د ل��س‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�ن‬ ‫� ا ع��ل��ي ��ه� � ز ا ��ئ� ا �ل������ح� ا �ل م ا �ت ن� ت � ��ه� قص���ل���ي��ة‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ا �ل�ل�ه ا � ش‬ � ��‫ و���م��ل كو � �م ج � ر ب ر ر و �ي �ل‬.��‫ل�����ي���ع�ي و ب������ي�ه ب�ا ل� �فر�ي��ق������ي‬ � � ‫كا � �ل� �م‬ ‫ي‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�م�� ���ق��ة د ا ن����ي��ة خ� ا ��ت ��ه�ا �إل � ن� ف� �����ش� ي� ا �ل�د �ل����ت�� ن‬ �����‫ و ض������عف� ���م�ل�ك ا �ل���ع�ر ب� ���ف�ا ����ست�� ف‬،�‫ي‬ ‫ل رح و‬ ‫و يو ر و � و�إ و � ى‬ ‫ح�ل‬ ً ‫ن ة‬ ‫��ه ا �ل���م��س�ل�مو ن� �إ لا ق��ل����ي�لا ب�����سي�� ف� ا �ل ب������ح�ر ا �لر و �يم‬ ‫ وا ���ست��ر ج���عوا ���م�ا ���م��ل �ك‬،‫الإ� �فر ���ج�� و ر ج������ع� ت� ��ل���ه��م‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ض‬ ‫�� ة‬ ‫ة‬ .‫ك��ل���ه�ا‬ ‫�م�������ض�ا ئ� ق� ا �ل���ع�ر�� �ف�ي طو ل � ر ���ب‬ � ‫ وا ����ست��و �لوا ���ع��لى ج� ز�ا ��ئ�ر ا �ل ب������ح�ر‬،��‫ع����ش�ر� �مر��ح�ل‬ ‫ع‬

31  Al-Muqaddasī is another geographer usually linked to the “classical school”; he gives a conflicting view of the Mediterranean. Not only does he not follow the same divisions as

Imagination and Myths

37

they described only the administrative and/or geographic regions (iqlīm, pl. aqālīm) of the mamlakat al-Islām (the kingdom of Islam), and included a detailed description of the Mediterranean as a distinctive iqlīm; thus, they challenged its appropriation by the Rūm.32 Al-Iṣṭakhrī included it clearly as a distinctive region (iqlīm) in his “twenty Islamic regions”; it was like the region of the Persian Sea (i.e., the Indian Ocean), the iqlīm of Baḥr Fāris. This was also the way it was described in Ibn Ḥawqal’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ. Here Baḥr al-Rūm is not only treated in the familiar introductory section in geographic literature, which usually included a chapter on al-Biḥār (the “Seas”), but it is also included in a special section in the main body of the work as a land region of the mamlakat al-Islām. Sometimes, however, the early sources, especially those of the “classical school,” seem hesitant to include Baḥr al-Rūm in its vision of mamlakat al-Islām. In one significant quotation, al-Iṣṭakhrī prefers not to consider the length of North Africa and Muslim Spain when counting “the length [of the space] of Islam” (ṭūl al-Islām) because, unlike the rest of the Islamic realm, they are surrounded by non-Muslim spaces, like “the wrist in a cloak.” He includes among such examples the Land of North Africa (al-Maghrib), which is bordered to the north by both Baḥr al-Rūm and arḍ al-Rūm and to the south by sub-Saharan Africa (Bilād al-Sūdān).33 Still, it is difficult to explain why the geographers of the “classical school” used a non-Islamic attribution for a sea that they often, with only a few exceptions, considered part of mamlakat al-Islām. The most probable explanation of this paradox is that such an attribution was not a sign of appropriation, but a marker of geopolitical and/or ethnocultural boundaries. These eastern Islamic writers seemed to see the Mediterranean as a frontier line between the Islamic Mediterranean territories, including the farthest Islamic lands in the western we find in other discussions of the mamlakat al-Islām, but he also talks about the Rūm as being “dominant” in the Mediterranean. At the same time, he also talks about the Andalusians and Sicilians, presumably some of whom were Muslim, as being among the “best experts” in sailing the Mediterranean. See al-Muqaddasī, Aḥsan al-taqāsīm, 15. My translation. 32  On the various definitions of iqlīm, see A. Miquel, “Iḳlīm,” EI2, 3:1076–1078 (Leiden: Brill, 1971). 33  Al-Iṣṭakhrī, al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 11–12:

‫ن ت ن أ‬ ‫أن‬ ‫أ �ن ث‬ � ‫كا � ن� ن��ذ ك‬ �� ‫و�إ����م�ا �ر‬ ‫ ل� � �ه�ا �م���ل‬،‫�ر ف�ي طو ل الإ� ��س�لا �م ح�د ا �ل���م��غر ب�أ �إلى ال� ��د �ل��س‬ ‫�إ�ذ‬ ‫ز‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن‬ � � � ‫ا‬ � � � � ‫ ل� ��ك ا ج��ا و � ث� أ�م���صر ف�ي‬،‫و �ل��ي��س ف�ي ��شر ق�ي ا ل���م��غر ب� و لا ف�ي غرب���ي �ه�ا �إ ��س�ل �م‬ ‫ض‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ��‫ �ل ص��ل‬،‫ �ش�����م�ا ا �ل���م�� � � ا �ل �م � � ا �ل �م‬، ‫كا � ج� ن��و �ب�ي ا �ل���م��غر ب� ب�لا د ا �ل��سود ا‬ � ‫فر�غ � و أ ض ل أ غر ب بحر نر و �مة ر � ر و و و � ح‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ث‬ ‫ث‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ئ‬ ‫ن‬ �‫� ن� ي ج���ع�ل طو ل الإ� ��س�لا �م �م�� � �ا ��� �إلى � ر�� ال� ��د �ل��س �ل ك‬ .‫��ا � �م��س��ير� �لا ����م�ا ��� و�ع���شر �مرا ح�ل‬

�‫ا �ل ك‬ ،�‫�م �ف�ي ا � ث�ل�و ب‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ض‬ �‫� ر�� ا �ل���م��غر ب‬

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Mediterranean, and the lands of the Rūm. Thus, al-Maghrib and al-Shām are usually portrayed as thughūr (lines of defense) areas; the descriptions of their coasts are filled with fortifications (ḥuṣūn and ribāṭāt) rather than ports (marsā, pl. marāsī). Therefore, Baḥr al-Rūm seems to refer to something like the sea beyond which one would find the land of the Rūm. The pattern seems to characterize the perception of seas in general. The same could be said about the Khalīj Fāris (Persian Gulf), Baḥr al-Hind (Indian Sea), Baḥr al-Ṣīn (Chinese Sea), and Baḥr al-Khazar (Caspian Sea). The idea was that seas in general, and not only the Mediterranean, were frontier regions like mountains or rivers. According to Brauer’s essay on boundaries in Islamic geographic sources: Sea frontiers, unlike most other kinds, were recognized as sharply defined borders. For this reason the experience of travelers arriving by ship provide an appropriate basis for comparison with experiences associated with the crossing of zone type boundaries on land. Cargo and passengers carried on ships entering port from stations outside the jurisdiction of a given ruler were inevitably assuming to be coming from abroad … By contrast, I have encountered no reports of this kind of border control in connection with overland travel anywhere within the Islamic realm.34 In fact, we can find such pattern of maritime border control specifically in connection with the Mediterranean in al-Makhzūmī’s (d. 585/1189) al-Minhāj fī ʿilm kharāj Miṣr, where he talks about the task of kātib al-ward (the secretary of incoming cargos) in Alexandria’s port; this person must identify the ships of the “Rūm” and determine which country (bilād) each one came from.35 The idea of the sea, however, seems to be associated not only with the notion of the frontier, but also with the concept of routes and itineraries, that is, the sea was seen as a traveling corridor. From this perspective, a frontier region necessarily involves the meaning, or the possibility, of a passage. The anecdote, repeatedly related by Muslim geographers, of the Abbasid caliph Hārūn al-Rashīd’s (d. 193/809) project to open the Mediterranean to Baḥr al-Qulzum 34  R. W.  Brauer, Boundaries and Frontiers in Medieval Muslim Geography (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1995), 33–34 and n. 56. Brauer adds that “only where the Islamic lands are divided by a sea can the realm be conceived of as divided into two (or more) political communities the rulers of which are independent of each other though they owe ultimately subservience to the Imam” (p. 40). 35  Abū l-Ḥasan ʿAlī l-Makhzūmī, al-Muntaqā min al-minhāj fī ʿilm kharāj Miṣr (Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 1986), 46.

Imagination and Myths

39

(the Red Sea) shows his belief that the Mediterranean functioned as a frontier/ passage. The anecdote relates that for Hārūn’s advisers, such a project would have been a strategic mistake, since it would give the Rūm’s ships access to the holiest Muslim places in Mecca and Medina. Hārūn thus renounced the idea.36 None of these seas—unlike Baḥr Fāris, whose “tongue” is the Red Sea, and which are both exclusively Muslim seas—is described as the Muslims’ or the Arabs’ sea. Even the Persians, who had adopted Islam, considered “their sea” according to ethnic and not religious identity. In this manner, seas were not spaces of the “religious-other,” that is the “non-Muslim.” Rather, the various seas were named based on the ethnicity of the populations surrounding the core of the Islamic world, that is the Arabian Peninsula. It is significant to note that according to the geographers of the “classical school,” the frontier marked by Baḥr al-Rūm is ethnic more than religious. Just as they emphasized a vertical antagonism (north vs. south), they also emphasized a horizontal antagonism (east vs. west). Accordingly, the Rūm were not described as Christians as much as they were “white men.” This is, for example, how al-Iṣṭakhrī notably describes such an ethnic frontier: As for those living in the eastern part [meaning southeast] of the Mediterranean (Baḥr al-Rūm) along the coast, they have brown [skin] (taʿlūhum sumra), and they become darker the farther they are located to the east or to the south until they reach the territories of Sūdān (subSaharan Africa), where the darkest of nations [lives]. As for those living in the western part [meaning the northwest] of the Mediterranean from Muslim Spain (al-Andalus) they have white [skin] and blue [eyes] (bīẓ zurq), and the farther they are located to the west or to the north they become whiter throughout all the territories of the Rūm, up to those beyond the land of the Slavs (al-Ṣaqāliba); the farther [east they live, ] their [skin] becomes whiter, their [eyes] bluer, and their hair redder.37

36  Al-Masʿūdī, Murūj al-dhahab, 272–273. 37  Al-Iṣṭakhrī, al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 44. My translation:

‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ة‬ � � ‫���م�ا‬ ‫ وك�ل���م�ا ت�ب��ا ���ع�د ا �� ���م�ا ��ل‬،�‫كا � �م���ن ���ه�ا �ف�ي ���شر �ق�ي ب��ح�ر ا �لر و�م ب������ق�ر ب� ا �ل���س�ا ح�ل �ت���ع��لو���ه��م ���س��مر‬ ‫و �ي أ � ي�ي‬ ‫�ن‬ ‫ق‬ � ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ز‬ ‫�ت‬ � � ‫�و � ا �ل���ن�ا ��س �ب� ���ه�ا � ����ش�د‬ ‫ ���في�� ك‬،� ‫ ���ح�تى ي����هوا �إلى ب��ل�د ا �ل��سود ا‬،‫ا �جل� ن��و ب� وا �ل���م����ش�ر � ا � د ا د وا ��سوا د ا‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫كا ن � � � ��ح� ا �ل �م �ا ل�أ ��ن�د �ل�� ف�����ه� ��� ض‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ وك�ل���م�ا ا ز� د ا د وا‬،� ‫�ي��� ز� ر‬ ‫ و�م�� � � ف�ي غر ب�ي ب ر ر و ب‬،‫ال� ���م��م ��سوا د ا‬ � ‫س � �م ب‬ ‫ض‬ ‫ز‬ � � ‫ت‬ ‫ش‬ ‫ ���ح�تى ي����ق�����طع ���ع�ر�� ا �لر و�مك�ل�ه �إلى‬،‫و�ب��ا ���ع�د وا �إلى ���م�ا ��لي�ي ا �ل���م���غ�ر ب� وا �ل������م�ا ل ا � د ا د وا ب�ي��ا ����ض�ا‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ز �ة‬ ‫ز‬ ‫ ف� ك� ز‬،‫�ظ� ��ه� ا �ل�� قص���ا �ل���ب��ة‬ � .‫��ل���م�ا ا � د ا د وا وت�ب��ا ���ع�د وا ا � د ا د وا ب�ي��ا ����ض�ا و � ر ��ق�� و��ح��مر� � �ش� ���ع�ر‬ � � ‫�ر‬

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In the late medieval period the same pattern persists. But in the case of the Mediterranean and with the increasing use of Baḥr al-Shām and Baḥr alMaghrib along with Baḥr al-Rūm, the sea is viewed as a frontier in relation to the populations living on its coasts. Al-Qalqashandī gives us a clear example of how the Mediterranean was attributed to the peoples living in its coastal areas. Thus, he explains the two major toponyms Baḥr al-Rūm and Baḥr alShām: “Baḥr al-Rūm, also known as al-Baḥr al-Rūmī, was attributed to the Rūm because their nations live to its north. It could be called al-Baḥr al-Shāmī too because of the Shām’s coasts [are] in its eastern part.”38 At this point, the ethnic frontier 0f the sea is no longer represented by the population living beyond mamlakat al-Islām. In addition to a sea that was usually seen as the frontier/passage between Muslims and Europeans, it came to be seen, increasingly, as a sea represented by three territories along its coasts: The Levant, North Africa, and Europe. The notion of a bi-ethnic-cultural frontier/passage between two major spaces seems to fade with the dissolution of the polity of an Islamic Empire (mamalakat al-Islām) throughout the late medieval period. Meanwhile we begin to see a multi-ethnic and multi-cultural frontier/passage among the three regions. The Mediterranean could no longer be perceived only as the sea beyond which Muslims would find the Rūm, or through which Muslims could visit/raid the Rūm, or be visited/raided by the Rūm. By the late medieval period, in Islamic narratives the Mediterranean had become a sea no longer recognizable through a single self-perception. Such an etymological-representational switch occurred roughly in the period that Andre Miquel brilliantly marks the transformation of Islamic geographic literature from an imperial to a local view.39 38  Abū l-ʿAbbās al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-aʿshā (Cairo: Dār al-Kutub al-Khidwiyya, 1913), 3:234:

‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ �‫و�هو ب‬ �����‫ و�ي���ع��بر �ع ����ن�ه ��ب�ا �ل ب‬،‫�� ي�� ف� �إلى ا �لر و�م �ل��س�ك�نى � �م����م���ه��م ع�ل����ي�ه �م� ن� �ش�����م�ا �ل����ي�ه‬ ‫��ح�ر ا �لر و�م و� �ض‬ ‫حر‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ق‬ � � ‫ �ل ق� ��س ا ��ح� ا‬، ‫ل����ش�ا م‬ � �����‫ ���ق�د ����ع�� �ع ����ن�ه �ب�ا �ل‬،‫ا �ل م � �ي�������ًض�ا‬ . ‫ل����ش�ا �م ع�ل����ي�ه �م� ن� ���شر�����ي�ه‬ ‫و ي بر‬ ‫� ب‬ ‫حر ا � �ي و وع و ل‬ ‫ر و �ي‬

Ibn Kathīr offers another late medieval continuation of the paradigm according to which the seas are attributed to the countries and populations living on their; he states,

‫ف‬ ‫خ‬ ‫�ذ‬ � �‫�� ن ي����س��م ب‬ � .‫ ��ف��م� ن� �ل�ك ب��ح�ر ا �ل������ق�ل ز� �م‬.‫ح����س� ب� ا �ل ����ب�لا د ا �ل���مت���ا ����م��ة �ل�ه‬ ‫ و �ل ك‬،‫��م���ن ���ه�ا ���م�ا �هو وا ��ح�د‬ � ‫ى‬ � ‫�ل� ز ة‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ن أ ة‬ ‫� ز‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ وب��ح�ر‬،‫ وب��ح�ر و ر ��ك‬،� ‫ وب��ح�ر ا ��خ�� ر‬،‫ وب��ح�ر ��ف�ا ر��س‬.��‫ �قري� ب� �م�� �ي��ل‬،‫ �قر��ي�� ���ع��لى ���س�ا ح�ل�ه‬:‫وا �ل�����ق�ل� �م‬ ً �‫� أ‬ ‫أز ق‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫� ق‬ ‫ش‬ �‫ وي��ت������ض�ا �ي‬،‫ و�هو ب��ح�ر ا �ل�����ق�ر�م � �ي������ض�ا‬.‫ �م�د ي����ن�� ���ع��لى ���س�ا ح�ل�ه‬،� ‫ وب��ح�ر ال� � ر‬،���‫ وب��ح�ر ب��ن�����ط‬،‫ا �لر و�م‬ ‫ �ه ���خ�ل���� ا �ل��ق�� ط �ن ة‬،‫ �ع ����ن�د � ن�� � ا �ل��ق�� ط ط����ن���ي��ة‬،‫�� � � ��ص� � ��ح� ا �ل �م‬ . ��‫طي�������ي‬ ��‫ج و ب�ي ��س�� ��ن�� ي � و و ي ج ��س�� ��ن‬ ‫�ح�تى ي��� ب� ف�ي ب ر ر و‬ �

 Ibn Kathīr, al-Bidāya wa-l-nihāya (Damascus: Dār Ibn Kathīr, Damascus, n.d.), 1:46. 39  See, for example, Miquel, La Géographie, 1:xi.

Imagination and Myths

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Only then would the Mediterranean have been named and seen as a selffulfilling maritime space regardless of the ethnic or cultural nature of its coastal territories. Al-Baḥr al-Mutwassiṭ, as it was probably first used by Yaqūt al-Ḥamawī, a geographer who had easy access to Latin and Greek sources, described the location of the sea itself with regard to the organization of the world’s spaces. For Ibn Idhārī, it was so named because it was “at the center of the whole globe.”40 As such, the name corresponds more to the original meaning given by its inventor, Isidore of Seville, for whom “it was called Mediterranean because it flows through the midst of the land (per mediam terram) as far as the orient, separating Europe, and Africa and Asia.”41 For Ibn Khaldūn, however, it was only the “center” of the western half of the ecumene; this indicates how much its appellation evolved outside its original meaning.42 The appearance of al-Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ should not be seen as a sudden late Arabic adoption of Isidore of Seville’s Mediterraneum Mare, but rather as a recognition of the unique essence of the Mediterranean, after a long period during which it had been alienated by its mainland connections. It was only then, when Muslims along the Mediterranean no longer recognized themselves as part of a single polity, that they seemed to see it, for the first time, as the sea in the Mediterranean.

The Myths of the Mediterranean

Karen Pinto’s work43 provides us with the following frame of Islamic geographic representation of the Mediterranean. Looking at the work of the early medieval geographers, she sees only a “conflicted picture that vacillates between the sensational and the banal.” The sensational view that portrays a hostile sea full of “terrible creatures” refers to accounts on the dragon’s (tinnīn) presence “in the Black Sea and near the mouth of the Mediterranean.” And it is an unreliable sea for sailors: she mentions accounts of an “out of control” sea where the possibility of drowning is very high. The banal view falls short at a 40  Ibn ʿIdhārī, al-Bayān al-mughrib fī akhbār al-Andalus wa-l-maghrib (Beirut: Dār Thaqafa, 1980), 2:1. 41  G.  Kish (ed.), A Source Book in Geography (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1978), 167. 42  Ibn Khaldūn, Tārīkh, 2:535. 43  See Karen Pinto’s digital project on the American University of Beirut’s website: “The Mediterranean in the Islamic Cartographic Imagination – A Digital Pilot Project” (AUBURB New Faculty grant project). See also Pinto, “Surat Bahr,” 234–241.

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minimalist descriptive discourse “passing in itinerant fashion from one place after another around the littoral of the sea.”44 Yet there seems to be more to this textual tradition. First, as we have seen, the Islamic tradition is too complex to be labeled “banal,” even when some authors describe only the coastlines of the sea. Second, in the writings of Muslim geographers throughout the medieval period, the representation of a sea full of wonders (ʿajāʾib) rarely occurs as a depiction of the Mediterranean, especially when compared with the representations of other seas. Likewise, from the early medieval period, mainstream geographic writers portray the sea as well known and controllable by Muslim sailors. In fact, except for a very specific tradition that mixes traveling with geography, the Muslims’ Mediterranean is essentially too plain and too well known to contain any wonders, including monsters and dragons, that might be a source of fear for Muslim sailors. There can be no doubt that some sources do include a wondrous representation of the Mediterranean. But these need to be seen within the overall context of textual sources, and cannot be understood simply from the point of view of the presence of wondrous animals. Moreover, the issue of the wondrous is not necessarily always represented as something fearful. The issue of the wondrous is represented, among other things, through stories on the presence of dragons in the Mediterranean. For Pinto, “They [Muslim geographers] describe in great detail the terrible creatures that torment the sea, such as the monster ‘Tinnin,’ whose tail rises in the Black Sea and head in the Atlantic, near the mouth of the Mediterranean.” She explains that, “The Tinnin was said to have been ‘horrible and black with its tail rising out of the waters of the Mediterranean and its head stretching as far as the land of Gog and Magog.’ ” Pinto also points to André Miquel, who believes that this “legend refers to the phenomenon of a tornado.”45 The belief in the presence of dragons in the Mediterranean seems to have been suggested first in al-Masʿūdī’s Murūj al-dhahab. But al-Masʿūdī and Miquel’s indications seem to have been misunderstood by Pinto, who apparently misrepresented Miquel’s notes and did not investigate the source directly. Thus, these references need to be quoted in full. In his description of the Caspian Sea (Baḥr al-aʿājim) al-Masʿūdī says, This sea is full of dragons. The Mediterranean has many too. They are located beyond [north] of the territory of Tripoli, Latakia, and the mountain of al-Aqraʿ. Under this mountain is most of the water of the sea. It 44  Ibid., 224. 45  Ibid., 224 and n. 6.

Imagination and Myths

43

is called the bottom (ʿajuz) of the sea … There are no dragons neither in al-Baḥr al-Ḥabashī [the coasts of south eastern Africa] nor in its gulfs as we have described in the end. Most of them, however, are located beyond the Atlantic Ocean.46 Al-Masʿūdī then focuses on the topic in a short section titled “The dragon and the peoples’ views on it,” where he says, People differed on the [issue of the] Tinnīn. There are those who believe that it is a black wind located in the bottom of the sea and when it is manifest in the air it ascends to the clouds and becomes a tornado (zawbaʿa), so when it moves to the mainland it spins stirring up dust; then it elongates, ascending into the air so that people think it is a mass of black serpents arising from the sea because of the black clouds, the absence of light, and the frequency of winds.47 Al-Masʿūdī gives other “views” or stories that describe the dragons as real creatures in the Atlantic Ocean and the Nile; these he says come from the ḥadīth, but he describes them as “superstitions” (khurāfāt). His skepticism toward the dragon stories is expressed further when he justifies his reporting of such stories as part of his intention to present all available sources. André Miquel comments that the author’s imagination presents it as “a fabulous animal.”48 In fact, unlike Pinto’s description, André Miquel accurately reports al-Masʿūdī’s story about the misconception of the tornados as dragons and understands that this is not al-Masʿūdī’s own interpretation of dragon stories. This shows that al-Masʿūdī not only reported the presence of such beliefs but he also reported the persistent presence of a counter belief, that the dragons were interpretations of tornadoes. More importantly, the above-mentioned quotations show that the Atlantic Ocean was believed to be the major location of such a presence. As this sea was unknown and farther away, it becomes a more probable location for wondrous creatures. Thus, for al-Masʿūdī and later authors, the Mediterranean was one of the least likely locations for such creatures, particularly when compared to the Atlantic and the Indian oceans. The story about the dragon’s presence in the eastern Mediterranean is the only example we know, and is repeated in some later sources. In his treatise on history, Akhbār al-zamān, in relation to Alexander the Great’s supposed journey in the Atlantic 46  Al-Masʿūdī, Murūj al-dhahab, 1:96. My translation. 47  Ibid., 1:97. My translation. 48  Miquel, La Géographie, 3:260.

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Ocean, al-Masʿūdī mentions the “dragon’s island” (jazīrat al-tinnīn), so named for the vast number of dragons around it. Al-Masʿūdī’s story persisted through some late medieval accounts, such as in Ibn al-Wardī’s Kharīdat al-ʿajāʾib (attributed to Sirāj al-Dīn b. al-Wardī, written before 853/1450) and al-Ḥimyarī’s al-Rawḍ al-miʿṭār (written before 900/1494), in which the dragons are located near a remote island (Jazīrat al-Mustashkīn), named, as in Akhbār al-zamān, the “dragon’s island,” in the Atlantic Ocean (al-Baḥr al-Muḍlim al-Gharbī). Al-Masʿūdī’s scattered stories on the dragons do not amount to a tradition fully devoted to the narration of maritime wonders, even though they were amply used later. But from the sixth/twelfth century onwards, a major genre was established in travel literature (adab al-riḥla); it focuses on the presence of the wondrous in maritime spaces, including the Mediterranean. The main goal of such geographical treatises is the inclusion of stories (qiṣaṣ) rather than geographical descriptions; the representations in this genre correspond to Pinto’s conclusion that there was a “sensational” geographic tradition about the Mediterranean. It is, in fact, the most narrative of geographical writings. In such a genre, the sea and water spaces in general (lakes, rivers, etc.) seem to be the most appropriate locations for the wondrous. The founding work seems to have been written by the Andalusian Abū Ḥāmid al-Gharnāṭī (d. 564/1169), who wrote Tuḥfat al-albāb, and described various trips to the eastern Islamic lands and to eastern Europe.49 The Atlantic Ocean stands as the major space of wondrous animals, notably various enormous fishes.50 Many wondrous animals are described in the islands of the Indian Ocean.51 And the Mediterranean has some wondrous fishes too, like long fish with small elephant’s tusks and fish that look like bonnets.52 Al-Gharnāṭī mentions the dragons, but not in a specific sea.53 The travel literature as initiated by al-Gharnāṭī affected many narratives on maritime spaces in late medieval sources of various genres. For instance, alDimashqī’s (d. 727/1327) Nukhbat al-dahr fī ʿajāʾib al-barr wa-l-baḥr (The cream of times on the wonders of the land and the sea) represents the increasing interest of geographic works that follow the classical descriptive approach and include a narrative of the wonders emphasized in travel literature. One of the subchapters of the Mediterranean chapter focuses on the “peculiar 49  Ignaty Iulianovitch Kratchkovski, Tārīkh al-adab al-jaghrāfī l-ʿArabī, trans. Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn ʿUthmān Hāshim (Cairo: Lajnat al-Ta‌ʾlīf wa-l-Tarjama wa-l-Nashr, 1963–65), 1:294–295. 50  Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad al-Gharnāṭī, Rīhla (Abu Dhabi: Dār al-Suwaydī, 2003), 85–88. 51  Ibid., 91–94. 52  Ibid., 88–89. 53  Ibid., 90.

Imagination and Myths

45

animals,” in which he mentions various fishes with human faces; other stories of wondrous fishes are taken from earlier sources, notably al-Gharnāṭī.54 Dragons are mentioned mainly in Asian rivers and the Atlantic Ocean.55 AlDimashqī repeats an abridged version of al-Masʿūdī’s section on dragons in reference to the Black Sea.56 He touches on other aspects of the wondrous in the Mediterranean besides the animals, such as the hidden treasures and active volcanoes on various islands.57 Yet, even in works devoted to the wondrous throughout the geographic regions, the total number of these elements is quite small when compared quantitatively to the same stories about other seas, notably the Atlantic and Indian oceans. Other works adopted a wondrous Mediterranean, even those with provincial approaches like Ibn al-ʿAdīm’s (588–660/1192–1262) historio-biographical treatise Bughyat al-ṭalab fī tārīkh Ḥalab.58 Although a sizeable work (abridged later into Zubdat al-ṭalab fī tārīkh Ḥalab) that draws on a large number of sources (many lost), it represented a provincial view by a notable of Aleppo, a hinterland city of Syria (al-Shām), which cannot be categorized in the genre of geographic literature—not even provincial geographic literature— even though it often cites geographic sources. Ibn al-ʿAdīm’s approach to the Mediterranean is heavily influenced by the main goal of his book (like any book pertaining to such a provincial genre), which is the veneration of Aleppo. A section on the Mediterranean made its way into Bughyat al-ṭalab simply because the rivers that pass through Aleppo end in the Mediterranean; this was also a way to mention the Nile, since they also end in the same sea. The latter was considered, according to some ḥadīth, one of the rivers of paradise, thus Aleppo is connected to the earthly realm of paradise.59 Another minor reason is the location on the Mediterranean coastline of administrative sub-provinces (ʿamālāt) like Tarsus and Iskandarun, which belonged to the province (wilāya) of Aleppo, that was under Ayyubid rule in Damascus until 658/1260. Again, this was relevant for Ibn al-ʿAdīm not as an intrinsic property of the Mediterranean, but because the paradisiacal Nile ends there. Except for being the repository of the water of a paradisiacal river, Ibn alʿAdīm’s Mediterranean is portrayed essentially as a reprehensible space. One 54  Shams al-Dīn Muḥammad al-Dimashqī, Nukhbat al-dahr fī ʿajāʾib al-barr wa-l-baḥr (Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1923), 143–145. 55  Ibid., 101–102. 56  Ibid., 145–146. 57  Ibid., 141–143. 58  Ibn al-ʿAdīm, Bughyat al-ṭalab fī tārīkh Ḥalab (Beirut: Dār al-Fikr, 1988), 392–407. 59  The paradisiacal rivers are a familiar theme in Christian sacred geography.

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of the subsections on the Mediterranean is titled merely “On slandering the Mediterranean” ( fī dhamm Baḥr al-Shām); in it we find the most unique and longest Islamic tradition representing the Mediterranean as a space of wonders, including dragons and a place where Muslim sailors report frequent drowning and high turbulent waves, caused partly by the presence of dragons. Still, an interesting nuance must be emphasized here, which is Ibn al-ʿAdīm’s insistence on differentiating between the sea and the “inhabitants of the coastline” (sākinī l-sāḥil), the Muslims inhabitants are, conversely, venerated for living there, a view he supports by citing several ḥadīth. In the very specific genre of geographic writings that emphasize the wonders, the Mediterranean is not especially wondrous, in comparison to others, like the Atlantic and the Indian oceans. It is important to note that this genre represents only a single narrative line in the complex traditions of geographical writing. But it does not represent by any means a generic picture of the Mediterranean in the Islamic narratives overall. It does, however, relate to a generic narrative surrounding the maritime space in general, one that we find in Christian sources as well. There, the wondrous, just as in the Islamic sources, is born in the “appropriate places,” such as the extreme edges of the earth, the mountains, and the islands. In maritime spaces like the Atlantic and the Indian oceans, we find two of these three elements—islands at the extreme edges of earth. It is in such places that Marco Polo gives some of his most wondrous examples, like the “male and female islands” in the Indian Ocean.60 For Pinto, “The geographers write of a rough, out-of-control sea that takes pleasure in drowning Muslim sailors and makes a loud roar at night, particularly Thursday nights, i.e. on the eve of the Muslim day of prayer.”61 However, she draws such a generic picture on the basis of one source, that is, al-Muqaddasī’s Aḥsan al-taqāsīm. The key paragraph is a ḥadīth reported by al-Muqaddasī himself, in which the main “wisdom” of the quote is that God curses the sea of the western territories, that is the Mediterranean, as a space for drowning as opposed to the sea of the eastern territories, that is, the Indian Ocean, which is blessed and instructed to take care of its travelers.62 In fact, al-Muqaddasī 60  J.  Verdon, Voyager au Moyen Age (Paris: Perrin, 1998), 334–336 and 342–343. 61  Pinto, “Surat Bahr,” 224 and n. 5. 62  “I was informed of the following tradition by the jurist Abu al- Tayyib ʿAbd Allah bin Muhammad al-Jalal, at al-Rayy, who had it from Ahmad bin Muhammad bin Yazid al-Astrabadhi, who had it from ʿAbbas bin Muhammad, who had it from Abu Salama, who had it from Sa⁠ʾid bin Zayd, who had it from Ibn Yasar reporting it from ʿAbd Allah bin ʿAmr. The tradition relates that when God created the Sea of al-Sham, he uttered this inspiration to

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is quoting an eastern Muslim scholar from the Persian city of Rayy, in a notso-well-known ḥadīth reported only by al-Muqaddasī. The quote seems to be intended to support al-Muqaddasī’s own impressions of his voyage in the Mediterranean, since he gives the ḥadīth right after he narrates the conditions of this voyage. The Andalusians are the best experts on it [the Mediterranean], and on its borders and its gulfs because they travel in it and they raid whoever is beyond [their territories]; through it they travel to Egypt and al-Shām. I traveled on their ships for a long time. I consistently asked them about it and its conditions and then I showed them what I heard from each of them, and they never disagreed about it. It is a difficult and stormy sea from which you hear an uproar especially on Thursday nights.63 There are two aspects to this narrative: First, we read about the feelings of an inexperienced traveler who is sailing in the winter, usually known to be the least favorable time to sail in the Mediterranean; second, we have the views of experienced sailors from Muslim Spain. Thus, in this paragraph the sea seems to be more frightening to al-Muqaddasī than to the Muslim sailors from Andalusia, who are described as the “best experts” among other experts, like the Sicilians, who include Muslims, and the Rūm. Centuries later, Ibn Khaldūn gives almost the same picture when he describes the Rūm and the Muslims of the western Islamic lands as the most knowledgeable sailors in the Mediterranean, since they have a special administrative position on the “leadership of navies.”64

it: ‘I have created thee and designed thee as a carrier for some of my servants, who seek my bounty, praising me, worshipping me, magnifying me, and glorifying me; so how wilt thou act towards them?’ Said the sea: ‘My Lord, then shall I drown them.’ Said the Lord: ‘Begone, for I curse thee, and will diminish thy worth and thy fish.’ Then the Lord inspired into the sea of al-ʿIraq [the Persian Gulf/Indian Ocean] the selfsame words, and it said: ‘My Lord, in that case I shall carry them on my back; when they praise Thee I praise Thee with them, and when they worship Thee I worship Thee with them, when they magnify Thee I magnify Thee with them.’ Said the Lord: ‘Go, for I have blessed thee, and will increase thy bounty and thy fish.” I return to this quote, which is further stressed in Pinto’s analysis of Islamic cartographic depictions of the Mediterranean, see Pinto, “Surat Bahr,” 236–237. 63  Al-Muqaddasī, Aḥsan al-taqāsīm, 15. My translation. 64  Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah, trans. F. Rosenthal (New York: Pantheon Books, 1958), 506–514.

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These are not the only sources that describe a sea that is controllable for Muslim sailors. In the 320s/940s, a few years before al-Muqaddasī’s work, when al-Masʿūdī wrote Murūj al-dhahab, he says that he knew, and consulted, two Muslim sea captains (arbāb al-marākib) from al-Shām, the governor of the city of Jibilla (near Homs), and a freed slave of the governor of Tripoli (Lebanon), who are described as the “best people,” who had mastered the Mediterranean, and are usually consulted by whoever wants to sail it.65 More importantly, the medieval Islamic sources seem to be aware of the fact that the Mediterranean, among all the seas, is one of the least difficult seas to sail. Ibn Khaldūn wrote one of the clearest statements on this issue, in which he compares the Mediterranean to the Atlantic Ocean: the first being possible to chart and sail, and the second just the opposite.66 The belief that sailing the Mediterranean was easier than sailing other seas seems to be based on the fact that it has continuous coastlines, which is usually highlighted by Muslim geographers, and thus, there is no need to sail by the stars, rather one can follow the coastlines. This is reflected not only in the periplus and periplus-like treatises, including the Islamic examples such as al-Bakrī (fifth/eleventh century) and al-Idrīsī’s works (sixth/twelfth century), but also in the late medieval sea maps where the series of ports and harbors are marked next to each other along the Mediterranean coastlines. On the other hand, we must differentiate between the imprecise notion of an “out of control” sea and a frightful sea. The latter seems to be the more common and generic notion concerning all seas. It was clear for all inhabitants of ‫أ‬ ‫ت أ‬ ‫حر ب�����ي��ة وا �ل�ع���م�ا �ل��ة و���ه��م ا � ن�ل�وا � و� �ص‬ �‫� ب� � ا �ل ب������ح�ر ا �لر و م �م� ن� ا �ل‬ �‫� � ر ب�ا ��ب�ا �ل���مرا �ك‬ ‫� �ش� �ا ���ه�د‬ �‫��ح�ا ب‬ ‫ت�ي‬ ‫�ي‬ ‫ف�ي‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ف‬ � ‫�ؤ‬ �‫ا �لر ��ح�ل وا �لر ���س�ا ء و�م� ن� ��ل �ت�د ب���ير ا �ل���مرا �ك‬ �‫ �م����ث�ل لا و �ي� ا �ل���م�ك�نى ��ب� �ب�ي ا �ل��ح�ر ب‬،‫� ب� وا �ل��ح�ر ب� ����ي���ه��م‬ ‫ي�ي‬ ّ ‫ن‬ � �ُ� ‫ �ذ �ل ����ع�د ا � ث�ل��ل��ث���م�ا ��ئ��ة‬، ‫م��� ق‬ ‫ش‬ � ‫ن‬ � ‫���غ�لا �م ز� ر ا ���ق��ة �� �ص�ا‬ � � � ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ � �� � � ‫��م‬ ‫د‬ � ‫ح‬ ‫ا‬ � ‫م‬ ‫ا‬ � � ‫�ظ‬ � � ���‫ل‬ � � ‫ط‬ ��َ‫ع‬ ‫س‬ ‫ش‬ ��‫�ل‬ � ‫م‬ �‫ي ِ و‬ ‫� و �ك ب‬ ‫ح� ب� ر ب‬ � ‫س‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ّ ن‬ ‫ كث ة خ � ت ش‬،‫ط ل ا �ل������ح� ا �ل م � �����ض�ه‬ ‫و‬ �‫ و���ع��لى ���ه� ا و ���ج�د � �ع ����ب�د ا �ل�ل�ه �ب‬،‫���ر� ���ل�� ج��ا �ن�ه و �����ع ����بأ�ه‬ ‫و ب ر ر و �ي وعر‬ �� � ‫�ل � ق � �ذ‬ ‫ض‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ت‬ � ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ � ‫و ز� ��ي�ر �� �ص�ا‬ ��‫ و �م ي�ب� ف�ي ���ه� ا ا لو �ق‬،‫ح� ب� �م�د ي�����ن�� ج� ����ب�ل�� �م�� ���س�ا ح�ل ��ح��م���ص �م�� � ر�� ا �ل����ش�ا �م‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ُ ْ ‫ن ة ث �ن � ن ث ث ن ث �ث � ة‬ � ّ‫ن‬ ‫ف ن‬ � � ُ ��‫ و �ل�����ي��س �����ي��م‬،‫ و لا � ����س� �م���ن�ه‬، ‫و�هو ����س���� ا �أ����ت��ي� و �لا ���ي� و ��ل� ���م�ا �ئ�� � ب�����صَ� �ر �م���ن�ه ف�ي ا �ل ب������ح�ر ا �لر و م�ي‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ة‬ ‫� �م� ن ا �ل� ة‬ �ُ �‫ن‬ ‫ن �ص‬ ‫�ير �ك‬ ‫ وي���ِ���ق�ر �ل�ه ��ب�ا ��ل�ب���صر‬،‫حر ب�����ي�� وا �ل�ع���م�ا �ل�� �إ لا و�هو �م�����ق�ا د �إلى �و �ل�ه‬ � �‫�����ب�ه �م�� � ��ح�ا ب� ا �ل���مرا �ك� ب‬ ْ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ف‬ � ‫ة‬ � � ‫ق‬ ‫� �ن�ا �ع ئ‬ ‫�ل‬ ‫ ����م ���م�ا �هو ع�ل����ي�ه �م� ن� ا �ل�د ي�ا �ن�� وا �ل�ج‬،�‫ح ن�� ق‬ ‫��ج�ا � ب� ���ه��ذه ا �ل ب������ح�ا ر‬ � ‫ و �ق�د كر‬،‫� ���ه�ا د ا �ل�����د ��ي��م ����ي���ه�ا‬ ِ� ‫وا‬ ‫ع‬ ‫آ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�ت‬ ،‫ و���م�ا � �ش� �ا ���ه�د وا ����ي���ه�ا ���ي���م�ا ���س��ل� �م� ن���ك� �ب� ����ن�ا‬،‫�ر ��ن�ا �م� ن� � خ� ب���ا ر ���ه�ا و� ��ا � ���ه�ا‬ ‫و���م�ا ��س���م�ع ����ن�ا ه ���م��م� ن� ك‬ ‫أ‬ ً ‫�ذ‬ .‫و����سن��و ر د ب����ع�د ���ه� ا ا �ل���مو ������ض ���ج��م�لا �م� ن� � خ� ب���ا ر ���ه�ا‬ ‫ع‬

65  Al-Masʿūdī, Murūj al-dhahab, 1:101:

66  Ibn Khaldūn, al-Muqaddima, ed. Abdessalam Cheddadi (Casablanca: Bayt al-Funūn wa-lʿUlūm wa-l-Adab, 2005), 12–13.

Imagination and Myths

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the Mediterranean, including here the European medieval imaginaire, that the sea was a constant source of fear, even in fictional writings, where a narrative topos dominated and depicted the possibility of drowning whenever a sea is mentioned. Overall, however, even in European geographic writings, the sea is exclusively connected with the realities of armies, pirates’ raids, and tornados.67 67  Verdon, Voyager, 71–85.

CHAPTER 2

The Early Medieval Cartographic Representations of the Mediterranean The image of the Mediterranean was born with the emergence of Islamic cartography in the fourth/tenth century. Yet, its construction as a recognizable independent space began in the geographic texts a century earlier. The creation of the image of the Mediterranean was preceded by a period during which texts slowly wove a clearly distinguishable and, thus, imaginable space. André Miquel typically refers to texts with strong visual suggestions through the word “peinture” (painting).1 From the third/ninth century on, there were two major approaches to the Mediterranean in Islamic geographic narratives. The first approach emphasized only the sea in the Mediterranean. The second approach treated it as a distinctive regional space, either by calling it a “region” (iqlīm) or by implying that it was one. In the first approach, the Mediterranean was perceived from the point of view of mathematical geography/cartography; this approach did not produce any distinguishable images except basic graphics, of which we have only very late copies. It is, however, in the second tradition, mostly descriptive and less interested in the representations of measurements and degrees, that the identity of the Mediterranean as a region (not simply as a sea) and its image was constructed.

The Geography of Itineraries and the Pre-history of the Image of the Mediterranean

The earliest Muslim geographers followed the dominant Greek school of mathematical geography, which determined their approach to the Mediterranean. 1  Miquel used “peinture” to describe the style of many geographers of the school of administrative geography. For instance, this is how he describes the text of al-Warrāq, the Maghribi geographer whose book on the Maghrib’s administrative geography is lost, but known through later authors, notably al-Bakrī: “traiter globalement la peinture des lieux par quelques details essentiels.” Then Miquel gives the following example from al-Warrāq’s text: “… deux chateaux excellents, celui de Sen et celui de Men, qui se dressent sur deux pitons qui dominent la chaine d’Aragon et entre lesquels court le rio Flumen.” Miquel, La Geographie, 1:260, n. 4.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi ��.��63/9789004347380_004

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The geographer al-Khawārizmī (first half of the third/ninth century)2 represents the earliest approach to the Mediterranean by following the Ptolemaic tradition that dealt with it as a sea to be measured. Nothing was added to Ptolemy’s data other than a slight alteration in its projected distance, 52 degrees instead of the antique 62 degrees.3 Another follower of this school was al-Battānī (d. 317/929),4 who described the Mediterranean in the introduction to a special section on “Seas”; he emphasized its limits, its measurements, its gulfs, regional seas, and its islands.5 As in the earlier tradition of mathematical geography, the Islamic “geography of itineraries,” also known as “administrative geography,” was related, particularly in its beginnings in the third/ninth century, to the state’s approach to territory. But these geographies differ in the way they served the state. The former, notably at the behest of the Abbasid caliph al-Ma‌ʾmūn, was used to measure the empire, partly for taxation purposes, and was a manifestation of the state’s knowledge of, and power over, itineraries. In contrast, administrative geography points to an ideal rather than a real political space. Even though the third-/ninth-century administrative geographers did not leave any maps, their textual approach to space, including the Mediterranean, shaped its later cartographic representations. Administrative geography, in its earliest known sources, that is, Ibn Khurradādhbih’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik and Qudāma b. Jaʿfar’s Kitāb al-Kharāj wa-ṣināʿat al-kitāba,6 had as their exclusive theme the geography of the Islamic Empire (mamalakat al-Islām), regardless of its political unity. The texts on the Islamic territories in the Mediterranean were approached from the east, notably from Baghdad and Sāmarrā. In Ibn Khurradādhbih’s Kitāb al-Masālik the description of the Maghrib, which was considered, according to the Indo-Persian geographic tradition, the “quarter” of the earth, began with the headline “from Madīnat al-Salām (Baghdad) to the Maghrib.” This eastern approach suggests an Abbasid perception of the Islamic space from its metropolis in Baghdad/Sāmarrā. Regardless of the professions of these two authors, it is usually assumed that they were related directly or by ancestry to the Abbasid administrative establishment, specifically to the postal services. 2  Al-Khawārizmī is usually considered the first to implement the Greek legacy. See Miquel, “Iḳlīm”; Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:98. 3  Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:85. 4  Ibid., 1:108. 5  Ibid., 1:107–108. 6  Ibn Khurradādhbih and Qudāma b. Jaʿfar, Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik wa-yalih Kitāb alKharāj wa-ṣināʿat al-kitāba, ed. de Geoje (Leiden: Brill, 1889).

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From the platform of the metropolitan postal bureaucracy, their Abbasid readers expected them to describe the known routes, but also to represent Abbasid hegemony over Islamic territories through the itineraries. We assume that their descriptions of itineraries addressed the questions of the safety and the possibility of official postal communication. While it is fair to assume that such itineraries were effectively used by the Abbasid postal services, when describing the areas under direct Abbasid control, it is harder to argue for the accuracy of itineraries of remote areas under pseudo-independent or independent rulers. Yet, their Abbasid audience was, presumably, interested in the representation of an Abbasid empire that dominates the Islamic routes, as is evident from Abbasid knowledge of them. The geographers’ awareness of the need for imperial representation was expressed by their inclusion, in their Islamic Empire of the western Islamic lands, of the Maghrib, including Andalusia, even though they failed to cover this region in as much detail as they did other areas, as is clear from their sketchy information. Both sources suggest that the space up to Alexandria was densely-populated. As we see in later sources, the main descriptive parts of the text are sequences of itineraries separated on the basis of the delimitations of geographic regions (Shām/Greater Syria, Egypt, and the Maghrib). Both give almost the same sequences from Baghdad to Tiberias, passing through Damascus. Tiberias is treated as the door to the Palestinian coast and thus to the Mediterranean. The next sequence is from Tiberias to the port city of Ramla, called in Ibn Khurradādhbih’s Kitāb al-Masālik the “metropolis of Palestine” (madīnat Filasṭīn).7 Then the route proceeds from Ramla along a coastal itinerary to ʿArīsh, the entrance to Egypt from Shām.8 But from ʿArīsh to Farmā, the next major stage, the route begins to vary between Kitāb al-Masālik and Kitāb alKharāj. In the latter, we start to see a “sandy (desert?) route” (ṭarīq al-raml) and a “coastal route on the sea” (ṭarīq al-sāḥil ʿalā l-baḥr).9 In the former a “sandy route” seems to be used, but one different from that mentioned in Kitāb al-Masālik.10 From Farmā, various routes and thus more complicated itinerary networks start to emerge, portraying the much more densely populated Egyptian landscape. In both sources, the route from Farmā to Alexandria passes exclusively 7   In both sources the itinerary is Tabariyya–al-Lajjūn–Qalansuwa–al-Ramla. 8   In both sources the itinerary is al-Ramla–Azdūd–Ghazza–Rafaḥ. 9   The “sandy route” is al-ʿArīsh–al-Warida–al-Baqāra–al-Farmā. The “coastal route on the sea” is al-Mukhliṣa–al-Qaṣr (“a Christians’ fort, in it sweet water and palm trees” ḥiṣn alnaṣārā fīhi māʾ ʿadhb wa nakhīl) –al-Farmā. 10  Al-ʿArīsh (“in sand” fī l-raml) –al-Thaʿāma–al-ʿUdhayb (“in sand” fī l-raml) –al-Farmā.

The Early Medieval Cartographic Representations

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through the Egyptian mainland metropolis, Fusṭāṭ. Again, in the later work of Qudāma’s Kitāb al-Kharāj, the routes are more complex. From Farmā to Fusṭāṭ there are two different routes, one “for summer” (ṭarīq al-ṣayf) and another “route for winter” (ṭarīq al-shitāʾ) as opposed to the single route in Ibn Khurradādhbih’s Kitāb al-Masālik, that coincides with the “winter route” of the former. The route from Fusṭāṭ to Alexandria is the same in both sources. Yet, in Qudāma’s Kitāb al-Kharāj there is another sequence, a route coming from Fusṭāṭ through the Saharan mainland and away from the Egyptian coast and Alexandria straight to Barqa. The next sequence represents the entrance to the Maghrib. It starts from Alexandria with, again, two variant routes in Qudāma’s Kitāb al-Kharāj, one called the “mainland route” (ṭarīq al-barriyya), and the other “route following the Mediterranean coast” (musāyarat Baḥr al-Rūm), which seems much closer to the coast. Yet the “mainland route” is not too far from the coast. Qudāma’s “mainland route” reproduces Ibn Khurradādhbih’s itinerary from Alexandria to Barqa. The coastal route in Qudāma’s Kitāb al-Kharāj in this sequence seems to coincide with a postal route that appears first in this source, which is apparent from the use of the word “sikka” referring to “sikkat al-barīd” (postal route) used in other instances. Then begins the routes through the Maghrib as explicitly related in Ibn Khurradādhbih’s Kitāb al-Masālik: “the route from Barqa to the Maghrib” (al-ṭarīq min Barqa ilā l-Maghrib). From Barqa, a shorter route leads to the coastal city of Ajdābiya. In Qudāma’s Kitāb al-Kharāj, we find an explicit difference between the “mainland route” (ṭarīq al-barr) and the “postal route” (ṭarīq al-sikka). In addition, Qudāma’s Kitāb al-Kharāj mentions another route on the “sea’s coast” (sāḥil al-baḥr). The only route mentioned by Ibn Khurradādhbih is similar to Qudāma’s “postal route.” Finally, the last route in the Maghrib is the same in both sources, it goes from Ajdābiya to Qayrawan, “Ifrīqiyya’s metropolis” (madīnat Ifrīqiyya). The route’s stages are mostly located on the coast. The standard description of the routes stops in Qayrawān. No further description is found in Qudāma’s Kitāb al-Kharāj. In Ibn Khurradādhbih’s Kitāb al-Masālik, however, we find a generic descriptive text of the political landscape with brief summary descriptions of itineraries of the Maghrib, including Andalusia. In this case, we find indications of the first intra-Mediterranean routes, such as the routes from Tunis to Qurṭuba, a “metropolis of al-Andalus” (madīnat al-Andalus), by sea. It is in this section that we find the famed paragraph used in the anti-Pirennean discussion on trading luxury goods and slaves from the Mediterranean to the eastern parts of the Islamic lands; in this particular instance, it is called “the Western Sea” (al-Baḥr al-Gharbī).

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The succinct text about the Maghrib in Ibn Khurradādhbih’s Kitāb alMasālik, and the fact that there is even less written about the area in Qudāma’s Kitāb al-Kharāj, suggests that the information on the remote territories of the western Islamic lands available to bureaucrats of the Abbasid Empire in Baghdad was quite sketchy. Yet, the profile of their presumed readers, who embraced Abbasid legitimacy, imposed the inclusion of these insurrectional (e.g., the Umayyads of Spain) or almost independent (Aghlabids and Idrisids) political entities of the Maghrib in the eastern empire. Even though it is usually self-represented as the geography of the Islamic kingdom, the administrative geography’s sources attempted to incorporate the itinerary networks of the non-Muslim Mediterranean, notably the Byzantine Empire. Ibn Khurradādhbih reports mostly from a supposedly eyewitness source, Abū Muslim al-Jarmī, whose work was reproduced by other third-/ ninth-century authors. In a short paragraph the Kitāb al-Masālik describes the whole of the Byzantine lands (in this case, the Bilād al-Rūm) and emphasizes its Mediterranean expansion historically into Sicily and Rome, and the contemporary primacy of Constantinople, whose geographic position between the Mediterranean and the Black Sea is given in a detailed manner. While Ibn Khurradādhbih and Qudāma produced sequences of itineraries probably copied from administrative, or maybe even postal records, with alYaʿqūbī’s Kitāb al-Buldān, administrative geography achieved another phase of maturation in its spatial approach, notably in relation to the Mediterranean.11 Al-Yaʿqūbī, a Shīʿī, was another geographer—a descendent of a family of Abbasid bureaucrats who were appointed to a variety of high- and mid-level positions, including in the postal services.12 Unlike the two prior sources, the text of the Kitāb al-Buldān presents the author’s travels to many of the places he describes. He was almost the only notable geographer who traveled from the center of the empire to the Maghrib;13 his route to the east was called the “greatest route” (al-ṭarīq al-aʿẓam). The description of the route, starting in the center of Damascus, was already more sophisticated than previous itineraries 11  Al-Yaʿqūbī, Kitāb al-Buldān, ed. Juynboll (Leiden: Brill, 1860). 12  Al-Yaʿqūbī was a Shīʿī, and from a family that included high functionaries under the Abbasids. His grandfather was the governor of Egypt and Armenia; he also worked in the postal office along with al-Yaʿqūbī’s father. Nothing, however, suggests that al-Yaʿqūbī himself worked in any official position. See Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:158–161. 13  We know this from various sources, including his detailed description of the Maghrib and more importantly the sentences where he mentions his local sources: ‫أ‬

‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫��ح�د ث� ن� � � �م�ع���ب�د �ع���ب�د ا �ل ��ح��م� ن � ن حم‬ �‫����م�د ا �ب� �م����ي��مو � �ب� �ع ����ب�د ا �لو���ه�ا ب� ا �ب� �ع ����ب�د ا �لر ��ح��م� ن� �ب‬ �‫ي� بو � � ر � ب‬ � ‫ت‬ .‫ر ����س��ت��م ا �ل����ت�ا �هر �� ��ق�ا ل‬ ‫ي‬

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with variations of regular and “postal” routes (ṭarīq al-barīd). Al-Yaʿqūbī’s more explicit administrative geography is evident from his constant use of larger to smaller aʿmāl, ajnād, and kuwar regional units. Al-Yaʿqūbī’s main reference that organizes Kitāb al-Buldān’s geographic space is, first, its administrative divisions. Then, from the administrative context, it provides an anthropogenic view of space, especially with an approach from the mainland to the Mediterranean coasts, which emerge as more open spaces with active ports. In the case of the “jund of Damascus,” he describes separately the “districts” (kuwar) of the geographic region overlooking the Mediterranean, calling them “the districts of the coast” (kuwar al-sāḥil), including ʿArqa, Ṭarāblus, Jabīl, Ṣaydā, and Beirut. It is here that we find one of the first explicit mentions of a Mediterranean port, Ṭarāblus (Tripoli), which he describes as “an extraordinary port able to accommodate one thousand ships” (lahum mīnā ʿajīb yaḥtamilu alfa markab). Then al-Yaʿqūbī follows the administrative stages by moving from the “jund of Damascus” to “jund of alUrdunn [Jordan],” which also has its own coastal districts including Ṣūr and ʿAkkā (Acre). Here, too, al-Yaʿqūbī emphasizes another port, that of Ṣūr, described as “the location of an arsenal from which the sultan’s ships depart to conquer the Byzantines/Europeans” (wa-bihā dār al-ṣināʿa, wa-minhā takhruj marākib al-sulṭān li-ghazw al-Rūm).14 The next stage is from “jund of al-Urdunn [Jordan]” to “jund of Filasṭīn [Palestine],” which has even more coastal districts (al-Ramla, Qaysāriyya, Yāfa, Bayt Jibrīn, ʿAsqalān, and Ghazza), all emphasized with the connotation “on the coast of the sea” (ʿala sāḥil al-baḥr). From the “jund of Filasṭīn [Palestine]” we see the first contact of the routes coming from the Maghrib along the coastal pilgrimage route coming down from Aylā to Mecca.15 From this point, al-Yaʿqūbī describes the route to Egypt and the Maghrib starting from Ramla along almost the same coastal sites mentioned by Ibn Khurradādhbih and Qudāma: Yibnāthim, ʿAsqalān, Ghazza, and Rafaḥ, described as the last of “al-Shām’s aʿmāl.” Then he highlights the sites of al-Shajaratayn, as the “beginning of Egypt’s border” (awwalu ḥadd Miṣr), and al-ʿArīsh, as “the first of Egypt’s aʿmāl” (awwal aʿmāl Miṣr). The Egyptian itineraries, unlike those in Ibn Khurradādhbih’s Kitāb al-Masālik and Qudāma’s Kitāb alKharāj, do not go through Fusṭāṭ. The first major itinerary proceeds from Farmā to Fusṭāṭ and from there, al-Yaʿqūbī mentions almost the same route northwest to Alexandria. He also mentions the route south along the Nile to Upper Egypt and along the coast of the Red Sea. Another interesting route emerges 14  Al-Yaʿqūbī, Kitāb al-Buldān, 115. 15  Ibid., 116–117.

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for the first time in Kitāb al-Buldān; this goes from Farmā directly to Alexandria along the Mediterranean coast. Along this route al-Yaʿqūbī highlights a series of ports, notably the city of Tinnīs “surrounded by the ‘Great Salty Sea’ (al-Baḥr al-Māliḥ al-Aʿẓam) and a lake whose water comes from the Nile … in it is the port (marsā) of ships coming from Shām and the Maghrib.”16 It is not a coincidence that this description also includes the kind of goods traded in the city. In the same way, it describes the other city ports along the Delta coast westward to Alexandria including Shaṭṭā, Dimyāṭ, the fortifications of Būra and Naqīza, al-Burlus (including a ribāṭ), Rashīd, Akhnū, Wasīma, and finally Alexandria. The description of Alexandria emphasizes its administrative districts, its port, and its lighthouse (manāra). As in the description of Shām, al-Yaʿqūbī concludes with the description of the pilgrimage route from Fusṭāṭ to Mecca along the Red Sea. In the Kitāb al-Buldān Egypt is certainly much densely populated and larger than it appears to be from the Kitāb alMasālik and Kitāb al-Kharāj. More importantly, it is no longer a space of itineraries parallel to the Mediterranean coast, but a region that is active along the Mediterranean, the mainland, and away toward the Red Sea, with numerous intermingling itineraries and networks. The main route to the Maghrib remains, as in Kitāb al-Masālik and Kitāb al-Kharāj, the coastal route starting from Alexandria to Barqa with almost the same stages. Except for the usual indications of the proximity of some sites to the coast (ʿalā sāḥil al-baḥr al-māliḥ), no harbors are mentioned. Only at Barqa do we see the first mention of a harbor, and that is only seasonal. Thus, any location described as “on the coast of the sea” does not necessarily indicate the presence of a harbor. Even though al-Yaʿqūbī may not necessarily mention the existence of a harbor wherever there is one, he clearly mentions its existence in some cases, and more importantly, again, he does so more consistently than Kitāb al-Masālik and Kitāb al-Kharāj. Such an explicit indication could mean simply that these are the most remarkable and active harbors. Then, from Barqa to Ajdābyā there is an increasing emphasis and indication of the harbors, such as Barnīq (an excellent harbor—mīnā ʿajīb) and Ajdābiya. This could indicate that traveling in this area was mostly done by boat.17 The sequence from Ajdābiyā to the Gulf of Syrtis reached the “frontier” (ḥadd) of ʿamal Barqa. Then another sequence from Surt to Ṭarāblus covered the territory of the ʿamal of Surt. The stages covering this distance are dominated by Saharan and tribal lands (mafāza, diyār, and manāzil). In these two sequences, al-Yaʿqūbī’s description does not differ significantly from that of Ibn 16  Ibid., 126. 17  Ibid., 132.

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Khurradādhbih and Qudāma. Likewise, the route is almost the same in the “great route” (al-jādda al-ʿuẓmā) from Ṭarāblus up to Qābis. It is only beyond Qābis and especially beyond Qayrawān, a metropolis of the Maghrib, that we see the most detailed description of the Maghrib, at least until the beginning of the fourth/tenth century. Unlike in the Kitāb al-Masālik and Kitāb al-Kharāj, the Kitāb al-Buldān gives a detailed description of the itineraries of the Maghrib. With regard to the Maghrib, al-Yaʿqūbī suggests that he was aware of the large regional networks that connected the mainland centers to areas across the Mediterranean, such as Sicily and Spain. Initially his account describes the Maghrib by dividing it into various areas (bilād buldān). With Qayrawān as the center, it draws networks of the area (bilād) of Ifrīqiyya and the eastern area of the Maghrib, throughout the mainland and vis-à-vis the coasts. It depicts the major roads to the major coastal sites going from south to north, and emphasizes their positions as major ports and/or arsenals. Thus, it indicates Qayrawān’s direct connection with Sūsa (“where there is an arsenal, in which sea ships are built, and to which ships come”), Jazīrat Abī Sharīk (“fenced into the sea and surrounded by it. It has a lot of commerce … Iqlībiya from which they sail to Siqilliyya”), and notably Tūnis, which, it would seem, was already a major coastal center by that time (“where there is an arsenal, and from its coast they sail to Jazīrat Andalus”). This large description of the mainland-maritime networks is stated explicitly, and in more detail, in a later paragraph that describes the routes of Qayrawān, and its connection to Andalusia: “whoever wants to go to Andalus would go from Qayrawān to Tūnis … sailing in the salt water for ten days following the coast and without entering deep into the sea until approaching Andalus from a location called Tanas, which is four days distant from Tāhirt.”18 Then al-Yaʿqūbī provides an unprecedented and detailed picture of the mainland-coastal routes in Ifrīqiyya, starting from Qayrawān as a center and moving to northern, western, and finally eastern sites. The Kitāb al-Buldān mentions, for the first time in a geographic work, several mainland toponyms and spaces such as the “area of the Sāḥil” (balad al-Sāḥil) along the eastern coast of Ifrīqiyya,19 and there is an indication of the existence of a series of ribāṭ and ḥuṣūn (fortifications) along the same coast starting from Asfāqus in the south and moving to Banzart in the north.

18  Ibid., 143. 19  In fact, al-Yaʿqūbī’s Kitāb al-Buldān is one of the major sources usually mentioned in the delimitation of Balad al-Sāḥil. See A. al-Bāhī, Sūsa wa-l-sāḥil fī l-ʿahd al-wasīṭ: Muḥāwala fī l-jaghrāfiyā l-tārīkhiyya (Tunis: Markaz al-Nashr al-Jāmiʿī, 2004), 233–267.

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Then al-Yaʿqūbī moves to the east to another bilād, that of Mzāb with the city of Ṭubna as a center (“al-madīna al-ʿuẓmā”), a bit lower in latitude than Qayrawān and farther from the sea. Likewise, he emphasizes the major networks connecting Ṭubna to the coastal city ports, notably those of Jījil, Qalʿat Khaṭṭāb, Askīda, Mābir, and Danhāja. Between bilād Mzāb and Tāhirt, alYaʿqūbī mentions another space dominated by the tribal area (of Banū Birzāl) with few sites, most of which are inland from the coast. He emphasizes, however, another mainland center, Tāhirt and its area, just as he describes Qayrawān; it is notable that he calls it the “Iraq of the Maghrib.” First, he mentions the city of Tāhirt’s fortification on the coast, at Marsā Farrūkh “where land the ships of Tāhirt.” The second major route goes beyond Marsā Farrūkh to the eastern Andalusian coast up to Qurṭuba. After crossing the sea in one day and one night, ships would land in balad Tudmīr (the center of which is Mursiya) and then proceed through cities (Lūrqa, Albīra, etc.), rivers, and valleys before reaching Qurṭuba. The description of the itineraries through the western parts of the Maghrib follows the various “kingdoms” (mamālik), such as those of the Hawwāra tribe and the Idrisids. But al-Yaʿqūbī also returns to Tāhirt to describe the southern route through Sijilmāsa to Māssa, the main port on the Atlantic Ocean; it is in this passage that we find the famous, yet ambiguous, sentence: “Māssa … a village on the coast, where they trade; where there is the Mosque of Bahlūl and the fortification on sea. It is near this Mosque that land the khayṭiyya ships that sail to China (al-Ṣīn).”20 The main omissions in the Kitāb al-Buldān are the non-Muslim territories of the Mediterranean. Except for a few sentences in relation to the Byzantine army and al-Yaʿqūbī’s famous mention of the “Rus” (Rūs) as invaders of Andalus, it restricted itself to the “kingdom of Islam” even more than Ibn Khurradādhbih’s Kitāb al-Masālik. Yet, this does not necessarily imply the author’s disinterest in other parts of the Mediterranean. Also, we may assume that this absence is not the result of the loss of some parts of the original manuscript, as some scholars have supposed,21 because al-Yaʿqūbī quite clearly mentions that he will talk about the bilād al-Rūm, including its harbors, in a separate book. All three sources, especially Ibn Khurradādhbih’s Kitāb al-Masālik and al-Yaʿqūbī’s Kitāb al-Buldān, divide the world into four regions, with the Mediterranean being one of the four. The latter two works, but with a more decisive tone in the Kitāb al-Buldān, divide the world into four main quarters or

20  Al-Yaʿqūbī, Kitāb al-Buldān, 150–151. 21  Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:160.

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“fourths” (arbāʿ). The “western” quarter is the region described in later sources in chapters on “Baḥr al-Rūm,” that is, the Mediterranean. In al-Yaʿqūbī’s Kitāb alBuldān, the Mediterranean is an anthropogenic region and not simply the “sea coast” (sāḥil al-baḥr). Even with the dominance of mainland centers such as Ḥalab, Damascus, Fusṭāṭ, Qayrawān, Ṭubna, Tāhirt, Fās, and Qurṭuba, the space constructed in the third-/ninth-century texts, particularly those of administrative geography, remains focused on the coast and thus has a Mediterranean tendency. Specifically, in the fourth/tenth century, the Mediterranean tendency of the Maghrib in al-Yaʿqūbī’s Kitāb al-Buldān survived and developed into more visual terms in geographic representations. Although they did not make any maps, the three major administrative geographers of the third/ ninth century projected a spatial approach through their texts that could be translated and understood in cartographic terms. While Ibn Khurradādhbih and Qudāma emphasized the itineraries from one site to another regardless of geographic orientations or boundaries, al-Yaʿqūbī emphasized a series of administrative blocks intersected by itineraries. The former’s hypothetical map is highly graphic, whereas the latter is more cartographic, as it suggests spatial and anthropogenic references. The textual image of the Mediterranean in Ibn Khurradādhbih’s Kitāb al-Masālik and Qudāma’s Kitāb al-Kharāj resembles a series of lines parallel to the coastal line. In al-Yaʿqūbī’s Kitāb al-Buldān, however, the image resembles more an anthropogenic region where blocks of mainlandcoastal entities are clearly distinguishable along administrative divisions.

Delimiting the Mediterranean as Viewed by Muslims

The geographers of the “classical school” (fourth/tenth century) were the first to introduce Baḥr al-Rūm as a separate “region” (iqlīm) like any other land region. Only Baḥr Fāris (meaning here the Indian Ocean) is also considered an Islamic sea region. As noted, these were clearly portrayed as regions of mamlakat al-Islām. Even though the Mediterranean seems to be named after the idea of a frontier/route space, its inclusion into mamlakat al-Islām requires further attention. Of special interest are the phrases by which each geographer makes the narrative transition from the description of a series of regions to the description of the Mediterranean. In the case of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, the section of the iqlīm of the Mediterranean is preceded by the sections of the Maghrib, Egypt, and al-Shām, that is, the Islamic regions on the Mediterranean; this is not mere chance. He introduces this section as following: “Our statement has ended on what we wanted to mention about al-Shām. We mentioned the Maghrib, Egypt, al-Shām, and we completed the

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regions along the Mediterranean (Baḥr al-Rūm), which leads to the mention of the Rūm.”22 The description of the space of Baḥr al-Rūm points to a region that, from the perspective of the geographers of the “classical school,” is disputed; it concerns mainly the coastlines of the Mediterranean and its islands, but also the mainland of the land of the Europeans (arḍ al-Rūm). In other words, in their eyes the Mediterranean seems more like an iqlīm that should include most of its European part rather than one recognized as already part of mamlakat al-Islām. There is a great similarity between two main works of the “classical school,” that is al-Iṣtakhrī’s al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, and Ibn Ḥawqal’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ.23 Although al-Iṣṭakhrī was the first geographer to include the Mediterranean in the regions of mamlakat al-Islām, he did so very briefly. The delimitations strictly follow the coastlines, without including the Black Sea. He emphasizes the islands of the Mediterranean, especially their affiliation with or against mamlakat al-Islām. The same elements could be found in Ibn Ḥawqal’s descriptions of the Mediterranean. But in both works the description of the Mediterranean does not begin with the section on Baḥr al-Rūm. In the introduction to the Maghrib we find the first (almost similar) paragraph in their books describing the whole Mediterranean (Table 1.2). Ibn Ḥawqal’s shorter version of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s introduction to the Maghrib is as follows:24 As to [the region of] al-Maghrib, part of it is on the western part of Baḥr al-Rūm [in al-Iṣṭakhrī]/Baḥr al-Maghrib [in Ibn Ḥawqal]. This sea has two sides, an eastern and a western side, and they are both settled by humans (ʿāmirān). The western part, from Egypt and Barqa to Ifrīqiyya and the territory of Tinnis to Septa, Tangier, Asila, and beyond in this region, belongs to the Arabs. The eastern part, from al-Shām’s frontier lines (thughūr), to Constantinople, to Rūmiyya (Rome), Qlūriya (southern Italy), al-Ankabarda (northern Italy/Lombardy), Ifranja (the land of the Franks), Jalīqiya (Gaul), is the country (balad) of Rūm. What is

22  Al-Iṣṭakhrī, al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 68. We find basically the same quote by Ibn Ḥawqal, and in many other cases. Ibn Ḥawqal, Ṣūrat al-arḍ, 188. 23  The supposed founder of the “classical school,” al-Balkhī (d. in the first half of the fourth/ tenth century) did not leave any extant work. His main work (known by various titles, including Ṣuwar al-aqālīm and Ashkāl al-bilād) has been lost and is variously quoted in the early geographic sources. See Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:198–199. 24  Al-Iṣṭakhrī, al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 36–37.

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beyond that belongs to the Arabs in the hands of the rulers of al-Andalus [Muslim Spain].25 In both sources, the Mediterranean begins from the west, precisely from the region of the Maghrib. The order of their regions follows the way the Mediterranean is described in the above paragraph: after the Maghrib (Ibn Ḥawqal makes two special sections for Muslim Spain and Sicily, which otherwise would be part of the Maghrib) the narrative moves to Egypt, al-Shām, and then to the Mediterranean with an emphasis on the “lands of the Europeans.” The Mediterranean is compartmentalized into three regional delimitations. First, the Mediterranean appears primarily as a sea with a special emphasis on its islands and coasts. Second, the standard region (iqlīm) confines it to the Muslim coasts with the “land of the Europeans” corresponding to region 6 (alIṣṭakhrī) or 8 (Ibn Ḥawqal) (Table 1.2 below). Third, the Mediterranean as a region extends throughout all the areas bordering the sea, from the Maghrib to the lands of the Europeans, including the areas located deep in the mainland, which partly correspond to the Braudelean “historical Mediterranean.” In fact, Ibn Ḥawqal clearly represents a departure from the other geographers of the Balkhī or classical school. He places the Mediterranean at the center of the Islamic world; it is no longer presented from the eastern perspective of Baghdad.26 This seems to be related to the unprecedented access he had, as an eastern geographer, to the Maghrib and Egypt, and this makes his description unique as compared to those of his contemporaries. One of his surviving maps of Egypt in particular is the oldest known representation of the Nile Delta and shows unique information almost contemporary to the fourth/tenth century.27 The section on the Sea of Persia (Baḥr Fāris), is the second section overall and precedes the section on the Maghrib; it is described as connected (yattaṣil) to most of the Islamic territories to the east, as it extends from the Red Sea to the coasts of China, including the Indian Ocean. After finishing the description of the Mediterranean regions, al-Iṣtakhrī and Ibn Ḥawqal return to a detailed description of the regions in the eastern Islamic lands. The Mediterranean and the Persian Sea are recognized not only as major seas, but also and more importantly, as maritime spaces connected to major human settlements. It is from this perspective that both geographers emphasize the fact that the 25  Ibn Ḥawqal, Ṣūrat al-arḍ, 60. My translation. 26  Picard, La Mer de Califes, 115–117. 27  Jean-Charles Ducène, “Le delta du Nil dans les cartes d’Ibn Ḥawqal,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 63, no. 4 (2004), 241–256.

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Table 1.2

The order of the Mediterranean regions with regard to the surrounding regions in the works of the geographers of the “classical school”

Order of regions/ aqālīm

al-Iṣṭakhrī

Ibn Ḥawqal

al-Muqaddasī

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Arabian Peninsula Persian Sea al-Maghrib Egypt al-Shām Baḥr al-Rūm northern Iraq

Arabian Peninsula Persian Sea al-Maghrib Muslim Spain Sicily Egypt al-Shām Baḥr al-Rūm northern Iraq Iraq

Arabian Peninsula Iraq northern Iraq al-Shām Egypt al-Maghrib desert of the Arab Peninsula

Mediterranean coasts are more populated than those of the Persian Sea. The sea appropriates a regional importance based on human activity, and this is the reason only two seas are seen as worthy of being considered “regions” (aqālīm). Al-Iṣtakhrī and Ibn Ḥawqal’s Mediterranean, with its three levels of regional delimitation, is characterized by yet another aspect. It is a region that must be described from the west to the east, and from the south to the north, following the coastlines but with continual references to deep inland areas. This complicated orientation is summarized in the confusing, encompassing terms of “west” (gharb) meaning western and southern (that is, southwestern), and “east” (sharq), meaning eastern and northern (that is, northeastern). It is perceived from the eastern Islamic lands, but also, and surprisingly, from the northern European lands. For al-Iṣtakhrī and Ibn Ḥawqal, the Mediterranean is seen essentially as a western and/or southern phenomenon. The section on the Mediterranean in Ibn Ḥawqal’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ is longer, however. In addition to an introduction that is basically similar to the text of al-Iṣṭakhrī, Ibn Ḥawqal, who traveled through the Mediterranean to reach Sicily and Spain, provides more details in his section on Baḥr al-Rūm. First, although, like al-Isṭakhrī, he has a special section on the Mediterranean that follows a series of sections describing the regions on the Mediterranean coasts, he has a longer series of regions than al-Iṣṭakhrī. In addition to the Maghrib, Egypt, and al-Shām, Ibn Ḥawqal considers Muslim Spain (al-Andalus) and

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Sicily separate regions. Second, he provides a longer and more detailed description of the European lands, to the extent that he describes almost the whole of Europe within the “region” (iqlīm) of the Mediterranean. Third, Ibn Ḥawqal’s Mediterranean is described as a former/disappearing Muslim space that was being challenged, slowly but effectively, by the Rūm during his time. Another major work of the “classical school” is al-Muqaddasī’s Aḥsan altaqāsīm. His approach to the Mediterranean and the world in general is, however, substantially different than that of al-Iṣṭakhrī and Ibn Ḥawqal. He divided his book and the ecumene into two spaces, according to ethnic attributions: the “regions of the Arabs” (iqlīm al-ʿArab) versus the “region of non-Arab Muslims” (iqlīm al-ʿAjam). The regions of the Mediterranean are included in the former, but he does not write a special section on the Mediterranean as such. In the introduction, al-Muqaddasī approaches the Mediterranean as a sea, as opposed to an ocean, just as al-Iṣtakhrī and Ibn Ḥawqal call the Indian Ocean the “Chinese Sea” (al-Baḥr al-Ṣīnī). From the perspective of the narrative of al-Muqaddasī’s Aḥsan al-taqāsīm, the Baḥr al-Rūm is mostly a marker of maritime frontiers of the Islamic regions on the southern edge of the Mediterranean. Also, his description of the Mediterranean regions follows the opposite orientation: from the east to the west. Since one of the common aspects of the “classical school” is the description of the roads and major itineraries (al-masālik) one would expect the three geographers to take a similar approach. But unlike al-Iṣṭakhrī and Ibn Ḥawqal, al-Muqaddasī, who we know traveled by sea in the Mediterranean, did not distinguish maritime from mainland itineraries. The former authors, especially Ibn Ḥawqal, provide details of the various maritime stops from one point to another, either in the Islamic regions or on the European coasts, following testimonies of Muslim travelers and captives. For al-Muqaddasī, the Mediterranean and maritime spaces in general are not represented as regional spaces, even from the basic perspective of traveling routes. On this point, al-Yaʿqūbī,28 who did not follow many guidelines of the “classical school,” seems to be closer to al-Iṣṭakhrī and Ibn Ḥawqal than alMuqaddasī. In his work, he approaches the mamlakat al-Islām, except for the two imperial Abbasid metropoles of Baghdad and Samarra, from a quarter system of regional (geographic) division, according to which the provinces of Syria, Egypt and Nuba, and North Africa are considered the fourth quarter, which corresponds to some Mediterranean regions. Still, al-Yaʿqūbi’s description of the roads and itineraries of travelers follows a Mediterranean maritime 28   Al-Yaʿqūbī focuses on provinces and administrative divisions. See Miquel, “Iḳlim”; Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:158–161.

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itinerary, though only within the Muslim space. And the description of the Mediterranean from the point of view of maritime itineraries does not make it a “region.” The above discussion demonstrates that there was not a single Muslim perception of the Mediterranean. Some geographers, notably Ibn Ḥawqal, presented the Braudelean “historical Mediterranean,” but only with great difficulty, as shown by their discontinuous narrative. The majority, however, presented a maritime space that could have, at most, some mainland-maritime itineraries, as is the case later, with the fifth-/eleventh-century geographer alBakrī. Regardless of its regional essence, the sea itself was perceived as a world full of meanings. Still, could it be, as some suggest, that what they repeatedly presented as the “most humanly settled” sea was a sea “out of control”? Did they perceive the Mediterranean as an exotic and hostile sea like the farthest oceans, such as the “Sea of Darkness” (Baḥr al-Ẓulumāt)?

CHAPTER 3

Redefining the “Atlas of Islam” School: Two Diverse Traditions Depicting the Mediterranean From a cartographic point of view, it is somewhat confusing to simplify the more generic tradition of “al-masālik wa-l-mamālik” (the itineraries and kingdoms) in the “atlas of Islam” school as Pinto does following mainly Miquel’s classification.1 It is necessary to emphasize the formation of the geography of itineraries since this has some impact on the discussion of the problem of geographic and cartographic depictions of the Mediterranean.

The “Regional” Textual Context of the “Atlas of Islam” Maps of the Mediterranean

Even though the fourth-/tenth-century “atlas of Islam” school might better represent the tradition of the geography of the itineraries, it is only a more sophisticated category of that tradition. According to Kratchkovski’s schema of the history of geographic literature, which I believe is the most accurate (though simple compared to other classifications, notably Miquel’s), there are two major schools in the history of early Islamic geography, and other less dominant schools.2 The first is the tradition of “mathematical geography,” which began early in the third/ninth century and continued afterward with

1  Pinto’s conclusions are based on the works of the geographers of the “Balkhī school.” In Kratchkovski’s definition, it is known as the “classical school,” in Miller’s cartographic terms it is known as the tradition of the “atlas of Islam.” Pinto, “Surat Bahr,” 224–225: “But what about the view through maps? Specifically medieval Islamic ones? This is the question that I propose to address from the point of view of a large corpus of maps that accompany, in atlaslike fashion, a specific series of geographical texts that are generally known by the universal title of their most prolific copy: The Kitab al-Masalik wa al-Mamalik.” According to the maps used in her discussion, it is clear that Pinto is talking about the maps of the “atlas of Islam” school. 2  According to Kratchkovski, there are two less dominant schools: the “linguistic-geographers” and the “traveler-geographers.” To the former pertain authors like al-Dīnūrī and to the second pertain authors such as al-Masʿūdī and Ibn Faḍlān. See Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:124–154 and 1:177–196.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi ��.��63/9789004347380_005

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authors like al-Khawārizmī, Suhrāb, al-Kindī, al-Battānī, and al-Zurqālī.3 The second tradition is that of “descriptive” or “regional” geography, which focused on itineraries. It began in the third/ninth century with authors, some of whom started the tradition of titling their treatises Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, like Ibn Khurradādhbih, al-Yaʿqūbī, al-Balādhurī, Ibn al-Faqīh, Ibn Rusta, and Qudāma.4 In the fourth/tenth century, this tradition of the geography of itineraries went through a second phase called the “classical school,” the “Balkhī school,” or the “atlas of Islam” school. It was represented by four authors: alBalkhī, for whom we have no extant treatises, al-Iṣṭakhrī, Ibn Ḥawqal, and alMuqaddasī.5 Even in the case of classifications that differ from Kratchkovski (like Miquel’s), the works of these authors do not differ, in essence, from the works of the third-/ninth-century authors, though they are described as “more representative” of the geography of itineraries.6 Still, Kratchkovski’s classification of geographic literature seems slightly more accurate, especially when compared with Miquel’s classification, because it focuses not only on the intrinsic construction of the geographic works but also on the role of the cartographic depictions in shaping the text, while Miquel’s classification of geographic literature relates more to extrinsic factors, notably the historical and political context.7 First, the differentiation between 3  Ibid., 1:69–123. 4  Maqbul Ahmed, whose classification is not much different from that of Kratchkovski, suggests that the “atlas of Islam” school was preceded in the third/ninth century by an “Iraqi school” that focused on Iraq, or more precisely, the Iraqi lowlands (al-sawād) as the center of the world. But this is not quite accurate, since several geographers Maqbul includes in the “Iraqi school” do not, in fact, present Iraq as the center, rather they present the Arabian Peninsula as the center, as Maqbul himself admits. See Fr. Taeschner, “Djughrafiya,” EI2, 2:575–590 (Leiden: Brill, 1965). For this reason, Kratchkovski’s much simpler classification seems more appropriate. For the early phase (the third/ninth century) of the tradition of the geography of itineraries, see Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:155–176. 5  Ibid., 1:197–318. 6  Miquel, who suggests a different reading of the history of geographic literature, describes only the fourth/tenth century as “le siècle des masālik wa l-mamālik.” Even though he sees the third-/ninth-century geographers of itineraries as “fragmentary” and more provincial than the fourth-/tenth-century authors, he clearly thinks that the latter began a more fulfilling tradition, still related to the same genre, though with a more “global” approach. See Miquel, La Géographie, 1:267–268. 7  Kratchkovski’s classification seems more accurate because he emphasizes factors related to the textual structure, other than the title “Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik”; this allows him to put, for example, the third-/ninth- and fourth-/tenth-century authors of the geography of itineraries tradition in the same genre. Thus, he emphasizes the basic methodological approach of all the authors of the geography of itineraries, which describes space on the basis

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the school of “mathematical geography” and “regional geography,” that is the geography of itineraries, is a response to two essentially different geographic narratives. The texts of “mathematical geography,” which are inspired mainly from the Greek tradition, are narrations that describe or reconstruct a world map divided according to the seven climatic zones or climata. “Regional geography,” however, approaches the world mostly from the perspective of an Iranian tradition that emphasizes the notion of regions that are defined by human geography, known as the keshwars, rather than the Greek climatic regions. This pattern drives the “regional geography” school to approach space through the itineraries. Such a “regional” approach seems to have been influenced by an Iranian cartographic tradition that represents the keshwar even though the dominance of the administrative keshwar and the overall seven keshwar are almost totally neglected by Muslim geographers. The cartographic approaches of these two major schools emphasize their different essences. Though no extant examples survive, we know that Islamic “mathematical geography” sought to construct world maps that respond to long compilations/databases of longitudes and latitudes. The texts of authors like al-Khawārizmī and Suhrāb provide specific instructions on how to construct such maps. They are the most descriptive texts. Islamic “regional geography,” however, developed the idea of constructing maps to represent regional personas rather than computed tables of longitudes and latitudes. It is important to remember that, in the early Islamic sources, one of the most common terms for maps is “image” (ṣūra), a more appropriate term to describe the map of the “regional geography” school than the map of the “mathematical of its main roads. By contrast, Miquel’s classification does not depend on the genre of the text as much as the historical context of the text. For Miquel, the fourth-/tenth-century authors’ focus on the “kingdom of Islam” (mamlakat al-Islām), which is one of the main aspects that distinguishes the third-/ninth- and fourth-/tenth-century authors, is a reflection of the “siècle inquiet” that was the beginning of the breakdown of the Abbasid empire in the fourth/ tenth century. In another instance in which Miquel seems to emphasize the historical context more than the textual structure, he categorizes al-Yaʿqūbī as one of the “[fourth-/] tenthcentury authors,” even though he was a contemporary of Ibn Khurradādhbih, the first to begin the geography of itineraries. In fact, al-Yaʿqūbī finished his treatise around 278/891 and Ibn Khurradādhbih completed his around 271/885. Both died at the beginning of the fourth/ tenth century, al-Yaʿqūbī died first. Obviously al-Yaʿqūbī seems to have taken a step forward in terms of more accurate information compared to Ibn Khurradādhbih, as Kratchkovski suggests, and therefore he could be seen as ahead of his time. But looking at the structure of the text, and especially with regard to the role of maps in the textual construction, al-Yaʿqūbī’s treatise, which did not include maps, belongs more to the series of works of his contemporaries, the third-/ninth-century authors, rather than the fourth-/tenth-century writers.

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geography” school, which was intended to be a graphic representation.8 The development of the “regional school” was achieved by the fourth-/tenth-century geographers of the itineraries. This major difference between the two groups of geographers of the itineraries defined much of the identity of the fourth-/tenth-century authors, and should be seen as the cartographic depiction, which needed some time to develop, of their shared “regional” approach to space. Thus, the analysis of the “atlas of Islam” school, the cartographic productions/depictions of the “Balkhī school” or the “classical school,” requires an understanding of the pre- fourth-/tenth-century geographers of itineraries or the “regional geographers.” The very idea of the “regional” approach greatly helps us to analyze the map of the Mediterranean as a regional map, and not simply as a map of the sea. As we have seen above, the delimitation of the Mediterranean in the texts of the “classical school” suggests a “region” (iqlīm) defined by human factors. The absence of such a perspective would understandably lead to a highly structuralist approach, one that emphasizes only formal analysis, regardless of the ideas elaborated by the “classical school.” One of these ideas concerns the essential role of maps, since the methodological approach of this tradition, with the exception of al-Muqaddasī, was to narrate maps rather than construct texts that with maps as subordinate support.

The “Atlas of Islam” School: Texts vs. Maps

The earliest possible instance in which we find geographic text with maps is with the surviving examples of the “atlas of Islam” school. If we disregard the lost text of al-Balkhī, or we assume, as some do, that his text survived in the text of al-Iṣṭakhrī, the latter’s text is the earliest known of a text of the “atlas of Islam” school. His text on the Mediterranean is, in fact, discussed in four chapters: the Maghrib, Egypt, Syria, and Baḥr al-Rūm. Although only the last 8  But since the known cartography of Islamic “mathematical geography” mainly concerns how to construct a map, rather than the actual construction of a map, it is fair to say that most of the extant “images” (ṣuwar) or maps from the early Islamic period we have are images rather than graphic representations. This includes the famous “world map of al-Ma‌ʾmūn,” which is considered the most significant early example of the tradition of “mathematical geography,” and some argue, without enough evidence I believe, that it has survived in one of al-ʿUmarī’s seventh-/thirteenth-century manuscripts. See F. Sezgin, The Contribution of the ArabicIslamic Geographers to the Formation of the World Map (Frankfurt: Institut für Geschichte de Arabish-Islamischen Wissenschaften, 1987), 19 and plates 10 and 11.

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chapter actually mentions the name of the Mediterranean, al-Iṣṭakhrī gives ample evidence that he considers the other three chapters part of his larger text on the Mediterranean. The most basic relationship between texts and images in the Kitāb al-Masālik is the precedence of the text to the image. At the end of each chapter, the author introduces its map with “and this is the image of …” (wa-hadhihi ṣifat/ṣūrat…). As noted, he begins the chapter on the Maghrib with an introduction that places it in the western part of the Mediterranean. The chapter on Syria precedes the chapter on Baḥr al-Rūm, and concludes, “we finished our statement on what we wanted to mention of Syria, and we already mentioned and completed [the information on] the Maghrib, Egypt, Syria, and regions along Baḥr al-Rūm. All this takes us to the Rūm.”9 Then in the short chapter known as “Baḥr al-Rūm” he starts with a general description, beginning from the west (Ṭanja) along the south Mediterranean shores of the coastlines of the various regions of the Mediterranean, including those discussed in the three earlier chapters, in addition to the lands of the Rūm. That is why he explicitly mentions his intention to avoid repetition and thus focus in this chapter on the Rūm: “We already mentioned the distance along the lands of the Maghrib, Egypt, Syria, to the end of [the territories] of Islam, and all its frontiers, and [for this reason we wish to] avoid repeating it.”10 The text of each chapter is organized in a unique way, no two chapters are alike. The first text on a Mediterranean region, the text on the Maghrib, is made effectively of six parts. Al-Iṣṭakhrī begins with a succinct introduction summarizing the region of the Maghrib, and indicating its main parts (two “halves”: “eastern” and “western”), its districts/political entities from east to west (Barqa, Ifrīqiyya, Tāhirt, Ṭanja, Sūs, and Andalus), and finally he presents a summary of the itineraries with an emphasis on the coastline sites. The other five parts of this chapter are detailed discussions of the summary. First, he gives a detailed description of the itineraries of the coastline sites in the “eastern half” of the Maghrib, which is North Africa; second is a description of the itineraries of the districts of the “eastern half” (from west to east), beginning from the mainland centers and moving toward the coastline sites; third is a detailed description ‫� نت ق � ف أ � ذ‬ ‫أق‬ � ‫ل����ش�ا �م ذ� ك‬ � � � ‫��م���غ� � �م���� �ص� ا‬ � � ‫� ه �م� ن ا‬ ‫ل����ش�ا �م و� ��ا �ل����ي��م‬ ‫�ر �ن�ا ا �ل� ر ب و ر و‬ ‫و‬ � ‫و ��ق�د ا ����هى �و �ل���ن�ا ���ي���م�ا � ر د �ن�ا � كر‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ف‬ �‫�م���م����ت�د �ة ���ع��ل ب‬ .‫�ر ا �لر و�م‬ ‫ و�ي���� �ص�ل � �ل�ك ��ب� ك‬،‫��ح�ر ا �لر و�م وا ����ست��و���ي ن���ا ���ه�ا‬ ‫ى‬

9   Al-Iṣṭakhrī, al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 68:

� � �‫�� ذ� � � �� ة �ت أ ض‬ �‫آ‬ �� � ‫�ث غ‬ ‫ا‬ ‫و ق�د � كر �ن�ا ا ل���م��س�ا ف�� ا �ل�ي� ��ب� ر � ا ل���م���غ�ر ب� و�م���� �ص�ر وا ل����ش�ا �م �إلى � ��خ�ر الإ� ���س�ل �م وا �ل���و ر ف�ي‬ ‫� � ن‬ .‫ ���م�ا �ي �����غ�نى �ع� ن� إ� ع�ا د ��ت�ه‬،‫��ا � �م ����ن�ه‬ ‫كل م ك‬ �

10  Ibid., 69:

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of the itineraries of the districts on the shores of the “western half,” which is Andalusia; fourth is a description of the itineraries with Cordoba as a center; while the fifth part of this chapter emphasizes human geography in the remote southern areas of North Africa, and highlights the main political and religious aspects of the Maghrib; finally the chapter concludes with the distances of the itineraries. Since we do not know how the fourth-/tenth-century map of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik looked, we should assume that some degree of alteration in the style and content of the surviving maps crept in. Thus, we cannot discuss al-Iṣṭakhrī’s maps in terms of the relationship between the original cartographic productions and the text accompanying them. The earliest surviving map of the Maghrib in Kitāb al-Masālik (A-I-3),11 dated to 568/1173, takes up the ideas of the first part in the chapter of the Maghrib, which is the approach of the summary. The only indication in the map of the Maghrib mentions that the author “included in the drawing [taṣwīr] both” halves of the Maghrib, that is, North Africa and Muslim Spain.12 On the map, we have two visual registers, the coastline sites and the mainland centers, which echo the clear differentiation between them in the text. In addition, there are two straight parallel lines in North Africa, the coastline and a mainland line. This pattern persisted in all the surviving maps of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s alMasālik wa-l-mamālik. This distinction is emphasized by two types of symbols: small house-like symbols dominate the coastline, while half circles dominate the mainland line sites, suggesting their centrality (Qayrawān, Barqa, and Sijilmāsa), just as it is indicated in the text by the connotation “the great city” (al-madīna al-ʿuẓmā). Only Mahdiyya is presented as the center of a district among the coastline sites, in contrast to its connotation in al-Iṣṭakhrī’s al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik as simply a “small city” (madīna ṣaghīra), though with the notation that it was the seat of the founders of the Fatimid dynasty. Mahdiyya, however, is an example that points to the way the maps may occasionally evolve from their textual content. By the time al-Iṣṭakhrī wrote his

11  See the corpus in the book’s appendix. 12  Al-Iṣṭakhrī, al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 36:

‫غ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ن ف‬ ‫ن ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ف ن‬ � �‫�أ ���م�ا ا �ل‬ ،‫ ����� ��ص� �م� ن� �ش��ر�����ي�ه و ����� ��ص� �م� ن� �ر ب�����ي�ه‬،‫��م���غ�ر ب� ����هو ���� �ص���ف�ا � ي����م����ت�د ا � ���ع��لى ب��ح�ر ا �لر و�م‬ ‫و‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف� أ � ش � ف� � �� ة أ ف‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ة‬ ‫�ز‬ � ‫ق‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن‬ � � � �� � ‫� ���ع�ا �� ���ه� ه‬ ‫�ه‬ � ‫ا‬ � ‫ا‬ � ‫� ���م�ا ل���ر ق�ي ���هو بر ق�� و ر�ي��������ي�� و �ت�ا ر� وط���� � �ج�� و ل��سو س و و�يل�� و���م�ا ف�ي �ض‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أق‬ � ‫ف‬ .‫ و �ق�د ج��م�عت����ه���م�ا �ف�ي ا � ت�ل����صو��ي�ر‬،‫ و� ���م�ا ا �ل غ��ر ب��ي ����هو ال� ��ن�د �ل��س‬،‫ال� ��ا �ل����ي��م‬

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last draft in 338/950,13 Mahdiyya had functioned for some time, since its founding in 299/912, as a Fatimid capital, but was occasionally disregarded in favor of some of Qayrawān’s suburban palatial structures, such as Sabrā l-Manṣūriyya, which was also founded by the Fatimids and acted as a seat of their power during the reign of al-Manṣūr (334–41/946–53). Could it be that such an unstable centrality during the first half of the fourth/tenth century led al-Iṣṭakhrī to consider Qayrawān rather than Mahdiyya as a political center? Or did alIṣṭakhri’s explicit anti-Fatimid sentiments lead him downplay the role of their famous bastion? The earliest surviving map of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, made more than two centuries later, seems to emphasize Mahdiyya as a center equal to Qayrawān (both are encircled by large double half circles). This probably reflects the mapmaker’s view of the fourth-/tenth century as a glorious time for the Fatimid city, which had been in decline when the earliest surviving copy was made. But this visual differentiation of administrative urban centers seems to be lost from the visual memory of the later mapmakers. In the North African region, other than the parallel lines, in all other maps of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik (A-I-5, A-I-9, A-I-11, A-I-15, A-I-20, A-I-21, A-I-23, and A-I-24) there is almost nothing that distinguishes the administrative centers from the rest of the sites. In one instance (A-I-15) there seems to be an additional visual distinction of the mainland sites (Barqa, Qayrawān, Ṣitīf, and Tāhirt) versus those on the coastlines; this is denoted with city-symbols of the former in the form of full circles and with half-circles for the latter. It is, however, unclear if this association between visual distinction in the level of city-symbols and the mainland centers was meant to suggest the centrality of the mainland centers found in the text. Contemporary geopolitical variables, notably the regression in the middle and late medieval periods of the position of cities such as Qayrawān and Tāhirt in favor of more coastal centers such as Tūnis and Tanīs, could have contributed to the tendency of the post fourth-/tenth-century makers of alIṣṭakhrī’s maps to drop the visual indicators suggesting the centrality of the mainland centers. There is yet another indication that the Maghrib map included information that was not present in the text. For example, some maps include a city like Aghmāt (near Sūs) that is absent from the text of al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik’s; this began at least from 589/1193 (A-I-5) and continued later in the maps of ca. 700/1300 (A-I-11) and 803/1403 (A-I-16), though it is sometimes inscribed as 13  Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:199.

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“Aghmād” instead of Aghmāt. Because it is mentioned in earlier sources, like alYaʿqūbī’s Kitāb al-Buldān and slightly later (Aḥsan al-taqāsīm) than al-Iṣṭakhrī’s al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, it could have been introduced into the earliest copies of the Maghrib maps.14 Still, it is an indication of the interaction between alIṣṭakhrī’s maps and other texts. The approach to the mapping of the other “half” of the Maghrib in these maps, namely Andalus, follows many similar principles we have seen in the North African “half.” The coastal sites are clearly distinguished by the way they are lined up in a radial manner along the half-circle of a coastline that is the Andalus map. In contrast, Cordoba, the mainland center of Andalus, is almost at the center. The distinction is emphasized by city-symbols in the form of a hexagon at Cordoba (A-I-11 and A-I-16), a larger fortification-like rectangle (AI-9), a larger square (A-I- 21), or a larger circle, even in the earliest surviving examples (A-I-3, A-I-5, and A-I-15). This is in contrast to smaller squares or circles given as city-symbols at other sites. The text is also present and highlighted by the itineraries crossing the Andalusian mainland in diagonals to the center, emphasizing again the centrality of Cordoba. As in the text, in the map we encounter the first indications of non-Muslims in the Mediterranean; special spaces are given to the various kingdoms bordering Andalus. These borders are placed in such a way that the non-Muslim kingdoms are inside the frame of the map, unlike the borders between Muslim regions, which coincide with the actual frame of the map. Thus, the inscriptions of the non-Maghribi lands are out of the frame (“ḥudūd Miṣr/the borders of Egypt” are beyond the eastern frame of North Africa). The emphasis on the presence of non-Muslims within the map of the Maghrib suggests the basic representation of the early geographers, who saw the Maghrib under a constant and direct threat from non-Muslims. Yet their presence on the map does not mean that they are part of the region of the Maghrib. Their visual presence is eclipsed from the dominant cartographic language, as they are excluded from the language of itineraries characterizing al-Iṣṭakhrī’s al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik map, and their territories are emptied of any urban centers and, thus, any lines connecting them that might suggest any kind of itinerary. The Egyptian and Syrian text-image relationships are different, in essence, from those of the Maghrib because these chapters are organized differently. Egypt is described in the text from two perspectives. First, a generic description emphasizing its borders clearly suggests a quadrangular shape without giving any geographic orientation but simply by using formulas like “it [the border] turns … and then it turns….” The rectangular-like shape of Egypt is highlighted 14  Al-Yaʿqūbī, Kitāb al-Buldān, 150; al-Muqaddasī, Aḥsan al-taqāsīm, 321.

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by giving the measurements (using stages, marḥala) of two equal parallel segments. Then, the author moves to the description of human geography. Instead of emphasizing the itineraries, he describes the Egyptian landscape following a pyramidal approach, beginning with the most important centers and areas and moving outward to those less important. Thus, Fusṭāṭ features prominently in this textual order as the “great city” (madīna ʿuẓmā), followed by the Nile, which is described as “not straight” (mūriban), then Alexandria, the Wāḥāt (Oases), the Delta with an emphasis on Tinnis and Dimyāṭ, and finally the Jifār or the eastern borders with Syria/Shām. In each city or area, however, a variety of subjects are discussed, other than distances and itineraries, which makes this chapter more a human geography than merely itineraries. By contrast, the surviving maps of Egypt suggest a dominant tendency toward “schematic parallelism.” This suggests the centrality of Fusṭāṭ and urbanism along the Nile rather than a direct response to a textual description. The whole picture is organized around the straight line of the Nile at the center, with two parallel lines at each side representing two series of mountains, Jabal al-Muqaṭṭam to the east and Jibāl al-Wāḥāt to the west. Finally, two outer parallels frame the picture: The Red Sea to the east and the border of the oases (wāḥāt) in the west. The Nile and the two series of mountains open toward the Mediterranean to give space to the Egyptian Delta (two cities of Tinnīs and Dimyāṭ form islands in a “lake”) and a series of sites beyond to the west (Alexandria is usually highlighted by its minaret) and in the east (ʿArīsh and Gaza). Finally, the Jifār area (including Mount Sinai “Ṭūr Sīnā”) is highlighted by a dotted triangular space between the northern tip of the Red Sea and the Mediterranean. The differences between the text and the map go beyond the general structure of each to include details. Nothing in the text suggests a topographic format like that of the Nile or the two series of mountains. Of the latter, only the Jabal al-Muqaṭṭam are clearly indicated, and then only to bring to mind the ancient Egyptian story, but without giving descriptive details. Yet, such “schematic parallelism” is explicit in later texts, thus suggesting the transmission of the cartographic scheme to a textual description.15 Though most of the cities on the maps are mentioned in the texts, some later maps include new ‫أ‬ ‫ث �ث ن ق‬ ‫�أن‬ ‫ش ة‬ ‫تخ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫و� ���م�ا و �ض‬ ‫� ���ع�ه ��ف� � ب��ح�ر ا �لر وم ���ع��لى �و���م�ه ا �ل���ما �ل����ي�� وب��ح�ر ا �ل���� �ص��ي� ي���م�د ���ع��لى ��ل� ي���ه �م�� � ����ب�ل‬ ‫�� ق‬ ‫ن � ث � ن ف �ف خ� ة ف‬ �� ‫� ف‬ ‫�ل‬ �� ‫ن‬ � ‫ �� ��ص� ب���ي� ا ل ب���� �ح�ر وا ج ����ب�ل ��ي�ا ب���س وا ل���� ��ص� ا ل���ث�ا �ن�ي‬،��‫ و���ه��ذا � ا �ل��ل���ث�ا � �ص��و� �م���س‬،� ‫ا ل����ش�ر‬ ‫� ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ق‬ �‫ج� ����ب�ل ا لم��������ط�م وا �ل���� ��ص� ا �ل����ث�ا �ل� ث� ا �ل���ص�ع����ي�د ي�������قع �����ي�ه ا �ل��ن ي���ل و���م�ا ع�ل����ي�ه �م� ن� ا �ل ����ب�ل�د ا � وا �ل���� ��ص‬ ‫أ‬ ً � ‫� خ‬ ‫� �ة ا �ل ا ��ح�ا ت‬ .� ‫ا �لرا ���بع ج� ����ب�ل � �ي������ض�ا ���ل���ف�ه كو ر و‬

15  Al-Muqaddasī. Aḥsan al-taqāsīm, 212:

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Table 1.3

Cities along the Nile: al-Iṣṭakhrī’s al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik compared to later maps of Egypt (cities ordered from north to south)

A-I-3 (569/1173)

Dabqū Damīra Fusṭāṭ Būmīn Īlīnā

A-I-9 (686/1287)

Fayyūm Ashmūnīn Akhmīm Aswān

Dabqū Damīra Miṣr Fusṭāṭ Asyūṭ Tarhūna?

Fayyūm Ashmūnīn Akhmīm Īlīnā Aswān

cities, notably Cairo (Miṣr) next to Fusṭāṭ, in addition to various misplacements (Table 1.3). Finally, some specific cartographic details are not mentioned in the text, such as the palm trees found in the toponym of ʿArīsh. Al-Iṣṭakhrī’s text on Syria/Shām begins with an introduction “reconciling” the traditional view that distinguishes between the Syrian and the northern Iraqi (Jazīra) frontier lands (thughūr) and that of earlier authors like al-Balādhurī.16 Next it mentions the series of mountains called the Likām Mountains (Jabal al-Likām) that stretch from the northeast to the southwest, passing through most of the Syrian territories. Unlike the chapter on Egypt, the text is organized in two major parts. First, it provides a description of the Syrian territories on the basis of administrative districts (jund and military districts) going from the southwest to northeastern districts: jund Filasṭīn, jund al-Urdunn, jund ‫� أ‬ ‫���تن�� ف� �م���� �ص� �م� ن �م���د ئ����ه�ا � ا �ل���ع� ض� �إل �م��ن ت���ه�ا ���ه�ا ����ب�لا ن� �أ ��ج� دا ن� ���غ�� �ش���ا م� ن‬ ‫��ق�ا ل � �م����ي��ة ي� ك‬ ‫ير‬ ‫ج‬ � � ‫ر � ى‬ � ‫ر � أب‬ �‫��خ��ي‬ � ‫ر‬ ‫ف�ي‬ ً ‫ن‬ ‫ش ق ة‬ ‫ق‬ ‫تق‬ �‫آ‬ ‫� ��عه���م�ا � ح�د �ه���م�ا � �ض � ة �ن‬ � ‫�م�����ا ر ��ب�ا � ���ج�د ا �ف�ي و �ض‬ ‫� ���ف�� ا �ل� ي���ل ا �ل���ر�����ي�� و�هو أج� ����ب�ل ا �ل���م������أ��ط��م وال� ��خ�ر‬ ‫ف�ي‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ن‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ن �ن ت‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ن‬ � ‫� ا �ل���ض � ة غ ة‬ ‫� ���ف�� ا �ل��رب�����ي�� �م���ن�ه وا �ل� ي���ل �م����س�ر ب� ���ي���م�ا ب���ي���ه���م�ا �م� ن� �ل�د � �م�د ي����ن�� � ��سوا � �إلى � � ي�����ه����ي�ا �إلى‬ ‫ف�ي‬ ‫ف‬ ‫� ف‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫فَ َ �ت‬ ‫ف‬ �‫ن‬ ‫ق ً أ � �ذ ق‬ ��‫ا �ل������س����ط�ا ط �����ث��م ت������سع �م��س�ا ��ف�� ���م�ا ب���ي ن���ه���م�ا وت�����ف�ر ج� ��ل����ي�لا و ي�� ��خ� ا �ل���م��������ط��م�م ن������ه�ا �ش��ر ��ق�ا ���ي �����ش�ر‬ ‫آ‬ َ‫أ َ�ذ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫���ع��لى ���س����ط�ا ط �م���� �ص�ر و�ي ����غ�ر ب� ال� ���خ�ر ���ع��لى و ر ا‬ ‫ي�ه���م�ا و����ع�ريج� �م��س��ل��كي���ه���م�ا �ت����ت����س‬ �� ��‫� �م� ن� �م� خ‬ ‫ب‬ ٍ � َ ‫ع‬ ِ ‫�ذ‬ ‫أ ض‬ ‫�ن‬ ‫� ر�� �م���� �ص�ر �م� ن� ا �ل��ف����س����ط�ا ط �إلى ���س�ا ح�ل ا �ل ب������ح�ر ا �لر و م�ي ا �ل� �ي� ع�ل����ي�ه ا �ل��ف��َر���م�ا وت�������ي��س ود �م����ي�ا ط‬ .‫و ر ش�����ي���د والإ� ��س� ن�ك��د ر ��ي��ة‬

in Yāqūt al-Ḥamawī, Muʿjam, 5:138:

16  M. Bonner, “The Naming of the Frontier: Awāṣim, Thughūr, and the Arab Geographers,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 57 (1994/1), 22–23.

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Dimashq, jund Ḥims, jund Qinnasrīn, and then the Mediterranean military district on the Byzantine frontier known as ʿAwāṣim. The second part of the chapter is left for the description of the measurements and itineraries of Syria. Its “length” (ṭūl) and varying “width” (ʿarḍ) are delineated, including the main routes: from northern Malṭiyya down to southern Rafaḥ, passing through the centers of each district, in the north from Minbaj (east) to Ṭarsūs (west), and in the south from Yāfā on the Mediterranean to Maʿān in the southwestern mainland. As in the introduction to the chapter on Egypt, these measurements are meant to give a generic idea of the form of Syria. Finally, the author presents the itineraries in each administrative district, beginning from the center. In this chapter, however, the author makes a clear comment on his maps. While listing the cities and fortifications of the northern frontier (thughūr), the author refers his reader to the map to read all the toponyms of the thughūr: “they [the thughūr] are mentioned in the map of Syria [taṣwīr al-Shām], thus repeating them would [unnecessarily] lengthen the text.”17 The relationship of the map of Syria to the text, just as we have seen in the chapter on Egypt, is also complicated. Given the surviving examples of the map, Syria would seem to be based on a group of lines that cross it, suggesting the function of itineraries. Four main lines connect cities that would have been on the same route, such as the line connecting Ḥalab to Dimashq. Yet, al-Iṣṭakhrī’s al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik text does not mention any specific itineraries on the maps, and the routes mentioned in the text are described in rotation beginning and going back to the center, but not in a linear fashion. These lines seem to serve another function, probably suggesting the textual emphasis on administrative districts. Although there is no mention of a jund on the map, the lines that intersect the diagonal format of Jabal al-Likām divide the territory into various areas that coincide, in some parts, with administrative districts. For example, the triangular area, created in the western part of the map by an itinerary line and the mountain line, covers most of the territory of jund Filasṭin. In addition, the triangular space created by the Ḥalab-Anṭākiya itinerary line and the Euphrates coincides, for the most part, with the administrative district of al-Thughūr; this explains the only indication in the map of an administrative area called “thughūr jazīriyya.” The map of Syria is characterized by the way its frontier with the Bilād al-Rūm is represented. Unlike the maps of Andalus, where there is usually a clear line separating Andalus 17  Al-Iṣṭakhrī, al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 55:

‫�ذ‬ ‫ن ق ذ‬ ‫ت ت‬ ‫غ‬ ‫� �ه�ا � �ت���ص � ا � ش‬ ‫ش‬ .‫ «و �ف�ي إ� ع�ا د ���ه�ا ���طو ي�ل‬،‫ل����ا �م‬ ‫وا �ل� �ي� ��لي�ي ا �ل���ر �ق�ي وا �ل��ر ب��ي �م�د � ��د � كر ف�ي وير‬

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from the various populations of the Bilād al-Rūm, here the earlier maps (A-I-9) leave the northern frontier open. It is notable that this convention was not followed in later examples (A-I-10 and A-I-21). The difference, which may be the result of later copists who simplified the map, is emphasized by the presence, in earlier maps, of the fortification of Ūlās, which is described in the text as the “remotest Muslims’ settlement on the Mediterranean.”18 Ūlās is absent in later surviving maps. The visual function of the three rivers, the Euphrates, Sīḥān, and Jīḥān, suggested by Pinto as defense lines, is not entirely accurate.19 The text emphasizes specific sites, such as the thughūr including the coastal fortifications of Maṣīṣa, Ādhna, Ṭarsūs, and Ūlās, as defense lines. These are clearly represented on the surviving maps, and are even more expressive in the case of A-I-9, where there are fewer schematic representations of fortifications and cities, and sites are oriented above the rivers to the north. The visual reference to a defensive line is also emphasized by Jabal al-Likām, which is oriented like an arrow pointing north; in addition, the text clearly mentions it as the main separation line between Muslims and Byzantines.

Comparative Cartography and the Transmission of the “Atlas of Islam” Maps of the Mediterranean

Other than the identity of their textual support, there are cartographic features that need to be taken into consideration when discussing the “atlas of Islam” depictions of the Mediterranean. Pinto overlooked these features because he followed a long-established pattern of isolating the images of the “Mediterranean map” from its codex-context, whether this includes other maps or texts. In the “atlas of Islam” there are two major types of thematic maps that deal with the Mediterranean in ways that differ stylistically: the world map and the regional map. In addition to the “Mediterranean map,” there are two regional maps, that is, maps that differ thematically in their representation of partial depictions of the Mediterranean: the western Islamic map (Maghrib map) and the map of Egypt with the Delta. It is necessary to take a comparative approach to these various levels of the representation of the Mediterranean in the tradition of the “atlas of Islam,” since it may reveal several forms of the Mediterranean. Even if we were to evaluate the possible historical “evolution” of the form of the Mediterranean, as Pinto does, we need to examine more closely the actual 18  Ibid., 64. 19  Pinto, “Surat Bahr,” 12.

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manuscripts in which the “atlas of Islam” has survived, and we do not have any autograph manuscripts or original or even fourth-/tenth-century examples; in addition, it is also necessary to put such later copies into their original textual contexts. It seems, however, that such cartographic copies were perceived as exact copies of the original maps; we cannot check such an assumption, because no autographed maps from fourth-/tenth-century mapmakers are extant. All extant examples of early medieval Islamic cartography, including various depictions of the Mediterranean, are not in fact from the early medieval period, rather they ought to be identified instead as late medieval. The original sources we have are mostly the fourth-/tenth-century geographers of the “atlas of Islam,” but also other examples from the third-/ninth-century “mathematical geographer” al-Khawārizmī and the fifth-/eleventh-century al-Bīrūnī. As we can see in Table 1.4, the earliest extant examples of maps only date to the fifth/ eleventh century; the earliest one is a partial map depicting the Mediterranean coasts of Egypt from an extant manuscript of supposedly al-Khawārizmī’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ from 428/1037, which is considered by many to be the earliest known Islamic map. One of the main contributions of this geography is its location of the Mediterranean in a more precise position (by 9 degrees in longitude) than that identified by Ptolemy. This school remained influential with later cartographers, notably Ibn Ḥawqal, who makes clear references to Ptolemy.20 The earliest maps depicting the whole Mediterranean as an iqlīm (region) and the Mediterranean as part of a world map are found in a 479/1086 manuscript (A-I-2) of Ibn Ḥawqal’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ. The first surviving maps from al-Iṣṭakhrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik can be traced to a 569/1173 manuscript (A-I-3), and those from the fourth major source of the “atlas of Islam,” that is, al-Muqaddasī’s Kitāb Aḥsan al-taqāsīm, are found in a manuscript from 658/1260 (A-I-8). Such examples were copied throughout the late medieval and even toward the early modern and modern periods. Yet, a very basic question is crucial for the analysis of these maps: Do they relate to the original maps made in the early medieval sources? In other words, if they differ and represent, as Pinto thinks, a pattern of evolution over time or do they bear original differences that could have been initiated by the makers of the “atlas of Islam” school?

20  Ducène, “L’Europe dans la cartographie,” 252 and 255.

78 Table 1.4

CHAPTER 3 The various maps depicting the whole or parts of the Mediterranean, or those that include the Mediterran.ean in extant manuscripts of early medieval sources

Source

Map date

al-Khwārizmī, Ṣūrat al-arḍ (?)

428/1037

Location and comments

Strasbourg, Cod. 4227, Egypt-Delta; Kamal, 3:74; attributed to al-Khwārizmī but contested by other scholars including Sezgin, The Contribution, 18. Ibn Ḥawqal, Ṣūrat 479/1086 Istanbul, Koshk 3346 (Arabic) 2 separate and al-arḍ in world map; Kamal, 3:262–266. al-Iṣṭakhrī, Masālik 569/1173 Gotha Arabe 1521, separate p. 24, western Mediterranean, and in world map (mistaken as al-Fārisī); Kamal, 3:177. al-Iṣṭakhrī, Masālik 580/1185 Paris, Persan 355, separately (identified as Perser by Miller); Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Islam-Atlas Nr. IV, Fig. III-2; Miller, Arabishe Welt, 18. al-Iṣṭakhrī, Masālik 589/ 1193 Leiden Arabe 1702, separate p. 33, western Mediterranean, and in world map; Kamal, 3:170. Anonymous, abridged ca. 600/1200 Istanbul, Aya Sofia, 2934; separate, world map, Egypt-Delta; Kamal, 4:62–66. version of Ibn Ḥawqal’s work al-Bīrūnī, Kitāb 635/1238 Berlin Landberg 631, world map of seas; al-Tafhīm Kamal, 3:345. al-Muqaddasī, Aḥsan 658/1260 Istanbul, Sofia 2971b, Egypt-Delta, and al-taqāsīm western Mediterranean; Kamal, 3:285–286. al-Iṣṭakhrī, Masālik 686/1287 Istanbul, Koshk (Arabic) 3348, separate p. 73, western Mediterranean, and in world map (mistaken as al-Khawārizmī); Kamal, 3:182. Anonymous, abridged ca. 700/1300 Istanbul, Koshk, 3347; in world map; Miller, 4:67. version of Ibn Ḥawqal’s work al-Iṣṭakhrī, Masālik 700/1300 Gotha Persan 36, separate fol. 36a, western Mediterranean, and in world map; Kamal, 3:198.

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Source

Map date

Location and comments

Ibn Ḥawqal, Ṣūrat al-arḍ

751/1350

Istanbul Sofia 2577 (Arabic), world map, western Mediterranean, and Egypt; Kamal, 3:267–270.

79

London, BM Cod. Or. 8349, world map of eighth/ seas; Kamal, 3:345. fourteenth cent. al-Iṣṭakhrī, ca. 800/1400 Istanbul, Sofia 3156, separate, western Masālik Mediterranean, and in world map; Kamal, 3:193. al-Bīrūnī, Kitāb 803/1400 Oxford, Bodeleian Cod. Or. 281, world map al-Tafhīm of seas; Kamal, 3:345. al-Bīrūnī, Kitāb 833/1430 Berlin, Petermann 67, world map of seas; al-Tafhīm Kamal, 3:345. BnF Arabe 2214; separate, world map, EgyptAnonymous, abridged 849/1445 Delta. Kamal, 4:68–74. version of Ibn Ḥawqal’s work al-Iṣṭakhrī, Masālik 850/1450 Istanbul, Sofia (Arabic) 2971a, separate fol. 24a, western Mediterranean, and in world map; Kamal, 3:187. al-Iṣṭakhrī, Masālik 867/1462 Istanbul, Koshk (Arabic) 3012, in world map; Kamal, 3:188. al-Muqaddasī, Aḥsan ca. 900/1494 Berlin Sprenger 5, separately, western al-taqāsīm Mediterranean, and Egypt-Delta; Kamal, 3:287–290. Vienna 1271, separate, western al-Iṣṭakhrī, Masālik tenth/ Mediterranean, and in world map (Persan sixteenth and mistaken as al-Ṭūṣī); Kamal, 3:203. cent. al-Iṣṭakhrī, Masālik 1044/1635 Hamburg, separately (mistaken by Miller as al-Balkhī); Miller, Mappae Arabicae, IslamAtlas Nr. IV, fig. I-1.

al-Bīrūnī, Kitāb al-Tafhīm

We can begin answering these questions by introducing a basic notion related to the transfer of cartographic knowledge. This is the nuance between two forms of knowledge reproduction that relate to cartographic samples; first, the act of “copying” letters or words, which was generally carried out by scribes

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and was usually described with the term “naskh”; and second, the act of “transmitting” maps, which likely required someone with some skill of cartographic drawing; at times this work had the specific term “naql,” though it may also have been done by a scribe. In the case of early medieval sources, transmitting maps preserved some basic patterns over time, and reflects more than the traces of indifferent scribes filling inertial space in texts, they were likely draftsmen educated in some form of draftsmanship, though formally they were not called cartographers.21 All of the maps share the same stylized but relatively finely executed touches. The idea of consistent patterns in cartographic transmission points us to the possible link between these late medieval copies and original lost prototypes. This pattern becomes much clearer and more relevant when we consider the sources of the examples above.

The Iṣṭakhrian vs. the Ḥawqalian Traditions in the “Atlas of Islam” School

When we examine these maps more closely, we reach two major conclusions. First, unlike the overwhelming assumption in current scholarly literature, there seems to exist more than one style of cartographic representation in the “atlas of Islam” school. Second, such differences affected how the Mediterranean was represented, whether it was depicted as a whole, depicted partially, or as part of a world map. To proceed toward the first conclusion, I borrow some notions from Woodward’s classification of the European mappae mundi that seem useful for this end. Woodward, who divided the medieval mappae mundi into four thematic categories, emphasizes at least one of them through a stylistic subdivision.22 The “tripartite” (T-O) maps, which make up the majority and 21  In fact, Pinto’s schema, when trying to show an evolution toward the “less mimetic,” mentions all the maps except the earliest ones (dated 479/1086) in Ibn Ḥawqal’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ. 22  The four categories are, briefly, tripartite maps (three main continents), zonal maps (Ptolemy’s seven climatas), quadripartite maps (a fourth continent to the south), and transitional maps (influence of portolan charts and/or Ptolemy’s Geography). See D. Woodward, “Medieval Mappaemundi,” in History of Cartography, ed. Harley and Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 1:281–370. Woodward’s classification of the Mappae mundi (294–299 and 343–358) is based partly on, and modified from, M. C. Andrew, “The Study and the Classification of Medieval Mappae Mundi,” Archaeologia 75 (1925–26): 36–66. But recently it was challenged, in part, by Edson who suggests a focus on “geographic details” rather than form. She suggests four categories: the

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the oldest dated examples of the mappae mundi and which emphasize the three continents of the medieval ecumene, are divided into “schematic” and “non-schematic” types. The “tripartite schematic” maps, mainly various subcategories of T-O maps, are composed of a stylized representation of the three continents with Asia as a half circle and Europe and Africa as two opposing quarters divided by a slim rectangle and river-like form that is the Mediterranean. The “non-schematic tripartite” maps, however, “retain the general tripartite distribution of the three inhabited continents but are not rigidly drawn.”23 It is precisely this pattern of stylistic difference in the same thematic school that I emphasize in the examples of the “atlas of Islam” school. Rather than following the dichotomy of “schematic” versus “non-schematic,” I use a more hybrid comparative paradigm that implies the continuous presence of “schematic” style in medieval maps. The extant manuscripts of the first known source for the “atlas of Islam,” school, al-Iṣṭakhrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik, show a fairly consistent style from the earliest example in 569/1173 up to the later ones. The maps of the Mediterranean as a whole, the cartographic part of the chapter in the Masālik on the region (iqlīm) of the Mediterranean, vary in the size of the curve of the “cul-de-sac” form, although they are all executed in a somewhat “mimetic” style or better, to use Woodward’s somewhat indefinite but more accurate notion, a “more-schematic” style by using very basic formulas of the multi-angular or curvilinear ready-made forms. This shows that the main intention was to provide a symmetrical and, thus, cognitively easy form to communicate. Certainly, there was no effort to provide even a few generic features either of the coastlines or of the mainland, even as described in the supporting text (Fig. 3.1). Ibn Ḥawqal’s maps of the Mediterranean, however, represent a different style. They could be described as intending to be “mimetic” in a generic sense. Or, better, it is a “lessschematic” style with a distinctive attempt to convey specific geographic details, though with the persistent use of ready-made forms like triangles, circles, and rectangles, in spite of the fact that this was done in incomplete and more complicated settings than appear on al-Iṣṭakhrī’s maps. The general impression of the rendering is definitely not of a symmetric or simplified space, but rather of a complicated multi-angular and/or curvilinear one. “T-O map,” the “list map,” the “zonal map,” and the “detailed map.” Since my classification emphasizes form as well as content, I prefer to borrow Woodward’s terminology. See E. Edson, Mapping Time and Space: How Medieval Mapmakers View Their World (London: British Library, 1997), 2–9. 23  Woodward, “Medieval Mappaemundi,” 1:347.

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(1)

(2)

(3)

Figure 3.1 The maps of the Mediterranean as a “region” (east at the bottom) in the extant manuscripts of the works of the geographers of the “atlas of Islam” school; ordered chronologically: Ibn Ḥawqal’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ (1 and 2: in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:264 and 266; A-I-2), al-Iṣṭakhrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik (3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 11: in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:173, 177, 182, 187, 193, 198, and 203; A-I-3, A-I-4, A-I-5, A-I-9, A-I-11, A-I-14, A-I-21), and al-Muqaddasī’s Kitāb Aḥsan altaqāsīm (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:288; A-I-22).

Redefining the “ Atlas of Islam ” School

(4)

(5)

(6)

(7)

83

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(8)

(9)

(10)

(11)

The cartographic style of the extant maps of Ibn Ḥawqal’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ—the earliest of its genre is found in A-I-2—should be compared to the depiction of the Mediterranean in a world map in a later manuscript dating to 751/1350 (A-I-12), that is, after the early stylized maps found in the extant manuscripts of Kitāb al-Masālik. In these, we can clearly see a distinctive “less-schematic” style reminiscent of the style found in the 479/1086 version of Ibn Ḥawqal’s manuscript (A-I-2; Fig. 3.2). The comparison between the A-I-2 map of the “region” of the Mediterranean and the A-I-12 world map including the Mediterranean does

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Figure 3.2 The Mediterranean as depicted in its whole in the 479/1086 manuscript of Ibn Ḥawqal’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ (left) and as depicted in a 751/1350 manuscript of the same work as a detail in a world map (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:266 and 267; A-I-2 and A-I-12). Maps oriented with east at the bottom.

not rule out the possibility of stylistic similarities, even though world maps usually tended to be simplified. We can further demonstrate the stylistic similarities in the manuscripts by comparing their world maps, including the way the Mediterranean is depicted in each one; this is a confirmation of the stylistic similarity that could have been attested between the absent Mediterranean map in A-I-12 and the one in A-I-2. Ibn Ḥawqal’s maps of the Mediterranean include a map related to the chapter on the Maghrib found only in his A-I-2, on whose specificities I focus later. While we do not have any extant manuscripts of Ibn Ḥawqal’s work except those made in 479/1086 and 751/1350, nonetheless, we do have the transmission of his cartographic style in manuscripts of another work, titled Hayʾat ashkāl al-arḍ wa-miqdāruhā fī l-ṭūl wa-l-ʿarḍ, written by an anonymous sixth-/twelfth-century author and introduced as the abridged version of Ibn Ḥawqal’s work. It is specifically the reproduction of the map of the Mediterranean related to the chapter on the Maghrib that is transmitted in two extant manuscripts, one from 600/1200 and the second from 849/1445 (Fig. 3.3). Al-Muqaddasī’s Kitāb Aḥsan al-taqāsīm, which is the third major source of the “atlas of Islam” school, differs from the two others in its narrative of the Mediterranean, and even of the world, as we have seen above. Yet, although it does not have a chapter on the Mediterranean, as al-Iṣṭakhrī’s and Ibn Ḥawqal’s works do, there is a map specifically of the Mediterranean in a 900/1494 manuscript. The earliest known manuscript of Kitāb Aḥsan al-taqāsīm that includes

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Figure 3.3 The Mediterranean as depicted in the chapter on the Maghrib (east at the bottom) in Ibn Ḥawqal’s 479/1086 manuscript (left) and as transmitted in an abridged version of Ibn Ḥawqal’s work in manuscripts dated to c. 596/1200 (center) and 849/1445 (right) (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:64, 72, and 266; A-I-2, A-I-6, and A-I-18).

maps was made in 658/1260, and only has regional maps, two of which are just partial depictions of the Mediterranean, that is, maps of the Maghrib and Egypt. Nevertheless, the style in the two manuscripts is similar and could be described as the most stylized approach in the “atlas of Islam” school. In the case of the Mediterranean map, we do not have even al-Iṣṭakhrī’s curvy “cul-de-sac,” but rather a more linear and even more “rigid” (to use another of Woodward’s terms) cartographic style (Fig. 3.4). The differences between the “more-schematic” maps of al-Iṣṭakhrī and alMuqaddasī on one side and the “less-schematic” maps of Ibn Ḥawqal on the other side can be demonstrated through other depictions of the Mediterranean. In the “less-schematic” maps, stylization increases when moving to the more generic representations, such as a world map, and slightly decreases when going to a less generic representation, such as the more detailed regions of Egypt and the Maghrib. Al-Iṣṭakhrī’s “cul-de sac” Mediterranean as a whole transforms into a straighter figure with fewer curvilinear features when it is depicted in the world map (Figs. 3.5 and 3.6). On the other hand, the coasts of the Iberian Peninsula become more curvilinear and thus distinctively insular

Redefining the “ Atlas of Islam ” School

figure 3.4 Al-Muqaddasī’s cartographic depictions of the Mediterranean (east at the bottom) in a 900/1494 manuscript (left), and a map of the Maghrib in the same manuscript (right, top, with north at the bottom) and in a 658/1260 manuscript (right, below, with north at the bottom) (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:288, 286, and 290; A-I-22 and A-I-8).

Figure 3.5 Al-Iṣṭakhrī’s 589/1193 manuscript (north at the bottom): The Mediterranean depicted as part of a world map (left) and as separate (right) (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:170 and 173; A-I-5).

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Figure 3.6 Al-Iṣṭakhrī’s 684/1287 manuscript: The world map (left, north at the bottom), the Mediterranean depicted as part of a world map (right, above, north at the bottom) and as separate (right, below, north at the bottom) (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:178 and 182; A-I-9).

in his regional map of the Maghrib (Fig. 3.7). A similar process occurs in Ibn Ḥawqal’s maps, namely, they are simplified when the Mediterranean is present in world maps (Fig. 3.2), and amplified in more detailed maps. The same thing is true in the special case of A-I-2’s “Maghrib map,” which is, in fact, another map of the Mediterranean on which we focus later. Still, the differences between the “less-schematic” and the “more-schematic” are preserved, since Ibn Ḥawqal’s Mediterranean in the world map keeps an essence of detail that identifies it with his map of the Mediterranean as a whole, and is distinguished also from al-Iṣṭakhrī’s Mediterranean in his world map. The distinctive differences could also be observed in the depiction of the Nile Delta on the Mediterranean coasts of Egypt, as shown in the map of Egypt (Fig. 3.8). A certain proportionality between the two ends of the “schematic” is preserved in both generic and detailed representations. Likewise, each tradition underwent a process of increasing stylization and simplification. In the case of Ibn Ḥawqal’s maps of the Mediterranean, including those of the abridged version of his work especially, more stylization appears as time passes. Such stylization was likely a necessary

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Figure 3.7 Al-Iṣṭakhrī’s 589/1193 manuscript: a detail of the Maghrib (east at the bottom) from a map of the Mediterranean (left) and the map of the Maghrib (right) (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:172 and 173; A-I-5).

Figure 3.8 The map of Egypt and the Nile (north at the bottom) in Ibn Ḥawqal’s 479/1086 manuscript (left), al-Iṣṭakhrī’s 684/1287 manuscript (center), al-Muqaddasī’s 900/1494 manuscript (right) (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:181, 205, and 289; A-I-2, A-I-9, and A-I-22).

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consequence of the transmission process in manuscript making, and does not affect our reconstruction of the basic style of Ibn Ḥawqal’s maps. Even in the more stylized versions we could not find any similarities with the style of alIṣṭakhrī’s and al-Muqaddasī’s maps. An overview of all three sources indicates that we are not dealing with a series of maps disconnected from their original sources and going from “more to less mimetic” representations, as Pinto would have it, but rather with a subgroup series of maps, which was defined by the identity of its source. The cartographic transmission was dependent on the codex identity. I would suggest, therefore, that under the umbrella of the “atlas of Islam” school, whose cartographic identity is united by its thematic approach emphasizing the cartographic depiction of “regional” areas, there are probably two subgroups defined stylistically: a “more-schematic” Iṣṭakhrian tradition versus a “less-schematic” Ḥawqalian one. The maps included in the manuscripts of al-Muqaddasī’s work clearly pertain to the former subgroup, though they seem to form yet an even more “schematic” variation in the Iṣṭakhrian tradition. In all three works of the “atlas of Islam” school, we can find many notes supporting this stylistic classification; these notes are also the only indications we have of these geographers describing their original maps. First, al-Iṣṭakhrī established the main guidelines that were adopted and copied by Ibn Ḥawqal. Both authors start with almost identical introductory remarks. Al-Iṣṭakhrī begins by explaining his main subject, the regional division of the kingdom of Islam: I do not mean by [the regions of the kingdom of Islam] the seven climes into which the earth is divided. I made each unit a single image (ṣūra) that represents (taḥkī) the location of each region … I did not extend my investigation too much for I do not want it to be lengthy because the goal of this book is to illustrate (taṣwīr) these regions (aqālīm) … Hence I made an image (ṣūra) of all the earth surrounded by the inaccessible Atlantic Ocean, such that if a viewer were to look at it he would know the place of each region mentioned, their connections to each other, and the proportion of each region with regard to the whole world. So, if he were to see each region in detail he would know its location in this image. On it [the world map] are included all the regions by showing each region’s image according to its longitude and latitude and [its various forms, whether they tend to be] curvilinear (istidāra), quadrangular (tarbīʿ), or triangular (tathlīth) and according to other forms of this image; so, I just mentioned the regions’ names in this [map]. Then I made a special image for each

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region of the kingdom of Islam, in which I have shown its form and its cities and all that [one] needs to know about it.24 The cartographic characteristics emphasized here represent the common ground of the “atlas of Islam” school. The world map, unlike the Greek tradition that was interested in emphasizing the seven climes, was meant only as a subordinate of the regional map, to give a delimitation and/or contextual perspective for the detailed regional maps. The textual narrative itself, in fact, was designed to be as short as possible, since the codex was meant to emphasize the visual representation rather than the text. The construction of the map was defined by highly generic longitude and latitude criteria, mainly by a formal identity that used ready-made forms in their singularity or in composition, such as the “curvilinear,” the “quadrangular,” or the “triangular.” This is actually in accordance with all the maps found in the later manuscripts of the “atlas of Islam” school, and represents another reason to believe that we are essentially dealing with variations of the “schematic” rather than with variations of the “mimetic” approach. A few years later, however, Ibn Ḥawqal was more interested in the process of cartography than al-Iṣṭakhrī. Such an interest was clearly illustrated in the story of his encounter with al-Iṣṭakhrī, after he had read the treatises of many other geographers, in which his “love of making images of cities, the locations of countries, and the connection between regions” was not satisfied. It is then that he met Abū Isḥāq al-Fārisī [al-Iṣṭakhrī] who drew this image of the land of India but he confused it [with other territories] and he drew the image of Persia but he made it too thin. But I drew the image of Adhrabījān [Azerbaijan], which is shown here [in this book], and he liked it and felt the same about my image of al-Jazīra [the Iraqi highlands]. He [also] made an inaccurate [map] of Egypt and that of the Maghrib is the most incorrect. So, he told me: “I noticed your ancestry and your work and I ask you to correct my book where I might have been mistaken.” So, I corrected more than one form (shakl) and gave it back to him. And then I decided to have this book corrected, draw all of it, and make it understandable.25

24  Al-Iṣṭakhrī, Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 3. My translation. 25  On the context of Ibn Ḥawqal’s writing of his treatise, see Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:201.

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Whether Ibn Ḥawqal’s story of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s “incorrect” maps and self-criticism is accurate should not be a concern here. What is highly significant, however, is his critique of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s cartographic style, not only his cartographic information; the self-representation of his own style as more “correct,” and his interest in “correcting” or modifying al-Iṣṭakhrī’s maps is also significant. One of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s cartographic “mistakes” was his “too thin” maps; this could indicate that Ibn Ḥawqal rejected this style of simplification. Although he does not clarify al-Iṣṭakhrī’s stylistic “mistakes,” he clearly suggests a different style than his predecessor, especially for the regions of the Mediterranean such as Egypt and the Maghrib. In all accounts this is a determinant testimony by a major figure of the “atlas of Islam” school, a testimony that proves that there should be some basic differences in the cartographic style of the school, and that Ibn Ḥawqal not only enlarged al-Iṣṭakhrī’s text, as is widely known, but also that he modified his maps and invented new ones, as is the case of the map of the Maghrib. Even more, we should read Ibn Ḥawqal’s “correct” cartography not only on the informative level but also on a formal level, which probably points to a “less-schematic” style compared to al-Iṣṭakhrī, and thus supports the indications already provided by our cartographic database. Al-Muqaddasī’s still clearer and more revealing words, especially with regard to the ready-made forms used in mapping maritime spaces, further demonstrates that the geographers of the “atlas of Islam” school were aware of a stylistic conflict in their tradition. On one hand, he criticizes the lost work of al-Balkhī, the founder of the “atlas of Islam” school, for being limited to the description of maps and neglecting the “valuable causes” that explain the geographic space. On the other hand, he balances this critique with an emphasis on the importance of making maps for geographic treatises, because geographic “knowledge through them [maps] makes it accessible to a much wider [public],” as compared to textual narratives, especially from the perspective of the “populace” (ʿawām). He claims to give “helpful” (mufīda) information to the common man, and this need ultimately determines his cartographic style. His criticism of the legacy of al-Balkhī came in a discussion of the cartographic depiction of the Indian Ocean. This is, in fact, one of the most important citations in relation to early Islamic cartography in general, and with regard to the above-mentioned issues in particular. Here I quote it and (re)translate it in full. People differed on how to describe it and the draftsmen (al-muṣawwirūn) differed on how to represent it (tamthīlihi). There are those who made it like the ṭaylaṣān [an expensive Persian coat with an elongated concave form] … Abū Zayd [al-Balkhī] made it like a bird whose bill coincides

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with the Red Sea—without mentioning the cape of Wīla, the neck coincides with Iraq, and the tail between Ethiopia and China, without mention of any cape (shuʿba). I have seen it [the Indian Ocean] represented (mumaththalan) on a piece of paper in the treasury of the governor of Khurāsān, on a piece of cloth (kurbāsa) with Abū l-Qāsim b. al-Anmāṭī in Nīsābūr [Nishapur], and in the treasuries of Aḍud al-Dawla and al-Ṣāḥib. Meanwhile each form differs from the other, and some include capes and gulfs I do not know … I found that they [the sea captains, mathematicians, merchants] are the most knowledgeable people about it, its harbors, its winds, and its islands. I asked them about its conditions and limits, and I saw with them booklets (dafātir) on these issues; they read, depend on, and follow the instructions in them. So, after thinking and selecting [them] on the basis of this I constructed an appropriate ṣadr [map?], and I compared it with the images [maps] I mentioned. While I was sitting one day with Abū ʿAlī b. Ḥāzim looking at the sea when I was in the coast of Aden, he asked me: “You seem to me to be cogitating, what is the problem?” I said: “May God assist you shaykh, but I am puzzled about this sea because of the many differing [opinions] on it. You, shaykh, are someone who is among the most knowledgeable about it since you are the imām [head] of merchants and your ships usually travel to its extremities. Could you, shaykh, describe it to me in a form (ṣifa) upon which I can rely and which would eliminate my doubts from me?” So, he did. He said: “You [have] come upon the expert!” Then he wiped the sand with his hand and he drew on it the sea without the ṭaylaṣān or the bird. He gave it [the sea] zigzagging [coastlines] with tongues (maʿārij mutlassina) and many capes. Then he said: “This is the form of this sea and there is no other image of it.” But I am drawing (uṣawwiru) it naively (sāthij), avoiding the depiction of the capes and gulfs except for the cape of Wīla because it is famous, the strong need to know it, and people commonly travel to it. Hence, I am avoiding [in this map] what has been controversial and I am drawing what is conventional.26 Al-Muqaddasī provides us with a distinctive trait of the Iṣṭakhrian style when he focuses on the Indian Ocean map of al-Balkhī, whose lost work is conventionally believed to have been preserved in al-Iṣṭakhrī’s work. This trait is the “more-schematic” Iṣṭakhrian style that presents a very basic stylized pattern by representing the Indian Ocean as a bird (Fig. 3.9). According to the available cartographic database, even though such a pattern is absent from the detailed 26  Al-Muqaddasī, Kitāb Aḥsan al-taqāsīm, 10–11. My translation.

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Figure 3.9 The world map of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s 589/1193 manuscript (east at the bottom) with the Indian Ocean looking “as a bird” (Kamal, Monumenta, 3:170; A-I-5).

maps of the Indian Ocean, that is, the map of Baḥr Fāris, we can easily recognize the ready-made form of a stylized bird in the earliest extant Iṣṭakhrian depiction of the Indian Ocean as it appears in the world maps. On the other hand, such a pattern is absent from the earliest extant world map of Ibn Ḥawqal, who emphasizes the “less-schematic” distinctive Ḥawqalian feature. The “Iṣṭakhrian bird” of the Indian Ocean seems to have been lost in some later Iṣṭakhrian manuscripts, such as the 686/1287 manuscript, but was even more refined in other later examples, such as the manuscript dated 700/1300, where a more distinctive bird emerges. Another interesting aspect is that the later extant world map of Ibn Ḥawqal (dated 751/1350) seems to adopt the “Iṣṭakhrian bird,” to some extent, thus proving the soft boundaries between the two cartographic styles in the “atlas of Islam” school. Against the highly-stylized features of the Iṣṭakhrian style, al-Muqaddasī suggests another cartography, at least theoretically, that seems to demand a rupture from the “schematic” approach, in essence by following empirical notes as provided by various travelers and experts, and thus depicting the “zigzagging” coastlines as they reflect physical geography regardless of any ready forms. Finally, and paradoxically, not only did al-Muqaddasī not follow his own instructions, but he also adopted an even “more-schematic” approach by following a minimalist cartography that avoids any kind of distinctive forms, including ready-made forms, by eschewing the representation of any gulfs or capes. In describing the cartographic database found in al-Muqaddasī’s extant manuscripts, we could not come up with a better term than his own appellation, that is, “naïve” (sādhij) cartography. From the point of view of al-Muqaddasī,

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“schematic” cartography, with all its variations toward its most stylized version, that is, al-Muqaddasī’s “naïve cartography,” is a choice rather than a reflection of cartographic abilities. Instead of a “non-schematic” cartography, which was possible according to al-Muqaddasī, the option of the “schematic” map of the “atlas of Islam” school is driven by its didactic potential, which was specifically judged to be more effective with regard to the populace. His even higher “schematic” approach, which keeps him within the framework of the “atlas of Islam” school, responded to his basic understanding of the role of maps in geographic treatises, that is, they were “helpful” in serving to overcome the inaccessibility of the text for the illiterate; they are “naïve” tools for those who are “naïve.” Al-Muqaddasī’s interest in a didactic cartography was further shown in his introduction, in which he mentions the colors assigned in each map; these colors distinguish the various physical forms “so that the [visual] description is understandable”: the itineraries are in red, the sand in yellow, salty waters in green, fresh waters in blue, and mountains in brown.

On Interpreting the Stylistic Cartographic Approaches to the Mediterranean

Pinto suggests a “conflicting” stylistic image upon which she develops an interpretive modus, according to which a very elaborated meaning is embedded in the cartographic form of the Mediterranean. Are these forms mediums of a highly conscious meaning that we could simply find in the narratives (cursing a Christian Mediterranean as Pinto suggests), which follow arbitrary visual synonyms, such as the “Prophet’s foot”? Or are they conventional icons that might have metaphorical synonyms that were known by the mapmakers? Reading al-Muqaddasī’s earlier quotation, it seems that the simplifications of maritime spaces in specific maps developed an early cartographic language that created not only the ready-made forms distinctive in the “atlas of Islam” school in general, but also their distinctive terms shared by various early geographers. The form of ṭaylaṣān, a word that in the early sources usually meant “the tip of fabric in a concave form hanging from a Persian coat,” as the representation of the concave is particularly interesting. Its three-dimensional meaning explains its use for the representation of the sea as opposed to flat land. But other forms/terms are used to describe the cartographic maritime language, and these are particularly important for the ready-made “schematic” approach of the “atlas of Islam” school. In this regard, we can find one of the earliest quotations in al-Masʿūdī’s Murūj al-dhahab,

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There are seas inhabited (ma‌ʾmūr) with fishes and there are those uninhabited like the Atlantic Ocean (Ukiyānūs). Later in this book we will talk in more detail about the seas and their descriptions. All these seas are represented in an image (ṣūra) in the book of Jughrāfiya [Ptolemy’s Geography?] with various paints (aṣbāgh) and sizes (maqādīr) in the image. So, there are those like the image (ṣūra) of the ṭaylaṣān, and there are those like the image of the shābūra. There are those in the form of entrails (muṣrānī), there are those curvilinear (muḥawwar), and there are those [that are] triangular (muthallath).27 In addition to the ṭaylaṣān, a hanging concave cloth on a green Persian coat, another object, the shābūra, is used metaphorically. It is unclear what this referred to in its early medieval meaning, but in a late medieval source it was used to describe a kind of bread or cake.28 S. Maqbul mentions it with the ṭaylaṣān among words of Persian origin used by Muslim geographers “to describe certain formations of coasts” but without providing more detail.29 We know its form because it was represented along with other coastal formations in the earliest Islamic cartographic manuscript, that of al-Khawārizmī in 428/1037 (A-I-1).30 Almost the same drawing, but with more detail, was reproduced in one of Abū l-Fidā’s manuscripts (BnF Ar. 579). According to Abū l-Fidā, there are terms and forms used by the “people of the profession” or “the people of Jughrāfia [cartographers]” in order to “define the seas.”31 The 428/1037 and the later diagrams of Abū l-Fidā include the following forms: rounded and deep gulfs seem to be identified with the ṭaylaṣān, which is close to the earlier meaning identifying it with an elongated concave space; pointed and triangular-like gulfs are identified with the shābūra; the shābūra’s triangular-like shape recalls al-Masʿūdī’s muthallath; a large curvilinear gulf is identified merely with a “radial piece” ‫� ن‬ ‫أ ق ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ح�ا ر ���م�ا �هو �م���ع��مو ر ��ب�ا �ل‬ �����‫و �ف�ي ا �ل ب‬ ‫ و�هو � و�����ي�ا �و��س ا �ل ب������ح�ر‬،‫ و�م������ه�ا ���م�ا �ل�����ي��س ب����م���ع��مو ر‬،� ‫ح��يوا‬ ‫نأ‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ت‬ � ���‫ا �ل���م‬ ،‫�ر ���ج��م�ل �ف�ي ���������صي���ل ا �ل ب������ح�ا ر و و�ص������ه�ا‬ ‫ و����س��� �ت�ي ���ي���م�ا ��ي�ر د �م� ن� ���ه��ذا ا �ل ك‬،‫ح����ي�ط‬ ‫����ت�ا ب� ���ع��لى � ك‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ً ‫�ذ‬ ‫غ‬ ‫ف‬ � ‫�ة‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ة‬ � � ‫غ‬ ‫خ‬ ‫�ت‬ ‫ن‬ ‫م‬ � � � � �� � � ‫و���ه� ه ا �ل ب������ح�ا ر‬ ‫ك��ل���ه�ا ب����صو ر ف�ي �ك���ت�ا ب� ج ���را ����ي�ا ��ب� �واع �م�� ال� ��ص ب���ا� ����ل���ف�� ا ل���م�����ق�ا دير ف�ي‬ ‫�ة‬ � � ‫ �م ن�����ه�ا ���م�ا �ه ���ع��ل �ص �ة ا‬،�‫ ف��م ن�����ه�ا ���م�ا �ه ���ع��ل �ص �ة ا �ل��ط����ل���س�ا ن‬،‫ا �ل���ص �ة‬ ‫ و�م ن������ه�ا‬، ‫ل����ش�ا ب�و ر‬ ‫و ى ور‬ ‫و ى ور‬ � ‫و‬ � ‫ور‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ث‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ش‬ � ‫�� و�م������ه�ا م‬ � .��‫حو ر و�م������ه�ا �م���ث�ل‬ ‫�م���صرا �ن�ي ا �ل��� ك�ل‬

27  Al-Masʿūdī, Murūj al-dhahab, 1:70–71. My translation.

28  Al-Qalqashandī, Ṣubḥ al-a‌ʾshā, 528. Today al-shabūra is the name of a well-known cake in the Middle East. 29  Taeschner, “Djughrāfiya,” EI2. 30  Sezgin, Contribution, plate 23. 31  Abū l-Fidā, Taqwīm al-buldān (Paris, 1840), 19.

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Figure 3.10 The Ṭaylaṣān: a diagram of ready-made forms of coastal formations drawn in the earliest Islamic cartographic manuscript dated to 428/1037 (in Sezgin, The Contribution, plate 23; A-I-1).

(qiṭʿat dāʿir), which probably corresponds to al-Masʿūdī’s muḥawwar; a concave cape, as opposed to the ṭaylaṣān, is called quwwāra, which comes from the verb qawwara, “making something concave”; and the widening of a gulf is called tafrīj (Fig. 3.10). Al-Masʿūdī’s entrails-like form, which should resemble a series of ṭaylaṣān and quwwāra, is still absent from Abū l-Fidā’s list of terms. By identifying these forms and terminology and observing them on the surviving cartographic examples of the “atlas of Islam” school, we can see two common indications. First, we recognize an overall use both in al-Iṣṭakhrī or Ibn Ḥawqal’s manuscripts, of ready-made forms similar to those mentioned by al-Muqaddasī, al-Masʿūdī, and Abū l-Fidā; these describe the coastal formations of the Mediterranean, thereby confirming the generic “schematic” essence of the “atlas of Islam” school. Second, the ways these ready-forms are utilized demonstrates again that the “atlas of Islam” school included two stylistic traditions. The Iṣṭakhrian maps of the Mediterranean resemble a large ṭaylaṣān, to use A-I-1’s terminology, which corresponds to the usual textual definition of the Mediterranean as a “gulf” of the Atlantic Ocean. On the other hand, looking at the Ḥawqalian maps of the Mediterranean, we can recognize a more complicated composition that includes a series of all these forms. Thus, the Mediterranean is constructed in both cases with pre-conceived ready-made forms that in some cases have metaphorical synonyms. The Iṣṭakhrian map of the Mediterranean, which is the one Pinto describes as a “fish-like” map was perceived through known forms or objects. Thus, it is important to note that it does respond to an icon, but this must be sought and located in the cartographic language of the very makers of early Islamic

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cartography. Instead of the very late, dated, and vaguely formal comparisons involving the “Prophet’s foot” or a “Byzantine church,” we find a more concrete series of metaphorical synonyms.

The Cartographic Perceptions That Define the Mediterranean

We must now address the following key questions: Do the Iṣṭakhrian maps have a different thematic understanding of the Mediterranean than the Ḥawqalian maps? Do the stylistic similarities and variations in the cartographic depictions of the Mediterranean in the “atlas of Islam” school have any impact on their thematic variant perception of the same space? I suggest that first, because we have a distinctive Iṣṭakhrian stylistic approach, we have an Iṣṭakhrian map that is thematically distinctive. The same could be said about the Ḥawqalian maps. Second, the stylistic approaches do have an impact on the thematic approaches.

The Thematic Perception(s) of the Mediterranean According to the “Atlas of Islam” School As we have seen earlier in the texts of both al-Iṣṭakhrī and Ibn Ḥawqal, in the “atlas of Islam” school the Mediterranean is commonly defined with two different delimitations in mind: first, the delimitations of a maritime space with a special emphasis on its islands and coasts; second, the delimitations of a region (iqlīm) that is confined to the Muslim coasts and the mainland of the “land of the Europeans.” It is the second aspect that makes the approach of this school innovative and sets a precedent with regard to the perception of the Mediterranean. Since this is, in essence, a cartographic school of geography, its narrative of the Mediterranean is intended to describe the “image of the Mediterranean.” The cartographic delimitation of a maritime space as a region (iqlīm) should be particularly emphasized. Unlike the land-based “region,” which is a cartographic composition centered against supposed (al-Iṣṭakhrī) or marked (Ibn Ḥawqal) boundaries (ḥudūd) at its margins,32 the sea-based “region,” especially in the case of the Mediterranean, is centrifugal, where the “centers” tend to share the delimitations’ areas. Other common cartographic aspects characterizing the maps of the Mediterranean, such as those of the “atlas of Islam” school, include an emphasis on the European mainland with inscriptions and lines delimiting the various kingdoms; thus, they correspond 32  On the boundaries in Islamic maps including that of Ibn Ḥawqal, see Brauer, Boundaries and Frontiers, 1–5.

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to an emphasis on the special chapter on the Mediterranean as a region and on the European territories. In addition, they are usually oriented toward the west, in accordance with the narrative that proceeds from west to east. The position of the inscriptions of the coastal sites imposes a reading from top (west) to bottom (east) and from the southwest (North Africa) to the northwest (Spain) all along the coast. The Iṣṭakhrian map differs from the Ḥawqalian map in its delimitation of the Mediterranean. The Iṣṭakhrian map, even with its special emphasis on the European territories, touches on the mainland only lightly. Usually the maritime space is proportionally enlarged, leaving little space to develop any cartographic information on the mainland. The reduction of the mainland is coupled with its dissection. Three parts are clearly separate from each other: Europe with the late Antique exaggeration of the River Don; on the opposite end, the exaggeration of the “Tinnīs Lake” and the Nile Delta and Africa, except the small area at its eastern borders with Sinai and Asia; and finally, Asia with small parts of Africa east of the “Tinnīs Lake.” The axis of the Nile/Tinnīs Lake and the Don River emphasizes the separation between Europe and Africa on one hand and Asia on the other, just as the tripartite (T-O) maps are divided. The maritime division between Africa and Europe is further emphasized by the alignment of the three exaggerated circles of the three islands of Cyprus, Crete, and Sicily. We have a Mediterranean roughly dissected into three coastlines that could be identified with the three continents. This is also emphasized in the Iṣṭakhrian world map, which thematically and stylistically is the closest Islamic example to the late Antique and early medieval T-O map, although there is a greater understanding of the role played by the Indian Ocean with “its tongue,” (the Red Sea) separating the African continent from Asia. Even though there is no evidence of the presence of an Islamic tradition of T-O maps, we have a map inscribed in Arabic that reproduces a T-O map from Isidore of Seville’s Etymology, and this is the oldest extant Arabic map.33 This is the strongest indication that the European cartographic notion of a three-continent “schematic” world was transmitted into the Islamic tradition, though with much less stylization. Overall the Iṣṭakhrian map shows some remnants of the late Antique continental division, in addition to being an iconic representation of a contemporary cultural conflict. The Ḥawqalian map differs just as Ibn Ḥawqal’s text differs from alIṣṭakhrī’s text (Fig. 3.11). We have already noted that Ibn Ḥawqal’s chapter on the Mediterranean is longer than that of al-Iṣṭakhrī. In addition, he added two 33  Y.  Kamal, Monumenta Cartographica Africae et Aegypti (Frankfurt am Main: Institut für Geschichte de Arabish-Islamischen Wissenschaften, 1987), 3:235.

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Comparing the Iṣṭakhrian (right) and the Ḥawqalian (left) maps of the Mediterranean (in Kamal, Monumenta, 3:182 and 264; A-I-2 and A-I-9).

new sub-regions in two separate chapters, namely Spain and Sicily. Thus, the part on the various Mediterranean regions (the Maghrib, Spain, Sicily, Egypt, Syria/Shām, and the Baḥr al-Rūm) is also longer. The differences exist not only on quantitative levels but also in terms of Ibn Ḥawqal’s approach to the Mediterranean as a previously “Muslim Lake” that was challenged by Christian armies. The Ḥawqalian cartographic approach to the Mediterranean is even more distinctive. The actual “image of the Mediterranean,” the one depicted in the chapter on the region of the Mediterranean, emphasizes the mainland and proportionally reduces the maritime space, unlike the Iṣṭakhrian map. This move provided a larger portion in the folio on which to develop the details of the mainland. The European mainland is filled with inscriptions describing the continent. On the Iṣṭakhrian map, the “Franks” are pushed to the east near Greece, on the Ḥawqalian map, they are placed closer to their real location, just east of Muslim Spain. The northern European territories are described in generic terms as being “mostly out of the control” of the Byzantine emperor. Various eastern European nations, such as the Slavs, are also mentioned. Outside Europe, there is a detailed presentation of the deep Anatolian territories, with representations of rivers and roads. As usual, only the coastlines are depicted from Latakia to Tangier. In sum, the straight southern “schematic,” coastline

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with an undeveloped mainland contrasts with the elaborated northern coastline and the developed map of the mainland. Another striking thematic difference between the Iṣṭakhrian and the Ḥawqalian maps is the representation of a continuous coastline. Al-Iṣṭakhrī presents a three-continent schema, which divides the coastline into three parts, while Ibn Ḥawqal emphasizes the continental separation much less. The Don River is no longer straight and the Bosphorus appears as it is in reality, as a small river almost between Asia and Europe. The Nile Delta and the “Tinnīs Lake” do not project any sense of separation from Africa and what is east of Tinnīs, unlike the Iṣṭakhrian map. Yet the Ḥawqalian map of the Mediterranean that appears in the chapter on the Mediterranean region is not the first or the only Ḥawqalian map of the Mediterranean. In A-I-2, in the chapter on the Maghrib, there is a peculiar map called the “image of the Maghrib and the country (balad) of the Rūm,” which precedes the chapter on the Mediterranean and its accompanying map. The map is unusually long. It was made in three pages and constructed in two parts: the first is in folio 19 recto and the second is in folios 19 verso and 20 recto. In fact, this repartition reflects two parts of the Mediterranean. On folio 19 recto, there is a map of the eastern Mediterranean covering a tiny part of the western Mediterranean, since it goes beyond the usual beginning of the Maghrib (that is, Barqa). The rest of the map is in the next two pages (19 verso and 20 recto), which consists of the western Mediterranean with the Atlantic shores of Spain and Morocco. The western Mediterranean, however, is clearly exaggerated in proportions, and this emphasizes the location of the map in the chapter on the western Islamic lands. On this map, the southern Mediterranean is more developed. While only the coasts of the northern parts are depicted, except for Spain, which is considered part of the region of the Maghrib, the territories located to the south of the Mediterranean are depicted with much more detail. An unusual number of harbors are listed, such that the mapmaker had to arrange them in a textual manner that neglects their location in the map. In addition, the mainland is developed with many details, beginning with the Maghrib at the mountain of Barqa. These details include a network of mainland itineraries, especially surrounding the city of Qayrawān up to the Atlantic shores. The various peculiarities characterizing this first map of the Mediterranean may suggest its later inclusion into the Ḥawqalian cartographic database. First, it is a map of the Mediterranean in a chapter that deals only with one of the Mediterranean territories, namely the Maghrib. The possible justification of this inclusion, however, is that the Ḥawqalian description of the various

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regions of the Mediterranean begins with the Maghrib. The chapter begins with an overall description of the Mediterranean, including the deep mainland, as explained in the discussion of the narratives. This could be an initiative by a later copier of Ibn Ḥawqal’s work, who thought it would be appropriate to begin the description of the Mediterranean territories with an overall map of the Mediterranean. Second, the differences between the first and the second map are striking. The details of Spain, whose mainland is depicted in both maps, differ in the position and the drawing of the various rivers and mountains. The same could also be said about the depiction of the Nile Delta. The first map is clearly much more elongated than the second map. Both maps were probably drawn by the same hand, but perhaps based on different sources. The unprecedented and unique first map, however, is the most comprehensive map of the Mediterranean in the corpus of the “atlas of Islam” school, as it includes territories from all regions, although the representation of Europe is less detailed than what we have in the second map.

The Stylistic Source of the Thematic Variations in the Iṣṭakhrian and Ḥawqalian Maps The thematic differences between the Iṣṭakhrian and the Ḥawqalian maps should be understood from the point of view of their stylistic differences. The emphasis of the Ḥawqalian map on a large Mediterranean, as opposed to the coastal Mediterranean emphasized by the Iṣṭakhrian map, is not simply a reflection of Ibn Ḥawqal’s larger and more complete text, as compared to al-Iṣṭakhrī’s text. In both texts, we see similar delimitations of the Mediterranean describing a large space that stretches deep into the mainland. It is the stylistic differences that are responsible for the success or failure of each of the two traditions of the “atlas of Islam” school to represent a larger/ greater Mediterranean. The overarching intent of the Iṣṭakhrian map was to represent a specific maritime form, such as a ṭaylaṣān, and replace the idea of the Mediterranean with it; this seems to be the main reason for the Iṣṭakhrian coastal Mediterranean. The “more-schematic” Iṣṭakhrian style is, in effect, a factor that limited the thematic elements in any given map. On the other hand, the “less-schematic” Ḥawqalian style, which does not adopt a single simplified form, but is rather a composition of ready-made forms, provides the mapmaker a greater opportunity to elaborate on the thematic content of any given map. The style of the Ḥawqalian map, with its realistic descriptions of the coasts of the Mediterranean, demonstrates its interest not so much in developing an iconic form of the Mediterranean, as the Iṣṭakhrian map does, but rather in making its complicated form subservient to its idea, as expressed in the narratives; that is, the idea of a larger/greater Mediterranean. These “more” or

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“less-schematic” cartographic styles are, in effect, variations of cartographies that are visually more or less representative of the textual narrative. The classification of stylistic variations of the maps of the “atlas of Islam” school is crucial, but they must be located in their textual and codicological contexts. A formal analysis that neglects such contexts risks producing anachronistic conclusions that impose later icons as references for the early medieval forms of the Mediterranean. The two cartographic styles in the “atlas of Islam” school were actually part of a generic context. The “less-schematic” Ḥawqalian approach survived not only through a seventh-/thirteenth-century manuscript of Ibn Ḥawqal but also through other schools, especially the Idrisian corpus and the sea maps produced during the late medieval period. While only the Ḥawqalian maps represented a large Mediterranean, a major tradition in the Islamic narratives made it clear that their Mediterranean was not only a “region” but also a larger/ greater(?) Mediterranean, which corresponds to the Braudelean reading. It is this unusual medieval approach that must be emphasized. Beginning with the third/ninth century in a tradition that emphasizes “regional” divisions on the basis of human factors, the fourth-/tenth-century Muslim geographers created not only the idea of a “large Mediterranean region” but also a special image of such a “region.” How the Mediterranean took on such dimensions in the minds of these Muslim geographers is a question that I discuss in the next part of this work.

Part 2 The Mediterranean of the Maghribi Geographers and Cartographers from the Fifth/Eleventh to the Ninth/Fifteenth Century

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The Increase in Maritime Sources in the Maghribi Islamic Geography of the Mediterranean (Fourth/Tenth to the Fifth/Eleventh Century) From 390/1000, the influence of western European armies and merchants increased, while that of Islamic maritime power decreased. The Mediterranean witnessed a “commercial revolution” that was more extensive than Venice and Genoa, as has been noted.1 The Islamic ports along the Mediterranean were an essential part of the emergence of trade, and Cairo became, as Picard puts it, “the main provider” for the eastern Islamic territories of the Mediterranean.2 The Maghrib, however, was distanced from the Levant; it was included in the active trade network of the Italian merchants.3 The Maghribi naval force, which had been emerging from the fourth/tenth century, did not decline, even with the rise of the Christian European naval and commercial power in the middle medieval period. The navigators of the western Islamic lands remained influential, notably with the Muwaḥḥids.4 In these circumstances, Maghribi geography took on a more influential role. The geographic masterwork of the middle medieval period was, without doubt, a work that was produced in the hybrid context of the Maghrib or western Islamic lands, namely, Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-āfāq, attributed to al-Idrīsī. It was also a new and major contribution to the Islamic perception of 1  “The honey of Narbonne, the wine of Messina, as also the saffron of San Gimignano, had a good, in some cases unbeatable reputation on the Mediterranean markets, and on this basis the merchants of these and other lesser cities were able to create flourishing trade networks which historians have neglected in favor of Venice and Genoa.” See D. Abulafia, Commerce and Conquest in the Mediterranean 1100–1500 (Brookfield, VT: Variorum, 1993), x. This rise of western European trade does not mean that Abulafia saw the Islamic world as less powerful. As he argues elsewhere, “We could say that, in economic terms, the Islamic world was more ‘advanced’ than Western Europe for much of the medieval period.” D. Abulafia, “Introduction: Seven Types of Ambiguity, c. 1100–c. 1500,” in Medieval Frontiers: Concepts and Practices, ed. David Abulafia and Nora Berend (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2002), 1­–34, and especially 2. 2  Picard, La Mer des Califes, 324–325. 3  This is the case, for instance, for the last quarter of the seventh/thirteenth century, which had a “Tyrrhenian triangle” (Tuscany, Sicily, and Tunis) involving grains, textiles, and the slave trade. Ibid., 53–75. 4  Picard, La Mer des Califes, 333–340.

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the Mediterranean, even though it is not an exclusively Islamic representation of the Mediterranean. It is precisely its hybrid nature that made its original contribution all the more important. The Nuzhat al-mushtāq utilized Islamic sources, probably side by side with Latin and Greek sources; written sources were most likely supported by oral sources, suggesting a view that could be called an Idrisian “Mediterranean Islamic” cartography, and not simply a cartographic point of view of the Mediterranean. The Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-āfāq was preceded in the fourth/tenth century by a number of works by Maghribi geographers of various geographic schools. Yet each geographer, from his own perspective, accumulated geographic information on the Mediterranean and thus provided a new database for the cartographer to make his maps. In many ways, the hybrid nature of alIdrīsī’s work was due, in part, to the diversity of its Maghribi predecessors. Thus, we should be aware of the “Maghribi formation” of an Idrisian “Mediterranean Islamic” cartography.

The Rise of the North African Geographers and Their Approach to the Mediterranean



The Early Andalusian Geographers (Fourth/Tenth to the Fifth/ Eleventh Century) As in the eastern Islamic lands, there was a limited pseudo-Ptolemaic tradition among early Maghribi geographers, notably in the fifth/eleventh century in Ṭulayṭila (Toledo). The earliest major mathematical geographer from Muslim Spain was al-Zirqālī (d. 480/1087 or 493/1100?); he improved on the measurements of the Mediterranean made by al-Khawārizmī in the third-/ ninth-century, and the latter measurements remained the most accurate for a long time.5 His table on geographic coordinates, however, did not survive in its original Arabic, but only in Latin translations. Al-Zirqālī’s work indicates the high esteem in which mathematical geography was held in Muslim Spain, especially at the court of Yaḥyā l-Ma‌ʾmūn in Ṭulayṭila (Toledo).6 Yet, as in the eastern Islamic lands, administrative geography was also more influential in 5  Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:112. 6  Al-Zirqālī, who is known in the west under at least two names, Azarquiel and Arzachel, recorded his geographic coordinates in his planispheric astrolabe, widely known as al-ṣafīḥa al-zirqāliyya. The latter is now lost and known only thanks to seventh-/thirteenth-century Latin translations. It is considered, along with ʿAlī b. Khalaf’s astrolabe (both made for the ruler of Ṭulayṭila (Toledo)), “a universal astrolabe that could be used at any location without

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the Maghrib. The use of a mathematical geographic database by Maghribi geographers of administrative geography is yet another complicated issue, which we discuss later. The eastern geographers of administrative geography who were originally based in Iraq discovered the Mediterranean through the Islamic territories on the Mediterranean. In the eastern Mediterranean basin, the threat from Byzantine ships, as recorded in their works covering the period from the end of the third/ninth century to the end of the fourth/tenth century, led to the discovery of the Maghrib and Muslim Iberia. It was not by chance that their few oral sources on the Byzantine territories came from Islamic captives and mainly covered the Byzantine mainland. The first maritime routes across the Mediterranean were recorded by Ibn Khurradādhbih and relate to the mainland-maritime route from Qayrawān to Qurṭuba. The relevance of Ibn Ḥawqal emanates mainly from his Maghribi travels, including his maritime travels between North Africa, Muslim Spain, and Sicily. This was translated into his richly informative chapters on the Maghrib with its unprecedented focus on Sicily and Muslim Spain. In addition, al-Muqaddasī praises the Andalusian mariners as being “the experts” of the Mediterranean. In other words, to the extent that they were informed of the Maghrib, the eastern Muslim geographers were more engaged with the maritime space and thus more able to be involved in the large mainland-maritime networks that crossed the Mediterranean; thus, they represented not simply a maritime space, but more importantly, they were able to discover the “historical Mediterranean.” The few glimpses we have of the earliest known Maghribi geographers suggest that, at least from the fourth/tenth century, they wrote works of administrative geography. First, Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Rāzī (d. 344/955) included a chapter on the regional administrative geography of Muslim Spain in his historiographic treatise on Andalus.7 Then, Muḥammad b. Yūsuf al-Warrāq (d. 363/973) wrote a book on the regional administrative geography of the Maghrib, which he titled, like other fourth-/tenth-century works, the “Book of itineraries and kingdoms.” It was a major source for later works, especially because its author traveled to many places in the Maghrib; however, the surviving version remains incomplete.8 The relationship of this Maghribi school

special plates.” See E. Savage-Smith, “Celestial Mapping,” in History of Cartography, ed. Harley and Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 2:28–31. 7  Al-Rāzī’s book is not really known. Scholars usually use what is believed to be its Portuguese translation and excerpts found in later works. Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:169. 8  Ibid.

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to its almost contemporary fourth-/tenth-century “atlas of Islam” school is ambiguous.9 It is worth noting, however, that unlike their eastern Muslim peers, who were geographers either as a result of their access to imperial records or who became geographers after they made trips out of ideological and political curiosity (Ibn Ḥawqal and al-Muqaddasī), many of the Maghribi geographers were drawn to geographic writing after traveling to the east for religious reasons, notably to make the pilgrimage to Mecca.10 Among the first Maghribi geographers is the Andalusian Aḥmad b. ʿUmar al-ʿUdhrī, known as al-Dalāʾī (393–478/1003–1085), who wrote al-Bustān fī gharāʾib al-buldān wa-l-masālik ilā jamīʿ al-mamālik (The garden in the curiosities of countries and the itineraries to all kingdoms).11 This work remains largely unknown, as there are very few surviving copies, and these are incomplete. Yet, later geographers cited long paragraphs from it, and we know, for instance, that the book is based on alʿUdhrī’s pilgrimage to Mecca, where he stayed for nine years. Even in this case, the model of administrative geography is clearly suggested in the title and in the general structure of the text as we know it. Regardless of the strong presence of such pilgrim-geographers, and as suggested by Miquel, the Maghribi geographers were not entirely apolitical. The emergence of these essentially Andalusian authors during a time when the Umayyads of Spain sought imperial legitimacy recalls the context of the third-/ninth-century Abbasid geographers.

9  Miquel emphasized the relationship of these early Maghribi geographers to the fourth-/ tenth-century geographers of the “atlas of Islam” school and he seems to suggest possible links between the fourth-/tenth-century Maghribi and Mashriqi authors. But the relation of the Maghribi authors to the third-/ninth-century “mapless” works on administrative geography seems to be stronger and thus their connection to the fourth-/tenthcentury works of administrative geography should be understood in this light. Miquel, La Geographie, 1:260–262. 10  Among later major geographers who were drawn to geographic literature following their pilgrimage experiences were al-ʿAbdarī and Ibn Baṭṭūṭa. Here we find an interesting similarity between medieval Maghribi geographic writing and the European Christian geographers. 11  Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:273–274. When Kratchkovski wrote his book, there were no known copies of al-ʿUdhrī’s manuscripts. In 1965, the Egyptian scholar of Andalusian poetry, ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz al-Ahwānī, published two incomplete manuscripts attributed to al-ʿUdhrī, among which was his geographic treatise. Al-ʿUdhrī al-Dalāʾī, Nuṣūṣ ʿan al-andalus min kitāb tarṣīʿ al-akhbār wa-tanwīʿ al-āthār, wa-l-bustān fī gharāʾib al-buldān wa-l-masālik ilā jamīʿ almamālik (Madrid: Maṭbaʿat Maʿhad al-Dirāsāat al-Islāmiyya, 1965).

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In this case, their close attention to the North African territories may reflect their rulers’ known interests in that part of the western Islamic lands.12

Al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik and the Description of the Mediterranean Whatever the background of their geographic writing, the Maghribi school of administrative geography continued after the contributions of al-Warrāq and al-Rāzī in fourth/tenth century. Abū ʿUbayd ʿAbdallāh al-Bakrī (d. 487/1094) was a high-ranking bureaucrat and diplomat in the service of various Andalusian courts, including al-Mariyya (Almeria) and Ishbīliya (Sevilla). His work offers us a major early example of how the geographers of the western Islamic lands dealt with the Mediterranean from the perspective of itineraries. His book, Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, titled like those of other standard itineraries, discusses the Mediterranean in its long introduction on the “Seas.” He describes the Baḥr al-Rūm and/or Baḥr al-Shām as a group of gulfs and small seas, and includes Baḥr Ifrīqiyya in the discussion.13 In the last chapters he describes the western Mediterranean under the title of “known villages and cities in the itinerary from Egypt to Barqa and the whole Maghrib.” Its historical-geographic narrative includes some of the first clear mainland-maritime itineraries connecting the Islamic cities to each other from west to east and east to west. Usually al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik begins the sections on maritime itineraries with “this is how ships proceed” (hadhā sulūk al-sufun). Among these it mentions the following: the dominantly maritime route from Egypt to Ifrīqiyya linking Fusṭāṭ to Mahdiyya, and the various routes connecting Qayrawān to the Islamic Mediterranean coasts.14 Then it discusses the Mediterranean maritime itinerary “on the harbors and their connectivity” 12  Miquel, La Geographie, 1:259. 13  Al-Bakrī, Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 1:203–204. 14  Ibid., 2:626–731. The itinerary from east to west is, Fusṭāṭ–Rosetta–Alexandria–Barqa– Tripoli–Sart–Gabes–Sfax–Mahdiyya, the latter being described as the “port of the ships of Alexandria, al-Shām, Sicily, al-Andalus, and others” (pp. 626–683). The axis of Qayrawān– Mahdiyya, the center of power in fourth-/tenth- and fifth-/eleventh-century Ifrīqiyya (modern Tunisia), seems to be a major station in the itinerary networks of the Muslim Mediterranean. For this reason, al-Bakrī’s work begins with a new group of itineraries when at this axis; from Qayrawān, which remained a major North African mainland center up to the fifth/eleventh century, to the Mediterranean coasts including the route to Mahdiyya and then to the ports of Sousse–Monastir–Tunis–Carthage (pp. 684–705), to Tinnīs through the fortification of Abū l-Ṭawīl (pp. 710–716 and 722–728), from Qayrawān to Būna (pp. 716–718), to Ṭabarqa (pp. 720–722), to Marsā al-Zaytūna (pp. 728–730), and to Marsā al-Dajāj (pp. 722–725 and 730–731).

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(dhikr al-marāsī wa-ittiṣālihā) from the west (Millīla) to the east (Anṭāliya), with clear references to mariners’ (baḥriyyīn) sources.15 Finally, al-Bakrī provides (separately) the maritime itineraries on the Atlantic Ocean along the Moroccan and Spanish-Portuguese coasts.16 From the time of Ibn Ḥawqal, this is by far—and probably thanks also to al-Warrāq’s fourth-/tenth-century work—the most detailed description of Mediterranean maritime itineraries until the fifth/eleventh century.17 Al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik is an unprecedently detailed account, probably because he used the mariners as sources. But because his most detailed accounts go back to the end of the third/ninth century and early fourth/tenth century, it is difficult to know precisely whether he or al-Warrāq was directly responsible for collecting information from the mariners. It is not by chance that the especially detailed information on the Mediterranean coasts of the Maghrib in the works of al-Bakrī, al-Warrāq, and Ibn Ḥawqal corresponds to their engagement with maritime sources.18 Still al-Bakrī’s account gives some background for the greater number of coastal sites found in Ibn Ḥawqal’s work. For instance, the rise in activity along the North African coasts recorded in the eastern Islamic sources seems to be in accordance with some details provided in al-Bakrī’s work. The establishment of commercial harbors such as Tanas, Būna, Bijāya, and Wahrān, already mentioned by Ibn Ḥawqal as “Andalusian harbors,” between the end of the third/ninth century and the beginning of the fourth/tenth century is further explained by 15  Al-Bakrī, Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 2:754–762. 16  Along the Atlantic North African coast from south to north: Jazīrat Āwā–Wādī l-Sūs– Amaqdūl–Marsā Qūz-Marsā Āsafī–al-Bayẓā (a mountainous “head” on the sea) –Jazīrat Faḍāla (the sāḥil of Balad Tāsimnī) – Marsā Marīfin–Wādī Salā–Wādī Sabū–Wādī Safdad– Ḥawḍ Aṣīla. Al-Bakrī, Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 2:762. 17  Al-Bakrī, Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 2:762–763 and 775. The only early medieval source that resembles but does not match the detail of al-Bakrī’s Mediterranean maritime itineraries is Ibn Ḥawqal, who describes the route from Barqa to Tangier (pp. 66–80). Lewicki focuses on both authors when he talks about the Mediterranean itineraries, but he does not emphasize the clear difference between the two: T. Lewicki, “Les voies maritimes de la Méditerranée dans le haut Moyen Age d’après les sources arabes,” La Navigazione mediterranea nell’alto Medioevo, Settimane di studio del Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo (Spoleto: Presso la sede del Centro, 1978), 2:440–468, especially 2:443–444. 18  For example, they corroborate each other’s information in the case of the mainland center of Baṣra (in Morocco) and its role in a larger commercial network touching the North African Mediterranean and Atlantic coasts. See C. Picard, La Mer et les Musulmans d’Occident au Moyen Age (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1997), 46.

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al-Bakrī’s Andalusian sources, not simply as the harbors shipping to and from Andalus, but more importantly as being harbors established by Andalusian mariners. They are represented as part of a larger commercial network involving Andalusian mariners—a network based along the Spanish coasts of Qarṭājanna (Carthagena), Ashkūbirash, and Aguilas.19 As noted by Picard, even when they were not the primary founders of these North African ports, they are represented in al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik as being one of the groups that stimulated the commercial activities of other port cities such as Jazāʾir Banī Mizghinnā (Algiers).20 His description of Egypt, including its Mediterranean coasts, is interesting and detailed probably because it is based on Abū l-ʿAbbās al-ʿUdharī’s trip to Mecca in the early fourth/tenth century.21

Al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik and Its Model of Maritime Sources Al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik is at the center of discussions about the usage of maritime sources in early Islamic geographic writings. As noted, al-Bakrī’s text reveals that he utilized maritime sources; this is clear either because he explicitly mentions mariners or because of the way it describes the coastal areas. Still, there is some debate over the nature of these sources. Juan Vernet, a specialist on the history of science in Islam, suggests that al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik is proof not only of the existence of maritime sources written in Arabic as early as the fourth/tenth century, but of the possible usage of compasses, which these maritime sources used as navigational aides.22 Basing himself on al-Bakrī’s description of the western North African coast as diagonal in relation to the Iberian coast (e directo, ex opposito), he concludes that al-Bakrī’s navigation was supported by a compass. According

19  This point is further explained in Picard, La Mer et les Musulmans, 12–13. Picard, La Mer des Califes, 201–205. 20  Picard, La Mer et les Musulmans, 52–53. 21  Jean-Charles Ducène, “La description de l’Égypte (à l’exception d’Alexandrie) dans le Kitāb al-masālik wa-l-mamālik d’al-Bakrī,” Annales Islamologiques 39 (2005), 231–248. 22  Vernet-Gines argues these points, see “La navigacion en la Alta Edad Media,” in La Navigazione mediterranea nell’alto Medioevo, Settimane di studio del Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo (Spoleto, 1978), 323–388; reprinted in Estudios Sobre Historia de la Ciencia Medieval (Barcelona: Universidad de Barcelona, 1979), 383–448. He presents other ideas about al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik in his “Influencias musulmanas en el origen de la cartografia nautical,” Boletin de la Real Sociedad Geografica 89 (1953), 35–62; reprinted in Estudios Sobre Historia de la Ciencia Medieval (Barcelona: Universidad de Barcelona, 1979), 355–382.

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to Vernet, because the error was systematic, it suggests the seriousness of alBakrī’s sources for the Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik.23 Patrick Gautier-Dalché, a key authority on maritime manuals, was interested in al-Bakrī and also in Vernet’s views on him. He questions whether or not the information in texts like al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik would have found its way into European maritime manuals.24 For him, none of Vernet’s evidence proves that the Arab mariners used compasses during the fifth/eleventh century.25 Still, it is unclear how to define the genre of these unknown Arabic maritime “guides.” The written navigational aides par excellence are the portolan texts, though there is a great deal of confusion related to their definitions, and how they can be differentiated from other genres. Gautier-Dalché provides the most convincing definition to date.26 They are frequently confused with portolan maps.27 The small amount of attention the portolan texts attract is also due the very few surviving examples. Perhaps the majority have disappeared and only “two dozen manuscripts that date for the most part from the fifteenth century” survive.28 The first examples do not seem to have surfaced until the sixth/ twelfth century, among these is the Liber de Existencia Riveriarum et Forma Maris Nostri Mediterranei. A close look at this work helps us to understand the formation of this genre or, at least, its early form and, thus, to comprehend the kind of maritime sources that existed prior to those probably used in al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik. The Liber’s unknown author is believed to have lived between 1160 and 1200 CE, and seems to have been from Pisa.29 Except for a few passages borrowed from ancient sources, most of the text focuses on describing the Mediterranean coasts. It is written in Latin, and takes the form of long lists of toponyms divided into 45 separate sections or what seem to be regional seas.30 There is an indication of the distances separating each two 23  Vernet-Gines, “La navigacion,” 371–379. 24  P.  Gautier-Dalché, Carte Marine et Portulan de XIIe Siècle (Rome: Ecole Française de Rome, 1995), 11. 25  He agrees, however, that Vernet’s arguments “attestent l’existence, dès le 11e siècle, de guides à l’usage des marins d’origine arabe pour les côtes africaines et hispaniques.” Ibid., 58–61. 26  P. Gautier-Dalché, “Portulans and the Byzantine World,” in Travel in the Byzantine World, ed. Ruth Macrides (Ashgate: Variorum, 2000), 59–71; Gautier-Dalché, Carte Marine, 39–82. 27  Gautier-Dalché, “Portulans,” 59, n. 1. 28  Ibid., 62–63. 29  Gautier-Dalché, Carte Marine, 7–16. 30  For example, no. 3: Cap Spartel – Oran (Mauritania Tingitana), no. 4: Oran – Cap Bon (Byzantium, Zeugis, Numidia), no. 5: Cap Bon – Affrica (Mahdia), etc. See Gautier-Dalché, Carte Marine, 17.

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toponyms and their positions with regard to wind directions. This is clearly a very early form of the portolan genre, the written navigational guide, which reached its maturity around the 1250s, and survived in the famous manuscript of the Conpasso de navegare, written in vernacular Italian.31 By this time, the identity of the portolan as a navigational aide was clearer. The Conpasso has three parts. First, it lists Mediterranean coastal sites associated with specific wind orientations and distances. Other information responds directly to the need of the navigation process, and includes sea depths, sea channels and currents, and the way to land in any given port. The second part of the Conpasso emphasizes diagonal maritime crossings, known as “pileggi,”32 from sites that do not neighbor each other; here it offers information on the distance and direction following the eight or the sixteen winds. Finally, the third and last part is an addendum focusing on the Black Sea with the same kind of information. In all cases, as Gautier-Dalché shows, the only written navigational aide known to us, namely the portolan, was a medieval invention that could not be dated prior to the sixth/twelfth century. With this definition of a written navigational guide, scholars tend to suggest not only the existence of navigational aides prior to the earliest known portolans, but also a continuity between these aides and the portolans. The debate focuses on the Greek periploi, which have been presented, without much investigation, as “navigational aides” and precursors of the portolans. Paradoxically, Latin sources show very little interest in the functional descriptions of maritime routes, though the Romans controlled much of the Mediterranean and its navigational traffic. Even works like the Antonine Itinerary, are considered essentially “administrative or military tools, not sailing directions.”33 In addition to the earliest known example, the periplus of Hanno the Navigator, which is very brief but much quoted on the African coasts and was probably Cathaginian, the Greek periploi date back to the fourth century BCE at least. Very few medieval copies survived.34 Gautier-Dalché insists that their inclusion of historical and mythological elements and their outdated information made them irrelevant for medieval sailors, and more importantly, they lacked directions or distances; in general, the kind of valuable sailing information emphasized in the portolans excludes them from being considered

31  Ibid., 39–41. 32  Ibid., 61. 33  Ibid., 65, n. 23. 34  There are very few editions of the Greek periploi and most are still in the original Greek. After C. Müller’s mid ninth-century compilation, there is the recent work by Didier Marcotte Geographes grecs. See Gautier-Dalché, Carte Marine, 64, n. 20.

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navigational aides. Rather they are considered “works of erudition, or travel guides intended for the educated, not sailing directions for sailors.”35 The most organized attempt to present them as early portolans or navigational aides focuses on the fourth and third century BCE Greek periplus known as Periplo di Scilace or “Periplus of Pseudo-Scylax,” referring to what seems to be a Greek authority on maritime routes, Skylax of Karyanda.36 Nonetheless, if we look closely at the text, we can see that it was not meant to be entertaining, rather it is essentially a list of sites. The elements of the description of a maritime route usually include only the point of departure and the point of arrival, with generic distances using time rather than more precise distance units. For instance, a frequent formula used throughout this work is “the coastal voyage of x or y is of one day.” Sometimes distances are given between coastal sites in mainland distance units (the stade) and not in maritime distance units; this is the case for Sicily, and could also be a model for the more diverse information available in the description of a single location in a periplus, but it certainly does not meet the needs of a sailor. 13. SICILY [Sikelia]. And by Region is Sicily island, distant from Europe 12 stades to Pelorias from Region. And in Sicily are the following barbarian nations: Elymians, Sikanians, Sikels, Phoenicians, Trojans. Now these are barbarians, but Hellenes also live here. And the promontory of Sicily is Pelorias. And there are Hellenic cities from Pelorias, the following: Messene with a harbour, Tauromenion, Naxos, Katane, Leontinoi; and to Leontinoi by Terias river a voyage inland of 20 stades. Symaithos, a river, with a city, Megaris, and a harbour, Xiphoneios. And adjoining Megaris is a city, Syracuse, with two harbours in it, one of these inside a fort, and the other outside. And after this a city, Heloron, and Pachynos, a promontory. And from Pachynos the Hellenic cities are the following: Kamarina, Gela, Akragas, Selinous, and Lilybaion promontory. And from Lilybaion there is a Hellenic city, Himera, and after Himera city is Lipara island, and a Hellenic city, Mylai, with a harbour. And there is from Mylai up to Lipara island a voyage of a day’s half [And Sicily is triangular: and each limb of it is approximately of 1,500 stades.]37 35  Gautier-Dalché, Carte Marine, 42–43, 64–65. 36  A.  Peretti, Il Periplo di Scilace. Studio sul Primo Portolano del Mediterraneo (Pisa: Giardini Editori, 1979). 37  Here I am citing a provisional English translation by Graham Shipley, made in 2002, and available to the public on the website of the University of Exeter Press. See, The Pseudo-Skylax’s Periplous, trans. Graham Shipley. Accessed 7 February 2016, online:

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If we look back at the Islamic sources we may find some similarities between the periploi and the third-/ninth-century kitāb al-masālik wa-l-mamālik works, especially with regard to their brief notes and emphasis on mainland routes and distances. It is, however, more difficult to compare them with the works of the fourth-/tenth-century “atlas of Islam” school, which emphasize human geography. Al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik seems much closer to the periploi. Its diverse, brief paragraphs and its emphasis on maritime routes makes it similar to the ancient Greek models. There are clear differences, nonetheless, most importantly those regarding the nature of its maritime sources. As we have seen, in al-Bakrī’s work, descriptions of maritime routes are inserted arbitrarily in separate chapters. This is probably an indication that alBakrī compiled unknown maritime sources, especially for the western Islamic Mediterranean coasts, as Gautier-Dalché postulated. Yet, if we look closely at these chapters, we can see that they are more functional for navigation than the kind of information available in the periploi. For instance, on the basis of an unknown source (except the name of Muʾmin b. Yūmar al-Huwwārī (?)), it describes the North African Atlantic coasts in a way that suggests some navigational knowledge;38 and some descriptions would seem to be made by a viewer arriving from the sea to the coast, and recording visual landmarks at some locations.39 In addition, the description of the location of some ports, notably those on the North African coasts, in relation to ports facing them on the European coasts, known as “e directo, ex opposite,” seems to be an unusual way for an Islamic source to describe a maritime coast.40 In fact, al-Bakrī describes the two coasts at the same time. http://www.ancientportsantiques.com/wp-content/uploads/Documents/AUTHORS/ScylaxGB2002.pdf. 38  As is the case in the description of the fortification/port of Qūz, as reported in al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik. 39  For instance, after mentioning “Wādī Salā,” which is not simply a river, and continuing northeast, al-Bakrī mentions, “to the eastern part of Wādī Salā on the sea [is] a great grotto, above it there are vents resembling the mouths of wells; the roof of the grotto is planted.” Al-Bakrī, Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 2:762. 40  Al-Bakrī made such correspondences, using words like yuḥādhīh, yuqābiluh, and yuwāzīh with the meaning of “facing it,” especially from Millīla to the island of Jerba. But these terms are used more frequently in descriptions of the Moroccan/Algerian coasts with regard to the Iberian/French coasts. The specific coastal sites described using this formula are (first the North African site/then the European site): Millīla/Shalūbīna; Jarāwa/ Qamajla; Ajrūd/Dalāya; Tarnāna/Mariya Bajāna; Arjaqūl/Qābiṭat Banī Aswad; al-Māʿ al-Madfūn/Marsā al-Rāhib; Jabal (Mountain of) Wahrān/Ashkūbarsh; ʿAyn Farrūj/Āqla (port of Lūrqa); Qaṣr al-Fallūs/Qarṭājanna; Maghīlat Banī Hāshim/Qabṭīl Tadmīr; Tanas/

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In addition to giving the location of the corresponding site, theoretically to the north of the North African site, he also provided the distance between them using a maritime unit of distance: the “majrā” (stage of sailing?). But among the aspects that are most suggestive of the presence of some kind of maritime sources with navigational sense in al-Bakrī’s work is the way some harbors are described with regard to their exposition to winds and, thus, their accessibility in various seasons: the “winter harbor” (marsā shitwī) versus the “summer harbor” (marsā ṣayfī). This is especially the case for harbors along the North African coasts. For instance, the harbors of Millīla and Tarnāna are described as ṣayfī harbors, whereas the harbors of Jabal Wahrān and ʿAyn Farrūj are described as shitwī harbors. We can find a basic definition of these two terms in a few notes left in al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik: The phrase shitwī harbor, as associated with Jabal Wahrān, is further explained with the note that “it is safe from all winds” (sakinun min kulli rīḥ), and the word ṣayfī, associated with the harbor of Maghīlat Banī Hāshim (near the harbor of Tanas) is further explained as “not safe from any winds” (lā yakinnu minhu rīḥ).41 This is usually further indicated by two other words: a “safe” (ma‌ʾmūn) or “unsafe” (ghayr ma‌ʾmūn) harbor. Sometimes, the best location to land is mentioned. For instance, in some cases, like the harbor of Jabal Shinwa or Baṭṭāl there is a note specifying that, “it should be approached from its western part” (wa-yakinnū bi-gharbiyyih). Yet the question remains: Are Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik’s maritime sources, which are probably al-Warrāq’s fourth-/tenth-century sources, more strongly linked to navigational instructions than contemporary European maritime sources, that is the periploi that were available? They are not as precise and functional for navigation as the portolans, but these did not appear before the sixth/twelfth century, after the completion of al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik. Could this be an indication of lost Islamic sources, perhaps very brief or mostly oral, of navigational instructions that were not accurately reported by al-Warrāq?

Shantabūl; Jazīrat (island of) Waqūr/Laqant; Shirshāl/Marīra; Jabal Shinwa or Baṭṭāl/ Jabal Qurūn; Janābiya/Dāniya; Jazāʾir Banī Mizghinnā/Binshikla; Marsā l-Dajāj/Jazīrat Mayyūrqa; Jabal al-Raḥmān/Jazīrat Sardāniya; Jazīrat Jerba/Jazīrat Anbidūsha. Al-Bakrī, Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik, 2:754–761. 41  Ibid., 2:754–755.

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Byzantine Sources for the Mediterranean from the Perspective of a Late Fatimid Geographer

Introducing Gharāʾib al-funūn wa-mulaḥ al-ʿuyūn The manuscript, titled Gharāʾib al-funūn wa-mulaḥ al-ʿuyūn (translated as The book of curiosities of the sciences and marvels for the eyes) now in the Bodleian Library (Ms. Arab c. 90), is a remarkable source on the Mediterranean for its unique cartographic approach. Even though its author remains unknown, its contents suggest a Maghribi approach to the Mediterranean. The manuscript was first introduced in 2003, in an article by Jeremy Johns and Emilie SavageSmith.42 The latter conducted a project with the assistance of Yossef Rapoport; its goal was to transcribe the Gharāʾib al-funūn, translate it, make diagrams from its maps, and publish the folios on a website. This was realized in the spring of 2007.43 Recently they published it with the translation.44 The Gharāʾib al-funūn is dated on the basis of historical events referred to in its text; it is believed to be from the fifth/eleventh century and certainly before 462/1070, as it talks about Sicily being under Islamic rule.45 The manuscript copy itself was made much later. On a codicological basis, it has been dated to the sixth/twelfth or even seventh/thirteenth centuries, and is thought to come from Egypt or Syria. Some indications in the texts and maps indicate that the author may have had some allegiance to the Fatimids. The author’s familiarity with some Coptic terms, in addition to his allegiance to the Fatimids, led scholars to locate him in Egypt.46 The Gharāʾib al-funūn consists of two parts or books (maqālāt): book 1 on the celestial world and book 2 on the terrestrial world. Until now, book 1 has been 42  J. Johns and E. Savage-Smith, “The Book of Curiosities: A Newly Discovered Series of Islamic Maps,” Imago Mundi 55 (2003): 7–24. 43  Accessed 7 February 2016, http://cosmos.bodley.ox.ac.uk/hms/home.php. 44  Emilie Savage-Smith and Yossef Rapoport (eds.), An Eleventh-Century Egyptian Guide to the Universe (Leiden: Brill, 2013). I would like to thank Jeremy Johns, Emilie Savage-Smith, and Yossef Rappoport for discussing the manuscript and showing me early drafts of their project. I refer to the manuscript’s folios as they appear in this publication. 45  A note on the website suggests a more precise time span, notably before the year 442/1050. It points to the departure of an Egyptian tribe from Alexandria around 442/1050; in the Gharāʾib al-funūn this tribe is reported as still present in the city. 46  The most detailed description of a single city in the Gharāʾib al-funūn is that of the northern Egyptian town of Tinnīs. This led Johns and Savage-Smith to suggest, preliminarily, that he might have been from Tinnīs. See Johns and Savage-Smith, “The Book of Curiosities,” 8. Now, however, an earlier known source has been identified as the source from which the author took his account on Tinnīs.

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the object of less interest than book 2; indeed book 1 was commented on and translated only on the Gharāʾib al-funūn website.47 Before moving to book 2, it is interesting to note that in the tenth and last chapter of book 1 (“On the blowing of winds, earthquakes and tremors”) there is a diagram of a wind rose that differs from the information provided in the text. While the text refers to the system, in Arabic, of four winds, the ṣabā (eastern), dabbūr (western), shimāl (northern), and janūb (southern),48 the diagram points to another system, the Greek system of the twelve wind rose.49 This reference to the traditional Greek wind rose coincides with its popularity in contemporary medieval geographic works. Yet, the question of the wind rose becomes especially relevant because of several instances in book 2, where winds are mentioned, notably in connection with the description of Mediterranean harbors and coasts. As noted by Gautier-Dalché, maritime sources that were specifically attached to navigators were distinguished by the vulgar names of winds given within the system of eight or sixteen wind roses, as opposed to the ancient Greek system of twelve wind roses, which appear in other medieval geographic works.50 This chapter from book 1 should be recalled when discussing the question of wind orientation in book 2. The Question of the Cartographic Style of the Gharāʾib al-funūn The major issue in book 2 of the Gharāʾib al-funūn, or the geographic section, is the perspective of its approach to the Mediterranean and its unusual cartographic style. This section should be situated in the tradition of mathematical geography and cartography. The division of the world explicitly follows the system of the seven Ptolemaic climes. As already suggested, there are clear indications of mathematical cartography in at least one of the two world maps included in the Gharāʾib al-funūn, the so called “rectangular world map.”51 According to Johns and Savage-Smith, it represents, in fact, a rare example in which the mapmaking instructions given by mathematical cartographers of 47  Savage-Smith published pictures of the diagrams and their translated versions of book 1, accompanied by brief comments in E. Edson and E. Savage-Smith, Medieval Views of the Cosmos: Picturing the Universe in the Christian and Islamic Middle Ages (Oxford: University of Oxford, 2004). 48  The author or the scribe made a mistake by confusing dabbūr with the northern wind and ṣabā with the southern wind. But he puts them in their usual place in his comment on the diagram of the encompassing sphere. 49  Anon., Gharāʾib al-Funūn, trans. Rappoport and Savage-Smith, fol. 21b. 50  Gautier-Dalché, Carte Marine, 69–76. 51  Johns and Savage-Smith, “The Book of Curiosities,” 11–13.

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the fourth/tenth century were applied; it may even bear the traces of major, renowned, though no longer extant, mathematical maps of the world. At the same time, allowing for the errors introduced by successive uncomprehending copyists, the possibility that the original map could well have had places plotted onto it according to a 180–degree graphic scale has to be taken seriously. Correctly numbered, the scale at the top of the rectangular world map in The Book of Curiosities would be strikingly suggestive of the method of map making proposed by Suhrāb, a late tenth century geographer, in his treatise Fī ʿajāʾib al-aqālīm al-sabʿa (‘The Wonders of the Seven Climes’). Suhrāb gave instructions for making a rectangular world map with a lateral scale of 180 degrees at the top and at the bottom of the map, and a vertical scale—divided into 110 degrees (90 degrees to the north, and 20 degrees to the south of the equator)— down each side. Once the seven climes were marked on the map, the towns were to be plotted from their coordinates with the aid of a pair of weighted strings extended between the horizontal and vertical scales … The result of such a procedure would have been an orthogonal projection of parallel equidistant lines, exactly the projection of parallel equidistant lines proposed by Marinus of Tyre (fl. AD 100) and described by Ptolemy in some detail (albeit rather critically) in the Geography. The encyclopaedist al-Masʿūdī (d. 346/956)—an authority frequently cited by the author of The Book of Curiosities—stated that the map made for the caliph alMa‌ʾmūn was rectilinear, and it has been proposed that Suhrāb’s method was used for al-Ma‌ʾmūn’s map. No manuscripts are known to survive, however, of Suhrāb’s proposed map…. However, the fact that the map is the only rectangular world map to be preserved from antiquity or from the medieval world, and the fact it carries a scale (as misunderstood as it was) at the top, requires that full account be taken of the possibility that it might in some way reflect the early ninth-century map made for Ma‌ʾmūn, or even the much earlier projection of Marinus of Tyre, as described by Ptolemy.52 Other scattered indications of such a cartographic approach can also be noted in the Gharāʾib al-funūn. Notably, in the discussion of the possible accuracy of maps depicting maritime spaces in chapter 6 of the Gharāʾib al-funūn there is a reference to the Ptolemaic principle of mathematical mapmaking, that is the system of longitudes and latitudes. 52  Ibid., 13.

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Figure 4.1 Gharāʾib al-funūn wa-mulaḥ al-ʿuyūn, map of the Mediterranean made in the fifth/eleventh century (in Savage-Smith and Rapoport, An Eleventh-Century Egyptian Guide to the Universe, 30b–31a).

If the shape of the sea is reproduced accurately, on the basis of longitude and latitude coordinates, and any given sea is measured in the manner described by Ptolemy in his book known as Geography the [contour of the] sea would form sharp and obtuse angles, square and rounded lines. This shape of the coast exists in reality, but, even if drawn by the most sensitive instrument, the cartographer (muhandis) would not be able to position [literally, “to build”] a city in its location amidst the sharp or obtuse angles [of the coast] because of the limits of the space that would correspond to a vast area in the real world.53 But this brief paragraph is virtually the only instance where the author explicitly engages in the question of mathematical mapmaking, and even when he does, it is to prove its failure to depict geographic reality, and thus explain highly schematic maps of maritime space, notably that of the Mediterranean (Fig. 4.1). More importantly, there is not a single mention of the author’s direct connection to the making of the map or him introducing the map even in a brief way, in chapters 1, 2, and 3 of book 2, which is where the “rectangular world map” is drawn and described. This is already in accordance with what has been noted by Johns and Savage-Smith, that is, there is no mention of Suhrāb himself, much less his mapmaking instructions. Beyond contesting the authorship of the “rectangular world map” in the Gharāʾib al-funūn, we must also question the placement of its other world map, the “circular world map.” Johns and Savage-Smith suggest that the very similarities between this map and the Idrisian world map may mean that the earliest appearance of the “circular world map” was in this fifth-/eleventhcentury work, making it a pre-Idrisian world map.54 I return to this problem 53  Anon., Gharāʾib al-funūn, trans. Rappoport and Savage-Smith, fol. 29a. 54  Johns and Savage-Smith, “The Book of Curiosities,” 13–14.

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in the discussion of Idrisian mapmaking, but it should be noted at this juncture that, just as in the case of the “rectangular world map,” nothing has been said about the “circular world map” in the Gharāʾib al-funūn’s text. Moreover, it appears in chapter 5 (“On the cities of the remote regions”) and not at the beginning of the geographic section, where we would expect to find it. This, in itself, is not an indication of an arbitrary choice of images by the maker of the Gharāʾib al-funūn because the other images in chapter 5, two pictorial illustrations of the “remote regions,” are in the proper location. The question of comparing these world maps is an interesting issue when we consider the major problem of the Gharāʾib al-funūn from the perspective of its approach to the Mediterranean, that is, its cartographic style. The style of the “circular world map” differs not only from the style of the “rectangular world map,” but also from the style of all other maps. The “rectangular world map,” however, is much closer in its style to the rest of the maps in the Gharāʾib al-funūn. In fact, in addition to the two world maps, there are, from a thematic point of view, five other types of maps and/or diagrams that deal in various ways with aquatic spaces, or mainland spaces dominated by aquatic spaces: three maps representing seas (in the order they appear in the Gharāʾib al-funūn: the Indian Ocean, the Mediterranean, and the Caspian Sea); four maps representing Mediterranean islands and/or peninsulas (in the order they appear in the Gharāʾib al-funūn: Sicily, Mahdiyya, Tinnīs, and Cyprus); a diagram of Aegean bays; two diagrams representing lakes (in the order they appear in the Gharāʾib al-funūn, these include the marshes that form the sources of the Nile and a representation of the scattered lakes in Byzantium and Persia); and finally five maps representing rivers (in the order they appear in the Gharāʾib al-funūn: the Nile, the Euphrates, the Tigris, the Indus, and the Oxus). By looking closely at these maps and/or diagrams, we can see the following stylistic similarities between the depictions of the aquatic or predominantly aquatic spaces and the “rectangular world map”: Green is used to denote salty water, blue denotes sweet water, red denotes continental landmarks such as mountains, and red dots denote toponyms. By contrast, the “circular world map” is dominated by blue and/or purplish-blue (though this is unclear, and may be a result of later interventions) to denote all kinds of aquatic spaces. The toponyms are not accompanied by dots. Landmarks like coastlines and mountains are denoted with a thin black line. These characteristics alone distinguish the “circular world map,” from a stylistic point of view, from the rest of the maps in the Gharāʾib al-funūn. Yet the “rectangular world map” also seems to have other specific sources. Based only on the style of its outline, we cannot avoid seeing its similarities

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with the sectional maps of the Ḥawqalian and Iṣṭakhrian traditions, more precisely the map of the Mediterranean (A-1–2) and the map of the Indian Ocean (A-I-3 or A-I-4). The outline in the map of the Mediterranean (A-1–2) of the European Mediterranean coasts is quite similar to the outline of the same area in the “rectangular world map” in the Gharāʾib al-funūn. The outline in the map of the Indian Ocean (A-I-3 or A-I-4) of the southern Asian coastline is also similar to the same area in the “rectangular world map.” In both cases, the distinguishable outline of peninsulas is clearly retained by the maker of the map in the Gharāʾib al-funūn. Table 2.1

Selected toponyms suggesting the Ḥawqalian tradition especially its maps of the Mediterranean and the Maghrib (A-I-2) as one of the origins for the toponyms of the “rectangular world map”

Toponym

Toponym as it appears in the “rectangular world map”

Toponym as it appears A-I-2

Badajoz (‫) ب���ط��ل�يو��س‬

Baṭalyūs (‫) ب���ط��ل�يو��س‬

Baṭalyūs (‫ ) ب���ط��ل�يو��س‬in the Ḥawqalian text and map of the Maghrib (A-I-2) ‫ق‬ ‫ة‬ Qulūriya ( ��‫ )���لو ر ��ي‬in the Ḥawqalian maps of the Mediterranean and the Maghrib (A-I-2) ‫ق ة‬ Qalʿat Rabāḥ ( ‫ )���ل���ع�� ر ��ب�ا‬in the ‫ح‬ Ḥawqalian text and map of the Maghrib (A-I-2)

‫ق‬

‫ة‬

Calabria ( ��‫)���لو ر ��ي‬

‫ق ة‬

‫ق‬

‫ة‬

Qulūriya ( ��‫)���لو ر ��ي‬

‫ق ة‬

Calatrava (��‫���ل���ع‬ ‫)ر ��ب�ا‬

‫ح‬

Caracuel ( ��‫�و�ب‬ ‫�رك‬ ‫) ك‬

Karkūna ( ��‫�و�ن‬ ‫�رك‬ ‫) ك‬

‫ح‬

‫ة‬

Qalʿat Rabāḥ ( ��‫���ل���ع‬ ‫)ر ��ب�ا‬

�

‫ق‬

‫�ة‬

Carmona ( ��‫)�ر�مو �ن‬ Dabīl (‫)د ب�����ي�ل‬

Dhū l-Qilāʿ (‫و‬ ‫)ا �ل������ق�لا‬

‫�ذ‬

‫�ة‬

‫�ة‬

‫ق‬

Qaramūna ( ��‫)�ر�مو �ن‬ Dabīl (‫)د ب�����ي�ل‬

Dīr al-Qilāʿ (‫د ��ي�ر‬ ‫)ا �ل������ق�لا‬

‫ع‬

‫ع‬

Elvas (‫)ا �ل �����ب��س‬

Ilīs (‫)ا �ل�����ي��س‬

Karkub (�‫� ب‬ �‫�ر ك‬ ‫ ) ك‬in the Ḥawqalian map of the the Maghrib (A-I-2)

‫�ة‬

‫ق‬

Qaramūna ( ��‫ )�ر�مو �ن‬in the Ḥawqalian map of the Maghrib (A-I-2) Dabīl �� (‫ )د ب�����ي�ل‬in the Ḥawqalian text

‫ي‬

‫�ذ‬

� ‫ ) ا �ل‬in Dhū l-Kilāʿ ( ‫��لا‬ ‫و ك ع‬ the Ḥawqalian map of the Mediterranean (A-I-2)

‫ )ا �ل��� ش‬in the Ḥawqalian text Ilbash (���‫�ب‬ � and map of the Maghrib (A-I-2)

125

The Increase In Maritime Sources Toponym

‫أف‬

Ephesus (‫)� ���س��ي��س‬

��

Fez (‫) �ف�ا ��س‬

‫ة‬

Toponym as it appears in the “rectangular world map”

‫ق ف‬

al-Qīf (�‫)ا �ل���������ي‬

��

‫غ‬

Fās (‫) �ف�ا ��س‬

Gaeta ( ��‫)��ي������ط‬

ʿAyṭar (‫)�عي������ط�ر‬

Gao (‫�و‬ ‫�وك‬ ‫)ك‬

Kaznū (‫��ز �و‬ ‫) ك‬

‫ن‬

Saṭarbalīn ( ‫ )��س��طر�ب�لي���ن‬Ḥarr Sarīq (�‫��سر�يق‬

Toponym as it appears A-I-2

‫ )الا �����س�� ق‬in the Ḥawqalian Al-Absīq (�‫ي‬ ‫ب‬ text and map of the Mediterranean (A-I-2) �� Fās (‫ ) �ف�ا ��س‬in the Ḥawqalian text and map of the Maghrib (A-I-2) ‫ة‬

‫غ‬

Ghayṭa ( ��‫ )��ي������ط‬in the Ḥawqalian map of the Maghrib (A-I-2)

Kūkū (‫�و‬ ‫�وك‬ ‫ ) ك‬in the Ḥawqalian text and map of the Maghrib (A-I-2)

‫�ن‬ ‫ )��ح�ر‬Saṭarbalīn ( ��‫ )��س��طر�ب�لي‬in the

Ḥawqalian map of the Mediterranean (A-I-2)

There are other similarities between the Ḥawqalian and the Iṣṭakhrian traditions with regard to other sectional maps. As shown by some selected toponyms in Table 2.1, many topopnyms of the Mediterranean territories of the “rectangular world map” have their origin in the Ḥawqalian tradition; this is especially true for the maps of the Mediterranean and the Maghrib, which is, in effect, a second map of the Mediterranean (A-I-2). The colors used continue along the Ḥawqalian and Iṣṭakhrian traditions, with green and blue for aquatic spaces, and red and brown for mountains. The way some toponyms, denoted by red dots, are lined up in order to suggest itineraries should not be seen as “an echo of some Late Antique convention,” or to “reflect our author’s declared preference for toponymy over physical geography.”55 This is a characteristic feature of Ḥawqalian maps, notably the itinerary from Baṭalyūs to Ṭulayṭila in the map of the Maghrib (A-I-2); it is also a feature of Iṣṭakhrian maps, especially in the sectional maps of continental regions in Asia, though these maps do not necessarily use red dots, rather other markers appear next to the toponyms, or a continuous line connects all the toponyms, or a small square appears next to each toponym. 55  Ibid., 11.

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Overall it seems that the examples of the “atlas of Islam” school served as models for the “rectangular world map” not in their generic depictions or their world maps, but in their sectional maps. It is interesting to recall that while their world maps are circular, their sectional maps are framed explicitly or implicitly in rectangular frames; this is true of the maps of the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean as well. This is not to say that the “rectangular world map” should be considered part of the “atlas of Islam” school (for which there is no standard, as we have shown). It is more probable that these are not simply late copies of early world maps by third-/ninth- or fourth-/tenth-century mathematical cartographers, rather they have a more hybrid nature that combined with the latter tradition of sectional views from the “atlas of Islam” school. This heterogeneous and selective approach might explain the simplistic adoption of mathematical cartography and the absence of an explanatory text about the way the mathematical part of the map was done. Obviously, such an analysis does not question its originality, but rather confirms it. The depiction of the Nile as a whole, including the depiction of its supposed source, the Mountain of the Moon, is not a characteristic feature of the world maps in the Iṣṭakhrian and Ḥawqalian traditions. The late medieval Ḥawqalian versions, the so-called “abridged Ibn Ḥawqal,” however, included the view of the whole Nile (from the Mountain of the Moon) not only in their world maps but also in the representation of the region of Egypt. Both seem to recover this image from the tradition of the earliest known cartographic work of Islamic mathematical cartography, that is, the map of Egypt in al-Khawārizmī’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ (A-I-1), whose earliest surviving manuscript dates to the early fifth/eleventh century. This information again places the “rectangular world map” within the tradition of mathematical cartography, as do the depictions of aquatic spaces in the Gharāʾib al-funūn. The Gharāʾib al-funūn’s Unique Approach to the Mediterranean Apart from discussions in the body of geographic descriptions, the emphasis on aquatic spaces finds its origin in Islamic geography in the third-/ninthcentury works of the mathematical geographers, who usually discuss maritime spaces in their introductions. For instance, al-Khawārizmī’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ (A-I-1) is unique in emphasizing aquatic spaces such as the Nile and the Azov Sea in its maps; this cannot be explained by its textual organization and is seen as a result of arbitrary choices.56 In one of the works of al-Bīrūnī, a major fifth-/eleventh-century figure of mathematical geography, we can identify a more immediate origin for the 56  Kratschkovsky, Tārīkh, 1:102.

The Increase In Maritime Sources

127

emphasis on aquatic spaces in the Gharāʾib al-funūn. Al-Bīrūnī’s Geodesy, the Kitāb al-Tafhīm, was an Islamic work that explores the earth, for the first time and in an unprecedented style, from the point of view of aquatic spaces. It is almost contemporary to the period in which we believe the Gharāʾib al-funūn was made, since the earliest of its surviving examples is located in a manuscript dated to 420/1029 (later examples include A-I-7, which dates to 635/1238). The resulting outlines of the world map of the seas are not totally unrecognizable when compared to traditional world maps, notably those of the “atlas of Islam” school. This representation clearly shrinks the mainland in favor of a more pronounced depiction of maritime spaces. The Indian Ocean and especially the Mediterranean are almost enclosed and tend to have a rounded outline. The Azov Sea is a perfect circle. The circular frame of the whole map, which includes a representation of the Atlantic Ocean, emphasizes the same optical approach. It is a style that favors the rounding of maritime spaces in order to emphasize them. This is, in fact, the major characteristic that defines the approach of the Gharāʾib al-funūn to the depiction of maritime spaces, and specifically that of the Mediterranean. The map of the Mediterranean is located in chapter 10, titled “On the Western Sea, that is, the Syrian Sea, its harbors, islands, and anchorages.” We cannot explain the presence in this chapter of the map alone, without the text, but we find the same situation with the Caspian Sea in chapter 11. We also cannot be certain with regard to chapter 7, which covers the Indian Ocean, because the folios between the map of the Indian Ocean and the map of the Mediterranean are missing. We know that there are missing folios, because chapters 8 and 9 are missing from the book, and we do not know if these missing folios include any accompanying text from chapter 7. In chapter 6, which is titled “On the depiction of seas, their islands, and havens,” we find an explicit explanation of this cartographic style, which depicts maritime spaces including that of the Mediterranean, and the only place in the entire preserved manuscript of the Gharāʾib al-funūn where the author talks about his maps. It is not a descriptive introduction to the seas that are depicted in the later chapters, but rather an essay on how to map seas from the point of view of the author of the Gharāʾib al-funūn. First, it makes a direct link between the depiction of the seas and the use of mariners as primary sources. Although it is impossible for created beings to know the extent of God’s creation, the knowledgeable and qualified among them are entrusted with witnessing or imparting a small part of it. We have only mentioned here what we have heard from trustworthy (?) sailors, from which I selected and made my own judgments; and from what had reached my ears

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from the wise merchants who traverse the seas, and from any ship captain who leads his men at sea, I mentioned what I have knowledge of.57 Yet, however important such information may be, according to the Gharāʾib al-funūn, it is useless to convey the detailed geographic reality, including the representation of bays and coastal sites, on a flat surface of a manuscript’s folios. Another complication is the fluid nature of the seas, which move into and away from the stable mainland. In other words, a maritime map fails to represent a maritime space because maritime space is unmappable. Thus, this is a justification for making a schematic representation that allows the textual information to flow, without being in conflict with the cartographic depiction: These sea maps are not accurate representations. When the seas swell, rise and the winds blow heavy the abundant water inundates its shores. Commensurate with the propulsion of the force, these outlets of water may extend for many miles and even farsakhs. The people of the eastern seas call them akhwār (bays, from the Persian, sing. khor), while the people of the western seas call them jūn (bay). Each of these outlets is very long, and some are wider than others, according to the will of their Creator. A large mountain may happen to be in this bay, or the bay may encircle a large city that then uses it for its defences. Sometimes the lower parts of a region are inundated, and we have witnessed in our short lifetime wastelands and passable land overcome by sea. Abū al-Ḥasan alMasʿūdī, may God have mercy upon him, mentioned in his books many cases of land turning into sea and sea turning into land. As for [sea turning into] land, he claimed that Najaf near Kufah used to be covered by sea. Similarly, there are lowlands near Alexandria, now inhabited by large throngs of the Banū Qurrah and others, which used to be covered by sea. The lake of Tinnīs, on the other hand, used to be passable land until one night it was overcome by the sea from the direction of al-Ushtūm (modern Port Said) and was covered with water. The lower parts were inundated, while the elevated parts, like Tinnī, Tūnah and other places, remained [above the sea level]. Moreover, if the shape of the sea is reproduced accurately, on the basis of longitude and latitude coordinates, and any given sea is measured in the manner described by Ptolemy in his book known as Geography, the [contour of the] sea would form sharp and obtuse angles, square and rounded lines. This shape of the coast exists in reality, but, even if drawn by the most sensitive instrument, the cartographer 57  Anon., Gharāʾib al-funūn, trans. Rappoport and Savage-Smith, fol. 29a.

129

The Increase In Maritime Sources

(muhandis) would not be able to position [literally, “to build”] a city in its location amidst the sharp or obtuse angles [of the coast] because of the limits of the space that would correspond to a vast area in the real world. That is why we have drawn this map in this way, so that everyone will be able to figure out [the name of any] city.58 First, we should recognize that the author of the Gharāʾib al-funūn was aware of earlier mapping traditions, notably the map of the Ḥawqalian Mediterranean. In fact, this paragraph could be a critique of the “less-schematic” Ḥawqalian cartograph. The adoption of this style of map for generic spaces does not seem to justify its adoption for the representation of a detailed spatial view, and more importantly, a maritime space. It is easy to see the striking similarities between the views presented in this paragraph and those defended by al-Muqaddasī, at least regarding the theorization of a “naïve” style, though the resulting maps are not similar. It is worth recalling that al-Muqaddasī advanced his arguments for a schematic style while discussing the difficulties of depicting the Indian Ocean. In both cases, the seas seem to be so mysterious and unrecognizable that they alone make the argument for mapping them with the fewest possible visual devices, and emphasizing instead textual information. The maritime space for the Gharāʾib al-funūn is obviously not an anthropogenic region. It is a geographic phenomenon. Yet, if we focus now on the map of the Mediterranean we can see that the Gharāʾib al-funūn seems to inject a regional sense into a maritime space. Table 2.2 The islands depicted in map of the Mediterranean in the Gharāʾib al-funūn (based on the online glossary) Number and status of islands

English translation and/or transliteration

22 islands are A.s.bīsū unindentified A.s.f.n.d.rah A.shīzā An.d.s

58  Ibid.

Arabic names

‫�ج�ز ��ي�ر�ة ا ����سب����ي��سوا‬

‫�ج�ز �ة ا � ف � �ة‬ ‫��ي�ر �س�����ن�د ر‬ ‫�ج�ز ��ي�ر�ة ا � ����شي���ز ا‬ � ‫ج�ز ة‬ ‫� ��ي�ر� ا �ن�د ��س‬

Notes

130

CHAPTER 4

Table 2.2 The islands depicted in map of the Mediterranean in the Gharāʾib al-funūn (cont.) Number and status of islands

English translation and/or transliteration

Ashbākū Barqūniyya (?) Dhīsīs al-Naws al-Waʿrā (lit., the ‘Rugged Island’) Mūr al-Rayḥāna (lit., ‘basil’). al-Zanūj (lit., ‘Island of the Blacks’) al-Ḥūt (lit., Island of the Whale’ (?)) Khālṭah Kibulū M.l.yūs M.r.f.qa Nīrūt al-Ṣnūbar (lit., ‘Pine’) Sh.yū / Shīwā Ṣ.lūfa Tamīra (?) (lit., ‘a church’) 69 islands are Baʿūḍa (lit., ‘the Mosquitoes’) identified

Evia Rhodes Rawā

Arabic names

Notes

‫ة‬ � ‫�ج�ز �ي� � ا ش��������ا ك‬ ‫�ج�ز ��ي�ر�ة � ق� ب �ن����يو��ة‬ � ‫� ر ة �ذبر و‬ ‫ج�ز‬ �� ‫�ج�ز ��ي�ر�ة ني���س��ي س‬ ‫� ��ي�ر� ا �ل�و��س‬ ‫�ج�ز ��ي�ر�ة ا �ل َو���ع�را‬

‫ج�ز ة‬ ‫� ��ي�ر� �مو ر‬ ‫ح�ا ��ن��ة‬ �‫�ج�ز ��ي� �ة ا �لري‬ � ‫ج�ز ر ة ن‬ ‫� ��ي�ر� ا �ل�ز �و�ج‬ ‫ح ت‬ ‫�ج�ز ��ي� �ة ا �ل‬ � ‫�و‬ ‫ر‬ )‫(؟‬

‫ة‬ ‫�����ب��لوا‬ ‫�ج�ز ��ي�ر� �ك‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ج�ز‬ ‫� ��ي�ر�ة �م�� فل�يو��س‬ ‫�ج�ز �ي� � �م �������ق��ة‬ ‫� رة ر‬ ‫ت‬ �‫�ج�ز ��ي�ر� �ن�����ي�ر و‬ )‫(؟‬ ‫ة‬ �‫�ج�ز ��ي�ر� ا �ل����ص ن��و��بر‬ ‫�ج�ز �ي� �ة ش������� ا‬ ‫�ج�ز ��ي�ر�ة ص��ليو ���ف��ة‬ � ‫�ج�ز � ر�ة ت و�ة‬ ‫��ن���ـ��ة‬ � ‫ك‬ �� ‫م‬ ‫��ي�ر ���� ير ي‬

‫ �ج�ز �ي� �ة ��ع ��� �ض��ة‬The Island of Baʿūḍa or �‫� ر ب و‬

Baghūḍa is mentioned by al-Idrīsī near the coasts of southern Italy, south of Salerno. Mod. Evia, east of the Greek mainland.

‫ج�ز ة غ‬ ‫� ��ي�غر� ا ����يو���ي��س‬ ]‫[= ا �ر ���ب��س‬ ‫ج�ز ة‬ �� ‫� ��ي�ر�ة ر ود س‬ ‫ �ج�ز ��ي�ر� ر وا‬Possibly Rō, off the southern coasts of Anatolia, near Megisti (Castellorizo).

131

The Increase In Maritime Sources Number and status of islands

English translation and/or transliteration

Cyprus (one end is opposite Alexandria and the other is opposite Latakia. Its length is 45 farsakhs and its width 22. It has fortresses and embouchures surrounding its shores. Its fortresses include [the following:] al-Aqrtī [= al-Aqrī], al-D.qūnah [= Akrobūna ?], Tūlah [Būlah ?], Dādes, al-Gh.r.s (?), Qīʾus, Bīsūn (?), al-Māʿūḍa [al-Mākhūṣah], Nahr al-Malik [lit., ‘River of the King’], Qusṭanṭīna, Jurjīs, Ra‌ʾs al-ʿAbbās).

Crete Lampedusa

Arabic names

Notes

�� ‫ج�ز ة‬ ‫ � ��ي�ر� �ق��بر��س‬Cyprus’s harbors:

(1) Akraia (or Aphrodite Akraia), located at Cape Apostolos Andreas in the northeast tip of Cyprus. (2) Unidentified, from the Greek ‘Akrobuoni’. (3) Unidentified. (4) Dades (mod. Cape Kiti), on the southern coasts of Cyprus. (5) Unidentified. (6) Citium (or Kition), near mod. Larnaka. (7) Unidentified. (8) Ammochostos (mod. Famagusta). (9) Basileus (in Greek, ‘king’) River on the southeast coast of Cyprus. (10) Konstantia, better known as Salamis, in eastern Cyprus. (11) Hagios Georgios, a monastery east of mod. Limassol. (12) Curias/Kourias promontory (mod. Akrotiri Pr.).

‫�ج�ز �ي� �ة ا �ق ����� ش‬ ��‫�ط‬ ‫ �ج�ز ��ي�ر�ة ال ر�ن�ي��د �����س����ة‬Lampedusa in the Pelagean ‫� ر ا ب ةو ي‬ ]��‫ [=لا �ن�ب��د و���س‬Islands (Isole Pelagie) south ‫ة‬ ‫ �ج�ز ��ي�ر� ا �ل ك‬Lampione, in the Pelagean �‫�����ت�ا ب‬ of Sicily.

Island of the Book (Lampione)

group of islands (Isole Pelagie) south of Sicily.

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CHAPTER 4

Table 2.2 The islands depicted in map of the Mediterranean in the Gharāʾib al-funūn (cont.) Number and status of islands

English translation and/or transliteration

Linosa

Gozo

Marettimo Sicily (in which there are 15 fortresses) Between it and Ifrīqiyah are six days; and between it and the Italian mainland (al-arḍ al-kabīra)— the land of Byzantium—there is one or two miles. Its length is 20 farsakhs, its width 10 farsakhs, and it is continuously engaged in military raids.) Dandīmū (Salina)

Lipari Khāliṭa ‘Islands of Good Health’

Peninsula of the Banū Zaghanāna (Mazghānna) Stromboli

Arabic names

Notes

‫ �ج�ز �ي� �ة ل � ����ش��ة‬Linosa, in the Pelagean group ‫� ر مو‬ ‫�� غ �ج�ز �ة‬ ‫ود س ��ي�ر‬ ‫�ج�ز �ي� �ة �م�ل��� ��ط��ة‬ ��‫ي � ر ي م�ـ‬ ]‫[= �م��يل���ط��م��ة‬ ‫�ج�ز �ي� �ة قص���ل���ي��ة‬ � � ‫�ر‬

of islands (Isole Pelagie) south of Sicily. Gozo, near Malta; Marettimo in the Egadi islands to the west of Sicily.

‫ �ج�ز ��ي�ر�ة د ��ن�د ي�موا‬Salina (classical Didyme) in the Eolie Islands north of Sicily. Lipari in the Eolie Islands north of Sicily.

‫�ج�ز �ي� �ة �ل���ب���ن‬ ‫�ر �ي‬ ]‫[=�ل���ي��بر‬ ‫�ج�ز ��ي� �ة خ��ا � ��ط��ة‬ ��‫ل‬ ‫ �ج�ز ��ي�ر�ة ا �ل�ع�ا ف����ي��ة‬The ‘Islands of Good Health,’ � ‫�ر‬

‫�ج�ز �ي� �ة � �ز غ�� ن���ا ��ن��ة‬ ‫� ر ب�نى‬ ‫�ج�ز ��ي�ر�ة ا ���ست��رح��لوا‬ ‫ن‬ �‫[=ا ���ست��ر �ج‬ ]‫���لوا‬

modern Bou Afia, are off the North African coast between Jijel and Bejaia; Stromboli (ancient Strongyle) in the Eolie group of islands north of Sicily.

133

The Increase In Maritime Sources Number and status of islands

English translation and/or transliteration

Filicudi

Arabic names

Notes

�� ‫ة‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫�ود‬ ‫ �ج�ز ��ي�ر� �ف��ل ك‬Filicudi in the Eolie group of

islands north of Sicily. Al-Idrīsī writes the name as Fīkūda or Fīkūdha.

Malta Marettimo Pantelliria

Faviganna

Rikūniyya (Alicudi?)

Capri Kimolos

25 islands are without toponyms

‫�ج�ز �ي� �ة �م�ا ن���ط��ة‬ �� ‫� ر‬ ]‫[=�م�ا �ل����ط��ة‬ ‫ �ج�ز �ي� �ة �م�ل��� ��ط��ة‬Marettimo in the Egadi islands ��‫� ر ي م�ـ‬ ]‫ [= �م��يل���ط��م��ة‬to the west of Sicily. ‫ج�ز ة ق‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ � ��ي�ر� �و���س�ر‬Isola di Pantelleria (classical ‫�ج�ز �ي� �ة ا �ل ا �ه ����ن��ة‬ ‫�ر ر‬ ]‫[=ا �لرا �ه ����ب��ة‬

‫ج�ز ة‬ ‫� �ن����ي��ة‬ � ‫� ��ي�ر� ر كو‬

Cossyra), located between the Tunisian coast and Sicily. The modern Isola di Favignana (classical Aigousa) off the west coast of Sicily, in the Egadi group. It is more commonly spelled al-Rāhib rather than al-Rāhiba. Possibly Alicudi (classical Ericusa/Erikodes) in the Eolie Islands north of Sicily.

‫ج�ز ة ق ة‬ �‫� ��ي�ر�ة � ����ب��ير� ي�ي‬ ‫ �ج�ز ��ي�ر� �ك‬Kimolos, a small island �‫�����ي��م��لوا ي�ي‬

northwest of Milos in the Cyclades All but two are located in the western basin of the Mediterranean

The map is dominated optically by 116 islands spread across almost the entire space, which is supposedly the maritime space. The islands are mostly adjacent circular forms with inscriptions giving their names. Two islands (Sicily and Cyprus) are distinguished by two horizontal rectangular forms with inscriptions conveying more than the place name (Table 2.2). Only about 70 islands could be identified (more or less) with modern place names or with

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toponyms referred to in medieval geography (mostly the Idrisian corpus) or both. The relatively high number of unidentified islands (22 examples) and more importantly the islands left without inscriptions (25 examples) may suggest that the maker intended to fill in most of the maritime space so that it gives the optical impression of a very dense sea, as opposed to the earlier map of the Indian Ocean. This also gives the illusion of a non-maritime sea, especially given the use of circular forms, which recall the Iṣṭakhrian tradition’s use of a similar form to denote large cities in depictions of the mainland. From this perspective, the Gharāʾib al-funūn’s Mediterranean seems more like a maritime region similar to its position in the “atlas of Islam” school rather than a typical geographic space as it is usually described in mathematical geography. The correspondence between geographic reality and the position of the islands is intriguing. The map lacks explicit geographic orientation, though we can assume some generic orientation following the position of the coastal sites. As is already indicated in the diagram of the map of the Mediterranean available on the Gharāʾib al-funūn website, the coastal sites and islands of Byzantium dominate the oval map: the coastal sites from the middle of its right side to almost the end of its upper side and the islands of the Aegean Sea dominate a large part of the left half of the maritime space. From that perspective, the map is mostly oriented northeast, with a tendency to represent the eastern basin more than the western basin, meaning that northwest and west are to the left, east is to the right, northeast is at the top, and southeast is at the bottom. In this context, the islands are sometimes out of place when seen from the mainland, yet their positions are not totally arbitrary in relation to each other. The most accurate position is that of the islands of the Aegean Sea, which are grouped together in the upper left half of the map. In an almost similar situation, though less accurate, the group of islands of the Levant, near Cyprus, are grouped together facing the right coastline, more or less. The group of islands that is totally out of place is located geographically between the eastern North African coast and the Italian coasts, notably north and south of Sicily; in this map, these are located to the lower left corner, almost in the same position as Cyprus and the other islands of the Levant. Still, again like the other groups of islands, these are grouped together, thus suggesting some geographic orientation when seen from the position of the other, especially from Sicily, which is positioned in their center. The general picture, if we were to disregard the map’s orientation and the coastal sites, presents three major insular groups: to the top and toward the left are the Aegean Sea islands, to the right and toward the bottom are the group of Levantine islands, and between, mostly toward the bottom, are the central

The Increase In Maritime Sources

135

Mediterranean islands. This cartographic organization leads us to think that the maker collected lists of islands, probably in graphic format, and then filled in the blanks, regardless of the orientation of his map and, more importantly, regardless of their positions in relation to the coastline. In other words, the map could be read in two structures: a reading of the insular space that emphasizes insular groups rather than geographic position, and a reading of the coastline that takes into account geographic orientation. In fact, these two structures are carefully separated by color coding: the green sea, with its suggested illusion of waves, is separated from the coastline by a thin inner black line and a thick outer red line; then we see the red dot denoting the inscription of the coastal site. The discussion of the Mediterranean in the Gharāʾib al-funūn, including its mapping, continues as it recurs in some later chapters of book 2. From chapter 12 to chapter 15, from the topic of the “largest islands” to that of the “islands of the infidels,” the Gharāʾib al-funūn selects four islands and peninsulas, which it emphasizes with a geographic description and cartographic depiction. Under the theme of the “largest islands,” it focuses on one island and two peninsulas, not only under Islamic control, but also under Fatimid control (Mahdiyya and Tinnīs) or influence (Sicily). Under the theme of the “islands of the infidels” it describes several islands but depicts only the island of Cyprus. The cartographic approach to Sicily is clearly different from that of the small rectangular-shaped island depicted in the map of the Mediterranean. In this case, the map seems to be an inverted map of the Mediterranean, with a rounded oval insular mainland marked by harbors along its coastline that face the sea, along with another structure that crosses the mainland and represents urban centers and fortifications connected by routes. Still, the cartographic depiction follows some principles of the Iṣṭakhrian and Ḥawqalian traditions, namely the use of color (green for salty waters, blue for sweet waters, and a brownish color for mountains), and the mountain-river format (an imperfect half circle with a long wavy line). Yet the map includes information that is not necessarily related to sailing but is more for travel guidance (indications of distances and routes to harbors). As for the text on Sicily, which precedes the map, the brief functional information given in the map is added to other historical and mythological information in a manner very similar to the periploi, as mentioned in the discussion on al-Bakrī. The island of Sicily is the largest of the Islamic islands, and the most honourable on account of its continuous military expeditions against the enemy—may God forsake them!—and the perennial efforts of its

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people and [governors] in this respect … The island is seven days’ long, and is covered by mountains, strongholds, and fortresses. Its capital city is known as Palermo. Around it is a strong wall, tall and impregnable. The merchants live there. It had a sanctuary in which was a piece of wood to which the Christians used to attach great importance and address prayers for rain … The [Italian] mainland lies opposite Sicily. Between it, [that is] between Barqah and Sicily is about fifteen days journey … Sicily’s Ascendant is Leo, and the Lord of the Hour is the Moon. Its distance from Alexandria to the direction of the west, is one hour and one third and one half of a seventh [of an hour]. The maximum number of [daylight] hours in its longest day is fourteen hours and three quarters of an hour. Its circumference is 500 miles.59 The same textual approach can be seen in the description of the “islands of the infidels,” especially of the Levant and the Aegean Sea. In the case of Rhodes, for example, Junādah Ibn Abī Umayyah al-Azdī raided Rhodes and took it by force, as it was a jungle in the middle of the sea, in the year 52 H [672 CE]. Rhodes is about 60 miles in length. It is amongst the most fertile of the islands, having rivers, trees, sweet water and vineyards. He [Junādah] remained on the island for seven years. The length of the island is 50 miles, and it is 20 miles in its widest point. The harbour is found in the west of the island, and it gives protection from every wind. There is water in the harbour.60 In the case of Cyprus, we have more of a diagram than a map. The depicted space is full of textual information. The same could be said about the schematic representations of Tinnīs and Mahdiyya.61 The mainland is clearly marginalized to the red circles that denote cities and the inscription perpendicular to the coastline represents not simply the coastal sites but more precisely the coastal sites that are actively engaged in maritime activities. It is not even the city or the urban site or fortification that is relevant, but rather its harbor (marsā) or port (mīnā).

59  Ibid., fol. 32a. 60  Ibid., fol. 37a. 61  For more on the depictions of these maps and diagrams, see Johns and Savage-Smith, “The Book of Curiosities,” 17–20.

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The Increase In Maritime Sources

Table 2.3 Selected toponyms representing the coastal sites of the map of the Mediterranean in the Gharāʾib al-funūn (ordered roughly from the eastern basin to the western basin) English transliteration or translation The anchorage of al-Khaṣūṣ (Iasus) [is] small, [and] protected from the Boreas (north) wind The anchorage of Qays (?), its bay [is] protected from all winds

Arabic names

Notes

‫خ‬ ‫ �مر��سى ا ت�ل����صو�ص‬Iasus, on the northern shores of classical � ‫ �ص���غ��ير ����س��ير‬Iasikos kolpos, modern Asin Korfezi. ‫[= ����ست��ر] �م��ن‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ا �ل��بر ��ي�ا ��س‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ �مر��سى ������ي��س �ك‬According to the sequence of ports, this should ‫�����ب��ير‬ ‫ [= ����ست��ر] ج� ��ن�ه �م��ن‬be the classical site of Passala, the port of ‫و‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ ���ج��مي�� ا �لر��ي�ا‬Mylasa, located within a bay, well protected ‫ح‬ ‫ع‬

from all winds. The Arabic term, however, does not correspond to any of the known names for this. It is possible to read the Arabic as Kepos, a Byzantine site near the mouth of the Meander and to the north of Iasus, but this would be out of sequence.

River al-Bārid [lit., ‘the cold’] [is] a large anchorage [that] can accommodate many ships The anchorage of al-Baqar [lit., ‘the cattle’], [it is] protected from the Boreas (north) wind. al-Fam [lit., ‘the mouth’], [is] an anchorage. The fortress of Marghiyya [=Maraqiyya] [is] an anchorage.

‫ن‬ ‫ �����ه�ر ا �ل ����ب�ا ر د �مر��سى‬Phoinix (modern Finike) is the only port be�‫�����ب��ير �ي����س �مرا ك‬ ‫ �ك‬tween Myra and Attaleia that is located at the �‫� ب‬ ‫ � ة ع‬mouth of a river (the Phoinix Patmos). The red �‫����ث��ير‬ ‫�ك‬ line to the right indicates a river.

‫� ت‬ ‫ �مر��سى ا �بل����ق�ر ����س��ير‬An anchorage between Phoinix and Attaleia ‫ [= ����ست��ر] �م��ن‬on the south Anatolian coast, possibly ‫ي‬ ‫ ا �ل��بر ��ي�ا ��س‬Phaselis, which was a major Byzantine port � ‫ ا �ل�����ف�م �مر��سى‬An anchorage in southeast Anatolia west of during this period.

‫غ‬ � ‫ح����ص�ن �مر������ي�ه‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ة‬ ‫[=�مر�����ي�� ] �مر��سى‬

the Ceyhan, possibly Magarsos (modern Dört Direk) on Cape Karataş. Maraqiyya (classical Maraccas, modern Khrab Maraqiye), on the Syrian coast.

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Table 2.3 Selected toponyms representing the coastal sites of the map (cont.) English transliteration or translation The anchorage of al-Rāhib [lit., ‘the Monk’] has little water. The anchorage of Marmara has much water. The anchorage of Salūqiyya (Seleukeia), between the river and the mountain. The land of Ṣāṣah, has a large anchorage that can accommodate the usṭūl (fleet). The Gulf of Burjān, in which there are 30 anchorages for skiffs of the Burjān (the Bulghars). The anchorages of the Lombards The anchorages of the Slavs The anchorages of the Franks The anchorages of the Galicians Andalusian anchorages Toward Wādī Safdad

Arabic names

Notes

‫�ق‬ ‫ �مر���س�ا ا �لرا ����ه� ب� �ل����ي�ل‬An anchorage in the Ceramic Gulf, southwest ‫ ا ل��م�ا ء‬Anatolia. It is most probably at Alakilise, east of Bodrum, which was an important Christian center in the late Byzantine period. Modern Marmaris, mentioned as Chastel Marmora in medieval portolans.

‫�ة‬ ‫�م ���س�ا � �ب�ا‬ � � ‫ر بر � �ة ر‬ ‫[=�مر���م�ا ر ] �ك���ث��ير‬ ‫ا ل��م�ا ء‬ ‫� ف����ي��ة‬ � ‫ �مر���س�ا ��س كو‬Or Seleucia, modern Silifke, a major city ‫ [=��س��ل ق����ي��ة] ����ن‬slightly inland, along the southern Anatolian ‫و � بي‬ ‫ ن‬coast. ‫�ل‬ ‫ا �ل�����ه�ر وا �ج� ����ب�ل‬ ‫ ا د ص�ا � �ص��ة‬Possibly Sestos, Sestus, or Sesto, on the � � ‫ب�ل‬ ‫ �مر���س�ا �ك‬European coast of the Dardanelles opposite ‫����ب�� �����س‬ ‫� ير ي ع‬ ‫ الا ��س��طو ل‬Abydos.

‫ن‬ � � ‫ ��خ�ل��ي��ج� �بر ���ج�ا‬The Burjān, often mentioned in Arabic sources ‫ف� ث�� ث ن‬ ‫ ����ي�ه � ل�و � �مر���س�ا‬connected with the Slavs, are the Bulghars ‫ن‬ ‫ق‬ � ‫ �ل����وا ر ب� �بر ���ج�ا‬who immigrated to the Balkans in the early medieval period. Khalīj Burjān, the Gulf of Burjān, may refer to the coasts of the Black Sea.

‫�م ا ��س ا � ن � �ة‬ ‫ ر ي� ل�و كرد‬The Lombards occupied central and southern ‫ة‬ ‫ [= الا ن� ك‬Italy. ]� ‫� ����ب�ر د‬

‫ �م ا ��س ا � قص���ا �ل���ب��ة‬Probably referring to the Dalmatian coasts of � ���‫ر ي� ل‬ ‫ن‬ ‫��ج��ة‬ ���‫�مرا ��س� الا ف�ر‬ ‫ي‬

the Adriatic Sea.

‫�� ا ���ق���ـ��ة‬ � ‫ �مرا ��سي� ا �جل ل ي‬The northwest region of Spain. Its ports are on

� ‫�م ا ��س ال�أ‬ � ‫�د‬ � ‫ن‬ ��‫ل‬ �‫ر ي‬ ‫س‬

the Atlantic coast.

‫ ا لي� وا د �ي� ��س���ع�د‬Modern Oued Loukos, in Morocco, flows into � � =[ the Atlantic south of Azīlā (modern Asilah). ]‫�س���ف�د د‬

139

The Increase In Maritime Sources English transliteration or translation The anchorage of Ṣurt is half a day’s sailing from Barqa. The anchorage of S.kīr, protects from the Euros wind The anchorage of Rashīd [Rosetta] has abundant fresh water. The anchorage of Yāfā (Jaffa), [is] protected from the Boreas (north) wind. The anchorage of Ṣūr (Tyre), a harbor within a harbor, [is] protected from all winds. The anchorage of Iskandariyya is not protected from any (wind). The fortress of Anṭarṭūs, an anchorage.

Arabic names

‫�م ���س�ا �� �ص� ت‬ ‫� ب�ي� ����ن�ه‬ ‫ر‬ �� ‫�� ر‬ ‫و ب�ي���ن �بر �ق��ة �ق��ل‬ ‫ع‬ � ‫ن����� ��صف‬ ‫� يوم‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�مر���س�ا ��س ك‬ ‫�����ي�ر ����س��ير‬ �‫[= ي����ست��ر] �م��ن ري‬ ‫ح‬ ‫الا ر��س‬ �� ‫ش‬ ‫�مر���س�ا ر�ذ�����ي���د �ك���ث��ير‬ �‫ا �ل���م�ا ا �ل���ع� ب‬

Notes

Surt, in modern Libya.

An anchorage on the Nile delta between Alexandria and‫ أ‬Rosetta, possibly Abū Qīr ‫ق‬ (Abukir, ‫) � ب�و ���ير‬. Rashīd (Rosetta), in the western Nile delta.

‫�� ت‬ ‫�مر���س�ا ي�ا �ف�ا ����س��ير‬ ‫[= ����ست��ر] �م��ن‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ا �ل��بر ��ي�ا ��س‬

‫ن‬ ‫�مر���تس�ا �صو ر �مي�����ا �فى‬ ]‫�مي�� ن���ا ����س��ير [= ي����ست��ر‬ ‫�م��ن �� م�� ا �ل � �ا‬ ‫� ج�� يع ر�ي ح‬

‫ �م ���س�ا ا ��س� ن�ك��د �ي��ة‬Modern İskanderun, 16 km south of Tyre. �‫ر‬ ‫رت‬ ]‫لا ����س��ير [= ي����ست��ر‬ ‫ش‬ �‫�م��ن ���ي‬ ‫� ص�ن ن‬ Modern Ṭarṭūs on the Syrian coast. ‫ح���� ا ���طرطو��س‬ �� ‫�مر سى‬

As is clear from these selected toponyms (Table 2.3), only the site that accommodates an anchorage is cited. This is not necessarily new compared to earlier and contemporary geographic writings; in the third-/ninth-century and even fourth-/tenth-century works of administrative and human geographies with the various maritime and continental routes networks in mind, coastal sites are usually highlighted. Thus, a coastal site may be mentioned even when it is not active in maritime routes, or at least its maritime activity is not necessarily mentioned. Still, beginning with Ibn Ḥawqal, we see an emphasis in the texts

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on writing paragraphs solely to describe coastal sites that are active as harbors. These were represented and cartographically positioned along the coastline and oriented to the sea. With al-Bakrī, who used unknown maritime sources that may date to the fourth/tenth century (thus making them contemporaneous with Ibn Ḥawqal), more explicit parts in the geographic text are rendered specifically to describe Mediterranean harbors in their geographic order, with an emphasis on North Africa and Muslim Spain. Yet, the Gharāʾib al-funūn is certainly the first known cartographic attempt to represent these maritime sites. It would not have been possible without the sources (unfortunately unknown to us) that were available to the author; these sources clearly point to a Byzantine origin, given their emphasis on the Byzantine coast, the most characteristic feature of the map. Some of the inscriptions that accompany the Mediterranean harbors in the Gharāʾib al-funūn reproduce formulas that we find in earlier geographic writings, including the indication of a marsā (harbor), a mīnā (port), or a dār ṣināʿa (arsenal). Likewise, the indication of the availability of fresh water is found in earlier geographic writings. Still, other inscriptions are somewhat unusual when compared to the earlier literature, notably the indication of how many ships one harbor could accommodate or whether it could accommodate a navy. Al-Bakrī also mentions the degree to which a harbor is open to, or shielded from, the winds, but given that the Gharāʾib al-funūn may precede alBakrī’s work, we must question which source introduced this tradition to geographic writing. Additionally, the Gharāʾib al-funūn introduces a new element: the position of some harbors with regard to wind directions using the names of wind roses; this indicates the use of the wind rose in navigational practice. We can see this concern with the wind in the details of Table 2.3, for example, in the case of “the anchorage of al-Khaṣūṣ (Iasus), [is] small, protects from the Boreas (north) wind.” As I mentioned in the beginning of this discussion of the Gharāʾib al-funūn, the twelve wind rose indicated in book 1 is not the eight or sixteen wind rose that utilized vulgar terms and, thus, pointed to the use of practicing mariners. But can we reconcile the use of the ancient literary twelve wind rose in this functional context? Could it be that practicing mariners did not necessarily use only the vernacular terms to describe wind directions? Is there, in this early period, a clear connection (like we see later) between the eight or sixteen wind roses and navigation, as suggested by Gautier-Dalché? The Byzantine source that was likely related to practicing mariners is confirmed by another part of the work that describes another type of aquatic space, the bays. Again, in this case, in chapter 16 (“On the depiction of inlets, i.e., bays in particular the bays of Byzantium”), the bays described (using the Persian khawr, pl. akhwār and the Arabic jūn, pl. ajwān) are mainly those of the Aegean Sea, including the Tracheia bays and Kerme Körfezi. The descriptions

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of the bays are particularly interesting, as they are clearly filled with information similar to the later portolan sailing instructions, and certainly different from the information found in the periploi. In addition to the distances of the bays (length and width), there are geographic orientations of the entrance from the point of view of the sailor, and landmarks that further confirm these geographic orientations. For example, Further to the west is the Bay of Qalūghr (Bay of Kuşadası). It is 40 miles long, and its entrance is 20 miles wide. One enters it from the north proceeding toward the south. In its last third there is a small round island [or, peninsula] with a fortified settlement (ḥiṣn ʿāmir) called Fajalah [phygela]. The island is less than a mile from the mainland. Towards the head of the bay is the fortress of Qalūgh.r. Further to the north is the Bay of Īthrī [Erythrai]. This bay is … miles long, and its entrance is 4 miles wide. One enters it from the west to the east. Further to the north is the Bay of Azmirnah [Smyrna]. This bay is 30 miles long, and in its widest place it is 10 miles wide. At the head of the bay is the fortified settlement of Azmirnah [Smyrna], located three miles from the sea. At the entrance to the bay there is a small and uninhabited island called Jurjis. The fortress of Qlazūmnī [Klazomenai] is to the south of the bay and the fortress of Fūqīyah [Phocaea] is to the north. One enters it from the west to the east. It has also an inhabited island … Further to the west [is] the Bay of Barthūrah [Peritheōrion]. It is 10 miles long and 4 miles wide. It is entered from the south to the north. On its eastern side there is a fortified settlement on the sea called Barthūrah [Peritheōrion] and on its west the fortress of Balistalū [Polystylon]. Further to the west is an anchorage called F.k.s.ṭus [Pistyros ?], followed by a fortified settlement on the sea called Suṭūliyah. Further to the west is the fortress of F.ṭ.rūyalah, which is located on an isolated rock. No one can enter this island without wading in the sea to his knees. If the sea runs high, it is impossible to reach the island.62 Overall this Maghribi-oriented and late Fatimid author of the Gharāʾib al-funūn seems to have been heavily drawn to unknown Byzantine sources, most probably because of his location in northern Egypt. As noted by Johns and SavageSmith, the Gharāʾib al-funūn seems to have been completely forgotten in later geographic literature. Yet, it should not be seen as totally independent of earlier geographic writing, including that dealing with the Mediterranean. The same point should be stressed in our considerations of later geographic contributions, notably the Idrisian geography and cartography of the Mediterranean. 62  Anon., Gharāʾib al-funūn, trans. Rappoport and Savage-Smith, fol. 38b.

CHAPTER 5

The Idrisian Mediterranean Mapping (Sixth/Twelfth to the Ninth/Fifteenth Century)

The Idrisian “Mediterranean Islamic” Cartography: Redefining the Idrisian Corpus: Idrisian Mapping as a Mediterranean Project



Al-Idrīsī’s Biography and Its Relevance in Discussing the Idrisian Corpus The major early Maghribi examples of geographic and cartographic works were produced in the middle of the sixth/twelfth century. These works, which I call the Idrisian corpus (Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-āfāq and Uns al-muhaj wa-rawḍ al-faraj),1 are attributed to al-Sharīf Muḥammad b. Muḥammad b. ʿAbdallāh of the Ḥammūdid family (Ḥammūdiyyīn), considered a branch of the large Sharīfian Alawid family of the Idrisids (al-Adārisa), which emerged as a ruling family in parts of Morocco and Muslim Spain from the end of the second/eighth century to the middle of the fifth/eleventh century.2 The corpus, however, is believed to have been produced in the Norman court of Roger II (1095–1154) in Sicily; it is usually portrayed as a hybrid court and cultural environment with a trilingual official system.3 It is in the context of the debates over the origins and career of al-Idrīsī that I raise the question that is crucial to the discussion of his contribution to the making of the Idrisian corpus, namely his cultural identity. Until recently, scholars of Islamic geographers believed that al-Idrīsī emigrated from Muslim Spain or Sibta (Ceuta), where his family is believed to have been based, to Sicily.4 However, there is no explicit evidence in the Idrisian corpus that indicates his origin or how or why he moved to Sicily. The only facts we have are drawn from the biography of some members of his immediate 1   Abū ʿAbdallāh Muḥammad al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-āfāq (Port Said: Maktabat al-Thaqāfa al-Dīniyya, 1990); Uns al-muhaj wa-rawḍ al-faraj, facs. ed. (Frankfurt Am Main: Institiute for the History of Arabic-Islamic Sciences, 1984). 2  D. Eustache, “Idrīsids,” EI 2, 3:1035–1037 (Leiden: Brill, 1971). 3  On Roger II and his hybrid court, see especially H. Houben, Roger II of Sicily: Ruler between East and West, trans. Graham A. Loud and Diane Milburn (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 4  See, notably, Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:280–281.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi ��.��63/9789004347380_007

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family who ruled Mālaqa (Malaga) before moving to Ceuta, where we believe al-Idrīsī was born in 493/1100. Al-Idrīsī’s Nuzhat al-mushtāq suggests the author’s intimate knowledge of the city of Cordoba, notably his education there, which is described in detail. The detailed descriptions of locations as far as Asia Minor and the British Isles are considered indications that al-Idrīsī traveled to these places. Also, it has been suggested that he moved to Sicily under “mysterious circumstances” during the 520s/1130s. Finally, and only recently in 2001, Allaoua Amara and Annliese Nef5 drew attention to the biography of al-Idrīsī in the biographical encyclopedia alWāfī bi-l-wafiyyāt by Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn al-Ṣafadī (696–764/1297–1363), a resident of Damascus. Although al-Ṣafadī’s text on al-Idrīsī is fairly well known to scholars, it is usually quoted selectively.6 The main paragraph stressed by Amara and Nef states:7 Idrīs b. Yaḥyā b. ʿAlī b. Ḥammūd (le reste de ses ancêtres a été cité dans la notice d’al-Muta‌ʾayyad). On lui a prête allégeance a Malaga en l’an 434 (1042–1043). Son laqab était al-ʿAlī…. Al-ʿAlī fut attaqué par ses proches et ceux-ci provoquèrent une crise dans son royaume qui fut réduit a quelques régions montagneuses. Par leur faute sa situation fut longtemps difficile et, finalement. La dynastie Ḥammūdide disparut. Bādīs b. Habbiis al-Sanhāgī, seigneur de Grenade, qu’empara de Malaga, et les Banū Ḥammūd se dispersèrent dans différents pays. Parmi eux, Muḥammad b. ʿAbd Allah fils d’al-Ali Idris, dont on parle ici, se rendit en Sicile. La rumeur disait qu’il était le Mahdi, qui porte a la fois le nom du prophète—la bénédiction de Dieu soit sur lui- et celui du père du prophète. Ibn al-Timna, le rebelle sicilien, a cherché à le tuer dans cette ile, mais Dieu l’en a empêché. A la même époque, Roger le Franc a conquis la Sicile et lorsqu’on lui a rapporta que Muhammad b. ʿAbd Allah etait issu de la famille du prophète, il s’est montre généreux a son égard. Son fils, Muhammad b. Muhammad b. ʿAbd Allah, a vécu dans l’entourage de Roger. II était a la 5  A. Amara and A. Nef, “Al-Idrīsī et les Ḥammūdīds de Siècle: Nouvelles Données Biographiques sur l’Auteur du Livre de Roger,” Arabica 48 (2001/1): 121–127. 6  Amara and Nef referred to al-Ṣafadī’s biography of al-Idrīsī: “dans une notice biographique jusqu’ici passee inapercue.” Actually, one year prior to the publication of their article, an essay on al-Idrīsī (in Arabic) mentioned al-Ṣafadī’s text, and quoted some parts of it, but without drawing any major conclusions on the career of al-Idrīsī. See I. Khūrī, al-Sharīf alIdrīsī, Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-āfāq (UAE: Markiz Zāyid li-l-Turāth wa-l-Tārīkh, 2000), 18–19. 7  Amara and Nef, “Al-Idrīsī,” 122.

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fois Iettre (sharīf ), poète, et passionné par la géographie. Il composa pour Roger le livre connu de tous comme celui de Roger. In fact, al-Idrīsī’s direct family, and the premise that they sought refuge in Sicily is indicated in other locations in al-Ṣafadī’s biographies of the Ḥammūdid family as well. In the biography of al-Idrīsī himself, we read that he was brought up (nasha‌ʾa) in the court of Roger II and that in addition to his interest in geography, he was a poet; he composed poetry mainly on the theme of expatriation.8 Amara and Nef support their belief about al-Idrīsī and his family’s early connections to Sicily by interpreting the name of an Arabic prince in Sicily who resisted the Normans in Calabria; they believe his name, “Chamutus,” is a rendering of the name of a Ḥammūdid prince. They also linked an administrative leader (qāʾid) in Sicily, whose name was Abū l-Qāsim Ḥammūd, to the same family, and thereby suggest that the whole family, including al-Idrīsī, was given preferential treatment by the Rogerian dynasty.9 Jeremy Johns has questioned this Sicilian-Norman background of al-Idrīsī;10 he highlights another paragraph, also in al-Ṣafadī’s al-Wāfī, in which al-Ṣafadī mentions that Roger II summoned al-Idrīsī from the “coast” (ʿadwa).11 Amara ٰ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ش‬ �‫ل���ر ��يف� ال� د ر ي��� محمد � نب� محمد � نب� �ع ����ب�د ا �ل�ّ�ل�ه ا � نب� � د ر ���ي�� � نب� ي‬  �‫��ي�ح�ى �ب� ���ع��لي� �ب� ��ح��مود �ب‬ ‫أإ‬ ‫إ‬ ‫س‬ �‫يس‬ � �‫ا‬ ٰ ٰ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ّ ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن ن ح ن‬ ‫� ن‬ ‫ح����س ن � نب� ا �ل‬ ‫ّ ن �ل‬ �‫ح����س‬ � � ‫�م����ي��مو � �ب� � أ ���م�د �ب� ���ع��لي� �ب� �ع ب��ي���د ا �ل��ل�ه ا �ب� ���ع��مر �ب� ا د ر ���ي��س �ب� �ع ����ب�د ا �ل��ل�ه �ب� ا‬ ‫ن ز �ة ش ت ق ف‬ � ‫�م�ؤ � ف‬ ‫� �ش ف‬ ‫� نب� ���ع��ل� � نب� � ب�� ��ط�ا ل� ب� ا‬ ‫ ل��� �ك‬،�‫ل���ر���ي� الإ� د ر ي���س‬ �‫����ت�ا ب� ر ���ج�ا ر و�هو �� ���ه� ا لم��������ا � �ي‬ ‫ي آ ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�ذ� �م�ا ���ع��ة‬ �‫ و��سو�ف� ��ي� �ت� �ذ�كر وا �ل�د ه ف�� �تر�ج ���م��ة ���ج�د ه � د ر ���ي�� � نب� ي‬،�‫ا ���خ��ترا ق� ال� ��ف�ا ق‬ ‫��ي�ح�ى و كر �ج‬ ‫إ‬ ‫ي ف أ‬ ‫� ي ن � �أ‬ ‫فس ن‬ ‫قص���ل���ي��ة‬ � ‫ص‬ � � ‫م‬ � �‫كل �م ن������ه� ف�� �م ك‬ � ‫ا‬ � ‫��ذا‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ا‬ � ‫ح‬ ‫ا‬ � ‫ا‬ � � � � � � � ��� � � � �‫ �����ش‬،‫��ا �ن�ه‬ ‫ج‬ ‫ح‬ ‫ه‬ ‫ص‬ �� ‫د‬ � ‫�م� ن� ب�ي�����ت�ه‬ ‫ح‬ � � � ‫ل‬ � � ‫م‬ ‫ر‬ � �‫ي‬ � ‫ب‬ ‫ب‬ �‫ر ج ي‬ ‫م ي‬ ً ً ‫نأ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ً ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف� � ���م��ة‬ ‫�����ت�ا ب� ا ل��م� ك‬ ‫ ��ص ن��� �لر ���ج�ا ر ا �ل ك‬،‫كا � � د ي� ����ب�ا ظ�ر�ي������ف�ا �����ش�ا �عرا � �م���غ�ر �ي� ب����ع��ل ج��غ��را �����ي�ا‬ �‫و‬ ‫�و ر و ي� تر�ج‬ ‫�ذ م‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ش‬ � � ‫ش‬ .‫ و�م� ن� ������ع�ر محمد ���ه��ذا‬،‫����ت�ا ب� و��س�ب�� ب� ����ص��ي����ف�ه‬ ‫ر ���ج�ا ل �ي� ��ح�ر�� ا �لرا ء ���ي� ء �م� ن� �كر ���ه��ذا ا �ل ك‬ 8  Al-Ṣafadī, al-Wāfī, 73:

9  Amara and Nef, “Al-Idrīsī,” 124. 10  J. Johns, Arabic Administration in Norman Sicily: The Royal Diwan (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 236, n. 101. 11  Al-Ṣafadī, al-Wāfī, 1951–1952: available online: available online: http://www.alwaraq.net/ Core/AlwaraqSrv/bookpage?book=280&session=ABBBVFAGFGFHAAWER&fkey=2&pag e=1951&option=1, accessed 30 June 2017.

‫ن‬ ‫ ���ه�ل�ك �ب�ا �لخ‬.‫ح�� قص���ل���ي��ة‬ ‫� ا ن�� ق ����سن����ة �ث��م�ا ن� �أ ����ع�� ن‬ �‫ر ���ج�ا ر ���م�ل�ك ا �ل������ف� ج‬ ��‫ي� و ���خ��م‬ � ‫� �� �ص�ا � ب‬ ‫ور‬ � ‫ب‬ ‫ي‬ � ‫و‬ � ‫أ ر‬ ‫س‬ ‫�ة أ‬ ‫ن ف‬ ‫� ف‬ ‫ال أ � ف‬ ‫� � �ة‬ ‫�ز�ة‬ ‫م‬ � � ‫ل‬ ‫ا‬ ‫لرا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ء‬ ‫ء‬ � � �� � � ‫ل‬ � � �� ‫ح‬ ‫�ه‬ �� � . � ‫�د‬ ‫د‬ ‫�د‬ � ‫�د‬ � �� � ‫ي‬ ‫ه‬ � � � � ���‫م‬ � ��� � � ‫ب‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ع‬ ‫ش‬ ‫ب‬ ‫ه‬ ‫��م‬ ‫ا‬ � � ‫ك‬ � ‫� ل‬ � ‫و �ي�����ق�ا ل �����ي�ه � ���ج�ا ر ب‬ ‫وب‬ � � � ‫�ر و‬ �‫وج‬ ‫ل‬ ‫م‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫� ن ز �ة ش ت ق‬ ‫ف ف �ة‬ �‫ت‬ ‫ش‬ � ‫ل���ر ��يف� الإ� د ر �ي��س� �� �ص�ا‬ ‫ح� ب� �ك‬ � ‫����ت�ا ب� �� ���ه� ا لم��������ا‬ � � ‫ و�هو ا �ل� �ي� ا ����س�����ق�د م ا‬. �‫ا �ل���ع��لوم ا �ل������ل��س�����آ�ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�ة‬ �‫ف�� ا ���خ��ترا ق� ال� ��ف�ا ق� �م� ن� ا �ل���ع�د و�ة إ� �ل����ي�ه �ي�ل���������ض �ل�ه �ش���ي�����ًئ�ا ف�� �ش�� ك‬ ‫ ��ل���م�ا و�� �ص�ل إ� �ل����ي�ه‬. ‫��ل �صو ر ا �ل���ع�ا ل‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫م‬ ‫ف‬ ً ‫ع‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�أ� ��ن��ز �ل�ه �ب�ا�ل�غ ف� �ت� ظ‬ ‫ ���ح��م�ل إ� �ل����ي�ه‬.‫ �����ط�ل� ب� �م ����ن�ه �ش���ي�����ئ�ا �م� ن� ا ل��م���ع�ا د � �ي�ل���������ض �م ����ن�ه ���م�ا �ير ��ي�د‬.‫ع���ي�����م�ه‬ �‫ي‬ �‫و‬ ‫ع‬ ‫كرم‬ ‫� �ة‬

. �‫�م�ا �ئ‬

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and Nef interpreted ʿadwa as the Calabrian coast, which is rightly questioned by Johns, who suggests, instead, that the dominant meaning of ʿadwa in Islamic sources is the Islamic Mediterranean coasts. In addition, the second account by al-Ṣafadī seems to emphasize al-Idrīsī’s willingness to leave Sicily and Roger’s insistence that he stay, supposedly because al-Idrīsī’s political status left him in danger. The late date of al-Ṣafadī, who wrote more than one century after the writing of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq, may explain his contradictory accounts. The issue of the cultural context of the Idrisian corpus is not as much a matter of whether al-Idrīsī was Sicilian, but rather the extent to which his contribution, however brief or long his sojourn in Sicily, was shaped by the multicultural environment there. In fact, the question of the hybrid environment of the Rogerian court and its impact and role in shaping the Idrisian corpus is of primary importance. The only possible way to uncover the answer to this question is to focus on the Idrisian corpus more than on any other source, especially if the other source was written a century later. Idrisian Mapping The production of the Idrisian maps, including the sections of the Mediterranean (Fig. 5.1), is described in the introduction to al-Idrīsī’s Nuzhat al-mushtāq. They were made, according to al-Idrīsī, so that The viewer (al-nāḍir) [will] see in them what has been hidden from his eyes or did not reach his knowledge or the territories that were inaccessible to him [because of] the inaccessibility of their routes and the differences among nations. So [these images/maps were made] to verify for him, in a visual manner, the veracity of what is happening. The number of images (muṣawwarāt) that follow this [introduction] are seventy images ‫نأ‬ �‫أ‬ ‫أف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�م� ن ا �ل��ف���������ض��ة ا �ل‬ � �‫ �����ص ن�� �م ن������ه�ا د وا ��ئ�ر��ك�هي��ئ����ة ال� ��ف�لا ك و ر �ك‬. �‫ح�� ���ج�ر و �ز � � ر ���ب �م�ا ��ئ��ة � �ل��� د ر ���ه‬ �‫� ب‬ � ‫ع‬ ‫ع‬ ‫م‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫� ف� �ذ‬ � � ‫ل خ‬ � . ��‫�ع‬ � ‫����ل��ه�ا �ل�ه ���ع�� ا �ل‬ ‫��ع������ًض�ا ���ع�� ��� ض‬ ‫ش‬ � ‫ع‬ � � � ‫ا‬ � ‫د‬ . ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ � � � ‫ص‬ � � � � �� ‫ث‬ � � � � �� � � � � ‫�ض‬ � �� ‫ج‬ ‫ه‬ ‫ف‬ ‫خ‬ � � � �� ‫م‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ك‬ ‫� و ص ج ب� ب � ر � ر و ل ي� �ك‬ � ‫ب‬ � ‫لى و� ع‬ ‫لى ب�ة أ � م‬ ‫� �ز�ة أ � �ف �ذ‬ ‫�ث � ن ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ � � � ‫ق‬ � � � � � � � � � ‫ث��ل� ث� ا ل����������ض� و� رجح ب������ل����ي�ل و ������ض�ل ل�ه ���م�ا �ي�����ق�ا ر ب� ا �ل��ل���ث��ي� ��تر ك�ه ل�ه إ� � �ج�ا و� ����ض�ا � ل� ل�ك‬ ً ‫أف‬ ‫�س���ًق�ا ن ��ق�د ��ج�ا ء � �ل���ي�ه �م� ن � �ش����ل ��ن��ة �ب��أ ن� ا ال أ ��ج� ا ا �ل �م���ي��ة‬ ‫�م�ا ��ئ��ة � �ل��� د ر ���ه� و�مر �ك‬ � � �‫�����ب�ا �مو‬ � ‫كا‬ � ‫� إ � أ� بر و � وع � � ل ب� ر و‬ ‫م‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ت‬ � � ‫�م� �ك � ت ن‬ ‫ن ت ن ت �لخ � �ة ت‬ � �‫�����ن�� ب���ي‬ ‫ � ��أ �م�� ب������ي�� ا ��لا ��ف� �أو��� ى‬:‫ و���س� �ل�ه ا لم�����ق�ا م �ع���ن�د ه و ��ق�ا ل �ل�ه‬.‫ا ��ل�يت� ���ج�ل� ب� �ل�ل���م��لو ك‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ف‬ � ‫ت‬ �‫ن‬ ‫ا لم��س�ل���م�� ن‬ ‫ و����م�ى �ك‬،‫ي� ���ع��م�ل �م��لو��ك���ه� ���ع��لى �����ت�ل�ك‬ ‫ �� ج��ا ��ب�ه إ� لى �ل�ك‬.‫�����ن� ت� �ع ����ن�د �ي� � �م �����ن� ت� ���ع��لى �������ف��س�ك‬ ‫م‬ � ‫ن‬ ‫ت � � ف �ة ل ت ن‬ ‫� ب� ب� ����غ�ل��ة �فإ� �ذا �� �ص�ا ر �ع ����ن�د ه ت�ن�����حى �ل�ه‬ �‫كا � يج��� ء إ� �ل����ي�ه ر ا �ك‬ ‫و ر � ب� ل�ه ك�����ا ��ي� ا � ك‬ � ‫ و‬.‫�و � إ� لا �ل�ل���م��لو ك‬ ‫ي‬ ‫تقق أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�أ‬ ً � ‫ن‬ ‫�ة‬ � ‫خ‬ ‫ن‬ � ‫�ع� ن جم‬ � � � ‫ � ر ��ي�د‬:‫ و ق�ا ل �ل�ه‬.‫���ل���س�ه ف�����ي� �بى ف���ي�� ج���ل���س�ا � �م���ع�ا‬ � ‫ح������ي� � � ����ب�ا ر ا �ل ����ب�لا د ب�ا ل��م�ع�ا ي����ن� لا �ب��م�ا ي�����ق�ل‬ .�‫������ت� ب‬ ‫�م� ن� ا �ل ك‬

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Figure 5.1 The map of the Mediterranean (originally north at the bottom, and here south at the bottom) from al-Idrīsī’s ‘world map’ as reconstructed by Konrad Miller after a 744/1344 manuscript of Nuzhat al-mushtāq (in al-Idrīsī, Weltkarte des Idrisi, ed. Konrad Miller, Band 1, Heft 2; A-II-3).

(muṣawwara); one of the last two [represents] the end of the inhabited world, to its south, and [it is the] most uninhabited area because it is the hottest; and the other [represents] the end of the inhabited world to its north, and [it is the] most uninhabited area [i.e., the least inhabited] because it is the coldest. Besides, it is clear that in addition to what we mentioned and described, that the viewer (al-nāḍir), if he were to look at these descriptive visualizations and the territory mentioned, would see in them a correct format (waẓʿan ṣaḥīḥan) and a beautiful form (shaklan ṣabīḥan), but afterwards, he still must know the characteristics of the kingdoms and the descriptions of nations … and it is in this sense that we decided to indicate, following each map (ṣūra), what needed to be said in its appropriate location in the book.12

12  Al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat al-mushtāq, 1:13–14. My translation.

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As mentioned here, maps take precedence over texts in the Idrisian structure, and this is confirmed in the surviving manuscripts. Al-Idrīsī’s discourse on the function of cartographic mediation is particularly interesting. His maps were made for those who, for various reasons, including the need to travel to places with different geopolitical realities, cannot see the actual geographic spaces. For al-Idrīsī, the foremost function of a map is its reference to reality: The map stands as evidence of the existence of the space it represents. Thus, viewing (the reader of the map is al-nāḍir; from the verb naḍara, “to view”) the map is an act of accepting geographic truthfulness. This explains why maps are called “visualized descriptions” (ṣifāt muṣawwara); a map is a “correct form” (shaklan ṣaḥīḥan); this recalls the “correctness” of Ibn Ḥawqal’s discourse on cartography. Yet, it is only a preface to what cannot be visualized: characteristics (ṣifāt) of kingdoms and the customs of humans; for these, al-Idrīsī tells us (the readers) that we need his text. Texts complement maps; they complete what a map cannot convey. When describing the maps, al-Idrīsī does two things: He describes the map by summarizing the section in the form of an introduction to the text, where he presents the major geographic spaces that define the map (seas, territories, mountains, etc); and he mentions the cities inscribed in the map. One of the characteristics of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq is the traces of al-Idrīsī’s relation to mathematical cartography and his unique use of geographical coordinates; this is clear in one of the remaining manuscripts.13 In addition to 34 locations indicated with numerical values for their longitudes and latitudes, he tries to establish estimates for other locations, though he has limited knowledge of their geographical features. I return to a more detailed analysis of the relationship between texts and maps in my later discussion of the Idrisian approach to the Mediterranean. The story of the Idrisian sectional maps is far from obvious. The 70 sectional maps, or more precisely 68, do not seem to be an independent product created by al-Idrīsī for the Nuzhat al-mushtāq. It is this problem of the authorship of the Idrisian maps and text that underlies the answer to the question of the cultural identity of the Idrisian corpus. Until now, the Nuzhat al-mushtāq was considered a work by al-Sharīf alIdrīsī. Without questioning the fact that al-Idrīsī contributed to the work, it is still possible to question whether he was solely responsible for compiling the material and, above all, making its maps. It is the introduction, written by al-Idrīsī, that causes us to question the issue. He reports in detail the story of 13  Jean-Charles Ducène, “Les coordonnées géographiques de la carte manuscrite d’al-Idrīsī,” Der Islam 86, no. 2 (2009), 271–285.

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the making of Nuzhat al-mushtāq; according to this, it was the final part of a project that began with Roger II’s intention to know more about the geography of “his conquered territories,” or the world he was about to conquer. Al-Idrīsī’s story puts this project into context: contemporary geographic knowledge of his time was simply insufficient. He portrays Roger II as someone who “read” the major geographic sources (including Islamic sources) up to his time. Notably, the geographers of the “atlas of Islam” school were prominently represented in the reading list of the Norman king. He also mentions Ptolemy’s Geography, which we know was translated from Arabic into Latin by a courtier of Roger II.14 In other words, with al-Idrīsī’s affinities for earlier geographic works, he presents Roger II’s or the Rogerian project, as a critique of the established scholarship. In the context of Roger’s quest for geographic knowledge, al-Idrisi points out the limited nature of earlier works, notably some belonging to the school of administrative geography and the school of the “atlas of Islam” and its authors.15 Still, the word used here to stress the limits of the earlier works is “neglect” (mughfil), versus Roger’s need for “detailed” (mufaṣṣalan) works.16 By looking closely at the Idrisian text, we can see its extensive use of earlier works. Twenty known sources can be noted.17 The Nuzhat al-mushtāq refers to the works of the geographers mentioned by al-Idrīsī in the introduction, notably, Ibn Ḥawqal (mentioned by name fourteen times), Ibn Khurradādhbih (mentioned by name seven times), Ptolemy (four times), al-Jīhānī (four times), and Qudāma b. Jaʿfar, al-Masʿūdī (mentioned by name twenty-four times). The Nuzhat al-mushtāq also refers to the works of Sulaymān al-Tājir and Abī Zayd al-Sīrāfī, though they are not named. The Nuzhat al-mushtāq also mentions non-geographic works: Ibrāhīm b. al-Mahdī’s Kitāb al-Ṭīb, Ḥassān b. alMundhir’s Kitāb al-ʿAjāʾib, al-Jāḥiẓ’s Kitāb al-Ḥayawān, and even the poetry of Imruʾ al-Qays. Al-Idrīsī’s critique of the earlier works is still valid. This is obvious when he emphasizes the reasons for making maps based on direct observation and especially with the use of mathematical measurements. Thus, the project of the Norman court seems to recall the almost lost cartographic representation 14  M. Amari, “Il Libro di Re Ruggiero ossia la Geografia di Edrisi,” Bollettino della Societa Geografica Italiana 7 (1872): 1–24; reprinted in Islamic Geography, vol. 5, Studies on alIdrisi reprinted, first part, ed. Fuat Sezgin (Frankfurt am Main: Institute for the History of Arabic-Islamic Sciences, 1992), 113. 15  For the list of the sources “read” by Roger, see al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat al-mushtāq, 1:5–6. 16  Al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat al-mushtāq, 1:5: � ‫�غ‬ ‫���ف��ل ي��ج�د �ذ �ل�ك ف������ه�ا � ش‬ .‫�� �ص�لا ��ب�ل و ���ج�د ه �م������ف�لا‬ ����‫م���ر و��ح�ا �م����ست��و�ع ����ب�ا �م��ف‬ � ‫م‬ �‫ي‬ 17  Khūrī, al-Sharīf al-Idrīsī, 44–48.

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of Ptolemaic and mathematical geography, which seems to have been confined, since the third/ninth century, to graphic representations. It also seems to be a critique of the established scholarship, from the perspective of how geographic information should be collected. In the best cases, in the earlier geographic works geographic data was collected by single geographers venturing and traveling by themselves and by their own means, mostly working as merchants; such was the case of Ibn Ḥawqal and al-Muqaddasī. In Roger’s project, as represented by al-Idrīsī, there is teamwork involving several members and supported by the state. The dispatch of what we can call “geographic missionaries” is what makes Roger’s project unprecedented, though we do not have any specifics from the available documentation that supports the premise that such a large enterprise took place. The more explicit traces of these “missionaries” may be found in the occasional use of mysterious “registers” (dafātir) or “books” (kutub), though we do not know more about their nature. As indicated by Ibrāhīm al-Khūrī, his less mysterious sources include a whole variety of reports of geographic information that could not have been easily collected by any one person, that is, by al-Idrīsī himself.18 These sources include named, but unidentified persons: “Aḥmad b. ʿUmar, known as Daqm al-Iwaz” is mentioned as a source in the discussion of clime 3, section 1, without further information about his identity. The “Armenians” in a generic way are mentioned as a source in clime 4, section 5. “Khūrīn b. Burkhān Manad al-Turkī (the Turk)” is mentioned as a source in clime 6, section 8, and described as a source contemporary to the writing of Nuzhat al-mushtāq (“reported while writing this book”). “Al-Fayyūj,” that is the kings’ missionaries (clime 3, section 1), points most probably to the missionaries arriving at Roger II’s court. Another category in the sources describes “trusted persons,” a formula that recalls the terminology of the authors of ḥadīth (prophetic traditions). He talks about those who are “trusted” in general in clime 2, section 4 and clime 3, section 1; he refers to the “trusted travelers” in clime 1, section 3; he mentions the “trusted among the wandering merchants” in clime 2, section 1; and he refers to the “trusted travelers and mariners (baḥriyyūn)” while describing the Indian Ocean. A third category of informants, whose identities we know nothing about, is that of the “merchants.” In general, we read about the “merchants” in clime 1, section 10 and clime 2, section 1; we read about the “merchants of that country [of Ghānā]” in clime 1, section 3; we see the “merchants traveling [to Baṣra]” in clime 3, section 6; and we read about the “merchants of India” in clime 2, section 9. A fourth, yet equally important category (in terms of its 18  See tables 3 and 4 in ibid., 50–58.

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quantitative presence) is that of the mariners. In two places, in clime 1, section 10, as a source on the Indian Ocean, the Nuzhat al-mushtāq mentions rubbāniyyūn (sing. rubbān, meaning sea captain). It also mentions the owners or managers of ships (ruʾasāʾ al-marākib) in the description of the Indian Ocean in clime 1, section 8. The inhabitants of the geographic sections described are also another major category. In this case, the actual reporter is overshadowed by his source, who seems to report directly to al-Idrīsī: The “population (ahl) of Awāl” in clime 3, section 6; the “population of Jerusalem” in clime 3, section 5; the “population of those parts [the sub-Saharan oases]” in the description of clime 2, section 4; the “population of the Maghrib” mentioned as “witnessing” (mushāhada) an event in clime 1, section 10; the “population of Morocco (al-Maghrib al-Aqṣā)” is mentioned three times as sources in clime 1, sections 2 and 3 as well as in clime 2, section 2. Sometimes the population is divided into those who know and those who do not. The Nuzhat al-mushtāq mentions the “knowledgeable of the population of al-Minkab [an Andalusian site].” The most intriguing sources that might seem to represent the most explicit indications of the “geographic missionaries” of Roger are the generic words mukhbir (informant) and mutajawwilūn (wanderers). The formula of mukhbir, pl. mukhbirūn is used several times in clime 1, section 8 and clime 2, sections 2 and 6. The “narrators and reporters” (al-ḥākūn wa-l-nāqilūn) in Khwārizm’s Lake are found in clime 5, section 8. There is another interesting combination of “reporters” and “writers in the registers” (athbataha fi al-dafātir al-nāqilūn wa-l-muʾallifūn) in the introduction. Another category is that of the unnamed reporter who talks on behalf of a reporter and uses verbs meaning the act of reporting such as yuḥkā, yuqāl, yurwā, and yudhkar (these occur forty-one times according to al-Khūrī). Still, there are clear instances when al-Idrīsī talks very explicitly about himself as his own source, in cases in which he saw geographic areas firsthand. He usually indicates that he was a witness with the formula “we saw it with our own eyes.” These references to himself could be useful in locating the geographic sites that al-Idrīsī may have visited prior to writing the Nuzhat al-mushtāq. He uses this phrase when talking about the rising tides of the Atlantic Ocean, probably from the Iberian Atlantic coasts (clime 1, section 10); the animal of “Zabad”(?) in sub-Saharan Africa (clime 2, section 9); the “bridge of Qusanṭīna” (clime 3, section 1); the freezing of the Aghmāt River in the Moroccan mainland (clime 3, section 1); a type of small fish on the Lebanese coast near Ṣaydā (Sidon) (clime 3, section 5); an ancient built harbor (raṣīf) on the strait of Gibraltar (clime 4, section 1); a fortification (Hīṣn al-Maʿdin) facing

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Lashbūna (Lisbon), probably on an island in the sea (clime 4, section 1); and in reference to a type of mineral north of Qurṭuba (Cordoba) (clime 4, section 1). There is, however, another category that could be confused (as al-Khūrī did) with what the author witnessed; these are ambiguous references, it is simply not clear to whom they should be attributed. For example, there are instances when the author mentions the contemporary state of any given site, contemporary, that is, with the time that the Nuzhat al-mushtāq was written. He indicates that this is how it looks “now.” This is the case for his descriptions of the sites of Maghīla, Miknāsa, Ṣāʿa, Afkān, Bijāya, Bāghāy, Bīlaqān, Qābis, Safāqus, Mahdiyya, Qayrawān, Ṣabra, Tūnis, Qarṭajanna, Būna, Bāshū, Ṣurt, Libda, Ajdābiya, Barqa, ʿAsqalān, the Aqsā Mosque, Qurṭuba, and Madīnat al-Zahrāʾ. The fact that most of these sites are concentrated around places in North Africa and the Iberian Peninsula that al-Idrīsī himself visited does not mean that he was necessarily the source of these descriptions. The authenticity, however, of much of the geographical information, especially for areas and territories that al-Idrīsī was not known to have visited and thus may have been visited by the Roger’s “geographic missionaries,” points, at least, to the high probability that these missionaries were historical figures. Clearly, one of the most detailed descriptions is of Sicily itself, as shown by Amari and Dufour;19 others include the description of Italy as a whole, as shown by Amari;20 the detailed description of Spain, including non-Muslim territories, as shown by Saaverda;21 the Baltic, eastern Europe, and the Balkans,

19  M. Amari and A. H. Dufour, Carte comparée de la Sicile moderne avec la Sicile au XIIe siècle d’après Edrisi et d’autres géographes arabes (Paris, 1859), reprinted in Islamic Geography, vol. 5: Studies on al-Idrisi reprinted, first part, ed. Fuat Sezgin (Frankfurt am Main: Institute for the History of Arabic-Islamic Sciences, 1992), 63–111. 20  M. Amari and C. Schiaparelli, “L’Italia descritta nel ‘Libro del Re Ruggero’ compilato da Edrisi. Testo arabo pubblicato con versione e note,” Atti della Reale Accademia dei Lincei (1876–77). Serie Seconda–volume VIII; reprinted in Islamic Geography, vol. 6: Studies on al-Idrisi reprinted, second part, ed. Fuat Sezgin (Frankfurt am Main: Institute for the History of Arabic-Islamic Sciences, 1992), 1–317. 21  E. Saaverda, “La Geografia de Espana del Edrisi,” Boletin de la Sociedad Geografica de Madrid, vols. 10–11 (1881); reprinted in Islamic Geography, vol. 5: Studies on al-Idrisi reprinted, first part, ed. Fuat Sezgin (Frankfurt am Main: Institute for the History of ArabicIslamic Sciences, 1992), 149–236.

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as shown by Tuulio;22 Germany, as shown by Hoenerbach;23 and Scotland, as shown by Dunlop.24 If we take, for example, al-Idrīsī’s graphic description of the British Isles, notably Scotland, we can see an unprecedented level of accuracy. Dunlop remarks, after mentioning the geographic information included in the text, but more importantly in the map, We may thus say that Idrīsī, a learned Arab in Sicily in the middle of the twelfth century, had a certain knowledge of Scotland. He did not find his information in the classical geographers, nor had he presumably been in these parts himself. What he knows derives evidently from the travelers questioned by King Roger.25 This points to the cooperation among the “geographic missionaries,” particularly since there is no evidence that al-Idrīsī went to the British Isles. His silence should not be explained as arbitrary, since he seems eager to mention his status as a witness whenever he was the source and this appears to be accurate, in that his claims coincide with places (Islamic territories) he likely went. Among the most revealing evidence of the teamwork involved in the cartographic making of Nuzhat al-mushtāq is the way sectional maps were laid out within the manuscript. Among modern scholars, Konrad Miller first attempted to reconstruct the sectional maps in the Nuzhat al-mushtāq and from these, to reconstruct a world map that was, essentially, different from the circular world map usually attributed to al-Idrīsī and found just following his introductions.26 There are at least three historic examples that point to the existence of a reconstructed world map based on the Idrisian sectional maps. The two main

22  O. J.  Tuulio, Du Nouveau sur Idrīsī. Sections VII 3, VII 4, VII 5: Europe septentrionale et circumbaltique, Europe Orientale et, d’après quelques manuscrits, centrale jusqu’à la peninsule balkanique au Sud. Studia Orientalia, VI 3 (1936); reprinted in Islamic Geography, vol. 5, Studies on al-Idrisi reprinted, second part, ed. Fuat Sezgin (Frankfurt am Main: Institute for the History of Arabic-Islamic Sciences, 1992), 1–269. 23  W.  Hoenerbach, Deutschland und seine Nachbarlander nach der grossen Geographie des Idrisi (Stuttgart, 1938); reprinted in Islamic Geography, vol. 5, Studies on al-Idrisi reprinted, second part, ed. Fuat Sezgin (Frankfurt am Main: Institute for the History of ArabicIslamic Sciences, 1992), 289–392. 24  D. M. Dunlop, “Scotland According to al-Idrīsī, c. A.D. 1154,” Scottish Historical Review 26 (1947), 114–118. 25  Ibid., 117. 26  On the authenticity of these circular “Idrisian” world maps, see the next chapter.

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examples27 belong to the work of the Sharfī family during the second half of the tenth/sixteenth century; these seem to be a continuation of an early tenth-/sixteenth-century tradition that is discussed in detail in part 3. The fact that the Idrisian sectional maps fit, without any alteration, into one single map seems to have been known by this time at least, if not earlier. Still, this points to another, more dramatic aspect of the genealogy of the Idrisian maps, namely the possible existence of a single, original, world map that was later dissected into sections in order to accompany and be bound with the textual summaries of al-Idrīsī, who was fulfilling Roger’s project. One decisive clue points to such a possibility. In his description of the Rogerian project, al-Idrīsī mentions that Roger II ordered his court, after fifteen years of collecting and “contemplating” the discipline of geography and reaching “what he wanted,” to bring a “tabula of coordinates”(?) (lawḥ tarsīm) to verify the available coordinates and how they would fit into a visual representation. It has been generally assumed that this “tabula” was not a cartographic representation, and that the world map made for Roger II was the large “circular” (dāʾira) world map made of silver. This assumption seems to stem from a confused or erroneous reading of al-Idrīsī’s introduction. Al-Idrīsī says, He (Roger II) ordered that a large circle be made of perfect silver … Then he ordered the makers ( faʿala) to inscribe (naqsh) in it the maps (ṣuwar) of the seven climes, along [with] their countries, coasts and countryside, gulfs, seas, and water channels; the sites of its rivers either full or empty; and what [is] in between all its countries, the routes, the specific mileage, known distances, and renowned harbors. They should make this according to the model (naṣ) of what has been represented in the tabula of coordinates (lawḥ al-tarsīm) and they should not change anything in it and they [should] follow its form and shape just as it was drawn for them. And they should write a book to conform to it [tabula of coordinates] and to its forms (ashkāl) and maps (ṣuwar), but they should add to it a description of the conditions of the countries and territories … And this book should be called Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-āfāq. This [order] occurred in the first ten days of January, corresponding to the month of

27  There is a third example that is mainly a sketched reconstruction of the Idrisian sectional maps; al-Zayyānī dates it to 1818. See Fig. 7.22 in A. Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf al-Idrīsī,” in J. B. Harley and David Woodward (eds.), History of Cartography (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 1:156–174.

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Shawwāl in the year five hundred forty-eight [13 Shawwāl 548/1 January 1154]. And thus, the order was obeyed and the work started.28 Roberto Rubinacci suggested, on the basis of this paragraph, that the making of Nuzhat al-mushtāq was not completed as most scholars believe it was, in Shawwāl 548/January 1154 during the reign of Roger II, but rather that it was begun in January 1153. The paragraph is quite clear, and it is a pity that it was not read and properly understood until Rubinacci wrote his article.29 Still, this paragraph requires further attention, as it contains highly valuable information in terms of the actual process of cartography. We can identify the two main steps that the Rogerian cartographic project went through, at least according to al-Idrīsī. First, they made the “tabula,” according to the rules of mathematical cartography, by following the coordinates of latitude and longitude, and thus, presumably they made a rectangular representation. However, it seems that the content of this “tabula” was not a graphic representation of the kind described and later depicted by mathematical cartographers. We know this from reading the details of the second step. The most intriguing part of al-Idrīsī’s description of this second step concerns what, exactly, was “inscribed” (naqsh) from the rectangular representation onto the circular representation. If we assume, as is apparent from the text, that the circular world map in silver was identical to the rectangular world map, notably, that the exact detailed depictions were reused, according to Roger’s order ‫��ث� �أ ا د �أ ن �����ست�����ع ���ق���� ن���ا �ص �ة‬ ‫ق‬ ‫م����ش�ا � ��ل����ه� ف� �ذ� �أط ا ل �م��س�ا ���ف�ا ت‬ ‫تف ق‬ � � ‫م ر � ي ��لم ي ي‬ ‫��ح� ���م�ا ا ������ ع�ل����ي�ه ا �ل����وأم ا ل ر إ ي � م ي� كر و‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ض‬ � ‫خ‬ � �‫ا �ل ����ب�لا د و �عر و ض������ه�ا ��ف‬ ‫�س� و � � ����ب�ل ي�ت����بر ���ه�ا ب�م�����ق�ا ي��ي��س �م� ن� ح�د ��ي�د �ش���ي�����ئ�ا‬ ‫ح����ر إ� �ل����ي�ه �لوح ا �ل��تر� مي‬ ‫أ‬ ‫� ق � �ة ف� �� �أ � � �ذ أ ن ت � �غ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫� ت �ف‬ �‫ي���ه�ا ف� �مر ع���ن�د �ل�ك � � ������فر‬ � ‫… و � �م�ع� ن� ا � ن�ل� �����ظ�ر �ي� �ج �مي����ع���ه�ا‬ ‫� ش����ي�����ئ�ا‬ ��� �‫�ح�ى و��ق� ���ع��لى ا �لح����ي�����ق‬ ‫… ف��ل��م�اك�ل� ت �أ ���م� ا �ل��ف�����ع� �ة‬  �‫�� م��ة ا �ل����س‬ ‫ن ف � �ة �لخ �ة � �ة ف �ة ظ �ة �ل ��ض خ‬ �‫ل‬ ‫�أل�ه �م�� ا �ل����������ض� ا ��ا �ل���� �ص� أد ا �ئ�ر �م�������� �ص�ل� �ع���ي�����م� ا ���ج�رأم �� ج م � م � ر‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ي���ه�ا �صو ر ال� ��ا �ل����ي� ا �ل����سب�����ع��ة ب�ب��لا د ���ه�ا و � ���ط�ا ر ���ه�ا و ����سي�� ف������ه�ا و ر ي���ف������ه�ا و خ���ل�� ج��ا �����ه�ا‬ ���� ‫� � ي�ن�ق�� ش���و‬ ‫م‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ف‬ � ‫ ��� �� � � ��� �ا‬.…‫��ج�ا � �م���ا ��ه��ه�ا �م ا ���ق � ن��ه�ا ��� �ا‬ �‫و ب‬ � ‫��خ� � ��ل ��ه� ���م مث��� ا � �ل‬ ‫ح�ا ر ���ه�ا و �م ر ي� ي � و و‬ ‫ع � ر ه على ��ن� ص م ي ر�ج إ ي��� م �� فل ي� وأح‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫�ن‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ئ‬ ‫����ل���ه� ك‬ �‫�س� و لا �ي ����غ�ا د ر و �م ����ن�ه �ش���ي�����ئ�ا و ��ي� �و ��ب�ه ���ع��ل �هي��������ت�ه و �ش�� ك‬ � ‫����م�ا �ير���س�م ��ل���ه�م �����ي�ه و‬ ‫ا �ل��تر� ي‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫ف أ‬ ‫ى �أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ف‬ � � �‫��ا ��ل���ه�ا و �صو ر ���ه�ا ���غ��ير � �ن�ه �يو ��ي�د ع��لي�����ه�ا ب�و�� ��ص‬ �‫كا ��ب�ا �م��ط�ا ب�������ق�ا ل��م�ا �� � �ش�� ك‬ ‫حوا ل ا �ل ����ب�لا د‬ �� ‫ي��ؤ �ل��ف��وا‬ ‫ي‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫أ � ن ف‬ ‫فت‬ �‫������ه�ا و �صو ر ���ه�ا و ب‬ � ‫ي� �ي� خ���قل������ه�ا و ب���ق���ا ��ع���ه�ا و � �م�ا �ك‬ … ‫ح�ا ر ���ه�ا و ج� ب���ا ��ل���ه�ا و �م��س�ا ��ا �����ه�ا‬ ��‫و ال� ر ����ض‬ ‫آ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ق‬ � ‫ن‬ ‫أن‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ن‬ � � ‫ز‬ � ‫�ا �ب� � ���ه� ا ل ش‬ � ‫و � � ي����س��مى ���ه��ذا ا �ل ك‬ � ‫م�����ت���ا � �ي� ا ��خ��ترا � ال� �ف�ا � و‬ � � ��‫����ت�ا ب� ب� ك‬ ‫كا � �ل�ك ي� ا �ل�ع����ش�ر‬ ‫��ا ئ� ن ف� ����سن����ة �ث��م�ا ن �أ ����ع�� ن ���خ��م�� �م�ا ��ئ��ة ��ف�ا �مت��ث‬ ‫ل������ه� �ش‬ ‫ال�أ ل �م� ن �����ن�� ا لم ا ف� ق � ش‬ � � �� ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ � �� ‫ل‬ ‫ك‬ ‫ل‬ � ‫ر‬ ‫و‬ ‫و‬ � � � ‫و‬ �‫ي‬ ‫ب‬ � ‫و أ � ي ير و‬ ‫ر‬ ‫س‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ف‬ . �‫�����ي�ه ال� ���م�ر و ا ر ����س� ا �لر���س‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬

28  Al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat al-mushtāq, 1:6–7. My translation.

29  R. Rubinacci, “La Data della Geografia di al-Idrīsī,” Studi Magrebini 3 (1970): 73–77.

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and insistence (“do not change anything”), then we can assume that the rectangular world map was not merely a table of graphic coordinates but rather a rectangular world map. Finally, the connection between the book (Nuzhat al-mushtāq) and the rectangular world map makes more sense than trying to establish a connection between the book and the circular world map, which is what has been done generally. Addressing the problem of the connection between Nuzhat al-mushtāq and the silver circular world map is, in fact, essential to understanding the possible connection between the silver world map and the circular world map usually found at the beginning of the surviving manuscripts of Nuzhat al-mushtāq. The main issue with this connection is the obvious absence, in the surviving circular world maps, of any suggestion, even at the most formal level of mathematical cartography, about how these maps were made. By contrast, the surviving sectional maps show a correspondence with mathematical cartography. In what we believe to be the oldest surviving manuscript (A-II-4), given its cartographic style, we can see traces that indicate that the cartographic layout was made on the basis of longitude and latitude in the maps of the first clime (notably the maps of clime 1, sections 1 and 2). In the first sectional map (that is, of clime, 1 section 1), there is even a small inscription on the margin that states “the longitude of each section is … and the latitude of each section is….” Even though the numbers given are barely readable, they seem to be key to understanding the Idrisian division of the world into ten sections. More importantly, in his introduction, al-Idrīsī states that, indeed, the sectional maps included in the Nuzhat al-mushtāq were made according to the coordinates of longitude and latitude.30 This, then, means that the 70 sectional maps were a subsequent dissection, or cutting into 70 pieces, of one original rectangular world map that was based on mathematical cartography (using tables of coordinates of latitude and longitude), yet it also included cartographic representations, namely the “tabula of the coordinates.” Thus, the sectional maps are more likely the product of the unknown mapmakers (maybe even including al-Idrīsī) who were involved in the making of the “tabula of coordinates.” The division of chapters and thus the textual description seems to follow the arbitrary division of the rectangular world map into ten longitudinal sections. In this case, the textual descriptions describe each sectional map in each chapter. Yet the sectional format of these maps, which have two folios facing ‫ف أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ق‬ � ‫��ك���ه�ا و ���م�ا‬ � � ‫و ل��م�ا � ر د ��ن�ا ر ���س� ���ه� ه ا ل��م�د ن� �� ال� ق��ا �ل����ي� و �م��س�ا �ل‬ ‫حت��و �ي� ع�ل����ي�ه � م�م���ه�ا ���س���م ����ن�ا طو ل‬ ‫ي‬ ‫أم‬ ‫�ق � نم � � � �ة أ ق‬ ‫ض‬ ‫�ة‬ .��‫ع����ش�ر � ����س�ا � ���ج��زا ء �م������ق�د ر �م� ن� ا �ل��طو ل و ا �ل���ع�ر‬ � ‫كل‬ � ‫كل إ� �ل����ي�م م������ه�ا ��ع��لى‬ ‫م‬

30  Al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat al-mushtāq, 1:13:

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each other, was an accommodation related to the codicological context. That is, the format of the manuscript compelled a visual reorganization of the original format of a “tabula of the coordinates,” that is, the rectangular world map. In essence, then, this is a return to the atlas format of the “atlas of Islam” school which imposes a visual reading in order to avoid the generic image of space. Additionally, in the second major work by al-Idrīsī, we find other substantial evidence that he collaborated with a team. Until two copies were discovered in Istanbul’s Suleymaniye Library, the identity of the author of Uns al-muhaj wa-rawḍ al-faraj was debated.31 (There is also another manuscript in a private library.)32 The colophons of the two extant manuscripts are dated, respectively, 20 Ṣafar 588/6 March 1192 and Shawwāl 594/August 1198, with the latter being a copy of the earlier.33 The introduction of Uns al-muhaj clearly suggests that it is a summary of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq.34 Not only is the geographic text a summary of the earlier work, but the maps also seem to be summaries of the earlier maps. A close examination of the text demonstrates that it is, in fact, a summary of Nuzhat al-mushtāq.35 The few notes found in Uns al-muhaj that attempted to compare the maps indicate, at least, a different cartographic style. It should be added here that the style of Uns al-muhaj supports the idea that the Nuzhat al-mushtāq was a product of teamwork. In this case, with such an early dated manuscript (it is also the earliest dated manuscript attributed to al-Idrīsī), we can safely assume that the cartographic style was only slightly altered by its (Persian?) scribe in Mashhad. The first, and quite striking, impression is the close connection between the generally schematic style of the “atlas of Islam” school and that visible in the Uns al-muhaj. The difference in the cartographic style is clear from the tendency, in the Uns al-muhaj, to summarize and avoid representing cartographic details. In fact, the Idrisian micro-cartography found in Nuzhat al-mushtāq is a format in which cartographic details can 31  G. Oman, “A propos du second ouvrage géographique attribué au géographe Arabe alIdrīsī: le Rawḍ al-Uns wa-Nuzhat al-Nafs,” Folia Orientalia 12 (1970): 187–193. 32  For more details on the manuscripts of the Uns al-muhaj, see the table in appendix 7.1 in Maqbul, “Cartography,” 174. For unknown reasons, Maqbul does not use the title as it appears in the manuscripts but the title as it was known in other Islamic sources: Rawḍ al-faraj wa-nuzhat al-muhaj. 33  Both manuscripts were published as facsimiles by Fuat Sezgin. 34  Al-Idrisī, Uns al-muhaj, 1:326, and 2:244. 35  Maqbul, “Cartography,” 163–167.

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be shown; this prohibits a highly schematic style. At the same time, the macrocartography of the “atlas of Islam” school leaves little room for the implementation of a non-schematic style. The tendency to shrink geographic depictions in order to fit them side by side within the frame of the manuscript, sometimes just below the text, is a dominant, and revealing tendency in the Uns al-muhaj, where maps are thus subsumed under textual descriptions instead of being removed from the textual flow and placed in a different codicological setting (as in the Nuzhat almushtāq, where the two folios face each other—a pattern that was preserved in all of al-Idrīsī’s surviving manuscripts). It is most likely al-Idrīsī’s individualized work that is responsible for the inconsistent layout of cartographic representations with regard to the text. More importantly, the different style in the Uns al-muhaj suggests that the cartographer, most probably al-Idrīsī himself, was more familiar with the style of the “atlas of Islam” school than with the “Idrisian” style itself; this further suggests his disassociation from the cartographic style of Nuzhat al-mushtāq. In other words, the “Idrisian” style is not necessarily al-Idrīsī’s own style, but the style of the unknown cartographers and mapmakers, whether Muslim or not, involved in the Rogerian geographic project as a whole. This conclusion, however, does more than demonstrate the Mediterranean nature of the team of cartographers involved in the making of the Idrisian maps. Because these maps were inserted into the text that was most likely written by al-Idrīsī (though on the basis of several sources including probably the unknown Rogerian “geographic missionaries”), the text has an individual sense that is specific to al-Idrīsī. The making of the maps, including their transmission from the large rectangular world map to the manuscript, could have been done by the same mapmakers, thus excluding al-Idrīsī from the process of cartographic production. But even in that case, al-Idrīsī’s written contribution and the obvious position of Nuzhat al-mushtāq in the legacy of Islamic geographic writing more than any other cultural context emphasizes its Islamic character. Apart from the overall Rogerian project, it is safe to assume that the Nuzhat al-mushtāq, which is the only surviving part of the Rogerian project, was, on its own, a “Mediterranean Islamic” experiment. But this process of the rediscovery of al-Idrīsī’s map was not only the result of a collaboration at the Rogerian court, but it was also based on a rectangular world map; this enables us to see the map of the Mediterranean as a whole, within the world map, and thus rediscover the Idrisian depiction of the Mediterranean.

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The Mediterranean in the Idrisian Geographic and Cartographic Representations

The Idrisian Textual Approach to the Mediterranean The explicit approach of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq to the Mediterranean is very similar to the traditional approach of mathematical geography, that is, it introduces and emphasizes the Mediterranean as a maritime space. It is usually described as the “Syrian Sea” (Baḥr al-Shamī) rather than the earlier, and overwhelming, use of Baḥr al-Rūm.36 It is another demonstration of the reasoning behind the etymologies of the words that describe the Mediterranean. As mentioned above, the same pattern emerges: While the geographers of the “atlas of Islam” school, who were based mainly in the eastern Islamic lands, preferred to use Baḥr al-Rūm, and occasionally Baḥr al-Maghrib, their Maghribi counterparts, notably al-Bakrī and the Gharāʾib al-funūn and now the Nuzhat al-mushtāq, preferred to use Baḥr al-Shām. The basic reasoning behind this relates to the geographer’s position, that is, his view of or understanding of the sea as a route or a space beyond which there is an “other” population or territory. The Maghribi geographers, being in proximity to the Europeans (Rūm), seem to select the farther “other,” that is “Shām/Syria” as the territory linked and/or separated by the Mediterranean. While the description of the Mediterranean in the Nuzhat al-mushtāq emphasizes its nature as a maritime space, it suggests a new approach that presents the sea as a geographic context for various maritime regions. The introduction of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq describes the Mediterranean as second to the Indian Ocean (Baḥr al-Ṣīnī). While the latter has “gulfs” (khiljān), including the Red Sea and the Persian Sea, the Mediterranean was considered a sea in its own and not a gulf of the Atlantic Ocean as is the case in earlier texts of mathematical geography. Rather, the Mediterranean itself has gulfs, which are mentioned, for the first time in a generic manner in an Islamic source (gulfs were mentioned in detail, for the first time, in the Gharāʾib al-funūn’s descriptions of the gulfs of the Aegean Sea). The Idrisian gulfs of the Mediterranean include the “Gulf of the Venetians” (Khalīj al-Banādiqa), which seems to correspond to the Adriatic Sea. It is described in detail from the southeastern Italian coast (including coastal sites such as Bārī/Bari and Anqūna/Ancona) to the western Dalmatian coast with some indication of its length (1,100 miles), and the number of its islands (fifteen). The second space considered a gulf is the “Gulf of Nīṭis” also described as the “Sea of Nīṭis,” which is the Black Sea. The Black Sea is described in detail, with an emphasis on Constantinople as the location of 36  Al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat al-mushtāq, 1:10–12.

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its beginning and its end, its length (1,300 miles), and the number of its islands (six). The major coastal sites or territories of the Black Sea are also briefly mentioned, such as the Aṭrābzūnda and the Rūs (Russian) territory. In the description of the Mediterranean we can see that the Nuzhat almushtāq, and consequently the Uns al-muhaj, focuses more on the description of the regions with coasts on the Mediterranean. First, the size of the text on the regions overlooking the Mediterranean is larger than the texts describing other regions. Table 2.4 The geographic sections in the Idrisian text that include descriptions of Mediterranean coastlines Regions

Notes

Section 1 of climes 3, 4, and 5

127 From south to north: a–Clime 3: covering some of the North African Moroccan mainland and Atlantic coasts but also some of the North African Mediterranean coasts (Moroccan and Algerian coasts such as Wahrān and Tanas). The mainland centers, including Fās, Marrākish, Sijilmāsa, and Tāhart are described in connection to networks that link them to the Mediterranean coasts; b–Clime 4: covering the northern tip of the Moroccan coasts, but mostly the Spanish Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts (up to Barshalūna); c–Clime 5: covering the Iberian Atlantic coasts but also their respective mainland centers, which are mentioned in networks along the Mediterranean coasts. 101 From south to north: a–Clime 3: covering the North African (Algerian, Tunisian, and partly Libyan) Mediterranean coasts (from Bijāya to Libda) and the respective mainland territories; b–Clime 4: covering mostly the islands of the western basin of the Mediterranean including Sicily, Manūrqa (Majorca), and Sardāniya. It also covers the rest of the Spanish coasts to the northwestern Italian coasts; c–Clime 5: covering mainland Spanish, French, and Italian mainland centers, yet contextualizing them in networks linking them to the Mediterranean coasts.

Section 2 of climes 3, 4, and 5

Number of pages

160

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Table 2.4 The geographic sections in the Idrisian text that include descriptions (cont.) Regions

Notes

Section 3 of climes 3, 4, and 5

44 From south to north: a–Clime 3: covering the rest of the North African (Maghribi) Mediterranean coasts (up to Barqa) and the respective mainland territories; b–Clime 4: covering most of the Italian Mediterranean coasts and mainland with the Dalmatian coasts and mainland; c–Clime 5: covering the northern Italian mainland with the rest of the Italian Mediterranean coasts notably the “Khalīj al-Banādiqiyyīn” (Gulf of the Venetians), and the rest of the Adriatic Sea coasts and mainland centers. 56 From south to north: a–Clime 3: covering the Lower Egyptian territories with most of their Mediterranean coasts (from Alexandria to Farmā) with some of the Red Sea coasts; b–Clime 4: covering the Aegean Sea and its islands such as Iqrīṭish (Crete); c–Clime 5: covering the core of the Byzantine territories from northern Greece up to Constantinople. 55 From south to north: a–Clime 3: covering the northeastern coast of the Red Sea, and most of al-Shām (Syria), including its coastal sites up to Anṭākiya; b–Clime 4: covering the Levant coastline and its main islands such as Qubrus (Cyprus); c–Clime 5: covering the rest of Anatolia and the coasts of the Black Sea.

Section 4 of climes 3, 4, and 5

Section 5 of climes 3, 4, and 5

Number of pages

According to Table 2.4 the descriptions that relate only to the Mediterranean coastlines, and not the whole “Historical Mediterranean,” are covered in 383 pages; this is more than one-third of the entire volume of Nuzhat al-mushtāq (963 pages). Clearly, the length of the text that relates to sections that are predominantly maritime diminishes as it moves toward the mainland, as these

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include only a few coastal sites and few islands; this is, notably, the case in section 3, climes 3, 4, and 5. By contrast, the text that covers mainland territories with a high density of urban centers, is longer. This is the case, notably, of the western basin of the Mediterranean, especially sections 1 and 2 in climes 3, 4, and 5. A similar number of mainland territories are covered in the Levant in sections 4 and 5 in climes 3, 4, and 5, yet the length of the text is substantially shorter than it is for the sections of the western basin of the Mediterranean. This is another indication that if there were more sources for the latter area, these may have been al-Idrīsī’s varied sources on the Islamic Maghrib, or they may have been Roger’s missionaries to his court in Sicily. The density of geographic information for the western basin of the Mediterranean points to another interesting pattern: namely, there is a contrast between texts describing the maritime routes and texts describing the overall picture of any given section. This led to a chronic repetition in the Idrisian corpus, in several instances, notably in the sections of the western basin. To demonstrate this, it may be more useful to focus on specific areas, such as the southwestern Mediterranean coasts (sections 1 and 2 in climes 3 and 4) as a micro-study of the dual descriptive structure of the Idrisian corpus. The text of section 1 clime 3 in the Nuzhat al-mushtāq37 starts with an introduction to the section. Then it describes the western frontiers of this section, only omitting a vague dispersed space over the Atlantic Ocean that is full of mysterious islands (the author mentions twelve islands, then indicates that there are far more, and introduces the number of “twenty-seven thousand islands,” referring to Ptolemy as his source). The author moves to another part, prefacing the bulk of the description of this section with a list of the major sites he is will describe from the Atlantic North African coasts to the Mediterranean North African coasts, passing by the Saharan and mountainous mainland, stressing the anthropological characteristics of the dominant Berber tribes, calling it “the country of the Berbers” (Bilād al-Barābir), and mentioning the major Berber tribes. It is then that the description of the visual or mapped space begins; with this the author divides his description into two parts. The greater part covers the whole section, with an emphasis on the major urban sites or tribal areas, whether on the mainland or the coastline.38 The smaller, yet denser, part covers only the maritime routes and the description of the coastal sites, notably,

37  Ibid., 1:217–275. 38  Ibid., 1:223–271.

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but not only, the cities that have harbors and the harbors by themselves, without cities.39 These two parts, however, are essentially different in genre. The earlier, larger part first focuses on the tribal Saharan areas like Bilād Lamtūna (southwestern Morocco), then proceeds with a description of human geography, including the supposed genealogy of its tribal confederation (Lamtūna). In such cases, narratives of historical and mythical events are inserted into the geographic description. Then the author points out the main (and only) urban sites of this large area, in this case, Nūl Lamṭa and Āzaqī. The author also describes the economic and social characteristics of these sites, after which he indicates the major routes and distances to surrounding major urban centers. The description of such large areas (he describes a similar area, that is, Bilād al-Sūs al-Aqṣā in the same section), certainly visible areas on the map, are quite different from the descriptions of denser areas. For the latter, the author emphasizes the major urban sites neighboring Bilād Lamtūna and Bilād al-Sūs al-Aqṣā, such as Sijilmāsa, Aghmāt, Marrākush, and finally Salā on the Atlantic coastline. At each stage, he stops to describe (in various degrees of detail) the economic and social characteristics of each site, along with the distances and routes separating it from the surrounding urban centers or major geographic areas (the Saharan tribal regions or the coastline). In some areas, the spatial description shows networks extending from the Mediterranean coastline sites deep into mainland centers. For example, we see this in the case of the triangular area between Ṣiṭīf, Bijāya, and Būna. Thus, the description moves, in the case of section 1, clime 3, from the southwestern Atlantic regions to the northeastern Mediterranean areas. Meanwhile, the author indicates the centrality of some of these sites in the larger networks of commercial communication. For instance, when he reaches the city of Tilimsān, he notices that “it is the lock (qifl) of the Maghrib. It is in the way (raṣīf ) of all incoming and outcoming traffic; it is a necessary [stage] and passing by it is [necessary] in all cases.”40 Again, historical narratives are inserted into geographic descriptions after the political allegiance of each site is mentioned. Overall, the description covers the visual space by listing the communication networks, and thus moving textually, and then visually, from one place to another; this is possible by describing the system of travel. The descriptions of human geography are only inserted within these spatial compartments; this is the same descriptive approach of the geographers of the “atlas of Islam” school, notably Ibn Ḥawqal.

39  Ibid., 1:271–275. 40  Ibid., 1:250.

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In the second part of section 1, clime 3, we note another genre, essentially a description of routes, in this case, maritime routes. Repeating many of the urban coastal centers mentioned in the earlier part, the author describes the coastal sites (beginning from Wahrān) continuing in an orderly fashion. The descriptive manner in this case is essentially a list of sites, with the distances between them and their neighboring coastal sites, with very brief notes about the kind of goods (food and water) available at each location. More importantly, the description includes tools to aid in the visualization of the outline of the coastline, notably by using the form of jawn (gulf). For instance, he describes how the site is approached (that is, from which directions), either according to geographic orientations (south or north, to or from the jawn) or according to its topographical outline (its tip (ṭaraf ), its beginning (awwal), its middle (wasaṭ), or its end (ākhir)).41 Textual descriptions also describe the coastline visually with the words taqwīr (concave) and rūsiyya (straightforward from one site to another); these point not only to the various maritime routes between two given coastal sites, but also to the way geographic outlines were perceived. 41  The word jawn (or jūn) and its forms were used in a variety of ways to direct the eye to the coastal outline, as is clear from this excerpt from the Arabic text of Nuzhat al-mushtāq. It describes the coastline east from Wahrān toward Shalaf, Tanas, and Shirshāl:

� ‫�ن � ض‬ ‫ن‬ � � ‫� ��ط� �ف� � �ج �ه �أ ���نف� ���خ�ا ر�ج ف� ا �ل������ح� ت���ق�� �ي� ًا �أ ����ع��ة‬ � ‫ع����ش�ر و‬ ‫ي� ب ر و� ر ر ب و‬ ‫حو�� ��ف�ر وح إ لى ر ج و و و‬ ��‫و م‬ ‫�أ‬ ً ً ‫�ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ � ‫�ة‬ � � � � ‫�م���ي�لا � ا �ل���ب� ا ث�����ن�ا‬ ‫�����ه� ا �جل‬ �‫ع����ش�ر �م����ي�لا و�م� ن� ���ه��ذا ا �ل����ط�ر�� ت� ��خ� ج�و �ن�ا إ� لى ج‬ ‫� ن��و ب� �ف��م� ن� ���ه��ذا‬ ‫� و ي� � ر‬ ‫أ‬ ً ً ً ‫ث‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫�ة‬ � ‫ت‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ن‬ � � � � ‫ل‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ح���م�ا � ر ب����ع� و�ع����ش�ر و � �م����ي�لا �����و�ي�را و �م�ا �����ي� �ع����ش�ر �م����ي�لا‬ � ‫ا �ل����ط�ر�ف� ����م ا ج�و � إ� لى �ج�زا �ئ�ر ا‬ � ‫م‬ ‫ع‬ � � ‫����س����ة �م� ن �ج�زا‬ � � �‫ح���م�ا � �م���� ��ص�� ا د � �����ش��ل ف� ا ث�����ن�ا ن‬ � ‫ع����ش� ن� �م���ي�لاً �م‬ � ‫ل‬ � ‫�ل‬ � ‫ا‬ � � ‫�ه‬ �� � � � � ‫ئ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ن‬ �‫ب و ي‬ ‫م إ لى‬ ‫ر‬ � ‫رو ي و‬ ‫و ر و � و إ لى وع‬ ‫ف ت ن ف‬ ‫ا �ل ن‬ ‫ع����ش� �م���ي� اً ا �ل������ق��ل ����ب�ا �ة ��� ض‬ ‫ث‬ � � ��‫�ي�� �م� ن ا �ل������ق��ل � �م�د �����ن��ة ت‬ � ‫ا‬ �� ‫ا‬ �� � � �� � � ‫ط‬ � � ‫ن‬ �‫�س‬ ��‫�ن‬ �‫جو‬ ‫ا �ل����را ���ي� �ي� و‬ ‫ر � ل و وع ج � ب � أ� و � وع إ لى ي‬ ‫س‬ ً ‫� �ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫� ن �م ن ��ه�ا � ��ط� �ف ا �ل ن ت�ة‬ � �‫ث‬ ‫�و � ����س��� � �م����ي�ا ل �ف� �ل�ك �م� ن� ��ط�ر�� ج�و�ج‬ ‫ا ����ن�ا �ع����ش�ر �م����ي�لا ����مع ا �جلو � و ���� إ لى ر� ج‬ ‫�ة أ‬ ً ً ‫اً ن � �ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫تق‬ ‫ت�ة ت‬ ‫ و�م�� ا ل����ط�رأ� إ� لى‬. ‫إ� لى ��ط�ر�� ا �جل�و � �����أو��ي�را ����س��� و����س��و � �م����ي�لا و ر و����سي��� � ر ب��عو � �م����ي�ل‬ ً ً ‫ق تق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�م ��س ا ت ا � � �ة‬ ‫ر ى ����م�� ك‬ ‫ع����ش�ر � �م����ي�ا ل و�م� ن� ا ����مت�� ك‬ � ‫�وا ط�ا �ل���ع�ا �ي� ا �جل�و � إ� لى �مر��سى و�و ر �����و��ي�را � ر ب��عو‬ ‫�و‬ ً ً ‫ق‬ ‫ن‬ ‫� ن �غ‬ ‫ث‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ض‬ ‫ث‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ش‬ ‫�م����ي�لا و ر و����سي��� �لا �و � �م����ي�لا و�هو �مر��سى �����ي� ي����س��تر �م� ن� ا �لري� ا �ل���ر�����ي� و لا ي����س��تر م�� ��ير ���ه�ا‬ ‫ح‬ ‫آ‬ ‫ن‬ � ‫ً � �ذ‬ � �‫�ق ف‬ � � ‫ �م� ن �ق � �م�د �����ن��ة �ب� �ش���ك‬.�‫� ن‬ ‫�ل‬ ‫ع����ش�ر و � �م����ي�لا و �ق�د �كر �ن�ا �ش��ر�����ش�ا ل‬ ‫فو و و ر ي� � ��خ�ر ا ج و و � و و ر إ لى ي � ر‬ ً ‫ن‬ � � ‫����م�ا ت�������ق�د ��� ن �ب� �ش���ك �ش�� �����ش�ا ل‬ �‫ع����ش‬ ����‫����ب�� �م ن‬ ‫�م���ي� ا ���ع�� ا �ل������ح� �ت���� �ص� �� ن��ه���م�ا ����ب� �ك‬ ‫ي‬ ‫و ر‬ ‫م و بي� � ر‬ ‫ر و � � ل لى ب ر ي ف� ل ب ي � ج � ل � ير يفع‬ ‫� ق‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ة‬ � ‫ش‬ � ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ � � � � � � � � � ‫�ه‬ � ‫ا‬ � ‫ا‬ �� � � � � �� � � ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ � ‫م‬ ‫��م‬ �� � ‫م‬ ‫�ه‬ �� � ‫ك‬ ‫��س‬ �‫ي‬ � � � � � � ‫س‬ � � � � � �� � � � � �‫�ل‬ ‫ط‬ ‫ب‬ ‫خ‬ ‫ط‬ ‫ش‬ ‫ع‬ ‫ن‬ �� ‫ل‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ل‬ � � �‫و و ر�ج ي‬ ‫وم � بر � ر ي و ر بي و � ر‬ ‫ب‬ ‫إ لى ر‬ ً ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ر�ة‬ ‫�ة‬ � � ‫ج�ز‬ ‫ث‬ � � ‫ا �ل ب������ح�ر ا ����ن�ا �ع����ش�ر �م����ي�لا و �ي�����ق�ا ب�ل ���ه��ذا ا �ل����ط�ر�� � ��ي�ر �ص���غي�� �ي� ا �ل ب������ح�ر و�م� ن� ��ط�ر�� ا � ب�ل�����ط�ا ك‬ ‫�ة أ‬ ً ‫ت ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫���ه��ذا ا �ل ن ق‬ ‫ً تق‬ ‫ن‬ � ‫�و � �ي���������طع ر و����سي��� � ر ب����ع��ي� �م����ي�لا و �����و��ي�ره ����س��و � �م����ي�لا و�هو ر‬ ‫ج‬ ‫ا ب����ت�د ا ء ج�و � �هو ر و‬ ‫�ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن �� ت � �ن‬ ‫ر�ة‬ ‫ق �ة‬ ‫��ا �����ه�ا‬ ‫�ر��ي� � �ص���غي�� �ي� و����س�ط ا �جل�و � و���ع��لى ب����ع�د �م� ن� ا �ل ب������ح�ر وب�����ه�ا و ��صي���ا د و � ل��ل��حو� و م ك‬ ‫م‬ � � ‫�أ ق���� �ص�ا لا‬ � ‫��س���ق�ط ف����ي�ه �أ ��ح�د ��ت‬ .‫��خ��ل���ص �م ����ن�ه ا �ل ب��ت����ة‬ � ‫� ر ي‬ ‫وي‬

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Maritime Manuals? This dual structure recalls the Ḥawqalian tradition somewhat; it certainly shows the strong connections between the two major Maghribi sources of this early medieval period: al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik and the Nuzhat al-mushtāq. The description of maritime routes and coastal sites in the Nuzhat al-mushtāq brings to mind the question of the use of sailing manuals in the descriptions of this area. Again, as in al-Bakrī’s work, the presence of such a dual structure points to the contrast between these two genres of geographic description. Another level, that which relates to the details of sailing, adds a strong visual sense. In addition to the use of distances in miles, as with al-Bakrī, the author sometimes uses the distance unit called a majrā. Again, the use of words like taqwīr and rūsiyya suggests two possible sailing routes and their directions. Another characteristic feature is the use of topographical markers, such as remarkable mountainous sections along the coastline. Also, as in al-Bakrī’s work, we find occasional indications of the suitability of harbors in specific seasons. For instance, the harbor (Marsā) of Waqūr (east from Shalaf) is described as being “narrow so that it could protect (yastur) from the eastern wind but not from any other [wind].”42 Although not used as frequently as al-Bakrī, the descriptive formula of “e directo, ex opposite” is used in some parts of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq as well. Just as al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik is usually mentioned when discussing the possible Arabic counterparts of European portolans, the Nuzhat al-mushtāq is also mentioned, and probably more frequently. Fischer and Kretshmer were among the first to suggest (because of words such as taqwīr and rūsiyya) that the descriptions of maritime routes, notably of sections 1, 2, and 3 of clime 3 seem to use not only sailing manuals, but also maritime maps.43 Yet, as Gautier-Dalché notes, again, the use of these two words does not, by itself, necessarily point to geographic orientation.44 It is also true that when we read these paragraphs in context, without focusing on specific words, such as taqwīr and rūsiyya, we can identify geographic directions. For instance, the use of jawn with its various levels (end, middle, tip, etc.) along with the words taqwīr and rūsiyya, helps to locate geographic directions. The main 42  Ibid., 1:272. 43  Th. Fischer, Sammlung mittelaterlicher Welt – und Seekarten italianischen Urspungs und aus italianischen Bibliotheken und Archiven (Venice, 1886), 67; K. Kretschmer, Die italienischen Portolane des Mittelalters (Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1962), 176. The same view is then supported by Vernet-Gines, in “The Maghreb Chart in the Biblioteca Ambrosiana,” Imago Mundi 16 (1962), 1–16. 44  Gautier-Dalché, Carte Marine, 52.

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issue here is not whether the paragraphs in al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-lmamālik and those in Nuzhat al-mushtāq are actually sailing manuals in and of themselves, but whether they bear traces of other unknown sailing manuals, and more probably, of oral sailing directions. Traces of oral sailing directions have been confirmed in sources on the Indian Ocean, but not, explicitly, in the Mediterranean. It is only from this perspective that we can explain the presence, indicated by Dalché, of Arabic names of winds that correspond to the vulgar names of the wind roses of European mariners: for example, the southeastern wind called shalūq45 (scilocco) and the southwestern wind called libāj (libeccio).46 In a less commonly cited, yet highly valuable work, Giovanni Oman emphasizes the terminology that may refer to the close relationship between the Idrisian text and maritime space, or as Oman states, the Idrisian “voci marinaresche.”47 Oman’s glossary, which emphasizes the sections that describe Africa, mentions words that refer to the language of the Arab mariners, including synonyms in vulgar Italian terminology specific to the Mediterranean navigational technical language: sākin al-ḥaraka (calmo); ghalīẓ al-mawj (grosso); al-māʾ al-mayyit (l’acqua morta); aqāṣīr al-miyāh (acque basse); sāḥil (costa); naḥr (riva); ra‌ʾs (capo); masqaṭ (sbocco); ramla (spiagga sabiosa); fam (bocco); ḥajar (pietra); ḥamala (caricare); rasā (gettare le ancore); aqlaʿa (partire); dalīl (pilota); raṣīf (diga); manāra (faro); Isqāla (echelle, French); majrā (100 miglia); shibr (palmo). Regardless of whether or not sailing manuals were used, it is extremely difficult to argue for the Idrisian use of early portolan maps, as Fischer suggests. The Idrisian maps, though they show more interest than the “atlas of Islam” 45  This wind is mentioned in descriptions of islands near Majorca. Al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat almushtāq, 2:587:

‫أ‬ ‫� ق‬ � ‫� �ذ�ة �م� ن �أ ك �ذ�ة ن ن‬ ‫� �م����ي�ا ل و ���في�� كو � ر‬ � ‫�و ب���ي� ا �جل���و ب� وا �ل����ش�ر‬ ‫أ‬ ‫� �ذ�ة � �ج�ز �ي� �ة �أ ش�����ت������ق��ة‬ � �‫و�مر��س�ا ���ه�ا ��ح�ر�ج و�م� ن‬ ‫ك‬ ‫ر‬ ‫لى‬ � ‫و‬ ‫إ‬ ‫ر‬

‫� ن �ج�ز �ة � �ذ�ة � �أ � �ذ�ة � � �ة‬ ‫و م�� ��ي�ر ���في�� ك‬ ‫�و إ لى ر كو ع����ش�ر‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ر�ة‬ � � ‫�ش����ل ��قً�ا �ه �ج�ز �ي� �ص���غ�� �م����ست�����غ�ا ث‬ � ‫ي‬ ‫أ و و ي� � ر‬ ً ‫ن‬ .‫� ر ب��عو � �م����ي�لا‬

46   Al-libāj is mentioned in descriptions of the location of the harbor of the island of Lampedusa (Lanbadhūsha). Al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat al-mushtāq, 2:588:

�‫ن أ‬ ‫� ن � ف� ق �ة � ث ف� �ق �ة م ن‬ ‫أ ج�ز �ة ن �ذ � �ة ف ن‬ ‫�ر��ي�ا � وب�����ه�ا‬ ‫و� ���م�ا � ��ي�ر �ل�� ب��� و����ش� � ب����ي�����ه�ا و ب���ي� � �ق�ر ب�أ ��ب�ر م�� إ ر�ي��������ي� ح�����ي�� ي� ��بود ��ي� ج‬ ‫�أ‬ ‫ن ف‬ ‫ا � � ر�ة‬ ‫�م ��سى ���م� �م ن� � ك ن ن‬ � ‫ك ري� و‬ ‫��ح��م�ل ال� ���س�ا طي���ل ل ك‬ ‫����ثي�� و���ه��ذا ا �ل���مر��سى �م������ه�ا �ي� ا �ل�ل ����ب�ا�ج‬ ‫ر‬ ‫و ي‬ ‫��� �م�� �ل ح ي‬ ‫� ن‬ ‫و �ل�����ي�� ف�� �ج�ز ��ي� �ة �لن�� ب����ذ و�����ش��ة �ش��� ء �م� ن ا �لث�����م�ا ر و لا �م� ن ا �ل‬ .� ‫ح��يوا‬ ‫ر‬ � � ‫ي‬ ‫سي‬

47  G. Oman, “Vocci marinaresche usate dal geografo arabo al-Idrīsī (XII secolo) nelle sue descrizioni delle coste settentrionali dell’Africa,” Annali del Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli 13 (1963), 1–26.

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school in representing the details of the coastal outline, are not, by any means, navigational guides. The Idrisian Cartographic Approach to the Mediterranean The textual approach to the Mediterranean already includes explicit indications of its relationship to the maps. For instance, the phrase “in this depicted section” prefaces each section. In other words, the map, which is a visual preface of the textual description, is also summarized in the preface of the text. Still, the large cartographic database from the Idrisian corpus allows us to compare texts and maps more deeply, on two levels: the possible original relationship and how such a relationship may have evolved over time. In a brief article, Kramers attempted to compare Idrisian maps to texts in general, not necessarily for the Mediterranean sections.48 He focused on the maps of the oldest known surviving manuscript (A-II-4) of sections 1, climes 1, 2, and 3. Kramers noticed that all the toponyms mentioned in the text are inscribed in the map, except for the toponym of Yahdhinsā(?) at the top of the map of section 1, clime 1, which is not found in the text. In addition, he indicates the names of some mountains that are represented in the maps, but not in the inscriptions or the text. The differences seem to be more apparent in section 1, clime 3, where many toponyms are mentioned in the text but not on the map; Kramers explains this as being related to the size of the map, which is too small to contain all the toponyms mentioned in the text. By contrast, some toponyms and mountains inscribed and represented on the map do not appear in the text. Kramers listed the kind of toponyms absent from the map of section 1, clime 3, but present in the text. These include small cities and villages, many of the islands of the Atlantic, the names of the Berber tribes, the names of the rivers, including the ones drawn on the map, and most of the mountains. By contrast, two mountains (one called “Qāf”) are inscribed on the map but are not mentioned in the text. Kramers comments and suggests an interesting conclusion, namely, that the cartographer copied the toponyms to his sectional maps not from a text but from “sectional maps of Ptolemaic type.”49 48  J. H. Kramers, “Notice sur les cartes d’Edrisi,” Hallucinations Scinetifiques, ed. Youssef Kamal (Leiden, 1937), 26–28; reprinted in Islamic Geography, vol. 5, Studies on al-Idrisi reprinted, fourth part, ed. Fuat Sezgin (Frankfurt am Main: Institute for the History of Arabic-Islamic Sciences, 1992), 269–272. 49  “Des cartes de section du type Ptolemaique, cartes ou les noms grecs etaient probablemnt deja transcrits avec lettres arabes … Chacune des cartes de section a servi de base pour

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Even though these suggestions are not based on a systematic comparative approach to the Idrisian corpus, they imply possible venues by which we might understand its production. I took the same sections chosen by Kramers and compared the text of the map of two manuscripts (A-II-4 and A-II-12) that seem to originate from two different sources. In the case of section 1, clime 3, which covers both North African Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts, Kramers’ general impression seems to hold. A majority of toponyms appearing in the preface of the text, that is, all the toponyms that are discussed in the bulk of the geographic description, do not appear in the map. The process of the cartographer inscribing his toponyms prior to the production of the text or at least from another, probably cartographic, source that was made prior to the text seems to be a plausible hypothesis. Kramers also mentions sectional maps in Latin, of which we have no evidence, but as I argue earlier, the sectional maps in the Idrisian manuscripts (including their inscriptions) could have been developed from the “tabula of the coordinates” or the rectangular world map cited in al-Idrīsī’s introduction. This takes us back to the question of the original rectangular world map, which includes an overview of the Mediterranean unlike the dissected view of the sectional maps of the Mediterranean. The sections of the southern Mediterranean in clime 3 correspond to geographic regions, whether considered individual sectional maps (section 4 corresponding with lower Egypt, and section 5 corresponding with Syria) or taken in sequence (section 1, 2, and 3 corresponding to the Maghrib, except Andalusia). This view recalls the sectional maps of the “atlas of Islam” school. If we assume that the rectangular world map was, in fact, a real map that originated from the sectional maps of the Idrisian manuscripts, then we can assume that the map of the Mediterranean existed in the Idrisian tradition. Although it should have been in the world map, its detailed outline and dense information may have been reason enough for it to be presented in a form different from the reduced and limited format of the surviving circular world maps.

la description et au cours de sa description – qui empruntait la plupart du material aux livres et relation de voyage de l’epoque musulmane – l’auteur a inseré beaucoup de noms nouveaux dans la carte. Cependant il n’a pas trouvé le moyen d’introduire tous les noms nouveaux dans les cas ou leur nombre devenait beaucoup trop grand, comme c’etait le cas pour la premiere section du IIIe climat.” Kramers, “Notice,” 271.

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The Idrisian Legacy: Mediterranean Mediators of the “Idrisian” Mediterranean

Al-ʿUmarī’s Masālik al-abṣār fī mamālik al-amṣār: A Window for Idrisian and Maritime Cartography Ibn Faḍlallāh al-ʿUmarī (d. 749/1349) was an official who lived in Cairo and in Damascus, where he wrote his encyclopedic work, Masālik al-abṣār fī mamālik al-amṣār.50 His geographic introduction was a model for later authors interested in summarizing the Idrisian text.51 In addition to summarizing the Idrisian text, he also introduced two original sectional maps, which are visual summaries of ten Idrisian sectional maps (one sectional map for each iqlīm); the cartographic style can be easily identified with the Idrisian style, yet likely draws from his original world map as well. Even the layout of each map is similar to the Idrisian tradition, with one map on two folios facing each other (A-II-9).52 The contribution of the Masālik al-abṣār is further established by its inclusion of two major elements related to the history of cartography: an unprecedented world map and a special interest in maritime cartography. Setting aside the originality of the world map, which, though it continues the tradition of circular world maps, requires more focused attention that is not within purview of this study, we move on to his interest in maritime cartography.53 It is not by chance that the earliest indications we have that Muslims were aware of European portolan charts came from Maghribi geographers, or from geographers using Maghribi sources. It has already been noted that Ibn Khaldūn used the word qunbāṣ to indicate maritime maps. 50  The only complete edition of this work is a facsimile edition by Sezgin. Ibn Faḍlallāh alʿUmarī, Masālik al-abṣār fī mamālik al-amṣār, 27 vols. (Frankfurt: Institut für Geschichte de Arabish-Islamischen Wissenschaften, 1988). The geographic texts are mainly in vols. 1 and 2. 51  Even though the titles of his geographic text tend to emphasize the terminology of mathematical geography, such as the “seven climes,” his text clearly draws from Nuzhat al-mushtāq with frequent references to al-Idrīsī (“al-Sharīf”). See al-ʿUmarī, Masālik alabṣār, 1:295–371, 2:1–143. 52  The only surviving sectional maps from the Masālik al-abṣār are those of the first, second, and third climes. See ibid., 1:306–307, 320–321, and 342–343. 53  Al-ʿUmarī’s world map is not reminiscent of the so-called “al-Idrīsī’s world map” even though Nuzhat al-mushtāq was his main geographic source and also the possible source of some sectional maps. See al-ʿUmarī, Masālik al-abṣār, 1:292–293, 306–307, and 320–321. Some scholars believe, though without much evidence, that his world map is a copy of the now lost Abbasid map known as “Ma‌ʾmūn’s world map.” See Sezgin, Contribution, 19, plates 10 and 11.

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The countries situated on the two shores of the Mediterranean are noted on a chart (ṣaḥīfa) which indicates the true facts regarding them and gives their positions along the coast in the proper order. The various winds and their paths are likewise put down on the chart. This chart is called the “compass” [qunbāṣ]. It is on this (compass) that sailors rely on in their voyages.54 Yet, it was al-ʿUmarī who first used, in a consistent way, the word qunbāṣ,” following his source, Ra‌ʾīs Abū Naʿīm the Cordoban.55 His rigorous determination to provide accurate information when writing his section on the Mediterranean (al-Baḥr al-Shāmī) led him to consult the sources, both oral or written, which included his Cordoban informant, who had a maritime map (qunbāṣ); this may be the earliest reference to an Islamic maritime map (Fig. 5.2). In addition, he mentions a Genoese source (Bilbān al-Jinuwī), who was used specifically as an informant for the northern coasts of the Mediterranan.56 Thus, al-ʿUmarī went even further, and allowed his Cordoban source to dictate an instructional chapter on a new cartographic tool. In this chapter, he provides interesting and relatively early information in this field, along with diagrams used to draw maritime maps, with two “wind roses” or as he calls it dāʾirat al-riyāḥ, and the center of the rhumb lines.57 54  Soucek thinks that this is the first instance in which Islamic sources indicate their awareness of portolan charts. See S. Soucek, “Islamic Charting in the Mediterranean,” in History of Cartography, ed. Harley and Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 2:263–287, especially 2:286, n. 66. 55  His name sometimes appears as “al-Ustādh al-Rāyis Abī Muḥammad ʿAbdallāh al-Anṣārī l-Qurṭubī.” Al-ʿUmarī, Masālik al-abṣār, 2:155. 56  Ibid.:

‫ف �ذ‬ ‫�ذ �ة‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ش‬ � ‫�ح‬ ‫��ج�ره‬ � ‫������ه� ه ���ج��م�ل� ���م�ا ���ع��لى ر و ا �ل ب������ح�ر ا �ل����ش�ا مي� م��م�ا ���ع�ل ج��ا �ب�����ي�ه ا �جل���و ب�ي� و ا �ل���ما لي� و ���ع��لىأ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ف�أ‬ ‫�ح � ن‬ ‫خ �ذ � � ن ال ت �ذ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫��ج�ره ��فإ� �ي� ح‬ ‫�ر ر ��ت�ه �م� ن� ا �ل��ق��ن�� ب���ا �ص و � �� �ت�ه ع�� � ����س���ا‬ � ‫�� ���م�ا ���م�ا �هو ���ع��لى ا ��ل��ج�ا � ب� ا �جأل���و ب�ي� و‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ٰ ‫قن‬ ‫��ج�ا ن�� ا �ل ش���ما ل� ف���ع� ن �م‬ ‫ا �لرا ���ي�� � �� محمد �ع ����ب�د ا �ل�ّ�ل�ه ال� ن����� �ص�ا ر �� ا �ل��ق��ر ���ط� و � ���م�ا ا ��ل‬ ‫��ج�ر د ا �ل������ ب���ا �ص و‬ ‫ب‬ � ‫ي‬ �‫يب‬ ‫ي‬ ‫أ س ب ني‬ ‫ن‬ .�‫���م�ا � ���خ��بر �ي� ��ب�ه ب��ل ����ب�ا � ا �جل� ن��و �ي‬

The section on the Mediterranean is supposed to include regional maps (it is unclear if there were maritime maps) of the Adriatic Sea and the Black Sea yet, as the folios are empty. See al-ʿUmarī, Masālik al-abṣār, 2:150–161. 57  The subchapter is titled: ‫أ‬

‫ن ف �ذ‬ ‫�ة‬ .‫ا �ل��ف������ �ص�ل ا �ل����ث�ا �ي� �ي� �كر ا �لر��ي�ا ال� ر ���ب و�صو ر ا �ل��ق��ن�� ب���ا �ص‬ ‫ح‬ ‫ع‬

 See al-ʿUmarī, Masālik al-abṣār, 2:165–175; Sezgin, Contribution, plates 16, 17, and 19. It is interesting to note that Ibn Khaldūn was among the first to become interested in this field; he mentions the use of such maritime maps when discussing the Mediterranean

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Figure 5.2 A model of a maritime map (qunbāṣ) in al-ʿUmarī b. Faḍlallāh’s Masālik al-abṣār fī mamālik al-amṣār in a manuscript dated to the first half of eighth/ fourteenth century (in al-ʿUmarī, Masālik al-abṣār, ed. Sezgin, 1:174, fig. 19; A-II-9).

The word qunbāṣ, which appears in other Islamic sources, was used in a slightly different form to characterize maritime maps. The ninth-/fifteenth-century mariner Aḥmad b. Mājid (d. 905/1500) calls his Indian Ocean sailing manual, or map, a qunbāṣ.58 It derives mostly from the Spanish word “compass,” which means, in general, a “divider,” but it may also relate specifically to the meaning of a pair of compasses. In the case of the tenth/sixteenth century (B-I-9), the derivation from Spanish is clearer, since the cartographer’s grandfather’s map was based directly on a Majorcan qunbāṣ (part 3 of the book). It follows that the Spanish word compass was, in fact, used to indicate the maritime map. in the takmila. His use of the word qunbāṣ (from compasso) to describe this cartographic genre was believed to be the only precedence before its use in the tenth/sixteenth century. See Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah, trans. Rosenthal, 1:117–118; Ibn Khaldūn, alMuqaddima, ed. Cheddadi, 1:90; Soucek, “Islamic Charting in the Mediterranean,” in History of Cartography, ed. Harley and Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 2:263–287, especially 286, n. 66. Yet, as noted above, al-ʿUmarī used the same term even earlier than Ibn Khaldūn. 58  G. Tibbets, “The Role of Charts in Islamic Navigation in the Indian Ocean,” in History of Cartography, ed. Harley and Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 2:256–257.

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In another example from an Italian context, Marco Polo mentions the word conpas with the same meaning.59 For that reason, it is likely that the word compasso that was mentioned along with the mappa mundum in 693/1293 is just the same Spanish word, compass (i.e., maritime map), which was then used in medieval Latin. The content of the two “wind roses,” the sixteen- and the thirty-two-point wind roses (dāʾirat al-arbā and dāʾirat al-athmān), is particularly interesting, since it confirms the use of vernacular Maghribi terms of wind orientations specific to mariners in al-Bakrī’s work and in the Nuzhat al-mushtāq. Thus, as demonstrated in the two illustrations in al-ʿUmarī’s Masālik al-abṣār, barrānī was used to indicate the various orientations of northwest, shlūq was used to indicate the various directions of southwest, labbāsh was used to indicate the various orientations of southeast, and shirsh was used to indicate the various orientations northeast.60 Ducène showed how al-ʿUmarī’s contribution is especially unique, particularly for the Libyan coasts; this may indicate a Genoese maritime influence.61 Given the Arab terms used for the wind rose, it also suggests the presence of an Andalusan “Arab” map.62 But when we compare the list of toponyms given in al-ʿUmarī for the North African coasts in general, with the earlier list given by al-Idrīsī, or the later given in the Maghribi chart, we can see that al-ʿUmarī’s list is less exhaustive. This may indicate that he did not make extensive use of the maritime sources that were available to him.

59  Ibid., 2:256. 60  Al-ʿUmarī, Masālik al-abṣār, 2:172–173. The same terminology reoccurs in tenth-/ sixteenth-century Maghribi maritime cartography, notably with the Sharfīs (see part 3, chapter 5). 61  Jean-Charles Ducène, “Le portulan Arabe decrit par al-‘Umarī,” Cartes & Géomatique 216 (June 2013), 81–90. The list of toponyms for the Libyan coast seems to correlate with two Genoese sources: “Cette liste de toponymes pour la côte libyenne est importante car on y trouve de rares éléments. D’abord, nous avons la plus ancienne attestation du toponyme de Ben Ghazi. Jusqu’ici, on pensait que la cite ne prenait cette dénomination qu’après 1450 lorsqu’un saint homme du nom de Sīdī Ġ āzī s’installe à Berenice et y décède. Ensuite, dans un travail antérieur, nous avons remarqué que pour le golfe de Syrte et la côte de la Cyrénaïque, par al-ʿUmarī (Zanāra, Kurkura, Millel, al-Dawīra, al-Fuwāra) se retrouvent uniquement dans l’atlas maritime de Pierre Vesconte (1313) et dans l’Atlante Luxoro (première moitié du XV e siècle).” Ducène, “Le portulan Arabe,” 84. 62  Ducène, “Le portulan Arabe,” 86–87.

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Ibn Khaldūn and the Transmission of “Idrisian” Mapping in the Ninth-/Fifteenth-Century Mediterranean

Ibn Khaldūn’s Muqaddima63 plays a key, though probably unintentional, role in the history of the late eighth-/fourteenth- and early ninth-/fifteenth-century transmission of Idrisian mapping and thus of the Idrisian depiction of the Mediterranean. Its role, which was crucial, requires a discussion of the history of the surviving manuscripts of the Muqaddima; these were produced while Ibn Khaldūn was still alive, that is up until 808/1406.64

Ibn Khaldūn and the Contemporary Geographic and Cartographic Traditions Ibn Khaldūn’s writings on universal history and, therefore, his tendency to introduce it with a description of universal geography do not necessarily reflect his willingness to abide within an established tradition of historiography. Since al-Masʿudī’s Murūj al-dhahab (before 346/957), universal histories began to be accompanied by geographical introductions emphasizing a universal physical geography. From the sixth/twelfth up to the eighth/fourteenth centuries, late medieval historiography, including the Egyptian histories, emphasized this correspondence between history and geography. At times historians quoted or paraphrased al-Masʿūdī, and in other cases, they followed his general approach. This is true of works like Abū l-Faraj b. al-Jawzī’s Muntaẓam (d. 597/1200–01), Sibt b. al-Jawzī’s Mirʾāt al-zamān (d. 654/1256), Ibn Kathīr’s Bidāya wa-l-nihāya (d. 774/1373), and al-Maqrīzī’s Khabar ʿan al-bashar (d. 845/1442), which were all influenced to a great extent by al-Masʿūdī’s classical work.65 In fact, as noted, Ibn Khaldūn explicitly referred to al-Masʿūdī’s Murūj al-dhahab and notably its geographical introduction as a model for historians “to follow,” even though he criticized the exaggerated figures.66 Al-Masʿūdī was also the source 63  The text of the Muqaddima used in this part is from the edited versions by F. Rosenthal (1958) and by A. Cheddadi (2005). 64  For a more detailed discussion of this topic, see T. Kahlaoui, “Towards Reconstructing the Muqaddimah following Ibn Khaldun’s Reading of the Idrisian Text and Maps,” Journal of North African Studies 13, no. 3 (Sept. 2008), 293–307; and “The Maghrib’s Mariners and Sea Maps: Ibn Khaldoun’s Muqaddima as a Primary Source,” Journal of Historical Sociology 30, no. 1 (March 2017): 43–56. 65  Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah, trans. Rosenthal, 1:106–110. 66  Ibid., 1:63–65, and 73–76; Ibn Khaldūn, al-Muqaddima, ed. Cheddadi, 1:45–47, and 53–55: “Therefore, there is a need at this time that someone should systematically set down the situation of the world among all regions and races, as well as the customs and sectarian beliefs that have changed for their adherents, doing for this age what al-Masʿūdī

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of some passages in Ibn Khaldūn’s Muqaddima, though he was not the source for the way Ibn Khaldūn handled the geographic section as a whole, especially the way he approached the world from the perspective of the Ptolemaic seven climes. Ibn Khaldūn may have consulted a more contemporary and geographically closer source for his geographic introduction to a universal history, namely, the first chapters of al-ʿUmarī’s Masālik al-abṣār. In fact, unlike al-Masʿudī, and even al-ʿUmarī, who tried to include an original geographic approach, Ibn Khaldūn was not particularly interested in being a geographer. He clearly relied on Idrisian regional divisions for most of his information. He seems to have followed a certain tendency in Islamic geographic writing from the seventh-/ thirteenth century, a tendency prominent among geographers in the Maghrib, Egypt, and Syria, one that basically reproduced the Nuzhat al-mushtāq.67 Ibn Khaldūn’s “Second Prefatory Discussion” and the takmila probably mirror Idrisian textual organization. As in the “Second Prefatory Discussion,” al-Idrīsī wrote a general introduction on the earth and its main components; this was in harmony with his larger text on the seven climes.68 Ibn Khaldūn, who did not intend at first, that is, up until the “Tunis version” of the Muqaddima, to expand on universal geography, may have thought that such a succinct geographic introduction was an appropriate choice for his regional history. His later decision, however, to write a universal history and, consequently, a universal geography, led him to include the entire structure of al-Idrīsī’s text. Thus, the “Second Prefatory Discussion” and the takmila ended up as an abridgment of al-Idrīsī’s introduction and main text.69 Rosenthal has pointed out that Ibn Khaldūn’s world map goes back to what he calls and what is widely known as “al-Idrīsī’s world map”; Ibn Khaldūn himself explained this, when he said that his map was drawn “as was done by the author of the Book of Roger.” Still, unlike the sectional cartographic maps, which al-Idrīsī clearly mentions at the beginning of the description of each did for his. This should be a model for future historians to follow.” See Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah, trans. Rosenthal, 1:65. 67   Nuzhat al-mushtāq was quoted and propagated by two major geographers in the late medieval period: Ibn Saʿīd (Maghrib, d. 672/1274), and Abū l-Fidā (Syria, d. 732/1331). See Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:356–359 and 388–395. 68  Al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat al-Mushtāq, 1:3–14. 69  The “Second Prefatory Discussion,” like al-Idrīsī’s introduction, includes the following themes (in the same order): a general description of the earth, a brief introduction to the concept of the “seven zones,” and finally a brief description of water spaces, such as seas, gulfs, and rivers. The takmila is organized like the Idrisian main text, according to the seven zones with ten sections per zone.

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new geographic section, he did not mention the inclusion of a world map in his work, and this point has not been widely noted. Consequently, there is no reason to attribute what is usually called “al-Idrīsī’s world map” to al-Idrīsī himself. Rather, as argued above, it designates a specific style, and defines, in the most generic terms, what could be called instead an “Idrisian” world map. Like the geographic text, Ibn Khaldūn followed this work in his cartographic representation.70 Ibn Khaldūn’s Reading of the Idrisian Maps Ibn Khaldūn’s choice of the Idrisian work among other geographers was not haphazard; it indicates his attachment to a specific school of geographic writing and cartographic representation, a school that promoted travelers’ accounts as a primary source of geographic description and as a less stylized and more realistic cartographic representation. Even though he was not a geographer or cartographer himself, Ibn Khaldūn’s subchapter on geography indicates that he wanted to bring in unprecedented geographic and cartographic contributions. It would be highly inaccurate to understand Ibn Khaldūn’s strong reliance on the Idrisian text as an indication that he was not interested in contributing new information. He clearly wanted to update the Idrisian text.71 Ibn Khaldūn’s geographic contribution should be defined, rather, by the way he read the Idrisian text. Nuzhat al-mushtāq was not the only dominant geography during the time of Ibn Khaldūn. The Idrisian corpus, however, promoted a universal geography, as opposed to a geography that saw the world only as a space of the dār alIslam, a dominant geographic school established by the classical geographers of the fourth-/tenth-century, al-Iṣṭakhrī and Ibn Ḥawqal. Ibn Khaldūn was likely sympathetic to al-Idrīsī’s sensitive descriptions of the Maghrib,72 and to his background—he came from an elite Andalusian family, and was obliged to work at other courts; Ibn Khaldūn emphasized this in his brief biography 70  As we point out later, Ibn Khaldūn was not alone in reproducing “al-Idrīsī’s world map.” 71  For instance, in clime 1, section 1, Ibn Khaldūn takes up the Idrisian description of the islands of “Khālidāt.” These were believed to be the most remote “inhabited” areas on the African Atlantic coasts, but he adds that he has “heard that European Christian ships reached them in the middle of this century”; this was highlighted by Rosenthal. See Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah, trans. Rosenthal, 1:117, n. 58. 72  As noted above, until the Nuzhat al-mushtāq was produced and with the exception of al-Bakrī’s work, the general geographies of the Maghrib were shaped by Mashriqi geographers who presented selective and sometimes ill-informed descriptions of the Maghrib, or views that were clearly hostile to Maghribi areas, notably Andalus. Ibn Ḥawqal was especially criticized by Maghribi authors for this reason. See Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:205.

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of al-Idrīsī.73 Yet the most attractive element in the Idrisian corpus, from Ibn Khaldūn’s perspective, was its unprecedented, detailed sectional maps that functioned as visual prefaces to the textual descriptions of each section (of all ten sections) and of each zone in the “seven zones.” In fact, several instances show that Ibn Khaldūn was not paraphrasing the Idrisian text as much as he was reading and describing the Idrisian sectional maps. While the Idrisian text of clime 1, section 1, claims that the presumably remotest islands along the African Atlantic coast known as “Khālidāt” number only two,74 Ibn Khaldūn refers to three islands named “Khālidāt.”75 The only reason that might explain such a misreading is the presence of three islands on the sectional maps of this part of the world in the surviving manuscripts of Nuzhat al-mushtāq, in which they are not clearly identified.76 Such an unidentified visual presence can be noted in the world map too. Another clearer indication of Ibn Khaldūn’s reliance on maps, rather than texts, is his description of the two largest islands in the Indian Ocean; these appear in the maps of “zone one,” “sections eight,” “nine,” and “ten,” as “round in shape” (mudawwarat al-shakl) and “oblong” (mustaṭīla),77 a description that corresponds to the Idrisian cartographic representation in the world map or in the sectional maps, but does not follow his textual description of the two islands as “large” (kabīra) and “long” (ṭawīla).78 Another indication that Ibn Khaldūn relied on seeing this map can be found in his description of multiple sections in a single zone, in which he follows the continuation of major topographical markers, rather than the various ways they appear in the textual description. For instance, when al-Idrīsī describes 73  Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah, trans. Rosenthal, 1:116; Ibn Khaldūn, al-Muqaddima, ed. Cheddadi, 1:89. 74  Al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat al-mushtāq, 1:17. 75  Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah, trans. Rosenthal, 1:116; Ibn Khaldūn, al-Muqaddima, ed. Cheddadi, 1:89. 76  The third island, probably mistaken by Ibn Khaldūn as one of the “Khālidāt,” is called “Ulil”; it usually appears at the northern edge of the sectional map “zone 1, section 1” in the surviving manuscripts of Nuzhat al-mushtāq, such as the manuscripts in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France (Ms. Arab. 2122) and in the Suleymaniye Library (Ayasofia 3502). Although it is clearly identified in al-Idrisi’s text (al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat al-mushtāq, 1:17–18) it sometimes appears as unidentified in surviving maps, such as in the former manuscript, and this explains why it was not mentioned by Ibn Khaldūn. 77  Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah, trans. Rosenthal, 1:123; Ibn Khaldūn, al-Muqaddima, ed. Cheddadi, 1:94. For some unknown reason, the second island and its description as “oblong” (mustaṭīla) is missing from Cheddadi’s edition. Yet it does appear, at least, in the “original” manuscripts of the Turkish collections, as it is present in Rosenthal’s edition. 78  Al-Idrīsī, Nuzhat al-mushtāq, 1:71–72.

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the Maghrib (clime 3, sections 1, 2, and 3), he finishes each section before he moves to the next one. Ibn Khaldūn, however, considers the Atlas Mountains (Jabal Darna), which appear to be continuous in the world map, and he describes the Maghrib by commenting on the mountains and the surrounding areas, from west to east.79 Ibn Khaldūn also uses sentences like “empty and waste regions in which the Arabs [nomads] roam” (khalāʾ wa-qifār tajūlu fīha al-ʿarab), or toponyms like “Ṭaraf Awthan” at the eastern end of the Atlas Mountains, which are highlighted in the extant sectional maps of clime 3, section 4.80 A simple, straightforward explanation for Ibn Khaldūn’s reliance on the Idrisian maps more than on the text could be his choices of what to summarize for his succinct geographic introduction. Maps are necessarily less burdened with detailed information than texts. A more complex explanation, which I prefer, relates to Ibn Khaldūn’s fascination with the visual support that maps brought to his general paradigms. He makes a paradigmatic contrast between the “urban” (ʿumrān or haḍar) and the “empty” or nomad spaces (qifār or ʿarab or badw). The Idrisian map illustrates this contrast by providing a certain visual sense to Ibn Khaldūn’s textual argumentation. For instance, Ibn Khaldūn adds a few notes to the Idrisian text; one of these is the contrast in Egypt between the Delta and its populated areas, and the surrounding qifār.81 Idrisian mapmakers used striking graphic elements to distinguish between the empty, or unpopulated, and the urban; they used roses to denote cities or urban centers and wrote the word qifār at unpopulated areas. This example illustrates, in the most detailed manner to date, the way Ibn Khaldūn insisted on this distinction as a major paradigm by which the political history and the social structure of the region should be understood. Both in the way Ibn Khaldūn reads the Idrisian text, and in his inclusion of an Idrisian world map, we see that his interest in cartography corresponded to his general interest in visual representation, and especially graphic representation, to support his ideas.82 79  Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah, trans. Rosenthal, 1:128–131; Ibn Khaldūn, al-Muqaddima, ed. Cheddadi, 1:97–100. 80  Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah, trans. Rosenthal, 1:131; Ibn Khaldūn, al-Muqaddima, ed. Cheddadi, 1:99–100. For example, in the sectional map of clime 3, section 4, of the manuscript in the Suleymaniye Library (Ayasofia 3502). 81  Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah, trans. Rosenthal, 1:131; Ibn Khaldūn, al-Muqaddima, ed. Cheddadi, 1:100. 82  For instance, in manuscript G he included a visualization in the form of a circle of his ideas on the way politics are applied; this is reproduced in Cheddadi’s edition. See Ibn Khaldūn, al-Muqaddima, ed. Cheddadi, 1:60. Another graphic representation that is closer to the cartographic representations is the astrological “image of the Zāyirja” found

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Because Ibn Khaldūn was trying to summarize the Idrisian text, there was no reason for him to reproduce the 70 sectional maps. The world map, is, in fact, a visual summary of the 70 sectional maps. Ibn Khaldūn’s cartographic contribution lies precisely in the world map. Recently, it has been suggested that there were world maps other than the Nuzhat al-mushtāq that could be characterized as Idrisian maps and may even predate the Idrisian work; this might include, notably the “circular world map” found in the Gharāʾib al-funūn. As noted above, the latter is undated, and there are some indications that it could have been inserted later than the fifth/eleventh or even the seventh/ thirteenth century. For instance, the “circular world map” has widely varying visual properties, as compared to other maps, and includes another “rectangular world map” that was executed for the Gharāʾib al-funūn. The differences go beyond the way they are framed (circular versus rectangular); they touch on the way they are coded, which is different from other maps. In the former, the sea is dark blue and the mountains are dark brown; in the latter, the sea is green and the mountains are red or light brown. The style of draftsmanship also differs. On the “circular world map” the coastlines seem to be firmer and more realistic, while in the “rectangular world map” the coastlines are executed in a somewhat loose way, in a manner similar to the maps of the “atlas of Islam” school. Therefore, the “circular world map” was not part of the original work and would not have been included in the seventh-/thirteenth-century copy. It is also possible that it was added even after the manuscript was finished in the seventh/thirteenth century.83 In contrast, Ibn Khaldūn’s world map is the earliest dated example of “alIdrīsī’s world map” or the so-called Idrisian world map. As noted above, it is in “original” manuscripts, such as manuscript F. See A. Badawi, Muʾallafāt Ibn Khaldūn (Cairo: Dār al-Thaqāfa, 1962), 121, fig. 17. 83  Johns and Savage-Smith point out that the handwriting found in the text and the maps is very similar. See Johns and Savage-Smith, “The Book of Curiosities,” 8. This means that all the maps were done at the same time. Yet, if we examine the handwriting of the “circular” and “rectangular” world maps closely, we can see slight differences (for example, the way the letter “nun” is written at the end of the word, in words like “Sudan,” or the way the letter “sin” is written at the end of the word, in words like “Faris”). More importantly, it seems more likely that the cartographer who executed most of the maps with this special style was not the same cartographer who executed the “circular” map, which is an entirely different map, in a different style, and with a different coding. It is even less likely that two different cartographers drew maps for one single manuscript at the same time. Thus, it is difficult to know whether the “circular world map” found in the Gharāʾib al-funūn predates Ibn Khaldūn’s world map. It is, however, interesting to note that both of them were probably made in the same location, namely Egypt.

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usually, but incorrectly taken for granted as being the original work of al-Idrīsī. At this juncture, it is crucial to emphasize that the style of Ibn Khaldūn’s map differs from that in the various (dated and undated) manuscripts of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq. The only Idrisian style world map that predates Ibn Khaldūn’s world map in the manuscripts of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq is thought to be from around 700/1300.84 Though undated, it could be considered a prototype of Idrisian world maps and a precedent to Ibn Khaldūn’s world map. Ibn Khaldūn’s world map was most likely based on an earlier (now missing) example in a pre-804/1402 manuscript copy of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq available in Egypt. Therefore, we should see Ibn Khaldūn’s world map, which would have been made in Egypt, as one of the models after which later, probably Egyptian, examples of the so-called “al-Idrīsī world maps” were made.85 Whether he intended it or not, Ibn Khaldūn’s late revised Muqaddima helped in the transmission of one of the major markers of Islamic cartography, the Idrisian world map. This may explain not only its transmission in later manuscripts of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq, but also in other Maghribi works, especially those that depict the Mediterranean from the point of view of maritime cartography, notably the Sharfīs’ works in the tenth/sixteenth century (discussed below in part 3).

84  Again, the world map in what is presumably the earliest manuscript (A-II-4) is an undated copy, and differs in style and content from Ibn Khaldūn’s world map (the most striking, but not the only difference, is the absence of the Black Sea and Red Sea in A-II-4). There is a world map in another manuscript of Nuzhat al-mushtāq (Cairo: Dār al-Kutub (Gezira 150)), that may date to 749/1348, but which is unrelated to the Idrisian style as we know it from the surviving sectional maps or the surviving world maps. See Maqbul, “Cartography,” figures 7.1, 7.2, 7.3, and 7.4. 85  For example, A-II-12 dates to 860/1456, and A-II-13 dates to 873/1469.

Part 3 The Image of the Mediterranean in Islamic Maritime Cartography (Eighth-/Fourteenth to the Tenth/Sixteenth Century)

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Chapter 6

The Maghribi-Andalusian Maritime Cartography: The Mediterranean of the Andalusian Sea Captains

The Formation of a Maghribi School of Maritime Cartography (Eighth/Fourteenth to the Ninth/Fifteenth Century)

The Maghrib and the Age of the Cartographer-Mariner It has been noted that the Maghribi geographers promoted the description of maritime routes. And, like Gautier-Dalché, it is appropriate to question the hypothesis of some scholars who argue that works such as al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik or the Idrisian Nuzhat al-mushtāq include sailing directions, especially given that the geographic directions describing maritime routes in these works are rather ambiguous. Yet, the peculiar genre of these descriptions, as noted above in our discussion on the works of al-Bakrī, al-Idrīsī, al-ʿUmarī, and the unknown author of the Gharāʾib al-funūn, suggests, at least, the use of some sort of non-written sailing manuals or the use of (now lost) written maritime sources that were originally reported by practicing mariners. Thus, the Maghribi geographers wrote a dual-structured text, one following the genre of human geography, and the other following unprecedented sources, namely mariners. Until now, however, the studies on Muslim mariners emphasized only the example of the Indian Ocean mariners. This is due mainly to the presence of written sources, notably that of Ibn Mājid (d. 906/1500), and the predominantly eastern Islamic geographic writing, which obviously emphasizes the mariners of the Indian Ocean.1 For years many scholars have asserted that Muslim navigators of the Indian Ocean had the cartographic equivalents of the European maritime maps (portolan charts); it is now clear that we do not have any extant examples because they were not using maps, especially European maritime maps. Maritime historiography has only recently emphasized the role and presence of Muslims in the Mediterranean, as well as the Indian Ocean.2 1  Tibbets, “The Role of Charts,” 2:256–262. 2  See, for example, the studies in Y. al-Ḥijjī and V. Christides (eds.), Aspects of Arab Seafaring (Athens: Institute for Graeco-Oriental and African Studies and Kuwait Foundation for the Advancement of Science, 2002).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi ��.��63/9789004347380_008

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Furthermore, the association between Maghribi geographers and the Muslim sailors from the Maghrib can also demonstrated by circumstantial evidence, namely the prominent role that Maghribi and Andalusian mariners played in the navigation of the Mediterranean; this made their strong presence in the geographic writing of the Maghribi geographers more understandable. Such a role has been clear from the time that the geographers based in the eastern Islamic lands predominated; they were more familiar with the Mediterranean because they traveled to its western basin and wandered across the western Islamic lands. Ibn Ḥawqal’s trajectory is probably the earliest indication of such connections between geographic writings and traveling by sea in the western basin of the Mediterranean. While Ibn Ḥawqal was discreet about the circumstances of his travels, especially between the eastern coasts of North Africa, Sicily, and Muslim Spain, al-Muqaddasī was more willing, as is clear from his Aḥsan al-taqāsīm, to share his travel experiences with his readers. In one of the earliest examples in which we have a witness, al-Muqaddasī writes about Muslim sailors in the Mediterranean, The Andalusians are the best experts on it [the Mediterranean], and on its borders and its gulfs because they travel in it and they raid whoever is beyond [their territories]; it is through it that they travel to Egypt and Shām. I traveled on their ships for a long time. I consistently asked them about it and its conditions and then I showed them what I [had] heard from others [among them], [and] on this they never disagreed. It is a difficult and stormy sea from which you hear an uproar sound, especially on Thursday nights.3 The prominent place of the Andalusian mariners is attested in other sources. As noted in part 2, the most prominent example of an association between a geographer and a mariner is that of al-ʿUmarī and Abū Naʿīm the Cordoban, as indicated in Masālik al-abṣār. We can also detect the active presence of Andalusian mariners in the navigation of the Mediterranean in several other geographic works. ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ف ن ف‬ ‫أن‬ ‫ن‬ ، �‫وال� ��ن�د �ل��س � ���خ��بر ا �ل ����ن�ا ��س ��ب�ه و��ح�د ود ه و خ���ل�� ج��ا ��ن�ه ل� �����ه� ي����س�ا �رو� �����ي�ه و�ي����غ� ز�و� �م� ن� �هو ي���لي�����ه‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫أ أ أ‬ � � � ‫ف����ي�ه ط �ق����ه� ل �م���� �ص� ا‬ ‫�����ب� ت� �م��ع���ه� ا ل��م�د �ة ا �ل��ط ��ل��ة � ��ب�دًا � ��س� ��ل���ه� �ع ����ن�ه و�ع� ن‬ ‫ و�ق�د ر�ك‬. ‫ل����ش�ا‬ ‫رو‬ ‫أو � ر � م �إ ى‬ � ‫و‬ �‫ئ‬ ‫ي‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫أ‬ �‫� ����سب���ا ��ب�ه وا ���ع� ض�� ع��لي�����ه� ���م�ا ���س��م�ع� ت� ف�����ي�ه ف�������ق� ���م�ا ر� ي�ت�����ه� ي‬ �‫ و�هو ب‬،‫�خ ت���� فل��و ن� ف�����ي�ه‬ �‫��ح� �ص����ع�� ���ه�ا ج‬ ‫ب‬ ‫ر‬ ‫أ ر‬ ‫ل‬ � ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫�ت���س��م �ل�ه � ��ب�دًا ج��ل ����ب��ة خ��ا �� �ص��ة �ل����ي�ا ل� ا ��ل‬ . ‫��ج��م‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ع‬ ‫ع‬

3  Al-Maqdisī, Aḥsan al-taqāsm, 15. My translation.

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One of the main sources that reveals an unusual emphasis on Andalusian mariners is Ibn ʿAbd al-Munʿim al-Ḥimyarī’s Kitāb al-Rawḍ al-miʿṭār fī khabar al-aqṭār,4 which is dated to the seventh/thirteenth or eighth/fourteenth century.5 Al-Ḥimyarī is known not only for extensively using Maghribi sources, such as al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik and the Idrisian Nuzhat almushtāq, but also for being, originally, from the Maghrib. The active presence of Andalusians along the Mediterranean coasts has been attested since the early Islamic period. Al-Ḥimyarī reports their strong presence, probably as pirates, in Alexandria and Crete during the beginning of the fourth/tenth century.6 Some of these mariners belonged to prominent Arabic families (of Yemeni descent) who were charged by the Umayyads of Spain with guarding the Andalusian coasts, as for example, the Banū Sirāj controlled the harbors near Bajjāna on the southeastern Iberian coast.7 By the end of the first/seventh century they had become the effective rulers of that area. Because they were fighters based mainly on the sea, and thus probably pirates too, they were given the generic term baḥriyyīn (mariners), which is the word used, in this context, to indicate pirates. The central government in Cordoba also had a role in developing an early, organized presence of Andalusian mariners along the western Iberian coasts at the site of Qaṣr Abī Dānis south of Lisbon.8 Al-Ḥimyarī also transmitted the information given in al-Bakrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik and in Nuzhat al-mushtāq; this suggests that Andalusian mariners and pirates were involved in building North African harbors such as Tanas and Wahrān.9 Iḥsān ʿAbbās, who edited al-Ḥimyarī’s Kitāb al-Rawḍ, emphasizes, in his study of the Andalusian maqāmāt, the prominent role of stories on sea travels and mariners and suggests that they emanated from the predominantly “maritime environment” in Muslim Spain.10 Meanwhile, during the middle of the eighth/fourteenth century and beginning of the ninth/fifteenth century, Muslims began to produce their own sea maps, most of which were of Andalusian origin, at least up to the tenth/sixteenth century, as is shown in Table 3.1. Still, this cartographic genre was much 4  Ibn ʿAbd al-Munʿim al-Ḥimyarī, Kitāb al-Rawḍ al-miʿṭār fī khabar al-aqṭār (Beirut: Muʾassat Nāṣir li-l-Thaqāfa, 1975). 5  On al-Ḥimyarī’s work, see T. Lewicki, “Ibn ʿAbd al-Munʿim al-Ḥimyarī,” EI 2, 3:675–676 (Leiden: Brill, 1971). 6  al-Ḥimyarī, Kitāb al-Rawḍ, 51. 7  Ibid., 79–80. 8  Ibid., 414. 9  Ibid., 138 and 612. 10  I. ʿAbbās, Tārīkh al-adab al-andalusī: ʿAṣr al-ṭawāʾif wa-l-murābiṭīn (Beirut: Dār al-Thaqāfa, 1971), 321–323.

184 Table 3.1

Chapter 6 Islamic maritime maps and sea atlases of the Mediterranean (up to the tenth/ sixteenth century)

Maps and Atlases

Date

Maker’s origin

The “Maghrib Chart” (sea map in atlas?) al-Ṭanjī’s sea map al-Mursī’s sea map Ḥājj Abū l-Ḥasan’s sea map

Second half of eighth/fourteenth century? 816/1413–14 15 Ramaḍān 865/24 June 1461 Early tenth/sixteenth century?

Andalusian?

ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s sea atlas ʿAlī Maçar Reis’ sea atlas ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s sea atlas ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s sea map Mehmed Reis’ regional sea map Muḥammad al-Sharfī’s sea map “Atlas-i Humayun” sea atlas “Deniz Atlas-i” sea atlas

Andalusian Andalusian Andalusian or Maghribi? 1 Ramaḍān 958/2 September 1551 Andalusian Ṣafar 975/Aug.–Sept. 1567 Ottoman End of Jumādā II 979/mid– Andalusian November 1571 Beginning of Jumādā I 987/end of Andalusian June 1579 999/1590–91 Ottoman End of Dhū l-Qaʿda 1009/end of Andalusian May 1601 End tenth/sixteenth or eleventh/ Ottoman seventeenth century? End tenth/sixteenth or eleventh/ Ottoman seventeenth century?

less prominent in the Islamic world than it was in European centers. This is clear from the surviving maritime maps: about 180 European maps can be assigned to the eighth/fourteenth and ninth/fifteenth centuries alone.11 Re-identifying the “Maghrib Chart” The earliest possible example of “Islamic portolan charts” is still ambiguous. In the so-called “Maghrib Chart” (B-I-1, Fig. 6.1), the Maghribi script clearly points to its Maghribi origin, but it is undated and only depicts the western basin of the Mediterranean (from the Atlantic coast to the northeastern and

11  T. Campbell, “Portolan Charts from Late Thirteenth Century to 1500,” in History of Cartography, ed. Harley and Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 1:373.

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Figure 6.1 The Maghrib Chart, probably eighth/fourteenth century (in Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” Fig. 14.1; B-I-1).

southwestern Italian and Tunisian coasts). The only analysis of the “Maghrib Chart” was published in 1962 by Vernet, who was the first and only to date to list the transliterated toponyms from an Islamic maritime map. Furthermore, he used the map in his general argument to demonstrate the precedence of Muslims in making maritime maps.12 Vernet argues for the possible use of mariners as sources, especially in the description of the Iberian Atlantic coasts in the Kitāb al-Basṭ by Ibn Saʿīd al-Maghribī (d. 685/1286); he then suggests the existence of a seventh-/thirteenth-century Arabic maritime cartography.13 About a decade later, Brice defended an early dating on slightly different grounds: This date [first half of the eighth/fourteenth century] is confirmed by identical arrangement, which does not seem to have been remarked before, of the patterns of rhumb-lines on the Ambrosian map and on the portolan chart of Angellino de Dalorto, dated 1325. The two patterns are so similar that coincidence may be ruled out. This observation does not 12  Vernet-Gines, “The Maghreb Chart.” 13  For instance, Vernet concludes from a quote talking only about the role of Cantabrian mariners along the African coasts by the end of the seventh/thirteenth century: “These indirect references suggest the existence of a Cantabrian, and even an Arabic nautical cartography.” See Vernet-Gines, “The Maghreb Chart” 2.

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of course constitute proof of contemporaneity, and both maps may have been copied from a common source, but the patterns of rhumb-lines are so variable on the portolan charts that a correspondence of this nature must be taken as a strong indication of contemporary copying.14 As noted, Vernet’s general argument is highly questionable, as is his approach to the “Maghrib Chart,” which he failed to consider from all possible angles. Vernet only emphasized the issue of dating, and pushed for an early date (first quarter of the eighth/fourteenth century) solely on the basis of a comparison to contemporary European maritime maps and the absent toponyms: “This suggests that, in view of its meager toponomy, the Maghreb Chart is contemporary with Tammar-Luxoro and Vesconte atlases and somewhat earlier than that of Dulcert (1339).”15 Yet as shown in Table 3.2 Vernet’s approach to the “Maghrib Chart” assumes its toponymical attachment to the corpus of the European maritime maps; this brings into doubt his own general argument that there was an independent line in the Islamic tradition of collecting maritime information, including toponyms. In addition, the scarcity of the number of toponyms may be explained, as we see below, by the general characteristics that define the “Maghrib Chart,” characteristics that are downplayed in Vernet’s analysis. Table 3.2 A comparison of the number of toponyms in the Maghrib chart to European and Catalan Portolan charts from the first half of the eighth/fourteenth century (based on Vernet’s examples and numbers)

Maghrib Chart Pisana Vesconte (717–18/1318) Tammar-Luxoro Dulcert (739–40/1339) Genoese (751–52/1351)

From Gibraltar to St. Jean de Luz

From St. Jean de Luz to Ribes

Ireland

Great Britain

44

53

96

84

4 0 0 33 51 55

18 5 37 61 81 63

14  W. Brice, “Early Muslim Sea-Charts,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland 1 (1977), 53–61. 15  Vernet-Gines, “The Maghreb Chart,” 4.

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In general, the issue of dating on the basis of absent or present toponyms has been seriously questioned in the discussion over the precedence of Italian or Catalan maritime maps.16 Also, like Vernet’s comments on al-Bakrī’s Kitāb alMasālik wa-l-mamālik and the Nuzhat al-mushtāq, his view of the “Maghrib Chart” was seriously challenged by Gautier-Dalché.17 In fact, Gautier-Dalché made a critical point when he suggested the need to contextualize the “Maghrib Chart.” In fact, Vernet described the codicological aspects of the “Maghrib Chart” in detail, noting especially that it was drawn on paper rather than on vellum. Yet, Vernet never drew any conclusions from this aspect, though it essentially places the “Maghrib Chart” outside mainstream maritime maps, which are “almost always drawn in ink on vellum.”18 Another equally important codicological detail is the size of the “Maghrib Chart,” which Vernet also indicated, but again, without drawing significant conclusions; the “Maghrib Chart” is 23.5 by 16 centimeters and this sets it apart from mainstream maritime maps. By contrast, a single maritime map measures, on average, 65 by 100 centimeters.19 Thus, this is very unusual for a maritime map, even a fragment representing the western basin of the Mediterranean; we would not expect its height to be as small as 23.5 centimeters, as this is even smaller than the average size of maritime atlases (the smallest examples of maritime atlases have heights averaging 30 centimeters).20 16  On the question of rejecting the argumentation of dating on the basis of the absence or presence of toponyms, see Caraci quoting Almagia in G. Caraci, Segni e Colori degli Spazi Medievale. Italiani e Catalani nella Cartografia Nautica Medievale (Rome: Edizione Diabasis, 1993), 9, n.2. 17  “La carte dite Maghrébine, conservée à l’Ambrosienne, est communément datée de la première moitiè du XIV e siècle d’après son contenu toponymique. Le fait qu’elle soit dessinée sur papier devrait peut-être conduire à s’interroger sur la pertinence de cette date précoce.” See P. Gautier-Dalché, “Cartes Marines, Représentation du Littoral et Perception de L’Espace au Moyen Age,” Castrum 7 (Rome and Madrid: Ecole Française de Rome, 2001), 19, n.20. 18  Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 1:371–463, especially 376. 19  Ibid., 1:377. 20  This average is deduced from the collections of maritime atlas manuscripts of the British Library, the Bibliotheque Nationale de France, and various Italian collections: R. Pflederer, Catalogue of the Portolan Charts and Atlases in the British Library (USA, 2001); R. Shirley, Maps in the Atlases of the British Library: A Descriptive Catalogue c. AD 850–1800 (London: British Library, 2004); M. de La Ronciere and M. Mollat du Jourdin, Les Portulans. Cartes Marines du XIIIe au XVIIe siecle (Paris: Nathan, 1980); G. Uzielli, Mappamondi, Carte Nautiche, Portolani e Altri Monumenti Cartografici Specialmente Italiani del Secoli XIII– XVII (Amsterdam: Meridian Publishing Company, 1967).

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The “Maghrib Chart” should be categorized in another corpus. Its depiction of a fragment of the Mediterranean rather than the whole Mediterranean places it in the category of atlases rather than single maps. Clearly, there are large single maps depicting fragments of the Mediterranean. Some of the earliest examples of this kind are the maritime map of Pietro Vesconte dated 1311 CE; this is a complete map depicting the eastern Mediterranean basin up to Sardinia;21 the maritime map of Battista Becharius, dated to 1426 CE, is a complete map depicting the Mediterranean, without the Levant;22 the complete maritime map by Andrea Bianco, dated to 1448 CE, depicts only the African and European Atlantic coasts;23 and Grazioso Benincasa complete single sea map, dated 1468 CE, depicts the African and European Atlantic coasts as well.24 There are other connections between the “Maghrib Chart” and the single maritime maps. As already pointed out by Brice, and verified in a reconstruction I have made, the construction of the grid of rhumb lines along the wind rose with regard to the position of the coastal outline resembles the maritime map of Dalorto, dated to 1325 CE, for the area depicted in the “Maghrib Chart” (Fig. 6.2). As could be deduced from their size, these examples portray the same characteristics of single mainstream maps depicting the whole Mediterranean. Besides, as

Figure 6.2 Comparing the rhumb line centers with regard to the cartographic outlines in the “Maghrib Chart” (left) and Dalorto’s 725–26/1325 sea map (right). 21  On vellum, measuring 48 by 62 cm: Kamal, Monumenta Cartographica, 5:120. 22  On vellum, measuring 66 by 101 cm: Ibid., 6:246–247. 23  On vellum; Ibid., 6:312–313. 24  On vellum, measuring 58 by 93 cm: M. Carme Muntaner Garcia (ed.), Portolan Procedents de Colleccions Espanyoles segles XV–XVII (Barcelona: Institut Catografic de Catalunya, 1995), no. 4.

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demonstrated by Campbell, the relationship between the making of the outline and the location of rhumb lines is still questionable.25 Thus, the size of the “Maghrib Chart” seems closer to the size of the maritime atlases, which depict, in many cases, almost the same area depicted in the “Maghrib Chart” in similar formats. Also, like several Italian maritime atlases, the “Maghrib Chart” is highly austere and includes only the coastal outlines, the toponyms, the wind rose, the rhumb lines, and the scale. Among these examples are the single folio, among four, of Pietro Vesconte’s 1320 CE maritime atlas that depicts the rectangular folio like the “Maghrib Chart,” from left/south to right/north but only for the Moroccan and Spanish coasts;26 an even closer example is from the maritime atlas known as “Walckenaer-Pinelli,” which is dated to 1384 CE and depicts almost the same area as the “Maghrib Chart” in the same format, that is, from left/south to right/north.27 Furthermore, after a close examination of the folio itself, it is clear that nothing on the folio of the “Maghrib Chart” suggests that it was once part of a maritime atlas that had been folded. For these reasons, it is possible to suggest that the “Maghrib Chart” was most likely part of an incomplete maritime atlas that was composed of three folios representing the western basin, the central Mediterranean, and the Levant. There are similar examples of such a sequence, but of a larger size, such as Jachobus Ciroldis’ 1426 CE maritime atlas.28 Overall the “Maghrib Chart” seems to imitate the genre of Italian maritime atlases rather than being an Arabic example of a mainstream maritime atlas. It is part of a genre of Maghribi maritime atlases that flourished later in the tenth/sixteenth century with the Sharfī family. This suggests closer connections with the manuscript production traditions and thus to the regular codicology of the traditional non-navigational Islamic geographic tradition. This makes the “Maghrib Chart” more part of the pre-navigational cartography than the navigational cartography, and thus not the first known “Islamic maritime map,” even if we accept the earliest suggestions for its dating. Such a small size could have had an effect on the number of toponyms, which is Vernet’s main argument for its dating. There is no example suggesting that the number of toponyms was reduced to fit the size of the map, yet, as noted by Campbell: “Areas of special name density sometimes provide an exception of this rule, when large writing or small scale necessitated a number of omissions. Peninsulas and sharp turns in the coast, like in the southern

25  Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 390–391. 26  Kamal, Monumenta Cartographica, 5:156. 27  Ibid., 5:431. 28  Ibid., 6:244–245.

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extremities of Italy and Greece are instances of this.”29 Such an exception seems to be the case of the “Maghrib Chart,” not only is it an exceptionally small size when compared to mainstream maritime atlases, but also it does not belong, in general, to such a mainstream tradition. Its prominent title as “the first Islamic maritime map” should go instead to al-Ṭanjī’s map. Al-Ṭanjī’s Maritime Map This map (B-I-2, Fig. 6.3) has the standard characteristics of most maritime maps (on vellum measuring 54 by 88 centimeters) and until recently was thought to have been made by a certain “al-Kātibī.”30 The colophon of the map, not transcribed until this moment, is divided into two parts located on the upper (north) and lower (south) scale bars (Table 3.3). Table 3.3 Inscriptions on al-Ṭanjī’s map

Upper scale bar inscription Lower scale bar inscription

‫�ص ن�� �بم�د �����ن��ة ت� �� ����سن����ة ����ست����ة‬ ‫� ع ي و �ن��س‬ ‫ع����ش� �ثم�ا ن�م�ا ��ئ��ة‬ � ‫� رو‬ ‫أ�م� ن� ���ع��م�ل ا �ل�ع ����ب�د ا �ل��ف��������قي��ر ا لى ا �ل�ل�ه‬ ‫� ح��� �د ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ �‫م �ب� ��س�ل����ي��م�� ا �ل��ط������يج‬

Made in the city of Tunis in the year 816 (1413–14) From the work of the impoverished slave of God, Aḥmad b. Sulaymān al-Ṭanjī

Figure 6.3 Al-Ṭanjī’s map made in 816/1413–14 in Tunis (in Mónica Herrera‐Casais, “The 1413–14 Sea Chart of Aḥmad al‐ Ṭanjī,” 306; B-I-2).

29  Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 421. 30  Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 64, fig. 14.2.

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But in fact, this identification of “al-Kātibī” should read “al-Ṭanjī,” that is, someone from Ṭanja (Tangiers), a harbor in the Andalusian zone of influence, located on the northern tip of Morocco between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic Ocean. This mistake was first rectified in the catalogue of the Topkapi Sarayi (TKS) and the Correre Museum, but without comment.31 The mistake likely originated with the earliest cataloguing of the maps in the TKS collection.32 I have made public lectures rectifying the mistake since 2006,33 but the first publication to clearly indicate the rectification was by Herrera-Casais in 2008.34 Al-Ṭanjī’s map provides the best example of cartographic transmission from an almost exclusively European tradition of maritime mapping to a newly evolving Islamic tradition. The cartographic outline was made by a skilled hand, recalling the skill of the contemporary European mapmakers. This is a strong indication that the cartographer was not a beginner, rather he was likely also responsible for producing other, now lost, maps. His cartographic style, with its limited use of colors and wide empty spaces is certainly austere. Although the “plan” of the map is well ordered and rhumb lines, wind roses, and scale bars are symmetrically positioned, he refrained from extensive ornamentation. The major focus of ornamentation is located around the colorful compass rose (in green, red, and black) at the upper (northern) part, and the major islands or peninsulas in the Mediterranean and the Black Sea, namely, Sicily and the Nile Delta (green with golden stripes and a variety of green and red). This ornamentation seems to direct the eye toward a quadrangular central space, and helps frame the map, and thus its reading. The reader’s attention is drawn to the coastline and its toponyms, rather than to the geographic details of the mainland, as in many contemporary Catalan maps, and this suggests that the mapmaker was accomodating his readers, who were, most probably, mariners arriving from the sea.

31   Portolani e Carte Nautiche XIV–XVIII Secolo (Istanbul: Güzel Sunatlar Matbaası, 1994), 40–41, map no. 2. 32  The identification of the mapmaker with the name of “al-Kātibī” could be found as early as I. Hakki, Topkapi Sarayinda: Deri üzerine yapılmiş Eski haritalar (Istanbul: Istanbul Ülkü Basımevi, 1936), 258. 33  Tarek Kahlaoui, “On the Meaning of ‘Copying’ Maps: The Case of Islamic Maritime Cartography,” in Historians of Islamic Art Association 2006 Majlis, Boston, 25 February 2006. 34  Mónica Herrera-Casais, “The 1413–14 Sea Chart of Aḥmad al-Ṭanjī,” in A Shared Legacy: Islamic Science East and West: Homage to Prof. J. M. Millàs Vallicrosa, ed. E. Calvo, M. Comes, R. Puig, and M. Rius (Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona, 2008), 283–307.

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Figure 6.4 A reconstruction of the rhumb line centers of al-Ṭanjī’s map, comparable to Pietro Vesonte’s 727–28/1327 maritime map.

Ornamentation, thus, played a functional as much as an ornamental role. In fact, this predominantly austere style is common in Italian maritime maps. Yet this is, in fact, another example, pertaining geographically to Iberian cartography, that leads us to question the determinist relationship espoused in some circles of scholarship between the austere style and the Italian context, versus the more colorful and artistic approach of Catalan maps.35 The identification of al-Ṭanjī’s map with the European corpus of maritime maps is also probably attested through the grid construction, or “plan” of the map, the web rhumb lines and wind roses. There is a highly noticeable correspondence between the plan of al-Ṭanjī’s map and that of an earlier map, Pietro Vesconte’s 1327 CE maritime map,36 which features exactly the same geographic positions; in both maps the central rhumb lines are located on the same spot in the Calabrian gulf (Fig. 6.4). Although such a coincidence does not necessarily mean that al-Ṭanjī used Vesconte’s map as a model (particularly given the large chronological span separating them, and the clear difference in toponyms), one or more intermediary maps may have linked al-Ṭanjī to Vesconte’s maps. According to Herrera-Casais, the wind rose suggests the influence of Spanish nautical cartography. In addition, she points to its affinities with Italian sources, notably a Venetian chart, in the representation of the hydrography and the use of “similar colour codes for the geographical identification, and apparently political ascription, of the main Mediterranean islands.”37

A Comparative Toponymical Micro-study of the “Maghrib Chart” and al-Ṭanjī’s Map The solid chronological context of al-Ṭanjī’s map allows us to return to the “Maghrib Chart” and verify not just its date, but more importantly, any possible 35  See below for further analysis on this point. On this debate and the increasing questions about this model, see especially Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 392–395. 36  Venice-Biblioteca Medicea. Cart. Naut. 248. 37  Herrera-Casais, “The 1413–14 Sea Chart,” 289–290.

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shared genealogies in the formation of these two early Islamic maritime maps. I focus on the French Atlantic and Iberian coasts, as they were among those least accessible to Muslim cartographers, and thus might better reveal a reliance on shared sources. I have compiled tables with the toponyms of the two works and compared them with each other and with the toponyms from a list of European maritime maps and atlases. The results reveal the following points. For the French Atlantic coast (Tables 3.4 and 3.5), 13 toponyms are present in both works, only one toponym is found only in the “Maghrib Chart,” there are 17 toponyms only in al-Ṭanjī’s map, and 24 toponyms are absent in both works; this makes a total of 55 toponyms. Both works list the same 37 toponyms, by including or omitting them among the total of 55 toponyms. Al-Ṭanjī includes other (unidentified) toponyms that were not found in the “Maghrib Chart.” For the Iberian Atlantic coast (Tables 3.6 and 3.7), there are 32 toponyms present in both works, 9 toponyms are found only in the “Maghrib Chart,” 26 are present only in al-Ṭanjī’s map, and there are 93 toponyms absent from both works; this makes a total of 160 toponyms. Table 3.4 A comparison of the toponyms of the French atlantic coasts of the “Maghrib chart” and al-Ṭanjī’s map with regard to the toponyms of several European maritime maps and atlases of the eighth/fourteenth and ninth/fifteenth centuries No. of Date of earliest and latest toponyms mention of each toponym ordered from north to south

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Toponyms Toponyms Toponyms Toponyms present in only in the only in absent in both Maghrib al-Ṭanjī both

739/1339–850/1446 * 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. ninth/fifteenth c. 833/1430–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 739/1339–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–850/1446 880/1475–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–895/1490 * 720/1320–895/1490

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Table 3.4 A comparison of the toponyms of the French atlantic coasts of the “Maghrib (cont.) No. of Date of earliest and latest toponyms mention of each toponym ordered from north to south

11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 29 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–850/1446 802/1400 739/1339–895/1490 739/1339–895/1490 739/1339–895/1490 839/1436–ninth/fifteenth c. 777/1375–895/1490 777/1375–895/1490 777/1375–895/1490 895/1490 895/1490 895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 849/1445 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 839/1436 720/1320–895/1490 895/1490 802/1400–854/1450 720/1320–895/1490 802/1400 849/1445 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–777/1375 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490

Toponyms Toponyms Toponyms Toponyms present in only in the only in absent in both Maghrib al-Ṭanjī both

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41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

720/1320–895/1490 802/1400–850/1446 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 739/1339–850/1446 720/1320 739/1339–839/1436 720/1320–895/1490 739/1339–895/1490 739/1339–895/1490 895/1490 839/1436 739/1339–895/1490 739/1339–895/1490

Toponyms Toponyms Toponyms Toponyms present in only in the only in absent in both Maghrib al-Ṭanjī both

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Table 3.5 A summary of the findings of Table 3.4

Present in both Only in the “Maghrib Chart” Only in al-Ṭanjī’s map Absent in both

Eighth-/fourteenthand ninth-/fifteenthcentury maps

Eighth-/fourteenthcentury maps

Ninth-/fifteenthcentury maps

13 1

— —

— —

14 8

— 2

3 14

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Table 3.6 A comparison of the topopnyms of the Iberian atlantic coasts of the “Maghrib chart” and al-Ṭanjī’s map with regard to the toponyms of several European maritime maps and atlases of the eighth/fourteenth and ninth/fifteenth centuries Date of earliest and latest mention

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

720/1320–895/1490 777/1375–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 833/1430 720/1320–895/1490 777/1375–895/1490 833/1430 833/1430–895/1490 833/1430–895/1490 833/1430–ninth/fifteenth c. 833/1430–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 839/1436–895/1490 777/1375–895/1490 777/1375–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 777/1375–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 839/1436–895/1490 777/1375–895/1490 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 895/1490–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 839/1436 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–850/1446 895/1490–ninth/fifteenth c.

Present Only in the Only in Absent in both “Maghrib Chart” al-Ṭanjī’s map in both

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33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68

895/1490–ninth/fifteenth c. 895/1490 849/1445–895/1490 895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–850/1446 839/1436 850/1446–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 803/1400–895/1490 895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–803/1400 803/1400– 833/1430–895/1490 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 833/1430–ninth/fifteenth c. 839/1436–895/1490 720/1320–850/1446 833/1430–ninth/fifteenth c. 833/1430–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 777/1375–ninth/fifteenth c. 777/1375–ninth/fifteenth c. 833/1430–ninth/fifteenth c.

Present Only in the Only in Absent in both “Maghrib Chart” al-Ṭanjī’s map in both

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Table 3.6 A comparison of the topopnyms of the Iberian atlantic coasts of the “Maghrib (cont.) Date of earliest and latest mention

69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104

777/1375–ninth/fifteenth c. 777/1375–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. ninth/fifteenth c. 777/1375–895/1490 ninth/fifteenth c. 839/1436–ninth/fifteenth c. 777/1375–895/1490 850/1446 777/1375–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 ninth/fifteenth c. ninth/fifteenth c. 833/1430–895/1490 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 833/1430–839/1436 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 777/1375–895/1490 895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 839/1436–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 803/1400–854/1450 777/1375–895/1490 ninth/fifteenth c. 839/1436–895/1490 839/1436 777/1375–895/1490 854/1450–895/1490 777/1375–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–854/1450 833/1430–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–895/1490

Present Only in the Only in Absent in both “Maghrib Chart” al-Ṭanjī’s map in both

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105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142

720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–895/1490 839/1436 777/1375–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 777/1375–895/1490 849/1445 777/1375–895/1490 839/1436 720/1320–854/1450 720/1320–854/1450 720/1320–895/1490 839/1436 777/1375–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 849/1445 720/1320–895/1490 839/1436 720/1320–895/1490 777/1375–895/1490 720/1320–857/1453 839/1436–895/1490 720/1320–857/1453 833/1430–895/1490 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–895/1490 ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–895/1490 839/1436–895/1490 777/1375–895/1490 720/1320–857/1453 839/1436–ninth/fifteenth c. 839/1436–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 803/1400–895/1490 720/1320–857/1453 777/1375–895/1490

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Table 3.6 A comparison of the topopnyms of the Iberian atlantic coasts of the “Maghrib (cont.) Date of earliest and latest mention

143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160

777/1375–895/1490 777/1375–857/1453 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–895/1490 833/1430–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–895/1490 720/1320–857/1453 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 839/1436 849/1445–ninth/fifteenth c. 839/1436 839/1436–ninth/fifteenth c. 833/1430–ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–895/1490 ninth/fifteenth c. 720/1320–ninth/fifteenth c. 833/1430–ninth/fifteenth c. 777/1375–ninth/fifteenth c.

Present Only in the Only in Absent in both “Maghrib Chart” al-Ṭanjī’s map in both

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Table 3.7 A summary of the findings of Table 3.6

Present in both Only in the “Maghrib Chart” Only in al-Ṭanjī’s map Absent in both

Eighth-/fourteenthand ninth-/fifteenthcentury maps

Eighth-/fourteenthcentury maps

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The chronological span of the use of each toponym helps us hypothesize about which sources were used in copying the toponyms. It also helps us explain the choices of the mapmakers and the process of cartographic transmission. Yet, the indecisive results of these comparisons may reveal that some choices of toponym were arbitrary. For example, the absence in the “Maghrib Chart” of a European toponym after 776/1375 that is present in al-Ṭanjī’s map suggests that al-Ṭanjī either copied it from a direct European source that can be dated to 776/1375, at the latest, or there is an intermediate, possibly Arabic, source. This is the case, for example, of the harbor of St. Michelin (San Micer or San Micher), which appears in works made between 719/1320 and 776/1375. There are cases in which a toponym is mentioned continuously, without interruption, from 1320 to 1490 CE, and yet it is absent in the “Maghrib Chart”; this is especially true for those maps that were made after 1320 and before 1490 CE. This is the case, for example, for the river of Charente (Chiranda, Chiranta, Ziranta, and Ciranta) and the harbor of Capuçço (Zapuzo, Zapuco, Caputo, and Zaputo), which appears from the earliest dated works of Vesconte (1320 CE) to the works of Benincasa (1490 CE). This could have been caused either because the direct European source(s) of the “Maghrib Chart” did not include that toponym or because its intermediate Arabic sources did not include it, or, finally, because of the lack of space in the “Maghrib Chart,” as compared to a large sea map. In cases in which a toponym only begins to appear in 1339 CE, ceases to be used in the middle of the ninth/fifteenth century, but is still indicated on the “Maghrib Chart” and on al-Ṭanjī’s map, we can conclude that this is another indication that the “Maghrib Chart” was not based on sources earlier than 1339 CE and does not go beyond the middle of the ninth/fifteenth century. This is the case, for example, of the French Atlantic harbor of Bourg sur Gironde (Bargo, Burg, and Borgo) mentioned by Dalorto (1339 CE) and Giroldis (1446 CE). Cases in which a given toponym is present only on the “Maghrib Chart” and is absent from al-Ṭanjī’s map, yet only begins to appear from 1375 CE (the Catalan Atlas), could suggest that the “Maghrib Chart” was not made before 1375 CE. It shows also that the “Maghrib Chart” and al-Ṭanjī’s map may draw on different sources. This is the case, for example, of the Iberian Atlantic coast of Setúbal (Satuuol, Sotual, Satuel, Setune, Sostoual, and Sitibuol), which appears between 1375 and 1490 CE. In the same sense, there are cases of toponyms that only begin to appear in European maps and atlases in the second quarter or the middle of the ninth/ fifteenth century, yet appear in the “Maghrib Chart”; these point to a later date (ninth/fifteenth century?) for the “Maghrib Chart.” For example, cases of this type include the Iberian Atlantic sites of Cabo de Santa Maria (Pontal de

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Sancta Maria, Sancta Maria di Faro, and Puntal) that only appears in maps and atlases between 1430 and 1490 CE, and the Cenia River (Cinia) that only appears from 1453 CE.

Al-Mursī’s Map (B-I-3): The Amateur Map of an Andalusian Physician The third Islamic work (B-I-3; Fig. 6.5) that falls into the genre of maritime cartography was made, according to the inscriptions on the map, by the physician (al-ṭabīb) Ibrāhīm al-Mursī (from the Andalusian city of Murcia) in the “city of Tripoli, may God guard it,” on 15 Ramaḍān 865/24 June 1461.38 Like B-I-2, very few sholars have been interested in B-I-3. Until a few years ago, only a few articles have solely focused on B-I-3, and two of these are just a few pages (two and five) each;39 other scholarly studies have made only brief remarks on the subject.40 Recently, Herrera-Casais’ articles41 have provided a major contribution, which emphasized the possible source of al-Mursī’s map, namely, a maritime map made in Barcelona and dated 1458 CE (just a few years earlier). We can ‫� ن‬ ‫� �ة‬ �‫� ���س��ه�ا ا �ل�ّ�لٰ�ه �ت���ع�ا ل � ا �ل‬ ‫�ض ت‬ � � ��‫��خ�ا �م‬ � ‫ع����ش�ر �م� ن� �ش������ه�ر ر�م������ض�ا‬ ‫و‬ � ‫� ����ع�� �يف� �م�د ي����ن� ا ��ط�را ب��ل��س حر‬ �‫ى يف‬ ‫س‬ ‫ن �ة‬ �� �‫ا ل��م‬ ‫ع���ظ� �م� ن ���ع�ا �خ�م���س��ة ����ست���� ن‬ . �‫ي� و �ثم�ا �م�ا ��ي‬ ‫و‬ ‫م � م‬ at the lower (south) part (in the outer frame of the map): ّٰ ّٰ ‫ف‬ ‫� ����ع� ت� �يف� �م�د ي�����ن��ة ا ��ط�را ب��ل��س ح‬ ‫���ع��م�ل ا �ل��ط ب����ي� ب� ا �برا �ه����ي� ا ل�مر��سي� �ل�����ط� ا �ل��ل�ه ��ب�ه و �ض‬ ‫�ر���س���ه�ا ا �ل��ل�ه‬ ‫م‬ ‫ن �ة‬ �� �‫ع����ش� �م� ن �ش�����ه� �م������ض�ا ن ا ل��م‬ �‫�ت���ع�ا ل � ا �ل‬ ‫ع���ظ� �م� ن ���ع�ا �خ�م���س��ة ����ست���� ن‬ � � ��‫��خ�ا �م‬ . �‫ي� و �ثم�ا �م�ا ��ي‬ � � ‫ر‬ ‫و‬ � �‫ى يف‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ر‬ � � ‫س‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ 38  At the upper (north) part (in the outer frame of the map):

39  E. Rossi, “Una Carta Nautica Araba Inedita di Ibrāhim al-Mursī 865 Egira = 1461 dopo Cristo,” Compte Rendues de Congrès Internationale de Géographie (Cairo: L’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale de Caire, 1926), 5:90–95; M. de Epalza, “El Portulano de Ibrahim de Murcia,” Sharq al-Andlaus, Studios Arabes, Anales de la Universidad de Alicante 3 (1986): 167–168. In addition, some leaflets and introductory notes have been distributed by the Deniz Müzesi, including on its 1997 reproduction of the map. 40  For instance, Soucek seems to have used mainly earlier articles and probably leaflets distributed by the Deniz Müzesi, and was not able to consult the map directly. See Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:263–287, 264–265, fig. 14.3. 41  Mónica Herrera-Casais, “Un mar para navegar, imaginar y compartir: la imagen del Mediterráneo y otras geografías en la carta náutica de Ibrāhīm al-Mursī,” in Investigación, conservación y restauración de materiales y objetos cartográficos. Actas del curso celebrado en el Instituto del Patrimonio Cultural de España en noviembre de 2010, ed. Maria Domingo and Iolanda Muña (Madrid: Ministerio de Educacion, Cultura y Depoprte, 2012), 42–55. Mónica Herrera-Casais, “Granada en los atlas náuticos de al-Šarafī, e identificación de un modelo mallorquín para la carta de al-Mursī,” al-Qantara 30, no. 1 (2009), 221–235.

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Figure 6.5 Ibrāhīm al-Mursī’s map made in 15 Ramaḍān 865/24 June 1461 in Tripoli, Syria (?) (in Herrera‐ Casais, “Un mar para navegar,” Fig. 1; B-I-3).

see this quite clearly in the city views depicted in the Iberian Peninsula,42 in addition to the way the Canary Islands are drawn and colored. It also shows the special care al-Mursī, a Muslim cartographer with an Andalusian background, gives to Granada by highlighting the topographical signs, notably the Guadalquivir and Segura rivers.43 This is a feature that we see later, with other cartographers of Andalusian background. Al-Mursī’s map, which is on parchment and measures 90 by 53 cm, is a codicological portrayal of the basic characteristics of European maritime maps. But unlike B-I-1 and B-I-2, it suggests stronger connections with this tradition, especially with the tradition of Catalan mapping. Campbell has cautioned that the differences between the two major European schools of cartography, the Catalan and Italian, are overemphasized and politicized.44 Even when generic aspects are mentioned to point out the differences between the traditions, many exceptions arise, notably of cartographers who made maps in both styles, and some of whom were working in Majorca; this suggests the difficulty of easily determining the style of maritime maps by considering only the geographic background of its maker. Thus, it indicates two overlapping traditions more than it does two separate ones. Still, there is a consensus among scholars on some aspects that may differentiate Catalan from Italian maritime maps. According to Campbell’s synthesis, these include the following: (1) The Italian maps only emphasize the depiction of the coastline and disregard depictions of the continent, such as what lies “beyond the Danube.” (2) Italian maps tend not to include elements 42  Herrera-Casais, “Un mar para navegar,” 47–49. 43  Herrera-Casais, “Granada en los atlas náuticos,” 229–231. 44  Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 392–395. The debate about the European schools of maritime cartography has been driven mainly by the issue of the identity of the earliest maritime mapmakers, and whether they were Italian or Iberian cartographers. Among the major contributions to this debate is H. Winter, “Catalan Portolan Maps and Their Place in the Total View of Cartographic Developments,” Imago Mundi 11 (1954): 1–21.

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that do not have “functional” (navigational) value, while Catalan maps emphasize topographical elements on the mainland, including mountains and rivers. (3) Catalan maps, according to Campbell, exhibit such topographical depictions as rivers “drawn as elongated corkscrews emerging from almondshaped lakes”; mountains colored in green, notably “the Atlas chain, seems like a bird’s leg, with two, and later three claws at the eastern end and a spur halfway along”; the Red Sea, colored in red, “is cut into at its northwest end to mark the miraculous crossing of the Israelites”; the representations in the Catalan tradition of major religious sites “by a simplified drawing of a church,” while major cities “are accorded a distinctive sign formed of a circular castle with a red interior, shown in a bird’s-eye view”; and notably, “Majorca, often picked out in solid gold, is sometimes striped in the colors of Aragon, and Tenerife (Inferno) occasionally displays a white disk in its center, probably a reference to the snow-covered Pico de Teide.” (4) Another major characteristic of Catalan maritime maps is the high number of inscriptions on the map. (5) And finally, Catalan maps have distinctive decorative elements, such as tents and ships; these aspects generally suggest “the work of specialist artists.”45 Thus, Campbell concludes, With their concern to reveal the nature of the interior, Catalan-style charts are simultaneously terrestrial maps. It is not surprising, therefore, that some Catalan draftsmen should have continued their work eastward to take in regions whose coastlines and hinterland were both little known. This effectively meant the countries beyond the Caspian Sea and Persian Gulf … Some of those Catalan productions that ventured east of the Caspian blend into mappaemundi. The farther they go, the more unreliable the coastal information becomes, as greater weight is given in Asia to interior details and less to navigational information.46 Al-Ṭanjī’s map (B-I-2) shares some major aspects of the Italian-style austerity, such as the absence of banners, city views, and topographic representations deep in the continent (though he does emphasize river deltas on the Mediterranean and the Black Sea). Yet it suggests some characteristics of the Catalan-style maps, such as the coloring of islands (with Majorca in gold) and decorative elements (geometric elements colored in green, black, red, and gold emanating from a box where a well-drawn compass rose is placed). AlMursī’s map (B-I-3), however, shows much clearer signs that it was influenced 45  Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 393. 46  Ibid., 394.

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by Catalan-style maps. The islands are brightly colored in blue, red, green, and gold. The Danube River is prominently featured in green in the upper half of the map with three large islands and a string of brightly colored fortresses along its banks. The presence of mountains deep in the continent is prominently suggested, especially the Atlas chain, which is depicted as it is in the Catalan maps. In addition, there are several flags and banners, and city views similar in essence to contemporary Catalan maps, though al-Mursī’s map is poorly executed, as mentioned above. The representation of city views is one aspect that identifies specific works that may have been used by al-Mursī. A contextual factor seems to have shaped al-Mursī’s choices. In the ninth/fifteenth century, there was a general tendency to include city views along with territorial views. When looking closely at specific cities, there are indications that link al-Mursī to a major contemporary Catalan cartographer; these indications are the two city views of Genova and Venice (in B-I-3), compared with the almost contemporary (1464 CE) views in Petrus Roselli’s Nuremberg map. Both point to earlier examples, notably the maps of the 1420s CE by the Genoese cartographer Beccari, who, according to Henrisch Winter, is one of the few Italian mapmakers who tended toward “Catalan customs.”47 Another codicological connection between B-I-3 and Beccari’s works involves the division of the map into a gable form at the western end; this is found in another well-known Catalan example, namely Valesca’s 1439 CE map.48 Still, in terms of style, al-Mursī handled the city views very differently: colors dominate the scene and the outlines are marginalized. His palette is also different; he draws attention to a trend of presenting “city views” in classical Islamic cartography. This trend appears, notably, in a seventh-/thirteenthcentury manuscript of Ibn Ḥawqal’s Ṣūrat al-arḍ (A-I-9). 47  On Roselli, see H. Winter, “Petrus Roselli,” Imago Mundi 9 (1952), 1–11. This is one of the occasions in which Winter tried to reestablish the major role of Catalan cartography with regard to the Italian tradition. He mentioned Roselli only once (p. 109), and focused instead on Beccari (Becharius) as a source for his technique. Usually thought to be Italian (because of his name), even before Winter’s article it had been established that there had been a Roselli family (converted Jews) in Majorca since the sixth/twelfth century. The Danube cities are another example of similarities. The similarities between Roselli’s and Beccari’s maritime maps give us another larger and more important possible source to understand B-I-3. On one hand, Roselli should have been an expected model for al-Mursī’s map for he is coming from an Iberian context. On the other hand, Beccari’s influence on Roselli shows that the usual difference made between Catalan and Italian cartographic traditions might at times be exaggerated. 48   History of Cartography 1, plate 24.

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Yet, the most prominent and unique element of B-I-3, the aspect that makes a comparison with any other map very difficult is the amateurish style of its maker. Unlike B-I-2, the outlines are shaky, and the coloring of the city views, flags, and topographic representation barely falls within the designated forms. The toponyms, even those for Arabic locations, have many orthographic problems. The fact that the mapmaker was a physician by profession is not, by itself, a reason to suggest that mapmaking was simply an avocation for al-Mursī. As we learn from a later case (B-I-8), it was not unusual for Andalusian physicians to make maps, and the maps that were made are not necessarily, or inherently, amateurish. Still, the visual properties of B-I-3 suggest an undeniably amateurish hand, and this leads us to the identity of the mapmaker and his location at the time he produced the map. The few scholars who have discussed B-I-3 generally maintain that it was produced in Tripoli (Libya); according to Rossi, this is based on visual aspects, such as the Maghribi script and the “precision” of the toponyms on the African coast.49 But, Maghribi script could travel with a Maghribi scribe and is not evidence of the location of production, and the toponyms are not as “precise” as Rossi suggests, as mentioned above. A leaflet published by the Deniz Müzesi (the Naval, or Maritime Museum, in Istanbul) points to the center of the rhumb lines, which coincide with Tripoli, Libya. Yet this cannot stand alone as evidence of the location of production of maritime maps. By contrast, there are at least two reasons that may suggest Tripoli (Syria) as the location where B-I-3 was produced. The first reason is present in the map: the only location singled out with the formula associated with political praise is in the inscription of “Aṭrāblus” (Tripoli), where it is written, “may God guard it” (ḥarasahā Allāhu taʿālā), and this appears at the location of the city of Cairo. This is also distinguished by having the largest city view in the whole map. Cairo was the capital of the Burjī Mamluks, who ruled much of al-Shām, including Tripoli; thus, this seems to point to al-Mursī’s allegiance to the Mamluks, and that he was under their rule. Therefore, Tripoli (Syria) seems to be the most likely place for the anonymous “Aṭrāblus” mentioned in B-I-3.50 Another reason that Tripoli (Syria) would make sense as the location for al-Mursī is the prominence of “Mursīs” in the Levant. Being from Murcia points not only to his Andalusian background, but also more specifically to a 49  Rossi, “Una Carta,” 92. 50  In official Mamluk documents, Tripoli, Syria seems to be associated with the term “al-mahrūsa” (God-guarded); however, it is not a specific term for a specific Islamic city. See D. S. Richards, “A Late Mamluk Document Concerning Frankish Commercial Practice at Tripoli,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 62, no. 1 (1999), 21–35.

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region, the eastern coast of Andalusia; from Murcia people used to travel by sea throughout the Mediterranean and there is a long tradition of Andalusian mariners. The “Mursīs” were known to be present and active not only in the Maghrib, but also as far as the Levant. Biographical encyclopedias mention a number of religious figures, including physicians, with the name al-Mursī in places like Damascus, Alexandria, and Acre, especially during the seventh/ thirteenth and eighth/fourteenth centuries.51

The Sharfī Family: Maghribi Mapping in the Tenth/Sixteenth Century

In this section I describe in detail the works of this family of cartographers, in order to answer some basic questions regarding their sources and readers. I begin with the works of ʿAlī l-Sharfī, then move on to the mapmaking of Muḥammad al-Sharfī.

ʿAlī b. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Sharfī l-Ṣafāqusī l-Qayrawānī (958–87/1551–79) Few studies have focused on ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s works.52 The first was an article in 1916 by Nallino introducing the 987/1579 mappa mundi with translations of the 51  Some of the figures bearing the name al-Mursī have a first name of Ibrāhīm and bear the title “al-Ḥakīm” (the physician); this suggests that practicing medicine may have been a tradition of Murcian immigrants in the Levant. These are, for example, the cases of seventh-/thirteenth- and eighth-/fourteenth-century figures such as Quṭb al-Dīn b. Ibrāhīm al-Mursī l-Mutaṣawwif, a known mystic in Egypt; Abū ʿAlī b. Hūd al-Mursī, who was a mystic and a physician in Syria; Abū l-ʿAbbās al-Mursī, a scholar in Alexandria; Muḥammad b. Muḥammad b. Maymūn al-Khazrajī l-Mursī and his son Ibrāhīm, also known as “al-Ḥakīm” (the physician), and both known to be physicians; there is also Abū l-Ḥakam ʿAbdallāh b. al-Muḍaffar b. ʿAbdallāh al-Mursī, who was active as a mystic and physician in the māristān (hospital) of Damascus. See al-Yāfʿī, Mirʾāt al-jinān wa-ʿibrat al-yqaḍān fī maʿrifat ḥawādith al-zamān, 705, accessed 7 February 2016: http://www.alwaraq.net/ Core/AlwaraqSrv/bookpage?book=120&session=ABBBVFAGFGFHAAWER&fkey=2&p age=1&option=1; al-Ṣafadī, Aʿyān al-ʿaṣr wa-aʿwān al-naṣr, 78, accessed 7 February 2016: http://www.alwaraq.net/Core/AlwaraqSrv/bookpage?book=146&session=ABBBVFAGFG FHAAWER&fkey=2&page=1&option=1; Ibn Ḥajar al-ʿAsqalānī, al-Durar al-kāmina fī aʿyān al-miʾa al-thāmina, 34 and 600, accessed 7 February 2016: http://www.alwaraq.net/Core/ AlwaraqSrv/bookpage?book=243&session=ABBBVFAGFGFHAAWER&fkey=2&page=1& option=1. 52  See especially C. Nallino, “Un Mappamondo Arabo disegnato nel 1579 da Ali Ibn Ahmad al-Sharafi di Sfax,” Bollettino Della Reale Societa Geografica Italiana (1916/II), 721–736;

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inscriptions. Nallino also mentioned the rest of the works of ʿAlī l-Sharfī and his son. By the late 1920s ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s 987/1579 map was included in the major encyclopedic work on Islamic cartography to date, Konrad Miller’s Mappae Arabicae. Recently, with the rise of interest among Islamicists in Islamic cartography, three articles were published by Soucek, Chapoutot-Remadi, and Mohamed Tahar Mansouri, partly or exclusively about ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s works. Two other no less important works remain unpublished: Shamima Ahmad’s MA thesis in 1978 and the handwritten privately published “monography” by William Brice in 2003. The major contribution of this early scholarship is the translation of ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s first mappa mundi (B-I-9; Fig. 6.6) into Italian (Nallino), his first atlas (B-I-6; Fig. 6.7) into English (Shamima Ahmad), and his second atlas (B-I-8; Fig. 6.8) into French (Mansouri) and English (Brice).53 Yet, ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s works were not considered from the point of view of Islamic art and visual culture, or as they relate to the main questions that concern early modern North Africa. Only in the last decade, with a series of articles by

Figure 6.6 ʿAlī b. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Sharfī’s ‘world map’ (north at the bottom) made in the beginning of Jumādā I 987/end of June 1579 (in Harley and Woodward (eds.), History of Cartography, vol. 2, book 1, plate 24; B-II-9).

Shamima Ahmad, “The Paris Copy of the Mediterranean Sea-Atlas of Ali Ibn Ahmad Ibn Muhammad al-Sharfi of Sfax, 958/1551,” MA thesis (University of Manchester, 1978); Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 284–290; M. Chapoutot-Remadi, “Les Sharfi et la Cartographie,” in Itinéraire du Savoir en Tunisie (Tunis: Alif-Editions de la Méditerranée, 1995), 84–95; Mohamed Tahar Mansouri, “Une Famille de Cartographes Tunisiens: les Sharfi,” in La Méditerranée Médiévale, Perceptions et Représentations, ed. Hatem Akkari (Tunis: Alif, 2002), 263–278; W. Brice, Mediterranean Sea Atlas (Manchester, privately published, 2003). 53  While Brice’s translation is complete, Mansouri’s is lacking the translation of the last folio (13a), where one of the most valuable paragraphs, which explains the genesis of ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s atlases, appears.

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Figure 6.7 ʿAlī b. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Sharfī’s first sea atlas made in 1 Ramaḍān 958/2 September 1551. Two sectional maps representing the western Mediterranean. The original orientation is north at the bottom (in Chapoutot-Remadi, “Les Charfi,” 85–93; B-I-6).

Figure 6.8 ʿAlī b. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Sharfī’s second sea atlas, made at the end of Jumādā II 979/mid-November 1571 in Qayrawān or Istanbul; two sectional maps representing the central Mediterranean (left) and a world map (right) (in Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” in History of Cartography, vol. 2, Figs. 14.22 and 14.23; B-I-8).

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de Herrera-Casais, do we finally have a more comprehensive understanding of the works of the Sharfī family.54 Very little is known about ʿAlī l-Sharfī. Nallino, who was the first to closely study his works, retraced his origins. The autographed inscriptions on his cartographic productions contain some autobiographical notes from which we know that he was active between at least 958/1551, the date of his first atlas manuscript, and 987/1579, the date of his mappa mundi. In the second cartographic document signed by ʿAlī l-Sharfī, the atlas manuscript preserved in the Bodleian Library (B-I-8), he mentions the date 1571. He was, therefore, active for twenty-eight years between 958/1551 and 987/1579, at least. From scattered notes, we also know ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s hometown, where he presumably lived (at least between 958/1551 and 978/1571). Although his family is related to the coastal city of Ṣafāqus (Sfax on the southeastern coast of Tunis), he says that he resided in the city of Qayrawān (southwest of Tunis) while he was making his first known atlas. The colophon of his second atlas (B-I-8) suggests that he was, at least, acquainted with the work of an Andalusian cartographer residing in Istanbul. Though this does not mean, in itself, that he went to the Ottoman capital, he did mention that when making B-I-8 he did not have access to the usual sources he used to work from (his father and grandfather’s atlas), and this may suggest that he was away from his “home” during that time. Finally, according to the inscriptions in A-I-8 and A-I-9, we know that his father and grandfather, Aḥmad and Muḥammad al-Sharfī, were themselves cartographers. In fact, cartography and geography in general seem to be a familial tradition of the Sharfīs. In Dhū l-Qaʿda 1009/May 1601 ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s son, Muḥammad b. ʿAlī l-Sharfī, made a very similar, though not exact, copy of his father’s 987/1579 mappa mundi (B-I-11; Fig. 6.9). But according to the inscription dating this work, it seems that Muḥammad al-Sharfī was based in Ṣafāqus rather than Qayrawān during the time he made B-I-11. As pointed out by Nallino, in the last quarter of the eleventh/seventeenth century (1086/1676) while teaching at the Azhar Mosque an author by the name of Aḥmad al-Sharfī l-Ṣafāqusī wrote a book on the ways to manufacture quadrants;55 this book is now preserved in

54  Mónica Herrera-Casais, “The Nautical Atlases of ‘Alī al-Sharafī,” Suhayl 8 (2008): 223– 263; Herrera-Casais, “Granada en los atlas náuticos”; Mónica Herrera-Casais, “Geografía sagrada islámica en dos atlas náuticos tunecinos del siglo XVI,” in Mediterráneos: An Interdisciplinary Approach to the Cultures of the Mediterranean Sea, ed. Sergio Carro Martín, et al. (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2013): 457–473. 55  The quadrant was one of the most necessary tools of pre-modern navigators. It is an instrument in the form of a 90-degree arc that is one-quarter of a circle. Its Arabic name

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Figure 6.9 A detail of Muḥammad b. ʿAlī b. Aḥmad al-Sharfī’s mappa mundo representing the Mediterranean (north at the bottom) made in the end of Dhū l-Qaʿda 1009/end of May 1601 (in Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” Fig. 14.25; B-I-11).

the Bibliotheque Nationale de France.56 Other twelfth-/eighteenth-century descendants of the family are known from other sources to have preserved their (al-rubʿ) also derives from its form. The quadrant was used to measure the altitudes. See D. A. King, “Rubʿ,” EI 2, 8:574–575 (Leiden: Brill, 1995). 56  C. Nallino. “Un Mappamondo,” 729. The manuscript, now in the BNF (Arabe 2551), is titled.

‫ل�����ش���� خ‬ ‫����ه�ا ت‬ ‫� � ا �ل���ع��م� � ��ب ا لم��ق�� ن������ط� ا ت‬ ‫� �خ ت‬ � � ‫� ��ت�ا ��ل� ف ا‬ ‫� �ف� ���ج��مي�� الا ق�����ط�ا ر وا �جل‬ �� �‫ا �ل�د رر ا �ل�����ف�ا �را يف‬ �‫ي � ي‬ ‫ل بر�ع ق ر � ي ّٰ ت ع‬ ‫ل��� � ا �ل��� �ص���ف�ا ���س ��فت���� ا �ل��ل�ه ����ع�ا ل � �م�د ��ت�ه ا ���م�� ن‬ ‫ش‬ .�‫ي‬ �‫الا ���م�ا م الا ���ج�ل ا ح���م�د ا � ر يف‬ �‫ى يف‬ ‫ي� ح‬ In the colophon we read, ‫ف أ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ن � غ‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ز ز ش‬ �‫و‬ �‫كا � ا �ل�����ف�را� �م� ن� ���سو��ي�د ���ه� ه ا �لر���س�ا �ل� ���ع��لى ��ي�د �مو�ل��������ه�ا � ح���م�د �ب� �ع ����ب�د ا �ل�ع ��ي�� ا �ل���ر �يف‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ز‬ � ‫ق‬ ‫ش‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ا �ل���ص���ف�ا ���س� الا � ���ه�ر�ي� �بم���� �ص�ر ا لم��ح‬ ‫�رو���س� و �ل�ك �م��������ٰ��ص� �يوم الار ب����ع�ا ء �ل�لي������ي� ب�����ي�����ا �م�� �������ه�ر‬ ‫ي‬ ّٰ ‫ف‬ ّ ‫ن �� غ‬ ‫ق‬ � ‫ز‬ ‫������ا �ن�ا �����ش� ه ا ���م�� ن‬ ‫كا � ا ل�����ف�را‬ ‫ �عر� ����ن�ا (؟) ا �ل��ل�ه ���ج��ه وك‬1087 ‫ا �ل��ل�ه ر ����ج� ب� ا �ل������ف�رد الا �� ��ص� ب� ����سن����ة‬ � ‫و‬ �‫ي‬ ‫ر‬ � ‫ن ت ض‬ �‫�ل‬ � �‫ع��� � ن �ش�����ه� �ص���ف� ا �ل‬ ‫ش‬ � ‫�ي�� ���ه��ذ ه ا �ل �����ن��س�� خ ا لم ب���ا رك ة‬ ‫��خ��ير‬ � ����‫�م�� �ب��ي‬ ‫��� يف� �يوم ا ��خ��م��ي��س ا لم ����ب�ا ر ك ��خ�ا �م��س � ري� � ر � ر‬ � ‫أ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن ف‬ ��‫ ث�لا ��ث�ه ���س���ع‬1093 ‫�م� ن� �ش����هور ����سن����ة‬ .)…( �‫ي� و� �ل��� �م� ن‬ The name of Aḥmad b. ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz al-Sharfī l-Ṣafāqusī l-Azharī also occurs in a late source as the author of “al-Risāla al-Fatḥiyya”: al-Bābānī, Īḍāḥ al-maknūn, 323, available online: http://www.alwaraq.net/Core/AlwaraqSrv/bookpage?book=3258&session=ABBB VFAGFGFHAAWER&fkey=2&page=1&option=1, accessed 7 February 2016.

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ancestors’ interest in geography and other related sciences. For instance, at least four religious figures (legal judges and teachers) related to the Sharfī family in Sfax during the twelfth/eighteenth century are also known to have been skilled in astrology and especially in the manufacture of quadrants. Another of their relatives taught the latter profession in Cairo.57 The origin of the Sharfī family is one issue that must still be investigated. Though they consistently indicated that they were born and active mainly between Ṣafāqus and Qayrawān, their connections to other locations, notably to cartographers residing in Istanbul (B-I-8) and Majorca (B-I-9), suggest a wider web of cultural interchange than just Tunisia, and possibly cultural traditions that go beyond the tenth/sixteenth century. In the Islamic sources, including biographical encyclopedias, the name al-Sharfī notably occurs in Andalusia. For instance, we know of Ibrāhīm b. Muḥammad al-Sharfī, a fourth-/ tenth-century police chief in Qurṭuba (Cordoba);58 Saʿīd b. Sahl al-Sharfī, a fifth-/eleventh-century scholar from Ishbīliya (Sevilla);59 Abū Muḥammad al-Sharfī, an Ishbīliyan poet who died while on pilgrimage to Mecca in the middle of the sixth/twelfth century;60 a scholar called Saʿīd b. Sayyid Abū ʿUthmān al-Ḥāṭibī al-Sharfī l-Ishbīlī;61 and the even more interesting case of a seventh-/thirteenth-century state bureaucrat, scholar, and poet from Gharnāṭa (Granada) by the name of Muḥammad b. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad b. Faraj b. Shaqrāl al-Lakhmī l-Sharfī, who seems to have lived in Tunisia (Ifrīqiyya) as a refugee following political troubles in Andalusia.62 The connection of some of these names to Ishbīliya (Sevilla), a major arsenal and river port in Andalusia 57  M. Maqdīsh, Nuzhat al-anḍār fī ʿajāʾib al-tawārīkh wa-l-akhbār (Beirut: Dār al-Gharb alIslāmī, 1988), 390–402. 58  Ibn Bashkawāl, al-Ṣila, 4, available online: http://www.alwaraq.net/Core/AlwaraqSrv/ bookpage?book=153&session=ABBBVFAGFGFHAAWER&fkey=2&page=1&option=1, accessed 7 February 2016. 59  Al-Qāḍī ʿIyāḍ, Tartīb al-madārik wa-taqrīb al-masālik, 555, available online: http://www .alwaraq.net/Core/AlwaraqSrv/bookpage?book=247&session=ABBBVFAGFGFHAAWER &fkey=2&page=1&option=1, accessed 7 February 2016. 60  Al-Ṣafadī, al-Wāfī wa-bi-l-wafiyyāt, 2668, available online: http://www.alwaraq.net/Core/ AlwaraqSrv/bookpage?book=146&session=ABBBVFAGFGFHAAWER&fkey=2&page=1&o ption=1, accessed 7 February 2016. 61  Ibn ʿUmayra, Bughyat al-multamis fī tārīkh rijāl al-Andalus, 111, available online: http:// www.alwaraq.net/Core/AlwaraqSrv/bookpage?book=3216&session=ABBBVFAGFGFHAA WER&fkey=2&page=1&option=1, accessed 7 February 2016. 62  Al-Suyūṭī, Bughyat al-wuʿāt fī ṭabaqāt al-lughawiyyīn wa-l-nuḥāt, 12, available online: http://www.alwaraq.net/Core/AlwaraqSrv/bookpage?book=3180&session=ABBBVFAGF GFHAAWER&fkey=2&page=1&option=1, accessed 7 February 2016.

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with a direct maritime trade relationship with North Africa, seems to indicate its prominence in the history of the family. In fact, some sources suggest that the name of the family, especially in the case of Abū Muḥammad al-Sharfī, is connected to a toponym known as “Sharaf Ishbīliya,” which was a prosperous agricultural suburb of the Andalusian city.63 Thus, it is not surprising that the Sharfīs’ cartographic borrowings seem to originate exclusively from the Iberian sphere (Majorcan and Andalusian). By offering a detailed description of al-Sharfī’s first atlas, and by emphasizing the repertoire of flags and banners, I establish a basis on which to make a comparative approach of his works. The Maritime Atlas of 958/1551 (B-I-6) The atlas manuscript of al-Sharfī includes three parts: the frontispiece, the regional nautical charts, and miscellaneous graphic representations, including the direction of prayers and the “calendar of events.” It is not clear how the various folia of the atlas were kept together. Still, they are catalogued in a precise order that reflects the original setting. According to Herrera-Casais, the format of the manuscript suggests that it was “a luxury book.”64 The Frontispiece The opening illustration is that of a mappa mundi made according to the typical models of Islamic cartographic traditions. An autograph text located at the upper part contains the following information: a general description of the earth and its climates; and the mention of Nuzhat al-mushtāq as the major source, which is repeated in all folia. In this mappa mundi, al-Sharfī follows the traditional conventions of the Islamic mappa mundi: the south is in the upper part and the north in the lower part. By contrast, the Arabic toponyms can be read only if the folio is reversed, that is, the text direction is in the opposite direction of the text of the map (the toponyms). The same conflict can be seen in the direction of the arrow of orientation: whereas it points to the north as in 63  Ibn Khallikān, Wafiyyāt al-aʿyān, 1038, available online: http://www.alwaraq.net/Core/ AlwaraqSrv/bookpage?book=102&session=ABBBVFAGFGFHAAWER&fkey=2&page=1&o ption=1, accessed 7 February 2016; al-Muqrī, Nafḥ al-ṭīb min ghuṣn al-Andalus al-raṭīb, 11, available online: http://www.alwaraq.net/Core/ExLib/excoverpage?bookid=3037http:// www.alwaraq.net/Core/ExLib/bookpage?book=3037&session=ABBBVFAGFGFHAAWER &fkey=2&page=1&option=1, accessed 7 February 2016; al-Zubaydī, Tāj al-ʿarūs, 5936, available online: http://www.alwaraq.net/Core/AlwaraqSrv/bookpage?book=282&session=A BBBVFAGFGFHAAWER&fkey=2&page=1&option=1, accessed 7 February 2016. 64  Herrera-Casais, “The Nautical Atlases,” 237.

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most nautical charts, it also points to the bottom of the page. These are some of the many clues in al-Sharfī’s works that indicate his attempts to assemble two different traditions: that of the Islamic mappa mundi and the nautical chart conventions. The Regional Maritime Maps of the Mediterranean There are six maritime maps. Each map depicts the two edges of the Mediterranean: north and south. A composite, however, of ʿAlī b. al-Sharfī’s seven maps of his first atlas made in 958/1551 shows the discontinuity of the depicted regions; they fail to show a complete image of the Mediterranean coast (Figs. 6.10 and 6.11). The First Map The first map includes, within the northern edge from the east, the city of Dénia, and to the west the Spanish and Portuguese coasts (including the Atlantic coast). The cities that are highlighted in red include Cartagena, Malaga, Seville, Gades, Lisbon, and Saint Andere. At the center of the peninsula are the Pyrenees Mountains, which are presented according to the conventions of medieval Islamic cartography, and more precisely, like the earlier representations made in Idrisian manuscripts. By contrast, the political and military identification of the peninsula is disregarded: no banners or flags are represented. The large place taken up by the Pyrenees Mountains might be one

Figure 6.10 A composite of ʿAlī b. al-Sharfī’s seven maps of his first atlas made in 958/1551 (B-I-6).

Figure 6.11 The discontinuity of the sectional maps of the 958/1551 sea atlas (B-I-6).

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of the reasons for such a choice. Herrera-Casais suggests that Granada, with its green image of a pomegranate, was used to evoke the special place of the last Islamic stronghold in the Iberian Peninsula, and its nostalgic signicance for Andalusians.65 On the southern edge, only the northeastern Moroccan coast is represented, thus the western Atlantic coast is disregarded. With the exception of the city of Salā, whose name was written in black, the banners and flags appear on the cities that are highlighted in red ink (like Bādis, Ḥunayn, and Wahrān). The same pattern was followed in the following maps. These banners were likely the official markers related to various hierarchical levels of the Saʿdī dynasty that ruled Morocco at the time. However, one of the banners (striped in green, yellow, and red) resembles, in form and the layout of its colors, some of the supposedly Ottoman political and military banners depicted in the map showing the Tunisian coast. By contrast, the small banners on the cities of Khaṣāṣa and Ḥunayn more likely represent small military camps or they simply function as local identifiers of these two small harbors. The Second Map This map depicts the northern coast of the Mediterranean, major ports from the southern Spanish and French coasts to many of the northern Italian ports, notably Genoa. In addition, the major islands are drawn, such as the Balearic Islands, and notably the islands of Majorca and Sardinia. The city of Dénia was again recopied, probably by referring to the previous map. The same flag (a yellow cross with four small squares in red and black) links Genoa to Barcelona. Valencia and Macalona are linked to each other with the same green banners with an eagle(?) at the center painted in yellow; this reappears not only on the European coast (especially in Italy) but also in some Islamic cities (Būna, Algeria). Both of these flags or banners seem to relate to places that were under Spanish rule. The difference between them might only reflect different uses. For instance, the flag associating Genoa with Barcelona might refer to major Spanish military camps or admirals (the same flag reappears in the next chart in Venice). By contrast, the smaller green banner might refer to a smaller military unit or level of maritime command. The map depicts, from the southern edge, the coast of the new Ottoman province of Algiers, from the city of Tanas, which is recopied here, to the city 65  The same is true for the later atlas, with a sign colored in white and red. Herrera-Casais, “Granada en los atlas náuticos,” 222–225. Herrera-Casais suggests, “He could have also learned about its symbolism from the many moriscos that had settled in Tunisia and kept alive their Andalusian traditions.” See Herrera-Casais, “The Nautical Atlases,” 254.

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of Ghār al-Milḥ (also known as Porto-Farina). Algeria, which had fallen to the Ottomans at the beginning of the tenth/sixteenth century, was a major Ottoman base in North Africa when al-Sharfī made his atlas. The flag appearing on the city of Algiers (striped with red, yellow, and green), must point to its Ottoman rule. The city of Bijāya (Bougie), also under Ottoman rule, is associated with another flag (red with a star-like ornament in yellow) that also marked other Ottoman sites. The Third Map The third map represents the remaining major Italian ports, Sicily, and the Adriatic coast. The toponyms seem to have been transcribed from other maps, as in the case of other European lands, except for that of Venice, where al-Sharfī added the Islamic toponym of this city (al-Bunduqiyya). The flags here portray the nature of this region as a frontier area; they mark the limits of the advance of the Ottoman forces and the most advanced camps of the Spanish forces. The flag for Venice is the same one that appears at Genoa and Barcelona. The above-mentioned green banner with an eagle(?) appears again on some Italian cities (like Bologna), and probably indicates the presence of less-important administrative and military sites of the Spanish crown. The flags of the Ottomans along the eastern coast of the Adriatic confront the Spanish flags and banners, and are presented, mainly, by red banners with an ornament with four starlike designs (the same one given to Bijāya/Bougie) or with an eagle(?); both of these reappear in other regions. The Fourth Map From the northern edge, the fourth map depicts Mediterranean Greece and the various islands, like Crete. The southern edge is represented on the Tripolitanian coast. As usual, the islands are painted in darker colors. The cities at the extreme ends of both edges of the Mediterranean have flags and banners that provide us with an opportunity to test the accuracy of the flags and banners that al-Sharfī used: the sectional maps of the atlas are not cut in exact positions, and this is why some toponyms are repeated and mentioned in two separate maps. This is the case of two ports on the Tripolitanian coast, Rāyis Utaj (to the extreme west, it reappears in the eighth map) and Rāyis al-Mallāḥ (to the extreme east, it reappears in the fifth map). In these two cases, different types of banners are represented when the same port is indicated a second time. Instead of a green banner (with two triangular pieces) in the former and a yellow crescent, al-Sharfī puts a green banner (a smaller one with a triangular shape) and a yellow dot in the latter. By contrast, the flags and banners on this map very clearly mark the importance of crescents, which were a clear mark of total Ottoman dominance in this part of the world.

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The Fifth Map The fifth map continues the previous map to the east; it indicates Asia Minor, Syria/Palestine, and Egypt. The flags, mostly Ottoman, stress the Ottomanization of this part of the Mediterranean. The Sixth Map The sixth map depicts the coasts of the Black Sea from Gallipoli in the Marmara Sea to the Sea of Azov. Istanbul is highlighted by a large Ottoman flag (five small circles colored in yellow and green forming a square-shaped ornament on a red background); it is the largest flag, not only in this map, but also when compared to the flags of the rest of al-Sharfī’s atlas. The Seventh Map Finally, the last map in the order of this collection is the one depicting alSharfī’s native region (modern Tunisia) with part of the Tripolitanian coast. This section corresponds to the old Hafsid territory. The flag in Tunis and Jerba are very similar to that of Algiers, pointing to an Ottoman origin. The appearance of such a flag, especially since Tunis was still under Hafsid control in 958/1551, may indicate that these flags did not reflect realistic references as much as they did the choices of the cartographer. Miscellaneous This part of al-Sharfī’s atlas contains various textual and graphic schemas. First, the various directions of prayers are represented according to its geographical position in relation to the Kaʿba in Mecca. The depiction of the shape and setting of the Kaʿba is only partial. While the Kaʿba itself is depicted as a black square surrounded by various small domed buildings, which are real features at the site of the Kaʿba, the circle surrounding it is a metaphor for the circular shape of the earth, used here to represent all the possible geographical locations around the world from which Muslims pray. This representation accords with the usual illustrations of this theme, which was one of the major problems that concerned Muslim geographers. A whole field related to this theme emerged, specializing solely on the calculation of the times of prayers and their variation according to geographic location; it is known as the science of time keeping (mīqāt)66 and draws from earlier maritime maps. The 66  For a discussion of Islamic sacred geography and more specifically qibla maps, see D. King, World-Maps for Finding the Direction and the Distance to Mecca (Leiden and London: Brill and al-Furqan, 1999); and D. King, In Synchrony with the Heavens, Studies in Astronomical Timekeeping and Instrumentation in Medieval Islamic Civilization, vol. 1: The Call of the Muezzin (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 825–846.

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solar calendar of B-I-3 accords with al-Sharfī’s interest in Latin months and the “calendar of events” found in B-I-6 and B-I-8. In fact, al-Sharfī should be placed among those Muslim geographers who secularized the science of mīqāt. Like the cartographic part of the atlas, this part conveys information that, on one hand, draws its sources from traditional Islamic topics and, on the other hand, stresses traditional non-Islamic interests, and even opens a window to the European genre of atlases. This tradition can be traced among Maghribi geographers to the seventh-/thirteenth-century al-Marrākushī.67 In addition, three folia represent the solar calendars, including the Latin European (Gregorian) calendar. The first two folia are two continuous tables with the following title: “The list of non-Arabic months and each one’s weather, including what is planted and harvested in them. In addition [it mentions] what happens if it rains in the beginning or in the end of each month.” Each table contains six headings representing six months of the year. In each heading, the name of the month appears in three languages: Latin, Syriac, and Coptic. For each month, the following details are given: the number of the day, its location in the four seasons, the duration of the day, the agricultural activity in each month, and what happens agriculturally, economically, and even politically if it rains in the beginning or the end. The third folio is a graphic representation of the major information of the two tables: a circle divided into twelve equal sections with headings containing the names of the Latin months in Arabic transliteration. Under each month is indicated the duration of the day according to the climate where North Africa is located, which is the “fourth climate” according to the Ptolemaic conventions. The Second Sea Atlas of ʿAlī l-Sharfī and the Maghribi ṭabla Unlike B-I-6, which is mostly illustrations, in B-I-8 al-Sharfī wrote unusually lengthy texts for a maritime atlas, including explanations of the illustrations in his introduction. He also wrote two paragraphs that include information about the making of the atlas. The first paragraph offers information that is already known from his first atlas. It gives his name, including his birth place (Ṣafāqus), his home (Qayrawān), and the date of the manuscript. But in the second paragraph, which is also the colophon of the manuscript, al-Sharfī points to his cartographic source for the sectional maritime maps, this time he does not mention his ancestors, but the work of an Andalusian cartographer, al-Ḥakīm (the physician) Abū l-ʿAbbās Aḥmad al-Andalusī, who, according to al-Sharfī, resided in Istanbul.

67  ʿAlī l-Marrakushī, Jāmiʿ al-mabādiʾ wa-l-ghāyāt fī ʿilm al-mīqāt (Frankfurt: Institute for the History of Arabic-Islamic Sciences, 1984).

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As seen in Table 3.8, the general structure of the two atlases is very similar. Even though the text in B-I-8 is lengthier, B-I-6 is equal in terms of content (introducing the author and his manuscript). The themes of the graphic representations are not very different: both feature tables of year conversions (Christian and Islamic years), and the orientation for the prayers or toward the qibla (with a representation of the Kaʿba). The series of maps are introduced with a world map taken from the Idrisian tradition, as mentioned in B-I-8, which is also the same source more widely used and mentioned in the mappa mundi B-I-9. Table 3.8 Themes of B-I-6 and B-I-8 in order of appearance Folios

B-I-6

B-I-8

1a

Empty (except for a pasted folio most likely inserted in a later period; vegetal ornamentation; a half circle is cut in the middle leaving an open space leading to folio 2a) Small introduction including date of the manuscript and author’s name Table of Christian/ʿAjamī months representing a calendar of star settings Kaʿba representation Mappa mundi Maps begin: Spain/Morocco (south on top and orientation marking the north as the bottom of the folio) Spain, France, and Italy/Algeria (south on top and orientation marking the north as the bottom of the folio) Italy and Sicily with the Adriatic Sea (south on top and orientation is not marked) Black Sea (east on top and orientation marking the east as the top of the folio)

A small introduction with date of the manuscript and author’s name

1b

2a

2b 3a 3b

4a

4b

5a

Introduction: guide to drawings

Text continues

Text continues Text continues Table of year conversions (“ʿArbī” years) Earth, 7 heavens

Kaʿba representation

Wind rose

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Table 3.8 Themes of B-I-6 and B-I-8 in order of appearance (cont.) Folios

B-I-6

B-I-8

5b

Levant (north on top and orientation is not marked) Greece, Aegean Sea/small portion of the Libyan coast (north on top and orientation is not marked)

Mappa mundi

6a

6b

7b

Sicily and the southernmost tip of the Italian peninsula/Libyan and Tunisian coasts (north on top and orientation marking the north as the top of the folio) Calendar with the lengths of day and times of prayer (Christian/ ʿAjamī months) in the form of a circle, not a table as in folio 2a Calendar of events

8a

Calendar continues

7a

8b 9a 9b 10a 11a 11b 12a 12b 13a 13b

Maps begin: Sicily with the southernmost tip of the Italian peninsula/Libyan and Tunisian coasts (north on top and orientation is not marked) Italy with the Adriatic Sea (south on top and orientation is not marked)

Spain/Morocco (south on top and orientation is not marked)

Spain, France, and Italy/Algeria (south on top and orientation is not marked) Greece, Aegean Sea/small portion of the Libyan coast (north on top and orientation is not marked) Black Sea (west on top and orientation is not marked) Levant (south on top and orientation is not marked) Solar calendar Table of year conversions (ʿAjamī years) Times of prayer Text continues Text continues Text continues Text continues (rest of the colophon) Empty

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Both atlases have the same number (seven) of sectional maritime maps, with the same areas depicted in them, though in a different order. From west to east, with the northern/southern coasts, the sectional maritime maps are as follows: the map of Spain/Morocco; the map of Spain, France, and Italy/Algeria; the map of Italy and Sicily with the Adriatic Sea, Greece; the map of Sicily with the most southern tip of the Italian peninsula/Libyan and Tunisian coasts; the map of the Aegean Sea/a small portion of the Libyan coast; the map of the Levant; and the map of the Black Sea. The setting of the maps is also similar, with each map facing the other in the next folio, each is framed apart from the other with geometric ornamentation painted in red. The cartographic style is very similar, with the characteristic aspect of alSharfī’s maps; thus, two lines, one thicker than the other, mark the coastal outlines. The thicker (inner) line is in yellow, whereas the thinner (outer) line is in black. In both atlases, the only signifiers differentiating the mainland from the sea are the toponyms (perpendicular to the coast), the blue lines of the rivers with their mouths on the coasts, and the flags only associated with toponyms inscribed in red. Thus, on the basis of the visual features including the cartographic style, it is difficult to understand how al-Sharfī’s new source, especially his Andalusian source, differentiates B-I-8 from B-I-6. But looking closely at the list of toponyms in the two atlases, particularly at the region familiar to al-Sharfī, such as the Tunisian/Libyan coasts, we can see three main differences. First, some toponyms are absent in one or the other of the atlases. This is true, for example, on the Tunisian coast, which has toponyms such as Ghār al-Milḥ, Majrada, alManāra, al-Maḥras, and al-Jurf in B-I-6; all of these are absent in B-I-8. By contrast, on the same coast, toponyms like Jūn al-Madfūn, al-Ramla, and al-Abwāb are present in B-I-8 and absent in B-I-6. On the Libyan coast, this pattern is even more frequent. Second, a less common aspect relates to the different order in which some toponyms appear. For instance, the toponym of Quṣūr al-Rūm occurs in B-I-6 before al-Sikhra, whereas it occurs after the latter in B-I-8. These two differences emphasize the term al-Sharfī used to indicate the subject of his use of the Andalusian sea atlas: He used the word maktub to indicate the cartographic outlines in his source, that is, the Andalusan sea atlas.68 ‫�ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ال ا ق ا لم � ت‬ ‫ن‬ ���� �‫�ك�و ب‬ � ‫وا ���م�ا ���ع��م�ل ا �ل ����ب�لا د وا ل�مرا ��سي� �يف� ا �ل ب������ح�ر و ا ور‬ ��‫ي���ه�ا ا �ل ����ب�ر ا �ل� �ي� �م ����ب�د وه �م‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ز � ق � �ة‬ � ‫ض‬ � ‫��خ�ط ����ع�� ا �ل��س�ا �ك ن‬ � �‫ل����ش�ا و�ب� ب‬ �‫�������ف�ا ��ف�ا �ن� ن���ق���ل����ت�ه �م� ن ط ����ب�ل� را ي�ت�����ه�ا ب‬ ‫��ح�ر ا �ل ك‬ �‫����ن��ي‬ � ‫ب‬ ‫��ق�ا � ��س�ب����ت� ا لى ا � م � ر‬ � ‫ي‬ � � ‫�ة �ل�ت‬ ‫� ن‬ ‫��ب�ا �ص��طن����بول و�هو ا �ل‬ ‫ح‬ � ‫حك‬ �‫�����ي�م ا ب�و ا �ل�ع ����ب�ا ��س ا ���م ٰ�د الا �ن�د �ل��سي� ا �ل�����ق�ا ط�� ب�����ه�ا و�هي� ��غ��ير ا �ل��ط ����ب�ل� ا � ي‬ ‫ّ ت‬ ‫ا ���ع� �ف� �م� ن � �ش� ����غ� ا �لوا �ل�د وا ��ل‬ .‫��ج�د رح��م�ه���م�ا ا �ل��ل�ه ����ع�ا لى‬ ‫ر‬ ‫� ل‬

68  B-I-8, fol. 13a:

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This could be understood simply as “written” or “inscribed,” thus suggesting probably a major characteristic of any sea atlas, that is, the list of toponyms referring to the origin of the sea map itself, the “portolano.”69 But here the word maktūb is used in conjunction with the word ʿamal (work, i.e., map), which thereby suggests that the inscriptions of the topopnyms are an integral part of the visual identity of the map. The word khaṭṭ, which is used in the same sentence, emphasizes the hybrid meaning of the word kataba, that is, it suggests both the meaning of the work and drawing. The third difference relates to the major toponyms, which are usually distinguished by an inscription in red. For example, the flags marking some of these sites either have different colors (Tunis and Aṭrāblus) or they occur more frequently in one atlas than the other: B-I-6 has more flags than B-I-8 (Qābis, Jerba, and Rās Awthān). But the major difference that distinguishes the presumably Andalusian source of B-I-8 from the source of al-Sharfī’s ancestors (used in B-I-6) is the more remarkable presence of rhumb lines or a wind rose in B-I-8. First, it includes, in folio 5a, a visual representation of a wind rose with the Maghribi vernacular names of winds in a way that is somewhat similar to the earliest surviving example, the wind rose of another Andalusian, the source of al-ʿUmarī’s Masālik al-abṣār (discussed above).70 Thus, barrānī indicates the various orientations of northwest, shlūq indicates the various directions of southwest, labbāsh indicates the various orientations of northeast, and shirsh indicates the various orientations southeast.71 Second, the grid of rhumb lines and wind roses is more intensive in the sectional maps of B-I-8, where they have not only a central circle, as is the case in B-I-6, but also five smaller circles marked with five compass roses at the top and at the bottom of each map; this creates a visual similarity to the larger mainstream sectional maps of the European examples. The only difference is that al-Sharfī’s work has one map on each folio, while the European models have one map over two facing folios. As we see below, the presence of this 69  On the relationship between the “portolano” and the “portolan map” and the role of the former in the appearance of the latter, see Gautier-Dalché, Carte Marine, 23–30; Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 380–384. 70  The only difference between the two representations of the wind roses is that the illustrations in the Masālik al-abṣār provide the sixteen-point and the thirty-two-point wind roses. On the evolution of this diagram, see Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 395–398. 71  Other vernacular terms are samiyya for north, and qibla for south. As indicated above, the pronunciation of the terms used in the illustration of the sixteen-point wind rose in the Masālik al-abṣār could have been slightly altered in the process of dictation; the letter jāʾ may appear instead of shīn.

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feature in all three surviving Ottoman maritime atlases, which are much closer to the European maritime atlases, suggests that the Andalusian source of B-I-8 may have been closer to the European model. Thus, if this is the case, then al-Sharfī was in fact remodeling his Andalusian source on the model of his ancestors’ sea atlas, which only existed in his memory, since he did not have it when he made B-I-8. Such a probability only emphasizes al-Sharfī’s interest in maintaining his and his ancestors’ cartographic style. Overall, both atlases emphasize the original style of what we could call a Maghribi sea atlas or ṭabla as it is called in B-I-6 and B-I-8.72 This seems to be an earlier tradition that may have its origins not only with the ancestors of ʿAlī l-Sharfī, but even earlier (as discussed above) in the “Maghrib Chart.” The use of paper or paperboard instead of parchment and the use of small formats ّٰ ‫ّٰ �ذ‬ ‫ئ ن‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫�ة ن‬ ‫ا �ل‬ ‫� م‬ � ‫ح���م�د �ل��ل�ه و ا �ل���� �ص�لا ٰ و ا �ل���س�لا م ا �ل�د ا ���م�ا � ���ع��لى ����سي���د �ن�ا أحمد ر��سول ا �ل��ل�ه ���ه� ه ا �ل��ط ����ب�ل� �م�� ���ع��م�ل‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ا �ل�ع���ب�د ا �ل��ف��������ق�� ل ا �ل�ّ�ل�ه ا � �ل��� ن�غ� �ب�ه �ع� ن �م� ن ��س ا ه ���ع��ل � ن � ح���م�د � ن محمد ا � ش‬ ‫ل���ر �يف� ا �ل��� �ص���ف�ا ���س� و�������ق�ه‬ �‫ب‬ �‫ي� � � � و � ب‬ ‫ير �إ ى‬ � ‫�خ ي‬ �� �‫ا �ل�ّ�لٰ�ه ����ق ا �ل������ف� ا غ �م ن�����ه�ا � � ا � ث�ل�� ا ��ث�ا ���ف�ا � �ش���ي��ه� �م������ض�ا ن ا �ل‬ ‫ع���ظ� ���ع�ا �ثم�ا ن����ي��ة �م���س�� ن‬ ‫و و ع ر� � يف� يوم ل‬ � � ‫تح � ر ر‬ ‫ي� و‬ ‫م م � و‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�ة‬ . �‫���س�عما ��ي‬

72  In B-I-6 the word ṭabla is used in the two instances al-Sharfī referred to his work. In fol. 1b:

and in fol. 8a:

‫�ة‬ ‫����م�ا ��ج�د ت‬ ‫ا ن�ت����ه�ا ���م�ا � ���ه��ذ ه ا �ل��ط���ب�ل��ة �م� ن ت� ن���ز �ي� ��� ن‬ ‫ت‬ � ‫ي� (؟) و ���غ��يره ���ع��ل‬ � � ‫ح����س� ب� الا ����س����ط�ا ���ع� ك و‬ � �‫يف‬ ‫� � �ل ب‬ ‫ى‬ ّٰ ‫ن‬. ��‫ح�ا ��ن�ه ا لم����ست�����ع‬ �����‫و ا �ل��ل�ه ����س ب‬ �‫ي‬ In B-I-8 he used the word ‘also’ whenever referring to his work. In fol. 1a: ّٰ ّٰ ‫ّٰ �ذ‬ ‫ا �ل‬ � ‫ح���م�د �ل��ل�ه و �� �ص��لى ا �ل��ل�ه ���ع��لى ����سي���د ��ن�ا و �مولا ��ن�ا محمد ر��سول ا �ل��ل�ه ���ه� ه ا �ل��ط ����ب�ل��ة �م� ن� ���ع��م�ل ا �ل�ع ����ب�د‬ ‫�غ‬ � ‫ف‬ ‫ح �ة‬ �� � � �‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ � ‫�لخ‬ �‫ا �ل��������أ�ق��ير �إ لى ر ���م� �مولا ه ا �لرا ���غ� ب� �أم���ن�ه �����ف�ره و ر����ض�ا ه ا �ل����ط�ا �ل� ب� �م�� ر��ب�ه ا �ل��ل�����ط� ا �����يف� ��ع��لي‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ق‬ � ‫ن‬ ‫� ن � ح���م�د ا � ش‬ .‫�� �م� �ه ����ب�ا‬ ‫ل���ر �يف� ا �ل��� �ص���ف�ا ���س� �م�� �����ش� و �مو�ل�د ا ا �ل������ق�رو�ي� ��ق�را را و �م��س ك‬ ‫� ����ن�ا ا ل��م�ا �ل يك‬ �‫ب‬ ‫ي‬ in fol. 3a: ‫أ‬ ٰ � � ‫كا ت� ب� الا ��ح�ر�ف� و �� �ص�ا ن� ���ه��ذ ه ا �ل��ط ����ب�ل��ة و ف�������ق�ه ا �ل�ّ�ل�ه �ت���ع�ا لى و � �� �ص��ل�� ا‬ .‫حوا �ل�ه و ا �ع���م�ا �ل�ه‬ � ‫��ق�ا ل‬ ‫ح‬ ‫ع‬ and in fol. 13a: ‫أ‬ ٰ � ‫ن‬ ‫� ا �ل��ط�ا ���ع�ا ت‬ ‫���خ�� ا ت‬ ‫كا ت� ب� ال� ��ح� �ف� و�� �ص�ا ن� ���ه��ذ ه ا �ل��ط ����ب�ل��ة و ف�������ق�ه ا �ل�ّ�ل�ه �ت���ع�ا لى ا لى ا �ل‬ �‫� و‬ � ‫�ق�ا ل‬ � ‫كا‬ ‫ير‬ ‫و‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ع‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫� ت �ل�ت ق‬ ‫ت ق � �ة أ ض‬ ‫ت‬ � �‫�ل�ه و�م���ع�ه �يف‬ ��‫كل ال� �مور وا �ل��ح�ا لا � ���م�ا �يف� ���ه� ه ا �لور�ق�ا � وا � ي� � ب�����ل���ه�ا م��م�ا ي�����ع��ل� ب����ص���ف� ال� ر‬ ‫أ‬ �‫و� ب‬ .‫حر���ه�ا وطو��ل���ه�ا‬ At least twice he refers to himself as the “maker” (ṣāniʿ) of the ṭabla, but also as the “scribe” (kātib al-aḥruf ). The word ṭabla probably originated from the Latin word taula, which was used interchangeably with carta to refer to maritime maps. See Gautier-Dalché, Carte Marine, 28–29. For Herrera-Casais, this word “suggests a specific connection with the writing support on which the atlases were made, either on wooden panels or paper paste folios, as in the case of al-Sharafī’s atlases.” See Herrera-Casais, “The Nautical Atlases,” 241.

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(approximately 25 by 20 cm) is also a common characteristic of this tradition, one that distinguishes it from the European models. But the most characteristic feature of ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s atlases is its intention to target a specific reader, not necessarily a sea captain, but certainly someone traveling by sea. In B-I-6, and especially in B-I-8 where we have more information (including texts and diagrams), the sea atlas, as conceived by a Muslim Maghribi cartographer, represents a specific visual identity open to any traveler regardless of his position in maritime travel. As suggested in al-Sharfī’s introduction to folio 3a and in the inscription at the top of folio 5a, in B-I-8 the wind rose is more than simply the tool of a sea captain, it is also the tool of any maritime traveler, since al-Sharfī suggests that it should be used for mariner’s seeking direction, and for worshipers seeking the direction of the Kaʿba.73 The geographic orientation of the Kaʿba and the use of vernacular Maghribi terms, which were usually used for the wind rose, points to a Muslim Maghribi reader. In both atlases, the primacy of a Maghribi traveler/reader is also attested in the toponyms indicated in the Kaʿba representation, where we see Islamic coastal sites, as well as ‘Christian’ European ports, such as Venice and Naples. The “package” of al-Sharfī’s maritime atlas also includes other elements that may be found in European atlases, yet in his atlas, they have a greater visual ‫�ة ش � �ة �ل�ت أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫� ف �ة ��ل�ت � �لخ �ة ف‬ ‫ّٰ � � ق‬ ‫و � ���م�ا ا ل���ص������ح� ا � يف� ا‬ � ‫ي���ه�ا � �ص���ف��ة ا �ل‬ �����‫��ا �م���س� ���ف‬ �‫��ك�ع ����ب� ا لم���ر�ف� ا � ي� � ���م�ر ا �ل��ل�ه ا ل��خ��ل‬ ‫ي‬ ‫� �ث ن ف‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫� �ش������ط�ره و ا �ل ����ب�لا د‬ ‫ب�ا لا ����ست��ق�� ����ب�ا ل ا ��لي�����ه�ا �يف� �ص��لوا �����ه� ب���ق��و�ل�ه ����ع�ا لى و حي�� ما �ك‬ ‫��� ت� �و�لوا و ج�و�ه ك‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫ل �ذ ر�ة ف‬ ‫����م�ا ن�������ق�ل� ت� �م� ن ا لم��س��ت �����ن��س�� خ �م ن������ه�ا و � �ص���ف��ة ا ����ست���� ���خ� ا ج م‬ ‫ي���ه�ا �ه� ك‬ ���‫ا لم‬ ‫حي������ط��ة ب�����ه�ا ا ��م� ك‬ ���� ‫�و‬ �‫��ح�را ب‬ � ‫ي‬ �‫ر‬ � ‫ن ت‬ ‫�ذ ت‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫� � ن ا �ل��س� م���ي��ة‬ ‫ق‬ �‫ك ب��ل�د ا و ���م�ا ي���لي�����ه�ا �م� ن �ع�م�ا ��لت�����ه�ا ا � ج‬ ‫� ����ع�ل ا �ل���������ط� ب� ا �ل� �ي� ���س���م����ي�ه ( ك‬ � �� �‫��� ا) ا �ل ب����حريو‬ ‫�ل‬ � ‫ر�ة‬ � ‫ت‬ � ‫ث‬ ‫�ل�ت‬ � � � ‫ئ‬ � � � � �‫ا لى ج‬ �‫ح�����ي�� لا ي‬ �‫���ه���ت�ه ف� ب��ل�د ك ب‬ ‫حول �ع���ن�ه ����ي�ش�� �ث�م ������ق�را ���م�ا يف� ا �ل�د ا ��ي� ا � ي� ب�����ه�ا ا �ل ����ب�لا د ا لى‬ ‫ي‬ ‫أن ن‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫�ة‬ �� � ‫ن‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ل�ت‬ ‫ن‬ � ‫��� ا) �ر� ����ب� ����م���ك و �����ظ� ا جل‬ ‫�����ه� ا لم��و ���ج�ه ا ��لي�����ه�ا �م�����ق�ا ب�لا‬ � ‫� � ت��ت���هي� ا لى ا �ل ����ب�ل�د ا �� ا �� ب�����ه�ا ا ( ك‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫����ه�ا ت‬ ‫�ة �ل�ت‬ ‫��ك�ع ����ب��ة ف�����ت�ل�ك ا �جل‬ ‫�����ه��ة �ه� ا ��ل�ت ت�ن�����س�� ا ��لي�����ه�ا ق� ����ب�� تل��ك و �ت���ع� �ف� ا �جل‬ � � ‫�ل��ل‬ � � �� ‫ب‬ ‫ر‬ �‫ك��ل���ه�ا ��ب�ا �ل�د ا�ير ا � ي‬ �‫ي ي‬ ‫ف‬ � ‫ن‬ ‫ت‬ ‫� �ة‬ ‫ر�ة‬ ‫�غ‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫����ه�ا ت‬ ‫� و ا � �عر�ت������ه�ا �ا ��ي� �عر��ف� ت� م‬ ‫�ك�و� ع��لي�����ه�ا د ا ��ي� ا �جل‬ � � ‫ت���لي�����ه�ا ا لم‬ ‫كل ب� ل�د و ب�����ه�ا‬ � �‫��ح�را ب‬ � ‫ب‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ت ف‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ف ن‬ ‫�غ‬ � � ‫� � ن ال �ي�ا ��ك� ف�����ي��ة ا‬ ‫ل��س���ف�ر ب�����ه�ا و ب�����ه�ا � �ي�������ض�ا �ي�عر�و� ا ل�مرا ��سي� و ��ير���ه�ا‬ ‫����ع�ر�� ( ك‬ ‫��� ا) ا �ل ب����حريو� ار‬ ‫و‬ ‫ي‬ � � ‫ح‬ ‫ت أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ش‬ � ‫ق‬ ‫� تف‬ ‫ح�� ما �ذ �ل�ك �م���ع� و�ف� �ع ن���د ���ه� � �� �ص� ا �جل‬ � ‫�����ه�ا‬ �‫� ال� ر���بع �����م�ا ل ج� ن��و ب� �����ش�ر� ��غ�ر ب� �ث� �����ر���ع� ت‬ ‫ر‬ ‫� س�ب‬ ‫ل‬ ‫أ م‬ ‫م‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ف‬ � � ‫ث‬ ‫ث‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ث‬ ‫ن‬ � � � ‫ن‬ � �‫ا لى �ثم�ا �����ي� �ث� ا لى ����س��� �ع����ش�ر �ث� ا لى ا ����ن��ي� و �لا ���ي‬ ‫ح��س�بما �ل�ك ���م� ك‬ ������‫�ور �ع���ن�د � ���ه�ل ���ه� ا ا �ل‬ ‫م‬ ‫ف م‬ .)…( �‫و �م���ع�رو�� �ع ن���د ���ه‬ ‫م‬ At the top of fol. 5a we read, ‫ف أ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ر�ة �ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫����ه�ا ت‬ ‫�ر ا �جل‬ � ‫� ا ��ل�ت� ي����س�ا �ر ب�����ه�ا و ب���م�عر�ت������ه�ا � �ي�������ض�ا �ي���ع�ر�� الا ����ست��ق�� ����ب�ا ل ا ل��م� ك‬ ‫�يف� ���ه� ه ا �ل�د ا ��ي� ك‬ ‫�ور‬ � ‫ي‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ي�من��ت���ه و �ت���� �ص��ل�� لم���س�ا ف�ر ا �ل ب������ح�ر ك‬ .‫����م�ا �هو �م���ع�رو�� �ع ����ن�د � ���ه�ل�ه‬ ‫ح‬

73  In fol. 3a, al-Sharfī commented on the Kaʿba representation and the wind rose:

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presence. The tables of “calendar of events” and year conversions may have their parallels in European examples in the Easter tables,74 yet their connection to the specific interests of Maghribi sea travelers makes their inclusion original. Al-Sharfī’s interest in the solar year rather than the Islamic lunar year could be explained by the relationship between the periods of maritime travel in the Mediterranean and the four seasons.75 The use of world maps to preface maritime atlases (e.g., ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s use of Idrisian world maps) was specific to the Islamic and even more unique Maghribi cartographic tradition, but it was also used in prefaces to European maritime atlases. This points to the other register of ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s cartographic work, that is, his mappa mundi, which was greatly inspired by the Idrisian legacy. The jaghrāfiyā or qunbāṣ of the Sharfīs Until now it was known that in the summer of 987/1579, ʿAlī l-Sharfī made one mappa mundi, and this was his last known work (B-I-9). Another similar map was produced in the summer of 1009/1601 by his son Muḥammad al-Sharfī (B-I-11). We also know that B-I-9, at least, was made based on the example of ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s grandfather, who made his map based on a Majorcan map.76 Yet, another interesting piece of information has gone unmentioned until now, not in the two mappae mundi but in B-I-8. In folio 3a, ʿAlī l-Sharfī mentions that he made three jaghrāfiyyāt (sing. jaghrāfiyā), which, he said, are being used by navigators and inherited from one hand to another among people’s properties, and so he asks his readers to consult them.77 This paragraph was overlooked, 74  On Easter tables in European maritime atlases: Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 446–448. 75  The use of astronomic works, especially al-Sharfī’s interest in the relationship between lunar mansions and “luck” relates to the common culture of maritime fear already discussed (see part 1). The specific use of the eighth-/fourteenth-century al-Jaghmīnī, among other astronomers, may be explained by availability of his works during the tenth/sixteenth century. See H. Suter and J. Vernot, “al-Djaghmini,” EI 2, 2:378 (Leiden: Brill, 1965). 76  In the left (east) end of the map we read,

ّٰ ‫�ذ‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫أ ف � ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫(…) � ت‬ ‫� ��غ� ا ف����ي�ا ���ع��ل � ن �أ ح���م�د ا � ش‬ � ‫ل���ر �يف� �ل�����ط� ا �ل��ل�ه ��ب�ه ك‬ �‫ي� ب‬ � ‫كا � ب� ال� ��ح�ر�� و�ن�ا ��ل ���ه� ه ا جل ر‬ ‫�ر‬ ‫�ت‬ ‫�ذ‬ � ‫�ة‬ �‫ا �ل��ح�د ي� ث� ا �ل� �ي� روا ه ا � نب� �ع ����ب�ا ��س �يف� �ش��ر��ح�ه ���ع��لى ا ل�مر�����ش�د و��غ��يره �م� ن� ا �ل�ع�ل���م�ا �يف� �ك‬ �‫����ب���ه�م ر �ض� ي‬ ‫ّٰ ن أ‬ ٰ ‫ن ن � ت �ذ �ل �غ ف‬ �‫م ح ّ ن‬ �‫ن أ‬ � ‫ا �ل��ل�ه �ع������ه�م � �ج �م���ع��ي� و������ق�ل�� ���ه� نه ا ج���را �����ي�ا �م�� � أ��خ�ر�ى ب��خ�ط ���ج�د �ي� حم ٰد ر ���م�ه ا �ل��ل�ه و������ق�ل‬ ّ ‫ف‬ � � � ‫�ب� ا �ل������ح� ا‬ ‫��� ب���ا �ص �م� ن� ���ع��م�ل � ���ه�ل �م��يور��ق��ة د �مر���ه�ا ا �ل��ل�ه و�م�ع ����ن�ا ا �جل���غ�را �����ي�ا‬ ‫ل����ش�ا مي� و�مرا ����سي���ه �م� ن� �ك‬ ‫�ر ب ر‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ن��ز �ة ل ش ت ق � �ة ال ض‬ �� � .)…( � ‫���ع��لى (…) �ك���ت�ا ب� ���ه� ا م��������ا � �ص���ف� � ر‬ ‫أ‬ ٰ � � ‫كا ت� ب� الا ��ح�ر�ف� و �� �ص�ا ن� ���ه��ذ ه ا �ل��ط ����ب�ل��ة و ف�������ق�ه ا �ل�ّ�ل�ه �ت���ع�ا لى و � �� �ص��ل�� ا‬ ‫حوا �ل�ه و ا �ع���م�ا �ل�ه‬ � ‫(…) �ق�ا ل‬ ‫ح‬ ‫ع‬ ‫�ذ‬ ‫� � ن �ة ذ ش ت ق‬ ‫���ق�د �ب� ز ��� ن�م� ث�لا ��ث��ة ���غ� ا ف����ي�ا ت‬ � ‫�����ب�ا ر ���ع��ل‬ ‫� �ك‬ ‫ح����س� ب� ���م�ا ك‬ ‫�ره �� �ص�ا ح� ب� ا �ل�و���ه� ( ك‬ � ‫��� ا) ا لم��������ا‬ � ‫ج ر‬ �‫و � ر� ي‬ ‫ى‬

77  At the bottom of fol. 3a in B-I-8 we read,

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and, in particular, the two translations of B-I-8 misunderstood what was meant by jaghrāfiyyāt. While Mansouri translated it simply as “géographies” without venturing into further explanation, Brice translated it as “geographers,” thereby giving it a totally different meaning.78 In fact, al-Sharfī explained what he meant by jaghrāfiyā in folio 2b of B-I-8; he said it is the word he used when talking about the world map in “folio six” (al-waraqa al-sādisa).79 According to al-Sharfī, and as mentioned above (in part 1), this is the word sometimes used (in addition to ṣūrat al-arḍ) by Muslim geographers to refer to world maps.80 More importantly, both ʿAlī and Muḥammad al-Sharfī called their mappae mundi “jaghrāfiya”; thus, they left no doubt about their understanding of its meaning.81 For instance, in ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s description of his 987/1579 map, he states the following: “I have copied this map [jaghrāfiyā] from another drawn by my grandfather … he had copied the coasts of the ‘mare siro’ and its ports from a maritime map [kunbāṣ] made by the people of Majorca, may God destroy it.” Thus, in folio 3a ʿAlī l-Sharfī suggests that he made, sometime before 978/1571 (that is, eight years before he made B-I-9), three maps that seem to ‫�ذ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫� ق ف‬ ‫� أ ض‬ ‫ض‬ ‫� ا ل �ذ ر�ة‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ره الا ب��ح�ر ��م� ك‬ ‫�يف� ا ���خت��را � الا �ف�ا � �����ي�ه � �ص���ف��ة الار�� و ك‬ � ‫�و‬ ��‫ك��ل���ه�ا و ���م�ا يف� ال� ر�� �م‬ � ‫ن ش ر�ة‬ ‫ن أ �ة‬ ‫����ه�ا ت‬ ‫����ه�ا ت‬ ‫� � ن‬ ‫ح����س�� ا �جل‬ ‫� ا ل��م�عرو��ف��ة �ع ����ن�د‬ �� � �‫ج� ����ب�ا ل و �ع��يو�أ و � ود ��ي� و ���م�د � �م�����هو و ج‬ ‫كل �م������ه�ا � ب‬ ‫ح����ي� ث ����ع� �ف �م ن�����ه�ا �م�د �����ن��ة‬ �‫ا �لر�ؤ ���س�ا �� � ن�����ه�ا �ل��ي���س�ا ف�ر ب�����ه�ا �ش��ر���ق�ا و غ�ر �ب�ا و ج�و���ف�ا و ق� ����ب�ل��ة ب‬ � � �‫� � � ي ر‬ ‫كل ي‬ ‫�ح�تى‬ � ‫ن‬ ‫ة‬ ‫� ��ه�ا ت �م� ن ا � ن ت���ق�� � �ص� � ذ � ا ل�م ا ��س ا ل�م�ع��ل ���م��ة‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ � ‫ل‬ � � � � � ‫ا و جأ� ����ب�ل ا و �����ه�ر ا و برك�� ا و أ��ع��ي� م�� ا ي� ا ج��� � و � ي� ��� ر و ك�� ل�ك ر ي� � و‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ � � ‫ي���ه�ا ��ف��م� ن� � را د �ذ �ل�ك ف��لي�� ب�������ح� ث� �ع ن������ه�ا لا ن�����ه�ا ت�ن�ت�����ق�ل �م� ن� الا ��ي�د �� ���ع��ل‬ ���� )‫ي���ه�ا‬ ����( ‫�ف�ا ل� ر��سى‬ �‫ح����س� ب‬ ‫ي ى‬ ‫الا ���ق�د ا �بم ت‬ � ‫ح����ي�ا �ة ا و ���غ��ير �ذ �ل�ك �م� ن� الا �مور ا ��ل�ت� ت�ن�����ق�ل ب�����ه�ا الا ���م�لا ك و �ذ �ل�كك�ل�ه‬ �‫� ا و‬ �‫ح����س� ب‬ ‫ر و‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ز ��ة ز ل ت �ذ‬ ‫ال ت � �ة ال ن � ذ‬ ‫��خ��ل ا �م� ن �ه��ف�� �ة ا �ه��ف‬ � ‫ت‬ � ‫ل‬ ‫�ه‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ �� ‫�د‬ �� ‫ع‬ � ‫ل‬ ) ( � ‫ب‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ � ‫ل‬ �� ‫ك‬ � �‫ا ����س����ط�ا ��ع‬ ‫ي و � و و و � و � و � � و ول و‬ � ٰ ‫ن‬ ّ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ن ن � �ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ة‬ � � ‫�غ‬ ‫�غ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�����سي���ا � ا و ��غ��ير �ل�ك م��م�ا ط �����بع ع�ل����ي�ه ج� ����ب�ل� الا ����س�ا � ���ي����س��������ف�ر ا �ل��ل�ه �يف� ���ج��مي��ع �ل�ك ا ����س��������ف�ا ر‬ ‫ت ف �ذ‬ � ‫ت‬ .)…( ‫�ع ����ب�د �م���ع��ر�� ب� ن� ����ب�ه �لر �ب�ه را ���غ� ب� �م ����ن�ه ���س��ر �عي�� ب���ه‬ �

78  Mansouri, “Une Famille,” 273; Brice, Mediterranean Sea Atlas, 7. 79  In fol. 2b, we read,

‫أ‬ ‫�ة ف‬ � ‫ض‬ ‫� �ة‬ ‫� ��غ� ا ف����ي�ا و �م�ع ن���ا ���ه�ا �ع ����ن�د ا �ل‬ � ‫� �ة‬ ‫حك‬ � �����‫و� ���م�ا �يف� � فص������ح��ة ا �لور�ق��ة ا �ل��س�ا د ���س� ���ف‬ ��‫����م�ا �ص���ف� الار‬ � ‫ي���ه�ا �ص���ف� ا جل ر‬

80  See also Taeschner, “Djughrafiya,” EI 2. 81  In B-I-9 we read,ٰ ‫أ‬ ّ ‫ش � � ف‬ .‫���ط� ا �ل��ل�ه ��ب�ه‬ ��‫� ح���م�د ا �ل���ر يف� ل‬ and in B-I-11 we read,

.)…(

‫أ ف‬ ‫� �ق �ذ ه �ل �غ ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ت‬ �‫� ��را �����ي�ا ���ع��لي� �ب‬ ‫كا � ب� ال� ��ح�ر�� و �ن�ا �ل ���ه� ا ج‬ ‫أ‬ ‫����م�د �ل�ّ�لٰ�ه �ت���ع�ا ل ���ه��ذ ه ا �ل���غ� ا ف����ي�ا �م� ن ���ع��م� ا �ل�ع���ب�د ا �ل��ف��������ق�� ا ل ا �ل�ّ�لٰ�ه حم‬ ‫ا �لح‬ ‫����م�د � نب� ���ع��ل� � نب� � ح���م�د‬ ‫ير ى‬ ‫ى‬ � ‫ج ر � ٰ� ل‬ ‫ي‬ ّ ‫� � ف‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ا�ش‬ .‫���ط� ا �ل��ل�ه ��ب�ه‬ ‫ل���ر �يف� ا �ل��� �ص���ف�ا ���س� �م��س ك‬ ��‫����ن�ا ل‬ ‫ي‬

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have the same characteristics; “navigational” maps that used Idrisian maps as well. These two world maps (B-I-9 and B-I-11) bring to the field of Islamic cartography an important source for understanding some aspects of the terminology used by Muslim cartographers. The rich and complicated interaction between the terminologies of the cartographers from the two edges of the Mediterranean can be further examined through the Sharfīs’ maps. Among the earliest texts that were used to indicate that maritime maps were used by navigators, was one dated in Dhū l-Ḥijja 692/November 1293. A witness mentions, among the belongings of a Sicilian ship that arrived from a trip to Tripoli (North Africa), the following items: Mappamundum unum cum compasso, mappamundum unum, and unum mappamudum. And he gives the value of each, in silver currency. Some scholars interpreted the first item as “mappamonde munie ou dote de compas/utilisée avec un compass/appareillée avec un compas.”82 This led them to conclude that mappa mundi was a term for a maritime map. This is probably one of the reasons that made them consider the mappa mundi a type of maritime map. Recently, more scholars have asserted that the above-mentioned mappae mundi were meant to be maritime maps.83 The words used by the Sharfīs to refer to their maps include also qanābīṣ and qunbāṣ, which are slightly different pronunciations of the same word as that used by al-ʿUmarī and al-Idrīsī, discussed above. This brings us to the question of whether the mappa mundi was clearly identified during the medieval period, and in all circumstances, as a maritime map. The term seems to be very fluid; it cannot be seen as a specific term for a type of nautical chart. In some cases, medieval sources point very clearly to the mappa mundi as a nautical chart; for instance, when Marco Polo mentions, in connection with Ceylon, “la mapemondi des mariner de cel mer,” but in this case, it can be easily understood as the synonym for the general term of “map.” In the textual sources for the late seventh/thirteenth century that mention “Mappamundum unum cum compasso,” there is a clear distinction between the two types of maps. Moreover, nothing suggests that those mappa mundi were used by Sicilian sailors as a maritime map. Although it is often called a mappa mundi, B-I-9 does not have the required characteristics of the mappa mundi. It is made of two parchments sewn together; it is 135 cm long and 59 cm wide, except at the left-hand end, which is 7 cm long, was located.

82  Y. Fall, L’Afrique a la Naissance de la Cartographie Moderne (Paris: Karthala, 1982), 58–60. 83  Caraci, Segni e Colori, xiii.

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The frames are colored in green and red on a white background. Long inscriptions in Arabic characters and Maghribi script run through these bands. The shores of the Mediterranean are drawn in light black. The earth is distinguished from water by a thin band in light brown. Streams appear in green and mountains are painted red. In the second part of the map (east of Syria), the seas are painted light blue. The toponyms are written, for the most part, in black ink, but the major cities are highlighted in red, and written in Arabic in a Maghribi script. A variety of inscriptions are written over the map; these contain the following data:84 1.

In the inscription located to the north, al-Sharfī gives a general description of the ocean of “darkness” and other smaller seas, like the seas “of China” and “of Persia.” 2. In the inscription located to the south, there is a general description of Africa, “Bilād al-Sūdān,” and the deserts. 3. In the inscription located to the west, al-Sharfī gives a general description of the ocean (the “Occidental Sea”), including its measurements according to Ptolemy. Here he introduces his major sources, mainly the Nuzhat al-mushtāq. He also introduces himself as a resident of Qayrawān and native of Ṣafāqus and he mentions the date he made the map: 987 [1579]. 4. In the inscription located to the southeast, al-Sharfī describes the part that is usually absent from most of the nautical charts, the area to the southeast of Syria, which includes Arabia, Iraq, Persia, and Southeast Asia. He mentions two geographic works among his sources, notably Nuzhat al-mushtāq. 5. In the inscription located to the far east, he provides a description of the geography and the population of Far East Asia; the population which is considered to be among the “earliest humans on earth.” In the middle of this inscription he mentions rare and important notes about his cartographic sources, including his grandfather’s work and the Majorcan nautical charts. 6. Four small inscriptions in various locations provide a few indications about their toponyms. The direction of the inscriptions varies, but the main inscriptions are located in two long bands running at the upper and lower parts of the map. They are

84  A translation of the inscriptions into Italian is available in Nallino, “Un Mappamondo,” 722–727.

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set in such a way that the reader will read the map according to the traditional Islamic conventions: south is the upper part and north is the lower part.85 The Sources of al-Sharfīʿs mappa mundi It is difficult to distinguish precisely all the sources of al-Sharfī’s B-I-9. One of the indications pointing to its sources is the clear reference to a previous model, his grandfather’s map, which was “copied” from a Majorcan example. Yet it is not clear how such a map would have looked, though generally it is categorized within the Catalan style. Although it is not a single map, the Catalan Atlas is certainly a good example of the Sharfīs’ Catalan tendency to draw a mappa mundi: a map that is, in part, a maritime map (for the Mediterranean) and in part, a traditional map (of Asia). More interestingly, its possible use of Islamic geographic sources, notably the Idrisian maps for its depiction of Asia, further points to the interaction between the Catalan traditions and the Sharfīs’ mappae mundi.86 The Catalan Atlas is also an interesting model because of the identity of its maker, the Jewish cartographer Abraham Cresques, who was active in Majorca and was part of the so called “cartographic school of Majorcan Jews.”87 Although there is no evidence that Jewish cartographers made maps for Muslims, or were in direct interaction with Muslim cartographers, there is at least the case of the map of Iehuda Ben Zara (902–906/1497–1500), a cartographer who seems to have been based in Alexandria and Palestine. However, he was not part of the Majorcan Jewish cartographers; he edited his maps in 85  The two inscriptions in the upper (south) and lower (north) bands in B-I-9 and B-I-11 are almost the same. The following are the inscriptions in B-I-11:

ٰ ‫ح���م�د �ل�ّ�ل�ه ���ه��ذ ه ا لموا ������ض �م� ن �موا ������ض ب�لا د ا �ل��سود ا ن� و ف�و�ق�����ه�ا ج� ن��و�ب�ا �موا ������ض �ص‬ ‫ا �ل‬ � ‫��ح�ا ر �ي� ور���م�ا ل‬ � ‫ع‬ � ‫ع‬ ‫ع‬ � �‫ح���ي‬ ‫� � � �غ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ش‬ �‫ل���ر �ق� وب‬ � � …  �‫ط ( �ث‬ ‫��ح�ر ��ي�ا ج�و ج� و���م�ا ج�و ج‬ � ���‫� وا �ل ب������ح�ر ا لم‬ ‫�ث�م ا ل ب������ح�ر ا لم������ �ص�ل ��ب�ا ل ب����حر ا ل�ر �يب� وا � ي‬ ‫م‬ ٰ ‫ال � ّ ك �ذ‬ ‫ض‬ � ‫�ر �ذ �ل�ك �� �ص�ا‬ ���‫ج� ����ب�ل ���ف�ا ق�؟) ا لم‬ ‫����م�ا ك‬ ‫ح����ي�ط ب ���ج��مي�� الار�� ��ث� ���م�ا لا �ي�ع�ل���م�ه ا ��ح�د ا ا ل��ل�ه‬ �‫ح� ب‬ ‫ع‬ ‫م‬ ٰ ‫�ذ‬ ‫ّ �ذ‬ ‫�غ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�ش‬ ‫�����ت�ا � ن��ز ���ه��ة ا ل ش‬ ‫م�����ت���ا ق� ; ا �ل‬ � ‫�ك ب‬ ‫ح���م�د �ل��ل�ه ���ه� ا ا �ل ب������ح�ر ا �ل�� ما لي� ا لم������ �ص�ل ب�����ه� ا ا �ل ب������ح�ر ا �ل�ر �يب� و ي������ �ص�ل‬ ‫�� ق‬ � � ���‫�ر ا لم‬ ‫ا �ي�������ض�ا �ش��ر�ق�ا ب��ب��ح�ر ��ي�ا ج�و ج و ���م�ا ج�و ج و�هو �مت������ �ص�ل ��ب�ا �ل ب����ح‬ � ‫ح����ي�ط �ث�م ب����ع�د ه ج� ����ب�ل ف�ا‬ � � ٰ �� ‫ح����ي�ط ب‬ ‫��ج��مي�� الار ض�� ��ث� ب����ع�د ه ���م�ا لا �ي�ع�ل���م�ه ا ��ح�د الا ا �ل�ّ�ل�ه ���ع� ز� و ���ج� ك‬ � ‫����م�ا ن�������ق�ل�ه �� �ص�ا‬ ���‫ا لم‬ �‫ح� ب‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ع‬ ‫م‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ق‬ � � ‫� ا � ت ا ق ال ق‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ت‬ � ‫�ز‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ش‬ .‫��ط�ا ر‬ ‫�ك‬ ��� ‫����ت�ا ب� � ���ه� ا لم��������ا � �يف� ا ��خ��را � الا ��ف�ا � و ا �ب� ا �ل�ع����ط�ا ر يف� ��خ��ر � ا‬

86  On the possible use of Islamic sources and Idrisian maps, specifically in the making of the Catalan atlas’ Asian map, see W. Klein, “Central Asian Religious Geography between Fact and Fiction in the Catalan Atlas (1375),” Hallesche Beiträge zurOrientwissenschaft 35 (2003): 377–403. 87  Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 432.

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Italian and used the Italian style.88 The fact that his work was produced in Islamic lands, he was of Sephardic origin and knew Italian, and his clients were likely Italians, provide us with a rare example of the presence of the Italian school and its techniques within predominantly Muslim communities. These maritime maps are less ornamented than the Catalan examples, yet they share many common features with the works of the Sharfīs, features such as the precise topographic representations, notably of mountains, and the presence of various flags and banners. Naturally, ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s works, including B-I-9, do not show all the aspects of Catalan-style maritime maps. For instance, the cities are not represented by indicators or illustrations, the Red Sea is absent, and there are no decorative elements such as tents and ships. In addition, there is a major difference between ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s two atlases and his mappa mundi. The continent in B-I-9 is much greater in size than it is in the maritime atlases (B-I-6 and B-I-8) and it is filled with more topographical and epigraphic elements. As noted, this tendency toward the Catalan style is not unprecedented among Maghribi cartographers, most of whom were Andalusians. We should also note that B-I-9 has more in common with B-I-3 than with B-I-2, especially with its extensive use of colors and the dense presence of topographic elements. It is within this Catalan cartographic context that we must understand alSharfī’s use of the Idrisian maps, and not as a separate heterogeneous addition, as it has been usually viewed. The Catalan-style interest in “territory,” which marginalizes the coastal emphasis of maritime maps, and its emphasis on textual and not only visual information, appear to be the window that led alSharfī to choose the Idrisian tradition to respond to his Catalan sources. It is with this understanding that we should interpret the presence of a source attributed to an anonymous Andalusian cartographer named Aḥmad al-Andalūsī, for the making of B-I-8. Herrera-Casais suggests that he was a member of the Andalusian community, which was increasingly active in the second half of the tenth/sixteenth century in Galata, where chartmaking flourished.89 Such an Andalusian source reinforces the prior examples of the influence of Spanish maritime cartography on Muslim cartographers, especially Andalusians such as al-Ṭanjī and al-Mursī. Herrera-Casais also suggests that the two atlases, especially when it comes to sacred geography, might have been made following the example of an intermediate Ottoman Turkish model, given the transcription of some topopnyms, 88  A. Dürst, Seekarte des de Iehuda ben Zara (Borgiano VII 1497), trans. Jean-Pierre Mathieu as La Carte Maritime de Iehuda Ben Zara (Fribourg: Editions Ebory, 1984). 89  Herrera-Casais, “The Nautical Atlases,” 233–234.

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such as Venice, with the Ottoman transcription of “Vendek” rather than the Arabic “Bunduq.”90 She also points out that other contemporary Ottoman works of sacred geography, which emphasize pilgrimage locations and routes, included European toponyms, like al-Sharfī’s atlases. The use of the circular Idrisian world map as a preface to the sectional maritime maps in B-I-6 and B-I-8 is not necessarily because of ʿAlī l-Sharfī Islamic background, rather, it falls within the founding traditions of the European maritime atlases from the time of Vesconte’s earliest examples.91 The dense presence of the Idrisian textual and mapping materials in B-I-9 (also B-I-11) also falls into the same context: Rather than being a simple invention by a Muslim cartographer who has “sewn” two traditions—the European and the Islamic—together, it shows an Islamic adaptation of a Catalan tradition that emphasizes the use of non-maritime mapping. As noted (in part 2), we are not aware of any Idrisian map that matches the new, unprecedented tradition of maritime mapping that was characterized by the successful projection of real geography into the graphic representation. While the Idrisian perception of cartography was more that of an appendix for his text,92 maritime maps avoided the necessity of the text by excluding it from the cartographic document and restricting the geographic “description” to the graphic elements. This “anti-textual” attitude was not a claim that the text is useless. In fact, we know that most of the navigators who used nautical charts also possessed a “portulan” for its navigational precision. Still the map remained a major cartographic document for sailors. Even among Muslim cartographers who were involved in the making of maritime maps, like al-Ṭanjī and al-Mursī who were active in North Africa during the ninth/fifteenth century, the new approach prevailed. With the exception of its toponomy, traditional Islamic cartography, as represented in the Idrisian works, was disregarded by earlier makers of maritime maps: Not only was there no indication of any interest in representing the seven climes and the various seas and oceans, but also the orientation of the map was turned to the north instead of the south.

90  Herrera-Casais, “Geografía sagrada islámica,” 467–468. Also see Herrera-Casais, “The Nautical Atlases,” 251. 91  On the tradition of prefacing European maritime atlases with the circular mappae mundi, which are close stylistically to the Idrisian archetype, see Woodward, “Medieval Mappaemundi,” 357–358. 92  See al-Idrīsī’s remarks in his introduction to the Nuzhat al-mushtāq, where he states that the maps do not represent the geographical data as well as the texts do (Nuzhat almushtāq, 1:6–7).

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Despite all the changes adopted by their Maghribi predecessors, the Sharfīs looked back to the Idrisian corpus and still found it relevant, notably in the light of the Catalan-style interest in representing territories beyond the Mediterranean. In B-I-6 the Idrisian legacy is explicitly present (the mappa mundi and the text) but also present implicitly. Despite al-Sharfī’s rejection of the Idrisian systematic division of the earth into seven climes (which was the main characteristic of the Idrisian sectional maps), at times he chose to reproduce some sections from al-Idrīsī’s work. On one hand, the majority of al-Sharfī’s sections depict the two edges of the Mediterranean. The Idrisian sections and regional maps are based on the seven horizontal climes, and thus create east-west climes, for example the “fourth clime,” which extends across North Africa, is the main reason for the cartographic section of that region. On the other hand, it was not a coincidence that al-Sharfī chose to represent the region of Tunisia in a regional context similar to the Idrisian context, and avoided depicting the two edges of the Mediterranean (in this case southern Italy and Tunisia). In B-I-9, half of the map is, in fact, the Idrisian map of the lands east of Syria, that is, the Idrisian map of Asia. The very act of sewing together two maps, the maritime map of European descent that depicts the Mediterranean and the Idrisian map that represents the traditional model of mapping (and which lacks the accuracy of maritime maps), is a bold statement: in essence, it is a metaphor of al-Sharfī’s intention to “sew” the two traditions together. One major question that remains unanswered is how the Sharfīs reconstructed the Idrisian world map. While they used the widely-distributed circular “al-Idrīsī’s world map” to preface the sectional maps of their atlases, their reconstruction of the sectional maps into a rectangular world map in B-I-9 (and B-I-11) is the only pre-modern example presently known. As pointed out above (in part 2), the Idrisian sectional maps may have been constructed, originally, to follow a rectangular world map made by Roger II’s team of mapmakers, then deconstructed into 70 sections to fit the manuscript format of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq. In B-I-9 we have tangible proof that pre-modern cartographers conceived these sectional maps as a rectangular world map (at least for the Idrisian map of Asia). Still, we must note that the Idrisian part in B-I-9 is very similar to the style of the early surviving Idrisian manuscripts, notably A-II-5. Meanwhile, the transmission of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq seems to have continued, in large part, in the Maghribi context, given the Maghribi script used in many manuscripts, as shown in manuscripts A-II in the corpus. By the end of the tenth/sixteenth century, the Nuzhat al-mushtāq appears in the Andalusian context as the text through which Moriscos and Christian monks

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learned Arabic, and this, in turn, added to its prominence in the Maghribi context.93 Who was/were al-Sharfī’s Reader(s)? ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s works were produced in a specific historical context, namely early modern North Africa, and more precisely, in the political space that roughly corresponds to modern Tunisia, or as it was designated in some sources even at that late time, Ifrīqiyya. By the middle of the tenth/sixteenth century, when alSharfī produced his atlas manuscript, Ifrīqiyya was divided into various zones of conflicting military and political influence. The Hafsids, who had ruled for three centuries and were based in Tunis, gradually lost power and were in decline in the midst of the violent confrontation between the two major empires in the western basin of the Mediterranean. From the beginning of the tenth/sixteenth century until the year 982/1574, the date of the final conquest by the Ottomans of Tunis, the territory of Ifrīqiiya was divided between the Spanish and the Ottomans or their allies. The coastal cities, where ongoing battles and confrontations occurred between pirates and military naval forces, were under enormous pressure. This military and strategic turmoil brought Tunisia to the attention of many cartographers, who supported and accompanied the military convoys of the two parties. It was in 963/1556, on the occasion of a naval battle between the Spanish and the Ottomans, around the southern island of Jerba, that the earliest massive prints of maps of Ifrīqiyya were produced.94 These cartographic representations, however, were not merely objective reconstructions. They were, rather, political statements. Likewise, ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s cartographic productions should be viewed in the same manner. In this sense, one key way to deconstruct his works involves questioning their apparent descriptive nature and, then looking for their narrative essence. Our major question is the following: Was ʿAlī l-Sharfī an isolated cartographer interested only in stitching together various cartographic traditions? Was he attempting to determine the best descriptive form of cartography? Or was he interested in politicizing his cartographic discourse? In principle, we have no reason to think that al-Sharfī’s works were anything other than navigational aids; thus, his clients must have been mariners. As mentioned, in B-I-8 (fol. 3a) al-Sharfī claimed that the three maritime maps he 93  Aḥmad b. Qāsim al-Ḥijrī Afūqāy, Mukhtaṣar riḥlat al-Shihāb ilā liqāʾ al-aḥbāb (Abu Dhabi: Dār Suwaydī, 2004), 29. 94  Ch. Monchicourt, L’expédition espagnole de 1560 contre l’île de Djerba (Paris, 1913), 1–45.

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had made up until 978/1571 were used for the purpose of navigation. We also have another source confirming the use of maritime maps in North African harbors at the end of the tenth/sixteenth century, though the identity of their makers is still not clear.95 Yet, even though al-Sharfī’s B-I-6 and B-I-8 were imitations of maritime atlases, they were clearly designed to compete with the finest manuscripts. As noted, their small size fit the format of a regular codex. Its ornamentation also reveals its connection with the visual properties of the books. Regardless of how much it was influenced by European atlas manuscripts, as we see from the examples above, the art of the book was the repertoire that most likely influenced al-Sharfī. It is worth noting here that Qayrawān, where al-Sharfī made his B-I-6, had one of the richest libraries, not only in North Africa but also in the Islamic world. It is quite plausible that al-Sharfī had access to the library, since he was probably a religious scholar (as were most members of his family) and the library was located in the main mosque of the city. At this point, we have not located any examples from this collection that al-Sharfī might have seen. However, we can locate the kinds of books that might have affected his aesthetic choices. For instance, in another old North African collection (the royal collection in Morocco) the books on the science of mīqāt, especially the graphic representations and the frontispiece, are as lavishly decorated as al-Sharfī’s atlas is. Still, the maritime map was supposed to be a sailing tool. For this primary reason, al-Sharfī’s works included the various elements that indicate that sailors were likely the first (hypoethetical) readers. The rivers or streams are depicted in the form of blue wavy lines perpendicular to the coast and parallel 95  This occurs in the narrative of the embassy of the Moroccan-Andalusian al-Tamajrūtī sent to Istanbul by the Saʿdī sultan al-Manṣūr in 997–99/1589–91. Al-Tamajrūtī traveled with the Ottoman navy from Istanbul and the word he used to refer to the maritime map is qumbāṣ:

‫ا ل ص ا �ل���غ� ا � ��ل������ح� �م ��س ���ع�� ��ج��د � �����ن� ت ع�ل���ي�ه �أ ��س��م�ا ء ��ج م�� ا ل��م�د ن ا �ل��س�ا ح�ل���ي��ة‬ �� � � � � ‫و م��� ور ج ر يف� ل ب ر ر وم لى � ل ب�ي‬ ‫� يقع‬ � ‫�ة‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ �ه ����ع�� ن ا ت��ا ���ه�ا ت‬، �‫ا �ل��ج‬ ‫ت‬ ‫����م�ا ����ب�� ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ل�ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫� ا �لر �ي�ا ا لم�� خ�ت���� �ل���ف��ة ك‬ ‫ي� ا لم��س�ا ��ف�ا � ا �� �����ط�ع������ه�ا ا �ل��س��ي����� و���م�ا‬ ‫و � �زر و وأ ي ي� ج‬ ‫ي‬ � � ‫ح‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ق‬ .‫ و���ه� ي���س���مو�����ه�ا ا �ل�������م ����ب�ا �ص‬.‫��ط���ع�ه ب�ا ل� �م����ي�ا ل‬ ����‫����ست��ق‬ ‫م‬ Cited in Kratchkovski, Tārīkh, 1:461. A similar narrative by another Andalusian ambassador, Afūqāy al-Andalūsī (Qāsim al-Ḥijrī) who traveled throughout the Mediterranean in the beginning of the eleventh/seventeenth century, does not clearly mention maritime maps. Still, the author mentions his acquaintance with European mabbāt (mappae) and a book of jaghrāfiyā by a Frenchman called qibṭān (sea captain?) that rather seem to fit the characteristics of traditional world maps. See Afūqāy, Mukhtaṣar, 79 and 99.

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to the list of toponyms. The toponyms were depicted in the form of a list on the continent, as this enabled the reader to see the exact details of the coast. The topographic exactitude is concentrated on the coasts. Gulfs are carefully drawn. The shallows are clearly indicated with red dots to alert navigators. All of these conventions are replicated in B-I-9; they were previously established features in most nautical charts, whether European or not. However, the careful handling of the topography of the coasts is not equal in all regions. For instance, we find the shallows represented clearly and in detail (with red dots) in just two charts that are associated with al-Sharfī: First, in the seventh map, which depicts the coast of Tunisia (with which he must have been very familiar), and second, in the sixth map, which depicts the coast of the Ottoman core. These two charts are closely related to the milieu of the Ottoman conquerors who were present in the Tunisian coastal area at that time. There is strong evidence that shows a possible Ottoman audience for alSharfī’s works, namely, the fact that the sixth chart (which includes Istanbul) seems to have been used by Turkish speaking clients. In this chart, we find later notes that were added (in red) that mark the orientations with a nastaʿlīq script, not the usual Maghribi script that al-Sharfī always used; rather this script is very similar to that used by tenth-/sixteenth-century Ottoman cartographers, including in Piri Reis’ atlases. More importantly, these later additions were made in Ottoman Turkish; for example, instead of the Arabic word for north (shamāl or jawf), we find the Ottoman Turkish word that was widely used in maps and sailing directions, that is, yildiz. And, as mentioned above in relation to the flags depicted in B-I-6 and B-I-8, this “link” to the Ottomans is even more obvious on other levels.

Painting the Political Landscape with the Flag: Describing or Narrating? Quantitatively speaking, al-Sharfī’s Mediterranean was not only a geographic space, but also a political scene. Flags and banners were tools by which the political landscape was coded; this is not surprising, when compared to the European tradition.96 For instance, in the second map of B-I-6, we see the kind of flags that the Ottomans introduced to North Africa when they arrived on the scene. Algeria, which fell to the Ottomans at the beginning of the tenth/ sixteenth century, was a major Ottoman base in North Africa during the period when al-Sharfī made his atlas. The flag that appeared at the city of Algiers (striped with red, yellow, and green), which is the seat of the pasha (the highest 96  Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 398–401.

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representative of the Ottoman sultan) must be associated somehow with the latter. In fact, the presence of flags that were similar to those in other major Ottoman centers (though not exactly the same) reflects the Ottoman origin of the flags and their association with major administrative or military corps in the Ottoman hierarchy. For instance, the city of Bizerte, which was one of the first cities to fall in the long process of the Ottoman conquest of Tunisia, was associated with a similar flag (except for the central band, which is black instead of green). On the seventh map (Tunisia), we see another indication that the main flag representing the Ottomans (in B-I-6) is not terribly different from the Ottoman flag in B-I-8. We know from various sources that by the year 958/1551, the island of Jerba was under Ottoman rule. The same flag that was associated with Jerba (two green strips at the sides, a red strip at the center, and two thin yellow strips in between), which must have been Ottoman, is associated in al-Sharfī’s chart with the city of Tunis, which was still under the control of the Hafsids. Since we know the Hafsids’ flag from previous sources (a yellow crescent on a blue background), it is not clear why they would use an Ottoman flag. This is a very important indication that can be explained through other aspects. In fact, the acting Hafsid ruler by that time, Aḥmad III (950–76/1543–69), was an ally of the Ottoman sultan. One of the official concessions he made, in order to show his loyalty to Istanbul, was to introduce Ottoman markers on Hafsid silver coins. However, it has never been mentioned in the sources that he changed the official banner to an Ottoman one. It is quite plausible that he would make this change, but it is equally plausible that al-Sharfī decided to mark the alliance and took the initiative of putting an Ottoman flag on the Hafsid city of Tunis. This might indicate that al-Sharfī had an Ottomanophile attitude. By the time he made his second atlas (B-I-8), most of the Tunisian territories were under Ottoman control, with Qayrawān as their main base at least up until the fall of Tunis in 982/1574; this explains the increasing presence of Ottoman flags. In fact, this comparison of the flags of the two atlases (B-I-6 and B-I-8) suggests not only the ways they differed in terms of their visual characteristics or their connections to specific sites, but also the other characteristics that differed between the two works. There is an emphasis on flags in B-I-6 that is not consistently present in B-I-8. This may have been done to glorify the Ottoman might in the Mediterranean, and emphasize the Ottoman presence in North Africa (from Bādis to Aṭrāblus) with a generic flag (one triangle and two half triangles at the edge with five stripes: either red or green at the extremes with variations of yellow and black in the middle), one that is similar to what we find in the heart of Ottoman territories such as Anatolia. Al-Sharfī’s Ottoman flags mark sites and locations where, in reality, the Ottoman presence was still

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being challenged. Around the 950s/1550s this was true of Jerba and especially Tunis, where the Hafsids kept their rule until 982/1574. It is difficult to explain such anomalies, or to rule out the possibility of the arbitrary use of flags, or the idea that they may have been placed that way on the basis of their prior use, as was the case in many maritime atlases. The intentional use of flags suggesting al-Sharfī’s Ottomanphilia is evident in his choice to place a larger flag on the city of Istanbul. Most likely the only way to explain such an attitude is al-Sharfī’s residence in Qayrawān, where the presence of the Ottomans, especially after the fall of the Shābbī’s state, was more tangible than in other cities like Tunis.97 The connection between al-Sharfī and the Ottoman realm is even more tangible from his use (in B-I-8) of the work of his Andalusian source who resided in Istanbul; this may suggest, as noted, that he had made a trip to the Ottoman capital. As suggested by the bulky lines and thick inks, the flags of B-I-8 are less remarkable, they are incomplete and have a less formal style than the rest of the manuscript. Yet we can see the same feature of an Ottomanized space along the south banks of the Mediterranean up to the Anatolian plateau; this area is marked, even more consistently than B-I-6, with a slightly different generic flag (one triangle and two half triangles at the edge with five stripes: either red or green at the extremes with black in the middle), and culminates with a larger flag on Istanbul, though it is less decorated than the same flag in B-I-6. In contrast to the depiction of the Iberian Peninsula, the territory of the major enemy of the Ottomans, Istanbul and its surrounding area are much more lavishly decorated. In the case of Spain (first map of B-I-6), instead of the Spanish flag, al-Sharfī chose to fill most of the space with the Pyrenees. He could have done this to avoid the Islamic convention of drawing one huge mountain, and opted instead to follow the conventions of Majorcan cartography, like he does in his representation of the southern Saharan 97  Yet the Ottoman presence is not attested in Qayrawān in the written sources in the time he was making his first atlas in 958/1551. But there are some discrepancies between the date suggested in the written sources regarding Ottoman control of the territories of the Shābbī state over the southwestern region of modern Tunisia including Qayrawān (965/1557) and the date found in a series of coins, which place the Ottoman presence in this region at an earlier date (961/1554). See J. Farrugia de Candia, “Monnaies frappées à Tripoli et à Gafsa par Dragut,” Revue Tunisienne (1936), 85–92. In any case, Qayrawān was a major Ottoman base from the 950s/1550s to the conquest of Tunis in 982/1574. See Ch. Monchicourt, “Etudes Kairouanaises, Kairouan et Chabbia,” Revue Tunisienne (1933), 285–319; A. Temimi, “al-Tashakkul al-idārī wa-l-jaghrāsiyāsī li-l-iyyālāt al-ʿuthmāniyya bi-l-Jazāʾir wa-Tūnis wa-Ṭarābuls al-Gharb 1557–1589,” Majallat al-Tārīkiyya li-l-Dirāsāt alʿArabiyya al-ʿUthmāniyya (1995): 187–209.

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mountains in North Africa. Not only does choose not to do this, but he also uses Islamic toponyms in Spain, unlike his transliteration of European toponyms in other cases (he transliterates Italian toponyms in the case of Italian cities). Notably, he names the Pyrenees the “snow mountains of al-Andalus.” He also uses “Ishbīliya” instead of Seville and “Malaqa” instead of Malaga. Al-Sharfī was aware of the Islamic toponyms from Arabic sources, including his major source Nuzhat al-mushtāq; but that would not be the only reason he avoided copying the European, especially the Majorcan toponyms. These choices are more likely explained by the tense relationship between North Africans and the Spanish, especially given the circumstances of military conflict that was occurring during the tenth/sixteenth century when al-Sharfī was making his charts. Such an attitude might explain al-Sharfī’s damnation of the “people of Majorca,” from whom his grandfather “copied” his maritime map. Moreover, the few Spanish flags that appear in B-I-6 (like the one associated with the city of Barcelona) are much smaller than the flag of the Ottomans. In addition, al-Sharfī used the same patterns of ornamentation that appear on the sultan’s flag (interlocking circles in white on a red background) as the main pattern for ornamenting the frames of his maritime maps. This is to say, al-Sharfī’s use of flags does not simply follow the tools of the descriptive discourse of many maritime maps, rather it was his own historical narration; it was his reconstruction of the political landscape and was probably in harmony with his sympathies, rather than being a mirror of the political situation. Concluding Remarks on ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s Works Al-Sharfī’s works reflect the strong relations between the two sides of the Mediterranean, relations that were elaborated during the three centuries of the evolution of maritime maps (seventh/thirteenth to tenth/sixteenth century). They represent the footprints of the distinct rise in commerce within the Mediterranean, especially from the point of view of European cities. In essence, al-Sharfī’s works were conservative documents, since they were associated with a cartographic tradition at least three centuries old. In 1009/1601, when ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s son was recopying his ancestors’ maps, he was drawing the sea routes prior to the discovery of the new world. Despite the intensive commercial trade initiated by the European merchants toward the New World during the tenth/sixteenth century, al-Sharfī was oriented toward the old routes. His work represents not only an old geography, but also an old perception of the world. What kept al-Sharfī from perceiving and therefore representing the new discoveries was not that he knew too little about them, but that he was an Ottomanophile. When he recopied the old Idrisian view that “it is unknown what lies beyond the Atlantic Ocean (“Occidental sea”)”

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he was committed to maintaining the common knowledge of any mid tenth-/ sixteenth-century European (and Ottoman) geographer. By the tenth/sixteenth century the Mediterranean was, for most part, an Ottoman lake. Al-Sharfī did not need to represent the “map of the world,” but the space of navigation that was of interest to the Ottomans. The latter were well acquainted with the cartographic representations of the new world, since its earliest appearances. In 919/1513 Piri Reis made one of the most famous copies of Colombus’ map of his 907/1502 journey to South America. Still, the Ottomans did not show any interest in exploring these new spaces. Al-Sharfī’s focus on old world sailing routes and old cartographic representations was his reflection of the real economic and political focus of the Ottomans and the Ottomanization of this space. Besides the influence of “territorial” Catalan cartography, al-Sharfī’s strong commitment to including traditional Idrisian cartographic representations probably originated from some kind of nostalgia in the space of the Islamic world. Thus, instead of exploring new western routes, al-Sharfī directed his reader’s attention to the “old” east. A navigator might find al-Sharfī’s maps useful. But he would likely also find them strangely lengthy, overburdened with text, and too decorated. The two atlases, made in paper and in small size, would not be carried on board a ship. Moreover, substantial parts of the maps, notably the continental areas of Asia in the case of B-I-9, were useless for navigators. An Ottomanophile collector, however, would be happy not to use them as functional tools but rather to look at them. He would perceive them as simply “beautiful political paintings.” Such collectors were the most likely recipients of the Sharfīs’ works.

Chapter 7

The Imperial Ottoman Mediterranean and the Transmission of the Tenth-/Sixteenth-Century Mapping of the Mediterranean

Ottoman Maritime Cartography: The Mediterranean as an Imperial Ottoman Image

Piri Reis as Sea Captain and Cartographer of the Mediterranean It was not by chance that the beginning of an Ottoman geographical selfawareness and the making of a genuine local tradition beyond translations emerged during the era of the major conquests, that is, the tenth-/sixteenthcentury age of exploration, notably during the reigns of sultans Selim and Suleyman. The navigators that led the era of Ottoman exploration in the tenth/sixteenth century included Selim (919–26/1513–20), Ibrahim Pasha (926–42/1520–36), Hadim Suleyman Pasha (942–51/1536–44), Rustem Pasha (951–60/1544–53), Sokullu Pasha (972–87/1565–79), and Mir Ali Beg (987–97/1579–89).1 Such a geographic tradition reflected imperial ideology in the form of geographical imagination.2 In such a world, Istanbul was the nucleus, the Mediterranean was the “core,” and the rest of the world was the “periphery.” One particular navigator was also skilled in geographic writing and cartography: Piri Reis. His work reflected these times (the period of transition from Selim to Suleyman’s rule), as it focused on the Mediterranean with Istanbul as the center. Piri Reis was, in a sense, the official Ottoman cartographer, though there was no such function. Even though other Mediterranean courts had established such a position, with the Habsburgs in Spain establishing the Casa de Contratación (house of trade), and the French utilizing the geographe du roi, the Ottomans’ intense interest in cartography did not translate into the establishment of a similar official function, though the Ottomans did assign an official historian.3 By making Ottoman Turkish a major language of geographic 1  On these leading explorers, see Giancarlo Casale, The Ottoman Age of Exploration (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010). 2  See Pinar Emiralioglu, Geographical Knowledge and Imperial Culture in the Early Modern Ottoman Empire (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2014): 13–42. 3  Ibid., 89–98. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi ��.��63/9789004347380_009

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works, the official historian reflected the new place of Ottoman geographers in the tenth/sixteenth century. The special place Piri Reis gave the Mediterranean was not only based on the descriptions of it in his book. Even the format of writing changed from verse to prose as he began to describe the “White Sea.” The main subject was described clearly and efficiently, so that the book would be useful: The reason for shifting to prose here is that so far in this book, we have explained the matters regarding compass, map and the situation of the winds and shallows completely in verse. But we describe the Mediterranean in prose. Had we done it in verse, it would have taken very long. When you use this book at night or places of difficulty, verbosity is not proper.4 Piri Reis’ descriptions of the Mediterranean focused mainly on the targets of the Ottoman fleet of the first half of the tenth/sixteenth century. As Emiralioglu points out, only 32 of the 214 charts in the second version of the book depict places in the central and western Mediterranean, mainly islands (Malta, Corsica, Majorca, etc.). Approximately 85 percent of the charts (182 charts) depict the eastern Mediterranean and North Africa.5 In terms of quantity and quality, Reis’ maps of this area are greater and more precise than those of any of his European contemporaries. The Ottoman historian Ibn Kemal (also known as Kemal Paşazade) described the “White Sea” in the context of the tenth-/sixteenth-century Mediterranean; it was so tumultuous, it was thought to resemble a “jungle.” It turned from “white” to “grey.” In his Tevarih-i Al-i Osman we read: With colorful flags and banners, the ships of the fleet became a rose garden ornamented with flowers. White sails covered the face of the blue sky. The sea became a jungle of thickets. The White Sea looked like a grey sea with fast and endless number of freshly caulked, black coated, new ships, covered with immeasurable tar to cure and remedy the possibility of rebellion, calamity, and fear.6 Until recently the scholarship on the most famous Ottoman cartographer and Muslim mapmaker in the tenth/sixteenth century has been plagued by two

4  Translated by Emiralioglu, see ibid., 99. 5  Ibid. 6  Translated by Emiralioglu, see ibid., 89.

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major problems. First, Piri Reis’ work has been disproportionately studied, with more emphasis on his single maps and notably the origins of the depictions of the new world. The fragment of his 919/1513 world map is at the center of these investigations.7 Second, his Kitabi Bahriye (Book of maritime matters) is usually emphasized in works that do not highlight specific manuscripts, but rather examine the bulk of his surviving manuscripts; these works tend to focus on the texts rather than the maps.8 In other words, Piri Reis is known as a cartographer of the world, and his text is used more than his surviving manuscripts, and thus maps. This seems to be the result of the absence of any autographed manuscript by Piri Reis, in contrast to the fragments of his world map, which bear the evidence of his direct involvement; notably, we have an inscription in his 919/1513 world map. Soucek has already pointed out the absence of autographed manuscripts of the two versions of the book, a shorter version made in 1521 and a longer version in 932/1526.9 This is, however, a marginal point. Since the early scholarship on Kitabi Bahriye, the original dates of its two versions (1521 and 932/1526) were emphasized more than the dates of the surviving manuscripts. More importantly, in at least two cases, the absence of the dates of some of the surviving manuscripts led some to confuse them with the date of the original colophon, as it was copied by later scribes. This was the case of the MS in Suleymaniye Library, Ayasofia 2612 (B-II-6), which has been published three times as a

7  The most notable work on Piri Reis illustrates this unequal emphasis on Reis’ cartographic contribution, with the focus on his post-Colombus status: S. Soucek, Piri Reis and Turkish Mapmaking After Colombus: The Khalili Portolan Atlas (London: Nour Foundation, 1996). The latter includes the only monograph study of a single manuscript of Kitabi Bahriye (pp. 108– 159). We should also note that one of the most substantial monographs on Piri Reis relates to his 919/1513 world map. See G. C. McIntosh, The Piri Reis Map of 1513 (Athens and London: University of Georgia Press, 2000). This map is also the focus of a number of small articles, even by non-specialists on Ottoman cartography. See, for example, R. Stephenson, “The Piri Reis Chart of 1513: Its Significance and Use,” Turkish Review Quarterly Digest 33–34 (1993), 77–81. For an example of a generic, mainstream contribution on the works of Piri Reis that emphasizes the “Map of Americas,” yet includes all his works, see S. Tekeli, “Piri Reis’s Map of Americas,” Turkish Review Quarterly Digest 2 (1987/II), 93–104. 8  See, notably, Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 272–279; Dimitri Loupis’s important MA thesis on the origins of Reis’ text does not focus on the maps, though it does call attention to the importance of focusing on the study of manuscripts. See D. Loupis, “Diffusion of Skill in the Mediterranean World: Ottoman Navigational Technology during the 16th Century Seen through Sailing Directions Manuals,” MA thesis (Bilkent University, 2004). 9  Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 272.

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facsimile,10 and is sometimes introduced as an autograph of the second version, because of the date surviving from the original colophon of the second version of Kitabi Bahriye, 932 (1526).11 The other manuscript, sometimes introduced as an autograph or at least a copy from an autograph dated to 932/1526, is Topkapi Sarayi (TKS), Hazine (H) 642 (B-II-8), which was published a few years ago.12 These two manuscripts are similar in cartographic style. For unknown reasons, perhaps because it is the “most complete” manuscript, B-II-6 (Fig. 7.1) is usually introduced as the closest to the original.13 Yet, as noted by Soucek, the date the latter was copied points rather to 982/1574,14 which does not make it the earliest surviving copy of Kitabi Bahriye. In addition, the cartographic style of B-II-8 (Fig. 7.2) seems to indicate that it is an even later copy, especially given its more colorful and decorated style (for example, the few small houses suggesting villages (qarya) in maps like Kale-i Sultaniye (today’s Kilitbahir) are absent in B-II-6). In many cases, the dates of the copies of Kitabi Bahriye are known.15 It is necessary to examine these copies, which are based on the earliest surviving manuscripts and which are copies of the first version of Kitabi Bahriye such as B-II-1 dated to 959/1551, B-II-2 dated to 961/1554, and B-II-3 dated to 962/1554–55. As we can see in table 3.9, the most published, and thus emphasized manuscripts of Kitabi Bahriye are copies of its second version, which are considered 10  F. Kurdoğlu and H. Alpagot (eds.), Piri Reis Kitabi Bahriye (Istanbul: Devlet Basımesi, 1935); Y. Senemoğlu (ed.), Kitab’i bahriye (Istanbul: Denizcilik Kitabi, 1973); Ertugrul Zekai Ökte (ed.), Kitabi Bahriye: Piri Reis (Istanbul: Historical Research Foundation, 1988). The first includes reproductions of the maps and a translation from Ottoman Turkish to modern Turkish. The second edition includes colored reproductions of maps and the text in three languages: Ottoman Turkish, modern Turkish, and English. 11  See, for example, Hakki, Topkapi Sarayinda, 54. The colophon, including the date at the end (feyz-i hedi) as a monogram, reads. .�� ‫���ه�ا د‬

‫ي‬

‫د �ي�د ك ��ت�ا �خ �آ � ف ض‬/ � ‫ت���م�ا ا �����ت�د ك ��س �ز � � �ل ���م� ا د‬ ‫م ي‬ � �‫و ي� بوو ب� ر ي‬ ���‫كا �����ي‬ �‫ر ي ي‬

which translates to: “Having achieved our desire, we bade it farewell in the year we call feyz-i hedi.” 12  Ökte (ed.), Kitabi Bahriye. On the dating, see E. İhsanoğlu (ed.), Osmanli Coğrafya Literatürü Tarihi. History of Geographical Literature during the Ottoman Period (Istanbul: IRCICA, Istanbul, 2000), 1:23. 13  On Ayasofia 2612, Soucek notes that it is “considered one of the best complete manuscripts of the second version, it may be also the earliest.” See Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 290–292, appendix 14.2, n. 23. 14  Ibid., 291, appendix 14.2, n. 28. 15  See, for example, Kurdoğlu and Alpagot (eds.), Piri Reis, xxxix–xl.

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Figure 7.1 Maps of Algiers (left) and the Gulf of Tunis (right) from a 982/1574 copy of Piri Reis’ Kitabi Bahriye (in Ertugrul Zekai Ökte (ed.), Kitab-i Bahriye Pîrî Reis, 318A and 327A; B-II-6).

Figure 7.2 Maps of Algiers (left) and the Gulf of Tunis (right) from a late tenth-/sixteenth-century copy of Piri Reis’ Kitabi Bahriye (in Bülent Ari (ed.), Kitabi Bahriye. Piri Reis, 479 and 493; B-II-8).

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Table 3.9 Manuscripts of Kitabi Bahriye consulted Location

Date and Comments

Istanbul-Suleymaniye (Yeni Cami 790) Dresden-Saxen Library (Ms. 389) Istanbul-Suleymaniye (Hamidiye 945) Bologna-Biblioteca Universitaria (Ms. 3613) Istanbul-Suleymaniye (Husrev Pasha 272) Istanbul-Suleymaniye (Ayasofia 2612) Oxford-Bodleian (Ms. d’Orville 543) TKS (H. 642)

959/1551. First version (128 maps) 961/1554. First version (119 maps) 962/1554–55. First version (42 maps) 977/1569. First version (125 maps) 978/1570. First version (127 maps) 982/1574. Second version (216 maps) 996/1587. First version (142 folios) Late tenth/sixteenth c. (very close to Suleymaniye, Ayasofia 2612). Second version (215 maps) Late tenth/sixteenth c. Second version (219 maps) Late tenth/sixteenth c. or early eleventh/seventeenth c. First version (122 maps) Undetermined date. First version (119 maps) Undetermined date. Second version (228 maps) Undetermined date. First version (88 maps) Undetermined date. Second version (239 maps) Undetermined date. First version (134 maps) Undetermined date. Second version (204 maps)

Paris-BNF (Supp. Turc 956) Paris-BNF (Turc 220)

Istanbul-University Library (T. 123) Istanbul-University Library (T. 6605) Istanbul-Deniz Muzesi (No. 987) Istanbul-Deniz Muzesi (No. 988) Istanbul-Deniz Muzesi (No. 990) Bologna-Biblioteca Universitaria

the most representative of Piri Reis’ “original” style. The few works that have been compared to Kitabi Bahriye suggest that its second version, the surviving copy B-II-6, was their major source. For instance, in a study on the depictions of the Adriatic Sea in Kitabi Bahriye, the author used mainly B-II-6 and another later manuscript as the basis to compare the maps of the Adriatic Sea

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in the various copies of Kitabi Bahriye with each other.16 This comparison is only valid if we are comparing the style of Kitabi Bahriye from the second half of the tenth/sixteenth century to manuscripts from later periods. Some variations suggest differences in pictorial styles as they evolved over time. Such differences include, for example, the more elaborated forms and coloring of city views and individual buildings. Other differences emerge in the second half of the tenth/sixteenth century, for instance, in the reduced texts and the omission of decorative elements such as ships. In all cases, such comparisons may fail to convey the different contemporary styles that evolved through the second half of the tenth/sixteenth century. Even when, in another exercise, manuscripts of version one are contrasted with manuscripts of version two, the same almost ahistorical issue persisted: Manuscripts from the two versions are used regardless of their dates; this suggests the ongoing assumption that they represent exact copies of the “original” work by Piri Reis.17 The manuscripts of the first version of Kitabi Bahriye are its earliest surviving manuscripts. Since none of these copies are actually autographs and they are the work of later copiers/cartographers, they are, effectively, separate works that should not be considered representative of Piri Reis’ “original” style. Rather, they represent the style of the mapmakers of the second half of the tenth/sixteenth century. The only evidence we have of Piri Reis’ “original” style is found in his world maps. His 919/1513 map offers us a glimpse of his depiction of the Mediterranean with the Atlantic European and African coasts fully represented, along with a very limited portion of the Iberian and Moroccan Mediterranean coasts, all of which are fixed elements in the Mediterranean Sea maps. As noted by McIntosh, these coasts, were undoubtedly copied by Piri Reis from typical European-made portolan charts and portolan style maps of his time. On the source maps, most of these place-names were originally written in European languages, such as Italian and Portuguese … In west Africa are shown rivers, lakes, mountains, cities, animals, and seated figures that are similarly shown on earlier portolan charts, such as that by Angelino Dulcert of 1339, the

16  D. Novak and D. Mlinarić, “Adriatic Coast and Islands in the Kitab-i Bahriye by Piri Reis,” in Five Centuries of Maps and Charts of Croatia (Zagreb: Skolska Kniga, 2005), 331–368. 17  D. Novak, D. Mlinarić, and M. Lapaine, “A Comparative Analysis of the 16th Century Ottoman Mapping of the Croatian Coast and Islands,” Journal of the Croatian Cartographic Society 4 (2005/4), 78–110.

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Catalan Atlas of c. 1380, and that by Mecia (or Mecian) de Viladestes of 1413.18 Piri Reis’ inscription confirms the overall origin of the world map, that it is of Spanish/Portuguese origin. But when we compare the Strait of Gibraltar in his 919/1513 world map to the earliest surviving copies of both versions of Kitabi Bahriye (notably those dated to 958/1551 and 982/1574), we see that the cartographic style is clearly and strikingly different; the latter examples (i.e., that of 982/1574) is more schematic and generic. As it has been repeatedly shown, the style of Piri Reis’ Kitabi Bahriye is specific to the style of another tradition, one that differs from that of the “portolan charts” that emerged in the ninth/ fifteenth century, which were in an isolarii style. The main proofs have been summarized by Soucek. In style, the charts show some affinity to the isolario, introduced by Cristoforo Buondelmonte in A.D. 1420 and developed later by Bartolomeo dalli Sonetti and Benedetto Bordone. Each chart, for example, has its own system of wind roses with north indication and uses conventional signs, such as small dots for shallow water and crosses for submerged rocks … It is probable that for the Aegean, Pīrī Reʾīs had access to the printed isolario of Bartolomeo dalli Sonetti published in Venice about A.D. 1485–86. Gallois in his detailed analysis of the cartography of Delos (one of the Cyclades), concludes that no feature on the island represented in the Kitāb-i baḥriye is absent from the Bartolomeo isolario. Brice compares the representation of Euboea and makes a convincing case that the Bartolomeo version was the source.19 This connection between the style of the Kitabi Bahriye and that of the isolarii, however, may be wider than Bartolomeo’s printed version. For instance, when comparing two manuscripts, Bartolomeo’s BNF Latin 4825 with Kitabi Bahriye’s earliest surviving manuscript, Yeni Cami 790 (B-II-1), one can see the stylistic connections, in particular the dominant green coloring of both manuscripts, which we also see in another manuscript of Bartolomeo’s isolarii, which is now in Brussels.20 But beyond even Bartolomeo’s printed and manuscript 18  McIntosh, The Piri Reis Map of 1513, 19–20, table 1. 19  Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 277–278. 20  For more examples of greenish representations in Bartolomeo’s manuscripts, see, notably “Brussels’ Bartolomeo” with its greenish mainland and reddish “houses” recalling even more specifically Yeni Cami 790 (B-II-1): W. Bracke, “Une Note sur l’Isolario de Bartolomeo

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copies, other isolarii makers may emerge as direct sources. It is attested now that at least one of Buondelmonte’s printed isolarii was inscribed with Ottoman Turkish inscriptions, namely translated toponyms.21 But a more interesting case is the depiction of the Aegean island of Kaloyeros (“Caloiero”), which was represented for the first time with the remarkable feature of a boat and a crane in Buondelmonte and Bartolomeo’s manuscripts and printed works at the same time around 889–90/1485, yet the first textual descriptions appear only in Buondelmonte’s work. The format that seems to be the closest to the Ottoman examples appeared in Bartolomeo’s printed copy in 889–90/1485, and especially in a later “artistic improvement” by yet another cartographer, Benedetto Bordone, as we can see in a printed copy of his isolario made in 953–54/1547.22 The Ottoman examples depicting Kaloyeros, or Istanbūliya as it is called in Kitabi Bahriye, are restricted mainly to the manuscripts of the first version, such as Suleymaniye Library’s B-II-1 (folio 55b; 959/1571) and Husrev Basha 272, B-II-5 (folio 38a; 978/1570), in addition to the BNF Supp. Turc 220 (folio 53; undated but probably late tenth/sixteenth century). In the earliest example, Kaloyeros is not yet depicted with the boat and a crane, which later became its characteristic feature. The earliest example with such a feature is B-II-5, which is even more elaborated in the later BNF Supp. Turc 220. Both examples seem closer to Bordone’s 953–54/1547 depiction of Kaloyeros. This may point to the inclusion of features and stylistic formats posthumous to Piri Reis by later cartographers who produced the Kitabi Bahriye while studying new material, notably from the isolarii. But the connection between the Kitabi Bahriye and the isolarii is not only one of content, they also have a common subject matter, which emphasizes the islands, and its specific style is very different than that of the sea maps. When the isolarii are presented as an integral part of the corpus of sea maps and atlases, we fail to note that the isolarii do not emphasize an accurate depiction of the coastline (like sea maps), but rather the various ports or coastal cities, and this usually results in the deformation of the coastline. Furthermore, the depiction of the coastline is much less detailed than the usual depictions we find in the tradition of sea maps. In our context, the example that best shows this contrast, and which in fact leads us to question the whole notion of da li Sonetti dans le manuscript de Bruxelles, BR, CP, 17874, (7379),” Imago Mundi 53 (2001), 125–129, plate 8. 21  The newly acquired manuscript by the BNF: Latin 2383. 22  W. S. Allen, “Kaloyeros: An Atlantis in Microcosm,” Imago Mundi 29 (1977), 54–71, especially figs. 3 and 5.

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Piri Reis’ “original” style, is the depiction of the Gibraltar Strait in the 919/1513 world map and, for example, in B-II-8. Is this an “original” stylistic feature of Piri Reis or a posthumous change? In fact, when looking closely at the surviving manuscripts in their chronological order, it is possible to see these posthumous additions or revisions. The most notable differences appear in the style. The earliest examples (B-II-1 and B-II-2) are characterized by the more schematic style of the isolarii, and the earliest example that clearly reflects the more accurate style of sea maps is that of B-II-3, dated 962/1554–55, and housed in Suleymaniye Library (Hamidiye 945). This manuscript is an unusual early example of the first version of Kitabi Bahriye; it has no text, rather it is a series of maps with a few inscriptions. This format is much closer to the tradition of sea atlases, which present a series of sectional maps of the Mediterranean with few textual insertions. Yet in content, B-II-3, following the more detailed content of the isolarii, is another genre of micro-cartography of the sea atlases. Unlike the manuscripts of the second version, but similar to many examples of the first version of Kitabi Bahriye, the name of the mapmaker is mentioned in the colophon of B-II-3: Aḥmad b. ʿAlī b. Meḥmed. In the example of the Dresden manuscript, the mapmaker is actually a sea captain, as indicated by his name, “Mehmed Reis.”23 In this sense, Kitabi Bahriye becomes, posthumously, more than one book; it was made by several kinds of mapmakers with different cartographic styles, and it had more than one client. While Piri Reis’s autographed (lost) manuscripts were made for the Ottoman court, the clients of the surviving manuscripts seem to be a wider range of consumers. In an example like B-II-3, the intended client was clearly not interested in reading the wide geographic notes of Piri Reis; rather it seems that he wanted a detailed sea atlas of the Mediterranean. This work belongs, in fact, to the contemporary genre of Ottoman sea atlases. This is the major distinctive element of Piri Reis’ original Kitabi Bahriye with all its varied sources, the two versions and the posthumous variant styles. The subject of the Mediterranean, which Piri Reis followed strictly, stopped at the Strait of Gibraltar and the Marmara Sea, and this is what has made it such a popular book/cartographic contribution for such a long time. More importantly, Piri Reis’s text and inscriptions on the maps, which were revised posthumously, recorded the glorious victories of the Ottoman fleets and sea captains, especially in the western Mediterranean, and so it reads like a visual series of an Ottoman story of the Mediterranean. 23  Soucek, Piri Reis, 91–92.

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Figure 7.3 The Ḥājj Abū l-Ḥasan’s Chart, first half of the tenth/sixteenth century (?) (in Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” in History of Cartography, vol. 2, Fig. 14.4; B-I-5).

Ottoman Maritime Cartography Other than Piri Reis’ Works Until now the undated work titled “Ḥājj Abū l-Ḥasan’s chart” (B-I-5; Fig. 7.3) is usually discussed within the tradition of “Arab chart making.”24 The earliest and to date the most focused study on this work is that of Hakki, who dated it, based on its flags, to the reign of Sultan Suleymān (926–74/1520–66).25 Brice points out that it must be “post-da Gama as it squeezes the cape of Good Hope and the island of Madagascar rather awkwardly into its southern margin.”26 The complicated nature of this map calls for special attention, and this in turn explains its omission from this study. But until we have a more focused investigation, it is possible to make a few notes. First, we have reason to question the “Arabic” nature of the map. The structure of some phrases and the pronunciation of some words do not seem to have been made by an Arabicspeaking cartographer. For instance, the frequent use of the formula “x or y wilaya (sic)” rather than “wilāya x or y” is not the linguistic construction of even a barely literate Arab cartographer, unless Abū l-Ḥasan intended for his map to be read by non-Arab readers, probably Ottomans.27 In addition, the orthography of some Arabic toponyms suggests that the author was not familiar with the orthography of some well-known toponyms and words, and that he was probably transcribing them from European sources, which do not transliterate letters absent in Italian or Catalan, such as sīn and ṣād; this would lead 24  Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 265. 25  Hakki, Topkapi Sarayında, 130–136. 26  Brice, “Early Muslim Sea-Charts,” 55. 27  For instance, to cite only few examples:

‫ة‬

. ��‫و�ل����ي‬

� ‫ة‬ �‫ت‬ � ‫ة‬ ‫ �و��ن��س‬, and ��‫����ش�ا م و�ل����ي‬, ”��‫ب���غ�د ا د و �ل����ي‬

But this does not necessarily suggest an Ottoman pronunciation, especially because, in ‫ لا � ت‬. Ottoman Turkish “wilāya” is written � ‫و ي‬

251

The Imperial Ottoman Mediterranean

readers unfamiliar with some toponyms or words to make mistakes.28 All this adds to the impression that this was an unusual manner for an Arabic speaker to pronounce some well-known toponyms.29 Finally, the manuscript is not in the Maghribi script, though Maghribi cartographers were dominant in Arabic maritime mapping. Second, when compared to the other Arabic examples, B-I-5 is unusual for the way it follows, quite precisely, the style of Catalan maritime mapping. The drawing and the emphasis of red for the Red Sea, the depiction of ships and tents, and the way topographical elements are depicted and colored (the mountains, in particular the Atlas chain, and the several green lakes) all reflect a Catalan style of mapping. The only similarities are with al-Mursī’s map, notably with its city views and flags, and the circular diagram of the “calendar of events.” Still the depiction of ships and tents leads us to compare it to the Piri Reis maritime maps, especially B-I-4, and ultimately suggests that B-I-5 falls within the Ottoman cartographic tradition. This brings us to the other surviving single-page Ottoman maritime map, namely, Mehmed Reʾīs of Menemen’s 999/1590–91 regional map of the Aegean Sea (B-I-10; Fig. 7.4).30 Brice’s important study already points out three issues.31 The first concerns the origin of the cartographer: his family name is identified with Menemen, which is “a river-port at the head of the delta of the Gediz River” in the Aegean Sea. Brice responds to earlier suggestions that Mehmed Reʾīs was a renegade by citing the location of his home near the Ottoman center, “his elegant and practiced Arabic hand,” and his familiarity with Ottoman

Figure 7.4 Mehmed Reʾīs of Menemen’s regional maritime map depicting the Aegean Sea made in 999/1590–91 (in Portolani e Carte Nautiche, map. 34; B-I-10). 28  For example, this is the case of the following toponyms: ‫��س�ع����ي�د‬ and ‫( ر ا �ص‬instead of ‫)ر ا ��س‬.

ُ

‫( �ل���ي��ة‬instead of ‫)ا � ص�ع���ي�د‬ �‫و‬ � ���‫ل‬

29  Such as “Murrākis” (‫ )�مرا��ك��س‬for Marrākish and “Talmasan” (�‫ )ت��ل�م����س ن‬for Tilmasān. ‫ة‬ ‫����م�د ئ�����ي�� � ن‬ ‫�م� ن ���ع��م� حم‬.” 30  As noted in an inscription on the map: “999 ����‫ب� �م ����ن��م ن����ل� ����سن‬ ‫ر� س‬ ‫� ل‬

‫ي‬

31  W. Brice, et al., The Aegean Sea-Chart of Mehmed Reis Ibn Menmenli (Seminar on Islamic Science, Early Islamic Scuence, Monograph No. 2, October 1977) (Manchester: University of Manchester, 1977).

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Turkish toponyms and phrases, all of which indicate that he was not likely an outlaw; in fact, Brice compares him with another contemporary Ottoman cartographer, ʿAlī Macar. Second, Brice shows how B-I-5 differs in terms of cartographic outlines and toponyms from the depiction of the same areas in other maps, especially the sectional map of the Aegean Sea in B-I-7. While Brice is correct about the differences in cartographic outlines, he does not provide enough evidence with regard to the toponyms. Third, Brice points out the absence of surviving Ottoman maritime maps that are mentioned in the textual sources. According to him, B-I-5 “appears to be a freak survivor.” In fact, the survival of B-I-5 confirms the presence of single-sheet maritime maps by cartographers other than Piri Reis. Their use by Ottoman cartographers has been attested by al-Tamajrūtī, as mentioned earlier. Another eleventh-/seventeenth-century source that claims to translate Ottoman official documents, mentions “una carta da navigare” as an essential element in the equipment of an Ottoman ship.32 Yet B-I-5 belongs to a type of regional maritime map that are uncommon among surviving maritime maps. The Ottomans were known as major consumers of maps. The fictitious cartographer Ḥājjī Aḥmad of Tunis is an example of the growing Ottoman market targeted by European mapmakers.33 This also suggests the increasing Ottoman interest in maps.

Maghribi-Ottoman Maritime Mapping: Originality and Cartographic Transmission

Adolf Erik Nordenskiöld was an important early scholar of cartographic history; his founding work on maritime maps is the 1897 Periplus. He was educated in an academic milieu dominated by positivism, in which the belief in linear history prevailed; he believed that it is possible to resolve all the secrets of the history of maritime cartography, of mastering its disorder and penetrating its mystery, by finding or at least reconstructing or deducing, a cartographic Rosetta stone, a God-map, la carte originel, or as he puts it: “It may be held as completely proved that all these portolanos [that is, maritime maps] are only 32  L. F. Marsigli, Stato Militare dell’Impero Ottomano (Graz: Akadimische Druck, 1972), 142. 33  V. L. Menage, “The Map of Hajji Ahmed and its Makers,” BSOAS 21 (1958), 299–311; Benjamin Arbel, “Maps of the World for Ottoman Princes? Further Evidence and Questions Concerning ‘The Mappamondo of Hajji Ahmed’,” Imago Mundi 54 (2002), 20– 21; Emiralioglu, Geographical Knowledge, 46.

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slightly altered and emended ‘codices’ of the same original, which I designate by the name normal-portolano.”34 This would mean that maritime mapmaking consisted of following a normative copy, thus, this would be a cartography that could be reproduced mechanically—the “normal-portolano.” By now, however, few among those working on European cartography believe in Nordenskiöld’s linear history and even fewer continue to believe in his God-map or “normal-portolano.”35 Still, in fields that are in their infancy like Islamic cartography, such a view remains influential, especially given that this view is echoed in one of the rare notes by Nordenskiöld on Islamic cartography. In his only remark on an Islamic example of maritime cartography, on ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s mappa mundi (B-I-9), Nordenskiöld states that it is simply an “Arabic version of an Italian portolan.”36 He describes the presence of traditional Islamic cartography (Idrisian mapping) in such a work “as an example of the Arabs’ peculiar style of map-drawing.” In other words, according to him, ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s works were made by cutting, pasting, and assembling two copies: an Italian map, and a traditional Islamic map. According to such a view, al-Sharfī’s maritime cartography contained nothing original. Yet a similar position could be found a century later. Svat Soucek summarized al-Sharfī’s maritime cartography as, “an amalgam of the portolan tradition with other cartographic methods going back to al-Idrīsī in the twelfth century.”37 The Ottoman atlases are perceived as even less original. Unlike alSharfī, who attempted at least “an amalgam,” what we call Ottoman atlases are not seen as Ottoman, or they are Ottoman only because they bear legends in Ottoman Turkish. The cartographic work itself is believed to be Italian. Soucek suggests the following reconstruction for the making of ʿAlī Macar’s atlas: 34  A. E. Nordenskiöld, Periplus: An Essay on the Early History of Charts and Sailing-Directions (New York: Burt Franklin, 1897), 45. 35  The very idea that exact copies were made has been convincingly rejected by many scholars. There are speculations about the various methods that may have been used for copying maps: oiled tracing paper, pinholed sheets of paper, and overlapping the model and the fresh vellum with a light source behind. But these were speculations from tenth-/ sixteenth-century sources and they might have been emphasized in some sectors to compete with the rising printing industry. Most convincingly, Tony Campbell writes, “It might reasonably be supposed that one of these three methods had been employed from the outset; yet there is a major drawback to this interpretation. All the described procedures would have produced direct facsimiles, identical in coverage and scale to their model. Yet this is patently not the case.” See Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 391. 36  Nordenskiöld, Periplus, 69. 37  Soucek, Piri Reis, 30.

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“an expert chartmaker of the Freducci or Agnese school made the charts … since the Italian legend would have been unwelcome, the charts were left blank; later, an Ottoman captain [Ali Macar] was asked to fill in the legend.”38 Moreover, the three atlases were viewed not only as productions of an Italian workshop, but also as the production of a single hand, at least that was the suspicion. According to Thomas Goodrich, they “seem to have come from the same workshop and, perhaps, even from the same hands,” and, confirming Soucek’s view, he adds that, “perhaps they were made in an Italian city.”39 Thus, they were not only considered copies of an Italian topos of maritime atlases, but were thought to be copies of each other. A closer examination of some of these works, notably the tenth-/sixteenthcentury Maghribi and Ottoman maritime atlases (B-I-6, B-I-7, B-I-8, B-I-12, and B-I-13) that have barely been studied, brings an alternative understanding. In fact, on examination, we can identify their original characteristics; this leads us to a critique of the linear history of maritime mapmaking, according to which each new map is merely the copy of a previous one. A major question arises here: Were maps defined simply as another form of textual representation? Or were they seen as independent representational forms, as we define them today, that is, as a graphic representation? Were maps meant to be written or drawn? Soucek’s suggestion that ʿAlī Macar’s atlas was not made by him, rather ʿAlī Macar filled in the toponyms and added legends to an already existing atlas, is based on the inscription that dated the atlas (B-I-7; Fig. 7.5). It reads (fol. 6b): “Written (katabahu) with the providence of the Sovereign Lord the Able by the poor ʿAlī Macar Reis in the month of Ṣafar the year 975 [August–September 1567].” Because Soucek understood writing in a literal sense, and therefore attributed the atlas to unknown non-Ottoman cartographers who were unable to fill in the toponyms. The Islamic Maritime Atlases as Part of the European Traditions There are several indications that all maritime atlases seem to look alike; that they copied each other in an intercultural process. The Islamic maritime atlases 38  S. Soucek, “The ‘Ali Macar Reis Atlas’ and the Deniz Kitabi: Their Place in the Genre of Portolan Charts and Atlases,” Imago Mundi 25 (1971), 17–27, especially 19. 39  Th. Goodrich, “The Earliest Ottoman Maritime Atlas—The Walters Deniz atlası,” Archivum Ottomanicum 11 (1988), 25–50, especially 25. On the third atlas, see Th. Goodrich, “Atlasi-i Humayun: A Sixteenth Century Ottoman Maritime Atlas Discovered in 1984,” Archivum Ottomanicum 10 (1985), 83–101.

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255

Figure 7.5 The map of the western Mediterranean from Ali Maçar Reis’ sea atlas (in Özdemir, Ottoman Nautical, 133–152; B-I-7).

are also part of this broad tradition. As discussed, the genre of maritime atlases was first created and essentially developed in a European context. The earliest known maritime atlases were Italian, the earliest of which was Vesconte’s 712–13/1313 atlas of six maps of regional sections of the Mediterranean. Later, in the fourteenth century, the Catalan school and its most famous work, the Catalan Atlas (ca. 776–77/1375) established a lavishly colored style that emphasized natural and figural representations. For both traditions, the main cartographic subject was the Mediterranean and the Black Sea. Even when the Atlantic and the Indian Oceans were also depicted, it was marginal: the main subject of these atlases was the depiction of the Mediterranean. The sectional maps of the Mediterranean were usually cut along the two shores: the northern and southern shore. Sometimes, they were cut in almost exactly the same locations as in the four regional maps of the Ottoman atlases or Ottomano Freducci’s 945–46/1539 atlas. The regions depicted were generally the same, and were usually depicted in six to nine maps. In the case of the three Ottoman atlases, when compared to contemporary European atlases, such as Freducci’s 945–46/1539 atlas, in most cases, we not only have the same regions, but also the same order, from the Black Sea to the European Atlantic shores (table 3.10).

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Table 3.10 Order of the maps in the three Ottoman atlases compared to Freducci’s Sea Atlas Maps

B-I-7

B-I-12

B-I-13

Ottomano Freducci 945–46/1539

Map 1

Black Sea and Marmara Levant and Greece Adriatic, Italy, and part of North Africa Western Mediterranean Atlantic France and Spain, British Isles, and Ireland Aegean Sea and Marmara

Black Sea and Marmara Levant and Greece Adriatic, Italy, and part of North Africa Western Mediterranean Atlantic France and Spain, British Isles, and Ireland Mediterranean and Black Sea (overview) Indian Ocean

Black Sea and Marmara Levant and Greece Adriatic, Italy, and part of North Africa Western Mediterranean Atlantic France and Spain, British Isles, and Ireland Ionian Sea, Greece, and Sicily Aegean Sea and Marmara (reverse in Goodrich) World map Europe, part of Africa, and western Asia

Black Sea and Marmara Levant and Greece Adriatic, Italy, and part of North Africa Western Mediterranean Atlantic France and Spain, British Isles, and Ireland

Map 2 Map 3

Map 4 Map 5

Map 6

Map 7

Map 8 Map 9

World map

World map

Atlantic Africa

Clearly, most of the toponyms of European locations were taken from European maps. But sometimes the toponyms of locations in the Islamic world were taken from European sources, as we can see in the Atlasi Humayun for the Palestinian shore (table 3.11). There are a large number of common characteristics between Ottoman atlases and contemporary European atlases. When we compare ʿAlī Macar’s outline of the shores of the Levant and Greece with that of Agnese (for instance his 950–51/1544 atlas) they are not only very similar but they are also coded in

257

The Imperial Ottoman Mediterranean Table 3.11 Toponym origins for the Palestinian shore in the Atlasi Humayun Atlasi Humayun toponyms Arabic toponyms

Arzūfa

‫ا� ق‬ ‫�س���لو ��ن�ه‬ ‫ت‬ ‫��ك����س���ل‬ ‫أ‬ �� ‫� ر �ز و �ف�ه‬

Jazāriya

‫�ج�زا ر ��ي�ه‬

Qārimna

‫ق‬ ‫��ا ر �م ����ن�ه‬

Asqalūna Castel

ʿAsqalān Ramla

‫� ن‬ � ‫�ع��س���ق�لا‬ ‫ر ���م�ل�ه‬ Absent in Arabic toponomy

Qayṣariyya or Qaṣr Shahrī Ra‌ʾs Carman

‫ق‬ ‫�ي�����صر ��ي�ه‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ش‬ ‫��أ��� �ص�ر �������ه�ر �ى‬ ‫ر � ��س ك ن‬ ��‫�ر�م‬

European toponymsa

Ascalona Kastel Beroardo Arzufo Zexaria Charmeni

a Kretschmer, Die italienischen Portolane, 672.

similar colors: the coastline is in blue, the shores of the islands are depicted in green, pink, or orange, and the gulfs and small seas are colored in (what was likely, originally) red. The construction of the rhumb lines is similar in most atlases. Each map is drawn with marginal compass roses surrounding a central compass rose. That is, there is one central compass rose and 16 subordinate compass roses: this is true of al-Sharfī second atlas, Benincasa’s atlas, and Macar’s atlas. Finally, the European tradition included city views in maritime maps. The city of Genoa is among the most typical and standardized city views; it appears in Beccari’s 838–39/1435 sea map, one of the earliest representations of Genoa in any maritime map. The same stylized representation can be found in sixteenth-century atlases such as Ortis’ 906–07/1501 atlas. The same representation found its way into Ottoman cartography, for example, in Piri Reis’ Kitabi Bahriye and the Denız Atlasi.

The Uniqueness and the Variations of the Islamic Traditions as Compared to the European Traditions Aside from the characteristics of a broad cartographic tradition, cartographic transmission was conditioned not only by the genre but also by cultural and geographic factors. Although the regional sections are very similar, their order in the Ottoman atlases is always arranged from east to west, from the Black Sea to the Atlantic shores. In the European examples, however, there are two orders: One like the Ottoman atlases, in which the Black Sea and the Levant

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Figure 7.6 A diagram showing the disorder of al-Sharfi’s sea atlases, compared to the Ottoman sea atlases.

appear first, and another one (like in Agnese’s atlas) in reverse order, from the Atlantic to the Black Sea (Fig. 7.6). There is a tradition of Ottoman maritime toponyms that was clearly based on an independent source for Ottoman atlases. This is especially true for the texts and original maps of the Kitabi Bahriye made by Piri Reis. In particular, the manuscripts made during the first half of the tenth/sixteenth century seem to be the source of many toponyms in the three Ottoman atlases. The similarities and uniqueness of the Ottoman toponyms are characterized by their unique orthography, which differs from both Italian and Arabic toponyms in Arabic locations like the Levantine coast (table 3.12). The most unique feature of Ottoman atlases, however, is their perception of space, which emphasizes the mainland in the same way as the shores. This is entirely unique for the genre of maritime atlases, especially when compared to contemporary Italian atlases. Emphasis on the mainland was achieved by adding small city views and depictions of mountains and rivers in the heart of the mainland. This can be seen in the depiction of the Anatolian Plateau in Macar’s atlas and in the Deniz Atlasi, where inland cities like Iznik are not usually depicted in a maritime map. The density of small villages is even greater in the Atlas-i Humayun. This special interest in the mainland was not confined to Ottoman space. For instance, in ʿAlī Macar’s atlas the French mainland is carefully depicted with detailed inscriptions that identify each city with a

259

The Imperial Ottoman Mediterranean Table 3.12 Kitabi Bahriye as a source for the toponyms of the Ottoman Atlases ʿAlī Macar’s atlas

Būrlūs Tina Būghazī Shahr Ṭarāblus

Denizi Alasi

‫ب�ور�لو��س‬

‫ت ن غ�ز‬ ‫���ه ب�و� �ى‬ ‫ش‬ ‫�����هر‬ ‫طرب�و�لو��س‬

Tina Būghāzī Ṭarāblūs

‫ت ن غ �ز‬ ‫���ه ب�و��ا �ى‬ ‫طرا ب��لو��س‬

Humayun Atlasi

Kitabi Bahriye

Sārī Aḥmad Būghāzī Būrlūs

Ṣarī Ahmad Būghāzī Būrlūs

Ṭarāblūs al-Shām

‫أ‬ ‫��س�ا ر �ى � ح�م�د‬ ‫غ �ز‬ ‫ب�و��ا �ى‬ ‫ب�ور�لو��س‬

‫طر ب��لو��س‬ ‫ا�ش‬ ‫ل����ا‬ ‫م‬

Tina Baḥriyya Tina Shāhri Ṭarāblūs al-Shām

‫أ‬ ‫�ص�ا ر �ى � ح�م�د‬ ‫غ �ز‬ ‫ب�و��ا �ى‬ ‫ب�ور�لو��س‬

‫ح ��ة‬ ‫تن‬ ‫ت�ن��ه بش�ر�ي‬ ‫���ه �����هر�ى‬

‫طرب�و�لو��س � �ش� �ا �م‬

notice of its political affiliation to France. City views and the treatment of the landscape is the most original part of the Ottoman atlases. Istanbul stands as the most interesting example of city views with a variation of landscapes and styles of drawing and as a source of the history of architecture and urbanism of the Ottoman capital.40 Istanbul was presented by the Ottomans as the center of the world. Even though there is a long tradition of the centrality of the pre-Islamic city, especially during Byzantine times, the Ottoman tradition Islamized such a view by emphasizing the Islamic monuments, notably the architectural features of the mosques.41 This centrality was clear from the first major Ottoman geographical works of the tenth/sixteenth century, such as al-Muvakkit’s Public Instructions for the Distances of Countries, written in 931/1525 and dedicated to Sultan Suleyman; in it, Istanbul is the reference and the “center” from which distances to other cities are cited.42 40  See especially, İffet Orbay, “Istanbul Viewed: The Representation of the City in the Ottoman Maps of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,” PhD thesis (MIT, 2001); Th. Goodrich, “Ottoman Maps of Istanbul in the Kitab-I Bahriye of Piri Reis,” Unpublished paper given in CIÉPO, Vienna, 21–25 September 1998. 41  Notably, in Latifi’s 1526 Qualities of Istanbul, described as a center but also a “pointer” to Mecca. Emiralioglu, Geographical Knowledge, 61–69, 77. 42  “I have chosen one hundred cities located in the seven climes; some of these are well known to the people of this land and some are not. I also state their distance from Constantinople, which is considered here as the center of all countries.” Emiralioglu, Geographical Knowledge, 39.

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The Uniqueness of the Maghribi Tradition Al-Sharfī’s works also portray original aspects. His originality mainly resides in its close relationship with the mainstream literary and manuscript production in the Maghrib. For instance, one characteristic feature of the Maghribi maritime atlases is the strong presence of religious geography, namely the inclusion of the qibla or prayer orientation. In other words, for someone like al-Sharfī a maritime atlas was a travel guide, like the pilgrimage books. By contrast, astrological diagrams recall older Maghribi sources of maritime cartography, especially the single-sheet vellum sea maps, like that of al-Ṭanjī. The world maps of al-Sharfī’s works are farther from the European tradition and closer to classical geographic and cartographic writing. One of the peculiarities that distinguishes al-Sharfī’s atlases is the disorder of the sectional maps. Although there is a sense of proceeding from west to east, such movement is discontinuous. Al-Sharfī’s first atlas is of the Black Sea, followed by the central Mediterranean. The fourth map, which should be last, is the seventh; the fifth map should be sixth. To my knowledge, there is no single maritime atlas, either European (including Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese) or Ottoman, that is in such disorder. The atlases may duplicate some areas (like the Aegean Sea) but only after covering the Mediterranean in an orderly fashion (whether from east to west, or from west to east). Another characteristic peculiar and specific to al-Sharfī’s atlases is his method of beginning each section by repeating only the last toponym. Usually maritime atlases repeat, or overlap, at least four or five toponyms; this results in the overlapping of the sectional maps, as demonstrated in the Ottoman and Italian atlases. In al-Sharfī’s atlases, except for the peculiar additional map (number seven in B-I-6), the sectional maps do not overlap. This pattern is probably derived from the sectional maps of Nuzhat al-mushtāq which do not overlap, and which al-Sharfī knew very well. As mentioned above, the codicological aspects of both of al-Sharfī’s atlases confirm the close relationship they have with the mainstream manuscript traditions in North Africa, unlike the general characteristics of maritime atlases. These make them closer to the single-sheet vellum sea maps. First, alSharfī used paperboard rather than vellum. This was clearly his choice, since we know that vellum was widely used in the tenth-/sixteenth-century archival and manuscript collections from Qayrawān, Tunisia, where the two atlases were probably made, and al-Sharfī did use it when he made his single-sheet sea map in 987/1579 (B-I-9). Paperboard, which takes lavish colors more easily, seems to have been his choice, as it gave his atlases a luxurious look and a manuscript-like aspect. The layout of the maps in the folios is also original, and unlike those of any other tradition. Al-Sharfī’s maps are discontinuous, like two texts facing each

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261

Figure 7.7 Different outlines of the Nile Delta in three Ottoman atlases made after the middle of the tenth/sixteenth century: Ali Maçar Reis’ sea atlas (left, B-I-7), “Atlas-i Humayun” sea atlas (center, B-I-12), and the ‘Walters Deniz Atlas-i’ (right, B-I-13).

other; and overall, they are not rendered in the manner utilized by maritime atlases, in which a continuous map is drawn over two folios facing each other. Al-Sharfī drew his maps in phases, by cutting the maps at the end of the folio page; he used this technique consistently in both atlases. The Uniqueness of Each Cartographic Work Although every work can be defined within its own cultural and geographic context, as well as within a longer European tradition, each individual work has its own logic and characteristics. For instance, each Ottoman atlas is both different from, and similar to another. Unlike the European tradition, especially in the tenth/sixteenth century, where workshops like Battista Agnese’s in Venice produced several copies from manuscripts that are almost identical,43 Ottoman atlases seem to have been made by different hands, if not in different workshops. Or, if they were reproducing the same sources, then they did not reproduce them in the same way. The differences are clear in the content of maps, their number, and even their order. We can see the differences in the outline of locations like the Nile Delta (Fig. 7.7). We can also see variations in the types of compass roses and scale bars; and the location of grids with regard to the outline of the shores. The difference in the location of the rhumb lines emphasizes the differences of the location of the outline with regard to the folio. For example, B-I-13 has a smaller sea basin than the others; therefore, it has a larger space for the mainland. This did not happen by chance. In fact, there were fewer toponyms of the coastline of B-I-13, which are generally the main focus in a maritime atlas, than there were on the two other Ottoman atlases, B-I-12, “Atlas-i Humayun, and B-I-7, Ali Maçar Reis’ sea atlas. It would seem that the cartographer of B-I-13 was interested in freeing up as much space as he could, so that he could depict city views in the mainland. Indeed, some large and unique city views can be 43  On the question of workshops and their impact on cartographic styles, see Campbell, “Portolan Charts,” 429–430.

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found; this is the case with the view of Cairo, and especially in the depiction of Istanbul, which is different than any previous or contemporary depiction in European cartography or in Ottoman traditions. Al-Sharfī’s two atlases provide another interesting example. We know that the same hand produced the two atlases, and as al-Sharfī explained, the sources for B-I-8 were different than the sources he used for his first atlas. They are very close, however, with the exception of the less accurate style and a few differences in toponyms. We can suggest two possible explanations. First, the atlas of the Andalusian physician living in Istanbul was not really different than al-Sharfī’s grandfather’s atlas. In this case, we can say that the Maghribi examples of maritime atlases were not strictly related to the two atlases made by al-Sharfī or his family alone. This would mean that we have another example like al-Sharfī’s, but from a different geographic realm than Tunisia, and this would indicate the wide geographic space of such a tradition. This would be an additional example of what we can call a Maghribi topos and not simply an “amalgam” of maritime atlases. The second, and possibly the more probable explanation, centers on the meaning of transmission. When al-Sharfī said that he is transmitting (naql) a different source than the one he had used previously, perhaps he meant that his intention was not to copy it, and his source was used as a general database that was then developed into the particular style that al-Sharfī was known for following the style of his first atlas, also his grandfather’s style. Here, also, we have a Maghribi topos that uses another topos selectively and in a very conscious way. We must re-emphasize two major points. First, although the Ottoman and al-Sharfī’s atlases transmitted basic aspects of the European tradition of maritime atlases, they were neither complete nor partial copies of this European genre. They were products of the intermingling of other Mediterranean traditions: An Ottoman tradition that focused on the mainland or the territorial view of the sea, and a Maghribi tradition that treated the genre of maritime atlases within the mainstream literary manuscript tradition. They both manipulated the visual characteristics of the genre of maritime atlases for nonmaritime ends. Furthermore, even within such common traditions, no work entails only copying another work. Each work had its own agenda, either as different from another work or, by trying to resemble another work. Thus, although cartographic works might have been copied, what we have here is cartographic transmission, naql rather than naskh.

Conclusion The compilation of the large database of this study (the corpus) allowed a reconstruction of a narrative of the Islamic cartographic depictions of the Mediterranean. Approaching the question of the cultural history of the Mediterranean through Islamic cartography emphasizes more than the visual sources of the Mediterranean. It is a way to point out the relevance of the Islamic sources, in order to start to understand the pre-modern idea of the Mediterranean. The “idea” of the Mediterranean in the Islamic context has yet to be investigated. The current evidence, however, can be better understood following Roger Chartier’s emphasis on the power of readership in the articulation of an author’s work. The Muslim geographers of the fourth/tenth century very consciously defined a “historical Mediterranean” and drew its image. They were the first creators of an early medieval, yet Braudelean, “historical Mediterranean.” Interestingly, the discovery of such a historical Mediterranean came right at the beginning of the decline of the Abbasid Empire, the last major Islamic empire that effectively controlled a great part of the Mediterranean, at least up to the third/ninth century. This Abbasid image was propagated over time by cartographers from different geographic schools. It seems to have become a visual vehicle of a specific Islamic memory and vision of the Mediterranean. The projection of an Islamic dominance in the fourth-/tenth-century image of the Mediterranean can be understood from the point of view of these early geographers, who worked as bureaucrats or propagandists acting in the service of a declining empire. Their mapping of the Mediterranean may suggest a nostalgic remembrance of a dominantly Islamic Mediterranean. They created this image at a time when it no longer represented the land of Islam, theirs was an age of several smaller Islamic polities that competed with each other—the time of a single, united Abbasid empire had passed. In this sense, the Mediterranean was recognized as a territorial space to be conquered. The fourth-/tenth-century imperial bureaucrats who took on the role of geographers and cartographers probably sought to conquer it visually; or record, retrospectively, previous Muslim conquests of Mediterranean regions, especially the Islamic control of the Mediterranean via their control of its main islands, such as Sicily. In the post-imperial phase, from the fifth/eleventh to the eighth/fourteenth century, geographers and cartographers from the Maghrib and Egypt emerged as the main Muslim authorities in writing and drawing the Mediterranean. With al-Bakrī, al-Idrisī, the unknown author of the Gharāʾib al-funūn, al-ʿUmarī,

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi ��.��63/9789004347380_010

264

Conclusion

and Ibn Khaldūn, we have more detailed descriptions and also a closer aquaintance with the details, as these were provided by seaferers and mariners. This unprecedented access to the practical knowledge of navigation reflects the intimate relationship geographers and cartographers of this area had with the Mediterranean. It mirrors a similar relationship that Maghribi mariners had with the sea. Even though they lived in an era of small Islamic empires, or small princely states, they propagated an image of a unique space, and did so with a far more detailed understanding than their counterparts of the fourth/tenth century. The emergence of the first maritime maps by Maghribi, including Andalusian, mapmakers is just another indication of this unique relationship. A somewhat similar process seems to have been reproduced by the end of my narrative, even though the identity of the mapmakers is different. The Ottoman policy to conquer the Mediterranean found an ideal Muslim image in the maps of the fourth-/tenth-century geographers. Thus, it is not surprising to find, under its patronage, the emergence of reproductions or acquisitions of manuscripts of the “atlas of Islam” school. Piri Reis’ departure from the more accurate navigational cartographic style of the mariners, therefore, in favor of less accurate cartographic representations that provided more space for text emphasizing human geography in the manner of the fourth-/tenth-century geographers may have been, in part, a response to this retrospective imperial interest. His written and illustrated work may be understood in relation to his political ambitions and his apparent concern for his readers at the Ottoman court; at least this is one possible way to explain his conflicting cartographic styles. The intended readers of the Sharfīs, probably the new Ottoman conquerors of North Africa (except Morocco), seem to have influenced their works as well. Although the origins of their work probably go back to the age of their grandfathers at the end of the ninth/fifteenth century, they adjusted their work in order to respond to the Ottomans’ interest in traditional Islamic cartography (especially in its depiction of Asia) and their pleasure in viewing the dominant political presences in the Mediterranean through the representation of flags. This may also be the same reason the makers of the three Ottoman atlases emphasized the continental territories through magnificent city and topographical views, while they marginalized the coastlines. Thus, they adjusted their maritime atlases to function as display images rather than as more functional navigational images. The image of the Mediterranean over time seems to have transmitted an imperial wish mediated by bureaucrats or sea captains, some of whom were bureaucrats. These images may have functioned, occasionally, as a ladder, through its supposed readers, upwards to a better position in the court. This

Conclusion

265

intention was quite different than the functional image of maritime maps of the Mediterranean, maps that were made and utilized by mariners who needed to sail along its coasts. Beginning in the eighth/fourteenth century, some sea captains looked at the newly available cartographic tool in the hands of the European mariners (qunbāṣ, kunbāṣ, or qumbāṣ) and began to use it in their navigation; occasionally they produced their own in order to practice their profession. The argument that sees the limited number of Islamic maritime maps as an indication of the absence of a late medieval Islamic tradition of navigation does not take into consideration that the surviving maps were most likely not used as functional maps for mariners. However, Islamic maritime maps were hardly for the exclusive use of mariners. Such maps also project a Mediterranean culture in which the solar calendar seems to have been the functional calendar, regardless of religious allegiance. From the eighth/fourteenth to the tenth/ sixteenth century, when the Mediterranean was increasingly a space of raiding and hunting for captives of the “others” (be they Muslim or Christian), the mariners’ culture was evolving into a common ground, of which the lingua franca was the most apparent aspect. The maritime map seems to have been another, less well-known, characteristic of this Mediterranean maritime culture. Therefore, even though it had a “historical” essence that included large continental areas, the Mediterranean seems to have been less heterogeneic in so far as we focus on its coastlines. Through this narrative, the metamorphosis of the mapmakers defined the characteristics and functions of the image of the Mediterranean. Whether they represented the views of the bureaucrat, or the sea captain, or the sea captain who sought to become a bureaucrat, these images pointed to the Muslims’ involvement not only in the Mediterranean, but also, more importantly, in the creation of its memory, notably its visual memory—one that has now been largely overshadowed by the Braudelean and Pirennean debates. Yet even with this current, incomplete picture, we can still draw some conclusions with regard to the other major question underlying this study, namely the concept of the image and its meaning among Muslim cartographers, notably for the fourth-/tenth-century geographers and the tenth-/sixteenthcentury Ottoman cartographers. In an interesting paragraph, al-Muqaddasī summarizes the various styles of the early Muslim mapmakers: People differed on how to describe [the Indian Ocean] and the draftsmen (al-muṣawwirūn) differed on how to represent it (tamthīlihi). There are those who made it like the ṭaylaṣān … Abū Zayd [al-Balkhī, who was the

266

Conclusion

teacher of al-Iṣṭakhrī] made it like a bird whose bill coincides with the Red Sea, the neck coincides with Iraq, and the tale between Ethiopia and China. The form of the ṭaylaṣān (that resembles the piece of fabric from a turban with a concave form) was actually indicated in an early geographic work (A-I-1) that gave instructions on how to draw a map of an enclosed maritime space. A cartographer was supposed to reconstruct geographic reality not from geographic descriptions but rather by assembling ready-made forms that might (or might not) resemble reality. The form of the bird was present in the surviving maps of al-Iṣṭakhrī’s Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik. Therefore, the image (ṣūra), assumed to be a mimetic representation of it, was depicting geographic reality, yet in effect is a representation that was meant to be made from ready-made forms or naturalistic models, that is, triangles and other geometric forms put together to represent a topographical outline. This approach was certainly not specific to cartographic depictions. Al-Ṣūfī’s fifth-/eleventh-century Ṣuwar al-kawākib al-thābita (Images of the fixed stars) took the same approach by transforming the abstract and arbitrary images of the stars into images of real beings, including animals. In the Ottoman case, the frontiers between cartographic images and other images were even more blurred. This was especially noticeable in relation to city views. In Ottoman atlases, city views were usually prominent, and Istanbul was certainly the most prominent city view; this was also the case with the manuscripts of Kitab-i Bahriye, which feature Istanbul in the last folio. But Istanbul was also a prominent theme in Ottoman miniatures, especially those that record Ottoman conquests. More importantly, the city views of Istanbul on maps seem to be the product of much more skilled painters. Overall, the images of the Mediterranean changed because their makers changed. Mapmakers of the Mediterranean served the imperial ambitions of their time, or imperial memories whenever readers expected them to. It must be said, though, that their images pronounced their imperial failures more often than it did their conquests. From this perspective, if we return to alMuqaddasī’s quote at the start of this study, indeed, the Mediterranean was not nice to God’s servants. Ultimately, it is the changing message and identity of pre-modern maps that make their visual identity a hybrid identity: these maps were really pictorial, yet not totally cartographic. In this sense, calling them, simply, ṣūra, as they have been called by pre-modern cartographers, is quite understandable.

Appendix Catalogue A

Non-Maritime Cartography

A-I

Classical/“Atlas of Islam” Cartographic Works

A-I-1

Title

Date and Location of the Work

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Ṣūrat al-arḍ (?) or Rasm al-rubʾ al-Ma‌ʾmūr (?)

Many suggest ca. 232/847. Kratschkovski suggests the period between 221/836 and 232/847. [The dates are related to the making of al-Ma‌ʾmūn’s map, which is connected to several authors, including al-Khawārizmī]. It is generally believed to have been made in Iraq or Baghdad.

Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad al-Khawārizmī (author and probably maker of the original maps). There is still confusion about the identity of the author (Kratschkovski mentions the confusion with a fifth-/eleventh-century author but attributes the manuscript to the third-/ ninth-century Khwārizmī; Tibbets talks about the third-/ ninth-century Khwārizmī; on the other hand, Sezgin contests that, while attributing the manuscript to a fifth-/eleventh-century author, probably the same one mentioned and rejected by Kratschkovski).

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Bibliothèque Municipale et

428/1037

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���8 | doi ��.��63/9789004347380_011

268

Appendix

A-I-1 (cont.)

Universitaire de Strasbourg (Ms. 2447, folios 30b–31a) Maps dealing with the Mediterranean The map of the Nile River (with the Nile originating from the “moon mountain”) depicting the Delta with a detail of the Egyptian Mediterranean coast. Notes (Physical and Others) 33.5 by 41 cm (HOC 2) [most probably on paper]. Two folios facing each other cut approximately in half: one for the text, the rest for the map. The map stretches over 2 folios facing each other (30b–31a) under the continuing text (2 separate paragraphs facing each other). There are 4 maps in total in the manuscript. There is no indication of orientation, but the map is drawn from south (right folio) to north (left folio). The sea is framed into a small rectangle; the mainland is not framed and nothing separates it from the text. The sea is drawn in this manuscript in the same way the Black Sea is depicted in relation to the Sea of Azov (folio 47a). When depicting the sea in detail, it seems to suggest a framed angular form. All water is depicted in green; there is no differentiation between the color of the river and the sea (this does not seem to be an established rule in the manuscript since the map of the Sea of Azov seems to include rivers in blue). The color of the mainland is the color of the folio, light brown or dark yellow. Still, seas, including the Mediterranean, are rectangle, a detail that seems to be differentiated according to the way they are colored, with the appearance of shades of green, which probably suggest waves. The Nile Delta is depicted with five rivers ending in the sea (like a small hand). The whole map is constructed according to the traditions of the Islamic mathematical school of cartography, with the illusion of the 7 climes (represented in the map with 4 parallel lines: 4 climes, though the writing only indicates 3 climes, with the ‘equator line’ inscribed in the first line and with the last line inscribed as ‘clime 3’ just south of the Delta; the 4 parallel lines are unequal in their manuscript-distance relation). The style of the map, as with the other maps in the manuscript, belongs to the ‘less-schematic’ tradition of cartography. Reproductions Harley and Woodward (eds.), History of Cartography, vol. 2 (plate 4) [color]; Kamal, Monumenta, 3:74 [B&W]; Miller, Mappae Arabicae (Weisbaden: L. Reichert, 1986), I-1 (Bild, 1) [transcription]; al-Khawārizmī, Kitab Ṣūrat al-arḍ (plate 3).

269

Appendix

Selected Bibliography Krachkovski, Tārīkh, 1:98–103. Sezgin, The Contribution, 18. G. Tibbets, “The Beginnings of a Cartographic Tradition,” in History of Cartography, ed. Harley and Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 2:90–107, esp. nn 31 and 71.

A-I-2

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Ṣūrat al-arḍ

Before 378/988 when he visited Ibn Ḥawqal al-Nāṣibī (author Sicily, the last place he visited and maker of original maps). and mentioned in his work. He used Iraq as a base but traveled throughout the Mediterranean.

Ms Collection Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

TKS (A. 3346) 1 Rajab 479/13 October 1086

[Scribe] ʿAlī l-Ḥasan Bundār, fol. 139a:

‫ذ ت‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ف غ‬ ��‫�ر �م� ن� ���س�� خ �ه�� ا ا � ك‬ �‫ل�ا ب� ع��لي‬ � � ‫ف‬ ‫ا �ل‬ � ‫ح����س ن� ب�ن��د ا ر �ي� �يو�م ا �لث��لا ث�ا‬ ‫نة ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�م����س����ه�ل ر ج�� ب� ����س���� ���سع و‬ ‫����س���ع�� ن �أ ��ع� م�ا ��ة‬ �‫ب ي� و ر ب �� ي‬

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean 2 maps of the whole Mediterranean; Mediterranean as part of a world map; 2 maps partially of the Mediterranean (Nile-Delta map; Sham map). Notes (Physical and Others) 30.5 by 21.5 cm paper. The manuscript includes 139 folios. All maps are colored as follows: the earth is light brown (the color of the paper); the sea

270

Appendix

A-I-2 (cont.)

is green; the river is blue; mountains do not have a single color, they are mainly dark green, but sometimes reddish brown (as in the first map of the Mediterranean); the borders of the sea and river are highlighted in red; cities and regions are framed with small angular or curvilinear shapes in black, inscriptions are in color, but they seem to be highlighted in red. The world map is located in folios 3b–4a, preceded in folio 3a by the following sentence:

‫ف‬ � ‫أ ض‬ ‫ة‬ .��‫���م�ا �ي� ب���ط� ن� ���ه��ذه ا �لو ر ��ق��ة �صو ر � ���ج��مي�� ال� ر‬ ‫ع‬

The first map of the Mediterranean occurs in the chapter on the Maghrib and is drawn in three pages: 10a, 10b, and 11a; therefore, the eastern Mediterranean appears to be separate from the rest of the map. The map is titled at the top right corner of folio 10a

� �‫�ص �ة ا �ل‬ �‫� ذ�� �ل�ك (؟) ب‬ ‫��م���غ�ر ب� و ك‬ ‫��ح�ر ا �لر و�م‬ ‫ور‬

The second part was not mentioned in Kramer’s edition (the title is also cut in the middle by the map). The second map of the Mediterranean occurs in the chapter on the Mediterranean (beginning in folio 57a); it is drawn in one folio (58b) and preceded in folio 58a by the following sentence:

‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ح���ه��� �ش�� ك� ن �ف‬ �‫ح��ة �صو ر �ة ب‬ ����‫و �م�ا �ي� ب���ط� ن� �ه��ذه ا �ل��� �فص‬ � ‫��ل�ه ب��� ���س�ه و �إ‬ ‫حر ا �لر و�م و �م�ا ع��لي��ه �م� ن� �وا �ي� م و‬ ‫ت ةف‬ ‫ف� � ن ال ت ا �ة‬ � ‫ة‬ ‫أث ت‬ � ‫�ك � ت �ق‬ ‫�����ن�� ��س� ���ت�ه ���ع��لى ���م�ا � � �����ب�� ��ب�ه �م� ن� الا ����س������ط�ا �ل�� �ي� �صو ر � ا �ل���م���غ�ر ب� ���هو م�� ا ����س���د ر‬ ‫ع��ل �ه ذ�� ا ا � �ش‬ �‫ل�� ك‬ ‫��ل‬ ‫ى‬ we already read in folio 57a:

‫أ‬ ‫أث‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ذ‬ ���‫�ر ا �ل���م‬ �‫�ر ب‬ ‫ �إ ذ� �هو خ��ل��ي��ج �م� ن� ا �ل ب����ح‬.‫حر ا �لر و�م و �ت���صو�يره‬ ‫���ر ���ه��ذه‬ ‫و ��س� �ص�ل � �ل�ك ب��� ك‬ ‫حي����ط ع��لي��ه � ك‬ � ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫�ش�� � ا � ه ا � � �ة‬ ‫ا �ل�د ��ي�ا ر و ���ق�د � ث� �����ب� ت� ��ب�ه �عى ا �لت�ق�� �� لا ���ع��ل ا �ل‬ � ‫�خ��لي�����ق��ة ا � ب��ع������ �ض�ه � ����ش� ب���ه ي� ��ب�ا ل�د ير ل���م��ح�دد‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ب‬ ‫ى‬ ‫ي‬ The chapter on the Maghrib has a map description that includes all non-Maghribi Mediterranean regions, whereas the geographic text includes only the Maghrib: Kramers has copied the inscriptions of the map separately in a text published with a different type, to enrich Ibn Ḥawqal’s text. The main questions are, (1) Were these

Appendix

271

cartographic revisions made by Ibn Ḥawqal or a later copier? (2) If they are Ibn Ḥawqal’s, is the TKS 3346 not the earliest version, as suggested by Kramers? Kramers (Kramers, “La Question”) considered TKS A.3346 one of the “most complete” representatives of Ibn Ḥawqal’s manuscripts (or “Ibn Ḥawqal I”): the maps of the western parts, including the Mediterranean “s’approchent beaucoup plus de la realite geographique que celles de son predecesseur. La partie orientale de l’Islam, au contraire, suit beaucoup plus fidèlement les anciennes formes. Les cartes confirment donc qu’Ibn Hawqal était plutôt spécialiste pour l’occident.” Later (p. 23) he added that Ibn Ḥawqal made “remarquables corrections” for the map of the Mediterranean. This last conclusion seems to have been taken up later by Tibbets: The impression one gets of Ibn Hawqal’s maps of western Islam is that they are the work of someone who has been there and knows what he is portraying but is working within a traditional cartographic style and does not wish to depart too from it. With regard to the way the coasts of the Mediterranean are drawn, Kramers suggests, “sous l’influence de la tradition de Ptolemee,” especially as Ibn Ḥawqal’s references to Ptolemy increased in this manuscript. Also in later manuscripts (“Ibn Ḥawqal III” or TKS 3347 and BNF arabe 2214) the “map of the Maghrib” was preserved and relocated as the “map of the Mediterranean.” Reproductions Ṣūrat al-arḍ, 1:8, 66, 136, 166, and 193; Kamal, Monumenta, 3:262–266 (B&W); Kramers, “La Question,” 25–30. Selected Bibliography Miguel, “Ibn Ḥawqal,” EI2. Kramers, “La Question,” 17–20, n. 1. Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” History of Cartography, ed. Harley and Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), vol. 2, appendix 5.1, no. 38. Tibbets, “The Beginnings of a Cartographic Tradition,” 2:120.

272

Appendix

A-I-3

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī l-Fārisī (author and mapmaker)

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Gotha Arabe 1521

569 /1173; unknown

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate p. 24, western Mediterranean (Maghrib), and in world map. Notes (Physical and Others) The earliest known manuscript of Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik; Tibbets suggests that it is a “later abridgment”; includes 20 maps (except for the Arabian Peninsula map); small colored fortification-like symbols are used to suggest cities; itineraries are emphasized by lines; major cities are distinguished with large double or single circles or half circles; islands are represented as circles. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:177. Selected Bibliography Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” vol. 2, appendix 5.1, no. 7.

273

Appendix A-I-4

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī l-Fārisī (author and mapmaker)

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

BNF, Persan 355

580/1185

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate, western Mediterranean (Maghrib), and Syria. Notes (Physical and Others) Similar to A-I-3 except for the representation of cities: circles instead of fortificationlike symbols. Reproductions Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Islam-Atlas Nr. IV, Fig. III-2. Selected Bibliography Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Islam-Atlas Nr. IV, Fig. III-2; Miller, Arabishe Welt, 18.

A-I-5

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī l-Fārisī (author and mapmaker)

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Leiden Arabe 1702

589/1193

Unknown

274

Appendix

A-I-5 (cont.)

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate, western Mediterranean (Maghrib), and in world map Notes (Physical and Others) Tibbets mentions this manuscript as being made in 568/1173, probably confusing it with A-I-3 (now in Gotha); Kamal mentions this manuscript as being different from A-I-3 and dating it to 589/1193 instead; Tibbets says there are “18 good maps”; Tibbets describes the manuscript as very similar to A-I-3; maps show similarities with A-I-4: double rounded symbols to suggest the cities but with “hairy” outer circles, major cities in double circles, islands in circles. Reproductions Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Islam-Atlas Nr. IV, Fig. III-2. Kamal, Monumenta, 3:170. Selected Bibliography Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Islam-Atlas Nr. IV, Fig. III-2. Kamal, Monumenta, 3:170. Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” vol. 2, appendix 5.1, no. 19.

A-I-6

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Abridged Ṣūrat al-arḍ

Probably seventh/ thirteenth century

Anonymous

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Suleymaniye Library, ca. 596/1200 Aya Sofia, 2934

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate, world map, Egypt-Delta. Notes (Physical and Others) Stylistically the maps are more schematic than their A-I-2 models.

275

Appendix

Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 4:62–66. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 4:62–66. Tibbets, “Later Cartographic Developments,” in History of Cartography, ed. Harley and Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 2:137–139.

A-I-7

Title

Date and Location

Al-Bīrūnī, Kitāb al-Tafhīm Between the end of the li-awāʾil ṣināʿat al-tanjīm. fourth/tenth century and middle fifth/eleventh century. Uzbekistan and Iran. Ms Collection Ms Production Date and Location Berlin Landberg 631 635/1238

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

al-Bīrūnī as author, although not clear if he was the mapmaker.

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s) Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean World map of seas. Notes (Physical and Others) Schematic representation of the map of seas, yet with rounded outlines; Mediterranean to the lower right part with two parts: a sea in front of the Maghrib mainland and another smaller part called Baḥr al-Shām; both parts of the Mediterranean are open to the Atlantic Ocean. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:345. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:345. Tibbets, “Later Cartographic,” 2:141–142.

276

Appendix

A-I-8

Title

Date and Location

Kitāb Aḥsan al-taqāsīm fī maʿrifat al-aqālīm

al-Muqaddasī as author and Made over a period of time until the 380s/990s; mapmaker he traveled extensively, including in the Mediterranean

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s) Location

Suleymaniye Library, Aya 658/1260 Sofia 2971b

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Egypt-Delta, and western Mediterranean (Maghrib). Notes (Physical and Others) Earliest known manuscript of Kitāb Aḥsan al-taqāsīm; highly schematic as suggested by al-Muqaddasī (“sādhaj”). Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:285–286. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:285–286.

277

Appendix A-I-9

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī (mistaken as al-Khawārizmī in this particular manuscript)

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Topkapi Sarayi (TKS), Dhū l-Qaʿda 684/January Koshk (Arabic) 3348 1286; made in Cairo (Bāb al-Qanṭara)

Muḥammad b. Ibrāhīm al-Shāfiʿī l-Miṣrī

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate, western Mediterranean, and in world map. Notes (Physical and Others) Tibbets says that it is similar to A-I-3; it has 21 maps; the fortification-like symbols for cities are more elaborate; the drawing of the sea is more representative than A-I-3; the major cities are highlighted by larger fortifications-like symbols. Colophon:

‫أ‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ة‬ ‫كا ن� ا �ل�����ف� ا غ �م� ن �ن��س�� ���خ�ه �ع����ش�����ة � �م ا ج�ل‬ ‫��م���ع��ة �م� ن� ث��ل� ث� ب������قي�� ن� �م� ن� � �ي� ا �ل���ق ���ع�د � ����سن����ة � ر ���ب‬ �‫و‬ ‫ي يو‬ � �‫ر‬ ‫ع‬ ‫�ت‬ ‫ة‬ ‫�ن ة‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ث ن ن‬ ‫����ه ا �ل�ع���ب�د ا �ل��ف������ق�� ا ا �ل�ل�ه ا � �ل��� ن�غ� �ب�ه حم‬ ‫�ت ة ن‬ �‫����م�د �ب‬ ‫ير لى‬ � �‫ي‬ � ‫… �ك� ب‬ ��‫و ����م�ا �ي��� و����س� ���م�ا ��ي�� �م�� ا ��ل�ه�� ���ج�ر� ا �ل� ��بو��ي‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ا � �ق ن �ة‬ ‫ة‬ �� � ‫� ا �ه���ي��م ا‬ ‫ل���ش�ا ��ف��ع� ا �ل���م�� �ه� ب� ا �ل���م���� �ص�ر �ي�… و ذ� �ل�ك ب����م�د ي�����ن��ة �م���� �ص�ر ا �ل���م��ح‬ � ‫�إ ب ر‬ ‫�ر و���س�� ب� ����ب�ا ب� ل�� ������ط�ر‬ ‫ي‬ Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:182. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:182. Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” appendix 5.1, no. 17.

278

Appendix

A-I-10

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Abridged Ṣūrat al-arḍ

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

Ibn Ḥawqal

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

TKS, Koshk (Arabic), 3347 ca. 700/1300

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean In world map. Notes (Physical and Others) Oval world map with indications of the 7 climes; northern Europe is surrounded by sea. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 4:67. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 4:67. Tibbets, “Later Cartographic,” 2:137–139.

A-I-11

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Gotha Persan 36

ca. 700/1300

Unknown

279

Appendix

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate, western Mediterranean, and in world map. Notes (Physical and Others) Map of the Mediterranean has toponyms listed along the coastline rather than the mainland (from Tinnīs to the Syrian coast); city symbols are small colored circles; major cities are not highlighted with large circles. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:196–198. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:196–198.

A-I-12

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Ṣūrat al-arḍ

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran Ms Production Date and Location ca. 751/1350

Ibn Ḥawqal

Ms Collection Suleymaniye Library, Aya Sofia 2577

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s) Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean In world map, western Mediterranean, and Egypt-Delta. Notes (Physical and Others) The most schematic representations of Ṣūrat al-arḍ. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:267–270. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:267–270. Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” appendix 5.1, no. 37.

280

Appendix

A-I-13

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb Aḥsan al-taqāsīm fī First of half of the fourth/ maʿrifat al-aqālīm tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Muqaddasī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

BM, Or. 8349

eighth/fourteenth century Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean World map of seas. Notes (Physical and Others) Even more schematic representation of the world seas map than A-I-7, with rectilinear outlines; unlike A-I-7 the Mediterranean is one single sea separated from the Indian Ocean by a small opening inscribed with “al-Zuqāq”; the Mediterranean is still in the shape of a heart suggesting two parts, but this time inscribed with “Baḥr al-Shām” and “Baḥr Nīṭis” (Black Sea). Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:345. Tibbets, “Later Cartographic,” vol. 2, Fig. 6.4. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:345. Tibbets, “Later Cartographic,” 2:141–142.

281

Appendix A-I-14

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Suleymaniye Library, Aya ca. 800/1400 Sofia 3156 Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate, western Mediterranean, and in world map. Notes (Physical and Others) Persian copy; the circular symbols representing cities are distinguished by slight decoration, making them look like roses; major cities are not distinguished with larger circles; the island of Sicily is absent in the map of the Maghrib; mountains appear in a perfect triangular form decorated with three layers of colors. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:191–193. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:191–193. Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” vol. 2, appendix 5.1, no. 12.

282

Appendix

A-I-15

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

TKS, Kosh A 1646

ca. 800/1400

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Western Mediterranean Notes (Physical and Others) Tibbets mentions a different date than Kamal (ca. 1075/1664); in design and style (including the rose-like symbols representing the cities and the representation of mountains) is similar to A-I-14. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:205. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:205. Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” vol. 2, appendix 5.1, no. 14.

283

Appendix A-I-16

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb Aḥsan al-taqāsīm fī First of half of the fourth/ maʿrifat al-aqālīm tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Muqaddasī

Ms Collection

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Ms Production Date and Location

Bodleian Library, Or. 281 803/1400

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean World map of seas. Notes (Physical and Others) The style of the map, especially the rounded outlines, recalls A-I-13, yet this is more schematic; Mediterranean is rounded into one single sea as a half circle, but open to the Atlantic Ocean. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:345. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:345. Tibbets, “Later Cartographic,” 2:141–142.

284

Appendix

A-I-17

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb Aḥsan al-taqāsīm fī First of half of the fourth/ maʿrifat al-aqālīm tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Muqaddasī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Berlin, Petermann 67

833/1430

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean World map of seas. Notes (Physical and Others) Much closer in style and shape to A-I-13, but the Gibraltar Strait is totally closed to the Atlantic Ocean. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:345. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:345. Tibbets, “Later Cartographic,” in 2:141–142.

285

Appendix A-I-18

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Abridged Ṣūrat al-arḍ

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

Ibn Ḥawqal

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

BNF Arabe 2214

849/1445

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Maghrib-Mediterranean, Delta-Nile, in World Map. Notes (Physical and Others) 2 world maps, one following the earlier oval models, and another incomplete map include the 7 climes and seem to be more circular (yet only the southern half of the map is drawn); the map of the Maghib-Mediterranean is actually less schematic than the earlier A-I-6, and expresses more cartographic details, but with a sense of incompleteness or an informal style; the Maghrib-Mediterranean map has more textual information than A-I-6; 2 maps of the Delta-Nile: one following the earlier representations of the abridged Ṣūrat al-arḍ, but a second one that is closer to the maps of the mathematical school such as in A-I-1. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 4:68–74. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 4:68–74. Tibbets, “Later Cartographic,” 2:137–139.

286

Appendix

A-I-19

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Suleymaniye Library, Aya ca. 850/1450 Sofia (Arabic) 2971a

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate, western Mediterranean, and in world map. Notes (Physical and Others) Probably one of the most schematic representations: mostly slender outline with very little effort at cartographic and geographic details; yet it is very eloquent and formal; the Mediterranean is more elongated than previous maps. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:185–187. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:185–187. Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” vol. 2, appendix 5.1, no. 11.

287

Appendix A-I-20

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Topkapi Sarayi, Koshk, Arabic 3012

Beginning of Ṣafar 867/end Unknown of October or beginning of November 1462

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate, western Mediterranean, Egypt, and Syria. Notes (Physical and Others) Colophon folio 212:

‫نة‬ ��‫�م����ست�����ه� �ش�����ه� ��ص��ف� ا �ل‬ ‫ش‬ ‫ت ن‬ ‫��خي��ر �م� ن� �����هو ر ����س���� ����سب��ع و ����س��ي��� و‬ ‫�ل �ر� ر‬

‫ن � ف‬ ‫ف ق �� غ‬ �‫وا �� ا �ل���ف�را� �م� ن� ���س����خ�ه �ي‬ ‫ث�� م�ا ن �م�ا �ي��ة‬ � � ��

There is no mention of the scribe or location; the color of the sea of the world map is blue, whereas it is green in the rest of the maps (where blue represents sweet water); in the map of the Maghrib, the southern part of North Africa (south of Tāhart) is colored brown and the cities are framed in rectangles as opposed to the heart-like frames of the rest of the cities; in the map of the Maghrib, islands are not framed in circles and the islands from the Levant (“Iqrīṭish” and “Qibris”) are represented here rather than in the map of the Mediterranean; in the map of the Maghrib, Mahdiyya is represented, somewhat unusually, as a peninsula; the map of Egypt has two mountains colored in red, similar to the red of A-I-19 and A-I-21; in the map of the Mediterranean, there is a map of the Maghrib (brownish area suggesting sub-Saharan Africa); the map of the Mediterranean is not as schematized as the earlier maps: the islands are not lined up, rather they are spread in an arbitrary manner (“Jabal al-Qilāl” is located in front of Constantinople), the shape of the Mediterranean coasts are not the same, instead the outlines of the European coasts are more rounded than those of the African coasts and the Strait of Gibraltar is elongated to the coasts of “Ifranja” with a rectilinear outline of the Iberian coast.

288

Appendix

A-I-20 (cont.)

Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:188. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:188. Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” vol. 2, appendix 5.1, no. 16.

A-I-21

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Topkapi Sarayi, Koshk, Arabic 3349

878/1473–74

Ibrāhīm b. Aḥmad al-Sītānī (?)

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate, western Mediterranean, Egypt, Syria, and in world map. Notes (Physical and Others) Colophon folio 156:

‫ن أ‬ ‫� ن‬ ‫ة ت‬ �� ‫ف‬ � ���‫��ح� ه ا �ل��ف������ق�� ا �ل���م ذ�� �ن�� ا �ل���م‬ ‫رر‬ ‫ير‬ �‫ح���ت�ا ج� ا لى رح���م�� ا �ل�ل�ه ����ع�ا لى �إ ب�ر ا �ه����ي��م �ب� � ح���م�د ����ق�ه (؟) ا �ل��س�ي����ت�ا �ي‬ ‫ب‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ن‬ � ٨٧٨ ����‫… ي� ����س‬ )‫(؟‬ It is very similar to A-I-19; highly schematic and very few colors: red is the distinctive color Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:188. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:188. Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” vol. 2, appendix 5.1, no. 18.

289

Appendix A-I-22

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb Aḥsan al-taqāsīm

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Muqaddasī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Berlin Sprenger 5

ca. 900/1494

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate, western Mediterranean, and Egypt-Delta. Notes (Physical and Others) Tibbets states that the “text of 375/985…[has] … 19 maps”; this is as schematic as previous maps; map of the Mediterranean with Tanas and Majjāna marking the end of the elongated Strait of Gibraltar, Iskandarūna and Anṭākiya are marked as the “mashriq” and “shamāl” end points; the 3 islands (“Qibris”, “Iqrīṭish”, and “Iṣqila” sic.) are lined up; the Delta-Nile faces “Ifranja.” Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:288–290. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:288–290. Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” vol. 2, appendix 5.1, no. 45.

290

Appendix

A-I-23

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Vienna Library 1271

tenth/sixteenth century

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate, western Mediterranean, Egypt, Syria, and in world map. Notes (Physical and Others) Tibbets “complete set of maps”; the most schematic representations of geographic outlines: usually symmetric coastlines either in rectilinear forms (Maghrib and Nile) or curvilinear forms (Mediterranean); yet within these schematic cartographic frames, figural painting and other pictorial elements (trees, mountains, birds, etc.) are borrowed directly from the motifs of Persian painting. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 3:201–203. Selected Bibliography Kamal, Monumenta, 3:201–203. Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” vol. 2, appendix 5.1, no. 34.

291

Appendix A-I-24

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

TKS A 2830

1000/1591–92

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separate, western Mediterranean, Egypt, Syria, and in world map. Notes (Physical and Others) Colophon folio 149a:

‫ن‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ف �غ‬ ‫� حم‬ ‫����م�د‬ ‫ن����ق �ل����ت�ه �م� ن� ���س�� ���خ��ة �ي� �ا ��ي��ة ا �ل���ص����ح��ة و ا �ل���س�د ا د ا �ل���ع��م�ل ا �ل���ص�����ح��ي�� � ك‬ ‫�ر ا �ل�ل�ه و��ح�ده و � كر‬ ‫ح‬ ٠٠٠١ ‫ن�ب�ي��ه‬ a more embellished and colorful version (blue, illuminated illustrations) of A-I-19 and A-I-21 (same areas colored with red including the 2 parallel mountains of the map of Egypt and same cartographic outlines); chapter headings, illumination, and frames point to a close relation to high quality manuscript production in the contemporary Persian context, including Qur’an manuscripts and Illustrated manuscripts. Reproductions Selected Bibliography Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” vol. 2, appendix 5.1, no. 15.

292

Appendix

A-I-25

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-mamālik

First of half of the fourth/ tenth century; Iraq/Iran

al-Iṣṭakhrī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Hamburg’s University Library Cod. Or. 300

1044 [1086 in Tibbets].

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean Separately, western Mediterranean, Egypt, and Syria. Notes (Physical and Others) Mediterranean with the circular pattern, yet the islands are not lined up as in prior maps; the rest of the maps fall in the same traditional style. Reproductions Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Islam-Atlas Nr. IV, Fig. I-1, III-5. Selected Bibliography Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Islam-Atlas Nr. IV, Fig. I-1, III-5. Tibbets, “The Balkhī School,” vol. 2, appendix 5.1, no. 9.

293

Appendix

A-II

Idrisian Cartographic Works

A-II-1

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Uns al-muhaj wa-rawḍ al-faraj

After 548/1154; Sicily

Al-Idrīsī wrote the text, but it was most probably based on texts collected in Roger II’s court; he was probably not the cartographer. There was likely a team of cartographers in Roger II’s court who prepared the map model on which the sectional maps in Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq were based.

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Suleymaniye Library, Hekimoğlu 688

20 Ṣafar 588/6 March 1192 Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean 1 climate map and 73 sectional maps; the maps that deal with the Mediterranean area cover climes 3, 4, and 5 from sections 1 to 5. Notes (Physical and Others) Colophon folio 326:

� ‫ن�ز ة‬ �� ‫ض‬ ‫����م�د � ن حم ن‬ ‫ت����م�ا �م ���ه ذ�� � ن‬ ‫ذ أ �� م‬ �‫ي� ا �ل‬ ‫�ج�ز ئ�ي�� ن� ت����م�ا �م �ك‬ ‫و‬ �‫����م�د �ب‬ �‫����ت�ا ب� ر و�� ا �ل���ف�ر ج� و � ���ه�� ا �ل����م�ه��ج� ا �ل�� �ي� � �ل���ف�ه ح ب‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫غ‬ �� ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ �� �‫ح��س��� ا �ل���ع�ا ل �ب� �م ا �ل�ل�ه ا ����ش���ت���م� ا �ل���ف� ا ع�ل���ي�ه � ا �ل‬ ‫�ل‬ ‫ع���ش�ر ال� و����س�ط‬ ‫ي� � ر و‬ �‫ل ر� � ي‬ �‫�ع ����ب�د ا �ل�ل�ه �ب� ا د ر ���ي��س ا � ي ي‬ ‫�خ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�م� ن� �ش������ه�ر � ��ص��ف�ر ����سن����ة ث����م�ا � و ث����م�ا ن�ي�� ن� و �م��س���م�ا ��ي�ه‬ This is the earliest dated manuscript attributed to al-Idrīsī, yet it is not his earliest work; the style establishes direct connections with the “atlas of Islam” school, notably the Ḥawqalian style, rather than the style that survives in most of the manuscripts of Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq. As noted in its introduction, this book is a summary of al-Idrīsī’s main work, that is, Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq, with

294

Appendix

A-II-1 (cont.)

more compact text and maps that allowed the maker to associate maps with texts in the same folios rather than the format used consistently in the manuscrtips of Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq, where maps are usually located in two separate folios; this manuscript was copied a few years later (A-II-2). Reproductions al-Idrīsī, Uns al-muhaj wa-rawḍ al-faraj, ed. Sezgin (326 folios). Kamal, Monumenta, 4:226–227. Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography,” 2:163–167, appendix 7.1, p. 174. al-Idrīsī, Uns al-muhaj wa-rawḍ al-faraj, ed. Sezgin (introduction).

A-II-2

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Uns al-muhaj wa-rawḍ al-faraj

After 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Suleymaniye Library, H. Husnu 1289

Shawwāl 594/August 1198 Muḥammad Mahdī (Mashhad, Iran?).

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean 1 climate map and 73 sectional maps, thus the maps dealing with the Mediterranean area (climes 3, 4, and 5 from sections 1 to 5). Notes (Physical and Others) Colophon folio 244:

‫ذ ن �ج�ز ئ ن ت‬ ‫�����ت�ا � ض� ا �ل�����ف� ج �ن�ز ���ه��ة ا �ل����مه�� ا �ل ذ�� � �أ �ل�����ف�ه حم‬ ‫�ت‬ ‫����م�د � نب� �ع ����ب�د‬ ‫و ب� ���م�ا �م ���ه���ي� ا �ل� �ي��� ����م�ا �م �ك ب ر و � ر� و‬ �‫� ج� ي‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�� غ‬ ‫� ن‬ �� ‫�ت‬ ‫ن‬ �‫ف‬ ‫ا �ل�ل�ه � نب� ا د ر ���ي�� ا �ل‬ ��‫ح��س�ي��ي� ا �ل���ع�ا لي� ��ب� �مر ا �ل�ل�ه وا ����ش�� ���م�ل ا �ل���ف�را� ع�ل����ي�ه ي� ا �ل�ع���ش�ر ال� و����س�ط �م‬ ‫س‬ ‫ة ت �ف ق �� غ ن ت‬ ‫�خ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ث‬ ‫ث‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ش������ه�ر � ��ص��ف�ر ����سن���� ����م�ا � و ����م�ا �ي��� و �م��س���م�ا ��ي�� وا ��� � ا �ل���ف�را �م�� ���سو��ي�ده‬ �

295

Appendix

‫ش‬ ‫ش‬ ‫�ف �� م‬ ‫����م�د ��م��ه�د � ����سن����ة ا ��ب �ت��س���ع�� ن �م� ن ا ��له����ج� �ة ا �ل��ن�� �ي��ة ف� � ش‬ ‫م�������ه�د‬ ‫ر �ع و‬ �‫ي� � � � ر بو� ي‬ �‫�������ه�ر ���وا ل ���ع��لى ��ي�د ا �ل�����قي��ر ح � ي‬ ‫�ش ف‬ ‫ا‬ �‫ل���ر���ي‬ This is a direct copy of A-II-1; more compact text and maps make this manuscript even smaller than its direct source A-II-1. Reproductions al-Idrīsī, Uns al-muhaj wa-rawḍ al-faraj, ed. Sezgin (244 folios). Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:163–167, appendix 7.1, p. 174. al-Idrīsī, Uns al-muhaj wa-rawḍ al-faraj, ed. Sezgin (introduction).

A-II-3

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq

Began in 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

BNF (A. 2222)

744/1344 (Almeria, Spain) Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean No maps Notes (Physical and Others) This is the earliest dated manuscript of Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq; but it does not have maps; the two folios usually reserved for maps are absent, though the phrase pointing to each sectional map “this is section x of clime y …” is present at the beginning of each chapter. Reproductions Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Band 1, Heft 2 Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:173–174, appendix 7.1.

296

Appendix

A-II-4

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq

After 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Cairo, Dār al-Kutub (Vs. 167)

748/1348

Uknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean No maps dealing with the Mediterranean coasts. Notes (Physical and Others) 1 world map and 19 sectional maps: incomplete cartography and text; the most schematic representations of Idrisian cartography. Reproductions Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Band IV. Selected Bibliography Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Band IV. Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:173–174, appendix 7.1.

297

Appendix A-II-5

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq

After 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

BNF (A. 2221).

Early eighth/fourteenth century?; the Maghrib

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean 1 climate map and 68 sectional maps; the maps dealing with the Mediterranean area cover climes 3, 4, and 5 from sections 1 to 5. Notes (Physical and Others) This consists of 1 world map and 68 sectional maps: incomplete cartography and complete text; usually considered to be the earliest surviving manuscript of Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq yet it is undated; the style seems to be the most genuine because it is the least schematic. The paper feels also older, and this necessitated many reparations over the years. The Maghribi script suggests that it was made in the Maghrib; this seems to be the model that set the standard for most of the manuscripts of the Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq: namely, blue for seas, and a wide variety of colors were used to identify the series of elongated mountains and the circles pointing to the cities that fill the foreground of the maps. Reproductions Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Band IV. Kamal, Monumenta, 4:129–143. Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:173–174, appendix 7.1.

298

Appendix

A-II-6

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq

After 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Suleymaniye Library, Aya Early eighth/fourteenth Sophia 3502 century (Maqbul’s date); Maghrib

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean 30 sectional maps: incomplete cartography and text; clime 3, from section 1 to 5 are covered in the surviving maps. Notes (Physical and Others) 30 sectional maps: incomplete cartography and text. The Maghribi script suggests a Maghribi origin. It is close in style to A-II-5, but it has a less illuminated appearance, notably when depicting the roses that identify the cities; by contrast, more colors are used in the depictions of the mountains. Reproductions Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Band IV. Kamal, Monumenta, 4:144–145. Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:173–174, appendix 7.1.

299

Appendix A-II-7

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq

After 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

St. Petersburg (A. 4, 1, 64).

Early eighth/fourteenth Unknown century? (Maqbul’s dating).

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean 38 sectional maps: incomplete cartography and text; maps covering climes 4 and 5, sections from 1 to 5. Notes (Physical and Others) 38 sectional maps: incomplete cartography and text. Reproductions Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Band IV. Selected Bibliography Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Band IV. Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:173–174, appendix 7.1.

300

Appendix

A-II-8

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq

After 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

London-India Office (A. 617).

Early eighth/fourteenth Unknown century? (Maqbul’s dating).

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean No maps. Notes (Physical and Others) There are no maps and the text is incomplete. It is a supplement to Ibn al-Faqīh’s Kitāb al-Buldān. It is similar to A-II-3. Reproductions

Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:173–174, appendix 7.1.

301

Appendix A-II-9

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Masālik al-abṣār fī mamālik al-amṣār

Before 749/1349; Egypt and al-ʿUmarī b. Faḍlallāh was the Syria. author, but was probably not a cartographer

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Istanbul-Topkapi (Ms. 2797).

First half of eighth/ fourteenth century

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean In world map, and two sectional maps. Notes (Physical and Others) 1 world map and 2 sectional maps; the world map is different, in that it combines a tradition that relates to mathematical cartography (but the cartographer clearly had little knowledge of what he was doing) and some Idrisian features, including the style and depiction of the Mediterranean. Al-ʿUmarī’s geographic text is a summary of the Idrisian text; the sectional maps are also summaries, since they include more than one Idrisian sectional map in each sectional map. Reproductions al-ʿUmarī, Masālik al-abṣār fī mamālik al-amṣār, ed. Sezgin, 1:292–293, 320–321, and 342–343. Selected Bibliography al-ʿUmarī, Masālik al-abṣār fī mamālik al-amṣār, ed. Sezgin (introduction).

302

Appendix

A-II-10

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Uns al-muhaj wa-rawḍ al-faraj

After 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Suleymaniye Library Ali Pasha 688

eighth/fourteenth century? Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean 1 climate map and 73 sectional maps, thus, the maps dealing with the Mediterranean area cover climes 3, 4, and 5 from sections 1 to 5. Notes (Physical and Others) 1 climate map and 73 sectional maps; similar to A-II-1 and A-II-2. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 4:226–227. Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:173–174, appendix 7.1.

303

Appendix A-II-11

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Muqaddima

The Muqaddima was written over the period from the 770s/1370s to 800s/1400s; Maghrib and Egypt.

Ibn Khaldūn

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Istabul-Atef Effendi (Ms. 24 Shaʿbān 804/29 April 1936) 1402; Egypt.

Muḥammad b. Yūsuf al-Isfijābī

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean In a world map. Notes (Physical and Others) This is the earliest dated Idrisian world map characterized by the specific style of the Idrisian world map. Reproductions Ibn Khaldūn, The Muqaddimah, trans. Rosenthal. Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” Fig. 7.21. Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 170.

304

Appendix

A-II-12

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq

Began in 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Bodleian Library, Pococke 860/1456 (Cairo). 375

ʿAlī b. Ḥasan al-Qāsimī

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean 1 climate map and 69 sectional maps, thus, the maps dealing with the Mediterranean area cover climes 3, 4, and 5 from sections 1 to 5. Notes (Physical and Others) 1 world map and 69 sectional maps: incomplete cartography and complete text; naskhī script most probably not made in the Maghrib. Reproductions Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Band IV. Kamal, Monumenta, 4:152–153. Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:173–174, appendix 7.1.

305

Appendix A-II-13

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq

Began in 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Suleymaniye Library, Koprulu (Ms. 955).

873/1469

ʿAlī b. Ḥasan al-ʿAjamī

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean 1 climate map and 70 sectional maps, thus, the maps dealing with the Mediterranean area cover climes 3, 4, and 5 from sections 1 to 5. Notes (Physical and Others) 1 world map and 70 sectional maps: complete cartography and text; naskhī script suggests another non-Maghribi copy: similar to A-II-12. Reproductions Miller, Mappae Arabicae, Band IV. Kamal, Monumenta, 4:150. Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:173–174, appendix 7.1.

306

Appendix

A-II-14

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq

Began in 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

BNF (A. 2223).

5 Shaʿbān 944/7 January 1538 (Nāblus, Palestine).

ʿAbd al-Qādir b. Muḥammad b. ʿAbd al-Qādir (“one of the shaykhs of Jabal Nāblus”)

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean No maps. Notes (Physical and Others) Colophon in folio 100a:

‫ن‬ ‫أف‬ ��� ‫�����ت�ا ب� ���ع��لى ��ي�د � ������ق�ر �ع ����ب�ا د ا �ل�ل�ه ا �ل����ي�ه و ا ر ج��ا ���ه��م �لرح�م����ت�ه �يو�م ا �ل�����ق�د و�م ع�ل����ي�ه �ع ����ب�د‬ ‫��ج��ز ا �ل ك‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف �� غ‬ �� ‫ن م‬ �� � ‫����م�د � ن �ع���ب�د ا �ل�����ق�ا د ا ��ح�د‬ �‫م���ش�ا ي‬ ‫… وا � ق� ا �ل���ف�را� �م ����ن�ه �ي� �يو�م‬ ‫�خ ج� ����ب�ل ��ن�ا ب��ل��س‬ ‫ر‬ � �‫ا �ل���ق�ا د ر �ب� ح ب‬ ‫ن‬ ‫� � �م� ن �ش ه ����سن����ة ا ��ب ا ����ع�� ن �ت����س �م�ا �ي��ة‬ � ‫ش‬ ‫ش‬ ‫الا ��ح�د ا �ل���م ����ب�ا ر ك ��خ�ا �م��س �������ه�ر ����ع ����ب�ا � ا �ل���م ك�ر م � ���� و ر‬ � ‫ر �ع و ر ب ي� و ع‬ similar to A-II-3 Reproductions

Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:173–174, appendix 7.1.

307

Appendix A-II-15

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq

Began in 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Sofia-National Library (Or. 963/1556 (Cairo). 3198)

Muḥammad b. ʿAlī l-Ajhūrī l-Shāfʿī

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean 1 climate map and 69 sectional maps, thus, the maps dealing with the Mediterranean area cover climes 3, 4, and 5 from sections 1 to 5. Notes (Physical and Others) 1 world map and 69 sectional maps. Incomplete cartography and text. Reproductions Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:173–174, appendix 7.1.

308

Appendix

A-II-16

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Nuzhat al-mushtāq fī ikhtirāq al-afāq

Began in 548/1154; Sicily

al-Idrīsī

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Bodleian Library (Greaves 42).

End tenth/sixteenth century?

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean 1 world map and 30 sectional maps: incomplete cartography and text: covering the Mediterranean only in clime 3 (sections 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5). Notes (Physical and Others) 1 world map and 30 sectional maps: incomplete cartography and text.

‫أ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ت ق ف � ت ق آ� ق ن ذ‬ ‫ن�ز ة‬ ‫فق‬ �‫� ك‬ �� ‫ن‬ ‫ب‬ �� ‫ � � �ل�ك �ي� ا �ل�ع���ش�ر ال� وا ��ي�ل �م�� ؟؟؟ ا �ل���موا‬..� ‫����ت�ا ب� � ���ه�� ا �ل���م����ش����ا � �ي� ا ��خ��ر ا � أال� �ف�ا‬ ‫� � ن ف� ����سن����ة ث�� م�ا ن � ����ع�� ن �خ�م��س� م�ا �ي��ة‬ ‫ش‬ ‫�ش‬ �‫�ل�������ه�ر ا �ل�� وا ل ا �ل ك��اي� ي‬ � �� ‫�� � و ر ب ي� و‬ Maghribi script suggesting a Maghribi origin; similar to earlier Maghribi manuscripts. Reproductions Kamal, Monumenta, 4:148–149. Selected Bibliography Maqbul, “Cartography of al-Sharīf,” 2:173–174, appendix 7.1.

309

Appendix A-II-17

Title

Date and Location

Author and/or Mapmaker(s)

Muqaddima

The Muqaddima was written over the period from the 770s/1370s to 800s/1400s; Maghrib and Egypt.

Ibn Khaldūn

Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Cairo (Talʿat 2106)

tenth/sixteenth century

Unknown

Maps dealing with the Mediterranean In world map Notes (Physical and Others) 1 world map. Reproductions Badawi, Muʾallafāt, Fig. 9. Selected Bibliography Badawi, Muʾallafāt, 43–57.

310

Appendix

B

Maritime Cartography

B-I

Single Maritime Maps and Maritime Atlases

B-I-1

Title given to the work Maghrib Chart Mapmaker(s) Unknown (usually identified as a Maghrebi cartographer because of the Maghribi script used when writing the toponyms). Collection

Production Date and Location

Ambrosiana Library (Milan) Ms. S.P. II 259.

Unknown (estimations range between first half and second half of eighth/fourteenth century).

Inscription None General Notes · Qāb da Kūnka comes up in the same manner only in “Parma” portolano; it appears as a site only in similar late portolanos. · Qāb Sīṭ: There is no similar example. · Qūṭurī miswritten of an Arabic Būkurī as suggested by Fischer points to a possible Arabic origin in the form of a maritime map; same for Qulūnī. · Marshīla only in Berlin “Marcella” is similar “c” read as “sh.” · Between Marseilles and Aquilles many sites are missing but they are cited in portulan charts from all periods, but not by Vesconte. · Ṭulūn exact only in Vesconte and Pinelli. · Bāli is mentioned only by Vesconte as Pelli (others use Pegi). · A clear example of the European deformation of Arabic cities in European sea maps that are avoided in the Islamic sea maps is “al-Munkab” (turned “Muleca” or other variations).a · Bizilyāna: an Arabic toponym that we don’t find in the European toponyms.b · Rukīla and the Maghreb chart’s specific sites that are not mentioned in European maps: indicating special sites for the Golf and the Cap.

‫‪311‬‬

‫‪Appendix‬‬

‫‪Detailed Physical Notes‬‬ ‫‪24 by 17 cm; paper‬‬ ‫‪General Coverage‬‬ ‫‪The western Mediterranean: from Māzīghin to Qurbuṣ on the Atlantic-Mediterranean‬‬ ‫‪African coasts; from Ireland’s Istan Fūrda (Stragnord Lough?) to Italy’s al-Burām‬‬ ‫‪(Alboran).‬‬ ‫‪Reproductions‬‬ ‫”‪Vernet-Gines, “The Maghreb Chart.‬‬ ‫‪Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” Fig. 14.1.‬‬ ‫‪Selected Bibliography‬‬ ‫”‪Vernet-Gines, “The Maghreb Chart.‬‬ ‫‪Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:263–264.‬‬ ‫‪a On al-Munkab see Ibn al-Khaṭīb’s Iḥāṭa, 127, 140, 227, and 266. Here, in the seventh/‬‬

‫‪thirteenth century, it is described as a “port,” a “city,” an administrative center‬‬ ‫‪(qaṣaba), and the base of a “navy” (usṭūl).‬‬

‫�ق ة أ‬ ‫ُ‬ ‫ً أف ن ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ن‬ ‫ةق ة‬ ‫ب�ِ�زِ �ليَ��ا ن���ة‪ :‬ب��ك��سرت�ي�� ن� و��س ك‬ ‫�و � ا �ل�لا �م و ي�ا ء و� �ل��� و�و �‪ .‬ب���لي��د � �ري�ب��� �م� ن� �م�ا �ل�� �� ب�ا ل� ن��د �ل��س‪.‬ي������س� ب�‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�ز ن‬ ‫�لُ ذ‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ل��ه�ا �أ ح�م�د � ن حم‬ ‫�‬ ‫��م�د � نب� �ع ب���د ا �لرح�م� ن � نب� ا �ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫��� ا مي� ا �لب�� �لي��ا �ي� ي��ك�نى � ب�ا ع�مأر و‬ ‫ح����س ن� �ب� �م��س�عود ا �ج‬ ‫�إ ي �‬ ‫ب�‬ ‫�‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ن ُ‬ ‫�خ �فً‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ة‬ ‫�ز‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�ز‬ ‫�‬ ‫م‬ ‫ص‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫كا � ��ل� �ا ل��ل�����ض‬ ‫�‬ ‫� �ا ء ب�ا لب�ي��ر وب�ج �أا ي��� و ح� ب� � ب�ا ب� ك�ر ب� ر ب� وا ب� أ م����ر ج� وا ل ب�ي��د ي� وا ب� � بي�‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ئ‬ ‫�ظ‬ ‫ث‬ ‫�خ�ز‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫م‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�‬ ‫� �ل‪ .‬ح�د � �ع���ه � ب�و ح�م�د �ب� � ر ج ‪ ،‬و��ا ل‪:‬‬ ‫كا � �م�� � �ه�ل ا �ل�ع��ل وا �ل�������ض‬ ‫�ز �مي��� و ����ا �ر �ه���م‪ ،‬و �‬ ‫�‬ ‫َ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫م‬ ‫ت ف‬ ‫����سن����ة ‪� 461‬م �ل�ده ����سن����ة ‪� 360‬ق�ا �ل�ه ا � ن � �شْ�� ك َ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�وا ل ;‬ ‫�و �ي� �م����س����ه�ل �ج �م�ا د �ى ال� و لى‬ ‫وو‬ ‫ب� ب‬

‫‪b In addition to al-Idrīsī: Ḥamawī, Muʿjam 292.‬‬

‫ت ت‬ ‫ن � � �ق ة � �ز ق ق‬ ‫�ة �‬ ‫���ة ا �ل���م�ا �ل���ق ي����ة و�هو �� �‬ ‫ح�ا ن���ة ف�� ح��ل �م�د ي�ن���ة ب��ز �يل��ا ن���ة �م� ن� �‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا �ل���م���م��ل �ك‬ ‫ح���صو � م�ا ل�� �� ع��لى ب‬ ‫حر ا �ل ��ا �‬ ‫كا ب� حي���� ا �لري ي ى‬

‫‪Ibn Saʾīd’s al-Mughrib, 105:‬‬

‫ق ةأ‬ ‫ت ن أ ض‬ ‫�ق ��ة ع�� ��س�ا ح� ا �ل����ح �ق ة ن �ق ة‬ ‫أ ض‬ ‫ن ة ف�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل ب‬ ‫�ر ري�ب��� �م�� �م�ا �ل�� �� و�هي� ر�ي�� � ����ش� ب���ه ب�ا �ل���م�د ي���� ي� �م����س��و �م�� ال� ر��‪ ،‬و� ر����ه�ا ر �م�ل‬ ‫ر�ي لى‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ث‬ ‫�ف‬ ‫��ه�ا ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫� ا �ل���م����ا �ة ��له�ا‪ �� ،‬ن��ه�ا ��� ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫�‬ ‫��م� �م����ه�ا �إلى ا �جل‬ ‫ح‬ ‫و���ه�ا ا �لح‬ ‫��م�ا �م وا �ل�� ���ا د � و�ي���ص�ا د ب���ه�ا ا �ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫��‬ ‫ج و ر � وب ي � و بي�‬ ‫حو� ا �ل��ك���ير وي ل‬ ‫ب �ق ة ث �ن ة أ‬ ‫�م�ا �ل�� �� ����م�ا �ي��� � �مي���ا ل‬ ‫‪al-Ḥimyarī, al-Rawḍ, 95:‬‬

‫ ‬ ‫ ‬

312

Appendix

B-I-2

Title given to the work al-Ṭanjī’s map Mapmaker(s) Aḥmad b. Sulaymān al-Ṭanjī (mistaken as Ibrāhīm b. Aḥmad al-Kātibī) Collection Production Date and Location TKS H. 1823 816/1413–14 in Tunis. Inscription At the upper part (north) at the top of the frame of the compass rose: at the lower part (south):

‫ع���ش� ث�� م�ا ن�� م�ا �ي��ة‬ � ‫� ةت‬ ‫ن‬ �� ‫ت ة‬ � �� �� ‫��ص��ع ب����م�د ي����ن�� �و ��ن��س ���ع�ا �م ����س���� � ر و‬ ‫أ‬ �� ‫�ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ �‫�م�� ��ع��م�ل ا �ل�ع ����ب�د ا �ل�����قي��ر �إلى ا �ل�ل�ه � ح���م�د �ب� ��س�ل����ي��م�� ا �ل��ط����ج��ي‬

General Notes The map is made of 2 elements: first the map proper (with compass rose and scale), and second the asterism in the right (east) or “neck” of the map’s surface. The map is austere with very little use of color. The outline of the map is in light brown. The colors of the wind rose (red and green) are used throughout the map, not only in the compass rose, but also in the coloring of some geographic areas such as the Nile Delta, and in the decorative motifs in the frames of the maps and around the Black Sea. The concentric circles, a constant element in the Maghribi nautical charts, include “asterims of lunar mansions,” which are usually in the number of 24. A good example (with its own explanations) is Abū ʿAbbās Aḥmad’s diagram in his Kitāb al-Durar wa-lyawāqīt fī ʿilm raṣd wa-l-mawāqīt (Bodleian Library: Ms. Bodl. Or. 133, fols. 117a–118b) published in Emilie Savage-Smith, “Celestial Mapping,” vol. 2, 39 (Fig. 2.22). Detailed Physical Notes Parchment; 77.5 cm (left-hand side) or 77 cm (right-hand side) by 35.8 cm; neck: 23.2 cm (left-hand side), 21 cm (right-hand side), 15.5 cm (top side); the measurements of the two bars above and below the cartographic outline: 36.3 cm; diameter of the circle of the calendar on the neck: 13.5 cm.

313

Appendix

General Coverage Mediterranean and Black Sea. Mediterranean from the African Atlantic coast:

‫ن ن‬ ‫�م��ن ت����هى ا �ل ب����ح‬ � ‫�ر وا د �ي� �و‬

European Atlantic/North Sea (from north to south):

‫ �آ �خ� ا �ل�ع���م�ا �ة �ه �م��ن ت‬,‫�ج�ز � �ة ا �ل����سن���ف� �ا �ة‬ ‫ل�����م�ا ل ا � ش‬ ‫��ه��ة ا � �ش‬ ‫ل��� �ق �� ش‬ ‫ن‬ � � � ‫ح‬ � ‫ا‬ � ‫م‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ا‬ � ‫ه‬ �� � � ��� �� ‫ر‬ ‫ر‬ ‫� ير‬. �‫ر و و � ب ر � ج‬ ‫ر‬ � ‫ر ي� ب ي‬

Reproductions Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” vol. 2, Fig. 14.2. Portolani e Carte Nautiche, map 2. Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:264–265. İhsanoğlu, Osmanli, 1:3–4. Portolani e Carte Nautiche, 40–41.

B-I-3

Title given to the work al-Mursī map (al-Mursī’s Chart) Mapmaker(s) Ibrāhīm al-Mursī Collection

Work Production Date and Location

Deniz Müzesi no. 882

15 Ramaḍān 865/24 June 1461 in Tripoli (Syria?).

Inscription At the upper (north) part (at the outer frame of the map):

‫ف‬ ‫ت‬ ‫� ن‬ ‫�خ�ا �م�� � ش‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ف� �ل‬ ‫� �ع� ت� �ي� �م�د ي�ن���ة ا طرا ب��ل��س ح‬ ‫و �ض‬ ‫ع���ر �م� ن� �ش����هر ر م���ض‬ ��‫� �ا � ا �ل���م�ع���ظ��م �م‬ ‫�ر���س�ه�ا ا �ل�ل�ه ��ع�ا لى ي� ا � س‬ ‫ع�ا � �خ�م��س��ة ����ست���� ن ث�� م�ا ن�� م�ا ��ة‬ �‫و ي� و �� �� ي‬ ‫م‬

314

Appendix

B-I-3 (cont.)

in the lower (south) part (at the outer frame of the map):

‫ف‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ف‬ ‫� �ع� ت� �ي� �م�د ي�ن���ة ا طرا ب��ل��س ح‬ ‫�ع�م�ل ا �ل��ط ب����ي� ب� ا ب�ر ا �هي�����م ا �ل���مر��سي� �ل��ط��� ا �ل�ل�ه ب��ه و �ض‬ ‫�ر���س�ه�ا ا �ل�ل�ه ��ع�ا لى‬ ‫ع��� �م� ن �ش���ه � �ض �ا ن ا �ل���م� �م� ن ع�ا � �خ�م��س��ة ����ست���� ن ث�� م�ا ن�� م�ا ��ة‬ ‫ف�� ا �ل‬ � �‫و ي� و �� �� ي‬ ‫�خ�ا �م��س � ش ر � � ر ر م��� � ع���ظ��م � م‬ ‫ي‬ General Notes This map has more city views than any other “Arab chart”; yet the style suggests an amateur cartographer rather than a skilled one. Detailed Physical Notes Parchment; 90 by 53 m. General Coverage Mediterranean and the Black Sea Reproductions Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” vol. 2, Fig. 14.3. A poster made by Deniz Müzesi in 1997. Selected Bibliography Epalza, “El Portulano,” 167–168. Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” vol. 2, 264–265. İhsanoğlu, Osmanli, 1:11.

B-I-4

Title given to the work Piri Reis world map Mapmaker(s) Piri Reis Collection

Work Production Date and Location

TKS R. 1633

Muḥarram 919/March–April 1513

Appendix

315

Inscription ‫ة‬ ‫����م�ا ل ر ��ئ�����ي�� ف�� م‬ ‫ر ��س����م���ه�ا پ�����ي�ر �� � نب� ��ح�ا ج��� ا �ل���م����ش�ت������ه�ر ب� ����ب�را د ر �ز ا ده ء ك‬ 919 ����‫��ح�ر�م ����سن‬ ‫سي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ The following is a translation of the autographed inscription found on the map (translation by Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:268–270): This section explains how the present map was composed. No one has ever possessed such a map. This poor man has constructed it with his own hands. Specifically twenty maps and world maps—[the latter] are maps made in the time of Alexander the Great; they show the inhabited part of the world, and the Arabs call them jughrāfiya—eight such jughrāfiyas, one Arab map of India, four maps made recently by the Portuguese that show Pakistan, India, and China drawn by means of mathematical projection, as well as a map of the Western Parts drawn by Colombus: all these sources have been brought to one scale, and the result is this map. Only one note about Soucek’s translation and definition of jughrāfiya: considered “unclear” by Soucek (note 13), it is the word usually used by Arab authors to describe a “world map.” General Notes This is the only autographed map that could be securely attributed to Piri Reis. Thus, it is the only example that we can use in a comparison to the corpus of Kitabi Bahriye attributed to Piri Reis. It is also the only example that shows us, very clearly, Piri Reis’ familiarity with maritime cartography, not simply as a consumer, but more importantly as a cartographer. Detailed Physical Notes Parchment; 90 by 63 cm. General Coverage With regard to the “Mediterranean area,” only the African and European Atlantic coasts are depicted, along with a small portion of the Spanish and Moroccan Mediterranean coasts east of the Straits of Gibraltar. Reproductions Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” vol. 2, Figs. 14.5 and 14.6. Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:268–270. McIntosh, The Piri Reis Map, 19–25. İhsanoğlu, Osmanli, 1:21.

316

Appendix

B-I-5

Title given to the work The Ḥājj Abū l-Ḥasan’s Chart Mapmaker(s) Ḥāj Abū l-Ḥasan’s map Collection

Work Production Date and Location

TKS H. 1822

First half of the tenth/sixteenth century(?)

Inscription On the right side (east):

‫�ف �� � أ أ‬ ‫� ن‬ ‫ح � ب�و � �ل‬ ��‫��ع��م�ل ا �ل�����ق‬ �‫ح����س‬ �‫ير ج‬

General Notes The Red Sea is depicted in red, as it is in many Majorcan maps; the script is informal. Clearly, the scribe was not a professional scribe, as he mispelled words, especially those in Arabic. Detailed Physical Notes Parchment; 74 by 100 cm. General Coverage Mediterranean area (including the Atlantic coasts of African and Europe) and the Black Sea. Reproductions Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” vol. 2, Fig. 14.4. Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:265. Hakki, Topkapi Sarayında, 130–136.

317

Appendix B-I-6

Title given to the work al-Sharfī’s sea atlas Mapmaker(s) ʿAlī b. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Sharfī Collection

Production Date and Location

BNF Ms. Arabe. 2278

1 Ramaḍān 958/2 September 1551

Inscription Folio 1b:

‫ئ ن‬ ‫ة‬ ‫����م�د ��س ا �ل�ل�ه ���ه��ذه ا � ط���ب���ة‬ � ‫ا �لح‬ ‫ل�� � ل‬ ‫����م�د �ل�ل�ه و ا �ل���� �ص�لا � و ا �ل���س�لا �م ا �ل�د ا ����م�ا � ���ع��لى ����سي���د �ن�ا حم ر و ل‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ش ف‬ �� ‫�ف‬ ‫ا �ل�ل�ه ا � �ل��� ن�غ� �ب�ه �ع� ن �م� ن ��س ا ه ���ع��ل � ن � ح���م�د � ن حم‬ �‫����م�د ا �ل���ر �ي‬ �‫ب‬ �‫ي� ب‬ ‫�م� ن� ��ع��م�ل ا �ل�ع ����ب�د ا �ل�����قي��ر �إلى‬ ‫ي� � � � و‬ ‫ف‬ ‫� �� غ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ف‬ � � ‫ن‬ ‫ا �ل��� ��ص��ف�ا ���س� و������ق�ه ا �ل�ل�ه و و ���ق ا �ل���ف�را� �م ن������ه�ا �ي� �يو�م ا �لث��لا ��ث�ا ��ف�ا �تح �ش������ه�ر ر�م������ �ض�ا � ا �ل�ع����ظ��م ���ع�ا �م‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ع‬ ‫ث�� م�ا �ن����ي��ة �خ�م���س�� ن �ت��س�ع� م�ا �ي��ة‬ ‫�� � و‬ � �� ‫ي� و‬ Folio 8a:

‫ة‬ ‫����م�ا ��ج�د ت‬ ‫ت‬ � ‫ا �ن�ت�����ه�ا ���م�ا ف�� ���ه��ذه ا �ل��ط ����ب�ل��ة �م� ن� ت���ن�ز ��ي�ل ب�ي�� ن� (؟) و ���غي��ره ���ع��ل‬ � � ‫ح����س� ب� الا ����س����ط�ا ���ع�� ك و‬ ‫ى‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ح�ا ��ن�ه ا �ل���م����ست�����ع�� ن‬ �����‫و ا �ل�ل�ه ����س ب‬ �‫ي‬ General Notes 1a: Empty (except for a pasted folio, most probably inserted at a later period; vegetal ornamentation; a half circle is cut in the middle leaving an openness into folio 2a); 1b: Small introduction including date of the manuscript and author’s name; 2a: Table of Christian/ʿAjamī months representing a calendar of star settings; 2b: Kaʿba representation; 3a: Mappa mundi; 3b: Maps begin: Spain/Morocco (south on top and orientation marks the north, which is the bottom of the folio); 4a: Spain, France, and Italy/Algeria (south on top and orientation marks the north, which is the bottom of the folio);

318

Appendix

B-I-6 (cont.)

4b: Italy and Sicily with the Adriatic Sea (south on top and orientation is not marked); 5a: Black Sea (east on top and orientation marks the east, which is the top of the folio); 5b: Levant (north on top and orientation is not marked); 6a: Greece, Aegean Sea/small portion of the Libyan coast (north on top and orientation is not marked); 6b: Sicily with the most southern tip of the Italian peninsula/Libyan and Tunisian coasts (north on top and orientation marks the north, which is the top of the folio); 7a: Calendar of lengths of day and times of prayer (Christian/ʿAjamī months) in the form of a circle, not a table as in folio 2a; 7b: Calendar of events; 8a: Calendar of events Detailed Physical Notes Paper boards; 25 by 20 cm. General Coverage Mediterranean and Black Sea Reproductions Chapoutot-Remadi, “Les Charfi,” 85–93 (the whole manuscript is reproduced in color). Pinna, Il Mediterraneo Il Mediterraneo e la Sardegna Nella Cartografia Musulmana. 2 vols. (Sardinia: Istituto Superiore Regionale Etnografico della Sardegna (ISRE), 1996), 2:145. Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:284–287. Ahmad, “The Paris Copy.” Pinna, Il Mediterraneo, 2:144–152.

319

Appendix B-I-7

Title given to the work Ali Maçar Reis’ sea atlas Mapmaker(s) ʿAlī Majār Ra‌ʾīs Collection

Production Date and Location

TKS H. 644

Ṣafar 975/Aug.–Sept. 1567

Inscription Folio 5a (map no. 4): ‫ف‬ �� 975 ‫ر ��ئ�����ي��س �� �ش������ه�ر �ص��ف�ر‬

‫ي‬

����‫� ذ�� ا) ا �لت‬ ‫��ت���ه ا �ل��ف������ق�� ��ع ����ن�ا � ت‬ ‫� ذ�� ا) ���ع��ل ��م‬ � � ‫ا‬ ‫ل‬ � ‫م‬ � ( ‫�د‬ ( � ‫ق‬ ‫ك‬ ‫ك‬ �� ‫ك‬ � ‫��ج�ا ر‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ير ب ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫�ك� ب‬ �‫ي‬

General Notes 7 maps including 6 sectional maps of the Mediterranean and the Black Sea and 1 world map; maps do not cover the some of the North African coasts (most of the Tunisian and Libyan Mediterranean coasts, and Moroccan Atlantic coasts); map 1: Black Sea; map 2: Levant; map 3: Spanish, French, Italian coasts with the Adriatic Sea and Sicily; map 4: Spanish/Moroccan coasts; map 5: European Atlantic coasts and the British and Irish Isles; map 6: the Aegean Sea; map 7: the world map. Detailed Physical Notes Parchment; 29 by 42 cm. General Coverage Mediterranean and Black Sea (except much of the North African coasts). Reproductions Kemal Ozdemir, Ottoman Nautical Charts and the Atlas of Ali Macar Reis (Istanbul, Marmara Bank, 1992), 133–152 (facsimile reproduction of the whole manuscript). Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:279–282. Soucek, “The ‘Ali Macar Reis,” 17–27. Özdemir, Ottoman Nautical, 114–152.

‫‪320‬‬

‫‪Appendix‬‬

‫‪B-I-8‬‬

‫‪Title given to the work‬‬ ‫)‪al-Sharfī’s sea atlas (al-Sharfī’s atlas‬‬ ‫)‪Mapmaker(s‬‬ ‫‪ʿAlī b. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Sharfī‬‬ ‫‪Production Date and Location‬‬ ‫‪End of Jumādā II 979/mid-November‬‬ ‫‪1571 (Qayrawān or Istanbul).‬‬

‫‪Collection‬‬ ‫‪Bodleian Library Marsh 294‬‬

‫‪Inscription‬‬ ‫‪Colophon appears twice: first in the first page (1a):‬‬

‫����م�د �ل�ل�ه �� �ص��ل ا �ل�ل�ه ���ع��ل ����س���د ��ن�ا �م لا ��ن�ا حم‬ ‫ا �لح‬ ‫����م�د ر��سو ل ا �ل�ل�ه ���ه��ذه ا �ل��ط ����ب�ل��ة �م� ن� ��ع��م�ل ا �ل�ع ����ب�د‬ ‫ى ي و و‬ ‫و ى‬ ‫�‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ح ة‬ ‫� �غ ��‬ ‫�ل�خ ف‬ ‫�ف ��‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ا �ل�����قي��ر �إلى ر ���م�� �مو لاه ا �لرا ���غ� ب� �م���ن�ه � ���ف�ره و ر ���� �ض�ا ه ا �ل����ط�ا �ل� ب� �م�� ر ��ب�ه ا �ل��ل�����ط� ا �����ي�‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�ن أ‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ش ف‬ ‫ق‬ ‫�‬ ‫���ع��ل� � نب� � ح���م�د ا �‬ ‫�� �م�� �ه ����ب�ا‬ ‫ل���ر �ي� ا �ل��� ��ص��ف�ا ���س� �م� �����ش� و �مو �ل�د ا ا �ل�����ق�ر و �ي� ��ق�را ر ا و �م��س ك‬ ‫� ����ن�ا ا �ل���م�ا �ل يك‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫أ‬ ‫� � �� غ‬ ‫�����ع�ل�ه ا �ل�ل�ه �م� ن� � ���ه�ل ا �ل���ع��ل ا �ل���ع�ا �م�لي�� ن� ��ب�ه و ���ع�ا �م�ل�ه ب���ف�������� �ض�ل�ه و ��ع��مو�م رح�م����ت�ه و و ���ق ا ل���ف�را‬ ‫�ج‬ ‫�‬ ‫ع‬ ‫م‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�م ن������ه�ا ب�����ت�ا ري�خ � وا ���خ�ر �ج ���م�ا د �ى ال� ���خ�ر �ى �م� ن� ���ع�ا �م �����س و ����سب�����عي�� ن� و ���س�ع���م�ا ��ي��ة �م���ص�ل����ي�ا و �م��س�ل���م�ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫ع‬ ‫��م������ف� �ة ا �ل ح���م��ة‬ ‫����م�د �آ �ل�ه (؟) ا �غ� ���ب�ا �م� ن ���خ�ا ط (؟) ��ج�ا �م ا �ل�د ���ع�ا ��ج� ا �ل� �غ‬ ‫���ع��ل ����س���د ��ن�ا حم‬ ‫و‬ ‫ى ي‬ ‫ر و ر‬ ‫ور � �‬ ‫� ل‬ ‫ر و � ع‬ ‫ن‬ ‫��ج��م�� ا �ل���م��س�ل���م�� ن‬ ‫� ا �ل�ه �ل ا �ل�د �ي�ه �ل‬ ‫‪ .‬ا �ل �ض‬ ‫ي�‬ ‫و ر و � و و � و �� يع‬ ‫‪Folios 2a–3a:‬‬

‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�خ�ا �م���س��ة ف���ف� ��ه�ا ��ص��ف��ة‬ ‫���خ��ل ق‬ ‫��ك�ع���ب��ة ا �ل� ش‬ ‫و � ���م�ا ا �ل��� �فص�����ح��ة ا �تل� ف�� ا �‬ ‫��م��� ��ف��ة ا �تل� � ���م� ا �ل�ل�ه ا �‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫���‬ ‫�‬ ‫ي�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ر‬ ‫�‬ ‫ي� ر‬ ‫ي� ي‬ ‫� ث ��ن �ت ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�ق‬ ‫ش‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ب�ا لا ����ست����ق ����ب�ا ل ا �لي�����ه�ا �� �ص��لوا �����ه��م ب��� و �ل�ه ����ع�ا لى و حي�������م�ا �ك� � ���م و �لوا و ج و�ه ك‬ ‫�م�������ط�ره و ا ل ����ب�ل د‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ة ف‬ ‫ي���ه�ا �ه� ك‬ ‫ا �ل���م���‬ ‫����م�ا ن������ق�ل� ت� �م� ن� ا �ل���م��س��ت �����ن��س�� خ �م ن������ه�ا و � ��ص��ف��ة ا ����ست��� ���خ� ا‬ ‫حي������ط��ة ب�����ه�ا ا �ل���م�� ك‬ ‫�و ر � ����‬ ‫ي‬ ‫� ر ج�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ذ ت‬ ‫�ذ ا ا � ح ن‬ ‫ك ب��ل�د �ة ا و ���م�ا ي���لي�����ه�ا �م� ن �ع�م�ا �لت�����ه�ا ا ن� �‬ ‫م‬ ‫��ج����ع�ل ا �ل��ق�������ط� ب� ا �ل�� �ي� ���س���م����ي�ه ( ك�� ) ل ب����‬ ‫�ر�يو �‬ ‫��ح�را ب� �ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ح�����ي� ث� لا ي�‬ ‫���ه����ت�ه ف�� ب��ل�د ك ب�‬ ‫ا �ل��س���م����ي��ة ا لى ج�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫حو ل �ع ����ن�ه � ����ي�ش�ئ� ��ث��م ت������ق�را ���م�ا �ي� ا �ل�د ا ��ي�ر� ا �تل�� ب�����ه�ا ا �ل ����ب�لا د‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ا �أ ن� ت���ن ت��ه ا ا �ل���ب�ل�د �ة ا �تل� ا �ن� ت‬ ‫� ذ�� ا) �قر � ����ب��ة ����من���ك و ��ت ن� �����ظ� ا �جل‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫(‬ ‫ا‬ ‫�����ه��ة ا �ل���مت��و ���ج�ه ا �لي�����ه�ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫��‬ ‫ه‬ ‫ك‬ ‫�‬ ‫ب‬ ‫�‬ ‫لى‬ ‫� ي� لى �‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي�‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ف‬ ‫� ا � �ة‬ ‫�ن‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ة‬ ‫����ه�ا ت‬ ‫�����ه�� �ه� ا �تل� ت������س�� ا �لي�����ه�ا � ����ب��لت��ك و ����ع� �� ا �جل‬ ‫��ك�ع ����ب�� �����ت�ل�ك ا �جل‬ ‫�‬ ‫�م�����ق�ا ب�لا �ل��ل �‬ ‫� �‬ ‫ك��ل���ه�ا ��ب�ا ل�د ير‬ ‫��‬ ‫ب‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي ي�‬ ‫����ه�ا ت‬ ‫ا �تل� ت���لي�����ه�ا ا �ل���م��كت�و� ع��لي�����ه�ا د ا ��ي� �ة ا �جل‬ ‫�‬ ‫��‬ ‫ب‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي�‬

‫‪321‬‬

‫‪Appendix‬‬

‫ت �ف � ذ ا ا � ح ن‬ ‫ة‬ ‫���ف� ���ي��ة‬ ‫و ا ن� �عر ف�ت������ه�ا �غ�ا ��ي��ة �عر ���ف� ت� م‬ ‫كل ب��ل�د � و ب�����ه�ا ����ع�ر� ( ك�� ) ل ب����‬ ‫��ح�را ب� �‬ ‫�ر�يو � الا ر ��ي�اح و �كي �‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫��ع ف� ن ا �ل ا ��س �غ‬ ‫ا � ��‬ ‫ح����س�����م�ا ذ� �ل�ك �م���ع� �ف� �ع ن‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل��س��ف�ر ب�����ه�ا و ب�����ه�ا �‬ ‫��‬ ‫�‬ ‫�د‬ ‫��‬ ‫ا‬ ‫��‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫���‬ ‫�‬ ‫��‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ه‬ ‫ض‬ ‫ص‬ ‫��م‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ه��‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫م‬ ‫�‬ ‫ر‬ ‫و‬ ‫و‬ ‫�‬ ‫ب‬ ‫و‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ت أ‬ ‫ق �‬ ‫ث �ن ة �‬ ‫� تف‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ت ة ��‬ ‫ا �جل‬ ‫�‬ ‫�����ه�ا � ال� ر ���بع � �ش� ���م�ا ل ج���و ب� � ����ش�ر � ��غ�ر ب� �ث��م �����ر���ع�� ا لى ����م�ا �����ي�� �ث��م ا لى ����س���� �ع���ش�ر‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ذ �ف‬ ‫��ث��م ا لى ا ث�����ني�� ن� و ث�لا ث�ي�� ن� �‬ ‫ح����سب�����م�ا � �ل�ك ���م�� ك‬ ‫�و ر �ع ����ن�د � ���ه�ل ���ه�� ا ا �ل�� � ن� و �م���ع�ر و�� �ع ن���د ���ه��م‬ ‫أ ف‬ ‫ةف‬ ‫ة‬ ‫�ة‬ ‫����م�ا ��ص��ف��ة‬ ‫���غ� ا ف����ي�ا و �م�ع ن���ا ���ه�ا �ع ����ن�د ا �ل‬ ‫�� ة �‬ ‫�‬ ‫(‪ )… ‬و � ���م�ا �ي� � �فص�����ح�� ا �لو ر �ق�� ا �ل��س�ا د ���س�� ���ف� ���‬ ‫حك �‬ ‫ي���ه�ا �ص��ف�� ا ل�ج ر �‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�‬ ‫ض‬ ‫كا �ت� ب� الا ��ح�ر�ف� و �� �ص�ا ن� ���ه��ذه ا �ل��ط ����ب�ل��ة و ف������ق�ه ا �ل�ل�ه �ت���ع�ا لى و � �� �ص��ل�� ا �‬ ‫حوا �ل�ه‬ ‫الا ر�� (‪� )… ‬ق�ا ل �‬ ‫ح‬ ‫ع‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫�‬ ‫�ز ن ث � ة‬ ‫ح� ا �لن� ���ه��ة‬ ‫���غ� ا ف����ي�ا ت‬ ‫�‬ ‫�����ب�ا ر ���ع��ل �‬ ‫� �ك‬ ‫ح����س� ب� ���م�ا � ك‬ ‫و ا ع���م�ا �ل�ه و �ق�د ��ب�ر ����م�ي� �لا �ث�� �ج ر �‬ ‫�ره �� �ص�ا � ب� و‬ ‫ى‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫� ذ � �ش ق ف‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫� ق ف‬ ‫ض‬ ‫ة‬ ‫( ك�� ا) ا ل�‬ ‫�ره الا ب��ح�ر ا �ل���م�� ك‬ ‫��م�� ��ت����ت�ا � �ي� ا ���خت��ر ا � الا �ف�ا � �����ي�ه � ��ص��ف��ة الا ر�� و � ك‬ ‫�و ر � �‬ ‫ك��ل���ه�ا و‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ض‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ة‬ ‫����ه�ا ت‬ ‫ن ش‬ ‫كل �م ن������ه�ا �‬ ‫� �‬ ‫ح����س� ب�‬ ‫���م�ا �ي� ال� ر�� �م� ن� ج� ����ب�ا ل و �ع��يو � و � ود ��ي�� و ���م�د � �م�����هو ر � و ج� �‬ ‫أ‬ ‫����ه�ا ت‬ ‫� ا �ل���م�عر و ��ف��ة �ع ����ن�د ا �لر �ؤ ���س�ا ���ح� � ن�����ه�ا �ل��ي���س�ا ف�ر ب�����ه�ا �ش��ر ��ق�ا و غ�ر ��ب�ا و ج�و ��ف�ا و ق� ����ب�ل��ة ب�‬ ‫ا �جل‬ ‫�‬ ‫ح�����ي� ث�‬ ‫��‬ ‫تى‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ة‬ ‫ن ن تق‬ ‫� ت‬ ‫���ة ا و ���عي�� ن� �م� ن ا �� ا �جل‬ ‫كل �م�د ي�����ن�� ا و ج� ����ب�ل ا و �����ه�ر ا و ب�ر ك‬ ‫�ي���ع�ر�� �م ن������ه�ا �‬ ‫�����ه�ا � و �م�� ا�ي� ��������� �ص�ر‬ ‫أ� ي‬ ‫ة � أ‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫�‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ي���ه�ا ��ف��م� ن� � ر ا د � �ل�ك ��لي�� ب�������ح� ث� �ع ن������ه�ا لا �����ه�ا‬ ‫��� �ل�ك ا �ل���مرا ��سي� ا �ل���م�ع��لو���م�� �ف�ا ل� ر��سى (����‬ ‫ي���ه�ا) ����‬ ‫وك‬ ‫�‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ح���ي�ا �ة ا ���غ�� ذ� �ل�ك �م� ن الا �م ا �ل�ت‬ ‫ت���ن ت�����ق�ل �م� ن� الا ��ي�د �� ���ع��ل �‬ ‫ح����س� ب� الا �ق�د ا ر ب����مو� ا و � � و ير‬ ‫� و ر ي�‬ ‫ي ى‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ال ت � ة ال ن � ذ‬ ‫�� �ل ا � ن �ف �ة‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫��‬ ‫�‬ ‫)‬ ‫(‬ ‫��‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ط‬ ‫�‬ ‫�ه‬ ‫�‬ ‫�ه‬ ‫�‬ ‫م‬ ‫�د‬ ‫��‬ ‫ع‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫ك‬ ‫ح��‬ ‫��س ب� ا ��س���� ��ع ا � ك��‬ ‫��ت ن�����ق�ل ب�����ه�ا الا ���م�لا ك و � ل�ك ل‬ ‫��ب ا ي �خ� و � و و‬ ‫ن ن � ذ‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ة ن ن‬ ‫�ف ت �ز ة �ز ت‬ ‫�ه�� وا � ا و �ل�� ا و لا � ا و � �هو ل ا و �����سي���ا � ا و ��غي��ر � �ل�ك �م���م�ا ط �����بع ع�ل����ي�ه ج� ����ب�ل�� الا ����س�ا �‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫�‬ ‫ف ت �غ ��‬ ‫ت �غ ��‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت ف ذ �ن‬ ‫�‬ ‫���ي����س������ف�ر ا �ل�ل�ه �ي� ���ج��مي��ع � �ل�ك ا ����س������ف�ا ر �ع ����ب�د �م���ع��ر �� ب��� � ����ب�ه �لر��ب�ه ر ا ���غ� ب� �م���ن�ه ���س��ر‬ ‫�عي�� ب���ه (…)‬ ‫‪On the last page (13a):‬‬

‫�‬ ‫ن‬ ‫� ا �ل��ط�ا ���ع�ا ت‬ ‫كا �ت�� ال�أ ��ح� �ف �� �ص�ا ن� ���ه��ذه ا �ل��ط���ب�ل��ة ف������ق�ه ا �ل�ل�ه �ت���ع�ا ا ا �ل�� ت‬ ‫�و �‬ ‫كا �‬ ‫��خي��ر ا و‬ ‫� و‬ ‫ر� و‬ ‫لى لى‬ ‫��ق�ا ل � ب‬ ‫ع‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ت ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫� ت ت ق‬ ‫ت ق �� ة أ ض‬ ‫�ل�ه و �م���ع�ه �ي� �‬ ‫كل ال� �مو ر و ا �ل��ح�ا لا � ���م�ا �ي� ���ه��ذه ا �لو ر ��ق�ا � و ا �ل�ي� � ب�����ل���ه�ا �م���م�ا ي�����ع��ل� ب����ص��ف�� ال� ر��‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ق ف‬ ‫� ق‬ ‫ق‬ ‫�ن �ن �‬ ‫و � ب�‬ ‫����ت�ا ب� �ن�ز ���ه��ة ا �ل���م����ش�ت���ا � �ي� ا ���خت��ر ا � الا ��ف�ا � و ب��ع������ �ض�ه‬ ‫حر���ه�ا و طو ��ل���ه�ا ن����ق �ل����ت�ه ب��ع������ �ض�ه م�� م�� �ك‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أف‬ ‫���غ����م��� ن�ي� ف� ��� ض‬ ‫ت ق‬ ‫ن ن‬ ‫ث � ن �‬ ‫�ع��� ر ���س�ا ي��ل�ه‬ ‫�م�� ا �ب� ا �ل�ع����ط�ا ر � �ي������ �ض�ا و � ���م�ا ���م�ا ي�����ع��ل� ��ب�ا ل� ��لا ك و �م�����ل���ه�ا ��ف��م�� ا ل�ج � ي� ي� ب‬ ‫ف‬ ‫كلا ���م�ه ���ع��ل الا ق��ا �ل���ي��م ا �ل����س�����ع��ة و ���م�ا �ت���ض �ن ت ن‬ ‫�ي� ���ع��ل ا ��ل�هي��ئ����ة و ت�ر �ك�‬ ‫� ت� �‬ ‫�‬ ‫ب‬ ‫�أ� ���م� ���ه �م�� ب�لا د و ج� ����ب�ا ل لا ���ج�ل‬ ‫ى‬ ‫م‬ ‫الا خ�ت������ �ص�ا ر و ���م�ا ا �ل���ع��بر ف�����ي�ه �م� ن �ش�� ����غ� ا �ل ����ب�ا ل ف�� الا �ش������ج�ا ر ���ف��م� ن � ر ا د ذ� �ل�ك ف���لي���ط�ا �ل���ع�ه ف��ا ��ن�ه ��جع‬ ‫������ي� ب�‬ ‫�‬ ‫� ل‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ال‬ ‫ي���ه�ا ا �ل ����ب�ر ا �ل�� �ي� �م ����ب�د وه‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�ك‬ ‫�‬ ‫��م‬ ‫�‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫��‬ ‫�‬ ‫ح‬ ‫�‬ ‫و ب� ���‬ ‫و ا ���م�ا ��ع��م�ل ا �ل ����ب�لا د و ا �ل���مرا ��سي� �ي� ب ر و ا و ر �‬

322

Appendix

B-I-8 (cont.)

‫ض‬ �� �� � ‫�م� ن �ز ���ق�ا ق ��س������ت��ة ا ا‬ ‫ل���ش�ا �م و ��ب� ب��ح� ا �ل ك �� � ن ن �ق � ن‬ � ‫ة ت‬ ‫لى‬ ‫� ب‬ ���‫����ف�ا ��ف�ا �ي� ��� �ل���ت�ه �م�� ط ����ب�ل�� ر ا ي������ه�ا ب��خ�ط ب����ع‬ ‫ر ر‬ � � ‫�ه‬ � � �� ‫ن‬ ‫�ن‬ ‫ن‬ � ‫����ني��� ��ب�ا �ص��ط� ��بو ل و �هو ا ل‬ � ‫حك‬ ‫ا �ل��س�ا �ك‬ ‫�����ي��م ا ب�و ا �ل�ع ����ب�ا ��س ا ح���م�د الا �ن�د �ل��سي� ا �ل���ق�ا ط�� ب�����ه�ا و ي� ��غي��ر‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ذ � ل ن ا � � �ة‬ ‫ا �ل��ط ����ب�ل��ة ا �تل� ا ���ع� �ف� �م� ن �ش�� ����غ� ا �لوا �ل�د و ا ���ل‬ ‫��ج�د رح��م�ه���م�ا ا �ل�ل�ه ����ع�ا لى و � ل�ك � �����ه�ا ل���مو ج ود‬ ‫ي� ر‬ � ‫ل‬ ‫�ع ����ن�د � ��ح�� ن ��ع��م��ل ��ل��ه��ذه ���ف�ا ط�ل�� �م� ن ط�ا �ل��ع��ه�ا ن� ظ��� ���ه�ا ��ت�ا �م� ف������ه�ا ا ن� �ن� �����ظ� ف������ه�ا ����ع�� ن‬ �‫� و ر و ل ي‬ � �‫ي� ي� ي‬ �‫ي ر ي� ب ي‬ ‫ب‬ ‫� أ‬ ‫ن ف ف‬ ‫�ف‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ق‬ �� � ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ن‬ � ‫ي���ه�ا �م�� ��خ�ل�ل ا �ص��ل����ح�ه � و �م�� ����ق��ص ك�م�ل�ه لا � ا �ل�ع ����ب�د �مو �ض‬ ���� ‫ا ����� �ص�ا �� ����م�ا و ���ج�د‬ ‫� و� ��ب�ا �ل������ص‬ ‫� �غ ف � ف‬ ‫ت ف‬ ‫ت ف‬ ‫ذ �ن‬ � ‫لا ا �ل ك‬ �‫����م�ا ل �م������ ��ص� ��ب�ا �ل�عي��� ب� ب���سوء الا ع���م�ا ل �م���ع��ر �� �لر��ب�ه ب��� � ����ب�ه ��ط�ا �ل� ب� �م���ن�ه �م�����ر �ت�ه �ي‬ ‫أ‬ � � �‫ا �ل���م�ا ض��� و الا ����ست����ق ����ب�ا ل و ���م�ا ��سو �ى ذ� �ل�ك �م� ن� ال� و ر ا ق� ن������ق�ل� ت� �ش��ر‬ ‫�ح���ه�ا ب�ا �ل���م�ع���ن�ا ���ع��لى ��ق�د ر‬ ‫ي‬ � ‫ت‬ ‫�غ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫� ن‬ ‫�ن‬ ‫ت���ق������ �صي��ر �ي� و ����� �ص�ر ��ب�ا �عي� ��ف�ا � ا �ل�����ق�ط ي�������ت�ف��� خ ��حي�� ن� ��غ������ي� ب� الا ��سود و �ع ����ن�د � ي�� ب����ة ا �ل ����ن��مر ��ق�د‬ � � ‫ت‬ ‫��ج�ا د �ب�ا �ل�ل�ه ��ث�� �ب�ا �ل�ل�ه ا ���س�أ �م� ن ا ���� �ص� خ��� ���ه ذ�� ا ن� �����ظ� ا ن �ي�د �ع ل �ب�ا � �غل���ف‬ �� ‫ط‬ � �‫م‬ � ‫ي�����س���ع����ظ��م ا ���ل ر و‬ ‫و ر � � و ي� � ر‬ �‫ل � ب ر ي‬ ‫ن �ت‬ ‫ا � �ض ن‬ ‫ح ة‬ ‫نظ‬ ‫�غ‬ ‫��م������ف� �ة ��ث��م �ل�ه �ل��ل ا �ل�د � ن‬ �‫ي� و �ل���م�� �ك‬ ‫����ب���ه�ا و ط�ا �ل��ع���ه�ا و ����ر���ه�ا و‬ ‫و و‬ ‫(؟) و لر‬ ‫� وا � و ا �لر ���م�� و ا �ل� ر‬ ‫آ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫��ج��م�� ا �ل���م��س�ل���م�� ن � �ج �م���ع�� ن ا �ل���� �ص�لا �ة ا �ل���س�لا �م ���ع��ل ����س���د ��ن�ا حم‬ � ‫����م�د خ��ا ��ت��م ا �لن��ب�����يي�� ن� و ���ع��لى � �ل�ه‬ ‫و‬ ‫ي� و‬ �‫ي‬ ‫ى ي‬ ‫��ل ي‬ ‫ع‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�ص‬ ‫ح ����ب�ه �م� ن ب����ع�ده � �ج �م���عي�� ن� و ا ���خ� د �عوا ��ن�ا ا �لح‬ .�‫����م�د �ل�ل�ه ر ب� ا �ل�ع�ا �ل���مي�� ن‬ ‫ر‬ � �‫و‬ General Notes 1a: Small introduction with date and author’s name; 1b: Introduction: guide to drawings; 2a: Text continues; 2b: Text continues; 3a: Text continues; 3b: Conversion table (“Arabic” years to the Gregorian calendar); 4a: Earth, 7 heavens; 4b: Kaʿba; 5a: Wind rose; 5b: Mappa mundi; 6a: Sectional maps, Tunisia; 6b: Italy; 7a: Spain/Morocco; 7b: France/Algeria; 8a: Greece/Libya; 8b: Black Sea (including Istanbul); 9a: Syria/ Egypt; 9b: Table one of nūdāt; 10a: Conversion table (“Ajamī” years); 10b: Table 3 of prayer times; 11a: Text continues; 11b: Text continues; 12a: Text continues; 12b: Text continues; 13a: Text continues/last folio; 13b: Empty. Detailed Physical Notes Paper: card boards from folio 4 to folio 9 and the rest of the folios are regular paper; Maghribi script; measurements of each folio: 27 by 21 cm; measurements of margins in written sheets: approximately 3 cm for the left and/or right margins; measurements of written area: 20.5 cm.

323

Appendix

General Coverage Mediterranean and Black Sea Reproductions Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” vol. 2, Figs. 14.22 and 14.23. Pinna, Il Mediterraneo, 2:155. Selected Bibliography Mansouri, “Une Famille des Cartographes.” Brice, “Mediterranean Sea.” Pinna, Il Mediterraneo, 2:153–159.

B-I-9

Title given to the work al-Sharfī world map (al-Sharfī’s mappa mundi) Mapmaker(s) ʿAlī b. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Sharfī. Collection Rome (Istituto Italo-Africano)

Inscription Under the neck (west):

Production Date and Location Beginning of Jumādā I 987/end of June 1579

‫ف‬ ‫أ ف‬ � ‫ن‬ ‫� ف‬ �‫) و ���ه ذ�� ا ي‬..( �‫� ����ن�ا ب�ي����ص و ا �ش�� ك‬ � ‫كا �ت� ب� ال� ��ح�ر�� و �� �ص�ا‬ ‫�خ����ت��ل� ��ب�ا خ�ت���لا �� ا �ل ك‬ � ‫��ا ��ل���ه�ا (؟) �ق�ا ل‬ ‫ع‬ ‫ذ‬ � ‫�ر ���ه ذ�� ا �� �ص�ا‬ �‫ح� ب� �ن�ز ���ه��ة ا �ل���م����ش�ت���ا ق� ف�� ا ���خت��ر ا ق� الا ��ف�ا ق� و ا �ل ك‬ ‫��ا �ت� ب� ا �ل�ع ����ب�د‬ ‫���ه��ذه ا �ل��ط ����ب�ل��ة � ك‬ ‫ي‬ �� ‫�ف‬ ‫ل��� ف� ا �ل�� ��ص��ف�ا �ق��س �م��ن �����ش�أ ا �ل�����ق�� ا �ن ��ح�� ن ا �ل����ت�ا �خ‬ ‫ا �ل�ل�ه ���ع��ل � ن �أ ح���م�د � ن حم‬ ‫����م�د ا � ش‬ � ‫ي‬ ‫ر‬ ‫ر‬ ‫و‬ �‫ر ي‬ �‫ب‬ �‫ي� ب‬ ‫ا �ل�����قي��ر �إلى‬ �‫ي ي� ي‬ �‫ي‬ � ‫أ‬ ‫ذ‬ � ‫(؟) �م��س ك‬ ‫�� �م�� �ه ����ب�ا ��ج����ع�ل�ه ا �ل�ل�ه �م� ن� � ���ه�ل ا �ل���ع��ل ا �ل���ع�ا �م�لي�� ن� ب�رح�م����ت�ه (؟) و ك‬ ‫�ر���م�ه و و ��ق‬ ‫� ����ن�ا ا �ل���م�ا �ل يك‬ ‫ع‬ ‫م‬ ‫أ‬ ‫�� غ ن أ‬ ‫ة ث �ن ة ت‬ ‫�غ‬ ‫ة‬ �� � ‫ا �ل���ف�را� �م������ه�ا � وا �ئ�ل �ج ���م�ا د �ى ال� و لى �م� ن� ���ع�ا �م ����سب�����ع�� و ����م�ا �����ي�� و ���س�ع���م�ا ��ي�� � ���ف�ر ا �ل�ل�ه �ل�ه و‬ ‫�ت‬ )… ( ‫����ب���ه�ا‬ �‫�لوا �ل�د ��ي�ه و �ل���م� ن� ط�ا �ل��ع���ه�ا و �ك‬

324

Appendix

B-I-9 (cont.)

On the other end (east):

‫أ‬ ‫ش ف‬ ‫أ ف‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ف‬ � ‫���غ�را ف�����ي�ا ���ع��ل� � نب� � ح���م�د ا‬ ‫ل���ر �ي� �ل�����ط� ا �ل�ل�ه ��ب�ه‬ ‫كا �ت� ب� ال� ��ح�ر�� و ��ن�ا ��ل ���ه��ذه ا �ل�ج‬ � ‫ي‬ ‫ف �ت‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ف‬ � ‫ة‬ �‫ا �ل��ح�د ي� ث� ا �ل�� �ي� ر وا ه ا � نب� �ع ����ب�ا ��س �ي� �ش��ر��ح�ه ���ع��لى ا �ل���مر� ����ش�د � و ��غي��ره �م� ن� ا �ل�ع�ل���م�ا �ي� �ك‬ ‫����ب���ه��م‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ض‬ ‫���خ�ط ��ج�د � حم‬ �‫���غ�را ف�����ي�ا �م� ن � ���خ� �ى ب‬ ‫ر��ي� ا �ل�ل�ه �ع ن������ه��م � �ج �م���عي�� ن� و ن������ق�ل� ت� ���ه��ذه ا �ل�ج‬ ‫����م�د رح���م�ه ا �ل�ل�ه‬ �‫� � ي‬ ‫� ر‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ن �ن‬ � �� � ‫ن������ق� �ب� ا �ل������ح� ا‬ �‫ل���ش�ا مي� و �مرا ����سي���ه �م�� �ك‬ ‫� ب���ا �ص �م� ن� ��ع��م�ل � ���ه�ل �م��يو ر ��ق��ة د �مر���ه�ا ا �ل�ل�ه و �م�ع ����ن�ا‬ ‫و ل�ر ب ر‬ ‫�ل �غ ف‬ ‫� � �ن�ز ة � ت ق �� ة ال أ �ض‬ ‫( ا �ج‬ …) � ‫…) �ك���ت�ا ب� ���ه�� ا ل���م����ش����ا � �ص��ف�� � ر‬ ( ‫���را �����ي�ا ���ع��لى‬ ‫ذ‬

( …) ‫�ر‬ ‫�ك‬

General Notes A “world map” made from a Mediterranean map in the style of maritime cartography with an Idrisian map of Asia; supposedly made from an earlier model by ʿAlī l-Sharfī’s grandfather, based on an original model by the “damned” Majorcans. Detailed Physical Notes Parchment; 135 by 59 cm; two pieces of parchment (coinciding roughly with the maps of the Mediterranean and the map of Asia) are sewn together. General Coverage Mediterranean area and the Black Sea in addition to Asia Reproductions Nallino, “Un Mappamondo arabo disegnato nel 1579,” 737. Selected Bibliography Nallino, “Un Mappamondo arabo disegnato nel 1579,” 721–737.

325

Appendix B-I-10

Title given to the work Mehmed Reis’ regional sea map Mapmaker(s) Mehmed Reʾīs of Menemen Collection

Production Date and Location

Museo Correr, Venice, Port. 22

999/1590–91

Inscription Under the scale bar:

‫ة‬

999 ����‫����سن‬

‫� ئ � ن �ن ن‬ ‫ن �ع حم‬ �‫�م�� �م�ل �م�د ر ��ي��س ب� �م� ���م����لي‬

General Notes Regional maritime map depicting the Aegean Sea. Detailed Physical Notes Parchment; 59.5 by 82.5 cm; the parchment is uneven toward the western end; thick black line frame the map. General Coverage Aegean Sea but also including Cyprus and Marmara Sea Reproductions Portolani e Carte Nautiche, map. 34. Özdemir, Ottoman Nautical, 110–111. Selected Bibliography Brice, The Aegean Sea-Chart. Portolani e Carte Nautiche, 110–111. Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:283–284.

‫‪326‬‬

‫‪Appendix‬‬

‫‪B-I-11‬‬

‫‪Title given to the work‬‬ ‫‪Muḥammad al-Sharfī’s mappa mundo‬‬ ‫)‪Mapmaker(s‬‬ ‫‪Muḥammad b. ʿAlī b. Aḥmad al-Sharfī‬‬ ‫‪Production Date and Location‬‬

‫‪Collection‬‬

‫‪End of Dhū l-Qaʿda 1009/end of May 1601‬‬ ‫� �� ق‬ ‫�ص��ف�ا ���س�“ ‪(Ṣafāqus; see inscription below:‬‬ ‫ا ل��‬ ‫ي‬ ‫� ����ن�ا‬ ‫‪�”).‬م��س ك‬

‫‪BNF Rés. Ge. C. 5089.‬‬

‫‪Inscription‬‬ ‫‪Near the neck:‬‬

‫أ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫���غ� ا ف����ي�ا �م� ن ��ع��م� ا �ل�ع���ب�د ا �ل��ف������ق�� ا ا �ل�ل�ه حم‬ ‫ا �لح‬ ‫����م�د � نب� ���ع��ل� � نب� � ح���م�د‬ ‫����م�د �ل�ل�ه ����ع�ا لى ���ه��ذه ا �ل�ج‬ ‫ر‬ ‫لى‬ ‫ي‬ ‫�‬ ‫ر‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫ي‬ ‫ش ف‬ ‫غ‬ ‫ق‬ ‫ذ ق‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ا�‬ ‫� ����ن�ا �ل�����ط� ا �ل�ل�ه ��ب�ه و ���ج��بر ���ه�� ا ��ل ����ب�ه (؟)‬ ‫ل���ر �ي� ا �ل��� ��ص��ف�ا ���س� �م��س ك‬ ‫كا � ا �ل�����ف�را �م� ن� �ع�م���ل���ه�ا‬ ‫�‬ ‫و‬ ‫�‬ ‫ي‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫أ‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ف‬ ‫ا � ا �ة‬ ‫ة � � � ن �ه ة‬ ‫�ق ة‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫��ج�ر� ���خي��ر ال� �ن�ا �م ع�ل����ي�ه ل���� �ص�ل‬ ‫�ي� � وا ��خ�ر � �ي� ا �ل�� ���ع�د � ا �ل��ح�را �م ���ع�ا �م ���س���ع�� و ل��� م�� ��‬ ‫و ا �ل���س�لا �م‬ ‫‪Large inscriptions at the upper (south) and lower (north) cartouches of the map:‬‬

‫ن ف ق‬ ‫� �ص‬ ‫ا �لح‬ ‫�‬ ‫� ب�لا د ا �ل��سود ا � و �و����ه�ا ج� ن��و ب�ا �موا �ض‬ ‫��م�د �ل�ل�ه �ه��ذه ا �ل���م ا �ض �م� ن �م ا �ض‬ ‫ح�ا ر �ي� و ر ���م�ا ل‬ ‫ع‬ ‫و �ع � و ع‬ ‫� � � �غ‬ ‫� ت‬ ‫ش‬ ‫ل���ر �ق� و ب�‬ ‫��ح�ر ��ي�ا ج�و ج و ���م�ا ج�و ج و ا �ل ب������ح�ر ا �ل���م���‬ ‫� �‬ ‫ح����ي�ط‬ ‫�ث��م ا ل ب������ح�ر ا ل���م������ �ص�ل ��ب�ا ل ب����حر ا ل�ر ب�ي� و ا � ي‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫� ذ ذ‬ ‫ض‬ ‫ح����ي�ط ب���‬ ‫(��ث��م‪ … ‬ج� ����ب�ل ���ف�ا ق�؟؟؟) ا �ل���م���‬ ‫��ج��مي�� الا ر�� ��ث��م ���م�ا لا �ي�ع�ل���م�ه ا ��ح�د الا ا �ل�ل�ه ك���م�ا � ك‬ ‫�ر � �ل�ك‬ ‫ع‬ ‫تق‬ ‫ح� �ك � ن�ز ة‬ ‫�� �ص�ا � ب�‬ ‫����ت�ا ب� � ���ه�� ا �ل���م����ش����ا �‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫ذ‬ ‫�‬ ‫�غ‬ ‫ش‬ ‫ت‬ ‫ت‬ ‫�ش‬ ‫�‬ ‫��‬ ‫�لح‬ ‫ا ���م�د �ل�ل�ه ���ه�� ا ا �ل ب������ح�ر ا �ل�����م�ا لي� ا �ل���م������ �ص�ل ب�����ه�� ا ا �ل ب������ح�ر ا �ل�ر ب�ي� وي������ �ص�ل ا �ي������ �ض�ا ���ر ��ق�ا ب ب��ح�ر‬ ‫ح����ي�ط ب���‬ ‫ح����ي�ط ��ث��م ب����ع�ده ج� ����ب�ل ���ف�ا ق� ا �ل���م���‬ ‫�ر ا �ل���م���‬ ‫��ي�ا ج�و ج و���م�ا ج�و ج و�هو �مت������ �ص�ل ��ب�ا �ل ب����ح‬ ‫��ج��مي��‬ ‫�‬ ‫�‬ ‫ع‬ ‫�����ت�ا �ن�ز ���ه��ة‬ ‫الا ر ض�� ��ث��م ب����ع�ده ���م�ا لا �ي�ع�ل���م�ه ا ��ح�د الا ا �ل�ل�ه ���ع��ز و ���ج� ك‬ ‫����م�ا ن������ق�ل�ه �� �ص�ا �‬ ‫ح� ب� �ك ب�‬ ‫ل‬ ‫� ق‬ ‫تق ف � ت ق‬ ‫ف� ا � ت ا ق ال ق‬ ‫ن‬ ‫ا �ل���م����ش����ا � �ي� ا ��خ��ر ا � الا ��ف�ا � و ا �ب� ا �ل�ع����ط�ا ر ي� ��خ��ر � ا �����ط�ا ر‬ ‫‪General Notes‬‬ ‫‪Same as B-I-9 (almost a copy of B-I-9).‬‬

327

Appendix

Detailed Physical Notes Parchment; 137 by 48.5 cm. General Coverage Same as B-I-9. Reproductions Pinna, Il Mediterraneo, vol. 1, no. 89. Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” vol. 2, Figs. 14.24 and 14.25. Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:287. Nallino, “Un Mappamondo Arabo del 1579,” 728–729.

B-I-12

Title given to the work “Atlas-i Humayun” sea atlas Mapmaker(s) Unknown Collection

Production Date and Location

Arkeolojii Müzesi Kitapığı, n. 1621.

End tenth/sixteenth or eleventh/ seventeenth century?

Inscription

General Notes The map has very few inscriptions and toponyms; reptitions and different outlines for the same space: map 1: Spanish and Morrocan coasts; map 2: Levant; map 3: Adriatic Sea, Italy and Sicily with the Tunisian and Libyan coasts; map 4: Aegean Sea with Cyprus; map 5: Aegean Sea and Libyan coasts; map 6: Greece and Southern Italy; maps 1, 2, and 3 are filled with topographical features (trees, small city views, and rivers), while maps 4, 5, and 6 are empty, though the latter repeat almost the same spaces depicted in maps 2 and 3.

328

Appendix

B-I-12 (cont.)

Detailed Physical Notes Parchment; 53.3 by 69.9 cm. General Coverage Mediterranean, but without the Black Sea and Atlantic European coasts. Reproductions Özdemir, Ottoman Nautical, 100–104. Goodrich, “Atlasi-i Humayun,” 96–101. Selected Bibliography Goodrich, “Atlasi-i Humayun,” 83–101.

B-I-13

Title given to the work Walters Deniz Atlas-i Mapmaker(s) Unknown Collection Walters Art Gallery, Ms. W. 660

Production Date and Location End tenth/sixteenth or eleventh/ seventeenth century?

Inscription

General Notes This work has larger city views than any other Ottoman atlas; map 1: Black Sea; map 2: Levant; map 3: Adriatic Sea, Italy, and Sicily in front of the Tunisian and Libyan coasts; map 4: Spanish and Moroccan Mediterranean and Atlantic coasts; map 5: European Atlantic coasts with the British and Irish Isles; map 6: Mediterranean; map 7: Indian Sea; map 8: World map. Detailed Physical Notes Parchment; 30.1 by 45 cm.

329

Appendix

General Coverage Mediterranean in sections and Mediterranean as a whole Reproductions Özdemir, Ottoman Nautical, 93–99. Selected Bibliography Özdemir, Ottoman Nautical, 93–99. Goodrich, “The Earliest Ottoman,” 25–50.

B-II

Maritime Cartography: Piri Reis’ Kitabi Bahriye

B-II-1

Version First version (128 maps). Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Istanbul-Suleymaniye (Yeni Cami 790)

959/1551

Unknown

Notes (Physical and Others) Paper; 29.9 by 20 cm; style different than maritime cartographic style; earliest map of Istanbul in a dated manuscript of Kitabi Bahriye. General Coverage Mediterranean sections without the Black Sea and the Atlantic coasts. Reproductions

Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” vol. 2, appendix 14.2, no. 15, 290.

330

Appendix

B-II-2

Version First version (119 maps). Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Dresden-Saxen Library (Ms. 389)

961/1554

Unknown

Notes (Physical and Others) Paper; 28.7 by 19.9 cm; map of Istanbul at the end; style closer to B-II-1. General Coverage Mediterranean sections without the Black Sea and the Atlantic coasts. Reproductions Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” vol. 2, appendix 14.2, no. 3, p. 290.

B-II-3

Version First version (42 maps). Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Istanbul-Suleymaniye (Hamidiye 945)

962/1554–55

Aḥmed b. ʿAlī b. Meḥmed

Notes (Physical and Others) Paper; 36 by 25.4 cm; maps only; this is the earliest example in which there is a clear resemblance to the style of maritime cartography; it is filled with posthumous historical notes.

331

Appendix

General Coverage Mediterranean sections without the Black Sea and the Atlantic coasts. Reproductions

Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” vol. 2, appendix 14.2, no. 12, p. 290.

B-II-4

Version First version (125 maps). Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Bologna-Biblioteca 977/1569 Universitaria (Ms. 3613)

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Unknown

Notes (Physical and Others) Paper; 30.6 by 21 cm. General Coverage Mediterranean sections without the Black Sea and the Atlantic coasts. Reproductions

Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:290, appendix 14.2, no. 2.

332

Appendix

B-II-5

Version First version (127 maps). Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Istanbul-Suleymaniye (Husrev Pasha 272)

978/1570

Unknown

Notes (Physical and Others) Paper; 30.7 by 20.7 cm; it is much closer to the style of maritime cartography of B-II-3. General Coverage Mediterranean sections without the Black Sea and the Atlantic coasts. Reproductions

Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:290, appendix 14.2, no. 14.

B-II-6

Version Second version (216 maps). Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Istanbul-Suleymaniye (Ayasofia 2612)

982/1574

Unknown

Notes (Physical and Others) Paper; 32.4 by 21.5 cm; the model usually presented as “The Kitabi Bahriye”; more in the manner of B-II-1 rather than B-II-3.

333

Appendix

General Coverage Mediterranean sections without the Black Sea and the Atlantic coasts. Reproductions Facsimile editions: Kurdoğlu and Alpagot (eds.), Piri Reis Kitabi Bahriye; Senemoğlu, Kitab’i bahriye; Ökte (ed.), Kitab-i Bahriye Pîrî Reis. Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:291., appendix 14.2, no. 28.

B-II-7

Version First version (142 folios) Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

Oxford-Bodleian (Ms. d’Orville 543)

996/1587

Unknown

Notes (Physical and Others) Paper; 29 by 20.3 cm; style closer to B-II-1. General Coverage Mediterranean sections without the Black Sea and the Atlantic coasts. Reproductions

Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:290, appendix 14.2, no. 19.

334

Appendix

B-II-8

Version Second version (215 maps). Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s)

TKS (H. 642)

Late tenth/sixteenth century?

Unknown

Notes (Physical and Others) Paper; 31 by 22 cm; very close to B-II-6: Suleymaniye, Ayasofia 2612 and thus used as a model for “The Kitabi Bahriye.” General Coverage Mediterranean sections without the Black Sea and the Atlantic coasts. Reproductions Bülent Ari (ed.), Kitabi Bahriye. Piri Reis. Book of Navigation (Ankara: Undersecretary of Navigation, 2002). Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:291, appendix 14.2, no. 29.

335

Appendix B-II-9

Version Second version (219 maps). Ms Collection

Ms Production Date and Location

Paris-BNF (Supp. Turc 956) Late tenth/sixteenth century

Mapmaker(s) or Ms Scribe(s) Unknown

Notes (Physical and Others) Paper; 35 by 23 cm; closer to the style of B-II-1. General Coverage Mediterranean sections without the Black Sea and the Atlantic coasts. Reproductions

Selected Bibliography Soucek, “Islamic Charting,” 2:291, appendix 14.2, no. 33.

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Index Abū Qīr 139 Aegean Sea xv, 25, 134, 136, 140, 158, 160, 220–221, 251–252, 256, 260, 318–319, 325, 327 Afkān 191 Ajdābiya 53, 56, 151 Akhnū 56 Akhwār (sing. Khor, bays) 128, 140 ʿAkkā (Acre) 55 Alexandria 6n, 7n, 33, 38, 52–53, 55–56, 73, 111n, 119, 128, 131, 136, 139, 160, 183, 207, 229 Alakilise 138 al-Andalūsī, Abū l-ʿAbbās Aḥmad 218, 230 al-Ankabarda (northern Italy/ Lombardy) 60 Anṭāliya 112 Antonine Itinerary 115 aqāṣīr al-miyāh (acque basse) 165 aqlaʿa (partire) 165 ʿArqa 55 al-Aqrtī (Cape Kiti) 131 Ashkūbirash 113 Askīda 58 ʿAsqalān 55, 151, 207n, 257 Atlas-i Humayun xv, 184, 258, 261, 327 Atlas of Islam 65–68, 71, 76–77, 82–86, 90–92, 94–95, 97–98, 102–103, 110, 117, 126–127, 134, 148, 156–158, 162, 165, 167, 177, 264, 267, 293 ʿAyn Farrūj 117n, 118 Bāghāy 151 Baḥr al-Dabbūrī 25, 32 Baḥr Fāris 37, 39, 59, 61, 94 Baḥr al-Muḍlim al-Gharbī 25, 44, 53 Baḥr al-Maghrib, Baḥr al-Maghribī 25–33, 40, 60, 15 baḥriyyīn (mariners) 112, 149, 183 Baḥr Mānṭiṣ 25, 27 Baḥr al-Mutawassiṭ 25, 27–30, 32, 41 Baḥr al-Rūm, Baḥr al-Rūmī 1n, 24n, 25–40, 53, 59–60, 62–63, 68–69, 100, 111, 158 Baḥr al-Shām, Baḥr al-Shāmī 25–33, 40, 46, 111, 158, 169, 275, 280

Bakrī, Abū ʿUbayd  31, 48, 50n, 64, 111–114, 117–118, 135, 140, 158, 164–165, 171, 174, 181, 183, 187, 263 Balādhurī 26, 30, 66, 74 Balkhī 36, 60n, 61, 65–66, 68, 79, 92–93, 265, 271–272, 274, 277, 279, 281–282, 286, 288–293 Barqa 53, 56, 60, 69–71, 101, 111, 112n, 136, 139, 151, 160 Bāshū 151 Baṭalyūs (Badajoz) 124–125 Battānī 26, 33, 51, 66 Baʿūḍa, island 130 Bay of Kuşadası 141 Bay of Peritheōrion 141 Bay of Smyrna 141 Becharius, Battista 188, 205n Benincasa, Grazioso 188, 201, 257 Ben Zara, Iehuda 229–230 Bianco, Andrea 188 Bijāya 151, 159, 162, 216 Bīlaqān  151 Bilbān al-Jinuwī 169 Bīrūnī 77–79, 126–127, 275 Braudel, Fernand Xi, 1–4, 9–10, 19, 61, 64, 103, 263, 265 Būna 111n, 112, 151, 162, 215 Burjān 138 Cabo de Santa Maria 201 Canary Islands 203 Capri 133 Capuçço 201 Caspian Sea (Baḥr al-Khazar, Baḥr al-aʿājim)  34n, 38, 42, 123, 127, 204 Catalan Atlas 201, 229, 247, 255 Cenia River 202 Charente 201 Chartier, Roger 3, 263 Ciroldis, Jachobus 189 Corrupting Sea 23n, 24n Conpasso de navegare 115 Cresques, Abraham 229 Crete 23n, 98–99, 131, 160, 183, 216 Cyprus 7, 99, 123, 131, 133–136, 160, 325, 327

350 dāʾirat al-riyāḥ, dāʾirat al-arbā, dāʾirat al-athmā (wind rose) 120, 140, 169, 171, 219, 222, 224, 247, 312, 322 Dabīl 124 dabbūr (west) 25, 30n, 32, 120 dalīl (pilota) 165 Dalorto, Angellino de Xiv, 185, 188, 201 Dandīmū (Salina) 132 Danube 203, 205 Deniz Atlas-i Xv, 184, 261, 328 Dhū l-Qilāʿ 124 Dimashqī 44–45 Ducène, Jean-Charles 35, 36n, 61n, 77n, 113n, 147n, 171 Dulcert, Angelino 186, 246 Egypt, Miṣr Xiii, 6n, 7n, 26–32, 35, 38, 47, 52, 53, 54n, 55–56, 59–63, 68–69, 72–79, 86, 88–89, 91–92, 100, 111, 113, 119, 122, 126, 141, 160, 167, 172–173, 175–176, 177n, 178, 182, 207n, 217, 263, 268, 274, 276–277, 279, 287–292, 301, 303, 309, 322 Ephesus (Afsīs) 125 Euphrates 75–76, 123 Farmā 52–53, 55–56, 160 Fayyūm 74 Faviganna 133 Fez (Fās) 125 Filicudi 133 Finike 137 Franks 31, 35, 60, 100, 138 Freducci, Ottomano 254–256 Fusṭāṭ 53, 55–56, 59, 73–74, 111 Gautier-Dalché, Patrick 140, 164, 181, 187, 222n, 223n Gharnāṭī, Abū Ḥāmid 44–45 Ghayṭa (Gaeta) 125 Ghazza 52n, 55 Geodesy 127 Genoa, Genova 7, 107, 205, 215–216, 257 ghalīẓ al-mawj (grosso) 165 Gharāʾib al-funūn 126–132, 134–135, 137, 140–141, 158, 177, 181, 263 Gozo 132 Granada (Gharnāṭa) 202n, 203, 210n, 212, 215

Index Hafsids 233, 236–237 ḥajar (pietra) 165 Ḥājj Abū l-Ḥasan Xv, 184, 250, 316 ḥamala (caricare) 165 harbor (raṣīf) 150 Harris, W. V. 23n, 24n Ḥimyarī 29, 32, 44, 183, 311 ḥīṣn 52n, 141 ḥudūd 72, 98 Huwwārī, Muʾmin b. Yūmar 117 Ibn al-Athīr 27 Ibn al-ʿAdīm 27, 29, 31–32, 45–46 Ibn al-Faqīh 30–32, 35, 66, 300 Ibn Ḥawqal Xi, xiii, 9n, 25n, 30, 31, 34, 35n, 36–37, 60–64, 66, 77–82, 84–86, 88–92, 94, 97–103, 109–110, 112, 126, 139–140, 147–149, 162, 174, 182, 205, 269–271, 278–279, 285 Ibn ʿIdhārī 28, 32, 41 Ibn (b.) al-Jawzī, Abū l-Faraj 27, 172 Ibn Khaldūn 28, 32, 36, 41, 47–48, 168, 169n, 170n, 172–178, 264, 303, 309 Ibn Khurradādhbih 12n, 26, 29–30, 35, 51–55, 58, 59, 66, 67n, 109, 148 Ibn Qutayba 26 Ibn Saʿīd 28, 173n, 185 Ibn al-Wardī 29, 32, 35, 44 Idrīsī Xi, xiv, 18, 27, 29, 32, 36, 48, 103, 107–108, 122–123, 130, 133–134, 141–159, 161, 165–168, 171–178, 181, 183, 214, 219, 225, 227, 229–232, 238–239, 253, 263, 293–308, 311, 324 Idrisids 54, 58, 142 Ifranja (the land of the Franks) 31, 35, 60, 287, 289 Ilbis (Elvas) 124 Indian Ocean Xiv, 1, 27, 29, 37, 43–47, 59, 61, 63, 92–94, 99, 123–124, 126–127, 129, 134, 149–150, 158, 165, 170, 175, 181, 255–256, 265, 280 iqlīm 37, 50, 51, 59–61, 63, 68, 77, 81, 98, 168 Ishbīliya (Sevilla, Seville) 111, 212–214, 238 Isidore of Seville 24n, 33, 41, 99 isolario, isolarii 247–249 isqāla (echelle, French) 165 Iṣṭakhrī Xiii, 9n, 25n, 26, 31, 34, 37, 39, 59–63, 66, 68–72, 74–75, 77–82, 85–94,

Index 97–102, 124–126, 134–135, 174, 266, 272–273, 277–278, 281–282, 286–288, 290–292 Istanbul 78–79, 156, 191, 206, 209–210, 212, 217–218, 234–237, 240, 243, 245, 259, 262, 266, 301, 319–320, 322, 329–330, 332 Jabal Wahrān 118 Jabīl 55 jaghrāfiyā 57n, 225–226, 234n Jalīqiya (Gaul) 34, 60 Jazāʾir Banī Mizghinnā (Algiers) Xv, 113, 118, 216–217, 235, 244 Jazīrat Abī Sharīk 57 Jerba 117n, 118n, 217, 222, 233, 236–237 Jījil 58 jūn 128 Kaloyeros 248 Khalīj al-Banādiqa (Gulf of the Venetians) 158 Khāliṭa (Jāliṭa, Galite Islands) 132 kharīṭa 11 al-Khaṣūṣ (Lasus) 137 Khawārizmī 51, 66–67, 77–78, 96, 108, 126, 267–268, 277 Khrab Maraqiye 137 Khusraw, Nāṣir 27 Kimolos 133 Kitabi Bahriye Xv, 242–249, 257–259, 315, 329, 332, 333–334 Kitāb al-Buldān 26, 30, 32n, 33, 54–59, 72, 300 Kitāb al-Kharāj 51–57, 59 Kitāb al-Rawḍ 183 Klazomenai 141 Kratchkovski, Ignaty Iulianovitch 24n, 29, 44, 51n, 54n, 58n, 60n, 63n, 65–67, 71n, 91n, 108n, 109n, 110n, 142n, 173n, 174n, 234n Kūkū (Gao) 125 kuwar al-sāḥil 55 Lampedusa 131, 165n Lamtūna 162 Libda 151, 159 Linosa 132 Lipari 132

351 Mābir 58 Maçar Reis, ʿAlī Xv, 184, 252–259, 261, 319 Magarsos 137 Maghīla 117n, 118, 151 Maghrib Chart Xiv, 184–190, 192–193, 195–201, 223, 310 Mahdiyya 70–71, 111, 123, 135–136, 151, 287 Majorca 7, 159, 165, 170, 203–205, 212–213, 215, 225–226, 228–229, 237–238, 241, 316, 324 majrā 118, 164–165 Mālaqa (Malaga) 143, 214, 238 Malta 132–133, 241 manāra (faro) 56, 165, 221 Mare Nostrum 4, 23–24, 33 Marettimo 132–133 Mariyya (Almeria) 111, 295 Marmaris 138 māʾ mayyit (acqua morta) 165 Marrākushī, ʿAlī 218 al-Marrākushī, ʿAbd al-Wāḥid 25, 27, 29, 23 Marsā al-Dajāj 111n Marsā Farrūkh 58 marsā ṣayfī (summer harbor) 118 marsā shitwī (winter harbor) 118 Marsā al-Zaytūna 111n Marseilles 7, 310 Masālik al-abṣār Xiv, 28, 168–171, 173, 182, 222, 301 masqaṭ (sbocco) 165 Masʿūdī 14, 26, 30–31, 39n, 42–45, 48, 65n, 95, 96–97, 121, 128, 148, 172–173 Mehmed Reis 184, 249, 251n, 325 Miknāsa 151 Miller, Konrad Xiv, 65n, 78–79, 146, 152, 208, 268, 273–274, 292, 295–299, 304–305 Millīla 112, 117n, 118 mīqāt 217–218, 234 Miquel, Andre 24n, 31, 37n, 40, 42–43, 50, 51n, 63n, 65–67, 110, 111n Mountain of the Moon 126 Muqaddasī Xiii, 1, 27, 30, 36, 37n, 46–48, 62–63, 66, 68, 72n, 73n, 77–79, 82, 85–87, 89–90, 92–95, 97, 109–110, 129, 149, 182, 265–266, 276, 280, 283–284, 289 Mursī Xiv, 58, 184, 202–207, 230–231, 251, 313 muṣawwir, muṣawwirūn 18, 92n, 265 Muwaḥḥids 107

352 Naqīza 56 naqsh 153–154 naḥr (riva) 165 Nile xiii, xv, 5n, 43, 45, 55–56, 61, 73–74, 88–89, 99, 101–102, 123, 126, 139, 191, 261, 268–269, 285, 289–290, 312 Nuzhat al-mushtāq 107–108, 142–143, 145–158, 160–161, 163n, 164–165, 168, 171, 173–175, 177–178, 181, 183, 187, 213, 228, 231n, 232, 238, 260, 293–300, 304–308 Ottomans 216, 233, 235–240, 250, 252, 259, 264 Oued Loukos 138 Oxus 123 Pantelliria 133 Passala 137 Periplo di Scilace (Periplus of Pseudo-Scylax) 116 periploi 115, 117–118, 135, 141 Phaselis 137 Phocaea 141 Picard, Christophe 6n, 9, 61n, 107, 112n, 113 Piri Reis Xi, xv, 235, 239, 240–253, 257–259, 264, 314–315, 329, 333–334 Porto-Farina (Ghār al-Milḥ) 216 Ptolemy 51, 77, 80n, 96, 121–122, 128, 148, 161, 228, 271 Qābis 57, 151, 222 Qayrawān Xv, 53, 57–59, 70–71, 101, 109, 111, 151, 207, 209–210, 212, 218, 228, 234, 236–237, 260, 320 Qazwīnī 12, 28, 32 Qlūriya, Qulūriya (southern Italy) 60, 124 Qudāma b. Jaʿfar 12, 51, 53–55, 57, 59, 66, 148 qunbāṣ (compass) Xiv, 168–170, 225–226, 227, 265 Qurṭuba 53, 58–59, 109, 151, 212 raʾs (capo) 165 Rafaḥ 52n, 55, 75 ramla (spiagga sabiosa) 165 Rashīd (Rosetta) 8n, 56, 111n, 139, 252 raṣīf (diga) 165 Rhodes 130, 136

Index Roger II 18, 142–144, 148–149, 153–154, 232, 293 rubbān (sea captain) 150 Rūmiyya (Rome) 31, 35, 60 rūsiyya 163–164 ruʾasāʾ (arbāb) al-marākib (sea captains) 48, 150 ṣabā (eastern) 120 Ṣabra 71, 151 Ṣafadī 18, 143–145, 207n, 212n Ṣafāqus (sfax), Ṣafāqusī 151, 207, 210, 211n, 212, 218, 228, 326 ṣaḥīfa (chart) 169 sāḥil (costa) 29, 46, 52–53, 55–57, 59, 112n, 165 sākin al-ḥaraka (calmo) 165 Saṭarbalīn 125 sāthij 93 Ṣaydā 55, 150 Ṣāʿa 151 Sea of Nīṭis (Black Sea) 158 Sestos 138 Setúbal 201 Shābūra 96 Shām 29, 31–35, 38, 40, 45, 46n, 47–48, 52, 55–56, 59–62, 73–75, 100, 111n, 158, 160, 182, 206, 259, 269 Sharfī, Aḥmad 210–211 al-Sharfī, ʿAlī xiv, xv, 184, 207–210, 214, 219, 223–226, 228–239, 253, 256–258, 260–264, 317, 320, 323–324 al-Sharfī, Muḥammad iv, xiv, xv, 184, 207–210, 212–213, 225–226, 317, 320, 323, 326 shibr (palmo) 165 shimāl (northern) 120 Sicily 5, 27, 54, 57, 61–63, 99, 100, 107n, 109, 111n, 116, 119, 123, 131–136, 142–145, 151–152, 159, 161, 182, 191, 216, 219, 220–221, 256, 263, 269, 281, 293–300, 302, 304–308, 318–319, 327, 328 ṣifa 10, 11n, 69, 93, 147 Silifke (Seleucia) 138 Ṣitīf 71, 162 St. Michelin 201 Stromboli 132

353

Index Suhrāb 66–67, 121–122 Ṣūr (Tyre) 139 ṣūra, Surat, ṣūrat, ṣuwar 1, 10, 12, 13, 14, 19, 41n, 46n, 47n, 65n, 67, 69, 76n, 90, 96, 146, 266, 274 ṣūrat al-arḍ xiii, 25n, 30, 31n, 34, 35n, 37, 60, 61n, 62, 77, 78, 79, 80n, 82, 84, 85, 126, 205, 226, 267, 268, 269, 271, 274, 278, 279, 285 Surt 56, 139, 151 Sūsa 57 Syracuse 116 Syria, Syrian xiv, 5, 7, 11n, 25–30, 45, 52, 63, 68, 69, 72–75, 100, 119, 127, 137, 139, 158, 160, 167, 173, 203, 206, 207n, 217, 228, 232, 273, 279, 287–288, 290–292, 301, 313, 322 al-Ṭabarī 11, 12n, 26, 30 ṭabla 218, 223 tabula 153–156, 167 Tāhirt 57–59, 69, 71 Tammar-Luxoro 186 Tanīs, Tinnīs 29, 56, 60, 71, 73, 99, 101, 111n, 119n, 123, 128, 135, 136, 279 al-Ṭanjī Xiv, 184, 190–201, 204, 230–231, 260, 312 taqwīr 163–164 Ṭarāblus (al-Shām, Lebanon) 55, 259 Ṭarāblus (al-Gharb, Libya) 55–57 al-ṭarīq al-aʿẓam 54 ṭarīq al-barīd 55

ṭarīq al-barr 53 ṭarīq al-sikka 53 Ṭarṭūs 139 taṣwīr 70, 75, 90 ṭaylaṣān Xiv, 92–93, 95–97, 102, 265, 266 Tigris 123 Ṭubna 58–59 Tunis Xiv, xv, 53, 57, 71, 107n, 111n, 151, 173, 190, 208n, 210, 217, 222, 233, 236–237, 244, 252, 312 Tunisia 32, 111n, 133, 159, 185, 208n, 212, 215, 217, 220, 221, 232–233, 235, 236, 237n, 260, 262, 318–319, 322, 327, 328 Uns al-muhaj 142, 156–157, 159, 293–295, 302 Ushtūm (Port Said) 128 Venice 107, 164n, 192n, 205, 215, 216, 224, 231, 247, 261, 325 Vernet-Gines 113n, 114n, 164n, 185n, 186n, 311 Wahrān 112, 117n, 118, 159, 163, 183, 215 Wāfī, Wafiyyāt 18n, 143, 144, 212n, 213n Wasīma 56 Woodward, David 17n, 19, 153n Yāfā (Jaffa) 55, 75, 139 Yaʿqūbī 26, 29, 33, 54–59, 63, 66, 67n, 72 Yāqūt al-Ḥamawī 27, 30–32, 35, 41 Yibnāthim 55 Zirqālī 66, 108